Saturday, July 9, 2011
BANNED!!!!
You know me as Willow, but countless people in the Los Angeles, CA AND Salem, OR area know me simply as "The Free Hugs Girl." This morning, while hugging and spreading love to Oregonians at the Salem Saturday Market, I was BANNED and escorted out of a public parking lot. This has happened before, and I'm sure it will happen again, but I need your help.
I'm putting together a petition to present to the SSM (Salem Saturday Market) Manager (who conveniently refused to give his name). Please help continue the Huggers' work of spreading love and acceptance through the simple act of a hug by spreading the word of this travesty to your friends, loved ones, and anyone/everyone you know in Salem, Oregon.
Free Hugs is about love, acceptance, and instilling a sense of self-worth in anyone and everyone who passes by. No judgements, no exceptions. Fat, thin, tall, short, old, young, dog, cat, bird, race, gender... NONE of that matters. Help keep me hugging - and save the world. One hug at a time.
More info about the petition coming soon. But understand this: Mr. Manager does NOT know who he's messed with. HUGGERS UNITE!!!
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Wednesday Reviews: On "Midnight in Paris"

On Midnight in Paris
(cross-posted to the "Reviews" page)
However.
It was thought-provoking and terribly romantic. Dear Reader, please understand that when I use the term “romantic”, I do not necessarily mean it in the sense of rose petals, doves, champagne, chocolate and pretty words. I mean (particularly in this instance) Romantic with a capital R. I speak of a state of mind, a kind of artistic sensibility that throws caution and logic to the wind. Romantics dream of personified ideals, of dreamy realities where men are noble, ladies are idyllic and beautiful, and the good guys always win – through whatever struggle or misfortune – oh, and love, love reigns supreme.
The main character was a Hollywood screenwriter struggling to become a novelist. He and his fiancĂ© were in Paris with her parents, and met some of her college friends – one of whom was a completely pedantic asshole. He spent a good five minutes decrying the very Romantic idealism I just proclaimed. What a prick. Anyway, while the protagonist’s fiancĂ© runs around Paris and the French countryside with this pair (worshipping every word the asshole spat, of course), he insists on seeing Paris on his own terms. He takes walks at midnight and believes that “Paris is most beautiful when it is raining.” I agree, but only because I’ve been there, done that. I strongly recommend it. On one of these midnight strolls, he is picked up by an old-fashioned car and unwittingly carried into a glittering party populated by famous writers and artists he admires. Did I mention that all of these characters are members of the “Lost Generation” who lived in Paris during the Roaring ‘20s, which he refers to as “the Golden Age”? Yep.
For those who sneer at sci-fi/time travel pieces, stop. I, too, find them distasteful. This wasn’t so much sci-fi as it was Romantic/magical realism. The time travel just…happened. There was no machinery, no flashing lights or science at all. He simply got into a car with funny-dressed people, and walked into their world. It wasn’t science, it was magic. Anyway I was thinking through the whole thing that this movie was what I dream about. You think about what the great writers said, and the way they said it and the cadence of their voices and you realize that no one talks like that anymore.
People always comment on the way I speak – because I speak the way I write and vice versa – and tell me that people don’t really talk like that anymore. My answer is always the same: if souls could speak, they would be more fluent than the gibberish that trips over our tongues today. The great writers of the past were so… eloquent in their expression. It’s a trait that I fear our society has lost (to great detriment of our self-expression as a civilization) over the years, to speedier forms of communication. Back then, we had newspapers, speech halls, books, essays, poetry, letters and spoken language that was all so beautiful. Today we have texting, e-mail, Twitter, social networking and so much media that our own voices are drowning and dying out. Eventually, we will all communicate with nothing but a series of beeps and tones. What a sad world to live in.
So despite the potentially problematic issue of time travel (which I would encourage the viewer to simply accept as part of the fantasy world that is fiction), the endearing, loveable and legendary characters brought forth by the so-called “gimmick” of time travel – from Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway and Gertrude Stein, even Pablo Picasso and Edgar Degas – are rich and vibrant and undeniably resonant. Their talk of ideals, of literature and art and love was so passionate… It resonated with the protagonist and with myself. As a writer, I take all words to heart for they are words and words possess a magic all their own. Hearing a character embody Ernest Hemingway and speak with such force and fervor made going to the movies the best moment of my time in Salem thus far.
To conclude: Yes, the acting is not terrific, but it is still quite convincing; No, the cinematography is not perfect, but it captures the mood of Paris both then and know and even offers a taste of magical realism, completing the film; No, the writing is not impeccable, but it does its job. So to the film snobs I say don’t waste your time.
But to the Romantics, the dreamers, the silly-hearts… Buy some popcorn and get swept away.
Directed by Woody Allen
Limited release May, 2011
“You use a glass mirror to see your face; you use works of art to see your soul.” --George Bernard Shaw
Saturday, July 2, 2011
All the Wrong Reasons
Yet, in spite of all of that, I'm putting myself to bed impossibly early in tears. Not even new episodes of Lovejoy can keep me upstairs.
I love my cousin, but sometimes it's so hard to keep her behavior in perspective. Having this afternoon off was nice, but... I spent over an hour at my favorite spot in the park. I have a specific bench in the rose gardens that usually gets partial to full sun, from which I can people watch, enjoy the sights and smells of summer roses and generally have some alone time. But today the rose gardens were full of couples. Old couples, teen couples, young couples, couples with kids, couples with dogs.... I was sitting on a bench by myself on a beautiful summer day in the middle of a glorious rose garden, and I was completely alone.
Then I went to visit my friend Dorothy and spent 3 1/2 hours creating the very beginning of my Alice In Wonderland 21st Birthday Tea Party scrapbook and realized that the person I most wanted to be at that party wasn't, couldn't be, and.... It took a lot out of me to mask how sad I still am about that.
And on top of all of this I miss Kenzie so much it hurts and I'm beginning to wonder what the hell I was thinking when I signed on for a whole summer away from her because I won't get to see her when I go to Vegas for my friend's wedding and it's all I can do to stop myself from calling my brother right now because I know if I call her crying it'll upset her and I don't want that but I'm just so upset I can barely think straight and
...
I bought my outfit for C------'s wedding the other day and put the whole thing together this afternoon for final approval from my aunt and Dorothy. Yes, I felt pretty and yes, I felt grown up, but... As excited as I am for this wedding and as supportive as I am of my friend and as much as I love her and her fiance, this whole wedding business really makes me sick. It's no one's fault but my own and I acknowledge that. It's just that... I spent the last 4 years with all these images and ideas in my mind about my wedding and my life and my fairytale ending and it's all been taken away from me. In the meantime, I have to sit on the sidelines while someone else's fairytale parades past. I'm not bitter towards C------- or her special day, but... God I feel like a fool.
But I refuse to let this all be about him. Because it's not. I'm just having a bad day. I realize and accept that I'm still going to have bad days even after I'm completely over this Big D. It's not about him, has never been about him; he's just a large contributing factor.
And just because I know all of this doesn't mean I'm not going to cry myself to sleep tonight. Because sometimes, the only cure is a good cry.
Maybe I'll tell you something worth hearing some other time.
~Willow
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Write One Leaf: "Lost & Found"
I've lost so many things over the last two years: many of my "best friends", a boyfriend I honestly believed was The One, my mind. . . Most importantly (or devastating), I think, I've lost my joie de vivre, my energy - my spark.
It took a long time after I was hospitalized for me to laugh again. It took a long time to look in the mirror and do something other than contemplate peeling away my skin in search of the girl I used to be. The truth is, I haven't been "that girl" for years.
This self-loss started so gradually, it was almost imperceptible. I started isolating myself, sleeping too much, pushing people away... and here I am. Hiding. She started showing herself more lately, though. I can put on clothes and my makeup in the morning, explore a new town, smile and flirt with the boys at the movie theater and even write again. My confidence has increased and so has my sense of self-worth.
There are people and situations I have to avoid, but... I can deal with that. I'm rediscovering myself in the streets of this old city, in rosebushes and dappled sunlight. I can taste faint traces of my inner flame when I cook or watch movies. When I bike through town with my iPod at full volume or mix drinks with my aunt I catch myself grinning and soaking up life. I'm making a comeback.
I lost myself once when I fell down the rabbit hole and into darkness. Crawling back out again took every ounce of what little energy I had left, but I can see the sky again - and oh, how beautiful it is. I might slip a little on occasion as I scrabble for the last few feet and get out completely, but I am not letting go and I'm never falling through again. I've fought tooth and nail for this life over the last six months and dammit, I'm going to LIVE.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
I don't think I could deal with that. Not today.
Okay, get back to your lives. Real post later.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Home, or Something Like It
But I miss my old haunts more than the rest of my family. I mean, honestly, the distance is a godsend, we were on the road to killing each other. But my car, the park, the parking structures, Denny's, Rose and Kara... Those are hard to do without.
Mostly, I miss the inherent California-ness of SoCal. The smell of jasmine exploding into bloom everywhere you look, the warmth of the sun and the constant dry heat as familiar as an old quilt - irreplaceable. There aren't jacaranda trees here, either. Tons of roses and flowers we don't even have names for at home, but no purple trees, and no jasmine. Tomato plants here are pathetic to behold and the beaches!? Quaint, but cold and empty. The concept of beach weather is nonexistent (though the drive there and back is far more fun than at home).
Salem has plenty to offer, though. For once, my relatives actually treat me like an adult (thank God), which means I can use the car as-needed, run errands without being interrogated, dictate my own work hours (within reason, of course), and generally do my own thing provided I meet my responsibilities and am not offensive or destructive; easy. The bus system is also incredibly user-friendly, and "town" is so fun to explore. From zillions of coffee shops and tiny little boutiques to big stores like Khol's and Macy's - and everything in-between - this town really has just about everything (even a Trader Joe's!). The very heart of downtown is prime people watching and did I mention all the funky coffee shops? The Beanerie, Governor's Cup, IKE Box, on and on and on, I love it.
We've got a pretty good routine built up, too. I drive my aunt to work in the morning, wander around town for an hour or so, go home and work with Margaret, spend afternoons writing and then go pick up my aunt before Margaret and I make dinner. Then we kick back with a glass of wine and a pot of tea, and spend the evening watching comedy news programs and British dramedies (love the BBC!) before bed. So... it's not quite home, but it's definitely shaping up to be something like it.
Write On,
Willow
Monday, June 20, 2011
Love from Paradise
So I have a plan for the summer. Regular, scheduled posts that make some semblance of sense. For example, for my "Write One Leaf" projects, I could post those on Wednesdays. For updates on my crafting (knitting, crochet, embroidery, scrapbooking, other projects of note), I could post those regularly on Mondays. I could post reviews of books and movies on Thursdays, and my Salem Diaries on Saturdays. Of course, I'll post other things often in-between if I have some particular thoughts that need to be shared. And I'll be working on a couple of essays and other creative projects that I'll update you on, but... My aunt spoke to me about something interesting yesterday. We were on the deck talking about my writing pursuits and she said (I paraphrase): "So many people call themselves writers, but so few of them actually DO it. You write and therefore are a writer. You've said so yourself, W, that you must write every day in order to be any good, and that you must practice your craft. It's work, but it's work you love. You have to work at it." Taking this in stride, I've resolved to write every day. Like every writer I've ever read interviews of, I will write daily, in scheduled blocks of time dedicated solely to writing whatever I choose, so long as I write.
I'll keep you all posted as I continue fine-tuning my system and schedule.
In other news, I'm reading more and more e. e. cummings and finding that (*gasp*) I kind of like it... Also, it isn't raining at all.
“The very impulse to write, I think, springs from an inner chaos crying for order, for meaning, and that meaning must be discovered in the process of writing or the work lies dead as it is finished.”
- Arthur Miller
Willow
