Piefurcation

We Like the Recess Monkey

2010-08-27T02:17:00.000-07:00

A few highlights from our new favorite kids CD - Recess Monkey's The Final Funktier

Booster Seat is my personal favorite. It's a little hard to make out the lyrics from this film, but trust me. Totally nails the preschool age. Or check out this little sample. Or if you go here, you can listen to more cuts from Final Funktier as well as some from earlier CDs.

First Day of First Grade

2010-08-18T10:04:00.000-07:00

It's the first day of school. The first day of first grade. The first full day of school. I miss you already. You were scared to go. Sometimes the unknown can be overwhelming. Last night you wanted to go to the park, but you were so tired from traveling and staying up late and scared about today so you curled up in the rocking chair in the kitchen and fell asleep. Then you got mad because it was too late to go to the park. You wanted to try out those new roller skates. You woke up, groggy and tired, and sat down on the floor with me, then fell asleep again. A minute later you popped up and demanded I take you to the park. I said no. It was too late. I had to make dinner. I made noodle soup and when it was ready I looked around for you and you had disappeared. I found you in your bed sound asleep; you hadn't even put on your jammies. I let you sleep. I missed you already.

September 5 is Cherpumple Pie Cake Day

2010-08-17T09:57:00.001-07:00

My friend Tal sent me this link and now I've become obsessed with the Cherpumple Pie Cake. How can you not be obsessed with this? It's Cherpumple Pie Cake.

Anyway, Tal and I are baking our Cherpumple Pie Cakes - me in CA and Tal in Texas. Please join us. Make the cake and take a picture and let us know how it comes out! I'll post closer to the day so you can see the preparation and all that stuff. And I'll be inviting people over because I don't want to be alone with this baby. No! The Cherpumple Pie Cake must be shared.

Finding Inspiration, Drawing My Hand

2010-07-06T21:26:00.000-07:00

Amelia Critchlow's Experimental Art e-course continues to inspire me. Especially now that I'm on deadline to get a first draft of a play done. One of the exercises we were given was to pick a concept and this has been driving pretty much all of the other exercises I've been working on. I've also been trying my hand at drawing. Today literally, when I did an drawing of the lines of my palm. I find the process of just making marks to be incredibly meditative. Not feeling compelled to make something necessarily, just to capture what's there and not worry about "right." I've also been collecting various images - both for source material for the play and for the e-course as well. Today I found these wonderful photos and graphic images by Brian Pirman.

Transparency

Hairy

Drought #1

Drought #2

Fly

Back

Xanadu

these and more images can be found here.

IMAGES by Brian Pirman |

Spoon Bread, Hush Puppies! Oh, My!

2010-07-03T23:21:00.000-07:00

I love the Betty's Kitchen series on youtube. Here's a little video of a recent trip Betty and her husband, Rick, made to Berea, KY to have lunch at Boone Tavern. So envious.

First Week's Art Experiments

2010-06-18T22:05:00.000-07:00

This is the first week of Amelia Critchlow's Experimental Art Course and we've been very productive. I took the class in the Spring, but was too busy to do many of the assignments. With school being out, this is the perfect time to try again and to involve the kids. We've sat down to work on the assignments each afternoon before dinner and just played around with the materials. It's been very calming for all of us. Everyone gets very focused and excited by what they or someone else at the table is doing. Here are some of our creations.

doodle #2, Carter

doodle #2, Elizabeth
food coloring with straws and paint brush

Carter was very quick to tell me where I went wrong with my doodle. I started brushing on the purple and Carter "Mom, you shouldn't have done that." I think he was right and it somehow doesn't sting as much when your kid tells you matter0of-factly that yes, indeed, you've gone too far.

doodle #2, Olivia

One of the great things about the course is that Amelia introduces interesting materials to use for our experiments. We didn't have to go out and buy any fancy art supplies. We've been using left over ceramic paints from a birthday party, poster paints, old pastels and chalk, colored markers, ink pens, pencil, eye make-up (which the kids loved because it's usually off limits and also the texture made it a fun material to play with), tea, dirt (we have a lot of that), old magazines, paper towels, and I even pulled out my old water color set from costume design class (a few were dried out, but were easily revived by breaking open the tube and adding water).

staining #1, Olivia
passionfruit tea, decaf chai - using drinking straws

painting #2, Marshall

staining #1, EHS
tazo decaf chai tea, tazo passionfruit tea, water color, collage, ink, paper towel, tea leaves - using paint brush, fingers, cotton, & drinking straws.

The kids approach these things with an admirable fearlessness. They don't over-think things. They just do. I'm learning from them and having great fun.

Animal Day at Ohlone Camp

2010-06-15T20:04:00.000-07:00

Saw a coyote and got to pet Roger the bunny and Rocky the tortoise.

Held a Banana Slug (and kissed it).

Held a Tarantula (Hey!)

I'm Not Going to Give You Ideas Now, But...

2010-06-09T14:55:00.000-07:00

Agnes Martin: Guided by Inspiration

2010-04-13T08:02:00.000-07:00

Celebrate World Theatre Day

2010-03-27T08:58:00.000-07:00

via World Theatre Day.

What's the Big Idea?

2010-02-17T11:57:00.000-08:00

Thanks, T.

Who Put the Pie in Piefurcation? Who? Who?

2010-02-12T17:52:00.000-08:00

Yeah. That's right. Pie. Three pies to be exact. Let's get to it, shall we?

Pumpkin pie
Not quite a disaster, but not quite Thee pie if you know what I mean. I decided to go easy and just mix up a pie from a Whole Foods brand pumpkin pie mix. Learn from my mistake. This is the first time I've made a pie from a mix - seriously I can't even remember the last time I made a pie from a mix. So my perspective might be a tad biased but: go the extra mile and make a homemade pie. Sacrifice a pumpkin, bake it and scoop out the pulp. Really it's not that much extra time and the effort is worth it. Here's one of my favorites: Pie Ranch Pumpkin Pie (note: you do not have to use goat milk if you don't want to. I don't.)

My theory behind using the mix was that a) I'd save time and b) I was more interested in the pie crust. I tried a new recipe that involves 1/4 cup of cold 80 proof Vodka. Needless to say, I was intrigued. The idea is that the vodka keeps gluten from forming and thus you end up with a nice and tender crust. That's the idea at any rate. The results weren't that impressive. But maybe it's my bias against the entire pie that prevents me from being objective about it. It's definitely a recipe I'll try again. *

Persimmon-Apple Tart
Oh. This pie was good. Except by the time I finally made it, the lovely persimmons I had bought from the cheery kid selling them on the street outside his house and the free one given me by the guy promoting his CSA outside the library had gone bad and I feel guilty that I let them go so long (it's the little things I tell you).

The crust came from the 80 proof/fool-proof pie crust recipe. And it was in the freezer for a week and then thawed in the refrigerator, rolled out and put into the tart pan and I was all "come on over and have some Apple-Persimmon Tart and I've even put some Proseco in the fridge for when those unexpected holiday guests pop in" and then we all came down with Swine Flu. And so it sat. When I finally got back to it, there were sad persimmons that were just a tad too soft, but still an abundance of little yellow apples from our CSA basket and so I peeled as many as there were and cut them up and then a friend called and while we talked on the phone I arranged them in pretty little circles like I never do. And then it sat in the fridge for two days until I made the ginger snap streusel (from ground Newman's ginger creme cookies left over from a failed cookie attempt) and baked it late on a Saturday night and OMFG, no hyperbole, it was one of the best pies (tarts) I've ever made. The recipe is here.

Mexican Chocolate Cream Pie
This was a request pie and the recipe came from this nifty book called Killer Pies by Stephanie Anderson who compiled pie recipes from some of the top restaurants in North America (like where is that?) If the rest of the pies in the book turn out as good as this one, this little gem will more than have lived up to it's name. Mexican Chocolate Pie is a specialty of Border Grill in Santa Monica, CA whose chef, Susan Feniger, competes in the upcoming season of Top Chef Masters.

Meringue Shell
3 large egg whites
1/2 t. cream of tartar
3/4 c. sugar

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter the bottom and sides (not the rim) of a 9" glass pie plate. I used my trusty Fire-King plate. Put egg whites in a large bowl and set it over a pan of hot water. Stir until the whites slightly warm. Beat the egg whites with an electric mixer until soft peaks form. If you want to know what soft peaks mean, take a look at this video (which also features a little tour of Maker's Mark distillery). Beat in cream of tartar, then add sugar in a slow, steady stream. Beat continually for 15 - 20 more minutes or until the mixture is stiff and glossy. My mixer made short work of this task and it didn't take quite as long. To form the pie shell, spread meringue over the bottom and sides of the pie plate. Bake until slightly crisp and dry, about 15 minutes. Again. You have to watch it because oven temps vary. Cool shell on a wire rack.

Filling
7 oz semi sweet chocolate, chopped
1 oz unsweetened chocolate, chopped
2 1/4 c. cold heavy cream
1/3 c. confectioner's sugar
1/4 t. ground cinnamon
1/4 t. vanilla extract
1/2 slivered almonds, toasted and cooled

Melt the semisweet and unsweetened chocolates in a bowl over simmering water, stirring occasionally. Cool to room temperature.

Combine heavy cream, sugar, cinnamon and vanilla in a bowl. Beat on medium speed until very soft peaks form, 2 - 3 minutes. Stir one third of the whipped cream mixture into the melted chocolate. Fold remaining whipped cream until incorporated.

Scatter with toasted almonds over the shell then top with the chocolate filling, smoothing the top. Cover and refrigerate for at least 1 hour. Grate or shave bittersweet chocolate over top for decoration. I need to work on my chocolate curl technique as you can see I eventually opted for grated chocolate which was just fine.

I suggest sharing this pie with other people. So that it isn't sitting in your fridge for days. The meringue gets soggy after awhile and I'd like to say that this diminishes the goodness of the pie, but that would be a lie.

Up next. Shaker Lemon Pie. I'm going to get the lemons tonight! I know, it's Friday night and I'm excited about lemons. I never thought it would come to this.

*In the future I promise to photograph my pie failures. Things were just too busy on Thanksgiving day to whip out the camera for a photo shoot.

Pie of the Week: Shaker Lemon Pie

2010-02-07T03:33:00.000-08:00

Obsessing about this pie. Part of me wants to rush out and buy lemons right now then come home and get it started. Thinking I'll make it sometime this week instead - perhaps for Valentine's Day? I've also discovered Betty's Kitchen on youtube. Check out her tour of the Maker's Mark distillery. Plus she has a recipe for Derby Pie - excuse me - a version of chocolate nut pie.

For You Girl

2010-01-28T15:15:00.000-08:00

Okay. Totally made me cry in the cafe.

Defining A Movement by Katherine Center.

A Brief Interruption in Programming

2009-12-06T12:34:00.000-08:00

Piefurcation will be down for the next few days while we (the whole family) wrestle the dreaded swine flu bug. Hoping to be back soon.

A Starting Place #2

2009-11-28T19:47:00.001-08:00

John Baldessari: "I Will Not Make Any More Boring Art," 1971

Happy Thanksgiving

2009-11-26T12:34:00.000-08:00

Goodbye Old, Semi-Reliable Friend

2009-11-07T18:32:00.000-08:00

Its' gone. A stylish car with character. That was always fun to drive. Things started going way wrong with it in the past 5 years. There was the time the air conditioner went crazy and released a terrible smelling something into the car. We got the heater/air conditioner fixed but then it only worked on like levels 2 & 4 (maybe). Plus the knob wouldn't stay on. There was last year, the night I met Dorothy in person for the first time ever and we went out to the theater and the back window fell down into the door and wouldn't come up again, and so, I had to rely on the dicey security of the parking lot and put all the carseats, etc. in the trunk. Not sure what Dorothy thought, but she was polite and encouraging. Then the door handle fell of the same door. Then we got it fixed and it fell off again. We took it back, got it fixed again. And it fell off. Then we gave up. The window was also fixed only it never went down again. And you couldn't open the door.

And then, this year, yes, came the disparaging remarks from friends which I'm really sorry the poor Passat had to hear. She did her best. This was a very fine car in it's day. And she was, as I said, very fun to drive. There was the night we went up to 120 on 280 to get away from some weird guy who was cruising me at 2am in an area where someone had been shot a few weeks earlier. She never left me stranded on the Bay Bridge during the evening commute like another car I could mention.

Well, she won't have to hear those unkind remarks again. She is gone. Gone. And I? I'm no longer a Driver. Now it's all Zoom! Zoom! Automatic. I miss driving a stick. Kristin Linklater once made the observation that I was very fond of the shift. And it is true. I am. Truly. I am a stick shift girl.

Shopping the Pantry Challenge #2

2009-11-06T11:46:00.000-08:00

A bit less involved than the last. Just a box of cereal that's been in the pantry for a year.

Unfortunately, as you can see, it has expired. Wah.

But I thought, what the hey or is it what the hay, I'd give it a try.
The 2 year old whose toes those are was game too.

Sadly, this challenge does not have a successful outcome.

But yeah. The cereal really has expired. Not stale. But it has this weird, slightly bitter after taste that comes when you're eating food that hasn't shocked with preservatives.

See here it is soaking up the milk. Rather fast, I might add.

The 2 year old took one bite, shook his head and handed his bowl back. I tried to force down a few more spoonfuls. But really, we're not starving here so the motivation to finish the box and endure the taste is fairly low. I did find a bag of granola that was really terrible when we tried to eat it as a breakfast cereal. I think I'm going to experiment with that next.

Oh. Right. Yeah. Totally blew NaBloPoMo. I'm going to keep up posting as much as I can but it's a busy time. I'm buckling down on the thesis and trying to push out 3 chapters, collaborating on a new performance project, helping out with NaPlWriMo, trying to write a play, and oh, you know maintain the life. Head spinning.

Shopping in the Pantry Challenge #1

2009-11-02T21:03:00.000-08:00

Condensed Cream of Chicken Soup

I wanted to make chicken and rice for the kids. Typically, besides the obvious, recipes call for some combination of the condensed Campbell's "Soup is good food" variety - cream of chicken, mushroom, or celery. I've tried the organic remakes of these kitchen staples with fairly unimpressive results. Seems there's nothing like the Campbell's for consistency and flavor. But I've stopped using Campbell's because at least two of those soups contain MSG. Such a betrayal. And probably, as it turns out, one of the ingredients, along with marinating in tin, that's responsible for the soup's unique flavor.

For fun, I decided to look online to see if I could find an alternate recipe. And I did. Here. This recipe calls for using onion and garlic powder, along with dried parsley and poultry seasoning. I used actual vegetables. As you can see:

I sautéed some garlic and onion. I also added a bit of salt and
some thyme because I didn't have poultry seasoning. Then I added a little chicken broth.

Then half a cup of milk.

Now here is where it gets tricky. The recipe calls for mixing 3/4 cup of flour with the remaining cup of milk. When you do that you get something resembling wall paper paste or paper-mâché and you might want to back out at this step. Remember you're making condensed soup, right? So go ahead and add that mixture to the onion, garlic milk/broth in the pan and whisk it like mad. It will soon have the same consistency as its canned counterpart. I tasted it at this point and it was really close. I think it could have used a bit more salt, garlic, onion, and thyme as well as some celery. I didn't use parsley either because I didn't have any dried or fresh, but that would have been good too.

Next. This is where the Shopping in the Pantry Challenge comes in. I added a can of organic cream of mushroom soup that's been sitting on the shelf for at least a year. I've used this in a casserole before and it's a bit watery and under-flavored which is what prompted me to want to make a decent homemade alternative. I mixed in this soup and then I pureed it for about five minutes because I wanted to eliminate any trace of vegetable or herb matter that might make the kids freak out and reject the real object of the experiment: the chicken and rice casserole.

Once this was made, it took like fifteen minutes, I made the chicken and rice from this recipe which originally came from cook's recipes, but I can't find the exact link anymore. Seems it's disappeared into some wormhole. Good luck trying to find it. Luckily I emailed it to myself.

Cook 1/4 cup chopped onion in 1 tablespoon butter until
tender. In 1 1/2 quart casserole dish, mix onion, 1 3/4 cup
chicken broth, 1/2 cup chicken, 1 cup shredded cheese and
1/2 cup uncooked rice. Cover. Bake at 375 degrees for 1
hour. Serves 4.

I didn't put the onion in it. Just the chicken, rice, cheese and some chicken broth (not enough as it turned out) and baked it for an hour. The kids initially balked at eating it, but relented and even admitted to liking it. The great thing is that it leaves them open to trying other mixtures of rice and chicken like curry and arroz con pollo. Here's to expanding their palates one meal at a time.

Better Late than Out of the Game

2009-11-01T23:41:00.000-08:00

I'm doing it. Or at least I'm going to get further along in NaBloPoMo than last year, which was, I think, all of one day or maybe even zero.

I've made of list of things to write about:
Weekly writing exercise - continuing to post a free writing exercise.
Clutter Busting - chronicling my ongoing battle and success with clutter and organization.
Shopping in the Pantry Challenge - Lot's of stuff in the pantry and the fridge that sounded like a good idea at the time. The challenge is to find a way to use it either as it is or to incorporate it into a recipe (kind of my own Quickfire Challenge).
Mondo Beyondo Part 1.
Fun with Pie Dough - Is there a perfect pie recipe? I'm going to find out.
Random Acts of Pieness - Some lucky person is going to get a pie. A pie! Will it be you?

found: going through old emails. yeah. that's how it rolls.

2009-10-28T16:50:00.000-07:00

Starfish

This is what life does. It lets you walk up to

the store to buy breakfast and the paper, on a

stiff knee. It lets you choose the way you have

your eggs, your coffee. Then it sits a fisherman

down beside you at the counter who says, Last night,

the channel was full of starfish. And you wonder,

is this a message, finally, or just another day?

Life lets you take the dog for a walk down to the

pond, where whole generations of biological

processes are boiling beneath the mud. Reeds

speak to you of the natural world: they whisper,

they sing. And herons pass by. Are you old

enough to appreciate the moment? Too old?

There is movement beneath the water, but it

may be nothing. There may be nothing going on.

And then life suggests that you remember the

years you ran around, the years you developed

a shocking lifestyle, advocated careless abandon,

owned a chilly heart. Upon reflection, you are

genuinely surprised to find how quiet you have

become. And then life lets you go home to think

about all this. Which you do, for quite a long time.

Later, you wake up beside your old love, the one

who never had any conditions, the one who waited

you out. This is life's way of letting you know that

you are lucky. (It won't give you smart or brave,

so you'll have to settle for lucky.) Because you

were born at a good time. Because you were able

to listen when people spoke to you. Because you

stopped when you should have and started again.

So life lets you have a sandwich, and pie for your

late night dessert. (Pie for the dog, as well.) And

then life sends you back to bed, to dreamland,

while outside, the starfish drift through the channel,

with smiles on their starry faces as they head

out to deep water, to the far and boundless sea. - Eleanor Lerman

Writing Exercise: Five Sentences Continued 2

2009-10-28T02:51:00.001-07:00

And we're back.

I hope you haven't lost those five sentences because I have. Gotta get a real notebook.

So anyway you have your new sentences:
1. She threw her milk on the floor.
2. 'I'm not going to the park,' she pouted.
3. The house breathes memories of days long past.
4. The stair runner is threadbare in the middle.
5. The deer nipped at the short grass.
6. A soft breeze ruffled through the oaks.

Cross out two words in each line. Go with your first impulse.
Rework the lines so they sound pleasing to you.

Mine look like this:
1. She threw milk on the floor.
2. 'not going to the park.'
3. The house breathes memories.
4. The stair runner is threadbare.
5. Deer nip at the short grass.
6. A soft breeze ruffles the oaks.

Now cross out four entire lines. I chose the last four, but you can choose any four lines you wish. So here's what I have:
1. She threw milk on the floor.
2. 'not going to the park.'

Rewrite these to lines so they sound pleasing to you. Leave a blank line between them.
1. She threw her milk.
2.
3. 'not going to the park. Hmmph.'

Write a new second line that goes with the two existing ones.
1. She threw her milk.
2. Crossed arms over chest and stamped her right foot hard.
3. 'not going to the park. Hmmph.'

Cross out all but five words total.
1. Threw
2. Milk
3. Arms
4. Park
5. Hmmph

Choose one of the five words. Go with your first impulse. I chose:
1. Arms

Write your word at the top of a blank page. This is the title/topic for your next free-writing practice. Write for ten minutes. Go.

I'll post my results in the Comments section. If you'd like to share yours, please post them in Comments.

Away

2009-10-11T03:10:00.000-07:00

I'll be going out of town for the next week and won't be updating. When I get back I'll post more writing exercises and finish where I left off with the Five Lines, and have pictures and stories from our latest adventure.

Cheers,
E-

Writing Exercise: Five Sentences Continued

2009-10-09T14:32:00.001-07:00

So by now you should have your five sentences. The next thing you're going to do is construct 3 new lines using words from the first five sentences. The words can be in any order and you can add new words if you need to. Leave a blank line after each of your new lines.

This is what it might look like. Here are my first five sentences.
1. Throw everything out.
2. This would be easier if I weren't being interrupted by kids asking for milk or to watch episode six of Star Wars.
3. Sort, sift, stop holding onto the past; it serves no purpose but to weigh you down.
4. The house casts a long shadow over the deer grass.
5. She has a memory of red velvet cake and being felt up in the church basement.

I circled the following words.
throw, this, easier, being, interrupted, kids, milk, sift, stop, holding, past, go, house, casts, long, shadow, deer, grass, she, memory, velvet, cake, felt, basement

Here are my new sentences:
1. She threw her milk on the floor.
2.
3. The house breathes memories of days long past.
4.
5. The deer nipped at the short grass.
6.

Now. On the lines you've left blank, write a new second, fourth and sixth line that goes with the line above it.

Here's what it will look like.
1. She threw her milk on the floor.
2. 'I'm not going to the park,' she pouted.
3. The house breathes memories of days long past.
4. The stair runner is threadbare in the middle.
5. The deer nipped at the short grass.
6. A soft breeze ruffled through the oaks.

Writing Exercise: Five Sentences

2009-10-06T09:30:00.000-07:00

This is the start of a new feature at Piefurcation inspired by the 3 amazing women I had dinner with last Tuesday. We met through an online workshop called Mondo Beyondo and found we all have an interest in writing and especially in establishing a regular, writing practice. Back before I had children I used to try to fill up a notebook a month with writing generated from various exercises ala Natalie Goldberg. This practice was central to my work as a playwright - it helped generate new material and allowed me to develop new ways of writing. Since I had my first child, nearly 10 years ago, that practice has dropped off considerably. To a trickle and for the past 3 years there's been a near drought. While I'm at no loss for ideas for plays, I do miss regular writing practice and so am happy to use this blog as a way of bringing it back into my life. This week I'm going to start with a simple exercise from The Writer's Path: A Guidebook for Your Creative Journey. Since the exercise is made up of a series of short steps, I'm going to post a step everyday. I suggest doing this in a notebook and using a fast writing pen instead of on a computer, composing on a computer is different than writing freehand. If you like you can post your daily results in Comments, so we can see how your exercise develops. Sharing your writing is an option, not a requirement, so don't feel like you can't participate if you'd rather not post your work. 'K?

Now go do: write! I'll post my sentences in Comments too.

Five Line Exercise
Quickly write down five lines about whatever pops into your head. Don't edit or cross out. Really. Just write. Your lines don't have to be complete sentences or even grammatically correct. It can even be one word or a sentence fragment. After you're finished, you can post the results in Comments if you like. And hang onto your lines because we'll be using them for the rest of the exercise.

Watch Your Dreams

2009-10-02T11:10:00.000-07:00

Last night I dreamed about Dick Cheney. I stowed away on Dick's own personal pontoon cruise ship-type vessel and was captured. Next thing I'm playing Gertrude (as in from Hamlet) to this hot hot hot Claudius with like wavy, silky brown locks that I am like really enjoying touching. Turns out it's Cheney. Ewwww. I kissed Dick Cheney in my dreams!

So then, I'm in this terrorist education facility. Only it's a strip club with a massive stage and guys handing out free beer to everyone. "No imports, only domestic," this guy giggles and points to the strippers as explanation when I state my beer preference. "I'll take a glass of water."

So I'm hanging with Cheney and his buds and thinking wow, Dick isn't such a bad guy when he ups and throws water on my crotch. I'm all, WTF Dick? I'm angry and I try to leave, but Dick is having none of that. He offers me some stain remover and threatens me with rendition. What follows are many really frustrating moments of sleeping and waking. Edging towards black hole-like darkness.

And now I have a splitting headache.

One from Henry

2009-10-02T11:04:00.000-07:00

Life moves on, whether we act as cowards or heroes. Life has no other discipline to impose, if we would but realize it, than to accept life unquestioningly. Everything we shut our eyes to, everything we run away from, everything we deny, denigrate or despise, serves to defeat us in the end. What seems nasty, painful, evil, can become a source of beauty, joy, and strength, if faced with an open mind. Every moment is a golden one for him who has the vision to recognize it as such. - Henry Miller

Worms, Roxanne. Worms!

2009-09-21T23:30:00.000-07:00

So the corn has arrived. We get a bunch of it in our CSA basket every week. And it is good. But I hate shucking it because there are these hairless caterpillar-like worms that invade every ear and sometimes, I don't know how, they make their way out of the box and onto the floor where when I don't have my glasses on, it looks like there's a curly noodle on the floor, and of course, I forget that every time I bend down to pick up a curly noodle these days it's usually a worm and so I'm constantly picking up these worms and freaking out. Ack! It's the touch of their skin that is so shocking. When my daughter mentioned this phenomenon to one of the farm interns she seemed truly offended. Like how dare we speak ill of the corn. Cue Children of the Corn.

But then also: there's the peeling back the husks and anticipating the worm. And finding the worm and removing the worm - without touching it! Without touching it! 'Cuz honestly, they feel like they would just pop like a ripe cherry tomato or a piece of bubble wrap. It's not right. I don't remember this from when I was little and my family had a big garden. But maybe it's because we lived next to a big agro corn farm that most definitely used pesticide and our corn prolly got dosed when the spray drifted our way. Good times.

Jeanette Winterson: Keynote Address 2009 TCG Pre-Conference

2009-09-06T11:29:00.000-07:00

ACTivate Change: Jeanette Winterson from Theatre Communications Group on Vimeo.

Thank you, WB.

A Starting Place or Learning To Let Go and Mean It

2009-08-18T12:30:00.000-07:00

A man in our society is not left alone. Not in the cities. Not in the woods. We must have commerce with our fellows, and that commerce is difficult and uneasy. I do not understand how to live in this society. I don't get it. Each person has an enormous effect. Call it environmental impact if you like. Where my foot falls, I leave a mark, whether I want to or not. We are linked together, each to each. You can't breathe without taking a breath from somebody else. You can't smile without changing the landscape. And so I ask the question: Why is theatre so ineffectual, unnew, not exciting, fussy, not connected to the thrilling recognition possible in dreams?
It's a question of spirit. My ungainly spirit thrashes around inside me making me feel lumpy and sick. My spirit is this moment dissatisfied with the outward life I inhabit. Why does my outward life not reflect the enormity of the miracle of existence? Why are my eyes blinded with always new scales, my ears stopped with thick chunks of fresh wax, why are my fingers calloused again? I don't ask these questions lightly. I beat on the stone door of my tomb. I want out! Some days I wake up in a tomb, some days on a grassy mound by a river. Today, I woke up in a tomb. Why does my spirit sometimes retreat into a deathly closet? Perhaps it is not my spirit leading the way at such times, but my body, longing to lie down in marble gloom, and rot away.

Theatre is a safe place to do the unsafe things that need to be done. When it's not a safe place, it's abusive to actors and audiences alike. When its safety is used to protect cowards masquerading as heroes, it's a boring travesty. An actor who is truly heroic reveals the divine that passes through him, that aspect of himself that he does not own and cannot control. The control and the artistry of the heroic actor is in service to his soul.

We live in an era of enormous cynicism. Do not be fooled.

Don't act for money. You'll start to feel dead and bitter.

Don't act for glory. You'll start to feel dead, fat, and fearful.

We live in an era of enormous cynicism. Do not be fooled.

You can't avoid all the pitfalls. There are lies you must tell. But experience the lie. See it as something dead and unconnected you clutch. And let it go.

Act from the depth of your feeling imagination. Act for celebration, for search, for grieving, for worship, to express that desolate sensation of wandering through the howling wilderness.

Don't worry about Art.

Do these things, and it will be Art. - John Patrick Shanley, preface to the The Big Funk

Ghosts

2009-07-21T21:42:00.000-07:00

Just saw the woman who gave me the worst news I've ever received in my life. Pushing her grocery cart through the store. I passed by her once and swung back around to look at her again. She looked so familiar and yet I couldn't quite place her. She passed me in the baby food aisle then turned her cart around maneuvering it between me and an elderly gentleman who was contemplating the cereal. Looking at a jar of Pumpkin pie puree, it came to me. We passed each other in the frozen food section. And again in dairy, in produce, in cheese, in meat and in bread. And each time my stomach turned over and my knees felt weak. I couldn't stop looking at her face.

Because what never occurred to me before is this: what it must be like for you. To deliver such news over and over again. To say those words so many times, so many times that you'd never remember all the faces of the people you'd delivered it to. Words so devastating that if any of its receivers passed you in the grocery store and remembered you, they'd pretend you didn't exist. Would wish you did not. What conversation is to be made?

Oh, it's you. Remember when you...made that little call...quite a time wasn't it?

What must it be like to be you? You whose job it was to bring the news, to make the call, to hear the sobs on the other end of the line, to say the I'm sorrys, the no one likes to hear such newses. You who've said the same words so many times that I could hardly think you'd still mean it - the I'm sorry. The calm voice cool with professional distance and sincerity tinged with the absolute impossibility of the outcome of your news being anything other than what it was. The sentence irrevocable. It was you who said the words, so powerful - no incantation could be stronger, more life altering. So powerful, that even now, 7 years after, the sight of you makes the blood automatically drain from my body and I feel like collapsing on the floor. Over and over. Baby food, frozen food, dairy, produce, cheese, meat, bread.

Checkout. Checkout. Checkout.

This falling down inside as I remember that moment on the phone. And the realization that it is only that very moment that I share in common with the person who heard those words as they exited your mouth. That the person who heard those words was washed away by them never to surface again. Such are the effects of time travel.

The Worst Hard Time: The Untold Story of Those Who Survived the Great American Dust Bowl

2009-07-17T22:11:00.000-07:00

Was it ever. A calamitous, completely avoidable environmental disaster of biblical proportions perpetrated by Washington and executed by scoundrels and idealists alike. Steinbeck does not even come close to conveying the horror of the dustbowl. This is page after page of misery and ever-deepening despair. You have to admire those who stuck it out. Egan's prose is a bit boiler-plate, but he gets the story and does a fine job of connecting how politically driven it was. Want to see the origins of our environmental and farm policies? They start here.

'Drunk by Noon' is on my summer soundtrack

2009-07-09T08:01:00.001-07:00

Edgy, light, and infectious. Gets you moving, feeds your head.

Drunk by Noon by The Handsome Family

Wanna be Startin' Something by Michael Jackson

North American Scum by LCD Sound System

Pina Bausch

2009-06-30T14:10:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about this poem all day since I read about the death of Pina Bausch and watched clips from her work on youtube.

The Summer Day
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life? - Mary Oliver

You can see the rest of this piece here.

Egon Was Wrong

2009-06-19T17:33:00.000-07:00

Dave Eggers talks optimistically about print, the internet and the viability of newspapers.

To some extent all the doom about the printed word is a class thing. Wealthier kids who can afford their own phones and computers are probably spending more time online and in some cases, less time with books, but the kids we work with are honestly pretty enamored of books and newspapers. It means a lot to them to have their work between two covers, an actual book that they can see on a shelf next to other books. There’s a mystique about the printed word. And the students who come into 826 every day really read. These middle schoolers have read everything. Judy Blume came into the center in San Francisco one day, and she was mobbed. Fifty kids swarmed her. They practically tackled her. Same thing with Daniel Handler, who writes the Lemony Snicket books. These are by and large kids whose parents immigrated here from Latin America, and English isn’t spoken at home. But they’ve read all thirteen Lemony Snicket books. So I have optimism about print because I see these kids and how much they love to read. And they work on our student newspapers and anthologies and a dozen other print projects. They really have a thing for print. And I do too. I fear sometimes we’re actually giving up too soon. We adults have to have faith. And we have to rededicate ourselves to examining what in any given issue of our daily papers is really speaking to anyone under 18.

Fractured Fairy Tales: Not Quite Happily Ever After

2009-06-18T11:05:00.000-07:00

We knew it couldn't be true, didn't we?

Didn't we?

Some day la la la la...

...la dee da la dee da la dee da da da.

Well...maybe some of us didn't.

I thought about this picture this morning when I realized that several of the women in my exercise class look remarkably similar. As in I couldn't tell them apart. As in even after I stared at them for several minutes. Which makes me wonder about the aesthetics of plastic surgery - does each doctor have his or her own personal signature? You can tell a Rembrandt from a Da Vinci, no? So taking into account the limitations of the materials themselves, every doctor would presumably have an individual style based on his or her surgical skills and personal aesthetics and of course, of course, taking into account what the client wants. But I'm just wondering, ultimately, whose vision gets realized?

The photo is part of Dina Goldstein's Fallen Princess series. You can see more of her work here.

The project was inspired by my observation of three-year-old girls, who were developing an interest in Disney's Fairy tales. As a new mother I have been able to get a close up look at the phenomenon of young girls fascinated with Princesses and their desire to dress up like them. The Disney versions almost always have sad beginning, with an overbearing female villain, and the end is predictably a happy one. The Prince usually saves the day and makes the victimized young beauty into a Princess. - Dina Goldstein

Hot Fun

2009-06-12T05:19:00.000-07:00

It has arrived. Summer break. School's out. Yesterday was the first day and I barely survived. There was screaming and tantrum throwing and biting and refusing to eat food except for cereal and oh I'm so bored there's nothing to do and chasing each other around the house and jumping on the bed and refusing to take naps and looking for lost stuffed doggies CARTER HAS IT CARTER HAS IT and opening up the bedroom window and talking to the birds instead of napping a whole hour of not napping and then falling asleep and watching Scooby Doo and making up a board game and fighting about who's going to carry the water and the snacks when we go out and geocaching and grocery shopping and begging for Fruity Pebbles and Cinnamon Toast Crunch because there's a Lego car inside What? This isn't a really a Lego and they only print all those cars on the box to make you think that there's going to be different ones inside but it's only the same car and getting the lego car out of the excessive packaging and riding bikes and taking a bath and playing babies and complaining about wearing a sweater and reading books and cleaning up toys and making noodle soup for dinner and carrot soup for lunch and protests about eating leftover mac and cheese and how much liquid it actually takes to revive the sad, slightly fading orangeness of the stuff and going to the CSA for our vegie basket and more fighting and more tantrums and more biting and losing the lego car and then cupcakes CUPCAKES I'M NOT WAITING I'M EATING MINE NOW MOM SHE'S NOT WAITING SHE'S EATING HERS NOW THAT'S NOT POLITE MOM MOM MOM I'M TOO HUNGRY I CAN'T WAIT I'M EATING MY CUPCAKE NOW NOW NOW and fighting and biting and a time out for the 2yr old and playing instead of getting ready for bed and brushing teeth and playing instead of going to sleep and finally finding the missing stuffed doggie CARTER HAS IT CARTER HAS IT and reading stories about fairies and good dogs and hair pulling and giggling and slaps in the face and kicks in the head and snuggling. It's morning. And it starts all over again.

Goodbye to An Earthshaker: Cora Walton ("Koko" ) Taylor

2009-06-06T09:05:00.000-07:00

DIY: Business Cards

2009-05-30T15:58:00.000-07:00

This month I've been Ms. Workshop Girl - taking a workshop every Saturday. Today I took Jordan Ferney's letterpress class and printed my own business cards. There were six of us in the class and the cards were done all together on one polymer plate. So we divided the printing up amongst ourselves and each printed a chunk for the whole group.

Here's a partial proof of mine:

Pretty groovy, eh? You should see what they really look like. I'm very impressed with myself.

Check out this article on Letterpress printing in Forbes, it explains a little bit about the process.

POMO Child Rearing

2009-05-29T13:37:00.000-07:00

How would you bring up a child if you took the lessons from postmodernism literally? The young Swedish writers Athena Farrokhzad and Tova Gerge present a postmodern parenting guide, a matricide or an infantile declaration of passion. Please read it biographically.

Do not pretend the child exists as a subject with any greater relevance than all the other surrounding objects with pretensions to subjectivity – be they present or absent.

Let your child incarnate whatever object you need at that moment. Every time you put its body to some new use, exclaim: "I baptise thee... (umbrella, shoehorn, broth, dialectic, etc)."

White On White: The Pilot

2009-05-12T12:49:00.000-07:00

White on White: The Pilot
(just like being there)
Eve Sussman & Rufus Corporation
Winkleman Gallery
New York
May 15 – June 20, 2009
Opening: Friday, May 15, 6-8 PM
Gallery Hours: Tuesday - Saturday, 11-6 PM

Screamin' Greenies

2009-05-08T13:52:00.000-07:00

Our new strategy for getting the kids to eat vegetables is pretty easy. For us at least.

1. Everything goes on the plate. A little bit of something on every kid's plate.

2. You don't have to eat it. But it must be allowed on the plate. Not near it. Not on the napkin. Or flung across the room. On the plate.

3. No editorializing. No complaining about the food on your plate. This is perhaps my favorite piece because it applies to adults too.

4. You can run, but you can't hide. You don't even have to finish what's on your plate. But if you don't try the vegies, there will be no dessert (on week nights it's no bedtime cookie).

We were doing okay until the night I put broccoli on the kids' plates.
Olivia: Do you expect us to eat that?
Elizabeth: Why, yes, I do. I think you'll like it, Olivia.
Olivia: Okay.
Carter: I am not eating that.
Olivia: Me either. I'm not eating that.
Elizabeth: Okay. But no ice cream for dessert.
Carter: That is not fair.
Elizabeth: I know. Here you go.
Carter: (sobs, if he could run and hide from it, he would) I am not eating that!
Elizabeth: Are you afraid of broccoli?
Olivia: laughs
Carter: Yes!
Elizabeth: You're afraid of broccoli? What will happen if you eat broccoli? You think you'll explode?
Carter: (pouts and laughs) Yes!
Olivia: (sobs) I want ice cream.
Elizabeth: Then you need to try the broccoli.
Olivia: I wish I was a toy so I didn't have to eat broccoli.
Elizabeth: They look like little trees. (I know! Who has this ever convinced!) Try it.

Olivia hesitantly takes a bite. Screams. Spits it out.
Carter: I am not eating that!
Elizabeth: Then there won't be any ice cream.
Carter: I'm done.
Elizabeth: You're not going to eat your spaghetti?
Olivia: Me neither.
Elizabeth: Why not? You don't like the broccoli. That's no reason you can't eat the rest of your food.
Carter: I don't want to eat. Can I be excused?
Elizabeth: Okay. But there won't be anything later.

Olivia hangs on thinking she'll convince me. Eventually Roger and Marshall leave the table. It's just me and Olivia left.

Olivia: Mommy? I'm hungry.
Elizabeth: There's spaghetti. And broccoli.
Olivia: I can't eat that!
Elizabeth: But you can have strawberry ice cream after.
Olivia: I can't eat it!
Elizabeth: How about you just try a small one?
Olivia: No! (pause) Okay. (takes a nibble)

Roger returns with Marshall (who's now in his jammies).
Olivia: Daddy! I'm eating broccoli!
Roger: That's so great, Olivia.

10 minutes later.
Carter: Can I have some ice cream?
Elizabeth: Did you eat any broccoli?
Carter: No.
Elizabeth: I'm sorry. No dessert.
Olivia: I love broccoli! Can I have more?

Nick Cave: Sound Suits @ YBCA

2009-05-04T17:44:00.000-07:00

Not that one. This one.

Nick Cave Soundsuits Collaboration
YBCA Galleries
May 28 - 31

Amy Krouse Rosenthal

2009-05-04T08:51:00.000-07:00

Planning on taking the kids down to Hicklebee's in San Jose to see Amy Krouse Rosenthal this afternoon as she continues her Spring Tour. I read Encyclopedia of An Ordinary Life 4 years ago (that long ago!) and loved it's off-the-wall humor and observations. Cookies: Bite-Sized Life Lessons is also a family favorite. Check out 17 Things I Made, The Beckoning of Lovely, and The Story So Far. I'm very inspired by this work right now as I think about the kind of art I want to make and how I want to engage with my community.

Two Weeks In

2009-04-30T12:59:00.000-07:00

It's getting lighter earlier these days. Every morning the day breaks just a little bit sooner. I know this because every weekday morning for the past two weeks, I've been purposely (as in on purpose) getting up at 5:30am and going to...Pilates Cardio Camp.

Can I tell you about the boot camp?

Did I mention that the boot camp means getting up at 5:30 am five days a week. 5:30 am. 5 days a week. Some of you may be wondering what all the fuss is about. Well let me tell you. Getting up at 5:30am means going to bed by 10:30 pm. 10:30 pm. 5 days a week. This is difficult because, for me, getting to bed by midnight is turning in early. But I have done it. Most nights. And when I haven't boy have I paid the price. Like practically falling asleep by noon.

Yesterday was one of the worst days. Tired. Very tired. I drove down to the San Jose library with both kids, parked the car, got out the stroller, almost put Marshall in, but then I thought to look for the books I was returning. Not. There. Left them. At home on the counter. Lost my glasses for 20 minutes this morning. It's not right. People tell me this effect will pass. I'm not so sure.

I planned to take pictures of my 5:30 am face. But I forgot. See at 5:30 am I can barely remember to dress myself. Let alone bring essentials like my wallet with my license just in case I get a good morning pull-over by the cop who is permanently camped at the freeway exit going into town. Anyway, you probably don't want to see my 5:30 am face. But I'm kind of curious about it. Like does it have a vaguely shocked, discombobulated expression? Or is it simply too early to register much of anything beyond the physical effects of sleeping in the bed? Like the slightly smooshed cheek from the pillow? Hair flattened and twisted? Eyes with a trace of crust? All of the above and then some? We may never know.

The camp is held 10 minutes away from my house. Which is a good thing. I can't get up too much speed and I can eek out a few more zzzz's before rolling out of bed into the shock of the morning.

The camp is led by a perky little trainer who reminds me a lot of Cheri Oteri. Cheri Oteri when she played that cheerleader along with Will Ferrell. Remember those skits?

Well. She's not exactly like Cheri Oteri. She's more like Cheri Oteri dialed down to three. Which is just exactly what you want at 6am. Elizabeth! Right on.

3 Days 22 Hours 23 Minutes Until Derby Day

2009-04-28T19:15:00.000-07:00

Kentucky Derby Barbie

Day-After-Derby Barbie

Secretariat's Derby Win

Derby Day countdown continues here.

Okay. I Can't Stop Listening to This.

2009-04-28T17:08:00.000-07:00

Tap into your inner Eno here.

Written on the Body

2009-04-27T17:48:00.000-07:00

A body becomes an index of passing time. Skin reveals how bones shift, muscles loosen, freckles and wrinkles form, and bruises appear. I am interested in this as a fashion of skin, including the way a blush decorates one’s cheek, freckles form constellations on an arm, or hair creates sheen on skin’s matte surface. Skin also protects us while revealing internal emotions, offering a translucent space for adornment.

My skin is very sensitive and I blush easily. I have dermatographia, a condition in which one’s immune system exhibits hypersensitivity, via skin, that releases excessive amounts of histamine, causing capillaries to dilate and welts to appear (lasting about thirty minutes) when the skin’s surface is lightly scratched. This allows me to painlessly draw patterns and words on my skin, which I then photograph. Even though I can direct this ephemeral response by drawing on it, the reaction is involuntary, much like the uncontrollable nature of a blush. - Arianna Page Russell

Dressing
Magnan Projects
317 10th Avenue in Manhattan
Through May 16th

(via Mighty Girl)

Possible Inspiration for Picasso's Guernica

2009-04-20T13:18:00.000-07:00

Several experts from the world of art have stated that there is an extraordinary likeness between the figures that appear in the Guernica painted by the artist and those in a Mozarabic Bible from the 10th Century, which is housed in the Cathedral in Leon, to the point where it has been discarded that it was fruit of a coincidence.

This Bible was exhibited in Barcelona in 1929 and in Paris in 1937, a time when the Cubist genius could have discovered the expressionist drawings that appear in the medieval text, according to the head of the Cathedral of Leon Museum, Máximo Gómez Rascón.

Several experts consulted by news agency EFE arrived at the same conclusion and base it on the relative aspects of the double view, in front and to the side, of the figures in the painting, as well as in the horse and the bull.

In this way, the director of the museum, has explained that the similarities are seen especially in the bull, which in the Bible symbolizes Saint Luke and which is “almost exactly” as the one that Picasso painted on Guernica.

(h/t hyde or die)

Another Brief Lesson in Marriage

2009-04-20T08:28:00.000-07:00

On the train ride up to Burlingame Friday, the following conversation took place:

O: Mom? Will they arrest you if you marry someone from your family?
E: No. They won't arrest you, but it's against the law.
O: If it's against the law, why won't they arrest me?
E: Because some things are against the law, but the police don't get involved.
O: They won't arrest me?
E: Why? Is there somebody in the family you want to marry?
O: Yes. Marshall.
E: You can't marry Marshall.
O: When he grows up?
E: No. Not when he grows up.
O: But why can't I marry Marshall?
C: I want to move to another country so I can marry Owen.
E: Why do you have to move to another country?
C: Because they won't let you marry boys in this country.
O: I want to marry Elise!

Out of Nowhere

2009-04-05T01:33:00.000-07:00

C: Mom? I don't want to move to Australia.

E: Why not?

C: They have man-eating, salt-water crocodiles.

E: That's a problem for you?

C: It sure is.

Elizabeth Gilbert: On Rethinking Creative Genius

2009-04-04T01:01:00.000-07:00

This Gizmo is On Its Way to Our House

2009-03-03T18:20:00.000-08:00

You're going to want to come over.

I guess this toy was popular a couple of years ago. But my son has only just found out about it (well, he met up with one at friend's house at Christmas time and has been talking about it ever since). So we've been watching for it on ebay and last night we managed to procure one. There's a lot I could say about this toy, but I'll let it speak for itself.

What's better than one? Two! They're so quick to make friends, highly social. Watch this lovely pas de deux.

So How Did You Do?

2009-03-02T13:35:00.000-08:00

Okay so it's about that time again. I thought it would be fun to check in and see how many of the items on my 40-some list I actually did.

Finish my thesis. - uh, no. Have made huge progress though.
Breathe. - still working on it.
Learn to meditate. - Went on a mediation retreat last month.
Take a Qi Gong class. - That's a no.
Teach the kids to lie around the house. - Still working on it.
Teach the kids some Yoga. - No.
Make a new friend. - Hmm. I'll say yes.
Reconnect with an old friend. - Yes. Several. This is one of the things I've done that I'm most gratified by and excited about.
Read out loud. - To myself and to my kids. Yes.
Read two Shakespeare plays I haven't read. - Maybe one by Friday.
Read two Chekov plays I haven't read. Not going to happen.
Read a new play every month. - Surprisingly, I read fewer plays this year than last.
Read two of the books on David Sedaris' Recommended Reading List. - No. But I did read many books - among them: Elizabeth Costello (2x) and Disgrace by J. M. Coetzee, Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy, The Nightingales of Troy by Alice Fulton, and Angle of Repose by Wallace Stegner.
Resume free-writing exercises. - Still working on it.
Start a rewrite of one of my old plays. - Yes.
Start my new screenplay. - No.
Organize all my source material for playwrighting projects. - Still working on it. See #38.
Write down the master plan for my theater center. - Still working on it.
Take a food writing class at Stanford. - No.
Start learning a new language (I'm thinking Italian). - Attempts have been made. Inertia is being overcome.
Take a contact improv class. - No.
Sew some stuff for my kids. - No.
Sew some stuff to sell on Etsy. - Making progress.
Get my bike tuned up and ready to ride. - Yes.
Get a grill. - No.
Invite the neighbors over. - Didn't happen.
Experiment with making whole-wheat and/or gluten-free pie crusts. - No.
Make a fresh peach pie this summer. - No! I can't believe it.
Take the kids berry-picking. - No.
Go to the farmer's market most Saturdays or Sundays. - No. But signed up for CSA food share here (summer/fall) and here (winter/early spring).
Eat more vegetables. - Yes. Because of #30. Tyranny of the box. Yes.
Drink more water. - This is still a struggle for me. I don't know why. Water's mostly what I drink.
Get a massage or two or four or more. Yes! Yes! Yes!
Eat a meal at Zuni. - Sadly, no.
Plant pumpkins and sunflowers with my kids. - No.
Plant bulbs in front of my kitchen window. - Yes.
Buy a birthday cake for absolutely no reason. Anyone who wants can make a wish on it. - No again. But I am still very much intrigued by this idea. It's inspiring ideas connected to #40.
Continue with the clutter-taming. - Yes. I would say progress has been made. I've also reached a point where I'm just so tired of the clutter that I'm more wiling and likely to throw things away than I was last year. Also: we're going to get a scanner which will be a tremendous help with all my playwrighting source material. Have also discovered a unique way of displaying this material (scroll down to the 3rd and 4th pictures in the post).
Start a play reading salon. - No.
Involve the kids in a guerrilla art project. - No. But have an idea for one.
Do some of the Learning to Love You More assignments. - No.
Go on a geocaching excursion in our area. - Yes. We've been four times. Successful once.
Take my kids to SFMOMA. - Yes.
Take the kids to Big Sur and rent a cabin for a weekend. - No.
Travel some place we've never been. - No. What am I thinking? We went to Lego Land. I'd never been to San Diego before.
Attend the PICA TBA Festival. - Yes. So glad I did.
Celebrate Winter Solstice by having some folks over for dinner. - No. Scheduling issue. We were in Phoenix at Solstice. But did have friends over for soup and mustache-wearing extravaganza.

Stay tuned. I'm going to put together a new list in celebration of my birthday.

My scar

2009-02-23T14:54:00.001-08:00

1. Knee surgery.

2. The pocket knife slipped.

3. Surgery to remove ruptured cyst.

4. A steel cable.

Overheard in the Cafe

2009-02-18T12:35:00.001-08:00

I used to friend everybody (on Facebook) and then I found out I was friends with terrorists.

Lisa Hannigan

2009-02-16T22:26:00.000-08:00

Thanks Rev.

Small Craft Failure

2009-02-13T14:38:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, we tried to do this craft. It sounded so simple and like such a good use of all those many crayons we've been accumulating. But. I think I left the crayons in too long. I let the wax bubble. All the crayons blended into this shit-brown color. The wax ran over the parchment paper and melded to the bottom of the pan. Peeling paper off of crayons is not as easy as they make out to be. I don't know, like some were maybe laminated on or something. It took longer than 14 minutes I assure you and that's making allowances for the toddler underfoot wanting to to play puppets with the oven mitts.

On top of that my eye is almost swollen shut. Some sort of infection stemming from this growth on the side of my nose that hasn't responded to the high-powered antibiotics that I'm taking. When I go out people stare at me or else pretend they don't see me. Concerning the growth: I think it's Voldemort.

Happy Valentine's Day.

Get Your Groove On: Goodbye Blossom Dearie and Lux Interior

2009-02-10T12:50:00.000-08:00

Blossom Dearie
by boberwig

I realized I was a grown-up

2009-01-28T10:52:00.001-08:00

When I was six.

Overheard in the Cafe

2009-01-23T14:57:00.001-08:00

That's right. Tall is the new short!

All Hail the Tyranny of the Box

2009-01-22T14:09:00.000-08:00

Can I tell you about the soup I made last night? It was the most awesome soup ever. I thought I'd made some pretty good soups in the past, but this one has raised the bar. It is the soup of all soups.

To be honest I had my doubts when I first set out to make it. Namely because of the main ingredient: Celery root. I subscribe to a local CSA and two of these honkin' big tubers came in my share this week. I've committed myself to the tyranny of the box - ie. you get what you get and you don't get upset. If life hands you celery root, you make celery root bisque or whatever. When we get our shares each week we also get a newsletter that includes recipes to kind of give us an idea of what to do with some of the vegies. I used that recipe as a foundation and then freely adapted it to make use of other vegies that came with the box.

And it is amazing. So flavorful and creamy. Best soup ever. Believe me. I ate two bowls of it. I couldn't stop!

Mostly Celery Root Bisque
1/2 stick of butter (you could use olive oil too)
1 1/2 pounds of celery root peeled and cut into 1/2 inch cubes (4 cups)
6 stalks of celery chopped into 1/2 inch - 1/4 inch slices (optional)
1 turnip chopped into 1/2 inch cubes (optional)
2 cups of leftover cauliflower (optional)
1/2 lb of shallots, thinly sliced
1 1/2 teaspoons of salt
Freshly ground black pepper
4 cups of chicken or vegetable stock

Melt the butter in a heavy soup pot over medium to medium high heat. Add shallots and a bit of salt to start them sweating and cook, stirring occasionally until they are soft. I didn't allow them to caramelize too much, but it's your call how brown you want to let them get (12 minutes). I also chopped up about six stalks of celery and let the flavor mingle with the shallots until the celery was soft. I put the cover on the pot and let the vegetables kind of steam in there for about ten minutes or so. Next, add the celery root and turnip, a bit more salt to keep the vegies sweating, put the lid back on and let it steam, stirring occasionally for about 15 - 20 minutes. You kind of have to use your judgment on how long you think it needs to go. Add 4 cups of stock, cover pot and bring it to a simmer, this is when I added the leftover cauliflower. Simmer for 15-20 minutes more, again it's your call how long you want to let it go. Turn off the burner and let it cool.

Puree in batches in a blender, food processor, or use an immersion blender until creamy smooth and then return back to the pot. Season with salt if needed and add pepper. You can also whisk in a little cream or yogurt if you like, but I found it didn't really need it (I guess technically it's not a bisque without the milk, but it already tasted like it had cream in it).

If you try it, let me know how it turns out.

Tip Toland: Melt, The Figure in Clay

2009-01-16T14:52:00.000-08:00

Thank you, Dorothy, for introducing me to this artist. More info here and here.

A Brief Lesson In Girls Marrying Girls

2009-01-14T09:42:00.000-08:00

I had the following conversation with Olivia this morning. She'll be five next month so I can't get too detailed in answers about how reality works.

O: Do you know where I want to live when I grow up?
E: No where?
O: China. And I'm going to marry Nhya. Can girls marry girls?
E: Yes.
O: And boys?
E: If they want.
O: You don't go to jail for marrying a girl?
E: No. At least they don't do that.
O: If I went to jail for marrying a girl what would you do?
E: I'd be very angry and I would work to get you out of jail. And let everyone know how wrong it was that you were in jail for marrying a girl.
O: Do they throw kids in jail?
E: It all depends on what they do.
O: If I went to jail what would you do?
E: I'd hope you were visiting someone else.

Birthday Party for A Princess

2009-01-10T11:28:00.000-08:00

We're at the Defcon 2 level of birthday party planning. Short of sending out invitations, we're deciding theme and decorations and debating whether it's going to be cupcakes or cake and then of course, what flavor - chocolate with chocolate icing and dried blueberries? Strawberry? I definitely want to make these and perhaps this.

The guest list is being negotiated. The rule at our house is one kid guest per birthday year of the child which I'm sure we'll want to amend somewhere in the teens. We've also completely eliminated parties for the smalls (ie. babies, toddlers, etc). This works well.

Last year we celebrated Olivia's birthday by going out for dinner on what turned out to be Mardi Gras. We went to Chenery Park, one of our favorite restaurants in San Francisco. Favorite because of its Tuesday Kids nights and the way they have with mac-n-cheese. Olivia ended up gracing the cover of the Chronicle Food Section and as even her friend Jake, knows, she's dressed as Tinkerbell.

Talk Dirty to the Animals

2009-01-05T22:03:00.000-08:00

Like, kiss off Mr. Fox, go check this out.

Sparkler Breast

2008-12-30T14:55:00.000-08:00

You know how it is when you're driving in your car and your breast starts feeling like a sparkler is going off inside it? It's not as romantic a feeling as you might imagine. In fact, the pain is so exquisite that you wish you could stop and bang your head against the road just to take your mind off things a bit. Or maybe while you're down there someone will run you over and make things more interesting. Character building. Hellatastic.

Sparkler Breast (aka plugged milk duct) is almost as fun as sleeping in two hour cycles for over a year or a week of excruciating headaches. I didn't experience this with the first two kids, but with little Marshall it is a regular occurrence.

It is also true that Sparkler Breast will ignite when you're trying to get your kids to pick out a birthday gift for their buddy. Or when you don't drink enough water or when it damn well feels like it for no apparent reason at all. But especially in public because when Sparkler Breast strikes your first reaction will be to grab your breast and twist and turn and try to expel the dreaded fire. Kind of like Aunt Ada when she's speaking in tongues. And surely not the best choice in the children's toy section.

Sparkler Breast? Oh Sparkler Breast. The only way out is through.

It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas

2008-12-16T22:58:00.001-08:00

Because it's like a week away people. And it's cold. And there is snow about 500 feet above my house. No lie. I saw it driving home this afternoon.

And because today was the annual Christmas Party at my husband's office. The hit toy of the evening was this wind-up Penguin that shoots candy out of its ass.

But for me, it just isn't Christmas without the Aluminum Tree. For the first four years of my life, that's the kind of tree we had and frankly, I loved it. The color wheel is why and because Aluminum is the substance most suited to conveying the magic of Christmas. I say that with complete sincerity.

Burning Bridges

2008-12-04T13:57:00.000-08:00

I've burned many a bridge in my brief but exciting life, but never did I expect that one day I would blow it all at our local grocery store. We just needed to pick up a couple of things - yogurt tubes, bread, and eggs. A quick in and out even with three kids in tow, right? My god, we were there for about an hour and everyone in the store came to know us by the loud, piercing screams that emanated from the dairy section where we were lodged in a death dance while Olivia tried to decide whether she wanted blueberry or orange cream yogurt. "There's too many choices!" she screamed.

Since When Do You Have to Make An Appointment with the Balloon Person At Chevy's?

2008-11-22T00:38:00.001-08:00

That's the burning question of the day. 'Cuz after waiting for 40 minutes for the balloon lady to make her way over to our side of the restaurant, she is finally within range. And Olivia is standing at the end of our table watching her make a kitty cat, a turkey, and a butterfly balloon animal for the kids only a table away from ours. She has been so patient. When we came back from the restroom, she wanted to go over to the balloon lady right then, but I said, no - she'll be over. Roger and I ate our overcooked sampler platter and drank our pre-made mix margaritas and Carter and Olivia accepted Chevy's burnt chicken nugget offering because we came there to ride the entire ride. And that includes watching them make the tortillas and getting a balloon from the balloon man - it's usually a man.

Tonight is different. Tonight there is a balloon lady and she makes the best balloons. And there she is, she's right there right next to us and Olivia is dancing and shuddering and her face is red and the balloon lady is so much better than the balloon man, so much more precise and careful and there - she's giving a last little twist to the butterfly's antennae and pulling out her Sharpie to give it a face and handing it to the little girl and then there are the hugs and the oh, that's what I live fors and the release and the look at Olivia standing, waiting and knowing with absolute certainty that It Is Now Her Turn and what? What?

There is the scream and the devastation as the balloon lady turns and walks away from us. And all the waiting and the patience and the hoping and the almost having and it being right there her turn is crashing into her and she falls into my arms sobbing and the balloon lady looks back and sees this and still - still - she walks away.

Fucking balloon lady.

I wish I had gone with my gut and followed her. Gone right over to the other side of the room with my unraveling daughter and cornered the balloon lady and made her make my girl a turkey. But it seemed slightly irrational at the time, no matter how justified. I wish I had. Because then there wouldn't have been the ride home in the van in the dark and the sobbing and the trying to come to terms with being ditched by the balloon lady.

O: Why, Mommie, why? Why did the balloon lady not come to our table?
E: I don't know Olivia. I'm so sorry.
O: The balloon man never leaves.
E: The balloon lady was very mean.
O: Maybe she doesn't come over when little kids are crying.
E: But you weren't crying Olivia. You were waiting. You were so patient.
O: Why did she do that Mommie?
E: I don't know, honey. I'm really sorry she did that to you. That wasn't right.

And when I see the balloon lady again, and I'm going to make a point to see the balloon lady again, even if it means choking down another bad meal and possibly waiting in an incredibly long line, because she owes my girl a balloon animal and an apology. Nothing less will do. There must be a rule? A clown school rule? Oh sure. I know there is disappointment and Olivia's better off getting used to that, huh? But there's another valuable lessen here and the balloon lady needs to learn it - I will teach her - she will learn: no one has to take shit from clowns.

Cuppa cuppa hot hot hot

2008-11-13T13:51:00.000-08:00

While I was spooning out cough medicine (homeopathic) for Olivia this morning we had the following exchange:

O: What if they had a medicine to take for work?
E: They do. It's called coffee.

NAPLWRIMO: 30 Days to a New Play

2008-10-31T12:10:00.000-07:00

By Thanksgiving you'll have most of it done and think how much juicer turkey will taste, how much more pumpy umpy umpy pumpkin pie will taste, how much stuffier wuffy wuffy stuffing will taste, how much cranberry airy airier cranberries will taste, and so on.

Sign up here.

It won't take seventeen years. I promise.

There will be some days when it feels like it's taking seventeen years. But it's only 30 days I promise and you can write a play in 30 days, you can.

Oozy and Crunchy Eyeballs

2008-10-27T22:17:00.000-07:00

I will be making these for my son's 3rd grade Halloween Party on Friday. Will he eat any of them? No. He will not.

Ground Control

2008-10-27T21:18:00.001-07:00

Do you sometimes forget that you are living on a planet? That, you know, a big, spherical object with you on it is hurtling through space?

I do.

Some days it might just as well be flat.

But then there are days like today when I'm driving along 280 and can see the clouds spiral and stretch across the sky like long whispy strands of cotton candy that I'm reminded that ah, yes, we are moving.

If you need some perspective you can check out these photos. (h/t our may in berlin)

Fried Chicken

2008-10-26T22:10:00.000-07:00

I love roasted chicken. My husband is not so fond of it. Last night when he asked what was for dinner and I said chicken, he looked kind of beaten down when he asked "roasted chicken?" "Well. I have to cook the chicken," was all I could think to say because I have been awakened by little Marshall every hour on the hour past midnight for the past two weeks and my snappy comebacks are more snappy that comeback-y I guess you could say.

But I thought about it. I flipped through my big notebook of recipes. When it fell open to the page with the fried chicken recipe I thought to myself I just can't go there. I can't go to the dark side. You know the greasy, fat-fried dark side. The reason being that I love fried chicken and I will not stop eating it once I start. This could go wrong in any number of ways that mostly will affect my health, but anyway. I grew up eating fried chicken every Sunday with mashed potatoes and gravy and salty over-cooked green beans or salty-overcooked southern greens or salty over-cooked canned corn or salty-over cooked slightly peppered canned peas (except in summer when food was fresh from the garden), and combination salad. Combination salad deserves its own post, but for those of you who aren't familiar with it - combination salad is chopped up iceberg lettuce, shredded carrots, cucumber or a few tomatoes maybe but not always, sluiced in salad dressing made from two primary ingredients - Kraft salad dressing (not mayonnaise, rather a mayonnaise-like substance) and sugar. Sugar. Oh, and iced tea - Nestea and lemon and Sugar. Sugar. God I miss my grandmother's iced tea.

So I made the fried chicken using this recipe. It was the first time the kids ever had southern fried chicken and they were skeptical. I told them: "It's like katsu chicken. Really. Sort of. Except for the bones and the lack of flatness and the light panko breading." Olivia picked the breading off. Carter ate a little of both. Then they both devoured an entire breast. Because the secret is that the inside is oh so moist and tender from all that flash fat frying, eh? And not so greasy.

Note: I did not season the flour with paprika or thyme or dried mustard like the recipe called for. I did, however, use the full 1 tablespoon of salt and pepper and a sprinkling of cayenne (the kids don't do spicy so well). It was flavorful, but a little too hard-shell. I prefer the coating to be delicately crispy and light which may be as much about my technique as about the recipe itself . The thing I like about it is that you finish it in the oven, which also helps keep it tender and moist. I also liked frying it in my big iron skillet just like grandma used to.

Now I've crossed the threshold. Fried chicken is back on the menu chez nous. I'll be experimenting with various techniques and ingredients - namely butter milk marinades and such. It's all in the name of expanding the kids' food horizons. Sure.

Apparently It's Not Terrorism If You Agree with Their Agenda

2008-10-25T18:52:00.001-07:00

There's no question that Bill Ayers by his own admittance was one who sought to destroy our US Capitol and our Pentagon. That is a domestic terrorist," Palin said, referring to a 1960s leftist who founded a radical violent gang dubbed the "Weathermen" -- and who years later supported Obama's first run for public office in the state of Illinois.
"Now, others who would want to engage in harming innocent Americans or facilities that it would be unacceptable to... I don't know if you're gonna use the word 'terrorist' there," the ardently pro-life running mate of John McCain said.

No. Wait. You've got to hear her say it.

Check out the Huffpost.

The Words German Engineering and Babies Should Not Appear Anywhere in the Same Sentence.

2008-10-25T15:43:00.000-07:00

Not even in reference to Routan babies.

Have you seen that freaky ad with Brooke Shields and the babies and the VW van? I get that it's supposed to be "hilarious," that it's a mockumentary. But I don't know, it's a little - oh - tasteless.

I see the print ads in Parent and Cookie Magazines and I ask myself:
Why is it that such a carefully assembled multicultural mix of babies is not smiling? Hmm?

Don't they appreciate German Engineering?

Or it is because they just instinctively know that the words German engineering should not appear in a sentence with any word that is remotely human-related. 'Cuz remember the time when the German engineering thing got out of hand? With the people and the ovens? And the death camps? Hmm? Did the ad firm you hired collectively fail world history or is VW (Excuse me, Das Auto?) all about embracing its roots these days? Hmm?

Nice car
Ah, I love those Bavarians
so meticulous - Don Henley, The Garden of Allah

Unrelenting Optimism

2008-10-20T21:42:00.000-07:00

On the ride back from getting take-out tonight Olivia was showing me pages from her Bb book that she made in preschool today.

O: Look Mom! What's this?
E: I can't tell you. I'm driving.
O: Look in the mirror! See!
E: Olivia, it's not safe to distract the driver.
O: What?
E: It's not safe to ask Mommy to look at pictures while she's driving.
O: Oh.

Then Carter chimes in:
C: Right, Olivia. Because Mom could crash the car into something, it could explode and catch on fire.
O: And then we'd have to walk home?

Denial Is A Sign of A Deep-Seated Issue

2008-10-19T14:42:00.000-07:00

We are working strange, wiggy magic around here. Yep. We're cleaning house. Left to our own devices we'd bury ourselves in old magazines, broken toys, and cereal boxes. But everyone has their limit and I've reached mine - I tried to put down a glass of water on my desk yesterday and there was absolutely no space for it.

We went walking (although the kids felt it was a forced march) with a friend recently. As we were walking by a particularly cluttered looking yard. "You should have seen it last week. You couldn't see the yard," my friend pointed out, wondering if maybe the elderly woman who lived there had compulsive hoarding disease.

Then I watched this documentary:

POSSESSED from Martin Hampton on Vimeo.

Read more about his film project here.

Okay. We're not into that territory - yet. But I do kind of fall into the book hoarding category - I even have piles of library books. Of course, some are for my thesis, but others are not. The key phrase here is that hoarding interrupts social interaction and affects health. I mean my kids already do that.

Can Someone Maybe Appropriate A Dartboard?

2008-10-17T17:12:00.001-07:00

An intern at my husband's office has been telling us about her boyfriend who works at the Fed. Apparently when the crisis hit a few weeks ago he was in the bathroom when men started running in and vomiting in the stalls. Stress much? Now with the bailout plan in place and all, the general opinion is that they still have no idea what to do. Thank you government intervention.

That's Ma Fox. He's Ma Friend.

2008-10-14T17:10:00.000-07:00

I know it's wrong. I recognize the flawed logic (if it can even be called that) of befriending a wild animal.

But I can't get enough of the Timmy the Fox episodes from Timothy Treadwell's The Grizzly Man Diaries on Animal Planet.

Clicky clicky here for your descent on the slippery slope of environmentalism.

Olivia's Corn Monologue & Song

2008-10-08T17:45:00.001-07:00

Your mom likes corn.
Your dad likes corn.
You baby brother likes corn.
You don't like corn.
Your big brother doesn't like corn.
Your mom likes corn.
Your dad likes corn.
Your baby brother likes corn.
You don't
You don't
Like! Corn!
Your mom likes corn.
Your dad likes it
Your baby brother likes it
You Don't Like It!
Corn.
Mom likes corn
Dad likes corn
Your baby brother likes corn
Mom likes corn
Dad likes corn
Your baby brother likes corn
You don't
But your not scared of it.

Singing now:
Your little baby
brother
likes corn
But you say I don't like corn!
My mom
My dad
No one likes to worry
They like
They like corn.

Now singing to the tune of So Long Farewell from The Sound of Music:
They sing
They walk
They only get the plant
They walk and sing
Then they have the corn.
They dance
They eat
They really like corn
They don't know when they
find the corn
They sing and dance

Then they go to bed
They're tired
They're exhaust
Their bed
They really need it now.

I don't
I don't
I don't like corn
But I'm not afraid of it.

Have You Done It?

2008-10-05T17:34:00.001-07:00

Check your deadlines here.

You can do it here, here, or here - https://secure5.ctsg.com/rtv/ovr/index.asp?pid=99.

I'll bake you a pie (you must send me proof of registration).

(h/t - Lessig Blog.)

Okay. I Couldn't Resist.

2008-09-28T21:37:00.000-07:00

Jon over at Yowsa got fed up with all the spam mail he receives and decided to strike back. After getting the following email over and over today, I was inspired to do the same. Here's the letter I received. It's pretty much the standard.

Good day!!!

I have been waiting for you since to contact me for your Confirmable BankDraft of $500,000 United States Dollars, but I did not hear from you since for a couple of weeks now. Then I went to the bank to confirm if the draft has expired or getting near to expire and Dr.Wilson the Director United Bank for Africa told me that before the draft will get to your hand that it will expire.

So I told him to cash the $500,000 USD UNITED STATES DOLLARS to cash payment to avoid losing this fund under expiration as I will be out of the country for a 6 Months Course.

What you have to do now is to contact FEDEX COURIER SERVICES as soon as possible to know when they will deliver your Consignment to you because of the expiring date.

For your information, I have paid for the delivering Charge, Insurance premium. The only money you will send to the FEDEX COURIER SERVICES to deliver your Consignment direct to your postal Address in your country is ($150USD) One Hundred and fifty United States Dollars only being Security Keeping Fee of the Courier Company so far. Again, don't be deceived by anybody to pay any other money except ($150USD) Dollars for the Security Keeping Fee. I would have paid that but they said no because they don't know јhen you will contact them and in case of demurrage.

You have to contact FEDEX COURIER SERVICES now for the delivery of your BOX with this information bellow;

CONTROLLER: MR.JOHN KIRK COMPANY'S
NAME: FEDEX COURIER SERVICES EMAIL ADRESS:
(info_fedex11@yahoo.dk)
МHONE NUMBER: +234-708-489-3187

Finally, make sure that you reconfirm your Postal address and Direct telephone number to them again to avoid any mistake on the Delivery and ask them to give you the tracking number to enable you track your package over there and know when it will get to your address. Let me repeat again, try to contact them as soon as you receive this mail to avoid any further delay and remember to pay them thЏir Security Keeping fee of ($150USD)Dollars for their immediate action. Note this. The FEDEX COURIER SERVICES don't know the contents of the Box.

I registered it as a BOX of Africa cloths. They did not know the content was money. This is to avoid them delaying with the BOX. Do not let them know that box contents money ok.

I am waiting for your urgent response. Yours Faithfully,

Mr. Shawn Mark.

Here's my reply:

Dear Mr. Mark:

Such prodigious news! You may be aware of the critical financial situation we Americans are finding ourselves in. In fact, my bank was seized by the federal government only this Thursday last. People were lined up outside the bank for fear that they would not get their money back. I trembled at the thought of losing what is, for me, hard earned money.

I am indeed sorry I missed your previous message. My husband is a very jealous man and has been intercepting my email. I am afraid maybe that is what became of your last effort at contact. If you should get a call or an email from Mr. Steve Douglas, please make every effort to avoid speaking directly to him. If you must enter into conversation with him, please do not, I am begging you Mr. Mark, please do not breathe a word of our relationship. He would not believe it if you told him it was strictly financial. He would say ugly things about my virtue and insinuate that more than money was changing hands. You must understand, he has not been himself for several dismal years and every day his bitterness and mistrust grows like some foul weed choking off all our love and fond esteem. You must believe me, Mr. Mark, I have tried to be a good wife, but I am near my breaking point. With the financial markets in such collapse and my trust fund threatened, as well as the likelihood of foreclosure on our house, I have begun to wonder if maybe I have been wrong about putting all my eggs in one basket, for robbing Peter to pay Paul as it were. Let me be honest, my marriage is a sham, the love we had has wasted away like a corpse in July. No one knows this, not even Corrine, my best friend. We lunch every Tuesday noon and serve on numerous community fundraising concerns, but I have not been able to bare my soul to her. The weight of the silence that has built up around my husband and I has become untenable. I may be of a mature age, Mr. Mark, but I have needs. And they are not being met. In fact, Steve and I have not had sexual congress in many years because of an unfortunate hunting accident that left my dear husband's manly member somewhat misshapen and dysfunctional. Up until that time, Steve, was my husband in every way. In fact, I was quite unschooled when we first wed, but will be forever grateful for the world of wonder he introduced me to and to this day I regret that I ignored my father's admonitions to always, always, always, maintain the target within my site whilst pointing any high-powered weapon. Now Steve and I both bear the brunt of my impetuous and foolhardy practices. Indeed, it is out of guilt that I have maintained my quiet and resolute celibacy even though I am ashamed and devastated when I think of the years that I've wasted and the chances I've had to turn other men's eyes. I am not unattractive, Mr. Mark, and could have my choice of any number of eligible, mature men who not only know their way around the garden, as the saying goes, but are very careful where they plant the irrigation hose.

But to the matter at hand. Pardon my unseemly rush at disclosure, but I find myself opening up to you and I think it is because of the kindness you've extended me in looking out for my interests in this very delicate financial matter. There is so much cynicism in the world today, so much ugliness and mistrust. I am sensitive to these sorts of universal vibrations. My stern father taught me to believe in the Golden Rule and to suffer no fool kindly which, now that I think on it, seem to contradict each other. Perhaps the tension between these thorny truths has contributed to my waywardness and fed my restless nature in ways that I am only now becoming aware of. At any rate, you will find me ready to rhumba, as the saying goes and I will never forget the kindness you have extended to me.

But, Mr. Mark, I must confess, I do not know what Fedex Courier Service is. I have never had dealings with any such company. I asked Roy, my butler, and he seemed as perplexed by the phrase as I. It is no secret that Steve handles most of our business dealings with the exception of my trust fund - it's become a point of pride with him, the dear is compelled to exercise his manliness in every little way he can and I try to be supportive, but the cost is my own ignorance of such affairs! So if you could be so kind as to tell me how I would go about contacting the Fedex Courier Service I would be most grateful for your patience and sanguine nature. Are you sure Fedex Courier Service can be trusted or can you recommend another service. It occurs to me that if they would try to deceive me into revealing the contents of my box, it might be prudent to seek a more reputable company with which to conduct business.

I await your patient counsel.

Sincerely,

Elsbeth H.

For You Girl, Because #2

2008-09-28T15:15:00.000-07:00

For You Girl, Because #1

2008-09-17T20:57:00.000-07:00

Don't be yourself - be someone a little nicer.- Mignon McLaughlin, The Second Neurotic's Notebook, 1966

Hey Mama What's Rockin'?

2008-08-29T12:31:00.001-07:00

After 12 straight hours alone with the kids, there are days when I find myself babbling. I start to say something to one of the kids like you know maybe you should stop screaming and you - you - you stop holding your sister by the ankles and making her scream I don't care if she asked you to do it that screaming is stripping my last nerve. Except it doesn't come out like that: it comes out like you you oughta not to do that cause you shouldn't oughta do that cause cause cause hey look at that wall. Bang bang bang. My head hurts. Ow.

It's like an out of body experience. I hear the words. I know I'm speaking but I can no longer make meaning or form coherent thoughts. This is one of those moments when you sound ridiculous and the kids know it and you know you've heard this kind of talk before - yeah, your parents used to talk like that. Their mouths would open and words would come out but they made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Those parents: ideally, they'd be around now and in your house (most likely laughing at you), but finally serving some sort of utilitarian function - like helping out with the kids. Like taking them out for ice cream or teaching them to throw lawn darts. Circumstances being what they are (parent's not dead but crazy- remember I said ideally) that is not an option for me.

So I'm learning to navigate this moment by taking a mommy time out. Oh sometimes a cocktail sure would be nice - and I've been known to load the kids in the car and drive to some kid- friendly place like Chevy's so they can have balloons and ice cream and some form of cheese or chicken and I can have a margarita with dinner. And after a reasonable time and a pitcher of water I take them home. I've been known to do that - though not too often because now that would be a problem wouldn't it? Or else I whip out the chocolate, sugar, eggs, flour, butter and vanilla and mix up a batch of brownies. Afterwards I hold the chocolate-covered spoon in my mouth like the serotonin just can't get to my brain fast enough which is absolutely true. Other times it's best to get the kiddies in the tub and playing so I can sit on the floor and regain my composure or at least my ability to turn thoughts into speech. There's also the trick of urging them into their pajamas with the promise of "hey you'll have lot's of time to read to yourselves in bed!" This never works never ever but I still throw it out there 'coz I've heard that if you repeat something long enough the information eventually takes hold. Like you have to repeat it a lot. Like zillions - no bazillions of times. Like you have to say it until the words lose all meaning and even the syllables - what are those? right? - even the syllables and speech itself, speech itself seems like about as useful as having a tail or an extra toe, and then maybe, maybe someday soon like after all those bazillion times, the kids will suddenly, inexplicably find themselves wanting to put on their jammies and get in bed with a really really good book without even pausing to demand cookies and milk. I wish they were like the dog.

You toss the ball throw the frisbee shine the flashlight and you and he can be amused for hours and he may even not eat a diaper or scarf your dinner when you aren't looking or puke on your shoes. The kids are not like the dog. But then again, they don't eat diapers - score! Here we are at the end of the day and they aren't tired oh no they maybe running on fumes but it only energizes them. It only adds to their determination to eek out the juice from this day. Sometimes all I can do is shut up and let them run it out. And this is fun, as long as no one is being bodily harmed, the house isn't being set on fire, and if - A Big If - I can take a step back and just enjoy them without being conscious of how freaking overwhelmed I feel. No lie. It's hard to manage this. But I've been working on it with varying degrees of success. Maybe it's about finding the strength or maybe it's the giving up of getting your way or just being so freaking tired that your head feels numb and you can't fight back anymore. But you take a step back and you see how alive they are and how this moment when the sun is just so and Marshall is sitting in the pasta pot and hugging Carter and Olivia is flitting across the room like a flower fairy is so very fleeting and what a gift it is, and there is a trail of toys and clothes and shoes and paper clips and books and tissue that leads from one end of the house to the other and spaghetti sauce is smeared on the table, this one moment is singular and will never, no not ever, not even in a bazillion years, this moment will not come round again.

Confirm Your Unsubscription

2008-08-24T20:15:00.000-07:00

That's the message I received when I tried to unsubscribe from The Democratic Party email list. Get this: you have to wait to get a security code to unsubscribe (that's where the confirm your unsubscription message occurs). So let me get this straight, no paper trails for electronic voting machines, but security codes to unsubscribe from a party mailing list. 'Coz there's some vast right wing conspiracy of hackers who make it their mission to unsubscribe the devoted so they can't get their Biden/Obama magnets?

Why Do the Democrats Make It So Hard to Vote For Them?: Joe Biden Edition

2008-08-23T10:01:00.000-07:00

So this is what the politics of change look like?

Money quote:
A senior Obama adviser, speaking on condition of anonymity, said his boss has expressed impatience with what he calls a "reverence" inside his campaign for his message of change and new politics. In other words, Obama is willing — even eager — to risk what got him this far if it gets him to the White House.

Wow. The kids'll come out in droves to vote now.

Right.

I won't vote for Biden. No way. It's almost as unsavory as voting for McCain.

Joe Biden

Voted for the War in Iraq
Only Democratic candidate to vote for the 2007 Iraq war supplemental funding bill that did not contain a withdrawal timeline.
Said it would be unconstitutional for Congress to cut off funding for an escalation of the war in Iraq, as opposed to a full-scale denial of war funding.

A few Biden quotes that have been floating around the Republican blogosphere:

The only guy on the other side who's qualified is John McCain. MSNBC, October 30, 2007

John McCain is a personal friend, a great friend, and I would be honored to run with or against John McCain, because I think the country would be better off, be well off no matter who [won] - The Daily Show, August 2, 2005

Well, the point is, it turned out they didn't, but everyone in the world thought he had them. The weapons inspectors said he had them. They catalogued them. This was not some, some Cheney, you know, pipe dream. This was, in fact, catalogued.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: 1968 really screwed up this country.

Bookworm, grind, egghead, highbrow, intellectual, brain, genius, scholar, slacker

2008-08-21T13:31:00.000-07:00

I wish this book had been around when I was in high school. I realize looking back that I shied away from fully embracing my nerdiness, the way most of my friends did, either because there was no other choice or it never even occurred to them to be otherwise. Sure I flaunted my individualism by quoting the likes of Emerson - "whoso would be a man (or woman in my case) must be a non-conformist" or "a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds." I confess: I was a dilettante or is that nerdilettante? (Right there proof of my nerdiness.) Apparently I wasn't alone in my unwillingness or inability to identify with the group. Benjamin Nugent recounts his own experiences denying his best friend and disengaging himself from the nerd pack in American Nerd: The Story of My People.

The first part of the book traces the origin of the word nerd and its evolution. It was a bit slow going for me even though I loved reading about how Anne Beatts and Rosie Shuster developed Lisa Loopner and Todd DiLaMuc a* as well as the creation of that great late '90's show, Freaks and Geeks. Part 2 provides examples of the many ways the concept of nerd finds expression in our culture starting with two guys who are debate partners (yeah, I was a debater too). In my favorite chapter Nugent deconstructs nerd chic and explains some of the advantages to pretending to be a nerd - primarily as a way of downplaying class and gender differences. He also discusses the advantages of being a nerd in the workplace - a tangent I found particularly illuminating considering I live and work in the San Francisco Bay Area and identify with the frustrations of hanging out with creative types either of the engineer or artistic persuasion (hey, I'm an artist myself). This is the killer quote:

The fake nerd...is a way of dealing with constant threat. The threat, in this case, is a lot milder than that of nuclear war, but it's the single largest threat that hangs over the lives of creative professionals in major cities: losing momentum in your career, losing the aura of an up-and-comer, acquiring the odor of failure. The nature of work in the media, broadly defined, is that it's insecure and transient. Survival depends on maintaining a register of acquaintances who think you're good at what you do, think you're cool, want to hire you, have the power to do so, and haven't been rejected by you sexually. There's often a careerist hustle in the depths of friendships, even when the surface is calm...there is a new version of Richard Yate's immortal couple in Revolutionary Road, the Wheelers. They live in Park Slope, or Silver Lake, or Wicker Park. "God," they sometimes think, "in a way, wouldn't it be kind of nice to be an engineer in the fifties? Not really with all that sexism and conformity and general attitude of fascism, you know? And the discomfort about sexuality? But just not trying to be someone you're not?"

*Originally Todd DiLabounta until the real DiLabounta threatened a lawsuit.

Mmmmm. Pecan Pie Bars.

2008-08-17T14:30:00.000-07:00

Can I tell you how good these are? Silky, chocolatey, sweet bourbon jesus good.

A Writer Stretches His Imagination 'til It Snaps

2008-08-14T17:05:00.000-07:00

L. Ron explains Xemu in 8 minutes. 8 very long incoherent minutes. Or maybe my negativity is just a manifestation of my psychic trauma and upset and so on and so on.

Are You A Button Pusher?

2008-08-08T11:27:00.000-07:00

You'll enjoy this time-sucking phenomenon. (h/t How About Orange.)

Memories of Fruit #1: The Persistence of Peaches

2008-08-05T15:34:00.000-07:00

More peaches. Juicy and cold. No peach pie yet because we eat them too fast. But soon.

Growing up we had peaches in our backyard. My grandmother and I would sit out on the stone step at the back door on a summer's night and eat a peach we had just picked. The first bite was my favorite - puncturing that fuzzy flesh and then sucking up the juice right down to the pit. I remember the hard stone of the stoop under my bony butt. The hard stone where my great grandmother had fallen during her stroke. She lay inside in a hospital bed unable to speak and unable to walk. Sitting and eating the peach was our little thing - my gramma and me- a quiet close to a day spent bent over doing factory work or in my case talking to tulip trees barely held together by light and riding my wagon around the neighborhood.

A few years later, they started spraying the neighborhood for mosquitoes. The trees didn't die instantly. They deteriorated over time until finally they stopped bearing fruit. I have an enduring memory of them - their branches cut off, gnarled and grotesque against the darkening sky. I would sit out on the stoop and throw pebbles at their trunks. Or sometimes I'd hurl myself at their trunks hoping to wake up their roots. But no life was left in them. No matter how hard I shook. Finally, I sat down against the biggest's blackening base and waited. Just waited and cried. After my grandmother had them cut down I would stand on top of the stump and pretend I was the tree spreading my branches against the sky. Or I'd jump up and down on the stumps mindlessly aching for peaches.

From Blossoms
From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.

From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.

O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.

There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.

The Weight of Sweetness
No easy thing to bear, the weight of sweetness.

Song, wisdom, sadness, joy: sweetness
equals three of any of these gravities.

See a peach bend
the branch and strain the stem until
it snaps.
Hold the peach, try the weight, sweetness
and death so round and snug
in your palm.
And, so, there is
the weight of memory:

Windblown, a rain-soaked
bough shakes, showering
the man and the boy.
They shiver in delight,
and the father lifts from his son's cheek
one green leaf
fallen like a kiss.

The good boy hugs a bag of peaches
his father has entrusted
to him.
Now he follows
his father, who carries a bagful in each arm.
See the look on the boy's face
as his father moves
faster and farther ahead, while his own steps
flag, and his arms grow weak, as he labors
under the weight of peaches.

Both Poems by Li-Young Lee

Someday Maybe He'll Wrestle An Alligator

2008-07-30T14:15:00.000-07:00

It's nearly four hours since I left home and I've yet to get the call that Carter cut off his hand so I'm supposing it was okay to let him use the box cutters. After all he was being supervised by the babysitter and it's not like we gave him an axe for Chrissake.

It went something thing like this:

"Mom, will you set up a play date for me? (our babysitter) says it's okay if one of my friends comes over."

"No, that's not such a good idea, Carter."

(If the babysitter only knew the hell that could be raised.)

"Why don't we cut out the doors and windows for your recycled city?"

My husband brought home three appliance boxes for the project and they're just waiting for the creativity to flow.

"Can I cut out the boxes?"

"I'll cut them out."

"Oh, why can't I? I've used boxcutters before."

"When?"

"Dad let me use them. He lets me use them all the time."

"Are you serious?"

"Okay, he let me use them one time."

"I'll wait and you draw the doors and windows and I'll cut them out."

Heavy sigh: "Okay, I'll go get a sharpie."

He comes back and starts to draw an elaborate matrix of windows and doors. There's no way I'm going to be able to cut them all out before it's time for me to leave. Finally the babysitter offers to do it. Great.

"Mom, can I please I cut out the cardboard?"

"I'll watch him," the babysitter offers.

So I said yes.

That's right. No! Hell no to the play date. Yes! Why not? To using the box cutters.

Lesser of two evils folks. Lesser of two evils.

When I came out one last time to check on him he was cutting out small windows and holding the instrument dangerously close the blade.

I played with a real bow and arrow when I was eight years old and I only got shot in the head once. You can't even tell now.

We Have Too Much Cabbage

2008-07-23T11:32:00.001-07:00

Yes. That's right. Bet you can't even guess how many is too much can you? I bought a share in our local CSA (right down the road from where we live) and there has been a head of cabbage in our basket every week for about a month or so.

This week's came with the following note: These are indeed large. Do not be overwhelmed.

How much coleslaw can a body take? We're about to find out. Or I could freecycle it. Lest you think I jest - people give away food, used cosmetics, and dryer lint all the time. Waste not.

Ring a ding ding

2008-07-23T11:13:00.000-07:00

Oh look how cute this is. I want it. I'm thinking of how much fun the kids would have if they managed to wrest it from my clutches.

Alton Brown Breaks Down the Apple Pie

2008-07-08T23:45:00.000-07:00

This morning we eat a beautiful juicy peach and I've been thinking about peach pie ever since. I'm currently planning a pie-making day. It takes time to make a good pie and if you don't believe me, this episode of Good Eats confirms it.

Question: Does anyone have a grandmother, aunt or relative of any sort who has a pie bird? Have you ever heard of pie bird?

A Charmed Life: Growing Up in MacBeth's Castle

2008-06-29T10:49:00.001-07:00

The strongest/most interesting parts of the book are Campbell's stories of medieval Scottish history and her descriptions/perceptions of the natural (sometimes supernatural) world around the castle. She relates well what it was like to walk in two worlds - the historical and the present and of her growing awareness of the rift between the two.

If I were directing MacBeth, this would be one of the source books even though Cawdor was never MacBeth's castle. Campbell captures the bloody battles and competition amongst the highland warrior clans explicitly - including a tale about Muriel, the only woman ever to be Thane, who was branded as a baby (strictly for identification purposes in case of kidnapping) and whose nanny bit her little finger off above the joint (when the feared kidnapping finally took place, just to be absolutely sure, should the girl ever return home that she was indeed the heir to Cawdor). Campbell's chronicles of her father's erratic behavior, addictions, and abuse along with a very long list of eccentric ancestors makes great material for creating the characters of MacBeth and Lady M.