Author: gr4c5

I write. I read. I cook. I run. That's me, in a nutshell.

Middlesex

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MiddlesexEugenides, Jeffrey. Middlesex. New York: Picador, 2002.

First the cover. Before I even read a word it frightens me. Inky black (my cancer) smoke swirls from a cigarrette-bearing person lounging with a friend. That same smoke meets up with the smoke stack of an ocean-going vessel and encircles the skyline of a city. I instantly recoil from the seductive swirls and think, “I’m gonna hate this book.”

But I don’t. It’s long (529 pages), but I’ve enjoyed every page. I can see why it won a Pulitzer Prize. It’s the story of Calliope Stephanides and the two generations that brought her into this world. It’s Greece and Germany and Grosse Point. It’s the science of genetics meeting the mother of all family secrets. Calliope is also Cal, one and the same. Girl meets Boy. Girl is Boy. Boy is Girl. Sound confusing? It isn’t. It’s poetic and sad, funny and smart. Something you just have to read for yourself. Cal will tell you the story. His story. Her story. My favorite lines:

“…German wasn’t good for conversation because you had to wait to the end of the sentence for the verb, and so couldn’t interrupt” (p 7).
“Filling her head with music, she escaped her body” (p 115).
“The only thing that roused her was her daily lineup of soap operas. She watched the cheating husbands and scheming wives as faithfully as ever, but she didn’t reprimand them anymore, as if she’d given up correcting the errors of the world” (p 271).
“…her application to join her husband in heaven was still working its was through a vast, celestial bureaucracy” (p 286).

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust. Pearl mentions this book several times. First, on page 97 in the chapter “Gender Bending” then on page 141 in the chapter “Lines That Linger, Sentences That Stick.” She is referring to Middlesex‘s opening line. It’s a doozy. Finally, on page 166 in “Men Channeling Women” Middlesex is listed one last time. As you can see Jeffrey Eugenides hit a homerun with this one.

ps~ The cover makes perfect sense to me now.

Murder the Meow

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princess.jpg

In light of what’s been going on with Michael Vick, this is going to be in bad form, but I really want to know what the penalty is for killing a cat. The cat specifically known as MY cat. She is driving me absolutely nuts lately. Absofukcinglutely crazy. It started with puking on the carpet yesterday morning when I had to be at work 3.-tres?-three! hours early. This morning, sensing someone was awake (yeah, me. I had to pee), she starts crying to be fed. Only she doesn’t stop there. She jumps on the bed, finds the nightstand (on my side) and a lamp to headbutt & nudge. When that doesn’t work she makes her way to the cedar chest and discovers crunchy tree branches to gnaw on (the rewind: for our engagement party my family made a money tree out of branches from home. I’ve kept every stick). Kisa throws a pillow at Indy. She retreats to the hall, but is determined to keep begging. She yowls louder. Kisa swings the bedroom door shut. Indy takes to “scratching” at the door, her clawless paws paddling at a furious pace. It’s kinda funny but I have a few more minutes of sleep to snatch so I’m not laughing. I’m not even smiling. When we finally feed her she takes a few bites and then races around the apartment like she’s dropped a speedball. Up and down the stairs, window to window, meowing the entire way. Like I said – Nuts.

I have a theory. A few mornings ago I looked out the window at a gruesome sight. A mourning dove lay dead, decapitated on the ground. Tiny white feathers surrounded the body, but not much else. Did Indy witness the murder? Was she just on the other side of the window, that close to being next? Is she haunted by the scene of the crime? Does she worry she’s a marked cat? Or is she jealous? Did she want in on the killing? Did she salivate at the sight of bloodshed? Hunger for the hell unleashed? Does she miss the great outdoors, hunting and having claws? We find it odd that the culprit left the entire bird body behind with only the head unaccounted for. Today, all evidence is completely and utterly gone. Not a feather exists. Maybe, just maybe Indy is pissed someone took her fantasy away.

Wedding Waddle

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Since when did I start liking cake? I’ve never liked cake. For years and years I have been the one to bypass the big layers of bad and go for the fruit whatever. I’m a pie or tart girl. When did I give up the eat smart/eat healthy routine and opt for the Bring It On attitude? Examples: when our Austrian friends got married I attacked the buffet line like a linebacker with a big bite. When our German friends got married I got my own huge plate of everything and thensome. I had a healthy belly for the beverages, too. Merlot and two sour apple martinis. In that order. When did that happen? It happened to go right to my head.
To celebrate the season finale of The Closer Kisa and I ordered pizza. We stayed true to our tradition of wheat crust. Everything else went by the wayside. We ordered two zahs: Greek goodness (feta cheese, black olives, spinach, tomatoes, double cheese)…and an Aloha (ham, bacon, pineapple and…you guessed it, double cheese). Caution to the wind, diet be damned. It was damn good.
To make matters worse, my illicit affair with the vending machine has started up again, too. In short time I’ve got my routine down to a science. I wait until no one is around, slowly sidle up to the humming, glowing love machine of sweet and whisper my own sweet nothings in the form of quarters. Mr. V gives me exactly what I want, when I want it. I steal away, tearing open the wrapper, devouring chocolate and salt as I retreat back to my office as quickly as I can. I don’t want to be caught in the act, but the evidence of my betrayal lies in the trash. I won’t lay claim to it if confronted. Yet. Yet, I’m waiting for the day when I no longer care. When that day comes I’ll flaunt my unhealthy relationship with Mr. V. and brazenly chose a Snickers or Doritos with ease. E5 and B2. I’ll blatantly leave candy bar and potato chip wrappers in my wake, not even bothering to cover the crime. That day can’t be far off.
For some reason I’m liking this throw caution to the wind consumption, this eat everything in sight daring…except when it’s time to squeeze into those professional slim-cut pants or those cut-off-the-circulation panties. It’s enough constriction to go commando. When did this happen? Where was I when the health nut decided to leave town?

We All Grow Up and Skunk Love

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Went to a wedding this weekend. A weekend wedding no one thought would work out. Skeptical? Cynical? Neither. Just didn’t think they were the piece of paper legal kind. I’m glad they did it, though. Now they don’t have to answer to When. Now the other when? question can start – right where the last when? left off.
We all grow up. Instead of lamenting over lost Duran Duran posters we are talking about house hunting and wills and probate. We are worrying about divorces that should have happened years ago and marriages that should be. We discuss full time opportunities and changes of addresses, age differences and interview questions. Someday I might tell you, you were my very first interview. Someday I will tell you, you were my very first hire. I hope I never have a first fire.
Last night I sat on the steps to my apartment in the cooling hours of streetlight dark, a cell phone craddled on my shoulder. Amid cricket songs, distant cars and crackling connection I talked with a friend. A scurrying, hurrying shadow ran over my outstretched feet on its way to deeper darkness. It didn’t stop to acknowledge or even notice me. Once I realized it was a skunk I was left stunned and silenced. For a second I swore halucination…until the inky black eyes stared at me from under kisa’s truck. Chaneling Corwin and Crock Hunter I bade my phone friend goodnight and carefully crept inside. I thought back to when I was seven or eight years old and fell in love with a skunk pelt. I carried it everywhere with me, draped over my shoulder I petted it constantly. Did my nocturnal friend know this? Could he sense that at one time I worshiped his kin? I’ll never know. In the morning he was gone without a trace. I’ll miss him.
I grew up but some things haven’t changed.

Quit Yer Bitchin’

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new shoesSo I finally took someone’s advice from a few months ago. Went to Zappos and went shoe crazy. With fantasies of fun footwear I searched and selected. For days I played with the variables: height of heel, size, width, color, price and style. After awhile a 2″ inch heel looked the same as a 4″ inch heel and I couldn’t really tell the different between beige, taupe and tan. It was time to buy. If you are curious I selected Clarks Divine (pictured here), rsvp Sally, N.Y.L.A. Zahara and Charles by Charles David Justice. I sent all but the Divines back. Sally was just silly and the other two were the wrong size (go figure). The good thing is, I now know Clarks’s 5 is not N.Y.L.A.’s 5.

But, it’s not just about the shoes. This was the first time in my life I bought something with no intention of keeping it. I wasn’t about to spend $400 in shoes. I just wanted to do a little research, find the brands and sizes that appealled to me the most, and send them back with the knowledge that when I do want shoes like them, I know exactly what to get. I’ve never had the courage to return things. Remember the pedometer that counts steps if I got something out of my pocket? I should have returned it. Instead I buried it in a dresser drawer. I have it still.
Funny. I can complain about mayonnaise on my sandwich, a receipt in my salad, a piece of wire in my pulled pork, no creamers for my coffee, but I can’t kick up a fuss about anything else I buy. This experience with Zappos has taught me that it’s okay to look. It’s okay to buy. It’s even okay to return. Never mind that someone had to go through the trouble of packaging and shipping all those boxes. Never mind that they have to repackage my returns. That’s their job. The very fact that I can return shoes without hassle has made me a customer for life. In fact, I’ve quit bitching about shoes all together and ordered more.

Stolen From Reading Lolita in Tehran

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Fallen AngelI am in the process of reading Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi and in the beginning of the book Azar asks her students, a group of women, these questions – not only as ice breakers to get everyone comfortable with one another, but to allow each woman to search the depth of her own powerful identity. I imagined myself in Azar’s class and wanted to answer the same three questions. Here’s what I would have said.

  

  • What do you think of your mother?
    I used to think I didn’t know my mother. I used to think I hated my mother. But, then again at that stage of things she wasn’t a person – just someone to be obeyed, someone who didn’t understand the likes of me. I couldn’t see beyond the title of Mom. Now, I see her as someone I’d like to be if I grew up. Someone I admire most in my life. She is beautiful and courageous, smart and nothing short of amazing.

  • Name six personalities you admire most in life and six you dislike most.
    At first I wanted to cheat and name names. Natalie Merchant, Dave Matthews…those kinds of BIG personalities. I think I know better than that. Here are the traits of a personality, in no particular order:
    ♥ Kindness
    ♥ Honesty
    ♥ Bravery
    ♥ Happiness
    ♥ Love
    ♥ Respect
    ≠ Anger
    ≠ Bragging
    ≠ Lying
    ≠ Defeat
    ≠ Indifference
    ≠ Bullying

  • What two words would you use to discribe yourself?
    Passionate and Surviving

Disgrace

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I’ll call this book my “spur of the moment, read in one day, can’t put it down” book. I’ll also call it Weather Front. It started out sunny and seemingly harmless and carefree. Then the clouds roll in, the rain comes in sheets. The poison seeps in. When the winds pick up to the point of hurricane force it is nothing short of violent and tragic, destructive and disgraceful. After the storm people pick up the pieces, healing yet hurting and more storm clouds can be seen, rumbling in the distance.
In the beginning everything seems fine. Professor Lurie is happy teaching literature in South Africa. But, almost immediately Professor Lurie makes a mistake in seducing a young student. His fall from grace is swift and absolute. Having lost all his social and professional connections he reconnects with the one person who can’t turn her back on him – his flesh and blood daughter. The rest of the story is how Lurie and his daughter deal with their already strained relationship. How Lurie tries to redeems himself is baffling. I found myself asking if he was really worth redemption at all. Maybe it was the name Lurie – too close to the word lurid.

My favorite line, “Affection may not be love, but at least its cousin” (p 2).

BooklustTwist: From Book Lust and the chapter called ” Families in Trouble” (p 82).

Warning: If you are an animal lover you may not want to read this book. What happens to humans is tragic enough, but what happens to the dogs is even worse. I know it’s a fact of life but the end of this book was hard to take. Nobel prize or not.

Corner Turned

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I don’t know how it happened but I turned the attitude corner today. It started with seeing my name on a parking spot. For the first time ever I have a place to put my car. As stupid as that sounds I am so thrilled! I was actually a little disappointed I didn’t have a camera today. My own spot. Imagine that! I’m taking a picture tomorrow! Yes, it’s the little things that make me happy these days.
Then came the news that not only was my new office going to be painted but I get to pick the colors and, and, and it’ll happen this week…as in within the next day or two! For colors I picked Walden Woods and Frozen Sea. Figure that one out.  Talk about too cool! I didn’t think this would happen for at least a month and I was so prepared to live in limbo between this place and that one. As I told a coworker this is what I worked my azz off for. This is what it’s all about. I know I’ve been bitching about this very thing, but sooner or later it comes down to one question, “do you love your job?” My answer is yes. Now, I do.
To make the day even sweeter someone from admissions came over to discuss tours. For years these guides have been bugging me with their false info. They would blah blah blah right by my reference desk and  for years I couldn’t help but cringe. They had no idea what they were talking about. For years I’ve been trying to get them to change their speech without luck. After all, I was a nobody in their eyes. Suddenly, after three years of torture I’m finally being asked what should be said. My script?
The cherry on top of my day: A new contract for me to sign. Something in writing to prove I’ve finally arrived. Now I can say I’m a professional.
So, A – I look forward to going to Mexico with you. RT~ see you in Picadilly. To the both of you, I know exactly what I want!

Ashes Ashes All Fall Down

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fog.jpg

September moves along my days like a stray cat, starved for attention, hungry for forgiveness. Pitiful cries, plaintive pleas. Hear me. Help me. Save me. I cringe and cry but not for all the same reasons.
A friend called me out on my mood – You ok? Yes, I lie. But, only because I can’t even begin to tell you. If I were to be honest I would honestly break down. Break you down. You wouldn’t be able to handle the fragility of my front. This morning the news showed me a kayaker stuck under a bridge, his rescue heroic. It’s not him. Doesn’t matter. Panic still crosses my face. Fear crosses my mind. Every kayaker is him by default. Don’t scare me that way. I send a text. Nebraska responds.
I think about a baby not mine. I think about a room not mine. I think about a life not mine. I think of Ireland not mine and want to say thank you for taking the autumn fall. I dream of mutiny, of rats jumping ship. I dream of drums and heartbeats of silence. I hear dogs bark and children recite melodies. I don’t know what it means to think in black and white but scream in color. “It’s all grey here. It’s all grey to me.” ~ Natalie Merchant.

The Odd Sea (with spoiler)

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odd seaReiken, Frederick. The Odd Sea. New York: Delta, 1998.

From the very first page I thought the location of this book sounded really familiar. Westfield River, the Hilltowns, Dalton, Cummington…like seeing a familiar face while on vacation far, far from home. You can’t place it, yet you know it. Why? Work? School? The neighborhood? Until finally, one last detail seals the deal and suddenly you remember – the cashier from your favorite grocery store. It was “Mohawk Trail” that finally brought Western Massachusetts into sharp focus for me. Without a doubt, I was reading about my stomping grounds (and lately, stomp I do).

So, back to The Odd Sea. This is Frederick Reiken’s first novel and I have to say, I have a soft spot for firsts. This is the haunting story of the Shumway family and their lives after the dissapearance of 16 year old Ethan Shumway. It’s told from the point of view of younger brother Philip. My copy of The Odd Sea has notes in the margins that I found distracting. They made suggestions and speculations I wouldn’t have considered otherwise as well as ones overly obvious. One of the repeating, clear-as-day themes of the notes was Philip’s inability to accept his brother’s vanishing as never-coming-back final. I considered that obvious because otherwise, there wouldn’t be a story to tell. Philip can’t move on like the rest of his family. He needs to dig for answers, search for clues, and come up empty, bewildered, and denying every single time. I wasn’t surprised when, by the end of the book, Ethan is never found.
After reading Ordinary People I was ready to start my own BookLust chapter on “Mothers Who Lose It.” Probably one of my favorite descriptions in the book is of Philip’s mother’s insomnia. Having been afflicted with sleeplessness I could picture her nocturnal habits perfectly. “Some nights she did not bake or read. Instead she’d stand out with the stars. She said on clear nights the sky could draw the sadness from her heart” (p 10). I also enjoyed the scene when Victoria teaches Philip’s sister, Dana, to eat rose petals. Having eaten a few island roses in my day, I could taste the silkiness on my own tongue.

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust and the chapter called “Small Town Life” (p 203).

Ordinary People

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ordinary peopleGuest, Judith. Ordinary People. New York: Penguin, 1976.

This book has floated in and out of my life for decades. My roommate had in front of her face when I tried to talk to her about always-there boyfriend. My mother had it on her side of the bed, dog-earred and stained. It was on the summer reading list for my high school. I think my sister has a copy…Despite all these different encounters I never bothered to read it. I don’t know why. Maybe I likened it to Danielle Steel’s genre of pen? Maybe because someone made a movie out of it? I don’t know. No matter. I never wanted to read it. I’m glad it was on “the list.” I’m glad I didn’t miss out.

Ordinary People is exactly that. A story about ordinary people. Reading this book was like stumbling across Mr. & Mrs. Jarret’s home movies. I began watching their lives a year after they had lost their oldest son to a drowning accident and soon after their surviving son comes home after trying to commit suicide. I bounce back and forth between watching Cal, the father’s, videos and peeking in on Con, the son. Beth, wife and mother is detached & disconnected. I haven’t seen the movie so I have had fun trying to picture the actors playing the parts. When Con starts seeing a therapist, I envision Robin Williams (because of Good Will Hunting?)…There is so much psychology in this short (262 pages) book.

My favorite lines:
“Drifting into sleep, he lost his balance, tipping backward again into memory”  (p 144).
“And another turth. That there are no secret passages to strength, no magic words. It is something you know about yourself (p 210).

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust, Pearl actually mentions Ordinary People twice. First in the chapter “100 Good Reads, Decade By Decade” (p 175) and “Shrinks and Shrinkees” (p 221).

Goodbye

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Back in the day there was this amazing website dedicated to all things Natalie Merchant. Pictures, lyrics, tour dates, show reviews, sound and video clips, discographies, newspaper articles, fun facts. It was a cool site. For years it was the place to go for Natalie information. Then one day it ended. All that was left was a simple note saying “It’s time to move on.” Say goodbye.
Such is the way about certain people, pet projects and places in my life. What is that saying? All good things must come to an end? Well, now is the time for such a saying. Say goodbye.
To my friend. I have noticed a change in you. A distance that cannot be explained. You haven’t offered and I haven’t asked. But, yet, it is there and cannot be ignored. Your leaving doesn’t hurt me; it only saddens me because it can’t be stopped. The painful part is I don’t want to stop it, either. Some things are meant to be.
I was asked outright about my once favorite band. Funny how I haven’t been approached before. Like the way Lucy let go of Natalie, I have let go of sirsy. It doesn’t mean I don’t crank ‘Ruby’ when I run. It doesn’t mean Mel’s voice and lyrics don’t rattle my heart. It just means that I have different priorities these days.
I said goodbye to my director and stepped into his shoes this week. Those shoes are going to fit, after all. I’m saying goodbye to my office this month. It will be painful because I spent all things womanly on that space. It will be hard to sit back and let the boys do all the work in my new office. But, but, but! One thing is for sure. I am saying goodbye to sitting in the backseat. Time to move on.

Spectator Bird

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Stegner, Wallace. Spectator Bird. New York: Penguin, 1976.Spectator Bird

I think this book embodies one of my worst fears – being a spectator bird. The main character, Joe, is a literary agent who is slowing slipping out of the limelight of the living. He goes through life as though he’s on the sidelines, barely even watching the game. Instead of living in busy, exciting, beautiful San Francisco he lives out in the country, away from the daily rub with people. Everything about his current life is gray until he receives a postcard from a friend. Suddenly, he is thrust back into his past. He is forced to remember a time when life was more than a spectator sport. It has some interesting twists, things I didn’t see coming. Joe’s voice is witty and humorous. Here are a few of my favorite lines:
“It is hard to be relaxed around a man who at any moment might examine your prostate” (p 12).
“During the day he will go out seven or eight times. In the U.S. this would be called drinking on the job” (p 76).
“Her wicked brother will not be home – a shame, I’d like to see what real wickedness looks like” (p 98).
“She was so old she would have had to be dated by carbon 14” (p 128).

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust and the chapter called “Companion Reads” (p 65). Pearl suggests reading Spectator Bird with The Moviegoer by Walker Percy, The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro, and A Gesture Life by Chang-rae Lee.

Charming Billy

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Charming BillyMcDermott, Alice. Charming Billy. New York: Delta Trade, 1998.

I wonder how many people clicked on this blog and thought it would be something a little different? There is more than enough I could say about charming anyone named Billy! Dare I laugh out loud?

Charming Billy is a National Book Award winner. A New York Times bestseller. A movie (again, one I’ve never seen). So it’s no wonder I could say I tore through this book, devoured it in three day’s time. Standing in line, waiting for a sandwich, I read. Stuck in traffice and stalled at super long red lights, I read. Riding shotgun while Kisa was the commuter King, I read. On hold during a tedius teleconference, I read. You get the point. Every chance I got, this book was raised in front of my face. I even walked on the treadmill, barefoot and still in a skirt, book held high in front of my bobbing eyes. That’s not to say it’s a quick read. It’s not a simple book. In all actuality the language is so beautiful it should be read slowly, a few times over. Take the opening chapter, for example. It’s an entire gossipy conversation about a dead man after his funeral. The mourners who have gathered for a restaurant luncheon begin to discuss the drink that killed our Charming Billy. The vitality and truth of that conversation put me at the table. I was there in the restaurant, listening in, passing the bread, leaning back to let the waiter fill my water glass.
It is at this luncheon that the narrator hears a debate about Billy’s heartbreak and the reason for the drink. Losing the love of his life causes Billy to “tilt that bottle in the air, tossing back more than [his] share.” Okay, I couldn’t resist quoting Natalie! The narrator is Billy’s cousin’s daughter. A clever choice for narrator because she is able to weave in her memories and recollections of stories passed around.

“If you loved him, then you told him at some point that he was killing himself and felt the way his indifference ripped through your affection” (p 4).
“…an alcoholic can always find a reason but never needs one” (p 35).
“I suppose there’ not much sense in trying to measure breadth and depth of your own parents’ romance, the course and tenacity of their love” (p 44). These are my favorite lines.

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust, the very first page. In the chapter, “A…My Name is Alice” Pearl lists all the “Alice” authors she adores. Alice McDermott is on the list.