Pasadena baby

This Saturday, I'm attending the Cruel World festival in Pasadena. I'm excited to see Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds,  Blancmange, Garbage, and Madness, who I've never seen live, along with OMD, Allison Moyet, and New Order, who I have seen live, amongst others. There's so much music. I dig the vibe, the goth aesthetic is my jam. 

Don't ask me what I'm wearing, because I don't know, yet. 

A few years back, we saw Siouxsie Sioux at Cruel World. It was phenomenal. I've written about it. Siouxsie was my idol in high school. And we saw punk rock icon Iggy Pop. There was a lightning storm so we actually had to go back Sunday night to see Siouxsie play. I danced hands in the air the entire time she sang. I felt 16 again. 

There's something about a festival. I adore the hours of music. I love the people watching. The fashion. The stall food. The beer. I am gonna try to keep it mellow though, because I have to make it all day and night.

I truly do believe that music keeps me young. It keeps me feeling. And alive. So alive. Lately, I've been feeling my age. I think the stress of being a public defender is getting to me again body wise. My neck, my back, and my stomach. Oh vey.

Most days, I dream of writing full-time and perhaps teaching on the side. Last weekend, I spoke at a senior center in Pasadena via zoom. It was so much fun. They had great questions. They were into it. And this Thursday night, I'm speaking to a writing class at PCC in Pasadena. 

Pasadena has been in my life recently. Is that a sign that this weekend will be epic? I hope so. 

The overthinking

I had an epiphany this weekend. I just need to write. I need to stop overthinking it.

Some of my first stories are my favorite ones. That's because they're written without craft in mind. I went with my gut, my heart, my subconscious, and the voice of my ancestors streaming in my head. I wrote in first person, present tense, child voice and sometimes, the writing was almost automatic. I became the words. 

Yet now, I've gotten to the point where all I can think about when I'm writing is about the act itself and that is not a good thing. It's harmful. Because writing is about the act of letting go. The craft can come in later in the editing and revision stage and even that can be too much overworking of the prose. 

For example, in my memoir, there were early stories that I went back to my original of after a decade of revisions because I preferred the earlier, less edited versions. 

As a writer, it's too easy to get in your head. You start to think that all of this can be tied together. You forget that writing, at least the good writing, is magic. It's about the heart. 

So I vow to let my pen or fingers slide effortlessly over the page and keys. Like a pianist, I just need to play. It needs to be fun, and it needs to be real. It needs to capture something that nothing else can capture, humanity. Because that in the end is what I'm here for. To somehow and someway, put my life into prose. 

5 am again and again and again

It's 5 am again. I am up with the shih tzus. This is my favorite time of day. I play my music, albeit on low. I hang with the puppies and write. I lay on a too small couch. I'm five foot three and I can barely stretch out. But it suffices. 

The dogs are eating my husband's new flip flops. I'm loath to stop them because they're distracted and I'm writing. Cognizant that he just bought the shoes, I hand them my ragged slipper to bite on. 

The Shins stream on volume one in the background. I tend toward mellow music in the morning. The Shins, the Beatles and Joni Mitchell. Nothing too hard. Maybe some Queen. 

I'm wearing my Bowie lightning bolt earrings that my best friend Melinda gifted me. Ohhh I think, that's how my brain works as I write this, put on some Bowie. So I do. I sing along. Humming. 

I think of everything that's going on. Despite the chaos in the world, some things remain constant, and that I appreciate. I was able to see a couple of good friends yesterday. One friend, a fellow deputy public defender who's moved to Ventura, stopped by to see me and the puppies yesterday. We talked about mental health court and caught up. And I saw another good friend virtually for my podcast, one who is a writer and professor. We talked about everything that's going on and commiserated. 

It is soul sustaining in these times to be able to connect with people who are just as dismayed by the current times as I am. 

Where do we go from here? This is the greatest rollback of civil rights since Reconstruction. The people in power have effectively created, or helped create, a dictator who rules by decree, and who disappears people. 

I guess I don't know what to do or where to go. Maybe nowhere is safe. But for now, I'm just going to keep on writing. And voicing my opinions, and performing and talking about the issues and stories I care about. So there's that. Happy Friday friends. 

 

Is it not too late

I don't consider this a political blog. But sometimes, I do talk about justice and right now, is a crucial time. Those in power are moving fast. According to a recent article in The Atlantic, we have moments left to act. Our very democracy is at stake. 

As the article states,

"Look around, take stock of where you are, and know this: Today, right now—and I mean right this second—you have the most power you’ll ever have in the current fight against authoritarianism in America. If this sounds dramatic to you, it should. Over the past five months, in many hours of many conversations with multiple people who have lived under dictators and autocrats, one message came through loud and clear: America, you are running out of time." https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2025/04/america-trump-authoritarianism-global/682528/

What that means is that we all must stand up. We must speak. We cannot ignore the crisis. It's tempting to want to run. But there is no where to go. 

As the same article warns, "When I hear people ask if they should flee to some other country, some faraway land, I want to shake them. You want an escape plan? To where?” Ressa said to me recently. “If the United States of America falls, it’s the ball game.”https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2025/04/america-trump-authoritarianism-global/682528/

Our democracy is everything in America. It's why we were the superpower. It is how we created the ideal and idea of the "American Dream". Soon we may look back and say, "Do you remember, not too long ago, when we had a free press, social programs, free K to 12 education, federal student loans and social security?"

This democracy can easily die on the vine while we sip our wine. Put down your rose filled or colored glasses (filled with vino or positive thoughts) and stop ignoring the obvious. Because we must act. We must stand up. Now, my friends. I know it's scary. It's terrifying in fact. But it's the reality. 

The feels

Last night, I had an event at the libros bookstore in Lincoln Heights. It's in a charming neighborhood in LA right off Soto and the ten freeway on Broadway.  It is a small venue, but they do a lot with their space. 

They were able to accommodate the reading and musical performances and even had seating for most of the people who came by. The rest were standing. 

I got there in plenty of time. I left early so I could get some gas and chicken soft tacos at Del Taco. I usually loathe driving to LA, but it wasn't bad. Traffic was minimal and I listened to a podcast (listening to Marc Maron wax on about his crazy cat and whether he should add another cat to balance out the brood had me laughing out loud).

When I got to the bookstore, I saw some of my favorite people, musician and writer Laurie Markvart (get the audible version of her memoir here: https://www.amazon.com/Somewhere-Music-Ill-Find-Me/dp/B0CM9QL6XX), Hannah Sward, who wrote one of my favorite memoirs (titled Strip), and a few writers who I had never met but soundly admire, Christine Sneed (she read from one of her fabulous books that made me laugh out loud and I got her recent collection of short stories), as well as Jeremy Ray who writes amazing micro fiction and William Fox whose guitar playing will make you swoon. 

I was nervous before I went up. I was last. But I managed my nerves. It's gotten easier. I always think, hey if you can fight for someone in trial before a judge in a robe, you can perform your stories. I try to remember that everyone is there rooting me on. They want me to succeed. 

So I got up (after running to the restroom to pee right before, damn my nervous bladder) and read and finally found that vanishing point where I lost myself in the story. 

Up there reading about my high school days at a club. I felt as if I transported myself back in time for a moment. I was happy then sad and everything in between. I'd been listening to the song "Messy" on repeat by Lola Young earlier in the day and that helped along with the inspiring performances by my fellow performers. I love it when that happens. To get those feels, it's everything. 

The mores...

Tonight, I have an event in Los Angeles. I've tried to cut down on LA events. It's hard on me. The drive. My anxiety. My stress. Plus, it's the Sunday before Easter.

But, as much as it's hard, it's everything in some ways. I love the community of it. I even enjoy the nervous energy I get right before I go on. Then, once I'm up there, I lose myself on stage, or try to. I think I just adore that feeling of being someone else. At least for a moment. 

And yes, I'm reading and performing memoir. So it's me. But it's me at a different time and place. Jenny is a character. Try as we might, we cannot really capture ourselves fully. She's who I remember myself as. She's a creation. 

I'm morphing creatively I think. I want to do more. A play. Another book. A TV show. 

But you're 53! Why can't you just be content, that's what I ask myself. What the fuck is wrong with you? Why do you want more and more? Why can't you just be satisfied with what you got? You have a lot. Yes, I tell myself I do, but I do want more. I know I can do more. And more and more.

Rock away

Last night, we went to Pappy & Harriets in Joshua Tree to see The Coverups, which is basically Billy Joe and some of his Green Day crew, playing covers. It was so epic, and they did songs by The Replacements, The Ramones, Buzzcocks, Pretenders, Generation X, Bowie and more. But my back is paying for it this morning. Toward the end of the show, I was grimacing sitting on a bench trying to stretch. 

It was a long drive there, and the ride home was even harder. It's a curvy, narrow road to get to Pioneertown, and I was the designated driver which is rare, but I didn't mind. It allowed me to enjoy the show sober. 

But my night vision is middling at best and on the ride down the mountain, my husband commented that I was way below the speed limit, going only 25 or 30 miles per hour. I shushed him and turned the radio volume up higher and listened to Marky Ramone's playlist on Sirius radio to manage my anxiety. 

It got me thinking. Is there an age when concerts are too much? Here's another way of saying it. Will I ever be too old to rock out to live music? I'm not sure. I'm not saying I would amble into a live show at eighty. Or am I? 

Concerts are such a huge part of who I am and seeing a punk or post punk show, for me at least, is the ultimate release and explosion of joy. 

That being said, last night, after pogo dancing to Billy Joe's rendition of Rockaway Beach by the Ramones, I might have said, panting after losing my breath, although I will vehemently deny it if ever asked, "I'm too old for this shit."