Man, whoever invented the mug was such a genius. You've got a smoking hot ceramic vessel of delicious beverage and suddenly you think: how am I going to get this in my mouth? Or heck, even to the table? And then somebody--somebody with vision, somebody with passion and courage--put a handle on the dang thing. Wow. Thank you, whomever you are. You have saved the morning.
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
Saturday, December 25, 2004
A Great Eve
Man, I can't think of a better way to spend Christmas Eve than watching all 3 Matrix movies back-to-back. I mean, Neo and Morpheus and Trinity--they're like family after these years. Family.
Actually, now that I think about it, no. And I'm pretty sure I'm glad about that, too.
Actually, now that I think about it, no. And I'm pretty sure I'm glad about that, too.
Thursday, December 23, 2004
random happy thoughts
"Toaster foods" is apparently a new culinary term, encompassing Pop Tarts and toaster strudels and whatever else goes in the slots of joy.
There are 2 grams of fiber in half an ounce of baking chocolate. That's 8% of your daily RDA!
There are 2 grams of fiber in half an ounce of baking chocolate. That's 8% of your daily RDA!
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Dudu
Fiona came up with her first toy name yesterday. It was so cute. She named her stuffed dog "Dudu," a combination of "Juju" (her godmother) and "Deedee" (the dog down the street).
She's just the coolest kid!
She's just the coolest kid!
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Monday, December 20, 2004
Secrets of the master
Okay, so the secret to parenting and the secret to being a writer are one and the same. Lean in close now, I don't want everybody to hear this--it's (furtive glances all around) time to yourself.
Yup, Virginia Woolf was right. You need a room of your own, or if not your own room, then at least a few hours when there's no one around, pestering you, throwing things at you, biting you, hugging you or just plain whining.
She's sleeping! She's really sleeping!
Yup, Virginia Woolf was right. You need a room of your own, or if not your own room, then at least a few hours when there's no one around, pestering you, throwing things at you, biting you, hugging you or just plain whining.
She's sleeping! She's really sleeping!
Sunday, December 19, 2004
WHOO-DOUBLE-WHOO!!!!
Wow! I love this new template for my blog. It's just so much more ... me!
Many thanks to Jak and Erin (I borrowed some code from her page; she's my blogging role model) for all their coding help.
Now I might design some cool buttons to put on some links, and then tinker and tinker some more. Mwhah-hah-ha-ha!
Many thanks to Jak and Erin (I borrowed some code from her page; she's my blogging role model) for all their coding help.
Now I might design some cool buttons to put on some links, and then tinker and tinker some more. Mwhah-hah-ha-ha!
that skunk!
blogger ate my sidebar and cool picture!!!! the template just ... stopped. it was there last night and now it's gone. i am super irked,
whoo-hoo!
Wow! I love Photobucket! Check out the cool new website medallion on my sidebar--I am now officially a blogger. I have changed my template.
Saturday, December 18, 2004
perspective
I was about to write a ferocious post about rage, because these past few weeks, I have been full of it. Everything makes me angry: my credit history, my wisdom teeth, my general poverty. The sounds the neighbors make. Fiona's sleeping habits. Fiona's temper tantrums. The fact my former boss didn't leap to re-employ me. The fact I have to get a job. My hair. My hair. Losing a hairclip. I am so angry I just want to scream. I want to throw things. I want to go back in time and club the Dean of Students at Pacific U over the head so she couldn't convince me to finish my degree there.
But here was today's horoscope:
The challenges you face aren't insurmountable, but they might seem that way in the beginning. Break your biggest problems down into smaller, more workable components so that you don't feel too overwhelmed as you begin to solve them. Looking at your dilemma from a different perspective can have a favorable outcome as long as you don't get too far off track.
And today's fortune:
You are caught up in trivia.
Sigh. It's true. But it doesn't really make me feel any happier.
But here was today's horoscope:
The challenges you face aren't insurmountable, but they might seem that way in the beginning. Break your biggest problems down into smaller, more workable components so that you don't feel too overwhelmed as you begin to solve them. Looking at your dilemma from a different perspective can have a favorable outcome as long as you don't get too far off track.
And today's fortune:
You are caught up in trivia.
Sigh. It's true. But it doesn't really make me feel any happier.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
In Defense of Christmas
Last night I spent an hour on sites like the Buy Nothing Christmas and Steve the Pro's Anti-Christmas page. And I have to say, I agree with all of it. They're right on about so very much, especially Buy Nothing, which doesn't condemn the season, just its rampant consumerism. But in my heart, I know we need Christmas. Not as Christmas, but as a season of pure holiday. In fact that's what I've started doing: making the entire month of December a holiday.
A month-long holiday? Is that nuts? Well, first of all, I want to suggest celebrating is as a Holy Day (ok, Holy Month). Holy days are about filling yourself with joy and wonder, reaching out for what is good and meaningful. It means looking into the Great Ineffableness and saying "Wow!" and "Thanks!" and "Blessed Be!" And I think I need a whole month of that.
Even as a pagan, who tries to maximize the presence of the sacred in her life and promote her connection to the wowness of the is (I paraphrased that from one of my favorite quotes about geology), I feel like modern life sometimes comes between me and holiness. The government, clocks, cars, microwave ovens, the internet and my daughter's poopy diapers can all spur me into a zone of jittery grumpified contemporary-stuporism (I refuse to say modern, because the modern period, as defined by the beginning of secular humansim, is one of the most hopeful and holy periods of humanity. Unfortunately, two world wars gave it a big-ole kick in the pants). I can get myself back on track, but what I need is an excuse to laugh at that world-view, to eat a lot of chocolate and escape from it.
So I say embrace Christmas. Even if you're not a Christian, throw your arms around it. Pagans were celebrating the same season long before some lousy Pope co-opted it. If you are a Christian, reach out to Christ and his messages. Heck, even if you're not a Christian, reach out to Jesus's messages, because he's one of the best, kindest philosophers of all times--right up there with John Lennon, in fact.
Put some love in your heart. Play with children, because the season is all about our hope for them and the wonderful things they might accomplish. Eat some fruitcake. Sing a silly song out loud. One month of that, and we might all feel more peace and joy.
A month-long holiday? Is that nuts? Well, first of all, I want to suggest celebrating is as a Holy Day (ok, Holy Month). Holy days are about filling yourself with joy and wonder, reaching out for what is good and meaningful. It means looking into the Great Ineffableness and saying "Wow!" and "Thanks!" and "Blessed Be!" And I think I need a whole month of that.
Even as a pagan, who tries to maximize the presence of the sacred in her life and promote her connection to the wowness of the is (I paraphrased that from one of my favorite quotes about geology), I feel like modern life sometimes comes between me and holiness. The government, clocks, cars, microwave ovens, the internet and my daughter's poopy diapers can all spur me into a zone of jittery grumpified contemporary-stuporism (I refuse to say modern, because the modern period, as defined by the beginning of secular humansim, is one of the most hopeful and holy periods of humanity. Unfortunately, two world wars gave it a big-ole kick in the pants). I can get myself back on track, but what I need is an excuse to laugh at that world-view, to eat a lot of chocolate and escape from it.
So I say embrace Christmas. Even if you're not a Christian, throw your arms around it. Pagans were celebrating the same season long before some lousy Pope co-opted it. If you are a Christian, reach out to Christ and his messages. Heck, even if you're not a Christian, reach out to Jesus's messages, because he's one of the best, kindest philosophers of all times--right up there with John Lennon, in fact.
Put some love in your heart. Play with children, because the season is all about our hope for them and the wonderful things they might accomplish. Eat some fruitcake. Sing a silly song out loud. One month of that, and we might all feel more peace and joy.
Monday, December 13, 2004
Odd thoughts
I have to keep wearing a scarf on my head, because if I don't, I will just keep cutting my hair off.
Would it make me a blog-whore if I nominated my site for "Best of Blogs 2004," not because I think my blog is good, but just because I want more people to read it?
Why does my computer drop me off-line just when I've typed the most perfectly worded message begging my old boss for a new job?
Why do our neighbors have the loudest vehicles in the known universe?
So many mysteries, so little time.
Would it make me a blog-whore if I nominated my site for "Best of Blogs 2004," not because I think my blog is good, but just because I want more people to read it?
Why does my computer drop me off-line just when I've typed the most perfectly worded message begging my old boss for a new job?
Why do our neighbors have the loudest vehicles in the known universe?
So many mysteries, so little time.
Saturday, December 11, 2004
fruitcake
okay, there's a reason people make fruitcake in loaves, not muffins: it's too damn easy to eat. Yummmmmmmmmm. These things are supposed to be aging, but they might not last the recommended two weeks.
In the meantime, my little sewing project is okay. The stuffed animal, for secrecy's sake, is super-duper cute. I can't believe I used the sewing machine today and it didn't blow up!
In the meantime, my little sewing project is okay. The stuffed animal, for secrecy's sake, is super-duper cute. I can't believe I used the sewing machine today and it didn't blow up!
Friday, December 10, 2004
chef baby
We must watch too much of the Food Network. Today I had some vacuum-packed steaks out on the counter to defrost, and Fiona was playing with them. She just kept turning them over and over, saying: "Flip. Flip. Flip." I explained the steaks were for dinner, and she became very excited. When I tried to sit her in her high chair, she insisted on bringing one of the steaks to the table with her. She continued flipping it for a while in between bites, then began drizzling tomato soup over the package. She was very careful to cover the entire surface, and I heard her mumbling: "Good eats."
At least it wasn't "BAM!"
PS: I asked her if she was making a sauce and she said "Ooooh," which is Finnish for "yes." Then she flipped the steak and sauced the other side with equal care. She rubbed her chicken salad into the mess and ate some of it and then left the thing to marinade. Thank goodness it was vacuum sealed! I just washed the package off and put them all in the fridge, far from little fingers.
At least it wasn't "BAM!"
PS: I asked her if she was making a sauce and she said "Ooooh," which is Finnish for "yes." Then she flipped the steak and sauced the other side with equal care. She rubbed her chicken salad into the mess and ate some of it and then left the thing to marinade. Thank goodness it was vacuum sealed! I just washed the package off and put them all in the fridge, far from little fingers.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
all i am saying
Well, he was on everyone's minds yesterday, but Erin spoke it well. I wasn't going to write my thoughts about John Lennon, but when I saw Erin's thoughtful post, I remembered the burst of emotion I felt the day before the anniversary, when I kicked off the holiday season with a dose of the John Lennon Collection.
To me, the holidays are about John Lennon. I remember gluing myself to the radio on Christmas, listening to the first half of a 30-hour Beatles-marathon with the volume turned down low enough not to bother my father's Blazer game or my anti-Beatle sister (yeah, there's something wrong with her. She doesn't like the Doors, either). I remember Christmas eve, all alone, playing every Beatle album and Lennon CD I had, reading a British magazine Shayna'd found for me that was a tribute to his life. It was one of the most pure Christmas's ever.
So Tuesday, without thinking, I threw on a CD, ready to plunge into the holiday spirit. Fiona and I were rocking around the kitchen, scrubbing dishes, singing at the top of our lungs. It felt great, until I got to the song "Imagine," and thoughts about our country, our stupid war, our unjust prisons, the globablization and corporatization of the world, and then ... I just ... started bawling. I could only think what would John Lennon think if he was still here? What would he write? What would he do?
And I wonder, sitting here, reading about new money for the intelligence community and Bush's plans for another year, What should I think? What should I write? What can I do? And I worry that instant karma has gotten us, and that this country at least will never give peace a chance.
To me, the holidays are about John Lennon. I remember gluing myself to the radio on Christmas, listening to the first half of a 30-hour Beatles-marathon with the volume turned down low enough not to bother my father's Blazer game or my anti-Beatle sister (yeah, there's something wrong with her. She doesn't like the Doors, either). I remember Christmas eve, all alone, playing every Beatle album and Lennon CD I had, reading a British magazine Shayna'd found for me that was a tribute to his life. It was one of the most pure Christmas's ever.
So Tuesday, without thinking, I threw on a CD, ready to plunge into the holiday spirit. Fiona and I were rocking around the kitchen, scrubbing dishes, singing at the top of our lungs. It felt great, until I got to the song "Imagine," and thoughts about our country, our stupid war, our unjust prisons, the globablization and corporatization of the world, and then ... I just ... started bawling. I could only think what would John Lennon think if he was still here? What would he write? What would he do?
And I wonder, sitting here, reading about new money for the intelligence community and Bush's plans for another year, What should I think? What should I write? What can I do? And I worry that instant karma has gotten us, and that this country at least will never give peace a chance.
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
Happy pecans
My mom made me a pecan pie for my b-day, and it's the funniest pie ever: the crust had a hole in it, and all the custard oozed out underneath it. So the pecans are floating on this sweet bready crust, and then the goo is stuck to the bottom.
Wow! This was a great birthday. I heard from a lot of my friends and all of my family, and everybody was so positive. I'm so lucky! I know the coolest, nicest people in the world!
Wow! This was a great birthday. I heard from a lot of my friends and all of my family, and everybody was so positive. I'm so lucky! I know the coolest, nicest people in the world!
Monday, December 06, 2004
they say it's my birthday...
so happy birthday to me!!!!
Wow--the big 26! I'm entering my second quarter, the big, responsible one. Do I feel ready for it all? Hmmmn. Mostly I'm just mad because I can't afford to get my wisdom teeth out and my entire mouth hurts. It's really not cool to face the prospect of blackened, rotting hick teeth, but according to my last dentist, that's what I can start to expect soon. Great. As if it's not hard enough to get a date. Or a job.
F*cking oral surfeons and the g*dd*mned insurance companies!!
Wow--the big 26! I'm entering my second quarter, the big, responsible one. Do I feel ready for it all? Hmmmn. Mostly I'm just mad because I can't afford to get my wisdom teeth out and my entire mouth hurts. It's really not cool to face the prospect of blackened, rotting hick teeth, but according to my last dentist, that's what I can start to expect soon. Great. As if it's not hard enough to get a date. Or a job.
F*cking oral surfeons and the g*dd*mned insurance companies!!
Sunday, December 05, 2004
plymouth rock
So i read the other day that the reason the pilgrims settled on plymouth rock, and not some further area, is that the sailors on the ship were worried that if they didn't turn back pronto, they wouldn't have enough beer to get home.
Oh, and Samuel Adams planned the Boston Tea Party!
Speaking of the BTP, I am preparing for a little tea party on the 16th, in honor of the event.
Oh, and Samuel Adams planned the Boston Tea Party!
Speaking of the BTP, I am preparing for a little tea party on the 16th, in honor of the event.
Friday, December 03, 2004
Important discovery
I learned today you can not recrisp Cinnamon Toast Crunch in the oven. Everything sort of melted into this glossy, greasy goo ... ewwww ...
Actually (crunch, crunch)--it tastes pretty good. Now it's Carmelized Toast Crunch, Wendell's dressed up cousin.
Actually (crunch, crunch)--it tastes pretty good. Now it's Carmelized Toast Crunch, Wendell's dressed up cousin.
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Millstones
Last night we were at Safeway, and Fiona found the dropped coffee beans under the Millstone coffee dispenser. She scooped up a big handful and popped them in her mouth. She was really happy until she choked on them, and then threw up all over herself, me, and the floor.
Yippee! Puke!
Yippee! Puke!
Sunday, November 28, 2004
Astrology quiz
Okay, so this is dumb, and I don't even know if it will work, but I was happy to take this silly astrology quiz.
| You are 87% Sagittarius
|
|
How much do you match your zodiac sign?
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Thanksgiving
Today is Thanksgiving, and today I am thankful for so much. I'm thankful for an extra year with my baby--and I'm thankful to end that year. I'm thankful for all the help and support I've gotten from family and friends and even complete strangers this year; without that support, I wouldn't have been able to make this year work. I've had a wonderful time with Fiona and my family. And I've had enough to eat, and a roof over my head, and those are things I'll never take lightly again. When you don't have them ... it's bad.
So thank you, world. Thank you, good people. Thank you, mom. Thank you, Shayna. Thank you, E-liz and Juju and Kurt and Katie and Erin and Patty and Jennifer. Thank you, sisters. Thank you, Jak. Thank you, State of Oregon and even the whacky federal government. Thank you, planet. Thank you, Goddess. Thank you, God.
Or to put it succinctly:
Rub a dub dub,
Thanks for the Grub.
Yea, God!
So thank you, world. Thank you, good people. Thank you, mom. Thank you, Shayna. Thank you, E-liz and Juju and Kurt and Katie and Erin and Patty and Jennifer. Thank you, sisters. Thank you, Jak. Thank you, State of Oregon and even the whacky federal government. Thank you, planet. Thank you, Goddess. Thank you, God.
Or to put it succinctly:
Rub a dub dub,
Thanks for the Grub.
Yea, God!
Monday, November 22, 2004
Shameless Product Plug
Have you tried the new Kashi "7 in the morning" cereal? It's just like Grapenuts--only on sale at Fred Meyers.
Sunday, November 21, 2004
bit lame around here
There was a ton of grocery-shopping on Thursday and a bit of writing yesterday, but by & large, things are lame. Oh, I have been cooking up new book ideas like crazy--had a wonderful notion for a SF novel and then really got a clear vision of the old sorcery/American Revolution story that's been lurking in my brain. I wouldn't be able to pick a project to write on even if I was free too--there's just too much going on upstairs.
Maybe I should cut back on the coffee...
Maybe I should cut back on the coffee...
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
ethiopian harrar
today, i drank the best cup of coffee i have ever consumed. it was ... extraordinary. good body, nice hint of acidity; berry, chocolate and cinnamon overtones. there were none of the distracting off-notes you get in a cup of coffee that send you reaching for the sugar dish. that said, when i added a touch of cream & sugar, the results were awe-inspiring.
all i can say is: thank you, kt!
all i can say is: thank you, kt!
Saturday, November 13, 2004
Joe
Writing has been a little better yesterday and today. But I have to admit I've been sidetracking my own self with coffee.
Yes, I said coffee.
I started thinking about the damn stuff--I read a dumb mystery set in a coffeehouse--and now I've been reading up on it, and it's my new current obsession. I tell you, it's hard to focus on little things like writing when your brain is saturated with roasting, plantations, extraction ... sigh.
See, for me, writing is kind of like burping. It's not something that I'm crazy about or obsessed with, but I can't get by without doing it. I know you're supposed to speak highly of the craft and they say you'll never become a true writer unless it's the most important thing in your whole life. But I don't feel that way about writing. For me, it's not the driving passion of my existence. But then again, things that have been my driving passion have just flickered under the blowing gale of my life, faded out, gone away. Writing, which I'm not passionate about, never leaves me. And I can't stop doing it. No matter what I do, stories jump out of my brain and spin out in long streams of words. It's just what I do.
I've accepted it. I suppose it doesn't sound like much to the Ernest Hemingway/Virginia Woolf school of writing. But it's me! Right now I'm crazy about coffee. But I'm living writing.
Yes, I said coffee.
I started thinking about the damn stuff--I read a dumb mystery set in a coffeehouse--and now I've been reading up on it, and it's my new current obsession. I tell you, it's hard to focus on little things like writing when your brain is saturated with roasting, plantations, extraction ... sigh.
See, for me, writing is kind of like burping. It's not something that I'm crazy about or obsessed with, but I can't get by without doing it. I know you're supposed to speak highly of the craft and they say you'll never become a true writer unless it's the most important thing in your whole life. But I don't feel that way about writing. For me, it's not the driving passion of my existence. But then again, things that have been my driving passion have just flickered under the blowing gale of my life, faded out, gone away. Writing, which I'm not passionate about, never leaves me. And I can't stop doing it. No matter what I do, stories jump out of my brain and spin out in long streams of words. It's just what I do.
I've accepted it. I suppose it doesn't sound like much to the Ernest Hemingway/Virginia Woolf school of writing. But it's me! Right now I'm crazy about coffee. But I'm living writing.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
downer day
Today was sort of a downer. I feel extremely negative about my book right now--I feel so yucky about the characters, the plot, the setting, the language. Oh yeah, I guess that's pretty much everything about the damn thing. I hope I've learned something about writing, because I'm tempted to call it a learning experience and toss it in a drawer, never to be seen again. And then I'll wait a few years before I even think about writing another word.
Sigh.
It doesn't help that politics suck and my kid is in a hitting-and-biting-mommy phase. Life just feels ... kind of empty right now.
Sigh.
It doesn't help that politics suck and my kid is in a hitting-and-biting-mommy phase. Life just feels ... kind of empty right now.
Friday, November 05, 2004
Ragin' 'Roids
I apologise for the grody turn in my blog's tone, but I believe every woman needs to hear about this topic: hemorrhoids. They are one of the most taboo subjects in American conversation (I mean, worse than gay marriage!)--Preparation H is tied with the pregnancy test for most shoplifted item. People don't even want faceless store checkers to know they have hemorrhoids.
But I have message. If you ever have a baby, you will have hemorrhoids.
Now, they tell you that pregnant women sometimes, maybe, might possibly get hemorrhoids, but they will go away. That is a big fat lie. I never got a single one while I was pregnant. It was the six hours I was pushing an object the size of a watermelon out of an orifice the size of a lemon that gave me hemorrhoids. And you know what? Every woman I know got them that way, too!
Today, a year and a half later, they still pop up from time to time. Riding in a car for more than an hour, if I'm wearing pants, will do it to me every time. Remember that six hour flight from DC?
Anyway, I feel strongly that we need to stop treating hemorrhoids like a repellant disease, and start treating them like the minor nuisances they really are. And feel better, fellow sufferers, knowing that one good-looking 25-year old is out of the 'roid closet. =)
But I have message. If you ever have a baby, you will have hemorrhoids.
Now, they tell you that pregnant women sometimes, maybe, might possibly get hemorrhoids, but they will go away. That is a big fat lie. I never got a single one while I was pregnant. It was the six hours I was pushing an object the size of a watermelon out of an orifice the size of a lemon that gave me hemorrhoids. And you know what? Every woman I know got them that way, too!
Today, a year and a half later, they still pop up from time to time. Riding in a car for more than an hour, if I'm wearing pants, will do it to me every time. Remember that six hour flight from DC?
Anyway, I feel strongly that we need to stop treating hemorrhoids like a repellant disease, and start treating them like the minor nuisances they really are. And feel better, fellow sufferers, knowing that one good-looking 25-year old is out of the 'roid closet. =)
Thursday, November 04, 2004
yikes
Well, i did a little crying yesterday. What liberal in this country didn't? What person with sense or concern for the future didn't cry? And then today I did a little laughing, reading some great ideas about counting Canadian electoral votes and seceding from the US.
Still, around here, morale is ... okay. I'm pissed off as hell our state could vote for a measure that would essentially end zoning. I'm mad that anybody could vote for an amendment that would enforce exclusionism (that's not the word I want, but you know what I mean--meanness to the LGBT folks I know). But I'm still alive and Fi is alive, and there's always the chance we can move to Canada. Or New Zealand. =)
Still, around here, morale is ... okay. I'm pissed off as hell our state could vote for a measure that would essentially end zoning. I'm mad that anybody could vote for an amendment that would enforce exclusionism (that's not the word I want, but you know what I mean--meanness to the LGBT folks I know). But I'm still alive and Fi is alive, and there's always the chance we can move to Canada. Or New Zealand. =)
Friday, October 29, 2004
Halloween
Things are really starting to take off on our Halloween preparations. Today I carved a jack'o'lantern (Fi calls them 'junka's; it is beyond cute), and last night made her a pair of fairy wings. The monkey costume has flopped to due lack of sewing interest--I still have to sew Jak's cloak together. Uggh. Hmmn, would hot glue work? =)
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Explosions
Well, the Monster finally left the house. He and I had a little showdown over my disciplinary techniques after he whacked Fiona with one of her toys. I blew up at him; she was already acting really scared around him, and she was really tired and wound up. I can see why he got upset with her (she threw a toy at his head), but come on! Who's the adult? [Actually, my dad mostly acts like a big infant.]
When we were kids, Dad always exploded when we did something bad. He never separated the behavior from the person--just yelled and screamed and flailed. And I remember always feeling on edge around him. Never trusting just what he'd do or what I would do to set him off. And I've never felt truly comfortable around him--or any other man, for that matter. They are untrustworthy. They are scary.
What I know is that I don't want Fiona to grow up with those feelings. I am glad there are men in her life who are not my father.
When we were kids, Dad always exploded when we did something bad. He never separated the behavior from the person--just yelled and screamed and flailed. And I remember always feeling on edge around him. Never trusting just what he'd do or what I would do to set him off. And I've never felt truly comfortable around him--or any other man, for that matter. They are untrustworthy. They are scary.
What I know is that I don't want Fiona to grow up with those feelings. I am glad there are men in her life who are not my father.
Friday, October 22, 2004
Wedding
Kurt and Juju's wedding was amazing. She looked so beautiful! He looked so handsome! They both spoke beautifully and filled our hearts with hope for the beauty of love.
Needless to say, I've been a complete sucker for romance the last few days. I've been emailing the old Chump, who might come for a visit, and of course started daydreaming about reconciliation possibilities. I know there's no chance, but once you get in a romantic groove, there's not much you can do to shake it off.
Sigh.
You know, I don't even know I'd want the Chump and I to reconcile. I like being a single parent. I like knowing that I can date anybody I want to, and not worry a second about commitment. Not that I'm dating anybody nowadays. But I could.
On the other hand ... I miss him. I miss the things we used to laugh at, adn I miss how comfortable it was to be with him and how sweet he could be, and probably more than anything else, I miss his cooking. He's the best cook I've ever met.
Damn Kurt and Juju!
Needless to say, I've been a complete sucker for romance the last few days. I've been emailing the old Chump, who might come for a visit, and of course started daydreaming about reconciliation possibilities. I know there's no chance, but once you get in a romantic groove, there's not much you can do to shake it off.
Sigh.
You know, I don't even know I'd want the Chump and I to reconcile. I like being a single parent. I like knowing that I can date anybody I want to, and not worry a second about commitment. Not that I'm dating anybody nowadays. But I could.
On the other hand ... I miss him. I miss the things we used to laugh at, adn I miss how comfortable it was to be with him and how sweet he could be, and probably more than anything else, I miss his cooking. He's the best cook I've ever met.
Damn Kurt and Juju!
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Sunday, October 03, 2004
Yikes
Jesus, I tried on some older pants of mine that were in the rag bag, with the unhappy hope that they would fit. They're cute pants, and I want to have some more pants to wear on this trip, but they were discarded because they were ... too big. And now ... they fit. I was a size eight when I got here (mom's house), and now I'm a 12/14.
That's bad. Really bad. I've got to do something!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Everybody out there, please send me willpower and a dislike for sweets. Thanks.
That's bad. Really bad. I've got to do something!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Everybody out there, please send me willpower and a dislike for sweets. Thanks.
Saturday, October 02, 2004
Brown v Jackson
I had an outstanding realization last night. The two guys on extended basic cable that I spend my drooling time drooling over are ... gasp! ... freakishly similar. I'll do the breakdown to fully explain to continuum of beauty that makes up Alton Brown and Daniel Jackson (as portrayed by Michael Shanks, not the equally h-h-hunky James Spader).
Alton's Physical Cuteness Quotient: blue eyes, glasses, blondish hair, perfectly kissable lower lip.
Daniel Jackson's Cuteness Quotient: blue eyes, glasses, blondish hair, perfectly kissable lower lip, plus rippling biceps.
Alton's Brainiac CQ: Incredible knowledge of food and science.
DJ's Brainiac CQ: Incredible knowledge of history and ancient languages.
Alton's Personality CQ: Ferocious wit and delightful patter, plus silly props.
DJ's Personality CQ: Bumbling manner veils insightful wit, plus fights evil aliens.
Alton's Negative points: Receding hairline.
DJ's Negative points: Nagging suspicion the actor who plays him is a poopy-face.
Wow! They're twins, separated at birth!
Now I just need an atom smasher to combine them and create THE PERFECT MAN. Or mincemeat, one of the two.
Alton's Physical Cuteness Quotient: blue eyes, glasses, blondish hair, perfectly kissable lower lip.
Daniel Jackson's Cuteness Quotient: blue eyes, glasses, blondish hair, perfectly kissable lower lip, plus rippling biceps.
Alton's Brainiac CQ: Incredible knowledge of food and science.
DJ's Brainiac CQ: Incredible knowledge of history and ancient languages.
Alton's Personality CQ: Ferocious wit and delightful patter, plus silly props.
DJ's Personality CQ: Bumbling manner veils insightful wit, plus fights evil aliens.
Alton's Negative points: Receding hairline.
DJ's Negative points: Nagging suspicion the actor who plays him is a poopy-face.
Wow! They're twins, separated at birth!
Now I just need an atom smasher to combine them and create THE PERFECT MAN. Or mincemeat, one of the two.
Wednesday, September 29, 2004
Sex and the City
Okay, I'm addicted to "Sex and the City." I never saw it when it ran on HBO, but I love it on TBS (and don't mind the cleaned up versions. I like sex, but come on, who needs soft porn). The clothes, the drama, the friendship--it's all great. Carrie is my hero right now. She and I are wardrobe twins, separated at birth by a fluke of bank accounts. And fat cells. But still, if you want to know what kind of clothes I'm drawn to, just watch an episode of SATC. You'll see the crazy stuff I'm into.
Back in high school, I came up with some amazing combinations--pajama bottoms with body suits; silk shirts with wool shorts *and* leggings; men's hats and boys' blazers. And it usually worked, in my own whacky way. Then I went to college and got more conservative, although not too much more conservative, when I really think about some of the quasi-pirate outfits I pulled off my sophomore year. And then the year before last, when I made the Victorian-style skirt (with petticoat). But my inner fashionista is still champing at the bit. I need ... Gaultier. Fendi. Vintage. Or at least more hats!
Back in high school, I came up with some amazing combinations--pajama bottoms with body suits; silk shirts with wool shorts *and* leggings; men's hats and boys' blazers. And it usually worked, in my own whacky way. Then I went to college and got more conservative, although not too much more conservative, when I really think about some of the quasi-pirate outfits I pulled off my sophomore year. And then the year before last, when I made the Victorian-style skirt (with petticoat). But my inner fashionista is still champing at the bit. I need ... Gaultier. Fendi. Vintage. Or at least more hats!
Monday, September 27, 2004
Kissing Woolie Bears
Fi is so cute. The last couple of days, we've had great luck finding cool bugs on our walks. And what's really cute is that she wants to kiss them all. You have never seen anything more adorable than a toddler smooching a woolie bear caterpillar.
No, don't worry--I didn't let her lips actually touch it. I think they're poisonous or something.
No, don't worry--I didn't let her lips actually touch it. I think they're poisonous or something.
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
When Night equals Day
Last night was incredible. Fiona and I went out for a walk around the neighborhood just as the sun was setting. The moon was already up, a perfect half-circle in the sky, and in the west, a peachy stain colored the odd wisp of cloud.
It felt so amazing to stand in the cemetery and watch the sun give way its hold on the world. It hung an extra wistful moment at the brink of the hills, then, in the moment I turned my head to watch Fi scrabble up an uneven step, plunged behind the trees. The moon was suddenly much brighter. All around, the world held its magical breath. And the seasons turned.
Tonight we stepped out for our stroll, the same sunset moment as the day before. But this evening's magic was a different shade of magic. The Crone stood unabashed in the sky, moon-face broader than the night before. Her cold wisdom was evident in the crushed leaves beneath my sandals, and the cruelty of our cat's snatch at a fat, grey mouse. The little animal shrieked with pain and fear as Omega danced around it; then, as we drew near, he snapped the creature up, not trusting us too near his treasure.
My heart shook inside me, aching to save the poor little mouse. But logic stilled my hand. Once bitten by a cat, there isn't much hope for an animal--there's just too much damage. But I felt winter-worn as we picked our way home. I can respect the Crone and her ways, but I do not love her.
It felt so amazing to stand in the cemetery and watch the sun give way its hold on the world. It hung an extra wistful moment at the brink of the hills, then, in the moment I turned my head to watch Fi scrabble up an uneven step, plunged behind the trees. The moon was suddenly much brighter. All around, the world held its magical breath. And the seasons turned.
Tonight we stepped out for our stroll, the same sunset moment as the day before. But this evening's magic was a different shade of magic. The Crone stood unabashed in the sky, moon-face broader than the night before. Her cold wisdom was evident in the crushed leaves beneath my sandals, and the cruelty of our cat's snatch at a fat, grey mouse. The little animal shrieked with pain and fear as Omega danced around it; then, as we drew near, he snapped the creature up, not trusting us too near his treasure.
My heart shook inside me, aching to save the poor little mouse. But logic stilled my hand. Once bitten by a cat, there isn't much hope for an animal--there's just too much damage. But I felt winter-worn as we picked our way home. I can respect the Crone and her ways, but I do not love her.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
A very cool boy
If you want a little inside glimpse of my life, check out my brother's webpage. He's such a groovy dude!
Monday, September 20, 2004
Safe harbor
Erin and I hooked up on Saturday, and when she wrote it up in her blog, it was amazingly touching. It hit a chord in me--that "she understands!" chord. The reasons she came home: they're mine. We came home to find safe harbor.
After years on my own (I started college at 16, and except for a handful of holidays, pretty much stayed out in the world), I felt so worn down. There were the overcomeable difficulties, like troubles with jobs and cramped, dingy apartments, and then there were the deeper scars, like the crippling loss of confidence after quitting music. It was starting to get harder and harder to get over the little slings and arrows of my fate (you know, dumb stuff like losing my boyfriend of 4 years); I was just too emotionally exhausted. And I guess I knew deep down there was no way someone as soggy and miserable as me could possibly do any justice to the sweet baby I was given. So I fled.
It's the best decision I've ever made. Sure, I don't have any money, and I feel like a mooch. But I'm whole again. Happy and confident the way I haven't been since I was in high school. And I've broken away from all the crap I've absorbed out there in the world. I'm writing; I'm living; I'm smiling.
After years on my own (I started college at 16, and except for a handful of holidays, pretty much stayed out in the world), I felt so worn down. There were the overcomeable difficulties, like troubles with jobs and cramped, dingy apartments, and then there were the deeper scars, like the crippling loss of confidence after quitting music. It was starting to get harder and harder to get over the little slings and arrows of my fate (you know, dumb stuff like losing my boyfriend of 4 years); I was just too emotionally exhausted. And I guess I knew deep down there was no way someone as soggy and miserable as me could possibly do any justice to the sweet baby I was given. So I fled.
It's the best decision I've ever made. Sure, I don't have any money, and I feel like a mooch. But I'm whole again. Happy and confident the way I haven't been since I was in high school. And I've broken away from all the crap I've absorbed out there in the world. I'm writing; I'm living; I'm smiling.
Saturday, September 18, 2004
happy reunions
Wow! I just had lunch with one of my oldest friends for the first time in years. It felt good. It wasn't like we were exactly the same people, but we had kept the same old connection. Sometimes when you get together with long-lost pals, you feel horribly uncomfortable. Not this time! Erin and I had a pretty good time.
I hope she feels the same way!
I hope she feels the same way!
Friday, September 17, 2004
Really bad stuff
So I know it's wrong, but somewhere between July and Now, I've just become incredibly disillusioned with this year's election. Oh sure, I'm still going to vote--I'm not suicidal, after all, and I want to do something to get rid of Bush. But I just don't feel like there's much of a point in getting worked up about politics right now. When the choice is Turkey Ham or Turkey Salami, you just get sad thinking about all the turkey farms out in the world.
Monday, September 13, 2004
Mean Reds
I watched "Breakfast at Tiffany's" a couple nights ago, the first time since I'd read the story, and felt a big surge of disapointment over the ending. I knw it's Hollywood, but the happy ending was so unbelievable. How could Holly Golightly ever settle down with any man? She's not even alive.
The mean reds--what a beautiful term, so eloquent, so evocative--ate Holly alive. She was an empty shell, just clinging to the world for her one last connection: her brother, Fred. With his death, she was cut loose. No man could bring her back from that abyss.
Sorry. This was a bad aside, poorly written, tres lame. But I've been thinking about the mean reds a lot lately. Sometimes they pick me up and swallow me whole. I worry I'll never be able to be a good mom because of them. They unhinge me, untie me from my mind. I hate to see myself swimming in a mean red sea.
But there's no Tiffany's on Oregon coast.
The mean reds--what a beautiful term, so eloquent, so evocative--ate Holly alive. She was an empty shell, just clinging to the world for her one last connection: her brother, Fred. With his death, she was cut loose. No man could bring her back from that abyss.
Sorry. This was a bad aside, poorly written, tres lame. But I've been thinking about the mean reds a lot lately. Sometimes they pick me up and swallow me whole. I worry I'll never be able to be a good mom because of them. They unhinge me, untie me from my mind. I hate to see myself swimming in a mean red sea.
But there's no Tiffany's on Oregon coast.
Saturday, September 11, 2004
ewww
Just a humorous note. We have a standard desk chair in front of our computer, and the seat is stuffed with foam rubber. If you fart in this chair, is soaks up the smelly gases, releasing them in a revolting explosion when the chair's next user plunks down on the seat. I am frequently the target of this nasty prank.
My brother is an evil gas bag! My brother is an evil gas bag. My brother is an evil gas bag! My brother is an evil gas bag. My brother is an evil gas bag! My brother is an evil gas bag. My brother is an evil gas bag!
My brother is an evil gas bag! My brother is an evil gas bag. My brother is an evil gas bag! My brother is an evil gas bag. My brother is an evil gas bag! My brother is an evil gas bag. My brother is an evil gas bag!
Thursday, September 09, 2004
Not a lot
I can't think of much to write about--there's sort of an empty spot in my brain today. I guess it's because we went shopping, so I'm totally off schedule and a little bit drained. Isn't it funny how shopping will do that to you?
What was I shopping for, you ask? Why, shoes, of course. Something to go with the Pleasant Peasant dress I'm wearing for the Pennsylvania Wedding. It actually came the other day, and I had to send it back--much too big. Horrendously, nastily too big. I hope the small size gets here in time!
We found no good shoes (big surprise). I wanted a pair of little China-doll flats, which are easy to find in Portland, but a rare commodity on the coast. I thought maybe some whacky embroidered slippers would do the job, but they didn't even have any at the import store. Fred Meyer didn't even have any of those Isotoner ballet-style slippers. A complete strike out.
So I wasted a whole day on nothing. Well, not entirely nothing. I got a new sweater (orange!), a shiny skirt, and two black shirts. That has to count a little.
I suppose I should try writing, but I might just slob around and read a little. My brain just isn't up to my imaginary world right now.
What was I shopping for, you ask? Why, shoes, of course. Something to go with the Pleasant Peasant dress I'm wearing for the Pennsylvania Wedding. It actually came the other day, and I had to send it back--much too big. Horrendously, nastily too big. I hope the small size gets here in time!
We found no good shoes (big surprise). I wanted a pair of little China-doll flats, which are easy to find in Portland, but a rare commodity on the coast. I thought maybe some whacky embroidered slippers would do the job, but they didn't even have any at the import store. Fred Meyer didn't even have any of those Isotoner ballet-style slippers. A complete strike out.
So I wasted a whole day on nothing. Well, not entirely nothing. I got a new sweater (orange!), a shiny skirt, and two black shirts. That has to count a little.
I suppose I should try writing, but I might just slob around and read a little. My brain just isn't up to my imaginary world right now.
Sunday, September 05, 2004
The Dress
I have vowed not to get too fat for the bridesmaid dress. Operation Diet is in order. It already is bad!
Friday, September 03, 2004
Damn reading, anyway
So last night I was reading a book called "Consuming Kids: The Hostile Takeover of Childhood," by some lady. It was a very insightful examination of marketing for children, and I honestly thought I was having a heart attack as I read it. My chest knotted; breathing was a struggle. My stomach twisted and heaved. Reading her words, I just couldn't see any hope for my child. How could I, a single mother with few resources, hope to shield her from a society bent on turning her into a mindless, heartless drone? A monster?
I thought about throwing all her toys away--at least all the silly ones that talked or sang or squawked. I thought about blowing up our tv. I certainly regretted buying her the "Sesame Street" overalls I'd picked up at the consignment store that afternoon. What was I doing to my baby, teaching her to love Elmo and Big Bird and all those other fuzzy puppets? Sixteen months old, and I have already failed her.
Maybe it's silly to fall into despair, but I honestly can't see any hope for a good life when society works so hard to undo everything good for human beings. The government serves the corporations and the corporations want nothing more than for us to buy, buy, buy--with no concern for our hearts or minds or expanding waist lines.
Damn reading, anyway. If I hadn't read that book, I wouldn't be cursing myself or predicting a new dark age. I'd have my head back in the sand, as I prefer.
I thought about throwing all her toys away--at least all the silly ones that talked or sang or squawked. I thought about blowing up our tv. I certainly regretted buying her the "Sesame Street" overalls I'd picked up at the consignment store that afternoon. What was I doing to my baby, teaching her to love Elmo and Big Bird and all those other fuzzy puppets? Sixteen months old, and I have already failed her.
Maybe it's silly to fall into despair, but I honestly can't see any hope for a good life when society works so hard to undo everything good for human beings. The government serves the corporations and the corporations want nothing more than for us to buy, buy, buy--with no concern for our hearts or minds or expanding waist lines.
Damn reading, anyway. If I hadn't read that book, I wouldn't be cursing myself or predicting a new dark age. I'd have my head back in the sand, as I prefer.
Monday, August 30, 2004
Horoscope
Sometimes your horoscope tells you just what you need to hear. Take today's from Excite:
Counter your tendency to rehash the past -- instead, begin your day with a list of your hopes and dreams.... Now take this list in your pocket and refer to it often during the day. Make sure not to lose it. Look for signs that you are manifesting the future you desire.
I read it just before setting out to type this message, and it changed my post for the day. I was going to set out a rather depressing list of all my bad memories of poverty, all those sundry reasons I'm living with my mother (top of the list: a working washer and dryer--try living without one for five years, and you'll know what I mean). But now I think I'd be better off burying those in the back of my mind.
Maybe the future won't be as bad as the past. Maybe this spring, when I return to Portland to earn $$ to pay my wretched student loans, I won't have to live in poverty and stinking laundry and stomach-grinding fear. At least I'll hope so today.
Counter your tendency to rehash the past -- instead, begin your day with a list of your hopes and dreams.... Now take this list in your pocket and refer to it often during the day. Make sure not to lose it. Look for signs that you are manifesting the future you desire.
I read it just before setting out to type this message, and it changed my post for the day. I was going to set out a rather depressing list of all my bad memories of poverty, all those sundry reasons I'm living with my mother (top of the list: a working washer and dryer--try living without one for five years, and you'll know what I mean). But now I think I'd be better off burying those in the back of my mind.
Maybe the future won't be as bad as the past. Maybe this spring, when I return to Portland to earn $$ to pay my wretched student loans, I won't have to live in poverty and stinking laundry and stomach-grinding fear. At least I'll hope so today.
Sunday, August 29, 2004
Learning to fly
Okay, that's a cheesy title, but I loved the Rocky reference. Blame the cheese on my lunch (pizza) and the rust in my brain. This sick momma/sick baby business is for the birds.
Today's post will not wax philosophical, metaphorical or political. Instead, I'm discussing a topic large in my mind: house keeping. You see, after all my mother's grousing and back-spearing comments, I'm turning myself around--originally as a way to say "nyah-nyah!" to her, but now for my own edification. My lovely sister (the perfect one) turned me on to Flylady, and now I'm hooked.
I don't jibe with all the Flylady's notions--nobody is going to get me to put on shoes first thing in the morning--but she is very encouraging and just plain smart. Her ideas make house keeping fun and easier. I've loved Martha Stewart for years, but she couldn't get me to organized, and no wonder: she has three houses to stash all of her crap. Flylady understands how yucky life can be when you've stashed too much in your little two-bedroom.
Anyway, besides wrestling a feverish toddler, that's what I'm been doing. Cleaning house.
Today's post will not wax philosophical, metaphorical or political. Instead, I'm discussing a topic large in my mind: house keeping. You see, after all my mother's grousing and back-spearing comments, I'm turning myself around--originally as a way to say "nyah-nyah!" to her, but now for my own edification. My lovely sister (the perfect one) turned me on to Flylady, and now I'm hooked.
I don't jibe with all the Flylady's notions--nobody is going to get me to put on shoes first thing in the morning--but she is very encouraging and just plain smart. Her ideas make house keeping fun and easier. I've loved Martha Stewart for years, but she couldn't get me to organized, and no wonder: she has three houses to stash all of her crap. Flylady understands how yucky life can be when you've stashed too much in your little two-bedroom.
Anyway, besides wrestling a feverish toddler, that's what I'm been doing. Cleaning house.
Thursday, August 26, 2004
uggh
We are all sick here. Yesterday Fi was really unwell, with a bad fever, and now I am yucky. Ugggh. Pray for better news some other day.
i have tons to write, but it will have to wait.
i have tons to write, but it will have to wait.
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
Blog clog
Man, I've been trying to cook up a really great entry about how inspired I've been since reading "On Writing," but unfortunately, trying to be really great is a certain death blow for me. Just thinking those words--really great--ices up my fingers and turns my toes frostbite-green.
Yes, frostbite is green. My mother suffers from some post-frostbite circulatory disorder (like Reynaud's syndrome, I think), and when her fingers/toes get cold, her skin turns the nastiest green imaginable. It is actually the same olive-gray color as a corpse.
I know this because we went to the wrong funeral home. When I was a freshman in college, I took a class called "Death and Dying." The prof was about to retire in order to focus on his own literary work, and this was his last foray into morbidity. (He had actually broken new ground in the field--our school was the first to offer a class on D-&-D, which is now a common topic. But then, the man used to keep a coffin in his office and give out extra credit points to anyone willing to shut themselves inside.) Every year, the class organized a field trip to a nearby mortuary to experience first-hand the preparation which goes into a person's last party.
Our class screwed up. The girl in charge called the new funeral home, the one three blocks away from campus, not one. These people were educators in their field, eager to share their knowledge. They showed us every aspect of their work, from the emergency refrigerators in the basement to the frilly chapel. They showed us the cardboard boxes used to take bodies to the crematorium (Yes, you have to be in some kind of coffin to be burned. It's a law. But cardboard is okay for the uberfrugal). And we even got to see the embalmed bodies waiting for the makeup artist's touch, perched on beautician's reclining chairs.
One body--heavy-set and large--sat under a sheet, like a man relaxing at the barber's office before a shave. He hadn't made it through the embalming process yet, and the staff thought we might find him disturbing. (Although if the detailed description of how they suck out blood and replace it with toxic chemicals didn't bother us, I don't see how an ordinary dead guy would really shake us up.)
Anyway, what we could see of him was gray-green. Like my mother's hands, like my own, clenched on the keyboard in the desparate attempt to type something REALLY GREAT.
I'll settle for a tangent.
Yes, frostbite is green. My mother suffers from some post-frostbite circulatory disorder (like Reynaud's syndrome, I think), and when her fingers/toes get cold, her skin turns the nastiest green imaginable. It is actually the same olive-gray color as a corpse.
I know this because we went to the wrong funeral home. When I was a freshman in college, I took a class called "Death and Dying." The prof was about to retire in order to focus on his own literary work, and this was his last foray into morbidity. (He had actually broken new ground in the field--our school was the first to offer a class on D-&-D, which is now a common topic. But then, the man used to keep a coffin in his office and give out extra credit points to anyone willing to shut themselves inside.) Every year, the class organized a field trip to a nearby mortuary to experience first-hand the preparation which goes into a person's last party.
Our class screwed up. The girl in charge called the new funeral home, the one three blocks away from campus, not one. These people were educators in their field, eager to share their knowledge. They showed us every aspect of their work, from the emergency refrigerators in the basement to the frilly chapel. They showed us the cardboard boxes used to take bodies to the crematorium (Yes, you have to be in some kind of coffin to be burned. It's a law. But cardboard is okay for the uberfrugal). And we even got to see the embalmed bodies waiting for the makeup artist's touch, perched on beautician's reclining chairs.
One body--heavy-set and large--sat under a sheet, like a man relaxing at the barber's office before a shave. He hadn't made it through the embalming process yet, and the staff thought we might find him disturbing. (Although if the detailed description of how they suck out blood and replace it with toxic chemicals didn't bother us, I don't see how an ordinary dead guy would really shake us up.)
Anyway, what we could see of him was gray-green. Like my mother's hands, like my own, clenched on the keyboard in the desparate attempt to type something REALLY GREAT.
I'll settle for a tangent.
Friday, August 13, 2004
On Writing
So I noticed Erin was reading a Stephen King book called "On Writing." I'd never heard of it, but it piqued my interest. I'm on a big writers-on-writing reading jag. I started it 2 days ago, and let me tell you, it's amazing!
okay, i finished "O.W." and it is terrific. the awesomest book ever. i want it for xmas. i intended to write a great blog about it, but instead of writing a great blog entry, I've just had this one sitting around in the draft pile for about a week.
Sometimes you put too much pressure on your brain to be brilliant, and it spazzes out.
PS: I made plum jam last night, and not only was it delicious, all the jars sealed. I feel like a domestic *goddess*.
okay, i finished "O.W." and it is terrific. the awesomest book ever. i want it for xmas. i intended to write a great blog about it, but instead of writing a great blog entry, I've just had this one sitting around in the draft pile for about a week.
Sometimes you put too much pressure on your brain to be brilliant, and it spazzes out.
PS: I made plum jam last night, and not only was it delicious, all the jars sealed. I feel like a domestic *goddess*.
Sunday, August 08, 2004
Inspirational Ladies
Just a quick note here. Gotta get back to work on THE BOOK. Lately I have been reading some great webpages by my favorite authors, soaking up some of their great wit and wisdom. Or something like that. Anyway, here are a couple and the lowdown on what makes them rock:
Jane Yolen: This is particularly good because she has a cool weblog, and also because there's a photograph of her on the site where she looks like my college writing professor (who made a huge difference in my writing and thus, my life). Jane is so awesome. I remember reading her stuff when I was just starting to read, shortly after the miracle-reading-breakthrough-of-second-grade. Her book, "Heart's Blood," rocked my world. The cartoon wasn't so hot, though ... Anyway, Jane is full of brilliant words and is really one of my personal heroes. Rock on, Jane!
Rowling Rock--sorry for the pun. No, J.K., the woman who brought us Harry Potter is tres cool (much better than the beer I just punned). This webpage discusses a bit of the logic behind the writing and editing process--it's very intriguing and helpful for those just starting to get a handle on character management and story development.
Cecilia Dart-Thornton is a brilliant writer, and her work inspired me to take a bold change of direction in my own stuff. The world she creates is just ... amazing. Even her webpage is breathtaking!
Tamora Pierce was the woman who made me a writer--damn her hide, anyway! Her book Alanna was the first fantasy novel I ever read, and also the first book where the point of view shifted between two characters. It about knocked me on my *ass*! But after that, I paid attention to the tools the author used in a story--not bad for a six-year old.
Well, to steal one of JY's ideas, it is now time for some BIC time: BUTT IN CHAIR time. She is so brilliant!
Jane Yolen: This is particularly good because she has a cool weblog, and also because there's a photograph of her on the site where she looks like my college writing professor (who made a huge difference in my writing and thus, my life). Jane is so awesome. I remember reading her stuff when I was just starting to read, shortly after the miracle-reading-breakthrough-of-second-grade. Her book, "Heart's Blood," rocked my world. The cartoon wasn't so hot, though ... Anyway, Jane is full of brilliant words and is really one of my personal heroes. Rock on, Jane!
Rowling Rock--sorry for the pun. No, J.K., the woman who brought us Harry Potter is tres cool (much better than the beer I just punned). This webpage discusses a bit of the logic behind the writing and editing process--it's very intriguing and helpful for those just starting to get a handle on character management and story development.
Cecilia Dart-Thornton is a brilliant writer, and her work inspired me to take a bold change of direction in my own stuff. The world she creates is just ... amazing. Even her webpage is breathtaking!
Tamora Pierce was the woman who made me a writer--damn her hide, anyway! Her book Alanna was the first fantasy novel I ever read, and also the first book where the point of view shifted between two characters. It about knocked me on my *ass*! But after that, I paid attention to the tools the author used in a story--not bad for a six-year old.
Well, to steal one of JY's ideas, it is now time for some BIC time: BUTT IN CHAIR time. She is so brilliant!
Tuesday, August 03, 2004
Discipline
I don't believe the word "discipline" is used properly when it is a verb. It suggests uptight schoolmasters and wooden paddles. Chew-spattered Southern baptists taking their children out back, shouting "I'll larn ya!" followed by the crisp sounds of leather on flesh.
Discipline should be a noun. It's a state of being, an achievement wherein one restricts the behavior into focused, functional activities. It's what happens when you learn to restrain all those beasty impulses and become civilized. Discipline should be the gift you offer your children and slowly teach them to appreciate.
My sister uses the word "discipine" every time she sees me and my unruly child. admittedly, this has only happened once. So far. She offers me suggestions on the phone, and has offered to buy me copies of the books she has found useful as a parent. They all sound hideous, with titles like "Think Space," or "The Dog-Trainer's Guide to Raising Children." I don't want to raise my child like a dog, even if she does need it!
My sister comes to visit tomorrow. I'm petrified.
Discipline should be a noun. It's a state of being, an achievement wherein one restricts the behavior into focused, functional activities. It's what happens when you learn to restrain all those beasty impulses and become civilized. Discipline should be the gift you offer your children and slowly teach them to appreciate.
My sister uses the word "discipine" every time she sees me and my unruly child. admittedly, this has only happened once. So far. She offers me suggestions on the phone, and has offered to buy me copies of the books she has found useful as a parent. They all sound hideous, with titles like "Think Space," or "The Dog-Trainer's Guide to Raising Children." I don't want to raise my child like a dog, even if she does need it!
My sister comes to visit tomorrow. I'm petrified.
Sunday, August 01, 2004
Losing the Color Smog
I realized last night that there really was a reason for all my foolish depressive drooping this weak, and that I'd been blocking it from my head like an idiot. Or maybe I was just too wrapped up in Fiona and plans for the October trip and Crystal's wedding and writing and fighting with my brother, and oh, a thousand other things I'd rather think about. But there I was, laying in the darkness while Fi struggled against sleep, and it hit me: Smog is leaving me this week. I'm losing my best friend.
Best friend is an understatement. We met through our sorority, a nominal sisterhood with ties as strong as blood (that sounds dramatic, but watch a group of elderly women at a college reunion, and you'll see what I mean). We were roommates for 6 years, and in that time period, we took most of the same classes, and then upon graduation from school, worked forthe same company. We shared a library card. We watched most of the same movies and read most of the same books--if one of us saw/read something without the other and liked it, we shared it with the other one. We had the same friends. We spoke in unison. At work, we emailed each other over 30 times a day to exchange ideas and thoughts about customers and co-workers. We shared holidays with each other's families. We had the same haircuts, the same glasses (not exactly, but near enough to creep us out--and it was unintentional!). People called us twins.
We have the basically the same ethnic background (Germans from eastern Washington), and shared academic interests (music, living history, literature). Because we started in similiar places, and filled our lives with all the same details, we shared one world. One world for two people. And it was cool, because we understood each other effortlessly; we each knew just how the other person would react to any scenario; we knew just how to make each other happy. We could also exclude everybody else, who didn't know our little language and who couldn't take part in our universe.
Sometimes I was desperate to get away from Smog. It was hard to create an identity for myself within our little world, and it was hard behave sanely within such a closed circuit. And then I had Fi, and I was thrown out of my tiny universe into a much smaller one that only occasionally intersected with anyone else's. But Smog was there with us a lot of the time. The connection--the shared world--still existed. We just had to schedule visits to it.
But now she's crossing the country to start her new life, and she'll meet a ton of new people and learn a ton of new stuff. It's wonderful. I've been so excited for her, and happy for myself, too. I knew we were separating into our own special selves, and it seems right. We'll always be friends--we're certain of it. There's no way we'll let ourselves completely drift apart. It's only our planet that will crumble.
Without the constant reinforcement of shared experiences--one cast, one crew, one setting--there's no way our little world can maintain its borders. It's already mostly gone; I just hadn't checked before. The landmarks we built together are no more than nostalgic memories. Palio, Caswell, Cactus Club, Papa Haydn, Arco; Todd, Charles, the funny man at Laurelhurst, Mr. White Keys; little cookies, breakfast ring, lemon bars, taco night with the Anderson's. The Flys, Soul Coughing, and ever and always the American Girls. They fade away like smoke after closing time, leaving only the faint whiff of history behind them.
Well, every band breaks up. They leave their old albums behind them and go forward to create something new, something more meaningful to their artistic vision. But their legacy lives on in our CD collections and our hearts. So I'll throw on the Glory Daze soundtrack and think of the times we've spent together, my best friend and I. We were the best band of all time, black and white keys on the same keyboard.
Good luck and love, Smoggi.
Best friend is an understatement. We met through our sorority, a nominal sisterhood with ties as strong as blood (that sounds dramatic, but watch a group of elderly women at a college reunion, and you'll see what I mean). We were roommates for 6 years, and in that time period, we took most of the same classes, and then upon graduation from school, worked forthe same company. We shared a library card. We watched most of the same movies and read most of the same books--if one of us saw/read something without the other and liked it, we shared it with the other one. We had the same friends. We spoke in unison. At work, we emailed each other over 30 times a day to exchange ideas and thoughts about customers and co-workers. We shared holidays with each other's families. We had the same haircuts, the same glasses (not exactly, but near enough to creep us out--and it was unintentional!). People called us twins.
We have the basically the same ethnic background (Germans from eastern Washington), and shared academic interests (music, living history, literature). Because we started in similiar places, and filled our lives with all the same details, we shared one world. One world for two people. And it was cool, because we understood each other effortlessly; we each knew just how the other person would react to any scenario; we knew just how to make each other happy. We could also exclude everybody else, who didn't know our little language and who couldn't take part in our universe.
Sometimes I was desperate to get away from Smog. It was hard to create an identity for myself within our little world, and it was hard behave sanely within such a closed circuit. And then I had Fi, and I was thrown out of my tiny universe into a much smaller one that only occasionally intersected with anyone else's. But Smog was there with us a lot of the time. The connection--the shared world--still existed. We just had to schedule visits to it.
But now she's crossing the country to start her new life, and she'll meet a ton of new people and learn a ton of new stuff. It's wonderful. I've been so excited for her, and happy for myself, too. I knew we were separating into our own special selves, and it seems right. We'll always be friends--we're certain of it. There's no way we'll let ourselves completely drift apart. It's only our planet that will crumble.
Without the constant reinforcement of shared experiences--one cast, one crew, one setting--there's no way our little world can maintain its borders. It's already mostly gone; I just hadn't checked before. The landmarks we built together are no more than nostalgic memories. Palio, Caswell, Cactus Club, Papa Haydn, Arco; Todd, Charles, the funny man at Laurelhurst, Mr. White Keys; little cookies, breakfast ring, lemon bars, taco night with the Anderson's. The Flys, Soul Coughing, and ever and always the American Girls. They fade away like smoke after closing time, leaving only the faint whiff of history behind them.
Well, every band breaks up. They leave their old albums behind them and go forward to create something new, something more meaningful to their artistic vision. But their legacy lives on in our CD collections and our hearts. So I'll throw on the Glory Daze soundtrack and think of the times we've spent together, my best friend and I. We were the best band of all time, black and white keys on the same keyboard.
Good luck and love, Smoggi.
Thursday, July 29, 2004
Shaken, not stirred
Wow, I had a crazy experience today. My mom threw on a concert dvd for a group called bond; they are a string quartet who play with a back-up band. It was like watching the Spice Girls playing classical music. These women dressed as provocatively as Britney Spears, sashayed and strutted like Madonna, and gyrated like the women at Mary's Club (8th and Burnside, Portland, OR). Whew! The sexy Asian cello player played her instrument standing up, and it looked just like a pole dance. Only it sounded good.
Somethings are just too weird for words!
Somethings are just too weird for words!
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
The Author's Redemption
Thanks to a good friend's comment to the previous post of the day, I will push on deeper into the heart of blogdom!
Needless to say, today's blog will be devoted to writer's block.
Writer's block is a monster that strikes the heart (or head) of everyone, no matter what they claim, and no matter what their business. The block hits painters, surgeons and housewives alike, but writers have given the beast the most press. And beast it is. Nothing hurts worse than the pain of words that do not come when you summon them, or that won't allow you to pin them to the page. Nothing makes you feel more like a failure, empty, shallow, mentally deficient. It's the ultimate blow to the ego. In fact, I postulate that it's the ego that fertilizes the seeds of writer's block.
Ego spawns most of the monsters afflicting writers. Inconsistent voice--oh, that's a story killer, born from the writer's inability to negate her own presence. Wishy-washy characters--a deadly phenomenon hatched from the writer's lack of commitment to her creations. Inappropriate pacing--a vicious story-sucking leech, hatching from the author's failure to face difficult situations. All of these come from fear, self-consciousness and laziness: the ego's children. When the ego takes control of a writer, her words are picked off like virgins at a dragon convention.
To write--to truly write, to capture a message and pin it viciously to the page, giving it no mercy until it has fully surrendered its meaning--a writer must set aside her ego. Self-consciousness must be annhilated. Only then will she find the strength to push aside her blocks and errors to create real art.
But how to do that? How does a writer inculcate a fighting spirit, incredible courage and the moral authority necessary to really make a good piece of literature? Easy--the same way a soldier does. Go to boot camp: keep writing and find somebody to really kick your ass until you are as tough as nails and mean as a snake.
If anybody out there is listening, I'm looking for a drill sergeant of the writing business. Somebody who will make me do pencil pushups till my fingers bleed. Drop me a line!
Needless to say, today's blog will be devoted to writer's block.
Writer's block is a monster that strikes the heart (or head) of everyone, no matter what they claim, and no matter what their business. The block hits painters, surgeons and housewives alike, but writers have given the beast the most press. And beast it is. Nothing hurts worse than the pain of words that do not come when you summon them, or that won't allow you to pin them to the page. Nothing makes you feel more like a failure, empty, shallow, mentally deficient. It's the ultimate blow to the ego. In fact, I postulate that it's the ego that fertilizes the seeds of writer's block.
Ego spawns most of the monsters afflicting writers. Inconsistent voice--oh, that's a story killer, born from the writer's inability to negate her own presence. Wishy-washy characters--a deadly phenomenon hatched from the writer's lack of commitment to her creations. Inappropriate pacing--a vicious story-sucking leech, hatching from the author's failure to face difficult situations. All of these come from fear, self-consciousness and laziness: the ego's children. When the ego takes control of a writer, her words are picked off like virgins at a dragon convention.
To write--to truly write, to capture a message and pin it viciously to the page, giving it no mercy until it has fully surrendered its meaning--a writer must set aside her ego. Self-consciousness must be annhilated. Only then will she find the strength to push aside her blocks and errors to create real art.
But how to do that? How does a writer inculcate a fighting spirit, incredible courage and the moral authority necessary to really make a good piece of literature? Easy--the same way a soldier does. Go to boot camp: keep writing and find somebody to really kick your ass until you are as tough as nails and mean as a snake.
If anybody out there is listening, I'm looking for a drill sergeant of the writing business. Somebody who will make me do pencil pushups till my fingers bleed. Drop me a line!
Blog depression
Man, I read my friend Erin's blog and get all depressed. My blog is just so ... lame. I've gotten one comment so far, and and I just know that there's nobody out there reading this stuff. Maybe I will just delete it.
Feedback anyone?
Feedback anyone?
Thursday, July 22, 2004
In the Minority
Wow, I just saw "Minority Report" last night (I know, I know, I am so far behind the times!) and I've got to say, it blew my pants off. Talk about an awesome movie! I really had a hard time believing it was Spielberg or Tom Cruise. I don't usually like either of them, but this film was great. It did play up the action a little too much for a fairly cerebral concept, but for Hollywood, not bad.
Anyway, check out pkd for more about the cool man behind the movie.
Anyway, check out pkd for more about the cool man behind the movie.
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
Goggling saves the day
I am so happy! For a while now, I have been struggling to figure out the difference between the two varieties of "dandelion"around here. Everyone I've talked to swears the skinny-stemmed, stinking monsters invading our lawns is dandelion, but it bears little resemblance to the fat-stalked plant of my childhood. Of course Google saved the day! Turns out the fat-stalked plant is truly dandelion, but the pernicious weed in our yard is lesser hawkbit, a sort of relative.
What did we do before we had the Internet in our living rooms? How did anyone settle these kinds of debates? How did anybody know what anything was?
Thank goodness we're online!
What did we do before we had the Internet in our living rooms? How did anyone settle these kinds of debates? How did anybody know what anything was?
Thank goodness we're online!
Monday, July 19, 2004
Hot in the citahh!
Okay, it is weirdly warm here on the Oregon coast, and I'm going around sleeveless. I can't quite decide if I should shave my armpits. I mean, they don't look too bad, but I'm starting to feel like a hippy.
Sunday, July 18, 2004
had a fun night last night in ash valley, out at grandma treetoad's place. it was wonderful--we got to catch up with some old friends. best of all, though, was just spending time in her yard. the whole set-up is like the oregon country fair, full of earthy, hippie magic. it was really neat.
fiona loooved the geese!
it all just reinforced my dreams/plans to live in a little space on the fringe of society with a lot of plants and animals, a la tasha tudor.
fiona loooved the geese!
it all just reinforced my dreams/plans to live in a little space on the fringe of society with a lot of plants and animals, a la tasha tudor.
Thursday, July 15, 2004
Tuesday, July 13, 2004
Worse news
First of all, on the gay rights front, one of my stupid senators is supporting this amendment, the idiotic Mormon *%#$&!. I used to like Gordon Smith, but if he votes for this, I swear I will never vote for him again! Grr!
Of course, this is just the tip of the iceberg. If you think it's bad news that gay people are losing one of their rights, wait until all of us lose one of the fundamental rights we have: the right to vote. That's right, folks--according to the radio news yesterday (dunno the actual source, but I think it's the AP), Homeland Security has announced that due to the danger of terrorist attacks, they are prepared to shut down the November elections. That's just in case of emergency, mind you, not a given, but the fact they're even *THINKING* about this steams my brains. I suppose they're really just trying to scare people away from voting. If that Bush bastard gets to stay in office four more years because of this evil scheme, I will be the first to move to Canada!
Of course, this is just the tip of the iceberg. If you think it's bad news that gay people are losing one of their rights, wait until all of us lose one of the fundamental rights we have: the right to vote. That's right, folks--according to the radio news yesterday (dunno the actual source, but I think it's the AP), Homeland Security has announced that due to the danger of terrorist attacks, they are prepared to shut down the November elections. That's just in case of emergency, mind you, not a given, but the fact they're even *THINKING* about this steams my brains. I suppose they're really just trying to scare people away from voting. If that Bush bastard gets to stay in office four more years because of this evil scheme, I will be the first to move to Canada!
Monday, July 12, 2004
Amendment considered
I've been thinking about Bush's little homophobic amendment, and while it's pathetic, it's also a pretty keen piece of work. See, Bush doesn't care if this thing goes anywhere--and trust me, he expects it won't. Big Dick, the most powerful man in America, has a lesbian daughter, and he quietly squashes a lot of anti-gay material. So Bush isn't really trying to ammend the constitution here.
What he is trying to do is lead Kerry out. Kerry is screwed no matter what he says about this thing. If he agrees with it, he just totally cut off a good chunk of his voting base. If he disagrees with it, the moderate Republicans who happen to be religious nut-jobs and/or homophobes are going to burn him. And he can't get elected without getting those moderates to support him.
Bush also gets the sweeeeet bonus of rallying the conservative Right around him--they are the people who get hard-ons over anti-gay legislation, and now they will LOVE Bush a lot, and not think about their lost Enron pension funds. This is crucial. After all, unlike the radical left, these people vote.
What he is trying to do is lead Kerry out. Kerry is screwed no matter what he says about this thing. If he agrees with it, he just totally cut off a good chunk of his voting base. If he disagrees with it, the moderate Republicans who happen to be religious nut-jobs and/or homophobes are going to burn him. And he can't get elected without getting those moderates to support him.
Bush also gets the sweeeeet bonus of rallying the conservative Right around him--they are the people who get hard-ons over anti-gay legislation, and now they will LOVE Bush a lot, and not think about their lost Enron pension funds. This is crucial. After all, unlike the radical left, these people vote.
Sunday, July 11, 2004
Good morning, America, I love ya!
Wow, I feel super-cool! Someone has linked to my blog--admittedly, it's my friend Erin, but it's still cool.
Okay, so you know you're too dialed into current events when you're looking at the carton of half and half, and instead of 'homogenized,' you read 'homosexual.' Yes, the Prez has me bummed out. Nobody I know can get married, not if he has his way. And while I don't even *believe* in marriage, lots of people do, and they should get to tie the knot if that's what fills their heart with joy, damn it all! So anyway, it looks like I'm going to be making some phone calls this Monday. Sigh. Why can't the fucking government just take its nose out of our business?
Or for that matter, our library records?
Anyway, the book project took a bit of a nose dive after we went to see Fahrenheit 9/11. My brain is way too wrapped up in politics to concentrate on my novel. Of course, it doesn't help that I keep doing awesome stuff like having barbecues and going to the Oregon Country Fair! Now that was righteous! The energy, the passion, the fun, the naked people! Hooray!
THere was a kid at the fair singing about how he dreamed of a better country, one that was pretty much like the Oregon Country Fair, all the time. He was sitting on a bicycle-powered stage, singing his heart out with his friends, surrounded by a lot of people in cool hats. Now that's an America I can really get behind!
Okay, so you know you're too dialed into current events when you're looking at the carton of half and half, and instead of 'homogenized,' you read 'homosexual.' Yes, the Prez has me bummed out. Nobody I know can get married, not if he has his way. And while I don't even *believe* in marriage, lots of people do, and they should get to tie the knot if that's what fills their heart with joy, damn it all! So anyway, it looks like I'm going to be making some phone calls this Monday. Sigh. Why can't the fucking government just take its nose out of our business?
Or for that matter, our library records?
Anyway, the book project took a bit of a nose dive after we went to see Fahrenheit 9/11. My brain is way too wrapped up in politics to concentrate on my novel. Of course, it doesn't help that I keep doing awesome stuff like having barbecues and going to the Oregon Country Fair! Now that was righteous! The energy, the passion, the fun, the naked people! Hooray!
THere was a kid at the fair singing about how he dreamed of a better country, one that was pretty much like the Oregon Country Fair, all the time. He was sitting on a bicycle-powered stage, singing his heart out with his friends, surrounded by a lot of people in cool hats. Now that's an America I can really get behind!
Wednesday, July 07, 2004
Library days
I was just thinking about how cool it was when I was a kid and the bookmobile came out every 2 weeks. The whole town came together in the 3 hours it was there. Everybody mobbed the van, pouring over the newest novels and magazines. We got out of school to go in. I remember spending hours pouring over books there, checking out hundreds of books to get me through the long interim period.
It's always amazing to me, the amount of books they fit into such a small space. The shelves were full to the brink, books lashed in place to make it around the corners of twisty rural roads. Somehow, there were always enough books to satisfy all of us and still leave some on the shelves.
Someday I'm going to write a story about that magical bookmobile. Because I believe they did use magic to fit the whole world in that little bus. I know they brought it to me.
It's always amazing to me, the amount of books they fit into such a small space. The shelves were full to the brink, books lashed in place to make it around the corners of twisty rural roads. Somehow, there were always enough books to satisfy all of us and still leave some on the shelves.
Someday I'm going to write a story about that magical bookmobile. Because I believe they did use magic to fit the whole world in that little bus. I know they brought it to me.
Friday, July 02, 2004
911 degrees and climbing
We drove into Eugene yesterday and saw Fahrenheit 9/11. We waited outside for about an hour to make sure we got tickets--the Bijou has been selling out a lot. Most of the stuff in the movie is in his book, "Dude, Where's my country," which I'm reading now, but it was still a good movie.
A lot people say Moore is just preaching to the choir with this film, but I think that's actually a good thing. His target audience is made up of the kind of people who don't vote, who need to be seriously stirred up and empowered. If any of those folks are motivated by the movie to even go to Moore's webpage or read his books, they're going to feel empowered, and they're going to vote, and they will make a difference in this election. I think Mike is doing something important here.
A lot people say Moore is just preaching to the choir with this film, but I think that's actually a good thing. His target audience is made up of the kind of people who don't vote, who need to be seriously stirred up and empowered. If any of those folks are motivated by the movie to even go to Moore's webpage or read his books, they're going to feel empowered, and they're going to vote, and they will make a difference in this election. I think Mike is doing something important here.
Wednesday, June 30, 2004
Downsides to blogging
So one of the downsides to blogging is definitely the lack of email. Why email anyone when they can just check your blog?
On a positive side, I am reading a really cool book by an awesome writer: David Brin. He is the coolest scifi writer around!
On a positive side, I am reading a really cool book by an awesome writer: David Brin. He is the coolest scifi writer around!
Tuesday, June 29, 2004
Choir practice
Okay, here's a saying that works in principle, but not in real life: preaching to the choir. Now, the saying is supposed to reflect the wasted effort of trying to convince someone who already shares the belief, and you can see how it works. After all, the choir in a church is already supposed to be versed in the biblical message the preacher is sharing with the congregation.
But in real life? No. Most of the folks in the choir are just there for the gig, or because their town doesn't have any other choirs for them to be in. Those singers are probably the people who need the sermon the most!
Of course, since they're in the choir, they're not listening. They're too busy struggling with their photocopied music or chatting with their neighbor. That's just how it is when you're a singer. I know--I've contemplated attending church just to join the heavenly choir, and I'm a dyed-in-the-wool pagan!
Hmmn, dyed-in-the-wool ... I wonder what I could say about that phrase?
But in real life? No. Most of the folks in the choir are just there for the gig, or because their town doesn't have any other choirs for them to be in. Those singers are probably the people who need the sermon the most!
Of course, since they're in the choir, they're not listening. They're too busy struggling with their photocopied music or chatting with their neighbor. That's just how it is when you're a singer. I know--I've contemplated attending church just to join the heavenly choir, and I'm a dyed-in-the-wool pagan!
Hmmn, dyed-in-the-wool ... I wonder what I could say about that phrase?
Saturday, June 26, 2004
Free Dan Radcliffe!
Wow, have you seen Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban? Whew! That movie is incredible--Cuaron is an absolute genius. Even though this movie departs from the book more than the previous two, it is far more genuine, far more magical. It captures Rowling's world perfectly, which I really can't say about CoS. The Stone was pretty effective, very childlike, very touching, but I can't help but wonder what it would have been like in Cuaron's hands.
I've been spending time today catching up with my Potter world (I hadn't been to Mugglenet in, like, 3 weeks; I'm surprised I wasn't having withdrawals), and I finally went to J.K. Rowling's official site. I think I went there once, a long time ago (i.e., when I had a job with cable internet), and it super-sucked. But now it's awesome, so check it out!
I also went to Veritaserum for the first time. Now that's a nice site.
I've been spending time today catching up with my Potter world (I hadn't been to Mugglenet in, like, 3 weeks; I'm surprised I wasn't having withdrawals), and I finally went to J.K. Rowling's official site. I think I went there once, a long time ago (i.e., when I had a job with cable internet), and it super-sucked. But now it's awesome, so check it out!
I also went to Veritaserum for the first time. Now that's a nice site.
Monday, June 21, 2004
Bloggery failure
Man, am I terrible with this blog. I know I'm letting it down, posting irregularly, making few links. But I can't help it. The Internet just got really boring the day I started making this page! I'm not kidding, either. I sat down to pick out a title, and poof! every webpage in the world just got lame.
Okay, that's silly. Things are still interesting. Just check out my friend Erin's blog. Her life is neat!
Okay, that's silly. Things are still interesting. Just check out my friend Erin's blog. Her life is neat!
Friday, June 18, 2004
fahrenheit 9-11
typing one-handed while fiji has a sip. don't mind the punctuation, please.
so, fahrenheit 9-11--sounds like some movie, huh? wonder why so many people don't want us to see it? wonder what these folks have to hide?
i guess i'd better get off the computer and start making some phone calls--the closest theater playing this film is 200 miles away. nope, that's not censorship.
so, fahrenheit 9-11--sounds like some movie, huh? wonder why so many people don't want us to see it? wonder what these folks have to hide?
i guess i'd better get off the computer and start making some phone calls--the closest theater playing this film is 200 miles away. nope, that's not censorship.
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
A Murder of Crows
I take my daughter up to the cemetery to play. It's the playground in our neighborhood--this is such a small town we don't have a park. She really enjoys crawling over the headstones and climbing the steep steps. Our cats follow us up there and chase us all over. It's good fun.
Lately I've taken to charming the crows who call the cemetery home. One of them is a cheeky fellow, well aware of the image he makes, perching on a headstone. He only picks the most Gothic pieces in the cemetery--tall, precariously leaning slabs, or jutting obelisks. It's a beautiful picture.
The cats and the baby get a kick out of chasing the vain bird, and he enjoys tormenting them. He'll fly down quite close to one of the kitties, then swoop up in the air to land just two leaps away. Omega cries and cries, the taste of fowl strong on his little kitty tongue, but so far away!
I guess Alanis Morissette would call it "ironic," nursing a baby in a graveyard, or watching crows--long-time death symbols--toussle and play with (black, go figure) cats on top of the tombstones. I just think it's the way the world works, life embracing death, embracing play. Or maybe it's a little sad, since the only public space we have in this little town is the cemetery.
Lately I've taken to charming the crows who call the cemetery home. One of them is a cheeky fellow, well aware of the image he makes, perching on a headstone. He only picks the most Gothic pieces in the cemetery--tall, precariously leaning slabs, or jutting obelisks. It's a beautiful picture.
The cats and the baby get a kick out of chasing the vain bird, and he enjoys tormenting them. He'll fly down quite close to one of the kitties, then swoop up in the air to land just two leaps away. Omega cries and cries, the taste of fowl strong on his little kitty tongue, but so far away!
I guess Alanis Morissette would call it "ironic," nursing a baby in a graveyard, or watching crows--long-time death symbols--toussle and play with (black, go figure) cats on top of the tombstones. I just think it's the way the world works, life embracing death, embracing play. Or maybe it's a little sad, since the only public space we have in this little town is the cemetery.
Monday, June 14, 2004
OVERTURE
So first off, I want to make something clear: it's BUFFO, not buff. I'm not an opera buff; I like it; I studied it, but that's all behind me. Opera buffo is the laugh-your-pants-off form of comic opera. It's good stuff. It's packed full of buffoons (note the shared word root), idiots, farces and ridiculous plot turns.
BUFFO, in other words, is the state of my life. Most people's lives, I think. Sure, we sometimes have those serious, dramatic, intense moments. But when you look back over your week, you probably notice that most of it was packed full of buffoons, idiots, farces and ridiculous plot turns.
And you thought it was just you!
Speaking of buffoonery, this is the third "premiere" post for this site. I just kept getting frustrated: the first post has to be right! It's the mood setter. I think I like this one. It's cheery, chirpy, and not too dumb. I think that's me in a nutshell . . .
BUFFO, in other words, is the state of my life. Most people's lives, I think. Sure, we sometimes have those serious, dramatic, intense moments. But when you look back over your week, you probably notice that most of it was packed full of buffoons, idiots, farces and ridiculous plot turns.
And you thought it was just you!
Speaking of buffoonery, this is the third "premiere" post for this site. I just kept getting frustrated: the first post has to be right! It's the mood setter. I think I like this one. It's cheery, chirpy, and not too dumb. I think that's me in a nutshell . . .
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)