You're Doing It Wrong

I left Tacoma about noon and had a fabulous smooth ride with bright sunshine and blue sky. I think this is only the 2nd time in the history of me living up here that I’ve done that drive without using my windshield wipers. I saw at least three hawks (hawk? — too lazy to look up) along the way too.

Returning the Gift was an adventure and a half but everyone who made it seemed to have a great time, including me, so I guess it was a success. I’m beat now and plan to lay low and get my act together.

Yesterday we went to see Atanarjuat: The Fast Runner. This is an Inuit movie based on an Inuit legend and it’s incredible. Bob and I kept looking at each other afterward and saying, “I can’t believe what I just saw.” There’s another website Atanarjuat which is great and has maps and cast and crew information. It’s long and at times feels long but it’s worth it.

In other news, I’m going to be insanely busy here for the next week. We’re going to see Seamus Heaney on Tuesday night and then first thing Wednesday morning I’m driving up to Tacoma for Returning the Gift and I won’t be back home until Sunday night. It’s going to be an adventure I’m sure.

The real theme of this morning is: cold. Our furnace kicked on this morning — how depressing is that? I’ve been tempted to fire it up a couple of times but didn’t want to be wimpy but this morning the outside thermometer said it was 48 degrees and I heard the big basement rumble that means warm air is coming upstairs. When I was in the shower Bob did some sort of water activity that gave me a nice cold splash and then he came in to say sorry and let all the cold air from the entire house pour into my nice steamy bathroom. Now I’m sitting here with wet hair typing so I guess I’m not suffering that much.

Yesterday in the Oregonian there was this etiquette and entertaining type article. I think the point had to do with why the knife is placed where it is in a table setting and I didn’t pay attention to that part as much seeing as how I don’t think inconsistent utensil placement signals the end of western civilization. But the part of the article that made me stop was when she was talking about how when people are using a knife to cut something on their plate, they use their right hand then put the knife down and pick up their fork to eat the food with their right hand, so they have to do this crossing back and forth thing.

I never paid a lot of attention so now I’m taking an informal poll: is this how you eat your steak (or tofu, depending on your preference)? I’m a lefty and I keep the fork in my left hand and use my right hand to cut. This method is so much more efficient and logical.

Last week I read an interview in Bust Magazine — it was Pamela des Barres (has there ever been a boring person named Pamela?) interviewing Beck. They’re talking about the music business right now and Beck says, “It’s like there are so many good records, you don’t need to make one.”

PdB says, “Oh, don’t say that! Tell me, what have you listened to more than five times that’s come out in the last couple years?” and Beck says, “Hmmmm. Five times? Well, you got me there.”

So my reaction to this is: what a concept. Why would you even buy something if you weren’t going to listen to it at least five times? Or in my case: at least a hundred and five times? This is a major realization, that people, like say my husband with his bazillion cds downstairs, wouldn’t mind having music in their house that they would listen to less than five times. Really, my whole world view changed in an instant thanks to Beck.

Today’s rant: Bath and Body Works gargantuan franchise that sells gallons of products to make you smell beautiful. I don’t know why I even go in there but today is the last time. First of all, they are super aggressive ride-your-ass hard sell: *on bath products.* I mean, come on. I remember the first time I went to one it was in Santa Barbara and the gal comes over and shoves a basket in my hands, like I’m going to buy a basket-load of bath products. I put it down on the display.

All I want is some bath gel that makes me smell good all day. Last time I bought my bath stuff at one those kiosks at the mall in Vancouver where they were trying to sell me some contraption that would make my nails magically pretty. I garden, cook, wash dishes, type. These are working hands, not pretty hands. Anyway, the bath gel was supposed to be peach smell and it was nothing smell. It was $14 worth of pink stuff that lathered.

So today I’m browsing the shelves, trying to find something that sounds good. And the gals are offering to help me about every 30 seconds, because apparently it takes a lot of assistance to find a smell that you like. They have all these goofy specials like: buy a gallon jug of oregano banana spice bath gel and you can get a free anise papaya mist hand creme or cardamom cucumber breeze body spray. And all the stuff smells like Jello.

I found a lavender palmfrond bath thing that I liked and when I paid the surly teenager asked for my phone number.

Me: What do you need my phone number for?
Her: So we can send you coupons and things
Me: With my phone number?
Her: They look you up on the Internet.”

As if.

Where do food cravings come from? Some seem logical — like when you’ve been eating pizza and drinking beer in Las Vegas all weekend and you get home and all you want is some salad and fruit. But other random foods have been floating into my head this week — like memory cravings.

Foods craved this week:

French Fries (had some on Thursday at Pilsner Room, thanks wkb)

Bisquick Coffee Cake (made some today and ate 1 big piece and 1 little piece)

Red Licorice — not Red Vines which are my favorite but the very skinny kind like spaghetti (did not have yet).

This morning when we went on our walk it was still dark. When we were heading down the hill by the park we saw a big flash of blue-white light down over the hill. We think by the train tracks. Then there was a kind-of fire-cracker sound and then another flash of light. We have no idea what it was. It gave me the heebiejeebies and I kept hearing things rustling in the bushes for the rest of the walk.

We saw Lynda Barry at Powell’s Books on Thursday night. She is so completely amazing. The new book is called One Hundred Demons and she tells great stories but she also wants to inspire you to paint your own demons.

I actually took notes because she was saying so many things I didn’t want to forget. I think I’m going to transcribe my notes for you:

She talked about writing the story of your life and mentioned this friend she had who was all excited when he found his old high school journals so he could read these long forgotten details. He was all depressed to find out that all he wrote about were feelings. He said it was like finding a movie of the Battle of Waterloo but the movie had been made by monkeys and all you got were pictures of bananas and none of Napoleon. So her suggestion for a writing exercise is to take an object e.g. cars. As soon as you hear “cars” you immediately form a memory in your head of car from your past. Time of day? Colors? Are you inside or out? What’s going on? Here you’re bringing it into the concrete. She said she has a stack of words on cards and she picks one and starts writing.

She talked about dreams and said when we’re dreaming we’re aware of our dreamself but our dreamself is not aware of us. It doesn’t say, “I had the weirdest reality the other night.”

She said she used to sing this song “Groovin” and there’s a line in there that goes “life would be ecstasy, you and me and Leslie.” It wasn’t until much later that she realized that the song was actually “you and me endlessly.” But she thinks that the “and Leslie” version sounds more interesting so when you’re writing, be sure to bring in Leslie.

She also talked about being on the dance floor getting into the groove and then losing the rhythm so just moving around, trying to look like she knew what she was doing until she found the rhythm again. She said she never knew this happened to everyone. She suggests that writing is like that and to not worry about losing the rhythm, just stick with it until you find it again. Everybody is faking it. She said the creative process for adults is like playing is for kids. When you see a kid playing with a truck you think “kid playing with truck.” But to the kid, the truck is playing with him or her. So when you’re writing/painting or whatever creative thing you’re doing, you should let it play you.

Final quote and I hope I get this right, she said she was talking to her husband about something she was working on and wondering if she was doing it right. And he said: as well you should because fascism is what doing it right is all about.