Month: April 2015

A Weekend in Cambria

Anthony and I celebrated our 2 year anniversary by going to Cambria for the weekend a few weeks ago.

Cambria is this tiny sleepy town a few hours north of us on the Central Coast – and it is absolutely gorgeous. It is right on the coast, but is unlike a lot of coastal California towns with its lush greenery everywhere (despite our terrible drought).

We stayed in an Airbnb and had a fun quiet weekend away chatting, exploring, and tasting wine.


IMG_5497 IMG_5505 IMG_5503 IMG_5504 IMG_5506 A little reminder of home!

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Our place was in a cute neighborhood with a trail to town along a hillside and across a big field. It really felt like we were alone in just – green. We weren’t exactly sure where we were going and if it would actually end up in town, but it was fun exploring, and we eventually made it.

IMG_5513 IMG_5507 IMG_5527 IMG_5522 IMG_5520 IMG_5518 IMG_5515 Once we got to town, we of course found the only brewery near by.

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We also tasted wine at Twin Coyotes Winery, where we chatted with the owners for forever. We had dinner and walked everywhere – all the while not exactly sure how we would get home. The trail we took there would be terrifying at night (for me at least) and it was getting pretty cold. I was in a dress and Anthony didn’t have a jacket… There are no cabs or Uber drivers in Cambria, so we were kind of planning on walking along the roads for 30-40 mins, freezing our butts off. Or buying $50 sweatshirts that said “CAMBRIA” across them that we would never wear again.

And then Anthony asked some random cashier how people get rides around here. That led us to a hostess who told us to just “call Rob”. She gave us a number, and long story short, we got picked up by Rob in a mini-van and got a ride home for $10.

He said, “In Cambria, we don’t have Ubers or taxis… but we’ve got Rob.”

Thank god for him!


The next day, we took a long walk along the beach. They have this amazing boardwalk path that was just surrounded by blooming flowers – it was amazing.

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On our way home, we took highway 46, which everyone in town kept mentioning as an amazingly beautiful drive. Now I wish I could have an excuse to take it anywhere – it was gorgeous. If you ever have the chance, definitely take this drive – it goes right into Paso Robles, and has an amazing view of Morro Rock (which I didn’t take a picture of. I know.)


It’s just green rolling hills the entire way – it’s really breathtaking.

Then we saw a sign for wine tasting, somewhere along the highway in the middle of nowhere. We had to stop.

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What is your favorite weekend getaway spot? Hope you have some fun plans for this coming weekend!





Mr. Mélange: Unexpected Sources

My handsome and talented boyfriend, Anthony, is an amazing writer. Many might not know this about him, since he is a PhD student at UC Santa Barbara for Composition in music. He also has an ensemble that he plays with, where he performs percussion and electronics.

But his mother is an English professor and he has such a talent with words also. I wanted to share a piece he wrote years ago, about coming to Santa Barbara and balancing his art with his academic career. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

Unexpected Sources


impossible fossils

Gods you aren’t.

And it’s from a place of relief

I write

Likely temporary- like most things- but you are too.

It’s me, really, it’s me. But for me, it’s you even though it is in fact me. You with your rigid box of westernization and eras of acquired mass and weight. I’ve spent a lot of time bearing that load, we all have.

Those shadows, your shadows, so long. So long and so dramatically inescapable that we mortals can’t even make out where they end. But, ironically, it is that final shadow- the last dusk- that curves the light around the arcs of your darkened scalps.

The crushing rules and the counterpoint and the pressure of originality and modernity and the checklists of classes which hook creative flesh to increasingly massive boulders and slow already exhausted limbs until you just can’t go and you’re afraid of the very thing that severed the previous cargo. You can’t even bear to look at it- let alone think it- without some insane brain pop.

And it’s from a place of relief that I write. And it’s me, really, it’s me.

In any case, I choose to wriggle free of those hooks, even if the resulting rips in my skin scar over and forever become a reminder of you, even though I never realized my own hands helped you pierce my spine with them. Because you are not evil. I made you evil and I resented you for what you did. In reality all of our shadows were the same height.

Terrifying, humbling, freeing.

It’s been a tough road. I have to admit, it’s been a very tough road. I came to Santa Barbara with expectations and hope but something wore all of that down. I’ve never been a great student and I often I wonder why I came here. I wonder why I would once again volunteer to be in an environment where I feel inadequate, constantly compare myself, always come up short, and inevitably become more afraid.

They’re feelings I’m all too familiar with. They’re feelings that rule me and inhibit virtually everything I do. After so long it’s so easy to give in and let that be who you are.

And that’s who I was yesterday. I was inhibition and fear.

I fell asleep, as I usually do, to some movie that looked vaguely interesting; something that would put noise in my head. I chose Kevin Smith’s Burn in Hell. If you don’t know, Kevin Smith is the director of Clerks and Chasing Amy fame. I really liked him years ago, but haven’t been much in to him lately. I remember seeing other Q & A sessions with him and finding him to be a pretty interesting guy to listen to, so I put it on. I almost immediately fell asleep. But I did wake up just in time to hear the words “You want to feel about your art like the way you feel about that chick in high school or that dude in college” It starts right about the 1:00 mark in this clip.

I’m an artist. As much as saying that makes me gag, I’m finding it harder to just call myself a composer lately. Something I’ve come to realize about art is that its effectiveness is reliant on just a little bit of craft but almost entirely on context. The context in which I happened upon this clip was beautiful. The words were unexpected, poignant, and I needed them. If I’d seen this in a different situation, who knows how I’d have felt. Maybe I would have found it contrived, maybe not. It doesn’t matter. It matters that it did something for me.

I used to have that fire and that raw passion for my art. It was driven out of me, extinguished. It would be easy to blame that on people who told me I wasn’t good enough or situations that made that notion crystal clear, but it really comes down to me and my willingness to accept that. It’s the weight of years of self-deprecation compressing and pushing all of the oxygen out. It’s a direct result of my increasing shame about my art and my self-expression. It’s weak and it’s bullshit.

My passion was borne of exploration and love. It was not informed by years of schooling, it did not know rules, and it was pure. It listened and was not afraid. I approached everything I did with joy and a fervency I havent felt in a while.

One of the first times I can remember feeling that total, elevating bliss about music was hearing John Adams’ Harmonium.  I must’ve been about 17 at the time and it was 6:00 AM, my dad was driving me to marching band practice. There was story on NPR about Adams and the clip from Harmonium they chose to play was the third movement: Wild Nights. I heard it and I was in love. When I came home that day, dad had sent me the link to the stream of that broadcast. I fast-forwarded ahead to the music and closed my eyes. The darkness behind my eyelids began to shimmer and explode with color. It was electric and unrelenting in its pulse and it was fucking magic in its orchestration. I had never experienced anything like it. There’s a section in which the horns are hocketing upward pitch bends, like un-yielding, impulsive cries of new love and adventure. I smiled and I rewound that part. I listened again and I rewound. I must’ve done this at least fifteen times. I loved what it did to me- that it made my chest feel like it would burst, that it made me hot and excited, that it made my eyes fill with tears.

I deserve to feel that way again, and I’m going to. Instead of viewing my environment as oppressive and constrictive it’s time to accept things with that old joy, stop comparing myself, and start loving what I do and create.

As artists, we have very little control of that context within which our art is received. We cannot control the time in which we exist or the places that we are heard. There is only the hope that something we say might be unexpected, that maybe someone in our audience might, by some exceedingly small chance, need exactly what we offer. And we owe it to them to speak with unapologetic truth and genuine tone.

Like the video clip, the poem at the beginning of this entry presented itself without warning yesterday. It’s my own, and I had forgotten I had written it. I needed to remember though. I also needed to remember a part of a letter I wrote to my students at Casa Grande High School just before I left to come to Santa Barbra:

I know I have told you this before but I have recently strengthened my resolve in this belief so I feel compelled to say it again: talent is non-existent. Do not ever doubt your own abilities because of a mislead belief that you are unable. This is a mistake I am perpetually making and I know it has only held me back.

Also, no matter what you do always make music a part of your life. Continue playing if you can, but always continue to find and question new music- even if you think it sucks, figure out why it sucks and learn from the experience. Never limit yourself, give all music at least one full and focused listen.

I mean, it can’t get any more direct than that.



If you want to hear me gush more about this dude, check out this post.


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