Are You There God? It's Me, Gidget, Correspondence, Documentation, Ethics, Religion

A wise man once said…

“This day YHWH will deliver you into my hand, and I will strike you down, and cut off your head; and I will give the dead bodies of the host of the Philistines this day to the birds of the air and to the wild beasts of the earth; that all the earth may know that there is a God in Israel, and that all this assembly may know that God saves not with sword and spear; for the battle is God’s, and he will give you into our hand.”

David and Goliath

Date: October 28, 2011 2:17 PM
To: Bryan Hertz <bryan.hertz@telcentris.com>

From the words of which I was raised, I learned the art of warDavid versus his Goliath. In truth I took comfort, and I read the bible day and night, in an undertone.

Singing, I sang Jeff Buckley’s “Hallelujah“, Springfield’s “Jesse’s Girl“, and “Forward, You Witnesses” by the Watchtower, among selections of Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline. Riddle you that.

My family went down in history fighting for First Amendment rights, and my grandfather and his friends were not only unjustly imprisoned, but also tarred and feathered for their beliefs. Baxley v. United States is my heritage and in it I revel.

I am proud of my family’s name, and that which they bestowed upon me—spiritual riches beyond any wealth found on earth.

I suppose in your calculations for settlement you likely missed a few key points. I know the value of a name, and know of truest wealth. I have no fear of man, I was raised without it.

I believe in justice and seek it through truth.

In every move, I imbue my own name while striking at yours. Every attack or move you make against me does the same. You are in a game you cannot win, you are unwitting and unwise.

Perhaps it’s unfair, the attention that I grant to this particular instance of injustice in life… Who could have known it was to be your wrong that would be the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back? But did you know, “it is easier for a camel to get through a needle’s eye than for a rich man to get into the kingdom of God“?

I imagine that’s not a concern for you, and since I have no money, it’s not of much concern to me either. 🙂

Today I am enjoying breaking my polite silence. I acquiesced to your request of almost a year ago. You wished to be friendly, you said. I waited and spent my time in thought, making plans and planning ahead.

One day, when I’m done with it, I’m willing to sell the domain name I’ve acquired, for the right price. With any luck—or whatever you’d call it—perhaps you can outwit the Google historian’s account of our brief history together. Currently the mad strategy is an amusement for me. It doesn’t take much to push “publish” on what constitutes a years worth of thought. It amuses me that it doesn’t have to make much sense, it’s riddles for others to follow when searching or researching your name.

I have to say, I do feel a tinge of regret when it comes to the damage to [redacted, VP of Stuff at Telcentris] I know that he truly (believed he) loved me, and emotional damage he endured before he entered the scene dictated much of his irrational actions. However, one night he took what wasn’t his and in a less than gentlemanly manner. Confronted with his actions he acted as a coward, denying the deed. What an uncomfortable position to be in before my boss—being held to whether or not I should report it as rape or willing—I get the feeling you knew then as I know, that however it is that I ended up beyond consent that night, by it’s very definition “it” didn’t need defined.

Your lawyer informed me, as I already knew, that in California the statue of limitations has already passed for me to make an EEOC claim. I wonder how it is you’re still confused. I’m not after your money—money can’t buy you comfort. If you ever question why it is that I have seemingly endless energy to put towards my intent, recall that day where you forced me against the wall with your words, and I tried to walk. Remember that—once—I tried to protect you.

You wouldn’t let me walk away; I imagine you regret that decision now.

Oh, and I bet you regret not giving me something to sign when I asked for it. Again, I was looking out for you and the company’s best interests above that of my own.

Silly girl.

Money can’t buy me love. It is the root of all sorts of injurious things. Yes, perhaps it can quell my wrath, but you weren’t willing to even willing to offer what is legally mine, and expected for me to sign away my right to free speech for the pittance?

It’s not in what I have to gain; it’s in everything you lose.

I don’t know if you read the Bible, but at least you might recognize the lyric “let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late“…

Continue reading

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Correspondence, Documentation, Ethics

Curtiss Parker Gmail

Curtiss Parker, Fraud and Molester upstairs neighbor

Curtiss Parker, Fraud and Molester upstairs neighbor

Gmail Angela Baxley

curtiss parker
5 messages

Curtiss Parker <curtissparker@gmail.com> Wed, Oct 19, 2011 at 8:12 AM
To: Curtiss Parker

hey angela, it would be great if you could remove the google piece on me. as we shared recently, let’s be friends and have some fun instead of fighting over nothing. hope all is well and let’s do coffee soon.

thanks much, curtiss


Angela Baxley Thu, Oct 20, 2011 at 12:37 AM
To: Curtiss Parker <curtissparker@gmail.com>
Sure. I’m still broke and hungry. You can repay the $10 you owe me by proxy and we’ll skip the coffee. Can’t do anything about Google. Perhaps you could Google “Baxley v. United States”.

Angela Baxley Fri, Oct 21, 2011 at 8:01 AM
To: Curtiss Parker <curtissparker@gmail.com>
Still waiting on your reply.

Curtiss Parker <curtissparker@gmail.com> Fri, Oct 21, 2011 at 8:07 AM
 To: Angela Baxley
Begin forwarded message:

yes, i mentioned i would give you 10 dollars. if the coffee offer is off, that is ok, but i still would like you to delete the google piece. hope your morning is going well.
cheers, curtiss

Angela Baxley Sat, Oct 22, 2011 at 10:39 AM
To: Curtiss Parker <curtissparker@gmail.com>
I can’t delete things from Google but I can help.
I’ve always had a special interest in you.
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link

And the effects of the economic crisis and broader economic transformation will continue to fall more heavily on some groups, classes, and communities than others. In fact, blue collar jobs are projected to decline by another 1.2 million over the next five or six years, while the creative class is expected to add another 6.8 million new jobs, with employment in arts, design, and media rising by 12 percent, according to projections by the Bureau of Labor Statistics covering the period 2008 to 2018. While some parts of the creative class have fared better than others, people who work with their heads haven’t suffered nearly as much as those who work with their hands.

The Creative Class Is Alive – Jobs & Economy – The Atlantic Cities

Quote
Documentation, Ethics

Curtiss Parker

“Angela, we have the where with all to have you readmitted to the same mental institution you were subjected to by the San Diego Police Department last month.”

Curtiss Parker

Curtiss Parker

Curtiss Parker vs Angela

 

curtissparker@gmail.com
98.155.80.228
Submitted on 2011/10/07 at

Angela, we have the where with all to have you readmitted to the same mental institution you were subjected to by the San Diego Police Department last month. Let’s stop the childish rants over $10 dollars. CP

curtissparker@gmail.com
98.155.80.228
Submitted on 2011/10/07 at

Angela, you have crossed the line with your false accusations and slander. Your story is without merit and if it is not removed immediately I will quickly turn this over to our Lawyers with the Law Offices of Wolf and Weyman so that we can file suit and go after a judgement against you for defamation of character. What you have done may effect future business with the company I consult for and as a result, they will most likely have no choice but to also go after you for associated damages. Again, if you do not take immediate action to remove any and all slanderous information about me or the company I do business with we will proceed with a lawsuit requesting damages to exceed seven figures. Regards, CP

View from My Patio

Poor Curtiss Parker

Curtiss Parker

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Technology

Fwd: Digest: Shares have been purchased

Fascinating. It’s getting expensive to invest in me. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, especially the higher up it is? (Tony Pace) Begin forwarded message: From: Empire Avenue Accounts Date: October 6, 2011 8:00:22 AM PDT To: Subject: Digest: Shares have been purchased * [image: Empire Avenue] Special Notifications! Unlocked Outstanding 4 Achievement about 15 mins ago *Requirements: Get others to buy a total of 6,000 shares in you You have at least 6,000 shares currently outstanding and are so popular we’re getting a little jealous. You still have a really long way to go to reach what people like to call the “cream of the crop,” though. Keep going! Tip: To see how many shares you have outstanding, click on My Graphs /graphs> on your profile. Invested in you! [image: (e)DREAM] iDreamDigital Has invested 27,104.98e in you by buying 600 shares. (e)DREAM Do not reply to this e-mail it has been automatically generated. Manage your email settings . Copyright (C) 2009-2011 Empire Avenue Inc . All rights reserved. Suite 339, 14032 23rd Avenue, Edmonton, Alberta, T6R 3L6, Canada»»»

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link

Lisa Brennan-Jobs : Essays

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 12, 2009

Favorite Moment of the Day

Sometimes I go to sleep thinking of the next morning’s hot coffee in my customary white paper cup. The anticipation makes the sheets seem softer. In my life, I am between landmarks: after childhood, before a book, before marriage and children, all potential. I’ve heard the gambler’s rush isn’t in losing or winning, but the interval between playing and knowing. Coffee is my ritual, my interval, the luminous place between now and what’s next, more arc than landing. It is ubiquitous and legal, solitary and communal. In the morning, when I take a sip, space opens between the molecules; voices and clatter in the café separate into bright, tonal bands. My mind fans open. Fireflies blink in my torso. I take it to go, so I can drink and walk alone in the cool air under the trees on 12th street on my way to work. I savor each sip after the scorch has dissipated, before the cup is loose and lukewarm like a hand in mine.

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Culture

Steve Jobs Died

REPRINTED FROM GAWKER ARTICLE

In the days after Steve Jobs’ death, friends and colleagues have, in customary fashion, been sharing their fondest memories of the Apple co-founder. He’s been hailed as “a genius” and “the greatest CEO of his generation” by pundits and tech journalists. But a great man’s reputation can withstand a full accounting. And, truth be told, Jobs could be terrible to people, and his impact on the world was not uniformly positive.

We mentioned much of the good Jobs did during his career earlier. His accomplishments were far-reaching and impossible to easily summarize. But here’s one way of looking at the scope of his achievement: It’s the dream of any entrepreneur to effect change in one industry. Jobs transformed half a dozen of them forever, from personal computers to phones to animation to music to publishing to video games. He was a polymath, a skilled motivator, a decisive judge, a farsighted tastemaker, an excellent showman, and a gifted strategist.

One thing he wasn’t, though, was perfect. Continue reading

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Art, Technology

What about—Jobs?

I just heard about Jobs.

This July at 07:06:08 am in the morning I won the bid on eBay for the Jim Henson Think Different educational edition poster.

Think Different. Jim Henson and Kermit the Frog. Apple (Angela Glass) Taken on August 8, 2011, Draper Villas, La Jolla, CA, US Apple iPhone 4

Think Different. Jim Henson and Kermit the Frog. Apple (Angela Glass)

Think Different. Jim Henson and Kermit the Frog. Apple

For me, it was my “arrival”. My escape from the corporate beast and into creativity.

Except—who is going to take care of the dreamers then?

Are you staying at Apple? I would love to come work there, and I’m going to reach out to Biki to see what’s what.

But I wanted to know if you’d be sticking around. Something about the desire to work with —, even if we aren’t —.

Photo by Angela Glass taken August 8, 2011Draper Villas, La Jolla, CA, US Apple iPhone 4

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Are You There God? It's Me, Gidget

Answers

He said call him when my mother was dead. Or was it when she dies?

I know, I know, it’s weird. Even weirder is that I found myself wishing that she’d pass on so I could make it to the other side.

I’ve always said she was my only weakness, and I guess that was just me daring the system to exploit me, my relationship with my mother.

Then again, that would be to assume that my father’s death was just an accident.

No, in the last few sunny month’s my otherwise charmed life seemed to take on a less than charming reality. Truth.

But my truth isn’t like yours. Mine is programmed inside me as if it reverberates from each and every cell within my being.

The thing is, I’m stubborn, even if it is my best quality.

And I know that the only other woman on the planet more frustrating than my mother is me.

How would I begin to tell you about the past twenty-four hours even? You wouldn’t begin to be able to imagine what kind of series of events must conspire to make my life so coincidentally come to be the dream that I’m stuck in… I wouldn’t expect you to. If I weren’t living it, I don’t think I would either.

==

You know the funny part? Either way, whether this is my demise or my salvation, I still need the same things. Relief. Love. Intimacy, and sex. I can’t imagine how pent up with frustration nuns must be. I really must make a note and ask my aunt. How can she possibly stand it?

Today I was reading about the Illuminati. The reality is that without divine intervention, there is some point where all lose faith. But there’s a provision for that. In the last days, it says, that there will be a celestial phenomenon, so every man may know that it is he who is most high upon all the earth, and rules over us. There will be no question.

When I remember that I relax for a moment.

Then I’m back to the beginning again…

I need a husband.

Yeah, I bet you didn’t see that one coming, did you?

Then comes the next problem.
If this isn’t the paradise—well, even if it’s not the paradise, I’m still not settling. There’s so much more to live than worrying and wondering and living in fear.

I know this script. I know it well. I reveled in it today. Marveled, horrified. Don’t you wish you could see in my mind, the images I play as my eyes dart from here to there in a moment you least expected?

Why do I even have to write from anyone else but me? The reality is, I don’t want to share my pain. I don’t want to profit from everything that has worked to destroy me each and every day, day in, day out.

But that’s just how it goes doesn’t it? A prostitute of words in exchange for my own pleasurable escape. What else is there to do while we sit and wait?

I may be so lonely, but also fear losing my life for not having made a choice.

But how can you ask me to choose from the men of the land when I only see their every flaw?

There was only one man I didn’t find fault with. It felt right coming together with him.

Then he sent me away.
All that’s happened, all that’s transpired, and I still can’t get him off my mind.

Sing to me, read to me, lay with me, play with me.

There is something in me that seems to be stuck between the belief in getting everything that I want, and having to compromise—reality—and that I don’t have to choose or specify what I want to have it given to me, a present.

In reality, I want a fighting chance. I want to be able to make it whether this is reality, a dream, or the end. I just want to know that I’m doing everything I can to secure my future. I have fought long and hard and I don’t intend to go down now.

When the world ends, we’ll be making love. Burning the night away.

But I can tell the world is ending, and I sit burning the night away alone.

I get the feeling I have to finish this book before I will get what I really seek.

No. Not an ending—answers.

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Neuroscience

PTSD Virtual Reality Therapy Experience

PTSD Virtual Reality Therapy Tools

Link: T2 Virtual PTSD Experience

Based in Second Life. [Side note for self: symbolic modeling? psychoactive space? steven.]

Multiple researchers have declared traumatic brain injury and post-traumatic stress disorder to be the “signature wounds” of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. A recent Rand report found that approximately 19% of all Service Members returning from combat theater screen positive for psychological health problems, and of those that screen positive, slightly more than half seek psychological health services. Multiple barriers prevent Service Members from seeking information about psychological health issues and mental health care, including perceived stigma, physical access barriers, and limited resources.

A number of web-based resources aim to educate about post-deployment psychological health issues. Many of these are rich with useful information in the form of text content written by experts, video interviews of other Service Members dealing with similar issues, self-assessment screening tools, self-help exercises, and information regarding accessing care. And while these are great resources, they are also limited with regards to the experience that they can provide to visitors.

Continue reading

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Are You There God? It's Me, Gidget

Hidden Tracks

It’s incredibly exhausting to be happy all the time.

People just don’t get it, and that means you end up in a state of performance for a good portion of your life.

All the world’s a stage, and we are merely players.

I get that. I get that a lot.

I look back and recall Brian being upset because he didn’t get the same spunky Angie that others did. We shared the private intimiate space of a couple, and thus he really knew me.

Brian would have been the only person to see me slip from Angela, the spunky Gidget, to one given to hypomanic states induced by psychoactive drugs, namely Clonazepam.

Unfortunately, he had a perspective of the unfairness. Like life was playing a cruel joke on him. They got the girl, and he got what was left over.

I left Microsoft, Seattle, and the great Pacific Northwest that I love for San Francisco. More sunshine, more freedom, and a future.

Unfortunately the bottle of Clonazepam and the few pills it held went with me.

In San Francisco I enjoyed my new found freedom and lit up like a firefly to the light. I joined the nightly happy hours and brought my wardrobe up to snuff, relishing in eclectic pieces which finally did some justice to the style that was suffused in my cells but not on my palette. Oh, remember the white sailor girl dress, black boots (I coupled it with various pairs, the short retro looking bootie boots, the classic riding black boots, the pointy skin tight witches boots…) and white hat?

Oh how I love to dress!

Jeez, do you guys know how you kill me day to day as I try to fit into this boring life you lead and love? The fantastic stories my clothes could tell you, era-by-era, multiple stories I could tell per day?

I’m a creative person, and I’m happy dammit. Can you just get used to that idea?

Then I met Fabien. On our first date we met at a Luna Park, it was loud and his English wasn’t nearly as good as his French, and that did neither of us any good. I had left friends (some guy friend who I’d been having a blast with, but just a friend… was that Bill?) and was measuring the date against the moments I had left just before. Completely unfair, but a reality given the circumstances. I mean, I had been having tons of fun, and left it for what?… a date?! But I’d made plans, and I stuck to the plans. I don’t really recall what we talked about, or if there was even really any talk… between the loud music and his charming heavy accent, that is.

We stepped outside to the corner to part ways. We went to hug goodbye.

It was an embrace.

Wow. What was that?!

In that moment he won the second date.

Alas, while we shared a romantic convertible ride to wine country, a day written in someone else’s daydream between sparkling Chandon, strawberries, dinner at Angele, and a moonlight drive with music on the way home… it was a short lived romance in the pages of our overstuffed technology day planners. He was a CEO, and I had no interest in being the CEO’s wife.

We parted ways to remain friends. I later took him to New York for his birthday—tons of fun and drama between the serendipious Fuerza Bruta: Look Up show, wine, cheese, dinner and dessert, with Rachel, at Pastis, dancing until we fell asleep at Cielo, the passionate fight wound through the sidewalks of a brisk and cold walk in Central Park, back to the Waldorf Astoria, into the cab, and onto the plane home to the cool grey city of Love.

Kerouac, my companion. (The Long Embrace)

In the end I found San Francisco to be the leftovers of what once was. It’s the mecca for artists and lovers and dreamers, to be sure. But it’s overrun with abundance, confusion and people. It’s not Kerouac’s city, and it wasn’t to remain mine. There’s something of an arrogance to just being there. As if residence is validation in and of itself of having arrived, of not just being alive but living. I found it to be a surface level dream with no depth. I was lost and lonely and couldn’t have had more friends if I tried.

Every holiday was an excuse for an escape. My first July 4th took me on a roadtrip to L.A. to spend the weekend with my friend who makes dreams come true by making tools for Spielberg. He proudly peacocked the city of Angels knowing good and well I both enjoyed it and found it profoundly lacking. I’ll never forget our debate via Twitter regarding women’s rights and who’d get to drive. He knew all along that I long for an era back in the day where men loved to drive women, and women loved to look out the window to day dreams of ways to make more love.

Halloween was a race to Los Angeles which was marked by my descent down the wrong escalator into the San Francisco Virgin America gates back when they were in the International Terminal… I turned to race up the escalator, was reminded of my silliness, and ended up on my knees, jeans shredded against the ridges of steel, my flesh fairing not much better. Stickel and I made it, but not on that flight, but we made it ultimately. You see I was the maid of honor in my best friend’s wedding, Tara Brown to her Sean Bonner.

Words are flowing out in endless… pools of sorrow, waves of joy, possessing and caressing me… nothing’s gonna change my world. Nothing’s gonna change my world.

At the top of the Runyon Canyon I witnessed Tara and Sean exchange vows, officiated by none other than Optimus Prime. Just a little while later, I feel a tinge of guilt when I learn she’s pregnant. I know it wasn’t in their plan, though Tara had long held dreams of being a mother. She absolved me from my guilt, and I attended a baby shower in LA that confused every bit of my sense of reality. Then again, so did Fielder.

Tara had left, she’d found her love, her life. I’d left Microsoft, and Seattle for San Francisco, and she’d soon followed. I found Cindy in San Francisco, but now they’d both gone. The city no longer seemed amusing, but cold and grey, dingy and dirty.

Oh, wait, but did I tell you about Memorial Day yet? No, we save the best for last, and I’m perpetually amused at how America’s major holiday’s serve merely as markers for memories in my life.

You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.

Jeez, what do I do when I know the matrix exists? The connections, the lack of coincidence? Divine, meddlesome, controlled, variables left tied up in neat little bows on packages that don’t seem to be the right presents. You made it right this time? Only if my mustang shows up, and heavy is limited to a state of mind and not a reference to my brother. He strolls in, and I wonder where are my hemp sandals? Black toe nail polish, blue on his fingers. A look as if death has washed over him, but he may yet be clean? I’m sorry what you see as my being stubborn is nothing but the exalted standards by which I deem myself deserving. Or maybe you could say I find myself divinely so. Oh, is it ironic or merely coincidence that the sun warms my keyboard for those few strokes, only to hide again at thought’s completion?

I’m beginning to love all the hidden tracks. Reel Big Fish, Gorillaz.

It’s enough to tempt a girl.

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Are You There God? It's Me, Gidget

To Thy Own Self, Do Not Be Truest

It’s incredibly exhausting to be happy all the time.

People just don’t get it, and that means you end up in a state of performance for a good portion of your life.

“All the world’s a stage, and we are merely players.”

Showing off my Team in Training practice jerseyI get that.

I look back and recall Brian being upset because he didn’t get the same spunky Angie that others did. We shared the private intimate space of a couple, and thus he really knew me.

 

Why did I leave Microsoft?*

Because my manager was found guilty of sexual harassment on multiple accounts: one of which was harassing me, another was of harassing a girl who worked on our team after I had (in the end with the help of another female co-worker/manager on the team) shut him down.

* Edited to stop protecting the not so innocent. I’m sorry Mackenzie. I should have realized it wouldn’t have been just me.

Wayne Smith, Microsoft 2008

How did it happen?

Gump asked me to report to “The Brit” in the “new org”. Professionally, I found The Brit brilliant. But I told Gump I wouldn’t be comfortable, and kept my mouth shut about why. I don’t know why he waited so long to push for why, but for weeks the “new org” was held up apparently by me.

Eventually Gump pushes and I explain how he made me feel uncomfortable, which was tolerable as a peer, but I couldn’t report to him since it was already a problem. I recall mentioning how my mother would look at the situation, and then feeling embarrassed for raising my mother’s perspective in defense of my own.

That’s where Gump then explains to me about European culture set against our American (puritan) cultural backdrop. I was insulted. I had traveled to Europe, and I had already run from European rapists.

Gump said he’d send The Brit to “sensitivity” and “management” training classes, to make him U.S. Corporate Office ready, and let me work from Rome with UW over the summer.

You’ll find it ironic then that the man who then reported that The Brit was harassing me was also from the U.K.

My friend walked into my office and caught something on my screen in an email from The Brit.

Microsoft found The Brit guilty, but also, on the same report, found that his harassment did not affect my performance. How is that even possible?!—I’m not Super Woman.

That was that—just keep working and ignore the guy on the other side of your office wall.

I never asked for a raise at Microsoft.

“Angela left and went to Yahoo!”

My new manager told me it was SxSW or my job.

Bam. That was my first year at SxSW.

So I got a job, a raise, and left Microsoft and Seattle—Yahoo!

SXSWi08

And now you know the rest of the story.

Brian would have been the only person to see me slip from Angela, the “Spunky Gidget”, to one given to hypomanic states induced by psychoactive drugs, namely Clonazepam.

Unfortunately, he had a perspective of the unfairness. Like life was playing a cruel joke on him. They got the girl, and he got what was left over.

I left Microsoft, Seattle, and the great Pacific Northwest that I love for San Francisco.* More sunshine, more freedom, and a future. Unfortunately the bottle of Clonazepam and the few pills it held went with me.

10-10-10 photo booth

In San Francisco I enjoyed my new found freedom and lit up like a firefly to the light. I joined the nightly happy hours and brought my wardrobe up to snuff, relishing in eclectic pieces which finally did some justice to the style that was suffused in my cells but not on my palette. Oh, remember the white sailor girl dress, black boots (I coupled it with various pairs, the short retro looking bootie boots, the classic riding black boots, the pointy skin tight witches boots…) and white hat?

Digg Meetup SF

Oh how I loved to dress!

Jeez, do you guys know how you kill me day to day as I try to fit into this boring life you lead and love? The fantastic stories my clothes could tell you, era-by-era, multiple stories I could tell per day?

I’m a creative person, and I’m happy. Can you just get used to that idea?

Then I met Fabien. On our first date we met at a Luna Park, it was loud and his English wasn’t nearly as good as his French, and that did neither of us any good. I had left friends (some guy friend who I’d been having a blast with, but just a friend… was that Bill?) and was measuring the date against the moments I had left just before. Completely unfair, but a reality given the circumstances. I mean, I had been having tons of fun, and left it for what?… a date?! But I’d made plans, and I stuck to the plans. I don’t really recall what we talked about, or if there was even really any talk… between the loud music and his charming heavy accent, that is.

We stepped outside to the corner to part ways. We went to hug goodbye.

It was an embrace.

Wow. What was that?!

In that moment he won the second date.

Alas, while we shared a romantic convertible ride to wine country, a day written in someone else’s daydream between sparkling Chandon, strawberries, dinner at Angele, and a moonlight drive with music on the way home… it was a short lived romance in the pages of our overstuffed technology dayplanners. He was a CEO, and I had no interest in being the CEO’s wife.

giving up

We parted ways to remain friends. I later took him to New York for his birthday—tons of fun and drama between the serendipitous Fuerza Bruta: Look Up show, wine, cheese, dinner and dessert, with Rachel, at Pastis, dancing until we fell asleep at Cielo, the passionate fight wound through the sidewalks of a brisk and cold walk in Central Park, back to the Waldorf Astoria, into the cab, and onto the plane home to the cool grey city of Love.

In the end I found San Francisco to be the leftovers of what once was. It’s the mecca for artists and lovers and dreamers, to be sure. But it’s overrun with abundance, confusion and people. It’s not Kerouac’s city, and it wasn’t to remain mine. There’s something of an arrogance to just being there. As if residence is validation in and of itself of having arrived, of not just being alive but living. I found it to be a surface level dream with no depth. I was lost and lonely and couldn’t have had more friends if I tried.

Abuse of Power

Every holiday was an excuse for an escape.

My first July 4th took me on a road trip to L.A. to spend the weekend with my friend who makes dreams come true by making tools for Spielberg. He proudly peacocked the city of Angels knowing good and well I both enjoyed it and found it profoundly lacking. I’ll never forget our debate via Twitter regarding women’s rights and who’d get to drive. He knew all along that I long for an era back in the day where men loved to drive women, and women loved to look out the window to day dreams of ways to make more love.

Furry Critters make everything better

Halloween was a race to Los Angeles which was marked by my descent down the wrong escalator into the San Francisco Virgin America gates back when they were in the International Terminal… I turned to race up the escalator, was reminded of my silliness, and ended up on my knees, jeans shredded against the ridges of steel, my flesh fairing not much better. Stickel and I made it, but not on that flight, but we made it ultimately. You see I was the maid of honor in my best friend’s wedding, Tara Brown to her Sean Bonner.

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Words are flowing out in endless… pools of sorrow, waves of joy, possessing and caressing me… nothing’s gonna change my world. Nothing’s gonna change my world.

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At the top of the Runyon Canyon I witnessed Tara and Sean exchange vows, officiated by none other than Optimus Prime. Just a little while later, I feel a tinge of guilt when I learn she’s pregnant. I know it wasn’t in their plan, though Tara had long held dreams of being a mother. She absolved me from my guilt, and I attended a baby shower in LA that confused every bit of my sense of reality.

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Tara had left, she’d found her love, her life. I’d left Microsoft, and Seattle for San Francisco, and she’d soon followed. I found Cindy in San Francisco, but now they’d both gone.

The city no longer seemed amusing, but cold and grey, dingy and dirty.

Oh, wait, but did I tell you about Memorial Day yet?

No, we save the best for last, and I’m perpetually amused at how America’s major holiday’s serve merely as markers for memories in my life.

You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.

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Jeez, what do I do when I know the matrix exists? The connections, the lack of coincidence? Divine, meddlesome, controlled, variables left tied up in neat little bows on packages that don’t seem to be the right presents. You made it right this time? Only if my mustang shows up, and heavy is limited to a state of mind and not a reference to my brother. He strolls in, and I wonder where are my hemp sandals? Black toe nail polish, blue on his fingers. A look as if death has washed over him, but he may yet be clean? I’m sorry what you see as my being stubborn is nothing but the exalted standards by which I deem myself deserving. Or maybe you could say I find myself divinely so. Oh, is it ironic or merely coincidence that the sun warms my keyboard for those few strokes, only to hide again at thought’s completion?

I’m beginning to love all the hidden tracks. Reel Big Fish, Gorillaz.

It’s enough to tempt a girl.

Art Show @ GRSF

In my play I’m happy and creative.

I want to day dream, write, sing, dance, make movies, and music. I want to fall in love and live forever in paradise.

In my play I get to write the ending.

Now, whether it’s God or Natasha Bedingfield, well, that’d be a debate I’d take up over a fine deep red wine and a beautiful bleu cheese and pears.

Spunky

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photo, Religion

Caffeine & Lithium Drug Interactions

Here is interesting stuff… so I was using caffeine to increase getting rid of the lithium. However, at that time I didn’t know that I’d been given Clonazepam. It is counterproductive on getting rid of Clonazepam.

[Three doses of] Lithium arguably did something good for me. It released this maniac that I adore… finally I’m the “me” I was when I was younger. Self-confident and assured. Alive and thinking. Living and focused. However, it appears just a half-dose would have done it, as their repeated doses kept me awake for 10 straight days, and besides Navy Seals, I can’t find anyone else who thinks that’s cool, nor good for me.

Clonazepam on the other hand is what makes a real life psycho. Manic sprees, up and downs. Chemically induced symptoms presenting as bipolar.

I’m kicking the caffeine again in favor of being rid of Clonazepam not a day longer than the torturous six months reported half-life.

Momma, keep me safe from these goons. Why don’t they believe me when I tell them their medicine will kill me? Isn’t it right there in all their own drug interaction sheets? I marvel at the psychologist who gave me sheet after sheet of drugs she wanted to “try” on me.

Um, I was just fine before they thought they knew more than me. I am SMRT, and waaaay SMRTer than Valerie, C. Castro or that other guy who barely rates in my memory.

All they did was fuel my apathy and create a revolutionary out of the sleeper that once was busy day dreaming about love, and living forever in a paradise earth that looks a lot like La Jolla. That I blame squarely on the almighty God Jehovah, and being raised as a Jehovah’s Witness. They say religion is just a form of insanity. Perhaps that’s the only means by which I could be convicted.

Damned if I do, damned if I don’t,… if only I believed in hell anywhere besides on earth.

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Ancestry, Neuroscience

Born to Be Happy, Through a Twist of Human Hard Wire

“I know, you’re bi-polar.”

“Old man, look at my life, I’m a lot like you were.”

Born to Be Happy, Through a Twist of Human Hard Wire

By RICHARD A. FRIEDMAN, M.D.

In the course of the last year, the woman lost her husband to cancer and then her job. But she did not come to my office as a patient; she sought advice about her teenage son who was having trouble dealing with his father’s death.

Despite crushing loss and stress, she was not at all depressed – sad, yes, but still upbeat. I found myself stunned by her resilience. What accounted for her ability to weather such sorrow with buoyant optimism? So I asked her directly.

“All my life,” she recalled recently, “I’ve been happy for no good reason. It’s just my nature, I guess.”

But it was more than that. She was a happy extrovert, full of energy and enthusiasm who was indefatigably sociable. And she could get by with five or six hours of sleep each night.

Like this woman, a journalist I know realized when she was a teenager that she was different from others. “It’s actually kind of embarrassing to be so cheerful and happy all the time,” she said. “When I was in high school I read the Robert Browning poem `My Last Duchess.’ In it, the narrator said he killed his wife, the duchess, because, `she had a heart – how shall I say, too soon made glad?’ And I thought, uh-oh, that’s me.”

These two women were lucky to be born with a joyous temperament, which in its most extreme forms is called hyperthymia. Cheerful despite life’s misfortunes, energetic and productive, they are often the envy of all who know them because they don’t even have to work at it.

In a sense, they are the psychiatric mirror image of people who suffer from a chronic, often lifelong, mild depression called dysthymia, which affects about 3 percent of American adults. Always down, dysthymics experience little pleasure and battle through life with a dreary pessimism. Despite whatever fortune comes their way, they remain glum.

But hyperthymia certainly doesn’t look like an illness; there appears to be no disadvantage to being a euphoric extrovert, except, perhaps, for inspiring an occasional homicidal impulse from jealous friends or peers. But little is actually known about people with hyperthymia for the simple reason that they don’t see psychiatrists complaining that they are happy.

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Culture,

The Cleanse Song, Bright Eyes

I met him at my favorite coffee house, Bird Rock Coffee Roasters. As I joined the line to order, I noticed him. I summed him up. Nicely dressed, but so is everyone else who lives here. Nothing striking about him. A little shorter than average height. Given to talking to people, I told myself I wasn’t going to talk to him. I needed to focus. I’ll pass.

He picked up the white cardboard container of organic oatmeal, examining it’s nutritional values and marketing.

“I’ve been wondering how that’d taste.” Oh, well… Well, I had been.

“I was wondering the same. I don’t imagine it can be that good, but I’ll try it.”

“Right? Can organic oatmeal in cardboard taste like anything but, well, cardboard?”

He smiles. Warm, dark eyes, with dark eyebrows that made him seem both deep and sincere. He buys the oatmeal and orders a coffee, and then takes the corner table against the garage style window.

The Cleanse Song, Bright Eyes

Hear the chimes, did you know that the wind when it blows
It is older than Rome and all of this sorrow
See the new pyramids down in old Manhattan
From the roof of a friend’s I watched an empire ending
Heard it loud and long the river’s Om
Time marching on to a madman’s drum
Don’t forget what you’ve learned all you give is returned
And if life seems absurd what you need is some laughter
And a season to sleep and a place to get clean
Maybe Los Angeles, somewhere no one is expecting
On a detox loft through a Glendale Park over sidewalk chalk
Someone wrote in red, “start over”
So I muffled my scream on an Oxnard beach
Full of fever dreams that scare you sober
Into saltless dinners
Take the fruit from the tree, break the skin with your teeth
Is it bitter or sweet? All depends on your timing
Like a meeting of chance with the train station glance
Many lifetimes had past in a instant reminded
Of a millstone house in a seaside town
When your heart gave out in a mission bed
So your wife gave birth to a funeral dirge
You woke up purged as a wailing infant
In Krug Thep, Thailand
Hear the chimes, did you know that the wind when it blows
It is older than Rome and our joy and our sorrow

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Neuroscience

My Momma: Arlene Jean Schaadt Baxley

I was talking with my momma this morning about orthomolecular medicine, and all the work she’s done to help people achieve better health over the years. Most often when I’m thinking about my momma in this regard, I think of how it is that she’s responsible for bringing life to families struggling to have children. What more beautiful work can there be as a humanitarian than to care for the quality of human life, and it’s propagation through it’s generations of families? Continue reading

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Culture, Music

Simply, the classics.

Simply, the classics.

A leather binder, adorned with my Mickey Mouse pin that I’ve carried since the mid-90’s. The Charger’s a Los Angeles team brought to San Diego by Barron Hilton. My classic iPod, and the song that was playing, a hint… “It may be years until the day my dreams will match up with my pay”. Oh, and did you make note of the tiny patch of madras pattern? I did. 🙂

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Travel

Every weekend another of my own private camping trips.

Every weekend I go on my own personal journey fueled by my imagination, inspiration, and the dream cafe. This weekend involved elements from the usual suspects, religion, Kerouac, Chandler, and a little Rye for sassy substance, all packed into my Tumi carrying my products of the Apple and funded by my own blue jean branded personal Fidelity. Continue reading

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Writing,

The Movie, The Doors

The program for this evening is not new
You’ve seen this entertainment through and through
You’ve seen your birth your life and death
You might recall all of the rest
Did you have a good world when you died?
Enough to base a movie on?

Notes from the story about the night my dad died, and his motorcycle accident.

Daddy, Momma and Me

Found out many years later that he was wearing his helmet. Someone who found him removed his helmet before help arrived. Daddy died of closed head injury. My baby brother, his son, was born weeks later.

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