venus and mars

“…I offer the following to indicate the true differences between the two sexes. There are the obvious: men like the Three Stooges, women don’t; men fall in love with their eyes, women with their ears; men do not find it necessary to hold the neck of a straw, whereas women do. And faced with a mechanical failure in an appliance or some such, women are more than likely to go first into quiet hysterics and then call in a repairman. A man, on the other hand, will tell the womenfolk to step aside, then cast a cool discerning eye over the inoperative machine. He will calmly fiddle with this knob and then that one. He will examine the wiring. He will flick the switch on. He will flick the switch off. And with the machine still lying there dormant, he will stand back, confident that he has explored every possible potion. And then he will begin hitting it vigorously with a large stick…” fm The Man in the Suit, Graydon Carter

I was enjoying a relaxing, slow-paced morning in bed Saturday, listening to roots for breakfast on the radio and reading a thieved copy of Vanity Fair.
This was a luxury--still in bed at 815 on any day. I was basking in knowing I had no obligations from now until midnight and beyond.
There is something delightful in reading a magazine from cover to cover without interruption. Wishing that I had a copy of The Sun, which I also frequently lift from various offices around the Bloomington business community, I settled for Vanity Fair. The above quote came from this January 2006 issue.

Life has been grand. More than grand, it has been stellar. Not wanting to jynx my new-found suerta, I will leave it that.
Spring is about to unveil itself here--starting off with earth's delightful dewy smell in the morning, along with a sky that changes colors by the minute. I will enjoying my deck and pasture view soon, very soon.


My daughter is a perfectly charming replica of me and becoming more and more fun as time moves on. We share a passion for dinosaurs and singing. I love her.

My favorite time is mornings. I wake and listen to the radio with her and we hold each other. Funny, how when going without close contact with other humans for long periods of time how even the smallest display of affection can turn ones heart up-side-down. Listening to her soft breathing as she lies still, her tiny hand searching for my protective arm-these are the moments I live for.

Intersting how love finds you when you are ready. It has taken many years to come around but I think the healing is almost complete. Amazing people start to cross your path and their companionship is more rich, meaningful and valued than any beer drinking-dart throwing buddy. If I forget to tell you--thank you.

"Reaching for the Moon"

The moon and you appear to be
So near and yet so far from me
And here am I on a night in June
Reaching for the moon and you,

I wonder if we'll ever meet
My song of love is incomplete
I'm just the words, looking for the tune
Reaching for the moon and you.



I'm just the words, looking for the tune
Reaching for the moon and you.
-Irving Berlin lyrics

I heard this song last night on All That Jazz while reading in bed.
Ella Fitzgerald of course. So--had to post it here.

Todays' temp. should reach the 60 degree mark.
I can't believe it's February.
This morning I stood outside my apartment and let the breeze blow. It smelled like spring..
The grant is is the mail. I won't find out until mid-march wheter or not I get to spend 4 weeks in the Middle East this summer. Unfortunately only 12 teachers--pre-service--K thru 16. I'm not holding my breath.

Oh and one more thing--Mike Davis resigned. FInally.

VII

But these are all golden dreams.
Oh, tell me, who first announced, who was the first to proclaim
that man does dirty only because he doesn't know his real interests; and that were he to be enlightened, were his eyes to be opened to his real, normal interests, man would immediately stop doing dirty, would immediately become good and noble...etc., etc.
Notes from Underground

I am realaxed, watching Hannah and Her Sisters and writing.
It feels good. I love this movie. I used to watch it over and over with my kid sister. The older you get, the more it makes sense--kinda like Looney Tunes.

A student handed me a book this week, she asked if I was between books. Luckily I am at a place with the books I am reading that a change would be nice.
"Here," she thrust the book into my hand.
"I read it in one sitting--five hours," she announced. I thought to myself that if she applied half that time to her studies she would be valedictorian.
But I love Sarah.

The book, written by the same author as Fight Club is called Choke by Chuck Palahniuk. So far, so good.


Must close and get going. BYE BYE BIRDIE meeting tonight. Ahh, and the noise from the neighbors is slowly rising as the night progresses...too bad they have terrible taste in tunes.

Hope you are well. Ciao.

apropos

“Apropos of the Wet Snow”
When from out of error’s darkness
With a word both sure and ardent
I had drawn the fallen soul,
And you, filled with deepest torment,
Cursed the vice that had ensnared you
And so doing wrung your hands;
When punishing with recollection
Forgetful conscience, you then told
The tale of all that went before me,
And suddenly you hid your face
In trembling hand and, filed with horror,
Filled with shame, dissolved with tears,
Indignant as you were, and shaken..
Etc, etc, etc.

From poetry of N. A. Nekrasov

Chapter IX
He admits that man feels a compulsion to create, but that he feels an equally strong urge to destroy. Animals delight in the creations they have made, as ants delight in an anthill they have built. Man, on the other hand, takes pleasure only in the creative process, never in its end result. Man senses that after he fully achieves all of his goals, there will be nothing left to do, and so he fears that achievement.

This is where I am with my stuff...

Sad that when you google this poem the first thing that comes up is a FLKR photo page, followed by some idiot-blog.

I saw Andrew Bird last night and the crowd reminded me of the same snobs that I met when at the Yo La Tengo show at Birdies. “Yahhh, he’s so amazing…” Shut the fuck up, you poser.

I hate my neighbors. I cannot decide whether I live in a trailer park or a glorified dorm..
I find it horrific that moving up to a nicer place means I have to deal with higher tech toys. Rich kids are assholes.

"Then the spell of my little debauch would end,and I'd feel terribly nauseated. Repentance would come; I'd drive it away--it was too nauseating."
-F.Dostoevsky

I was hoping to write tonight but am suddenly overtaken with exhaustion. It's dress week and I just got home. The Breakfast Club will be a great show--incorporating film and stage acting. I have always wanted to do this--and it works well.

I had my chart read and can see the next year--all the good and bad-- lots of strange Plutonic occurrances similar to what happened when Pluto crossed Venus December 2002-September 2004. Lovely.

I won't make the same mistakes again though.
God, I am tired. Night

"Oh, if I were doing nothing out of laziness. Lord how I'd respect myself then."
-Dostoevsky, Notes from Underground

Ahh-wireless. Finally I don't have to stand in my kitchen to email/write/google/etc.
I feel lazy, I do. The comforts of my kitchen table and a well-lit area while writing are a joy.

Lots of new music pumping through my veins. The learning curve with radio and music continues to challenge--thankfully. Andrew Bird on February 4--you goin?

My daughter made progress with the potty again today. She said that she had to go--and then did. Twice.

The apartment is now showing its ugly side--you know, the stuff that comes out after you sign the lease? Like freezing cold in winter..yeah. Can't wait to get the heating bill.

My theatre kids told me I was an awesome dancer today. And they meant it.

I heard a Smiths song that I used to like-- was happy-then sad--then I had to shut it off.

I am well. You wouldn't recognize me from last year at this time.

Change is good.

my new hair--self-port.

I think it brings out my eyes, what do you think?

january 8

It would be a lie if I said I was living true to myself. It would also be a lie if I said that I was unhappy with the way I have been living.
And now, after the resolutions have been issued like a death sentence, I will start in with what I have been doing--and more accurately share what I have not been doing…

To put it bluntly, I have been coasting for months. But this is only in certain aspects of my life. And as a meticulous planner and logistics snob, it was only a matter of time before I had to have the talk with myself. Today was the day.

I have not been thinking. I have been abusing the routine of daily life to put off such things. I spin the records, I teach the pupils, I run the laps and lift the weights, but am inside a void of anything important.
What prompted this berating? Well, while sitting down in the limited solo quiet moments that I have in my week, I turned on the boss of the blues, Big Joe Turner. He is best described as background filler, again, for those who cannot abide having a moment of silence in their daily lives ( don’t get me confused with one of these average Joes…), sat down to a reheated tofu and veggie mess I tried to assemble the night before--abysmal and only tolerable with a shocking amount of soy sauce to cover the disgusting stench and lack of flavor-- back to the point,
So I picked up the first of a host of books recommended by my brother-in-law, this one being Notes From Underground, F. Dostoevsky. (Others in my stack include Orwell's Down and Out in Paris and London and The Ballad of the Sad Cafe.) He included the cliffs notes and added in passing that it helped him to understand more thoroughly what was going on. Ok.
So in the few paragraphs of the forward, I am captivated. I have to stop reading to make a note to myself that this is the moment when life goes from thought to actualization.

Over the break I did relatively little to improve my craft. I read a series of mindless books including The DaVinci Code for the first time, a couple of silly Steve Martin books and one that was given to me by a student called The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Steven Chbosky and immediately thought of Clint. I miss him.

I read that one in one day.

I researched a grant or two for summer travel, learned of a slew of new musical artists (Flaming Lips out with a new record in April, Decemberists have a major label and Colin is touring solo will be in Chicago in February), and watched a few movies; the only two that moved were Great Expectations and Walmart, the High Cost of Low Prices. After Great Expectations, I wanted to pick up a fresh copy of Dickens and fill in the gaps where movies always fall short.

I spoke to very few. The coffee shop people, the bar maid who pours my wine at Tutto, my immediate family and my daughter. I have lost the art of polite conversation with everyone else.

The last two days I spent following a flock (or is the correct term fleet--or gaggle?) of black birds around town. At my daughter’s request, we followed the well over 200 starlings from tree to tree in my car to watch them move as one. She was determined and I was game, so we did…from Third Street by Lambda Chi all the way to Jiffy Treat on Pete Ellis and back around to a patch of field near my new dwelling off Adams Street. We sat there and watched them graze for five minutes until the leaders picked up and the entire flock was off again.

I wished that I had a camera handy.


So this is the first bit of writing I have done in months. It feels good, however, I am rusty.

But I did run two miles today and wasn’t winded….

Hope you are well. Ciao.

"I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round,
I really love to watch them roll.
No longer riding on the merry-go-round,
I just have to let it go.
I just have to let it go.
I just have to
let it go."
-J. Lennon

christmas eve

Best wishes for a great New Year.
C

"If You Forget Me"

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

Pablo Neruda

OK, so I caved. But honestly, it has been a struggle, the past few days.
Maybe it's the birthday looming next week, maybe the season, the move, the divorce, the dreams, on and on..
I am sad. Just a little.

Hope you are doing well.

“At the end of what is called the "sexual life" the only love which has lasted is the love which has everything, every disappointment, every failure and every betrayal, which has accepted even the sad fact that in the end there is no desire so deep as the simple desire for companionship."
-Graham Greene

--is this why our parents stay together?

December 3, 2005. 9:05 a.m.
I have weened myself from the blog. No longer do I read it, write on it or keep up with it. Today, however, I am proctoring the SAT, so here I am.

Now that I am completely settled into the new place, I am finally at home. Picking up the last of my belongings from a house I lived in for 8 years was gut-wrenching. I left so much of the past life behind—photos, televisions, furniture, unnecessary stuff. It was liberating.

I recently saw ME AND YOU AND EVERYONE WE KNOW and BROKEN FLOWERS.Both movies worth a look-see. Tonight I plan to see either THE CONSTANT GARDENER or Steve Martin’s new one, SHOPGIRL.

I am enjoying this new-found solo-celibate life. It is simple. Uncomplicated.
I am the master of my moods—of my choices. I like the comfortable arms-reach distance placed between myself and others. Nothing stirs—nothing hurts. Sure, companionship would be a nice addition, but with that comes emotional attachment. And not far behind—loss, deception, pain. It comes crashing down. Why does the human heart and mind constantly seek a soul mate when it knows that it is an impossibility?

WFHB has been a satisfying outlet for my muse-ic cravings..my latest favs include: Wilco's Live in Chicago Kicking Television, Broken Social Scene, The Clientele Strange Geometry, and even The Southland Influence of Geometry. Never appreciated geometry much--but on these albums it's fine.
****

I don't think about the past now. The only time I do is in the occasional nightmare. Then I am plagued only in waking time by those haunted feelings and those empty faces once again.

hello.

bath time

kitty kisses

favorite places

pumpkins


The Great Pumpkin