Whoa

Memoir by Jessica Stern.
Before I read that review, I was looking at a picture of my friend, who is the "unidentified woman" photographed being arrested in this article.
I was also thinking, I sort of have a problem with people using one word (like "assault") to describe completely different things.
Another review.

I could wake up

with this song in my head.
I have woken up with this song in my head.
I think of myself watching clouds move over the park with this song in my head.
Purple People.
~~~~
I have read two Tori O'Shea mysteries. Killing Cousins and In Sheep's Clothing. I will read more. I feel that they are good preparation for the St. Louis leg of my road trip and thereafter.
I also read online some of the history about Baxter Springs, KS, because I might want to stop there at a place called "Cafe on the Route." I am, although not without difficulty, getting through Riverhorse. (Lack of boat knowledge is a bit of an obstacle at times.) And my future traveling companion tells me he has picked up Blue Highways. :-)

Organizing

Cheerfully planning stuff to see along Rt. 66 and memories of my time in Illinois came to mind. I have to organize stuff. I have to throw stuff out. I have to decide what to keep. Any old drawings from art class? That one I drew while sitting beside my FB friend who died, I should keep. And what about another old art class neighbor friend...I have some drawings from that class too. I thought I threw a portrait away. I think, now, no I didn't. The name of old neighbor gets searched and this crazy politico comes up. What the hay? And I used to have dreams that are little like the life of crazy politico. I don't know what that's about either. Nope...So I guess I'm off to plan the Rt. 66 trip.
When I lived in Illinois, I used to drive around and listen to an album called "Heaven's Dust" by Ekova. There was one that went "When I was young and in prime..." And songs from Cats. I had a good cat then, too. It's weird all the little selves I created over these years in so many different places...

Mmmm

Christine de Pizan. A little bell makes a large sound. Clocks.

K

(K as in short for okay.) Okay now I am a good person. WHY am I a good person? I am a good person because I HAVE ENOUGH MONEY TO PAY ALL MY BILLS THIS MONTH!
(That means the minimums. The minimums? Oh, especially good!)
Still. I have to take the good feelings where ever they come. Maybe when I move I will get better at prosperity.
:-D :-D :-D
I wonder what to do about some things. Like, I had a dream a while ago about FB friend. Actually I was trying to convince this dude to publish his stuff. The dude was too busy macking on some chick, who wouldn't listen to me unless the dude listened. I tried and tried and finally threw sand at him. (Then I felt weird several days later, when I saw some guy on TV who owns a record company and his own island, brandishing the beach sand for the camera.) Negative attention. Flipped upside down and started screaming. Hmmm. Well it wasn't exactly the most realistic dream. Thought about it before watching the MTV show about rich peoples' abodes. Was driving around, for some reason feeling like I could go to pieces. (I don't feel that way now.)I saw myself all shredded up, like confetti. What is the folktale about the two cats who claw each other to fur tuffs on a bridge? I imagined something more like colorful shiny bits of floating paper. As a kid I once threw sawdust at a boy going down a slide, in an attempt to enhance his experience. He ran to an adult daycare worker crying. That was me trying to be nice.
~~~~
The house sitting was good. I miss the cats. I even miss throwing the ball for the dog. (Over and over and over...) At night, in the empty house, I got unexpectedly creeped out by a seemingly benign mystery book: Killing Cousins. Then I channel surfed for an hour and felt better--enough to go to sleep. Also the presence of cats helped.
Another night, I saw a tiny bit of a show about haunted houses, which are part of a park of historic buildings in the British Isles. I wished it was just a show about architecture. I flipped to another channel. It was a show about a film festival. The words "I Am Love" and "Farewell" soothed me, also unexpectedly.
~~~~
Cooling. I noticed it playing after I drove past the man surrounded by onlookers as he lay still at the foot of the steps of the bank.

Life

Watching channel 69, which is public media. A play. Indian women acting/talking about being in America. Hmmm maybe it is acted out by the writer (with others on stage accompanying her.) I am in another part of Arlington, house-pet-sitting. A better neighborhood. I explored it, and went by a bank. A man had collapsed at the bottom of the steps. He was surrounded by people of all ages, children through white-haired, and both sexes, and then, when I drove by again, a firetruck and an ambulance. It's probable that he was no longer for this world.

Touchdown Jesus

Struck by Lightening.

Good grief

Town of White Squirrels.
"Laws on the Olney books grant squirrels the right-of-way on every street and sidewalk, and impose heavy fines on anyone who tries to take one out of town. 'Vigilant individuals' are encouraged, according to the town's bylaws..."
White Squirrel Wars.

Some TV; some thoughts

Harp Dreams.
(I think I have Harp Dreams.)
Ask Not.
(I recall being booed in highschool when I stood up when a guy asked what we supported...front row, my heart sank, less than ten standing, I'd say, in an auditorium of well over a thousand, and no one else in front, what an angry sound, maybe if I'd been a boy, someone would have beat me up for that?) Seems good to watch today, which is when I found out the President promoted that guy who was my Dad's classmate. Oh, career. I will be leaving my school without ever having met Ms. Biden, who works there, though I suppose I could have, and people there told me I could get a job teaching English, too. I was pretty sure I could. I mean, I couldn't have been flakier than the ones I met! Hmmm. Will it be weird to not be right next to some of this stuff? DC always seemed more interesting to me from a distance. Ah, Stephen Colbert. Too many of your shows have I missed. Thank you for rounding out the evening's TV-watching experience. I now have a strange desire to attend a revival. In a month, I believe I may be passing by the world's largest cross. (The face icon that pops up in the tab looks like his! Eerie.)

Wah, but interesting.

This guy sounds like he was worth meeting!
Larry Baggett's Trail of Tears Memorial.

Travel

I'm trying to figure out stuff for this road trip. Like, whether I should stay at the Precious Moments hotel again (and maybe see the "inspirational park" this time.) I'm not a Precious Moments connoiseur, but somehow ended up staying there twice. I didn't know what I was supposed to do in my life, and it was comforting, if price-y (for me.) I went swimming in the pool in the winter time, there were holiday decorations, and had a lavish fantasy that a large family in the lobby was actually a family I was a part of, like something in a Dickens story, or a past life, but also like we were all wealthy, and it was both completely lovely and quite sad, and thinking of it gives me a wee bit of nostalgia... (Note to self: e-mail that link. "It's on the way. I want to see it.")

History...

Watching a program about Charles Martel and Charlemagne on the history channel. According to my sister's geneaology stuff, Charlemagne is our 39th great grandfather. Me to my mom: "There should be an organization for people descended from Charlemagne. Pish posh, Daughters of the American Revolution!" It seems we are descended via his son Louis the Pious (a most legitimate heir), through my mom's mother Pansy and (I think) her mother Alma. It probably isn't too hard to be descended from Charlemagne, really. I don't know, though. Apparently there are six different charts linking us back to him, due to intermarriage and such. The Plantagenets are in there too. It is interesting. Alfred the Great is also a grandfather on another chart. But Pansy is (according my mom) probably also the reason I have PCOS, and was a great source of mental illness as well. They didn't know they were related to Charlemagne or the others. I wonder who was the last person to know. Did even the first immigrants to America know? Maybe they were tired of being descended from penniless nobility, and didn't even want to think about it. A new life here might've been more compelling to them than anything they'd left behind.
~~~~~
Okay, something else to think about besides boringish family tree stuff. How does one chronicle oneself? I recently took a look at Susan Orlean's website. After all, I have carried around a photocopy of an article she wrote on surfer girls in Hawaii for more than a decade. I was very eager to find it in her "articles" section. Scroll down...what? It's not there! Why not? This other thing she wrote around the same time, "Girl Power," is, though. But in my opinion it really doesn't compare...it does say she plans to add more. I certainly hope the surfer girls and possibly other pieces can crash "The New Yorker" party soon.

Night time sweets

Sugarfree low calorie fudge bar. Splenda-sweetened low cal caramel custard. Hello Mr. Zebra. Diet Root Beer. Cups of frozen cherries.
~~~~
I know a portion of this personality adores a lack of refinement. Especially when it has to do with shutting off the mind, as in, getting as far away as one can get from irritating people who make nasty, supposedly oh-so-intellectual comments. Honestly, on the deathbed, how many of those things will be indicative of the life you have led. In the meantime, it is occasionally still fun to watch stuff that is laced with sarcasm, or quirky humor. Like when I saw the skit about the BP coffee spill here.

Dancing at 93

Mary Anthony.
I am mystified by why some die young but some can achieve so much of their potential... Winter song again. My sister (married to a veteran who grew up in foster care and punches refrigerators...what else, what more is there, could there be?) can fix a car now and drive herself places again. I'm going to move...there's an apartment filled with furniture donated by a large family. Sofa, kitchen stuff, California-king size bed. I am supposed to send out my boxes of books. I drag my feet, for some reason, on doing this. "But you are going to begin a new life." It is within walking distance to a park, a library and various coffee places. "Send your stuff. Bye."

Hang ten

Been a little addicted to a song, listening to the version on the live CD for "To Venus and Back" which is the one I find myself listening to most lately, which is funny because for some reason I used to ignore it, more or less.
The Waitress live bridge/improv lyrics
Kind of also makes me think of Surfer Girls of Maui by Susan Orlean
(An article I've had a photocopy of since 1999.)
Oooh, but not that one. The one I have is from Utne, and was edited, I now see!
Honestly though, one of the disappointments I felt about Blue Crush, after I found out it was based on this article: the lead actress's straight blond tresses seem like such the anti-thesis of Gloria's hair.
Oh, hey, now I remember another film, Girlfight. Had to look that up.
This picture is not the one I remember advertising that film.
I went out with someone all into Brazilian jujitsu and kickboxing around the time when that came out. I think I was disappointed he was not as into seeing it as I would've liked. A little of the martial arts stuff he talked about (not that I remember much of it now) came in handy when I met the model on the train who made fun of me by calling me "Woodstock," though. He sort of thought he was tough. In my memory, I was able to subtly appear as if I knew, well, more about those topics, anyway, I feel like he got a sort of surprised look on his face. And then I also told him he should do yoga to control his anger. (Oh well, tangent!)
The Waitress...
Hmmm, a kind of really fire and brimstone version.

Poignancy

It is interesting that I had a dream a little while ago about someone, who told me he needed some help. I simply told him then he should get some. It wasn't dire, it was more a quality of life type of thing. Maybe it was a little bit of an explanation for a past disappointment. This was a nice brief "friend" or soulmate-ish type I met and only knew briefly. A cool name. When I liked him a friend called me "Gin." (Gin and...) The person gave a feeling of surprise recognition, and interfered with me when I was looking at bride magazines when I was supposed to llevar/ayudar el peruano, or so I had thought. I was extremely amazed I could be so taken with someone who was almost my opposite in interests. It was really awful and great, too. It was a long time ago. A few weeks ago, I thought I saw an older version of this person in a store. I don't really know if it was, but I felt that we both got this "I don't believe I want to be around you" look on our faces and I very gently avoided venturing near the person. It is good to once in a while remember things which come come under the category of "poignant," but real life definitely shoves "practical" in one's face. It would be easy to forgot this sort of thing, but I figure bothering to remember goes a long way in making this life appear more well-rounded, and anyway, it could be a little bit of a tribute to the fact that sometimes cool things that were painful can still be ringed with lining of happiness.

Hear ye, hear ye

Tonight I went to the bookstore and read the second half of Persepolis. (Sorry first half. I didn't plan on doing it. I couldn't find Yarn. I will get to your first half, too, I promise.) I read a bit of Jesus Land, which is like complete proof of how it could be an awful life in America. I was thinking of my FB friend again when I got home, of how I'd missed a day of English when they were talking about gender roles and it had been reported back to me that he said, snickering, he was glad that I, "that feminist chick" wasn't there in class and I thought "why you little..." Even now! And when I came in I asked my mother about the HBO vampire show, "True Blood." She said it was awful, and she left and let her boyfriend watch it by himself after a few minutes. It sounded so. "Definitely a man's show," she said. I said I was reminded of how the artist said that after the birth of her daughter she noticed all this horrible misogyny and did covers of songs for her "Strange Little Girls" album. I said I imagine a lot of the film industry is a bunch of men and a few women who never speak up for feminist ideals. I said maybe I should if I live in LA. (I don't know. Maybe. Also though, maybe I should just get into being a more happy organic gardener type or something.) And then I started singing "such a cute puppy, such a cute puppy..." to the cute puppy, 'til he got bite-y. I was singing to the tune of "Bug a Martini." Now my cocktail (a margarita) awaits!
~~~~~
Oh, and then I listened to Bachelorette!
And now to Mipa(?) A friend said this is kind of like a Ukraninian version of No Doubt's "I'm Just a Girl," lyrically.
~~~~~
This evening is ending oddly with an old movie. Splendor In The Grass. We have evolved from a dysfunctional society. That little wikipedia entry doesn't even begin to touch on the sordidity. And oh, creepiness. 20 years later Natalie Wood drowned off a yacht called "The Splendor." Well. It's over now. And it is a worthwhile movie to watch. I'm into old movies lately. Good.
~~~~~
The quality of light interests me lately. In the park, or through the lens of the camera on my phone. And movie set lighting. The opening scene of Rebel Without a Cause. It's like urban(?) night but deserted and weird and bright. Were some places once safer at night? And did people dress that way, and speak that way. Natalie Wood is crying. Women cry a lot in these movies and men don't. I say to my friend that it's funny, it's okay for all beings to cry, but it's like we had to put on these costumes for a while. And the costumes say women cry excessively and men not enough.
He says, "It is funny."
"Do you think I'm funny?" asks James Dean.

Save the Bees

My friend told me that she read somewhere that if all the bees died off, we'd only have, like, five years to live. I know other insects also pollinate but it was a daunting thought. And I'm becoming a great fan of raw honey.
This article has a quote by Einstein that says four!
Just quickly, (not checking any ultra-scientific sites) I looked up a post about saving honey bees.
More about bees.

Zenyatta

My friend sent me a message:
"The mare Zenyatta just won her 17th race in a row - that's a new record for both sexes! She's completly undefeated in her entire career.
http://www.bloodhorse.com/horse-racing/articles/57479/zenyatta-stands-alone-with-record-17th-win
You can see a video of the race if you click the VIDEO link in the article. She's #5."

noteworthy

Recently, in the last few days thereabouts (days all run together when they are not so structured) I saw someone in a car in a parking lot. I thought maybe she kind of looked like a kind flower essence entrepreneur. It probably wasn't her. But what if?
Hmmmm.
~~~~
Well, holy mother, I just now read another old livejournal post by my FB friend and of all things, suddenly he was in Germany, quoting poetry, talking about Pan! That is crazy.
`````
This is a bad time. I feel okay, then I feel like shit. It's like I'm coming off a drug, but there is no drug. There's just compounding factors of joblessness, no school, health problems, awful financial situation, and feeling like no one can or wants to understand how I feel. I almost think if I didn't have PCOS symptoms that make me terrified of anyone controlling any aspect my living situation, I would try to go to a hospital. Bleah. Maybe I can do some kind of breathing techniques. Or just listen to as much silly humorous stuff as I possibly can. Oh My GOD. Gosh.
~~~~~
Oddly, having to clean up dog mess, a most unpleasant task, has sort of cleared my head. The dog would not get sick if I lived with people with better sense. It can be really fucking irritating. HUUUHUUUH.

S words on a Sunday

Sad and SAD. Sad is so wholly absorbed in sadness that suicidalness is not even interesting enough to seriously be a factor. Sad is only interested in eviscerating people, or chewing them up and spitting them out, but that does not mean killing them. If said person went away, what would happen to the sadness. Sad is most interested in puddly sadness, soaking it up like a sponge. Simpering simpleton persons who have almost no spine inspire sadness to proliferate. Stupidity is something sadness can feast off of but soon, sadness will prowl the premises in search of a new meal. Swearing can inspire sad sometimes. Sad Ms. Kempe of the Middle Ages was probably quite a soggy morsel. Silly, sodden, sullen, sucky, SICK.
Dental work (dis)STRESSSSes. Say someone is supremely sick of misery? So, save someone or something, St. John's Wort.

Looking

I noticed "the artist" has some videos up now of her playing at Bonnaroo. I couldn't go, oh well, I had the tooth thing to deal with. I was reading some of her memoir too, several days ago. It's funny to know that that is kind of old news, but you can read it in a park and it feels fresh, well, little parts of it strike chords in me sometimes. Like electric shocks. (But pleasant ones.) I also noticed that her grandfather's name/initials reminded me of the name/initials of my classmate who passed away. Because we didn't really hang out, I never thought I would be so struck by that occurence, or have so much regret we didn't know each other better. I never thought about it at all. But it shocked me. Perhaps I was sheltered in a way. I never had a friend who was my own age die suddenly.

Dreams

I got home late last night after hanging out with a friend, watching episodes of "The L Word" at the end of the night. (One particular scene involving a character named "Papi" made me reconsider an alternative meaning to Ms. Amos's "Circles" song, otherwise known as "Cloud on My Tongue.") Today my tooth depressed me and ached worse, but I got some stuff organized, which might be the key to everything.
I dreamed last night that I was in a house with a bunch of people, like a community, and my bellisimo friend in LA. I was supposed to take care of a kid. The kid was a boy and cute. He didn't look like me, maybe he had different parents, different heritage, mixed race. I took care of him for a while and then said, but I thought there was supposed to be a girl. My friend said, there is, and then I saw a tinier baby, a girl, also mixed race and she did not look like me. But her parents were like older stressed out hippie-ish white people who had hooked up and for some reason couldn't take care of her now. She didn't look like them either. I asked "what is her name" and my (bellisimo) friend said "her name is Queen Maeve."

Post root canal please

Dearest self:
GO TO AN ENDODONTIST NEXT TIME! Or some kind of genius expert.
For the love of God and decency and humanity.

So today

I get a root canal. I don't know what insurance will cover if any but I can pray about it. Surely it will be better than the guy who did one on me in upstate NY who acted like he had some sort of fuckin' bone to pick with me because he didn't like English majors. Sad jerk. SHAPE UP, FLAKY PEOPLE OF THE WORLD! I like this dentist much better. The dental assistant yesterday was slightly inept but nice enough. The dentist used the word "like." As in "Have you read the manual? Can you like, go over it..." She's young and nice. She told me the root canal wouldn't be a big deal really. I hope so.
Laying back in the dental chair I could feel the heart pounding in my chest. I sure am alive, I thought. And the X-ray picture was illuminating. Something's going on with that tooth, that's for sure.
HOPE!!!!!
~~~~~
Sadly, no insurance coverage. "Oral surgery" does not include root canals.
I really need to step into a new way of thinking and being.
An improved way.
Charging windmills or something better?
Astuteness.
Si, lo necesito.

Wow

Just wow.
Wow depression.
I'm officially impressed.

to get back into

The healthy diet stuff and the anti-inflammatory stuff and the breathing and the yoga and all that. ;-D There were two instances when I kind of remember someone telling me to keep doing yoga, even though that person didn't do it. One was seeing my FB friend at a highschool reunion, and he wanted to know if I liked to smoke. I said I was more into yoga. I was, at the time. I took a class that met twice a week.
The other was about a year later, when I conversed with a guy on a train who said he was in an Alicia Keys music video. He'd sort of made fun of my attire and called me "Woodstock" but we had conversation anyway. He told about about times he'd had problems controlling his anger and I said maybe if he did yoga it would help him with that. Did both these young men really tell me so? "Keep doing your yoga."
The truth is (and I clutch a clove in my teeth as I say this) it hurts my toothache and my heart to say, but there's just a part of me that feels she simply cannot spend a whole lot of time with anyone who is leading too much of an unhealthy lifestyle.
OUCH.
Maybe I can do some ibuprofen and orajel too.
(Watching the "Change Your Brain, Change Your Body" show on PBS.)

OH

Toothache. And throat ache. Oh, depression.
Why wilt thou try me so?
Show me a reason to be happy and grateful now.
Well, at least I am not homeless.
Sigh. Kick. Breathe in peace.

Happiness...

Happy, grateful, better.
I'm happy I settled on what to write on classmate writer friend's FB page. Good.
Death must make sense to those who needed to move on, but it sure can be strange to those of us who have more living to do.
It's good to know people.
I know I should be more social in the future.

Memoirs

Recently read:
Farm City: The Education of an Urban Farmer by Novella Carpenter.
The Spiral Staircase by Karen Armstrong.
Just started:
The Other Side of Paradise by Staceyann Chin.
Found a card tucked inside which said breath in peace.
That was a nice touch.
Also, Yarn by Kyoko Mori.
Also, Through The Narrow Gate by Karen Armstrong.

Death and Life

can be really nice and really mean. For various reasons I don't have a job to go to since June started, so I can mope like a champion and that's for a reason. I used to have to clean up the bathroom after drunk people and work and feel underappreciated and semi-persecuted, with my feet and ovaries hurting. Now that I'm jobless, maybe I have progressed. (But not my computer lab job. Loved that job. Are you kidding? Especially updating software in an empty room with KCRW playing. I could get that job back in the fall if I stayed here.) But I became unemployed and got the notice of a death. And now, everytime I read FB friend's stuff, I'm simultaneously happy/impressed and also pissed off with myself for not noticing I should've tried harder to get to know a fellow writer person. Kind of, it reminds me of when Anne Frank's father said he didn't know how deeply she thought and felt about things until he read her diary after she died. Honestly it's unbelievable. Death is, I mean. I just don't truly believe in it. But people have to. That's what they do on this planet.

Well

Here I am, reading more of the livejournal of the facebook friend that I had classes with in highschool and only talked to at my highschool reunion...Hello. Have you ever felt more stupid for not trying harder to be actual friends with someone in real life. HELLOOOOO!!!
(Although I suppose being better friends with a person doesn't prevent them from dying young of sickle cell disease.)
He wanted to be a writer. He took pictures of parks. I feel like I wish he'd gotten published. The last exchange he had with friends on facebook was joking about writing and Tennyson and "coming of age teenage girl stuff" and Sweet Valley High books.

Another Winter song

Winter by Bebel Gilberto remixed
Lately there are plentiful reasons to be hopeful about the future and also to have regret and little nervous breakdowns.

saddened and surprised

nice guy from highschool, FB friend, passed away. wake up call: life is short.
~~~~
(added Saturday) he had a livejournal.
I remember him in classes. Art class, I made a picture of a skinny, cackling black guy wearing sunglasses walking in front of a mural of Marilyn Monroe's face. He leaned over and asked how did I get the idea for that? I shrugged, dunno.
(Wait, nevermind. I found the picture. The guy is smiling and swinging his arms. Maybe I changed it. Only in my mind he was cackling. Like a good witch. But the picture made me laugh. It's not a great work of art, but it had a happy quality.)
And at the 5 year reunion, he was shocked to see me. I was shocked that he was shocked. Nice. I'd reminded him of when he called me "that feminist chick." He sort of made fun of me. He said "I said a lot of stupid things." But it wasn't anything bad. He was just a wisecracking sort of guy. It was nice to see him. Later he friended me. "Missed ya at the ten year."
`````
When my friend called and told me she heard he died, I was in Panera bread, looking at a picture/painting of a face and beret and a loaf of bread.
You know how it is when you can't believe someone is gone? Really? Even though you never really talked to them?