Homework and horror

It's been troubling me a little that Pam thought that my profile picture was actually my thumb, dressed in a costume and posed. Ummm... no, it's a little gnome pushing a wheelbarrow containing a candle. I only get out the thumb outfits for very, very sacred purposes. Anyway, it has made me think about changing my profile photo. Lately I've been preoccupied with both my hair and with horror*, leading to these two photos.

I am perplexed about how I suddenly got all this hair. While I have been distracted by stuff and other whatnot, my hair has been following an independent and aggressive growth agenda. Now I think of it more like a pelt. A 1970's pelt.



Because of the Shirley Jackson books, I also took a scary picture. I apologize for any preoccupation with horror it may cause in the night.



I'm supposed to be doing homework right now. Homework! I'm doing a two-week workshop. Here is one of the best sentences I've ever read:

"Quintessentially and overly simplistically depicted through the juxtaposition of synthetic phonics-based instruction versus holistic whole language approaches, this vacillation has resulted in the artificial and detrimental segmentation of concurrently complex and codependent literacy skills, processes, and practices."

So many pretty syllables!


* horror lite, of course

Keepin' on in the mitten

I was away, on a dreamy pinkie finger of a peninsula, also known as the Leelanau Peninsula. It is possibly my favorite place on earth. That is a bit of hyperbole, of course. Let's say someone said, "You have won a free trip to either Kyoto or the Leelanau Peninsula!" In truth, I'd pick Kyoto. But I love this yearly trip I go on, and it's so much closer and cheaper than Kyoto. I should probably make it twice or thrice yearly.

The Leelanau Peninsula is all about the following: beaches; dunes; forests; wine (and it's good!); fresh produce; vegetarian food; locally produced coffee, chocolate, spices, teas, cheese; art (not cheesy tourist art! Real art!); writers (real writers who write books and publish them right there!); beach bonfires with poems and songs (kind of hippie-ish, but I like!); film festivals; music; one traffic light, which just blinks; and no chain stores or fast food whatsoever. Nothing's all that expensive, and it's just about devoid of Detroit hipsterism, which I am feeling terribly fed up with.

I'd like to link you right to it, but no one site seems to really get it right. Although the New York Times has written about it a few times in recent years.

Now I'm home, at any rate. After leaving the pinkie, I went to the base of the pinkie (I'm a fan of my state's mitten shape and don't feel cheesy about it at all), Traverse City, and partook in a family reunion of sorts. That involved tons of lying around on the beach, eating good things out of doors, swimming, and even jumping on a giant inflatable trampoline in the middle of Lake Michigan (probably not the geographic middle).

Now I'm home, and wistful. Summer vacation is kind of traumatic for teachers, as Chris has noted.

I have been reading Shirley Jackson. First I read "We Have Always Lived in the Castle," Pam's recommendation. It was so good. Her style is unique, and I find myself wanting to know more about her as a person. I had to have more, so I picked up "The Haunting of Hill House." It was almost as good. The ending got to me. I didn't think it had, but then night fell, and....the spookiness! "I was chilled," as the main character in "We Have Always Lived in the Castle" would say.

Now I'm reading "The Ethics of What We Eat," by Peter Singer and Jim Mason. It is disturbing and enlightening (also under-edited, but I'm letting it go). Anyway, so far my eating habits are coming out pretty well. I still have a third of the book to go, though. What evil will I learn is lurking in my extremely spartan cupboards? I hope it's not the walnuts. I need the walnuts.

I'm listening to Nick Cave's "And No More Shall We Part," after a long separation. Why a separation? It's so great. I could just write quote after quote on this blog and feel really good about myself.

My Friday night was spent watching an episode of Big Love with my mom at her house, and then an episode of 20/20 about dwarves and giants. That was my Friday night. I like my mom, I love/hate Big Love, and dwarves and giants are interesting (I HATE that 20/20 guy, though!!!), but Friday night? That's why now I'm staying up late, drinking Hemingway quanitities of wine, and trying to figure out the deal with the spelling of "blond" or "blonde," listening to Nick Cave sing about his sorrowful wife, which is absolutely the kind of wife (I almost wrote "whife," which I like!) I would make. Super sorrowful.

The problem with summer is that it just doesn't last.

playing hangman with mu_a_a_i

I took care of my 8-year-old niece today. I picked her up in the morning, and we meandered around town a bit and ate lunch at the fifties style diner (not my stomach's happiest plan, but...it's her fave). Then we came back to my house and played about a million games, including hangman. I told her she could pick any length word or phrase for me, but only if she was sure she could spell it correctly (a stipulation learned the hard way from a few disastrous games of third grade student-led hangman). So she decided to look around for a word. She disappeared from the living room and came back a few minutes later, ready to go. It was a two-word phrase. I immediately got some A's, and went for "I" next. I was surprised to learn that both words ended in "I." Anyway, I guessed a few wrong letters, then tried "R." at that point it looked like this: _ A R _ _ I*** _ _ R A _ A _ I. She hinted that there was another vowel. I guessed "U," and it got me to _ A _ U _ I *** _ U R A _ A _ I. "Haruki Murakami???" I said. "YES!" We both just doubled over laughing, although probably for different reasons. To me it was just so hilarious that she went looking around for a word, and that's what she found and picked. For her, it was sort of nonsensical, and plus she had probably had too much sugar from her fifties-style chocolate milkshake.

The book that she got that from was the one currently next to my bed, Underground. It's his interviews of people who were somehow connected to or experienced the sarin gas attack on the Tokyo subway system. I had read it before, but got it out again after watching a documentary about Aum Shinrikyo, the cult held responsible for the attacks. I first went to Japan a year or so after that happened, and I remember seeing these Wanted posters for missing key Aum members all over the place: The documentary (called "A," and randomly available at my library) followed Aum's naive and young official Aum spokesperson/follower as he tried to hold things together after the attacks. It was a very psychologically interesting glimpse of this one guy, but the film was surprisingly ambivalent about the cult itself and some of its stranger doomsday sci-fi beliefs. I guess it was intended for a Japanese audience that had already been beaten over the head with stories about those. Oh, but in one scene, the main guy, Araki, showed his oozing, nasty toenails and said that the pus was actually bad karma leaving his body. The filmmaker said, "Really? It looks a lot like a bad case of athlete's foot."

This scene was tremendously helpful to me, because the next day my mom and I went to get our first pedicures ever. Yes, you could say that we country mice finally visited the big city. I had a gift certificate and wanted to treat my ma. Anyway, as I settled into the aggressive yet pleasant massage chair and turned my feet over to a gentle-handed young dude with slicked-back hair, I felt a bit self-conscious about my flaked-off old polish, unmaintained cuticles, rough edges, etc. But after seeing those Aum Shinrikyo karma feet, wow. I knew mine looked pretty damn good. Now they look pretty damn great. Seeing as I will be on my annual beachy/small town up northy vacation within days, this is exciting!

Anyway, Underground is not my favorite Murasaki book by any means, since it's not enough of his own voice, but I'd still rather read it any day than something by, say, ne__on *_em___e or a__*__ul__r, for example.

institution, served sunny-side up

God, I'm really not a Francophile or anything, but now here I am listening to old Stereolab, with their French/English singing. I like the lyrics to this one:

Originally this set-up was to serve society.
Now the roles have been reversed that want society to serve the institutions...

The whole song is that, pretty much, again and again. Now I'm feeling bad about going to Old Navy today. That seems kind of like serving the institution. But I needed a bathing suit. Today I learned that it's very, very difficult to buy a bathing suit in July, one of the hottest months. Eventually I did manage to get one, once again by serving the institution. Target. I keep meaning to stop going there, and there.

Once, in my bon vivant days (DAMN YOU, FRENCH!), I gently yet boldly stalked a non-local singer after a show. I made my friends, two guys, drive around the block a few times to give me some time after I spied said singer in the restaurant below the club. I just sat down with him and chatted him up and ordered a drink. We got to talking about Detroit, then I recommended a book to him, and he asked me to write it down. I found a receipt in my purse and wrote the info down on it. He got all disgusted and said, "Old Navy?! You shouldn't shop at Old Navy." I stammered something about cheap clothing and a tight budget (all on the backs of third-world children, his point). I lost all my cool at that point. Then I saw my poor friends at the window, gesticulating madly. I guess they had driven around the block one time too many.

"Serving the Institution since 1999": My new t-shirt.

By the way, I still listen to that guy's records sometimes, but only while wearing my sweatshop-free, 100% organic hemp, Parisian-designed outfit that was delivered through carbon-neutral transportation (trans-Atlantic rowboat, multi-state relay race, Detroit rickshaw, slingshot).

la fille de summer

Mollie and I discussed the mysterious water chestnut today at lunch. It's a delightfully crunchy, nearly-flavorless treat, but what the hell is it, we wondered? I have done my research on the matter, and found that it is a tuber that grows in marshy, high-nutrient waters. It is not easy to harvest, and, according to one website, it is quite competitive. I assume this means it will challenge other salad ingredients to a crunch-off, and will likely win.

Hemingway set a daily writing goal for himself of 400 words. Once accomplished, he was free to go drinking. This is craziness. 400 words? It's nothing. It takes very little time. It leaves an awful lot of time for drinking, which makes a lot of sense. Yet he managed to write many books. Anyway, I thought I'd try for 400 words a day, although my 400 would be far less manly than his, but it's not enough most days. I feel like I'm just getting going. Maybe it's a good rule of thumb for those days when one does not want to write at all. Sort of like tellling myself that I only have to go for a walk - more often than not, it turns into a run.

La la la. I feel so lazy. I had a lunchtime drink avec Mollie, and it made me sleepy. I saw La Vie En Rose (Edith Piaf movie) yesterday, which I liked, although it was crazy depressing in some ways. The actress who played her was pretty amazing. Anyway, the French stuck in my head, I am the annoying, annoying person now who randomly sticks French words into sentences. Please stop me now.

formal portrait

1. I finally painted the little guy's formal portrait.


2. I am pickled in summer vacation. Pickled in a way that my original flavor has been lost. Like when school time comes back around, I am going to have the blankest look ever on my face. "You want me to what, now?"

3. It is super hot, which people keep noting, including me. I feel like, all over the world, people are toughing out hot weather every day. It doesn't have to be a big deal, right? The best plan is to just live with it, and maybe eat something spicy.

4. I just re-read one of my favorite books about Japan. I'm going through a little thing. A little phase of romanticization of my life there, including the things I used to eat, the places I went, the plush-seated subway, the tofu shop, my bike, and the rice paddies I rode it past... So this book is called A Zen Romance, and it's written by this woman who lived in Kyoto in the late sixties/ early seventies, when she was a college student. She lived on the grounds of a Zen temple and was in love with all the monks. She remembers every outfit she wore for everything, and she did all kinds of Japanese arts. The book is hilarious, because she was so over-the-top into philosophy and poetry and Zen, to the point of ridiculousness, and she makes fun of herself in retrospect, although her writing style is still kind of that way. Anyway, she has a really good memory for little details, and some of those little details remind me of things I loved there. I never made out with any monks, though, like she did. I did make out with a fireman.

5. I also found this crazy notebook where I used to write down my dreams. Oh my god. Super disturbing. How could i have remembered all those details about my dreams back then, when today I swear I remember nothing? Or when I do, it's boring, not all messed up and sexy like those dreams were!

6. Maybe I will add lucid dreaming into my summer sleep experiment. I can't tell you how that's going, by the way, until all the data is analyzed. Let's just say that the little guy's formal portrait was not painted between the hours of 8:00 am and 11:00 pm. Judge me if you must. It's true that I have no discipline.

beginning to see the li-ight

I saw Yo La Tengo last night at the Detroit City Fest thing. It was so, so good. I love them. I would like to try being Georgia for a day or two. Hell, I'd even like to try being Ira. They are just so cool without needing to be cool. They did a lot of songs that I love, a lot of awesome wall-of-sound type stuff, as well as quieter stuff. I love a wall of sound, especially while under the darkening sky. And the haze of barbecue smoke added a lot! Mmmm. At one point it seemed like an amalgam of barbecue smoke and fresh-from-the-can tuna. I must have really liked YLT to put up with that!

I went by myself, which was my choice. I will never not do what I want to do just because no one can join me (I dare you to translate that sentence!). But it was just a little depressing, I must say. I saw one dude I used to know, and it was a continuation on a recent theme of seeing people from the past who I have not exactly missed seeing around. I would love to run into people from the past that I have missed seeing around, but... Nope. Instead my fate is "too-tight-in-the-butt-overalls guy," "ethiopian-food-smeared-up-to-his-elbows-guy," "stare-at-my-tits-guy," and "hide-next-too-my-garage-until-i-get-home-and-then-try-to-make-out-with-me-even-though-i'm-your-friend's-boyfriend-guy." Oh, and "protest-the-state-of-the-world-by-refusing-to-vocalize-guy." Yes, I've seen all of these former would-be boyfriends, although I managed to avoid actually talking to most of them. God. Why are these the dudes I have stories about? Where are all the awesome ones from my past? I guess there really weren't many.

I'm listening to the Velvet Underground. On those 100% humidity summer days in Japan, when I had to put the office mandated hosiery on my sweating legs, I listened to "Beginning to See the Light." Somehow it got me pumped up to do what needed to be done.

So, I also saw the Hentchmen at the City Fest (why do I hate writing "City Fest?") with Deborah and Isidora. We were assaulted by a freak gust of hurricanic wind. Otherwise it was great. I hadn't seen them play in forever. So fun and good!

AND I saw the Buffy musical at a midnight showing, with Jen and Lisa. I liked it, because it's the Buffy musical, and as Lisa said, involved movie-screen-sized Spike! But I'm just not all that wacky. We were encouraged to be wacky.

I spent the first part of today reading Persepolis 2, after just having re-read Persepolis. I liked the story so much. Her drawings weren't as good, though. I wonder if she was rushed to complete a sequel? Some of them looked like planning-stages sketches. Still, it was awesome and makes me want to draw. All I need is some motherfucking motivation. Can I hire you to hang around my apartment and prod me with a pointy stick when I get lazy? I hate being lazy. I do. It is a straight line from lazy to depressed for me. But laziness is so easy. So I need a prodder. You will also be required to fetch beverages for me.

I'm writing at a coffee shop. Now I'm listening to the Johnny Thunders song "Hurt Me," and my headphones came unplugged, and I treated everyone around me to his high pitched, "Oh, hurt me!"

oh, mop...

I bought a new wet-n-dry mop at Target yesterday. It's called the "O Mop," part of the Method line of cleaning stuff. I like those products, so I decided to leave behind the days of on-the-knees floor cleaning and evolve to an upright mopping style. This mop is ergonomically and enviornmentally friendly, supposedly, with this lemon-ginger aromatherapeutic solution that you squirt here and there, hither and yon, on the floor before you begin moppage. The mop head is a soft cloth that is velcroed on and can be washed and re-used.

But the problem is, I keep thinking of it as the I-Mop instead of the O Mop. I feel like I should be able to download music or videos to the handle to enjoy as I mop. It's kind of disappointing that nothing revolutionary really happens. Unless you consider me mopping to be revolutionary, in which case, you do have a point.

I just tried it. It is pretty good. But oh my god, the instructions are kind of sickening. It's that hipster style of marketing. Stuff like, "align flat side of male pole with flat side of female pole (this sounds dirtier than it is)," and "squeeze metal doodads." The whole theme of the instruction booklet is eating off the floor, because this is how clean they will be. So there are all these recipes included, and accompanying photos of the food right on the floor. Wacky!!! They also note that when you do eat off your floor, "liberal use of cushions can make the whole experience much easier on the tush. Can we say "tush?" Guess we just did!"

Why does it make me kind of mad? There's something super obnoxious about it.

But, my floors are pretty clean. I think tonight I am going to steam some carrots, bok choy, and broccoli, and eat it on brown rice with some spicy bean sauce mixed in. Call me unadventurous, but I am NOT going to pile it on the kitchen floor.

*

Last night I met up with Mollie, A, and O after my spinning class. I changed my clothes and "freshened up," but that was all. Gross, right? My hair was saturated with sweat, but during the drive to Ferndale, I just kep combing my fingers through it. Then I got compliments on my hair. I think it's my new style secret: well-distributed sweat!

Wide awake

So, my Sleep Experiment was going well, up until right now. I can't sleep right now. But instead of tossing and turning, cursing and moaning, I am following the advice of Sleep Experts and leaving the bedroom for a relaxing activity.

But honestly, it's not really going that well. I mean, it's stricter than I'm used to. I have been doing a routine like this:

11:00: Stop all activity and move to yoga mat!!!
11:35: Stop all yoga and move to bathroom for Nightly Grooming!!!
11:45: Read just a little!!!
12:00: Lights out!!!

Then, in the morning:
8:00: Alarm sounds!!!
8:10: Leave apartment for bracing morning walk!!!
8:50: Begin Day!!!

To me, the three exclamation points are an important part of each section of the routine. But I haven't been feeling those so much. I do like doing the yoga. The whole evening part is actually really nice. I like it. (I forgot to add "Light a scented candle!!!" during yoga). It's just that I feel like I'm being filmed. It all feels staged right now. Maybe at some point it will start to feel normal.

But the morning part is hard. I wake up every day with my sinuses heavy, anchoring me to my pillow. It's hard to feel energized in that situation. I thought eight hours was going to be a revolution in restedness, but I don't feel that much more rested.

Oh, and I already have made "but it's the weekend!" concessions to this routine. Because who can go to bed so early on the weekend? Not a fun lady like me!

Also, my new routine conflicts with my old habit of drinking some wine in the evening. For one thing, Sleep Experts caution against it. For another, the yoga practice suffers. Perhaps I need to move the glass of wine to earlier in the evening?

***

Today was lovely. A lovely and gourmet Barbecue Event on Patti and Andy's long, lazy front porch. I would live on the porch if that was my house. It's all about sturdy pillars and fancy pillows. Pillars-n-pillows.

I can't sleep partly due to an unhappy stomach, but that has nothing to do with the grilled corn on the cob, grilled foil packets of potatoes/mushrooms/garlic, lentil rice salad, and green salad served by P & A. No, sadly it has to do with a staple drink of my twenties - my beloved umeshu (that's plum wine). How I guzzled it all over the nation of Japan! And so, whilst feeling a bit blue on Saturday, I spied it in the Japanese food section of one of my fancy local markets and decided to go for it. It was a lot less expensive than I usually see it in actual Japanese markets. I drank a little last night, but found it strangely unappealing. I tried again tonight, really tried to put myself back in that cared-for and loved umeshu place, mixing it with water as I used to do, putting it over ice... but, no. Syrupy and sweet. Undrinkable, almost.

Although just now, as I hauled it out, I see that it has PRODUCT OF CHINA written all the hell over it. It looks exactly like the product I so loved, but - is it? I'm starting to wonder. The cheap price! The style is the same, but... I'm sure what I used to drink was a Japanese product. Is it the same company? Do they make it syrupier for different markets? I hope it's something like that. Then I wouldn't have to feel bad about not really liking it anymore.

Here's what the bottle looks like. Maybe you've seen it. My friend Heather ate one of the plums from the bottom and did not file a good report about it. The picture is backwards, and it would take only a few seconds to fix it, but suddenly I am feeling tired. The Sleep Experts would encourage me to leave my quiet activity now, and return to my bedroom sanctuary, reserved only for the purposes of sleep and sex. G'night.