Last night, after Curtis saved me, we went to the house of blues for the cd release party of The Big Pill. It was one of those random nights- we had free tickets from a friend so we went. What a high energy scene. The place was PACKED. The drummer is what we would call a cengulator.

I am really enjoying L.A. Possibly too much! I just joined yet another 10-woman vocal ensemble. What are the odds of that? Nevenka performs folk music from Eastern Europe. I was invited to come check out a rehearsal or two and I couldn't say no. So far no one has asked me to leave so it's looking like it's official. Come see us perform on September 25th at the World Festival of Sacred Music.

Despite the minimal number of homosapiens in our house, Steve and I managed to have a party here by ourselves. It has been great. We witnessed about 12 simultaneous fireworks displays from our balcony view. Many are still in progress. It has been especially interesting tonight because Los Angeles is foggy. We took a short walk in our neighborhood (I guess I did leave the house a little bit after all) and saw a pretty fantastic local display as well. We watched as the pyrotechnics were launched into the mist. A few seconds after the fireworks exploded we would start to see them descend through the fog. The visual lag almost neutralized the discrepancy between the speed of light and the speed of sound (but not quite.)

In other news, I have been singing in Petra Haden's a capella choir to help her promote her recent album, "Petra Haden Sings the Who Sellout." We had our first full length performance on Friday at the Ford Amphitheatre.

After one day of relaxation. (or, more accurately, zombieness) I undertook a "training" hike yesterday to the San Antonio Ski Hut on Mt Baldy. I am gearing up for a 3 day backpacking trip to Mt Whitney along with about 9 other women for a good friend's bachelorette party. Yesterday's hike included the schlepping of our backpacks up a 3 mile trail that gained 2200 feet in elevation. It is a really beautiful hike. The view is tremendous and the foliage seems other worldly to me; agave plants and other cacti mixed with pine trees and snow!

In other news, I have been a bad bad blogger- neglecting this journal like someone who has been in the process of moving for, like, 6 months! Well, those days are over! We moved and we're finally getting settled into our new place. So far, life in L.A. is pretty good. More on that later!

Lately, during prime feline lounge time, we have been mountain biking in the neighborhood. There is a beautiful state park-ish area nearby with breathtaking views of the ocean and the canyon.

The show last night was relaxed and casual featuring a handful of performances from various friends including The Bettys- a 4 piece a cappella Sweet Adelines-style group (pictured at left), Dan Crane on air guitar (I now have a new-found appreciation for air guitar thanks to Dan's riveting performance), John Gold with Barbara Grusta and Dan Seta, an acoustic duo of Mike Andrews and Inara, and a jam session with Jackson Browne. Inara and her band performed a number of songs from the new album- many of which are a welcome presence in my head today.

Having been out of town for 12 years, this event was like an elementary and high school reunion rolled into one. A large percentage of the Topanga contingent was there along with a handful of long-lost former Crossroads peers. It was great to catch up with old friends in the lounge-y atmosphere of El Cid. Click on the image above to see more photos...

Last week we drove directly from a gamelan rehearsal at CalArts to Ciao Bella in the Santa Cruz Mountains for Simanti's Birthday party. Ciao Bella's brand of off-the-wall, hyperactive dance entertainment never disappoints and Friday night was no exception. It was so nice to see everybody! Click here to see Michelle's photos of the evening.

The next day we flew from SFO to Eugene, Oregon to visit Steve's sister, Pamela. (Many thanks to Michelle for all of her the hospitality and willingness to schlep us to and from the airport.) Pamela lives in Cottage Grove, which is a very small town about 30 minutes south of Eugene. We had a great visit and apparently had excellent luck with the weather. Among other things, we took a soak in the Belknap hot springs, visited a covered bridge, learned the correct way to pronounce Willemette and got to know Pamela's very cute (and intense) 2 year old pit bull named Polly. It was especially entertaining to watch Polly tear open a package(722kb).

After Oregon, we came back to Michelle's place in Sunnyvale and she threw together a mean udon noodle soup for us. The next day it was back to Santa Cruz where we visited our storage unit and spent the night at Guillermo's after one of his famous pizza parties. Friday morning Cyril and Charlene treated us to breakfast at the newly reopened Cafe Brazil, one of our favorites in Santa Cruz.

Now we are back home and very happy to have retrieved our bikes out of storage. I also managed to rescue my desk and another 1/3 of my wardrobe out of the lonely confines of the storage unit.

The ride back was visibly more treacherous-- more fallen trees, more boulders. When we got home, Twin Falls Idaho was on TV- which was great - or at least half of it was great- until a large boulder fell onto Topanga Canyon Blvd a few miles away and took out 3 power lines. We cooked and dined by candlelight, which was quite nice, and I was convinced that we may not have the power back for days but it came back on just in time to do the dishes.

We now have a renewed appreciation for everything that electricity has to offer including the ability to heat a hot tub. So, here is my family's hot-tub-in-the-rain advice: wear a plastic grocery bag over your head. The bag not only keeps your hair dry, it also serves as a little rain visor.

• An earthqauke so powerful that it "disturbed the Earth's rotation"
  
• Waves at 500mph from Thailand to Somalia- some as high as 33 feet
  
• Survivor accounts of the tide receding 200 meters before the wave hit
  
• Tens of thousands killed in an instant

After the concert, Tony treated us to lunch at Noshi Sushi. When I was a kid, we made weekly pilgrimages there. I learned how to order everything in Japanese because at the time, English was seldom heard on the premises. Twenty years later, they speak more English now, and the sushi is just as delicious. It was fun to say hello to Noshi and various staff members who always remember when I was substantially shorter.

Finally, Guillermo instant messaged me tonight because he noticed an unusual incoming referral link to LocalHarvest from a socially-conscious hippie porn site. From their own description, "Hippie Goddess features all original images of Natural, Hairy, Beautiful Hippie girls." At first glance, it seems like an oxymoron to have hippie porn. Doesn't it sort of defeat the purpose of hippie nakedness? On the other hand, it's somewhat refreshing to see a celebration of all that is non plastic. I guess every sub culture needs its porn!

For the past two months, we have been staying with my mom and Tony in their amazing house so, as transitions go, life hasn't been so bad.

Every weeknight at 9, the four of us sit down to some wholesome family time with The Sopranos.

Gamelan!
We joined Gamelan Burat Wangi at CalArts- led by I Nyoman Wenten. After just 4 rehearsals, we played a gig with them at the Mingei International Museum in San Diego.

Halloween Pirates!
We were sad to miss out on the Santa Cruz Halloween but this year we participated in some theatrical debauchery that rivals Pacific Avenue. Megan Geer-Alsop and other assorted Topanga friends hired a double decker London bus and inspired 60 revelers to dress up as pirates and "gallavant" around L.A. We were out on the top deck in the open air and began by driving through Topanga, Santa Monica, and Venice. Celeste Lear hooked up a generator and a PA system that blasted music on both floors and the whole bus was decked out with pirate flags and skeletons- we were harassing people on the street- brandishing our swords at them and saying "arrrrrrrrrr!!!" Then something crazy happened. We were heading West on Lincoln Blvd and the driver turned onto the 10 freeway (AKA the tradewinds). This was totally insane. It was exhilirating and horryfying to hear the music bounce off the underside of overpasses that were only about 5 feet away from our heads. We finally ended up in downtown L.A. at a warehouse party. 60 drunk and swaggering pirates can turn a lot of heads.

There is a reason for all this. I have a basic belief in all sorts of ghosts but am usually not too interested or concerned to think about them. Lately, however, the topic keeps entering my mind since we are preparing to move and we haven't found a new place yet. Aside from being high-maintenance in all sorts of ways about where we will live, I place great importance on living in a ghost-free environment-- or at least a benevolent ghost environment.

I have lived in the same house now for 8 years and aside from loving the place for its Victorian architecture and location, I have always felt like this house had (to be embarrassingly new age-y) "good energy." Despite its crazy downtown location and its proximity to staggering drunks and late-night howling college students, I have always felt a calmness inside these walls.

Eight years ago, when a friend and I were looking for a house to rent, we found another beautiful old Victorian house and I really liked it but it was out the question. Underneath its cheery yellow paint, I felt creepy in it and I was convinced that it had the kind of ghosts that would be better left alone.

I define ghosts fairly obtrusely. To me, they are not always conscious entities but can also be lingering ideas. Upon moving into our current (100 year old) house, I had a dream that there were indeed ghosts here, but that they only hung out (or swirled around) by the ceiling. I was convinced that the ghosts here were more like good memories that protected the place.

I think that after 8 years in such a house, maybe a part of me will be left swirling around in the ceiling as well.

We made the most out of the trip by caravanning down to start the transplantation of our cars and to move Gretchen the Iguana to a temporary home in Topanga. (thank you David and Mary!) I fashioned a funky travel cage for Ms. G, which was comprised of a 2' egg crate and an upside down laundry basket. We put her travel cage in the front seat and her (very large) everyday cage in the back of Steve's pickup. It was a hazard-light-producing, side-of-the-highway-stopping adventure. The cage doors rattled, escape attempts were made, and Iguana defecation happened.

In addition to the Iguana drama, I had to pee at least 5 times during our 6-hour trip! First in Santa Cruz, then in Gonzales, then at the Madonna Inn -an entertaining pit stop, then on the side of the road somewhere past Santa Maria, and then in Santa Barbara. I've never had to pee so much on a road trip!

During one of these roadside pee excursions, I was reminded of how much I hate automatic toilets! Here are some of the reasons:

1. More often than not, they flush too early.

2. I usually don't realize I am encountering one until it has totally freaked me out.

3. When I do realize I am sitting on one, I feel nervous and anxious the whole time about the probability of reason #1.

4. Reason #3 usually leads to self-fulfilling prophesy of reason #1.

I have forever been afraid of industrial toilets. The powerful flush inspires an urge to get away as quickly as possible. Ever since I was old enough to use a public toilet, I have steadfastly followed a certain order of operations:

1. Use toilet.

2. If it is in a stall, get totally prepared to leave. (put coat back on -if applicable, sling purse on shoulder etc.)

3. Open door and step out of stall.

4. Flush toilet with foot.

5. Leave vicinity in a hurry.

For obvious reasons, automatic toilets completely destroy this time-tested procedure.

In contrast to being afraid of loud, vortex-producing, high-tech industrial toilets, I am also frightened of low-tech pit toilets- the kind that have direct, vertical openings to large, deep pits of waste. Pit toilets are often found in state parks and campsites. Aside from not wanting to expose myself to a rancid pit of excrement, I tend to have paranoid fantasies that an earthquake could occur and split open the floor. Or maybe a monster could be living in the pit and grab me from below. What if Freddy Kruger lives down there? Or a weird pervert? Pit toilets rouse my imagination in an uncomfortable way and they basically just freak me out.

In other geeky news, I just configured PHPlist for Vermouth. Now you can all sign yourselves up if you want to know about our shows. I even added some radio buttons for locations so if you are in L.A. you don't have to worry about getting an email for every show we play in Santa Cruz etc.

Vermouth is currently #2 in Google for keyword, "vermouth." Yay! I'm trying my best to be #1. < Mwah hah hah >