"Once" and Exhausted

If you haven't seen the movie "Once," you should. Absolutely. Now. Stop reading and go see it. Good. Now, you should listen to the live concert from NPR.
I saw "Once" by myself on Saturday, which probably contributed to the over all weepiness of the experience. But it was so good. And surprising. And original. Okay, enough cliches. But still. So. Good. I was listening to the concert last night and I think it annoyed MB. Too folky, or something. He doesn't like emotions, of course.
In any case, does anyone want to fly to Portland just to see their concert? I do, though I recognize it ain't gonna happen and it's ridiculous, because what's the point of having a job if you can't just fly off to Portland to see some musicians from Dublin?
In other news, I ran my last long run before the Half Marathon. I'm exhausted. And I think I'm getting sick (sore throat). But I literally fell into bed last night. But not until I had eaten a metric ton of food, including: bag of Spicy Thai chips, three Hermit cookies, some Reese's Peanut Butter cups, a turkey burger, some roasted beets and potatoes, broccoli. Not in that order. And a beer. Then I fell into bed. I also crave a sugar cookie with lots of nasty icing. I'll get that later.
Did everyone see "Once" then? Don't tell me you hated it. I can't take it. Only love, people.

Just Had to Blog

I don't have anything to say, but I felt the need to blog. MB is home and he thinks the nook looks fantastic. I'll post some pictures, eventually. We still have to finish the benches, but still. And maybe get new cushions? Always something.
Today as I was walking down the hall at school, I saw a young woman carrying her young son. He had his head on her shoulder, just snuggled up. It made me pine for those days. Son is much too big for prolonged carrying, and when I do carry him, it hurts me. I fondly remember those days when he would lay his head against my shoulder and relax into me, making him easy to carry.
One of my fondest memories is of a day when we lived in our old house downtown. His bedroom was in the front of the house and our "office" was in the back. He was taking a nap and I was in the back working. I was probably reading for my exams. He got up from his nap and came and found me in the office. He climbed into my lap and snuggled as only a boy who has just awoken can.
I miss those days, but I do so enjoy my conversations with him now. He read to me tonight, and I'm continually amazed at the words he can just read.
He also was explaining to me earlier that at school he got a folder and a bag to keep pens in. He held his hands parallel to one another and smacked them down on the table in unison to emphasize that he "just got it. Today." (thump thump). He's a gesturer. Wonder where he gets that?
In other news, I finally printed out my book. But now that I've done that, I've received some feedback from my adviser. Should I take her advice and change stuff and then print it out again? Have I mentioned I'm sick of this book and hate it and wish it would go away, like to the publisher, for example?

Children, Crying and Crying about Children

While the gander is away, the goose is busy trying to keep her head above the rain water. Okay, seriously.
Last night, I watched way too much TV. And way too much of it involved: children, death (which made me cry) or children themselves crying. Example: I was watching "The Office" (pretty safe, no kids or crying) but stupidly flipped and saw about 3.2 seconds of "Grey's Anatomy" which involved Alex getting punched out by a guy who stole his own child (toddler age) who was addicted to crack because they had been making it in the house. And then, I watched about 5 minutes of news, which, of course, had to involve child murder, etc. And then I watched some "Nightline" which in a weird convergence of reality and TV involved a girl (child) with an artificial heart who received a visit from McDreamy.
In any case, I shouldn't watch TV when I'm alone. It just makes me cry. But then I kept watching "Nightline" and it had a short segment on wine. And that didn't make me cry.
In an effort to redeem the post, let me list some happy things I've discovered while the gander is away: (not news any of them, but perhaps, only to me?, interesting)

1. I love voice-over narration. Maybe it's the fiction writer in me, but I love the voice, no matter what it says. I like to hear it. Not explaining, but commenting on.
2. I love snow in a movie. A scene with snow falling, lightly or heavily, characters walking or running. Your work is done.
3. I like foreign films. Yes, they are difficult. Those pesky subtitles. But I love to hear a foreign language. And after awhile I forget I'm reading. Really, I do.
4. I love food.
5. All these things go together of course: "Mostly Martha." I think it was Lis who recommended it. Thanks!
6. But I did cry, a few times, during this movie. So thus, the theme.
   
7. I also saw "Notes on a Scandal" last weekend. Amazing. I can't believe Judy Dench didn't win for that. I know, I'm sure Helen Mirren was amazing in "The Queen." But I can't believe she was better than JD. Omigod. An astounding film. Perhaps the best of last year. Also with a voice over. Also based on a novel. What can I say? I'm loyal.
8. I also watched "Open Season" tonight with son. I'm sure you have many nasty things to say about Aston Kucher (his name sounds like slang for women's anatomy?) but his voice and insane dialog made this movie enjoyable. Really. I'm not kidding. Usually I find him as annoying as a trucker hat on a Hollywood star. But he was funny. The whole movie was funny. Sorry.
9. I like to not cook and have Wild Oats sushi for dinner with Wild Oats soda and Wild Oats cookies. Why not?
10. Who takes out the garbage when the gander is away? The goose. That's right! The goose!
11. When the gander's away the goose has to do fucking everything. Is that fair I ask you?
    
12. Am I a goose? And what does that mean, really?

Tomorrow I must go to the market (rain or no rain) and fetch some tomatoes if there are any to be had, and most importantly, a pumpkin for Son. It is never too early in October for Pumpkin buying. I anxiously await the weekend I can buy a sugar pie Pumpkin and make a pie. Yum.
Son is already looking forward to Christmas. Today he asked, "Why can't we sometimes just stay here for Christmas?"
I told him we were staying here for Christmas and he was happy. Not so happy about the fact that we have to get a small Christmas tree (so to avoid chewing by the Gus dog). But we came up with some possible ways to hide the tree from Gus, so we'll see. But he's happy, so that's good. He being Son.
MB returns on Sunday to a house filled with dirty dishes and, hmm, we'll see, tomatoes? In any case, he'll have his hands full as I have some papers to grade and have made no progress thus far.
What? What's that you say? I can watch "30 Rock" on-line? Must run. Kiss-kiss.

Twit: new blog

Hey! Come join us over at Twit: Where Big Minds Take on the Small Screen. So far there have been a flurry of posts, as is typical with the new blog (yeah!). So much shinier and more fun than the old blog (boo!).
If you want to be invited, just drop me a line. I tried to invite everyone I thought would want to post/be involved. But you have to post. And it doesn't necessarily have to reflect the "big minds" (i.e. intellectual) but if you are involved, that means you have a big mind (because you're so smart to want to blog with us). And it does have to be about the small screen.

Flight of the Conchords

These are the funniest things I've seen in a long time. I may be the last person in the world to hear about the Conchords, but if not, I had to pass it on. Enjoy.

The Joys of Parenthood

One of the great (anticipated, but no less enjoyable for being so) joys of being a parent is listening to Son read. I know I have mentioned this before, but I love LOVE it when he reads Frog and Toad to me. Is it the froggy- and toady-ness of the characters? The subtle philosophical questions it evokes? Just as an example, last night Son asked, "Why is Frog called Frog, why isn't he called Toad?"
I know part of it is the familiar rhythm of simple sentences and declarative statements, such as "One morning Toad sat in bed."
Maybe my favorite part is the meta-narrative element. For example, in "Dragons and Giants," Frog and Toad decide to figure out if they are brave after they read a book about brave people. They go out for an adventure and get scared by a snake, an avalanche, and a hawk, and then run home and hide in the closet, but not before Frog and Toad assure each other that "I am happy to know a brave person like you."
They have very simple conversations like: "The people in this book are brave," said Toad. "I wonder if we are brave," said Frog.
Having Son read to me is the best thing ever. It makes me want to write in simple sentences and return to that time when I was just discovering the amazing world of reading. I love it when Son reads and laughs as he's reading, because he understands not only what's being said, but that it's funny. He loves the irony of Frog and Toad running away from the hawk screaming, "We are not afraid!"
I look forward to listening to him read to me at night for a long time.

Name That TV Blog

What shall we call our new TV blog? We are going to create one, and we will invite you if, IF, you agree to blog once a week. Maybe we'll give you time off for grading. Maybe.
My idea is: Twit (but the W is made up of two vees, one for T "v", get it?) but we're not twits. It's for TV wit. We are witty, right?
Ideas:

For HighTouch: Why the American Version of "The Office" is so much better than the British

First of all, to get this out of the way, let me just admit that I am a huge fan of the British series "The Office." In fact, I resisted watching the American version because I just didn't think it could live up to the British.
It is a well known fact in my household and in other parts of the United States that the Brits are just funnier than Americans. In general, this is true. I think it is caused by their flavorless cuisine and their far superior beer, but it could also be attributed to the sogginess of their environs, which leads to wet socks, and everyone knows that causes one to make dry and acerbic comments. I'm sure there are Brits who are not funny, but I don't know what rock they are hiding under. Let me also say that one of my favorite office moments is when Tim puts Gareth's stapler in gelatin (since it's England it's not Jello, or maybe it is).
That said, the American version has far surpassed the British version, in my heart if not in reality. Partly this may be a function of the length of the series. The American version is beginning its fourth season, and the British version was only two, plus the bonus special. The additional seasons have allowed for more character development.
In the British version, the minor characters remained minor characters, colorful, funny, but never wholly human. In the American version, as the seasons have progressed, minor characters have come to the front, so that "The Office" is not just the story of Michael, Dwight, Pam and Jim, but also the story of Toby, Phyllis, Angela, Kevin, Kelly, Ryan, Creed, Oscar, and Roy (etc. I know I'm leaving some out). And this, I contend, is what makes the American "Office" a superior television product. If a series is to survive, it can't simply be funny. It must be funny, yes, but it has to be funny with heart. I know veteran readers of this blog will balk at my use of this word, but I mean it. "The Office" has been engaging my emotions, and not just on the Pam and Jim front. (I will admit here that I was obsessed, in every sense of the word, with Pam and Jim when I finished watching Season 2 and was waiting for Season 3 to come out on DVD. I googled the actors and found out all I could. I looked for pictures online. What was I going to do????)
The greatest surprise, and reward, of Season 3 has been the emergence of my favorite sub-character: Toby. And the fact that Roy becomes more than just the "bad boyfriend." And the episode when Michael shows up at Pam's art show and buys her watercolor of the office building for the office is truly touching. And this is what elevates Michael Carrell's character above his British equivalent. Even though David Brent is witty, and, we guess, ultimately a nice guy, we get to see that Michael is a nice guy; in spite of his being an ass in many situations, ultimately he does care about his employees. And I think the decision to humanize Roy was a good one. He moves beyond the stereotype of the boyfriend who only cares about sports to become a person.
And Toby! My favorite scene is when he must accompany Michael to New York for the salary negotiation. Ryan and Kelly are fighting in the cubicle next to his and Michael tells him he has to go with him. When Toby asks why, Michael says, "I'm going to hit you in the head with a hammer." Toby listens to the fighting for a minute, then picks up his bag and follows Michael.
I notice that I have not yet mentioned the cringe factor, which adds to the appeal of "The Office" but I fear I have overstayed my welcome. I'll leave that for another post.

I Like This One

I like this little quiz, and was thinking about it earlier, so I decided to do it. Plus, HighTouch and I were talking about the general lack of blogging, so I thought I'd contribute something for you to read, and it goes a little something like this:

What’s your ringtone?
What's a ringtone? Oh, you mean for the cellphone I don't have? Oh. My ringtone is "MMBop," if that exists as a ringtone. If not, it's probably "My Humps" because I think that's hilarious for a flat-ish chested woman with no butt.

What’s the most incongruous song on your MP3 player?
It's a pair really, "Home" by Michael Buble (when I played it for him MB said, "You like that song?") and "History of My Future" by 7 Year Bitch. Please. I'm at least a 10 Year Bitch.

What is the one genre of music you cannot stand?
That new kind of country that sounds like Pop. I like the old country (Willie, Johnny, etc.). I also dislike that rap stuff.

What’s your desert island disc? Right now it's Neko Case, "Fox Confessor Brings the Flood." She rocks.

What’s your musical weakness? Pop that is ridiculous, I know it's ridiculous, but I can't help myself, I like it. (see: Shakira, Justin Timberlake, Hansen)

Do you play a music instrument? In a past life, I played the flute. I was forced to be in the marching band and I never played, I just marched and faked it.

Best make out song ever? What's making out? (Umm, Peaches and Herb? Captain and Tenille? Barry Manilow? Bread? Styx? The only time I remember making out it was to "Monty Python." Or it was quiet. Or was it the soundtrack to "St. Elmo's Fire"?)

Best driving song?
Anything by the B-52s. "Private Idaho" works, especially if you are driving in Idaho.

One song that you think everyone should read the lyrics of?
"Sunday, Bloody Sunday" by U2

Is downloading music for free a sin?
No, it's an effect of the whole corporate music scam. But I think the artists deserve your money, so it is a quandry isn't it?

Do you karaoke? Do I karaoke? Right now I'm singing "Love Shack." But I'm pretending I'm Hightouchmegastore.

One musician you would happily whore yourself to?
Rufus Wainwright, but that probably wouldn't work. Bruce Springsteen. I don't care if he's old, he's sexy. And David Byrne.

First album you ever bought? I don't really remember, but I remember most vividly receiving Billy Joel's "Glass Houses" as a gift. Oh, it was probably Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the USA."

Most recent album you bought? Pink Martini, "Hey Eugene!"

Favorite Beatles song?
No question, "Norwegian Wood."

One song that represents your teenage years?
Def Leppard, "Pyromania."

One song that represents your 20s?
Tori Amos, "Crucify."

One song that represents where you are right now?
Neko Case, "Margaret vs. Pauline" (which, if you haven't heard it, begins "Everything is so easy for Pauline.")

One song that represents your blog?
"I Am Trying to Break Your Heart" by Wilco

I'm Not Gone, Physically

Though I have been absent, I am here. Wednesdays just kill me man!
It all begins way too f*ing early at 6 when I get up, drive to the park, and, today, did "speed work" with my running partner Scorpion's Tail. Then I dash home, shower, eat breakfast and make lunches, pick-up another kid and co-op at son's school.
If anything makes me love college teaching, it's spending three hours with 20 first and second graders. Things I've learned so far:

1. Second grade boys are an entirely different animal than first grade boys.
2. Boys without front teeth are cute.
3. Some kids will. not. focus.
4. Saying "don't do that" really isn't effective either with first and second graders or with students in English 1010. Saying it repeatedly really doesn't help either.
5. If you give the kids tools, they will use them for any other thing except for what they were intended. Example, tape is for making and covering a cardboard wallet, NOT for affixing pictures to the walls. Chips are not for counting, but for playing tiddly winks.
6. There is nothing cuter than a four-year old boy with glasses.

These are the life lessons for now. I'm sure I'll be learning more about pedagogy from the six and seven year olds as the semester continues.
Oh, the other thing I learned: a combination of first/second graders and English 1010 is a sure recipe for needing a cocktail by 4 p.m. This is a well established Truth. Trust me. I know.

I'm Awesome!

As if this is news.
But I just invented, based on other things I've made, a Peach Salsa to accompany some grilled salmon I made for dinner. I served it with grilled Portabello mushrooms, grilled potatoes and garlic, and a plate of fresh veggies (heirloom tomatoes, cucumbers, radishes, carrots). Delicious.
Sorry, this is all I can blog about right now. I'm busy thinking of a delicious but not too difficult dessert or side dish to take to the Department Party this weekend.
Also, what outfit do I need to wear to convey Julie, the Cruise Director? (Cue the theme song for "The Love Boat")

Pretending I'm Not Old

I went out last night with some, shall we say, younger people. Not only did they drink me under the table (they were under the table, metaphorically, while I was upright, sipping my ice water), they reminded me why I am usually home, asleep, after 11 p.m.

1. Music at clubs is loud. And mostly incomprehensible. Witness Sleepytime Gorilla Museum. I couldn't bear to listen to the music at their website, but I'm guessing it's just as incomprehensible as it was last night at 12:42 a.m.
2. You can't talk to anyone. (see number one)
3. Young people are weird. Maybe it's just that people are weird, but there were lots of people with face piercings and abundant tattoos. But perhaps even more strange was that, mixed in with those people, were some girls who clearly were trying to dress like/be Paris Hilton.
4. I'd rather listen to music in my living room while I drink beer or wine or whatever. I can control the volume and, what's better, turn it off if I feel like it.
   

On the plus side, I did like the opening band, whose lyrics were more comprehensible. One of my companions compared their music to Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! The only lyrics I could hear were "I like shiny things." The lead singer then proceeded to name all the people in the band and say, for example, "Lewis likes shiny things." Apparently the front man/song writer for this group grew up in Orem. Enuf said. I think they are called Perbats, but as it was so loud in the club, that is only a guess.

The Sleepytime Monkey people were scary, in a screaming, speed metal way. AND the lead dude looked like a satyr. He should have been playing a pan flute.
On the plus side, I ran in to old friend Brian K, who was a sight for sore eyes. And whose eyes aren't sore when one is standing in a smoky bar past midnight?
One of my companions showed up after 11, was surprised to find me still there. I bought him a big (huge!) beer in honor of his 25th (that's right!) birthday. I made everyone promise me that they were walking home before I left. Ever the mother.
I also had to promise to show them pictures of myself with a shaved head. But that's a different story.

Girl Fight

I know I should say "woman fight" but really, it's not as interesting.
As Middlebrow mentioned, I happened to witness a girl fight in the waning moments of the Sun Volt show on Sunday night.
First, I just want to gush (gush, gush) about how amazing Alejandro was. I can't wait to listen to him all the time.
Well then. Sun Volt was on. I had noticed earlier that a young man was backstage taking pictures of Alejandro when he was on. I assumed it was one of the members of Sun Volt because he had that kind of mussy haired-hip look to him. Turns out he was the bass player. Anyway, we were in the second row, front and center. When the show got going, many people stood and danced in the area just in front of the stage, which meant just in front of the people in the front row. As the show progressed, two girls (yes, girls) came and stood right in front of the people just in front of us. Annoying, but not a buzz kill. One of the girls, the brunette, held a huge jug of what looked like Kool-Aid and vodka. The other girl, a blonde, wore a tiny white sundress. They were, to my mind, trying to get the attention of the mussy haired hip guy.
The woman in front of us asked the girls several times to quiet down, or take it down. Not sure. It was loud. But from her hand gestures, I could tell she was less than thrilled with the presence of the girls in front of her. Instead of quieting down, the girls screamed louder and waved their hands. They were being truly obnoxious. I watched this argument slowly simmering between glances at the stage and some booty shaking.
During the encore, I noticed the girls arguing more. The woman's body language said to me "upset, but controlled." The girls were laughing, clearly enjoying the irritating effect they were having on the woman. Her husband stood beside her, uncomfortable.
I was clapping when I saw the woman's arm shoot out, right into the side of the brunette's face. There was no blood. The brunette clutched her face as if she had just noticed its existence. She looked confused, as if she had blacked out for a moment and then come to in the middle of a situation she didn't understand.
The woman's husband started gathering their things, cooler, folding chairs, blanket. The brunette looked around, as if for a witness. I turned my attention to the stage. I heard the brunette say, "This isn't over." The woman walked off with the two girls, her husband following close behind.
I felt sorry for the husband and the woman. It was the best show of the season, and it was ruined by two underage drinkers. Sure, she shouldn't have hit the girl. But I understand the situation. I've been there. I yelled at some loud talkers at the Chick Corea and Bela Fleck concert. Middlebrow regrets that he didn't deck a guy who talked about real estate through their entire second set.
We've become a society of rude people. Sad. But true.

Pie Update

On Wednesday (yes, the first day of school), I decided, oh, around 8 pm, to make a pie. I made this decision for several reasons: the blackberries were almost over ripe, I was awake anyway, watching "Rivers and Tides" trying to decide if I could use it in the Intro to Creative Nonfiction class, Son had just gone to bed, and we were having dinner the next night with Scorpion's Tail and company. A pie seems like a good thing to bring along.

Here's the pie. It was good, but not amazing. The crust was, overall, good, but tough in a few places. The filling was good, but, in my opinion, should have been sweeter. One friend disagreed. But.








This was my favorite part of the pie, the little lip where some filling was oozing out. I decided I like a pie that's not perfect, that has some imperfection. Otherwise, how would I know it was mine?









I have to say that the idea of "imperfection" has been greatly influenced by Andy Goldsworthy. I was watching, as I said, the documentary, "Rivers and Tides" as I waited for the crust to chill, then for the pie to bake, etc. He said (and I'm paraphrasing) that most art is so tightly controlled as to be airless. He likes to make art that incorporates surprise, chance, chaos. I think this is my theory of pies, and life, as well.
While making the pie I encountered the moment, as I do in most baking endeavors, where I ask myself, Why am I doing this? and simultaneously almost burst into tears. I don't want baking to be just another realm where I feel inadequate, and judged to be falling, well, just a bit short in the perfection category.
As I rolled out the crust, I couldn't help thinking of my many grandmothers, and the numerous pies they must have made in Iowa kitchens and Chicago apartments. They didn't worry about Martha Stewart or what the neighbors thought. Granted, they probably had much more experience, and guidance, in the pie making realm than me. But I don't want dessert preparation to be about doing it "right" and striving for "perfection." I want it to connect me to my grandmothers and to my son. I want it to taste delicious and look just a little bit out of control.

Thinking About This

In response to ideas raised by Sleepy E and Signifying Nothing, I am now pondering how the cool, hip guy (Ira Glass?) becomes The Man, or the dominant paradigm that others work against/ respond to. In reference to Sleepy E, it's when the Hero rises to such power that he becomes the Villain.
Except, I don't want to hate him. I admire him for what he's done, but now I want something new. This also refers to McSweeney's et al: the cool hip publication/radio show publishes up and coming unknown who then become famous. Then the hip cool publication/radio show continues to publish only those now famous people, and we, the listeners/readers get sick of listening to the same five people over and over.
So what do we do? Do we start our own hip publication/radio show?

Also, Paula Poundstone is coming in October. Anyone? Anyone?

Back to What?

I know. We can't fight it. It's coming. At least it's not a Monday. We have that to be thankful for. I have finished my syllabi, I have found two new articles, I have selected a movie. I have received the obligatory before school emails from pre-panicked students, and one from the distant past who wants to come discuss his grade. What? They never cease to amaze me, those wily students.
I still have not made pie this summer, but I may do that tomorrow. I still have to find a recipe.
Oh, back to school. It sends me into a "what did I accomplish this summer?" panic. I didn't finish my novel, but on the plus side, MB and I took Gus on a hike yesterday. We went on a picnic with Son this week. I'm (pretty much) back on the running/swimming schedule. I picked up my dry cleaning. What more can I expect?

I'm Lost, I Said

By way of an apology to Signifying Nothing for incorrectly correcting him about the lyrics to "America," I will post here the (seemingly) correct lyrics for the song by Simon & Garfunkel. I got them off a website and I listened to the song, and they seem correct, so here it goes:

"Let us be lovers we'll marry our fortunes together."
"I've got some real estate here in my bag."
So we bought a pack of cigarettes and Mrs. Wagner pies,
And walked off to look for America.

"Kathy," I said as we boarded a Greyhound in Pittsburgh,
"Michigan seems like a dream to me now."
It took me four days to hitchhike from Saginaw,
I've gone to look for America.

Laughing on the bus,
Playing games with the faces.
She said the man in the gabardine suit was a spy.
I said "Be careful his bowtie is really a camera."

"Toss me a cigarette, I think there's one in my raincoat."
"We smoked the last one an hour ago."
So I looked at the scenery, she read her magazine,
And the moon rose over an open field.

"Kathy, I'm lost," I said, though I knew she was sleeping
I'm empty and aching and I don't know why
Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike
They've all gone to look for America
All gone to look for America
All gone to look for America

And I agree with SN that it's a beautiful (or accurate?) piece of Americana. We are all, in some way, looking for America. Or some of us have found it, our little corner, and we love it. Especially upon return.

Leaving CinCin

Parting Shots:
Met wonderful men, Joe, Amhet, Greg for night two at JeanRo. Had a Stella, a bourdeaux, and the Trout. Delicious.
Made all the more delicious by the fact that they expense accounted it. Then we went to a Martini club for two dirty maritinis.
All free, people, because many working professionals have expense accounts. And like to buy attractive women drinks. That's assuming, of course, that I'm attractive. Which, Joe, father of two, said I was, "naturally attractive."
And, hey,when that comes with free wine, food and drinks, it ain't for nothin.
So over and out, for now.
BTW, I saw "Becoming Jane." It's okay. I love James but am no big fan of Anne. My big problem with the film was the presumption that a man had to inspire her great works, had to teach her to feel passion. Anyway, the film didn't spend the time, as her novels did, developing the relationship. It was a good way to spend the afternoon, air-conditioned.
Am glad to return home in mere hours, as it is well into tomorrow already.

Greetings from CinCin

I'm here! It's BLEEPing hot. And by hot, I don't mean the sun shines and makes me hot. Walking out of the air-conditioned hotel into the Cincinnati air is like walking into a hot blanket that's been soaked in hot water and put in a hot dryer where hot air blows on you.
When I stepped out of the airport last night I immediately tried to think of metaphors for the humidity. "The air clenched the water in fists." No. "The air fisted the water." No. "The air held the water loosely, so that it might drench anyone who dared step from the manufactured environment into the cruel night air." Closer.

Today I went to the Rosenthal Center for Contemporary Art, called the CAC. (Good thing they didn't add another "A".) It was designed by Zaha Hadid, and I came to see the building so I could write about it for the DFL.
My favorite aspect of the building was the curved cement where the wall met the floor. It looks like a place to skateboard.
I was most precoccupied with the stairs. They are low and unnaturally long, which forces one to walk more slowly. Form dictating function, in a way.
Through the window I spied this painting on a building across the street. Clearly done for the benefit of CAC patrons. But the man looks exasperated. Also, like he's melting.
The Reds were playing today. The street next to the stadium is Pete Rose Street or Way or something. It should be Alley, right? Apparently they still love him here.

Let me just tell you my tale of woe: I got in last night and the hotel had no record of my reservation. I must have bad hotel karma. I found myself thinking, for the second time in less than a week, "Anyone can take a reservation, but can you hold a reservation?" It was the fault of Travelocity. So kind Scott at the Cincinnatian found me a room (a parlor, actually, but who am I to complain about the thin fold out bed?) and I called David in Bombay to work out all the kinks. I was on hold for the greater part of an hour. Luckily I found a magazine! If I had to listen to that recording of a couple talking about how to change reservations one more time I was going to gouge my eyes out with some of the sharp artwork in the room! Anyway, I got a refund and made my own, new reservations at the Westin. All hail the Westin. They let me check in this morning AND I have free wireless. Hurrah! And for lunch I hade a Big Salad in the lobby. It was delicious.

Overall, the Hadid building was disappointing. I know it's a museum and as such its main function is to display art. But seriously, the most exciting thing about the building is the facade. And the stairs. The display spaces are cool, but nothing astounding.
So my question is, can public space be feminist? I don't mean can the space or building challenge dominant ideas about public space, because I know they can. But what makes a space, or a building, feminist? Many of Hadid's buildings are curvy, but does this make them femininist? Many architects are using more organic shapes/lines in their buildings. I'd hate to think that curves are strictly feminine. I got a book that I read some of on the plane. It was interesting, in that many of the essays investigate the public/private, masculine/feminine split. And one (which I have not read yet) attempts to get outside that binary.
But in today's political culture are we bound by it, because so much public architecture is masculine and supports (literally and metaphorically) patriarchial institutions? One need only look at the downtown library to see curves and open space. Designed by a man.
I'm left only with questions.
My goal for the afternoon: write, find a shopping center, and see a movie. In that order? Maybe. I have found a place (across the street!) for dinner. JeanRo. Mussells marinare and pomme frite, here I come!!
I will pause now so that you may reflect.

School Dread

I'm back from the jungles of Idaho where we braved storms and too many margaritas to enjoy family time and reminiscing with high school buddies, former teachers, parents' colleagues, and family friends and neighbors.
Highlights:

1. Sitting in hot pool that belonged to hotel nestled in evergreens, as it got dark.
2. Spending lots of time with parents and siblings.
3. Hiking with siblings in Lava Hot Springs.
4. Making the incredibly delicious pomegranate mojitos (not as sweet as you'd fear!).
5. Walking Gus in Lava and meeting the locals.
6. Talking to hip teenage niece about friends from Austin, myspace and emo-screamo.
7. Shopping with sister for shorts and buying two shirts and new dress instead.
8. Buying shorts at Ace Hardware.
9. Swimming laps at Ross Park Pool with my new polarized goggles.
10. Eating at Pocatello taco truck two times.
11. Running into high school friend and jewelry making wife at Pocatello farmer's market.
12. Hiking with grad school friend and dog on Boundary Trail.
13. Riding my bike in Island Park and Inkom.
14. Meeting sister's friend from State College. Mostly when he said things like "Yep, she's your sister" and "Don't you think 'Mike's Hard Berry' sounds dirty?"
15. Talking to cool sociologist who studies vampire culture and prison gambling.
16. Finally reading A Fan's Notes. What took me so long?
17. Eating lots of eggs and bacon for breakfast.
18. Eating lots.
19. Drinking lots.
20. Finally coming home and getting back to running. And sleeping in my own bed.

But, because I'm crazy!, I leave for Cincinnati on Wednesday to do research for what heretofore shall be referred to as the DFL. I'll spend two days at the Arts Center, also eating at whatever cool restaurants I can find, maybe having a martini, if I feel brave.
I hope I see many of you soon. Wish me luck.