perpetual huddle

My Dad is Funny

2010-11-25T22:53:00.000-08:00

goodreads widget

2009-01-25T14:22:00.000-08:00

retcon

2007-09-04T20:25:00.000-07:00

as you can see, friends & family,
i have stopped updating this blog.
working on it started to feel like
another chore for my to-do list
instead of an exercise
in creative discipline....
think i'm splitting hairs?
so do i. maybe i'll just
take any excuse to quit
doing anything i really care
about, hopefully just before
it can count as an accomplishment
or a failure. too bad nobody's counting.
i'll probably resurrect perpetual huddle
if there's a time when i trust myself
to actually write instead of get all ocd
about linklisting every magazine article i like.
for fun, scroll through the archives to find
all those entries i backdated.

p.s. read dogs & water

sunday afternoon

2007-08-12T16:30:00.000-07:00

one summer i lived in bellingham
in a house filled with music.
all the boys who lived there
played at least two instuments
and together they called
themselves "same as castles."
glin (the one on the left)
was one of the real
bandmates/roommates,
while i was staying rent free
in a largish closet, just
recuperating from school.
he'd always take breaks
from practices to follow
me out to the porch
and bum a smoke.
he made me feed
his vicious flying squirrels
when he was out of town.
he took me to my first
strip club ever... in canada.

now he's finished an album of his own
"later days" and i haven't been able
to get the first song "disappearing trick,"
out of my head for at least a week.
i sing it in the shower and hum it on the bus.
of course the whole album makes me nostalgic,
but i think i can assume it should
make anyone feel something like nostalgia
even if they've never cannonballed
into toad lake on a hot sunday afternoon.

go listen to asthmaboy on myspace
or download the whole album here, for free.

aug. 13 new yorker pg. 26

2007-08-10T21:33:00.000-07:00

ebony spleenwort...
densely covered the trestle
between 104th and 105th Streets.

The Kingfisher

2007-08-10T21:30:00.000-07:00

The kingfisher rises out of the black wave
like a blue flower, in his beak
he carries a silver leaf. I think this is
the prettiest world--so long as you don't mind
a little dying, how could there be a day in your whole life
that doesn't have its splash of happiness?
There are more fish than there are leaves
on a thousand trees, and anyway the kingfisher
wasn't born to think about it, or anything else.
When the wave snaps shut over his blue head, the water
remains water--hunger is the only story
he has ever heard in his life that he could believe.
I don't say he's right. Neither
do I say he's wrong. Religiously he swallows the silver leaf
with its broken red river, and with a rough and easy cry
I couldn't rouse out of my thoughtful body
if my life depended on it, he swings back
over the bright sea to do the same thing, to do it
(as I long to do something, anything) perfectly

--Mary Oliver

no duh

2007-08-10T09:00:00.000-07:00

on the bus ride to our school picnic
i asked the kids what
these signs meant.
samantha gave me
an exasperated look
and easily rattled them off:

no smoking
no barbecue
no dancing
no toothpaste
and
no perfume

lesson plan

2007-08-08T10:30:00.000-07:00

thursday august 8th

under science:

"miss huddle will wear
her constellation socks."

r.i.p. gracie

2007-07-31T21:00:00.000-07:00

what oprah knows for sure

A-

2007-06-23T15:24:00.000-07:00

i gave blood today (pause for applause).
last time i donated was outside
officemax in a mobile unit.
basically, i was stuck in a stuffy van,
a needle dangling out of my arm,
with my regional manager yammering
away nervously in the next bed,
and heckling the tiny asian girls
who couldn't give a whole pint.
i had the last appointment,
so they told me not
to climb stairs without a friend,
kicked me out onto the sidewalk
and drove off.

this time i donated at the irwin center
and now i want to hang out there every day.
first of all, the building is super-strange.
the parking lot is paved like a patio,
and landscaped with corkscrew topiaries.
there are also three fountains out front,
the water dyed the color of blue-raspberry.
inside, everything is round and dim,
designed to be soothing.

the sign-in clipboard
has a built-in digital clock.
they give you a t-shirt
before you even fill out
the paperwork.
in the waiting area
there are good magazines,
and even a book-swap nook.

once you're in back the nurses
are all lighthearted and unhurried.
they call you by your first name
and ask you how you're feeling
with genuine concern every couple minutes.
they joke with you about the tropical fish tank
and your friend's iron levels. apparently,
laughing keeps your blood pressure up.
you squeeze a little foam ball
as a cradle gently rocks your bag of blood,
and before you know it, you're finished,
with a hot pink bandage around your elbow.

where else could you
lounge in a recliner,
pretzel crumbs all down
the front of your shirt,
drinking cranberry juice
through a bendy straw,
and feel totally self-righteous
while you're doing it?

after you sit up slowly
they usher you into "the canteen,"
a round bar stocked with packets of oreos,
where you get to wait for at least another 15 minutes
while another nice lady serves you more juice.
the stools are padded,
the counter, cool marble.
there's a big plasma-screen tv
set on close-caption,
more good magazines,
and a bunch of brochures
calling you a hero.

its 56 days until i'm eligible again,
but my best friend is going to pound
some iron supplements and give it another shot,
so with any luck i'll be back next weekend.

block quote: totally forgetting

2007-06-19T16:30:00.000-07:00

I bought a black chiffon spaghetti-strap shirt and jacket once. The salesperson told me I couldn't wear it with corduroy. There was a sense of danger in her voice. It didn't sound like merely a "fashion don't," but rather a word of serious caution, as though the combination of the two fabrics might result in an explosion. She repeated the warning as she bagged the garment. She was troubled by an uncanny sense that I owned a lot of corduroy. The military must have bunkers full of carefully separated corduroy and black chiffon secreted away somewhere in Nevada. It's one of those tigers we hold by the tail, like the A-bomb. I never wore the black chiffon shirt and evening jacket. Too risky. I buy impulsively sometimes, totally forgetting what I look like and how I spend my time. Amazingly, the fantasy of going out someplace kind of fancy, on a night when I wasn't wearing corduroy and had shaved, lasted long enough for that shirt and jacket to make the cut through three moves and countless closet cleanings.

--paula poundstone, there's nothing in this book i meant to say

the year of the bellydance

2007-06-16T13:00:00.000-07:00

listen to charlie schroeder's
funny little radio story,
originally aired on
weekend america,
about him enrolling
in "dunk dreams,"
a class to make you jump higher.
i like the good-natured tone of the piece.
plus, he interviews his mom... always endearing.

who's prissy now?

2007-06-16T10:00:00.000-07:00

out of entertainment weekly's
25 greatest action movies
of all time, goldfinger is #19.
this morning i found the item
posted on my bedroom door.
listed among its merits:
Sean Connery
in a powder blue
terry-cloth onesie.
great minds think alike!
anyone who can find
an actual captured still,
of the bond bathing outfit
wins a kiss on the mouth.
but for now this pre-007
ensemble will have to do.

non-alcoholic... i can feed it to my kids

2007-06-14T08:30:00.000-07:00

If you can't quench my thirst
What you in my fridge for?
What you wanna live for?

scroll down the a.v. club's first annual absolute best issue
to "best skeleton in the closet of a famous rapper"
for the full audio clip of notorious b.i.g.'s "pepsi freestyle"

block quote: i could do that much

2007-06-13T13:00:00.000-07:00

She bought me a little Wurlitzer electric piano. It must have cost two years of saltwater taffy savings, and it was only a tenth of the instrument that I had sold for a few hundred dollars after my father died. She showed up at my place the day of delivery, hiding her face in excitement and fear. "I thought you might want something to practice on. And to work with. While you're... while you aren't..."

read the next three paragraphs, here.

i typed them straight from the page,

without looking at the keys.

it was fun, a little like it was my own.

i haven't had much time to blog,
but i'm almost to page 500
in the time of our singing
a vast novel by richard powers,
broiling with hyperbolie, epiphany,
music, and race.
my commute is long.
the book gives me a lot to think about
as i struggle to find my place
at a school in the bayview
district of san francisco.
the kids at work, especially the girls
come to think of it, only the girls,
are always asking me what i am.
even though i can count the other white
faculty and students on one hand,
they're not asking what you'd expect.
"what are you? a mother? a sister?
a teacher?" they grin, and maybe
hop on one foot while they ask,
but they demand the answer.
i try to avoid the question,
usually by laughing indulgently
and saying "i'm certainly not a mother!"
or "i guess i do have a sister.
she lives in seattle.
do you know where seattle is?
its in washington state."
today one of them caught me off guard
i stopped, halfway through tying
a new bracelet on her upturned wrist,
accused again of not
being something,
or at least,
of not knowing it.
"miss huddle,
what are you?"
the sparkly beads
slid off the string,
one after another,
hitting the floor.
i snapped "actually,
i'm a writer."
she started crying.
i bent and reached
for the first bead i saw.

today on aol

2007-06-08T23:00:00.001-07:00

mindless pap. hanson on gadgets
rivals only sheriff uses pink to deter prisoners
for the america online grand prize in journalism.

buy a dead squirrel on ebay

2007-05-31T22:45:00.000-07:00

amys taxidermy

on the same page

2007-05-28T16:30:00.000-07:00

after a long drive up the coast
as we re-entered our neighborhood
my best friend said. "i kind of want
to go to that ... comic book shop...?"
i just nodded.
nothing says "three day weekend"
to me quite like standing
in a fluorescent-lit storefront,
"casually" browsing
the trade paperbacks
for new compilations
by my favorite authors
or "just looking" at the selection
of TNG action figures.

i left data behind,
but i walked out with fell,
a promising warren ellis
and ben templesmith collaboration
about a homicide investigator
exiled from downtown,
sent across the bridge to a haunted
wasteland called snowtown.
sadly, it turned out to be an awkward read.
the panels are almost all close-ups,
drifting with luminous aquatint clouds.
templesmith uses computer-aided
blurring in lieu of action lines.
the images are gorgeous,
but they're an uneasy fit with ellis's
in-your-face gross-out prose.
detective fell with his suit, tie,
and little shock of neon blond hair
just can't pull off the muscular straight-talk
that makes you love spider jerusalem.
forget the feverish gunmetal menace
of snowtown, ellis needs the gritty
sprawl of transmet, its bustle,
its blunt lines and bright colors.

i love smoking

2007-05-27T23:00:00.000-07:00

our new roommate brought
with her tons of i love lucy on dvd.
it is bizarre to watch as a woman,
but it is also shocking
to see a celebrity
openly shilling cigarettes.
there she is, lucille ball,
lighting up, taking a long drag,
and repeating the name philip morris,
without a hint of irony.

skip the speech-bubbles

2007-05-26T14:00:00.000-07:00

another random find from the sfpl
graphic novels cart, bluesman book 2
bills itself as "the second stanza
of a 12-bar graphic narrative
in the key of life and death."
the artwork lives up
to this ambitious jacket copy;
it pours out of the page,
with some of the same weary
and uneven power as the music
it seeks to imitate. the bright scratches
feel like an old-time recording.
the writing, on the other hand,
is more than uneven.
the dialogue swings so disconcertingly
between the tough-talking wisecracks
of a gumshoe in a hard-boiled mystery
(I don't think you rightly appreciate
the ever-deepening pile of shit
that you are standing in, Mister Johnson
so pardon me as I waive a handful
of it under your nose...)
and the sweeping platitudes
of an unspecified narrator
reflecting on a parable
of u.s. race relations
(There is a dignity,
I think, in celebrating
our fortune together
this way. Rather than
as you would have it--
forever divided.
Until there is not enough
left for even one man
to bother calling his own.)
that halfway through
i just stopped reading
and listened to the pictures.

they do?

2007-05-23T20:00:00.000-07:00

They say a moonlit deck
is a woman's business office.
--the lady eve

hankie parachute

2007-05-20T20:00:00.000-07:00

at the maker faire
the folks from techshop
gave me the chance to machine
my own brass weight
on a metal-lathe.
i wore safety goggles.
i tightened chucks
and turned cranks.
the gold coils shivered
away from the spinning rod,
as the bits pushed inward,
cutting the base, the shoulders,
the cap, and finally, shearing
the whole thing off to drop
onto the shavings below.
the finished product looks
like the antique brass
weights in granddad's bindery,
only it is brand new.

it has a magnet inset
in the base, but i can't bear
to part with it just yet,
so the fridge will have to wait.
i like to feel it
heavy in my palm.
i like to run my thumb along
the sharp edges.
technically, it is insignificant,
an elementary exercise,
a trinket from a hipster conference,
but holding it, i call my dad.
"i miss granddad" i say.

i get lost trying to explain
how it reassures me of something
i can't seem to put words to,
so i try to explain the whole faire instead.
the botanicalls booth was clever--
your plant telephones you
and asks for water in a funny voice!
the homeschooler in me rejoiced
at madame ovary's shameless eccentricity,
and her sticky wands made of trash.
charles benton's kite aerial photography
is both neato and transcendent.
he uses rubberbands and balsa wood
to form images of the world
that couldn't wouldn't exist otherwise.

at this, dad interrupts me to
tell me that granddad
used to trick out his kites too.
in fact, granddad rigged up a device
to send parachutes
made of old handkerchiefs
sailing up the kite string,
and when it hit the top,
they released.

the brass of the weight
holds the heat of my hand.

amazon.com

2007-05-20T08:45:00.000-07:00

I remember Dole pineapple rings
on a bed of lettuce with cottage cheese on top
and sometimes a cherry on top of that.
--joe brainard, i remember

i tried green apple and i tried the strand,
but guess who came through for me in the end...

walkman time capsule

2007-05-13T12:05:00.000-07:00

um it is now um 12:05am on october 24th, 2005. it is now technically the last day of long weekend. i have gotten almost exactly no work done. i'm 22 years old. my father was married at this age. and to motivate myself i am making this record of what i'm doing. uh-- it's supposed to be a record of the fact that i'm working. ... so, i'll, uh, just keep you updated. my room is a pile of shit. i have upturned umbrellas. i have typewriters separated from their typewriter containers. i have, um, fork and knife sets that you might use when you're camping. ... anyway ... i'm just gonna keep cleaning until i've got organized piles for each of my classes, and even if i don't get any work done tonight, if i just get prepared to do work, if everything is just clean and prepared to do work, then i'll just fall asleep on my sheetless bed and everything will be o.k. ... cause i feel like i'm capable of doing work, but. alright! better get started!

mother's day

2007-05-11T20:30:00.000-07:00

my best friend loves
the movie shirley valentine
and said the main character.
reminded her of me.
i saw it and it reminded
me of my mom, so
i sent it to her
for mother's day.
in retrospect,
maybe not the best gift
for a holiday celebrating
sacrifice in the name of family.
i should have clarified on the gift tag:
mom-- please don't abandon everything
and move to a foreign country without warning!
just don't be afraid to enjoy the view
from a table for one every once in awhile.

homesick

2007-05-10T20:00:00.000-07:00

the internet can never
bring me the smell
of fresh baked bread
wafting out of le panier
as i pass, but now,
thanks to streetnote,
at least i can listen
to this guy rap about pot
in pike place market.

loyal porter

2007-05-04T21:00:00.000-07:00

last night, as i packed for
my weekend trip to monterey,
the tag on my discount jeans
caught my eye for the first time,
"the loyal." a name that sounds
a little boring, but trustworthy,
like a girl who spends her weekends
birdwatching with her mother.
then, today, on the drive south,
mom and i stopped at REI
to get me another pair of pants.
the ones i found are perfect.
they're asphalt gray ripstop fabric
and the pockets zip shut.
i love them.
but, i have to admit, for a moment,
the name of the style stopped me short.
right in the midst of all that adventure gear
i chose "the porter pant." the porter,
a person hired to carry burdens
up and down the same trail day after day.
its not that i'm especially brand-conscious,
but the marketing types at these big corporations
spend a lot of time and energy
matching visual aesthetics,
intuitive word-assumptions,
and a consumer's desire
for an certain identity.
why couldn't i have chosen
a pair of the "ventures"?
why not lead an expedition,
plant a flag? why not "the riptide,"
for that matter, irresistible,
and just off the shore?
my hesitation was ended
by two thoughts.
1) i know, at least,
that i'd just look silly
in the "overboard short"
and 2) if you read further down
the tag, you'll notice the porter pant
does have "a gusseted crotch for mobility,"
which sounds both
almost unendurably practical
and perversely comic,
which sounds about right to me.

bad poetry and good

2007-04-27T19:30:00.000-07:00

i was recently asked to ghostwrite
another blog. according to the author,
this is a perfectly reasonable request
because "all [i] do is steal [my] [material]
from [her] all the time anyway!!"
i refused, but promised to at least
give credit where credit is due,
for this great quote she found
in sound and sense. perrine
via carles, tells it like it is
for your general edification:

And here, perhaps, we should discuss the kinds of poems that most frequently "fool" inexperienced readers (and occasionally a few experienced ones) and sometimes achieve tremendous popularity without winning the respect of most good readers. These poems are frequently published on greeting cards or in anthologies entitled Poems of Inspiration, Poems of Courage, or Heart-Throbs. The people who write such poems and the people who like them are often the best of people, but they are not poets or lovers of poetry in any genuine sense. They are lovers of conventional ideas or sentiments or feelings, which they like to see expressed with the adornment of rime and meter, and which, when so expressed, they respond to in predictable ways.

april

2007-04-26T07:00:00.000-07:00

she's no lucy, but
beagle or something's
keen reminder of fall
on a warm spring morning
caught me off guard,
i was suddenly grateful,
nostalgic, and wary.

my first baby box

2007-04-24T15:00:00.000-07:00

one of my co-workers brought back
a kit for new parents as a resource
for each toddler-room teacher
from a meeting she attended downtown.
basically, the kit is a mint-green cardboard box
covered in photos of multi-ethnic kids,
a little thinner than a shoebox,
with a plastic handle on the top.
inside it has a bilingual board-book,
Frisky puppies play.
Frisky puppies chew.
Los perritos retozones juegan.
Los perritos retozones mordisquean.
and a magnet for california's
less catchy equivalent of mr. yuk,
the "poison action line,"
along with a bunch of brochures,
pamphlets and booklets
about early childhood development,
full of clinical, but cheery, bulleted lists.
When you discipline your child:

Talk your child in a serious, but loving, voice.

the whole thing was a little troublesome
for a woman whose chosen career
is often seen as a kind of
extended mommy-training...
that said, it was immensely
satisfying to carry a briefcase
for a day, cardboard or not.

dad's night

2007-04-22T19:30:00.000-07:00

i'm like the dad.
i have one night
a week to cook.
last week i made
the easy meatloaf
from allrecipes.com
this week i made
the chicken marsala
from epicurious.com
i think the leap from
watery beef and ketchup
to shallots and fresh sage
is pretty impressive,
but i don't think i can maintain it,
and i don't know where
on the internet to look next.
maybe i'll call mom
and ask her for one of
her famous soup recipes...
or maybe i'll call and ask dad
if i absolutely have to have waffles
for a legitimate "breakfast for dinner,"
or if he thinks i can squeak by with pancakes.

punch, roll, & crimp

2007-04-20T20:00:00.000-07:00

as a former officemax copy center
employee i got excited about
the durable and attactive
spiral bound menus
at tawans, but i had trouble
describing the coil inserter
to my dining companion.
this australian chick
does a much better job.

taste / gustation

2007-04-16T20:30:00.000-07:00

tonight the velo rouge cafe screened
two documentaries by local directors
one about native american salt songs
and the dying culture that needs them
one about a man-made salt sea
and the dying birds that need it.
i ate a lemon pasta dish
topped with fresh ground pepper.

happy anniversary

2007-04-16T00:01:00.000-07:00

i can't believe its been
six months already!
i'm still trying to catch up
on polishing up my drafts,
but they've multiplied
from 9 or so to about 75,
a good sign... i think...
but a little overwhelming.
one day at a time, right?

psychic dojo

2007-04-14T23:00:00.000-07:00

my best friend ordered psychonauts from gamefly,
for old time's sake, because we both loved
it in college. she wrote a final paper
on it and i featured it prominently
in a presentation i gave to the local rotary club.
its still the coolest video game ever created!
in it you're a little psychic kid at a special
summer camp for honing your mental powers.
you collect figments of imagination,
sort mental baggage,
and fight the internal censors.
most of the action takes place
in other people's minds,
and all the levels open off
the collective unconscious.
seeing it again,
i'm not only reminded
how great the game is,
but how lucky i am
that i still get to hang out
every day with a person who
can truly appreciate gems like this:
He isn't dead, his astral projection
just got kicked out of my mind.
And I'll kick your *ass*tral projection
out of my mind too if you don't get moving!

inbox: upcoming

2007-04-14T17:30:00.000-07:00

if you live in new york city
and don't see as much serious
avant-garde dance as you should,
go to prism on monday april 23rd at 8pm.
an old acquaintance of mine, biba bell,
emailed me with news of her upcoming show,
and i thought i would pass along the invitation.
the performance will occur in judson church,
a great venue with a remarkable history.
i saw urisov (her choreography collective).
perform once, in a garage, a couple years ago.
i watched from the slanted driveway
with a drippy cup of spiked lemonade.
the girls wore only nylons and turtlenecks,
the boys wore turtlenecks too, and false eyelashes,
the rainbow kind, and nobody cracked a smile.
despite the cold, the cement, the cheap booze,
and my personal bias against dance without music,
the sheer intensity, in particular, of biba's
creative spirit and the power of her
presence as an artist held me still,
kept me absorbed. each breath
was deliberate, and audible.
rarely do i get to experience art
so very cerebral and so very physical
at the same time. this new level in her evolution
sounds exponentially more absurd (jogger-dudes?),
and abstract (repetition, refraction & lack).
i just wish it was happening
in my neck of the woods. so, again,
point is, you go, and tell me all about it, ok?

star trek: the next generation

2007-04-14T14:31:00.000-07:00

we have a laminated map
of the starship enterprise
tacked up in the entryway
of my family home.
not in the den,
in the entryway.
not just a poster,
detailed schematics,
laminated for durability.
i blame my sister.

terrible twos

2007-04-12T10:00:00.000-07:00

ingredients for a mouse mess:

ritz crackers
oreos
corn flakes
milk
cheese
apple
orange
banana
jam
peanut butter
sugar
manzanilla olives
pickles
catsup

1. mix together
2. watch 15 toddlers
drop their jaws in awe.

aunt flo's nut cake

2007-04-09T19:00:00.000-07:00

journal; the short life and mysterious
death of amy zoe mason
is just as insipid as you can imagine
a mystery novel in scrapbook form
written by sisters who halfheartedly
claim they "found" it, would be.
its full of victorian etchings,
yellow lace, pressed flowers,
and vintage postage stamps,
with a "secret" plot so obvious
the clues are literally highlighted
for the reader. as i was eating
my best friend's perfect
half-vegetarian lasagna
i made her look at the book.
she quickly pointed out
that it is chock full of recipes,
and that we should make one for dessert.
we didn't. but adam gopnik's article,
cooked books, about that very trend
(elaborate food prep descriptions
and recipes in current fiction.)
popped up in the new yorker
during my after-dinner visit
to the loo. he makes a bunch
of scopious and fussy points
about cognition and cooking,
but reading between the lines
he seems to be saying recipes
are lazy writing. in the case
of aunt flo's nut cake
i couldn't agree more.

you are the chosen one

2007-04-07T07:00:00.000-07:00

for a non-fangirl it was awfully fun
to watch joss whedon's
not-so-blond future slayer
go from ambivalent
kick-ass chick
(hair down)
to all-grown-up
kick-ass chick
(hair up.)
conquer your fears!
take your own
hero's journey!
slip all 8 issues of fray
one-by-one out
of their plastic sleeves,
and read them in full view
of the public on the bus to work.

hindsight

2007-04-05T07:00:00.000-07:00

i was surprised to see in an
onion interview with mindy kaling,
who i only knew as kelly from the office,
that she'd co-written and starred in matt & ben.
as soon as i read that fact her image lit up
and i recognized her in retrospect,
always such a weird sensation.
i saw matt & ben many years ago
at a tiny theater in new york,
in what seems like another life,
with a big group of friends from rpt.
i'd love to say i was a trendsetter,
but i'm sure we went because the tickets
were dirt-cheap. in fact, we took turns standing
while we watched... i miss those guys.

boring zine wins me over

2007-04-03T19:00:00.000-07:00

my latest random find from the main library's

"graphic novel" cart, the snakepit book,
is a collection of daily 3-panel strips
by a guy in the austin punk rock scene,

who's life is painfully tedious and shallow.
its page after page of the same...

...go to work, get wasted, see a show,
go to work hungover, get wasted,
go to band practice, watch a movie,
get wasted, go to kinkos hungover...

... for 100s of pages. i constantly wondered

why i was still reading. but, i did keep reading

and by the time i was done, i liked it.
maybe its because the main character
is essentially a smiley face,
and all those pages of smiley faces
activate a primal happy-reflex,
or maybe its because it reminds
me of my bike-messenger artist
ex-boyfriend, or maybe
even though my life
is tedious and shallow
in a totally different way
from his, the book captures
the hum-drum pleasures
and pains of an ordinary life
so perfectly, that something
in me can't help but applaud.
plus, you can see his drawing skills
slowly improve over the years, which is fun.

classic rock

2007-04-01T02:00:00.000-07:00

speaking of the postmodern novel,
how 'bout some collaborative hyper-fiction?
http://www.myspace.com/176387641
is a work in progress, not for the squeamish
or the internet-illiterate, about a pervy janitor
and a few other residents of fairlawn, plot tbd.

block quote: we cannot skip

2007-04-01T01:31:00.000-07:00

"Kaatu," Gladys said in a mysterious howl, and here we could skip ahead if you know what I mean. It is always tempting to skip past words we do not understand, the parts of a relationship which confuse us, and arrive at a nice clear sentence-- "They clearly weren't in love anymore," or "The yellow-billed magpie can be found exclusively in the coastal valleys south of San Francisco Bay, and there are three common words beginning with the letter A that describe it," or "She was wearing some sort of cape," all of which appeared in the report filed by the surviving and more talkative detective. But we cannot skip to that or it wouldn't be a love story. We cannot skip the way we look in photographs, or our own affectations, or the way we like our coffee, or the way the people we love like their coffee, even though they like it some bad, bad way. We must suffer through all of it, without skipping any tiny thing, and anyway it was a shawl she was wearing.

--daniel handler, adverbs

this grown-up book
by "lemony snickett."
claims to be about love,
but it's more an exercise

in language for its own sake.
it interlocks carefully,
without being neat.

it layers and loops back

on itself; the vocabulary

becomes personal. i don't

recognize his version of love,

but the way he describes it

reminds me of the difficulty

of trying to describe

what any certain important

word means, like when i try

to explain what i mean by "loneliness."

this particular effort is so keenly

in evidence that i can't decide whether

or not to forgive the book

for the elements that make me

want to dismiss it as just more

annoying postmodern fiction.

the action is beside the point,

always on the verge of flippant.

the prose is stylized, too pop

and too pretentious

at the same time.
i'm on the fence.
i should reread it.
i skipped too much.
have you read it?
can you weigh in?

yum yum

2007-03-17T21:00:00.000-07:00

lunch at pizza orgasmica.
dinner at foreign cinema.
thank god for rich relatives
and the food they treat us to.

mixed media brain freeze

2007-03-11T13:00:00.000-07:00

my step-grandma (i call her nana)
is in town. nana's an artist.
she's the one who taught me
how to walk through galleries,
how to look at and talk about art
as you see it. the new de young
was at the top of her to-do list.
i felt like a ten year old girl again,
all dressed up in her sunday best,
nervously trying to mimic the pacing
and gestures of the truly sophisticated.
that said, the charles sheeler exhibit
was so fun, i couldn't help but shed
a little of my self-consciousness.
as you move through the space,
as you turn from piece to piece,
the images repeat in different forms,
film, photograph, painting, drawing.
its like a three-dimensional grown-up
version of those spot-the-difference
puzzles. along with this oddly
satisfying kind of visual deja vu
you get a real sense of his process.
the images grow more and more rigorous
without quite crossing over into abstraction.
when we had finished with the museum,
nana and went to see a movie.
after sheerer's clean planes
the painted veil was too lush,
all tense closeups of eyelashes
in dappled sunlight or misty vistas
at twilight. my brain ached
like a tooth might if i'd followed
piping-hot black coffee
with a scoop of raspberry gelato.

block quote: judge a book

2007-03-06T20:00:00.000-08:00

I splashed water on my face, put on my robe, and headed downstairs. Already my headache was receding. After I started the coffee, I went to the living room window to look out at the day. The temperature had risen again--what could have been snow became a downpour during the night, and now the sky was a redemptive blue, the pale pastel that often follows a rain. Birds sat in a convivial row on the nearby utility wire. Elongated drops of water hung beneath them, shimmying in the breeze. I watched the birds for a while, waiting for the invisible signal that would have them all lift off together, but it did not come. They sat content, enjoying their version of a coffee klatch.

--elizabeth berg, the year of pleasures

covivial row? coffee klatch? must we?
you can just hear her reminding
herself to be "precise" and "vivid,"
congratulating herself on her
alliterative personification,
her use of rhythm, almost prose-poetic.
to be fair, though, as you can see,
i knew what i was getting into.
i'm much more of a man-writer fan
(steinbeck & graham greene,
warren ellis & wallace stevens,)
but every once in awhile i pick up
a book like this. of course,
i'm so merciless with them
only because i am terrified
that this over-articulate, cliched,
and womanish "creative-writing"
would be all that came out,
if i ever really tried.
what scares me even more,
is that i know it's what's coming out now,
and i only wish i could accomplish
what these talented and hardworking
authors have, whole novels,
when i can barely manage
a contemptuous and precious
little blog, much less a short story.

check out this "comment," a very funny post
from a parallel universe: sunday, april 08, 2007 2:05 pm

everything wobbled

2007-03-01T20:40:00.000-08:00

as soon as i thought it was safe to crawl
out of my closet i got back online,
because they aren't real
unless the internet says so.

waking up

2007-02-26T08:30:00.000-08:00

i owe my childhood studies
professor a personal apology.
in our picture books class
i ranted that the snowy day
was the perfect example
of dull and politically correct
children's literature, with a token
african-american character.
i had a point to make, loudly,
and at length. i accused anyone
who defended ezra jack keats
of being a tedious liberal.
now that i work at a minority preschool
and scour the library for good
books to read in class, i see
i couldn't have been more wrong.
"the snowy day" is a rich
and delightful little book,
the kids love it and i return to it
over and over again at story time.

(bright eyes, brown skin on the other hand... ...)

self-inflicted

2007-02-24T23:30:00.000-08:00

slowly ripping all the hair
on my legs out at the root
with the medieval torture-device
know as the epilady
drastically raised my
DIY beauty-treatment
pain threshold.
plucking my eyebrows
or waxing my armpits
can never really phase me again.
in the same way, sitting through
all 116 minutes of the excruciating
chinese avant-garde masterpiece
what time is it over there?
this weekend in new york
forever raised my
experimental film
pain threshold.
when my best friend
sat me down for a bit
of kenneth anger's new dvd,
the nonsensical and sluggish shorts
(rabbit's moon, puce moment &
fireworks) seemed almost quaint,
and barely made me wince.

i want a TARDIS machine

2007-02-24T20:00:00.000-08:00

dr. who
so hip!
so bbc!

nyc trip

2007-02-21T09:00:00.000-08:00

this weekend, i flew to new york.
i traveled across six months
and into the melting snow
to meet a boy again.
he and i spent
most of our time together
getting lost and eavesdropping.
in roughly chronological order,
other activities included:

as soon as i arrived, adding my avatar to his wii
alongside jesus, tyra banks, & his roommates.

killing time at the odessa cafe
until tony, of kropps & bobbers,
could cut my hair. the salon peaked
my sophomore year, when i had a shaved
head, still wore hipster political t-shirts
and lived rent-free next door.
nostalgia.

browsing at st. mark's comics.
i picked up a transmet
to read on the plane ride home.

wondering how i become the girl
who drags a boy to the louis comfort tiffany
exhibit at the metropolitan museum of art
then demands to know if he really likes it,
or is "just pretending." high maintenance!

watching a broadway show (thanks
to an infusion of cash from a relative.)
the first half of the musical spring awakening
was raucous and delightfully squirmy.
the second half was pointless and dated.
the music was loud and too poignant,
the staging, distracting. all those blue bulbs.

browsing at the strand.
i was shocked to find
that in their 18 miles of books
there wasn't one copy of
joe brainard's i remember.
the man behind the counter
suggested barnes & noble (!),
then wrote the isbn number
on a post-it in cursive so beautiful
i instantly forgave everything.

lunching at the telephone bar and grill,
one-on-one, trying to talk about feelings.

watching mafioso, a funny, sad
tender and suspenseful old movie
about the mafia, and about life.

smooshing into prune,
with a gang of seven,
trying to act sophisticated.

getting dropped off at the
blue & gold bar by my aunt and uncle,
with enough hugging and reminders to "have fun!"
that we could have been toddlers
on our first day of nursery school.

lounging around in the bachelor pad
of my best guy friend from college
listening to recording's of big bang tv's
first gig, a smashing success.
keep it up, snoogles.

trying not to lose my composure
in the cinema cafe as my rolling
padded armchair kept drifting
backward from the table.

clenching every single muscle
in my body with unbearable tension
as elderly francophiles get into a shoving match
during a screening of the already
nerve-wracking what time is it over there?

block quote: mormons

2007-02-16T10:00:00.000-08:00

On the morning of the July 24, Pioneer Day, Dan got up, prayed, and felt prompted by the Lord to saw the barrel and stock off a 12-gauge, pump-action shotgun that he had been storing at his mother's house. While he used a hacksaw to cut down the weapon in Claudine's garage, Ron, Ricky Knapp, and Chip Carnes loaded their belongings into the Impala. Among the items they placed in the car were a .30-.30 Winchester and a .270 deer rifle. As they were lashing some items onto the vehicle's roof, a troubled Carnes told Ron, "I don't see any reason for anybody to kill any baby."

--john krakauer, under the banner of heaven

pure nonfiction smut!
(thanks ianhifi!)

long live citizen journalism

2007-02-10T10:00:00.000-08:00

i spent the morning at the mayor's
bayview town hall meeting
and the afternoon trawling
the internet for recaps.
(do not read as "looking for
photos of myself online.")
the sfist post captures
the way the actual meeting felt,
like a bit of political theater
in a school gymnasium,
spiffed up for the occasion
with vinyl banners,
half full of aggrieved citizens
and half full of commissioners.
before the show, some guy
commented on gavin's drink,
to nobody in particular,
"how much you wanna bet
that's an irish coffee?"
activists interrupted
gavin's self-congratulatory
"brief introduction,"
then left, still shouting.
we all laughed nervously
and started over as people moved
to fill the empty folding chairs.
gavin was irritated,
"i didn't come here because
i want to avoid the issues.
i came here because
i want to confront them."
people yelled that they hadn't had heat
all winter, that all the kids' computers
were stolen, five times over.
the coos charts were colorful
ribbons, with print too small to read.
the charts were followed by a huge
satellite photo mounted on foam-core,
"this is your neighborhood."
people who knew each other waved
across the crowd. an old woman in
a leopard-print hat spoke passionately
against the planned shutdown of
the alice griffith housing development,
then slipped outside for a smoke with the cops.
halfway through, i slipped out too.
at the "jobfair" out front, i grabbed
a couple free samples of dentyne ice,
and chatted with a cynical cameraman.
his videos will be up on youtube soon.
meanwhile, the san francisco chronicle
piece is painfully dull, "Newsom
promised to have his staff
look into the issues."
and too pretty. even through
i recognize the faces, it looks
more like that episode of the wire
with the town hall meeting.
you know the one,
in season three, where
all the residents cautiously
applaud city officials for the
concrete results of all their
innovative new policies.
that's the meeting he wished
he was at... at one point,
he even muttered "you can't win
with these people."
you could just sense
him posing the whole time,
hoping when he looked for
photos of himself online
they would be flattering,
hoping that the images would tell
the story he wanted. poor guy.

good news: thanks to community
pressure, the city admitted that the
the child development center
is "an embarrassment" to them
as its landlords. they have committed
to providing brighter lighting
and tighter security on the weekends,
in order to prevent theft and vandalism.
they'll also promptly complete routine
maintenance on the grounds,
like powerwashing the building and
cutting back the trees that threaten
to take over the parking lot.
not a glamorous victory,
but much-needed.

colts

2007-02-04T13:38:00.000-08:00

which superbowl team
should you root for?
now off to last minute
snack platter shopping.

what did one fly say to the other fly?

2007-02-03T16:00:00.000-08:00

hey, fly, your dude is open.
-- prarie home companion joke show

dear media diary

2007-01-20T20:30:00.000-08:00

my best friend called me to tell me
that the whale watching had been canceled,
so i should meet her and her brother and his wife
downtown for a matinee of pan's ladybrinth,
which is like fantasy for adults, which is supposed
to be good. on the way out the door i picked
up the mail, and sorted through it,
throwing the bills back in the box.
i got a note on thick italian stationary
in a matching envelope from my friend
who is training to be a doctor, a rare gift.
i finished it at the bus stop, then pulled
the rolled up new yorker out of my
coat pocket. on the trip downtown i read
a piece about a man with a small life.
in the meantime, both of them,
the son and his mother,
lived in the murky, antiquated
house, in peace and in silence.
each morning, a cleaning woman
came, bringing with her
the groceries he'd requested.
it ended up as such a new yorker
piece of fiction though, nothing happens
nothing happens nothing happens
then something happens
that doesn't make any sense.
i was nostalic for the heart of the matter
which i had just finished reading.
it didn't dissapoint me at all.
in fact, it surpised me, and surprise
is the opposite of dissapointment.
i hopped off the bus.
on the street for a moment,
i heard some kind of marching band
street musicians. it was loud and cold.
the spring in my step suddenly
said "dammit, i love this city!" even
if i couldn't allow my actual mind
to think anything so simple and corny
as those words. it wasn't this city,
anyway, it was any street in any city,
these particular people walking by
and also any people walking by in any city.
the bustling crowds! and just before
i pushed triumphantly through
the doors to the westfield center
i thought it was any people in any place.
as the temperature changed in a few steps
i looked up in front of me.
i'd been to this new mall once before,
to see a movie with my best friend's brother
and his wife, and starting now i had never left.
i thought how crowded it was, and dazzling,
how full of all these hateful shopping drones.
what a long and irritating walk
i knew it would be to the cineplex.
photos can't seem capture the scale of this place
it so fully stuns you into submission, that at the door
i had the sensation of "steeling myself," usually
reserved for the aftermath of a disaster.
i charged, head down, toward the first
escalator. i must never waver.
i must find the people i know.
we are going to see a movie together.
i didn't like it when thing caught my eye,
especially scoop-necked shirts or kiosks full of jewelry.
when i finally reached the theater area
i couldn't seem to make out individual faces.
people's scuffy san francisco outfits looked
dirty against the pristine carpet, and too studied.
as i scanned the lobby i remembered
how last time i'd been here i'd bought
a huge cookies 'n' cream milkshake,
overdrafting my account, and making me queasy,
so i couldn't enjoy the roast beef sandwich my best friend
brought me to eat for dinner. i didn't see her
or her brother or his wife anywhere so i asked
where the bathrooms were. the ticket-taker
said they were downstairs, between the bloomies
and the borders, so i took the elevator
down one floor into a gleaming white tunnel
that kept turning at right angles and never
seemed to end until i came to a door.
the sign on the door had the image
of the mall's rotunda etched into it,
on frosted glass, behind the "lady."
i went through the door of the stall and used the toilet,
which flushed automatically, and put my hands under
the automatic tap and thought i guess i have to go
back upstairs, when my best friend came banging
through the bathroom door and stopped short
and said "there you are." we both looked puzzled.
she said "i saw you get into the elevator
and you didn't see me so i followed
you down into these white halls. weird. where
were you going?" i told her i couldn't make out
individual faces so i decided to go
to the bathroom. we took the elevator upstairs
and i hugged her brother and his wife .
we went in to see pan's labyrinth.
the forrest in it looked the same as the forrest
in children of men, which is the only other movie
i'd seen at the that theater. they were equally
powerful and unrelenting, torturous, epic
creative, and honest. we walked out
through the mall and rode the bus
home and my best friend sat
on my yellow armchair and read to me
about dido in the from the fagles
translation of the aeneid. i asked her
if "the heart of the matter"
could be considered a tradgedy.
it couldn't really,
but i wanted to bring it up,
because it was so good
and i cried at the end of it.
then we drove to taco bell
to get strawberry soda
and we talked on the way
about classic tragedies, mostly
about pity and fear.

insectoid queen

2007-01-19T23:00:00.000-08:00

which lego minifig are you?

more than you ever imagined

2007-01-16T20:00:00.000-08:00

when i saw this trailer
i laughed one sharp laugh
liked i'd been punched
in the stomach, then
sat with my mouth agape.
my best friend did a verbal
double-take "did they just say
bridge to ... terabithia?" yes,
disney mutilates beyond recognition
yet another slow, tender, and elegantly
written storybook for children
with overzealous c.g.i.
and (dare i even say it?)
layered arm-warmers.

my new second-favorite poem

2007-01-15T13:00:00.000-08:00

Here you are

It’s such a relief to see the woman you love walk out of the door some nights
for it’s ten o’clock and you need your eight hours of sleep
and one glass of wine has been more than enough
and, as for lust - well you can live without it most days
and you are glad, too, that the Ukrainian masseuse you see every Wednesday
is not in love with you, and has no plans to be, for it is the pain
in your back you need relief from most, not that ambiguous itch,
and the wild successes of your peers no longer bother you
nor do your unresolved religious cravings or the general injustice
of the world, no, there is very little, in fact, that bothers you these days
when you turn first to the obituaries, second to the stock market,
then, after a long pause, to the book review, you are becoming
a good citizen, you do your morning exercises, count
your accumulated small blessings, thank the Lord
that there’s a trolley just outside your door your girlfriend
can take back home to her own bed and here you are
it is morning you are alone every little heartbeat
is yours to cherish the future is on fire with nothing
but its own kindling and whatever is burning in its flames
it isn’t you and now you will take a shower and this is it.

--michael blumenthal, new yorker

my old second-favorite poem.
its much funnier, but a little too crowded.

-->

2007-01-13T21:00:00.000-08:00

dogfight --> what have they done to the rain? --> malvina reynolds --> little boxes --> weeds

lights! camera! plaque-tion!

2007-01-13T18:00:00.000-08:00

marketing now longer affects me like
it did when i was younger. for instance,
all the cartoon detectives and free dvds
in the world cannot disguise the fact
that listerine's agent cool blue
bubble blast plaque detecting rinse
is just the blue liquid version
of those evil red dye tablets
you used to have to chew
at the dentist to shame
you into brushing.
oh well, at least now i know how to reveal and destroy the invisible, but deadly, residue left by my favorite dessert accessories, the gourmet kitchen's midway magic deluxe grape camo sprinkles (with flavor explosions!)

fashion! fashion! fashion!

2007-01-12T01:00:00.000-08:00

my best friend visits the threadless
site weekly to check out new t-shirts,
all limited-edition and all cheap.
the site is pretty, clever, easy-to-use,
and so internet-age participatory
that it makes my teeth hurt...
send in a photograph!
vote & comment on designs!
earn street team points!
(seriously, click on the link
so i can earn street team points.)

one down

2007-01-10T22:00:00.000-08:00

the simple online interface of the
washington post crossword puzzle
pulls up the correct clues instantly,

and allows you to type in the answers,

navigating horizontally and vertically

with the arrow keys at the flick of a pinkie.
it also offers the specific and useful

"check" and "reveal" options.

the virtual generation
has invaded even this last
bastion of arcane vocabulary,
historical trivia, and ambitious puns.

my best friend just finished

the thursday puzzle

in a mere fifteen minutes.

can you top that, you retirees?

you with only your clipboards

and your wooden pencils,

calling into the next room for help,

and smudging the newsprint

with every mistake?

name-dropping an in-law

2007-01-10T12:00:00.000-08:00

the savages will be premiering at sundance.
i hope soon afterwards it will be
playing in "a theater near you."
funny, sad, and grown-up movies
like hers deserve a wide release
and i have my fingers crossed for this one.
congratulations, auntie tam!

but it is the movie i'd like to see tonight

2007-01-09T20:30:00.000-08:00

the creators of little britain
combine their fat jokes, their fag jokes,
and other lowest-common-denominator
humor, with a dry wit, a gift for mimicry
and impeccable comic timing.
the juxtaposition makes for comedy
verging on the sublime.
(transcript of my favorite mr. mann sketch)
the whole show reminds me of
and old s.n.l. sketch, just a split-screen
with the title "highbrow" on the left,
and "lowbrow"on the right.
on the lefthand side a man
in an ascot with a tidy mustache
repeats a bit of famous repartee--
lady astor: winston, if you were my husband,
i should flavour your coffee with poison.
churchill: madam, if i were your husband,
i should drink it.
and on the righthand side a man
in nothing but overalls hops around
making faces and squeezing
a whoopee cushion over and over.
it is still the single funniest most
perfect sketch i've ever seen.

block quote: by its cover

2007-01-08T06:00:00.000-08:00

the twentieth wife
by indu sundaresan
is historical chick fiction.
just as you would guess,
from the saturation and fonts
of the dust jacket,
it takes "show don't tell"
a little too seriously.
not only is it adjective-heavy
and chock full of "colorful verbs,"
but there is just a certain
cadance to the language.
that irritates me beyond words.

Ghias beg brok away from the group around the fire and, picking his way past the animals, trudged to the tent where his wife lay. Barely visible in the flying sand, three children crouched against the flapping black canvas, arms around one another, eyes shut against the gale. Ghias Beg touched the shoulder of the elder boy. "Muhammad," he yelled over the sound of the wind. "Is your mother all right?"

oh! not to mention the unrelenting italics

A few zenana women sat under the peepul, ghagaras gathered over their knees.

2007-01-01T23:00:00.000-08:00

my granddad passed away last night.
the image above is a scan of the snap
that clasps shut a book we made together.
it is a prototype for a larger journal,
coptic bound, a trial run at a difficult inset strap,
with scaled down pockets in each signature,
made from recycled manilla folders.
i have included the full text
of a short writing exercise of mine
from a couple years ago, here.
it is about book mending.
the piece doesn't do justice to the subject.
it is embarrassingly pompous, awkwardly framed,
and only perfunctorily edited,
but i am posting it for my family
so that, if they want, they can see
a little of how i view some

of what i shared with,
and learned from,
my granddad.
i'll miss him.

stepping out of the old year...

2007-01-01T00:01:00.000-08:00

and into the rain forest in my new bathrobe (thanks carles!)

moodzones

2006-12-18T10:00:00.000-08:00

harmonychannel.com

latest mop bandit caper a flop!

2006-12-17T23:00:00.000-08:00

Attempted Burglary: Nov. 4, 9:20 p.m., 400 Block of Funston Avenue

A woman was at home when she heard a noise coming from her hallway. While investigating, the victim saw a mop handle sticking through her mail slot, trying to reach a foyer where her purse was. The victim yelled at the suspect, who fled the scene leaving the mop handle stuck inside of the mail slot.

-- police blotter, the richmond review

cliff notes?

2006-12-15T13:00:00.000-08:00

i don't know how i escaped
guy debord's the society of the spectacle
in all my media studies classes,
but since i've felt a little lost
in the spectacle myself lately
i picked it up
and i am lost in it.
i grasp at the simplest
statements. then they run on
and i realize that this man
is using words in that 60s
way that people with ideas
got to use words which
was sitting down to write
your your philosophy of
how it all works, your theory,
and just making your words
mean what what you mean,
a personal vocabulary.
this becomes nettlesome
for the rest of us when you
publish it. what does he mean
by "global" and "above"
and "life lived"? i thought,
what i need to understand
this book is a book group. no.
but a very serious book group,
with one person who knows
all about the book and things
related to the book and can
help the rest of us discuss and
understand it. so like a college
class? shit. for now i'm going
to just kind of read the words
and let them flow through
my brain and see
what catches.

thanks for the reccomendation

2006-12-13T13:00:00.000-08:00

The police department and the armed forces are the two arms of the power structure, the muscles of control and enforcement. They have deadly weapons with which to inflict pain on the human body. They know how to bring about horrible deaths. They have clubs with which to beat the body and the head. They have bullets and guns with which to tear holes in the flesh, to smash bones, to disable and kill. They use force, to make you do what the deciders have decided you must do.

-- eldridge cleaver, soul on ice, 1968

I'm the decider, and I decide what is best.

-- president bush, april 2006,
on why a secretary of defense
known to sanction torture
was to remain in office

dear santa

2006-12-10T16:00:00.000-08:00

my secret
christmas wish
is to be listening
to owen pallett
on boxing day
and it is snowing.
what's yours?

women are funny

2006-12-07T13:00:00.000-08:00

Nancy Pelosi Wants Congress To Want To Pass Bill

WASHINGTON, DC—The newly elected Speaker of the House accused fellow congressmen of being "distant" and "merely placating" her.

have you seen?

2006-11-30T02:00:00.000-08:00

i'm lucky to come from a large
and unabashedly geeky extended family.
its traditional for us to stay in touch
by sending each other
manila envelopes full of clipping,
with no letter, but maybe a post-it
saying something like
"thought you might be interested..."
the uncle nicknamed "uncle fun"
(collects wind-up toys, introduced
us to the secret life of machines)
has kept up the tradition digitally,
sending me two great videos
in as many weeks,
luckily, both embeddable.

Have you seen the PythagoraSwitch video? It's twelve minutes of delightfully ingenious entertainment. "PythagoraSwitch" is a Japanese kids program. This video is a compilation of the Rube Goldberg machine type segways used during the show. The soundtrack is the show's theme song and the phrase they keep singing is Japanese for "PythagoraSwitch." I came across a couple recordings of the show on You Tube and found it clever and engaging -- it really challenges kids to see the world in different ways and to think logically and, at the same time, creatively.

Have you seen these amazing Windwalkers?

owls in the roadhouse

2006-11-23T21:30:00.000-08:00

after a huge thanksgiving dinner with
my favorite sister's roommates
we migrated to her boyfriend's house
for a twin peaks marathon.
it has been ages since i've heard
the watery sound and glitching
of a well-worn vhs tape,
but in this case it was perfect that
the tv itself seemed possessed.

mario & danny

2006-11-19T20:00:00.000-08:00

this week's episode of the soup
included clips of both mario lopez, dancing up a storm,
and danny bonaduce, self-destructing,
without any mention of the good old days
when they were onscreen pals and chatty co-hosts
on the man view, (officially: the other half).
the boys were constantly "consumer testing" beds
by jumping on them in silk pjs, or hot tubs
by stripping down to their bannana hammocks
and splashing around. enjoy this classic clip
in which they take off their shirts
and do a little good-natured boxing
for all the ladies out there.

incidentally, joel mchale, host of the soup,
used to be a regular on my hometown's
very local sketch show almost live!
as you may have gathered,
this post is a case study
in the horror that is
not having cable.

impeccable

2006-11-19T18:15:00.001-08:00

the velo rouge cafe was screening goldfinger
just as my best friend was getting off work.
i only caught the beginning, but let me tell you
i am seriously disappointed in the internet gods
for giving me hundreds of copies of this photo,
but not one picture of bond
in his stunning poolside ensemble:
a baby-blue terrycloth jumpsuit,
with a gold zipper plunging
from collarbone to navel,
ending in baby-blue terrycloth short-shorts
not only short enough to expose the full length
of those luxuriantly hairy thighs,
but even short enough to hint
at the enticeing possibility of a glimpse
of 007 scrotum. did i mention the belt?
well, the outfit has a slender belt,
described by judith timson
of the globe and mail as "prissy."
oh judith, you may say "extremely unfortunate"
but i say "timeless classic."
they just don't dress 'em like they used to.

rolling stone

2006-11-19T18:00:00.000-08:00

jon stewart and stephen colbert... is an o.k. interview, made laugh-out funny by the subjects' savvy & rapport.

Q: A fake news show, "The Daily Show," spawned a fake commentator, Colbert, who makes his own fake reality defending the fake reality of a real president, and has government officials on who know the joke but are still willing to be mocked by someone fake. Your shows are like mirrors within mirrors, using a cycle of fakery to get to the truth. You've tapped into a sense in society that nothing, from reality shows to Bushworld, is real anymore. Do you guys ever get confused by your hall of mirrors?

STEWART: I didn't know we were going to have to be high to do this interview.

COLBERT: I think we see it less as a hall of mirrors and more as one of those slenderizing mirrors you can buy that you see in catalogs that make you feel good about yourself before you go out the door.

sascha baron cohen --the real borat-- finally speaks is billed as a peek at the "man behind the mask" but the whole thing plods along over a blow-by-blow of the evening in a pedantic "what it really means" call-and-response that isn't resisted one bit by its obviously exhausted subject.

But the America that Borat discovers on his cross-country trek here -- rife with homophobia, xenophobia, racism, classism and anti-Semitism -- is all too real.

"I think part of the movie shows the absurdity of holding any form of racial prejudice, whether it's hatred of African-Americans or of Jews," Baron Cohen says.

A waiter places a complimentary appetizer in front of Baron Cohen.

bertha jorkins

2006-11-19T15:00:00.000-08:00

my fabulous~furs; the finest faux fur
catalog is "celebrating the season of gorgeous!"
how do i know 'tis the season to be gorgeous?
i, several months ago,
under yet another pseudonym,
went hogwild at catalogs.com,
ordering every free catalog
i could get my cursor on.
for a few items and some fun copy
check out my flickr slideshow.

a very small pleasure

2006-11-19T14:00:00.000-08:00

let me loose in a library to browse
and slowly but surely i'll gravitate towards
the books about small living spaces.
today i sat in the aisle
on one of those rolling stools
absolutely transfixed as i flipped
through the photos and blueprints

in the very small home,
i'm not particularly interested
in architecture, design, or decorating,
but little houses suggest the joy of forts
home as snug, self-built, & self-contained,
as a cosy and livable survival-cubby.

then again, the ones that make it into these books
are very cosmopolitan too, "all open and communicating".
i like them with false floors of transluscent white material,
with strangely-shaped windows, spindly chairs
and state-of-the-art showers. very spare,
clever, without room to be fussy.

much of the charm, of course,
is imagining a pefect little self
who'd fit, content and put-together,
in the perfect little home.
in reality, i'm sure i'd be cramped
in any of them, and i'll have a new favorite
with the next book i run across,
but for now if i had my pick
i'd settle for life in this ingenious house,
built on a narrow strip of land
that used to be a driveway.

having fun kiddies?

2006-11-18T21:00:00.000-08:00

watching valley of the dolls
and plucking my eyebrows.
whoo!! saturday night!!

is that all there is?

2006-11-18T11:00:00.000-08:00

my is that all there is? station over at pandora
turned me on to clare fader's johnny,
a smutty little song in all the right ways,
so i gave it the quick thumbs-up,
but the new station it spawned
is all just sinantra hits. pandora, you're such a tease.

what is your well-being total?

2006-11-16T20:00:00.000-08:00

life coaching is simultaneously
vaguely appealing
and extremely creepy,
right up there with cults
and pyramid schemes.
this clean sweep assessment
hits the helpful/ominous
chord just perfectly.
I have just the right amount of sleep.
I use well-made sunglasses.
I do not suffer.

that's my girl!

2006-11-14T19:00:00.000-08:00

Preparing children to become citizens of a democracy requires recognition of the different ways in which children learn about politics. Kids in the United States currently spend most of their lives in controlled situations such as schools where the dependency they experience in their homes is reinforced. Besides teachers -- books, films, television, and video games influence how children think about democracy. Interviews and surveys of children during three Presidential elections and two non-Presidential years show how some sixth-graders in a Vermont town react to the political issues raised in those elections. Besides presenting the children's voices, Sugarman also examines some aspects of the media and of the school situation to see how they effect the children's thinking. Changes that might improve the children's understanding and knowledge of democracy are also suggested. This book should be of interest to parents, teachers, those involved in media literacy, popular culture, or child development, and the imaginary readers of self-invasion/perpetual huddle.

"if kids could vote; children, democracy, and the media"
now on sale at lexington books!

i am no longer bored

2006-11-13T20:00:00.000-08:00

i forgot how thoroughly harpers
trumps the new yorker,
especially in the small bits.
i will subscribe as soon as i can.
this diary entry from a teeny-bopper
ginsberg is fantastically bombastic.

does this mean comics are homo prose?

2006-11-12T14:00:00.000-08:00

one day in one of my writing workshops
a student known for his spoken-word
showed us a piece he'd actually
taken the time to type up.
when asked to read it aloud
he said "i don't usually do
readings of my page poetry."
my teacher asked "so, page poetry...
can i add that to the list with
acoustic guitar and snail mail?"
although i now know that page poetry
doesn't strictly qualify as a retronym,
the literary example i ripped out
of the the guardian this morning
blows it out of the water anyway.
the ad that seems to be
clearly for a really bad
(in my adventures, by now
i should have lost a leg, an eye,
and my sense of fun.)
graphic novel,
but, look carefully,
in the small type
at the very bottom
there's a disclaimer:

STRAIGHT PROSE --
but you'll picture every page for yourself.

once you pop you can't stop

2006-11-11T23:11:00.000-08:00

in the entire tube of pringles prints music trivia
the only chips that i answered correctly were,
(without ever having heard of the singer in question):

Q: Does Kaci Brown prefer Lipstick or Lip Gloss?
A: Lip Gloss

Q: What is singer Kaci Brown's favorite color?
A: Purple

Q: What is Kaci Brown's favorite style of jeans?
A: Low-rise

and finally
Q: What is Kaci Brown's website called?
A: www.kacibrown.com

i visited, and she makes
the mandatory popstar slide
from total christian to total slut,
in record time, as you can see.
somebody should tell her
that the pros take it slow.
getting there is half the fun.

creature comforts

2006-11-07T21:00:00.000-08:00

turn the volume up
to help with the accent.
as he talks about being a dad
this little clay mouse
will make you cry.

dad is funny

2006-11-04T23:15:00.000-08:00

in lieu of leaving comments
my dad modifies the images
from my blog in photoshop
and emails them to me.
the mods are meticulous,
goofy, and perfect.
see them all here.

sasha my love & a pair of schlubs coming to blows

2006-11-04T19:00:00.000-08:00

he knows what a girl needs.
please give me a tv, a remote,
a red dress, and your heart. thank you.

my best friend and i invested $22
to see borat: cultural learnings of america
for make benefit glorious nation of kazakhstan
with the saturday night masses at the multiplex.
watching the scene (below) with the humor coach
in a theater full of stangers, all laughing
until they couldn't breath anymore,
all laughing for different reasons,
or the same ones i don't really know,
was the most uncanny and postmodern experience
i've had since i watched my sim play the sims.

afterwards we headed to chevys
for a little fresh-mex
and some prickly pear margaritas,
where we happened to have the pleasure
of witnessing two very drunk and very middle aged men
get in something vaguely resembling a fistfight,
spitefully ripping off each other's caps,
clawing the air, and high kicking
to shame the very rockettes themselves.

i'm taking a break before "a prayer for owen meany"

2006-11-02T17:00:00.000-08:00

the world according to garp
was a good introduction to john irving.
i ended up liking the messiness of the book,
the unfinished, sprawling quality of the writing,
e.g. the weird short story (the pension grillparzer)
plopped wholesale in the middle of the novel.
many scenes seem longer than they need to be,
as far as i can tell, just because the author
gets carried away with the fun of the details.
for example, read these three paragraphs,
an endearingly superabundant description
of squalor, especially great-- the cat and the pantyhose.
i have to admit though, by the time i finished the hotel new hampshire,
i was tired of all the half-trained bears loping around
and ready for something a little more disciplined.

blog this!

2006-11-02T08:00:00.000-08:00

I'm Always Up For Some Commitment

Every time I see an attractive, single woman walk down the street, I've got just one thing on my mind: cultivating a loving, fulfilling,...

when i went to the onion site
to cut and paste the url of this article
(not the strongest headline
but classic and worth
reading all the way through)
i didn't have to, because
there was a handy little
link to embed a photo and blurb
into your blogger template.
they sure know their audience!

i miss them

2006-10-26T01:30:00.000-07:00

We have not slept
for three days
and the few of us left
are lighting huge bonfires
to keep the elephants at bay,
without success.

--reuters via to be sorted

wacky hometown crap i can't afford

2006-10-25T10:00:00.000-07:00

the new archie mcphee
catalogue made me nostalgic,
but not for its hometown
and mine, seattle, washington.
no, i got all misty-eyed
at the memory of cold hard cash.
you see, when i was slaving over
that million-dollar print account
at officemax i wanted to buy "the cubes"
copy center extension set, as a funny gift
for each of the employees i managed.
we were all busting our asses
for a soulless corporation,
why not treat them to a laugh?
but i was "too broke," so i was "saving up."
since i lost that job, rather unceremoniously,
i've learned that "broke" isn't
having your overtime capped
before it becomes double-time,
or thinking about diverting
a few bucks of the eating-out budget
into a crap-for-co-workers fund.
broke is commuting an hour
each way in opposite directions
on public transportation
to your two part-time jobs.
it's paying over twice the taxes,
because you're technically "self-employed,"
while "saving up" for next month's bus pass
and the fee you'll need to pay
for a california state i.d.
then again, i don't work for officemax anymore!

pfizer is creepy

2006-10-25T00:30:00.000-07:00

do i owe you money?

2006-10-24T23:00:00.000-07:00

do you owe me money?
this pretty little site
will never let you forget it:
billmonk.com

thank you for your patience

2006-10-23T01:30:00.000-07:00

i quit smoking last monday,
but ending that habit seems
to be interfering with
this habit i've just started.
the cravings have been very
manageable during the day.
new thing to do while
waiting for the bus:
fiddle with the safety switch
on my pepper spray.
new thing to do while
walking: worry at
my gums with a toothpick.
new thing to do when
hungry: chew dentyne ice.
new thing to do when
i want to take a short
break from my writing,
to pause, reflect,
and reenergize myself:
fall asleep instead
i hope and pray i'll figure
out how to write without
my late night cigs
in the next couple days
so i can polish up the nine
or so drafts waiting here.
what i mean to say is--
thank you for your patience
and please stand by.

gorgeous

2006-10-22T20:30:00.000-07:00

project runway