Right away, my vagina knows it's in good company. It can tell it is being talked about and praised; it's eager to listen, and often adds an "Amen" and "Thank You Very Much" to the mix. And where else would my vagina feel such unity and exhaltation? At the Vagina Monologues, of course. No longer a virgin (I've seen it a couple of times before), I still forget about this consciousness that reaffirms itself 'down there' when my vagina gets together with friends. No sooner had the women on stage started rattling off wacky aliases for vaginas, than my very own "coochie-snorcher" chastised me for planning to take a break from the experience this year. After all, it's been a couple of years since I've thought of myself as 'a feminist' or a 'politically-active' person, so I thought I had little to gain from seeing the Monologues again so soon. Fortunately, my dear friend was performing one of my (many) favorite parts - "My Short Skirt" - and I headed to the show on Saturday night.

Obviously, my vagina also knew I was wrong to forgo the Monologues. It knew I had everything to learn - all over again. It wanted me to hear about hair, and pleasure, and love...and moaning. Oh yes, it was not to be missed, this moaning. Especially since it came from the Woman Who Loved To Make Vaginas Happy. It takes someone willing to be bold and expressive to do any part of this play, but to be this woman, it takes electricity and sensuality that can jump off the stage and bounce around the walls. She was amaaaaazing! I wonder if many of us could muster the sass and sounds coming from her even in the heat of passion, much less in front of an audience. Really, they were all incredible, they just didn't all get to moooaaaaannnn.  Some of them had to risk making us cry so that we could feel compassion for those who experience a darker side of being a woman.  Another wanted us to laugh at a word that usually makes us shudder.  And they all succeeded brilliantly.

I am so grateful that these women had the courage and desire to do what they did for us up there. To remind us all of the intimate connection we share as humans and to honor a physical manifestation of womanhood that is often shunned or disrespected. The fact that they made chocolate vaginas (and penises this year!) for us to enjoy in addition to raising money for local organizations that make our community safer for us all, just goes to show what people are capable of when we share our heartfelt visions with others. This play and its power is one prime example, and the women who bring these words and experiences to life year-after-year are an inspiration to action. Viva Vaginas!

*Do you have Vagina Monologue Uncertainty Syndrome? Maybe you're not quite sure if you can handle this show yet? One way to test yourself is how you use the word "Vagina" out loud. If you can do it alone, then the show is sure to shock and awe you. If you can say it around someone you know well, then you might squirm in your seat at first, but you'll be a Vagina Warrior by the end. If you're someone who uses the word in public conversations, then you might as well be on stage yourself!

Almost everything about Wiley's World has a comfortable, we've-been-here-awhile, neighborhood-joint, feel to it. From the unassuming location and the small dining area to the friendly, laid-back servers and bulletin board full of children's drawings, this cozy little pearl could easily be overlooked on the way to one of downtown's schnazzier digs. Unless you've already got a finely-tuned Great Food Radar, that is.

The one thing about Wiley's World that is as fresh as it gets is the pasta: organic, made on-site, and prepared with care, the dough takes on as many forms as it does flavors. Angel hair, fettucine, linguini, spaghetti - among others - can be found cradling peanut or marinara or alfredo or pesto sauces, or even olive oil with veggies or capers and roasted garlic. (They've got vegans covered too.) Want to walk on sunshine? Get the Mediterranean with tender angel hair noodles that showcase the bright flavors of marinara, briny artichokes and olives, and tangy feta cheese. And that's only if you haven't looked at the second page of the menu yet, where more mouthwatering flavors are stuffed into ravioli! Order the Smoked Chicken & Cheese Ravioli with Alfredo and melt away as the mild, satiny sauce coaxes out every rich earthy note of smokiness from the filling.

Wiley's takes good care of people who like to eat well, no matter how much (they offer à la carte, smaller and super size portions) or where (take home some pasta, ravioli, or sauce from their to-go case and make a heavenly meal at home). They make sure you (can) eat your vegetables by serving a large side salad of organic greens with a sweet and creamy housemade Raspberry Red Onion Vinaigrette with each entree. And just in case you feel that a meal is only complete if it comes with bread, they top it all off with a slice of pillowy-soft herbalicious bread. Those so inclined can make a toast to such people-pleasing circumstances with a glass of wine or bottle of beer, or if you prefer your sugars solid, with desserts including creamy Mocha or Lemon Cheesecakes, Fruit Cobbler, and fudgey Double Chocolate Brownies.

So next time you're cruising around Ashland and hear a persistent beeping in your head, pay attention: your radar's probably picking up on the Wiley's World signal.

Embracing the belief that nothing - no creation or vision or idea or product - is truly original pleases me for two reasons: first, it puts us all on an equal playing field, removing any need to 'do it better' than someone else, and second, it allows our individuality to shine through the recycled material and make our world interesting and relevant.

So what kind of movie would you make about three brothers on a road trip? On a spiritual awakening? Surely not the same one that Wes Anderson did. See what I mean? We get to peek into his head, the one full of quirky, simple characters and continuity of tone. "The Darjeeling Limited" is the latest window into this world, enriched even more by Roman Coppola (brother to another of my favorite filmmakers, Sofia) and Jason Schwartzman, co-writers of the film.

Appetizingly preceded by a viewing of the somber prequelesque short "Hotel Chevalier," the feature itself is a romp of colors and baggage, Samsonite and otherwise. Toting the numerable pieces of luggage they inherited from their deceased father (the symbolism is quite obvious in this film) and physically looking nothing like brothers, Owen Wilson, Adrian Brody, and Schwartzman form a burdened, immature, reluctant trio of grown men processing the present through the past (shared and separte), and ultimately resort to behavior typical of adults still operating as children. The oldest brother, played by Wilson, is bossy and self-absorbed, creating a (pointlessly) detailed intinerary for their spirtual journey and though his two younger brothers do their best to shrug it off, they eventually confront each other, either quickly, violently, or incompletely, finally realizing that they only have themselves to grapple with.

In the hands of a different filmmaker, this could have been intense or crude or tragic, but Anderson chose bright colors, a foreign setting (India), and realistic characters depicted as caricatures, creating a film more like a fairytale than a drama and allowing us to relate to it and enjoy it, only letting go of our own baggage if we choose to travel that far.

As the trailer and online clips demonstrate, "Lars And The Real Girl" is full of quirky characters and humor, but taken as a whole it is a concise, poignant, and generous film, one that prompts us to ask ourselves the important questions its characters face. Don't let its simple style, bizarre twist, and small-town vibe fool you into thinking its merely a sweet little distraction: it is a relatively inexpensive therapy session, for those willing to look beyond its surface.

Lars is a reclusive man who lives in a garage. He can't stand to be touched and doesn't say much of anything to anyone, despite everyone's best efforts to draw him out of his shell. Some people worry about him while others barely manage to tolerate his behavior, but he unwittingly throws them for a loop when he introduces his new (and only) girlfriend, Bianca. She's a life-size, anatomically-detailed doll that he happens to believe is real, but that others claim is a delusion. Obviously, irony has the upper hand as the people in Lars's life find themselves grooming, feeding, defending, and ultimately, loving the delusion. Bianca is more than just a fake pretty face with a wildly imagined life story. She is a mirror reflecting both Lars's desire for a person with whom he can share a risk-free intimate connection and the abundance of love around him already.

The cast was impressively moving, skillfully creating a world in which we all feel at home whether or not we want to. Ryan Gosling's embodiment of Lars has created a need for an entirely new level of award, and Patricia Clarkson is fantastically understated as the small-town doctor who attempts to help others instead of helping herself; everyone else follows their lead, making us nod sympathetically and admire them in spite of their alleged shortcomings.

Probably meant as a moment of comic relief in a critical and tense point of the plot, the preacher asks what Jesus would do about Lars' delusion named "Bianca," but I couldn't help wondering what I would do? And that is the real magnificence of this film: its ability to pull us into these people's lives and their unusual situation in such an engaging way that although we may intially think we'd do it differently, something rings true for us in their judgments and decisions, allowing us to look in the mirror for ourselves.

"Lars and The Real Girl" reminded me that the power of creativity often lies in its polarity: we may think that we feel best when we're lauging, but it can feel just as good to cry, and even though judging someone may feel wrong, it can pave the way to self-acceptance. Personally, and obviously I am not an authority on this, but I think Jesus would love this movie too.

I get up at the crack of dawn today, which is not a time of day that I've seen much since last Spring, and even though the palest blue sky and freshest air greet me with much enthusiasm, it takes a hot shower and a cup of tea before I manage to return the sentiment. So what is it that could rouse me from a peaceful sleep state at such an unfamiliar hour? A free filmmaking seminar right here in the State of Jefferson!

An hour later, I'm heading down I-5 gazing cheerfully at the (now bright) blue sky, the golden fields of grass and autumn leaves that cling to the soft rolling hills flanking the convenient strip of asphault, bopping my head to "Piano Jazz with Marian McPartland" until I reach Exit 747. A somewhat ironic name, I think as I consider the giant aircraft of the same numeral and enter the town of Weed for the first time in my life, an eager and amused look on my face. All this weekend, the College of the Siskiyous and Mt. Shasta City have hosted the 4th Annual Mount Shasta Independent Film Festival, and on its last day, I have come to learn what I can from a "real" filmmaker.

Jerry Alden Deal has been in the film industry for many years, writing lots of Hollywood scripts and even directing a couple of short films along the way, but he has only just directed a feature film that he wrote himself. He described "Dreams Awake" as a family movie, a drama centered on personal journeys, with a focus on the mystical Mt. Shasta itself.

I settle into my orange plastic seat in the small lecture-style classroom and glance around me: there are upwards of 20 people there and several kids, including some teenagers even (which proves that they don't all waste their weekends playing video games and smoking, uh weed?). Jerry introduces himself and points out the people in the audience who helped on the film and, I notice, looks to his wife, Barry (also executive producer on this film), who is sitting behind me, because, I like to think, they really are a team, great partners, and in love with each other. Ah, warm fuzzies!

Over the course of the next three hours, between my restless shiftings (my family always said I had a bony butt as they kicked me off their laps, and based on my experience with this 70s-era plastic, I now agree with them), I learn that making a film can require an enormous amount of time and energy and it is therefore advisable to make one about something I am passionate about and that will motivate me to continue nurturing it, quite possibly for years on end. I also learn that Jerry sees Hollywood studios as corporate enterprises and really valued his experience making a film independently of their bureaucracy. It does seem, though, that either way one goes though - big dogs or local shelter - money is a major character in any film. Note to self: get as much as possible, as soon as possible!!

He shows us some "standard def" daily clips, including one of a steadi-cam moving up a staircase that took nearly two hours to shoot. According to him that was much too long, but the shot looks great, so maybe it was just the right amount of time? We see a couple scenes with the lead actors and I suddenly become aware of the importance of sound in a film - these rough cuts had yet to make it to the editing and post-production stages and it was a make-it-or-break-it difference in lighting and noise. Note to self: always be appreciative of the entire crew! Eventually, Jerry even shares a couple of outakes to demonstrate that in filmmaking, as in life, the SH*% can hit even if you have written the fan out of the script. In this case, an unscripted car alarm and a farting "sound" entertain us, while ruining the shots. Strangely enough, this is the good stuff because during months of 12 hour work days, it actually keeps everyone sane, especially the director.

In the end, I wistfully look back at the picturesque campus (snowy mountain, tall evergreens, squirrels, and a stream!), but my mind is already racing ahead, full of renewed committment to my own cinematic ambitions.