Why I Loved AWP: a list

1. Intellectual Stimulation: In my day to day life I often forget that I did love graduate school and why. I was surrounded by people who were reading and thinking, and most importantly, talking about what they were reading and thinking about. I was one of those people. I used to read more and think a lot. In my regular life, I am most preoccupied with what is for dinner, how I am going to get to work out, and feeling guilty about not writing. Being at AWP reminded me of the best parts of graduate school. Talking and thinking. And drinking of course.
2. Friends: In my day to day life, I see Middlebrow and Son. If I'm lucky, I see one of my colleagues. Maybe once a month I see someone else or do something social. Maybe. AWP is like my whole life packed into one weekend. I got to hang out with Hightouchmegastore, I got to see lots of friends from graduate school, I got to see a friend from Chicago, I got to see friends from my town that I never see in town. Why do I never see my friends in town? Well. I'm glad I got to see all of these people and more at AWP.
3. Rock Star Writers: I got to see writers who are, in my mind, rock stars. These include: Michael Martone, David Kirby, Walter Moseley, David Shields. (I feel like I should list some women, but I didn't really see any. Who would qualify in this respect? Maybe Brenda Hillman. Anne Carson, definitely.)
4. Being Not-Me: I got to pretend I was someone other than the boring, normal person I am. I wore red pumps (but only in the hotel where I wouldn't have to walk too much). I hugged a person I'd never met before (okay, I might have been a little drunk). I accidently networked. I pretended I was a mover and a shaker. I was, for a few brief days, a mover and a shaker.
5. Free Drinks (self-explanatory)
6. Readings: mostly good.
7. Accidental encounters with beloved people: mostly Peter Covino. But also Terrible Mother. And David Hamilton. And friends from grad school. And Janet Holmes and Alvin Greenburg.
8. Seeing nice publishers who remember my essay (Ninth Letter).
9. Seeing Ralph Berry from FC2, and maybe reminding him of how great I am (accidently).
10. The Book Fair: By the last day, I can't stand it, but in general it's where you run into the people you want to see but can't find and where you find all kinds of things you can't live without and must buy. High Touch was better on this score, buying all kinds of small press cool things. I tried to restrain myself and bought only 4 books. I consider it a small victory.

Home from AWP

I made it home, exhausted, and perhaps a little worse for wear. I was a bit ill when I left for Atlanta, and the fun, excitement, not to mention the rain, probably did me no good. But what the hell! It was fun!
The highlight of the trip, as it always is, was the dinner with Utah friends, some of whom do not live in Utah anymore, and one of whom never did, save the week of Writers at Work. We cabbed from the Hilton to Fuego, where we enjoyed Sangria, $1 tapas and regular sized/priced tapas (~$6). The food was great. Hard to say what was best, but the mussells were good, as was the pork tenderloin with sweet potato mash. And the tuna. And the grilled asparagus. And the wine. Very good. All of it.
Then we decided to walk the two miles back to the hotel, and we got to see a bit of Atlanta. We stopped on the way at a wine bar Felicia had seen earlier that day, Eno. We sat at the bar and shared a bottle of wine. It was a fun outing, including having a kind stranger pull Felicia's pump out of a grate on Peachtree Street. Good stuff.
We returned to the hotel, surfed the receptions, where we had our share of free beverages, then went to the Michael Martone & John Barth reading. I didn't talk to either of them, but it was a good reading.
Other high points: Meeting David Kirby at the bookfair and telling him I used his poem in my theory class. The real high point of that was when he thanked us "for our adjectives" and told Hightouchmegastore as we were parting, "Email me!"
Attending the FC2 reception, which turned into a tribute to Ralph Berry, who is stepping down as publisher. I met Lance Olsen and talked to him for awhile. I also got to chat briefly with Michael Martone, and thanked him for sending me his book, Seeing Eye.
I ran into numerous other people, known and unknown. I saw David Hamilton, who may be the sweetest person ever. I got to see former professors and current friends.
The best panel I attended was on structure and included a handout of "The Things They Carried" by Samantha Chang. Michael Martone did an amazing collage essay on "In the Heart of the Heart of the Country." The whole panel was really brilliant, and will be helpful to me, I think, in my writing and my teaching.
I also got to see Steve Fellner and bought his book, Blind Date with Cavafy . It's so amazing, sweet and funny and sad, and I'm so happy he found a publisher. It gives me a little hope. It's a great book, and he deserves to get more attention for his writing.
Regrets: because of my illness I did not get to run in Atlanta. I also didn't get to use the pool, because it was a little too cold. Also, I only got to see Terrible Mother once. I think my lack of a cell phone is really hurting my social life. It may be time to get a cell phone.
And then Middlebrow got a dog while I was gone. For more info on that, see his blog. For pics of the trip, etc., you can click on my Flickr badge.
I'm glad to be home.

Oscar Redux & AWP Preview

Well, I did pretty well this year. 14 of my picks were correct!
I am most proud of choosing Alan Arkin for Supporting Actor, and "Babel" for original score.
I also like that "Little Miss Sunshine" won for best original screenplay. His was probably my favorite acceptance speech. I liked that when he was kid he had actually taken a 600 mile road trip with his family in a VW van with a broken clutch. 600 miles?!? No big surprises other than Arkin. I guess Melissa Ethridge was a surprise, but I can't say I had strong feelings about that category.

In other news, Hightouchmegastore and I depart on Wednesday for parts Southern (and warm, I'm hoping for warm!). In Atlanta we will hob-nob, no doubt, with great writers and those who possess great wit and charm. I'm speaking, of course, of none other than Otterbutt and Terrible Mother. We may see some other people too, who knows, but those are the important ones. Because of my stupid diet (do I seem testy?), I won't get to drink, but I look forward to enjoying their company while eating copious amounts of allowed food (which are those?) and pointing out famous writers.
No one is reading this year that I would want to stalk, but maybe I'll stand in line to give John Barth some kind of testimonial about how "Lost in the Funhouse" changed my life. It did! I swear!

I hope we get to see a movie on the plane. Yeah! Movie!
See you on the flip side. And by flip side I mean later.

Oscars!

It wouldn't be right if I didn't post my picks for tomorrow's Oscars. I have to say that this year I think I have been the least involved of any year, except for maybe the year Son was born! But, I did manage to see one of the Best Picture nominees, so I feel entitled to pick at will. And so......

Best Picture: Little Miss Sunshine (I love a underdog!)
Director: Martin Scorsese (A make-up Oscar. He deserves one, maybe not for this film....)
Actor: Forest Whitaker!!!! (I heart him!)
Actress: Helen Mirren (the Queen of our hearts!)
Supporting Actor: Alan Arkin (maybe a long shot, but he was so funny!)
Supporting Actress: Jennifer Hudson (I'm a sucker for a good story)
Adapted Screenplay: Little Children (I wasn't crazy about the novel, but it was a novel!)
Original Screenplay: Little Miss Sunshine (great dialogue!)
Animated Feature: Happy Feet (penguins win!)
Art Direction: Pan's Labyrinth (I haven't seen it, but I've heard)
Documentary Feature: Iraq in Fragments (a political win)
Foreign-Language: The Lives of Others (I've read reviews)
Art Direction: Pan's Labyrinth
Cinematography: The Prestige (because it's the only other one I've seen)
Costume Design: Dreamgirls
Editing: Babel (because it needed some? the cuts from scene to scene?)
Makeup: Pan's Labyrinth
Score: Babel (why not?)
Song: Um, something from Dreamgirls? The odds are good (3 out of 5?) I'll choose "Listen"
Animated Short: The Danish Poet (because it has Poet in the title)
Live action Short: Binta and the Great Idea (I liked the picture)
Documentary Short: Recycled Life (I don't know, I like the title)
Sound Editing: Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest (like I have any idea)
Sound Mixing: Dreamgirls (because it has music?)
Visual Effects: Superman Returns (because I've seen it)

Well, check back Monday for my numbers. One year I won a free pass for a movie, and Middlebrow and I saw "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" for free. Yeah! But I haven't entered anything this year.
Did I mention I love award shows?

On "American Idol"

Like most people, I am addicted to “American Idol.” And, like most people, I like to think I’m smarter than the rest of those idiots who watch “American Idol.” Unlike them, I have not watched every season of "American Idol," I do not vote on "American Idol," and, I am not obsessed with being on "American Idol." It’s because I can’t sing. I don’t even sing in the shower. Sometimes, when I’m alone in my 2001 Saturn SL, I crank up the factory installed FM radio and sing along with Rick Springfield doing “Jesse’s Girl.” I also like to sing along to the Talking Heads and Death Cab for Cutie, but in no way do I think this qualifies me to even stand in line to try out for "American Idol." I am not one of those non-singers who thinks that just because I agree with Simon, somehow I can sing. Nor am I one of those non-singers who tries out just so I can be on the humiliating worst-of outtakes and then claim, to anyone who will listen, “I was on ‘American Idol.’”
I would like to say that my ability to recognize my lack of talent in the singing department somehow makes me above it all, that unlike other Americans I don’t think I will somehow have my 15 seconds of fame, but it’s not true. My 15 seconds will come, eventually, when I receive a long-deserved literary prize for the novel I’m currently not-writing. Then all those people who didn’t get my artistic vision, who didn’t like the rhyming poems about penguins that I wrote in grade school, or the people who didn't get me in graduate school, who said things like "I don't like the main character. Why is she so angry?", all those people will be sorry, and will claim to have known me when, and when I’m walking around town in a long black evening gown and tiara, carrying my prize in my arms as if it were a newborn baby, I will snub them by turning away when they wave. Or perhaps I will condescend to give them a little smile that conveys, “Not now, little people, I’m busy.”
I know. I can’t claim to be smarter, or that I’m not prey to the little movie we all have in our heads, you know the one, the one where you look so amazing even you are a little in love with you, and the confetti falls from the rafters and everyone is clapping, and you see yourself with that “Who? Me?” look on your face, like you just can’t believe it, it’s finally happened, finally, everyone sees what a genius, what an amazing person you were all along, and finally you’re going to get an oversized check for a million dollars. The truth is, we all have that little movie in our heads. Maybe it’s part of human evolution. Where cave men would draw paintings of themselves killing a giant mammoth, we make movies in our heads where we finally get what we think we deserve. It keeps us alive. Maybe these narracisstic little movies help us get up in the morning, even if we never change out of our pajamas.
Maybe that’s why 52 million of us love American Idol. Because while we’re watching 24 singers compete for one title, we believe that our little success fantasies could come true. It’s the American Dream, small town nobody becomes big time superstar and starts dating Justin Timberlake and/or Brittney Spears. It could happen. Or at least we need to believe it can. And isn’t that why TV is so popular? We need to believe that someone’s life is better than ours. Or we need to believe that we are better, more talented, smarter than someone else. I know I am. I'm better than all those other idiots out there who are thinking the exact same thing.

The Benefit of Low Expectations

My favorite thing about seeing movies at the Dollar Theater (which actually costs $1.50, but nevermind about that, that doesn't have the same ring as Dollar Theater, who would call it the Dollar-Fifty Theater?) is that my expectations are so low, I am often pleasantly surprised when the movie is better than average, good even.
Take tonight's selection, "Stranger Than Fiction." Going in, I knew it starred Will Ferrell (whom I love, and will always love if for no other reason than the Cheerleader Skit on SNL), Emma Thompson (who doesn't love Emma Thompson? If you don't, I don't want to know. She said something once in an interview about having a "big-shouldered" admiration for something or someone, I forget, but I still think she was talking about me), Maggie Gyllenhal (besides having the world's most attractive brother AND husband (is that fair?), she's an amazing actress), Dustin Hoffman (as a college professor! who is also a lifeguard! and reads Sue Grafton while he's lifeguarding!), and wait, I haven't even gotten to the best part, Queen Latifah!!! (as the writer's assistant. Is that fair? I'm sure I could write a great novel if I had Queen Latifah to bring me coffee and arrange notecards in my sparsley furnished apartment).
My expectations for this film were low. How low? Well, I had heard almost nothing about it (buzz=0), and it seemed like it had hit the dollar theater pretty quickly, so I was prepared for it to be funny in parts, charming in parts, and to have some flaw, major or minor, that would make me like it a little less.
Well, of course I was pleasantly surprised. The only flaw, that I could see, were the several scenes where the mic was lowered too far. But being the great post-modernist that I am, I wondered, briefly, if I was supposed to see the mic. Like the director reminding me, "hello! you're watching a movie!" Unfortunately, I think it was just a mistake. But, as I said, that was the only flaw.
The great strengths of this film, aside from the amazing cast, were the intelligent script, the clever but not too clever camera work, and soundtrack.
Plus, Dustin Hoffman, as charming, caffeine-swilling, self-involved college professor, gets to say, quoting from a line that is the Will Ferrell character's life, "Little did he know? Little did he know? I wrote a paper on 'Little did he know.' I taught a whole seminar on 'Little did he know.'" Perhaps the reason this film did not do better is because only graduate students and college teachers will think that is funny.
But count me pleasantly surprised. I highly recommend this film. And, actually, the dollar theater is still the dollar theater before five.
So that's the benefit of low expectations.
(Unfortunately, my expectations were not so low for the Ginger dairy-free, gluten-free, egg-free cookie I took as my "snack." Let's just say I was not pleasantly surprised. But I did eat the whole thing.)

Happy VD!

Inspired by Dean Dad's Valentine's Day post (well, maybe more by some of the comments, though the post itself was very sweet), I've decided to tell you a heartwaming story about how Middlebrow and I got together (exactly 10 years ago!).
First let me say that we went on three dates before we even kissed. On date three, we talked about couples we admired, people who seemed to have genuine partnerships and equality. We talked about how we didn't want to be like our parents (his still married, mine divorced and married to new partners), mostly because we didn't like the imbalance we observed. Among the people we admired were professors in the department where we were both graduate students. One couple we liked for their choices: one car, they took turns cooking and caring for their children, and they both were (are) successful in their respective fields. That, we said, was how we wanted to be. Let me remind you, we hadn't even kissed yet!
Maybe a week or so after we actually kissed, it was Valentine's Day. We agreed that we were against it, Middlebrow mostly because of his employment at a grocery store where, on February 14th, he saw man after man come through his line with a card and a bunch of flowers. Original. So though we don't celebrate this holiday (that is, after all, just another way for companies to get you to buy their products), I'm always reminded that we "got together," as the euphemism goes, right around this time.
It's mind boggling to think that we started dating 10 years ago. (Just for the record, we got engaged after we dated for four months, though I lied and told my parents it had been six months and we got married after we had been engaged for a year). We got engaged after we had the "what are we doing next year?" talk in the kitchen of my apartment. I said something like "I'm not living with someone ever again unless I'm married." We had already decided we wanted to go to graduate school. The next day we were grading papers in a cafe and Middlebrow looked at me and said, "What happened last night? Did we decide to get married?"
But looking back, we have done most of what we talked about on that third date. We finished graduate school, sharing the childcare the whole time. We both have jobs, and we still split the childcare (though I have to say that, lately, Middlebrow has done more than I have). We both cook and do laundry (though, of course, I think I do more of both); Middlebrow does all the man things like killing spiders and plunging toilets and fixing bathrooms.
But, all in all, we have a very equal arrangement. We both like to sit around and read. We like to drink wine and watch movies. Is this not, I ask you, the basis of all good relationships?
And just a note in response to some of those comments over at Dean Dad: some women want to stay home with their kids. I know many women who do and are perfectly content. I'm just not one of those people. But I'm glad I could make the choice I did, and I'm glad I found a person who wanted to make those same choices. This, to me, is one of the great rewards of feminism: we get to invent what we want home, marriage, and family to mean to us. Not that we judge women who make choices we would not make. But that support exists for women to make a variety of choices, and that we support and facilitate each other's choices. (I recognize not all women are free to choose. And we work to change that. But some women are free to choose. And we support that.)
On that note: Happy Valentine's Day!!

Happiness? Location? Money?

Middlebrow and I have been having our annual go-round about whether we can just choose to be happy, if where we live is more important than our salaries, and if we need more money. Oh yeah, and how our house is too small. We always agree on that.
Right now at our CC we are having the annual discussion about how we are woefully underpaid. It's stunning, however, to see exactly how underpaid we are, compared to CCs in other parts of the country. I could be making about $30,000 more a year if I lived in, say, California. Aye, as they say, there's the rub. We don't want to live in California. We do, however, want to make $30,000 more a year. I know, housing would cost more. But that much more per year?
In my mind, it's all about long-term benefits, meaning retirement, and earnings over the course of my career.
Of course, I have to remind myself that we love Son's school, and that, having lived here for almost nine years, we have an actual community, something we both value highly. But, are we allowing ourselves to be exploited?
Obviously I didn't go into teaching for the money. But it's apalling how little we are being paid for the same work (in some cases more work!) than teachers in other parts of the country!
So how do we decide what's more important? Lately I've been leaning towards being happy. But with the new information I've been receiving, I feel like maybe I'm selling myself short. I know the legislature in our fair state is not going to wake up and raise our salaries (at least not in my lifetime). I do love where we live, though I don't always love the politics or the liquor laws. I love our proximity to outdoor recreation. Did I mention that our house is too small?
Today I looked at job listings in other states. It looks like I could start for at least $10,000 more almost anywhere else.
Tell me, what's a girl to do?

Travels in Gastro-Intestinal Health

I realize the title to this post does not bode well. Those of you who know me know that I like to complain that my stomach hurts. Well, I finally went to see a Naturopath. I found out many things, including that our state has one of the most rigorous processes for certifying NDs. Also, my insurance covers it. Yeah!
So. I went in armed with my paper work and my suspicions about what I am allergic to, maybe. My guesses: dairy, wheat, soy. So, my plan is to do an elimination diet and then reintroduce foods, one every two days.
What, you might ask, does one possibly eat when one is not eating anything? It turns out mostly fruits and vegetable (but not corn, and no citrus). Also, I need to eliminate rice because I eat so much of it. But, surprisingly, lamb and pears are two of the most hypoallergenic foods. So I can eat lamb and pears! I can also eat chicken and fish. And potatoes. Yeah potatoes!! I'm also eliminating nuts and seeds. Then after you start to feel better (how long is that?), you reintroduce the food. You have to eat a lot of the food for one day. The part that describes drinking a big glass of milk makes me want to throw up. So I think I'll skip that one, but I may test cottage cheese, etc.
Meanwhile, I'm taking lots of supplements, many of which are supposed to help my stomach and some of which are just for general health. And one to help me sleep. I'll let you know how that goes.
All this to say that if I seem irritable and fatigued, you'll know why. Come Monday, I'll be subsisting on vegetables and fowl. But I might be sleeping more, so it could even out.
And yes, this means no wine. No wine? Somehow I'll muddle through.

The Tyranny of the Child's Birthday Party

As Middlebrow and I sat last night contemplating where (o where?) we might be able to have Son's 6th Birthday party, we remembered: we never had no stinking parties!!
When we were kids, we maybe had a few friends over and played pin the tail on the donkey. Since my birthday is in December, we couldn't have an outdoor party. I don't remember any parties from when I was a kid. Except when I was in 8th grade and my best friend and I had a joint birthday party at the Holiday Inn. Complete with sleep over at the hotel, swimming and miniature golf. Those were the days, baby!
But as I edged nearer to a nervous breakdown last night, wrestling with the guilt I would feel if we didn't invite everyone, imagining the school ostracisim of us, the exclusive partiers, trying to figure out how we were going to either a) pay for every child in his Kindergarten class to go bowling or b) fit everyone in his Kindergarten class into our 500 sq. ft. home, Middlebrow came up with an elegant solution so simple it boggled the mind: no party.
What? you will say. No party! But listen here: I hardly ever had parties, and I turned out fine. When Son was 4 we took his whole pre-school class bowling. Were we nuts? yes! It was insane!
Last year we invited just the boys to our house for a Spiderman birthday.
But this year: Middlebrow will take Son and a friend or two for an afternoon extravaganza. The benefits: no presents! no paper plates! no pizza and cake to throw away! no goodie bags!
Son and I will make a cake to his specifications. Frosting! Decorations! Hooray!
And we don't have to spend $200 to do it! Ah, the liberation of simplicity!

Recipe for Happiness

1. Swim often. Why do I continually have to relearn this? I finally bought a new swim cap ($8.95 at Pool and Patio) and then made it to the pool around 2 pm. The hours this semester are better, meaning I may be able to swim three days a week. Hip hip hooray!
2. Don't stay up too late drinking wine and watching the new DVD you just got in the mail, "Grease." (I blame Amazon and Middlebrow for this. But it's so tempting to begin a movie library. So far we have: Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, Hannah and Her Sisters, Annie Hall, Monster in a Box, When Harry Met Sally, and of course, Grease. Next I'm lobbying for Saturday Night Fever.)
3. Write every day. Again, I still haven't learned this. Even if it's only one sentence, I need to write every day. My sanity depends on it.
4. Play games with your child. It's fun! It has been too long since I sat down for a good game of Uno with Son. So today I did. He ate Triscuts while I munched on carrots. We each won one game. All fair! We are also fond of Blink, Clue jr., Dinosaur Dig, chess (well, he's fond of it. and I try hard), Connect Four, and any card games.
5. Get your errands out of the way. This, again, is a lesson I constantly relearn. Why do I defer? I finally got over to REI and they replaced part of my binding for free. Free! And I returned some pants and then I got my new swim cap, all things I've needed to do for what feels like forever.
6. Sometimes, eat canned soup for dinner. This goes to sanity. Sometimes, I just can't care about cooking. Mostly the day after I stayed up until 1 a.m. watching movies. But it's okay. Also good: bagged salad, and sandwich night. All good. And the added bonus of very little clean up.
7. Take Son sledding or skiing. Must get outside. Ignore inversion. Get ya-yas out. Must get ya-yas out.
8. Take time to chat with acquaintances. I'm always pleasantly surprised when I see someone I know at, say, the grocery store or the library. I like to chat with them. It makes me feel like I live in a community rather than a city.
9. Sometimes, sit and stare into space.
10. Ignore your email. Every once in a while.

Take a Minute

I spent a few hours yesterday volunteering for an amazing film at Sundance, The Devil Came on Horseback. It is about photographer Brian Steidle and the photos he took in Darfur. I was actually working for SaveDarfur. The film was horrifying, showing footage Steidle took when he was in Darfur and still photos he took of the bodies. He was one of the first people to bring pictures back of the genocide. He and the filmmakers were actually at the film, along with a survivor from Darfur who is working to collect survivor testimonies.
What's most horrifying about this film and Steidle's work, however, is that we've known about the genocide in Darfur for so long and still are doing nothing. In my work at the college, I get the opportunity to meet many amazing African students. I always wonder what they think of American culture, when they have so recently come from refugee camps where there are no schools, and see us with our laptops and iPods, ignoring all the people being killed whom we could save, if only we could get our political leaders to pay attention.
Please take a minute to follow the link above to SaveDarfur.org, and send an email to President Bush. With all the money we are spending to kill people in Iraq, it seems that we can afford to spend a little money to save lives in Darfur.
I believe more and more people are paying attention and raising their voices for this cause. Please join me. And see the film if you can. It's playing in town again next week.

Wrong!

Well, it should be no surprise to anyone that I was right about only 5 Globes, and wrong about 15. But c'mon. I hadn't seen any of the movies, and hardly any of the shows, so 5 is pretty good under the circumstances.
Most hideous dress: Cameron Diaz (you know, since "In Her Shoes" I love her, but her dress looked like gauze. With a wing. I mean, c'mon)
Hottie: Reese Witherspoon. Divorce looks good on her!
Dress I need to see again: The actress who plays Dr. Torres on "Grey's Anatomy." First of all, I didn't think they would win. Second, they only showed like two people's dresses and then they hurried them off the stage. She had on an intense red dress and she looked great (I think?).
Best speech: Well, it's a toss up. But the Brits definitely won. First Hugh Laurie said his crew "always smelled of freshly mown grass" an image I used in my creative writing class today. But Sasha Cohen's whole fart speech was hilarious. And Bill Nighy saying, "I used to think awards were empty, useless things. Then I received one. Now I know they are meaningful." Priceless! And Jeremy Iron too. And Helen Mirren. Yes. The Brits rule. Oh! Except for Meryl Streep. She made a statement about small movies. Love her!
Worst speech: Um, everyone else? Why can't American actors stop thanking their press agents and lawyers? It's gross. And boring. Hello. We want imagery and dry humor!
Back to work. Until Oscar time!

Globe Picks

Well. I do feel better, thank you very much, but I am sad that tonight is not the night of the Golden Globe Awards. Here at Dr. Write, inc, we really love us some award shows. So, because it is too cold to go outside for any reason besides getting in the car, I will name some names I hope to hear tomorrow night. Also I hope to see some hideous fashion on the red carpet. That's almost as fun as the good fashion.
Let me just preface this by saying that, unlike other years when I have seen at least one or two of the movies nominated, this year I have seen exactly NONE of the dramas, and only ONE of the comedies. So my picks for who will win are, of course, educated.
I have to say that when Judi Dench is up against Helen Mirren my mind does a sort of crazy tango. But I have to pick Judi Dench for the Best Actress in a Drama category, because it's SO OBVIOUS that Helen Mirren is going to win for Prime Suspect. It was the last one. Of course she's going to win.
Okay, let's see, Leonardo DiCaprio or Leonardo DiCaprio? I'll pick Forest Whitaker. Why? Because he's Forest Whitaker.
In Comedy, I actually have seen one, which I will pick: Little Miss Sunshine. Funny. And heartwarming.
For actress, I'll pick Toni Colette, because she's been my favorite for so long. But I know it will go to Beyonce. I have nothing against Beyonce, but people love to give a rock star an acting award. They just do!
I want Chiwetel Ejiofor to win for Actor. Why? Because I have seen Kinky Boots. And also I want to see someone with a cue card try to pronounce his name!
In Supporting, I think Jennifer Hudson will win for Dreamgirls. Buzz, people, it's all about buzz. And I like me some American Idol revenge too. Who doesn't?
I'm gonna pick Mark Wahlberg for supporting actor. He's Marky Mark. Say no more.
Animation: Cars
Foreign: Apocalypto? Ha. Ha ha. No, Volver.
Director: Scorese. Because they feel sorry for him. Poor Martin.
Screenplay: Notes on a Scandal or Little Children (for obvious reasons. I'm a writer!)
Score: No pick
Song: Listen from Dreamgirls
Best TV Drama: Heroes (buzz!)
TV Actress: Edie Falco
TV Actor: Michael C. Hall
Best TV Series: The Office
TV Actress, Comedy: Julia Louis-Dreyfus!!
Actor: It's going to go to Zach Braff because it's his last year. But it should go to Steve Carrell.
Best Mini-Series: Prime Suspect!
Best Actress in M.S.: Helen Mirren!
Best Actor in M.S.: Bill Nighy (haven't seen it. But I heart him!)
Supporting Actress, series: Sarah Paulson from Studio 60 (and to think I once found her annoying!)
Actor: No idea.
I hope this wasn't too annoying. Check back in Tuesday for cynicism and mirth at the winners/losers/fashion losers.
BTW, I've been wearing my pajamas for about 4 days. That's right: fashion loser!

Sedentary. Jet-Lagged. Cold. Me.

After two days of hanging out in my pajamas (okay, today I actually showered AND changed out of my pjs), I finally feel almost healthy again. I think I have recovered from Jet Lag. Symptoms: cloudy head, confusion, body weighed down by gravity, 7:30 bedtime, 6:30 a.m. waking. I recovered from jet lag only to be clotheslined by whatever cold/flu/death virus is currently in vogue. One day I felt great, the next I was convinced I had strep and at least three different varieties of flu and/or sinus infection. But I seem to be doing better. Unfortunately, I have been informed that intermittent recovery is one of the signs of this cold/flu/death virus. So it could be I feel okay until tomorrow. Whatever.
I am taking the opportunity of this long weekend to pick up anything lying on the floor of my house and shove it in a garbage bag. Then, I might dust. If I feel like it. I most definitely will not clean the bathroom. I may watch a movie. I already read one book (entirely unrelated to school!) and I may read another. Oh, and also finish a few books I only have one more chapter of and add them to last year's book totals.
I am definitely NOT doing any outdoor sporting events. Have you been out there? With the wind chill it goes from f*ing cold to too damn f*ing cold, which is why the geniuses of our time have invented TV and DVDs and what not.
Happy Long Weekend. And let's take some time to remember why we have an extra day off. And not be too cynical about whoever our local organizations have invited to speak. I'm just going to try to be nice, which for me, right now, is a challenge.
Happy Winter!

Home from the Land of Mayo and Smoking

We made it back! We're alive! And alert, yet tired.
Yesterday was an exhausting long distance event. We left our hotel in Madrid at 10 a.m. local time (2 a.m. hometown time). We spent three hours in the Madrid airport (mostly drinking cafe and eating, so it was good), then 9+ hours on a flight to Atlanta. Yes, that's correct, 9+.
The pros of the flight were the movies, "Scoop" which was okay, and "Invincible" which was good (I love me a sports feel good movie), and the food. On overseas flights, I feel they try to convince you about the time change using food. They bring out the food, proclaiming, Okay, it's dinner time, regardless of the actual time, and everyone just goes along with it. But the food was actually good, there was an ice cream snack in the middle of the flight, and I was sitting next to the most adorable girl ever (she was Spanish). At one point she clued me in to which in-flight radio station I should be listening to by saying, "Seis. Shakira" and dancing around in her seat. I almost spoke her level of Spanish.
The negative aspect of this flight was that about the time we wanted Son to take a nap (about six hours into the flight), he became Devil Child, writhing around, falling on the floor, pinching and hitting us. Basically proving to everyone on the flight that we are Bad Parents. On the plus side, the minute we boarded the plane in Atlanta, he fell asleep and slept the whole way home.
So, from Madrid to our doorstep was 21 hours. Oh joy! We went to sleep around 11:30, but we all woke up, wide awake, at 6:30. Son wanted breakfast, so we all got up. I just fed him an enormous lunch, so we'll see how our body clocks work on adjusting back to our schedule stateside. No more siestas or dinner at 9 pm!
All in all, a great trip. Son picked up more Spanish than we realize. Yesterday at the Atlanta airport he said, "Dos. I have to go dos. In my language, we say dos." Cute, and yet. . .
I loved Spain, though I won't miss the constant smoking. As a parting gesture, our departure gate was near the "Smoking Point" in the airport, which of course had no doors, so the smoke just drifted out so that we could all share in it.
As Son said, Why does everyone in Spain have to smoke? And let their dogs poop on the sidewalk. But that's another conversation all together.
Glad to be back. Stunned that I have to go back to work on Monday.

Oh The Food!

I know, I know. It will sound like gloating. But what else have I done in Spain? I haven't gone running, though I have walked about 100 miles since we got here. I haven't been doing any brain work, unless you include one Sudoku puzzle (I messed up the second), and a few New Yorker articles. I haven't cooked at all. I may have spread some avocado on a piece of bread, but that hardly counts as cooking. I made a few minor purchases (mostly bottled water, for which I have been criticized, albeit in a joking manner). I also bought some cookies for tonight's festivities. And some wrapping paper.
But the food. It really consumes our days and nights, and by consumes I mean it's what we do. That and the wine.
So I'll start with a few nights ago, when Middlebrow and I made our way out into the world alone, armed only with a Triana map and some recommendations.
We started the gastronomic tour at Blanco Paloma or white dove. We shared the tapa special of the day, two slices of zucchini between which was sandwiched a green substance with shrimp. The whole thing was deep fried. It was good. We also had Pollo con campiones (chicken breast with mushrooms, served, of course, on top of potatoes).
Then we went to Bar Esperanza, a brightly lit place with seating at the bar for about ten. Here we had the gambas ajillo (shrimp with garlic). It was served in a little earthenware dish which had just come off the gas range. In it were shrimp and slices of garlic swimming in olive oil. We ate this with some bread. I observed many of the other patrons consuming Ensalada Rusa. Middlebrow, being a recent visitor to Russia, commented on the fact that it basically looked how salad looked in Russia, which is like a big heap of mayonnaise. It was, in fact, potatoes, but mostly mayonnaise. It looked like mayonnaise jello. I observed with a grimace how the patron of the place opened a refrigerator to top this salad with more mayonnaise. We did not partake of this abomination.
We headed out for Casa Ruperto, home of the deep fried game hen, but it was not open. Que lastima! So we stopped at an unknown place, Cafe Tranvia and had the tortilla de la casa (tortilla of the house) which was a standard tortilla with cheese on top. But it was good.
We came home and convinced everyone to go out with us again. We made it to Los Golondrinas , which means the swallows. Here we did not eat, but had one drink before the kids officially melted down. It was only eleven!
The next night we went to Sol y Sombra, a bar with a bullfighting theme. Sol y Sombra refers to the seats at bullfights, those in full sun (sol) and those that are shaded (sombra). This was definitely my favorite bar. It was decorated with bullfighting posters, and in the back room, jamon serrano hung from the ceiling.
Here we had solomillo (pork loin) cooked with whole garlic cloves. Delicious, with the added bonus of garlic on bread. We also had gambas ajillo again, also very good. We also had merluza al jerez, a white fish cooked in sherry. It was so good. We also shared two bottles of house wine. For all that it was about $80. For six people! With two bottles of wine! I know. It's crazy!
Last night El Don y Scorpion's Tail took us out to Blanco Paloma restaurant. We had a lovely sit down dinner. The kids had chicken and patatas fritas. We had an amazing cut of beef served with duck fat (basically), and an equally delicious piece of fish. To start we shared a salad of watercress that was served with goat cheese, walnuts, pears, and an amazing raspberry dressing.
Again we had great wine. For dessert, we shared a chocolate souffle, cheesecake, and the kids had cinnamon ice cream. It may have been the best ice cream I ever tasted. But of course they only let me have the smallest taste.
We finished with a golden colored liquor made from some kind of herb. It was strong, but good.
I should mention that the table behind us was filled with Spanish women wearing reindeer horns (you know, the kind made from felt). They were having some kind of tacky gift exchange. The kids called them "The Smoking Reindeer." They gave the boys each a set of reindeer horns. I took some photos, so look for them soon on Flickr.
When we got close to home, we heard singing. There was a small band in the plaza near the apartment, singing songs. We got to hear one of the songs about Sevilla, it was even about this neighborhood, Triana. The crowd was full of people from age 10 to about 70. We watched for awhile. It was great fun. They gave us some liquor (anis, unfortunately). It was a lovely end to the evening.
Today, El Don has been outdoing himself cooking for our dinner of tapas. We will have crepes with smoked salmon (S.T. will make these), some mushrooms, Espinacas (the spinach with garbanzo beans), solomillo (Pork Loin cooked with whole cloves of garlic in red wine), Tortilla Espana (spanish tortilla made with eggs and potato), conejo (bunny!).
Tomorrow, El Don is making a type of paella with small pasta and a crazy assortment of mariscos (shrimp, calamari, oysters, mussells, etc.).
Then we will eat leftovers until we leave for Barcelona on the 27th.
Merry Christmas Eve and happy eating to all of you.

Espana Update

Hola! Greetings from Spain. After more than a week, I might almost be adjusted to the time here. Maybe. But today I woke up before noon (what an accomplishment!), had some tea, and then we took Son to Torre del Oro. No, it's not a tower made of gold, but a lookout tower and a naval history museum. Son enjoyed looking at the city from the tower, and then we ran around.
We've seen some amazing stuff here, most notably Alhambra. Today we went to Alcazar Real, a lesser castle from the Moorish period, with great gardens and a maze. Son and Friend had fun.
We've mostly been eating and drinking amazing Spanish wine that we send Son and Friend down to buy at the corner store, Don Jose's. The wine costs between 2,50 E and 4 E. Yes, that's about $6 max. For great wine!
We're planning a big dinner of many varieties of Tapas for Buena Noche (christmas eve). So far we've decided on mussels, shrimp, tortilla de Espana (egg, potatoes), salmon, espinaces (spinach and garbanzo beans). Did I mention the olives? They have a store just for olives!! My favorite are the Verditas (green, raw). They are so mild. I think of them as "soft." My favorite part of the day is before dinner when we hang out, have wine and drink olives.
FYI, "buenas tardes" which means "good afternoon" lasts until around 8 pm. Then it becomes noche, or night.
Highlights from the trip:
Watching "Without a Trace" in the hotel in Madrid. I had seen it before so I could follow the story. Plus, how hard can it be. Someone's missing. The agents ask, "Donde esta? Donde esta?" But the best part was the incredibly low, macho voice that they dubbed in for Anthony LaPaglia's voice. It was hilarious.
That son's favorite part of the trip, so far (at least last night, when I asked) was "when we looked at the pictures." His favorite was Goya's "Perro semihesnueda" or something like that. It's the "Semihidden Dog." And "Saturn eating his children." That's my favorite.
Son says "si" when I ask him questions and Scorpion's Tail got him to do some reading in Spanish when we were out at the Cathedral.
Tonight Middlebrow and I are going out for Tapas in Triana. Son is staying home and having pasta with butter and cheese. Sad.
It's 7:00 pm in Triana. Son and Friend are having an "early" dinner. It's the Spanish way.
Click on my Flickr link to the right to see pics from Alhambra. I'll upload some others later.
Luego!

Adios, Cha-Cha

Well, this will be the last post stateside. I am in the throes of packing and drinking coffee and reading. And socializing with Otter Butt, just for awhile before I leave.
I am SO in the throes of pre-trip mania, that I forgot today was my birthday until I went to yoga and had to write the date on my card. Funny. I guess I'm losing my memory already. And so young. And then we had to do sun salutations for the sum of my age digits. It's 11. You do the math.
So adios cha-cha. That's son's way of saying "Adios, muchacha."
We will try to blog from Friend's house in Espana. And give you updates.
Middlebrow has a Flickr account so we'll try to upload pictures too, so you can see how much fun we are having.
And don't forget to compliment me on the new shape of my eyebrows. Middlebrow is SO not equipped to be complimentary on this front. But it matters. It really does. Not as much as TV, but still.

The Way TV Could Be (Can Be?)

I know I spend way too much time writing, thinking about and, more importantly, blogging about television, but I am just too enamored of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip to let another week go by without examining why it is so good.

First, and I felt this way about The West Wing for the first three or four years, Sorkin et. al. shows the world not how it is, because that's way too depressing. But he shows how it could be. But more importantly, how it should be. On The West Wing, this meant we got to see how the world could be if we had a President that, I don't know, knew something about economics. Was a Christian who didn't believe in literal interpretations of the Bible. Believed in the separation of Church and State. Upheld the Constitution.

Now, and I know even as I write this it sounds ridiculous, Studio 60 demonstrates how TV could be. But wait. Maybe it's not ridiculous. How much time do most Americans spend watching TV? If TV were more intelligent, more democratic, more socially engaged, wouldn't that be beneficial for boneheads like me who spend so much time watching it?

Let's take tonight's episode, for example. As Middlebrow pointed out, this is what SNL should be. On the fake SNL, Studio 60, there was a skit about Santa being caught on the Dateline Predator cam. Funny, right? And Danny (Bradley Whitford. I heart him) made room on the show for a tribute to New Orleans complete with black and white photos and a brass section from N.O. And, more importantly, the boy got to kiss the girl. Satisfying.

This show also afforded not one but three characters the opportunity to make speeches and stand up for the First Amendment. Ed Asner!! got to make a speech about the First Amendment. On primetime television, baby.

More importantly, and this is my main point, people, so listen up: the show is not saturated in irony and sarcasm. Here's what I love: characters make speeches about the First Amendment and they are serious. They are not tongue in cheek. The show is saying that these sexy, rich people feel things and that's cool. It's smart and funny. It's okay to feel. In fact, the show goes out of its way to make you feel things. About New Orleans, for example, or the First Amendment.

And that, my friends, is why I love it. Plus I love all the actors and the witty banter. There's that too. And the blonde woman from the British Office. Did I mention Bradley Whitford? And Matthew Perry has left that other show far behind. I may heart him too.

A Sign I'm Still A Runner

Somehow, in the bitter (and I mean bitter) cold that has descended on us in the past few weeks, I have lost touch with the runner inside me. Don't get me wrong, I have still been running, but inside on a treadmill. I don't hate it, but it can get boring. So I was beginning to think that maybe I'm not so much of a runner. Maybe I'm just someone who works out.

Leave it to the January edition of Runner's World to remind me that I am, in fact, a runner. Just reading the list of 2007 marathons made my heart race. And then I found the Valley of the Sun half-marathon in Mesa just before Spring Break. So I'm thinking about it. The problem? I'll be in Spain when my training should begin. I guess if I run twice a week or so when I'm in Spain the whole thing could work. Plus it will give me the chance to run in Spain. Yeah! Spain!

In other news, I'm doing pretty well on my Finishing Books I Started This Year in an Attempt to Bolster My Year-End (reading) Numbers. I finished Michael Martone by Michael Martone (hilarious), Success Stories by Russell Banks (pretty good), The Evil B.B. Chow by Steve Almond (decent), and I'm almost done with Body Toxic by Susanne Antonetta. This last one is really good. I think I got bogged down in the earlier chapters, which focus more on the environment, but I'm really liking the later chapters which focus more on the "self-medication" she does, and on her journals, which are banal but fascinating. I have one or two others I need to finish, which may or may not happen this year.

I'm also done with all the grading I can do until Monday. Then it's a mad dash to the finish line. (I'm awfully fond of running metaphors as well.)

The (almost) End of the Semester Run-Down

Number of classes until I'm done, done, done: 11

Number of days until we leave for Spain: 15

Number of loads of laundry I'll need to do before we go: umm, 42?

Number of weeks completed for next semesters' syllabi: 3 (for one class) and 4 (for another)

Number of book contests I sent my book(s) to: 3

Number I've won: 0 (to be fair, only one is "over")

Number of poetry month poems I turned into short shorts for my book: 2

Number of Christmas presents purchased: 7

Number for Middlebrow and Son: 0

Number of students I'll be SO glad to see the last for many reasons, not the least of which are in-class use of hand-held devices and the fear he could go postal: 1

Number of books I'm looking forward to reading on the plane: 2 (can I finish two on the plane?)

What I'll miss most about Christmas in the States: my family, and cookies

What I'm most looking forward to doing in Spain: seeing friends, drinking wine with friends, sharing tapas with friends, everything?

Pre-Thanksgiving Miscellany

1. Recent five-year old communiques: Son wrote a note to a school friend, a girl, and Middlebrow didn't look at it before Son put it in her cubby. When I asked him what it said, he claimed he couldn't remember. Then later he said, "It said for and look and body." After that he told me it said, "Look into your body." Middlebrow overheard this and raised his eyebrows. I was given the task of intercepting this risque kindergarten note. Middlebrow told Son, "you have to be careful of what you write." At son's school they do Kid Spell which is OC speak for "stop asking me and figure it out yourself." I asked Son to take the note back so I could look at it. It said (and I quote): Lk for yr life. Lk to yr life. I'm not sure, but I think Son may be the next Dali Lama.
2. My favorite new song: Richard Thompson doing "Oops I Did It Again." His version of Squeeze's "Tempted" is a close second. (Thanks High Touch Mega Store)
3. Favorite night before Thanksgiving activity: Baking the pumpkins to make into pie tomorrow. According to my sister, Erin Alice, this is "way too Martha."
4. Okay, my real favorite night before Thanksgiving activity: drinking wine.
5. My favorite Thanksgiving activity: Drinking wine. And the obligatory football game in the backyard. This year Dr. Write and Donna take on Middlebrow and Son. It's obvious we will win. Girls kick a**!
6. My favorite internet activity: watching videos of racist rants on YouTube. And the drunk college professor. That one's good too. And Craig Ferguson. What did we do before YouTube? Oh yeah. Work.
7. My favorite day before Thanksgiving in-class activity: Giving extra credit to students just for showing up. I should go back to showing "A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving."
8. My favorite night before Thanksgiving meal: Popcorn and toast. (actually, soup. This year, from a can.)
9. My favorite day after Thanksgiving meal: Mexican.
10. My favorite day after Thanksgiving activity: buying nothing. I already got (most of) my Christmas shopping done.

This One's for Suzi

Because it is Monday night and because Studio 60 is over, and won't be on again for another week (damn the tv schedule!), and because I still have grading to do, I decided to post one of the sections of my new story? essay? titled (for now) "You Find Yourself in a Situation." As I said this one's for Suzi (yes, the same Suzi of "the sun, the moon, and Suzi's butt" for those of you who are paying attention).

You are sitting cross-legged in a Denny’s, tied up like a pretzel in the corner booth. You don’t know why. You don’t know why you are sitting cross-legged, but you are in Denny’s because you and your best friend decided to leave your town around 10:28 pm on a Friday and drive the approximately five hours (more like four and change the way she was driving) to her town, where her parents are not expecting you until morning. What to do? You start at a Denny’s right off the highway. The bars have just closed, or are closing, and the place is beginning to get busy. You and your friend empty your pockets and your wallets and your backpacks and count the change you have dumped onto the table. The question is, can you afford dessert? You cannot. You can afford the two omelets and two cups of coffee you have already consumed. When the waitress comes around again, you nod, yes, you will take more coffee. Refills are free. You begin to look into each other’s eyes with the goal of deciding how much longer you can sit in this booth and drink free refills before the waitress tires of you and asks you to leave. Just then a drunk cowboy staggers over to your table. Just a detail here, but it’s southern Idaho. This might not be the only drunk cowboy in the joint, but he’s the only one standing in front of your table. Or wobbling. The waitress sets your check on the edge of the table, eyes him and asks, almost reluctantly, if he wants anything. Give me a steak! he yells. And burn it! You are somehow charmed by this character, recognizing as you do, that he is drunk and paying attention to you. Why are you sitting like that? he exclaims, as the waitress flees. Are you a yogi? This is the eighties. Yogi is not a term you hear much in your day-to-day life. No, you say. It’s just comfortable. He eyes you suspiciously as if he recognizes the liberal, yoga loving hippie you are about to become. He grabs your check off the edge of the table. I’m going to get this! He begins waving the check around and swaying from side to side. Tell everyone that folks from Kuna are nice, he says. If you ever meet anyone, tell them that you met a cowboy and he bought you dinner.

A Poem for Tuesday

I was trying to find a poem with some hope for this election Tuesday. Here's one I found from the files of Poetry Month.

Not a Love Poem

There is no time for love poems now:
our house fills with dirty socks, small
metal trucks roll underfoot, and all
the dishes are crusted with dried food. How
did we get here? But here we are, together,
what luck, forlorn on this Tuesday night.
In the laundry room, the glaring light
reveals, too soon, that yes, I am her,
the woman you married, no longer sexy,
sorting the blues from the whites, pouring
bleach and soap. Let’s face it: we’re boring.
Instead of romance, we’ll have rest. He
might wake up, our son, no longer small.
But wait, this is a love poem, after all.

The Geneology of Influence

For reasons that may remain murky, I was thinking recently about how my aesthetic was shaped. Why, for example, do I love the marriage plot, mystery novels and experimental fiction? Why do I love lack of closure in short fiction and despise it in movies? Why do I love fiction that pretends to be non-fiction or that quotes from non-existent non-fictional books?

This musing sent me back to Whittenberger, summer 1985. For two weeks, I lived in the dorms at College of Idaho, went to writing and literature classes, left campus illegally with my friend Suzi, went to the Idaho Shakespeare festival, fell in love for the first time (there will be no more references to that), and basically hung out with those who would become English major nerds in college.

The reason I think back to that experience is that during that summer I read both "The Metamorphosis" and "Lost in the Funhouse" for the first time. For some reason, my friends and I were also reading from Buddhist texts. So lines like "For whom is the funhouse fun?" mix with "Three things are not long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth." Of course, I would write notes to my friends during class that said things like "Three things are not long hidden: the sun, the moon, and Suzi's butt." And when we discussed "The Metamorphosis" my posse and I would say, often and with feeling, "Monstrous vermin? How poetic!"

And, somehow, in conjunction with those thoughts I was revisiting the Frog and Toad books. I think these were the texts that had a huge influence on me when I began writing. Remember, for example, the story about The List? Toad makes a list and then proceeds to work his way down the list. But when he loses the list he is immobilized and can't do anything. He can't chase after the list because it is not on the list. Finally he remembers that Go To Sleep was on the list and so he writes it in the sand, crosses it out, and goes to sleep. Is that not post-modern? Does it not, in some way, represent the Post-modern Condition? Our lives mediated by language and text. It's probably no surprise, as well, that the first novel I read was Charlotte's Web. It also focuses on textuality, language, character. All the things I love.

Also in high school, same summer, I read Jane Austen for the first time, Pride and Prejudice. And I had just read Waiting for Godot in my English class, and then I saw a production of it during Whittenberger. I also read Catch-22 that year, and still remember the paper I wrote about the prostitutes. My senior year I read Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. All these texts were influential.

So my aesthetic (if I can call it that) is a strange mixture of plot and no-plot, closure and openness. I think this leads me to feel split, often. From my dissertation I now have two story collections. One, more traditional, is called When I Say Idaho. The stories in this collection have some plot, characters, closure. The other, more experimental, has gone through several name changes: In the House, The Infinite Cages. Lately I'm favoring Dioramas of the Domestic Landscape. The stories in this collection have little to no plot. They are not chronological. Some have no logic. One is "Knives in the Kitchen." It's about knives. One is "The Shopping Habits of My Neighbors." It's about shopping. They are thematically linked, but often they are episodic and more about ideas than about narrative arc.

I'm thinking of writing an essay about my aesthetic development. But I'm not sure how I'd decide to address my scizophrenic nature. So often, I think, we are asked to choose sides. But what if I don't want to choose sides? Can't I like both?

My favorite intersection is that of "Lost in the Funhouse" and Buddism. I'm definitely going to have to turn that into a story.

Movie Times

Middlebrow and I have been on a movie watching jag lately, thanks to Netflix. Here's what we have seen, with brief reviews.

Last night we saw The Prestige. First I just want to say that Christian Bale is my new favorite actor. I've loved him in the last few things I've watched. This movie was fantastic. I loved it. I liked everything about it: the fractured chronology, the dialogue, the premise, the actors, the magic. Everything! It was clever, but also touching. I also love Michael Caine in his understated way. And Hugh Jackman. Highly recommended.

On Thursday we watched V for Vendetta. I think this movie was promoted terribly. The most engaging part of the movie to me was the mystery elements and the Stephen Rea character. Of course Natalie Portman was good, but the movie was very intelligent, the dialogue was good. I think when I saw the trailer, I thought it would be super violent and I didn't get a good sense of the story. But I really loved this movie, and was impressed by the writing.

The Break-Up: I'm not sure what to say about this. I love both Jennifer Aniston and Vince Vaughn. And I love that Vincent D played Vince's brother. The cast was great. I have to say, though, that the ending was unsatisfying. I know it's all open-ended and what not, but when I watch a romantic comedy, I want a happy ending. But that's the problem. It wasn't really a romantic comedy. There were funny parts, sure, but most of it was rather dark. My favorite surprise cast member: Judy Davis. My favorite DVD extra: the alternate ending (which isn't that different) which features a touching version of "Rainbow Connection."

We also watched Junebug recently. Though, as MB said, it was totally without arc, it was entertaining. It's hard to say who was my favorite, because everyone was so good. I have to say the character of the husband was incredibly irritating, and it bugged me that the wife never stood up to his absenteeism. But the characters were interesting. I especially liked the folk artist guy, who was odd and creepy.

We finally watched Amelie, which of course we loved. I found it inspiring, in terms of its plot and, again, just how it was written, the interesting details and how the stories came together. It was funny and sweet and charming.

We saw Final Cut, which I have to admit, I was reluctant to watch. But it was quite good. There were some unsatisfying loose ends, but overall, it was good. The premise, that an editor edits your life down to a movie that makes you seem like a good person, was interesting, and Robin Williams was quite good in it.

Overall, I have to say that Netflix has helped us to catch up on our movie viewing. And we haven't really seen any movies we didn't like on some level. Though MB may not ever forgive me for Cache.

Most of My Brain

One day this week (I can't remember what day, the reasons for which I will explain), I was driving home from school blasting the radio, singing along when I realized the reason why I can't remember my relatives birthdays, any of the Presidents besides Washington, Lincoln, Kennedy, and Clinton, and how to do simple algebra is because most of my brain is occupied with remembering the lyrics to 80s pop songs.

For example
"I hear the secrets that you keep, when you're talking in your sleep."

"My Sherona. My, my, my, my Sherona. My, my, my, my, my. Whoo!"

"Wake me up before you go-go, 'cuz I'm not plannin' on goin' solo. Wake me up before you go-go. Take me dancin' tonight. I wanna hit that high!"

"You're too shy-shy, hush hush I know why. Too shy-shy. Hush Hush."

"In the shower, I'm afraid to wash my hair. Cuz I might open my eyes and find someone standing there."

"Imagination never lets us take blame."

"Black cars look better in the shade."

"'Cuz there is something about you, baby, so right. Wouldn't be here without you, oh oh, tonight."

Did I mention I saw Rick Springfield on an infomercial selling an 80s compilation CD?
I thought: "I wanna tell her that I love her but the point is probably moot."

Also, this doesn't qualify as pop exactly, but I found myself singing it in the car today.
"Out of luck, out of love. Got a photograph, picture of."

And can anyone tell me when Depeche Mode became Classic Rock?

A free 80s mix tape to anyone who can name the sources of the lyrics above.
I will probably forget (soon) your names in order to make room for more song lyrics. I apologize in advance.

The Lame Class

Today I gave my class a long (20 minute) presentation on their next paper, outlining in excruciating detail what, precisely, I expected in the paper. Then I gave them time in class to pair up and discuss, in order to come up with thesis statements. My first class was great. Fantastic. While I was talking they were all paying attention (and trust me, it was boring), they made eye contact, and after class one student, not the best student, not an ass kisser, came up and thanked me (thanked me!!) for going over the paper, and he also thanked me for responding to his post on WebCT this weekend. "It was very helpful," he said.
Class Two: Males in the class were visibly dozing while I talked. I gave them time to pair up. Most of the class (except four) left after about ten minutes. They are now known as "The Lame Class."
My question is: How should I exact my revenge? I have some ideas, but I want to know what you think.

Where Has the Old TV Gone?

My recent love affair with TV (not new, but renewed) has caused me to reflect on past loves. Here are some that I am waiting to come out on DVD so I can fall in love again.

The Days and Nights of Molly Dodd: Am I the only one who remembers, and loved, this show? I love Blair Brown, the star. And David Strathairn as Moss, the bookstore owner. I became addicted to it just after I graduated from college and was living in Seattle. I'm waiting, but unless someone else gets on the bandwagon, I'm not sure this will ever come out on DVD.

Thirtysomething: I know I'm not the only one who watched this, but it is still unavailable on DVD. Especially now that Timothy Busfield is back on Studio 60 (another show which, blame Middlebrow, I am now addicted to. It's actually good!), maybe they will put it out on DVD. The funny thing to me now is that I watched this show when I was twentysomething. Why did I like this show? I loved it! But it was about totally foreign experiences, child rearing and working. What did I know? Maybe I hoped my life would be as exciting and climactic as their lives. Is it? No. Not nearly as exciting. That's why I want the show on DVD.

Others? Are there shows you miss and wait (quietly, deperately) for them to be issued on DVD?
I wanna know!

Good News for Women Writers!

Kiran Desai just won the Booker Prize!

After my last post about "best novels" I found this news heartening. And, of the six nominees, three were women. Is it that the UK is more forward thinking than the ole U S of A, or what? Anyway, the name of her book is The Inheritance of Loss, which sounds good.

Other good news for women is the Gift of Freedom Award. $50,000, sisters! This year the award is for a fiction writer. Let's get out there and apply.

Maybe it's the cold medicine (let's hear it for DayQuil), but I'm feeling more optimistic.

Russell Banks

Last night I went to the Dewey Lecture at the Downtown Library. Russell Banks talked about canon formation, using the occasion of the New York Times poll of "the most significant novel of the last 25 years." His choice was Ironweed by William Kennedy, because, he said, it's the book he most wishes he had written.
I think that's a good standard for making a list of novels. He talked a lot about the folly of making end of the year lists and best novels of the century and such things. But he did come up with a list of five things that good novels must tell us:

1. Who we are
2. Where we came from
3. The names and powers of our gods
4. Who our enemies are
5. How to protect ourselves from enemies

He said the Great American Novel is a mythical creature, like a hippogrif. He said it is a book that is still being written. I think it is almost an impossible task, at this point in our national history. Can one novel encompass everything? Isn't it rather presumptuous to believe that one novel can speak to the many aspects of what it means to be American?

I don't know, but I think I would have to have voted like Banks, choosing a novel I just liked or wished I had written, rather than trying to decide which was "most significant." For the most part I find "important" novels boring. Middlesex and The Corrections come to mind as novels that try to be important and The Great American Novel at the outset. I liked Middlesex, but I preferred the narrator's story to the larger immigrant story. I couldn't read The Corrections. I read about ten pages and thought if I had to read one more description of magazines piled around the house, I was going to scream.

Just thinking about it now, I'd have to say that the novels that come to mind as my favorites are not American, but British or Canadian. And if I had to pick just one novel? Just one American novel? Aargh! I can't do it!

But just for the record, of the novels nominated in the NYTimes poll, I loved Underworld, but I wonder if it will age well. It seems so much of our time. I do love Beloved, but I loved it less the second and third times I read it. I haven't read any Roth since Goodbye, Columbus. I just can't stand that much discussion of masturbation. Banks said last night that John Irving voted for himself.

Actually, thinking about it just now, I have to wonder why Sherman Alexie didn't get any nods. If there is one aspect of American culture that needs illumination, I think it is Native American culture. I loved Reservation Blues and The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven.

Middlebrow suggested to me that maybe it's a problem of genre: my favorite American writers are short story writers. Ron Carlson, for example, is one of the best. Jesus's Son by Denis Johnson and The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien both received some votes in the poll. The other book I might have voted for is All The Pretty Horses, though again, it pales upon revisitation. Notice another problem with all these titles? Yep. All men. The other book I thought of was Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson, which Middlebrow mentions is really a novella.

Which leads me to the question, is the Great American Novel a masculine conceit? Do women's novels, because they tend to (gross overgeneralization) focus on more intimate portraits, automatically fail to be a Great American Novel? I think maybe so. I think our conception of the Great American Novel excludes many fine novels by women, just by virtue of the definition of the GAN.

So maybe I would make a protest vote: Break it Down by Lydia Davis. It's a book I wish I had written. It's short stories.

So what about you? Cast your vote and be counted!

Signs of Fall

I recently blogged about one sign of fall: New TV. But what are the other signs of fall that I welcome every year?
Here are a few.

1. Soup. It's finally cool enough to make soup in my kitchen without dying. And it's cool enough to appreciate the warming effects. On the menu for this weekend: some chili perhaps?
2. Sweaters. One of my favorite rituals as a child was finding the great barrels (cardboard, probably from U-Haul) that we stowed our winter wear in. As a child, it was like shopping, because what had belonged to my sister the year before was now mine. I remember specifically when I unearthed an "Organic" (remember that brand?) corduroy skirt that had belonged to my oldest sister that finally fit me. It was soft and brown. I loved that skirt! Now I only get to unpack the stuff from last winter that was mine and is mine still. But it is somewhat like shopping, because after six months, I've forgotten what's in there. My love of sweaters also explains why I will never live in Phoenix.
3. Leaves. This year (maybe it's this way every year) it seemed like the trees on my street changed over night. One day green, yellow or red the next. I love leaves and have since I went to school in Oregon. There were so many beautiful colors in the fall. It's the same here. I love the intense yellows appearing all over. I collect the leaves with Son and press them in the Dictionary or the Riverside Shakespeare. I vow we will make some beautiful art project with these leaves. So far? A dictionary full of leaves.
4. Pumpkins. I love pumpkin seeds and pumpkin pie. I love seeing a huge pile of pumpkins outside every grocery store. My love of pumpkins goes beyond Halloween. I especially love to visit Pumpkin Patches and pick my own. Sadly, this tradition seems to be disappearing. Son's school was recently deciding if the class should take a field trip to the Pumpkin Patch. I was one of the parents who raised her hand to say, yes, I want to go and I want Son to go. I love the crisp air and the tractors and the hayrides. I also love the hot cider.
5. Fall Break. We never had one when I was in school. Or if we did, it was called "Potato Harvest." Even if I don't leave town, or I only get 50 miles away, it's a break.
6. Baked Potatoes for dinner. See #5.
7. Even though I don't watch football or follow football, I do have a certain nostalgic love for the outdoor sporting event. The crisp air, the sweaters. Do they still have bonfires? Probably not. They seemed unsafe, even when I was in high school. But they were fun.

What are your favorite signs of fall?

I Love TV!

I've been thinking a lot about popular culture lately, and with the dawn of the new TV season, I have paused to think about what TV shows I really love. Really.

The New Adventures of Old Christine: While people love to insult the title, this show is actually funny. For example, last night Christine was talking about how when they are not dating women channel their energy into other things. "Like what?" her brother asks. "Drinking." (It's funny because it's true.)

Grey's Anatomy: Yes. I'm one of the hoards of people who can't get enough. Forget that the basic premise, that McDreamy would leave his gorgeous wife Addison (Kate Walsh) for the pouty Meredith (Ellen Pompeo), is completely unbelievable. I watch because of Cristina (Sandra Oh). And for McDreamy, who are we kidding, even though I find him morally challenged. And I like the rest of the cast too. It knows it's a soap opera with some medicine thrown in. I respect that.

Kidnapped: Somehow Middlebrow got me addicted to this even though the set up, kidnapped kid!!, would normally make me turn the dial. But really it's Jeremy Sisto I love. I get to love him now without being creeped out, as I was on Six Feet Under. Plus it's a mystery.

Without a Trace: I know I've said (more than once) that I would never watch this show again. I just can't watch the ones about kids. But I love Anthony!! It's genetic, I must love him. Plus that blonde girl doesn't bug me as much as she used to. And that other guy is okay too. But Anthony. . . (sigh)

Numbers: Math made sexy. Female FBI agents in completely impractical outfits (I like to mention this to MB when we watch it). Did I mention the math? This show reminds me that while math is a different language, it's basically narrative. Or the show makes it seem that way, for which I am appreciative.

Law & Order: The original. I still love it, even though the cast keeps changing. But I like the split between mystery and law drama. And they can still wrap it up in an hour. Nice work!

The Office: Love it! It's gotten away from the British original, but it's still hilarious. Steve Carrell. I loved the Gaydar on the last episode. Gaydar!

Scrubs: In reruns every night on KJZZ. Twice in a row. Nothing takes away the sting of grading like comedy and Fudge Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (MB brought these into the house. I must kill him!). And beer.

Also I watch Mystery every Sunday as long as the Inspector Lynley mysteries are on. We love our British Crime Drama. And comedy.

But what happened to Love Monkey? Middlebrow and I were the only ones who watched it. But it was good. Tom Cavanagh!! He's Canadian!! C'mon!

In Chicago, My Hair is a Whole Different Person

It’s the humidity. No. It’s the heat.
Either way, suddenly, my hair
has a mind of its own. The usually neat
tidy strands, fill with water. No hair care
product can keep it in check. It’s wild,
footloose, a coif with no inhibitions,
hair on the loose, like an impudent child
suddenly allowed out. It’s a bitch, one
damn thing after the next, each tangle
with a complaint or idea of her own.
Each heads out at a different angle
determined to look wind blown,
sexy. It doesn’t work. I look like that
psycho killer housewife. I need a hat.

Weekend Wedding Redux

My favorite thing about the public transportation: The fact that it goes right by the upper windows of apartment buildings.

My old new favorite person: Dave, the poet. Doesn't he look arty? He took me to a cool pub where we had beer and dinner. He's thinking poetic thoughts.

New favorite activity: Throwing back a cold Old Style in a hip dive bar.

New favorite T-shirt: This pink one. I bought it the day before I left for the weekend. The flight attendant complimented me on the color. It cost $12.99.

My new bedtime: 3:30. Yes, a.m. These are the crazy people I was drinking and playing the name game with in their hotel room on Friday night. They are friends of the groom. What are their names? I can't remember. (But my best guess is: girl, Adam, Lance, Jamal)

My new new favorite person: Lance (in the middle, above). He's a friend of the bride from Stanford. I blame him for the fact that I'm still tired, two days later.

My new favorite word: Ridiculously. As in, the wedding was ridiculously fun and emotional, everyone is ridiculously successful and ridiculously attractive. The toasts were all ridiculously eloquent, including Lance's. I stayed out ridiculously late one night, and only kind of late the next. I had to get up ridiculously early to make my plane.

My favorite pre-wedding chit-chat topic: The ridiculously liberal Salt Lake Mayor, Rocky Anderson. Also: kindergarten, day care, and how ridiculously easy it is to live where I live.

My one regret: I didn't give a toast. The others were just too good. I should have written one before I went. I was the only grad school/creative writing representative.

Final evaluation: A++

I had a ridiculously good time.

Edward Hopper Watches Me Undress: Yet Another Sonnet

Someone’s always watching. Think about it.
Might as well be Edward Hopper. At least he
would try to see me in a positive light, he
might turn his head and try to determine if
there is a best side, and what color my skin
actually is: apricot? butter? morning sun?
Maybe he would shout encouragement, one
word, well-timed, would help with when,
exactly, to discard the shirt, or what I should do,
like if I should twirl the bra, or just drop
it, still cupping my absent breasts, on top
of my t-shirt, jeans, socks, empty shoes.
Forget it. He would paint only what he can see,
hair, eyes, skin tone. Not actually me.

The Poem a Day Project

At the request of my sister, ErinAlice (see blog roll to the right), I am posting my most recent poem. I will find a way to post the rest of the poems, either here or elsewhere. I'll admit right now I'm behind. But only by two poems. So I can catch up. Really, I can.

How to Write a Raymond Carver Story

First, there must be alcohol.
Add some people who like to drink.
The action is mostly internal. Think
about love or death. A man calls
his lover from a payphone or a
stranger in the middle of the night.
The story is about sex, or a fight
over sex. Or they need more of
something they lack: sleep or money
or gin. They were in love, once,
but now it’s gone bad. He humps
a maid, or a stranger. He says, honey,
it’s not over, not yet. It’s not so bad
we have to quit. In any case, the end is sad.

Intelligent Design Vs. Evolution, According to Son

This morning son was singing a new song. I'm not sure how he came up with the lyrics.

Son: God's coming down from outer space. God's coming down from outer space.

and later

Son: We were made from apes. Humans were made from apes. We are apes.


(Just now Son and Friend are playing, either with lego men or his knights. Here is that conversation:)

Son: Let's get mochas. We'll have two mochas, please. That costs thirty dollars. Pretend I got you a bagel too.

Geez. I'm not sure where he gets all this stuff. Certainly not from me.

We need a Dog

This is Britt, the winning Sheepdog from the Soldier Hollow Classic. This dog looks a bit like the dog I had growing up. Son wants a dog so bad "he's going to explode." Middlebrow and I pretty much feel the same way. After Christmas, then a dog. That's the promise we've made. We'd really like a Border Collie or a shepherd, the only problem is, they need jobs, like herding or else they make jobs, like chewing up every pair of shoes in the house. Most likely we will rescue some mixed mutt from the pound. And we will love him or her!!

September: One Poem a Day & New Novel

HighTouchMegaStore and I have entered into a verbal contract to write one poem a day for the month of September. I forgot that yesterday was the first, so I had to write two this morning. The second one, a sonnet entitled "My Sisters Transform into Small Birds," was much better than the first. I invited Otterbutt to join, and she may. I look forward to receiving poems every day via email.

I have also, perhaps somewhat foolishly?, undertaken a new novel, which I unknowingly started this summer when I wrote a story called "Still Life." My dreams of grandeur have already been dashed, however, as I received my email rejection from The New Yorker last week. It's already easier than the unfinished novel in that it's simply chronological, I have a full cast of characters and I just write from another point-of-view when I get bored or stumped. It's also fun because it's set in Idaho and one guy works on a farm, so I get to throw in some farm jokes, personal experiences, etc. I actually already used a line that one of my dad's friends said to Middlebrow when we were helping them load the hay from the field next to my dad's house. And I've also included that the farmer drinks beer at 10 a.m. when he drives his pickup around. And I get to write from the boring husband's pov too. That should be fun. He's a medievalist, but I'm not going to do any research. Maybe I'll just base him on someone I know.

My plan is to use those spare moments to write poems. I wrote a four-page story about a pig ("The Manner in Which the Pig was Obtained") just because the urge hit me. I've been doing a lot of writing in my head as I lay in bed and try to sleep. But now I'm going to try to get out of bed and write a few things down. Or write a few things down before I go to bed.

Monday we are off to the Sheepdog Competition at Soldier Hollow. We went last year and had a great time. Lamb burgers and sheepshearing. What fun!!

So Far, So Mean

The first day of school went off without incident. Except. My plan for the semester (for my life, really) was to wear the Power Outfit and scare my students into respecting me. Or my clothes, at least. But I didn't do any shopping before the semester started, so I had to go for the casual teacher outfit.
Also, I try to be the right combination of nice and scary on the first day, so that the students who will inevitably end up to be a pain drop and the nice students stay. I wasn't even mean in my first two classes.
But then, as I was talking about the importance of participation, I saw a student in the back of the class doing something with a small handheld electronic device. So I said, "Or, for example, if you are sitting at the back of the room, playing with an electronic device instead of paying attention, I'll remember that." Nothing. He didn't even look up. I paused for dramatic effect. The class was quiet. Then, he finally looked up, and I asked him to put it away. "If you don't want to be here," I said, "don't come. But there are people who want to be in this class. I can't make you a better writer unless you want to be one."
The students sat in a stunned silence. Then I went on with my boring monologue concerning the syllabus.
I rushed right home to see if he dropped. So far, he hasn't.

The Twins

Tonight I attended "The Best of the Breast" show at the Rose Wagner. It was a series of monologues and some haiku performed by women. Each of the monologues was written by a different woman. My friend Sylvia wrote one, and the woman who performed was excellent. All in all, the monologues were engaging and entertaining. Some were sad or disturbing, but in general, they exposed some little discussed aspects of breast ownership.
One of my favorites was called "The Twins." It was about a woman who learned about breasts from an older female neighbor who referred to her own as The Twins. She even named them and described their opposite personalities. Sometimes she said, "I can't talk now. Terese (one of the breasts, the naughty one) kept us up all night. She learned how to make pasties out of drink umbrellas and we were up until 3."
I've decided that this is how I will deal with all potentially confrontational situations. It's not that I don't want to do whatever it is I'm supposed to be doing, but The Twins. Well, they don't like action adventure movies. They don't want to go for a run. They don't want to eat spinach, etc.
I think I'm going to like the perkiness of The Twins.

Little Miss Sunshine

Last night, Middlebrow and I saw "Little Miss Sunshine." Besides being smartly written, it was both sad and hilarious. At one point, I won't say when, I was laughing so hard I was crying. In fact, I'll go out on a limb and say it was the best movie I've seen this year. Why? As I was saying to MB on the way home, it's not rocket science. The movie had

• interesting characters
• tense situations
• conflict
• an amazing cast

But here's the part, I guess, that is harder to achieve: the writing. The dialogue was great, sharp, but didn't draw attention to its own cleverness. It is difficult to get all the elements working together, moving in the same direction, but this film achieved that.

Here are my nominations: Steve Carrel, best supporting actor; Alan Arkin, best supporting actor; Michael Arndt, best original screenplay; Abigal Breslin, best actress.

PMK in the OC

Son will be starting Kindergarten soon. He's attending a school called The Open Classroom, or in common parlance, The OC. He will be in PM Kindergarten (PMK). Middlebrow almost cracked up at the New Families meeting everytime the nice woman running the meeting said, "In the OC" or "If you're not familiar with the OC." No one else, besides him and me, seemed to find it funny or in the least strange. Being the bad kids that we are, and trying to establish from the get go that we will be The Slackers, we began talking about the OC as if we were stars in the Fox show.
"Like, I hope all this co-oping won't interfere with my tanning."
"Um, Jessica? Jessica? Jessica?"
"Like, I don't think it's like, appropriate?, if like parents, like, yell, except when, you know, your kid is like, a total jerk. Then it's totally fine."
"Umm, is this meeting almost over? Cuz I so have to IM someone. Like now."

As the years wear on, I can see this joke becoming unfunny. But for now, it's like, totally hilarious. Especially if you take into account the general demographic of the OC, which is pretty much people like Middlebrow and me: middle-class, sandal-wearing, pseudo-hippies who drive Subarus and Priuses and Volvos (except us, of course) and wear Keen shoes and Columbia sportswear (okay, that includes me), eat rice and talk about our commitment to public education. I'm totally in the OC, dude.

Camping Trip: 2006

Here is Son at the entrance to the campground where we stayed. It had all the requisite aspects necessary for the complete camping experience: stinky vault toilets (where a small animal had, no doubt, met its end. what else could account for the stench?), loud, screaming pre-teen girls who rode their scooters up the road every five minutes trying to gain the attention of the boys camped across the way, camp host with golf cart, large parties of scouts/church groups, enough RVs to pay for the war in Iraq (in gas, I mean).
Perhaps you can't tell from this photo, but our poor little Saturn is stuffed to the gills with necessary camping equipment like the thinnest of sleeping pads (woefully inadequate!) and the puffiest of sleeping bags (still not warm enough!) and snacks.
Did I mention the best camping invention since bagged ice? Yes, I could only be talking about pre-made (!!) margaritas in a bottle that you can buy at the liqour store. Did you hear me? Pre-made!! What do you need after a short drive in a cramped car, followed by a cursory perusal of every campsite in a five-mile radius? That's right, a pre-made margarita on ice. Thank you very much!
Okay. Here's the real reason we go camping. Blue, blue, blue sparkly lakes, hikes with Son, excuses to eat marshmellows, huddling together in the tent to keep warm, sitting around the fire drinking hot drinks, telling Son about the camping trips of our youth, trying to remember all the words to "Take Me Home, Country Roads."


Son proved himself to be an amazing hiker. He hiked without complaining, and led us on the uphill climb back to the car at a pace that would leave Floyd Landis breathless (Floyd without the dope, I mean). He also said he wanted to be a Ranger when he grew up, and he began his training by building several cairns (one pictured here) to help hikers when the trail "got confusing." Which way is it to Brooklyn? Yeah, it's thataway.

All in all, a wonderful trip. We did not freeze to death the first night (though we could have), and Middlebrow and Son discovered a few lakes that they have vowed to go back and fish in. And I achieved my goal: I relaxed and was fun. I had fun. I laughed. I forgot about the S word for a few days. I drank pre-made margaritas, ate Smores and sang songs. What else does a girl need?

No More Fun

For the rest of the "summer" I'm officially no fun. Today, for some reason that remains a mystery to me, I had the first of what promises to be a series of anxiety attacks heralding the return of school.
After spending a good deal of the early afternoon hiking in the Albion Basin (would have pictures but the camera's batteries are eternally "exhausted"), I returned home to have a premature nervous breakdown. I was saying as much when Middlebrow, sensing an opportunity, said he would take Son to the park. MB was slow getting off the couch (where he has been parked, working, for, oh, forever) so Son began badgering me to take him to the park.
"Let's go to the park, Mom, the nervous breakdown is at the park."
On the plus side, I did almost finish one of my syllabi. So I got that goin' for me.

10 K

My friend, colleague, and fellow running enthusiast J.C. (no, not Jesus Christ) conned me into running the Deseret News/KJZZ Pioneer Day 10K. It (sort of ) fit in with my new Half-Marathon training schedule so I agreed.
Then J.C. somehow injured herself running (that doesn't bode well for the story, does it?), and I was left to run the 10K by myself. Well, by myself with about 200 people.
When my alarm went of at 4:45 a.m. (yes, IN THE MORNING), I thought, I can just lay here. No one will know if I don't run the race. Problem was, I already had a full tank of adrenaline and nerves. What was I going to do with that?
So I finally left the house at 5:40. Race time was 6. So I got even more nervy driving up to Research Park. I wasn't the only one arriving just in time.
The race started at 6:05. It took several minutes for all of us to file over the starting line.
I knew that I had started too fast. I was tired and my mouth was dry. I just kept running fast, though, because I wanted water. The first aid station wasn't until Mile 3. By that time, I was halfway done. Why slow down? The faster I ran, my logic dictated, the faster I would be done.
I finished the race in 54:39. My goal had been to average 9:30 or 9:15 miles. My unofficial average was 8:48. (Remember, my half-marathon average was 10:06).
So I'm pretty proud of myself. My new training regimen is working!

Out with the Old: In With The New

This is an installation currently showing in our living room. We call it "Refrigerator, circa 2006." The refrigerator, of course, is much older. But see how its ironic placement in the living room of a contemporary dwelling calls attention to its status as a practical rather than an aesthetic object. Look for further objects in this series, including "Garbage Can with Cantaloupe and Shell Sink" and "Bathroom Storage: An Inquiry."
This is the object that shall henceforth be referred to as "The Thousand Dollar Fridge" as in (imagine this in Middlebrow's voice), "Hey honey, would you grab me a light beer from The Thousand Dollar Fridge?"
See, at first MB didn't understand the allure of the adjustable shelves. Not just adjustable, but adjustable half shelves. And the door that can store, like, five jars of unnecessary olives and pickles. And, as you can see, chocolate syrup, three bottle of sesame oil (??), and so many different kinds of salad dressing it boggles the mind.
MB now understands the allure of this particular fridge. "Hey!" he said. "You could fit a whole case of beer in here." Of course. When one wants to convince the husband to buy an overly expensive appliance, think of your audience. Shouldn't I know this? Don't I teach this to my students?

Here, then, is how we spent the afternoon: moving the acceptable food items from the old, sad, white fridge to the new, gleaming stainless steel fridge.

We've almost joined the world of grown ups. Almost.

Giving Up vs. Surrender

The word surrender has a nice ring to it. Like giving in to something pleasurable or inevitable. Giving up sounds like you've thrown in the towel, you're a wimp, you just don't have the stamina. But, ultimately, don't both mean the same? You're ceasing to do one thing in favor of something else.

I only bring this up because I feel I'm on the verge of giving up on writing for the summer. I've lost my will. Or am I merely surrendering to more pressing responsibilities like playing Clue, Jr. and Superman Uno with Son?

This was supposed to be the week I really cranked up the heat on my novel. But instead, (due to a bad day camp situation), I'm spending all my time with Son and some really demanding cats. And Mother Nature is cranking up the heat on me, and others. As a result we're having some quality indoor time.

Which has caused me to ponder, does the world really need my novel? (no) Can it wait until a time when Son needs me less? (yes) And is it possible to be a good mother and a good person AND finish a novel? (unknown, so far, no)

Is it necessary to be an arrogant bastard who believes the world needs his/her novel in order to just finish the damn thing? (possibly)