Oh So Trendy on a Wednesday

Last night I went out to the South End to the restaurant and martini bar, 28 Degrees. There's a water fountain in the bathroom there. It's pretty neat. We did the order and snack on a bunch of different things thing there. The food was good--it was "fun" I'd even say--and the stuff they do with cucumbers...for DRINKS people. (Gutter mind!) They have a Cucumber Collins, to replace a Tom Collins. Let me see if I can remember ingredients...Found it!

Cucumber Collins:

• Hendrick’s Gin
• Cucumber Soda
• Cucumber Puree
  

Very different. Not for the adventurous. Like a fizzy cucumber in liquid form.

The coffee was pretty good, too. Strong enough to keep me up until 5, working on the old school work. (Should be doing that right now and not blogging. Will get to it soon...Promise!)

Down the street, there was another not-so-chic but still a swell spot where I had a refreshing water (see previous comment about needing to do school work) but my friends enjoyed Allagash, white wine and there was even the option of the old Champagne of Beers! (So hip. So so hip.)

I like the South End for its atomosphere and cool places, but there's something about a place that knows how much it is a scene that puts me off it a little. I've never been interested in places like that. (Hence living in Maine for 10 years--the only "scene"-y place there are the ones that get overwrought with vacationers in the summer.)

Anyway, I did a really cute job with my make up so I took a picture for Facebook and thought I'd share here, as well.

Enjoy!

Meandering Reading

I don't know why I was compelled today to look up information on Barack Obama's mother, but I was. And Time had a comprehensive feature on the woman who went my the name Ann Durham Sutoro. (But she had the legal first name "Stanley", because her father wanted a boy. And she had the last name "Obama" from her first marriage. Soetoro is how her second husband spelled his name, but she went with the traditional spelling after their dicorce.)

I also learned a little more about Obama's sister Maya Soetoro-Ng. Mrs. S-N is half Indonesian Latina, half white (Barack and Maya share the same mother) and her husband is a Korean-Canadian.

Talk about a diverse family!

Read the time article on Barack Obama's mother here.

See search results for Maya Soetoro-Ng here. (BTW, she's a very pretty lady, FYI.)

4 packages in two days

Dude, I look obsessed:


Four packages in 2 days and they're all Duncanian (I keep making first or surnames of poets into adjectives...Bernadettish, Creeleyesque, etc.)

Anyway, I stated before I was using a fraction of my tax return to enhance my book collection. In this case, I purchased 2 books I've had out of the library for three months (bad fake librarian! such a hog!) The Opening of the Field and Robert Duncan Selected Poems. Both for the purpose of the critical thesis and personal poetical enjoyment, of course. The other book is Letters of Duncan and Levertov, which I blogged about previously. The final thing was the return of my photocopies of the Black Mountain Review (photocopies of Robert Creeleys copies, even!) from back in the UMO days when my good friend Em and I took a course on Black Mountain College.

Anyway, I'm not obsessed; I'm just a student.

Random Quote

When it comes to rounding up the writing and seeing what's worthy of revising or merely typing for the end result of school, nothing is off limits. That's a lot of journals to review. Here's a quote from last September in my tiny brown moleskine. It's not a poem or anything like that, just an observation that made me laugh out loud. I don't even know what I'm referring to here:

Men who wear salmon are something to reckon with, I reckon. Aren't people generally stupid?

WTF, me, wtf?

Check It Out

I just took a brain break from poetry things to read the NYT. Here's an interesting Op Ed piece from David Brooks. I often times don't agree with Mr Blinky (sweet cripes, I'm meand) but in this case, I think he make some very valuable points.

David Brooks Op Ed piece on building skills foundation in education for students, starting pre-K and up.

Ten Reasons Why Being Laid Off Isn't So Bad

Today I:

1. read three books
2. wrote several pages of things
3. typed and organized a poopload of poems for skewl
4. reheated my eggplant parmesan on the stovetop, because I had the leisure
5. found a million new friends on Facebook
6. meditated
7. didn't have to look at rotted fruit grey cubicle walls
8. finally, after all these years, purchased Catalpa
9. read a bunch of Third Factory pages
10. went for the best smelling, best looking walk around the neighborhood--fresh cut grass, cheery Irishmen, lawns that are wildflowers only, tricycles, handsome firemen, June bugs, sun on earth, etc etc

Now we're heading to watch the game at the Cambridge Legal patio.

Ha Ha Roundabout

I'm listening to Fresh Air with Terry Gross and the author interviewed is Tom Vanderbuilt who has written a book called Traffic: Why We Drive the Way We Do. (He should, if he doesn't already, have a whole chapter on the Boston driver--a rare, thankfully, but highly vicious species of driver.)

Anyway at one point here in the interview he promotes "roundabouts" or, as we call them in these parts, rotaries. The Terry Gross asks him to explain what that is.

Ha ha ha ha. Isn't that hilarious?

Wait, you don't know what it is is, either? Oh.

Having driven to the Common Saturday from home and back, the idea that people don't know what a rotary is just strikes me as weird. How is it something I must face daily could be so foreign to so many of my countrymen? From West Roxbury to the Boston Common, I think there are 6 rotaries you have to take. How do I feel about them? Yeah, they work. I don't know if it'd be a good idea to, as Vanderbuilt suggests, replace all stoplights with "roundabouts". That might be bedlam. But it's funny that something I know so out of hand is foreign to many others.

Like the Californian who asks, "What's that?" in the New Englander's shed in summer, pointing at a snow blower.

What If...

I've heard pundits speculate on the reaction of American voters should another terrorist attack occur here in America.

Today's bombings in Turkey and India make me ponder that possibility more seriously than normally.

I've hear some people say that if we were attacked, then voters would turn to Republicans, and John McCain particularly. This MAKES NO SENSE.

Because if another attack occurred it would or should be the nail in the coffin for all contrary arguments to the policies the Bush administration had put in place to allegedly keep us safer.

And the fact that attacks keep occurring throughout the Western world is already our proof. Not to mention the fact that I wanted to finished the Naomi Wolf book "The End of America: Letter of Warning to a Young Patriot" on vacation but felt I would get in trouble if I brought it on the plane with me--which is utterly ridiculous (and covered in chapter 7 "Arbitrarily Detain and Release Citizens").

Maddie's a Muse

Well, I've written a cabaret song for Maddie, and now I've made a movie. A short short short movie. A minmovie. (Ha ha, get it? Min pin, min movie...der...)



Happy viewing...

Shakespeare in the Park - Boston Common 2008

Last night, I saw the 2008 Shakespeare in the Park production at the Boston Common. This summer's play is "As You Like It".

Saturday was a perfect night to go, too. The crowd was hearty but not too big, the weather was just cool enough to be comfortable and the production was spot on.

It took a few scenes to really pick up, but when it did--my oh my, what a fun time.

First, I must mention how fantastic Marin Ireland was as the very witty and compelling Rosalind. She was spot on with just about every delivery, showing not just a knowledge of what she was saying (as it felt was the case often for Frederick Weller) but really embodied the character and showed off her sharp mind. The scenes with Touchstone the Clown (Larry Coen) and Celia (Ali Marsh) were always a highlight and all three actors gave stand out performances.

Some things about the venue: get there early so you're guaranteed a good spot and if you driv in, be prepared for a long wait out of the garage after the show. Bring a picnic, for sure. You can sit on a blanket, or rent chairs or bring your own, whichever you prefer. Your view is pretty good no matter.


See the CitiArts Center (aka the Wang) website for more information about times and days:

Free Shakespeare *



* PS-When Mom read "Free Shakespeare" off of the playbill she said, "Where is he captured?" Groan.

Oopsy

No cellies in the library-turn to silent always! And I do practice what I must enforce but, oopsy, my alarm, which is not shut off, happened to sound while I was in the ladies room. Bad wannabelibrarian.

Here's a picture of me feeling bad about that:

(Can you tell I'm overly tired and things are very slow?)

Mix Tape Saga

1.) Mix Tape Show on NPR

A while back, my buddy Ken and his cohort Neal did a show on the art of the mix tape. I was thinking about that tonight, or, rather, early this morning, as I cleaned up by room and listened to the Playlist I created. (Not to self, even the smallest sized decaf Starbucks will make me wired enough to be wide awake on a Friday night/ Saturday morning, despite having to go to work early the next day.)

It's a pretty fun hour of Talk of the Nation, that they did for Valentine's Day this year. Listen t o the show here. Read the blog about the Mix Tape here. See the Tiny Mix Tape website.

2.) My Mix CD Story

Back in 2001, a boyfriend made a mix CD for me. It was pretty much perfect for me. He called it the "Irish Princess Mix" (sooo cheesy but at the same time, admittedly awesome) and it was great. (Too bad he wasn't a sweet to me as his mix CD sounded like he would be...) Somehow over the years of traveling and relocating, the CD got lost. I would think of it every once in a while, when I'd be in the mood for "The Girl from Ipanema" or Brubeck's "Take 5" and then I'd realize--no, I don't have it. It was on the mix CD.

Guess what happened at my birthday party this Sunday?

Al icia & Da n said, "Oh, you left a CD down the Cape. I think it's yours." "Irish Princess Mix?"

NO WAY! So, we listened to it during my party and it was super fun, especially the Billy Jean and Dirty Diana tracks.

BTW, the old boyfriend and I are friends again (on myspace, at least). He is married with a very adorable baby boy and lives in Colorado. So, all's well on that front.

3.) Today's Mix Tape: The Playlist

I've got a Playlist going right now that I just made up tonight, after the Sox game. (HORRIBLE UMPIRE. TOTAL BULLSHISSE!)

The Playlist is named after the weirdness of the time, "Burgeoning & Vanishing". Sometimes it's these beautiful songs from my latest album acquisition, Ida's "Lovers Prayers". Interspersed are starker, angrier, more cynical or sadder songs like "S. Soup" by Sebadoh and "Cocaine Blues" from Johnny Cash and "Alison" by Elvis Costello and the always slow-down-and-listen-inducing "Like a Star" by Corrine Bailey Rae. (That's precisely what it just did to me. Between "Costello" and "and" was about 2 minutes of my just listening and drifting.)

It's kept me entertained as I finally unpack my way out of the big mess that was my room. (BTW, I clearly have a big assignment due soon, hence the cleaning frenzy...)

Here's the full playlist:

If you like it, I'll burn you a CD and send it off, kay?

Comic Book Tattoo

Comic Book Tattoo came out on Tuesday but I didn't get it until today. I am slipping in my old age of 30. If this were 15 years ago and a giant book of Tori Amos's songs turned into comic "graphic novellas" came out, I would have been at a book store that stayed open 24 hours and purchasing the book at midnight.

With age comes patience. Instead, I waited 3 days. I strategically set up my trip to the bookstore to coincide with avoiding traffic after work.

So, what do I think?

A story, to show instead of tell what it's like: I sat down on the bench in the magazine section with the mammoth square book (about 12" x 12" x 2") next to me. I flipped through the first two (Flying Dutchman and Bouncing Off Clouds) and then got to Girl. Whoosh.

I effing cried on the bench in the magazine section of the bookstore.

What a dork. But it was that good at capturing that song.

"Girl"

From in the shadow
She calls
And in the shadow
She finds a way
And in the shadow
She crawls
Clutching her faded photograph
My image under her thumb
Yes with a message for my heart
She's been everybody else's girl
Maybe one day she'll be her own
Everybody else's girl
Maybe one day she'll be her own

And in the doorway
They stay and laugh
As violins fill with water
Screams from the bluebells
Can't make them go away
We'll I'm not seventeen
But I've cuts on my knees
Falling down
As the winter takes one more cherry tree
Rushin' rivers thread so thin limitation
Dreams with the flying pigs turbid blue
And the drugstores too safe
In their coats
Anda in their do's
Yeah smother in our hearts
A pillow to my dots
One day maybe
One day
One day she'll be her own

And in the mist
There she rides
And castles are burning in my heart
And as I twist I hold tight
And I ride to work every morning
Wondering why
"Sit in the chair and be good now" And become all that they told you
The white coats enter her room
And I'm callin' my baby
Callin' my baby
Callin' my baby
Callin' everybody else's girl
Maybe one day she'll be her own

How is it that songs from sixteen years ago can still just knock you out with their prescience? I was in ninth grade when I heard this song. And now, more than ever, it is still kicking my ass. Because I always sang it to, or rather AT, my dad (not literally, but later, when alone in my room) when I was pissed off at him, which was often. Fire and ice, oil and water, all that. So, now that he's gone, this song kicks my ass a lot further than it used to. Because it reminds me of a situation I'll never be in again: pissed off at Dad after a fight.

This artist who wrote the comic for "Girl" even had the main character's father deceased. Yikes.

No wonder I cried reading a comic in the magazine section of the book store.

Anyway, I'm sure the rest will be just as engaging as the songs themselves. If you're as devout as I am, I'm sure you already have it or it's on you list. If you're in the middle, go check it out. It's really something.

Juxtaposition of Articles

Holy shaking my head, Batman.

In today's edition of the New York Times, there's an article about the House Republicans not passing the energy bill because it DOES NOT allow for further off shore drilling on America's coastlines.

PLUS

Another article about an oil spill on the Mississippi Gulf Coast

The effect on the area’s economy was thought to be significant, with this city’s port estimating a loss of at least $100,000 a day and probably more the river remained closed, and petrochemical facilities dependent on it for shipping were threatened with a bottleneck, the Coast Guard said. Some suburbs stopped drawing drinking water from the river.

Juxtapose with this quote about the Republican effort to allow drilling off
the coast again from Sen Larry Craig (yes, that Larry Craig)

“What we know is that where we were allowed to drill, down in the Gulf of Mexico, that’s where a majority of our current oil supplies are coming from, even in the deep water,” Mr. Craig said. “But off the coasts of California, Oregon, Washington, Virginia, the Carolinas and Florida, it’s: ‘No. Heck, no.’ The politics won’t let us go there.”

And you got yourself a boatload of congressional ironies.

More on the spill here.
More on the morons here.

Happy reading!

Single Stream Recyling

I came home from Maine last week to find a very giant recycling receptacle in front of the house. (Two actually. One for the neighbors and one for us.)

Here's the skinny from Mayor Mumbles:
The City of Boston is investigating ways to increase participation, tonnage, and cleanliness of its weekly curbside recycling collection program. Therefore, the Public Works and Transportation Department (PWTD) is conducting "Recycle More, Trash Less" pilots. The pilots test the feasibility of collecting residential recyclables mixed together in one enclosed recycling container. This collection method is known in the recycling industry as "single-stream" collection.

As a former green collar worker, I was mightily pleased at the idea of not having to sort but just keeping it all in one big container. The tough part is the logistics with in the home. I guess what I'll do is have my trash can for regular waste and then have another trash can for all the recycling, since I no longer have to sort. However, I can't put a plastic bag liner in the recycling container, because those are recyclable.

Here's a question and answer I picked up from the Wisconsin FAQ Single Stream page.


1. What is single stream recycling?

Single stream (also known as “fully commingled”) recycling refers to a system in
which all paper fibers and containers are mixed together in a collection truck, instead of being sorted into separate commodities (newspaper, cardboard, plastic, glass, etc.) by the resident and handled separately throughout the collection process. In single stream, both the collection and processing systems must be designed to handle this fully commingled mixture of recyclables.

And here's a "how it works" video on Single Stream Recycling

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J_RWqgXcP_k&feature=related

Fun times!

On Demand Review- Charlie Wilson's War

Sorkin wrote it. 'Nuff said.

Anyway, for real, this was a good movie. It had that fastfast dialog so very trademark of Aaron Sorkin. Congressman Wilson is a highly quirky and compelling figure. He makes a fantastic movie character.

And at the end, while he unsuccessfully lobbies his fellow congressmen for an education and rebuilding budget for post-Soviet Afghanistan circa 87, and he fails, all knowing people are just like, "Fuck." Because we all know the outcome.

That's why, if you were bored enough to read all my surveys, I said I cried after a movie on Saturday.

The movie ends with this quote

“These things happened. They were glorious and they changed the world …

… and then we fucked up the end game”

which made me think of NXXX, my student who is now fighting in Afghanistan. I look at the little Happy Meal toy he gave me as a funny goodbye present (imagine a 15 yr old jock giving a Roo doll as a goodbye present to favorite teacher? how funny is that?) every day, practically. It's on my dashboard. And I do my prayers (yeah, prayers) and also get a little pissed off that it's all happening in the first place.

But I was reminded to blog about the movie tonight while listening to this Obama speech from Berlin. (Speechin' like a rock starrrr.) In this super speech, he lobbies for the support of the German government and people in the fight in Afghanistan.

In addition to an awesome souvenir (future blog post), the head librn at MB brought back news that on the BBC everyone talks about Obama as if he is already the president.

Missing Soldier's Body Found

Alex Jimenez of Lawrence, MA went missing over a year ago. It was reported on July 11 that his body was found in Iraq. A memorial service is planned for this week, upon the return of his body. I missed this news story while I was away in Maine, but had been following it throughout the past year and a half.

Here is a collection of the stories NPR and WBUR had on Alex Jimenez:

http://www.npr.org/search.php?text=alex+jimenez

Another soldier died looking for Jimenez. In addition, his wife was facing deportation while he was missing in action, but finally received her greencard. And the one that got to me the most was this one from October.

WBUR story on Lawrence response to the discovery of Jimenez's body.

Flesh

Awful rushes at times
floating out in that emptiness
don't answer nothing for no one.

Seeing dear flesh float by--
days emptied of sun and wind,
hold on to trees and dirt.

Want it under me, body,
want legs to keep working--
don't think anymore of it.

You face passes down the street--
you hair that was so lovely,
your body, won't wait for me.

-Robert Creeley

One of my new books is Selected Poems Robert Creeley. How is it that I didn't have this book until now is a mystery, considering all the things I do have that are Creeleyian. Anyway, there was this poem on page 201.

Bag Lady

I'm finally leaving Weymouth. I came with three bags. I am leaving with 8.

This keeps happening to me. I go somewhere with a certain reasonable amount of luggage and carriers and leave with a silly amount.

I am a bag lady.

Follow Up to Fiasco Review

One thing I remembered clearly from my first reading of the book were the employees who were fired because of their knowledge and position on what do in post-invasion Iraq being at odds with what the top officials were saying could/should be done.

This woman, Meghan O'Sullivan, was on one of them. I googled her just now and found this interview from Charlie Rose. Click here to see the episode. (FYI, see page 102 & 3 of the soft cover version for the firing incident.)

I don't doubt that she is a smart person, but watch how much her hands move frantically while she spins her answers to justification of the invasion of Iraq...

Anyway, after letting her go, the top officials quickly brought her back because they realized that she was far too much an asset with thorough knowledge of the area. She is now the former deputy national security adviser and currently at the Kennedy school in Harvard.

(un)happy viewing.

(PS Something I did really like about her is how she wouldn't let Charlie Rose f*cking interrupt her too much like he always always does with other guests...)

I believe in peace,

lilies. (Did you think, because I'm such a toriphile, I would say otherwise?)

Anyway, here we go:

Dear Ikea,

We're a bit disappointed in you, actually. We were so excited for the affordable, yet stylish closet set up and when it turned out the Northeast Ikeas were having an issue with the steel parts, well, it was a major let down. Major.

But you guarantee that we'll return to you in September, that's for sure.

However, you redeemed yourself a little at the end when I found a peace lily plant to replace Ne's, which has definitely kicked the bucket. Hence the title of the entry.

Another thing we found this time was the coconut pops. I wish they were on sale down at the food section, but since they're not, we'll have to seek them elsewhere. Low calories, low fat and mighty tasty.

Well, that's about all, my friend. Hope you get that steel supply sorted out ASAP.

xo
Bridge

Old Diaries

I'm reading through old diaries, just to see what I've got for poetry that might be salvageable for the last semester of school. It's intriguing, sometimes entertaining, and sometimes just painful, to be honest. Some parts sad, some strange, some uncanny. Like the page where I mention that a close friend had admitted to being raped, and then at the end of the page start on recalling the events of the rest of the day; I saw Michael Gizzi & Clark Coolidge read on campus that evening. Weird.

I was also wallowing in a broken heart for the beginning of that semester and I have this quote about that:
"To be mad is empowering. To be sad is distracting, especially when it comes to love."
Trying to pump myself up and out of the funk.

Then there was this section, that floors me. I was at a Eng dept party at Steve and Jennifer's and this woman named Melissa (who I can't recall today) introduced herself and "she said when I read at the poetry reading at the Bear Brew, she was sitting with all guys who were completely ga-ga over me. They thought I was beautiful & wanted her to introduce herself to me so that I'd start talking to them. That's a very nice thing to hear, considering I've been downing myself big time about my appearance, what with liking [xxx] and all."

I have to put xxx because I still talk to xxx and I'm not sure if he even has time to read blogs, it doesn't sound like it, but I don't want him to know he was in my journal back in 2000.

Anyway, the next entry is bad bad bad. The whole thing with the good friend being raped and me making a very bad decision that night (based on not believing what that woman Melissa had said about me) and dollar fifty pitcher night combined into a big drama that had Jenny not speaking to me for a while, especially since I had ditched her and made her walk home the day after our friend had reported that she was raped while walking alone at night. What an a-hole I was.

See, now I'm all PTSD about it. But it was just weird how college life, and writing life, and love life all converged and exploded. Oh, and I got in a fight with my dad at this time, because I had also gone home for Easter. "I got in a huge fight with my father who sucks."

Christ, could the journal entry be any more painful?

Anyway, just something to say. I try not to put too many personal stories up here, but this one I thought was so strangely significant, so I wanted to share.

Call me a jackass, but...

if i die and we're in a fight when I die and later you have a dream about it, please make an effort to write a better poem than this one, which is so very crappy. Flat flat flat. And just plain. Just boring. The thing about it is the back story behind it and that's not how a poem should be important, is it? Anyway, that's how I feel.

The following is Denise Levertov's poem to Robert Duncan, years after he died, and many years after their friendship ended. Remember I said I had purchased a bunch of books because of things from school? My mentor for school (funny word in this case) said that reading the letters of Duncan and Levertov would be the equivalent of an MFA program. So, of course, I ordered the behemoth as part of my collection building. (PS My collection has been stimulated by the stimulation package. So thanks, Fed, for that.)

And now, the poem that I think is icky by Denise Levertov:

To R. D., MARCH 4th, 1988

You were my mentor. Without knowing it,
I outgrew the need for a mentor.
Without knowing it, you resented that,
and attacked me. I bitterly resented
the attack, and without knowing it
freed myself to move forward
without a mentor. Love and long friendship
corroded, shrank, and vanished from sight
into some underlayer of being.
The years rose and fell, rose and fell,
and the news of your death after years of illness
was a fact without resonance for me,
I had lost you long before, and mourned you,
and put you away like a folded cloth
put away in a drawer. But today I woke
while it was dark, from a dream
that brought you live into my life:
I was in a church, near the Lady Chapel
at the head of the west aisle. Hearing a step
I turned: you were about to enter
the row behind me, but our eyes met
and you smiled at me, your unfocussed eyes
focussing in that smile to renew
all the reality our foolish pride extinguished.
You moved past me then, and as you sat down
beside me, I put a welcoming hand
over yours, and your hand was warm.
I had no need
for a mentor, nor you to be one;
but I was once more
your chosen sister, and you
my chosen brother
We heard strong harmonies rise and begin to fi ll
the arching stone,
sounds that had risen here through centuries.

welcoming hand, our eyes met, that whole talky beginning...you should see the grimace on my face right now. The middle, though. That line "that brought you live into my life" and places around that section, that's not so bad.

This might be evil, but the first thing I thought upon reading the poem (in the stacks at the West Rox PL back in May, actually) was, "Uh, I think you coulda used some Dunkage here, missy."

Yikes. I'm mean.

Anyway, back to my reading...

Honorable Collections

I have acquired some new books over the past few weeks while I was up at school, or as a result of school, or as a result of sheer interest. I will be reviewing them here as I get through them but I have to unpack them all first.

In the meantime, I'd like to talk about the collecting of books. Many people who know me well, know that I am often collecting things. While I was in my teens & early 20s, I collected sugar packets from all around the world and the country. It was a fun way to have keepsakes. However, I gave up my collection and just started using the sugar packets because I didn't feel like moving them to yet another place as I finished up my time in Pittsfield. It was fun to have people over and use the packets and tell the story of where the sugar came from: "Oh that's from the seafood restaurant we stopped at on the way up to taking me to school for the very first time." That sort of thing.

When I was younger, I collected sea shells. I honored my love for shells in a poem. I have posted this poem, written in third grade, previously.

Currently, I have a collection of shoes. I fricken love my shoes, and I try to wear all of them at least three times a year. Mom just found pairs 81 and 82: red patent leather kitten heel mules and leather and turquoise beaded thong flip flops. Someone size 8 at her work was giving them away and she snatched them up for me, thankfully.

I am fully aware that my collection of shoes is an indulgence. It is silly or even maybe absurd. But I love it anyway. Here is a list, off the top of my head, of the shoes I own in the color purple:

• fake snake skin, knee high, platform 3in heel dark purple boots (hurts like a bitch, but my are they sexy)
• grape colored flats with purple rosettes
• lavender, fake crocodile skin square toed flats
• shoelaceless lilac sneakers
• maroonish purple leather, high wooden heeled clogs made in Denmark
• light purple Airwalk "crocs style" Mary Janes

See? Absurd.

But, I do have an honorable collection, and that is my collection of books. I mean, yeah, there's a few lame things on there (like the love spell book from the dollar bin at BN) but for the most part, it's an honorable collection. The thing is online already at LibraryThing, if you'd like to see the details.

FISA ad from ACLU

You know, when I was filling out the form to say I support this lawsuit that challenges the FISA act, and agreeing to putting my name on the ad in the NYT, I was a little scared. Isn't that absolutely effed up? What is this world coming to, that I would be worried about exercising my first amendment rights? Am I just being paranoid? I don't feel I am. It's a terrible feeling, too. But, I did it anyway. Signed, sealed, delivered. I'm a liberal.

Discombobulated

I am all over the place, I feel. Car half unpacked. Backpack with random stuff thrown in it. Closet still with only half the clothes hung. Books in piles that don't make sense. And every time I move away from the fan, in this oppressively gross heat, I wish I hadn't.

The air is disgusting in town right now and it's not too great in Framingham, either.

I miss the mansion on the end of the peninsula.

Wonder of Wonder

Miracle of Miracles, again (it's going around these days): today I...finally woke up in my own bed.

It was like a dream. And you were there, giant fan that blows on my whole body and not just my left arm, and you were there, Ikea duvet cover in comfy, soft cotton in orange and purple, and you were there, my beloved books of random, varied and interesting topics, like The Adventures of Robin Hood and Writings by Agnes Martin.

Now I've gone mixed up my musical metaphors, starting with Fiddler and ending with Rainbow. I guess I'm just excited. After all this time it seemed like I would never wake up on something that wasn't a) someone's couch or b) a plastic mattress in a dorm room. It seemed I was dreaming the impossible dream for other circumstances.

Der.

Anyway, it's great to be back! I slept in again because I had a bit of a buzz from driving home at 9 PM, so I didn't sleep until 4. Now I'm poppoing down to get a coffee, then I'm coming back to take my little blanket monster for a w-a-l-k. I sure did miss her and I still can't wait to see my pretty Daisy, either.

Laters.

Last Post of My Twenties

Two images showed up in Wikimedia, and I, I chose the cheesier of the two.
Photo: Robert Frost

Well, here it is, less than 23 hours to go.

I'm over being concerned about it. Mostly because I was thinking about all the different types of people that have existed out there who would have given anything to have made it this far, and so I felt stupid and lame for making a big deal out of something that should be very satisfying: dude, I'm alive. Car accident victims, fallen soldiers in Iraq, people who die from cancer--how many born my year that only wish they made it here...So I'm going to stop being sulky and concerned and start just being.

Lesson learned.

And in my 20s no less. How mature of me. How very 30+.

Songs that Don't Go Away

I went to a super neat-o seminar today on writing about rock/ writing and rock music, etc. We covered all the genres of writing, too. Seminar leaders Debra Marquart and Elizabeth Searle covered Fiction (Tonya and Nancy: The Rock Opera), personal essays (of Mickey Hart) and poems (about Charles Mingus). One of the many aspects touched upon was catchy songs that get stuck in your head and won't go away.

My current repeated song is:


"God's Comic" by Elvis Costello; it just won't get out of my head.

Anyway, how and what and why songs get stuck in your head was a topic on the NPR show "Radiolab" from WNYC. I heard this show when it first aired, and it's FASCINATING. They even talk to the Schoolhouse Rock guy.

Happy Listening.

On Not Listening to the News

While doing school-y things from 830 AM to 11 PM every day, it's hard to get my regular doses of NPR in.

This is a good and bad thing. It's good because I don't have to hear about the bullshisse stories, like Jesse Jackson made crude comments about Obama. Or Hilary, Caroline and Barack are having secret meetings. However, I also don't hear about things like nuclear brinkmanship in Iran and how it makes oil jump in price, yet again. Obviously I know of these stories, but that's because they were on my AP news feed on my email account. But who knows what Morning Edition is covering that would be of interest to me that doesn't show up on these news feeds of mine?

Overall, I'd say I don't like missing out on this information. Not at this time at least. I am a person engaged in the world and I prefer knowing about all the nuances, rather than tuning out. Maybe someday if I decide to become one of the off-the-grid people, I'll be happy to tune out. But for now, I feel intellectually naked without my All Things Considered.

New Occasional Series: "This Week in WTF"

When there's enough stories to make me say "WTF" while listening to the news, because it's so absurd it seems like it belong in the Onion and not in mainstream, actual media, I'm going to post links to those stories and call it: "This Week in WTF."

This week, I have two absolutely ASININE stories from dear old America (Happy 232 birthday!).

#1 A woman, who became a man, but still kept her female reproductive organs, found out her/is wife could not have children, so.. HE had the child. Legally defined as a male, he was artificially inseminated and the couple just recently had a baby.

Link to man who had a baby story is here.


#2 A laid-off security guard went all vigilante in the town of Gerald, Missouri. After losing his job, he decided he'd take a bite outta crime by pretending to be a federal agent. He faked credentials with the local police, who fell for his game hook line and sinker and off they went, busting into people's homes illegally. He would literally kick down doors, through all adults to the ground, make them name names of drug dealers they knew, no matter the elderly or children or innocent involved. Because of recent years with the tinkering of wire tapping laws and stipulations in the PATRIOT act, lots of people, police and townspeople alike, thought it was okay for him to completely violate the FOURTH AMENDMENT and enter their homes without a warrant. (That's so 1984, it's scary.)

Bill Jakob fooled lots of people, but apparently broke no laws, because he was seen on many a talk show this week, telling his vigilante tale of busting the alleged druggies. BTW, lots of those people were absolutely innocent, Hence the protection of the 4th amendment.


And that's This Week in WTF.

On Poetry Snobs

I"m being prudent and doing my school work but I would like to stop and share this quote, from William Matthews poem called "Mingus at the Showplace"

'[and Sweet Baby Jesus he was right.] He glowered
at me but he didn't look as if he thought

bad poems were dangerous, the way some poets do.
If they were baseball executives they'd plot

to destroy sandlots everywhere so that the game
could be saved from children. [Of course later]'

And there you go.

Interesting Article in the New Republic

I found this from another blog, but I wanted to pass on the link because it was a good article, especially for the writing/politcally minded person. It's about Barack Obama's writing style and the significance of his ability to write and speak with such style as Lincoln.

Click here for the link to the New Republic article on Barack Obama's writing style.

Summer Tomatoes

Sometimes I have a bite of tomato in the summer time and think, "Why do I even bother eating these in the winter?"

'Ne bought some locally grown cherry ones for a spinach salad. (She also sauteed the mushrooms so the salad was a very good lunch today...). Anyway, I bit into the thing, and if you're a veggie lover, you'll know this sensation. But it was like perfect, sweet, tangy, bursting joyful mouthful of more than just tomato. Like, more like the entire spirited spirit of the summer in a bite of food.

After tomato bites like that, I feel silly for cheating myself with the sham of tomato-wannabe-tomatoes of the winter. From here on out its fresh tomatoes in season and canned or dried off-season!

(Probably not though, because I just really love tomatoes...)

Belated Review: Stevie Wonder at [Greatwoods*]

Two weekends ago, I lucked out and got to see Stevie Wonder at Greatwoods. (No, a-hole, he didn't see me. If another jack ass asks me that question, I swear to God....)

My mom was going to take her friend but her friend couldn't make it, so I went. Mom got a little tipsy off the wine from tailgating and we had a grand old time intermittently dancing and singing and swaying, depending on the Stevie song Stevie played.

I only cried a little at "Isn't She Lovely". His daughter, Aisha, is actually one of the backup singers in his band and he sang that to her after she got to sing one of her songs, solo.

Aisha is one of three back up singer. The entire ensemble is HUGE. Drummer, two percussionist, two keyboardist (in addition to Stevie), a trumpet player, a sax player, three back up singers, two guitarists and a bassists.

Awesome.

My favorite was when he pondered aloud to the crowd how many people have gotten lucky because of his music. Then he had all the men cheer if they used a Stevie Wonder song to get their lady in the mood. Then lots of cheers occurred. Then he played "Ribbons in the Sky."

He's funny, sweet, sensual, fun, savvy because he's really good at working the crowd and getting us into it. It was so much fun.

And we ended the night with "Superstitious," which is my favorite, as it is my "song" with Jenny. When we were in college, we had a radio show and played her music for the first hour--dance, R & B and hip hop-- and mine the second hour--chick rock with some sensitive guys. And "Superstitious" was the perfect marriage of both hours.

Have I mentioned it was fun? Because it was. Fun. I don't know if I said that already. But, yeah, I definitely had lots of fun.


*it called "Comcast Center" now but that's lame. As was "Tweeter Center" so I'm just sticking with the original.

Side Note: It All Adds Up to Nine

'Ne and I were talking about the things we like to teach & learn, writing being the top, as she is teaching writing for the summer and I am going to "writing school" (leaving for my love, Maine, tomorrow night) for part of the summer.

But we also agreed that it is fun to teach math to elementary school students, especially the nines tables:



Did anyone else watch Square One when they were little? I freakin' loved this show, especially the last section, which was "Mathnet" a spoof of Dragnet. They'd solve cases using math. Awesomeness.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BtRm8VVpmVI&feature=related

Today Makes Me Think Of...

Even if the most of the lines don't go with my story, there's a spirit of this Gillian Welch song (link below) that does. So, I've got it in my head now.

Isn't that lovely, that connection to music? Even if the lyrics don't precisely fit into why you connect to it but there's one line or some thing in a lyric that, when mixed with the music, captures how you feel about a situation or a person? Isn't that the beauty of music? (And also sorta poetry, sometimes.) There's something that resonates, even if you can't articulate it (without deep exploration, and then that might ruin it for you...).

Click here to hear the song.

my first lover
my first lover

he was tall and breezy with his long hair down
but he gets a little hazy when I think of him now

my first lover
my first lover

he was always talking tryin to bring me down
but i was not waiting for a white wedding gown
from my first lover

i do not remember any goin wrong
just a record playin that old steve miller song

quicksilver girl
quicksilver girl

at a surfer party with the whiskey porin
and the bottle rollin i was on the floor
with my first lover
my first lover

i do not remember any fights or fits
just shakey morning after callin it quits
with my first lover

quicksilver girl
quicksilver girl
quicksilver girl ... and she's free

More on How Much Airlines Suck These Days

This story is from poor Kara, who was with her almost 1 year old when this happened to her:

The Return Trip Home
Aka Continental Airlines SUCKS
By Kara Keenan

Continental Airlines is quite possibly the worst airline in the US, and perhaps even the world. This is evidenced by the fact that on Sunday, June 29th, I was left stranded in Newark, NJ with my 11 month old child, as were 23 other people who were on my flight. Continental refused to accommodate any of our requests, or to make the unanticipated stay easy on any of us.

Here’s what happened. The original flight out of Boston was delayed 2.5 hours, because of storms over NYC. We were told that the connection to the Phoenix flight would be OK, because that plane was also delayed. The 5:30 PM flight left Boston at 7:55 PM. We got to New Jersey’s airspace, and were put in a holding pattern over the airport. An announcement was made over the speakers that the gate had been changed so that we were landing at gate 82, right next to the Phoenix flight at gate 84. In addition, it was requested that the Phoenix passengers were to be allowed off the plane before everyone else. So we land, and make the dash to the next gate. The plane is still there. Luggage starts to go from one plane to the next. All is well in the world. Then, the evil man in the Red Coat says “sorry, the cabin door is shut, you can’t get on the plane.” He sends us to gate 90. Gate 90 is manned by a large, angry black woman who tells us that we have to go to the ticketing agents in order to be re-ticketed. During this time, the luggage is moved from the original plane to the plane going to Phoenix. Tricky Continental employees get the angry mob out of the area beyond security, and promptly shut down security for the night, making us stuck in the bowels of Newark airport. Not only that, the ticketing agents are totally unwilling and unable to accommodate any of us. In fact, we are blamed for getting to the gate too late to board the plane. I believe the exact words out of one of the ticketing agents mouth was “you got there too late to get on board, it’s not our fault. You’re lucky we’re willing to re-ticket you free of charge.” Not only that, but they are showing in the official records that the plane only left Boston 1 hour and 48 minutes late, leaving over a half hour for all of us to get to the gate. Which is not what actually happened. We got to the gate at 8:54 PM, and were denied boarding on a flight that was leaving at 9:15 PM. Their solution to fears that we would not be safe in their main terminal (terminal C at Newark, aka Hell) was that we move over to terminal B, because the food court stayed open all night, and that the floor cleaners would be coming through pretty frequently so people would be awake.

Luckily, my aunt and uncle were driving down from Boston to New Jersey that night, and picked Avery and me up at the airport. We spent the night at my uncle’s sister’s house. I at least got a shower and a bed, which is more than some people got. I got on a 10:55 AM flight from Newark to Atlanta, and then a 4:05 PM flight, on Air France no less, from Atlanta to Phoenix, finally arriving in Phoenix at 5:05 PM, Monday, June 30th, more than 24 hours after I originally set out to get home.

Because Continental was so obnoxious, evil, and just plain mean, I will never fly with them again. Seriously, if they had offered anything, I’d probably not hate them so much. his weekend:

We need to start a coalition. Society for Unhappy Customers of Krappy Service from Airlines, or Airlines SUCK. No more bull shisse service. We're mad as hella nd we're not going to take it any more. They're all going to tank anyway, what with fuel prices being so high.