Recap--Apr 05

Lifes a gas--The Ramones
Fully Retractable--Soul Coughing
California One--The Decemberists
Blue Star--Los Halos
Soft Revolution--Stars
The Parasites are Always Right--The Nemesis Theory
Blue Diamonds--The Long Winters
Wooly Muffler--Harvey Danger
Chinese Baby--Clem Snide
Ramble On--Led Zeppelin
The Chapter in Your Life Entitled San Francisco--The Lucksmiths
Hangover (airplane song)--Gomez

Topics of Interest--

Lonliness and distance=drastic measures. How not/residing in your hometown affects your ideas of personal space or invading others; gasining power/security from geography.

How they stem from a need to mark an occasion. What do they really meean? The curve of timelines--how reality dips even deeper towards it's end, and what are the repercussions of sex on a deadline (specifically with a trip home planned?).

The Sanctity of Marriage-
As someone who is still oft seen as some sort of 'bar' for relationships/marriage, what will Peter and I mean to Ed and Carrie? For everyone? and--why do I feel like such a fucking housewife lately?


"Seattle was another girl who left her marker on the map." --The Nails, from 44 Lines About 88 Women

"Fillmore's" -- apparently the old name of Cafe International where I get coffee three times a day. Also--Rae told me today that alot of the streets in SF are anmed after firefighters. Fillmore aside (only because I assume it's named after the President) how many are there, and do we have these in Seattle who also suffered a huge fire in the early 1900?

"Effluvium"--I am completely obsessed with this word right now, to the point where I see it lasting several years. For some reason lately it has gone from as occasional casul usage to more than just a word. Now it seems like it's own idea, and is becoming one so pervasive and demanding to be used that the thought of it will jar me from mild sleep. Right now this word paints entire pictures of scenario in my head in full vibrant classic crayola hues like one of those velveteen posters you color with scented markers--so many senses seem touched by this word.

"Go Dog Go is like a Kubrik story about Candyland." --M. Moure

Three Musketeers

And so I've traded my girls in Seattle for seeing my boys all together for the first time in almost three years. And? Well, it's the weirdest thing--they're men.

Eddy is turning 26 in two weeks, and when I call him on his birthday I'll remember him not as the boy I met in highschool, but suddenly as the man I saw take Carrie's hand yesterday and promise to love her for the rest of thier lives, the Peters close by choking back tears.

I have never cried so much in my life.

Congrats, Emilio.


Miami, Mexico

Hi, I'm drunk. Also--here is a list of some cool stuff I've done so far in Miami and Playa Del Carmen.

1. Got a flight cancelled, ended up 2 hrs. late in Miami.
2. Saw Lauren. She's so awesome.
3. Got wasted at the Abbey, listened to new Spoon album.
4. Slept with one of my best friends.
5. Puked all over Rob's bathroom.
6. Saw my Mom. She's so awesome.
7. Smoked bowls on a golf course in the middle of the night.
8. Fell out of a tree.
9. Slept with another of my best friends, then cried when he went back to Hallendale.
10. Caught a Toad.
11. Went to a party with a bunch of Harvard grads, told them that what I did for a living was sleep with Rockstars.
12. Met a guy named after a vegetable. Thought I should hook him up with Valerie's friend Tomato.
13. Drank Mojitos.
14. Got a smell and blow and dolled up like Donna Summer.
15. Said goodbye (again) to everyone I loved.
16. Got kicked out of the Cancun Airport.
17. Got lost getting to Hostel in Playacar.
18. Saw the three musketeers all in the same room for the first time in forever.
19. Wen't out crazy on Peter Count's birthday.
20. Got my hair braided.
21. Got drunk.
22. Posted on blog.

love you all, miss you huge.


Miamians Don't Go to the Beach

Her Majesty...

...The Golden Gate Bridge.

Now of course, I've seen it before. I have photos of myself at 19 on the span, trying to keep my hair out of my eyes in the wind. It being a tourist trap aside, it's truly beautiful, and happens to be painted my favorite color. So why haven't I even been yet? I guess because I live here.

In four days, I'll be going back to Miami. I imagine I'll go to the beach three or four times while I'm there, mostly to get a base tan for Cancun. Three or four times. I don't think I went to the beach four times in the last year I was there even though I lived two blocks away.

So what does it all mean? I don't know--Something on the vein of 'the grass is always greener' thing, blah, blah. Basically this--now I'm in San Francisco, and I want to go to the beach. Next week I'll be in Miami and I'll want to go to a show. I'm beginning to think my perfect world doesn't exist because I'm not willing to let it exist; is this making any sense yet? I promised no hard decisions until after the wedding--but SF seems to agree with me. Now you may want to sit down for this one:

Miranda might be settling down.



Whoa There...

As it is not uncommon to find me mid a frenzied bout of googling (or gizoogleing, depending on my mood...), you should be none too surprised that I came across this. Now, upon goggleing my name, you get my blog. Now try googling Peter Smith--you may be surprised at what he's up to lately. Apparently his days of cross dressing as 'Peta Smite' were not enough. Check it out, tee-hee.



Late one night a long, long time ago in a land very far away Miranda decided she wanted to start doing spoken word. That was almost a year and a half ago--and I have yet to actually do it--until now.

This friday, I'll be making my spoken word debut as long as everyone who promised to come and pretend to clap earnestly will still show. I do, however, have a few reservations which include but are by no means limited to:

1--My stream-of-conciousness-poetic-prose-twenty-something-angsty work will not be appreciated by all the contemporary-beat-esque-hip-hop-inspired kids. I specifically fear them being bored by a reading lengthy enough that you have to actually pay attention to and follow. I'll absolutely freakin' die if people start conversing with each other half way through.

2--People wont get it. I'll finish, and everyone will clap politely, and the MC will take the mic again to introduce the next reader with a furrowed brow searching his mind to say something positive about what they all just heard. From across the room, some pathetic hipster will whisper to his girlfriend: "You know, I'm almost embarrased for her", thereby making me even more pathetic than said pathetic hipster.

3--I'll get too drunk before hand and people will literally not be able to understand what I'm saying. This is not as easily avoidable as you might think.

So kids, wish me luck because as I've outlined here, I'll probably need it.


On Your Naked Neck

So I moved, again, and as per usual it was not without the grand sendoff that I thought I so deserved. My entire family gathered about me to see me off and I cried when I pressed my nose into the crooks of thier necks for the last time and wiped the tears from thier cheeks with the pad of my thumb, thier faces gently cradled in the bowl of my palm. I slipped my fingers behind thier heads and up amoungst all of thier hair, I held them close to me and hoped that for my sake, they wouldn't miss me too much and I hoped that this was the only flood of tears I would encounter as to save my sanity for the light and bright and sunshine of San Francisco. I hoped for a finality and some sort of stability out of this move, although with all of thier shiny eyes and thier arms around me with thier names on the tip of my tounge and in the deepest recesses of me I feared that this, like all the others, would but leave me wishing to be with them, just to be with them one more time.
I think Joshua knows this, knows that I've never returned his calls faster, never been quite as eager to meet for a beer. He has to know that down here in California I see every every street and intersection as one more unfamiliarity, that although we first convened amidst a never ending Seattle winter, we were now both entrenched in the trolley lines and painted ladies of this vast California city. This here, this city by the bay is his hometown, and now he is the one weilding the experience and history, now he laughs at me as I am the newcomer; the tables are turned, and now I am the one seeking to replace what it seems as if I lost with some boy next to me who I knew then when all of them were there. He knows this, he has to.
Now he is not the one who is homesick and dissolusioned, feigning that companionship will solve it, and he has taken to commanding me without thought to my wants, he suddenly now prefers to tell me how to feel.

"You've missed this, haven't you."

He says this as some sort of ill punctuated question; He speaks it with a finality and honesty that forces me to answer although by the cadence of his voice and the forcefullness of his mannerisms I can tell he'll only stand for one particular answer. I have no other option.

"Yes", I whisper.

I did. I missed more than I could bring myself to say withought admitting that I hate that I've had to leave, and I can't remember why I did, and all that is in my head is how badly I want to forget everything but here because here is new and yet to be complicated and beautifully, beautifully foreign. I wanted to tell him, to say everything that happened when I traded my hometown for his, wanted to apologize for the offhandedness I offered him through the winter when he could never admit that he just wanted to feel, just wanted someone there to make the present feel static and the past far away. I wanted to ask him to please, please save me from the lingering guilt I still feel from all of thier tears trickling down the back of my hands and as the one member of my old community and to return the favor to me from all of those rainy nights in his attic, laying naked and listening to his every last story of his old neighborhood and California and everything that it meant to him I want him to make me whole and new and when I'm just about to speak I feel the pad of his thumb underneath my jaw.
Now, my breath caught, I stare wide eyed in the darkness into his face, he cries out and I'm helpless and unaware of all of his new rules when he has the backing of history and geography. Here, on his turf, I'm but a plaything, unable to have my own reservations but his and I bend to him, his thumb firmly under my jaw, and each fleshy fingerprint wrapping around the softest parts of my naked neck, his palm pressing on my throat and all of my words and breath and resolve are gone because here, now, they have to be gone.
It all has to be gone, and he knew, and he choked the last of it from me, everything that I regretted and felt responsible for though I wasn't there to witness anymore. The world stood still for me right then, both time and normal human autonomic response seemed inconsequential.

I thought of the business end of a beige plastic fork deep in the pursed chocolate-stained mouth of a redhead, and thought of her now, huge breasts on her tiny frame, cradling a little piece of her in a blanket, and how I'm not there to see it.

I thought of a pair of thick, black, rhinestone studded sunglasses set atop the bridge of a perfect nose and her now with all of her long curly hair and all of her conviction and I can't be there to witness it.

I thought about a mountain bike parked in my kitchen, a shout jarring me from sleep and his smile that made it okay for him to breach my unlocked door and wake me with coffee and bagels in the morning because that's how we are, and I can't be there to share that.

I thought about one huge tear so pervasive and shiny, thick and full in the corner of her left blue eye, and how it shown in the light and I could almost see myself inside of it, and now I won't be there to wipe it away and it's all gone. It all has to be gone, and he's choked the last of it from me and given me a brand new place, a new city fresh from rain and I feel wonderful.

When I leave Joshua near sleep it is late, and I'm broken and shaky and I can feel all of this emotion behind my eyes and in my throat. I find my car, climb in to the drivers seat; ignition, parking brake, adjust the mirror. I pull a smoke from a near empty pack, light it with one hand while pulling into the right lanes of 24th. Fumbling, I unroll the window with my left hand, right reaching for a stereo that's not there, holding a ciggarette that already bears a half-inch of ash. The streetlamps in the median are dimmer than I think they should be, and instead of a crisp blue-violet are a warm dark orange and they cast a thick and gauzy incandescent glow on the road and the hood of my car. I ash my ciggarette, inhale, exhale, a breeze comes in the window that smells of chili and salt and somwhere in the city's chill late night effluvia is the heat of the day and all of the miles that I had come and everything that had to be gone. I drive back to my flat, and am surprised when it's but a couple of minutes away, and I'm surprised when my key fits in the lock. My pillow smells like me, and is under this roof of this apartment cloaked in all of the big and the vast of this city; I can feel all of my history and memory in the deepest recesses of me, and yet somehow I am home.



I know, I know. You're waiting on the edges of your seats for my first piece written right here in San Francisco. I promise, it's coming soon--I've finally decided on a topic that appeals to me (from a situation that did not appeal to me, Jen and Crystal are cracking up right now) and I'll eventually stop procrastinating and sit down and write it, because as Alex says: "There is nothing more annaoying than boring girls." I wholeheartedly agree.

Even with the radio silence I've offered most of you in the past few days, know that I am my no means doing boring things in Cali, and I will absolutely talk to you soon.

Also--Second wave of NYCD2005 this week. If I have your address, you'll get it faster. If not...well, we'll see.

Peter Smith--Nice profile, homie. Promise, I'll do mine soon.
Samantha--Everyone keeps giving me accounts of you randomly bursting into tears--I hope they're exagerating. Call me soon, I still have to relate my semi-creepy Josh experience--It's so wierd that he lives here.
Jonathan--Sorry I was so out of it last time we chatted. I'll call when things quiet down.
Jen--I'll call you on Thursday, tee-hee.
Mark--Take care of that beautiful girl you have in tow as of late. Also--the most curious thing happened to me the other day--I miss you. Curious I say, because there were at least 3 or 4 times when I saw no consequence to never seeing you again. Drop me a line.
Lauren--I need your address in Sarasota.
Eddie--OMG-are you freaking out? Am I freaking you out by asking you that?
Davey--So far September still looks good. I'm stoked to be sharing my NYC debut with you.

That's all for now kids. All my love, --M


On the Eve of My Departure

This is supposed to be some huge momentus turning point--moving to another state is now only hours away. HOURS.
I feel numb.