Earthquake Cafe

Boyfriend's web site is up

Wed, 03 May 2006 08:15:57 GMT

http://www.mynameischrisdotson.com

is my b-friend's newly-launched web site. Warning: it's media rich: lots of audio, video, and photos. I'm in one of the videos (the "Board Game" Macchio; click on 'RALPH MACCHIO IS AWESOME!' to see the Macchio series).

In other news,

My [Not Quite] Fifteen Minutes of [Not Quite] Fame:

I am included in Danielle de Picciotto's documentary titled Einsturzende Neubauten: On Tour with neubauten.org. I'm glad I was part of this project, but warning: I am by no means a big part of it. There are just a couple of clips of me. I doubt this documentary would be interesting to most people unless you are a registered supporter of neubauten.org ... which is now in Phase 3.

You can check out the fabulous Danielle at http://danielledepicciotto.de/ or her mySpace page, http://myspace.com/danielledepicciotto

P.S. - I'm not *on* mySpace myself, and don't plan on joining... though I would join if I had something to promote.

How pathetic...

Sat, 01 Apr 2006 07:14:41 GMT

I haven't written in here since Sept. of '05. I made some New Year's resolutions that didn't have to do with LJ, and I've honored a couple of those resolutions. But now I'd better resolve to write here a little more often!

News:

1) Went to Prague with sister Audrey last November. It's the most gorgeous city I've seen (thus far) and still had plenty of tourists. We were there five full days (not counting travel time). We stayed in Zizkov, Praha 3, a residential quarter that's a bit "afield" -- but that wasn't a big deal because we were one block from the tram.

day 1: Charles Bridge (tears came to mine eyes), Old Town Square, Dvorak's "Rusalka" at the state opera house

day 2: Old Jewish Cemetery and synagogues; Mucha Museum; Old Town Square (again)

day 3: shopping on Na Prikope; Wenceslas Square

day 4: Prague Castle (Golden Lane, St. Vitus Cathedral, etc.)

day 5: Museum of Communism; Novy Smichov Mall (yes, we like to shop)

2) I've honored my New Year's resolution to exercise. I'm doing mat-based Pilates. It was a TV offer called "Zone Pilates"! And I like it.

3) I've honored my New Year's resolution to give more. I'm now sponsoring a CUTE little girl from Zambia named Precious. She is one year old. This is through Christian Children's Fund, and don't let the name fool you -- they don't proselytize.

4) What I've read thus far in '06: Middlemarch (Eliot); Deerbrook (H. Martineau); The Razor's Edge (Maugham); and I'm now reading Villette (C. Bronte).

... the negation of severe suffering was the nearest approach to happiness I expected to know. Besides, I seemed to hold two lives -- the life of thought, and that of reality; and, provided the former was nourished with a sufficiency of the strange necromantic joys of fancy, the privileges of the latter might remain limited to daily bread, hourly work, and a roof of shelter.

-- C. Bronte, Villette

Louisiana Poems

Sun, 11 Sep 2005 20:46:32 GMT

1. This first one evokes New Orleans like no other, in my opinion. Maybe that's because the last time I went to N.O., I was a WTA (Woman Traveling Alone).

This poem is by Diann Blakely Shoaf, now known as Diann Blakely, a native of Alabama. This poem is hard to find, as it appeared in the Antioch Review Jan. 1, 1994, and does not yet appear in a book, at least to my knowledge and according to the research I've done. It won a Pushcart Prize.

I had to download it for a few bucks, and unfortunately, it came in a form which does not reflect the original line breaks. I don't feel like it's my place to impose my own line breaks.

=====

SOLO, NEW ORLEANS
The Antioch Review - January 1, 1994
Diann Blakely Shoaf

Crossing Lake Pontchartrain, vertiginous, hands gripping the wheel, the bridge beneath me swaying - I could have sworn it - as a dented maroon Ford passed, radio blaring, back seat crammed with children, the Madonna stuck on its dashboard clutching a horseshoe of roses. Homelife closing in, I'd scrimped for this day away, not expecting haze, heat already swathing the filthy narrow streets, their beer joints

and souvenir shops selling beads, half-price masks after Mardi Gras, not expecting the fat hotel clerk's "Don't go past Dauphin, don't go out alone at night" when I asked directions. Wary at 10:00 a.m., I skittered down Bourbon, darting from strippers in a round-the-clock bar, tassels swinging, siliconed and sweat-beaded breasts, again when I saw a man

on his knees at the corner of St. Ann begging for mercy, the same cry I heard at noon mass in St. Louis Cathedral, where a woman dusk-skinned as Jeanne Duval sobbed the response, her accent thick and seductive, like the coffee I sipped with salad, my take-out lunch. I backed into a tiny bookstore, spotted a moldy volume of Baudelaire, his willing confusions of love and disgust, that mistress' nipples like rubies, syphilis blooming inside her. Hooves clopped nearby; a guide recited the history of the Ursuline convent next door to couples lapsed in his buggy, those stucco walls, murmur of nones - still I'd prayed already, purged to bone in shelter and safety, and now zydeco percussed, delta blues wafted around the statues in Jackson Square; a young mother balancing a cherub-cheeked, drooling baby dealt Tarot cards, told a story of my life so true I tipped her ten dollars, replaced my wallet with fingers that trembled, walked smack into two men swapping envelopes, their knife-like stares no match for the Lady of Situations, her stern-eyed blessing from a card that explained a past, while confirming the future was mine. "When I leave this town...," but not yet, though the cathedral bell struck its hour; I reversed my heels' stiletto to sprawl on grass, sniff azaleas, watch mimes, painters a shot for a film. Humid skies haloed the city; a man asked me directions as if I'd lived there always. "When I leave this town," "Cocaine, lady?," "Want a good time, sweet little sister?" -

if I answered, perhaps I'd remember these swells and surges back home, allow them to transform a life I couldn't bid farewell. And how can we belong anywhere except by peeling shrimp, drinking beer at bars then divining the way back to cheap hotels, blurred copies of Baudelaire? Pigeons' stupid cooing finally woke me; I rushed to make check-out time, filling two cracked glasses to rinse my parched mouth, throwing matches, a sweaty nightgown in my duffle. Nearing the bridge, which looked more solid, somehow, than before, I pulled over, seeing a procession encircling raised white tombs, next stopping to jewel one with flowers, joined a woman who opened her throat in long vowels to echo and celebrate loss in that city of flesh and the dead.

=====

2. This next poem is by Yusef Komunyakaa, a native of Bogalusa, La., and a Pulitzer Prize winner.

POTIONS

The old woman made mint
Candy for the children
Who'd bolt through her front door,
Silhouettes of the great blue

Heron. She sold ten-dollar potions
From a half-lit kitchen. Chinese boxes
Furnished with fliers & sinkers. Sassafras
& lizard tongues. They'd walk out

Of the woods or drive in from cities,
Clutching lovesick dollar bills
At a side door that opened beside
A chinaberry tree. Did their eyes

Doubt under Orion as voices
Of the dead spoke? They carried
Photos, locks of hair, nail clippings,
& the first three words of a wish.

=====

3. This last poem is by Cleopatra Mathis, born in Ruston, La., but now living in New Hampshire and teaching at Dartmouth.

AERIAL VIEW OF LOUISIANA

The delta lies unchanged, flat
as childhood: a woman gathering pecans
from a yard black with water, purple martins
after mosquitoes, all winter mock lilac.

In the dream of wrought iron
you find them -- the grandmother is fierce,
both arms waving you away. Your mother
takes your hand to speak
of fishing from low pine flats
how she loves the nests of water.
She says your pride will be her death.
You wear your grandmother's wild name,
her fan of hair.

You wake to mountains: reflections
off coastal islands, hills of prairie marsh.
Memory is the first claim,
you'll spend your life coming back
to this flatness. By dusk you have forgotten
everything but the bleeding outline
of the river. You watch for New Orleans,
the white cluster of tombs.

Etc.

Tue, 23 Aug 2005 16:49:25 GMT

How lame, I haven't updated in almost three months. Maybe I sort of hibernate in the summer; I don't like summer, by the way. Or maybe there just wasn't much to write about, or I was afraid of digging.

Main news: my youngest sister got married August 6th! It was a fun wedding.

Came across this poem on Poetry Daily recently and had to share:

=========

Death, Etc.

I have lived my whole life with death, said William Maxwell,
aetat 91, and haven't we all. Amen to that.
It's all right to gutter out like a candle but the odds are better

for succumbing to a stroke or pancreatic cancer.
I'm not being gloomy, this bright September
when everything around me shines with being:

hummingbirds still raptured in the jewelweed,
puffballs humping up out of the forest duff
and the whole voluptuous garden still putting forth

bright yellow pole beans, deep-pleated purple cauliflowers,
to say nothing of regal white corn that feeds us
night after gluttonous night, with a slobber of butter.

Nevertheless, what Maxwell said speaks to my body's core,
this old body I trouble to keep up the way
I keep up my two old horses, wiping insect deterrent

on their ears, cleaning the corners of their eyes,
spraying their legs to defeat the gnats, currying burrs
out of their thickening coats. They go on grazing thoughtlessly

while winter is gathering in the wings. But it is not given
to us to travel blindly, all the pasture bars down,
to seek out the juiciest grasses, nor to predict

which of these two will predecease the other or to anticipate
the desperate whinnies for the missing that will ensue.
Which of us will go down first is also not given,

a subject that hangs unspoken between us
as with Oedipus, who begs Jocasta not to inquire further.
Meanwhile, it is pleasant to share opinions and mealtimes,

to swim together daily, I with my long slow back and forths,
he with his hundred freestyle strokes that wind him alarmingly.
A sinker, he would drown if he did not flail like this.

We have put behind us the State Department tour
of Egypt, Israel, Thailand, Japan that ended badly
as we leapt down the yellow chutes to safety after a botched takeoff.

We have been made at home in Belgium, Holland, and Switzerland,
narrow, xenophobic Switzerland of clean bathrooms and much butter.
We have travelled by Tube and Metro o'er the realms of gold

paid obeisance to the Wingèd Victory and the dreaded Tower,
but now it is time to settle as the earth itself settles
in season, exhaling, dozing a little before the fall rains come.

Every August when the family gathers, we pose
under the ancient willow for a series of snapshots,
the same willow, its lumpish trunk sheathed in winking aluminum

that so perplexed us forty years ago, before we understood
the voracity of porcupines. Now hollowed by age and marauders,
its aluminum girdle painted dull brown, it is still leafing

out at the top, still housing a tumult of goldfinches. We try to hold still
and smile, squinting into the brilliance, the middleaged children,
the grown grandsons, the dogs of each era, always a pair

of grinning shelter dogs whose long lives are but as grasshoppers
compared to our own. We try to live gracefully
and at peace with our imagined deaths but in truth we go forward

stumbling, afraid of the dark,
of the cold, and of the great overwhelming
loneliness of being last.

Maxine Kumin
Alaska Quarterly Review
Volume 22, Numbers 1 & 2
Spring & Summer 2005

A Sunday

Sun, 29 May 2005 23:26:23 GMT

Tonight's menu for C. & me: baked chicken (boneless, skinless, free-range breasts marinated in fresh-squeezed lemon juice and sun-dried tomato dressing/marinade); sauteed organic swiss chard; wild rice casserole with broccoli, spinach and cheese; and chocolate bread pudding. Most of this will be homemade except for the dessert (found it in the Whole Foods refrigerated dessert section) and the sun-dried tomato marinade (another Whole Foods find - in the refrigerated salad dressing section). Yum!

Yesterday afternoon I got my hair chopped. It's shorter than it's been in a while. It was getting too long, difficult to blow-dry, etc. My hairstylist is glad I'm open to experimentation and letting her do whatever. The cut is kind of difficult to describe, but it's really short underneath and longer on top. This helps the hair fall flat rather than curl up and get unruly. (I have the sort of hair that's too straight to be wavy and too wavy to be straight.) Depending on one's perspective, I could be semi-stylish Euro-wannabe chic OR an L-Word wannabe (West Hollywood lipstick lesbian) OR one of those women with a "Mom" haircut -- who gets a short 'do b/c she just had a kid and has no time to deal with her hair anymore -- except I'm not that woman at all, certainly not a mother.

Finally went to the used bookstore yesterday. Purchased "Difficult Daughters" by Manju Kapur (published 1998, set around the time of Partition); "The Hideout" (first edition, translated), a short novel by Czech writer Egon Hostovsky, c. 1945; and "The Real Charlotte" by E. CE. Somerville & Martin Ross -- pen names of course for two female cousins, Edith Somerville and Violet Martin -- considered by some to be one of the greatest Irish novels.

J.Fyn's 30th birthday is tomorrow, May 30! She's in Hawaii with her man, swimming with the dolphins (literally).

My parents' wedding anniversary (I think their 36th) also is on Memorial Day, but if I recall correctly they were wed on the Memorial Day of the "old days," which might have been May 29 (today). (If that even makes sense...) I suppose I should call to congratulate and confirm.

I'm fairly happy -- especially if I just sort of glide along, living day-to-day life. But if I stop and think too hard, I'm not so sure.

You know, there is always:

KNOWLEDGE by Kim Addonizio

Even when you know what people are capable of,

even when you pride yourself on knowing,

on not evading history, or the news,

or any of the quotidian, minor, but still endlessly apparent

and relevant examples of human cruelty -- even now

there are times it strikes you anew, as though

you'd spent your whole life believing that humanity

was fundamentally good, as though you'd never thought,

like Schopenhauer, that it was all blind, impersonal will,

never chanted perversely, almost gleefully,

the clear-sighted adjectives learned from Hobbes --

solitary, poor, nasty, brutal, and short --

even now you're sometimes stunned to hear

of some terrible act that sends you reeling off, too overwhelmed

even to weep, and then you realize that your innocence,

which you had thought no longer existed,

did, in fact, exist -- that somewhere underneath your cynicism

you still held out hope. But that hope has been shattered now,

irreparably, or so it seems, and you have to go on, afraid

that there is more to know, that one day you will know it.

I've Downloaded Some Stuff the Kids Are Listening To

Mon, 23 May 2005 08:43:48 GMT

My general rule with music the past few years is: if it's sung in English, I'm not terribly interested. I've been out of the loop so recently have downloaded some bands the kids are listening to, such as: British Sea Power, Doves, The Mars Volta, Futureheads, Kasabian, Kaiser Chiefs. I don't think I'd buy a full album by any of these groups. Some individual tracks are good. I think I'm most impressed by the Sea Power people, the Mars Volta guys, and the Futureheads. I downloaded the latter on Paige's recommendation. I think C. would probably like them a lot.

Oh, and because thus_spoke_zara mentioned them and made me curious, I downloaded some Fischerspooner. They are very good! They will no doubt be excellent live.

The good news is Rachid Taha will be at the Knitting Factory June 27, so I have to try to get off work that night. It's so rare when I actually want to attend a "live show."

[As usual work has taken over everything, and I want to thank those of you who advised me on my latest dilemma (that was a locked entry). I've consulted one of the parties in question (the guy on my shift), and he led me to believe there's no reason to worry. The other party was questioned by one of her managers, who is convinced there is nothing to worry about. So, if she doesn't flake out, the transfer will go through.]

In other news I've done a colon cleanse the past seven days. I tried to fast for a few of those days but just couldn't hack it. I loved the cleansing agent I used; it's supposed to oxygenate the entire digestive tract. I'm taking a maintenance dose of this product every other day. I don't know what else to do; nothing else has worked, and this appears to be the 'miracle' I've been looking for.

I've also changed my diet in a lot of ways. I'm drinking more water -- particularly the Trinity brand, from a spring in Idaho. It's non-pressurized, and yes, you can taste the difference. I'm eating more fruits, vegetables, raw stuff, organic stuff, etc.

What motivated me to do this was a lecture/event I attended with my sister Audrey. She visited the weekend of April 23, and we attended the 10th anniversary party of Nature's First Law. David Wolfe gave an amazing two-part lecture. Two points that really hit me:

1) When someone brought up the fact that eating organic costs more money, David said, well, staying in a hospital one week costs $10,000.

2) When someone asked about the causes of fatigue, David said the root cause is NOT doing your life's mission... the kind of work you love.

Now, I know it's all a crapshoot, and we've all heard of the tough-as-nails grandmas who smoke Lucky Strikes and use bacon grease for pancake syrup. But for my part, I'll be erring on the side of caution and eating healthier.

All I can say is, last year I had a cold on five different occasions, and a bladder infection on three occasions. This year: none of that. I highly recommend the mineral silver in angstrom form, as well as selenium, magnesium, and germanium. These MUST be "angstrom" minerals suspended in water. You can find them at the online store at Nature's First Law.

As for doing one's "mission work," well, we all know that's easier said than done. Even more difficult to get paid for the work you love.

On a realistic level, I think in order to find a better job, I need luck and/or connections, and I seem to possess neither. Barring that, I need further education or specialized training. I've thought of getting paralegal certification.

Today I browsed at the flea market at Melrose and Fairfax. It kind of depressed me because I just thought of the flea market I visited on Oranienstr. in Berlin-Kreuzberg, and I'd rather be there. I've got the travel bug again, but I have to wait a while. I looked at airfares earlier this week, thinking maybe I could swing an express weekend to Seattle, but it was just too expensive.

Maybe I'm just lonely. So many people out of town, including C. He went to Minneapolis to visit family for ten days, but he'll be back Tuesday. While there he attended a wedding (his cousin's); a funeral (his stepdad's father - he was 94); a retirement party (his mother's); and his maternal grandmother's 90th birthday party.

Reading list: I recently finished "Wild Girls: Paris, Sappho & Art: The Lives and Loves of Natalie Barney & Romaine Brooks" by Diana Souhami. I didn't want it to end. Also recently finished "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall" by Anne Bronte (on Elizabeth's recommendation) and am now reading "Agnes Grey" by the same author. I'm not sure what's next. I start getting anxious when I don't have another book lined up.

BURMA by Jack Gilbert

Used, misled, cheated. Our time always shortening.
What we cherish always temporary. What we love
is, sooner or later, changed. But for a while we can
visit our other life. Can rejoice in its being there
in its absence. Giving thanks for what we are allowed
to think about it, grateful for it even as it wanes.
For knowing it is there. The way women on rainy days
sometimes go into the bedroom to cry about losing
the first man they loved. The way a man remembers the young
woman at an upstairs window looking out he saw once,
for a moment, as he drove through a sleeping village.
Or the brightness in the memory of the failed hotel
where the waiters in their immaculate white uniforms
were barefoot. The elegant dining room silent except for
the sound of rain falling in the tin buckets. And
the whispering of giant overhead fans with broken
blades as they turned in the heat. There was the scraping
sound in the piles of dead leaves on the lavish veranda.
And occasionally the bright sound of broken glass.
All of it a blessing. The being there. Being alive then.
Like a giant bell ringing long after you can't hear it.

The Castle

Fri, 29 Apr 2005 06:36:02 GMT

Finally posting on the Hearst Castle mini-trip! Most of this is pulled from emails I sent to Kevin and also J.Fyn:

Hearst Castle: we were supposed to go April 14-16 but were delayed to April 15-17, as C. had to shoot a Wendy's commercial (in which he runs and then chomps into a burger) on the afternoon of April 15.

We finally left a little after 7 p.m. on Friday night, April 15. I liked travelling at night -- traffic was a breeze. C. was OK with driving the entire way. We made it to the luxurious Motel 6 in San Simeon before midnight. Neither of us slept well that evening -- maybe it had to do with a motel bed or more likely, because we never could get the temperature right in the room.

We woke up and went to Cambria for lunch. We were hoping for breakfast, but the diner we chose had stopped serving breakfast at 11:30 a.m. Three more groups of people came in inquiring about breakfast too, so didn't feel so bad. It was only noon (on a weekend!) after all.

Cambria is a cute town of "pines by the sea." It seemed more like a mountain village; it was hard to believe the ocean was so close. (Of course, these custom-made-for-tourists villages are only interesting to me for about 24 hours.)

After lunch we went to Piedras Blancas Vista Point, north of San Simeon, to see the elephant seals. We were not disappointed; there were so MANY of them. It was quite breezy and even cold near the ocean, but the weather was great just the same -- clear skies, sunny, clean air. And it was much warmer atop the "enchanted hill" at Hearst Castle.

Around 2:15 we went to the Castle to see the film "Hearst Castle: Building the Dream," which came as part of the package with our tickets. Its duration was about 45 mins., emphasis on W.R. Hearst's mother, Phoebe Apperson Hearst, taking him to Europe at a young age, and how that fueled his dreams and love of art/antiquities.

Our first tour was 3:10 p.m., the "experience tour" recommended for first-time visitors. The group was rather large, and the docent seemed weary, so it wasn't the greatest in those terms. But we did see a lot -- the famed outdoor Neptune swimming pool, the indoor Venetian/mosaic pool, one of the guest houses, dining room, parlor and movie theatre in the main house "Casa Grande."

Afer that tour we had an early dinner at a so-so Mexican restaurant, El Chorlito, in San Simeon. Then we returned to the Castle for our evening tour! All of the tours had some overlap but enough differences to keep them interesting. I think the evening tour was best. We saw the HUGE kitchen and also had a more enthusiastic, gossipy docent who told some interesting stories. We watched a newsreel from the 30s in the movie theatre too. Also during the evening tours there are actors in period/vintage dress who just hang out in the rooms to enhance the atmosphere. Our docent told us they don't get paid to do this!

So once that one was over (9:30'ish), we were positively BEAT. We did stop by a Shell station, the hot spot in Cambria (gas was $2.99, by the way) for some wine. But we weren't able to stay awake very long. We got a better rest that night.

Sunday morn. we drove into Cambria's east village and found a place that was serving "breakfast all day." So we did that and then walked around on the beach... but it was windier than ever. I told C. I wanted to see the seals again, so we returned to Piedras Blancas and snapped more photos with C's new digital camera.

Our last tour at the Castle was 1 p.m. and a more 'artistic' tour which featured the upper floors of the main house and included the private quarters of Mr. Hearst and Marion Davies, including his private office/library. This docent was knowledgeable and told us a lot about the antique ceilings, furniture, etc.

Once that was over, we had to hit the road; the trip back was a lot more grueling. It took us 5 1/2 hours to get back; traffic was bad. We tried to take Pacific Coast Highway 1 the entire way, but it was just too twisty-turny (not good for my motion sickness) and was taking too long. So we got on the 101, but that was jammed up in many places too, starting around Santa Barbara. Exhausting.

What I learned about W.R. Hearst:

1) He was born rich; his Missouri-born father came west and made beaucoup d'argent in silver mining..
2) He was an only child.
3) His companion at the Castle was Marion Davies, though he was married to a woman named Millicent and had five sons with her. W.R. & Millicent separated but never divorced.
4) He never called his home the Castle; it was known as "the Ranch."
5) His wife was 20 years his junior; Marion was 34 years his junior, and both were stage dancers.
6) Behind every great man's dream is a woman making it happen: the Castle's architect was Julia Morgan.

A Normal Heart

Wed, 06 Apr 2005 05:43:04 GMT

My heart is normal. The dr. said the murmur is benign and just 'one of those things,' and the palpitations/skips are evidently caused by stress and caffeine. I don't have mitral valve prolapse, which I thought I might have inherited from my mother. Not that it's a condition to worry too much about, but... it's one of those things I wanted to be sure of. I'm happy about all that... also feeling like a bit of a hypochondriac, but I think it's good to get this stuff checked out and to err on the side of caution. If I hadn't done that, I'd never known I had two uterine polyps.

In more exciting news, my youngest sister Amy turned 27 on Monday, April 4, and she also GOT ENGAGED!!!!! She has been dating this guy for a long time, and as you may recall they bought a house together not too long ago. So now they are gettin' married. They don't have an official date, but it might be August 'at the earliest.' He gave her diamond earrings AND an engagement ring.

At least one of us will be married off now. HA!

My 32nd b-day is tomorrow (April 6), but it's no big whoop. I've already 'felt' 32 all year and have told people that's my age. So I kind of feel like my b-day has already passed. And I'll be at work! But I am taking next week (April 11-15) off. C. and I are going on our first lil' trip together, to Hearst Castle, on April 14-16.

New Prayer

Wed, 30 Mar 2005 06:44:41 GMT

People: Jack Gilbert's got a new book out!

I know I haven't updated in ages. Bad. I was pretty depressed, but I'm a lot better now that I am Zoloft's bitch again.

I was gonna update when I found out how my echocardiogram went, but my doctor still hasn't called me back (nevermind that I've called her twice), so maybe no news is good news. I'm not really worried; I've just had palpitations and skips and decided finally to investigate my heart murmur (which I do have -- I just don't know what's causing it) and to find out if I've got what my mother has (mitral valve prolapse). It's. Always. Something.

===================

A Brief for the Defense

Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter everywhere. If babies
are not starving someplace, they are starving
somewhere else. With flies in their nostrils.
But we enjoy our lives because that's what God wants.
Otherwise the mornings before summer dawn would not
be made so fine. The Bengal tiger would not
be fashioned so miraculously well. The poor women
at the fountain are laughing together between
the suffering they have known and the awfulness
in their future, smiling and laughing while somebody
in the village is very sick. There is laughter
every day in the terrible streets of Calcutta,
and the women laugh in the cages of Bombay.
If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction,
we lessen the importance of their deprivation.
We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have
the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
furnace of this world. To make injustice the only
measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.
If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down,
we should give thanks that the end had magnitude.
We must admit there will be music despite everything.
We stand at the prow again of a small ship
anchored late at night in the tiny port
looking over to the sleeping island: the waterfront
is three shuttered cafés and one naked light burning.
To hear the faint sound of oars in the silence as a rowboat
comes slowly out and then goes back is truly worth
all the years of sorrow that are to come.

Jack Gilbert
Refusing Heaven
Alfred A. Knopf

Stagnation

Fri, 04 Feb 2005 07:42:29 GMT

I've been diagnosed with stagnation by the acupuncturist. TELL ME ABOUT IT. I went back to acupuncture for IBS. I know, I'm like 90 years old now, because all I talk about are my health problems, and I take about 10 different kinds of supplements and recently purchased a colon cleansing product.

I'm becoming like my mother. On the phone we talk about her latest ailment and my grandfather's condition (heart problems) and family members currently in the hospital. My aunt has ovarian cancer, started chemo, keeps getting fevers, and is in the hospital. Henry, my grandfather's 78-year-old nephew, is in the hospital for some kind of infection.

This is what we have to look forward to.

IBS has been the bane of my existence for as far back as I can remember. I'd say it's been a problem the past eight years. And it does make you tired and irritable and generally awful. So I went back to acupuncture this past Tuesday, and after the session, I felt better than I had the past two weeks. I felt: awake! I was terribly productive at work. The acupuncturist also gave me some herbal powder. It tastes like twigs, but I'm desperate. So far, so good.

I also got desperate about female trouble. You see, I thought having my polyp (it actually turned out to be two polyps) removed and having a D&C would help me out, but everything got worse after that. And by everything I really should stop being secretive and just say my period. I mean, why am I still afraid that someone's going to be offended by that word, just because I wasn't allowed to say it around my dad when I was growing up?

I thought I'd never do this, but I went on the Pill, Yasmin to be exact. I'd taken the pill in the distant past, but it seemed strange to me to alter my body in such a radical way. Of course, a lot has happened with the pill since then and there are so many brands to choose from. Yet I was still hesitant because I feared the side effects and also had this notion that taking the pill after age 30 was a bad thing. But then I got desperate. You see a theme here. And now, I'm thrilled to report, that the pill is doing exactly what I'd hoped it would do. Who would have guessed? I used to wear two overnight pads and two pairs of underwear, day and night, during my period. Now I'm just wearing one NORMAL pad! This time last month, blood leaked onto the back seat of my parents van and I was wearing a Depend undergarment to bed.

What did women do before the pill? Well, I guess they were pregnant a lot more often, and didn't have their period that often as a result.

Do I have anything else to talk about? Not really. Work is still kicking my ass, another reason why I'm so stagnant and haven't written in this journal in ages. Being a supervisor is hard work, but it's just too damn bad that it doesn't make me happy. Some people get off on being supervisors and get all kinds of fulfillment from work, and get into some kind of power trip, but I just view it as a means to an end. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I have a job. I'd be screwed if I didn't.

But if it weren't for my occasional travels, and my friends, and my happiness with C., and my books, I'd feel like a real loser.

Here's my reading list:

1. Lust by Elfriede Jelinek. This novel had absolutely no dialogue and was mostly social commentary, but I couldn't put it down. I've never read anything like it. Piquant word play & violent (yet witty) descriptions of the sexual act. Nothing is sacred, not even children, in this world.

2. Break of Day by Colette. Have only a few more pages to go on this one. Thanks to Kevin for sending me this book for Xmas. Choice excerpt:

So understand, Vial, that this is the first time since I was sixteen that I'm going to have to live -- or even die -- without my life or death depending on love. It's so extraordinary. You can't know. You have time.

...... You see, in future my sadness, if I'm sad, and my gaiety, if I'm gay, must exist without the motive which has been all they needed for thirty years: love. I've nearly got there. It's so prodigious.

3. Bergdorf Blondes, by Plum Sykes. FOR SHAME. This is a shallow horrible book I bought for $6 (instead of $24) at the used book store. It's like I needed complete fluff in between the serious stuff. It's the kind of book you finish in three hours. I hated the characters, yet I enjoyed myself thoroughly while reading it. I admit it! It'll make a precious little movie.

4. A Queen of No Ordinary Realms, by Naveed Alam. Poetry by a dear friend from graduate school. And damn, it is REALLY good. Kudos, Naveed.

5. Meatless Days, by Sara Suleri. Just started this one. It's a memoir of the author's life in postcolonial Pakistan.

6. The Mandarins, by Simone de Beauvoir. Bought at used bookstore. Haven't started it yet.

7. Paul Celan: Poems, trans. Michael Hamburger. Because I didn't have a Hamburger translation. This one is a beautiful hardcover first edition!!

I shall leave you with:

SO MANY CONSTELLATIONS that
are held out to us. I was,
when I looked at you -- when? --
outside by
the other worlds.

O these ways, galactic.
O this hour, that weighed
nights over for us into
the burden of our names. It is,
I know, not true
that we lived, there moved,
blindly, no more than a breath between
there and not-there, and at times
our eyes whirred comet-like
toward things extinguished, in chasms,
and where they had burnt out,
splendid with teats, stood Time
on which already grew up
and down and away all that
is or was or will be --

I know.
I know and you know, we knew,
we did not know, we
were there, after all, and not there
at at times when
only the void stood between us we got
all the way to each other.

Sunday

Sun, 16 Jan 2005 20:16:07 GMT

Marika Griehsel: In your opinion what is the most pressing social issue in Western society today?

Elfriede Jelinek: That is very difficult to answer. I think isolation is one of the greatest problems, an ever-growing obstacle to political solidarity. In the past we would’ve said: to the development of class consciousness. The petty-bourgeoisification of society, with its hopes of climbing socially and its apprehension that a fall could come at any moment (there are no “jobs for life” anymore; everyone is at risk; jobs are becoming increasingly insecure; each individual’s survival is becoming more and more precarious, yet this doesn’t seem to lead to greater solidarity with others in a similar situation) - this all seems very dangerous to me. Eroding solidarity paradoxically makes a society more susceptible to the construction of substitute collectives and fascisms of all kinds.

In Tejas

Thu, 06 Jan 2005 20:19:08 GMT

Well, it was that time: to visit the family in Texas. I arrived yesterday afternoon, and let me just say: it's cold! LA has spoiled me. It's been around 33-35 degrees F, but should be warming up the next few days. I'll be here till Monday.

I'm staying at my sister Amy's house, which she owns with her boyfriend, Linc, whom I sometimes call "Lincoln," even though his middle name is actually Linc, and that's the name he chooses to go by. The house is in Ft. Worth, and it blows my mind that my sister owns a house! I feel plumb proud. The total cost was in the mid-100's, which would be unheard of in LA or Seattle, at least for something like this. No, it's not a huge house (by my mother's standards), but so what, it has three bedrooms (one is being used as an office); two bathrooms; big kitchen; living room; utility room; decent-sized backyard; two-car garage. To me it's a mansion. I have the guest room all to myself.

I have yet to see my other sister b/c she's been working (at a restaurant). I may not see her till tomorrow because she's working all day today. She's the sister (Audrey) with the bichon frise. So when I finally see her, I'll get to meet my nephew, Oliver-the-bichon, for the first time! Audrey also promises me a massage. She went to school for it but still has to complete her interships (or something like that).

My parents came over last night. They look good. I take after my dad in a lot of ways, he is kind of the quiet type, and I found myself wondering how he is doing, what kind of grief he's holding in. He lost a couple of his best friends over the past couple of years. One, Bob, died of melanoma, and the other, Dwayne, died from congestive heart failure. My dad inherited some of Dwayne's stuff, including a lot of his old coats, and he was wearing one last night. He noticed for the first time that Dwayne had stapled his name on the back tag/label of the coat. And my mother, fearing I wouldn't have a warm enough coat, brought ANOTHER one of Dwayne's coats for me to wear and take home.

J.Fyn* met my mother once and decided that the phrase "Good News for People Who Like Bad News" (stolen from the title of a Modest Mouse album) best describes my mother. I'd never made that connection before. My mother, who always emphasizes the importance of doing "uplifting" things, is actually quite morbid. She is always full of crazy stories... like yesterday: a friend's daughter took Motrin one night and turned out to be allergic to it. Her throat started closing up, so she went to the hospital and was saved in time. But THEN, a few months later, one of the daughter's friends gave her a pill at one point, for cramps or whatever, saying it was "tylenol," but it turned out to be ibuprofen, and she had that allergic reaction again of course, and barely made it to the ER on time. Then my mother takes it a step further: "Now this worries me... because what if she goes off to college, and someone finds out she's allergic to Motrin, and tries to kill her that way!" That is just the way my mother thinks. Now you know where I get my morbid ways....

OK, I think at this point I'll be ready for La Hacienda Ranch (tex-mex) and a margarita (or two).

*thinking good thoughts for J.Fyn, who had outpatient surgery today for very early stage vaginal cancer. J.Fyn, you are going to be all right. I hope the cup overfloweth with percocet, and not Motrin.

We Resolve to Remain Unresolved

Tue, 04 Jan 2005 07:37:34 GMT

NEW YEAR
Naomi Shihab Nye

Maybe the street is tired of being a street.
They tell how it used to be called Bois d'Arc,
now called Main, how boys in short pants
caught crawdads for supper at a stone acequia
now covered over.
Sometimes the street sweeper stops his machine
and covers his eyes.

Think of the jobs people have.
The girl weighing citron in the basement
of H.L. Green's, for a man who says
he can't wait to make fruitcake
and she says, What is this stuff anyway
before it looks like this? and he leaves
on his cane, slowly, clutching the bag.
Then she weighs garlics for a trucker.

Think of the streams of headlights
on the Houston freeway all headed somewhere
and where they will be headed after that.
After so long, even jets might be tired of acceleration,
slow-down, touching-ground-again,
as a child is so tired of his notebook
he pastes dinosaurs on it to render it extinct.
Or the teacher, tired of questions,
hearing the anthem How long does it have to be?
play itself over and over in her sleep
and she just doesn't know. As long as you want it.

What was this world? Where things you never did
felt more real than what happened.
Your friend's dishtowel strung over her faucet
was a sentence which could be diagrammed
while your tumbled life, that basket of phrases,
had too many ways it might fit together.

Where a street might just as easily have been
a hair ribbon in a girl's ponytail
her first day of dance class, teacher in mauve leotard
rising to say, We have much ahead of us,
and the little girls following, kick, kick, kick,
thinking what a proud sleek person she was,
how they wanted to be like her someday,
while she stared outside the window at the high wires
strung with ice, the voices inside them opening out
to every future which was not hers.

Berlin Diary (I)

Sat, 04 Dec 2004 16:54:30 GMT

11.26.04: Lahore City restaurant, just steps away from my hotel (NH Hotel), Berlin-Treptow.

At Lahore City, I dine alone and feel strange for it -- I request to sit on the side of the restaurant that has no people. (Note: this is a small restaurant with about 8-10 tables of varying size.) The perfect table for one, which is in fact a table for two in the corner, is reserviert, so I'm sitting at a table for six. But, as I'm warned by the server/host (and possible owner?), I'm going to have to move if a party of six waltzes in.

The server has been nice. He said he thought I might be from India. Has it really been that long since someone with dyed black hair graced his door? A couple just walked in with the dog, and the dog can stay. I like it.

Today I woke early, around 7:30 a.m. Might as well get the complimentary breakfast in. And might as well do as much as I can; the sun sets between 4-5 p.m. Right now it's 7:30 p.m. but feels like 11.

I walked to the nearest S-bahn: Schöneweide. Took the S9 to Friedrichstr. and then caught another line to Postdamer Platz. The plan: to walk to the Kulturforum and find the Neue Nationalgalerie. I made it to the Forum and inquired at a gift/book shop where I might find the gallery. The clerk said it was closed till mid-December, as they'd borrowed an exhibit from MOMA and were now taking it down.

First attempt at culture foiled, I returned to Potsdamer Platz for glühwein and a "vacation cigarette." It was not yet noon.

It occurs to me I am suspicious... for being alone, for being American. But most of all, for being alone.

Yet there is something quite... fortifying... about travelling alone. Of course I often wish I had someone with whom to talk/laugh, especially here at Lahore City. The server already has expressed what a shame it is I'm alone, as if it's something to be ashamed of, a choice no one would make consciously, ever.

There is something to be said for amusing myself with myself, for getting around a city without getting lost. And so on. I know the latter seems of little consequence, but there are plenty of people (my mother comes to mind) who would never dream of doing much un-chaperoned.

The server gives me another chai, his treat. It's the best chai I've had in ages because they've put a lot of sugar and milk (sweetened condensed milk, I wonder?) into it.

You said your name was Jasmin? he asked.
I didn't say my name, but it's April.
Tell people you are Jasmin! From America!

I wish I could speak German. My pre-trip brush-up hasn't served me too well. I have a horrible accent and mumble because I'm not confident. Sure, I can read a few words, make sense of the menus, get around at the post office or in a cab. But I really am too shy to speak properly. This is the downside of travelling alone; one person's weakness is often another's strength, and the two of you split up the tasks quite nicely: I'll navigate if you, like, talk!
Maybe I should get drunk.

But I really don't feel like it. I'm old! Flying a little over 11 hours straight from LAX to München, and then one hour from München to Berlin-Tegel, took a lot out of me. And I'm not the most energetic person to begin with; I have to face that fact. I wish I had the energy to visit Oranienburger Str. or Prenzlauer Berg or even Friedrichshain (not so far away) tonight. But it's not happening. I was up at 7:30 a.m.; I'm not going to last till midnight.

And you know, I'm not terribly disappointed. Most of us can't do it all -- and on this trip I do want to get up early so I can see things before the sun goes down. Not to mention that many places close around 8 p.m. or earlier. Museums close at 6; department stores, grocery, etc., at 8. The S-bahn/U-bahn stops running around 1 a.m. And unless one is near a really busy area or near a major hotel, taxis can be hard to come by.

The couple who reserved the table in the corner... the table I'd wanted... are finally here. What's he going to do, propose to her? She wears an Abercrombie tee. They can't be older than 20.

Oh Lord, the server gave me more papadum. I cannot eat another bite, really. I'm lingering in Lahore City. I think I'm ready to go, though, and sit near the River Spree. I've got an industrial view of it from my window.

I should feel special for being alone. I think that's why he gave me the extra chai: pity. But this time around I have a boyfriend back home. That's a new one: someone to be faithful to. Before I left, I noticed he hadn't shaved for a few days. I liked it.

I can't believe how far away I am from "all that" -- the palm trees, the ocean, the prominent sun. The office.

A party of six hasn't come in. I haven't had to relinquish this table. In fact, I repeat: I'm lingering in Lahore City. He won't bring the check. Maybe people think I'm the resident nutball writer. Writer. If only! If only I could live up to referring to myself that way.

I recognize the song they're playing now. I have it on a bhangra CD back home. They've done bhangra hits all night.

The server told me I should think of this as a place to hang out if I get bored at the hotel and all. He really thinks it's a shame I'm alone. There's no convincing him it's OK, really. He won't get the check. I think he wants me to play writer-in-residence. I've just finished Tropic of Cancer! I can do this!

He said the media here seemed to indicate most American's don't like Bush, so why the hell did he get re-elected? He says Americans have more money, but he's got better healthcare. He likes knowing he can get the healthcare he needs. He's been in Berlin six years. There are so many Indian restaurants here, but 90% of them are owned by us Pakistanis!

Lingering in Lahore City. It's 9 p.m. He won't get the check. Whatever happened to running people out, especially the loners, as soon as bloody possible? Not this guy. But I've finished the chai. Does he think since I'm writing that I want to stay here? The food was great, yes, but I'm quite tired. I'd like some water; I have a whole bottle of Volvic I bought at Kaufland in my room.

Two guys with a dog -- a gorgeous Newfoundland! -- just walked in. They sit at the table where the last couple-with-dog, now long gone, had dined. The Newfoundland behaves under the table. I think it would be rude to walk up and pet him, but I'd love to do just that. How is it done in Germany? OK to pinch babies' cheeks? OK to coo over a dog and rush over to pet him?

I need to get out of here. The Abercrombie couple are paying their check. I guess he didn't propose. He helps her put on her coat. Let's see if he gets the door. No: he walks through first and holds it open for her behind him.

As of right now, there's still time...

Fri, 19 Nov 2004 18:05:24 GMT

... to bet on The Virgin Mary Grilled Cheese Sandwich

Right now it's "only" $7,600!

BBC article here.

Why can't my pop tarts do something interesting like that?!

In celebration of the removal of the polyp in my uterus

Wed, 17 Nov 2004 06:08:00 GMT

Well, it got removed yesterday, and I got a 'value-added' D&C, which means my menstrual future looks good. I'm proud that I was 'pro-active' about my health, but it's only because I have insurance. And a fairly recent new feature of my insurance is that I no longer have to get a referral from my 'primary care physician' (whom I've never met, actually) if I want to see a specialist. So being 'pro-active' is a privilege, and I'm thankful for it.

I wish I could have spent more time floating in the versed / fentanyl haze, but I was asleep before I knew it. And then the next thing I knew, I was in the recovery room where a nurse *offered* two percocet. You can't say no to that, but I suspect it's what made me nauseated for most of the day... well, that plus the after-effects of general anesthesia. (on an empty stomach, of course... because that's the way it has to be.)

I didn't go to work today because I had a good excuse not to. I'm accomplishing at least one big thing: laundry! It's an hours-long process because I'm washing everything, and we've only got one washer/dryer in the entire building. It's a small building, but still...

I feel strangely needy and depressed. Part of the problem is, when any physical vulnerability occurs (hell, even when I've got a bad cold), I start thinking about the future, a la : "You think it's bad now; well, wait till you're REALLY sick!" And I realize there's not much to look forward to unless I create something to look forward to. And that is why I travel.

I remember the doctor asking if anyone was waiting for me. I said no, but that C. would be there to pick me up after the procedure. She seemed to think it was strange, that no one was waiting for me. I think that's where the sadness started. I wish I didn't care.

"You mustn't show weakness," wrote Amichai. He meant it the same way Bishop meant "the art of losing isn't hard to master."

Oh...

Mon, 08 Nov 2004 02:15:41 GMT

I forgot to mention that (shock of shocks!) CBS pulled "dr. vegas." So no screening parties for C. It really was a bad show. But a job is a job... and C. did it and got paid for it. Just a disappointment that "his" episode will never air (in the States at least).

60 day state of emergency in Iraq. Please, think good thoughts for J.Fyn and her husband -- he is a Marine who has been in Iraq for nine months. They got married during his two-week leave in October. His tour should be over in February. We just want him home!

Rousseauvian mistakes?

Fri, 05 Nov 2004 19:59:26 GMT

The blue state citizens make the Rousseauvian mistake of thinking humans are essentially good, and so they never realize when they are about to be slugged from behind.
-- Jane Smiley

During those elementary discussions of whether or not 'man' is good or evil, and whether or not 'man' is motivated by aggression and greed or altruism, I was always the one who said 'evil' and 'aggression and greed.'

"How can you say that?" 'they' asked.

Just cruising Slate and found myself uttering 'amen' during a read of Smiley's article here.

Another interesting read is sure to be "Rising Up and Rising Down."

I heard an interview with the author, William T. Vollmann, while driving to work yesterday. An abridged version is forthcoming; I admit it, I think that's the one I'll have to get. Given my schedule/exhaustion/etc., I can't do the seven volumes. So much for my intellectual posing. HA!

Beers, Steers & Four More Years

Wed, 03 Nov 2004 08:32:06 GMT

A Bush re-election doesn't surprise me....

and yet, it's just inconceivable to me that it could actually happen. After everything that's gone down these past four years: HOW?

How can I face the Germans?

Autumnal

Sun, 31 Oct 2004 21:47:22 GMT

Well, no wonder I feel productive... I'm thinking, "Shit, it's only 1:30 p.m., and I'm already out of the shower!" It helps now that we're back on standard time.

General news:

- C's episode of "dr. vegas" is airing Nov. 12, NOT Nov. 5. Mark them calendars! The show skipped a week and didn't air, so that's why his episode got pushed back.

- Erina passed the Washington state bar exam!

- Paige spent two weeks in Italy (Florence, Rome, Venice, and Cinque Terre), had a wonderful time, and arrived back in Seattle safely!

- C. and I went to "Day of the Dead" at Hollywood Forever cemetery last night. The altars were great, but I did trip over some kind of pipe/spigot and came away with a nice gash in my leg. But it didn't bleed! I smiled when I saw a photo of Derrida on one of the altars.

- J.Fyn is now MRS. Jennifer Harper, as she and her Marine had a Vegas weddin' before he flew back to Iraq.

- Kevin is coming to LA in December, and we're going see "Vanessa" at LA Opera: with KIRI TE KANAWA as Vanessa. Huge!

- I have a just-under-3 cm. uterine polyp. This explains why "that time of the month" is such HELL. I encourage all women (esp. if you are over 30) to get an ultrasound if you suspect something is going on... or even if your period is simply a bitch. There could be an underlying reason. I'm always good about getting those annual exams, but I'd never had an ultrasound: and there's only so much they can tell from groping your uterus. I'm getting the polyp removed Nov. 15 (simple outpatient procedure, though I will be knocked out under general anesthesia), and it would be truly anomalous if it turned out to be anything but benign -- so I'm not worried. And let me tell ya, I cannot WAIT to get knocked out. I love general anesthesia; it's like a vacation.

- Berlin is no longer that far away. I'll be there Nov. 24 - Dec. 1.

- Yes, I AM voting for Kerry on Tuesday, but I would not call myself a Democrat. (or a Republican.)

Autumn nibbles its leaf from my hand: we are friends.
-- Paul Celan

Now off to buy ingredients for spanakopita!

Crystal Lake

Thu, 07 Oct 2004 06:57:09 GMT

[Note: before I write what I'm going to write about, let me mention that C's episode of Dr. Vegas should be aired Friday, Nov. 5 -- it's episode 7, and this Friday is episode 3.]

[Note: I've quit therapy and have switched to acupuncture. It's cheaper, even. I have my first appointment this Saturday at the clinic at Emperor's College of Oriental Medicine in Santa Monica. I'll be working with a supervised intern.]

~~~~

I attended public school every year except for kindergarten. I was enrolled in a private school with a silly name that was run in a woman's private residence. She had a big classroom in the house and a big backyard for recess. Also, she was evil, reminiscent of the wicked witch in the Wizard of Oz.

There's no other way to say it. I can recall her grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me. I can recall her telling me I couldn't ask her any questions one particular day, and when I had to pee so bad that I had to ask permission to go to the bathroom, she shook me again. "YOU weren't supposed to ask me anything today!" she screamed. Yet if I'd got up from my chair and run to the bathroom myself, there would have been hell to pay.

Naturally, I needed an ally. We could bring a couple of personal items to class, so I brought a little purse and also my ally, Lucy. She was a stuffed cloth doll of my favorite character from the Peanuts gang. She was, in the end, my only friend.

In kindergarten I'd had a best friend named Wendy, but she moved to Houston. Then I became friends with Tracey, but she moved to a nearby town and switched schools. After that I would sit on the swings by myself, and was joined sometimes by a guy named Jimmy, who used to talk about Crystal Lake. It must have been a place where his family took their vacations. (I mean, there IS a Crystal Lake in Texas, so it must be the same one?)

I clung to that idea of Crystal Lake as some kind of magical place. I wanted to go there because it sounded better than school. I retreated to the lake in my mind, the same way I later retreated to my real-life treehouse years later.

I lost my ally during an unfortunate accident (if that's even the right word for it), and I realize now that was my first experience of loss. It sounds silly, but to a five or six year old, it's a big deal. Perhaps it was a destructive impulse, but one day after school I opened the passenger-side door of my mother's car while we were on our way back home. I didn't fall out of the car...but I was clinging on to the handle for dear life (fortunately we hadn't been going very fast)... but Lucy must have fallen out because I couldn't find her afterward.

And that was that. I'd lost all of my friends.

~~~~~~

You remember tree houses from your younger days. ... You climb into them when you're a child and plan to run away from home once you are safely hidden among the leaves. They're popular with children.

-- Jane Bowles, "Camp Cataract"

"Well," said the traveler, "nobody gets as much kissing as they would like to get. Most people are frustrated. You'd be surprised at the number of people in my country who are frustrated and good-looking at the same time."

-- Jane Bowles, "A Guatemalan Idyll"

Candidates in Drag

Fri, 01 Oct 2004 02:54:22 GMT

Cheers to Kevin for sending me the following:

The Candidates in Drag

quick update

Wed, 29 Sep 2004 17:17:02 GMT

C. is going to be on an episode of "Dr. Vegas." He tapes this Friday. I have to ask him when the actual episode is going to air. Details soon! (yes, we watched about 20 mins. of the show last Friday, simply because he'd already had the audition, was on hold, and we were curious. So yes, we know the show is... not so good! boring! But hey, one episode will be worth watching, all right? ha.)

Ollie's photo album

Thu, 16 Sep 2004 05:53:24 GMT

See photos of nephew* Oliver here

*reminder: he's a bichon frise

Release

Tue, 14 Sep 2004 08:12:22 GMT

[Used] books recently purchased:

The Collected Works of Jane Bowles, with an introduction by Truman Capote; FSG, 1966.

The Portable Twentieth-Century Russian Reader, ed. Clarence Brown; Viking Penguin, 1985.

The Ink Dark Moon: Love Poems by Ono no Komachi and Izumi Shikibu, Women of the Ancient Court of Japan, trans. Jane Hirshfield with Mariko Aratani; Vintage Classics, 1990.

Simone Weil: Lectures on Philosophy, trans. Hugh Price; Cambridge Univ. Press, 1978.

======

Movies recently watched:

Vanity Fair (still can't groove on Reese Witherspoon, but as far as corset dramas go, it delivered what I wanted. Jonathan Rhys-Meyers, for one thing!).

Performance (new print; Anita Pallenberg is so cool... but I wouldn't have known this was playing at Egyptian had it not been for C. My first time to see the film, but C's seen it many times. And it was X-rated "back in the day"!)

======

It's official: I've become boring! I don't smoke anymore, I'm only drinking wine these days, and C. and I spent a lot of the weekend sitting together on the couch reading. He was reading "The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying," and I was finishing "Tender Is The Night," which I borrowed from the people I work for (house/dog-sitting) sometimes. Sitting on the couch reading! Not that this is a bad thing... it could be a sign of comfort together. It's a good way to spend an evening: edifying and quite affordable.

But I felt the need to entertain! I am trying to break myself of this feeling. It is difficult for me to imagine that someone could like hanging out with me just for the hell of it. I've always dreamed of someone caring for me unconditionally, but I don't imagine that will happen. How could it?! Most of my pursuits are solitary, so I don't know what to do when someone else is around... unless we have very specific plans. I suppose this is a challenge, a "time to grow."

And I still have the SouthernWoman thing going on: when I get up to get something for myself, I ask if C. wants anything... and I'm always concerned about his comfort, bringing him water, etc. This is just the way things are where I grew up. But here is the crazy thing: I kind of like this... I like cooking for people and taking care of them sometimes. Maybe that's how I know I'm needed... or how I work out any sort of maternal 'instincts' I might have.

But no one takes care of me. But would I feel comfortable if someone did?Sometimes I feel like I take everything in, absorbing, observing, but never let anything out. Yet I have so much trouble with release. Perhaps I am more comfortable being 'the listener' and 'the caretaker' and have set up my relationships as such.

When I'm sick, my body forces a release: quite literally: I'm coughing and blowing my nose: releasing!