There's something about the "Alice and Wonderland" phenomenon [see below] that's reminding me of how my friend Janice used to complain (when she worked at Barnes & Noble) that people used to come in all the time and ask her to direct them to the non-fiction section of the store.
[By the way, I must take this opportunity to point out that the store's name is Barnes & Noble. Not (as is commonly said in these parts) Barnes & Nobles.]
Or how, when I worked at the photo lab, many customers would get extremely upset if an employee dropped the film they'd handed in for processing. "Look what you've done!" one customer said to me after a roll slipped through my fingers and hit the counter. "Now all my pictures will be blurry!"
8/21/08
8/20/08
hmm...?
A rather extreme and somewhat misled young person just left a comment on one of my recent posts.
So I followed the link and looked at his blog.
And noted that he had listed "Alice and Wonderland" as one of his favorite books.
I then saw that 39 other bloggers have also listed this non-existent book as one of their favorites.
Very mysterious. Makes one seriously consider the possibility of parallel universes.
So I followed the link and looked at his blog.
And noted that he had listed "Alice and Wonderland" as one of his favorite books.
I then saw that 39 other bloggers have also listed this non-existent book as one of their favorites.
Very mysterious. Makes one seriously consider the possibility of parallel universes.
rollover
When you've been in a position long enough to help four generations of employees in an adjoining office learn the same ropes in a particular program, you've been in that position way too long.
noche noire
Although, of course, the advice below was given in response to me asking him what he thought of me sneaking back into Arnold Hall after-hours and taking a bunch of art off the walls.
(Which my dad and mom and I put up in the '70s - seems like nobody's bothering with them, and the building is coming down soon, and everything's a mess. I'm hoping that eventually someone will say "What happened to all those paintings in Arnold?" And then I'll say - here they are!)
Yes, it was a full night of crime. First I took a bunch of paintings down - came up with Joel in the dark and snuck around in the hallways and tried to pretend that we weren't walking around with a screwdriver and a bunch of picture frames.
And then went over to JC Penney's and used both of my one-per-customer coupons by going to different cash registers.
I'm surprised they haven't arrested me yet.
(Which my dad and mom and I put up in the '70s - seems like nobody's bothering with them, and the building is coming down soon, and everything's a mess. I'm hoping that eventually someone will say "What happened to all those paintings in Arnold?" And then I'll say - here they are!)
Yes, it was a full night of crime. First I took a bunch of paintings down - came up with Joel in the dark and snuck around in the hallways and tried to pretend that we weren't walking around with a screwdriver and a bunch of picture frames.
And then went over to JC Penney's and used both of my one-per-customer coupons by going to different cash registers.
I'm surprised they haven't arrested me yet.
words of wisdom
My dad just gave me great advice:
"Do what you think is right, and don't ask permission."
"Do what you think is right, and don't ask permission."
8/18/08
(another) conversation with Joel
Me: Hi.
Joel: Hi. You gonna be home for lunch?
Me: Yeah, probly.
Joel: You're stressed, you know.
Me: What?
Joel: You're stressed out.
Me: I guess. And I think I've been a bit short with you lately; I'm sorry.
Joel: And it's the first time in the history of the world that someone has been stressed out and has been a bit short with their friend. [laughing] ...This perfection that you seek, how goes it?
Joel: Hi. You gonna be home for lunch?
Me: Yeah, probly.
Joel: You're stressed, you know.
Me: What?
Joel: You're stressed out.
Me: I guess. And I think I've been a bit short with you lately; I'm sorry.
Joel: And it's the first time in the history of the world that someone has been stressed out and has been a bit short with their friend. [laughing] ...This perfection that you seek, how goes it?
8/16/08
muse-ings
Tonight I decided not to watch TV. At all.
Instead, I went out to Pine Lake and took a canoe across the lake and swam, all by myself, just before the sun went down. The air was moist and all the smells were green and brown and growing. I paddled out into the middle of the lake and sat for a long time, just thinking, just letting the canoe drift.
And then I came home and watered my plants and made some tea.
And darned some slippers and cleaned the living room and trimmed the cactus in the kitchen window, and moved the avocado tree into my bedroom, and went through some photographs, and weeded some DVDs out of my collection and put them in the box to go to the Salvation Army.
And then I hooked up the record player that my friend Mark gave me a couple of weeks ago, and I listened to a bunch of music. The Barn Dance record, and Peer Gynt.
I ended with Bach’s Air from Suite No. 3 in D (for orchestra), which is one of my all-time favorite pieces.
And here’s the point of this whole ramble – I’d really like to paint that music. I know that anything I’d attempt, for real, would be far inferior to how I imagine it in my head. But the [Bach] piece is so visual – so many different strands of tone, all winding around each other, intertwining like the branches of a vine; a perfect vine. A vine that’s been filmed by National Geographic and is being played back at a high speed so you can see it stretching and unfurling as if it were some strange animal. And then sometimes one strand, that’s been growing and turning with the rest, suddenly reaches for the sunlight and outruns its companions. For a minute it stands alone, brilliant, and then the others find it again and it falls behind and lets another run forward.
I still don’t understand how something so mathematical – just these frequencies of sound, scheduled specifically to meet or miss each other over the span of a period of time – can be at the same time so organic, completely uncontrolled, passionate, and able to touch us so deeply.
Music is kick-ass.
[But I suppose all of life is that way – it’s simultaneously art and chemistry, molecules and beauty, math and passion – all made up of the same stuff. Which is one reason I’ve never understood why they separate the different disciplines in school. Biology is Painting is Literature is Music.]
Instead, I went out to Pine Lake and took a canoe across the lake and swam, all by myself, just before the sun went down. The air was moist and all the smells were green and brown and growing. I paddled out into the middle of the lake and sat for a long time, just thinking, just letting the canoe drift.
And then I came home and watered my plants and made some tea.
And darned some slippers and cleaned the living room and trimmed the cactus in the kitchen window, and moved the avocado tree into my bedroom, and went through some photographs, and weeded some DVDs out of my collection and put them in the box to go to the Salvation Army.
And then I hooked up the record player that my friend Mark gave me a couple of weeks ago, and I listened to a bunch of music. The Barn Dance record, and Peer Gynt.
I ended with Bach’s Air from Suite No. 3 in D (for orchestra), which is one of my all-time favorite pieces.
And here’s the point of this whole ramble – I’d really like to paint that music. I know that anything I’d attempt, for real, would be far inferior to how I imagine it in my head. But the [Bach] piece is so visual – so many different strands of tone, all winding around each other, intertwining like the branches of a vine; a perfect vine. A vine that’s been filmed by National Geographic and is being played back at a high speed so you can see it stretching and unfurling as if it were some strange animal. And then sometimes one strand, that’s been growing and turning with the rest, suddenly reaches for the sunlight and outruns its companions. For a minute it stands alone, brilliant, and then the others find it again and it falls behind and lets another run forward.
I still don’t understand how something so mathematical – just these frequencies of sound, scheduled specifically to meet or miss each other over the span of a period of time – can be at the same time so organic, completely uncontrolled, passionate, and able to touch us so deeply.
Music is kick-ass.
[But I suppose all of life is that way – it’s simultaneously art and chemistry, molecules and beauty, math and passion – all made up of the same stuff. Which is one reason I’ve never understood why they separate the different disciplines in school. Biology is Painting is Literature is Music.]
8/14/08
relationship rant
What is it with men liking to get bossed around by their wives/girlfriends? It makes no sense to me at all. If my husband organized my social life for me and insisted on me changing my clothes when I didn’t want to, and packed my suitcase for me and told me to change the message on my answering machine and made me go to the dentist more often, it would drive me insane. It even drives me insane to have to watch it happen with other couples - seeing the poor guy go all flabby and watching his wife on some weird power trip. What is up with that dynamic?! I think it's disrespectful. If I ever marry, it's gonna be to someone who can make his own decisions and take care of his own life and his own frickin' suitcase and isn't hanging around waiting for me to tell him what to do.
[which probably means I'll never marry]
-----
PS - after reading Osvaldo's comment, I was trying to figure out a way to more clearly pinpoint what I mean, and I remembered a passage in a book by Dorothy Sayers that sorta better illustrates it:
“Oh, my dear – don’t upset yourself like this. Say the word, and we’ll go right away. We’ll leave this miserable business and never meddle again.”
“Do you really mean that?” she said, incredulously.
“Of course I mean it. I have said it.”
His voice was the voice of a beaten man. She was appalled, seeing what she had done.
“Peter, you’re mad. Never dare to suggest such a thing. Whatever marriage is, it isn’t that.”
“Isn’t what, Harriet?”
“Letting your affection corrupt your judgment. What kind of life could we have if I knew that you had become less than yourself by marrying me?”
He turned away again, and when he spoke, it was in a queerly shaken tone:
“My dear girl, most women would consider it a triumph.”
“I know, I’ve heard them.” Her own scorn lashed herself – the self she had only just seen. “They boast of it – ‘My husband would do anything for me….’ It’s degrading. No human being ought to have such power over another.”
“It’s a very real power, Harriet.”
“Then,” she flung back passionately, “we won’t use it. If we disagree, we’ll fight it out like gentlemen. We won’t stand for matrimonial blackmail.”
[which probably means I'll never marry]
-----
PS - after reading Osvaldo's comment, I was trying to figure out a way to more clearly pinpoint what I mean, and I remembered a passage in a book by Dorothy Sayers that sorta better illustrates it:
“Oh, my dear – don’t upset yourself like this. Say the word, and we’ll go right away. We’ll leave this miserable business and never meddle again.”
“Do you really mean that?” she said, incredulously.
“Of course I mean it. I have said it.”
His voice was the voice of a beaten man. She was appalled, seeing what she had done.
“Peter, you’re mad. Never dare to suggest such a thing. Whatever marriage is, it isn’t that.”
“Isn’t what, Harriet?”
“Letting your affection corrupt your judgment. What kind of life could we have if I knew that you had become less than yourself by marrying me?”
He turned away again, and when he spoke, it was in a queerly shaken tone:
“My dear girl, most women would consider it a triumph.”
“I know, I’ve heard them.” Her own scorn lashed herself – the self she had only just seen. “They boast of it – ‘My husband would do anything for me….’ It’s degrading. No human being ought to have such power over another.”
“It’s a very real power, Harriet.”
“Then,” she flung back passionately, “we won’t use it. If we disagree, we’ll fight it out like gentlemen. We won’t stand for matrimonial blackmail.”
backwards
There is one advantage to the increase in child obesity - I can now buy most of my clothes in the juniors section.
8/13/08
California
Things I love:
dry heat
prickly landscape
spiny plants
sage
rosemary bushes
lavender
flowers everywhere
eucalyptus trees
ocean
the strong white sunlight
cool mornings
lawn sprinklers
the smell of wet pavement
geraniums
Peet's coffee
dry grass
moody San Francisco fog
the dark scent of bay laurel trees
good mexican food
live oaks
winter rains
the irish-green spring hills
rainbows
walking at the Dish
Jamba Juice
clear skies at night
the darkness
the distance of the mountains
wild pigs
wild parrots
dim sum
curvy roads
the quiet earthiness of redwood forests
crazy thunderstorms
wisteria
coyotes
innovative thinking
Chinatown
fruit trees along the street
fresh avocados
the Stanford Theatre
organic produce
recycling everything
walking at the baylands
Things I can live without:
commuter traffic
smog
earthquakes
shopping centers
high prices
apartment complexes
mudslides
rotating blackouts
dry heat
prickly landscape
spiny plants
sage
rosemary bushes
lavender
flowers everywhere
eucalyptus trees
ocean
the strong white sunlight
cool mornings
lawn sprinklers
the smell of wet pavement
geraniums
Peet's coffee
dry grass
moody San Francisco fog
the dark scent of bay laurel trees
good mexican food
live oaks
winter rains
the irish-green spring hills
rainbows
walking at the Dish
Jamba Juice
clear skies at night
the darkness
the distance of the mountains
wild pigs
wild parrots
dim sum
curvy roads
the quiet earthiness of redwood forests
crazy thunderstorms
wisteria
coyotes
innovative thinking
Chinatown
fruit trees along the street
fresh avocados
the Stanford Theatre
organic produce
recycling everything
walking at the baylands
Things I can live without:
commuter traffic
smog
earthquakes
shopping centers
high prices
apartment complexes
mudslides
rotating blackouts
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