don't call it a wedding

Jaime and I have been asked numerous times why we decided to get married.  At first I wasn’t sure how to answer the question, aside from the obvious: love.  It was some months later when Jaime hypothesized that perhaps the driving factor in our decision was the move to Los Angeles.

Just six months earlier we were proclaiming that we wouldn’t be marrying for years and yet here we were jumping right into the water without even checking its depth.  I tend to agree with Jaime, in Seattle life was easy, there were always friends and family nearby and though we lived together it was not uncommon for us to do things separately.  Once we got to LA all that changed.

Nearly every waking moment not spent at work was spent together.  We relied and depended on each other in ways we never had to before.  Whatever the little voice in our heads that was telling us not to get married had in six short months been silenced.

Initially we decided not to announce our engagement until May when we would be talking a trip home to Seattle.  By the next day however Jaime had told all her friends, family, and practically anyone who would listen to her.  I should have known that she couldn’t keep a secret.  This is the girl who has to do birthday shopping last minute because if she doesn’t the temptation to give the gifts early is too great.

I resisted that temptation, not only because it felt tacky to tell people over the phone. (See daily observation #002) but because I wasn’t sure how my parents would take the news.  They are practical people and with the economy teetering on the edge of implosion, our unsteady employment situation, and the financial commitment a wedding poses, I expected them to be less than thrilled.

To combat any potential negative reaction they might have, I decided to have as much of the wedding planned as possible before we told them.  This way we could go to them with an actual cost analysis and prove to them that in fact it was feasible.  I won’t lie however, at the time even I didn’t think a wedding was feasible.

The two biggest expenses were the Wedding Venue (and all the charges that accrues) and Jaime’s dress.  Almost immediately she began searching for the dress.

We weren’t having a traditional wedding, so I helped her choose the dress or at least the style online.  I did what to be surprised on the day of the wedding and not see her in it till then.  I don’t remember exactly how many weeks she searched but it didn’t seem like many before she headed out on a Saturday afternoon with Annika to do some dress shopping in person.

A few hours later I got a call saying that she’d found the dress.  She bought it and that was that, check dress off the list.  Now to find a venue for the ceremony and reception.

The wedding was to be held in Seattle, this is where our search began.  It became apparent immediately that our initial plans of holding the reception in my parents back yard would not work.  Early liberal estimates had the guest list at well over one hundred, even if we managed to cut that down as low as eighty it would still be maxing out available space.  So we began to search for other options.

The first lesson we learned (if you’re planning on holding your own wedding write this down and remember it) don’t call it a wedding.  As soon as you say that magic word the price of just about everything doubles or even triples.  Say “these flowers are for a party. We’ll be throwing a party.  This is a birthday cake.”

The next lesson we learned is that while it is entirely possible to find an affordable space for the reception, they force you to use their catering service which is severely overpriced and often, less than stellar food.

We’d called over a dozen places and didn’t even have anything on a short list.  We couldn’t afford any of them.  In a moment of desperation we called Cornish, our alma mater hoping to use Raisebeck theater, but even they turned us down.

By the way, did you know that in order to throw a party at a state park you have to pay.  $200 per hour, even if you’re only going to be there ten minutes it’s still $200.  Even what seemed like the cheapest option wasn’t even cheap.

The last place Jaime called was Ivar’s Salmon house (the nice restaurant at the north end of Lake Union not their fast food stand).  It seemed like a long shot but we loved the restaurant, it provided a wonderful view of the city right on the water, and boasted a beautifully remodeled banquet room.

As it turns out there was no deposit required for the room, the only requirement was that you spent at least $1500 on their delicious food.  For no fewer than seventy people this would not be a problem.

Here we were, a month into our engagement, we had a date, a dress, and a venue.  Though I’d still yet to present.  Jaime with her ring and ask the most important question of all. 

posted by: brian snider

splitting hairs

It feels weird to “introduce” myself when for months now some of you have already been reading about my life. When Brian asked me to start writing for his blog I jumped at the chance, if for no other reason then, now I get to talk about some of his more embarrassing moments (I kid, I kid!)

Really I’m very excited to write for B’s blog! I’m currently writing a blog for my company Fierce, Inc. and, as a young writer, I always love the chance to write more!

The men in my life have always been fascinated with my hair. Their obsession baffles me as its always been my biggest pain in the ass. It’s thick, curly or wavy and usually is copping major attitude. It can be tamed, but it involves copious amounts of liquid and heat and is a laborious process.

I often talked about cutting it really short, but Brian always through a fit. This fit usually included begging and tears, so I just left it long. Six months before we got married I decided enough was enough, and after the wedding, I was chopping it off. When I told B he laughed in my face. Brian should know better than to ever dare me, but he couldn't help himself, and he called my bluff. It was on! It was on like Donkey Kong.

Please don’t get confused, I didn't want to cut my hair just to piss him off. However, if he was going to be glib I wasn't going to endear myself to his point of view.

So two years ago, one week after our wedding, I walked to the salon across the street from my house and had them take the scissors to my long curly mane. The stylist, afraid of some impending freak out due to shock, wouldn't go pixie short and instead left me with a Kate Plus 8 type haircut. It was horrible. I hated it instantly, but he talked me into going home for the night, and if I still didn't like it the next day to come back and he would ‘go all the way.’

To my surprise B liked it. This was further proof to me that I hated it. After an embarrassing trip to Target, that included me pulling my hood over my head the whole time and Brian getting very pissed off at me, I knew that I would be making a trip back to the salon the next day.

I didn't tell B about my decision, and so when he came home to find his wife with shorter hair than his, his reaction was to be a total asshole.

He continued to be an asshole for weeks after, until a combination of my tears and stern looks from his parents forced him to apologize. His point was clear though; he hated my hair and so I began to hate my hair. I immediately began to grow it back out.This process totally blows (btw), but after two years I finally grew it down to my shoulders. B was so happy, the liquid and heat had returned and hours of my time was now being consumed by my hair.

A very complex part of a relationship is the area concerning looks. I’m at the point in my life where I’m trying to determine; just how much what I look like has to do with my identity. Add in the extra layer that I want another person to want to have sex with me on a regular basis, and I do feel an obligation to stay attractive for my spouse. This thought process is how you end up with the cluster-fuck that is happening inside my head.

Brian likes long, curly, beautiful Cosmopolitan magazine type hair, I don’t want that to be my identity. It recently became clear to me that I needed to give the pixie hair cut another chance.This was news I wasn't looking forward to breaking to Brian again.

Nobody can fully prepare you for the crazy shit that happens in a relationship. If someone had told me that being married would involve deep conversations about hair, I would have thought marriage was bullshit, because you can’t just do something without taking the other persons feelings into account. Brian did not disappoint me though, he totally manned up and came through. Maybe it is bullshit that Brian cares so much about my hair or that I care so much about what he thinks, but nonetheless he put his feelings aside and took one for the team. He even went so far as to help me pick a style of pixie cut he thought was somewhat sexy.

I’m excited for the new me, which feels a lot like the old me--just with less liquid, heat and more time on my hands!

posted by: jaime navarro

ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

"ch-ch-ch-ch-changes" david bowie

dear readers

I want to begin by thanking you.  At the end of each day I check the stats of the blog just to see how we’re doing and every day we meet or exceed my expectations.  I can’t believe that after five months I’ve managed to amass over forty posts and as many fans as we have.

Changes are abound for the blog.  First of all you are going to be seeing new contributors.  I began the blog as a way to document my time in Los Angeles and report on the observations, conundrums, frustrations, joys, and liberations of my daily life in both the real world and the digital realm.  It occurred to me some time ago however that being only one man with only my opinions the blog may not be offering up the highest quality experience.  If I was able to have multiple contributors collaborating with me, they would add new experiences and points of view.

The first new contributor will be Jaime Navarro, my wife.  I asked her to write for the blog not because she is my wife but because she is a great writer.  You can currently see her write one to two blogs a week for Fierce Inc. where she tackles topics on business leadership, communication and some other topics I don’t quite understand.

The other big change coming to the blog is going to be a slight name change.  I love secretly, i’m an important man, however that name was fit for just myself and as I add contributors to the blog especially those who are not men it begins to make less sense.  We will now be going by secretly important, which is a little catchier and encompasses anyone who might write for the blog.  The url for the blog has always been www.secretlyimportant.blogspot.com so really the name change is mostly vanity.

Lastly, you may or may not be aware that we also have a facebook fan page which you can find here http://www.facebook.com/pages/Secretly-important/176164499098145.  Or if you are so inclined just click on the little picture of the internaut on the right side of the blog tool bar.  If you have not already done so please like us on facebook.  Why should you do this?  Well, I prefer not to write little newsletters like this directly on the blog and prefer it to be devoted to new content and would like all news or possible events concerning the blog to be displayed on the facebook page.

Thank you all again for your continued support as this blog grows.  I always appreciate your questions, comments, or concerns and if you enjoy a post please don’t be afraid to share and repost it.

Thank you,

brian 
posted by: brian snider

just kids

can't recommend this book enough

I don’t need to write a review of this book.  It has already gained high praise from many critics including winning the national book award for nonfiction.  That said, I was surprised by just how incredible the book was, and so I wanted to share it with you in hopes that you’ll come to enjoy its magnificence too.

I know that a book is truly exceptional when I read the end and ignoring all my instincts as a writer, I wish that there were another three hundred pages.  I just was not ready to leave the world of this book.

Just Kids is musician/poet/artist Patti Smith’s tale of her life with controversial artist/photographer Robert Mapplethorpe, from the late 1960’s through the 70’s and into the 80’s ending with Roberts death from AIDS in 1989.

Smith begins the book with a brief account of her early life and then like a spider begins to spin an incredible web as she recounts meeting, becoming lovers and best friends with Mapplethorpe.  Her web extends from Brooklyn to the Village and includes the Chelsea Hotel, Max’s: Kansas City, and CBGB’s.  She ensnares and extracts stories of her various encounters; her relationship with Sam Shepard, Allan Ginsberg, William Burroughs, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, and Robert Mappelthorpe’s eventual partner Sam Waggstaff.

Her experience as a poet allows her to manipulate language and summon up horrifying, beautiful, and romantic images.  She has an innate ability to let her voice in the book grow from that of a naive twenty year old struggling to find work and places to spend the night in New York.  Then into an experienced mother of two lovingly describing the final time a very ill Mapelthorpe photographed her as she held her newly born daughter Jesse.

The book is uniquely her voice, I could easily hear her speaking it as I read.  While you should despise her as a name dropping pretentious artist, but instead you fall in love with her as she very honestly tells the story.

I usually expect the authors of these books to paint a more flattering picture of themselves, however Smith seemed not to censor herself exposing honest feelings that surprised me. I expected Smith to be an unabashed supporter of Mappelthorpe’s more controversial pictures, instead she freely admits that much of his work challenged her and sometimes found them difficult to understand.

Occasionally in telling the story she would arrive at a period where events were fuzzy and incomplete, she would piece them together brilliantly using small nostalgic vignettes.

The book ends with a mystic meditation on life and death as it becomes a love letter for her and Robert Mapplethorpe, New York city, and an incredible time in America full of good, bad, evil and almost indescribable beauty.

This book was recommended to me by Jaime who read and fell in love with it first.  One selfish evening in LA last year I denied her the opportunity to see Patti Smith at Skylight books and tried to make up for that with a signed first edition copy for Christmas.  I now recommend this book to you, I guaranty you won’t be disappointed. 
posted by: brian snider

bad omen

this bunny is very cute and alive

As I mentioned in on dedication I write all my posts out longhand on yellow junior legal note paper before I type them up in the evening.  Well, on Friday in the midst of a cold induced haze I left my irreplaceable note pad in my cubicle, thus my scheduled post will have to wait until Tuesday.  I did however have an odd experience that I felt I should share with you and perhaps someone can tell me if this is a bad omen.

Saturday afternoon while lounging around on the couch catching up on some Netflix documentaries (this included Exit through the gift shop, Black White and Gray, and Art and Copy) I noticed two cats stalking around my back yard.  A large white fluffy cat who tortures my own cats by simply being outside and infuriates Olive by being in her back yard.

I also noticed a new all black cat, it was slightly larger than the white cat and not fluffy, but muscular.  I watched them as they hung around the yard like a couple of bored gang members looking for some hapless individual to jump and steal their wallet.

They played around the creek for a while then basked in the sunlight on top of a brush pile.  I was surprised that to see that by 6:00 that evening they were still hanging around, as usually they wouldn’t hang out for more than an hour or two.

It was then that Jaime informed me of a hapless victim, a small baby bunny laying on it’s side in the grass.  I went outside to inspect and there it was, small helpless and definitely dead, though its exposed eye was closed and except for the frozen position of mid stride it could have been sleeping.

The two cats hovered about twenty feet away, casually watching as I inspected what I was beginning to assume was their kill.

Not having a shovel, and not wanting to dump the body in the creek, I decided to throw it in the garbage.  I went into the house and found a thick plastic bag and then marched back out into the yard.  I took a closer look at the corpse and noticed that its belly had been gashed and I could see gray colored intestines spilling out.

 The cats continued watched, their vicious little faces full of false innocence as I turned the bag inside out in my hand and slowly pulled the bunny into the bag.

The body was tiny but much heavier then I had anticipated.  Once it was all the way in I dashed out front to the trash can as fast as I could.  There was an irrational fear in my mind that at any moment the bunny would jump back to live and thrash about in the bag.

I dropped the bag in the trash, eulogized the bunny then walked away hoping that no one would need to fish anything out of the garbage and find the dead body.  On my way back in the house I wondered if it was a bad omen to find a dead bunny the day before Easter.

It can’t be a good omen and certainly for me there is a small amount of death surrounding Easter.  Dada died the day after Easter and ever since Jaime has worried that something bad will happen on or around that day.  Last year Olive took a spill off a park bench and landed on her head.  Even after the vet confirmed that she was fine Jaime continued to worry fueled by the fear that Easter was just two days away.

Personally I don’t believe in bad omens, and as someone who really doesn’t celebrate Easter beyond indulging in Peeps, jelly beans, and Cadbury Cream eggs, any meaning of the holiday is lost on me.  Certainly however finding a slain bunny in your back yard the day before Easter is not a sign of good luck.
posted by: brian snider

on dedication

This post might as well be part three of an endless series called “how I get it done.”  For further reading on this subject please read what do you do and i willn’t be a prisoner.

i'm really just writing an angry letter to toms toothpaste 

The other night while she was getting ready for bed Jaime turned to me and asked “how do you stay so dedicated to write?”  I was already in bed with the laptop on my thighs and my yellow junior legal notepad on my hip, as has become my nightly ritual.

I wasn’t exactly sure how to answer her because usually I don’t feel particularly dedicated.  Either in my daily life or in my writing life.  I have many high aspirations yet when it comes to making those happen I’m rather lazy.

If she was talking about my blog then I must admit that this is the third blog I’ve started, the first that I’ve managed to keep up with.  I went from one post a week to two or three a week.  Now I’m cranking out five every week.  I write them long hand on a yellow legal pad when I have free time and transcribe them at night.

I manage to stay dedicated to the blog because I have a routine and have more or less committed myself to five posts a week.  I treat writing for it like a job, each night I have an article due and I must deliver or get fired.

Jaime wasn’t just talking about the blog though, she was talking about my dedication to write all sorts of material all the time.  To date I’ve written three complete full length plays.  Many people find that kind of dedication difficult, when they have a bout of writers block or get bored they stop and abandon their work.  Again however I am no poster child for hard work as it has taken me an average of two and a half to three years to complete each of these plays, and only one has been produced.

I suppose if I have any real answer to the question it’s this:

I write because that is what makes me feel good.  I know people who exercise, people who hunt, people who hike, drive fast cars, do drugs, play video games, have sex, etc. etc. etc.  The high that people get from performing these activities is the same one I get when I write.  I almost never feel as complete as I do when I’m writing, and when I don’t have something I’m currently working on I feel a little lost.

I am also dedicated because the only way to get better at something is to work at it all the time.  I write furiously because I desperately wish to make this my living and I have a vested interest in doing it well and often.

For those of you out there who do write or aspire to write I have some words of wisdom that I have imparted to Jaime and a few of my friends.  When you have trouble getting started or begin to suffer from writers block, write through it.  Don’t stop, just write.  It might be shit, it might be painful, in the end you might just throw it all away but if you simply sit down and begin to write yourself out of a situation, you’ll eventually come to an ending.
posted by: brian snider

i willn't be a prisoner

i'll stick you in the gut with a shiv

I am constantly looking ahead to the future, usually between one and five days.  I suspect that I am not alone in this, as most people from the time their week starts on Monday morning are looking ahead to Friday evening, when you are allowed your scheduled visit to the prison yard.  It’s two blissful days of perceived freedom before Monday comes again and they lock you back up.  As Jaime said to me the other day, “this is no way to live.” 

There are 365 days per year and approximately 260 workdays.  Let’s imagine that your company gives you the four major holidays off, Christmas, New Year’s, Thanksgiving, and the 4th of July.  Let us also assume that all four of these days fall on a week day.  Lastly let’s say that your company is generous and gives you fourteen days of paid vacation.  Between weekends, holidays, and vacation this comes to 123 days to pump iron, play basketball and instigate gang fights in the prison yard and 242 days per year locked up.

I meditated on these numbers as I sat staring at the padded taupe colored walls of my cubicle prison.  If I did this for ten years I will have spent 2,420 days waiting for the weekend.  That comes to over six straight years without a weekend break, of day to day general unhappiness.  When I think about it in those terms I question why I would subject myself to this.

There are some people, glass-half-full people who will make the best of this situation.  They will find the little things to enjoy, give meaning and motivation to their everyday life.    I am not one of those people, the glass is clearly half empty.  Instead of drafting a plot heavy escape plan involving a map tattooed on the left buttock of a cellmate, I would become complacent.  I would complain every day and wait impatiently for the forthcoming weekend, which will flash by me.

I wonder if our concept for prisons is all wrong.  Perhaps we should convert them into office buildings and instead of cells, inmates will sit in cubicles droopy eyed in front of piercing  computer screens. They will compose emails and submit invoice, and once an hour their boss will come in and give them a pep talk about their work performance and how to meet their goals.

At the end of the day the cubicle door will be opened and they will slowly file down the hallways back to their rooms.  There they will make their own dinner, do their own laundry, and if they’re lucky they will have just enough time to watch a soul sucking rerun of Two and a Half Men.

After decades of time served they will be released into freedom, having spent the best years of their lives slaving away for a faceless corporation, they can now enjoy their golden years.  They can watch all the Two and a Half Men they please and worry about whether or not medicare will cover the blood pressure medication they need thanks to their years spent in the corporate world.

I wonder if implementing this would cut down on prison overcrowding, or in the end would some lawyer get a judge to rule it cruel and unusual punishment.

* * * 

I almost catch myself longing for the life of an inmate when I realize that the differences between their life and mine are vast.

I don’t have to worry about getting stabbed in the gut with a shiv.

I don’t have to worry about dropping the soap in the shower.

Lastly, when inmates get their time in the prison yard they are closely watched by men in guard towers holding rifles.

My free time is mine to do as I please, it is not an illusion like the prison yard.  Weekends are only an illusion of my own perception.  Inmates are in prison for the long haul, death or parole are their only escape, I on the other hand am free to go at any time.

So why don’t I escape?  Like most, I’ve got bills to pay and vacations I want to take.  I’ve got to go with the highest paying job that will accept me just so that I can do these things.  Don’t I and others out there deserve to find work we love to do?  Work that makes us excited to get up in the morning, work that keeps us from always looking forward to the weekend?

We do, and I do.  I’ve been complacent and let the prison guards slowly construct a cell of padded walls around me.  Because I don’t want to look back in ten years and wonder what I’ve been doing with my life, I am planning an escape.  I’ve had someone bake me a series of cupcakes each containing another instrument to help me in my jailbreak.  On the outside I will find a job, one where I can be happy.  It may not be exactly what I want right away but few things are.  I will make it into what I want, and not spend my life looking forward to another day off in the future that will only end up a mild disappointment but rather looking to the next exciting day of work.  I proclaim, I will not be a prisoner!
posted by: brian snider

dr. green thumb

thyme and lavender.  impulse buys

Despite a reference in my previous garden post not easy getting green, I said that if the basil had not grown, that I would go to the grocery store and buy a starter plant and claim that I’d grown it from a seed myself, I have decided to be honest is all my gardening adventures.

For the sake of honesty I will admit that the latest additions to my garden were not grown from seeds but rather purchased as starters from Whole Foods.  On Saturday while doing a little shopping I came across a tempting layout outside the main entrance.  The stand held a variety of herbs and vegetables that were being advertised as two for $5.

After circling the stand twice I decided that rather than selecting starters for herbs or vegetables that I was already planning on planting from seeds, I would choose something else, lavender and thyme.  They were both healthy looking and smelled delicious, I immediately fell into the trap that grocery stores, including Whole Foods are betting that you will get caught in, the impulse buy.

I brought the plants home and set them on the table, they were beautiful looking.  I wondered why I wasn’t buying all my plants this way, certainly it was much easier, it satisfied my desire for immediate gratification, and it seemed to me that it was simpler to keep plants alive than to grow them.

When I put them next to my “first grow” my week old basil plant I realized why I wasn’t simply buying starters for everything in my garden.  Unlike the basil I hadn’t earned the satisfaction that comes from growing a plant from a tiny seed in the soil.  I will enjoy these herbs, fresh lavender teas, and thyme smothered on legs of lamb but they will not be the same as the basil used in a delicious pasta or the lettuce tossed in a summer salad.

chives growing from the head of this elephant

Speaking of the lettuce, it’s not yet begun to sprout.  Perhaps I’m being a tad impatient, since the basil has begun to grow I have become a junky to see my vegetables sprout and grow and flower and develop.  It’s possible that I’m simply being impatient but then the worried parent in me is concerned that I planted them too deep, or drowned them in too much water.

I will give it another week, maybe by next weeks update I will have little green sprouts just like the basil.

As for the rest of the garden, I was busy both Saturday and Sunday and did not buy the seeds necessary and have yet to plant everything I hoped to.  I suspect that I need to get these in the ground as soon as possible, we have had such beautiful weather of late that I don’t want my precious seeds to be missing out on the valuable yet elusive sunlight.
posted by: brian snider

your parents house

picture of me now, sailing my boat

Parents serve many purposes in your life.  They give birth to you, they raise you, they feed, clothe, and shelter you.  Hopefully they even provide support for you monetarily and emotionally.  (I suppose they do this because the law requires that they do these things, but also because you are their flesh and blood and someday most likely they will find themselves needing to be taken care of themselves and you will have to provide that.)  In your early to mid twenties you move out from underneath their umbrella of protection and begin a life of your own.  Then when you reach your late 20’s you somehow find yourself living in your parents house once again.

This wasn’t my dream, I don’t imagine that it’s anyones dream, yet it happens.  In November when Jaime and I moved from Los Angeles to Seattle we settled into the downstairs living area of my parents house.  At the time I felt like a failure having lived on my own for six years three of them all on our own in a foreign city.  There had been more than a few times in those years when it felt like everything we’d worked so hard at was about to crumble, yet we always managed to come through it intact.  This time however we had failed and it was all but necessary to take my parents up on their offer.

Since November four sets of my friends have found themselves in a similar situation.  This was not because we love our parents house so much, but because we were in need of a reboot.  We had all moved to other cities, took risks, had new experiences and in the end in order to return to, not our old life but another new life, we needed the support of our parents once again.

It can feel embarrassing to load all your possessions into their house.  This can feel even more embarrassing if you’re a couple and even more so if you’re a married couple.  I had been in a similar situation with Jaime eight years before and I couldn’t help being depressed that we had taken more than a few gigantic steps backwards.

Had I been fooling myself these past few years?  I thought that I was well equipped enough in life not to need to come crawling back to them.  I thought I was an adult but at 27 it turned out that really I was still a child.

Moving home could have gone two ways; the first was to become motivated to move out by getting a job immediately and saving up as much as possible.  I expected to be moved out by Christmas and not be freeloaders in a spare bedroom but able to pay for things ourselves and contribute to the family.  The second was to revert into adolescence.  This is where I expected that I would depend on my parents completely and quite possibly not move out until February.  I feel into that second path.

My parents seemed to enjoy having us home, we’d been away for three years and in that time all their children had moved away as well.  Their enjoyment in having us back aided my transition into adult adolescence.  I didn’t have to cook for myself, didn’t have to do my own laundry, or go grocery shopping.  I was living rent free and had no responsibilities.

It was not quite as I expected things would go.  I got a job by Thanksgiving and in early December Jaime and I found a house very close to my parents.  Due of a series of reasons we still didn’t end up moving out until mid January.  Like a Harry Potter charm, I was unable to see that I was under a spell until I had moved out and was on my own again.  It was at this moment I understood the traps and convenience of being allowed to return to your parents house.

I suspect my reaction was not typical.  In seeing just how many of my friends were finding themselves in the same situation I was relieved but anticipated that reverting into that adolescent state as I did is just either not possible or not an option for others.  I imagine that what most feel is thankful for being allowed to return but immense pressure to get back out into the real world and be an adult again.

It seems to me that this might be a trend of late twenty somethings who need to right their ship and in order to do so they return home to the helping hands of their parents in the hopes that together you can get upright and sailing again.

To all my friends out there navigating this predicament, once you get through the choppy waters, it’s smooth sailing ahead.
posted by: brian snider

not easy getting green

infant basil

This would be a great title for a blog about money, I’ve decided to waste it on a post about my garden.  The picture at the top of the blog is the beginnings of a basil plant, the seeds were planted the day I posted how does your garden grow?

My first foray into growing herbs from seeds was an absolute failure.  I planted basil, rosemary, and chives.  For weeks the pots sat empty, just these barren dirt wastelands.  I was so perplexed by the lack of growth that I left the empty pots outside for months just incase they were taking an especially long time to grow.

I thought I’d done everything properly, I tended to them daily, supplied them with plenty of water and copious amounts of LA sun.  In the end the seeds yielded nothing and I eventually used the dirt in the pots for a lemon tree which never grew any lemons.

As I planted these basil seeds I was filled with skepticism and expected that after a month without so much as a sprout I would go to the PCC and buy those basil starters I’d seen in the produce section.  I would quietly pant them and let people believe that I’d grown them myself.

You can see there was no need, amazingly the seeds have sprouted and now I have what hopefully will be a beautiful basil plant.  Of course that all hinges on me not murdering these fragile sprouts in their most formative years.

three kinds of lettuce I planted.

Concerning the rest of my garden; I’ve  managed to plant some starter strawberries supplied by my guru, as well as rosemary, and chives which are currently growing like green hair from an elephant shaped planter.  On what might have been the sunniest day we’ve had all year I panted three varieties of lettuce in one of the long planter boxes.  Despite my minor success with the basil I remain skeptical about the possibilities of the lettuce ending up in a summer salad and even more skeptical that that salad will include carrots, radishes or any of the other vegetables I plan on planting.

I still have much to do in my tiny garden, but as long as the dozens of other distractions don’t tear me away, I expect to finish planting everything by the weekend, and begin to wait.  Waiting for the green.
posted by brian snider

let's get engaged

let's get engaged....sure.

Jaime and I have talked endlessly about how best to tell the story of our engagement and subsequent marriage.  This included an ill fated performance at IO West theater in Los Angeles.  Much of the following blogs involving the year of our engagement are drawn from that performance and our discussions.

As if our first year in a new city wasn’t hard enough; as if money wasn’t tight enough, as if everyday life wasn’t taking enough out of us, Jaime and I decided to make our like even harder by getting engaged.

How did this whole thing begin?  As best as I can remember it was the middle of April on a beautiful warm day.  Both Jaime and I were off work early and we had an afternoon to burn, without much money we decided to stay in and...well do what you sometimes do when you’re at home and have no money.  Afterwards we found ourselves laying in bed together, I can remember looking out the window and watching the bird fly up and land on the roof.  Somehow and even now I cannot fully remember Jaime brought up the topic of marriage.

The previous October we attended my brothers wedding and when people 

would turn to us and ask when we would be getting married we laughed.  

Half jokingly we told them that when all our friends were divorced we 

would get married.

Truth be told I only entered this conversation with Jaime because I could sense that to attempt to blow off marriage talk would only instigate a fight and I was far too exposed and relaxed for a fight.  I humored her, we talked about who we would invite, family and close friends only, where we would do it, at my mom’s house with a pot luck dinner.  We decided when, mid May of 2009 perhaps the 16th.

I imagine that this is where female readers will close their eyes and slowly shake their head from side to side wondering exactly how men can be so oblivious.  I understood that we were getting married but what I took away from the conversation was that this would happen somewhere in the future like buying a new car or going to Europe.  That date we set was loose and not set in stone.

We went the rest of the night without discussing the wedding and Jaime did not rush to tell anyone, the following morning was the same and I was almost able to forget about the entire thing.  On her way home from work that evening I learned how wrong I was, she had spent the entire morning looking at engagement rings and had told everyone at work that she was engaged.

“Look,” I said “I don’t want every conversation to be about weddings now.”  As soon as I said it I wished that I could take it back.  

An argument ensued and it nearly ended in a break up.  We discussed things further that evening and I began to understand that our conversation the afternoon before had not been a bunch of loose ideas and dreams, it was for real and I was acting like a total asshole.  We talked not about wedding plans but rather about why it was that I didn’t want to get married.

I didn’t have a good answer, the best I could come up with was that I wanted to wait until I had the money to throw a big lavish wedding.  I didn’t really want that, I believed that expensive weddings were a waste of money.  Sure you had memories and memories are important but it is just a day and with the money saved you could do so much more.  What I think my real fear was, was telling my parents.  In our situation and at a time when everyone was warning of a second depression it did not seem to make much sense to be getting married and I really didn’t want to have to justify our decision.

I had some time to think about what I wanted to do, by the next day it was clear to me that I had no reason not to marry Jaime.  I loved her, I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her and that was reason enough.  I called her that afternoon and told her that when she picked me up from work that we would head out to the Glendale Mall and go to Zales to buy her engagement ring.

Through out the entire process of getting engaged and eventually married we did very little conventionally.  Picking out the ring was far from conventional, she’d seen it on their website and loved it.  Unable to afford anything expensive it was to our benefit that technically this was a promise ring and priced at less than $120.  Jaime pointed it out to me in the case, she tried it on and then I insisted that she leave while I purchased it.  I didn’t let her wear it out of the store, it went into the box and sat in my dresser drawer.

We were technically engaged, preparing and planning for a mid May wedding.  There were dresses to buy, invitations to send out, parents to tell.  I was also holding onto a ring and I knew that at some point I would need to get down on one knee and ask her to marry me.  I didn’t know when or where or how I was going to do it but I did know that I was going to make her sweat about it a little.

giving and receiving

check this record out you won't regret it

    I haven't had a new favorite band in quite some time, well really since Nirvana.  So it's been about eighteen years since there was a band in my life that had me impatiently waiting for their next album release.  It's been an equally long amount of time since I found a band so enjoyable to listen to an entire album from start to finish in one sitting as a pure singular experience for just enjoying.

LAKE was born (like so many bands on the k-records label) along the I-5 corridor but known mostly as an Olympia band.  Though I would not say that it is glaringly obvious there is no mistaking that their sound is a product of the region.  To date they have four records easily available on Amazon.com and itunes.  Their most recent release Giving and Receiving was released on Tuesday by k-records and was well worth the wait.

I am not a record reviewer and have nothing similar that would even qualify me as such, in writing this post I wanted only to share an incredible band and an incredible record with my fellow internauts.
I don't know if this is the right term to use but it seems to fit, LAKE is indie pop at its absolute best.  Not intending to turn anyone off if you either love or loathe, but picture them as what the Mamas and the Papas would have sounded like if they were from Olympia.

Giving and Receiving does not quite live up to their first K release Oh, the places we'll go but it is unquestionably better than anything else I've heard in the last eighteen years.  Hip swinging bass lines, simple and soft guitar riffs, subtle brass that fades in and out, foot tapping drum beats, and an omnipresent keyboard that swirls from 80's electronic synthesizer to an early 70's jazz organ to piano.  Their lyrics are soft and beautiful, the album is split between male and female voices occasionally both together.

The sounds form less of an urban sound scape than that of something natural, it belongs in the wilderness.  This is probably why they so strongly remind me of my second apartment in Los Angeles, warm summer evenings in Griffith park with my wife and dog.  If I was to create a camping playlist this would be it.

    I can't urge you strongly enough to check them out.  Their easy to find on itunes and amazon there are two spectacular songs available for free download at rcrdlbl.com.  If you find that you love them as much as I do then you may want to see them live, they are currently touring for the release of Giving and Receiving and if you live in the Seattle area they will be performing at the Tractor Tavern in Ballard on May 15th.  I'll be there for what is sure to be a truly memorable experience.

everyone wants to know

this was how i got to work in los angeles

Everyone wants to know, they ask with such incredulity that I might have just told them that I ride a dinosaur to work.  “Why would you move from California to Seattle?”  There are so many answers that I choose one.  “We’re from Seattle.”  This only confuses them further because then they want to know, “You mean you lived in Seattle before, then you moved to California, then decided to move back here?”  I get what they’re saying, to them it just doesn’t make sense that having lived in Seattle, then California that I would choose to move back.

Sometimes I take it a step further.  “We lived in Los Angeles.”  I will say, and those who have spent a significant amount of time there understand everyone else does not.  At this point I usually stop because they will either be people who don’t understand why anyone would leave Los Angeles or can’t understand and nothing that I can say will change their mind.

It’s been six months since the move and every time I show my ID’s or change an address we have to answer this question.  Every time I answer it I mentally list all the reasons why we left.

Reasons for leaving;

-traffic

-self centered people

-distance from home

-career changes

-constant sunny weather

-smog

-loneliness

-expensive... everything

I am surprised that by the time I get to this part of the list I stop thinking about all the things that drove me crazy and start thinking about all the things I loved and miss.  I begin to get confused, why did I leave Los Angeles?

I’ve mentioned in the blog before how when we were in LA I longed for Seattle and took joy in the things that connected me to this wonderful city.  My Seattle Mariners license plate was a badge of honor that I displayed with pride.  I simply wanted to be reminded of the city I left at twenty four, for the lonely, smoggy, self-centered urban war zone of Los Angeles.

Now in Seattle I take an equal amount of pride in my California license plate, my Intelligentsia coffee mug embossed with the bear flag, and I watch television shows and listen to music that remind me of the places I spent my mid twenties.

Am I destined to long to be living somewhere other than where I currently am?  Or can I not as the Ram Dass professes Be Here Now?  I remember back to May of 2010, Jaime and I were finally going on our honeymoon to Maui.  Because airline tickets were cheaper from Seattle to Maui than from LA, we decided to drive home and spend an extra week then fly to Maui from there.

In all our previous trips out of LA, just before we left I began to identify on a communal level with everything around me.  As much as I tried to reject the city I had slipped right into her consciousness without realizing it.  To my utter disbelief I began to miss the city.  When we would return I was stunned to find that I felt like I had returned home.  It wasn’t my real home, but I began to feel more comfortable in Los Angeles than Seattle.

In departing for our honeymoon I didn’t feel any of that, I wanted to get out of LA county as fast as possible, leave nothing but a trail of dust settling behind me.  In Maui, like so many before me, I didn’t want to leave.  Yes I wanted to stay there because it was such a freeing place with immeasurable beauty and life, but also because I knew that once we left that island we would have to return to LA.  Over and over I imagined leaving everything we owned there and never going back, making a new life anywhere else.

On our return trip home our car got stuck in a freak snow storm and we spent the night in a hotel at Mt. Shasta City.  I had been planning on driving straight through but this snowstorm halted all that, in the hotel room I felt relieved to not have to return to LA for one more night.  I no longer felt like I belonged there, it wasn’t welcoming.  I hated my job, Jaime hated her job, our best friends had moved to Brooklyn while we were away and our other friends would be leaving in the next year as well.  Things felt empty.

Not long after we returned I concluded that I was ready to leave Los Angeles.  I didn’t need to pack up immediately (our lease wasn’t up until November).  In my heart I knew that when Jaime finally came to me and suggested that we should move home, I would not disagree.  I didn’t have to wait long, by June Jaime was no longer interested in becoming a Hollywood actor and in August we began talking about moving.  By the end of August we had a location and date; Seattle, October 31st.

I suppose I don’t really have an answer for those who ask why I would leave LA.  I could tell them that it’s not really the paradise that it seems so many imagine.  I could tell them the horror stories about what it is like to fall on hard times in a foreign place where the city is virtually made up of only rich or poor.

On the other hand it has many redeeming qualities.  Six months later I miss the consistent warm weather, the beautiful Summer evenings, walking with Jaime and our dog Olive in Griffith park, I miss Los Feliz and Silverlake, I miss the feeling of being in the middle of all the hustle of Hollywood, I miss all the little surprises that a city like LA has waiting around every corner.  

What it really comes down to however is the fact that I don’t believe that you should live in a city when you don’t want to be there.  We are free creatures who have the choice to live and be wherever we want, there may be factors that draw you to specific places but the choice is still yours.  I remind myself constantly that what is possessing me is not genuine love for LA but rather a nostalgic memory of the best times I had there and the feeling of being somewhere other than where I am.  I believe I will return many times in my life and I will be able to visit all the places I love and I won’t be hampered by the reality of living there.  In the end I would rather be miserable in Seattle than miserable in Los Angeles.