A Few Words About Pets And Furniture

Just a small photograph of my cat, Stanley, seated comfortably on the roughly $1400 leather chair--it even reclines!-- we recently purchased for him.

(It is hard to tell pets to stay off the furniture when they look so darned cute on it!)

Apparently When You Are A Housewife, You Have To Do Housework.

That is so lame. I thought you just got to prance around the house and do projects.

What do you mean the bathroom looks dirty and the tomatoes aren't watered?

I am too busy being an artist to make you feel special.

I Used To Be Sooo Smart

A notebook with commentary revealing I once "understood" a now all but impenetrable Susan Howe poem

Other notebooks reveal an (obviously stymied) effort to learn to read Anglo-Saxon, a once-thorough grasp of the German language, and that I used to think about something called 'alterity,' the actual definition of which I can now never seem to remember. The grisly horror of all this? Apparently, when you don't use your mind, you can lose your mind. Here's hoping I can get mine back. In all seriousness. Here I have been one of those people who just put their brains out to pasture while they drift away in the light summer breeze. I had better start reviewing German verbs or something. Or some other mental daily mental feat. Brainteasers from the supermarket. (Of course, there have been weighty circumstances. But the circumstances are coming to a much longed-for end.)
So stand forth, impenetrable poetry. Come forward, dead language of our ancestors. I have tightened the screws where my head is connected to my neck and am fully ready for you once again. Thank you.

In Which I Now Have A Hobby That, Thankfully, Is Not Knitting

I make hardcover books w/my own hands!

I would like to take this opportunity to say that I have nothing against knitting, per say, in the strictest sense of the word. It is rather with 'purling' that I take issue. I could knit until the cows come home if knitting alone weren't so (insert expletive) boring. For example, if what you want is a simple rectangular scarf made of one single kind of fibrous material (no stripes!) , then I am your woman.
(Unless of course you're my incredibly awesome boyfriend that I promise to knit a scarf for with yarn that you pick out yourself--despite being the only guy in the whole knitting store--and despite my deep, abiding love for you, I never get the project off the ground because, as previously stated, I find knitting boring.)
But the fact remains. Technically (if not emotionally), I am capable of knitting square objects. But do not turn to me for whimsical feathery fringe on some deliciously asymmetrical flaming orange-red example of craftsmanship like the shawl you (I) saw at the yarn store. I cannot make this. I am too incompetent. Also, please refrain from asking me to perform operations like 'knit two together' or this mysterious 'drop stitch' that all the knitting books are talking about, both of which are like pointy sharp objects horrendously disfiguring the delicate antique lace project of my knitting.

If you would like to knit your own underwear and bathing suits, more power to you.
Meanwhile I will be hitting up the local Michael's for every last scrap of fine paper to use in making some seriously imperfect handmade books--think: messy crime scene--walking past aisle after aisle of Mary Engelbreit scrapbook hell to find the two pieces of paper that I actually like.

But I think I just saw you (myself) on the other side of the store, admiring the yarn. Maybe we are not so different after all.

I Went Away For Awhile But Now I Am Back. I Was Nowhere. Nothing Happened.

My "novel" is spanking my butt raw. Oooh, oooh it hurts.

Last Night, For A Change Of Perspective, I Pretended To Be A Cat

the inspiration for my lunacy

I chased a feather around on a stick. Thank you.

Once Again, I Find Myself Reading A Book About DESPAIR

desperate poultry

Dear Diary,

In other news, Steven and I at long last roasted our Thanksgiving turkey. Now there will finally be room in the freezer for leftover turkey a la king.

As for the book, it is awesome! (I am reading Miss Lonelyhearts by Nathaniel West, and, as I said, there is quite a bit of DESPAIR here on the part of the protagonist as he muddles his way through his job as the agony columnist for the local newspaper. And let me tell you, the letters he gets are plenty depressing. Plus there's Shrike, his jerk boss who spoils all his attempts to find redemption via religion, art etc. (So far I have only gotten to religion.) The description on the back of the novel promises something about 'death,' so maybe I will be 3 for 3. Ah. Death by one's own insanity.)

Turkey curry, turkey sandwiches, turkey soup.

In still even other news, a reporter at the news conference yesterday asked the women from US Geological Survey if it was significant that the (7.2) earthquake happened on Easter Sunday. The USGS woman said 'no.'

My cat is doing well. Thank you.

Fun Things To Do In Irvine On The Weekend: Part 1

(A New, If Occasional, Segment)

Wear high heels to the Farmer's Market and use as many plastic bags as possible.

Oh, and Jesus saves. Today! If you're into that stuff.

Plus one correction: apparently there is so little crime in Irvine that they do not have a city jail. Therefore, the next time the overly-assiduous bag sheriff catches me saving plastic, he can send me to do hard time in Santa Ana. That's where the airport is. The John Wayne Airport. There is a big statue of him there. I always wanted to have my picture taken with it, but there is no one but the car rental people to snap the shot and they're on the clock, as they say. Plus there is that colossal American flag. But seriously, folks. Stagecoach! Hatari! This is the stuff of my youth...

Of course, so is Jesus. And I don't believe everything they say about him anymore either.

Good Friday Myth: Busted!

keeping watch at the tomb

Dear Diary,

That reminds me.

Yesterday the sky did not get dark and cloudy around 3 pm, which everyone knows was the hour of our lord's death, on a very specific date and time somewhere, to the best of scholars' estimations, between 26 and 36 CE. And don't forget, that's also when the veil of the temple ripped in two. But it looks like all my catholic school teachers were just pulling the wool over my eyes to explain the inclement weather in terms of religious indoctrination. Sky gets dark and cloudy, my ass. (I wonder, is that comma before 'my ass' grammatically correct?) But anyway you look at it, that was a long time ago, Sister Mary Patrick Francis Brian. Maybe you should have busied yourself more with the teaching of proper usage of commas to 3rd graders than with macabre stories of crucifixion and the zombie-like raising of the dead of this Jesus character that we like to call 'resurrection.' Thank you.

Otho the Great is Great-tastic!

notes on 'Otho': so illuminating (not)

tuesday, march 30

In other news, the bagger at Ralph's implied that I was shoplifting milk and toilet paper because I took them off the conveyor belt (after the clerk checked them) because I did not want the plastic-squandering bagger to put them in said non-biodegradable receptacles. Luckily the friendly clerk straightened things out right away or I might have been writing this from the Irvine city jail!

I mean, seriously, I am paying over 40 dollars for all this other stuff but I am going to steal toilet paper and milk. Way to go, bag sheriff.

In 'Otho' news: I have finished the play but unfortunately cannot report what happens because I frankly have no idea what is going on here. Spoiler alert: someone appears to die from his own insanity or possibly from having stabbed himself at the end. And there's definitely some conniving going on. But as to exactly what remains unclear, which is sad as I realized (as I kept getting deja vu) that I have actually read this play before. Maybe the third time. Strangely, in other Otho news, Otho's attitude toward Ethelbert the abbot seems slightly manic-depressive. It's like, do you like him or don't you? Seriously.

Thank you. I have to go shoplift a cucumber from Ralph's.

We're Not In Oakland Anymore, Toto

getting ready to face the day

monday, march 29-tuesday, march 30

Reading up on stevia extract and swiss water process on all-knowing Wikipedia, one, to see if stevia is secretly a toxic substance, and two, trying to find a decaffeinated coffee that is not full of chemicals and is genuinely caffeine free.

Finished Nightwood. True misery, these people. Spoiler alert! The ending involves someone fainting and/or dying and somebody else acting like a dog then getting bitten by a dog, but it was unclear to me whether or not this person in the end succumbs to her dog bite wound or to her own insanity. A great read though. Highly recommended.

Still reading Otho the Great (Keats), in fact I fell asleep reading it. Situation of the princess Erminia, honor in question and all that, finds me reminiscing about Das Kaethchen von Heilbronn, a German play by Heinrich von Kleist I think I might like to read again once I'm done with Otho here. The current plot certainly involves a big secret that I am a bit in the dark over. Maybe I'm not supposed to find out until later, or maybe I am an imbecile. Lots of intrigue though, found letters that are incriminating, people not doing the right thing. Lies, lies, lies. These people would all be doing a lot better for themselves if they just followed my essential model for success in this sometimes challenging world: drink lots of water and remain calm. When you are drinking lots of water and remaining calm, you tend to get less involved with the catastrophe with which you are presented.

I have some fun thinking about the recent robocall from the Irvine Police Department regarding a stolen red huffy bicycle. Wow! Such service. If I ever find myself missing anything, I will know who to call. This is almost as good as the time when six police officers were harassing a homeless man for sitting on the grass. Seeing that made me sad inside.

What is also sad are the many sunbathers who slather a lotion of mere SPF 6 all over their already over-bronzed bodies (including some serious fake boobs) and then light one up for a refreshing pool-side smoke, then leave their butts for others to find on the cement beneath their feet. Me, being around water always makes me want to do healthy things. But I guess not everybody feels this way. All the same, I will be sticking with SPF 50 and the inhalation of air alone.

Did Tai Chi. Made cantaloupe agua fresca. Farmer's market: greens, trail mix, tomatoes, sweet potatoes, grapefruit, apples, avocadoes.

Oh, and FYI: I did not win the Walt Whitman award, but then did you really expect me to?

Signing off. I have really important things to do right now, for example, checking the mail.

This Weekend Was Wacky

container garden failure #1: cat eats chives

friday, march 26

Writing the first novel was easy. Was like it wrote itself. This novel feels like a lonely and arduous and sometimes insurmountable task. Right now I am cutting and pasting source materials and dividing them into categories. To get a better grasp of subject. Something has to happen before I can start writing this next section. When I go to check on the orchids I'm pressing in the Arcades Project, I find "...here the concern is to find the consolation of awakening." (from 'On the Theory of Knowledge, Theory of Progress.') Somehow, this seems particularly apt.

Also, the Life and Morals of Jesus of Nazareth by Thomas Jefferson, in which he creates a single narrative from all four gospels while stripping the story of supernatural elements like miracles and resurrection. Jesus just dies and is buried. Sometimes it strikes me that Christianity might have been alright if not for Paul (Christianity is the belief in resurrection) and the evangelist John (Jesus is god-he's not in the other gospels). And in John it's a very exclusive divinity and he disses all over doubting Thomas, who has his own gospel where the divine light, the ability to discover divine knowledge, is in each of us.

Then Croques-Madames for dinner which is a bread, bechamel, nutmeg, ham, gruyere sandwhich baked with a fried egg on top. I got the recipe from a magazine. I am not going crazy buying House Beautiful. I don't thiink. The shelter of objects and furnishings functions as a sort of organizing principle.

The Thin Red Line. Terence Malick right up there with Werner Herzog in terms of unique directorial style.


saturday, march 27

More Arcades Project, Bowers Museum to see the mummies, planted tomatoes, watched part of Bright Star, found it sad. Everybody is keeping Fanny and John apart.


sunday, march 28

My lack of education as a poet. Missing huge chunks. Read a few pages of Keats' Endymion, then switch over to Otho the Great, written with Charles Brown.
But I should finish Nightwood first. Nightwood, by Djuna Barnes, seems to me to be a novel about miserable people who either cannot or will not alter their own misery.
The wacky part is I think there are orcas in the pool and have to get out. Then I cut myself chopping leeks and walk through a screen door.
I was dating someone for awhile and we read the plays of Yeats together. At least I think we did. Irish foreground, stuff like that.