Wednesday Night

I took a home-printing class last night at this little curio shop in downtown Phoenix. They sell all manner of hand made goods, independent magazines and books. In the back of the store, they have a hallway that leads to a gallery space that can also be utilized as a classroom.

I've spent many years on and off taking art classes. Three summers of my tween life were spent in art programs where I did papier-mache, learned how to wheel-throw and hand build things out of clay, made linoleum prints (where I had to get 2 Tetanus shots after gouging myself a few times with a rusty linoleum carver) and painting. Two years in high school in Arts 1 & 2, then I.B. Art. I don't even know what that means. Lots of charcoal and pen & ink drawings, that's what. In college I took glassblowing and wheel throwing again. I've done collages on and off, elaborate surrealist activites where I cut out unrelated words from magazines and illustrate phrases that I put together with other images. Scissors and tape are some of my favorite tools. I own a sewing machine I use for slapdash alterations and clothing experiments.

I've been in a crafting slump, Phoenix does not lend itself very well to my previous obsession with crocheting. I've been playing with new ideas for projects. I am most attracted to things that are usable. Things you can wear, drink out of, put things on or in. These are also the kinds of gifts I give- things that are utilitarian but attractively so.

A lot of the lessons in the class were refreshers for me, reminders, but not a lot of new things. I think the most important thing I got was the time and space to make. Reminded myself that I like to draw and am okay at it if I practice daily.

So, now I have a challenge for myself- make my home a place where I can make things other than food and messes. We live in a small 2 bedroom with little to no excess storage. I am clever but not overly so when it comes to decorating. Also, I am a horrible procrastinator when it comes to doing things about my living space. To the point of resistance.

Goal #1: Buy a faux tulip table for the dining nook- best suited for accomodating the most people in small spaces and lots of room to spread your stuff out on.

I rode my bike from work to the class, I felt hot, and like I was covered in a thin layer of dust afterwards. The way home was much cooler, with less traffic. There is a stretch on a palm lined street off the main drags that literally drops at least 7 degrees in temperature. Living in the desert enables you to notice the incredible impact of asphalt versus grass on the climate. It was so similar to finding a "cool spot" in the ocean, you wander, blind in the murky water and all of a sudden it's 10 degrees colder in just a very small space.

I also saw a falling star.

Dear Phoenix,

You a bizarre city. Big and small at the same time. Talking with my cousin, I tell him if I started a street style blog in Phoenix, I would call it L.A., Jr. He tells me that I just slammed both L.A. and Phoenix so hard with just 4 letters. Phoenix: learn to keep the right secrets.

I anthropomorphize your weather often; it seems to be the only way I manage to stand it. I compare your weather to bad service. Like I am in a restaurant and have a horrible waiter who is rude, almost barbaric, and continuously getting my order wrong, unapologetically. The light is too bright and I can he has dandruff on his shoulders and I wonder how much of it is in my food. I keep coming back though, it's the only joint in town.

You are also like a teenager just discovering her body, wearing all the wrong things, showing me all you have all at once. Short shorts on short legs, exposed belly- like a baby. I can see it all- there is no mystery and I am disappointed; I can see into your future and you will be dressed in a more vulgar version of what you already have because it's the only thing you know. I want you to put on some pants, cover up your shoulders, save your cleavage- let me wonder what you will grow into. Right now- I already know.

I long for the rain and when it happens I am jubilant and grateful- I give myself away and you take notes. Rain makes the brown mountains orange and the green look verdant instead of fake.

But when the climate takes a chill pill, things get civilized. The temperature drops and you are inviting and entertaining, interesting and enviable from afar. I want to be outside every minute of the day- wandering down the streets that the heat keeps from me. I want to stare out the windows of places I don't go because I've been there too many times and I want more from them. My daily bike ride to work is invigorating, the wind sweeps across my face and I can smell the beach somehow. It's happened a few times. I don't know where it comes from. But I know that smell. Florida taught me well.

I love when I have the energy to explore what you have, when the heat doesn't suck it all out of me. I remember a time when the weather broke and I wanted to walk everywhere. Nowhere seemed unsafe or too far away. I felt connected to you, and not unimpressed and bored. You really have a lot to enjoy- you can be charming, sweet and familiar. But I wonder if you even like that side of yourself. You will always be slightly off the right track, but on a track nonetheless.

I won't be here forever, you've seen to that. But for now, I can handle it.

Love,
Chloe

A Good Night

Last night I

had 3 drinks but only paid for 2
learned how to roll a cigarette
met Dick Van Dyke's grandson to whom I as introduced after he danced for the entirety of the song "Supercalifragilisticexpealidocious" as played for him by the DJ.

Lorenzo Cabrerra/A series of sudden and unexpected events

So a few weeks ago, my truck was stolen. I came home from work at about 5:15 p.m. and parked where I normally do. It was there when Matt got home around 6 p.m. Then we went out to do some errands around 7 p.m. The funny thing is that I don't remember if my truck was in its spot then or not. It's something you just assume will always be there. I parked in our apartment building's parking lot. Where I always do. I have an affinity for a certain spot in which someone has scrawled (most likely with a Sharpie) in jagged lightning-bolt styled letters "KILL WHITY" (spelled just like that). I think this is hilarious. Often Matt and I fight over the spot and if I'm not parked in it, he probably is.

We got home at 9 p.m. As we pulled into the lot, I noticed my truck was missing. I first questioned if I actually drove it home, but I totally remembered parking it... So okay. This is a new experience. I was pretty stunned. Matt found the non-emergency phone number for the Phoenix PD and I called to file a report. An officer is on the way. In the meantime I call my insurance company. I do not have comprehensive insurance and therefore none of my loss (whatever it may be) will be covered by them. The woman is nice, sympathetic.

The officer comes and takes the report. He is also nice. He informs me that they have my car. Apparently, it was pulled over earlier in the evening. For suspicious behavior. It has been impounded because the guy driving it did not have a license. In Phoenix, when you are caught driving a car with a suspended/no license, your car is automatically impounded for 30 days. They didn't know he was driving a stolen car at the time it was impounded. The officer asks me if I know a "Lorenzo Cabrerra." I do not.

He gives me all the paperwork that comes with making a police report and being the victim of a crime. I thank him. He leaves.

Twenty minutes later, he calls to say that Lorenzo Cabrerra is in custody. I guess when they pulled him over and confiscated my truck, ol' Lorenzo had some drugs on him. The officer tells me he is going to the jail to add the stolen vehicle charge to the list of offenses. This all seems to be happening so fast. Matt does some research on Phoenix car theft. I guess they usually only recover about 9% of stolen vehicles. I am trying to grasp feeling "lucky" right now.

The officer calls again. This time to ask the name of my husband, the guy I'm living with. My boyfriend, I ask? Matt. The officer tells me that Lorenzo says that a guy named Jerry lives in our apartment building and gave him the keys to the truck to pick up someone. Lorenzo had a set of what they call "jiggle keys." These are filed down keys made for stealing cars. They can be forced into an ignition, and used to start the car. My truck is 14 years old and a prime candidate for this. I tell him I don't know a "Jerry." Nor do I have an extra set of keys just lying around. Damn you, Jerry.

That's the end of the phone calls for the evening. I get a ride to work the next morning. I feel vulnerable and annoyed but also amused by the whole turn of events.

To make a long story short, I spend a few days of the next week at the Phoenix PD trying to get my truck of impound since I didn't do anything to put it there. I have to attend a "hearing" which is just me telling my side of the story so they have documentation. I have to do deal with a lot of bureaucracy and almost have to pay a $150 administration fee for all this. They wave the fee since the car, while not reported stolen at the time of impound, was stolen at the time given the "jiggle keys." I get my money back. I spend about 4 hours there, total. It is painful, exhausting and irritating. I feel hamstrung as a citizen, disempowered and voiceless as a victim of a crime. I keep trying to imagine how much worse it'd be if I didn't have resources like friends to drive me to work, an understanding employer who lets me take all this time off to get this right again, good language comprehension skills, no children to pick up, a partner to share expenses with... The list goes on.

I finally get my truck out of impound, though I had to pay the $25 towing fee and $12/day storage fees, total: $113.00. It has been pillaged to the utmost. When all is said and done, there have been about $2000 of damages done in the short time Lorenzo had it in his possession. My car is not worth that.

As a result of all of this, I have made the choice to give up having a car. I have been walking to work-- which we thankfully live close enough for me to do so reasonably. We are going to break our lease and move. For the 4th time in less than a year. This new place is in a nice neighborhood even closer to work and a much more aesthetically pleasing walk.

It has been a ridiculous turn of events which lead me to choosing not to buy a new car. I don't drive that much and Matt's car is new and dependable. I have always felt that a car signified independence. I got a great deal of comfort from the safety in knowing I would always be able to get away if the situation warranted it. I have felt strongly about this since I can remember. I think that the combination of living in much more urban environment and being in a healthy, longterm relationship have helped me in letting go of this mindset. We have been talking marriage for quite awhile now so I know full well where this relationship is going. I enjoy walking to work and Matt picks me up in the evening or I get a ride with someone else. Things could be much worse for me.

I feel empowered in my decision where a few weeks ago; I felt angry, scared and victimized. I am lucky to live in a part of the city where walking to work is feasible and safe. I am independent again. I am doing something proactive for the environment. I have also been thinking about my attachment to Things. While I wouldn't recommend getting your car stolen, but suddenly losing things sort of checks your priorities. I know that I am in a place where I am able to have this perspective while not being overcome and burdened with the inconvenience and I'm not going to lie, it still totally sucked. I don't like doubting the safety of my home, my loved ones, my things, the integrity of my neighbors. But both Matt and I are safe, I will recover and things will be okay. And while I'm not going to thank Lorenzo, per se for this bit of light at the end of the tunnel, but maybe he has the capacity to look at his series of choices and do something differently as well.

Just as soon as he gets out of jail.

Neighbors

When I play Justin Timberlake in the morning, it makes the illegal dogs next door howl continuously.