blame it on the black star

i tried googling "colt" to find an image to fit my mood, but instead of finding a frolicking young horse, I mostly found guns and boobs, plus some sports team. What do boobs have to do with colts? I guess they have to do with anything. To be clear, i feel coltish, but like a young horse with long and energetic legs. My legs are actually relatively short, but that's not how I feel.

I gambol, not gamble.

See, any time I flirt even briefly with any kind of romantic entanglement, I feel like I'm killing all of the best parts of myself. Then I let go of said entanglement, and I feel coltish, free again. I tried really hard just now to make an artistic photo showing this clash between my true self and romantic crap. I tried to pose with a Godiva chocolate over each eye (i have a box of 48 from my doomed date on sunday), to comment on, you know, how these "romantic" gestures are supposed to cloud my vision, etc. But all the pictures just came out hilarious. Strung together, they would actually be a pretty awesome statement on my typical Friday night, after a nap, plus wine, and why I am still and probably forever single.

so, da

So, I haven't written in awhile, due to all the adventures and everything.

Today my lungs hurt and so did my stomach. I have had a constantly recycling cold and/or mild flu since school started. I wish my stomach was a happier place, in general. Look, I'm drinking soda (ginger ale) in the picture above. I don't usually do that. Only when the stomach gets really ornery. I scored an Avatar necklace today, though, also pictured above. It was the free gift that came with a book set I ordered for my classroom. My students like this Avatar, whatever it is. TV show, I think? Anyway, other than that high point, I kind of struggled through the day today. But when I got home, I had something waiting for me. The MUJI speakers I ordered from the MOMA store! Yea!

I love these cardboard speakers. They can pop onto my laptop or fold up flat for times when flatness is a boon. And they are from one of my all-time favorite stores, MUJI, which we don't have in the U.S., except as a few products in the MOMA store. There's a U.S. website now but you can't order stuff there. Actually, it looks like there is going to be a NYC store this November. Weird that they chose NYC and not Detroit.

Anyway, in Japan I went there a lot and always got that unhealthy rush of shopping excitement. Everything is just so simple and cool and affordable. They even had good snacks. And clothes. I still wear some of those MUJI clothes, and use the colored pencils, markers, notebooks, etc. I frittered my yen away on. I never bought furniture because there was no room in my compartment, but their furniture is cool.

So, yeah. Good little speakers! They made my day better.

tomatoes, cider, and gloom

Today I am gripped by a pointless melancholy, prompted by a visit to a farm stand.

There were tons of tomatoes of several varieties, and I bought a hefty bag of them. But I know, and they know, that the tomatoes' days are numbered.

This time of year, I eat at least a tomato, if not a few, a day.

Tomatoes on toasted wheat bread. Tomato slices eaten straight. Tomatoes eaten right side up, upside-down, with clothes on, naked, in the shower, in bed, chased with beer, snorted, worked into my performance pieces, etc. You get the idea. Tomatoes, tomatoes, tomatoes. I eat them. I love them.

But now it's getting past tomato time and getting into cider time.

And that reminds me that I'm really thirsty right now, and that cider seems to quench a thirst really well, but I didn't buy any today because I didn't know if I had sufficient cash in the wallet for cider and tomatoes.

The most melancholy thing of all is that, as it turns out, I did. If only I had known!

tote bag

I am in a listless place as far as writing goes - except for super cheesy country songs. The super cheesy country songs fall into my head already written, fully formed, with backup vocals and seventies-style strings already worked out. I hear them as they might sound coming out of a jukebox in some divey bar. The harmonies include one of those super deep male voices.

We had our North African dinner party last weekend (next up: South America). There was a ridiculous amount of amazing vegan food. I went to the farmer's market early, then I spent all day chopping and prepping for my Moroccan stew, only to leave it untended for a bit too long while on the phone in the other room. It burned a little. I thought, "Well, at least there's the Moroccan carrot salad," as I threw the carrot sticks into boiling water for a 10-second dip. I took the pot off the stove and was moving toward the colander in the sink when the HANDLE of the POT came suddenly DETACHED. Carrots and boiling water landed all over the kitchen, including my now-blistered left foot. So the carrots also didn't really work out, you know? And I lost my favorite pot. It was one of my grandma's wedding gifts in 1943 or 1944, so I guess it had been around. Still...

THe other ladies had made tons of amazing food, and my stew ended up being fine, really, as long as you didn't have the bad luck to get one of the crunchy burned bits, heh heh. Jen sent me pictures of our meal, which perhaps I will post a bit later. I have to go buy some Spiderman bedding for my neph right now.

School began and the kids aren't broken in to my ways yet. I'm determined not to constantly bring twenty-five tote bags* of schoolie stuff home every night, so I can also focus on the country songs in my head.



*when is the last time you heard someone say "tote bag?" oh my god. i am a person with a lot of tote bags, and not ones you'd find at some alternative craft fair. it happened to me without my realizing it. tote bags are such a teacher thing. do nashville songwriters have tote bags? how about the backup singers?

3 cases of wanting to weep, though not sad

Jen called to tell me about the pricey but perfect nectarine she had today. It set her back more than a nectarine normally would, but it was totally worth it, she said. I understood, and felt happy that she would confide in me about her fruit purchases. I was reminded, too, of the time Norma visited me in Japan, and we went to a little town that had a kind of farmer's market going down. We saw a bin of lovely peaches, and marveled and laughed at the fact that they cost $10 each. Then, before I knew it, I was frantically whipping out my wallet and buying the biggest one. N. looked at me like I was insane. She, being of California, didn't understand that I hadn't had a fresh peach or any exciting fruits in awhile. That peach was amazing. I think I may have eaten it with tears of joy streaming down my face. That's how I like to remember it, anyway: Peach juice and salty tears charting a mingled course down my blissed out face. Sorry about that ridiculousness of that.

Once, years ago, a co-worker put some flowers on my desk at work, as was her occasional habit. Late in the morning, I started getting really red and itchy. It was maddening. I didn't connect it with the "flowers" (more like weeds, I think) until I caught a glimpse of them and had the urge to weep. I connected this emotional surge with the flowers, got rid of them, and the itchiness stopped. Cut to this week, when I have been super dry of eye, with burning skin. I even had to go without my contacts Monday, which I hate. I had no idea what was going on, until in the shower this morning, when I opened my way too expensive Lush "Big" shampoo, and the smell, which I had always liked, unexpectedly made me want to cry. Suddenly it all made sense! The crazy herbs in the shampoo were to blame! I washed my hair with good old fashioned chemicals instead and had no problems with my eyes today.

OK, I just spent too long reading message boards about a medical topic and I feel like I have subconsciously taken on all the bad writing style that is to be found in such places. Also, it's 3:00 a.m., which sucks. Actually, 3:00 a.m. doesn't suck; I quite like 3:00 a.m., which is part of my problem. What sucks is that I went to bed at 1:00 and it didn't work! And I can't sleep in very late tomorrow.

I have been watching the first season of Arrested Development. I like it so much! I had only seen a bit here or there. Who would anyone do - Buster or Gob?

Directions and directionlessness

I'm way, way out of sorts, all dry-eyeballed and prickly-skinned.

My favorite green shoes are slippery on the bottoms, and I know I'm taking a chance whenever I walk on any kind of smooth surface, which makes wearing them feel kind of reckless. Today, it finally happened: In the parking lot of the grocery store, I wiped out, right in front of a car. I think I might have ended up in the splits. I expected the person in the car to roll down his window and ask if I was alright. Instead, he waited for me to pick myself up, then continued following me to my spot so he could park there. Is it so naive of me to want a little humanity in the cut-throat game of parking?

Sunday was rainy, and I spent it in Ann Arbor. I went to my favorite place for Bibimbap - it is oh, so fresh and delicious. Then I walked to the art museum (which is actually not the art museum, but a temporary locale while they re-do the art museum) and saw an awesome, but small, exhibit of young Japanese photographers. Happy under my umbrella, I then walked to the Michigan Theater and saw "Nashville," which I have always wanted to see. I'm usually so-so about Altman. I did end up liking it, even though some of the early scenes were so chaotic I almost couldn't stand it. In the end, it was worth it. The only thing is, I've had that song "I'm Easy" in my head ever since...

During the movie, the drive home, and in days since, I have been wracked with a weird guilt. It all stemmed from that bebimbap I mentioned. As I was walking to the theater, a group of four young and friendly people stopped me and said, "Excuse me. Do you know a Korean restaurant around here?" I think they were from Japan. Anyway, I started gushing about how I had just that day eaten Korean food, and how fucking awesome it had been. So I started giving them directions. At some point during the direction giving, I realized that the place was kind of far. "It's on campus?" the main guy asked (I decided he was the main guy). "Well...no. It's totally worth it, though!" I kept giving directions using sketchy landmarks and descriptions. I didn't know the name of the place, and even if I did, I knew there wasn't a sign outside. It's kind of attached to a market, but with the directions I gave, the market would also be hard to find... I suddenly realized that there were 2 other good Korean places basically a stone's throw away. I offered to give directions to one of those instead, but Main Guy said, "But the other place is better?" "Oh, yeah! Oh my god, it's so good!" Really I have no idea if it's better at all. I was just excited. Eventually, off they set. For some reason I felt like I had sent them into the wilderness, so vague and inaccurate were my directions. It seemed unlikely that they would find it. I worried about that on and off through the movie. Then I started imagining that they had found it, and I wondered whether it even qualifies as a Korean restaurant. Sure, they have bebimbap, but also a lot of stuff like "hot dog wrapped in bacon, deep fried, and topped with kimchi." Even now, I imagine that they are still wandering around, wet from the rain, kind of bedraggled, or else suffering from stomach troubles if they ordered that hot dog thing.

I really need to stop feeling so responsible for shit like this, huh? Besides, if they are from Japan as I suspect, they should be used to directions like these. When someone came to visit my place there, it was, "From the train station, walk away from the giant red torii. Pass Family Mart and Lawson. When you see the big garden, turn right. Pass the sake shop. Stop at the beer machine and I'll pay you back when you get here. Keep walking straight. When you see the futon place, start looking for a big white building on the right. My apartment is the one that does NOT have a futon airing on the balcony, as it should."

off balance, but well shod

Today was a day of klutziness, bad timing, and poor coordination, saved only by seeing friends tonight, including J&J, who are visiting from Cali. I cooked my brown rice/avocado/corn/almond/red onion/dill pickle concoction for Jen, a.k.a. Birthday Girl to Be. Sadly, the red onion was pretty scant, for lo! When I went into the produce drawer, I found the following:

- a zucchini, frozen solid
- a yellow squash, frozen solid
- a red onion, frozen solid
- a carrot, frozen solid

Do you see a theme? Although the day was hot and humid, frozen vegetables did not bring me any comfort. All of these were beautiful specimens, from the organic farm, now changed into -sicles. This onion, for example. So pretty, but it's going to be all limp and weird when it thaws out.



My old friend Tomoko sent me this picture of a meal we shared in Japan two years ago now - an awesome and beautiful vegetarian place, where we had our own little room, with our own sliding shoji, and our own little pit to dangle our legs into beneath the table. The waiters unobtrusively brought course after course of tofu and vegetable dishes, each so different and good. Tomoko chose the place with me in mind. She is super good like that.



I've started setting up my room at school, but I have so far avoided all the terrible places where one goes to buy classroom supplies. My co-workers are getting ready for school through trips to office depotmax, the teacher store, etc. I have been getting ready through shoe buying. This year's group of kids is going to be better prepared in the areas of shoe knowledge and appreciation than any other group I've taught yet. Heels, wedges, flats, pointy toes, squared toes: It's an exciting time to be an educator!

coldhungry times ahead

Tonight I had my own pesto making party for one. All the basil I harvested from the pot outside my window was about to go bad (confession: actually, all that basil died in the dry summer no-rain heat. A professional farmer grew the basil that was about to go bad). First I made this lovely beet pesto. I put it on some broccoli for tomorrow's lunch. It is really good, for the beet-inclined. I myself am very inclined toward the beet. I just wish I had a food processor. My blender didn't quite do the trick. It's not nearly as pretty as hers, much chunkier, but it tastes really good.

Then, since I still had basil left, I made this asparagus pesto. I had made it before with a combination of asparagus and green peas. Today I made it with a mix of asparagus and edamame. Delightful! I did the fancy thing of putting it in an ice cube tray to freeze it for hard/cold/hungry times ahead.

comeuppance (warning to jen: includes birds)

I got a major comeuppance about my supposedly transcendent hair tonight. I met Alice at the WAB for fresh air and beer. I got there first and sat a spell with my Hefeweizen. Then Alice came, and within a few minutes, she said, "I think you have a stick in your hair. Or is it a feather?"

It was the latter! I had a nasty, dirty, fresh-from-a-flying-thing feather woven into my hair. I don't know how long it had been there or where it came from. Was it there all day? I was really grossed out. I'm not like the mom of the kid in my class who came on our field trip and picked up a wild duck and stroked it and cooed to it, OK?

But back to my hair. I'm not planning on talking about my hair in EVERY entry, really. But only because I couldn't ever hope to do it as well as this dude.

Gots to go wash bird-ridden hair now.

heart of glass

I am filled with ennui right now. It could be the hot day, or it could just be a case of intellectual overload. I have been thinking critically for three whole days now, after many summer days of sitting around drooling and stuff.

I found an old pal's blog yesterday and read it beginning to end, going back a year or so. It was awesome to read what she has been doing. She never stops moving around and doing cool and important things. She is "Social Justice in Central America" woman, whereas I'm "Look at the lush alien life force that is my hair!" girl. Kind of embarrassing. The good thing is that this "institute" I am doing right now is all about teaching as a political act towards social justice. The leaders are both really awesome and rabble-rousing, and it is inspiring and makes me somewhat excited for school to begin again. I, too, will rouse rabble in my classroom by subverting the dominant hierarchies! Or, I'll do a better job teaching fractions. Or remember to take attendance. Or a little of all of these.

I have been sitting with three teachers each day who I didn't know at all before. Today one of them pulled an NRA magazine out of her bag and started flipping through it. The other two got excited and said that they also subscribe. "WE ALL subscribe to the NRA magazine at this table!" one of them announced to the whole group. "No!" I said, shaking my head and grimacing. "I don't!" I may have also waved my arms around frantically and made a big "X" out of my arms like they do in Japan when it is imperative that everyone understands the "No"-ness of it all.

What if I only wore yellow and drove around in a yellow car? That would be very out of character. Another thing that would be out of character? Not breaking a glass every other day. I just did it again. It was a thin glass, and it shattered into microscopic shards and flecks all over the kitchen. Just like the day before yesterday, I swept with the broom, then spilled the dust pan and swept it up again, then vacuumed, then mopped, then picked sparkles out of the mop, then thought I had gotten glass in my eye, then took out the garbage, then mopped again. I think that stepping on glass is one of my irrational fears. Wait, actually it's a totally rational one. (Having to touch or interact with a fish, to be judged or acknowledged by its bulgy eye or forced to drape its see-through fins over my skin is my irrational one. To have the see-through fins somehow end up in my mouth. To have one waiting in my path with its grotesque mouth gaping, sucking all happiness out of the day). After all, if the glass gets in your foot, it could enter your bloodstream and make its way to your heart. Is that what you want for me? Also, there was a time during my teenage years when my foot really, really hurt on the bottom. I could barely walk, but it looked ok, so I ignored it. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore, and had my mom look at it. She started pushing around, and soon a river of pus flowed, and out came basically an intact wine glass.

So I hope I'm done breaking a glass every other day now.


P.S. I don't like the trend of people saying, "What it is, is...." Example: "What is glass, anyway?" "What it is, is a product of molten sand, cooled..." Why not just say, "It is a product..."?

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.

nothing to say, no one to say it to

Even though I have done so many good things that I like so far today (a walk, buying stuff at the farmer's market, writing, grinding ink and drawing, listening to Saturday NPR shows, reading my Moomin comic collection, taking a nap), i think i will scream if i don't talk to a real human being soon.

That said, I guess I'll have to make do with talking to you. Whoever you are.

But now it turns out that I have nothing to say. So, perhaps I'll just mention some things I have eaten lately.

There is a newish nearby market, which calls itself a "lifestyle center." Eeeew! I knew they would have good stuff, but it was hard to get past that. I finally went, and it has some awesome things. I have always wanted to make preserved lemons, but never have, and behold, they sell Moroccan ("what could be mo' rockin'?", Pam would ask. "Mo Rocca?" I would reply, after a pause, because I'm not as quick with the wit as she) preserved lemons in their olive section!

So I made green beans with preserved lemons. Super good! I also made another fava bean dish. The first go-round with the favas, I cooked them with ginger and bok choy. This time I marinated them in a lemony dressing. All about the lemons right now. I also marinated some red onion slices and some cucumbers for use in salads, but I tend to eat them by themselves, it seems. At Deborah's last night, we grilled vegetables and bread and had sandwiches with ancho chile hummus. Super good. Oh, and we had guacamole. It was my first guac of summer vacation, and my first barbecue of the summer.

I just got word that I will go to my second barbecue of the summer tomorrow, at Patti and Andy's! My summer theme is coming 'round. I'm so glad it's "vegetarian barbecue summer," and not something like "billy joel summer."