I wash my hands of this weirdness

Post-posting, yesterday continued to be strange. I was doing Pilates at the gym with my iPod on, possibly not a brilliant idea. I was doing jack-knifes, my favourite Pilation, wherein one lies flat on her back, then kicks legs into the air and pulls off the floor into a shoulder stand, then *jack-knifes* the body to put the feet behind the head. In that last step, I accidentally kicked an elderly gentleman with both feet, because I hadn't heard him step onto the mat behind my head. He hadn't seen what I was doing because he was bending over away from me, thus I kicked him in the, um, posterior. Needless to say, I tried to apologize and, also needless to say, he wanted only to get as far away from me as possible.

Following that I bought a Greek salad for lunch, only to find that the chunks of red juicy-looking tomato were, for some reason, watermelon. Then I went off to teach and it was the last day of school and the kids were *haywire.* One of my favourite students (I have many favourite students--is that bad?) gave me an end-of-term gift of candies. I was pleased, but when I read the card listing the things she liked about me, one was that I always let her go to the bathroom when she asked! Kinda scraping the bottom of the barrel for compliments there, aren't we? At this point I went home to lick my wounds.

Today promises to be a better day, despite the fact that I am eating distinctly sketchy tinned tuna salad (it was on sale!) The evening promises Indian food and hilarity, and I only have a half hour more of work left. Huzzah.

Oh, I did hear a rumour that Rose-coloured comments weren't working, but when I tested them they seemed to. You can always email me at RebeccaBooks@excite.com should you need to comment but be unable.

Floodwater pours from the mouth
RR

Flurgh

I am going to have braces for the rest of my life, and in the after-life I am going to have a retainer. This morning I put a dead bug in a Ziploc and brought it to work with me. The top layer of skin peeled off my nose. I am reading 60 Stories by Donald Barthelme, and it has so flumoxed me that when I came across the line, "Several waves of smickering washed over the class," I had no idea whether that was a typo for snickering or a new word that I didn't know (not in the dictionary, except an obsolete usage from Dryden that doesn't seem to suit) or else a joke. Still unsure, despite "Stop that smickering!" in the next line. Argh.

Barthelme makes me question my IQ. Also it is very hot, and I am now at the library and very cold, and so my system is all confused.

How can you live in the northeast?
RR

You know what I hate?

Having eyebrows. I can't believe that I left that off my pet peeves list a few months ago. They are my most loathed physical feature. I would pluck them all out if it wouldn't make me an aesthetic weirdo. Even still, I tug on them when I am tense; during stressful periods in my life they develop little bald patches. What ugly things. Ick.

That's the way you want it

RR

Sunday at the library

I've never worked a weekend before, and it's not as quiet as one might imagine. When the library hasn't got many students, it draws out members of the general public, independent scholars and lunatics. Also, today, a bird; I got to chase a small frightened sparrow around with a box for a while, which was kinda fun. And talk to some visiting scholars from Venezuala and Korea. Oh, now my colleague is looking at puppies on the internet. Aww, pugs.

Ok, it's pretty quiet here. Only 1 hour and 17 minutes to go!

You can read my face / and my biography
RR

I went away...

but now am back. Hooray? Well, it's nice to see Toronto again, especially this morning, after last night's mini-hurricaine washed away the humidity and smog (less of an improvement: the lightning took out the big tree in front of the library). But really, I was starting to grow pretty attached to NYC and certainly didn't see nearly enough of it in the scant five days I was there. No one wants the play-by-play, I am sure, but the gist is that it was fabulous. In short:

JetBlue is an amazing airline of punctuality, mini-tvs, legroom and animal crackers.

I was delighted by how navigable the subways were. You just look at a map to see where you want to go and where you are, then find the line(s) that go in between (or check hopstop.com for various routes). The whole express/local distinction takes a little getting used to, but otherwise easy-peasy.

Small Kitten is well and thriving, with a cute apartment, amusing friends and a fine sense of style. Sabrina has instituted a policy of biting where I am concerned, but I think I love her anyway. She's just too beautiful not to love.

I ate many delicious things, including a classic New York bagel (far better than Toronto, though very different from/possibly not as good as Montreal bagels). Also IHOP pancakes, which are as fantastic as everyone says, complete with pink strawberry syrup and unlimited coffee. Mmmm....

I walked like a crazy person--from Chinatown through Little Italy and Soho to Washington Square on Thursday, along the Coney Island Beach and then across the Brooklyn Bridge to the South Street Seaport on Friday (thanks, Melaniah, for your tour-guiding fortitude), 30 blocks along Central Park West and back on Saturday (I got confused), and from somewhere I can't remember to and through Columbia on Sunday. Whew. It was fantastic.

I went to Coney Island, from whence my people sprung! It was neat, but I am still not sure I felt *of* the place. We ate at Nathan's, but I had roasted chicken and vegetables because there are no veggie dogs in all of New York City. How weird and antidiluvian. Also no recycling bins. More on these topics later, I'm sure.

I met many of Melanie's fascinating friends, and somehow let them suck me into singing in public. We are still not sure how that happened.

Ok, so that's the short version and it is not all that short, and there is more to come. The point is that I had a fantastic time, and can't believe the party is over and that I am at work eating a weird vegetarian sandwich that appears to consist mainly of shredded carrots. I miss you NYC, Melanie, Sabrina!!!!

If you can make it there
RR

Landed

I've been in NYC less than 16 hours and I've already: sat on a patio, met four people whose name starts with M and one that doesn't, been bitten by Sabrina (it was a love bite), had some diet Coke Plus (with vitamins and minerals!), been confused about that A train, been thoroughly well-entertained! And the trip and day are still quite young! To the Bronx, to IHOP, to Soho and beyond....

You have no scars on your face / and you cannot handle pressure
RR

End and Goodbye

I should really be just posting a quick goodbye before I leave for NYC, and then getting *on* with packing and watering the plants and taking out the garbage before I go. I *should* do that, but I feel that it is of paramount importance that I first let you just how very good Joshua Ferris's novel Then We Came to the End is: extremely so.

Sorry, I'm really bad at rave reviews. Even though I constantly read good books, you'll mainly only hear me mention pans. I can be articulate about why something sucks, but my exhortations to read something good always sound like, "You'd like it, 'cause it's really good. Like, um, really good. I was so impressed. Really, impressed." But it usually doesn't much matter, because I generally read stuff that everyone already knows is good (do I need to tell you how floored I was by Michael Winter's One Last Good Look? Probably not.)

But Ferris is American, and being mainly hyped as an "office" writer, not that I even know what that is. And sure it's a novel about an office, and accessible and funny and social enough that lots of angry office folks would likely love it. But it is also, technically, a masterpiece of voice and structure such as one (well, I) can't usually find on the shelf.

I read it because I saw a capsule review in The New Yorker that basically just said it was pretty good for a book written in the first person plural. I wanted to read it 'cause *I* am writing a story in the first person plural, and I wanted some help with it, since it's not going too well, and I don't know many other things written in that voice--just The Virgin Suicides and "A Rose for Emily," I think (others? suggestions welcome!) As it turns out, Ferris couldn't really help me both because our projects are too different and because he is probably a genius and I am sadly not one.

But, gosh, I wish I were. I *can* tell you it is really hard to write a united voice for a group, and even harder to convince a reader that that's the only valid way to do that, and Ferris totally succeeds. In fact, he succeeds to the point where I can't tell you some of the more marvelous things he did with the voice because it would *wreck the ending.* How amazing is that, to marry form and content to that extent?

Possibly, this is not the book for everyone, but if this sounds at all appealing, you totally need to go read. It's nearly 400 pages, but it won't take you long, I swear.

Also, I'm off to NYC sorta tonight and definitely tomorrow. So miss me lots and find me at Sabrina's place if you are desperate to get hold of me. Otherwise, expect highlights upon my return. And three rolls of film, natch.

Looked out into the blackness
RR

There was this story by Margaret Atwood

At least, I'm pretty sure it's by her; it begins when a young woman experiences some sort of crisis in her life and comes to stay with the protagonist in Toronto. They knew each other in high school, but weren't really friends and haven't spoken in a long time--she's just the "only one still in the city." The plot advances, or doesn't, from there, I can't really remember, but that's the initial premise.

I read the story in high school, so it's older, and I'd really like to read it again if I could. I know this is a really lame description, but if you can somehow figure out from it the title of the story or, even better, the title of the collection in which it is housed, I'd be most grateful. Really, I'd totally bake you some cookies or something.

Gwan just do it / whatever it is
RR

PS--Fred gets total props for reading the end of the very long Bob Dylan song I posted a couple days ago! Shout out!

Think About It (III)

Cathode
Cathartic
Catheter

All words relating to sending or getting out: electrons, emotions, pee.

For all of the men / who have served with no fear
RR

Ben Gets the Last Word

My brother and I have been debating the definition of "seafood" (all fish or just shellfish?) but I've decided he wins on wit:

Seafood is food from the sea (like seaweed, dolphins and castaways).

Challenge: punctuation and paragraphing

Well, there was this movie I seen one time. About a man riding across the desert, and it starred Gregory Peck. He was shot down by a hungry kid tryin to make a name for himself. The townspeople wanted to crush that kid down and string him up by the neck.
Well, the marshal, now he beat that kid to a bloody pulp. As the dyin young fighter lay in the sun and gasped for his last breath: Turn him loose, let him go, let him say he outdrew me, fair and square. I want him feel what it's like to every moment face his death.
Well, I keep seein this stuff, and it just comes rollin in, and you know it blows right through me like a ball and chain. You know, I can't believe we've lived so long, and are still so far apart. The memory of you keeps callin out to me like a rollin' train.
I can still see the day you came to me on a painted desert in your busted down Ford and your platform heels. I could never figure out why you chose that particular place to meet. Ah, but you were right, it was perfect as I got in behind the wheel. Well, we drove that car all night, until we got into St. Antoine. And we stared at the Alamamo. Oh, your skin was so tender and soft. Way down in Mexico, you went out to find a doctor and you never came back. I would've gone out after you, but I didn't feel like lettin my head get blown off.
Well, we're drivin' this car, and the sun is comin' up over the Rockies. And well, I know she ain't you, but she's here and she's got that dark rhythm in her soul. But I'm too over-the-edge and I ain't in the mood anymore to remember the times when I was your only man. Ah, she don't wanna remind me, she knows this car would go out of control.

Brownsville girl, with your Brownsville curls
Teeth like pearls, shinin' like the moon above
Brownsville girl, show me all around the world
Brownsville girl, you're my only girl

Well, we crossed the panhandle, and then we headed towards Amarillo. We pulled up where Henry Porter used to live. He owned a wreckin' lot outside-a town about a mile. Ruby was in the backyard hangin' clothes. She had her red hair tied back. She saw us come rolling up in trail of dust. She said, Henry ain't here, but you can come on in, he'll be back in a little while. And she told us how times were tough, and about she was thinkin-a bummin a ride back to from where she started, but she'd change the subject every time money came up.
She said, Welcome to the land of the livin' dead, but you could tell she was so broken-hearted. She said, Even the swap-meets around here are getting pretty corrupt.
How far you all goin'? Ruby asked us with a sigh.
We're goin' all the way, until the wheels fall off and burn. Till the sun peels the paint, and the seatcovers fade, and water moccasins die.
Ruby just smiled and said, Oh, you know, some they just never learn.
Something about that movie though, that I just can't get it out of my head. But I can't remember why I was in it, or what part I was supposed to play. All I remember about it is Gregory Peck and the way the people moved. And that a lot of them seemed to be looking my way.

Brownsville girl, with your Brownsville curls
Teeth like pearls, shinin' like the moon above
Brownsville girl, show me all around the world
Brownsville girl, you're my only girl

Well, they were lookin for somebody with a pompadour. I was crossin the street when shots rang out. I didn't know whether to duck or to run, so I ran. We got him cornered in the churchyard, I heard somebody shout.
Well, you saw my picture in the Corpus Christi Tribune. Underneath it, it said, A Man with No Alibi. You went out on a limb to testify for me, you said I was with you. And when I saw you break down in front of the judge and cry real tears--it was the best acting I saw anybody do.
And I've always been the kind of person who doesn't like to trespass, but sometimes you just find yourself over the line. Oh, if there's an original thought out there, I could use it right now. You know, I feel pretty good, but that ain't sayin' much. I could feel a whole lot better, if you were just here by my side to show me how.
Well, I'm standing in line in the rain to see a movie starring Gregory Peck, yeah but you know it's not the one that I had in mind. He's got a new one out now, I don't know what it's about, but I'll see him in anything, so I'll stand in line.

Brownsville girl, with your Brownsville curls
Teeth like pearls, shinin' like the moon above
Brownsville girl, show me all around the world
Brownsville girl, you're my only girl

You know, it's funny how things never turn out the way you had'em planned. The only thing we knew for sure about Henry Porter is that his name wasn't Henry Porter. And you know there was somethin about you, baby, that I liked, that was always too good for this world. Just like you always said there was somethin about me you liked that I left in the French Quarter.
Strange how people who suffer together have stronger connections than people who are most content. I don't have any regrets; they can talk about me plenty when I'm gone. (Oh, yeah?) You always said, People don't do what they believe in--they just do what's most convenient, then they repent. And I always said, Hang on to me, baby, and let's hope that the roof stays on.
There was a movie I seen one time, I think I sat through it twice. I don't remember who I was, or where I was bound. All I remember about it was that it starred Gregory Peck. He wore a gun and he was shot in the back. Seems like a long time ago, long before the stars were torn down.

Brownsville girl, with your Brownsville curls
Teeth like pearls, shinin' like the moon above
Brownsville girl, show me all around the world
Brownsville girl, you're my only girl




The text above is not mine; I just transcribed that from the MP3 so that I could attempt to add punctuation and paragraphing without anyone else's ideas impinging upon my own. Obviously, wherever the line breaks are, it's a song and it's not written like that, but I think it makes good sense as prose my way. And it is one of my favourite sets of lyrics anywhere ever (lyrics as a opposed to songs, it doesn't work too well as a piece of music, I don't think). 50 points if you can name the author (not too hard, given the style?) Hell, 25 points just for reading through to the end. I can see why it's not everyone's favourite.


Even the swap-meet around here are getting pretty corrupt (gosh, I love this)
RR

Minor troubles

This past week has been fraught with mild distress as two good friends moved permanently out of the city and a number of others went far far away temporarily (vacations! such a weird concept). Also the weather was weird and the smog was gross. Also I wrecked my favourite pair of tights. And I'm not getting as much work done as I should be on le livre. And yesterday I got caught in a torrential downpour that rendered my t-shirt a public decency issue in *half a block* and when I finally got indoors I discovered that rain had come in the open windows and mixed with dust on the ledge to form a toxic grey sludge. And I am working too many hours this week. Also one of my students informed me he had kissed a snail.

Obviously, my problems are not insurmountable. And they are ameliorated by bright spots like: A's cooking, company and cool friends on Saturday night; and watching C.R.A.Z.Y. with P and the girls on Sunday.

This week's projects include freaking out about punctuation and paragraphing (more soon), planning how to reach the Bronx from JFK without falling into the Hudson, and being excited that Ben returns tomorrow from the Middle East. So things are really looking up. Right? Right.

One day the little girl and the little boy / were both baked in a pie
RR

Quotations

"What I know, love and desire in another person isn't inside him like a nut in its shell, but it is everywhere that he is, forming him. My identity isn't inside me--it is how I am. It is hard to express the way we know the forms of things, but this is the knowing that art exercises."
--Hugh Hood in "Sober Colouring: The Ontology of Super Realism"
Maybe I need to get out more, but I think that is the sexiest writing lesson I've ever read.

"You take a chance the day you're born. Why stop now?" That's Barbara Stanwyck, speaking as Lorna Moon in the Louis Meltzer's screenplay of Clifford Odets' play Golden Boys as quoted by Anthony Lane in a New Yorker article on Stanwyck's career last month. I like the line, of course--always good to be reminded not to be a chicken. I also just like the layers of quotation--obviously, Odets, Meltzer and Lane liked the line, too. I actually thought about doing the citation in MLA style, just for fun, but then I thought, "Do you want to be the sort of person who does MLA style 'for fun'?" Ahem.

One final quote note: In case anyone was deluded, my signoff lines are not original; though uncredited, they are from pop songs, usually good lines, often from bad songs. My point may or may not be that anything can sound deep taken way out of context, or perhaps I just like a lot of silly music. But I'll put a good one today, because I'm in the mood for other people's wisdom,

I'm walking up the face of the mountain
Counting every step I climb
Remembering the names of the constellations
Forgotten is a long long time

That's Paul Simon, I believe I've quoted those lines here before, but they are really really good.
RR