Saturday, December 6, 2014

La Misanthrope

Moliere wrote a farcical play called "Le Misanthrope" about a man named Alceste who criticizes all those around him for their flaws, including himself. I am calling this blog post "La Misanthrope" because I am a woman, and in french you change the article to reflect the gender of the object. Namely, me.

Yes, people, I am a misanthrope. I have finally decided, after 48 years of life, that on the whole people are just too difficult, too petty, too jealous, too bitchy, too shallow, too greedy, and too boring to deal with anymore. People do not work well together, they are practically incapable of humbling themselves enough to take responsibility for their own actions, and they are always quick to blame others for their own laziness or willful ignorance. Get more than two people in a group - any group -and you've got problems.

These days I am totally depressed by the lack of real grown ups in the world. When I was a kid, men and women were considered adults early in their 20's.They spoke well, knew how to structure a sentence, and could act professionally and kindly. Today 40 year old men act like children, using words like "awesome", "ninja", and "badass". They spit everywhere, all the time, they blow snot rockets out of their noses while they wait for the bus, and they drive like complete morons with a death wish.

It's certainly not just the guys. Most of the "women" I see in Portland are not grown ups either. They're tatooed all up and down their arms, on their necks, with stupid childish clothes ie: "whimsical" Portland garb, pushing their strollers into traffic to stop cars so they can cross the street, unloading their brats into traffic instead of on the street side of their car, riding bikes belligerently in front of your car even when they have room to move aside, and generally thinking that keeping Portland weird means keeping Portland a HUGE PAIN IN THE ASS.

The driving/biking/pedestrian things is totally out of control. Even when I leave in plenty of time, bring a nice cup of coffee along to soothe me, put on the classical station and surround myself with a zen bubble of serenity, I STILL have serious road rage by the time I've driven ten blocks to Fred Meyer. Which is a whole other hell hole, filled to the brim with all the child/adults I've mentioned.

Between a**hole drivers, bicyclists and pedestrians all trying to beat you to the punch, take your turn, cut you off and generally insert themselves and their stupid, bumping cars and blinding headlights (I'm also talking to you, bicyclists with the insanely bright, flashing lights! You suck!) Portland is a nightmare to get around in. I get filled with hatred every time I leave the house because of immature, greedy dumb-asses everywhere. Nobody knows how to drive anymore, or even walk! People walk so fast they actually try to run you down. At Freddy's you're liable to be literally walked over by employees dragging HUGE palettes of food around, they have no concern whatsoever about the comfort of anyone else, the only thing that is important is how fast THEY want to go. No customer service, no awareness that their aggressive boxing might intimidate some people, or that their huge cart full of empty boxes does not belong in the middle of a busy aisle. They are not trained by adults and they do not act like adults. The employee shirts at the Hawthorne Freddy's all say "Hawthorne Rocks!" on the back. Isn't that mature? You know it really ought to say "HAWTHORNE SUCKS!"
Because it does.

I live on a very busy street which does not help my misanthropy. Every single day I have to listen to people driving the LOUDEST cars, trucks and motorcycles I could ever imagine. I hate motorcycles. Why are they even legal? Some of those things are so loud they make my heart pound with anxiety and they accelerate with such an explosive roar it makes me want to run out in the front and punch the motorcycle driver right in the mouth. Which probably would be the end of me, so I haven't. Yet.

I live near several bars which over-serve people on a nightly basis, resulting in them literally SCREAMING and running around in front of our house at 3am. This makes me hate the bar owners and hate the screamers. I have filled out so many noise complaint forms online the city probably knows my name by now. So all day I am angry and all night I am angry. This is a very unhealthy frame of mind to be in! Sometimes I worry about my health from all this stress!

Why are people so needy? They need to take up SO MUCH SPACE. All the time. They need to drive big cars, huge trucks, insanely huge trucks, ridiculously huge trucks They need to have the brightest, most retina-piercing lights on their huge trucks, blinding me even in the middle of the day! WHY?! The people in this town need to drive fast, walk fast, and they all talk so loudly! Doesn't that loser outside the coffee house realize how nausiatingly pretentious it is to be yelling about the film you're making, and the app you've developed? I mean good for fucking you, but shut UP about it! It's so immature to brag in public like that. They think they are SO cool and they are really so foolish I want to puke. All those ass hats riding their bikes down Hawthorne blvd the narrowest street in town, with no helmet AND EARBUDS IN?! Loser. loser. loser.

It's not just the people on the streets. Everywhere I go I am faced with rudeness and incompetence. The bank is completely manned by trashy toddlers, with horrible fake nails and ZERO customer service. When I went in to ask about an email I got saying there might have been fraud on my debit card the toddler man who helped me actually tried to sell me something first. I can't remember what it was, but he did not care a bit about my fraud. When I stiffly told him I did not want to buy anything or be marketed to at the moment, I wanted to see about the POSSIBLE FRAUD on my account he said I hurt his feelings. I must have really hurt his feelings next because I lost it and told him to go back to customer service class.

Everywhere in Portland people in their 20's, 30's, and 40's are freezing at about age 6. And I'm worried that it's a national trend. Will there ever be grownups again or will the entire country just become a huge middle school with tattoos? If people don't start growing up this country is going to fall apart. Well, it already is thanks to corporate greed, but we won't stand a chance if the trashy toddlers are in charge. Planes will fall from the sky and nuclear warheads will mistakenly be launched if they are at the controls. I really miss people who show professionalism, kindness, courtesy, awareness, who can write and speak well, and who don't brag about how many comic books they have.

I have gotten to the point where I don't like to go anywhere after morning because of the horrible traffic and the amount of people trying to take me out in one way or another. I dream about leaving Portland, even though it is so beautiful in so many ways. I love the city, I love the architecture, and I love Oregon, but I can't stand the people all trying to 'outcool' each other, trying to be the weirdest Portlander of all. Or just the bitchiest.

So, guess I'll begin my life as a recluse. It wasn't always this way, you might think I was born a curmudgeon, but it's not so. I have spent my life loving people, enjoying friendships, being kind and generous to those around me. I have had so many jobs and have never had a bad relationship with any employer, in fact I've been a great employee all my life. I know how to work with people, have relationships, etc. I grew up with many people around me, my mother was a hippy so there were lots of other hippies around, then when I grew up I had many very dear friends and tons of acquaintances, I was in bands, went to college, hung out, had roommates, started a big art group, taught classes, etc. I've done it, believe me. And I still come to the conclusion that on the whole, people as a species are very VERY needy and manipulative. They talk too much. They need too much. They actually try to subvert you given half a chance!

Bosh to that. I want to feel joy in my life, not anger and resentment. I only ever want to keep things peaceful and friendly, but respectful, with boundaries. If I can't find my kind of people out there, then I'll just hang out with dogs and cats instead. They are wonderful friends and much cuter than us hairless, pink creatures. And they don't drive and they don't talk on cell phones or work at Freddy's.

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Halloween Posse

Having a teenage girl befuddles me. Though millions of women have confronted this conundrum before me, I feel like no amount of wisdom shared will take the sting out of it. Part of the difficulty is the hormones, sure. Tantrums, power-struggles, indpendence-seeking, boundary-testing behavior, but part of it is the bittersweet sense of loss. I do embrace and respect and admire the woman she's becoming, and support her completely, but...gosh I miss that little Pook! The one that thought I was the greatest thing in the world, the one that couldn't stop touching my arm, the one that threw imaginary kisses at me from the window every time I left the house. The one that dressed up like Hermione Granger from Harry Potter for Halloween.

The befuddlement comes when I see her in photos like this. Where she's frozen in time, her non-stop movement and talking and eating and growling and primping in the bathroom are all....halted. And I see her standing there, so tall and beautiful, smiling, happy with her friends, all dressed up as a gypsy and ready to go out and have fun. I think dazedly, "Wow". And then the worry starts...where are they really going? Who are they going to be with? Is there alcohol? Is someone driving? Why oh why does she have to wear her skirt so short? 

And I have to let go. Though we drive her to her friend's house, after that it's anybody's guess where they really are and who they are really with. Her skirt will fly up any number of times and I can't do anything about it. Sure she's in touch by text, but she could say anything and I'll have to believe it. I don't have a tracker device on her phone or anything. (hey, now that's an idea!) And I feel a wierd sense of worry and confusion and fear about doing the "right" thing. Plus I'm exhausted (from 16 1/2 years of parenting (24 years if you count 8 years parenting my step son), but with all that I also feel a new sense of...could it be...freedom? Of the liberation that is just around the corner for both of us? It's a strange combination of emotion, and not all that pleasant. But. I can only smile, take the photo, and drop them off with a wave, biting back the cautionary words I want to say. 
"Have fun!"  I manage to eek out.

The gypsies run off into the night. I go home to distract myself with netflix. Will it be easier when she moves out and goes to college? I'm guessing it will be. But there it is again...that bittersweet feeling of loss. I'm almost certain that all of the grannies and mamas that came before me would shrug their shoulders and hand me a glass of wine. Maybe there is something in that old wisdom after all.

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

"It's Up to Me and Prove it" -- The Gossip

THE GOSSIP. I love these folks. In an earlier post I wrote that there were so few bands today with any originality or real balls. This is one of the bands with astronomical talent and serious cahones. Beth Ditto is such a great artist and style star. This exciting performance in Germany has it ALL: an irresistible back beat, rock-and-roll guitar, chillingly beautiful and raw vocals and a space dress that David Bowie would be proud of! All this and pyrotechnics?! Wow!

My fan art!

I actually got to meet Beth Ditto once, which is surprising enough, but even more amazing is where I met her: at The World Forestry Center! I posted this story years ago when it happened, but in case you missed it I worked there at admissions and she just walked in one day for a photo shoot. She said a cheerful hello and then chained herself to a fake log. I had to say hello, I'm such a big fan. She was super-sweet of course, just as you'd think she would be. I am so proud this incredible group is from Portland. xoxo

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

"Who passes by this road so late? Compaignons de la Marjolaine! Who passes by this road so late? Toujours gai!" -- Monsieur Rigaud in "Little Dorrit"

Dickens is probably my favorite author, but it's always hard to pick just one of anything, so I'll say he's in my top three for sure. I've read and re-read everything he's written and I never tire of the profound tenderness in his wit, the mercy and love of humanity he shows alongside his biting social commentary, and his absolutely unique, hilarious, imagination-provoking way of looking at the world which is STILL relevant today!

I adored "David Copperfield", "Nicholas Nickleby", "Great Expectations", "A Christmas Carol", and "The Old Curiosity Shop", they are my favorite Dicken's books, but my all-time Dickens choice is the masterpiece "Little Dorrit".

I just finished re-reading this book for the third time this morning. It has such an unprepossessing look to it, you wouldn't know by the title what a BIG book it really is. It has a deceptively simple premise about a young girl born into a debtor's prison, but in reality the book contains the entire world inside of it. All of humanity is there in its pages, parading about with all of its vanities and weaknesses as well as its courage, loyalty, and ability to love.

(On a side note, really people, who needs a bible? "Little Dorrit" is my good book, and teaches more about the terrible trials of life and the deliverance of mercy than the new testament ever did. And, like the bible, there are all kinds of plot sidelines that do not seem like they happened hundreds (thousands) of years ago. They could have happened this very year! Just switch the name Merdle for Madoff and there you go.)

The characters in "Little Dorrit" are especially compelling to me, out of all of Dicken's books. First and foremost there is the terrifying assassin Rigaud aka Blandois who might just be one of the scariest villains I have ever encountered. He is alternately savage and suave, overbearing and sickeningly gentle. He is a killer trying to masquerade as a gentleman. His "moustache went up under his nose and his nose came down over his moustache" and his falsely ingratiating and overly-familiar ways mask a deadly threat simmering just below the surface. In this excerpt we find him speaking creepily to himself:

"Blandois, you shall turn the tables on society, my little child. Haha! Holy Blue, you have begun well, Blandois. At a pinch, an excellent master of English or French, a man for the bosom of families! You have humor, you have ease, you have insinuating manners, you have a good appearance; in effect, you are a gentleman! A gentleman you shall live, my small boy and a gentleman you shall die. You shall win, however the game goes. They will all confess your merit Blandois. You shall subdue the society which has greivously wronged you, to your own high spirit. Death of my soul! You are high spirited by right and by nature, my Blandois!"
The casting director for the BBC series ought to have won an award for any one of their choices, not the least of which was the genius choice of Andy Serkis as Rigaud. Possibly the scariest french man that ever was.

Then by contrast we have the loyal Mr. Pancks who Dickens likens to a tug boat, steaming into his dock emitting a peculiar snort and a blast. This role was played to perfection in the most excellent BBC series starring the wonderful Eddie Marsan as the snorting and steaming and very hardworking Mr. Pancks.

Mr. William Dorrit  (one of the finest perfomances I've ever seen is Tom Courtenay's portrayal of Mr. Dorrit.) aka "the Father of the Marshalsea" (the debtor's prison where he has been incarcerated for 18 years, where his daughter Amy aka Little Dorrit was born and has lived, tending to him ever since.) is an incredible character. A shallow man with the arrogance of his more affluent years, and yet with a tender pathos that makes you love him despite his witless exploitation of friends and family. He is a charming man, a gentle man on the whole and Little Dorrit's devotion to him is infectious.

Equally attached to him is his brother Frederick Dorrit who really caught at my heart strings. Unlike his brother William, Frederick is not confined to the Marshalsea Prison but spends his time there anyway, no longer a part of society. "Humbled, bowed, withered and faded..." he is a clarinet player in a run down theater and is quite content to spend his days with his beloved brother and niece inside the prison.

Another of my favorite Dicken's creations is Mr. Casby, the Benevolent Benefactor and the snorting Mr. Panck's employer. Leaving the dirty work of collecting the rent from his poor tenants to Pancks, Mr. Casby is then free to roam as benevolently and benignly as possible through the streets, shining his light on all those who flock to him, transfixed by his soft expression and god-like grey beard: "The shining bald head, which looked so very large because it shone so much, and the long grey hair at its sides and back long floss silk or spun glass which looked so very benevolent because it was never cut..."

and..."Patriarch was the name which many people delighted to give him. Various old ladies in the neighborhood spoke of hims a The Last of the Patriarchs. So grey, so slow, so quiet, so impassionate, so very bumpy in the head, Patriarch was the word for him....Oh, with that head is he not the father to the orphan and the friend to the friendless!"

Providing some truly hilarious comic relief in the story we have the ineffective but kindly Mr. Sparkler who is the Awkward Dork with a heart of gold who really "has no nonsense about him!"
and the venerable and obviously mentally ill Mr. F's Aunt who takes a disliking to our hero of the story, the completely un-hateable Mr. Clennam (played to perfection by one of my crushes Mathew MacFadyen xox).

A much tougher specimen than Mr. Sparkler, the aged Mr. F's Aunt appears in one scene thusly: "Mr. F's Aunt was so stiffened that she had the appearance of being past bending by any means short of powerful mechanical pressure. Her bonnet was cocked up behind in a terrific manner; and her stony reticule was as rigid as if it had been petrified by the Gorgon's head."

"Holding out like a grim fortress" and referring to the innocent Mr. Clennam, Mr. F's Aunt repeatedly calls out to "bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o'winder!"
(Again, not to belabor the point, but the BBC version of this book has the best possible Mr. F's Aunt ever, played by Annette Crosbie, brava!)

Dickens loves to animate inanimate objects. One such character in the book is the Bosom. Being made of flesh and blood I don't know if it completely qualifies as an "inanimate" object, but it is represented as a separate character than the woman who it is attached to. The Bosom is a place to display the wealth of the Bosom's husband. The owner of the Bosom, Mrs. Merdle, has her own chapters and her own personality, but it is the Bosom and the jewels upon it that are the real guests of honor.

I could go on and on, and I'm sure Dicken's scholars already have, about other themes and characters such as the prim and proper Mrs. General and her love for the words "Prunes and Prism" (because of they way those particular words make a young lady's mouth look). Or, I could rave about the poignant, un-requited love of the honorable young John Chivery, the steely, hard-hearted mother Mrs. Clennam (played by the amazing Judy Parfitt) or heavens, I forgot about the lopsided servant Mr. Flintwinch (Alun Armstrong, I love you!) and I haven't even described the ethereal goodness of Little Dorrit herself, but you'll find it all out for yourself if you give this book a try. Don't rush it, take your time and read just two pages at a sitting, then put it down. Savor the language, the descriptions, the hilarious commentary and dialogue. There's nothing like Dickens, and I suspect, like Shakespeare, there never will be again.

Monday, October 13, 2014

Pferde in the Red Room

Some of my most treasured possessions are my vintage children's books, and among those my vintage children's horse books, and among those my vintage foreign language children's horse books. I have shelves full of french children's books which I will share in another post, but these in German and Swedish really catch my imagination. Probably something to do with the fact I can't understand them, and how
I love the look of the words and the unfamiliar punctuation. I do know that one of them is the classic "Black Stallion" by Walter Farley which I've read in English a hundred times, as well as all the others in that series. I've never seen it in Swedish before! Evidently "Hasttamajaran" means "Black Stallion" in Swedish which could come in handy one day, you never know.

I know that "Pferde" is "Horses" in German, that much is obvious. This huge black and white photo book of German horses and poetry published in the 1960's is a treasure, even if I can't read it. It looks beautiful and feels beautiful, the old paper is lovely.   

All of these beauties came from my time working in the foreign language section at Powell's, along with my trusty, kind and tres intersants companions Mr. Sam Cannon of the German/Japonese/Native American/Urdu section, Mr. Stephen Strausbaugh of the enormous, comprehensive Spanish section, Debby Garman of the Italian/Linguistics/Sign Language section and Mr. Gary Davis of the Russian section, and our cher chef, the manager of the Red Room.

Those were the fun days when a silver-bearded Chris Faatz would wave a cheery hello from the info desk and a newly-shaved-headed, torn-t-shirted Chad Van Winkle would give me a cheeky glare from across the aisle in Religion. A dapper Dave Adamshick might stop by on his eternal quest for email orders and perhaps Seth the MOD would take a minute to show me a new dance move. Sigh.

A lot of us have moved on, and I miss those beautiful, exciting days in the Red Room, quietly shelving my french books and planning the next display. And let me tell you, you can make marvelous displays with books! And so much better when there are OLD books, ancient books, books from the 70's, books from the 40's, from the 1800's, and in the foreign language section,..sometimes from the 1700's! I wish I could drop by once in a while and just make a display. Actually, I wish that for many of my jobs in my past, from the vintage clothing store "Old Friends" I worked four years at making the funnest displays of my life (a whole other post), to the World Forestry Center and their sparkling little gift shop, to Powell's and it's stacks and stacks of incredible surprises. Like the ultimate book market, all at my fingertips to arrange and rearrange to my satisfaction. Now that I work at home I must satisfy my need for display in my own home. Which I am doing. I really ought to have someone come over to appreciate it, it's very cute. But I do miss my old friends and all of the wonderful sections at Powell's that I worked in.
Bonjour, mes amis a Powell's! I am thinking of you!

xoxoxoxo bisoux a tous!!!

Monday, October 6, 2014

The Golden Perm

I couldn't believe I hadn't seen this movie before. It stars two of my favorite actors Donald Sutherland and Jeff Goldblum, and even Leonard Nemoy as a kind of swinging psychoanalyst -- which would be reason to watch it alone.

Donald Sutherland (with the worst golden perm ever) and Jeff Goldblum join little Brooke Adams  (a dead ringer for Genvieve Bujold) in the"Invasion of the Body Snatchers" remake of 1978.

How could I have possibly missed this gem?

Well, it turns out that despite the super-star power in the movie, it isn't a gem at all. In fact, boy is it bad.

So we all know the story's premise: that alien life forms come down in the form of spores which turn into large flowering plants that replicate already-existing humans. It's a "get-you-while-you-sleep" kind of thing. When you wake up you're one of them, which honestly didn't seem to be that bad, in my opinon The aliens in their human forms seemed very calm and orderly. No one was making any trouble, they were just tending to their plants. But, Sutherland, Goldblum, Nemoy and the rest don't seem to relish the makeover, so they band together and try to stop them.

Before I go on, can I just mention one scene that stands out as one of the WEIRDEST things I've ever seen in a movie? Something that might actually give you nightmares, and all the more startling because it was so unexpected. I mean this movie really could be one of the most boring "horror" movies ever made, at least for the first 40 minutes, but then something like this appeared. Wtf?!


Of course smooth-talking Lenard Nemoy turns out to be one of them, too. I should have known by that wierd leather thing he wear on his hand. What is that? Alien style? It's never explained. Nemoy, wearing a turtleneck and pointy sideburns along with that wierd leather thing advises Sutherland "Not to get hung up on old concepts."
Then he shoots him up with a sedative. Sutherland says to him, "David you're killing me."
I say, David, those side burns are killing me, too.

Jazz hands!
Sutherland tries not to get hung up on old concepts, but he can't help himself. And you can't blame him.

In one scene he finally falls asleep and one of the pods starts to replicate him. Like many other elements in this weird boring movie the plants themselves are ridiculous. Straight out of Sid and Marty Crofts reject pile, the cloth-and-wire petals do not look capable of pushing out the DISGUSTING, MEATY, PUS-COVERED human forms that they do. The "special" effects of the births of the new aliens is pretty gross. Call the midwife, anyone?

One of the pods pushes out another Donald Sutherland. Suddenly there are TWO golden perms and two blonde moustaches, only one of them is covered in goo! Yuck! Luckily the real Donald wakes up and takes a shovel to his doppelganger's perm, resulting in some really messy effects that were almost worthy of HBO.

Unfortunately Goldblum is killed by a red plastic dart to the neck. Dang. One of the reasons to watch the movie is gone. But I make myself keep going.

Finally, Brooke Adams gets transformed. They got her while she slept. In one scene she strides unexpectedly onscreen, completely bare breasted and makes a sound like a dying pig. Totally freaked me out. (I'm sure her parents were dismayed by the turn this role had taken.)

I actually FOUND that very scene on youtube. Here it is.

Donald  is the only one left now. He escapes from the aliens by pulling the old "hide under a bridge while they run over you" trick.

Nothing like a gratuitous priest on a swing set to give you the creeps

The next thing you see he is watching a truck unload more pods and the loudspeaker announces the next destinations which happen to be Medford, Eugene, Portland and Vancouver. Maybe that's how all the hipsters got here!!!

The end of the film made me feel funny. Nobody should make Donald Sutherland make that face. And frankly, I did not want to get that close to his moustache.

All in all, a really terrible movie!!!

"Our Form of Democracy is Bribery, on the Highest Scale" -- Gore Vidal

Gore Vidal is a hero of mine. Unafraid, informed, honest and incredibly well-spoken he repeatedly floors me with his plain and simple reason. And his wit. And his charm. But mostly because of the truths that come fearlessly out of his mouth. This man inspires me, and at the same time I feel incredibly sad that simply speaking uncomfortable truths evokes such hatred in those not ready to grapple with them. Or from those who profit from them. He was also loved and respected by many, and had the opportunity to be one of the most published, quoted philospher/critic/political analyst/cultural iconoclasts ever, and I'm very glad about that.
(I only wish he could have taken out that arrogant, ignorant William Buckley who was at the forefront of the ridiculous, petty, childish and immature politics of the GOP today. What a poncing boob.)

This amazing documentary "The United States of Amnesia" covers Gores life from his days as a boy in the Senate listening to his grandfather make his famous speeches, to his last days and searing critiques of the Bush administration, and his skepticism about Obama's authenticity.

I particularly loved his connection with Mikhail Gorbechev and hearing what that man had to say about the end of the cold war and how everything seemed like it might get better except the USA caught the "victory disease" and continued to pursue war for profit and worship its own empire.

You can't really argue with anything Gore Vidal says. It stings, but it's true. He has a great scope of vision that completely exposes phonies. I love that.

He wasn't comfortable living in America, and I feel the same way. I often feel completely outside my own culture, my own country. While I enjoy the stunning natural beauty my country has to offer, and I am grateful to not wear a burka and not to be in a war-torn nation, that's about it. I hate so much about how our politics work, the raping of our economy and health by corporations, the disgusting over-consumption and unaccountable, defensive behavior by adults and children, by the aggressive, competitive, HEAVILY ARMED population on the roads and in the shops. I want to leave this country, all the time.

I dream of living in France, as Gore lived in Italy. Or Italy, I'd live there. Or the Hague. And I don't feel sorry to say it. I'm going to let this man inspire me to speak my truth, without worrying about offense. I am a thoughtful, educated person who has lived almost 50 years in this crazy country, and I have seen A LOT of it. I've also lived in other countries, and I have seen some of how it works there. The way I feel about my culture is an honest and truthful account without any agenda other than reality. You may say that reality is subjective in many ways, but I'm talking about a basic, factual, encompassing scope of what has come before, and what is happening now, and what might be projected for the future. People don't do that anymore. Remember things and take them into account. It really is The United States of Amnesia.

Thank you Gore Vidal, for all of your debates, essays, novels, plays, historical accounts and perfectly clear, unassailable way of expressing the truth. We are all fortunate that he landed on this planet at all. I wish he could have lived two lifetimes with his friend Howard so that we could get more commentary, more essays and more of his perspective. Thank you Gore Vidal, I appreciate it and I am very glad you bothered.

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Castaway Gold

Well the road rolls West
heading straight to the sea
taking only the best
Forgivable fear
manifests in the beauty and sudden relenting
I'm 20 years old
Castaway Gold.

The road rolls North
Aligning itself
under stars coming forth
The darkness is clean
and the chill makes you tremble with anticipation
I'm 40 years old
Castaway Gold.

Time changes as you roll down the road
Is it the future or are you getting old
Is that your vision or is your vision growing cold
You see, what you mean to me
Is all I want to be.

Now the road rolls East
Remembering well
that last November feast
The hero who told
all the glorious stories in song and in rhythm
He wasn't alone
Castaway Gold.

Then the road rolled South
The breeze tastes of apples
inside of my mouth
The sun warms my skin
and your arms are around me, no words to be spoken
You tighten your hold
Castaway Gold.

(song by me)

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

The Joy of Pancakes

People, I love my food. I always have, and to a fault for most of my life. It's taken me decades to learn how to manage my hunger/emotional eating. Luckily I'm tall which helps balance out any excess weight, but if I'm not really careful it will shoot up and take forever to bring down again.

When I went vegetarian, it was easier. At that time I was also a workout fanatic and a runner, clocking in five miles a day, followed by weights and long stretching sessions. Ahhh, those were the days. Working out like that, sweating like crazy and then showering was one of the things that helped me get through being a new mother, and being stuck in Eugene for way too long. I wasn't depressed, I was healthy and happy with all that physical activity.

Then...the old back broke. When I couldn't run anymore, or even workout much, I was forced to confront my diet. If I didn't do something I would hit the old middle age slippery slope and get fat and sick. So I went vegan. That did the trick. 22 pounds lost, energy up, never sick, looked better in clothes, felt great. And so it went for many more years until the back broke a little bit more. :(

I'll never eat another way, I'm sure, back or no back. The fact that I never get sick, no colds, no flu, no nothing, is reason enough. The weight thing is another. Add in the fact that I don't kill any animals, well there's the best bonus in the world.

So all that said, I do indulge from time to time and last Sunday we ate these decadent, delicious, and totally vegan pancakes for brunch. Give yourself a body/animal/world-friendly treat and try them yourself. You won't miss a thing but heart disease. xoxo

Carrot Cake Pancakes with Yogurt Coconut Cream frosting
Allergen Information: Free of Dairy, egg, soy, yeast. Can be made gluten-free.
Makes 6 pancakes
Ingredients: 1/4 c walnuts
my less-beautiful, but equally-as-delicious results
1/2 tsp oil
1 Tbsp sugar or finely ground sweetener
1/4 tsp each of cinnamon, ginger, clove powder and a pinch of nutmeg

Pancake Batter:
1 1/4 cup flour (I use whole wheat)
1 Tbsp baking powder
pinch of salt
1/4 tsp each of cinnamon, ginger powder
a generous pinch of clove and nutmeg powder
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
2 Tbsp maple.syrup
1/3 cup almond milk
1/3 cup water
1 tsp lemon juice

Yogurt Coconut Cream Frosting:
1/4 cup non dairy yogurt (I used So Delicious Vanilla coconut milk yogurt) or vegan cream cheese
1/3 cup coconut cream (the thick cream that settles on the top of the can after refrigerating for a few hours) or cashew cream
1 Tbsp coconut oil, softened
1/4 cup ground raw sugar or other sweetener of choice
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1 tsp or more lemon juice
1/2 tsp cider vinegar

Grate the carrots, or pulse in a blender/food processor to a coarse shred. Pulse the walnuts to small pieces. I used my blendtec. (total 1.25 cups of grated carrots and chopped walnuts).
In a pan, add oil and heat at medium. Add the carrot walnut mixture and roast for 3 minutes. Add the sugar and spices. Mix and cook for another 4 minutes. Reserve a Tbsp of the mixture to top the pancakes.

In a bowl, whisk the dry ingredients of the pancake mix. Add the spices and mix. Add all the wet ingredients to the dry and mix to combine. Add more water if needed. Keep the batter thicker than usual so it can hold a lot of carrots.
Add the carrot walnut mixture and mix to combine. 
Make 4-5 pancakes. Heat a pan on medium heat. Drizzle a few drops of oil. when the pan is hot, Spread the batter to form same size circles. The batter will be thicker than usual pancake batter, so use a spoon to shape. 
Cook 4-6 minutes each side. 

Make the frosting: Combine everything under frosting in a bowl. Taste and adjust sour and sugar. Spread a Tablespoon or more frosting between each pancake to bring out the sweetness. 
Drizzle the frosting on the stacked pancakes or apply evenly with a spatula. 
Sprinkle the roasted carrot walnut mixture on top and serve.

Saturday, September 27, 2014

Sarah the Magnificent

Lancashire as Caroline in Last Tango in Halifax
I have a new favorite actress. Or actor, for that matter. I am so in love with Sarah Lancashire's singular style of acting, I can hardly stop watching her in everything I can find. I first discovered her for myself in the BBC miniseries "Last Tango in Halifax" where she plays Caroline, the PHD-in-chemistry-holding headmistress of a distinguished school who has separated from her husband of 18 years because he'd had an affair, and who, once her marriage was over, realizes that she is gay. Despite the fact that there are two other acting greats in the series, namely the amazing Anne Reid and Derek Jacobi, it was Sarah who grabbed my attention and held it.

Since then I found Sarah again in the INCREDIBLE netflix series "Happy Valley". Seriously, one of the best shows I've seen in years. A few years older now she plays 47 year-old Sargent Catherine Cawood, one of the best female roles I've EVER seen. (And hope to see a lot more of in the future, people! I mean, women make the best characters! Written well they have so much more to say than men, usually. Much more dimensional, nuanced, and more powerfully restrained emotion! This is a direct challenge to all writers, everywhere! Give women their due! They'll take the story to a whole other level of brilliance, believe me!) Sarah Lancashire does all that, and more. She is brutally honest in her portrayal of Sergant Cawood and does a beautifully fleshed-out-kind-of-justice to Cawood's strengths and personal conflicts. You'll never see a better cop than her, one that is more dedicated and fearless and just totally capable. An interesting side note: her sister is played by Siobhan Finneran, aka O'BRIEN! From Downtown Abbey! She was wonderful in the role. Sarah Lancashire is also absolutely hilarious. A very funny actress. In most of her roles she finds a way to be sharply witty without being overbearing or crude. She is wry, she is coy, and whatever she says, she is usually right.

 Because of my love affair with these two roles, I searched her out on youtube and found a never-before-heard-about-by-americans gem. A series called "Rose and Maloney". Produced from 2002 - 2005 she plays a younger character but still a cop (of sorts). Rose works for the fictitious CJRA or the Criminal Justice Review Agency, an organization that seeks out miscarriages of justice. Rose is an energetic, chaotic, diabetic smoker that doesn't work well with groups. When a coworker asks her to describe herself Rose puts it this way: "A single woman, 39 years old, multiple failed relationships, no man, no savings, no place of her own to live, and good at her job. Correction: very good at her job."

Her partner Maloney is played by Phil Davis, and it's the best thing I've ever seen him do (most lately he played the cabby assassin in Sherlock). Maloney is the perfect foil for Rose, being an organized by the book kind of guy, with a heart of gold. His more passive bearing sets off her own sailing wit and intelligence to a "T". The performances are great and the writing is very good. The only thing you might have to tolerate is the rather late-90's production level, suits, and hairstyles. But beyond that, it's a surprisingly great show!

Also during my youtube explorations I found out that Lancashire is also a musical theater actress! She sings! She dances! There is nothing she can't do!

I recently found this wonderful article written by June Thomas on about the phenomenon that is Sarah Lancashire. Thomas ends her article referencing a line spoken by Lancashire's character Caroline's partner, Kate in Last Tango in Halifax. "She is magnificent."

And I couldn't agree more.

Thursday, September 25, 2014

The Zen of Kittens

Well, we only get to say this once every twenty years or so, but... WE HAVE A NEW KITTEN!

Welcome little...Chakra? That's what happens when the teenager names the cat. It's all tapestries and groovy insense in that cluttered little room of hers, so no wonder her new furry roommate is named Chakra. I guess I'm just glad she didn't name it Patchouli.

The little baby is sooo sweet. Such a happy go lucky guy who is all purrs and little piping mews. He is chock full of energy (chakra-full of energy?) and if you've ever had a kitten you know how they suddenly explode, zipping across the room, veering crazily here and there for no apparent reason, other than they are filled with kitten rocket fuel and just can't contain it!  Hilarious!!!

It's all the more note-worthy that this baby is such a happy boy because of where he came from. My daughter found him and his brother, trapped in a shopping cart on the street. There was a cardboard "lid" over the shopping cart creating kind of a squalid cage where the poor babies were crouched, filthy and scared. My brave girl and her BFF took the kittens out and brought them to the friends' house. Then we got The Call asking "can we keep him?"

We said yes. His brother was adopted out to another friend, the kittens were bathed and welcomed into their new warm, clean, loving, fun, happy households. And ours is made all the happier by his hilarious, adorable little presence. 

Pets are a blessing. Their innocent, trusting souls give us just as much as we give them. Thier unasuming company demands nothing more than respect and love (and lots of Fancy Feast). We in turn get emotional support, entertainment, excersize, and a different way of looking at the world, with no technology involved to get in the way of a real, honest experience.

Guess our chakras are all in line 'cause we are feeling the zen love. Of kittens.

Saturday, September 20, 2014

Holy Halston!

Wow, check this out...Halston is on the Love Boat! Surrounded by a bevy of disco divas, no less. And he plays himself, because let's face it, Halston is no actor. But I guess that that could be said about a lot of Love Boat passengers. One notable exception is Anne Baxter who is also inexplicably aboard. (Anne-freaking-Baxter!! Eve! Eve is on the Love Boat!)

It's a fashion-face-off-kind-of-cruise with several other top designers of the day such as Gloria Vanderbuilt, Geoffrey Beene and Bob Mackie on board! There's even a runway show around the pool!

Hm, let's see. What could possibly be missing from this 80's dream-cruise? Oh, that's right. Mclean Stevenson??!!!

And look who I found on a different cruise! 

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Welcome Back Thomas Haden Church

Recently I re-watched the film "Sideways" and enjoyed it even more than the first time I saw it. It is Paul Giamatti in one of his best roles, and a fantastic (and sadly, unique) vehicle for the many charms of Thomas Haden Church. As I watched the movie again I delighted in Church's easygoing, laid-back, non-ego-driven performance. What a great guy! I kept thinking. Such a perfect role for him, I wold love to see more of him. Where has he been? Someone ought to give THC his own show.

Fast forward to 2013 and the incredible movie "Whitewash." Just out on netflix it is the film where THC finally gets his due.

Although some might say this film is reminiscent of other recent set-in-the-snow thrillers such as FX's "Fargo", or Adrian Brody's great turn in "Wrecked", I say this film stands out -- in any crowd. Although his character is a different man than the sunny, sexy best-friend-on-a-bender he played in Sideways, you could still say this guy has a lot in common with that guy. This guy is that guy with a few bad choices under his belt. Church's same laid-back, endearing qualities come through in this role, even though the circumstances are extremely dire, making him the kind of "villain" you root for.

A fantastic screenplay and great direction, full of surprising twists and creative character development. Plus, it's as suspenseful as it gets.

So glad to see THC back in the biz, older, craggier, but better than ever!

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

A Horizontal View

With the two or three years that have slipped by since I've blogged regularly I hope my perspective hasn't changed too much. I hope I haven't aged so much in those few years that the blog has become less of a "life enthusiast" account and more of a "cranky old lady bitches and moans" type of blog. Though things have changed in that time, both externally and internally I am still relatively young at 48, fer cryin' out loud, and I do still have LOTS of enthusiasm and joy. It just gets a bit more selective as you go along.

However, there is one staring, glaring, cranky old lady issue that needs to be addressed before I can continue on to the joy part. A very few of you know that for the last year and a half I have been stricken with severe back pain, and have been mostly confined to bed. Since my last "episode" a year and a half ago (an episode for those of you lucky enough to never have had one is where the back twinges so badly you fall down and then can't move an inch for hours, not even to get to the bathroom,) since then I've been in pain every day, and unable to walk, or sit, or drive or carry anything. It has completely changed my life, from an active person who rode their bike 8 miles a day, ran up and down stairs easily and walked the dog for miles across town, to someone who can barely move without terrible pain.

I haven't talked much about it because...well, it's depressing, and shocking, and a bit...well horrible. And it's private, you know. Facebook is not where I want to talk about my back pain. It's also very confusing and maddening because nobody knows exactly what it is. I have been to several doctors, back specialists, three PT's, a chiropractor, a shiatsu practitioner, a rolfer, a nutritionist, an acupuncturist, a massage therapist...and now I don't know who is left to see. I add that I am better than I was a year and a half ago. I can get about a bit better, walk a little farther, lift a little tiny bit. Then I have to rest, and I still spend most of my time in bed, laying on my stomach which is the least painful way to exist. I have ice packs handy at all times, night and day, and I'm still taking a small amount of pain medication.

I thank the gods of health every single day that I can at least get around better than I could a year and a half ago, and I beg them not to let that worst kind of pain happen to me again. I do worry that it will because it's not like our bodies actually rejuvenate with age, do they? It's sort of a downhill slope really, isn't it? And so I ask the gods to at least allow me to maintain the mobility that I have now. We'll see what they say.

I am glad to write about this condition on my blog, at least this one time anyway, because I did not find enough out there about back pain during my own search for answers. And it is very helpful to hear someone else's story. Little clues from other people can help you track your own condition. As it turns out, everyone is so different that back pain cannot be measured by any consistent scale. What one person barely feels for another person is torture. I am one of those strange cases that is seriously immobilized by pain, but nothing wrong shows up on the x-rays, or the MRI's. No visible impingement, vertebrae or disc issues, arthritis...nothing. But sometimes I can barely walk without a cane.

I continued searching on the web for answers and I have decided that what I suffer from is some kind of sciatic nerve impingement with severe radiating sciatic pain. (Nothing old-lady about that!)

I also found out some extremely important information about a very unassuming vitamin it turns out I was totally deficient in. VITAMIN B-12. The only medical person that mentioned my possible deficiency in this supplement was my nutritionist. Turns out that you can only get B-12 from animal products, so vegans and vegetarians HAVE to take a B-12 supplement or they risk SEVERE NERVE DAMAGE. What?! Why didn't the doctors catch this when I told each of them that I was a vegan, and had been for 12 years. I had no idea I needed this supplement and that it had such serious consequences if I didn't get it.

 So I had some B-12 shots and now I take a supplement (along with folic acid to help with absorption) every day, and I actually feel better. So word to the wise, even if you're not a vegan, make sure you get your B-12 supplement. There is all kinds of new data coming out on the importance of this vitamin.

Having been so handicapped for so long I have a much more horizontal perspective on the world. I have taken up meditation, which is brilliant. I recommend it to everyone. I have also become quite the film critic, having a LOT of time on my hands to binge watch HBO and netflix. Stay tuned to this blog for some film and television reviews coming your way. I have a lot to say on the subject!

I also have a new love for puffy recliners. Whereas I used to see them as hideous, hopelessly out-dated monstrosities, I now see them as my dear, dear friends. I also have a new soft spot for expensive mattresses and rubber-soled shoes. (No old lady, here, nope siree!) Right this very minute I am typing on my "bed desk" --  a wonderful invention for people who have to work on their back. I just got it from Amazon, and it is AWESOME! It takes all the weight of the laptop off of my body and allows me to work easier, type better, and even draw.

So, I enter this fall slightly more optimistic than last fall. I am looking forward to a few autumnal activities that I missed out on last year, and plan on giving some big thanks this thanksgiving for the small improvement I've seen. Fingers crossed that it keeps getting better, however slowly.

Ok, that's it for the blog post about back pain. (Boring, Sidney!) Just wanted you all to be up to date.

Now, on to the joy.   xoxoxo

footnote: On Tumblr I found this post about disability in medieval England.

"In medieval England, the 'lepre', the 'blynde', the 'dumbe', the 'deaff', the 'natural fool', the 'creple', the 'lame' and the 'lunatick' were a highly visible presence in everyday life. People could be born with a disability, or were disabled by diseases such as leprosy, or years of backbreaking work.
Attitudes to disability were mixed. People thought it was a punishment for sin, or the result of being born under the hostile influence of the planet Saturn. Others believed that disabled people were closer to God - they were suffering purgatory on earth rather than after death and would get to heaven sooner."

Monday, September 15, 2014

Sublime Sundays

Portland is a lot of things. Stunningly beautiful, for one. It's like a jewel city twinkling with craftsman architecture, lacy Victorian homes and old stone churches. Its overall colors are green, from the lush layer of trees that gracefully cover the city, and grey from the changing sky, dramatic clouds and the rivers that reflect them. Portland dangles on a necklace of waterfalls between the snow-capped Mount Hood and the Oregon coast. It's kind of like paradise, in some ways.

Unfortunately it's also JAM PACKED with people. And growing every day. When we arrived almost nine years ago, it was crowded, but not unmanageable. If you got out early enough and didn't have the highest expectations, you usually did pretty good and could even have a relaxing time at certain events. Not so now. The seams of the city are busting. The influx of out-of-staters looking for that WEIRD Portland experience is truly sweeping through the city like a wave, with condos going up everywhere you turn. Everywhere are lines of people, lines of cars, great herds of bicycles all competing aggressively with each other, great hoards of clueless pedestrians, jumping into traffic, or shoving their baby strollers in front of oncoming cars because they heard that "in Portland the cars have to stop for you!" It'll make you rip your hair out, just driving the ten blocks to Freddy's on 39th and Hawthorne. Just like that terrible old Bad Religion song, those people are "playing frogger with their lives!" Or in this case with their babies' lives. It's totally nuts!

Very few people on the beach or the river on a Sunday morning. Just us and the birds!

Add to all this the never-ending, quirky EVENTS that occur every weekend of the year in this town, and the party never ends. You've got your street fairs, your rummage sales, your record swaps, your naked bike rides, your family bike rides, your cancer bike rides, your marathons, your blues festivals, your farmers get the idea. Sure it sounds wholesome (except for the naked bike ride) and fabulous, in theory. But in practice it is a kind of living hell. Noise, yelling, motorcycles, buses, construction, drunk people, fireworks, it's like Apocolypse Now outside our house sometimes. The only relief is when it happens to rain really hard and dampens it all down a bit. Global warming unfortunately means that it rains a lot less here than it used to, and the loud people clearly are multiplying.

So...Greg and Faye and I, who do need our peace and quiet, have taken to claiming early Sunday mornings as our own. Before 9am on a Sunday is the very best time all week to explore and enjoy Portland. Somehow, almost miraculously, the streets are clean at that hour. Where squalor and idiocy reigned supreme only hours before is now practically free of cigarette butts, and actually smells nice!

Sunday morning is when we put Faye in the car and drive to more out-of-the-way neighborhoods. Deep into northwest Portland we'll go, or over Mt. Tabor to the Montavilla neighborhood, or to the marina in southwest, or down to the river in Sellwood. Peaceful, fresh, sublime. The city on a Sunday morning is like the best church in the world. You can feel the goodness of nature and lovely architecture coming together without the frantic chaos of humans struggling to get through their day.

Sunday morning you can hear the birds more clearly than anything else, and they seem riotous with joy at their freedom from the week's oppressive chaos.