Here is what really bothers me about social security: that only about two politicians can pronounce it correctly (from the top on down). It is NOT (and I do admit that alliteration can sometimes be taxing…) “sosh” security or “so-sal” security–it is so-shel security.
driveway
backyard
This weirdly, fascinating story of a depressed man lost for weeks in a cave makes me think of Plato’s Allegory of the Cave.
The word of the day is: blizzard.
random items for 1.22.05
a poem I like:
Boston
by Aaron Smith
Monbiot on the US media:
The role of the media corporations in the United States is similar to that of repressive state regimes elsewhere: they decide what the public will and won’t be allowed to hear, and either punish or recruit the social deviants who insist on telling a different story. The journalists they employ do what almost all journalists working under repressive regimes do: they internalise the demands of the censor, and understand, before anyone has told them, what is permissible and what is not.
So, when they are faced with a choice between a fable which helps the Republicans, and a reality which hurts them, they choose the fable. As their fantasies accumulate, the story they tell about the world veers further and further from reality. Anyone who tries to bring the people back down to earth is denounced as a traitor and a fantasist. And anyone who seeks to become president must first learn to live in fairyland.
Read all about it here: Media Fairyland by George Monbiot
a literary quiz:
Hey you! Yeah, that’s right you, Smartypants. If you think you’re so great why don’t you take the William Faulkner Quiz at The Barcelona Review? I gave up after two questions.
It is that time in winter when it is more cold than not. Snow beneath boots makes that squeaky sound—you will know this sound if you’ve heard it and you’ll know how it feels to walk on the snow when it’s this cold; it’s not quite slippery—there is something that adheres. It is not crunchy—that came earlier. It is like salt. Like walking on salt.
There is something special about the below zero cold. It is like the 100+ heat. Neither of these are ideal conditions for human beings, yet we are able to adapt to them, provided we have the right clothing and shelter. It’s sort of like beating the odds.
In Death Valley, in late September, the waitress at Panamint Springs told us that lots of Northern Europeans like to visit in the summer and hike in the hottest temps. They like to say they did it. We drank beer on the porch of the restaurant and watched the bats eat the bugs in the spotlight. The waitress told us about how the desert blooms in March. For one day or maybe two. A guy in cowboy boots and hat pushed a sidewinder off the sidewalk with his stick—the woman with him clapped and laughed.
The guidebook said to go to the sand dunes early in the morning because it would soon be too hot. So we went there in the morning, just after sun rise. The dunes were covered in the tracks of mice, bugs, spiders, sidewinders. I only had one water bottle with me. Not enough.
We walked directly into the dunes. Up and over. I was stupid and wore Tevas—soon the sand was too hot on my feet. I was running out of water. The sun was getting higher. Sweat dried instantly and left behind white, salty stains. We knew better than to stay too long.
Back in the car and drive to Zabriski Point. That’s where the tour bus was parked and people milling around, taking photos. I needed a photo to send to my best friend. She and I had taken a class together in grad school in which the professor was obsessed with the film Zabriski Point. Here’s me. Ha ha.
Back in the car.
Badwater. The lowest point in the hemisphere. It is way below sea level. Over 100 feet below? Something like that. It is a salt flat, surrounded by mountains but there is also water mixed with the salt. There are small pools of salty water. You might say that at Badwater there is nothing. But that is not right. There is salt, and water, and mountains, and sky. There is me and my body, made of salt and of water.
I walked out as far as I could go without going too far. I was surrounded by white but I was not cold.
Is it sad that I think this: Drink Beer Or Wine And Be Sharper? is good news? I spend a great deal of time worrying that if I drink a couple of glasses of wine a night, I’m killing my brain cells–not that it stops me.
Had a dream the other night that I was in prison–a coed prison, with people of all ages, children even. I had the bottom bunk and there was an old guy in the top bunk and another younger guy in a cot next to the bunk bed and then a topless (?!?!) woman on a cot next to him. We were in a sort of brightly lit hall and there were bunks and cots everywhere. There simply wasn’t room for all of the prisoners. Many people were naked. I needed a shower but opted against it when I saw that it was one of those big open showers (which even had a window looking in so passersby could look in) and, of course, the bathrooms were equally exposed. When I went back to my bunk, I felt that the two men were acting menacing so I tried to get away.
Woke up from that dream and then fell back asleep only to dream that I was hosting a dinner party. I had a dining room which was behind closed doors–kind of French doors, kitty corner to each other. At the dinner party I was telling people about my prison dream.
Last night I had another dream in which I was telling people about a dream I had just had–but I can’t remember details about any of them.
I could all have to do with the fact that I have been inhaling the fumes of liquid sander, binex and paint for the past week.
In case you were wondering, I will not be trading spaces with you.
It seems possible to paint a room in a weekend. Certainly, it can be done. They do it on home decorating shows all the time. Tear out the rug; throw in a wood floor (or wood flooring, as they like to say. Wood flooring and cabinetry instead of cabinets and tiling instead of tiles and all of that other stuff that makes me crazy) and paint the fucking walls. Better yet, throw down some wood flooring and paint your neighbor’s walls—a hideous color you would never choose on your own or allow into your house or your neighbor’s house for that matter had you not been egged on by some “designer” on television.
Ahoy mateys! This room needs a nautical theme! Let’s paint waves on the walls… and seagulls! How about we do one wall as mural with a pirate and a parrot and a hook and…
And you’re talked into it and next thing you know you’ve painted your neighbor’s Ethan Allen furniture blue and white and have hung lobster traps and buoys from their ceiling.
I don’t think so.
This weekend, my husband and I traded spaces with ourselves (we had no choice. We don’t know any of our neighbors. We’ve lived here for a year and only actually seen a few of them) and painted my office. We thought we would be done on Sunday but as I write this today, it’s still not quite finished. See, Allen has a checklist for painting. It is five pages long. He tells me that the upfront work pays off in the end. I have no choice but to believe him, but for a person of quick movements and little patience a five-page checklist is nothing short of torture. They never use checklists on Trading Spaces, for example. They just blaze forth with paint brushes and glue guns blaring and decorate that room!
But we are in charge here, right? So we use the checklist. So there’s the sanding and the washing and the ceiling and the trim and the ceiling and the trim again and the primer and the sanding and the washing. That brings us to page four: painting the walls.
So the color I chose was a yellow. Behr color Pismo Dunes to be exact. I thought it would work well with the green we painted our bedroom last year (yes, in one year we have only managed to paint two rooms). I was wrong.
By the time we started on the walls yesterday, it was clear that this yellow was not just yellow but crazy-ass yellow. Big, bold, Ronald McDonald’s trousers yellow. But we painted on and kept trying to convince ourselves that we liked it.
me: “Wow. It’s bold.”
Allen: “Yes. Bold and interesting.”
me: “Yes. Interesting.”
Silence as more paint goes on the walls, closing us in a cage of yellow.
me, standing back and observing, “Hmmm. I’m thinking red accents with this yellow.”
Allen, “Yes. Red accents.”
I continue painting, feeling satisfied with my flawless decorating plan. It would be great. A sort of Parisian cabaret feel. We would have low lights and a smoky atmosphere with a mural of girls in fishnet doing the can-can. I not only know how to pick the right color but my design sense is impeccable.
Where did I put my glue gun? I’ll be wanting to glue those sequins to the walls and the red fabric. Also, I’ll want to start on the mural… Hey! Wait a minute. I don’t even own a glue gun. Wait just a second there…. this is my office. I’m supposed to work in here. I need to be inspired. I need light and air. I don’t need girls in fishnet on my wall… Oh crap. The whole room is painted and it’s scary. Maybe if I just walk outside for a minute and come back, I’ll like it.
But it only got worse and more claustrophobic and crazy making. And then in a desperate panic to rid ourselves of Pismo Dunes, we decided to put a lighter color on the top. The right decision. Almost immediately, we felt relieved.
Had I traded spaces with you, this lighter color never would have happened because we wouldn’t have had time and we would be too proud (and over it) to go back on our decision. You would end up with the mural. And the sequins. You would have to so that we could make our deadline. And you would have to suck it up and like it because you don’t want that film crew to capture you crying in frustration because we painted a smiley face on your grandmother’s armoire. Not after we spent all weekend on it.
But you won’t catch me crying. Not today. Because today I have a room that is the perfect shade of yellow.
If you are looking for something to do this Thursday (other than get trashed because you are so depressed that it is inauguration day), please join Lilies and Cannonballs Review for a casual celebration of their second issue on January 20 from 7:00 pm to 10:00 pm at L.I.C. Bar in Long Island City, New York.
Click here and scroll down to “January 20” for complete details.
myfanwy collins 