Banned Books=Good Books

Thanks to Americablog, which has lately become my #1 source for news, I have been made aware that several of my favorite books (if I had favorites) are on a far-right religious fanatics' "banned list"! Here's the list:

1. All the Pretty Horses
2. Animal Dreams
3. The Awakening
4. The Bean Trees
5. Beloved
6. Black Boy
7. Fallen Angels
8. The Hot Zone
9. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
10. Lords of Discipline
11. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
12. Song of Solomon
13. Stotan
14. This Boy’s Life

It seems that remaining stupid is a major goal of religious fanatics.

Bitching All the Wondrous Animals

There is really some first-class bitching going on out there which has put my pansy-ass pablum-fed pathetic punk-ass blog to shame. Subtlety and innuendo be damned, kids. Let's bitch!

First of all, what's with In the nick of time I caught myself before I began a tirade about the human condition and the seeming epidemic of people stampeding security gates and injuring each other to be the first to enter stores on Black Friday.

South Florida Sun-Sentinel/Mike Stocker, Nov 25, 2005

Why do I always deny the obvious? I am reminded of my conversation with Mo yesterday from which there were some memorable "Mo quotes":

"Orgasms are reflexes. In men it's in the spinal column. In women, it's in the cerebral cortex, the emotional center."

"Oh, fuck religions."

"We are really like smart chimps. We live in denial that we are just animals."

Letting go of my need for "civilized" behavior, I will admire all the:

Wondrous Animals Roaming Round the Earth

Sharp-toothed devils
sultry and relaxed
hanging from branches
disinterested
chew one another to bits

Drag bloody DVD players
($20 off regular price!)
under trees
where playful little rolling ones
squeal and bite

Women

Deciding that Thanksgiving was best spent alone this year, I called to inform Dolly, who soon after answering the phone declared that someone was at her door. "I'll see you later!" Ah well, that's Dolly. I will never have the relationship that I would like with my mother, but I love her. What can I say?

Later in the day, which was snowy and blustery, I drove to the local multiplex and saw Walk the Line and Pride and Prejudice. The movies had similarities. Sexual attraction, misunderstanding, longing and desire, waiting, pursuit, succumbing.... "happy endings". Mo says Joaquin Phoenix is hot, and I say Joaquin never lets you down. He captured that Johnny Cash intensity. Don't you just have the feeling Joaquin is crazy in real life, too? (Why is that hot? See why I can never trust myself to have a relationship with a man ever again?)

Pride and Prejudice totally satisfied my need for a good period piece. Visually rich with costumes and landscape and close-ups of crowded chaotic dancing at balls, shadows on faces and hands running over marble sculptured nudes, I loved it. Of course Darcy is the perfect quiet brooding misunderstood flawed love interest.

I wonder whether girls who see the movie think of the treatment of women in late 18th century England. Do they see the movie simply as a love story in which to submerge themselves? As history? As silliness? Do they look critically? In some ways women have come so far, and in others it seems that we have gone full-circle and our need to attract men really is based on survival. Was love possible in Georgian England when society was based on their subjugation? Is love possible in 21st century US, where misogyny is quite open and flourishing, where strong women are still "bitches" and strong men are "heroes"?

I love the stubborn and feisty Elizabeth Bennett and the supportive sisterhood that Jane Austen's novels modeled. The goodheartedness that existed with the bad. The tomboyishness, the bare feet on dirt paths, the experience of nature that travel demanded in an age without commercial airlines, air conditioning, all of the luxuries that we consider essential today. I love the giddy Lydia, the world of girls, the sad and silly fate of women, who have experienced a form of genocide themselves. The joy that resides amidst the pathos.

Well, Fuck Me.

Here is a picture of the beautiful winter sky that I snapped yesterday after returning home from work to find that that the electricity had been turned off.

Later, talking with AJ on my phone while walking down the aisles of the immense grocery "super" store, I ask, "Shall I buy one or two boxes of 100 tea light candles?" "Two! And tell the woman at the electric company that she sucks cock for money!" This has become AJ's stock phrase which she uses for all occasions. I tell her I will certainly do that, and repeat it loudly to her in the produce department for effect. It does seem to rouse the midwestern farm crowd a bit.

After finding the electricity turned off but before regrouping and deciding to be strong and present in the moment, I fell into a breakdown of thinking. I saw the divorce, the auto-immune disorder, the rear-end collision (with its complications because the stupid driver who hit me left the scene and now the cop is on a "mysterious leave of absence"), the incident where I locked myself out of the house and now the electricity being turned off through no fault of my own as a downward spiral. I was under attack! I was experiencing a series of negative events that would certainly end with me on the street begging for money... or something worse! Well, fuck me.

So after deep breathing, much internal swearing and batting my head against the wall, I determined not to let Steven take away my power over this minor obstacle. He can have the fucking heat turned off, it will just make me stronger. I lit my myriad of tealight candles, and manned with an enormous flashlight sat in bed with a glass of wine and admired my latest library bargains, all purchased for $4.00: the latest Vogue magazine, Do it Yourself Life Plan Astrology, Numerology: Key to Your Inner Self, The Dance of Intimacy, by Harriet Lerner (which Mallory recommended long ago) and a couple of novels, Paula, by Isabel Allende and The Crossing, by Cormac McCarthy.

The electricity was turned back on at 11:30 today. "We can't possibly turn it back on until then!" the woman who sucks cock for money said soberly. I survived, even though we have about an inch four inches of snow with a couple more inches on the way. There's a weather warning, it's gonna be in the low 20's tonight and windy with more snow tomorrow.

I've got to admit, I was really happy when the heat came back on. I took a long shower after the water warmed up. And made coffee. And cranked the music up. And turned on the computer. I'm thinking I may just stay at home tomorrow, maybe see Walk the Line. Huck says Joaquin Phoenix's performance is one of the best he's seen.

"How Genocide Works", or "Let's All Happily Forget that We are Liars, Killers and Thieves!"

A definition of Thanksgiving at urbandictionary.com:

A celebration of the one good moment Americans had with Indians. Now, a commercial excuse for obese people to stuff food inside of other food.

Thanksgiving is like telling a date rape victim to just focus on the dinner and movie earlier that evening.

A Happy Plan

It has been cold as hell around these parts. In the 20's, and Thursday at dusk I locked myself out of the house and had to be rescued, which for some reason really threw me. After Huck bailed me out and I promised to make extra keys, I fell apart.

Maybe running in place on frozen ground with no shoes was emotionally draining. Hmmm. How long would a person survive under these conditions, I asked myself? Facing my vulnerability got to me. Maybe I'm just not used to being alone. Whatever the reason, I had already downed a glass of wine on an empty stomach, and I fell apart. Cried the rest of the night. At one point in the sorry evening which was already thick with longing, I remembered kneeling over our cat as she died this spring, watching her eyes dry up and turn opaque while her body continued its shallow automatic breathing. She was gone and I knew it but I didn't know it. Ok. I gotta stop that. Somehow when she died everything fell apart. Maybe I thought she had not nine, but limitless lives. Grandmother cat. Soulful cat. Sassy infinite one.

Anyhow, I think I totally dehydrated myself and yesterday at work my eyes were bloodshot (to say the least) and puffy. God! A good cry is exhausting. This morning things appear to be somewhat cheerier, but hell, how could they not?

So it seems that I am not the only one to be turning to the demon alcohol recently. Cookie has discovered that "it's easier to do chores when you're a bit drunk", and Mykeru's recent alcohol confession makes me feel like a sissy-drunk. With his usual panache, he is the most creative of the self-haters. Who can top this: "I'm a 170 lb bag of meat. A walking alimentary canal where things go in one end and out the other. At the age of 40, I'm no longer young and, in fact, I have nothing to look forward to but decay and the adult diaper years. " The Gidget-drunk loves the Mykeru-drunk and all of the typos that go with it.

So. Where to go from here? I think Happiness Training is the ticket. Don't you? Intro to Meditation, 2:30-4:30 today. It's a plan.

Bare Feet on Snowy Leaves

This is the picture! for which I stepped out,
happily swinging the door

closed

behind me

I see me

stopped. bare feet on snowy leaves, quickly assessing the odds of survival

hopping up and down

I wait

Sunday, Round One

Sunday mornings should be wonderful. Here I am again, coffee with too much creamer, books scattered about, tacky Christmas tree lights draped up the curtain... But Sundays, even before I awaken, are colored with the spectre of Monday. My dreams harbor discontent, feelings of inadequacy, self-loathing. That sounds bad, huh?

I've gone through several coping strategies since I realized my job is killing me. First I gave in, succumbed to the depression, guilt and unhappiness. That sucked, so I determined to LIKE my job. I would only look at the positives! I would concentrate on the nice students, the ones who had the desire and ability to take what I have to give. That helped, but to avoid falling back into an administration surveillance-induced funk I had to totally isolate myself, go into my cave-room and do what I do best. Lately I have changed my strategy a bit. Faced with some "higher-level" students who are totally self-absorbed and intent on making my life miserable because they know more than me and feel entitled to challenge everything I say, I have decided to come clean. I hate my job. Really detest it. So my strategy now is to admit I hate the job, develop methods to deal with stress and look for ways out.

Sundays are still taking a beating, however. How can I make Sunday seem longer? How can I forget that Monday is approaching fast, with its stomach aches and deep-breathing and pathetic little self-affirmations. "I will do a good job. I will not let a few obnoxious students ruin my day. 'I am good enough, I am smart enough, and doggone it....." So there is a built-in melancholy on this windy day (which sounds like warm waves hitting the shoreline, if I try), a surrender to forces against which I am no match.

Last night I sorted through old photos and found some beautiful snapshots of Willa that I placed in a frame and admired. Once we were sisters, and Willa was so beautiful! Green eyes, perfect teeth, bikini in the backyard girl. Funny. Witty, wonderful Willa with the chip on her shoulder.

And Georgia has been making a valiant effort at learning to use her phone. Texting me from a conference in Atlanta, she asked what exactly "freaking out" means. Which is what I must have written her (who knows when) at some point in the past two weeks. Telling her to keep her phone in her pocket and turned on does no good. It doesn't register. But that is Georgia.





Here are some photos from the garden last night. It was desolate-feeling, but not without rich bursts of color and the gentle consolation of some hearty living flowers. Two frogs burrowed into the bottom of the pond when I approached and tall plants had been cut back revealing all of the once-delightful hiding places. I climbed into a rose bed for a picture and my finger was poked with a thorn. I later realized that blood was dripping off my hand and I tried to wipe it onto stiff leaves. Later at the video store, my blood-smudged hand hidden from other customers (sort of), I saw a man that looked exactly like James Brown. AJ later said, "Mom, that always happens to you."

Saturday Morning Ramble

I love Saturday mornings because I can wake up anytime I want, which is early but by choice, and come back to bed with coffee and read political blogs and hate Bush and think about whatever I want and take my time. Thinking is a luxury when you are working a demanding 9 to 5-type job, especially one that gives you no positive feedback whatsoever. Yesterday an understanding word from a colleague reminded me that a morsel of kindness can go a long way. It is hard to imagine that the white men (Of course! Sublic pcools are just a microcosm of the government) who "administer" us could be any more clueless. They have a positive and hard-working staff who maintain a great atmosphere in the pcool because they genuinely care about the students. The administration shows their distrust of the teachers through constant surveillance and monitoring of time. God help me.

But I don't need to think about hell this morning. I can shove it to the back of my mind along with student loans, $885 of rear-end damage to my car and the effects of steroids. That's right. I can choose to think about let's say... painting my bedroom floor custard yellow with a wine border (perhaps while drinking wine) or putting tacky contact paper on the counter-top until I teach myself how to tile. What about swimming? That seems like a good idea! And I want to walk the river trail to the zoo, just saunter around and gaze at all the animals. I love that Mark Kozelek lyric, "All the wonderous animals, roamin' round the earth". Is it true that all conversations inevitably turn to Mark Kozelek?

But then, there is the unfortunate reality of captivity that I, the gazer, must face while "enjoying" the zoo. Which reminds me again that I've pretty much had it with Christians and their "God gave us dominion over the earth and all of the creatures on it" attitude. I really hate it that people can't see that they hold an unquestioned belief system simply because other people "believe" it, and that the more people jump on, the more it becomes "true". People are stupid and stubborn (Present company excluded, kids. One of my goals is to like myself, so I'm gonna cut you and me some slack here). I am disgusted with political polls that go quickly up and down, because it so glaringly shows that people have put no thought into their allegiances, weren't educated about the person they supported so vehemently, probably just took the pastor's word for it that God wanted that white man with the little boy haircut to win. Whatever momentary wind blows, they change their mind. No research, no educated opinion. Well, now that Bush's approval rating has hit an all-time low and it's pretty obvious that his administration is corrupt, maybe people will start jumping off the uppity Christian bandwagon and think for themselves. Live in sin again! Be confused and honest!

The movie whore is hankering to see Pride and Prejudice. Yes, I can feel the need for a "period piece" marathon in the near future, full of Mr Darcy's and Heathcliffs and strong "little" women. Life is pretty much open. I can do whatever I want.

Favorites

Cameron McCarthy used to be one of my favorite authors, until I stopped having favorite authors. I don't believe in having favorite authors anymore.

I remember when the movie True Grit came out. Kim Darby had spunk, baby, real spunk, so I wanted to be her. Or maybe I just had a thing for older men. She stood her own with John Wayne, but of course by this time he was "the old retarded-acting bloated John Wayne". That was before I read Dog of the South and way before Blood Meridian, the novel that first made me appreciate civilization and all its fake niceties. Not to mention All the Pretty Horses. What a great title. What a great book.

I saw Elizabethtown. If I had favorite movie-makers Cameron Crowe would be one, not because of his cinematic artistry, but for his humanity, his ability to see through the bullshit of celebrity and cut to real people. The "I am a golden god!" moment in Almost Famous recreated a feeling of inclusion and oneness that actually existed in the 60's and (dare I say) 70's? I still search for those moments, although hope grows slim, brothers and sisters. Mostly I am overtaken with cynicism and sadness at the selling-out of altruism. ("Yea, well you are looking at the past through rose-colored glasses. Wake up, dreamer.")

There were some good moments in Elizabethtown. I can relate to Susan Sarandon's character manically determined to learn to cook, fix the car and take tap-dancing lessons at that particular moment in her life. And it had that Cameron Crowe serendipity-chance-meetings-life-still-holds-surprises-60's-feel, but it was, unfortunately, mixed with "Sweet Home Alabama" this time. Kentucky, that is. A big dose of "sentimental downhome we love you like family even with your flaws" Kentucky.

Am I rambling or does this make sense? Or does it matter? Whatever. I have been adjusting to "my new life" for four weeks now, and the jury is still out on whether the change will ultimately be an improvement and whether it matters one way or the other. Faced with traditional wisdom ("Get out and meet people!, get together with someone at least once a week!, join a book club! (horrors!)" I nod my head and say, "Good idea! Yes. I'll do it!", but of course I'm lying. I would need something that I could "join" while standing outside of it, something more interesting, something layered that creates a more involved story-line. And there would be others, perhaps, also standing on the periphery to provide new twists on meaningful relationships. Perhaps a Fight Club scenario. Join a few self-help groups. Fulfull my nihilistic tendencies. Which reminds me that if I had favorite authors, which I don't, Chuck Palahniuk would be on the list.

Does this mean that I still have hope for people, relationships, underground movements? That somewhere down deep I believe that people aren't all selfish assholes who would kill for a fucking Sidekick? I search for a heart of gold. A guru who isn't screwing his disciples. A person who will rise up and tell the truth. Where the hell is the Age of Aquarius? Let's all hold hands on the mountain with the indian who has a single tear running down his cheek. Oh fuck it. Let's go smoke some weed and roll on the ground laughing.

November in the Gardens

Movie Whore Bed Blogging

So here I am in bed again under my new duvet cover enjoying tacky randomly-hung purple Christmas tree lights, still bent like an accordian from the box, and empty picture frames waiting to be filled and coffee with way too much fat-free creamer brewed in the new fancy thermos coffee maker that turns itself off. I did not visit Dolly, as Veronica my divorce trainer directed, but stubbornly spent the weekend alone, choosing movies as company. Movies never let you down. As I have said before (to paraphrase John Waters) I can find something I like in any movie. And Shopgirl, my movie of choice yesterday, was no exception.

In fact, it was wonderful. First of all, Jason Schwartzman alone is reason enough to see the movie. I loved him in Rushmore and even more in I Heart Huckabees. And of course Slackers! Always wacky and loveable and flawed, I will see a movie simply because he is in it. Visually Claire Danes created a quiet beauty that doesn't happen in real life. Pauses in conversation, uncomfortable moments can be beautiful to behold in movies, but in real life they create a chaos of misunderstanding. In movies, I desire the undefined, the spaces between.

The best surprise in the movie was that the father of AJ's twins, Mark Kozelek, has a small acting part (sort of, without much charisma). He plays a musician who invites Jason Schwartzman to tour with the band, and he is the person who helps Schwartzman learn to be better at "love", in a round-about way. There are songs from Sun Kil Moon on the soundtrack and at one point we see Kozelek working out song lyrics on the tour bus. I texted AJ immediately after the movie to tell her, and her reply? "My babydaddy is such a good actor!"

The movie reminded me that gloves are beautiful. Aren't they? Breakfast at Tiffany's, Cinderella, strippers, James Bond... Claire Dane's character, Mirabella, reminded me that slowly pulling on a long black glove can be a thing of beauty. What else. A message? Take your medication. Life can't make up for it! There.

Trees

Fine and Dandy (The Movie Whore is Back)

Determined to be cheerful this morning, the above title just popped into my head. Quickly typing it, I determined to do a sort of chain-of-consciousness, let the old subconsciousness bubble up and become a stew of words. See what happens.

Yesterday afternoon I went to The Weather Man, with Nicholas Cage. Had I known the movie was so intense, I'd have probably chosen another, but it turned out to be just the right message.

The opening vision of churning fields of broken ice on Lake Michigan and the low-key slushy winter atmosphere throughout is an unrelenting humid backdrop for the target practice that is a theme in the movie. Cage, who plays Chicago weather man Dave Spritz, is the target of his father's blank questioning, he is the target of food (Big Gulps, soft tacos, Frosties...) thrown from car windows by his viewing audience, his daughter is the target of taunts from schoolmates, and his son is the target of a sex offender. At one point the distracted Spritz goes through a mental narrative where he tries to figure out why people throw things at him. Asking himself "why" and "who" would throw things at people, he suddenly realizes that clowns are the only people that get things thrown at them. But Spritz, embracing the sport that his daughter rejected, practices archery and ultimately takes aim at his own sense of failure.

I thought the movie was a comedy. I thought I needed a comedy, but the unrelenting tumult of Spritz's life (mirroring the icy undulations of the lake and the chaotic weathermaps on TV screens) and his inability to defend himself or be understood, is eased in the end by a father's understanding and by his ability to forgive and accept himself.

Whew. I really liked Nicholas Cage's character, a complicated mix of sensitive and offensive, loveable and abhorrent. Pretty normal, I guess. And just the movie I needed, it turns out. So the Movie Whore is back, and today perhaps I'll see Elizabethtown. Or maybe Shopgirl.

MERCY!

Still in bed at 9:30 I am reflecting (but not too hard) on the past four days. Monday I was rear-ended while stopped at a stop light and the person who hit me fled the scene. The mechanics say the car frame is bent. Later, Mo was mugged in NYC and her phone was stolen (her face bruised in the process). Grades had to be posted by midnight on Monday (which in itself is enough to cause a mental breakdown) and the past two days and nights have been spent in the Vortex of Hell, once again. Due to the extreme surveillance culture at my job, I won't say the words "tarent peacher monsterences", but you know what they are, and they ain't pretty, people. There are fangs involved, and much crying and gnashing of teeth.

I have felt under attack, and with no one to share each crisis as it arises, I have buffeted myself with guilt and pretty much fallen apart. Maybe that is not so unusual when you are going through a divorce. If I have begun to learn one thing, it's that I certainly am not special. All of the profound feelings that I thought no one else felt are just part of being human. Everybody feels them in similar circumstances. Letting go of being special seems to be a theme in my life during this huge transition. Other large issues? The new shape of family. Finding peace in being alone. The importance of maintaining friendships. Facing fear...

But today I have the day off, and it looks to be about 69 degrees out there in the world. And sunny! I will attempt to enjoy the moment, see what's out there, take a photo or two and post them later. Take it easy. Practice being nice to myself.