3 Images for Buffalo Woman Comes Singing

I really like the content as well as the cover of the book I have been reading. The cover painting was done by an artist named Rick Faist, but I didn't find a website for him. The book is Buffalo Woman Comes Singing and it was written by Brooke Medicine Eagle. These are from a search of images associated with that title. They come from:
An upcoming conference on shamanism
An ex-army guy's myspace page and
A tiny rural library in New Hampshire
respectively.

How to retrieve random Fukuoka information

I retrieved this one, too.
One way to do it is to have some friends who move off to West Virginia to pursue ecological projects and are willing to give an old Macintosh PowerBook to you (yay!) so you trade them a food dehydrator for it, and eventually you open up a list of websites and discover Fukuoka.

I was looking at my blog, and since I'm still reading Buffalo Woman... and I miss seeing the visuals on it, I think I'll re-post that.

Temperatures

Room is cold and has been getting colder. It's almost got an Andean hotel room beat. Why don't you just put a space heater on the credit card? Can you feel the debt like you can feel the cold? Ah, but there are blankets, just be sure to stay under them.

Ooo, a name, a name

I think it's one I remember from when I went to school!
"In the Northwest gardening culture, Ciscoe Morris has the status of a rock star. He used to be the manager of grounds and landscaping for Seattle University...He knows more about organic gardening than anyone I have ever meet...His television shows, radio shows, and weekly public appearances can become mob scenes."
(From pages 21-22, Plant Seed, Pull Weed.)
I had no idea that he'd become a "rock star" in the organic gardening world! I think it's hilarious that everything under his recipes link is all about brussel sprouts.

Yo quisiera

a new digital camera that can take basic, good pictures. The old one is ready to be laid to rest, no surprise. Still kind of sad, though. Oh well. Wallets don't actually weep. Sayonara, 3.2 megapixels.

Viewed via computer monitor

Some people drove through blizzard and were late to work, then as soon as they got there, a meeting was called and many were either laid off or their hours reduced, according to an e-mail from a friend who works at a newspaper in Ohio. Here, our president made some cracks about how the city reacts to a little snowfall and apparently some people were calling in on the radio and complaining about it. I figured out the proper Intel-compatible version of flash to install on my old Mac so I could view a site on it and watched "when to take my name off the door."
And, then I watched how sexy a MacDonald's commercial could be.
Here. And here. And here.

La literature

When I was at work yesterday, I saw on one of the TVs that John Updike had died. Even though it was interesting to listen to his interview on the radio today, I was beginning to feel so depressed or oppressed or something because everything he talked about was all about these old white guy writers. Of course, I like a lot of old white guy writers. But my liking them has thus far not cured me of being sensitive to that. And I remembered how in another class I T.A.ed for, the majority of the class complained that they hated the book The Song of The Water Saints, as opposed to, say, The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven, which everyone said the professor had been just great at teaching the semester before. The other T.A.s didn't seem to like it much, either. One guy (they were all guys) admitted to me that it made him feel "emotionally stressed out." As for the students, the character in Water Saints that they seemed to dislike the least was the most Americanized, modern character, so in my sections, I brought in other stories, like "How to..." from Drown, and the section about the girl writing a speech about Walt Whitman from How the Garcia Girls... and showed a segment from the (then more recently released) movie In the Time of the Butterflies. And I thought that was fun, but in some ways, it didn't change much. One student disliked Water Saints so much that he flat out refused to write a paper about it, even though it hurt his grade. (He also disliked Graciela for being "messy and unkempt" and also felt the need to tell me, apropos of nothing, that he "had" to hate Palestinians because he was Jewish. A girl from the D.R. wrote her paper on how Graciela got sick as punishment for not accepting Jesus as her savior. Poor Graciela got quite a beating.) Anyways, I knew I couldn't let those still-existent patriarchal canon norms make me feel too much like the title of a chick-lit book one of my friends is reading. And that I had to get out of that feeling. That's when, in response to the interviewer asking him if it was hard to write sex scenes, because he'd described himself as a "priggish, shy" young man, John Updike replied that it wasn't, because it's precisely what a "priggish, shy" person would do. I felt relief; I laughed; that was funny.

This is in my head

and on some earphones, too actually.
The Ballad of the Thin Man.
The Ballad of the Thin Man.
The Ballad of the Thin Man.
Except I think the one on the mp3 player is from I'm Not There.

SNOW

I hope my class isn't canceled tomorrow. Seriously, if it doesn't cancel work, why does it cancel school? A very special reaction to snow, this area has. I feel busy but nonetheless I am going to read or at least skim various library books, including Plant Seed, Pull Weed.

Necessities when life gets mysterious

Edu-ma-cate-self-a-bout-this-&-that.

Radio in the car

So, my CD player in my car needs to be cleaned and I've been listening to the radio more lately, like today, for example, while I "ran some errands" (I remember hearing that expression as a kid and being perplexed, and also the feeling of hassle that came with it. I, however, enjoyed getting things accomplished today.) Maybe the half-dream I woke up in this morning foreshadowed the programs I listened to today. I had some imagery in my head about being in a small room with no light, or just a tiny crack at the top of the ceiling which might let some light in. Just the suggestion was enough to set a certain taste in my mouth, of dread of "solitary confinement." After the jovial end of "Car Talk" and the Bob Edward's show (which featured a book and documentary about Eisenhower and war, among other things) I listened to a Radio Netherlands interview with Omer Goldman and felt, well, kind of spellbound and impressed. It is different from my life thus far. I am friends with some people who have been arrested, tear-gassed, at protests, etc. That does not describe anything that has happened to me, but I am not completely disconnected from activism.

Art on buildings website

Juana Alicia on oddwall.com
(Prior to viewing this, retrieval of information in the brain could be labeled as: somber, joyful, all mixed up...the butterfly clip in the hair of a co-worker from Baghdad...the name of the disappeared brother-in-law written on a slip of paper that was lost...the song that one doesn't remember putting on a mixed tape for someone...someone's old summer anthem becomes the evening's karaoke duet ...)
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From the same youtube channel...this is pretty freaking cute.

Ye olde digital camera still works...

After years of sitting in a box. Must learn formatting, etc. etc. etc. The white cat picture is from 2005.

I just got out of class

And I just had a very cold drink. It was chilled by my bedroom window. Under that teeny heat grate. Hah, reincarnation of frigid Andean hotel room. I ate a 50 cent burrito to warm up. The drink is starting to hit a little. There's a song in my head. Mellow Yellow. It's either because of that Reverend's speech or the packet of saffron my sister gave me! I also just ate 1/3 of a box of chocolate. Oh, there are only six pieces. It came in a package today, along with tea and Scribbling The Cat. Now, only three are left.

How to retrieve random Fukuoka information

One way to do it is to have some friends who move off to West Virginia to pursue ecological projects and are willing to give an old Macintosh PowerBook to you (yay!) so you trade them a food dehydrator for it, and eventually you open up a list of websites and discover Fukuoka.

Jewelry, etc.

Not so sure if it can pay rent next month afterall, (using eBay, anyway.) Oh well, maybe there are other options. But, I just remembered another interesting film that I saw in Seattle. A Price Above Rubies.
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Muy random article: Drunk workers in Peru can't be fired. Memory of watching men wearing business suits drinking multiple rounds of cerveza = not surprised! Speaking of which, I just took a gander at a Peruvian cerveza commerical. Certain attributes are featured prominently.

3 images for "Buffalo Woman Comes Singing"

I really like the content as well as the cover of the book I have been reading. The cover painting was done by an artist named Rick Faist, but I didn't find a website for him. The book is Buffalo Woman Comes Singing and it was written by Brooke Medicine Eagle. These are from a search of images associated with that title. They come from:
An upcoming conference on shamanism
An ex-army guy's myspace page and
A tiny rural library in New Hampshire
respectively.

Discovered a good radio show

Preview! made me want to transform myself into an avid classical music enthusiast. The woman hosting the show had a very melodious voice.

To dream and experience a kind of reality

A dream about suffering can cut through consciousness shrilly. One is about a naked, weeping girl, who might be wearing make-up and diamonds, cutting into her armpits and guiltily crying about it. [For the dreamer, portions of Epicenter from Transient Songs by Amber Gayle: I feel sharp like miniscule weights / hold me down...and nothing soothes quite like / the cold metallic bliss...no time but this has ever existed...no time but this not time but this...everyone else is in bed, Goddess...I dread the night it is endless / the night and me alone...I cringe / at my own premonitions. ] Wake up to: a T.V. blaring information about torture and brothel slavery. Lots of aircraft flying overhead lately. The noise can make the car shake. Some other information: get housing off post. There was an officer's daughter, and a group of GIs, she kept making suicide attempts, and finally the psychiatrist told her parents. A person whose already got PTSD has got to get deployed again. Addictions to violent video games. What if that's where you were born and you were a girl? All those yucky vibes in the atmosphere. That's what some people don't want to talk about. Not having a good day. Tears spilling out of eyes in the car. Losing it. There is a walk in the park. Try to extricate self from that nonsense. Be better, be better.

Discovered a good radio show

Today has been a certain kind of day. Mmmm. Yeah. I really hope this bizarre back pain dissipates before I go to work. On a better note, Preview!, which I discovered on Sunday night, made me want to transform myself into an avid classical music enthusiast. The woman hosting the show had a very melodious voice.

Fun scene idea!

I think so, anyway! I imagine three girls (daughters of "The Transcendentalists,") looking out a window and laughing at the grownups. "When winter came, Hawthorne often joined Thoreau and Emerson in skating on the river...Thoreau did 'dithrambic dances and Bacchic leaps on the ice' while Hawthorne 'moved like a self-impelled Greek statue, stately and grave,' and Emerson 'closed the line evidently too weary to hold himself erect, pitching headforemost, half lying on the air.'"
From The Days of Henry Thoreau, Walter Harding, page 139.

Random childhood memory

I lived on an island down the road from a girl who lived in an old church with a big bell which the mom used to ring to call the kids home when they were out playing (in the actual woods and stuff, thank you very much, not on the internet or gaming) and we went down to the shore and swung out over the water on a big rope swing, it was fantastic, and then we met some adult friends of theirs, later I found out they were in some way connected or perhaps were the original creators of Gumby.

General short life update thing.

My sister got married and she's going to live by that army post where I was born. (Yeesh.) I went to my mom's house (soon to be sold or rented--what a transient family!) and carted home some old childhood books and a piggy bank that my mom's ex-boyfriend's Norwegian mom gave me when I was a kid. Among other things. This song is in my head a lot, maybe because I got a refurbished mp3 player for Christmas, and still work at a restaurant, and it came out when I was a waitress when I was nineteen.
Six Underground.
I ate a tagine today. (Gave my sister 2 Moroccan cookbooks for Christmas.)

Le "Sinnerman" song

First, it was in my head, off the CD player in my car. Later I watched the clip from the movie. So now it's still mostly (like 80%) just the song but a little bit (like 20%) also the movie. Mostly just the song though.
(20 minutes later, the brain is completely occupied with another activity.)

Pedazos

You see some girls walk in and introduce themselves to one another. A table and another handshake is shared with strangers. Elsewhere, someone has a photo of you and a friend, taken at a party, in which you appear bonita and he will bring it in to show you, cuando vas a trabajar? lunes, martes, y despues, viajo al otro estado. Me lleva(?) Conjugation of the verb "llevar." No. Porque no? Porque...viajo solita. Ok. Despues, less smiling. Porque? Remember, years back, a girl in a brown hooded jacket (so nice to hide in, like a monk's habit. Cowl.) in a bookshop in Amsterdam. A boy up to her, hey hey, I like your style. What country are you from? I have a friend who owns a Subway, hey do you want to come out to a club. Girl: I'm READING. Boy: Ok. I just wanted to see if you wanted to go to the Subway! Leaving her staring at him with an open mouth, wanting to pull him back to her and just explain, if only he didn't run off so quickly. Like then, now. A small lever of misery pressing on the heart. (Bitter, self-critical thought: why do you do that? porque soy una bitch. No.) Walk back, be brave, open mouth. Que tal tu chamba. Bien. And how is yours. Aburrida. No estoy haciendo nada. Quieres trabajar aqui? Si. Okay. Ven aqui. Un ratito. Ok. Que puedo hacer en la cocina. You can get rid of that water. How? Push it. With this. No not like that. Push down harder. You have to push it all the way to the end, see, where Chino is standing. Ah! What is that? A burning receipt on the floor. What are you doing? Oh my god, don't set the kitchen on fire. We need it. That is not okay to do in those shoes. Here give it back to me. Later a girl is down on the floor. Una chica esta enferma. What? What kind of language is that? Where did you learn that? Es...castellano! Aprendi un poquito in Peru. What did you say? Una chica! Una mujer. Una mujer joven. You mean, una senorita? Yes. Okay. Some people say, I think she just passed out. SAD. What was wrong? You wouldn't have known, if you hadn't asked, that she also had cancer and was bald and wore a wig. A member of the nice hand-shaking girl crew hovered over her on the stretcher, murmuring supportively and wagging fingers over her eyes.

Listened to

A re-broadcast of a show about Utah Philips this morning.
"He said, 'You were born a white man in mid-twentieth century industrial America. You came into the world armed to the teeth with an arsenal of weapons, the weapons of privilege, economic privilege, racial privilege, sexual privilege. You’re going to be a pacifist. You’re not just going to lay down guns and fists and knives and hard angry words. You’re going to have to lay down the weapons of privilege and go into the world completely disarmed. Well, you try that.'"