Halloween makes me happy. I found a picture of Serious from last year. Thought I would post him here, just for hahas. Ha. Ha.
(real blog coming later.)
Waking to the Reality
I had bad dreams last night. Bad to the point of nightmare, and scary to the point of DidIReallyDoThat? I woke up not knowing which reality was mine – the night visions or the day truths. I learned something yesterday – something that has me seething twice as terrible today. My barely contained anger has noWhere to go, noWay to be released…so it bubbles in my brain, thrashes like a live wire. Someone tried to help me with the Where and Way but the suggestion is too benign for how electric I am. Right now.
Here’s the thing. You complained in public. You went outside the We Can Handle This Here and got the There involved. You told your side of the story – never mind how twisted and untrue it all is. You talked so horrible until you were told this would ALL be in the open. Everyone would know what you said. Suddenly, you wanted your mommy. Suddenly, you wished you could take it all back. Sad but true. Sad but you. Here’s what I have to say in retaliation (seething aside). The Gloves are off. You told your tale, we’ll tell ours. Yes, we have stories to tell. Documents and documents of stories to tell. We’ve been keeping track, keeping score. There is a price to pay for going public. Don’t think your dirty laundry is your dirty little secret. We’ll go there, too.
“anyone lived in a pretty how town”
Cummings, E.E. “anyone lived in a pretty how town.” Poems 1923-1954. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc. 1954, 370.
I’ve said before that sights and sounds are indicative of times gone by. The smell of freesia will make me think of Ruby even though the sprays we bought together are more than 10 years gone. Words work the same way. Cummings wrote about anyones and noones and someones, giving them voices, feelings, life. When I was in college I wrote a story about a Somebody and a Nobody. My professor called it “slickly professional” implying plagiarism to the point I had to prove myself. (Thanks to Cummings I remember this like it was yesterday.) I dragged my Him into —-‘s office and in a trembling, yet defiant voice, announced “THIS is my Somebody.” Did I remind this professor of Cummings with my somebodys and nobodys? I certainly wasn’t as melodic as Cummings! I didn’t write with the same fluidity and beauty, either.
BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust’s chapter on Poetry Pleasers (p. 188).
Selected Poems 1957-1967
Hughes, Ted. “Wind”. Selected Poems 1957-1967. New York: Harper & Row, 1974. 13.
I trembled at the very thought of this poem. I do not like the wind. Never have, never will. I knew the landscape of Hughes’s words would be dark and terrifying. I almost couldn’t read them. I am more than familiar with gulls bent against the wind, life thrown about; and of houses that tremble to the point of coward. I know of the foreboding, the violence. Hughes not only puts me at the scene. He puts me home.
BookLust Twist: Pearl does no more than include Hughes in her list of “Poetry Pleasers” from More Book Lust (p. 188).
BubbleGum II
John Mayer- Don’t Trust Myself
Just had to share a little more…for Pam. 🙂
Standing at a Distance
There is something about seeing someone on TV. There is something about that distance that dumbs them down, makes them less human. Untouchable. Unreal.
I think I was feeling that way about John Mayer. BubbleGum. KISA gives me presents in the form of tivo’ed programming. They have allowed me to Gum out again and again. He’ll patiently roll his eyes and gently say, “oh. him again. okay.” *sigh*
But, last night was in person. We had great seats and a cooperative crowd. My husband would not agree, but I enjoyed everyone sitting down. I’m short. I hate having to peer around heads and in between shoulders. Constantly shifting to catch glimpses. It makes for a long night.
If I had known my camera was allowed I would have snapped away…Next time. If there is one.
+ SET LIST
Vultures ( I called this as the opening song)
Good Love is On the Way (“Good love!” “Good love!”)
No Such Thing
I Don’t Trust Myself (With Loving You) BG sometimes introduces this song as “a song about being a bastard” but this time he said he was a “crazy lover.” Whatever.
I Don’t Need No Doctor (a John Scofield tune, introduced because the band is “bored.”)
Bigger Than My Body
The Heart of Life (“it’s all good”)
Belief
Waiting on the World to Change
Why Georgia
I’m Gonna Find Another You
— encore —
Wait Until Tomorrow (He fooled us with a little intro to another Jimi song. This was just as good, if not better.)
Your Body is a Wonderland (this is better live than it could ever be on the radio. Unfortunately, this was the song I had stuck in my head when I woke up.)
Gravity (I called this one, too).
My favorite parts? BubbleGumGuy being funny guy. The drums. Saying JJ’s name like it was something perverted (but, catching him smoke was even better). The drums. Taking the pop out of Heart of Life. The drums. Funky dance moves. KISA giving in to my teenage whims…. I got TWO shirts! 😉 …and did I mention the drums?
Forgetfulness
Collins, Billy. “Forgetfulness.” Questions About Angels. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1999. 20.
I laughed out loud at this poem. It addresses something I’m facing with this Book Lust challenge, forgetting. I’ve got this mental block towards some of the books I’ve read and Collins says right off the bat the title is the first to go. Eventually, the entire book is lost.
Take A Separate Peace by John Knowles. I remember images, certain lines from that story but I’m not 100% confident I remember the ending. We studied the novel in high school. I was constantly comparing campuses. I was a freshman. My favorite line was, “I jounced the limb” because to me, it implied intention, action taken on purpose. Deliberate action equaled guilt. But, do I remember what happened next? No.
But, back to Billy and his “Forgetfulness” poem. I love the imagery, the common-man voice he used to describe a delicate slipping away. Words like “lurking” and “drifted” are some of my favorites ways to describe the elusive, the untouchable. Memory as something that glides away. It’s beautiful, really.
BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust‘s chapter on “Poetry Pleasers” (p187). Pearl says to read “everything” by Collins.
Excuse Me While I Get Giddy
Girly giddy. BoyBandGumSnappin’ Giddy. BubbleGum Giddy. Tonight is body-is-a-wonderland-bubble-gum-guy time.
I told my friend of 25 years I am at least 20 years too late for this kind of concert. She knows I didn’t grow up with a boy band to drool over. Oh, sure. I loved Duran Duran, but I loved/adored/worshipped from afar. Far across the ocean afar. Dad didn’t park outside the civic center, station wagon engine running as he didn’t run through the dos and don’ts driven by teenage angst. I didn’t sit there, toe tapping, heart palpitating, one hand on the door, waiting for his release. I’m behind when it comes to being a screaming lovestruck girly girl.
I want to buy a t-shirt. I heart JM. But, that would be wrong. That implies attraction and BubbleGum is not the adjective. He calls himself Chewbacca, as in the walking carpet from StarWars and yup, I agree. Scary. I wouldn’t want to run into him in a dark alley, tuxedo or not. Really scary with or without the monkey suit. No, I want to buy the shirt (I Heart JM, seriously) because it’s something I missed out on doing when I was 16.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I’ll get sucked in when someone intrigues me. BubbleGum has that intrigue. It’s rumored that he knows Japanese. It’s fact he’s funny. It’s rumored he suffers from anxiety. It’s fact he is generous. It’s rumored he’s a family man. It’s fact he can play the guitar. Rumor & fact aside, I like him. I was the same way when I first met the members of sirsy. They were so down to earth, friendly and welcoming that it completely influenced how I heard their sound. That kind of thing mattered. It still does…with BubbleGum. So, excuse me while I get giddy.
ps~ Okay, I know I didn’t fool some of you with this blog. I’ll admit it…it’s JJ I’m giddy about! If only the heartbeat had his own t-shirt. *sigh*
Believe Me Or Me
I ran on Friday and this is what I thought about while I was the gerbil.
I am of two minds. I feel mentally ill. On one side of my life I should be upset about the things that were said. About me. On the other side of life, that relationship is behind me and the importance of that person is no more. I’m beginning to think I sided with the wrong side when sides were being taken.
I don’t like insecure people. No, I take that back. I don’t like the way insecurity makes people do and say outrageous, mean things. Bragging to be something they’re not. Lying to lay claim to something they don’t have.
But, on the other hand, maybe I’m jealous of them. When I’m less than confident I shirk from importance. Stay in the shadow of someone more superstar. Keep my mouth shut for fear of saying something stupid. I want to be able to say, I got it going on. I know it’s not true. It’s definitely not me. Maybe I would like to brag about something, anything. But, then again…maybe not. Bottom line, I am who I am. Bad mouthed or not.
Run like a girl. It implies a negative. But. I know better. I run like me.
3.6 miles
Drunk
We need another night like this. Drunk. Or getting there. Giggly and silly. Giddy and stupid.
My friend asked me out for drinks saying we need this. “We. Need. This.” She stressed every word to make me hear them, understand them. My answer was a sigh. Even getting drinks on campus sounded like work. Later, my mother said I sounded tired when we talked. The phone felt heavy, but I didn’t want to get into it. I couldn’t get into it. She simply wouldn’t understand. Where have I heard that before? I felt bad that I wasn’t even giving her the benefit of the doubt. I simply decided she wouldn’t get it and couldn’t say more. Tired. I let her go on about spaces too small for toddlers, gifts too expensive for birthdays, dates for a visit too inconvenient. Everything too something. I thought about work.
We “moved” my office yesterday. Today I want to buy paint. Someone told me that paint makes everything better. Fresh start. I like that idea. I want honorable colors. Colors that reflect seriousness, authority, respect, the whole thing. Is that even possible? I’ve never had an office of my very own before. I walk around coworkers sensing veiled resentment. It follows me, swirls around me. I want to scream. Don’t hate me because I worked my ass off. I gave up message boards and frivolous websites for a promotion. I stopped wearing jeans and sirsy shirts. I gave up the proverbial water cooler to get ahead. I started doing more than my job. I started doing yours.
I am tired. I will welcome a week of nothing when it gets here. Please get here. Maybe I’ll get to that list of projects. Open that BIG bottle of Merlot and get drunk. Drunk and giddy. Drunk and silly. Drunk.
Amy & Isabelle
Strout, Elizabeth. Amy & Isabelle. New York: Vintage Books, 1998.
By sending me a copy last year, my sister introduced Amy & Isabelle way before Nancy did. An advanced reader copy, in fact. This was a BookLust reread because I couldn’t remember how it ended (one of the book lust rules is remembering the story). I think I read it too fast the first time around. That always happens to me with the really good ones. I tear through words and pages and chapters because I need to know What Happens Next. And Next. And Next. I think I’ve said it before, but I sift through words, looking for phrases that catch my imagination, rattle my heart. I underline them to lay claim to them. My favorite from Amy & Isabelle is from page 232, “…and then roof of her life collapsed…” I also to admit I was excited to see the words ‘jesum crow’ (p.224). I spell it j-e-e-z-u-m but I think the phase is a Maine thing through and through. (Amy & Isabelle takes place in Maine.)
Isabelle and Amy are in a typical mother-daughter relationship. Amy is a coming-of-age 16 year old. This is the story of her alienation from her mother, thanks to an exploration of sexuality that her mother, Isabelle is not ready to admit her daughter is capable of, much less ready for. They live alone with each other and must deal with their love/hate struggles without the distraction or guidance or stability of a man to call husband or father. The psychology of this story runs pretty deep. When Amy gets her period for the first time her mother shoves pamphlets at her, thinking it’s better than how her mother handled it by not saying anything at all.
BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter, “It was a Dark & Stormy Novel” (p128).
If You Dare
I got married in a hurricane. Ivan the Hurricane to be exact. We, KISA and I, planned for wind. We planned for rain. What we didn’t think of was mud and it was because of the mud that I ruined my gown and my pride.
It all started when I became a selfish bride. I didn’t want a single stranger involved in one of the biggest events of my life. I needed to know every person. So, I chose a neighbor, a reputable seamstress to make my wedding dress. For months we designed, planned and gossiped like girls. We grew close, sharing secrets about relationships. She saw me naked. I got tragic details about her troubled past. We could call each other friend. Nevertheless, she was shocked when I said I wanted to wear hiking boots under the gown. I showed her pictures of “the site” and finally got her to understand what having an “island wedding” meant. She was even more amazed when she learned I’m not a frilly girly girl. I didn’t ask for lace. I didn’t want sparkle. No glitter. No sequins. No long line of satin buttons. No train. No fuss. I didn’t even want white. It took some convincing but I got my way with champagne gold. I chose champagne gold to match my shiny new start to love and marriage. Custom made champagne to be exact. My seamstress, my friend, went along with it, tsking-tsking and shaking her head all the while.
I promised her the dress, as simple as it was, would be beautiful. I promised her I would share pictures after the honeymoon to prove it. I promised to visit her often. Then the rain brought the mud and I ruined the dress. I ruined the dress. How could I face the one person who lovingly, carefully, perfectly stitched the garment of my perfect day? How could I show her the pictures without confessing the dress?
I couldn’t. I didn’t. I brought the dress to two different cleaners who sadly admited it couldn’t be cleaned. Defeated, I went home and buried the champagne gold in the back of the closet. It hangs there, dejected and hasn’t been touched since. I never shared pictures. I never visited. I’d catch sight of her at the grocery store and quickly turn away, averting my friendship.
It’s been over two years and now my seamstress-once-friend has moved away. No forwarding address. I broke promises because of the mud…I broke promises because I didn’t dare.
Behind
My watch is two days old. I think it’s the 110th watch I’ve owned. This is, by far, the most expensive watch I’ve ever owned. I don’t really love it so I’m wondering how long it will take before I leave it behind. Like all the others.
That’s the thing about losing things you don’t really love. You can’t miss what you don’t love, especially if you don’t love it enough to go looking for it, or even realize its misplacement. I had a friendship that went missing. I didn’t love it so when it disappeared I didn’t take notice. When I finally noticed I didn’t even search for it. I didn’t want it to be found. At all. I wanted it left behind. Is that bad of me… or is that what they call growth?
They say that people outgrow relationships all the time. What about methodically breaking them down, taking them apart, dismantling? I know I have systematically dismantled two in my lifetime (and if you have been reading my blogs on that other space you were witness to one of them. I had to walk through that leaving in a very public way). This time it’s more private, but I can’t say I regret either leaving behind. Then or now. I’m not sorry for dismantling. I’m not even sorry about the ones that dismantled me. I probably deserved it.
About Time
Davies, Paul. About Time: Einstein’s Unfinished Revolution. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1995.
I am often snagged by great one-liners. Here’s one of my favorites from About Time. “We are slaves of our past and hostages to the future” (p23). It’s a standard idea. Nothing too dark or deep. What I liked was the mental imagery of being tethered to the past. I have this particle theory and it somehow applies.
I have to admit, I categorized tagged this book on librarything as “attempted” because after 88 pages I sent it home. Maybe I’m too distracted by the other books I’m reading. Maybe I’m too distracted by all things work. Maybe I’m just too distracted. Period. Whatever the reason, I am bored by this book. There are parts that fascinate me. Einstein’s “twin” theory is amazing. But, for the most part it’s like watching paint dry. It doesn’t interest me the way it should. This is the first book I’m using the “50 page Rule” on. See Rule #2.
BookLust Twist: From Book Lust‘s chapter called “Science Books for the Interested but Apprehensive Lay Person.” Pearl elaborates on p. 212 saying, “About Time…makes a mind-boggling topic as understandable as it can be for nonphysicists. (If you only had time to read it.) Well, I attempted to make the time!
House of Sand & Fog (w/ sorta spoiler)
Dubus III, Andre. House of Sand and Fog. New York: Vintage, 2000.
The whole time I was reading this I kept thinking two things. First, why can’t these people communicate, and how much am I missing because I’m not understanding the culture? What’s getting lost because I’m lost on the psychology? I kept mentally screaming, “you simply are not getting it!” first at one character, then another and another.
From the very beginning of this novel I felt as if I were a puppet – being played by both and all sides. I felt sorry for everyone involved and couldn’t decide who deserved my sorrow more. The Iranian family because Father had to work two jobs and they lived beyond their means behind a veil of pride and culture? The down-on-her-luck girl who lost her house because she wasn’t on top of her A game? The cop who was stuck in a loveless marriage and displayed Robin Hood crookedness whenever he saw fit? Everyone in our society who can’t pronounce Middle Eastern names? The drowning in paperwork county that messed everything up in the first place?
It’s the story of misunderstanding. When Kathy Nicolo loses her house to the country for owed taxes on a business she never had the miscommunications begin. When her house is sold to Massoud Amir Behrani the misunderstandings continue. Things become further complicated by Lester Burdon, a deputy sherrif who does things his own way. Caught in the web are Behrani’s family. Innocent and slightly less obsessed.
When people start to die, I decided I was sorry for everyone involved. Most of all I was sorry for the lack of communication whether it was complicated by culture or not.
BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust (p.129): Included in the chapter “It Was a Dark & Stormy Novel.”
~*LunaSea*~ 