Wednesday Morning Musings: 13th of February

It’s the day before Valentine’s Day. Ouch!

While all of self’s students have been in la-la land this week (probably daydreaming about upcoming hot dates), self has had to field the following:

    E-mail from Director of Writing Center, requesting a meeting. She names the only two days of the week that self does not have to teach. What intuition!
    Hubby came home last night, announced his company was going under, and then spent the rest of the night talking on webcam to people all over the country (and probably the world)

But, fie, fie, self, why so gloomy? At least you still have all of your faculties! Which means you can still blog!

And you were able to stop yourself last night from having more than two servings of delicious dinner you whipped up: zitti with a sausage and mushroom cream sauce (liberally laced with hubby’s favorite madeira). And you were able to stop yourself from eating more than three pastillas de leche the entire day.

Such feats definitely call for celebration!

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Help for the Fashion-Challenged Writer

This is a strange, strange Sunday morning.

    For one thing, self has already caught Gracie eating crap — again.
    For another, self has planted, single-handedly, huge 5-gallon rhododendron (without changing out of her nightgown, all covered with clumps of clayey soil now, my bad)

This morning, self is mulling about fashion. Read the rest of this entry »

(1st January) Weekend Status Report

Self and hubby watched Juno in the downtown Redwood City cinema. Cute, very cute. (And, by the way, self thinks Ellen Page’s was a much smarter portrayal of a single pregnant woman than Katherine Heigl’s in Knocked Up. And that, dear blog readers, is the difference between Judd Apatow’s fantasy — Heigl ending up with Rogen, puh-leaase! — and a film based on reality. Kudos to Diablo Cody for the smart script)

Afterwards, self and hubby wandered over to Beard Papa and had coffee and those yummy vanilla cream puffs. Also ordered one chocolate eclair to have later, after dinner.

After getting home, hubby decided to walk the poor little crits — housebound all day yesterday and most of today because of the storm — while self chopped up boneless chicken and various other ingredients for a dish called “Stir-Fried Chicken with Garlic” from Fu Pei Mei’s Chinese Cooking (Self’s aunt B, who is a fantastic cook, swears this is the only Chinese cookbook she trusts. Self’s copy is dated 1989; wonder if it’s still in print ??)

In other news:

    There is a Democratic debate taking place right now. Self had every intention of watching it, but (my bad) she got sidetracked by To Live and Die in L.A. (with a very young, very slim William Petersen), and now she’s watching one of the later Dirty Harry movies.
    The San Francisco Zoo has re-opened, but people are being kept away from the tiger exhibit while the zoo installs glass walls over the open-air section, next to the Lion House. A man visiting with his young son was asked about his “feelings” about being back in the zoo after the tiger attack. The man looked at the reporter and said: “I am more worried about getting hit by a car than about being attacked by a tiger.”
    Self heard on TV that American Airlines had agreed to have some new anti-missile technology installed on a few of its passenger jets, technology that would, in the words of TV reporter, “protect commercial jets against attacks by terrorists with missiles.” Which now makes self feel more nervous than ever.

Hmm, what else? NDNU’s e-mail system completely kaput since yesterday, self doesn’t know what happened, she never knew storms could interfere with e-mail. But her Stanford Alumni e-mail’s working just fine.

Tonight is the last night we’ll have the Christmas tree up; saw our neighbors setting their trees out today, feel impelled to do same. Sad, very sad.

And, what has happened? Self intended this to be a very short post, but here she is blathering on again. Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Happy New Year! And, a Global Essay Contest for Bangladesh

Son made it to Times Square, self is happy for him. Meanwhile, self is watching Larry King Live, the guest is Mindfreak Criss Angel (Ha ha ha — he made a woman lie down on a park bench and then pulled her in two! Everyone in the park went crazy and ran in all directions!) and during commercial breaks self gets to watch adverts for PedEgg and Miracle Foot Repair.

Hubby and self are making like it’s just an ordinary evening, though self did pick up a Captain’s Platter (deep fried clams, shrimp, and fish fillets) from Lobster Shack. Saw this contest announcement while browsing The Economist this evening.

GLOBAL ESSAY CONTEST FOR BANGLADESH

Announcing the $25,000 Anwarul Quadir Prize of 2008, a global essay contest on ideas to improve the lives of low- and middle-income people in Bangladesh. Deadline for submissions: June 30, 2008.

The Anwarul Quadir Foundation wishes to congratulate the 2007 winners:

Saifuddin Ahmed of Dhaka, Bangladesh, for his proposal for managing and increasing productivity of absentee-owned land

Anastasia M. Telesetsky of San Francisco for her essay proposing wide-spread cultivation of indigenous moringa leaves in small-scale gardens to improve nutrition

www.quadir.org

On Longevity and Other Matters

Self knows this: there’s nothing better than coffee at 7:49 in the morning. The icon for weather alerts that self installed on her desktop is blinking, and when self examines it she sees there’s a severe weather alert for (holds her breath) San Luis Obispo, California (!!!). And here is the confirmation that son, like self, has genius intuition: because he’s 3000 miles away this morning, in New York City.

Today hubby has to work and soon self will go to Safeway to get soft drinks and the New York Times, and who knows what we’ll do this evening but there are already two bottles of Moet and Chandon chilling in the fridge.

Self’s looking over latest newsletter from the Center for East Asian Studies at Stanford. It’s been over 20 years since she got her degree, and she notes with interest the places where the recent graduates have gone or will be going, and here’s an abbreviated list:

Dept. of History, Chapman University; Linguistics, Cal State Fresno; Political Science, University of Alberta; Political Science, National Chengchi University, Taiwan; Political Science, UC Berkeley; Sociology, Texas A & M University; Japanese, Wesleyan; Dept. of Foreign Affairs, Thailand

On the Faculty News page, self sees the names of two professors she studied under and who she presumed had long ago passed on to the great beyond (but no, such is the longevity of Stanford professors — both are still very much alive and kicking and in fact have just published books) :

    Michael Sullivan, from whom self took three courses in Chinese painting, has just published Modern Chinese Artists: A Biographical Dictionary (University of California Press)
    Makoto Ueda, professor of Japanese, has a book forthcoming from Stanford University Press: Concealment of Politics, Politics of Concealment: The Production of “Literature” in Meiji Japan.

Furthermore, in April of 2007, Prof. Daniel Okimoto of Political Science was awarded The Order of the Rising Sun, one of Japan’s most prestigious honors. And Michael Armacost, whose wife Bonnie is one of Dearest Mum’s closest friends, has received something else called The Grand Cordon of the Order of the Rising Sun, which award was presented to him by no less a personage than Emperor Akihito, at the Imperial Palace in Tokyo.

And then here is a picture of dear old fun-loving professor Susan Matisoff, who looks exactly the same as she did when self was in grad school (which leads self to surmise that having a Stanford professorship is probably the cheapest way to ensure absence of wrinkles), and she is surrounded by these other professors who self has known:

Tom Hare, now at Princeton; and Beth Carey, former Assistant Director of the Center for East Asian Studies, who wrote a book on geishas which self thinks was infinitely better than the one that was made into a movie (because Carey’s book was true), and who also translated the novels of a Japanese mystery writer whose name this morning completely escapes self.

And then, finally, in alumni news:

    Chris Armacost moved to Tokyo.
    Amy Borovoy published The Too-Good Wife: Alcohol, Codependency, and the Politics of Nurturance in Postwar Japan (University of California Press, 2005)
    Sabina Chen became Executive Director of the Chinese Culture Center in San Francisco. (Congrats, Sabina!)
    Shari Epstein became Dean of Academic Affairs at Dharma Realm Buddhist University, which is in “The City of Ten Thousand Buddhas,” which contrary to self’s expectations is not in Nepal or Tibet or any other place in central Asia, but is conveniently located near the city of Ukiah in northern California.
    Robert Corrigan became head of the Man Group in London, which is in charge of awarding the Man Asian Literary Prize. (!!!!) — Darn, if self had only known Rob would end up there, she would have made sure to engage in more idle chit-chat with him in hallowed corridors of the Stanford Quad.

Self now needs time to digest all these various surprises.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Can You Get Your Money Back for a Wedding Cake?

That is the question that is uppermost in self’s mind this evening.

It was a very lazy day, dear blog readers. All self did, other than worry about son’s whereabouts, was respond to an e-mail from the journal she sent a story to yesterday: Since your story was not in an acceptable format, we were unable to open it and therefore it has been declined. Boy, that was quick! Read the rest of this entry »

These Are Strange Days

Hmm, let’s see, what did self do yesterday?

Self completed two on-line submissions.

Self browsed the Hyphen blog (veeery interesting, especially the parts about the San Francisco International Asian American Film Festival)

Self returned books to the Library and borrowed a novel, The Gangster We Are All Looking For (Alas, the Lydia Davis translation of Swann’s Way was abandoned long ago, before Christmas even)

Self attempted once more to locate son (unsuccessful). She imagines him and his buddies crawling across the American landscape, heading to that shining beacon of hope and good times: New York City (ha ha ha ha!).

Self went to Safeway and saw a man break away from a clerk who called for help, but none was forthcoming.

Self heard much testimony about the ways of tigers.

Self got to hear Anderson Cooper deride Mike Huckabee for saying that Pakistanis were coming over the Mexican border in droves (”As a matter of fact, that’s not true,” Anderson intones. “Chinese and Filipinos outnumber Pakistanis in coming illegally over the border.” That a fact, Anderson? From which statistical study did you derive such information? That’s so interesting! Chinese and Filipinos! Well, I never!)

Self also got to see strident Hillary (strident meaning: in bug-eyed mode) condemning the current administration for turning a blind eye on the many foibles of Pakistani leader Musharraf.

Hmm, and what does self have for dear blog readers this morning? More on The Swallows of Kabul, of course (which she loves, loves, loves, and which she is sure is better than The Kite Runner, which admittedly she has never read, and will probably never read, since she knows everything that happens in it, from reading newspapers and watching reviews of the film)

Here is another edifying description, this time on the importance of women. Two men, Mirza and Atiq, are discussing the state of Atiq’s marriage:

“But it’s simple: divorce her.”

“She has no family left,” Atiq naively replies, quite failing to notice the contempt darkening his friend’s features. Mirza is visibly exasperated at being obliged to dwell upon so degrading a subject. “Her parents are dead; her brothers have gone their separate ways. And besides, I couldn’t do that to her.”

“Why not?”

“She saved my life, remember?”

Mirza throws his shoulders back, as though the jailer’s reasoning has taken him by surprise. He thrusts out his lips and tucks his chin into one shoulder so that he’s eying Atiq sideways. “Rubbish!” he exclaims. “God alone has power over life and death. You were wounded while fighting for His glory. Since He couldn’t send Gabriel, He put this woman in your way. She took care of you by the will of God. She did nothing but submit to His will. What you did for her was a hundred times more valuable: You married her. What more could she hope for? She was three years older than you, already an old maid, with no vitality and no appeal. Can there be any greater generosity to a woman than to offer her a roof, protection, honor, and a name? You don’t owe her anything. She’s the one who should bow down before you, Atiq, and kiss the toes of your feet, one by one, every time you take off your shoes.

Self Experiences Stillness

Last night we took son to see National Treasure in the old Century Park cinema on Bayshore. The theatre was packed, self had never seen so many people in a movie, not in a very very long time. We had popcorn, and self got an extra bag and divided up the popcorn (The popcorn at this theatre is the best of all the theatres in the Peninsula, self doesn’t know why. And they never scrimp on the butter). It is always fun to watch Nic Cage (who self is sure dyes his hair now), and of course Diane Kruger is there for male eye-candy. But Helen Mirren went along for the ride, playing Nic Cage’s mother (and self is always amazed at how this woman manages to exude sexuality, even with the facial wrinkles that she doesn’t bother covering up with Botox), and it was loads of fun (for the parents, that is; self saw a number of little kids, six or seven years old, sleeping).

So, with that ritual of our holiday over, son took off to see his old friend Kenny. He got back at midnight, just as self was finishing the last of his laundry. Then, he stayed up packing until 3 or 3:30, and self was up with him, helping him fold clothes.

Weather’s absolutely gorgeous today. Son is gone. Helping him load up his car, writing down reminders and phone numbers for him to call in case of emergency (during his cross-country drive), and letting him choose from self’s stash of maps, occupied most of the morning.

There’s a stillness in the house now, and though self had thought she would run errands today, perhaps she won’t.

Will self write a story?

Will she watch a movie?

Will she garden?

Will she walk the (snoozing) dogs?

Will she sweep/ dust/ mop?

Or will self simply continue reading The Economist, in which she read this morning that “Women have not escaped the kitchen; it has come after them”?

Son’s spring break plans are still inconclusive, but he said he probably wouldn’t be going home. Self said that he should just go and have fun. Niece G always goes somewhere for spring break: Belize, Bermuda. Self thinks it would be wonderful for son to do the same.

Self now peeks into his room and is surprised to see that he’s straightened up quite a bit: his desk and his bookshelves look neat and tidy. Someday she’ll have to decide what to do with the 60-inch K’Nex rolling ball factory that he built when he was 10, or with his soccer and karate trophies, or with the stuffed animals he won from Great America. She doesn’t have to decide right now, though.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

The Hokusai Anthology of the One Hundred Poets

Son gave self the above-named book for Christmas! A new translation by Peter Morse and printed by George Braziller. Self dropped by Books Inc. in Mountain View with son last week and saw the book on display. After picking it up and glancing briefly through it, self put it back when she saw the price: $50. She didn’t even notice son watching her, he usually heads straight for the science fiction section and she is sure she didn’t spend more than five minutes looking at it. Son has the most uncanny intuition about what she would like for Christmas!

(Last year, he gave self a beautiful bound journal with blank pages and a nice Mont Blanc pen. Self uses up journals so fast that she gets the cheapest kinds, the ones that cost $5 from Target. But this journal was absolutely the most beautiful notebook self had ever owned. She’s saving it up for when she goes on that grand European tour and wants to jot down impressions. And she uses the pen when she has to sign books.)

So, self loves the Hokusai book so much. She remembers a story from her childhood about a fishing village in Japan that built their houses facing away from the sea, because the sea had taken so many lives, and the accompanying woodblock print was by Hokusai. That was how she first heard of him.

Now, perusing the book slowly, self comes across the print for a poem by Fujiwara no Atsutada (904 to 944). The print shows a woman standing before a mighty tree, a hammer in one hand, a nail in the other, a second nail held firmly between her teeth. On the woman’s head are three guttering candles. This is how the text explains the image:

. . . the ceremony of Ushi no Toki Mairi (Praying at the Hour of the Ox — i.e., two o’clock in the morning) is a means of casting a spell on an unfaithful lover. Only women could do it. The woman wakes, dons a white robe, and puts a metal tripod on her head, holding three lit candles. She wears a mirror on her chest and carries a straw doll in her left hand, representing the lover. Her hair is left loose; in her right hand she carries a hammer and nail to attach the straw figure to one of the trees surrounding the temple. She goes to the Shinto temple . . . at two in the morning, nails the figure and then prays to the gods for vengeance . . . It is supposed to be repeated several nights in succession for best effect.

Fascinating, just fascinating . . .

Christmas Morning

# of Hours slept last night: 5 (Good)

# of “bad things” consumed yesterday: 2 (peanut butter ice cream at downtown RWC cinema, while watching tremendously moving Atonement; one Beard Papa chocolate eclair with caramel filling)

Holiday-themed TV viewing last night: The World Wrestling Federation performing live in Iraq

# of presents opened: 0 (Will wait till everyone is up)

Best Christmas wish (from Reine M): “May gravity and lightness play well inside of you.”

Weather: chilly. Self forgot to remind hubby it was “Spare the Air” Day so of course we lit a fire.

No. of major department stores that will open before 8 AM tomorrow: 3 — J C Penney (opens at 6 AM!), Macy’s and Nordstrom (at 7)

News self is watching: KTVU Morning News

In the mail yesterday: a very thin NYTBR, ballots for hubby and self for the California primary (Feb. 5 this year!), and two self-addressed stamped envelopes (read: rejections). The first is list of winners for the Missouri Review 2007 fiction contest (Darn! Self knows she’ll never get into the Missouri Review!) and the second is from The Greensboro Review, for “Dumpster,” which makes self smile, because she’s already placed “Dumpster” (just last week, in fact) with another journal. But what’s really funny is that, a month ago, self received solicitation to subscribe to The Greensboro Review. And she thought she’d better take out a subscription, as perhaps this was one way that GR weeds out its submissions slush pile? By rejecting anyone who fails to respond to subscription invitation? So self mailed in her check, and — voila! Rejection (Form, the most depressing kind) arrives. Self, this goes to show what happens when you try second-guessing tactics of editors at esteemed literary journals!

Things on to-do list today (aside from opening presents, of course): Mass, movie (Choices, ticked off by hubby: National Treasure sequel, Aliens V. Predators sequel, Charlie Wilson’s War)

Most fervent wish(es) for the New Year: that beloved sister-in-law Ying will be fully restored, in health, in serenity; that Dearest Mum finds happiness; that son makes it to the East Coast this New Year’s without mishap (He’s driving cross-country with three friends, starting tomorrow), that self can continue to write, and write well.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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