I think it's time for some news commentary......
The Swine Flu - Of COURSE I believe it's a pandemic. Everyone who knows me knows I've already bought gallons of fresh water, many cans of tuna fish, and a plethora of twenty pound bags of dried beans. I'm prepared and I know it's going to be just like a movie. I still wonder what exactly will cause everyone (except me, some close friends, family, B, Jay and my neighbors) to become flesh eating zombies.
Arlen Specter - You go, sir. I love it when Republican's come to their senses. Hahahaha.
Chrysler bankruptcy - Probably a good idea. I've driven Honda cars for over a decade and I've never had to take my car in for any repairs at all (unless I've misjudged my turning radius and plowed into another car). Maybe they'll restructure and figure out a way to make it work.
Obama's first 100 days - Yes, It's true, he's done a great job. It's very hard right now to not say things to piss off any Republcan friends I have left after the Specter comment. So, I won't say anything. In real words. Nah nah nah nah nah nahhhhh.
That's all the news I want to comment on right now. But there are two things I'm in a quandry about. They're not big things, or maybe they are, but I'm curious as to how to deal with them. There should be a place to send in big adult life questions. Like a type of Santa Clause who brings answers down the chimney instead of presents. Or a parent "lite" with all the answers but none of the guilt. So, I bring my questions here, because those other two options are unavailable, not for answers but for mulling over.
First, there is a girl I work with at one of my jobs who is clearly anorexic. At what point, as a human being, does one say something? Does one ever say anything? Maybe she's in treatment. Maybe she doesn't realize. I have no idea what protocal is here. Maybe, like Tori Spelling, she's just "thin" and I'm the one with the problem. Maybe it would send her over the edge. Maybe it would wake her up. How do we know when it's right to speak up?
The other is my blog. I've toyed with going private. The only thing is that then everyone has to log in to see it. I like having it public, aside from the fact that I believe there are a couple people checking in on me that are CRAZY. Just so you know it's not you (or so you know it IS you), I'll tell you, one's the ex of a friend, and one's the mom of an ex of mine. Hello, when I stopped seeing your son, I also stopped seeing you. And you, the other one, Miss G, why are you interested in ME? Both of you...it's time to move on. It's new territory I suppose, this web/blog/internet realm, and the nasty, lurking aspect of it is just a part of being visible (can you say obsession?). I can't control who buys my book (yes, yes, buy my book). And I think I might have even looked up, secretly, a few folks from years gone by, but then I let it go. I suppose it really doesn't matter. My blog friend Imez stopped blogging because a couple people she knew started reading her blog. It made me kind of sad when she stopped blogging because her blog was so real and honest and touching. But I could understand. Another blog girl went private and now I have to log on each time I want to read. But I refuse to stop! And I love that some of my friends read my blog. I wish EVERYONE read my blog, well, obviously except for a couple people. I suppose that if my words are that interesting, I should be flattered (that statement is SO my mom).
And lastly, B has a new, cool Etsy pottery site. It's kindkilnpottery.etsy.com check it out
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
12th Annual Northern Arizona Bookfest (Whooo-who!)
It's Bookfest weekend. I've been on the board of this darn Bookfestival for seven years. After the fourth year, I said I was done. But I stayed on. Now, I'm done. Or.....
Well, right now I get to just enjoy the weekend. We have Alberto Rios, Diana Gabaldon and Mark Gibbons tonight. More writers all day tomorrow (check out nazbookfest.com for the list...they're all terrific), and ROBERT BLY tomorrow night (Saturday). If you live around here, come to the Orpheum. If you don't, read even more poetry this weekend than you normally do. I've included a Robert Bly poem here......
Snowbanks North of the House by Robert Bly
Those great sweeps of snow that stop suddenly six
feet from the house ...
Thoughts that go so far.
The boy gets out of high school and reads no more
books;
the son stops calling home.
The mother puts down her rolling pin and makes no
more bread.
And the wife looks at her husband one night at a
party, and loves him no more.
The energy leaves the wine, and the minister falls
leaving the church.
It will not come closer
the one inside moves back, and the hands touch
nothing, and are safe.
The father grieves for his son, and will not leave the
room where the coffin stands.
He turns away from his wife, and she sleeps alone.
And the sea lifts and falls all night, the moon goes on
through the unattached heavens alone.
The toe of the shoe pivots
in the dust ...
And the man in the black coat turns, and goes back
down the hill.
No one knows why he came, or why he turned away,
and did not climb the hill.
Well, right now I get to just enjoy the weekend. We have Alberto Rios, Diana Gabaldon and Mark Gibbons tonight. More writers all day tomorrow (check out nazbookfest.com for the list...they're all terrific), and ROBERT BLY tomorrow night (Saturday). If you live around here, come to the Orpheum. If you don't, read even more poetry this weekend than you normally do. I've included a Robert Bly poem here......
Snowbanks North of the House by Robert Bly
Those great sweeps of snow that stop suddenly six
feet from the house ...
Thoughts that go so far.
The boy gets out of high school and reads no more
books;
the son stops calling home.
The mother puts down her rolling pin and makes no
more bread.
And the wife looks at her husband one night at a
party, and loves him no more.
The energy leaves the wine, and the minister falls
leaving the church.
It will not come closer
the one inside moves back, and the hands touch
nothing, and are safe.
The father grieves for his son, and will not leave the
room where the coffin stands.
He turns away from his wife, and she sleeps alone.
And the sea lifts and falls all night, the moon goes on
through the unattached heavens alone.
The toe of the shoe pivots
in the dust ...
And the man in the black coat turns, and goes back
down the hill.
No one knows why he came, or why he turned away,
and did not climb the hill.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Random Shmandom
Okay, a few things........
I saw a good movie. It's called "Sunshine Cleaners." Go see it. Kind of in the same vein as Little Miss Sunshine but a bit more believable (no one would ever really get up and dance with that little girl at the end...in fact, that whole final scene was pretty far fetched). There is a scene in Sunshine Cleaners - and this will not spoil it for you - when the main character girl (Amy Adams) goes to a baby shower. She is the feels-like-a-loser/outcast/working-as-a-house-cleaner going to the I-married-a-rich-guy, goodhair/nicemakeup, shiny SUV, diamond ring gal's house. She gets there and realizes who she is. I, and other girls like me, all realize that we're HER, the quirky, heart-of-gold (hahahaha), am-I-ever-going-to-get-it-right, girl. Now, my question is, do the women who see this movie that actually have the fine house with the maid, and the clean floors and the lack of serious paper piles all over the kitchen table (and any other empty space) recognize themselves? Or does everyone, even the perfect hair ladies, think they are the quirky main character? I'm just curious.
Also, there was a weird, depressing, yet horribly late-night-TV-joke-inducing moment at Starbucks yesterday. (Have you noticed I'm using too many - connectors?) So, a woman came through the drive-through. She had a cat in her car. I'm right there at the register, another barista was barring for me. As she starts to get her money out, she rolls her cat's tail up in the back window. The cat, who was up near the headrest of the driver's seat, goes APE SHIT. Starts attacking this poor woman. The cat's screeching. The woman's screaming. The cat's biting and clawing. The tail's caught. We are standing in the window totally unable to help or do ANYTHING. The cat finally gets it's tail out of the window...I swear two inches of tail was left in the drive through lane...and the woman was bleeding and crying and trying (still) to get money out of her purse. We got her a wet clean towel, gave her the drink and said "do not pay for this." We asked her if she could drive and was okay, to which she could hardly reply, and then she drove off. We were both so traumatized neither of us could function for half an hour. And it's one of those things that just replays itself in my head. And my fellow barista did say "there's a reason people crate their cats when they take them in a car." And it wasn't probably a mean cat, I'm sure the woman in the car LOVES that cat. But it freaking attacked her.
B and I went to NCECA, which is a the National Council On Education for the Ceramic Arts. It was in Phoenix this year. It was very cool. There were wonderful pots and bowls and huge clay painted heads two feet tall.
There was some amazing art, and some I didn't quite understand and some I thought. "well shoot, I can do that." Here's a picture of a bunch of ceramic slices of birthday cake. The artist said that she had trouble keeping up with friends while concurrently working in her studio, and so she thought that by doing these cakes, she could do both. So, at the gallery where her work was shown, she was wrapping pieces of pottery cake, boxing it up and sending it her friends. She would put, "do not open until _______" and then have their birthday. It was kind of cool. There was a sign that said that you could be her friend for 60 dollars, and she would send you a piece too.
And finally, no one is blogging anymore. There used to be 10 blogs a day that I would read. People were writing at least 3 times a week if not daily. Now, some of these people are writing once every two months. Come on, people! Write those blogs!! I personally think that everyone is addicted to facebook now and the most anyone can write at a time is a line or two about what they're doing AT THAT EXACT MOMENT. "Chris is drinking apple juice" or "Mary is going to sleep" or even "Chuck is tired of this wind blowing." Or, they're too busy taking a quiz to find out what famous fairy tale character they are, or what their hippie name is. If you do not do facebook, this is what goes on there. STAY AWAY. You too will become addicted to having 618 friends and never actually corresponding with them. Okay, done. I have a few quizzes to take, and for your information my hippie name is Gypsy Willow Dusk.
I saw a good movie. It's called "Sunshine Cleaners." Go see it. Kind of in the same vein as Little Miss Sunshine but a bit more believable (no one would ever really get up and dance with that little girl at the end...in fact, that whole final scene was pretty far fetched). There is a scene in Sunshine Cleaners - and this will not spoil it for you - when the main character girl (Amy Adams) goes to a baby shower. She is the feels-like-a-loser/outcast/working-as-a-house-cleaner going to the I-married-a-rich-guy, goodhair/nicemakeup, shiny SUV, diamond ring gal's house. She gets there and realizes who she is. I, and other girls like me, all realize that we're HER, the quirky, heart-of-gold (hahahaha), am-I-ever-going-to-get-it-right, girl. Now, my question is, do the women who see this movie that actually have the fine house with the maid, and the clean floors and the lack of serious paper piles all over the kitchen table (and any other empty space) recognize themselves? Or does everyone, even the perfect hair ladies, think they are the quirky main character? I'm just curious.
Also, there was a weird, depressing, yet horribly late-night-TV-joke-inducing moment at Starbucks yesterday. (Have you noticed I'm using too many - connectors?) So, a woman came through the drive-through. She had a cat in her car. I'm right there at the register, another barista was barring for me. As she starts to get her money out, she rolls her cat's tail up in the back window. The cat, who was up near the headrest of the driver's seat, goes APE SHIT. Starts attacking this poor woman. The cat's screeching. The woman's screaming. The cat's biting and clawing. The tail's caught. We are standing in the window totally unable to help or do ANYTHING. The cat finally gets it's tail out of the window...I swear two inches of tail was left in the drive through lane...and the woman was bleeding and crying and trying (still) to get money out of her purse. We got her a wet clean towel, gave her the drink and said "do not pay for this." We asked her if she could drive and was okay, to which she could hardly reply, and then she drove off. We were both so traumatized neither of us could function for half an hour. And it's one of those things that just replays itself in my head. And my fellow barista did say "there's a reason people crate their cats when they take them in a car." And it wasn't probably a mean cat, I'm sure the woman in the car LOVES that cat. But it freaking attacked her.
B and I went to NCECA, which is a the National Council On Education for the Ceramic Arts. It was in Phoenix this year. It was very cool. There were wonderful pots and bowls and huge clay painted heads two feet tall.
There was some amazing art, and some I didn't quite understand and some I thought. "well shoot, I can do that." Here's a picture of a bunch of ceramic slices of birthday cake. The artist said that she had trouble keeping up with friends while concurrently working in her studio, and so she thought that by doing these cakes, she could do both. So, at the gallery where her work was shown, she was wrapping pieces of pottery cake, boxing it up and sending it her friends. She would put, "do not open until _______" and then have their birthday. It was kind of cool. There was a sign that said that you could be her friend for 60 dollars, and she would send you a piece too. And finally, no one is blogging anymore. There used to be 10 blogs a day that I would read. People were writing at least 3 times a week if not daily. Now, some of these people are writing once every two months. Come on, people! Write those blogs!! I personally think that everyone is addicted to facebook now and the most anyone can write at a time is a line or two about what they're doing AT THAT EXACT MOMENT. "Chris is drinking apple juice" or "Mary is going to sleep" or even "Chuck is tired of this wind blowing." Or, they're too busy taking a quiz to find out what famous fairy tale character they are, or what their hippie name is. If you do not do facebook, this is what goes on there. STAY AWAY. You too will become addicted to having 618 friends and never actually corresponding with them. Okay, done. I have a few quizzes to take, and for your information my hippie name is Gypsy Willow Dusk.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Sunday
I have to write a blog post. Have to. Must. I've just shuffled through all of the other blogs that I read and no one is writing. It's up to me.
I'm back. After writing that sentence I got up and made a cake. A white cake with chocolate frosting. What one will do to get out of writing! But, I can't escape it. And, I have been writing a bit. But I'm not going to talk about it. I always hate when people (me) just talk about what they're *doing* but never really *do* it. So, moving on. My seedlings are growing. They're huge and sprawling. And it's too damn early to plant them outside. BY A WHOLE MONTH. Timing was way off. The other picture on this post is of SNOW on my lawn taken yesterday.
Jay has a fever. 103 yesterday morning. The advice is this; if it's over 105 and Motrine won't bring it down, bring him in. So, he's laying in bed. Do you ever feel like a hundred and three fever would just be worth the opportunity to lie in bed and do nothing? No errands or chores or phone calls. And you could pull the covers up and over your head and everything would look bluish and even, like a winter sky? Yeah, me too.
We have a bagel at Starbucks called a chonga bagel. They look really good, sesame seeds, poppy seeds, cheese, etc. But as a customer I could never order one because saying the words "chonga bagel" seems so wrong. I also feel like I can't really tell funny/embarrassing stories about Starbucks or my customers because, when I wrote about Guinness beer once, I had a comment from Guinness within a DAY. It was a nice comment...they just gave me a few facts I had left out, but it was weird that as soon as I put their name on my blog, they KNEW. And I need to work, so, no crazy ass stories about customers coming through the drive through with three freaking tiny dogs all trying to devour my hand as I give them their triple mocha frappicino with one pump raspberry syrup, three pumps vanilla, extra whip, two shots of espresso and carmal drizzle.
I did a youth poetry festival last weekend. It was fun and I felt like I knew my stuff. I had a reading Friday night and I taught a workshop to 13 - 19 year old kids on Saturday. There were 14 of them. They were aware and talkative and wanted to write. I love doing those things. I'm good at it. People like me. Why do I end up doing that kind of thing maybe twice a year? Hmmm.
A good movie (on video) I saw; Lars and the Real Girl. A good movie (at the theater) I saw; Race to Witch Mountain. A good book; Same Kind of Different As Me. The Race to Witch Mountain thing.... I LOVED that book when I was a kid AND The Rock was cool.
I think I may have made the cake just to smell that "baking cake" smell.
I'm back. After writing that sentence I got up and made a cake. A white cake with chocolate frosting. What one will do to get out of writing! But, I can't escape it. And, I have been writing a bit. But I'm not going to talk about it. I always hate when people (me) just talk about what they're *doing* but never really *do* it. So, moving on. My seedlings are growing. They're huge and sprawling. And it's too damn early to plant them outside. BY A WHOLE MONTH. Timing was way off. The other picture on this post is of SNOW on my lawn taken yesterday.
Jay has a fever. 103 yesterday morning. The advice is this; if it's over 105 and Motrine won't bring it down, bring him in. So, he's laying in bed. Do you ever feel like a hundred and three fever would just be worth the opportunity to lie in bed and do nothing? No errands or chores or phone calls. And you could pull the covers up and over your head and everything would look bluish and even, like a winter sky? Yeah, me too.
We have a bagel at Starbucks called a chonga bagel. They look really good, sesame seeds, poppy seeds, cheese, etc. But as a customer I could never order one because saying the words "chonga bagel" seems so wrong. I also feel like I can't really tell funny/embarrassing stories about Starbucks or my customers because, when I wrote about Guinness beer once, I had a comment from Guinness within a DAY. It was a nice comment...they just gave me a few facts I had left out, but it was weird that as soon as I put their name on my blog, they KNEW. And I need to work, so, no crazy ass stories about customers coming through the drive through with three freaking tiny dogs all trying to devour my hand as I give them their triple mocha frappicino with one pump raspberry syrup, three pumps vanilla, extra whip, two shots of espresso and carmal drizzle.
I did a youth poetry festival last weekend. It was fun and I felt like I knew my stuff. I had a reading Friday night and I taught a workshop to 13 - 19 year old kids on Saturday. There were 14 of them. They were aware and talkative and wanted to write. I love doing those things. I'm good at it. People like me. Why do I end up doing that kind of thing maybe twice a year? Hmmm.
A good movie (on video) I saw; Lars and the Real Girl. A good movie (at the theater) I saw; Race to Witch Mountain. A good book; Same Kind of Different As Me. The Race to Witch Mountain thing.... I LOVED that book when I was a kid AND The Rock was cool.
I think I may have made the cake just to smell that "baking cake" smell.
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