kusala

2010-03-09T15:36:00.000-08:00

Our luck is running out of time
You’re not in love with me anymore
I wish that it would change, but it won’t, if you don’t

Our luck is running out of time
You’re not in love with me anymore
I wish that it would change, but it won’t
‘Cause you don’t love me no more

You need so much but not from me
Turn your back in my hour of need
Something’s wrong but you pretend you don’t see
I think I interrupt your life
When you laugh it cuts me just like a knife
I’m not your friend, I’m just your little wife

The bruises they will fade away
You hit so hard with the things you say
I will not stay to watch your hate as it grows
You’re not in love with someone else
You don’t even love yourself

Still I wish you’d ask me not to go

pånyttfödd

2009-09-02T20:58:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday.

Wish you were here.

Or maybe...

...vice-versa.

Peach Pie Sunday

2009-06-28T21:09:00.000-07:00

... and Dinner for One.

clockwise from upper left: bread with Lomo salumi and Idiazabal & Tallegio cheeses; organic butter lettuce with egg salad; salmorejo cordobés with chopped egg and jamón Serrano; sweet vermouth with lemon on ice.

Bon Weekend

2009-05-18T21:39:00.000-07:00

Do we appreciate life a bit more when we've been spending time with people we rarely see?

Lunch, Café Buenos Aires: Jeffery, Tracee, Joe

If you think we're remotely cute now (well, Jeffery has hardly changed a bit), you should have seen us 17 years ago... SEVENTEEN years ago! Ay, Dios!

Bet You Didn't Know My Middle Name is Stanley (Really)

2009-05-17T23:04:00.001-07:00

And maybe this is becoming a food blog. With a nod to a mentor, of sorts.

The farmers' market was pretty glorious on Saturday. My main objective is merely to try to eat most of the things I bought without having to throw any away. It's not that I bought very much; it's just that due to my improper planning, produce has a way of sitting unused in my fridge until it starts to brown or turn slimy without having been touched. Weeknights often race by because I'm occupied doing other things, or I just eat a bowl of breakfast cereal with fruit for supper. Before I know it, Friday has arrived, and nature's bounty looks more like compost than consumable.

In addition to buying fava beans, rainbow chard, arugula, and Medjool dates, I was excited to see a stand with at least four or five varieties of avocado. I enjoy the ubiquitous Hass (which apparently is the "correct" spelling, after years of them having been labeled "Haas"... whatever), but I tend to fall into the anti-monoculture camp, so it's nice to be able to give unpopular varietals some love. I picked up a Zutano and a Fuerte (I tried to take a photo of the stand, but some woman and her cocktail ring got in the way).

All photos below except the pasta were taken with a camera phone, so quality may be questionable.

Courtyard of Santa Barbara Historical Museum

Saturday dinner: Fusilli with fava beans, olive oil, lemon zest, parsley, and ricotta salata cheese

Not Going to Take This Anymore!

2009-05-16T23:59:00.001-07:00

Thanks indirectly to the Thief, I learned plenty this evening about Sara Jane Moore.

I don't really agree with the Moore quote below, of course, but I find it hilarious in a metaphoric sense. Taken to its literal extreme, though, it scares the hell out of me.
“I didn’t want to kill anybody, but there comes a point when
the only way you can make a statement is to pick up a gun.”

Here we go again

2009-05-05T22:30:00.000-07:00

Photo by John Wiley at Flickr.

One Fine Day

2009-05-04T23:00:00.000-07:00

Give us time to work it out...

2009-05-03T22:21:00.001-07:00

Well, Hi. There's nothing special to report here, but that's pretty much a good thing. I'm enjoying the spring so far.

Carry on. I'll do the same.

Aloo Gobi Sunday

2009-04-19T20:36:00.000-07:00

Aloo Gobi (Potato Cauliflower Curry) with Homemade Yogurt "Cheese" and Mango Pickle

I was inspired to have this today by a recent post by Stash regarding the glories of the potato.

This isn't a dish I eat very often, since I'm somewhat averse to cauliflower; among the few forms I enjoy it in are this curry and raw. I don't usually obsess over every gram of fat, but lately I find myself worrying just because there are a few extra inches that refuse to budge. This dinner could have been pretty low cal and low fat, but a dollop of ghee and a couple dollops of that whole-milk yogurt cheese just felt in order.

Touched your perfect body with their minds

2009-04-19T14:31:00.001-07:00

Every day is a revelation, even in a small way. I discovered the above Leonard Cohen song -- and Nina Simone's version of it -- just today for the first time, thanks to Tom Schnabel's show on KCRW.

Anyone who knows me a little knows that I'm a fan of Nina Simone; they may not know how much her voice and her story break my heart just a little every time I hear one of her recordings.

I can't call myself a fan of Cohen because I really don't know enough of his music. A year or so ago I tried watching that recent documentary, I'm Your Man, but frankly was so disinterested after thirty or forty minutes that I turned it off. It also didn't help that Nick Cave's singing completely got on my nerves, and I'm not enough of a fan of any of the Wainwrights to be riveted by them either. I may need to try just listening to some of Cohen's original material.

Certain readers may be tired of the triteness of it, but I do admit to loving Jeff Buckley's version of Hallelujah, which I was only introduced to via the recent German film Die fetten Jahre sind vorbei (The Edukators), which I liked quite a lot.

And she shows you where to look
Among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed
There are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love
And they will lean that way forever
While Suzanne holds the mirror
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that you can trust her
For she's touched your perfect body with her mind

Mercury! Venus! Jupiter! Saturn! Mars!

2009-04-18T23:49:00.000-07:00

With credit to Junk Thief for making me think of these kawaii punk girls.

Let's Knife is a CD worth owning, or at the very least several songs are worth downloading.

A reminder of fun, perhaps more innocent times in UCSB student apartments, circa 1993.

Al borde de un ataque de nervios

2009-04-13T06:30:00.000-07:00

That's the way things went tonight
Tossed and turned though you were tight
Exhaustion brings on desperation
Well there's still some consolation...
I've been awake since getting up to go to the bathroom at 3:30. It's now a little past 5:30.

Sometimes I think I'm going nuts. But I think anyone reading this has heard this story before.

It's getting to the point where I vacillate between a quiet, impotent rage and the brink of utter depression.

My job situation and relationships with the heads of my office have totally broken down and left me feeling... well, broken down. I'm stuck in this limbo, being transferred to another unit more or less against my will, thus not included in any of the shared decision-making anymore, and completely (or so it feels to me) frozen out. In their minds, I'm probably already gone, so they figure why bother.

All this seems petty, as almost every workplace "issue" tends to seem. And it is petty. And workplace issues in general are petty. But it's gotten to the point where it's affected my ability to view myself as a capable person with valuable contributions to make. Not that it's all about me -- the special, unique snowflake -- but it's not news that the workplace often contributes immensely to one's self image.

I don't know exactly when it happened, but I went from a position in life where I felt that I had something to offer to this current state: one in which I am constantly questioning whether I have anything to offer. While in some sense that's hyperbole (I haven't lost all shreds of confidence and self worth), it really is the distillation of my current problems.

So, to be totally frank, how the fuck is this Stella supposed to Get Her Groove Back and once again feel like the valuable, talented, interesting, loveable, attractive, kickass member of society that she was, is, and will be again?

To quote a former group therapy facilitator, I guess "more will be revealed."

In the meantime, I think I will read Cheri Huber... again. (And I noted with a chuckle that she has a title that I hadn't seen before, called When You're Falling, Dive -- maybe seeing that title was today's mini-lesson.)

Vermin!

2009-04-13T06:15:00.000-07:00

And if things weren't bad enough, my kitchen is crawling with ~~mice~~ rats! At least a few, but probably no more than two at a time.

They're "only" about three inches long (not including tail), but I had fooled myself the first night I saw them into thinking they were "large mice." Now, I am creeped out beyond all creepouts and spent time yesterday cleaning rat dung out from between my newly-organized jars-o-stuff on the countertop.

The exterminator comes today. I hate the fact that some killing will most likely end up being involved. I bought a live trap last week but los ratónes are too smart for that trick. So I will let the "pest control" do whatever he does; I can't exactly insist that the property management company contract with a PETA-approved vendor. However, I draw the line at glue boards; whoever invented those was a complete sadist.

One final thought (something that ran through my head around 4:20am or so...): it is kind of amazing when you think of the types of vermin that man has had to live with for most of human history. I mean the part that's amazing is that we've managed to "eradicate" much of our exposure to that anymore. It's a development I am fond of, and not dealing with plagues and infestations of Biblical proportions is perhaps another small daily gratitude to meditate on.

No me quieres ya y siempre estaré...

2009-04-06T19:17:00.000-07:00

"Not wandering in the world of desire is another way of describing cool loneliness. Wandering in the world of desire involves looking for alternatives, seeking something to comfort us—food, drink, people. The word desire encompasses that addiction quality, the way we grab for something because we want to find a way to make things okay. That quality comes from never having grown up. We still want to go home and be able to open the refrigerator and find it full of our favorite goodies; when the going gets tough, we want to yell 'Mom!' But what we're doing as we progress along the path is leaving home and becoming homeless. Not wandering in the world of desire is about relating directly with how things are. Loneliness is not a problem. Loneliness is nothing to be solved. The same is true for any other experience we might have."
~Pema Chödrön

Going Straight to Hell, Carrying Lifetimes of Bad Karma

2009-04-01T22:01:00.000-07:00

I know, I know, I shouldn't be griping to you, or to anyone, but I need to share.

So, I'm signed up on one of those HIV-positive dating sites, and every now and again there's someone within a 60-mile radius of this fabulous resort burg in which I live.

But....

Can I really see myself going on a date someone with a hairdo like the above, with mutton-choppish sideburns, and who spells a very common (and perfectly fine) name unconventionally (i.e., with superfluous, silent letters)? The answer is no.

Then again, he lists his fave TV as BBC and music as B-52s (and country?), so some of you might want to consider relocating and setting up a happy home in Ventura.

And yes, for wantonly slinging this kind of snark I most definitely DO deserve to be single for the rest of my life.

God is not smiling.

On second thought, I think He is ROFL. (Yes, at me, not with me.)

Wisteria Tuesday

2009-03-31T10:00:00.001-07:00

I have to admit that I have a very pleasant daily commute.

Love is...

2009-03-29T22:50:00.000-07:00

A three-day weekend. Even when it's coming to an end.

There are fresh lilacs and daffodils in vases. I'm ready for bed and sweet dreams.

O fogo do amor sob a chuva à instantes morrera

2009-03-19T22:51:00.000-07:00

I attended a concert by the lovely fadista Mariza at the Lobero Theater tonight -- the fourth time I've seen her in the last six years -- and she was, as always, luminous.

I am having a difficult week and a particularly difficult day. There are times when I really feel that there is nothing I like about my life, and that when I feel "content" what I'm really doing is putting at bay all the despair and dissatisfaction that seem to reign. Just writing that makes the so-called despair seem even that much more ridiculous and self-pitying, but there you have it. The "best times" lately are those during which I simply -- temporarily -- forget how miserable, directionless, and alone I feel. Those during which I forget how consistently I keep making the same bad decisions or doing nothing "constructive" at all. Those during which I forget that the reason I'm not actively putting time toward attempting to date is because I know deep down that I don't have many reasons to really like myself lately, and how could I possibly try to date someone and possibly ask them to like me when I still can't find much to like about myself? Not much changes in twenty years... "The common denominator in your failed relationships is you."

Forgetting about how miserable I am and being able to have a "good" day -- or even long strings of them -- are far cries from being genuinely "happy."

It's quite sad when the future just looks like nothing more than one big long road full of "nothin' or worse." Is this the realization that strikes at some point after several decades of life when all the dreams seem to be dried up? Within a few days, I'll have covered all this back up with a pleasant veneer of Buddhist-style detachment, but it won't fix the problem. To be honest, I'm quite tired of everything.
------------------

As an encore, Mariza sang the Roy Orbison song Crying, and it moved me as much as the haunting Spanish version in David Lynch's Mulholland Drive.

I thought that I was over you
But it's true, oh so true
I love you even more than I did before
But darling what can I do
For you don't love me and I'll always be
Crying over you, crying over you

Yes, now you're gone and from this moment on
I'll be crying

What are you supposed to do when you just can't get over him? Or him, or him...?

Mais do que veneno estriquinina

2009-03-14T19:34:00.001-07:00

It is time, I think, for another one of these:

And I may just make one tonight even though it's past 8:00pm and I was thinking of watching a DVD.

Also, last night I discovered the following very cute video of one of my favorite sambas, made by some very cute Brazilian boys. I've also included another clip below it of one of the classic versions by Elis Regina, which I can listen to several times a day. It makes me smile a bit, and I feel like I need that right this minute for some reason.

Independently Blue

2009-03-13T23:27:00.000-07:00

I'm in quite a good mood. And on top of that, it's Friday night.

However -- just because -- I thought I'd mention that the Thursday Open Thread over at Joe's got me thinking about the following favorite, which is certainly one of the happiest, swingingest sad songs out there.

The world is a sadder place without Miss Nina in it, and I can't help but think how happy she'd have been if she'd lived until November 5, 2008.

As for some of the emotional themes mined in this classic: it does seem as though the last several years (about eight, but who's counting?) have been a variation and fugue on “I'd rather be lonely than happy with somebody else...”

Yep. Nighttime is my time for just reminiscing.

The Penne is Mightier than the Kebab

2009-01-31T23:06:00.000-08:00

News from the motherland is that some Italian burgs are banning adding any new establishments that offer "ethnic foods."

[Side note: One of my favorite signs in the local supermarket is the one designating a certain aisle for "Ethnic Foods" -- things like soy sauce and salsa, which are probably in the refrigerators of ninety percent or more of households in America. That may be surpassed in entertainment value, however, by the presence of an "Ethnic Products" section in the local drug emporium -- and what they mean by so-called "ethnic" includes products such as Murray's Hair Pomade, Ultra Sheen, and Ambi lotion.]

Anyway, apparently some Italians don't like the plethora of kebab and shawarma shops in their piazzas. Interestingly, I believe I've heard people who've spent time in Italy talk about how "un-diverse" the cuisine is, and that it can be very hard for someone used to American-style variety to try to find good, affordable Thai or Japanese food; I suppose it depends on the city.

As the article points out, the supreme irony is that many staples of Italian cuisine, including the New World tomato that is paramount in the south, are of non-native origin. One wonders what the Romans were eating; I've never really thought much about that. Spit-roasted lamb with rosemary and a side of bulgur wheat?

There always seem to be people who become nervous or feel under attack somehow due to the penetration of various "ethnic" businesses or communities in their midst. Possibly it's just due to fear or dealing with the unknown. I don't understand it well because I've mostly surrounded myself with people who love ethnic variety, for lack of a better phrase. Though I did argue with my brother a couple Christmases ago because he couldn't understand why, and seemed to be slightly perturbed by the fact that it seemed that almost every gas station in New Jersey is owned by Punjabis (he may have actually uttered the word "towelhead," but I choose not to dwell on that too much). I still don't understand why it even bothered him, although I feel that part of it has to do with the influence of my conservative, xenophobic father (with whom I'm no longer in contact).

I also recall working with a sweet Jewish woman named Lil almost twenty years ago. She and her husband had recently moved back to New Jersey after living for many years in Miami. She had rather benignly said something once about how Miami was "almost like a foreign country" with all kinds of Latin American restaurants and shops and so many people speaking Spanish. I naively and guilelessly made a comment about how "that must be kind of nice and interesting sometimes," to which she shot back very bluntly, "Not in my country!!" Needless to say, we changed the topic of conversation rather quickly.

I love ethnic enclave communities, as much for the culinary variety they provide as anything else. When I go back to New Jersey, I love the fact that Oak Tree Road in Edison is a true Little India of restaurants and shops. I love the fact that the neighborhood in which my grandmother grew up has again become a very Polish area (if it ever, in fact, stopped being one). Then again, I grew up in a very different time, in a New Jersey that was already becoming very ethnically diverse with the "new immigrants" of the sixties and seventies. And of course, that was after the great immigrant waves of the early twentieth century, the result of which made it seem that almost everyone one knew was either Italian, Polish, Irish, Hungarian, Greek, German, or some combination thereof.

I wish Italy luck in sorting this out. Perhaps the city of Lucca may be written off as a provincial, closed-minded backwater, but the fact that this is spreading to Milan in the wake of rising popularity of the Northern League does not really bode well. In the meantime, Viva il Döner Kebap!

My idea of housework is to sweep the room with a glance

2009-01-27T21:22:00.001-08:00

OK, I'm exaggerating. Anyone who knows me knows that the title of this post is very far from the truth... and if you can't be bothered to keep the nasty, dusty crud and shorthairs wiped off the rim of your toilet bowl, please don't talk to me. Shallow? Maybe. But in this case, I'd rather be shallow than scandalously uncouth.

However, I'm here now to tell you about my amazing discovery, which is not doing the laundry. You can actually pay people to do that shit for you. And that's exactly what I did today. And je ne regrette rien! In fact, I'm pretty damn pleased with myself.

I had actually made a lifestyle change many years ago that involved never, ever again washing and ironing my own dress shirts. Ironing is the most ridiculous chore on the planet, and if there are people willing to do it for money, well, I'm going to pay them. My time -- even if I'm just lying morosely in bed feeling sorry for myself -- is worth far too much to me to spend it doing the ironing. So $2 per shirt or so has seemed like a small price to pay for that luxury, especially since (a) I only wear a dress shirt to work maybe four or five times a month at most and (b) I can get a good two to three wearings of a dress shirt before it needs to be laundered again (yes, undershirts are key... otherwise, that would be gross; what do you think I am, a sweat-stained-shirt-wearing pig?).

Well, making the leap to sending the laundry out is just another level of epiphany.

Now, before anyone gets all up in my face about how I can't be bemoaning my debt and collection notices in one post and be trumpeting my lazy-assed, extravagant exploitation of immigrant labor in another, I need to explain a couple of things that might make this situation seem a smidge more economical:
1) The house in which I rent my apartment does not have laundry on premises
2) For the past three years or so, during which I've been car-less, I've depended on the kindness of a friend who would give me a lift to a laundromat, after which we'd spend a couple hours having coffee and reading the Saturday paper at the cafe across the street. Said friend has decided to end this ritual.
3) The primary option left to me would be to take taxis to the laundromat and back, which, after adding in the cost of the machines, would probably only cost $8-$10 less than the cost of same-day pick-up and delivery service of my dirty drawers.
4) As I only do laundry every other weekend, this will probably cost me only $20 or so per month more than the alternative, without the headache.

I'd be a fool not to outsource the sudsing of my scanties. Plus, it leaves time for more important tasks, like updating my Facebook status.

For those still shaking their heads in disbelief at the utter profligacy of it all, a final anecdote: I once read that the elites in colonial Brazil considered it fashionable to ship their clothing across the ocean to be attended to by laundresses in Lisbon. Now that is outrageous.

Let’s get back in line again and ride the big one

2009-01-26T22:52:00.000-08:00

I don’t wanna fall, I don’t wanna fly
I don’t wanna be dangled over
The edge of a dying romance
But I don’t wanna stop
I don’t wanna lie
I don’t wanna believe it’s over
I just wanna stay with you tonight

~ Matt Alber, "End of the World" [via JMG]
-----------------------------------

I feel so paralyzed that sometimes it's like being psychically entombed in concrete. I wish I knew where I was going — or even if I'm not going anywhere I wish I felt at least somewhat content (as I once did, I think) in the place where I am. The debt's not quite "de Maupassantian," the disease isn't debilitating... but both seem like tremendous weights that can only keep pulling me down. I'm a little bit sick and a lot tired.

I know, I know: it's all about "reframing."

Oh well. As the cheeky t-shirt maxim goes: "I Love My Attitude Problem"

“Our ability to measure and apportion time affordsan almost endless source of comfort”

2009-01-21T13:57:00.000-08:00

OK. Has the “change” begun yet?

It's been awhile since I've posted anything. Not much has been happening. I've had some nice times, and life's humming along all right, but I still have this nagging feeling of being out of sorts.

I'm still bored to death of my job, and even more bored and apprehensive over the changes that will be coming in the next month or two. It's nothing compared to being unemployed or destitute, but if the point of comparison were always absolute poverty, no one I know would ever have a single thing to be unhappy about. I'm often not sure what downward comparison is supposed to do for us. Watch Slumdog Millionaire and feel uplifted and warmhearted that All Is, In the End, Good in the World?

Diversions haven't helped.

A couple weeks ago I saw a documentary called The Spider, The Mistress, and The Tangerine, about artist Louise Bourgeois. Seeing some of her installations and hearing her often-rambling musings about her art and life were incredibly exciting and inspirational. Yes! To create.... Art! To accomplish so much and have an outlet for one's convoluted thoughts.

One of Bourgeois's quotes stuck with me: "My emotions are inappropriate to my size."

She was feisty and seems to have been prone to lash out in anger at times. I understand the impulse and I'm often ashamed of it, though I wish I weren't. I'll never be quiet and polite and have an appropriate sense of "deferring to authority." I just know it.
-------------------------------------

I also saw Revolutionary Road last week. It was often melodramatic, and contrived, and included many of the types of plot devices that I find too didactic. Why must there always be a huge, roiling climax in so many stories?

The tragic moment... I often hate it. I finally understand that I'm more often drawn to the story that doesn't have a magnificent crest or even a "proper" ending. That's how life is, isn't it?

I was surprised to learn soon after seeing the film that the novel by Richard Yates upon which it was based was written in 1961, which means that Yates was only looking back on the milieu of the novel (early- to mid-1950s) through a fairly short lens. I'm halfway through a New Yorker essay by James Wood on Yates, and it's also made me curious to read Madame Bovary, of which Road apparently a "brilliant rewriting."

No time to go into the entire essay here, but the following insight from Wood has been haunting me since yesterday afternoon:

“…mid-century American suburban man is so maddening because he is both a rank escapist and a conservative pragmatist: he has arrogated to himself twin rights that ought to be incompatible — to dream of escape… while simultaneously dreaming of timid stability.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my problem in a nutshell. I hate the feeling...

Another chance, another start, so many dreams to tease the heart

2009-01-01T19:13:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year.

My friend R was nice enough to invite me to a party held in a leafy (well, not at this time of year) neighborhood of Asbury Park, a renowned "gay enclave" on the Monmouth County shore. I was anxious about it being full of judgmental and prissy gays (my issues, my issues), but reality couldn't have been more warm, welcoming, and suburban. There was even a dad with a very cute toddler in tow. Cocktail shrimp, stuffed mushrooms, and sangria were on offer. Anxiety was never so undeserved.

Needless to say, I had a nice time. We all even got little individual Ziploc bags full of 12 grapes each to pop into our mouths at midnight, as one of the hosts was Cuban-American.

2009: I look forward to it as a year of deep housecleaning.

R thinks I'm crazy, but I'm more determined than ever to move back to the Garden State. As I told one of the partygoers last night, it's either that or moving to the Bay Area (or Portland, Oregon?) for a decade or so. The problem is that those locations are just as far from my family, and that really has become a concern. I want to be able to pop over for Sunday (or Wednesday) dinner anytime I want.

The Job has also reached a point at which it makes sense to break it off, though that is certainly the main cause of anxiety. Unemployment and possible loss or reduction of health coverage needs to be handled delicately. It feels like jumping into the deep end. But I believe that it's time.

Also, New York was so much fun last weekend. And though I realize that "fun" can be had rather easily on a weekend jaunt almost anywhere (and that quotidian boredom can set in anywhere), the other part of the equation is that it is something new -- a place to discover all over again.

A sense of discovery and thrill has really been missing from life for awhile. A change in geography isn't the only way to correct that, I know, but I'm pretty sure it's the direction I want to take.

Yes, it's difficult. However, I received enthusiastic support from a couple of new lesbian acquaintances, so who am I to let them down?

And on that note, best wishes to you for 2009, my "handful" of faithful readers. I'll keep you posted.

For now, I'm heading back to Santa Barbara tomorrow evening.

I've got a feeling this year's for me and you... So happy Christmas

2008-12-25T17:21:00.000-08:00

One of my perennial favorites, from The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl. This never fails to bring a tear to my eyes.

I'm still waiting for George Bailey to lasso the moon for me, but Merry Christmas anyway, you old broken down Building & Loan! And the same to all of you, three faithful readers!

Every stranger's face I see reminds me that I long to be

2008-12-13T02:07:00.000-08:00

O, Pine Tree State!

2008-12-11T11:05:00.001-08:00

I don't want to make anyone self-conscious, but it appears I have a very devoted fan in Frenchville, Maine.

I used to have one in Pierrefonds, Québec. I wonder if they're one in the same person.

I have never been to Maine.

Please, dear devoted fan, don't let this recognition chase you away. I need all the readership I can get. It inflates my flaccid ego.

Your future is all used up

2008-12-07T22:32:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite scenes from the Orson Welles classic, Touch of Evil, with Marlene Dietrich.

December: Triptych

2008-12-07T22:05:00.000-08:00

Pear Upside-Down Cake Sunday

2008-12-07T20:59:00.000-08:00

After a weekend of illness, depression-induced sleep, and further gut-wrenching stress about my job and my life, I'll repeat a sentiment I expressed elsewhere:

Do you think I'll feel better if I eat the whole thing at once?

My guess is that the correct answer is "No," so I'll just work on it one sliver at a time. The cake, that is. (As for the other issues, I have no idea how to work on them...)

You may find yourself living in a shotgun shack

2008-12-02T22:08:00.000-08:00

I hope that whereever you were, you were able to witness last night's conjunction of the Moon, Jupiter, and Venus. It was lovely and special, really, in an old-fashioned, Romantic way -- a way that makes one think about the types of things that may have passed for entertainment and surprise in earlier times.

I'm often wistful when witnessing extremely rare occurrences like this one. I remember getting sad and anxious during the US Bicentennial year 1976. We lived very close to one of the "Crossroads of the American Revolution," and there were re-enactments galore of famous battles and historical events for well over a year. My eight-year-old mind didn't look upon these events with even a shred of cynicism, and I'm glad now that my parents made an effort to attend some of them with me.

However, even though I don't think I expressed it outwardly, I remember getting anxious and even sad thinking about the fact that if we skipped or missed any part of the events, that we'd never get a chance to see them again -- ever -- because there wouldn't be another similar celebration until the Tricentennial, one hundred years hence. It may have been one of the first times I pondered some nascent recognition of mortality, because I could relate it to concrete events. I knew what it meant; I knew somehow that there was probably very little chance that I'd live to be 108 years old. At the same moment I must have thought about what that span of a century meant compared to human lives, the lives of me and my family members. There were certain special things -- or so I thought -- that really could only be experienced once in a lifetime.

(And yes, sometime after age eight, I learned about sesquicentennials and also about the crude and somewhat unsophisticated air surrounding historical reenactments.)

So, while not to stir any anxiety in you, I do hope you were able to witness last night's astral event.

Because it's said that the next time it will occur will be after my eighty-fourth birthday.

photo from Flickr.com

HIV, Mon Amour

2008-12-01T10:22:00.001-08:00

World AIDS Day 2008

I'd encourage my three readers to give something, either here, or to the charity of your choice.

Above, a cartogram showing territories based on proportions of their HIV-positive populations aged 15-49.

Below, some words from the late poet, Tory Dent, from her book from which I've borrowed the title for this post. Where I am able to walk unbothered for a while as if along a long, white beach.
Where I am able to stand and contemplate my life, the concept and its definitions.
Where I am able to close my eyes and revel in the memory, the voice and face
the jokes, the silences, the passion, the fights, of someone I loved deeply who died.
Where trapped in the tar gut of solitary confinement I wake and am no longer blind.
Update: I meant to mention that I highly recommend Yesterday, the Zulu-language film from South Africa that deals very poignantly with HIV/AIDS. One of the best films I've seen in years.

I've Loved You So Long

2008-11-30T23:09:00.000-08:00

Despite how that title may sound, this is not another paean to a long-lost ex-boyfriend who broke up with me. As a matter of fact, breakups of the romantic sort don't figure at all into Philippe Claudel's French language film, starring Kristin Scott Thomas, which I saw Saturday night.

It was a fairly quiet film about psychological interiors and difficult relationships, and I enjoyed it very much. I don't recommend reading a lot about it prior to seeing it (and you should), as there are a couple of narrative turns that are best left as surprises. Scott Thomas and Elsa Zylberstein, who plays her sister, are both incredibly good, even while the story might be said to have a somewhat melodramatic dénouement.

At the heart of this film is a very strong theme of redemption and also an examination of the idea that often none of us really knows anything about the experiences of others, whether they are close to us or strangers. Even when we try to sympathize, we may very well not know the whole story about what motivates anyone and what has shaped his or her demeanor or behavior. I find that exploration very intriguing as I work through my own issues of trying to be compassionate, sympathetic, and nonjudgmental. Ironically, I get most irritated and impatient with people when I feel they're unwilling to look deeper into situations and personalities and instead make snap judgments. I find that type of black-and-white thinking incredibly stupid and, well there you go: a lesson for me about working on my own judgments.

One final issue that keeps coming up for me when I see films or read some works of fiction: I have such a problem with "realism" that I'd call it an impediment. I have trouble taking leaps of faith in otherwise "believable" stories unless the conceit is handled in an exaggerated or highly stylized manner as in magic realism, broad satire, or fable. This is a problem for me -- not in detracting from my enjoyment of a story -- but in thinking that I could never release myself enough to write a story if I didn't feel that every narrative choice was inscrutable. I probably should get over that somehow. Just a thought. (And yes, the film does have a bit of that: a central element that I find not wholly believeable, but upon which the entire premise of the story rests.)

In any case, I highly recommend this film; it's exactly embodies the reasons I love going to the movies.

Sunday Morning

2008-11-30T12:02:00.000-08:00

The weekend's been a good one. Dinner at the Canary Hotel with J on Thursday was really nice. The rest of the weekend involved a bit of shopping; reading the morning paper at cafes; going to the Saturday Farmers' Market; gardening; dining on fresh gazpacho, bread, and taleggio cheese; a movie; and enjoying the great sunny weather and mild 68-degree temperatures. Before the weekend's done I may make a pear-ginger upside-down cake, but first I really need to make a dent into cleaning up this house and various piles of clothes that need folding, as well as a mountain of paperwork and unopened mail. And then there's that angst about starting the workweek tomorrow... though things really aren't bad at work, aren't very busy, and may include a two-night business trip to West Los Angeles, followed by a Saturday reunion with college friends in Sacramento and a night in San Francisco.

Why am I having this existential crisis again? Oh yeah... the future. Much as one tries to live -- like a good aspiring Buddhist -- "in the present moment," that pesky future thing can't totally be ignored all the time.

All these wonders by the Master's hand

2008-11-23T22:01:00.000-08:00

The following excerpt from a Los Angeles Times story made me almost cry on Friday, and has been haunting me since then. It's not that I have an illusion that I could ever "save" a child in a situation as bad as this one, but thinking about it reminds me how much I would love to actually raise and nurture a child. Maybe it's a ridiculous concept -- having that wish to nurture a child in ways in which one was not nurtured oneself (I don't think that kind of motive is exactly a successful one for raising a child, since it projects too much of the caregiver's unmet needs onto him or her).

However, that fantasy is still there: the fantasy of being a stay-at-home parent with a co-parent like W. or someone similar. It makes my heart ache because I know it's unlikely that I will ever be living in that type of situation. I supposed it's probably better to cultivate fantasies that have a greater likelihood of being actualized....
------------------------

Cowburn and her husband had tried unsuccessfully to get their insurance company to pay for mental health treatment for the boy. The difficulty she had keeping him under control had already helped drive her to attempt suicide last year. Now she felt she had only one option: She flew with her child to Nebraska last week and tearfully left him there.
...
About four years ago, a crack addict in a North Carolina Wal-Mart handed her 16-month-old son to Melyssa Cowburn and promised to return after buying diapers. When the woman didn't come back, Cowburn -- herself adopted -- became the boy's guardian.

"I was 24," said Cowburn, who asked that the boy not be named in this article. "I just thought, 'I'm going to love this little guy, and it's just going to make everything better.' "

That wasn't the case. The child screamed for hours on end and kicked at her. As he grew, he learned how to rip molding off doorways in their rented houses and stab Cowburn's cat. He was routinely expelled from day-care programs for violence.

Cowburn said she took him to a hospital after one violent episode, and doctors diagnosed him with reactive attachment disorder, a rare condition that warps a child's personal relationships and stems from early abandonment. She later learned that the boy's birth mother was schizophrenic.

Cowburn's husband, Adam, an ex-Marine, rejoined the military to pay for the child's medications. He was deployed to Afghanistan last year. Melyssa Cowburn returned to Omaha, where her mother lives. At wit's end, she swallowed prescription pills one night and was rushed to the hospital. Her 79-year-old mother was unable to care for the boy while Cowburn recovered. The child was placed into Nebraska foster care for several months.

The state said the child seemed to improve, but Cowburn said he simply returned with a new roster of curse words. Cowburn's husband was deployed to Washington state, where the couple struggled to get insurance to cover medications. Social workers there said they could not take the child unless the parents were abusing him.

In despair after the assault on a friend's infant, the fire and the flood, Cowburn took her boy back to Omaha and drove him to Immanuel Medical Center the night of Nov. 13. She told him she was taking him to the hospital so he could get better.

"Maybe," the child said, according to Cowburn, "you can find a little boy who's better."

"I don't want anyone better," Cowburn said. "I want you."

She cried the entire drive back to her mother's home.

~ from “Parents' despair is left at Nebraska's doorstep” by Nicholas Riccardi
Los Angeles Times; November 21, 2008

Tierra del Fuego

2008-11-23T20:46:00.000-08:00

It's been well over a week now since flames were racing up and down the foothills a mere two miles from the house I live in. The strangeness of the experience has all but dissipated now, and the only people I know who were directly affected are mere acquaintances.

That Thursday night was an exercise in putting "impermanence" into practice, though. J and I had been driving home from work and immediately saw flames in the distance from the freeway, but it was hard to tell exactly where they were located. As we flipped around the all-news AM radio stations and got closer to town, it was apparent that the fire was up in the foothills, but definitely somewhat close to Santa Barbara. We weren't particularly alarmed and did an errand or two downtown, which by then smelled fairly smoky and had a few flurries of ash raining down.

We parted ways and when I arrived home I found my upstairs neighbor loading an armful of clothes into her car. Although I had talked to J about the possibility of packing up some stuff and spending the night at her place, it wasn't until I saw my neighbor that I thought things might be kind of serious. Not urgent, but serious -- at least for our neighborhood.

Since I knew some parts of the city were without electricity due to the proximity of the fire to some power lines, I decided I'd rather pack up some stuff before the power outage spread to our area. I live in the lower part of the foothills, and figured that there was only a slim chance of the fire coming this far. Even without a sense of "real" urgency, the exercise of packing up belongings "just in case" the place might burn down was an interesting exercise.

What would you pack up and take? I had a good couple hours to pack in a leisurely way, but what if I had only had mere minutes?

In ended up taking a few days' worth of clothes. A large shoe box of photos and negatives, some photo albums, and a couple of framed photos. A small framed lithograph I bought in Venice. Several wooden carvings from my time in Africa. Cameras. A box of blank checks. My passports. Eyeglasses. A toiletry case and all my supplies of medications. An entire box of colognes and perfumes (don't laugh: it's become a hobby and the entire collection is worth an amount of money that I'm almost embarrassed to admit).

My scrapbook from Africa and several old handwritten journals were packed up also. I had to dig around in a couple of boxes for some of the journals, and even then there were some that I just couldn't find (and I still haven't figured out where they are). I've made a mental note that I really should collect all of those journals and have them in one place. In this digital age, it would be nice if I had a scanner and could digitize all of them; I've also thought of transcribing them into some kind of online repository, but who knows how long before I get around to something like that.

The only book I grabbed was an exhibition catalogue inscribed for me by a former boyfriend (he had helped curate the exhibition).

So in the end: impermanence. I had to consider what would happen if I lost it all. My friend, J, seemed quite upset at the idea of losing all her objects -- even though her place was much further from the fire than mine, we both imagined what would happen if winds blew the fire Armageddon-like through the city. Although I could say it certainly bothers me, I don't know that I would be crushed to lose my possessions. There's part of me that feels that it would be great to have everything wiped clean and make a fresh start from nothing. However, without renter's insurance, that might actually be a heartbreaking (and budget breaking) situation.

I still haven't unpacked and put back in place everything I threw together that Thursday night. I also really need to go through my closet and the boxes of possessions that are stored all over this apartment and get rid of so much stuff. I have a hard time parting with many things, but part of me really hates "stuff" and has grown to hate it even more as time passes.

There was a time when almost everything I had was able to be transported in a single carload across the country. That time seems so carefree and exciting now. It's not that I have expensive pieces of furniture that I can't part with (though there are a couple nice pieces I wouldn't want to just pitch in a dumpster). I still find it hard to part with certain items of clothing, even when I haven't worn them for years (or in some cases, over a decade). I've saved almost every handwritten letter I've ever received, and many greeting cards as well, if they have significant inscriptions. There is one overflowing shoebox of programs, handouts, and flyers for performances I've attended.

Coincidentally, This American Life replayed an episode today about people who have to clean up the belongings of those who die with no next of kin. It's worth thinking about: What will happen to all our "stuff" when we're gone, whether we die unexpectedly in a bus crash tomorrow or if we live another twenty or thirty years? Isn't it worth doing a little winnowing ourselves now to spare some poor soul the job of having to figure out what to do with that Pikachu bath toy that looked so cute years ago when we just had to buy it?

Maybe that's why it might be a good idea to move residences more often -- and not just haul all the same boxes of junk to the new address, but to use moving as an opportunity to pare down and clean out.
-----------------------------

Which brings me to my next topic (although I feel like I've written more than I wanted to at this point and maybe I should wrap things up): I really feel like leaving California more than ever lately.

Not that I really want to leave, but I've been in an indecisive limbo about how and where to live my life for so long now. It will break my heart to leave California whenever that happens, but I feel such a strong pull back to the Northeast (mainly because of my grandmother's advancing age) that I know I can't just keep feeling this tug indefinitely without some possibly tragic psychic consequences.

In addition, developments at work have conspired to make me entirely fed up and depressed about the situation there. Without elaborating, I'll just say that I'm pretty much being moved to another affiliated unit against my will, and while it's being spun as an "opportunity!" by some, what I really feel is that it's an opportunity for my direct supervisors not to have to deal with me challenging them or making them uncomfortable now and then. Seriously, I'm just disgusted, but as I said, also depressed because at times like this I really start to think about other job options and I seriously have NO IDEA what my qualifications are, if any. They're so generic, in my mind, as to be meaningless.

In truth, all I want to do lately is sleep because I'm so depressed, and while I'm not really actively thinking of suicide (honestly, I'm way too afraid of death), the thought does cross my mind about how such an act might play out. Sleep is so enjoyable that eternal sleep doesn't seem like much stretch or hardship. Seriously, though, I don't view suicide as something that might happen in the near term, but I do wonder if that's ultimately going to be one of the most likely options in the far-off future. My health is declining and will only continue to do so. I have, essentially, no career, and the thought of trying to "sell oneself" to prospective employers as age advances and one is less likely to be perky enough to pull it off with enthusiasm alone (especially when one doesn't really have a "profession") just seems more and more ridiculous. And the carnage of a few disastrous relationships recedes into the more and more distant past with nothing promising on the horizon to replace them.

I want to sell off all my things and pack it all up by April for a retreat to New Jersey. That also plays into a childish fantasy of "sticking it to" my employers by leaving at an inopportune time. Silly, but it feels good to have that fantasy right now.

However, the stress of worrying about health insurance, possibly buying a car, trying to come close to earning my current salary... and the chances of working at something I love and that would satisfy me on a molecular level.... it's all too much, so here I sit contemplating crawling into bed at 9:40pm (and here I was intending to soak in a bath tonight).

“Television in India is so uplifting!”

Never Can Be Broken

2008-11-11T16:02:00.000-08:00

No earthly church has ever blessed our union
No state has ever granted us permission
No family bond has ever made us two
No company has ever earned commission

No debt was paid no dowry to be gained
No treaty over border land or power
No semblance of the world outside remained
To stain the beauty of this nuptial hour

The secret marriage vow is never spoken
The secret marriage never can be broken

~Sting (from “Nothing Like the Sun”)

This song has been haunting me for the last week; it and I go way back.

Listen here. Bring Kleenex if so inclined.

Pulse

2008-11-04T00:01:00.000-08:00

Lift up your eyes upon
This day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.

Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands,
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new chances
For a new beginning.
Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.

The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out and upon me, the
Rock, the River, the Tree, your country.
No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.

Here, on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes, and into
Your brother's face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope --
Good morning.

~Maya Angelou

Los Muertos

2008-11-02T23:00:00.001-08:00

I decided to set up a little ofrenda on my mantel tonight to commemorate Día de los Muertos. I was introduced to this tradition in practice when I stayed with my friend B at his house in San Miguel de Allende back in 2006 (see some photos here.)

The photos I put up are of my grandfather and my friends Chris and Dianne, who are really the only significant people I've lost in my life (though there are some great aunts and uncles I could include as well). Chris, of course, was sadly added to this group just last summer. Note the small glass of whiskey, which I know all three of these people I love would heartily enjoy.

Spending Día de los Muertos in Mexico made me realize what a nice tradition it is -- and in many ways, an important one that we all should probably learn from. I think connecting back with our dead loved ones is a form of respect, a recognition of the love we shared, and (maybe most importantly, at least for me) a clear reminder of our own mortality and to not take one minute of life for granted. I also like the fact that in Mexico it seems to be a fairly joyous and lighthearted holiday, a time for people to enjoy themselves as well as a time to come together and trek to cemeteries to decorate the resting places of their dead.

In a similar vein, a non-Jewish friend of mine has taken to observing the Jewish tradition of Yahrtzeit, lighting a candle and setting up a small shrine on the anniversaries of her parents' deaths.

I believe we still carry on relationships with those we love, even after they've passed... and that they carry on relationships with us. Some of my most beloved and tender dreams are those in which the three people I've commemorated in this altar have appeared. I especially remember a dream in which Dianne and I shared a beautiful and heartfelt hug, during which I was able to say to her, very sincerely, "Oh, I've missed you." That dream-hug was as real as any I've experienced in my waking hours.
“One by one we are all becoming shades. Better to pass boldly into that other world in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age... Think of all those who ever were, back to that start of time, and me transient as they flickering out as well into their grey world, like everything around me, this solid world itself which they reared and lived in is dwindling and dissolving. Snow is falling....”
~James Joyce, “The Dead”

Persimmon Sunday

2008-11-02T21:48:00.001-08:00

I haven't yet sunk my teeth into one of these crunchy delights, but I will soon. The thing is, I don't exactly love persimmons (or kaki, their Japanese name). If anything, I'm indifferent. Their flavor is very subtle, and reminds me of something almost as bland as sugarwater: pleasant enough, but nothing that makes me crave them as I do some other fruits and foods. They're always far too beautiful to pass up buying a few, though, and I'm determined to try to enjoy them once again and maybe discover some hidden ambrosia quality that has thus far eluded me.
Tell them
I was a persimmon eater
who liked haiku
~Masaoka Shiki, 1897

“Not all good things come to an end now... only a chosen few”

2008-10-26T12:48:00.000-07:00

Far and wide I'll search for my baby
I won't let pride stand in my way
This heart inside will always love him
And somewhere some night among the neon lights
I'll find my baby

Alone tonight I see from my window
Those city lights you left me for
Are they still bright? Or have they faded?
Well, give up the lights and come back tonight
I need you, baby

My only plan is to search again
Each night when lights are blue
I'd let him go but my heart knows it's one thing I can't do
And somewhere some night among the neon lights
I'll find my baby

~Laura Cantrell

μουσακάς Sunday

2008-10-12T21:03:00.000-07:00

That's Mr. Moussaka to you. One thing is certain: I will never waste away from lack of eating due to depression.

Actually, I've been both feeling great mood-wise and also more sanguine about my not-really-a-weight-problem weight problem.

Although I probably weigh more than I ever have in my life and could stand to lose ten pounds to close in on my ideal weight, the other day I realized that I don't feel as self-conscious about my body as I sometimes have felt. In fact, the other day, I felt pretty damn good, and as I walked down the street with a smirk on my face, a very silly realization came to mind: I was thinking, "If I weren't on these damn meds, I know I'd be a lot thinner."

And then, just seconds later, I thought, "Yeah, if I weren't on these meds, I bet I'd most DEFINITELY be a LOT thinner... 'skeletal,' you might say."

That, ladies and gentlemen, is my way of putting things into context.
-----------------------------

And for some brief recommendations on the culture front:

· I still have to watch the final two (of six) hours of La Meglio Gioventù, but I highly recommend it for those of you looking for worthwhile additions to your Netflix queue (I believe my queue is approaching 450 titles, which probably includes no more than 25 titles that I've already seen).

· Last weekend I discovered (thanks to KCRW) the Swedish music group Detektivbyrån (link to their MySpace page where you can have a listen) and immediately downloaded one of their albums. I find their instrumental music sweet like children's lullabies and at the same time intensely melancholy. It's a bit like a mashup of cheesy 1970s science-fiction television show soundtracks and merry-go-round or jack-in-the-box music. One review I read said their music is much like the Yann Tiersen's music for the film Amélie, and upon relistening to a bit of that, I'd agree. I also need to look up who did the music for Pan's Labyrinth, because I recall similarities to some of that film's score as well.

A good friend of mine, by the way, has commented many times that she is almost totally oblivious to the music in films.

Anyway, that's what passes for my idea of excitement lately. The days are getting shorter, and our version of a cold snap descended late last week with wild winds on Friday afternoon and evening. The chill was perfect for hunkering down, alone but content, under the comforter.

“I had not always bleared eyes and red eyelids; neither did my nose always touch my chin...”

2008-09-23T23:26:00.000-07:00

Were you ever told that people don't want to be around someone who is moody?

I'm not sure I've ever been given that advice directly, in so many words, but let's face it, it's advice like that that makes the world go round -- and sure, often the sentiment itself is true enough.

But you know, sometimes you just have to say, "Screw it," and be moody anyway.

I am happy to report that the week is going better, for no reason perhaps, other than that time has elapsed.

And with that, I leave you with the inimitable words of Marge Simpson:

“...it doesn't matter how you feel inside, you know? It's what shows up on the surface that counts. That's what my mother taught me. Take all your bad feelings and push them down, all the way down, past your knees until you're almost walking on them. And then you'll fit in, and you'll be invited to parties, and boys will like you, and happiness will follow.”

“I give you leave to throw me headforemost into the sea.”

2008-09-21T17:38:00.000-07:00

“This ridiculous foible is perhaps one of our most fatal characteristics; for is there anything more absurd than to wish to carry continually a burden which one can always throw down? to detest existence and yet to cling to one's existence? in brief, to caress the serpent which devours us, till he has eaten our very heart?”

“While he was thus lamenting his fate, he went on eating.”

2008-09-18T20:33:00.000-07:00

I find myself regularly remembering a line from Cunningham's The Hours:
He was the person she loved at her most optimistic moment.
Romantic love's not necessarily even the primary issue these days, though it — or its absence — is a major thematic thread. I'm having trouble remembering what my most optimistic moment was, or if I ever had one.

I think I had one, because I know that there was a time when life seemed full of possibilities, even if I didn't know what they were. There was still excitement and discovery somewhere around the bend, and it's what prodded me on toward California and Africa once upon a time, without caring whether I had a plan or if I really knew what I was doing.

At some point, those undefined possibilities became unfocused dreams and maybe too many questions. They also ran headlong into financial and other practical realities, which now, more critically, include the non-negotiable requirements of comprehensive health insurance and an eternal (truly) regimen of expensive medications.

I've spent a lot of time learning (or unlearning) how to avoid getting stuck in the whirlpool of dissatisfaction. Buddhist philosophy and meditation experience (though not nearly enough of the latter) have helped substantially in that regard, but I still get stuck in this dilemma, which is maybe really more of a cliche: "Is that all there is?"

About a month ago, my answer to that would have been that it really didn't matter, and that I was ready for "this" or "that" to be all there is. This week, I'm not so sure.

I feel like I need to figure out something to look forward to other than more of the same. I don't believe in the hamster-wheel of discontent, but what's the answer?

Why do I sometimes feel this emptiness or this desire for something I can't even define... feel it so strongly that I want to thrash and scream until I figure out the answer?

Why haven't I grown up? What would that even feel like? Will I ever really be content?

Does anyone else feel this way?

What defines a whiny, lazy, loser?

Seven Thirty Three

2008-09-14T01:43:00.001-07:00

The back garden of my grandparents' house. I once grew things here, mowed the grass, sat reading on many warm evenings.

Lightning bugs at dusk: I didn't take any pictures of them, but I was thrilled at seeing them for the first time in probably well over a decade.

I think I almost forgot about their existence.
---------------------
An old man next door is dreaming over a sheen that sits
     in a cherry tree in his back yard.
The clocks say I must go--I stay here sitting on the
     back porch drinking white thoughts you rain down.
                                                                ~Carl Sandburg

Salubrity of the climate

2008-09-12T00:37:00.000-07:00

"Recommended by the salubrity of the climate as by its many other advantages it is not surprising that New Jersey was soon celebrated by the early writers with higher commendations than any other of the colonies. The proprietaries stimulated by the hope of a rich revenue industriously proclaimed its advantages in Europe and America and from time to time despatched from England vessels freighted with settlers and stores to reinforce the numbers and supply the wants of their people."
~The History of New Jersey From Its Discovery by Europeans, to the Adoption of the Federal Constitution
(Thomas Francis Gordon, 1834)

July 11. The SEPTA R1-R7 trip from Philadelphia International to Trenton. Images include:
* Philadelphia 30th Street Station
* 30th Street Hoagie
* Tacony station stop (very Third World, non?)
* Bristol station stop with Grundy Mills visible
* Scene near Bristol
* Delaware River crossing
* Delaware River with view of "Trenton Makes" bridge (image from July 15)

Het gat

2008-09-10T08:33:00.000-07:00

That literally means "the hole" but can also, I believe, mean "the inlet" in a geographic sense (where is SK?). The previous post got me thinking about the origin of the name Barnegat, and I think I'd heard way back in seventh-grade "Social Studies" class that it was derived from something Dutch (and I think around that time I was in the nascency of my nederlandophilia). A memorable class went something like this: "What are some local Indian place names?" Mantoloking, Manalapan, Assunpink... "What are some local Dutch place names?" Kill Van Kull, Schuylkill, Hoboken.

Well, apparently, Barnegat comes from the phrase barnde gat or barende gat (see here and here). I even found an example of a Barnde Gat that still exists in Nederland:

Noorder IJplas
Locatie: Ten noordwesten van Amsterdam, staat ook bekend als Barnde Gat.

[NB: greater detail of the 1878 map above can be seen here and here.]

Zonsondergang = Sunset

2008-09-09T23:42:00.000-07:00

Better late than never: I'm finally getting around to posting photos from my trip to New Jersey in mid-July. It was the first time in many years -- perhaps since the mid-1990s -- that I've been able to visit there during the height of summer, and it was glorious and bittersweet. In some ways, it always feels as if I never left, but of course I know that I have and that visits like this one are somewhat rare.

I spent time at the family beach bungalow on Long Beach Island with my mother, grandmother, uncle, brothers and their significant others -- and in the case of my youngest brother, his stepdaughter and my 13-month old nephew. Writing about it now, it seems like it was so much longer than two months ago. Summer vacations have often been like that for me: dreamlike in their intensity and the way they're carried forward into memories.

After the age of about eleven, I grew up in a town that wasn't on the ocean, but was located in Ocean County nonetheless. This meant that the water was never much more than a thirty-minute drive away or so, to towns with names like Point Pleasant and Seaside Heights. But summer vacation was further south, in Surf City on Long Beach Island, and as cliched as that name sounds, nowhere else evokes summer and the beach for me more.

Here are just a couple of the many pictures I took there this summer. I chose to title this zonsondergang due to the fact that I often remember my art teacher in high school telling us that he was enamored of Dutch landscape paintings because their sweeping renderings of sky and flat marshland reminded him a lot of our landscape along the New Jersey coast (he lived much closer to those beach towns, one of the towns on the bays, inlets, and creeks). It may seem like a silly comparison, but I can see it easily -- the incredibly flat land, the tiny sliver of marshy bog beneath a tumultuous and colorful sky... this is sunset over the Barnegat Bay:

Den vackra söndagen

2008-09-08T22:23:00.000-07:00

I think every week should end with (or begin with?) a three-day weekend. It may be the next best thing to not working at all, and we know that that option's not coming into play anytime soon. I may try to adjust my schedule for a few months later in fall so that I either leave at noon every Friday or take every other Monday off; that's a ten percent reduction in time, which the esteemed Institution for which I work seems to be encouraging people to do in these uncertain times. My department seems to be "flush" enough, as our budget doesn't change with the wind as so many do. Still, since we're not so busy after September, I may run this by Those Who Wield Control and see how it goes over. I just need to figure out if and for how many months I might be able to deal with a reduction in net pay. I may need to learn to reduce the amount of money I fritter away on various trifles; perhaps not a bad strategy.

In the meantime, the following photos sum up my dinner and dessert -- eaten after attending a string concert at the neighborhood Episcopal Church -- on what was a really incredible Sunday.

First up was Green Beans with Pork and Tofu (Thai Prik Khing style, with garlic, fresh green chile, red chile paste, and shrimp paste), lest you think that all I ever cook and eat are desserts. Of course, it was followed up with the next-to-last piece of Peach Custard Pie, because the pâtissier in me just can't be kept down.

Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido...

2008-09-02T21:00:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday!

... He visto desde mi ventana
la fiesta del poniente en los cerros lejanos.

A veces como una moneda
se encendía un pedazo de sol entre mis manos.

Yo te recordaba con el alma apretada
de esa tristeza que tú me conoces.

Entonces, dónde estabas?
Entre qué gentes?
Diciendo qué palabras?
Por qué se me vendrá todo el amor de golpe
cuando me siento triste, y te siento lejana?

---------------------------

... I have seen from my window
the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.

Sometimes a piece of sun
burned like a coin in my hand.

I remembered you with my soul clenched
in that sadness of mine that you know.

Where were you then?
Who else was there?
Saying what?
Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly
when I am sad and feel you are far away?

Ginger-Rhubarb Loaf Monday

2008-09-01T22:36:00.000-07:00

So, I figured out that the way to really get comments out of you folks is to turn this into a food blog. Serve the people! [Oh, and FYI, this tastes ok, but it's really nothing special; I keep trying with the rhubarb, but I think I'm going to stick to just turning it into a basic compote from now on... maybe with variations on the compote... which is better than applesauce, in case you wondered...]

Black Mission Fig Saturday

2008-08-30T23:23:00.000-07:00

Stuffed with Danish blue cheese

The secret of magic is that the world is made of words

2008-08-30T19:06:00.000-07:00

"... you always have the power to create heaven or hell through the words you choose, Pisces, but right now is a potential turning point when you could form good habits."

Timely advice, perhaps, from Rob Brezsny's weekly pearls of wisdom.

Sarah Palin: Trojan Horse in an Up-Do

2008-08-30T18:29:00.000-07:00

Mark my words.

Questions we don't really want answers to...

2008-08-26T17:35:00.000-07:00

Today, someone from Eugene, Oregon, happened upon this here blog by Googling the following text (without quotes): f***ing my 73 year old mother in law

I am grateful that my page was only the 25th result returned: a post entitled "73-Year-Old HIV+ Texas Lay Chaplain Arrested for Needle Exchanges."

No idea....

Crankypants, Heal Thyself

2008-08-21T13:37:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty sure I clipped this Cathy Guisewite cartoon from the newspaper around 1990 or 1991. It's apparent I've learned a lot since then, right? Right?? [Cue cartoon bubble above my head reading "sigh..."] Cathy: And would you mind not throwing newspapers all over my nice clean floor??!

Irving: Hey, sorry! I'll just go home!

C: No... I don't want you to go.

I: Cathy, you've been snapping at me for two hours. You must not want me here.

C: No... you've been great. I just feel fat and grouchy and disgusted with myself.

I: Why are you taking it out on me?

C: The person I'm really sick of in this relationship is the one I can't break up with.

[dedicated to Salty Miss Jill]

Upside of Anger?

2008-08-17T22:11:00.000-07:00

Is there one?

We're supposed to allow ourselves to "feel our emotions" and accept them, recognize them, give them free rein to a degree. At least that's what we're told in the post-psychologized world where the jargon of therapy is bandied about as if we really know what we're talking about when we throw around terms like "codependent" and "projection."

My anger worries me sometimes. It's not the kind of anger that erupts in physical abuse, picking fistfights, smashing glassware, punching holes in walls, or anything like that. It's more of a slow burn that lashes out with sarcastic, blunt, passive-aggressive comments toward those around me. I don't like it -- and like any dysfunctional abuser, I'm ultimately sorry for my misanthropic moments, but I feel somehow powerless to stop them when I get into the red zone.

I'm supremely impatient, and I also allow myself to find fault with and become annoyed at the neurotic habits of others (nevermind that we all have such habits).

My impatience and my blunt, cutting remarks sometimes get me in trouble, and they ultimately aren't indicative of the kind of person I want to be. I've been trying to cultivate a mind of "lovingkindness" for several years now, and in theory I understand and aspire to the concept of human imperfection (even -- or especially -- my own). But all learning about this goes out the window when something sets me off.

It makes me sad, this impatience of mine. I don't want to cut people down, belittle them, hurt them. And the truth is, I've gotten better; sometimes I think that's all I can aspire to: gradual improvement.

But nights like tonight when I realize that I was sitting at work, getting extremely irritated and ready to spit fire at the next person to approach me... these are the moments when I feel I haven't progressed at all. I'm still some petulant, childlike creature who is angry at unknown enemies, ready to slam doors, stomp feet, and give terse, one-word answers to anyone who dares question me.

And I want to just say, "Try, Joe, please TRY to be pleasant and happy and kind to others, because really, all's well in the world and everyone else is only doing their best and because life is short really, so why get irritated when this will all be over in the blink of an eye."

In the end, I wonder: how can someone so loving and sensitive be so damn nasty and mean sometimes?

I need to do more work on this -- possibly daily. I have the following quote from the Dalai Lama posted on the wall of my office; I think I want to meditate on it a little more often, and maybe search for a few other similar teachings to think about as well:

Whether people are beautiful and friendly or unattractive and disruptive, ultimately they are human beings, just like oneself. Like oneself, they want happiness and do not want suffering. Furthermore, their right to overcome suffering and be happy is equal to one's own. ...When you recognize that all beings are equal in both their desire for happiness and their right to obtain it, you automatically feel empathy and closeness for them. Through accustoming your mind to this sense of universal altruism, you develop a feeling of responsibility for others: the wish to help them actively overcome their problems. Nor is this wish selective; it applies equally to all.

Irony (or Atropos)

2008-08-01T00:00:00.000-07:00

This weekend, four fortyish, single, hiv-positive men will pile into a car in Northern California and drive to the memorial -- the celebration of life -- for a [probably] hiv-negative man whose life was cut unexpectedly, shockingly short at the age of 37.

Things happen.

Guest Performance

2008-07-27T13:43:00.001-07:00

The Buddha recommended that every person should remember every single day that we are not here forever. It is a guest performance, which can be finished any time. We don't know when; we have no idea. We always think that we may have seventy-five or eighty years, but who knows?

If we remember our vulnerability every single day, our lives will be imbued with the understanding that each moment counts and we will not be so concerned with the future. Now is the time to grow on the spiritual path. If we remember that, we will also have a different relationship to the people around us. They too can die at any moment, and we certainly wouldn't like that to happen at a time when we are not loving towards them.

When we remember that, our practice connects to this moment... We need to act now. We can only watch this one breath, not the next one.

~ Ayya Khema, When the Iron Eagle Flies

I will miss you, my friend

2008-07-25T00:34:00.000-07:00

Sally, I will miss you even though I don’t feel you are really gone.

I don’t know what to write; it’s still a shock to think that we’ll never laugh again together. I’ll never hear that cackle that gets me every time.

We were young together. We laughed. We studied. We partied. We fought. We got on each other’s nerves. We took nightclubbing road trips. We ogled UCSB boys. We ate burritos. We cooked Thanksgiving dinner. We explored nude beaches for the very first time. We shopped for used records in Hollywood. Oh l’amour -- broke my heart and now I’m aching for you! We both met serious boyfriends in Summer 1993.

We grew old(er) together… though far apart. I envied you and your husband. But I felt lucky to spend time with you both and know you were my friends.

You told me how much The Living End affected you. You always said, “You only live once, so why not!” You loved me unconditionally -- and for once, from someone, I felt it and believed it. You allowed me to be a crazy queen when around so many others I was and am Mr. Stick-Up-My-Ass. You got me to dance in public in ways I never danced before or since: Don’t Go Wasting Your Testosterone, Spray All Your Love On Me!

Our visits grew infrequent, but whenever I saw you, it was always as if we were roommates in Isla Vista again. We spoke a secret language sometimes, you and I.

Last year I finally told you I was “sick” and I worried that our time together would run out too soon, and it did, only not in the way I imagined and feared.

We talked a few times about me job hunting up there so we could regularly be in each other’s lives again, but I never did. Life happens.

I want to sit on your deck. I want to smoke pot and drink too much wine and I want to be silly in a way I rarely am these days. I want to go down to the Resort and watch the men and have you bring me a mudslide even though I don’t need one.

I want to go driving with you up the highway to the coast in your spectacular yellow car with the top down, because we never did that and I feel cheated, dammit.

I want to stop talking about when you’re going to finally come visit me because it’s been years and we really should take the time and it would be like the old days and you need to get away and I need to show you my new place and we need to relax and be friends again…

Only
We
Can’t

And I will miss you forever, but I know you’re listening, and I’ll try to dream of you so that I can say goodbye, because I really believe that we can talk to each other in dreams. You said you dreamed of me only three nights ago: Monday night, the night before you wrote your email to me. And I hope it was a good dream. I know it was. All my dreams of you will be good.

I promise.

Sally, I will miss you. For now.

xoxo - Judy

Buckeye Baby

2008-07-18T16:10:00.000-07:00

Ok, ok, this may be turning gradually into a Baby Blog. If I lived in closer proximity to my 14-month-old nephew, it definitely would.

Many many pictures to come from Central NJ and Long Beach Island, but suffice to say for now that I had a great time and I started to feel more determined than ever to start a job hunt back in my native state -- insurance fears, years of service, and defined-contribution plans be damned.

Along the midnight edge by those milk-white combs careering

2008-07-09T22:55:00.000-07:00

48 hours, plus ou moins.

When Life Gives You Lemons, Make Cherry Clafouti

2008-07-09T22:27:00.000-07:00

Yes, I know that doesn't even make sense.

Factory Work in Chişinău is So Uplifting

2008-07-09T22:15:00.000-07:00

During an otherwise ordinary weekend, I love discovering the existence of new third-world labor markets! (And so, I'm sure, does Gap, Inc.)

So, have you heard about this book, The Travels of a T-Shirt in the Global Economy?

Try. Move on.

2008-07-09T21:56:00.001-07:00

From: ---
Sent:Tue 7/08/08 1:25 PM
To: ---

... It was nice getting together for dinner a couple weeks ago. Thanks for making the time. I'll miss you when you move away, doggie.

Just let me know if you feel like getting married while it's still legal in California...

Better than 'Sicko'

2008-07-03T10:47:00.001-07:00

OK, my three faithful readers: this is important, y'all. I think the current NPR segments on comparative healthcare (link below) are really worth looking at and listening to. The piece on Germany's healthcare system aired this morning and I was extremely impressed. NPR might have done a better job exploring possible downsides of the German health system, but I really learned a lot from the comparative perspective.
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=91972152

Health care access is an issue that bothers me deeply -- not least of all because I feel literally chained to a job because I'm in "a situation" in which great health insurance coverage is a necessity. It pains me to think of how many people are slipping through the cracks, and I feel lucky, yet resentful that my career choice is dictated almost solely by insurance benefits. I know that sounds like a whine; I just don't believe career fulfillment versus health is a choice people should have to make. But yes, I'm lucky.

Lee Pace Wednesday

2008-07-02T12:38:00.000-07:00

I became kind of smitten with this heretofore unknown to me actor when I saw Tarsem Singh's The Fall a few weekends ago. Those eyebrows!

I thought The Fall was visually amazing and the locations swoon-worthy. The story was a little simple, though I'm a sucker for anything involving unrequited feelings, depression, the death of love, and other assorted fun topics. I found the way this was filmed to be much like the fairy tale it depicts and evocative of a short story or fable.

I can't believe Pace played a transsexual in Soldier's Girl, which I guess I'll need to add to the Netflix queue as I've never seen it. He may also be a good reason (along with Amy Adams) to rent Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day. Anyway, enjoy.

Religious Homo-Acceptability Quotients

2008-07-01T11:43:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, I enjoyed another of several recent summaries the Los Angeles Times has printed of the poll results from the Pew Forum on Religion & Public Life.

The details in the above chart of attitudes toward the homo-sexicals (click for very large view) are the type of data I love to pore over. I've highlighted the groups with the highest and lowest acceptance rates. I'm glad to see that Unitarians & Buddhists (I love my people!) are so accepting -- apparently even more so than atheists, which was somewhat surprising. And you've got to hand it to Reform Jews; I'm assuming they know from persecuted minorities! It also surprised me that American Catholics are so accepting. However, for all Il Papa's ranting and venom-spewing, I think the Catholic rep is at odds with how your typical Irish-/Italian-/Polish-/Mexican-Americans actually live their lives.

As for lack of surprises, the religious groups that are least accepting of teh gay? JWs, the Happy Mormons, and Evangelical Christians.

I was also somewhat encouraged by the weekend's news that the Presbyterian General Assembly voted to allow noncelibate singles (e.g., gays) to be ordained. It just shores up my general feeling that while the Evangelical crowd is very scary and hateful, they don't really represent the majority of the "religious" in this country, and not even the majority of Christians. They may be the most visible, vocal, and politically active, but I'm still optimistic that they don't have the power to completely hijack this country.

There were grief and ruins, and you were the miracle

2008-06-23T19:03:00.000-07:00

So... the only man that I've really thought of marrying in the last seven years -- the only one that it seemed feasible, somehow, to marry -- is moving three thousand miles away.

I guess I need to get over it. He's not coming to rescue me, and I should maybe take to heart that bit of advice for young girls who might be inclined to believe in Prince Charming.

Maybe I'll write about it sometime, but for right now, something feels dead inside. Even more than usual.

Todo te lo tragaste, como la lejanía.
Como el mar, como el tiempo. Todo en ti fue naufragio!

Love keeps no record of wrongs

2008-06-17T10:18:00.000-07:00

Happy nuptial wishes and long-lasting bliss to marrying Californians of every stripe today. Congratulations.

At least for today, love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Violet Newstead, please hold...

2008-06-16T11:45:00.000-07:00

This here Not-a-Bollywood-Beefcake Blog is going to have to get pushed even further onto a back burner (and hopefully won't fall behind the stove) while work craziness and the kickoff of busy season reign supreme.

An Angry Young Aesthetically-Challenged Curmudgeon indicated that he wanted something new to look at here. Hence, this post.

Delivery of a budget-stretching Dell laptop sometime around late July should help rectify this intolerable work-blog ratio. I guess I'll just run the risk of alienating my three faithful readers by not updating my content very often during the next few weeks.

If you're ever wondering if I'm still alive and kicking, have no fear: you can always check the comment boards at everyone's favorite gay blogdaddy.

Rahul Bose Tuesday

2008-06-03T17:24:00.000-07:00

I'm blatantly ripping off a regular feature of TigerYogiji, but I don't care.

After seeing the mediocre, melodramatic, but visually "nice" film Before the Rains on Sunday, I remembered how much I want to marry Rahul Bose (as a certain Sheepy would say: "my age"!). Of course, I probably wouldn't balk at accepting a proposal from his costar, Linus Roache, either. What I really wanted to see was a different sort of story: a village scandal set in the shadow of a tea plantation in late-Raj Kerala in which Linus & Rahul were embroiled in a steamy, forbidden love affair of their own. Sort of a Malankara version of Priest. I also have a few "wet sari" (more like wet dhoti?) fantasies of my own for Rahul to act in.

I see in the press notes for the film that my sweet-looking, petit ("my height"!) Rahul divides his time between Los Angeles, London, and India.

So next time you're in L.A., Rahul, call me, baby.

The View From Here: May 30

2008-05-30T11:44:00.000-07:00

Part of my tough morning commute: The Alice Keck Park Memorial Gardens.

Often incorrectly referred to as the "Alice Keck Park"... but "Park" was actually part of her name. Guess the city could have been silly and tried "Alice Keck Park Park."

So, yes, it's a nice Friday so far.

96 Tears or Fewer

2008-05-28T17:42:00.001-07:00

The following is one of the best "One-Liners" I've ever read at Overheard in New York:

“Awww, you're the sweetest friend ever! You almost made me cry, except that I can't cry -- I'm on Effexor!”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, just about sums it up. A couple of comments on my last post (hi, Jill and SubtleKnife) reminded me that there may be times that I slightly (and I mean slightly) lament the fact that I don't feel as emotionally "sensitive" as I once did in my pre-pharmaceutical days. However, there's really no reason to have tears silently streaming down one's face just because you switch on the car radio one day and hear strains of Springsteen's Thunder Road. I mean... really.

Serotonin Uptake Selectively Inhibited

2008-05-27T08:04:00.000-07:00

I got just slightly off my medication schedule last week -- not seriously, but obviously enough to make me a little... shall we say gloomy? Enough to have my eyes start welling up while walking through a bookstore Saturday afternoon and hearing their sound system playing "Strawberry Fields" from the "Across the Universe" soundtrack.

In any case, all is well now, and there will be nothing this week but smileys and puppies.

You'll Slip Away

2008-05-22T19:22:00.000-07:00

Where do we go from here?
This isn't where we intended to be
We had it all, you believed in me
I believed in you

Certainties disappear
What do we do for our dream to survive?
How do we keep all our passions alive,
As we used to do?

Nunca Jamás

2008-05-22T17:44:00.000-07:00

A few things I'll never do [again]:

Donate blood

Be a Peace Corps volunteer

Run a brush through my thick hair

Hug my grandfather or my friend Dianne

Know what it's like to have normal red-green vision

Compete in the Olympic Games

Still leaves a whole lot of possibilities, I guess...

And an order of Twice-Cooked Epidermis

2008-05-19T11:37:00.000-07:00

The third weekend heatwave in the last two months hit us this weekend, although temperatures -- mid to upper 80s -- this time weren't quite as high as they were during the last heatwaves (and Saturday & Sunday seemed cooler than Friday was).

I finally decided to tackle the first phase of my bedroom (more like bed-alcove) painting project. Here you see it. Yes, it is yellow -- nice of you to notice. I plan to glaze over it with a darker shade; stay tuned for home improvement updates.

Luckily, I finished painting, doing some planting in the garden, and temporarily rearranging my bed before.... sloshing some smoking hot peanut oil out of a wok and onto the top of my bare foot. Yowch. I wonder if Martha Stewart suffers such first-aid worthy indignities. The good news is that even with a small second-degree burn, I'm still able to finish whipping up a heap of Ma-Po Tofu. Martha Stewart's Sichuan doppelgänger would be proud. Gosh, my life is exciting.

Oh, and I finally finished reading Yann Martel's The Life of Pi, an amazing book which, if it doesn't necessarily make one believe in God, it sheds a beautiful and tragic light on the process by which we create and tell stories -- divine or otherwise -- for ourselves and others. The following terrific illustration is by Andrea Offermann.

He woke up and found that his dream of love was gone

2008-05-15T14:03:00.000-07:00

Just before waking this morning, I had a dream that I was in love.

In the dream I was kissing and intimately cuddling with my beloved, but it was not a sexual dream. He came from behind me when I was in a kitchen and embraced me and I turned only my head to kiss the face that he had pressed to my neck.

I don't know exactly who he was, but I can vaguely remember that dream face. I felt loved and I felt, somehow, protected.

There are feelings I miss terribly, and I miss just the act of sleeping in the same bed with someone.

"You have a good heart," a former boyfriend said in trying to console me many years ago as he was breaking up with me -- and as he was breaking that "good heart." That was at the beginning of what ended up being many years of debilitating and destructive depression.

I still miss him and the others.

One More Thing

2008-05-14T17:05:00.000-07:00

I just don't feel it. "It." Or anything, for that matter.

Channelling My Inner Soccer (Grand)Mom

2008-05-13T19:24:00.000-07:00

I realized today -- finally -- that who I hate isn't really Obama, but Obama supporters. My contempt for them runs the gamut from über-shrill and condescending Los Angeles Times columnist Rosa Brooks (whom I must disclose I've frequently enjoyed reading)... to the know-it-all older former hippie woman who pontificates on the bus... to one of my best friends.

Unfortunately, it's really going to take a strong force of will and maturity on my part to overcome a desire to blow raspberries at this smug group of acolytes and actually vote for their candidate in a general election. Because right now, I'm feeling a strong "f-you" impulse that just might last more than six months.

I'm really sad, more than anything, because I haven't been remotely lukewarm about this contest. A quote from a West Virginian today summed it up well for me:
That's what [Evelyn] Keener, 90, thinks, too. "There's 12 other countries that have woman presidents; why can't the U.S.?" she said from her Biscuit World booth. "That's what I want to see before . . . " -- she paused to rephrase her thought -- "in my lifetime."

From the Norsk-Magyar Test Kitchens

2008-05-13T18:05:00.000-07:00

Salmon with Dill-Chive Cream; Roasted Potatoes & Beets with Fresh Herb Vinaigrette

Chicken Paprikás
- diced bacon or pancetta
- boneless chicken thighs
- thinly sliced red onion
- shredded carrot
- bay leaf
- Hungarian sweet paprika
- white wine for deglazing
- rehydrated assorted dried mushrooms, minced, with broth
- chicken broth
- salt & pepper
- sour cream
- serve over buttered egg noodles (or better yet, homemade Nockerln)

And it bears repeating: This is not a food blog.

Hôtel Soba: Il y a treize ans

2008-05-12T17:55:00.000-07:00

Below is one of my favorite photos of myself. It sums up so much of that little half-week diversion to Bobo-Dioulasso and then Lomé with Olaf. It was easily one of the best weeks of my life.

I don't happen to remember the US dollar equivalent of CFA 16,470.

UPDATE: For those commenting on my cuteness and sex appeal -- note that I did look like this once upon a time. For those not proficient in French at all, note that the title of this post includes the phrase "13 years ago"... However, thank you for your kind and flattering words. That is all.

Placental, the sister of her brother Marsupial

2008-05-12T12:54:00.000-07:00

Did you hear the exciting news about the mapping of the platypus genome, or have you been under a rock? Fascinating stuff:

A scientific team published the genetic makeup of the Australian animal in the scientific journal Nature on Thursday, confirming that its features -- which straddle multiple animal classes -- are reflected in its DNA.

The research could help explain how mammals, including humans, evolved from reptiles millions of years ago, they said.

"At first glance, the platypus appears as if it was the result of an evolutionary accident," said Francis S. Collins, director of the U.S. National Human Genome Research Institute, which funded the study.

"But as weird as this animal looks, its genome sequence is priceless for understanding how mammalian biological processes evolved," Collins said in a statement.

Jenny Graves, an Australian National University genomics expert who co-wrote the paper, said the gene sequencing shows the platypus has a mix that crosses different classifications of animals.

"What we found was the genome, just like the animal, is an amazing amalgam of reptilian and mammal characteristics with quite a few unique platypus characteristics as well," she told Australian Broadcasting Corp.

The platypus is classed as a mammal because it has fur and feeds its young with milk. But it also has bird and reptile features -- it lays eggs, has a duck-like bill and webbed feet, it and lives mostly underwater. Males also have spurs on their heels that inject pain-causing venom to ward off mating rivals.

Scientists believe the platypus and humans shared an evolutionary path until about 165 million years ago when the platypus branched off. Unlike other evolving mammals, the platypus retained characteristics of snakes and lizards, Graves said.

This is absolutely NOT a wildlife or zoology blog.

Aucune condition n’est permanente

2008-05-09T20:07:00.001-07:00

Briefly: Today I forced myself to go to the University art museum to see Isaac Julien's video installation, Fantôme Afrique, just days before its scheduled closing. I'm so glad I went.

Really nothing astounding, just pure, beautiful yet somewhat mundane cinematography set in Burkina Faso. It was more than just that, of course, but this isn't a critique.

I still dream of a vacation that involves nothing more than taking a room at the spartan Hôtel Soba in Bobo-Dioulasso for a month. As ridiculous and pretentious as it may sound, I dream of that so much that I can taste it.

* * *
A good opportunity also to bring attention to the recent passing of Aimé Césaire, le père de la 'négritude'. Reading his obituary in late April made me think of the wonderful Martiniquan film, La Rue Cases-Nègres (although it was based on a book by author Joseph Zobel, not by Césaire), and also the Malian film La Vie sur Terre, in which the narrator quotes abuntantly from Césaire.

I highly recommend both films.

[See also some nice images from Fantôme Afrique at this blog site.]

O'Possum Sunday

2008-05-08T17:07:00.000-07:00

This is NOT a wildlife blog.

And this isn't from this past Sunday, but April 20. I found this creature cowering and sniffing the air just inside the threshold of my apartment that afternoon. It startled me, and then I was worried that it would take off in a flash and set up residence in my box spring or something, only to terrorize me or give me rabies in the middle of the night. Then I realized that the creatures don't move so fast (as anyone knows who has closely avoided -- or actually succeeded in -- turning the slowly waddling animals into roadkill).

However, I noticed that the big white-and-orange cat from down the block was hovering outside, and I didn't want to shoo the 'possum into those drooling feline jaws, so I gently nudged it out the door and then chased the cat away. The 'possum hid behind a potted plant, then started foraging in some flower beds for awhile. I'm not sure how it ended up faring, because it sort of just disappeared when I went back to check on it after awhile. I was a little worried because it appeared to be a "juvenile," and I've read that opossums generally take cover during daylight hours, so I didn't want it getting attacked or picked off by some hungry crow. Ah well, the circle of life and all that... Be strong, Simba.

In any case, I know they're kind of reviled as beady-eyed ground-crawlers, but O-possums are cute! After all, it's one of G-d's lovely creatures like all the rest of us, right?

Argot Atrocity

2008-04-30T12:26:00.000-07:00

Ok, I've resorted to pilfering my comments on other blogs as fodder for my own posts. I actually have been meaning to post a few things lately, but haven't taken the time.

Anyway, I really enjoyed this little diversion (via Joe.My.God.) this morning. Especially since a client recently tried to tell me to correct my spelling of "complimentary" meaning "free"; she actually said it was a pet peeve of hers when people didn't write "complementary." I gently corrected her.

In any case, I wrote the following in response to the "definitely" site, and it really does perfectly sum up my attitude. Stick that in your Eats, Shoots, and Leaves.
=============
I love that site. However, it appears there's a glut of commenters whose true callings in life must have been to be copy editors. I say go for it and following your calling.

But unless you're trying to adopt the posture of an uptight ninth grade teacher, there's hardly anything more futile and unattractive as trying to be the language police. (Ooooh, I just started that sentence with "but"!)

Certain things irk me -- or more likely, make me giggle -- but I like to think of language as the living and evolving concept that it is. I have little doubt that within a couple of centuries, "your" may be standard for all forms of the word, and maybe "definately" will too, considering the frequency of the misspelling.

To paraphrase a minor female character in Serial Mom: "Language has CHANGED!" -- and keeps changing. (Of course, that's right before Kathleen Turner bludgeons her, saying, "NO it hasn't!").

Lilac Week

2008-04-17T17:37:00.000-07:00

Lilacs don't really grow well in Southern California -- at least not on the coast (I assume they need a hard freeze or something) -- so they're somewhat of a rarity. However, I've really loved them ever since I was a child, for some reason. I think it's the scent.

In any case, they appear at the shops and markets here for about two or three weeks sometime each spring, and even though I usually haven't had a line item for flowers in the budget lately, I decided this bunch was worth every penny of the $8.99.

Nothing says spring to me like this.

Him Werkinz on Universiteh Ph.D. Srsly!

2008-04-15T10:39:00.000-07:00

Reading Joe's recent post got me poking around a tiny bit on the LOLcat web universe. (Shut up, I have free time...)

Coming across one site made me think that, almost certainly, someone, somewhere, is or will soon be working on a linguistics dissertation that involves creating a comprehensive, academic grammar of LOLcat.

Academia is bullshit, man. Srsly.

But Sex is a Matter of Physics

2008-04-14T09:40:00.000-07:00

Sigh.

I have a feeling I know why I haven't been going on "dates" for awhile. It's because I'm afraid of exactly the kind of mental dilemma I'm in right now. Add a healthy dose of self-flaggelation and... Shazamm!: A perfect recipe for -- if not disaster -- discomfort and hand-wringing.

That being said, I'm glad I went out with S for dinner on Friday, and it met my expectation of "at least being able to get to know someone a little better" than I would in a random, late-night hookup (one of which we'd already had many months ago). And I did get to know him a little better. And he's a "nice guy." So you know what's coming...

It's not going anywhere romantically or physically, and I'm stuck in that, "should we just be friends?" scenario (assuming the opportunity to answer that question arises; for all I know, he'll never call again and I'll be spared the opportunity to squirm). Part of me wants to believe that you can't have too many friends. Another part of me feels that I'm happy with my life as it is and I don't need further competition for my free time, terrible as that sounds.

And then there's the big dilemma, which is just internal:
- What the hell is "Chemistry," anyway?
- Is it something we fool ourselves into thinking should exist -- that queasy feeling of delight when the emotionally unavailable stud-of-our-dreams walks in the room?
- Do we have the luxury of believing in chemistry after we're "of a certain age" (and yes, I know age is just a canard that has nothing to do with it)?

These questions are all starting to sound way too Carrie Bradshaw, but they're very real on my part. At some point do we settle for the "nice," stable, fairly well-adjusted-and-lacking-major-mental-issues guy and realize that hot, steamy, monkeysex is for twentysomethings and television characters? In any case, I think that monkeysex is overrated. I'd prefer someone with whom I can fairly innocently canoodle in flannel jammies (I'm exaggerating) on Saturday night and then spend Sunday morning discussing the Opinion and Arts section of the Times.

It seems sometimes like incredible karmic justice that my hyper-sexual early thirties would give way to a spinsterlike existence of weekends spent savoring the pleaseures of a soft mattress, a warm, fluffy comforter and some harpsichord études on the stereo.

Talk about issues.

That's amazing. Don't you think that's amazing?

2008-04-11T13:35:00.000-07:00

So, I sort of have an actual "date" tonight... with someone I frolicked with at least four to six months ago.

I shouldn't say more, except that I'm feeling the way some overly jaded forty-year-olds might. I need to remember that Friday night "dates" haven't exactly been burning up my social calendar as of late.

I no longer love the way you hold your pens and pen - - cils

2008-04-10T09:12:00.000-07:00

I attended Laurie Anderson's performance of Homeland last night.

I wasn't impressed.

I can say I really enjoyed one piece/song, but I was disappointed that I didn't enjoy the entire show, since I was fairly blown away by her when she premiered Happiness at UCSB in 2002.

In any event, everyone needs to own a copy of Big Science.

Imagination Would Only Be a Liability

2008-04-08T14:13:00.000-07:00

So, I finally decide to try to start getting my money's worth from my Netflix four-at-a-time rental plan last night and watch Fassbinder's Die Ehe der Maria Braun.

Now I'm all, "What the f***??"

T$ has some 'splaining to do...

Naw, just kidding, I think I get it... I could probably manage to crank out a 'Film Studies 46' paper on it if I had to: Something along the lines of Maria, after the War, whores herself out literally and figuratively to the Americans and the French, and becomes, in her words, the "Mata Hari of the Economic Miracle," all the while waiting to be reunited with her man. But, boys and girls, it's not to be. Tragic last act. Maria can't have ihre Kuchen and eat it too.

Finally, I'll just say this: Love the hats. Love Hanna Schygulla in them.

These Little John Bullshits

2008-04-07T16:39:00.000-07:00

PARIS — France assigned 100 police officers to investigate the desecration on Sunday of 148 Muslim graves in a war cemetery in northern France. President Nicolas Sarkozy called the attack “sordid” and expressed “profound outrage” after it was discovered that vandals had hung a pig’s head from one tombstone, desecrated others and wrote slogans insulting Justice Minister Rachida Dati, who was born in France to parents from Northern Africa.

The graves were in the Muslim section of Notre Dame de Lorette, among France’s largest war cemeteries, near the northern town of Arras. The dead are mostly from World War I, and the Muslim graves, representing the dead of colonial armies, are turned toward Mecca.
~~ New York Times; April 7, 2008

Upon reading this nasty piece of news from "Old Europe," I can't help but think of the lyrics of a catchy and razor-sharp tune by that inimitable reactionary, Billy Bragg, upon whose music I cut my leftwing teeth lo two decades ago:At night the Baby Brotherhood and the Inter City Crew
Fill their pockets up with calling cards
And paint their faces red white and blue
Then they go out seeking different coloured faces
And anyone else that they can scare
And they salute the foes their fathers fought
By raising their right hands in the air
Oh look how my country's patriots are hunting down below
What do they know of England who only England know

Young, Gifted, and Black

2008-04-07T11:21:00.000-07:00

I haven't really reflected much, if at all, on the anniversary of MLK's assassination. However, on yesterday's Weekend Edition, NPR ran a terrific piece on a concert given at the Westbury Music Festival on Long Island by my absolute musical idol, Nina Simone, mere days after that infamous event. Specifically, they covered a 13-minute song she performed called "Why? (The King of Love is Dead)". I love Simone, but wasn't previously aware of this song.

The story includes an interview with Simone's brother and organist, and his choked-up remembrance emotionally drove home to me the gravity of the assassination and got me a bit choked up as well. As trite as this may sound, I finally understood and felt something which had until then been mere history on the page.

Highly recommended listening at the NPR story website.

Also highly recommended: Film of Simone Live at Montreux. Volcanic.

The View From Here: Rainy Wednesday Evening

2008-04-03T11:33:00.001-07:00

Resurrection*

2008-04-03T09:53:00.000-07:00

Well, everyone... in the immortal words of Neil Diamond, The Cars, and Dave Matthews: Hello Again.

As a good friend recently wondered: Life may begin at forty, but does that mean blogging ends?

The answer is: of course not. I never intended this recent hiatus to go on as long as it has. Let's just say I've been lazy. And, more importantly, TIRED. Being a quadragenarian is hard work, I tell ya what! Yeah. Really.

Anyway, things have been going well. Just have a look at these incredible highlights from the merry-merry month of March:

I went on a five-night business trip to Sacramento
I moved into a private office at work and had the rest of our office reconfigured
I roasted a chicken for dinner
I spent a weekend in San Francisco, where...
I attended a one-woman Judy Garland revue (for the record, I detest Judy Garland, but I have a little more respect for her after reading the entry on her on Wikipedia)
I clipped my fingernails a couple of times and, finally...
I took at least one rejuvenating bath while starting at the chipped paint on my bathroom ceiling

Who wouldn't be envious? In any case, it's good to be back. And many thanks to anyone who's missed me, and especially Papagayo, who was nice enough to post a plaintive and very nice "Missing You" comment. Diana Ross would be proud. Tell me why the road turns...?

* By the way, to prove how lazy I am (if there remained any question), this post was, of course, intended to go up more than a week ago, on that most holy of holy days: Easter Monday.