I've been drinking a lot of diet soda, not because I'm on a diet, but because I feel like I'm starting to drink too much soda in general. So instead of going cold turkey, which seems to work for a few days and then doesn't, I'm trying to fool myself into thinking that soda is really gross. I hate diet cola especially, so I figure if I drink it enough, I'll forget what real cola tastes like; like maybe I'll forget that I really love the taste of, say, an ice-cold Coke. Regular Coke.
The problem is, I tend to add things to my diet cola to make it more palatable, such as vanilla extract. If that sounds disgusting, well, it actually kind of is, but not nearly as disgusting as the diet cola by itself. The point is, I realized today that I'm trying to convince myself not to drink soda by drinking soda that I don't like, and then attempting to make the soda I don't like taste better so that I will like drinking it.
I've come to the conclusion that I might be insane.
On another note: if you're in the Bay Area, don't forget to check out Yardley at Epic Arts Studio in Berkeley on Saturday night! Maybe I'll see you there--after I hopefully have dinner at the Crepe Vine. Oh, how I miss that place!
Well, have a great weekend whatever you end up doing.
Friday, April 29, 2005
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Driving
Last night I heard the rain in my sleep. I thought I was dreaming, but when I woke up, the ground outside was wet.
I hope that it is partly cloudy on Saturday, for my drive up to San Francisco. I don't like driving in the rain, but I also don't like to see blank blue sky on that long, straight drive. I'll be taking I-5 because it's a little quicker than 101, although I will miss the view of the sea.
On the other hand, I'll get to see the windmills along 580, and that is not a bad substitute.
Speaking of driving, here are my top five drives in New Zealand, in no particular order:
5) Christchurch to Queenstown, passing Mt Aoraki along the way.
I really like this drive mostly because it takes you past Lake Tekapo. I never saw a lake quite that color before...an opaque, slightly turquoise blue. And off in the distance, the little cloud that hovers perpetually over Mt Cook.
4) Lewis Pass
I did this drive in the early days of spring, 2003. Wow. I stopped off at a trail, what was the name of it? Sumner Track, I think. I was alone. There was a long swing bridge, like something you'd see in Indiana Jones. I crossed it, and the whole time all I could think as I looked down at the rushing river and rocks below was, "If this thing breaks and I fall to my death, no one will ever know." Because no one knew where I was.
3) Christchurch to Akaroa via Lyttleton, then out to the peninsula
My brother and I did this one together. I can't describe the view we saw when we finally got out of the car near the peninsula, except to say that I never knew there really was a place where, when you looked off into the distance, you really couldn't tell the difference between sky and sea. But there is, and we were there.
2) Te Anau to Milford Sound (especially after the Homer Tunnel)
Before the tunnel is fine, but passing through it, you come out on the other side and the mountains are suddenly all around you, jagged, barren, and wild. On a stormy day, waterfalls are everywhere, and you can't see the mountain peaks because they are lost in the mist.
1) Kaikoura to Blenheim
This is probably my favorite drive, hands-down. I did it several times during my two stays in NZ, and I never, ever got tired of it.
I wish I had pictures of all of these drives, but I don't. You will just have to go to New Zealand and check them out for yourself.
(By the way, the above are all drives on the south island. I do have a few favorites on the north island as well, but perhaps I will save those for another post. I don't know why they didn't make the top five; I liked the north island, but I have to admit that my heart was all for the south.)
I hope that it is partly cloudy on Saturday, for my drive up to San Francisco. I don't like driving in the rain, but I also don't like to see blank blue sky on that long, straight drive. I'll be taking I-5 because it's a little quicker than 101, although I will miss the view of the sea.
On the other hand, I'll get to see the windmills along 580, and that is not a bad substitute.
Speaking of driving, here are my top five drives in New Zealand, in no particular order:
5) Christchurch to Queenstown, passing Mt Aoraki along the way.
I really like this drive mostly because it takes you past Lake Tekapo. I never saw a lake quite that color before...an opaque, slightly turquoise blue. And off in the distance, the little cloud that hovers perpetually over Mt Cook.
4) Lewis Pass
I did this drive in the early days of spring, 2003. Wow. I stopped off at a trail, what was the name of it? Sumner Track, I think. I was alone. There was a long swing bridge, like something you'd see in Indiana Jones. I crossed it, and the whole time all I could think as I looked down at the rushing river and rocks below was, "If this thing breaks and I fall to my death, no one will ever know." Because no one knew where I was.
3) Christchurch to Akaroa via Lyttleton, then out to the peninsula
My brother and I did this one together. I can't describe the view we saw when we finally got out of the car near the peninsula, except to say that I never knew there really was a place where, when you looked off into the distance, you really couldn't tell the difference between sky and sea. But there is, and we were there.
2) Te Anau to Milford Sound (especially after the Homer Tunnel)
Before the tunnel is fine, but passing through it, you come out on the other side and the mountains are suddenly all around you, jagged, barren, and wild. On a stormy day, waterfalls are everywhere, and you can't see the mountain peaks because they are lost in the mist.
1) Kaikoura to Blenheim
This is probably my favorite drive, hands-down. I did it several times during my two stays in NZ, and I never, ever got tired of it.
I wish I had pictures of all of these drives, but I don't. You will just have to go to New Zealand and check them out for yourself.
(By the way, the above are all drives on the south island. I do have a few favorites on the north island as well, but perhaps I will save those for another post. I don't know why they didn't make the top five; I liked the north island, but I have to admit that my heart was all for the south.)
Fine Wine
Catch the foxes for us, the little foxes that spoil the vineyards, for our vines have tender grapes.--Song of Solomon 2:15
There is a scene in the movie Sideways where a man and a woman are seated on a porch at night, and the man likes the woman very much but he is afraid to tell her, and the woman likes the man very much, but she might be afraid that perhaps he doesn't like her (it is harder to tell what she is thinking, and that could be part of the reason the man is afraid too). They are both connoisseurs of wine, and the man particularly likes pinot, and as they sip on a fine vintage (the name of which escapes me now, and it may or may not actually be pinot), the woman leans forward and asks the man why he likes pinot so much anyway; what makes it so different, for him, from other wines? So he tells her (his voice tender, almost shy) about how the pinot grapes are not easily grown, how they are thin-skinned, delicate, "temperamental," requiring constant care and attention. They only grow in certain pockets of the world, because of requiring precise weather conditions. They aren't "survivors," he says, not like cabernet which will grow just about anywhere; ah, but when they do survive, when the wine is made, what a brilliant, "ancient flavor"! And nothing (you can see he means this), nothing can compare to it.
The man looks at his glass more than the woman as he speaks, but her eyes never leave his face, and you know that she knows that on some level he is talking about himself, even if he doesn't know it. But I think he is also talking about the woman he will love, because deep inside himself, he doesn't want just anyone, and especially he doesn't want someone who doesn't need him to help her grow.
And I know, though neither of them do, that he is really talking about me, and that I also am like the pinot grapes, full of promise, but easily broken and bruised, if I am not handled with exquisite gentleness and care; a loving regard, not just for what I am, but for what I will be someday.
The finest wine is appreciated most by the one who waits.
There is a scene in the movie Sideways where a man and a woman are seated on a porch at night, and the man likes the woman very much but he is afraid to tell her, and the woman likes the man very much, but she might be afraid that perhaps he doesn't like her (it is harder to tell what she is thinking, and that could be part of the reason the man is afraid too). They are both connoisseurs of wine, and the man particularly likes pinot, and as they sip on a fine vintage (the name of which escapes me now, and it may or may not actually be pinot), the woman leans forward and asks the man why he likes pinot so much anyway; what makes it so different, for him, from other wines? So he tells her (his voice tender, almost shy) about how the pinot grapes are not easily grown, how they are thin-skinned, delicate, "temperamental," requiring constant care and attention. They only grow in certain pockets of the world, because of requiring precise weather conditions. They aren't "survivors," he says, not like cabernet which will grow just about anywhere; ah, but when they do survive, when the wine is made, what a brilliant, "ancient flavor"! And nothing (you can see he means this), nothing can compare to it.
The man looks at his glass more than the woman as he speaks, but her eyes never leave his face, and you know that she knows that on some level he is talking about himself, even if he doesn't know it. But I think he is also talking about the woman he will love, because deep inside himself, he doesn't want just anyone, and especially he doesn't want someone who doesn't need him to help her grow.
And I know, though neither of them do, that he is really talking about me, and that I also am like the pinot grapes, full of promise, but easily broken and bruised, if I am not handled with exquisite gentleness and care; a loving regard, not just for what I am, but for what I will be someday.
The finest wine is appreciated most by the one who waits.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
The One?
One of my single girlfriends and I recently had parallel relationship experiences where, in the space of pretty much the exact same period of time, we both met guys that we liked, whom we dated or hung out with for awhile, and then watched everything fall apart in the end. And our similar situations (made worse by the fact that we are both turning the big 3-0 this year) engender endless conversations over coffee, tea, and occasionally large amounts of chocolate, during which we seek to discover:
1) What's wrong with us, and
2) What's wrong with them ("them" being the entire male species)
We don't get very far with either of these topics in terms of getting to an answer, but they are the sort of things that girls talk about at great length, so, being girls, that's what we do. You can't escape the mandate of your genes.
But another thing we talk about is the question of whether or not there is a "The One" for everyone, and by The One, I mean one particular person who out of all the other people on earth, is designed just for you, and vice versa. I have my own opinions on this (like that's a big surprise), but while I sort them out, I'm curious to know what other people think. So tell me.
1) What's wrong with us, and
2) What's wrong with them ("them" being the entire male species)
We don't get very far with either of these topics in terms of getting to an answer, but they are the sort of things that girls talk about at great length, so, being girls, that's what we do. You can't escape the mandate of your genes.
But another thing we talk about is the question of whether or not there is a "The One" for everyone, and by The One, I mean one particular person who out of all the other people on earth, is designed just for you, and vice versa. I have my own opinions on this (like that's a big surprise), but while I sort them out, I'm curious to know what other people think. So tell me.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
TV: Prescription for Illness
I'm sick today. I hate being sick when it is beautiful and sunny outside. Well, not that I like being sick otherwise, but somehow it seems more of an affront when I feel yucky and the rest of the world doesn't.
When I'm sick I like to have Earl Grey tea and toast, but we are out of Earl Grey and regular bread. So I had cheap Ralph's brand tea, and oatmeal. It's not the same.
Another annoying thing about being sick is daytime TV. It's awful. For example, right now I am half-watching Speed 2: Cruise Control. It's way worse than the first one, but then again, sequels usually are. (Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason more than bears out my theory. So do every single one of the Jaws followups.) Speed 2 features Jason Patric, who was in Lost Boys back in the 80s, playing a tortured-lover-turned-vampire, which for some reason I found oddly attractive. I'm not sure what he's playing in Speed 2, because I can't really be bothered to pay that much attention. I can't believe I'm about to say what I'm about to say, but...I kind of wish they'd kept Keanu Reeves. Now please excuse me while I go wash my mouth out with soap.
Ok, I'm back now.
Thinking about daytime TV reminds me of this one series that always seemed to be on when I was a kid and stayed home sick from school. This is way back in the day, I mean I'm talking like fifth or sixth grade. It was a made-for-TV miniseries called V. Does anyone else remember this show? It's all about aliens who come to earth, and they look just like us, and they are very friendly, so everyone makes friends with them. Everything is cool until some pedantic do-gooder discovers that, in fact, the aliens are big lizards masquerading as people, and they are secretly eating humans, or something. And then he feels compelled to do something about it, like warn everyone, but of course very few people believe his rants and raves, so lots of people die, and chaos ensues, but in the end he gets to be a hero, and some of the lizards turn out to be quite nice and marry some of the humans they've fallen in love with.
You know, TV is really, really lame.
When I'm sick I like to have Earl Grey tea and toast, but we are out of Earl Grey and regular bread. So I had cheap Ralph's brand tea, and oatmeal. It's not the same.
Another annoying thing about being sick is daytime TV. It's awful. For example, right now I am half-watching Speed 2: Cruise Control. It's way worse than the first one, but then again, sequels usually are. (Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason more than bears out my theory. So do every single one of the Jaws followups.) Speed 2 features Jason Patric, who was in Lost Boys back in the 80s, playing a tortured-lover-turned-vampire, which for some reason I found oddly attractive. I'm not sure what he's playing in Speed 2, because I can't really be bothered to pay that much attention. I can't believe I'm about to say what I'm about to say, but...I kind of wish they'd kept Keanu Reeves. Now please excuse me while I go wash my mouth out with soap.
Ok, I'm back now.
Thinking about daytime TV reminds me of this one series that always seemed to be on when I was a kid and stayed home sick from school. This is way back in the day, I mean I'm talking like fifth or sixth grade. It was a made-for-TV miniseries called V. Does anyone else remember this show? It's all about aliens who come to earth, and they look just like us, and they are very friendly, so everyone makes friends with them. Everything is cool until some pedantic do-gooder discovers that, in fact, the aliens are big lizards masquerading as people, and they are secretly eating humans, or something. And then he feels compelled to do something about it, like warn everyone, but of course very few people believe his rants and raves, so lots of people die, and chaos ensues, but in the end he gets to be a hero, and some of the lizards turn out to be quite nice and marry some of the humans they've fallen in love with.
You know, TV is really, really lame.
Monday, April 25, 2005
Buggin'
I wrote something in my post yesterday that has been bugging me ever since. I said I don't relate to people who express hard-line, one-sided opinions. The reason this bugs me is that sometimes I am one of those people. I mean, I have one-sided opinions as often as most people. I am as lazy about researching issues as the people I criticize for being lazy about researching issues. Ouch. So what exactly do I mean when I say I don't relate to people on the extremes?
I guess I really mean I like playing devil's advocate, and as soon as someone says words like "they always," or "they never," I'm primed to disagree. I may not have facts on my side, but I rarely care (anyone who follows the frogg files regularly already knows this).
All this thinking has led me into a quagmire of self-realization today, which I try to avoid when I can, because usually I can't. To get out of it today, I'm going to talk about the spider in my shower.
There is a spider in my shower. He is a small spider, thankfully. He has built a very attractive little web in the corner just above the showerhead. This indicates a couple of things, namely:
1) I need to clean my shower more often; and,
2) Um, maybe that's it, actually.
But I couldn't bring myself to destroy the web and wash the spider away. He really has worked quite hard, probably harder than I work on any given day. I feel bad anyway when I kill bugs. They are so much smaller, and it seems terrible because of the fact that they probably don't have a clue as to what's coming. Especially ants. I hate ants, but I still feel guilty when I kill them. I mean, what if I were an ant, and I was just going about my business of being annoying on picnics, or kitchen counters, and I didn't know I was being annoying because all I was doing was my job of trying to find food for the hive. (Oh wait, that's bees...what do you call where ants live? Is it a nest? Yeah, that sounds right.) ANYWAY, all of a sudden a shadow looms, blocking the light of the sun, or the lamp or whatever, and then SMOOSH. Total oblivion, unless you believe animals go to heaven, in which case perhaps ants go there too, but I think people assume only cute fuzzy animals and maybe horses actually go to animal heaven. I don't think anyone really believes that bugs are good. I think most people hope all bugs go to hell. Except perhaps butterflies, because they are pretty.
Wow.
After reading what I just wrote, I think I need to do something a lot more productive with my time. Maybe I'll go clean the shower.
I guess I really mean I like playing devil's advocate, and as soon as someone says words like "they always," or "they never," I'm primed to disagree. I may not have facts on my side, but I rarely care (anyone who follows the frogg files regularly already knows this).
All this thinking has led me into a quagmire of self-realization today, which I try to avoid when I can, because usually I can't. To get out of it today, I'm going to talk about the spider in my shower.
There is a spider in my shower. He is a small spider, thankfully. He has built a very attractive little web in the corner just above the showerhead. This indicates a couple of things, namely:
1) I need to clean my shower more often; and,
2) Um, maybe that's it, actually.
But I couldn't bring myself to destroy the web and wash the spider away. He really has worked quite hard, probably harder than I work on any given day. I feel bad anyway when I kill bugs. They are so much smaller, and it seems terrible because of the fact that they probably don't have a clue as to what's coming. Especially ants. I hate ants, but I still feel guilty when I kill them. I mean, what if I were an ant, and I was just going about my business of being annoying on picnics, or kitchen counters, and I didn't know I was being annoying because all I was doing was my job of trying to find food for the hive. (Oh wait, that's bees...what do you call where ants live? Is it a nest? Yeah, that sounds right.) ANYWAY, all of a sudden a shadow looms, blocking the light of the sun, or the lamp or whatever, and then SMOOSH. Total oblivion, unless you believe animals go to heaven, in which case perhaps ants go there too, but I think people assume only cute fuzzy animals and maybe horses actually go to animal heaven. I don't think anyone really believes that bugs are good. I think most people hope all bugs go to hell. Except perhaps butterflies, because they are pretty.
Wow.
After reading what I just wrote, I think I need to do something a lot more productive with my time. Maybe I'll go clean the shower.
Sunday, April 24, 2005
On Hearing Anne Lamott
I went to the LA Times Festival of Books today, at UCLA. I went mostly because I wanted to hear Anne Lamott speak. A few years back, a friend gave me a copy of Lamott's book, Bird by Bird, which I absolutely loved, and I thought it would be interesting to see the author in person and hear her read from her work.
She was the last main speaker of the day, following Walter Mosley, whose work I haven't read, but I think I just might have to, after attending his reading. I liked him too, I mean as a person. Not that I met him, but I liked his presence on the stage, the things he had to say. I also liked his sense of humor. And I was oddly struck by what he had to say about truth: that everyone should strive to tell the truth--the real, gut-level truth--about something important to them at least once every day.
So I think I might check out his book The Man in the Basement, because he described his characters like this: one is evil but not bad, and the other is innocent but not good. I'm a sucker for paradoxes, what can I say.
But about Anne Lamott. When she finally came on the stage at 4pm, I was surprised to see that she was older than I'd thought, from her book jacket pictures. This always happens when I see authors in person. (Except maybe for Michael Chabon, who looked almost exactly like his picture when I saw him at a reading at Cody's Books in Berkeley years ago.)
One of the first things that Anne did when she got to the podium was get tangled up in her microphone wire and her Festival of Books badge. I liked this about her, that she started off in a bit of a mess; it's the sort of thing that would probably happen to me if I was a famous author and was about to read from my latest best-seller in front of a huge crowd. (Maybe someday it will happen.)
But then she began to talk, and the first part of her talk wasn't about writing, or faith, or even about the book she had just had published (which is called Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith), it was about politics and how horrible Bush is, and all his cronies. Not that I didn't agree with her on some level, but then again, I don't ever think that the political situation is as black and white as "we're bad, they're good." no matter which side of the political fence you stand on. It's just not that simple, and I find it hard to relate to people who express a one-sided hard-line point of view, even if I happen to agree with them.
So I thought about getting up and leaving, because I didn't drive all the way to Westwood to get diatribed. I came because I wanted to hear about writing, to be reminded why I do it, and maybe to find out if I really am a writer at all, because I'll tell you what, some days I don't feel much like it. Well, in spite of my misgivings, I stayed, and I was glad I did, because eventually she did actually read from her latest book, and she told the story of how she was feeling angry and helpless about all the crap going on in the world, and she asked her priest friend what on earth she could do about it. He said there were needy people all around us, and that you didn't necessarily have to go to Iraq to find them. So she asked God to make her more giving, or loving, or something. Then she went to the supermarket, and won a ham. She didn't like ham, so she was a little perturbed at God, but then she figured that if God gives you a gift, even if it's a ham, you better take it. On her way out to the car, in the parking lot, she accidentally ran her shopping cart into a rusty old wreck of a car, and then she saw that inside was a friend of hers who had been in rehab with her, and Anne said, "Hi! It's my birthday!" The friend said, "Happy birthday," then started crying because she needed gas, and she needed food and she had no money.
Guess who got the ham.
Isn't that a great story? I think so, and it reminded me of why I decided to like Anne Lamott, way back when I first read Bird by Bird. And it's why I think in some way we are fundamentally alike, even though we would probably disagree on a great many things, and maybe even annoy each other a lot, if we knew each other personally. But I like her because she talks about life from personal experience, not dressing it up in fancy literary terms and metaphors, but just describing it as it is, filled with messes and sadness, but also a lot of grace and humor, and I think I do want to be a writer after all, if I can write just a little bit like that.
So thanks, Anne, for being yourself, for giving a good read, and for being a better writer than you seem to think you are. I like your work. Keep it up.
(PS: You know, I really liked the ham story a lot. I liked it because it showed the way God works. We tend to get angry at him for not "doing his job," when all the time he is trying to help us do ours.)
She was the last main speaker of the day, following Walter Mosley, whose work I haven't read, but I think I just might have to, after attending his reading. I liked him too, I mean as a person. Not that I met him, but I liked his presence on the stage, the things he had to say. I also liked his sense of humor. And I was oddly struck by what he had to say about truth: that everyone should strive to tell the truth--the real, gut-level truth--about something important to them at least once every day.
So I think I might check out his book The Man in the Basement, because he described his characters like this: one is evil but not bad, and the other is innocent but not good. I'm a sucker for paradoxes, what can I say.
But about Anne Lamott. When she finally came on the stage at 4pm, I was surprised to see that she was older than I'd thought, from her book jacket pictures. This always happens when I see authors in person. (Except maybe for Michael Chabon, who looked almost exactly like his picture when I saw him at a reading at Cody's Books in Berkeley years ago.)
One of the first things that Anne did when she got to the podium was get tangled up in her microphone wire and her Festival of Books badge. I liked this about her, that she started off in a bit of a mess; it's the sort of thing that would probably happen to me if I was a famous author and was about to read from my latest best-seller in front of a huge crowd. (Maybe someday it will happen.)
But then she began to talk, and the first part of her talk wasn't about writing, or faith, or even about the book she had just had published (which is called Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith), it was about politics and how horrible Bush is, and all his cronies. Not that I didn't agree with her on some level, but then again, I don't ever think that the political situation is as black and white as "we're bad, they're good." no matter which side of the political fence you stand on. It's just not that simple, and I find it hard to relate to people who express a one-sided hard-line point of view, even if I happen to agree with them.
So I thought about getting up and leaving, because I didn't drive all the way to Westwood to get diatribed. I came because I wanted to hear about writing, to be reminded why I do it, and maybe to find out if I really am a writer at all, because I'll tell you what, some days I don't feel much like it. Well, in spite of my misgivings, I stayed, and I was glad I did, because eventually she did actually read from her latest book, and she told the story of how she was feeling angry and helpless about all the crap going on in the world, and she asked her priest friend what on earth she could do about it. He said there were needy people all around us, and that you didn't necessarily have to go to Iraq to find them. So she asked God to make her more giving, or loving, or something. Then she went to the supermarket, and won a ham. She didn't like ham, so she was a little perturbed at God, but then she figured that if God gives you a gift, even if it's a ham, you better take it. On her way out to the car, in the parking lot, she accidentally ran her shopping cart into a rusty old wreck of a car, and then she saw that inside was a friend of hers who had been in rehab with her, and Anne said, "Hi! It's my birthday!" The friend said, "Happy birthday," then started crying because she needed gas, and she needed food and she had no money.
Guess who got the ham.
Isn't that a great story? I think so, and it reminded me of why I decided to like Anne Lamott, way back when I first read Bird by Bird. And it's why I think in some way we are fundamentally alike, even though we would probably disagree on a great many things, and maybe even annoy each other a lot, if we knew each other personally. But I like her because she talks about life from personal experience, not dressing it up in fancy literary terms and metaphors, but just describing it as it is, filled with messes and sadness, but also a lot of grace and humor, and I think I do want to be a writer after all, if I can write just a little bit like that.
So thanks, Anne, for being yourself, for giving a good read, and for being a better writer than you seem to think you are. I like your work. Keep it up.
(PS: You know, I really liked the ham story a lot. I liked it because it showed the way God works. We tend to get angry at him for not "doing his job," when all the time he is trying to help us do ours.)
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