Moviemaker Mind: 07/06

7.31.2006

One Dollar Cooking Show

Since September 11, 2001 I have been trying to find a way to get an unusual cooking show off the ground and on the air. They say it takes money to make money. I was fortunate enough in my former country to win two awards for two TV series. We have been told to get a fully 'broadcastable' pilot. That's a whack of cash for the talented and fiscally challenged.

This project is called On With The Apron and all of the three thousand plus people I have discussed this with agree (except for one New Yorker) that the show would generate a life of its own. The timing is about right. I have a great team lined up waiting for the day the funds come rolling in. Lots of jobs would spin off from this series.

I have had to move 12 times due to my Immigrant Struggle and subsequent insecure financial status and refusal to ever get a credit card. I go hungry more times than I could ever have anticipated. With an obsession born of desperation and passion, I crawl my way as an unknown across a landscape of Big America making contacts, making friends. It can be a bit rough starting over!

My sense of urgency is probably because I am so familiar with war, disintegration of a nation, urban terror and personal loss. I am committed to getting this project to the hearts of the American people. The show highlights what is good, great and worth saving in America. All attempts at raising the capital via the banks, venture capitalists and even SBDC have met with predatory financial requirements and unreasonable personal investment. I have several cooking related manufacturers interested in the project once I get the pilot made.

We need $190k for the pilot episode. I am asking everyone with one american dollar to spare to invest. In exchange, these same $1 investors would be given the first shot at the stock options should the show become a hit. There would be a large spin off of small industries.

This is so not in my nature to ask for help but I believe so much in this dream and maybe you will, too. At the very worst outcome, you would only lose $1.
All funds would be overseen by Somebody Acceptable - like the SBDC here in Nashville or the Vanderbilt Credit Union.

Will you help fulfill this dream? It is only $1.
If you, my fellow bloglings, can think of another way of approaching this - let's talk.

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Temples & Totems

On Friday night I accepted an invitation to attend an unusual event. It was at the local heathen temple and some very saintly looking chap from India was in town for one night and would give one performance of meditation music – at least that’s what the brochure declared.

I must confess to feeling a bit odd and out of place as a friend and myself ascended the hill with this grand and interesting temple atop. I have those sort of preconceived notions that any nation who worships gods with lots of arms is bound to be a nation of pickpockets – so I left my purse in the car.

We were politely instructed to remove our shoes and take them to the Shoe Room. The shoe room was very smelly.

The man of the hour was late and I had plenty of time to observe the audience. Lots were in saris – most overweight women who probably could not have fitted with any comfort into anything western. The overweight women were mostly white – except for some Americanized Indians. There were the typical tend-to-be-skinny and liberal political activist white men with balding heads and ponytails. I had secretly hoped that there would be food to eat because I happen to like Indian food - I think about food a lot lately because my fridge is so bare. There was no food.

Finally, with the sound of singing and chanting, accompanied by a fellow or two with interesting outfits and hairstyles, the man arrived. People rose to their feet and I must say there was something rather Ghandi-ish about him that commanded respect. He certainly did look saintly. He tottered up to the stage (he looked very old) and sat on this big, winged white chair. He mumbled some sort of prayer and then closed his eyes and put his hands together for a while. I was in direct line of ‘fire’ and although I was seated really close to the back I felt a rather wonderful energy move through my body.

And that was where the magic ended. He began to play very odd look instruments very, very badly. So badly that I felt as though I was in school listening to the sounds from the 3rd graders music rooms. The poor chap may once have been an incredible musician but alas, no longer. But, then again, maybe I just don’t know that kind of meditation music. It was, however, cool to experience the whole vibe of everything and see the saintly man and all those funny instruments.

I did do some research on the web about this man and found his music - I think it was performed and recorded when he was a bit younger. Click here!

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7.30.2006

Starving Immigrant -Give Up?

At what point should I give up? The only thing I have to eat is a half a loaf of bread, some peanut butter and some commercial brand of olive oil manufactured, processed in a light glass bottle by Great Value foods. Anyone on a budget knows that Great Value does not have good quality anything, just affordable semi-nutritious filler products.

The olive oil was a gift from a friend, who is herself going through a lifetime of issues and is never imbued with great joy. She weeps often and easily but is very kind. In fact, the more conscious I become of all the people around me the more I realize that nobody seems terribly happy, nor passionate, nor much alive. What the hell happened?

Cursed and blessed by a sense of idealism and imbued with a predisposition to passion, I am finally realizing that I as a ten year veteran of the war of immigrant survival in the United States of America I too, have been leached of deep and vibrant color and I am a staggering old soldier jostled and toppled by the endless stomping of marching boots. The now dull medals on my life uniform meaning nothing now and none to give them respect. It is a fate worse than death – this numbness, this screaming in silence, this stopped up volcano of unheard creativity.

The fight here is worse than the jungle. Here the monsters wear suits, shotgun blast your heads with meaningless buy this and buy that, fear this fear that.

Look out onto the freeway, the highways, the main roads where people lurch in cars of various newness or held together radiator hissing oldness and sibilant, simmering rage and acres and acres of treeless parking lots and fake buildings and ever un-picky consumers and see small animals littering the roads where they died.

I had such big dreams, such wonderful ideas born of life, of love, of deep magnificent nature – I could find no ear to hear, no next link in the chain. My comet has no sky across which to fly and thus it is I ask again: At what point should I give up?

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The Strange Bookstore

It was unexpected yesterday when I had occasion to go with a new friend to a Christian bookshop to hear a totally unknown Christian musician perform.

Everything about the event was unexpected. Peculiar people ambled about the bookstore – sort of out of Deliverance – the movie - but the female aspect.

There were three women, mainly, two more odd than the owner of the store and one intensely odd. They were snaggle-toothed with long, stringy all over the place of well-rooted facial hair, they smelled and were – at best guess – the byproducts of interfamilial sex acts.

The Christian musician was himself totally not what you would expect in the south – he was an extremely round faced Korean and looked more like those plump Buddhas but he spoke like a true blue American and sang all sweetly about Jesus and he sweat a lot. It was hot and he was nervous. He had this little cuttlefish, purple-ish mouth – just different from the southern crowd - his mouth was small by contrast to his very round face. My new friend is an artist manager and she is beginning to groom him for the arena of showbiz.

The owner of the bookstore was herself rather pleasant but sallow skinned like those repressed cultish religious people. Just not ‘normal’ like you and me (ha!) Strange, unwashed, un-groomed looking people – a bit like that crowd seen recently on TV who believe in having it off with lots of wives.

There I was: with my faithful camera trying to in an instant understand the features of the Korean American - trying not to associate Deliverance with the location. It is hard to 'read' the unknown or unfamiliar and I have been in this strange and detached world collapsing space for the last few days so it became like a bizarre novel and being unable to stop the narrative. The odd worlds all collided – each category of human with thousands of years of history behind each.

My new friend with a life tapestry so complex and stitched with so much painful past all hyped up and professional, the Korean Christian boy with an interesting guitar and ordinary keyboard with his many moons of genetics and lifetime, the weird and smelly people whose stories I actually don’t want to know, a wandering Mexican couple – the girl was so utterly beautiful I was mesmerized by her innocence and unstudied grace - and, of course, me – yours unfaithfully – half insane from a lifetime of not understanding why I am not ‘there’ wherever ‘there’ may be and ageing and so damned foreign and strung tight like Nebuchadnezzar when he was in his seven year mad ass state.

It was unexpected and mighty peculiar. But somehow, it worked in its oddness.

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Every Now and Zen

‘Switch off your mind – your thoughts are conditioning’ said my Tibetan, Zennish, ‘feminista’ therapist.

How do you switch off your mind, your thoughts? How do you remove your history, your memories, your character and the character you chose to aspire to, this mantle of personality?

It is not as though I have not for many a long timeless day pondered and meandered and drifted over a space-less place within the inner journey. I have, indeed I have. In my early twenties, I explored with the bouncing delight of a kitten.

It started with the most basic and powerful – adrenaline a frequently used pathway within my body from a traumatic childhood. I would track the adrenaline getting closer and closer to the adrenal gland and eventually beyond – all the way to the brain – and at times capturing the auditory or visual trigger which caused the reaction in my body. It was so fast but still measurable in some way.

Then a strange thing happened. I could stimulate adrenaline at will. From there I turned to other passageways in my body mostly the highly physical fun ones like sexuality. And once those basics had been studied to my satisfaction I explored and perfected energy projection from my internal physical and brain self to externally to other people. Things got out of balance and became exaggerated – it became toxic and destructive to me. Possibly because I was not correctly aligned to begin with. You cannot add horsepower to a one winged plane and not expect it to hasten the impending implosion. Fortunately, last minute catastrophe was averted by the introduction of a lifelong friend and my journey went elsewhere.

To the forest, in fact, where for some extended time I delighted in forest essences. Deep spirituality penetrated my confused inside self and a healing light of innocence restored. And then, of course, the physical lower charkas or biological physics again flared up and I fell through a hole in the sky and could not find my way back. My journey again went elsewhere.

I have experimented through availability and often intent all things seemingly appealing, odd or interesting throughout my life. Something different always presents itself and my life is again altered dramatically. The price is usually the same: joy, anguish, pain, adventure and more curiosity.

Now here at the very end of my forties I face extremes. I had become paralyzed in my life and I have a sense of hastening a dramatic occurrence. I am open to the possibility that my Zenist could be that force, the catalyst for truth time. Shake that earth, see what is left standing.

I have a hope that the true power of creativity will be released – geyser, quiet spring or droplet? What is creativity?

But then again, all that is far away because I still have not silenced my thoughts.

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Go Home?

There was a fierce thunderstorm this afternoon over Nashville. Gusts of wind swept dirt upwards. I enjoyed the power and wanted to experience it full force except for the acorns pelting down and then the hailstones. Can’t quite get the same vibe when objects are being hurled at you, can you? So I went into my burrow and watched from the safety of inside. It was pleasant and needed and afterward I wasn’t so angry anymore.

My Mom called from Africa this morning and said “your brother said you have finally made up your mind to come home”. It would’ve been fine had she left it there. But she added: “you can come back and return to nursing” and “you’ve given it your best shot in America”.

Something panicked within me: My family taking control of my life and negating all I have fought to achieve in my moving pictures career? Belittling mostly through concern – maybe? They sort of pish-tash or piffle away my life, my passion, my natural tendencies, my choices. I felt negated – again, never given voice. Besides that, I have my cooking show to do.

And then comes the guilt: you only have one family, your parents are really getting very old and frail and terra firma time runs awfully low. All this while I am 'luxuriating' on a personal quest, living in warps of time. Oy, oy, oy!

I am struggling to stay alive in America and time is ticking faster and faster for me – there are more years behind than ahead. I am aware of all the ‘real’ stuff, the practical stuff of life – I know I am aging and still have many thoughts to convert to celluloid, before dreams become part of regret’s cellulite. If I had lived these last few decades following the practical way I would not have gone adventuring in America, into the catacombs of love, faced so much of myself, delighted in dreaming of Hiawatha, John Wayne, captured thousands of images of a land and her inhabitants. Dealt with the residual fear of too many violent images from my own bloodied land. Many things so many things.

It has always been a sense of 'One Day when I have done all my adventuring, wisdom seeking, experiencing, dreaming, delighting, facing fearsome challenges I would return'- victorious and tattered to ? is it home? is it God? is it to that self within and to lay down life’s artifacts?

To be able to say: I slew the dragons, found rare things, met wise and stupid people, spoke with creatures, embraced atoms of all history, understood the meaning of life?

All this I need to know, to make peace and then to stay or go or journey on elsewhere.

I don’t want to make a fuss - just an impression for a brief ebb-tide time.

So Peace, Shalom, Vrede for you this Friday night.

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Virginia Wolf/Wolfe/Woolfe

Do you think Virginia Wolf would’ve had the same impact if her name had been Virginia Sheep?

Stream of Consciousness or Scream of Consequences?

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Aliens & Tinfoil Helmets

Ever since I had the car accident two weeks ago I have had this ringing in my ears.

The medical description would be ‘tinnitus’. It took me a while to make the connection between that and the car accident. It’s like this high-pitched nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn sound constantly going. Naturally, I have no insurance so I cannot go to a good Applied Kinesiologist because – 'strues bob – s/he could fix it with some cranial bone adjustments.
However, it got me to thinking…. (This could eventually drive me completely insane)… and those fruitcakes who run around thinking that the CIA or aliens implanted some kind of device in their heads or in their tooth filling can somehow be understood. Did anyone ever check the cranial structure or make sure they didn’t bang their noggins at some point?

Soon I shall wear a tinfoil helmet.

FOOTNOTE: for anyone who doesn’t know what an Applied Kinesiologist is please do yourself a favor and look it up.
I borrowed this image from a cool alien website: http://www.everwonder.com/david/aliens/

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Tibetan Train & Killer Bees

There was snippet on the news today. The Chinese have built a train capable of riding up the unbelievably high mountains right to Tibet. I found this upsetting and I have been trying to understand why.

Tibet, place of mythical things, where the ancient ones understood amongst other things, the science of sound. Places so high and the altitude with mountain oxygen levels. Yaks and wool and wind seared faces. I mean you would really want to go to Tibet to get there. Now there will be this speeding train taking millions of ogglers.
The very nation that turned into an evil, persecuting mob and slaughtered so many, destroyed the tranquility of the harmless land at the top of the world. Ancient knowledge dispersed on the wind, diluted to invisibility. The Forbidden City now the plundered city. It is all very upsetting just thinking of a people who eat cats and dogs, use kitten fur to make pet toys and like vicious little gremlins attack and deplete the world of dolphins and cut the fins off living sharks just to make a bowl of soup. Ruthless, nasty little MSG eaters.

It seems to me that the good guys are losing the battle globally. Like the TV news story of the killer bees in Los Angeles.

This has a connection, I promise - even if all it is the interconnectedness of things - either good or bad. It appears that killer bees hail from Africa and the only way to tell the difference between them and the normal European or America bee is by miniscule measurements of wingspans taken into account with the exaggerated aggressive tendencies of the bees. The attitude of 'we will hunt you down and kill you' slogan of the killer bee is alarming and I wouldn't be surprised if you looked with a microscope and saw little turbans on their little bee heads.

Seems that the introduction of even one or two killer bees into a hive will very soon infect the entire swarm. It does not, however, seem to work the other way round. There has to be a lesson in that. And I could connect that to immigration issues. Keep letting the baser instinct, the vile and uncontrolled or overly superstitious into the Hive and you will have an infected nation, which soon will reflect the same characteristics. I don't have to spell it out for you. Look around you.

In conclusion, I am very sad about Tibet, the knowledge of the existence of such a place has fueled much of my adventurous daydreaming for many years. Just knowing that it was there, above, remote, all seeing with careful vegetarian monks and nuns meditating and sending out good vibes for our sickening peoples. Now the trainloads of zoo-gawkers from all over the planet will be defiling, destroying, feasting on the carrion of grace gone by. Like peasants suddenly given mob power and shredding the castle fineries.

Personally, I do not think places of magic should be made more accessible. Fat (and fat means other than obese) people should stay at home or do the pilgrim journey like everyone else. There are no shortcuts to true experience.
I got the Tibetan train jpeg from this link

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Homesick Immigrant

I get very lonely sometimes - like this evening. I get so homesick for my family, for my lost love that when friends call for me to go out I just seem unable to do so. Too much solitude will drive you nuts. Too much loss.

This night I am just plain lonely and too folded up to go anywhere. It will pass.

I wish Africa was not so far away.

I was stewing over some things today. You know those moments in your life where you go away from somewhere, friends moving or you, going to college, to another town to somewhere. Those moments of deciding to separate with some regret and then that flicker of the actual parting when that thought process is: PLEASE STAY or PLEASE ASK ME TO STAY or even better PLEASE COME WITH ME.

How different life's stories would be! if there were no regretful goodbyes and we still managed to stay together. Even the pets we have had. I have said goodbye to many friends over the years and they have, for the most part, drifted away forever. There have been pets in my life, elephants, baboons, dolphins, tortoises, pigeons, a mouse, hamsters and a ladybug. I have experienced so much pain with their parting that it has affected my life and will probably continue to do until the end of my days.

My wiring is just different, perhaps: it seems to take me longer than 'other' people to recover from loss. Sometimes I am reminded of the terrible burdens other people bear and I am guilty about my self absorption. I do not work with homeless people because quite frankly they scare the stuffing out of me. I once went with a friend to feed the homeless in the park but the men were really frightening and vile mouthed. I also have had a lifetime habit of imagining myself or others in different circumstances, playing different roles. I knew that if I were a homeless woman, those very same homeless men would most certainly assault if not kill me. Statistics and the average lifespan of homeless women bear testament to that.

But that's just an aside. I am just plain lonely tonight with my thoughts and my family so very far away.

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My 4th of July

It is the 4th of July, 2006 and I am sitting all alone in my little house under a big house listening to fireworks outside and watching a fiery display on TV pop off in time to splendid music. It makes me happy to be in America

and it makes me understand the current of what depth of love so many have for these United States. Beyond their troubles, their disagreements, their racism issues, their sexism and all the other fisticuffs that go on within – it seems apparent to me that the fundamental love of what America has always stood for remains the backbone of the people.

It is that strange mix of ingredients: the concept of freedom to rise to any level of society, not to kiss any king or queen, freedom to worship or not to worship, the idea of being able to freely speak your mind, the largely mythical belief that women are being given equal opportunity.

It is this internal belief of an American Atlantis that inspires the emotion of the human heart – a sort of residual Shangri-La.

I think next year, if I am still here in the states, I may be brave enough to go and join the throng. I have a few strands of fear about masses of people gathering in one place having seen crowds turn into a murderous mob in a nanosecond.

My concern is also for the animals who are not well cared for being frightened by the explosions and running in terror. Only animals who are not cared for will be able to escape. However, on this night I am going to avoid that mental responsibility and anxiety and just enjoy the idea of being in the United States of America.

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Rodeos & Piggery

The problem with rodeos is the caliber of the commentator - low grade mentality – crude, uncouth, vulgar, demeaning to women. I wonder if all that is necessary.

This is the second rodeo I have attended and I can’t say I want to attend another. I was there to provide video services for a friend of a friend. The women appeared to take this humiliation as ‘the norm’ and laughed as haggishly as the men. The clown was the one that gave me the real creeps, though. He barely skirted crude remarks even when talking about the little girl contestants.

I remember my own countrymen and growing up in a ‘man’s world’. Funny how humanity coins these acceptable phrases in order to justify the degradation and repression of the feminine aspect of life – and from early on I began to resent that character flaw of humanity. I determined that I would throughout my life, try and avoid that strata.

For a brief few years I changed course and attempted to try and impregnate that closed off world of where the real monetary power resides. It was so revolting to me and I got nowhere and realized that I never would so I went off on my own.

I found that this ‘piggity’ attitude is prevalent in boardrooms, all banks, all mega-corporations (including the movie and TV industries), the medical boards, definitely the trades and in most homes. Hence, it is logical to conclude that for much of the time I am lonely. It is a situation of adapt or die and so it is that I fly so much alone. I have very little respect for men, bar a small handful, but yet somewhat an understanding of the good stuff that potentially resides within them.

I had hoped that in America it would be a different world entirely and that chauvinism would not exist here. So, on this Sunday I am feeling crumbled and just a bit sad. I had hoped that the rodeo would be somehow more romanicized and gentlemanly John Wayne-ish.

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Happy Day on the farm

I high-tailed myself out of town today to my friends’ farm in Beth Page. It’s a bit of a hike but worth the trip. I saw two beautiful blue birds and was told that they were called Indigo Bunting. I like the Indigo part but where did ‘they’ get the Bunting? Beautiful little birds. I also saw a small hawk sitting in a tree. Very pleasing to me.They have two plump pygmy goats which live adjacent to the their spoiled rotten and opinionated chickens. The goats are very talkative and answer every call you may give them. So sweet!. One of the chickens when she is picked up makes these adorable, happy chicken sounds that elicit the most tender response in the hearer.

It was a great day. Everything was so green and the absence the noises of industry marvelous. The only thing that broke the tranquility were the sounds of rapid fire gunshots – the telltale indicators of redneck males in the neighborhood.

I don’t have to be anything or anyone special when I visit there – I just chill. It feels good.

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Music & Peri-Menopause

It is really hot in this little burrow where I dwell. It could also be menopause. For the first time I am okay with the idea of menopause. I don’t expect to remain appetizing in appearance forever – I have had my lily white ass chased quite enough to last my lifetime. It does not have to continue forever. After all, I am just an ordinary person living amongst mostly ordinary other people. It is a bit too warm to sleep.

I was brave last night and actually went out. My friend Nancy who has been my godsend in America told me about this concert at the Belcourt Theatre. Please note that I am so unbelievably broke that the $20 ticket took the entire week’s grocery and survival money. I am glad I went. I heard the most phenomenal music you have ever heard. The fellow’s name is Tommy Emmanuel. When an artist of any ilk actually becomes the non-occluding conduit – for undiluted expression it is that rare thing that only comes along once or twice in a century. This man is such a musician. He interprets what he sees, feels, thinks into guitar sounds. In becoming the conduit he thus creates. It was incredible. I have no doubt that he is the world’s best guitarist. It was an honor to have experienced all that for only $20.

Other events transpired last night but I am unable to speak of them because I have been left with a rupture in the fabric of my inner isolation. The question is, will it re-seal or completely rip and allow my full participation? I am teetering on the edge of allowing this to change my course (what course?) in an unexpected direction.

I met an extraordinary group of women at this event and their music and essences were like the perfumes of Zanzibar.

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Nashville Heat

It is a sticky and dark Nashville night. Smeltering heat and too many people are out in the streets. Not nice people, safe behaviorally circumspect people but hot, swarthy, ill-tempered resentful people. The black, bumpy roads and cheap ass tarred parking lots are generating an almost visible heat. No trees in commercial zones so mammals can breathe real air.

Heaviness in the air. Like something is going to go down, some event to tip to point of explosion. Nasty molecules are a-swirling. The cool interior of the store feels artificial like an illusionary escape from the reality outside. It feels dangerous. There is a dark rage building.

Smeltering and extended heat smelts the surface, then the substance and then the bones of the matter and, finally, the truth will be revealed. Extremes to reveal weakness or strength, good or ill. It makes me aware of my mortality, my physical being, being stuck inside this shell.

It had better rain soon or something will explode out there. It would be better to be in the countryside with less people condensed, struggling, baring their teeth and ready to bite.

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Feminism - what went wrong?

Without a doubt things had to change for women. It is only the ignorant and weak who would question that statement. We’re not going to go into detail about the horrific circumstances of women back in the day – the residual effects of unrestrained patriarchal power are still in effect today. This is not an expose` on any particular gender, rather it is an attack on decadence.
The misinterpretation by both men and women of the meaning of women’s liberation is what is causing the collapsing souffle` of society.

In barely acceptable ways, advertisers (cars, fashion, cigarettes, booze), movie moguls (limp-wristed screenwriters, wannabes, music video producers, the soft pornographers and publishers began to push the boundaries of ‘decency’. Ande next one would come along and push another boundary a little further. With an increasing force on every front, the bastion of wholesomeness was attacked, bit by bit, brick by brick with discussions and rantings by so-called lawyers defending ‘ constitutional rights of freedom of expression and talk radio, late show TV hosts and pseudo psychologists justifying, substantiating. Eventually that wholesome world crumbled, families were sent into disarray and society deteriorated into a paper mache` of decay.
There are two institutions of western culture which need to be singled out for particular vilification and attention: Hustler and Playboy. They began the trend, fanned it into a raging fire, played to the baser element of the young male and confused vulnerable young women and the incidents of incest and child abuse dramatically increased as well as an outrageous rise in prostitution naturally followed by a useless attempt at soul soothing – narcotics. Is anyone still around to remember the arguments put forth by learned sounding idiots who declared that there was no scientific evidence to prove that pornography had any relationship to sexual crimes?

One of the prime instruments of cause was Madonna – in her own way carving a headstrong statement with some validity but mostly simply tarnished and tawdry. Then along came Brittany Spears who began as wholesome and then joined the tidal wave of sleazy behavior (thanks to her ‘handlers’ who made her and themselves rich) at the cost of further deteriorating the fortress of America’s true strength and unique aspect. After that it became a free-for-all of image after image of younger and younger, semi naked young girls dancing like strippers. Sex sells but sex that wealth comes with a terrible price and becomes a tidal wave of woe.

The fact that the streets are becoming unsafe for women to walk in freedom is enough of a testament to the previous statement.

As for the other aspects of women’s freedom, the battle is still being fought and some progress has been made but not at the cancerous rate of spread of the abuse of that noble cause. It takes only a little to infect and a lot to cure.

The statement by Ellen G. White echoes true even today: “Guard well the avenues of your soul”. Careful what you put into your mind and your body. “As a man thinketh, so shall he be”.

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Moviemaker Mind

7.31.2006

One Dollar Cooking Show

Temples & Totems

7.30.2006

Starving Immigrant -Give Up?

The Strange Bookstore

Every Now and Zen

Go Home?

Virginia Wolf/Wolfe/Woolfe

Aliens & Tinfoil Helmets

Tibetan Train & Killer Bees

Homesick Immigrant

My 4th of July

Rodeos & Piggery

Happy Day on the farm

Music & Peri-Menopause

Nashville Heat

Feminism - what went wrong?

About Me

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