California is on Fire

Apparently.

842 fires burning right now between Big Sur and Humboldt County. 19,000 acres are burning in Mendocino County alone, spread over 71 active fires. Then there are 9,000 acres burning in Lake County, in one massive blaze at Walker Ridge.

The level of smoke pollution right now in Northern California is a little bit ridiculous. Walking around Santa Rosa, I feel like I'm at a bonfire. In terms of particulate matter, the air quality is worse than L.A. on a bad day, or so says the Press Democrat. Smoke-sensitive folks (read: asthmatics, read: me) were advised to leave the county, or at the very least, stay inside as much as possible. There go my drive-North-to-the-river-and-swim plans. Instead, I am confined to coffee shops, etc. So sad.

This must be karma. I'm getting payback for my undeniable joy at having such a dry winter. I am so glad there are still people out there noble enough to become firefighters. Geez.

Frightened Rabbit

I have a new favorite band: Frightened Rabbit. I'd heard a few of their songs before, but after seeing them at the Independent last week, I'm completely sold. They manage a task not many bands can - the satisfaction of my need for unabashedly catchy, semi-pop indie rock, without the guilt or embarrassment. They are undeniably charming (they're Scottish - obviously). Scott Hutchison, the frontman, rocks a voice that reminds me of a less whiny Adam Duritz (of Counting Crows fame), and the drummer, who happens to be his brother Grant, makes the best faces of any drummer besides maybe The Dodos' Logan Kroeber. The song writing has a decidedly romantic streak that steers well clear of the cloyingly sweet territory into which bands like Postal Service and Death Cab for Cutie are prone to straying. Consequently, their album boasts the best breakup song I've heard in a long time, "Good Arms vs. Bad Arms": I'm sticking to my guns, but from now it's war/I am armed with the past and the will and a brick/I might not want you back, but I want to kill him - go download it. I can see a bit of radio play sending these guys to genuine rock star status. But for now, they remain adorably free of pretention. As Scott put it at the show, "This is probably the first show where we've felt like a proper band." And they still work their own merch booth after the show. Love.



p.s. I have yet to figure out how to take good pictures without a flash on my Lumix. Apologies.

Needles and Pins

Last week, I met with an acupuncturist. CRAZY. In my first session, I must have had 25 needles in my body. Between my toes, between my fingers, on my shins above my knees, on my face, in my ears, behind my ears, and most surprising of them all, on my throat. And you know how everyone who's ever gotten acupuncture is so quick to say that it doesn't hurt? Well, they're mostly right. Several of the needles I couldn't feel at all, after the initial prick. For example, the ones in my shins and on my feet: I kind of forgot they were there at all. However, the ones in my ears definitely hurt, although the pain subsided within a few minutes. And the one in my neck didn't hurt, per se, but it was a less than comfortable sensation. Apparently it's a special pressure point, which can be felt in the roof of the mouth and the back of the throat. This point is crucial, I was told, for alleviating allergy symptoms (my main motivation for the acupuncture in the first place). In any case, thus situated, on my back and full of needles, I was commanded to "relax" for the next 15 to 20 minutes. The lights were dimmed, a hilariously new-agey CD was played - Crystal Glasses, I believe (or rather, the sound that's made when you rub your finger along the rim) - and a lavender scented eye-pillow was placed on my face. Needless to say, this was all so bizarre (and yet simultaneously so cliche) that I had difficulty relaxing at first. However, come the last several minutes, I'd say I was about ready to go to sleep. At which point the brief reverie was broken, and the needles were removed, leaving only the faintest of marks, all of which faded in the next couple days. I was then sent home with a bottle of beta carotene drops and a bottle of freeze-dried stinging nettle supplements. I have my follow-up in 2 weeks. Fuck yeah.

Let's get married on impulse!

Sometimes, when I'm not immersed in another Joan Didion novel, I read crap magazines. In fact, I really love reading crap magazines. And although I'm sure a great deal of the population would disagree with me on this point, I personally include W magazine in this category. So when indulging in a recent issue, I came across a seemingly trite article regarding Georgina Chapman's first EVER collection of wedding gown for Marchesa. Why on earth is this interesting, you might ask? (I hope you ask, anyway.) Well, apparently these frocks (they are, of course, referred to as frocks) were not designed with your traditional bride in mind. Rather, they're "aimed at the impromptu bride."

Ummmm, what?

To clarify: "The frocks will be off the rack, suitable for the woman who marries on impulse and for the last minute shopper."

Right.

I, for one, think immediately of the phrase "shotgun wedding." And I don't usually associate shotgun weddings with the class of people who would buy a Marchesa gown. But who am I to judge? Apparently Bergdorf Goodman's seems to think this is a rapidly growing niche market. Linda Fargo, one of their senior VPs, explained that "there is a market for what we loosely call the runaway bride." So, if this sounds like your niche market, make sure you leave time for a quick stop at Bergdorf's on your way to Vegas so you can make sure you're married in style.