My official Moon Manor writer/director portrait taken on set December 2018 by @thisheartofstone. Looks like a back-to-school picture, and that’s how it felt too. Excitement, exhaustion, glee. We’re deep in post production. Magick is brewing. http://www.moonmanormovie.com
New PRINT story!! There’s nothing quite like holding your words in physical form, especially when that form is pretty as @flauntmagazine. Other than #rossbutler being such a nice dude, the highlight here was getting a teensy bit of redemption for the car accident I got into driving to the interview. Full story on newsstands and online: http://www.flaunt.com/content/ross-butler.
Gig of a lifetime!!!! Thrilled and honored and stoked to say I’ll be joining the @sol.selectas journey to Morocco as the caravan storyteller!!! All those years writing about my travels on this blog are paying off, no one was reading it (except my sister, love you sister) but I was finding my voice and now that translates to work and pinch me how is this real life?!! There are a few tickets left if you want to comeeeeeee. 🐫 http://www.solsahara.com
TLC was hugely important to my young self. The album CrazySexyCool was the crossroads of my childhood to adolescence. I had a bootleg cassette a friend recorded on her boombox because I wasn’t allowed to have it (they used swear words! they sang about sex!). I remember the main albums in my life at that time were Garth Brooks Greatest Hits and the Lion King soundtrack. I remember burying the Lion King behind my books and thinking “I’m too old for this, now I listen to TLC.”
With my tiny allowance I bought posters of T-Boz, Left Eye and Chilli, but my mom made me take them down so I just moved them into my closet behind my clothes so I could go in there, listen to my bootleg cassette on my Walkman and peek at my heroes. A few weekends ago watching them perform at Kaaboo Del Mar (#RIPLeftEye) was a life dream, and I realized what I’d been connecting to so intensely as a kid. I was too young to know it, but subconsciously I was absorbing their messages of female empowerment. “Unpretty” “No Scrubs” “Waterfalls” … peer behind the catchy hooks and what they’re saying is “respect yourself, you’re more than your looks, be your own hero.” Their performance yesterday didn’t miss a beat, and they were so gracious to their fans. Thanks for everything, TLC. Love forever, Erin Granat, Your Fan.
Beyond grateful to have a job that entails me musing about concerts. Check out my Kaaboo IG Highlight over at @uproxxtravel, article coming soon.
Went to San Francisco last week to read a new story for @backpocketpresents “Five Senses.” There were five storytellers, each reading about one of the senses. Mine was “Touch.” Somehow, being on stage speaking is when I feel the least self-conscious (I’m available for weddings and bar mitzvahs!). I fucking love storytelling shows and this was a gooood one. Told a story about what I call my “Telemundo Time” … when my life was so dramatic it rivaled any telenovela on the air. I might try to publish the story somewhere, but I probably won’t. Too many secrets revealed. Which is the beauty of storytelling shows, it exists once verbally and it’s gone forever. More, please.
I used to feel happiest when traveling. Experiencing new places, new people, my only job to discover and explore. It was a hack to feel present, when in reality my inner life was fixated on the past or worrying about the future. My self-worth was based on what exciting new adventure I was cooking up. The truth is I was running – from responsibility, from commitment, from myself. My constant companions were anxiety, credit card debt, and a bunch of photos of the places I’d been that nothing to anyone but me.
Today, being at home is as fulfilling as being abroad. I especially love my office. It overlooks the yard with the pond and the majestic tree. The light is more buttery and brilliant than anywhere I’ve yet seen. This is where I’ve cooked up Forever Flowers, essays and blog posts. This is where @machetebangbang and I have written Moon Manor, with our dog / cat / chameleon colleagues nearby. My office is on the other side of the bathroom, a weird secret hovel high up with the squirrels and scarabs. My mind feels good here. Passport stamps are cool, but inner peace is the best high of all.
Everything on the train is grubby, and it’s more expensive than a flight. But something happens to the mind when on the train. The tethers are loosened. You enter a meditative state. The most fruitful writing and reading time. Nature drifts by outside and you have the best seat in the house. You pass rivers and mountains not even cars can access. It’s the best of all worlds, I’m in a comfortable seat watching the world like a movie screen. Neighborhoods with neighborhood things—kids jumping on trampolines, clothes drying on the line, rusted cars and stray dogs. This trip was 36 hours, my longest yet. The Coast Starlight through the forest and the agricultural fields and the ocean. America’s great West Coast journeying Seattle > LA.
Last month was my birthday so I ran away to Tulum for a few days. To me, this picture is México. Rather than the beach and margaritas and all that, it’s the dusty roads, the bark of raggedy dogs, the delightful, too sweet taste of Mexican Coke.
Remembering my first visits to México as a tween, giddy to buy cheap beer without an ID, the rough streets of those early days of Sayulita where Beth’s family had a house and we had a whole other life we’d bi-annually dip into and be “G.I.T.s” … Gypsies In Training. I decided last minute to come on this trip, so maybe I became a gypsy after all? But that’s a cultural appropriation – gypsies are a people who’ve been persecuted terribly over the centuries, the Coachella-fication of their aesthetic on par with Tulum’s tourists who know nothing about the tension simmering under the sunburned streets. But let me not travel down that path. This is a “HBD to me” post after all. Age just has a way of ripping off the blinders.
Back to waxing poetic about the intoxicating magic of México. And thanking @our_habitas and @uproxxtravel for giving me wings to explore @artwithmetulum. A new year for new opportunities. Shameless hotel balcony selfies shall endure, however.
I hope more festivals will take a cue from @artwithmetulum and #partyforapurpose. Four days of art, music and food centered around talks on sustainability and social change. I did a story over at @uproxxtravel if you wanna go seeeee. “The mission of Art With Me *GNP is to enrich the local community, preserve the natural environment and strengthen the artistic development of Tulum through conscious and sustainable practice. Art With Me has chosen solid waste management as the central environmental topic for its’ first year, due to the threat it has on the Mesoamerican ReefSystem (SAM), the ocean and the local people of Tulum.” This was a great sculpture at Art With Me by Daniel Popper. Installations like this were hidden everywhere in the beach and the jungle. Photo by Peter Ruprecht.
Hotel rooms strike me as the loveliest and loneliest places on earth
Everything is fresh, the illusion of perfect
A temporary home in a tower of travelers
When you don’t have to worry about clean towels or making the bed
The mind can dive into more existential pursuits
The square of toilet paper origami
The smart appeal of bleach
A room service pre-order form, so you can eat bacon and eggs two minutes upon waking
52 channels to flip through, the only place left to watch basic cable and feel like a kid again
But after a few days, your clean paradise becomes a prison
And it’s depressing to be in a room masquerading as your own but it belonged to the guy before you and the family after you and really it belongs to the maid
And the plastic key is so plastic
And they politely request in an aggressive way
That you check out by 11am
Where once the bland painting on the wall was blessedly free of personal attachment, it’s now offensive in its non offensive-ness,
And maybe you peek behind it and see a doodle left by a past resident
And you’re disgruntled you didn’t think to do something edgy like that
The bad coffee in its single serving pouch makes you mad because you’re a single serving person in a single serving room in this single serving life
And so you go home, where the to-do list lives, and boxes that need sorting left over from when you moved in, and the oven needs fixing
But it’s perfect in its imperfection because it sounds like ice cream trucks and lawn mowers outside because it’s a neighborhood
And it’s a home
And it’s yours