tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34201743238185539332011-11-02T16:28:18.295-07:00the landscape of an inquisitive mindJulie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.comBlogger321100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-40237311667797737762011-06-23T16:01:00.000-07:002011-06-23T16:53:56.258-07:00

I talk with my boyfriend now and then about a “spiritual path” in life and how neither of us really believes that we are on one. There was a time not very long ago where I would never have admitted this nor would I have felt comfortable acknowledging it. I remember, years ago, walking around The Lake Shrine at The Self-Realization Fellowship in Malibu and noticing a plaque on the hillside that

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-35682745603360095272010-05-25T15:20:00.000-07:002010-05-25T15:45:46.787-07:00

Watching the live video link of the gushing oil rig is a mesmerizing and sickening experience. I've left my browser window open all day today and as each moment passes my incredulity grows. Why can't we stop this? Why weren't we prepared for this inevitability? And is there anything, anything I can do?The day I heard about the explosion, I felt ill and I recalled a saying that has always

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-57688544650586011642010-04-07T15:54:00.000-07:002010-04-07T16:08:29.071-07:00

The other day I came home from work and I went to bed straight away. Just a nap. Just a little nap. The sun was shining. It was a beautiful California spring day, ideal for an afternoon in the garden. I knew it, but I closed my eyes tighter and pulled the covers over my head. I couldn’t sleep, however. My conscience wouldn’t let me. An inner battle was raging: “Go plant some seeds”. “Not

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-23248456524834899412009-12-10T16:29:00.000-08:002009-12-11T16:08:40.818-08:00

So, God is smoking. And God is 23 feet tall or so. He takes his last puff and, ah crap, there's no ashtray next to his throne. God's robes don't have pockets. So, God tosses his cigarette butt down on a cloud. Out of sight. Out of mind. That was so easy, god thinks, who needs antiquated ashtrays? Soon enough, cigarette butts the size of baseball bats are littering earth. They're making

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-18290951540721491772009-11-07T17:30:00.000-08:002009-11-07T17:37:26.078-08:00

I wrote this a while back, but I wasn't ready to post it until I put notice in to my employers that I was making an exit, so here we go...I know a way to guarantee cognitive dissonance and stir up a lot of discomfort and maybe pain. Go to your corporate job by day and read Krishnamurti by night. Last night I read (over and over and over) that “Any time there is an issue of self-continuance,

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-5501243763575312352009-08-24T17:38:00.000-07:002009-08-24T18:25:49.190-07:00

This Sunday afternoon at Sunset Junction Music Festival, I was soaking up Martin Luther’s genre-bending R&B/rock ‘n’ roll/pop music. His luscious lyrics - just to be alive is a reason to ride/ don’t give up the spirit of the phoenix/ RISE” – struck a chord somewhere deep in my expanding soul. As I watched the clouds behind the stage spread out in magnificent formations, I felt Martin’s songs

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-14413823501155070862009-07-21T15:48:00.000-07:002009-07-21T21:20:19.924-07:00

Sewing, quilting, knitting, creating. They run in my bloodline. Only I never fully realized it until now. It should have been obvious. Several of my aunts are expert quilt makers. My mother sewed most of my childhood clothing and dolls. My paternal grandmother still makes purses although she can barely see. My maternal grandmother has presented me with more handmade gifts than I can count over

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-57979101437149060762009-06-30T17:08:00.000-07:002009-06-30T18:41:24.827-07:00

It’s a question that’s raised fairly often in discussions at my age. I’m almost thirty, unmarried, and have never expressed a deep sentiment for children either way. But, when I read editorials like Paul Krugman’s Betraying The Planet, in today’s NY Times, the answer is – in no uncertain terms, “Absolutely not”. And, on top of it, I need an explanation from new parents as to how they were able to

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-11323262802713705962009-05-21T15:21:00.000-07:002009-05-21T15:42:59.115-07:00

Yesterday, I went to see Anvil: The Story of Anvil at the Regency Fairfax. This retro theater in the center of LA offers a $5 matinee price for all shows before 6:00. I remember when it was $3, then $4. Even at five, this is the cheapest show in town. So, here’s the mysterious thing. Hardly anyone is ever there! It was ironic to be watching a documentary about a band who fears performing for

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-39026691716915023682009-05-09T13:39:00.000-07:002009-05-09T13:56:00.739-07:00

I remember reading in 2003 that future wars would be fought over access to clean water. Ever since then, I have been highly conscious of my water usage. If I’m over at your house and you walk away from the sink to grab something out of the refrigerator and leave the water running, I will jump up from the table and shut it off. Or, if I don’t know you that well, I will cringe on the inside and you

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-55937005147572099732009-05-07T16:52:00.000-07:002009-05-08T18:09:01.562-07:00

Who knows why early childhood memories broadside us at completely random moments? Who knows what jostles the small pocket that houses them just before the minute details of light, color and texture spill out and reconstruct themselves before our mind’s eye?Today, I was sending an e-mail out at work (something about information technology and outsourcing) and without a moment’s notice, I was six

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-6392203068061984632009-04-07T08:25:00.000-07:002009-04-07T08:39:40.561-07:00

I am a self-professed thrift-store junkie. Spotting a good buy gets my heart racing. I will dig, sift, climb, and linger until I feel confident that I have seen every last item and pondered its each and every use before I leave the store. Some days (but not often) I leave empty-handed and some days I leave utterly triumphant. Yesterday was one of the latter. I went to my favorite Goodwill in

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-45291274057766057552009-04-03T14:38:00.000-07:002009-04-03T14:50:18.211-07:00

The traders in the room next to me are tuned in to Fox news for nine straight hours every day. They also fancy themselves sideline commentators, which makes it quite obvious to the casual observer that they are not President Obama’s biggest supporters. One woman actually called him Osama, because she “seriously couldn’t remember his name!” (…sigh for humanity…)This morning, Fox was airing a clip

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-42872528613236382802009-03-30T14:54:00.000-07:002009-03-30T15:27:53.356-07:00

Origin: Hankook Park Destination: Charmlee County Park, Malibu Creek State Park, and Topanga CanyonSoundtrack: Fleet Foxes, Zero7, Speedsquare, Camera Obscura, and Midlake Reading Material: Bohemian Manifesto and a November 2008 issue of Rolling StoneThis weekend marked my inaugural voyage with my 1980 Volkswagen Vanagon. It was not only the first time I took her on the freeway, but also the

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-62748336415576974522009-03-18T15:15:00.000-07:002009-03-18T15:57:20.082-07:00

Last Saturday afternoon, I was recovering from a beautiful, yet somewhat brutal desert canyon hike in Anza Borrego State Park . My friend Ben and I had just finished a poolside meal at the Palms Hotel and were mulling over what to do with our evening. We grabbed the laptop, hopped on the hotel’s wi-fi, and searched for “ Slab City , CA ”. We found detailed descriptions, well-laid maps, and a page

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-79687599097987610702009-02-27T16:29:00.000-08:002009-02-27T17:23:31.285-08:00

I hear and read a lot about this concept in personal development. It’s not new. You can find pages of quotes on mediocrity on the internet.Here are just a few…Some men are born mediocre, some men achieve mediocrity, and some men have mediocrity thrust upon them. Author: Joseph HellerWe must overcome the notion that we must be regular. It robs you of the chance to be extraordinary and leads you to

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-22115989787560694002009-02-06T10:30:00.001-08:002009-02-06T10:57:21.299-08:00

If you can't tell where this license plate is from, can you just guess based on the bumper sticker?It's Texas. The woman driving was finishing off a hamburger as I passed her on the 10 somewhere between Houston and San Antonio. I wondered for a while about this lady and her bumper sticker. My main quandry was, which war? The war on drugs? The war on poverty? The war in Iraq? Afghanistan? The

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-21055254661303815322009-01-31T17:07:00.000-08:002009-02-05T12:02:03.388-08:00

Before I left LA for my somewhat dreaded trip back to Tennesee, I told myself that I wanted our one day in New Orleans to be a day of freedom, free from my daily life in Los Angeles and free from the preoccupation of selling a business in the beat-up economy of Tennessee. Lucky for me, New Orleans would have it no other way. It was my first time in the city and we were directed by our hosts to

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-32943197281522458742009-01-26T12:58:00.000-08:002009-02-05T12:42:24.484-08:00

I went to the dentist for the first time in over a year yesterday. Despite brushing my teeth, on average, 1.75 times per day, I had a lot of plaque built up on my gum line. So much so, that the scraping was making my gums bleed quite a bit. Sexy, right? Anyway, my dentist says, "I don't know if you haven't been in for a cleaning in a while because of the filling (read: large hole in one of my

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-42500978694958318062009-01-16T07:48:00.000-08:002009-01-16T08:05:58.824-08:00

If I could, I would build a winter home out of trelliced jasmine vines. I would fall asleep to the scent of night-blooming jasmine and wake to the fragrance of the Confederate variety. One of the saddest things I had to leave behind when we moved to Tennessee was the star jasmine vine I had spent the last year training and pruning, especially because I knew it was just about to bloom and I would

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-85484001814165885592008-12-25T19:46:00.000-08:002009-02-11T17:18:42.015-08:00

This fabulous piece of edible art is a Crescent Roll Christmas Tree. I took it to a potluck on Monday and I'd say it was a hit. I'll be making it as a holiday tradition from here on out. Someone remarked that it was "White Trash", but I think it's more "Midwest Christmas" than anything. This was a really cool art piece at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion where we saw the 2008 LA Holiday Celebration.

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-76620691003126572272008-12-24T08:20:00.000-08:002008-12-24T10:37:40.673-08:00

It’s Christmas Eve in LA, which makes this my 6th holiday season in a city where I have no family, have never lived in a home longer than 15 months, and haven’t purchased a Christmas tree, real or fake. Last year, we decorated a large tumbleweed we found in the Sequoia National Forest. We nailed it above our hearth (a blocked in, useless fireplace, of course). It was very minimalist and I was

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-8827515816237651732008-12-02T12:02:00.000-08:002008-12-02T13:07:39.820-08:00

This is a question I am pondering. The standard symbol of success in the financial business is driving around in a shiny, black, leased Mercedes, BMW, Lexus, or if you're a little edgy, a Porsche or Jaguar. As smooth and satisfying as these are to drive, they seem to me a tad bit run-of-the-mill. I've always been a fan of old, and unfortunately, big cars. Cadillac El Dorados and Ford Rancheros

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-89213756588784391802008-11-26T07:20:00.000-08:002008-11-26T07:31:21.986-08:00

Alright! I haven't seen a hard copy yet, but a friend called this morning and said my letter (see Blog Entry, "Park it, Angelenos!") is a featured letter to the editor. This means bold-faced, boxed in, and accompanied by a photo. Excellent. Now, I am just waiting for the phone call where the editor says, "I've gone through the archive of your submissions and I'd like to ask you to begin

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-86810014531462883142008-11-25T12:51:00.000-08:002008-11-25T13:39:45.644-08:00

1 Month until Christmas! What's hot this holiday season? Buying less and loving more. And, of course, matching Christmas sweaters.

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-2909961891506550142008-11-25T08:58:00.000-08:002008-11-25T09:54:18.814-08:00

I went to The Decemberists’ concert at the Wiltern last night. A great band, Loch Lamond, opened for them. Overall, it was a great show, save for the Decemberists passing up my most loved songs in favor of more upbeat hits conducive to audience participation and call-and-response. Since I’m not a concert reviewer or music critic, I won’t use this space to rant or rave about them, because all a

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-58516799578144889712008-11-20T10:49:00.001-08:002008-11-20T11:29:58.153-08:00

Here's a letter I wrote to the LA Times today in response to an article entitled "Evidence suggests commuters are abandoning transit habit".It was a sad commentary to see that with the decline in gas prices, comes a return to car-commuting for many residents. It surprises me a little that in a city recognized for being on the vanguard of the "green" movement, a spike in fuel prices would be the

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-45505256434138681142008-11-17T06:46:00.000-08:002008-11-20T10:56:21.910-08:00

Death Valley: Rock. Salt. Sun. Sand. Wind. Ruins. Exploitation. Expanse.The weather this weekend was incredible. High of 86. Low of 56. The evenings felt balmy. We watched the moon rise every night over the mountains, which allowed us a few extra hours of moonbright playtime.There was some morning yoga. I was introduced to watsu - water therapy in a warm, spring-fed pool at Furnace Creek Ranch.

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-20348832961457852922008-11-12T10:33:00.000-08:002008-11-20T10:58:04.002-08:00

Last week, I showed up at a sushi restaurant to meet a group of folks before heading to the Madonna concert. I had just ridden my bike from Santa Monica to Hollywood in rush hour traffic on the evening of the post-election "No On Prop 8" rallies. It was a glorious ride and I was even part of leading the West Hollywood rally at one point until the police escort allowed me to pass him and get on my

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-4514885246190386622008-11-10T12:39:00.000-08:002008-11-20T11:05:47.435-08:00

It’s almost too easy to contrast things about LA and East Tennessee. I mean, how much more polar can you get? But, there are things that are much more subtle than politics, religion, and sexuality. One of these things that I have noticed is a sad lack of self-reliance here in the big city. The people I am thinking of are in their late 20s to early 30s, most are not married or homeowners. They

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-3561887939645795512008-11-09T17:32:00.000-08:002008-11-20T11:06:04.161-08:00

The Los Angeles Farmer’s Market. Just like the gym, it can be hard to drum up the motivation, but once it’s over, you walk away with the feeling of time well-spent, to say the least.Rick and I hit the Hollywood Farmer’s Market today. This is the mother of all farmer’s markets. Sprouts, herbs, heirlooms, native plants, raw milk, varietal grapes. To enter without a week’s worth of recipes can lead

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3420174323818553933.post-57280766065734637202008-10-08T08:06:00.000-07:002008-11-20T11:06:27.128-08:00

It's my first week as a bicycle commuter. I ride about four miles from West Hollywood to Beverly Hills at 5 AM in the morning. My route begins westbound on an empty Melrose Avenue. There I come face to face with some of the most creative trendsetting shop windows in all of Los Angeles. For nearly two miles I am flanked by motionless, plaster suggestions of what is ideal and desirable. When I

Julie Hassetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14295560451310408835noreply@blogger.com0