This
morning David Bacon
was on KPFA doing
his labor report and he mentioned the Walmart
memo. The host said something about the suggestion
that all employees gather carts. He said that elderly
and handicapped people might not be able to do that.
I thought about my mom. When she gets out of the car
at any store she gathers a few carts on her way in.
The Safeway in my neighborhood has handicapped people
as baggers and cart retrievers. Some elderly and handicapped
people might not be able to get carts but I don't think
that's the big worry with the memo.
Walmart
is not exactly a good corporate citizen. This memo
is just one more reason not to shop there. But it is
also an example of how the idea of health is used to
discriminate. It definitely means that fat people will
have a hard time getting a job there. And when I say
that I am mindful of who is considered fat in this country.
I wanted David and the host of the morning show to mention
something about that. But the idea of fat people as
a specific political group who experience discrimination
is not in the mix.
In the war on fat, fat isn't just winning, it's crushing the opposition.
Despite the fact that most of us now apparently face a roly-poly future, a visceral revulsion toward fat persists.
It's
like the only way to talk about a fat body has to be
couched in humor. And this wasn't really about fat politics.
It was about perpetuating the idea of the fat (can getting
fatter) American. Reading the article is an exercise
in bias. Ms. Kipnis suggests that a person who prefers
a fat person is bucking the system. It's possible that
they just simply prefer larger bodies and don't think
much about the system. Medical research that doesn't
pathologize weight is contrarian. And of course
the article has to mention feeders. Always good to talk
about the extreme. Revulsion to fat is visceral? Maybe
for her.
I
always blanch when someone write about fatness being
genetic as if that's an excuse. No one who does not
have a genetic predisposition for fatness is ever going
to get fat. Everyone knows someone who eats all kinds
of foods and large amounts of food and just never gets
fat. It's natural.
Of
course food intake and exercise do impact how fat a
person gets. But the thing that seems so hard for people
to grasp is this is not an exact science. How much food?
How much exercise? It's not the same for everyone. You
might be able to measure things like calories in and
calories burned but people are all different. And,
while some amount of exercise is good for everyone,
no one should have to exercise like an athlete, if they
don't want to, in order to prove some dubious notion
of character.
The
politics of food is a conversation. I actually agree
that most of the food consumed by Americans is filled
with hidden sugar and salt. We are more sedentary as
a population. I might even agree that we are fatter
in general. I just don't think it's useful to focus
on it. Thin and average sized people will benefit from
healthier eating and more exercise. So why put weight
in the conversation?
I
find it all quite annoying. As do many BFB
readers
Political scientist Oliver condemns what he feels is a
self-interested “public health establishment”-obesity researchers
seeking federal funding, pharmaceutical and weight-loss companies
peddling diet drugs and regimens, bariatric surgeons and other
health-care providers angling for insurance reimbursement-for
spuriously characterizing fatness as a disease. He debunks the dubious
science and alarmist PR that fuels their campaign, taking on arbitrary
Body-Mass Index standards that slot even Michael Jordan in the
overweight category, state-by-state maps of obesity rates that make
fatness look like a contagion spreading over the countryside, and
flimsy research studies that vastly exaggerate the danger and costs of
weight gain.
So
maybe there will be conversations about the rising cost
of public health that talk about the greed of the diet
industry, the insurance industry and the medical industry
because talking about obesity as a reason for the rising
cost of health care creates the environment for discrimination.
One
of my favorite rants is about the shame of low voter
turn out in this country. And yet, I am so aggravated
by the special election in California next week I don't
even want to vote. I will vote. Oh, yes I will. But
I'm aggravated.
Every
day my mail is full of glossy flyers in support of both
sides of ever issue. I get phone calls. There are non
stop commercials. If we took all the money being spent
on the election and put it in the state budget the governor
could do something useful with his time. Not that I
trust him to spend it well.
I
should probably be embarrassed to admit that, after
complaining about the election tomorrow, I jumped out
of my chair last night to vote after the West
Wing debate. I didn't think the debate was that
good but I had to vote for Jimmy. There was a moment
in the debate when an audience member called Vinick
a liar. A similar
thing happened in a forum here. I wondered if that
was art imitating life.
I
don't really know if I can keep watching the West Wing
if Jimmy doesn't win. West Wing has always been my fantasy
White House. And I haven't even always been that happy
with them.
I
know. It's only television. There isn't much on television
anymore. There are three nights a week when I don't
even bother to turn it on. I've been doing a Queer
As Folk festival via Netflix but I'm finding it
kind of hyper and glossy. I am a bit over involved with
the shows I watch. The problems between Rory
and Lorelai are driving me crazy. I was frustrated
last week when it was a rerun. I'm anxiously waiting
to see what
Jess has to say.
Danelle
called the other night to tell me that she had performed
one of the monologues from Salt
and Rain for a small group. I wrote new stuff for
the piece from conversation between Danelle and I but
she also used two pieces from the
book. Here's the one she perfomed.
I have a memory.
My
grandmother has given me a key. I don’t remember why.
Maybe it was a key to my Aunt Jean’s
apartment, just across the street from us. Or maybe it was the key to our
house. Maybe I was supposed to give it to someone.
I don’t remember.
I
remember sitting on the black walnut stool that Uncle John and Aunt Jean made
when they were in high school.He made
the stool. She made the needlepoint cushion to go on top. My elbows are pressed
into my knees and my hands are clenched together. My forehead is pushed into my
knuckles and I am praying.
I
have lost the key.
I am praying and begging God to help me find the key. I am making
promises of kindness, cooperation with my elders, a future as a medical
missionary in India. I am begging for intervention. I don’t want my grandmother
to be upset. It’s not like she would hit me, or anything. But her disapproval
fills a room.It makes my stomach hurt,
even when her disapproval isn’t about me. I am praying a litany of promises and
I am reasoning with God. I am explaining to God why he needs to help me.
“The thing is I didn’t mean to lose the key, but
she won’t understand that and she’ll think I wasn’t paying attention, or
concentrating, or something like that and she will be mad at me and she will be
mad at my Mom and it isn’t fair to be mad at my Mom because she’s at work and
she didn’t lose the key and she will be mad at my Dad because he’s dead, but he
isn’t really dead, but she says he is and I think you can see that a person who
thinks a person is dead who isn’t really dead isn’t totally reasonable, but
that’s because
she’s older and set in her ways and you know all about that and I think you
need to help me.”
I
fell off of the stool.
I
don’t remember how.
And
the key was underneath the stool.
There
are parts I don’t remember but I do remember that at that moment I believed in
God. I believed that God was with me. I believed that God would answer my
prayers.
I
voted. And it was a relief to have an election go the
way I wanted it to go. Not exactly worth 44.7 million
but a relief none the less.
And
I had to report for jury duty. The case I might have
been chosen for was settled so my service was to go
hang out in the juror's waiting room until called to
a court room and then go back in the next morning long
enough to be thanked and told to go home. I had the
same experience a few years ago.
It
was interesting to be in the process. I sat a big round
table with one other woman. She was reading the paper.
I was reading Calvino.
In the center of the table was a stack of catalogs similar
to the stack I get in the mail every day now. Tis the
season.
The
room was relatively hushed. Just the rattle of pages
turning, an occasional cough, or clearing of throat,
a back of the room pay phone conversation, occasional
conversation from the front of the room reception area.
After an hour or so we were told we had a break. My
table mate and I exchanged pleasantries and headed for
the bathroom. When we came back to the table she pulled
out a Vanity Fair and went back to the 1959-1960 journal
of a trip Calvino took around the US in which he mentions
the Civil Rights movement being led by "Luther
King" and some events he was witnessing after "
...the arrest of a black girl who had wanted to sit
on a seat reserved for whites...". On my bus ride
to the court I sat on a bus in which there was a black
and white picture of Rosa Parks posted in the front
of the bus so it was interesting to be reading his memory.
They
showed us a little video about how the justice system
works. Almost no one watched. And then some of us were
called to the court room. We walked silently and quickly
to the elevator. I wouldn't say that we were solemn
but there was a tense reserve. When we walked in the
lawyers and the defendant were facing us, which may
be a ceremony of the court but felt a bit shocking.
We didn't know why we were in court and we are supposed
to be presuming innocence but here we were face to face
with ... someone. Someone. We may be about to send them
to jail. Or something. We didn't know.
The
clerk welcomed us and took the roll. The judge came
in an told us a few more details about how it was going
to work. The people who wanted to ask to be excused
stayed and the rest of went home. The next morning we
gathered in front of the court room, were let in, before
the clerk got through the roll the judge walked in and
we were told the case had been settled. No details.
That was that. I got home in time to go the pool.
I'll
never know what was settled. And that's how it should
be. But having this brief moment of being eye to eye
with someone and having this ... power. It was unnerving.
Despite
the fact that so much goes wrong in our justice system
I can't think of a better way to do things. And I would
happily have served. I do kinda wish they could have
called and told us not to come in that second day but
... it was interesting.
If
I'm sitting in just the right spot in my living room
I can see Coit Tower. Well. Just a sliver of Coit Tower.
So I'm not feelin the love from O'Reilly.
On
Saturday morning the hard drive on my desk top crashed.
I spent most of the day on the phone with tech support.
I had to take a break when my phone lost charge and
Miriam came over to finish the work on the article I
am ghost writing for her. The article was in the desk
top but I had printed out a copy for her before the
crash. I worked on the lap top. When she left I got
back on the phone with tech until 1:00. The conclusion
is that I need a new hard drive.
I
feel like I've been hit by a truck.
I'm
so lucky to have the laptop. But I don't have access
to so much information. Geek Patrol is coming on Thursday.
It's
good to have my routine shaken up. Every morning I wake
up, go to the bathroom, go to the living room, turn
on the radio, turn on the computer. Which is actually
what I did today except it's the laptop on the table
and not the desk top on the desk. I keep looking over
at my desk as if there's something there I need. I keep
my vitamins on my desk because I take them when I eat
breakfast and I eat breakfast in front of my computer.
Sometimes my brush and dental floss will be on my desk
for days.
It
took me till today to get the laptop configured to do
the things I do. E-mail, blogging, posting. No big deal.
But things feel different. My hands on the key board.
I keep reaching under the table for the mouse because
the shelf with the keyboard and the mouse are under
the desk. It's almost shocking that I operate at such
a rote level.
Before
the crash I had planned to move some book and CD shelves
around. I used to move every piece of furniture in my
apartment once a year but I don't have the strength
(or room) to do that any more. The last time I did it
I put the CD shelf between the big TV cabinet and the
desk. It was accessible but not easily. I decided to
move it over by the CD player in hopes that I will listen
to more music and less CSPAN and SFGTV.
I had a hankering to listen to The
Smiths yesterday and I have yet to tire of Shusheela.
But I also listened to a
hearing about whether or not to keep long term care
at Laguna
Honda while I moved books off shelves and then back
on. I realphabetized my CDs and recycled two stacks
of old issues of The Nation. It looks good. I got rid
of a lot of dust.
I
am disoriented. Which I find somewhat amusing. I just
have this knot in my stomach while I wait to find out
how bad the desk top is. My big hope is that the
tech support at Dell was wrong and everything will be
all better by Thursday afternoon. My second hope is
that they will be able to rescue my data. In the mean
time I am trying to figure out how much I can do with
the laptop.
My
favorite moment of the day was lining up the B-52's.
Bach, Badu and Baez. Something about that mad me smile.
The
hours of the pool have changed too. When I go to the
pool I use the same locker every time. When did I become
such a droid?
I
always like the first few minutes of Caroline's
show because she does a quick astrological break
down. I do always dread when she says Mercury is in
retrograde. She would say that there is no need for
dread. Mercury in retrograde is a time for RE words.
REconnect. REflect. REimagine. And in my case ...
REpair.
When
I made the Thursday morning appointment with Geek Squad
the woman told me I could call back and see if there
had been any cancelations and maybe get an earlier time.
So I did. I got Wednesday night. Wednesday morning I
got a call canceling that appointment because there
had been a mistake and the "agent" wasn't
able to do the work. I got an appointment for today.
This morning I got a call to cancel. To their credit
they made some effort to get me an appointment
for tomorrow. But I had the number of a local guy,
recommended by friends. I called and they said to bring
it in.
I've
had a few conversations with people in the meanwhile
and have come to believe that it is the hard drive.
I think Geek Squad will come here long enough to confirm
that and they'll need to take it in. Rather than go
through that I'm just going to take it in today. Since
it's Friday (and Mercury is in retrograde) I figure
it may be awhile before I have it back.
I
am so lucky that I have the lap top. But it's older
than the desk top. It's slower. I don't love working
on it.
The
call from Geek Squad came this morning and took awhile
so I missed the only time I could have gone to the pool.
REgrettably.
Mercury
in retrograde. I just want to get under the covers and
weep.
Larry
interviewed some people who had written a book on
Sunday. I can't remember their names or the name of
the book. It's about how people eat around the world.
There are pictures in which some people are standing
in front of piles of fruits and veggies and others in
front of packaged food. It was an interesting discussion.
But.
As always. There was the idea of the fat American.
I
have the same experience over and over when it comes
to food politics. I agree with all of the ideas about
how bad processed food is, how much better it is to
eat seasonally and regionally, there are hidden salts
and sugars in food, and on and on. There was something
mentioned about how many KFC's are opening in China.
I should have written about it then but not having the
desk top is messing with my already shaky writing groove.
I keep thinking about it though.
I
agree with so much and then someone talks about how
fat Americans are and I get tense. It isn't that I don't
think we are fatter and I do think it has to do with
fast food and soda in buckets and too many screens in
our lives. Getting rid of fast food and more exercise
is good. And yet... I always feel like food politics
forgets that people often eat fast food because it's
cheap. And fast. And life in capitalism is hard. And
many of the people who are consuming this stuff are
not fat. So why bang that tired old drum?
I
really do love Larry but he is such a purist about everything.
He doesn't like computers or blogging. He went on and
on about Thanksgiving being about gluttony.
And
again, part of me agrees. Thanksgiving, like so many
other American holidays is a market frenzy. Too much
is never enough. But it's also a time for people to
come together and have a good meal. Eating is a good
thing. A healthy thing. A pleasurable thing. Pleasure
matters.
At
another point in the conversation they talked about
how bad American food is making everyone every where
fatter. And again...I agree. But...
I
just wish the conversation felt like it was more about
quality and less about moral panic.
When
I got to the pool yesterday there were only two other
swimmers, one of whom commented to me that he was glad
it was mellow. We swam for about fifteen minutes, each
in their own lane. And then I saw her.
Belly
flop woman.
I
recognized her from a previous swim. There were more
people in the pool then. She climbs up the stairs, goes
to one end and dives. But she doesn't dive well and
always belly flops. It's loud. There's lots of splashing.
It sound like it hurts but she heads straight for the
steps again. And again. And again. She was bugging everyone
so the life guard told her to stop.
Yesterday
she got in the pool and headed straight for me. When
she swims she extends both arms out to the side and
rotates them. It's almost like a cartoon. Then she swam
on her back with the same extended, rotating arms. And
then...she headed for the steps.
I
was just passing them at the moment and she barged in
front of me, forcing me to stop. She climbed up and
went to the end of the pool and did the first crashing
belly flop.
I
was going to try and swim around her but it was really
impossible. the pool isn't that big. She dived into
the middle and cut across my path every time she went
to the steps. I tried to adjust my pace to accommodate
her but she was too erratic.
It's
a public pool. Most of the time people acknowledge one
another and find a way to do what they want to do. There's
have been a few times when another swimmer was so annoying
that I left but really very few. I've been in the pool
with people who splash a lot when they swim. I've been
in the pool with erratic swimmers. This woman was like
a kid. If there had been a way for me to keep swimming
I might have found her exuberance charming. As it was
I just got out and went home.
Which
was OK. I try to swim forty five to fifty minutes. I'd
only been in for twenty five minutes. I might have been
able to stay away from her and done some swimming in
place but I just lost energy.
I
always remember the wisdom of Fran
Lebowitz who, when asked if she worried that
her smoking in public might annoy other people said:
" People have forgotten the meaning of the word
public. To be in public is to be annoyed." I do
not take her to mean that we should stay out of public
places, although she is a recluse. I think we need to
be able to deal with some annoyance in life. If I encounter
the belly flop woman again I may try to find a way to
swim around her.
Of
course the best way to deal with being annoyed is to
share the annoyance with others.
KPFA
always goes out to Alcatraz on Thanksgiving morning
to broadcast the gathering of Native Americans. Democracy
Now opened with a
story about the Native Americans in Louisiana who are
still struggling after Katrina and Rita.
When
I was a kid there were two sets of salt and pepper shakers
taken out of my grandmothers collection for the Thanksgiving
table. One was a Pilgrim boy and girl and the other
was an Indian man and woman. I reenacted the first dinner
on the corner of a table covered with linen.
I
don't think most people are really thinking about the
first Thanksgiving today. They're thinking about the
dinner they may be about to cook, or attend. They are
recovering from air travel. They are stressed about
spending time with family they don't particularly like.
They are watching parades and football games and they
are happy to have some time off. They are rushing to
the store to buy the things they forgot.
I
have some turkey and potatoes and green beans and cranberry
relish.
It's
one of those days. I'm trying to sort through the things
I wish were true, the things I wish had never been true,
the things I think I want, the things I need, the things
I doubt will ever happen.
Gratitude.
Mindfullness. Comfort. Grief. Desire. And dinner.
I
planned to watch Queer
as Folk all day yesterday but despite the fact that
Netflix shipped three discs, the mailman only brought
one.
The
show is a little hyper and glossy for me. But some of
the acting is good and, as often happens, I get sucked
into the characters and the stories. There are annoying
continuity gaps and way too much filler but there is
a kind of Rorschach quality to the whole thing.
There
is no main character but there is Brian.
So many of the episodes end with Brian walking off into
the night. The first two seasons end with a close up
of Brian. He is the man who does not want to feel. So
alluring.
At
first we are given Brian as a completely self interested.
As each episode goes by we see him come through for
people in surprising ways. His insistence on being self
interested is somewhat refreshing because there are
no games. He is who he is. Expect nothing more. If
more happens then be surprised but do not depend on
it. And he does not want to be straight. Not just sexually
but in terms of values and life style.
I'm
not attracted to the character or the actor. It's difficult
for me to feel that way about anyone I could actually
have given birth to. But the archetype of the man who
does not want to feel is a big hook for me. Sadly. I've
spent too much of my energy trying to love unconditionally
and persistently and with no hope of reciprocation.
I
think that's about more than one thing. Maybe it's in
part about not feeling good enough and needing to prove
my love worthy. Maybe it's about having read too many
fairy tales. Maybe it's about loving the process of
love more than love itself. Or all of the above. In
any case, I am tired of it. Or I think I am.
And
yet every time I see Brian walking off into the night
I hope someone will chase him down. And usually someone
does.
The
other discs should come today. Yesterday I did my laundry
and ate my dinner and read. In some ways I am the woman
who does not want to feel. In more ways than I care
to admit.
The
pool was closed Thursday and Friday so this morning
I was thrilled to be back in the water. On Saturday
morning I share the pool with an older Chinese man.
We always smile and say hello while we wait for the
door to open. And then I head for my side of the pool
and he heads for his.
When
I came home I had an e-mail from Kristina
in which she mentioned strong coffee. I usually drink
tea in the morning and coffee once in a while in the
afternoon. But just the mention of strong coffee made
me want some. So I made some eggs with M-jack and salsa,
rye toast and coffee. Very satisfying.
I
had another post in mind but when I saw Shirl's comment
I went to EBC
to tell Susan how much I love her. Despite the fact
that we've never met I think of Susan as a dear friend.
And I am so sorry for her loss.
And
then I went to Shirl's
to thank her for letting me know but every time I tried
to open her page my browser would crash. I thought it
might be because I was opening it from the comment box so
I went to someone's page to open it from there but it
still crashed. I got it to open in another browser but
when I tried to open the comment box there it crashed.
I'm not sure why but I'm still working from the
laptop and it's old and slow and buggy.
In
the process of all this I noticed that I'd been taken
off a blog roll. It's not the first time. I am thinking
about writing to ask why because if I don't ask
why I'll make stuff up about why and that is usually
fraught.
I
mean ... I'm a bad blogger. I can barely write. I rarely
read. I almost never comment. I have withdrawn.
I
can trace my withdraw back to when my personal troll
launched one of their attacks in which I was told my
friends enable me by giving me things and helping me
and I'm stuck and have been stuck for a long time. It
was interesting to be told something I was all too aware
of and had, in fact, written about ... on my blog. I
took umbrage when it came to the attack on my friends
without whom I would be completely lost and I make no
apologies about that fact. Except sometimes to them
when I feel like I've needed too much, too often, for
too long. The troll and I exchanged a few e-mails in
which we traveled a communication loop with no resolve.
I wasn't too upset by it but I noticed that when I went
to write a post I had the troll sitting on my shoulder
and I would edit to avoid their judgement. And, too
often, I would just not write.
Am
I blaming them? No. If you're going to write about your
life on the Internet you ought to expect that not everyone
is going to like what you have to say and there may
be people who will let you know.
It's
just that ...I hate feeling misunderstood. I particularly
hate when something I write isn't taken in the spirit
in which I wrote it. If you're in conversation with
someone you can clear up misunderstanding as it happens
but when you write a post it has a kind of solidity.
It is possible to clear things up with another post,
or a comment conversation, or e-mail but ...
And
really my withdrawal from blogging is just part of a
withdraw from the world that began shortly after the
"get college" years. I think there were good
reasons for that withdrawal but I think the time has
come to reverse the trend.
I
can't really blame anyone for taking me off their blog
roll. I don't think I'm writing well. I'm certainly
not writing often. At least twice a week I decide to
shut down the blog.
But
I don't want to.
I
have met people in the blog world who I treasure. I
cannot take Laurie off of my blog roll despite the fact
that she doesn't seem to be there
any more because I can't bear the idea of her absence.
A
lot of people stop writing for a while and then come
back. I've been trying to accept the times when I don't
want to write and just not do it.
It
should not be inferred that I chose prefer existence
to living. When I notice I am existing and not living
I too ask the question - why bother? And it isn't really
true that I don't want to feel. I've been working pretty
hard to manage the feelings that keep me from engaging.
There may even be a baby with the bathwater thing happening.
I've always been a defender of difficult emotion. I
think we need to be able to feel it all. But I have
let hurt get the better of me for too long.
I
never know how to measure these things. A friend told
me that when she burst into tears over something her
father said the other day her mother snapped at her
to "lighten up." What is that about? I've
witnessed friends being told to "get over it"
when talking about the death of their husband. Get over
it? Huh?
So.
My
only rule for the blog has been to write from where
I am in any given moment. I was going to write about
insane stories of shopping mayhem on the news yesterday.
People were trampled. It's just nuts! But there is something
about being delinked. It sent me into meta land. Where
I will remain until I click on publish. At which point
I will put on music, clean up the kitchen and the bathroom.
Run the vacuum.
There
used to be a furniture store in SF with two locations.
Each had three stories full of cast off stuff from other
stores and used stuff. And there was one floor with
unfinished stuff. I got all of my book shelves there
and the cabinet in which I keep my TV, which wasn't
designed for a TV but it works. And my desk.
I
stained them all with two shades of green and dark blue.
The grain of the wood is still visible. It looks
almost type-dyed. I wanted to have more colors but I
couldn't find the stains. I got the shelves one at a
time as I needed them so they are all different sizes.
I like that.
I
went to see the desk about five times before I bought
it. It was a little bit expensive and not exactly what
I wanted. But it was close enough and the more times
I went to see it the more I wanted it. I brought it
home on the day the Green party was having the convention
in which Nader was the candidate. I remember because
I was watching it on CSPAN while I put the desk together
and stained it. There's a hutch on the top and I could
watch the TV through that space. I remember Nader on
stage with Cornell West, Pattie Smith and Michael. Moore.
The
desk is big and heavy. When it has a computer, a scanner
and a printer on it it gets really heavy. And
then I add a hundred or so pounds of books. Right now
the books are piled on the table around me where I put
them when I had to move the desk out to get the computer.
I decided to take advantage of everything being off
the desk to dust. It's always a bit shocking how much
dust gathers.
I
love that desk. The drawers don't close correctly. The
shelf for the keyboard rattles. I wish there were wheels
on it so that I could move it with less effort. But
I love it. It's sitting in the middle of the living
room right now like some big hulking monster.
The
stores closed a year or so ago. There are other places
in the city to buy unfinished furniture but none with
as much funky charm. And none as inexpensive.
For
a while there I was reading five books all of which
were short stories, or journal entries. Very scattered.
Even the
novel I was reading is written in a fragmented
manner.
On
the shelf to the left of my reading chair is a row of
Anne Rice books. I was once a fan but it's been years
since I read anything. I had two books by her that I
haven't read. Just sitting there. I wanted to sink into
a long story so I grabbed one.
At
first it was a great feeling of a familiar voice. Totally
satisfying. I sunk right in. And then I got tired of
it. And then I picked it up again and got hooked. I
couldn't put it down.
She
certainly has created a legend. Very detailed. Lots
of entwined stories. I had to remember things I'd read
so long ago. Sometimes she writes pages of dialogue.
All of which advances the story, establishes character,
relationships, foreshadows. Sound writing. But I get
tired of it. Much of it is in service to her own theology/philosophy,
which I kinda like but sometimes feel like I've heard
enough of.
By
the end of the book I was charmed. It really did feel
like an old friend had stopped by to catch up. And I
have the next book, which picks right up on the story.
I'm not sure if I'm going to dive in. But I read the
first few
pages.
I want you to read every page I write. I want my prose to envelop you. I’d drink
your blood if I could and hook you into every memory inside me, every
heartbreak, frame of reference, temporary triumph, petty defeat, mystic moment
of surrender. And all right, already, I’ll dress for the occasion. Do I ever not
dress for the occasion? Does anybody look better in rags than me?
Something
about that makes me smile.
I
like being enveloped by a book. I want to surrender.
I also like struggling with books. I like the feeling
of dissonance. I'm not sure what I'm reading. It grates.
I have to work to connect.
But
it's cold and dark. The kind of time you want to sink
in. Sip hot beverages. Be in a dream.
A
shop in the Castro had a male mannequin (or it may have
been a statue) in the window with no clothes and it
was anatomically correct. There were complaints from
people who live in the neighborhood who have kids, many
of whom were gay. The Castro is increasingly conservative.
The statue had no head, no legs or arms. It wasn't posed
in any particular manner. The exact same statue in another
neighborhood, or a museum might not have been noticed.
Or maybe it would have but in the Castro it does have
a quality of funk. So? It's part of the culture of the
neighborhood.
When
I first moved to SF I lived off of Folsom. I heard that
there was going to be a street fair and thought it might
be fun for Renee to come over and go to the fair. I
didn't really know about the Folsom
Street Fair.
Renee
was seven or eight at the time. After we'd walked about
a block it became clear that we were not in a child
oriented environment. She asked me why the guys had
their butts showing. I mumbled something, found
a booth where I could buy her some kind of butterfly
thing and we went back to my apartment.
It
was not a big deal. Kids are going to see things. It's
an opportunity for adults to explain the world. Or mumble
and run. But either way it wasn't a big deal. It's become
one of the funny stories of her childhood.
The
culture of a neighborhood matters.
Hearing
about it brought back an odd memory. When I was a kid
there was a plastic model of a scene from The
Pit and the Pendulum in a hobby shop. Every time
we walked past it I was torn between covering my eyes
and studying it. My grandmother said it shouldn't be
in the window.
What
is it that makes us believe that ignorance is useful?
The
statue is now covered with Santa stuff. That should
be nice for the kids. A belief in a guy who will bring
them what ever they want. A sales pitch.