End of (Third) August Weekend Status Report

Self screamed herself silly every night: Come on, Michael! Come on, Dara! Come on, whoever you are in the USA swim team cap! The relays were her favorite events. She slept at 2, she got up at 6, that makes an average of four hours sleep a night, almost every night since the Olympics began.

Self, hubby and son attended a mass for alumni at son’s old elementary school, St. Raymond. And met there son’s friend, L, who also attends Cal Poly. And met the new parish priest, who was very excitable and friendly. And found that nothing about the school or the church had changed (which was a comfort).

Saturday night, self, hubby and son had dinner with good friends Bob and Diane (Bob is a UC Davis-trained winemaker, Diane is a visual artist) Read the rest of this entry »

Summer Slip-Sliding Away

How did this happen? First it was the third week in July (which was the last time, apparently, that self perused The Economist, because that is what is at the bottom of her stack of unread magazines), and now it is more than halfway through August.

There is only one week of the Olympics left, and after that there will be nothing, absolutely nothing to watch on TV. How is she going to get through the start of fall? With no Dara, no Michael, no Nastia to cheer on? (Self is suddenly reminded that there is the final season of Battlestar Galactica). Son will go back to Cal Poly, school will start, self will discover that her obsessive summer watering has killed off more plants, and she will still have that ratty pink sofa with the fraying arms in her living room.

But, not to fret too much, darlings, for summer 2008 was absolutely packed with activity, and self learned something new (almost) every day.

There was a reunion mass at son’s old school, St. Raymond, yesterday. And at that Read the rest of this entry »

Saturday Morning, Olympics Day 2

Hubby and self slept past 1 a.m. last night, giddy from watching the Olympic opening ceremonies which, in self’s humble opinion, were the most spectacularly beautiful opening ceremonies self had ever seen, worthy of a Chinese costume epic by Zhang Yimou. She didn’t recognize Li Ning, her crush of 24 years ago, (pardon for sounding a bit hyperbolic, dear blog readers) and the Philippine delegation looked cool in their sky-blue barongs (but why no women athletes?), and it was fun to see Rafael Nadal grinning like a schoolboy, and ditto for Jason Kidd and all the other highly paid athletes who seemed thrilled, simply thrilled to be part of the parade. George Bush looked relaxed; Putin did not crack a smile when the U.S. delegation marched past him. Sarkozy did not have gorgeous Carla by his side, and when self saw the Russian delegation she couldn’t help thinking about Georgia, and about her Georgian student at xxxx community college, Joe D, who’d written so eloquently about the bloody decade he’d just lived through and which he hoped (Alas!) would be the last violent decade for his country.

This morning, self keeps glancing at her watch. Realizes she is keeping time, wondering when son and Sean will arrive at the Hotel Domus Aurelia. The hotel staff were so nice, they e-mailed son detailed instructions how to get there from Ciampino Airport. (Estimated time from Termini to the hotel: around 75 minutes)

Then, self picks up a copy of Calyx to relax, and she remembers another student, Gillian, who self would meet for coffee about every other month, right here in Peet’s on Broadway. When they last met, Gillian imparted the sad news that she was shortly to go home to Oregon. Her parents wouldn’t continue to fund her living in San Francisco unless she got a job or enrolled in a regular four-year college. Self had one of those brainstorms that occur to her oh, about once every six months.

“Work for Calyx!” self told Gillian.

Gillian’s eyes lit up.

That same day, self e-mailed Beverly McFarland. The next day, Beverly e-mailed Gillian. And, last week, self received a happy e-mail from Gillian: it was all settled, she’d be interning for Calyx for the rest of the summer. Super!!! Self wrote Gillian: “You and Calyx are a good fit.”

Now, starting from the back of the Calyx journal (which is a habit self started years, perhaps even decades, ago), she sees a most interesting ad for:

CELEBRATION RECORDINGS

invites you to visit the website

celebration1.org

for beautiful Classical piano CDs

including exquisite music
by women composers
to accompany
your reading of
Calyx

lovely as gifts with conscience

your check is written
directly to
grass-roots
not-for-profit organizations
addressing global issues

Self must investigate! Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Oh My God, It’s Happening Again

Insomnia, that is.

So here it is, past midnight, and self is wondering: what activity can she be sure will put her to sleep? After a day spent strenuously walking hither and thither, not to mention exercising her fingers over the keyboard of long-suffering laptop, you’d think she’d be wiped out by now.

But, no –

Her brain is firing on all pistons, while she stares at Amy Poehler on “Saturday Night Live” and wonders why her face is looking so remarkably younger these days. But, let’s not go there.

Instead, self intends to quote from a recent issue of Vanity Fair (August 2008), the one with all those nubile teens on the cover, including Blake “Gossip Girl” Lively and Amanda “Mama Mia!” Seyfried (”If they have another one of these tween-sy covers, I’m going to stop my subscription,” self tells hubby, only half-jokingly). Here it is, dear blog readers:

The Quote That Made Self Unexpectedly Burst Out Laughing, But Left Her Scratching Her Head Afterwards:

The scathingly funny Hamlet 2, like Ed Wood before it, dramatizes the existential plight of those unfortunate souls who, possessing all the passion and commitment it takes to be an artist, lack only talent.

    — Bruce Handy, in a review of the upcoming movie, Hamlet 2

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Absolutely the Best Title for a Short Story

Self is watching Bobby Flay — some reality show on the Food Network. Can you believe it? Except for the morning’s errand run (which caused her to miss the most exciting episode of “The View” since — well, since the self-immolation of Rosie O’Donnell), self has been parked in front of the television and nothing exciting has happened. On the reality show self is currently watching, there has just taken place the most sedate send-off for an eliminated contestant that self has ever witnessed (Oh, how she longs for Gordon Ramsay and his: “Get out of here, you little f—face! You can’t cook! Get out! Get ouuuuttttt!!!”)

In the meantime, self sincerely hopes hubby doesn’t make it home before she’s succeeded in polishing off the slice of triple-chocolate mousse she bought from Chocolate Mousse on Laurel Street in San Carlos, on her way back from the Farmer’s Market.

Today, self thinks she’s going to begin a new “thread”: gorgeous short story titles. So far this year, she’s encountered one. And that was from a story in Flyway, the Spring/ Fall 2005 issue (Self! Why do you accumulate years and years worth of literary journals, and where are you going to park this stuff? Your dining room looks like a friggin’ library, there’s no place on the dining room table to rest so much as a plate, and you wonder why hubby is always crabby! But, once again, I digress)

And the title is (drumroll, please!):

On Growing Up Blind, in a Hotly Contested State

a short story

by

Anis Shivani

(who, surprisingly enough from the Contributor’s Notes, is identified as a poet)

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Self, Running Errands, Misses “The View” Smackdown

Oh, no! Self has missed the boat again, dear blog readers!

That is, every day since the end of spring quarter at xxxx community college, self has been plopping down on living room couch to watch “The View,” and she forces herself to watch until the screeching becomes unbearable. Naturally, she has to listen to Elisabeth Hasselbeck. Who is — wait, who is Elisabeth Hasselbeck? Aside from looking truly fetching in print mini-dresses, that is?

OK, what happened here? Self has to review how she came to decide to leave the house at the exact same moment that “The View” was coming on. Oh yes, she had to go to B & N. And the library (to borrow Chang-rae Lee’s Aloft and T. C. Boyle’s The Inner Circle — thereby breaking her promise to read only non-fiction this summer). And the post office, to mail out a story. And Costco, to pick up a humongous bottle of Tylenol PM (perfect for insomniacs!). And McWhorter’s (to pick up two Pilot Precise V-5 Rolling Ball pens)

And when self got back, and got on the web, she found her usual gossip sites (self sooo addicted to those) all agog over Hasselbeck supposedly having broken down in tears during this morning’s show.

Aaaaargh!!!! The moment to end all moments! And self has missed it!

So here’s the version from Hollywoodlife.net

The yakking yentas were discussing Jesse Jackson’s use of the “N” word and things got heated.

Elisabeth Hasselbeck dominated the discussion and even Barbara Walters looked like she wanted to strangle her.

At one point, Babs even told Hasselcrack, “You’re not listening, you’re just talking.”

Moderator Whoopi Goldberg was trying to explain her take on the situation and took issue when Elisabeth said they both live in “the same world.”

Whoopi then replied, “We do live in different worlds. You don’t understand.”

At this point Elisabeth asked, “How are we supposed to move forward if we keep using words that bring back that pain?”

And then she broke down in tears.

And that is just so ha ha ha ha ha funny, self is practically rolling on the floor.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Early (June) Wednesday Morning Musings

Self thinks it was 11 when she fell asleep last night.

Son had just returned from visiting a friend in Portola Valley and was sitting with hubby on the couch, watching a horror/comedy flick called “Eight-Legged Freaks,” starting David Arquette. Giant spiders were attacking a group of motorcycle-riding teen-agers across a desert.

Dearest Mum had come and gone, leaving wreckage. Thankfully, self was able to cover up most of the signs of the tornado by the time hubby got home (past 9 p.m.): That is, dishes had been cleared and put away, and even the atrocious (overcooked) shrimp & pasta dinner was mercifully concealed in a pot with a lid. And self had already finished small cup of tiramisu & chocolate caramel non-fat yogurt from Yumi Yogurt.

Speaking of which, what is with that place? Last night, line was out the door (a sure sign of summer) even though the weather was cool. And the people in line were: members of the Stanford swimming team (My, those girls are huge! Self came up to just about their chests); a middle-aged grey-haired lady who refused to respond to self’s small talk, who refused to in fact even look in self’s direction; and a slim female giant in a suit with a cast on one leg who Dearest Mum was giving quite the eye-ful, as she maneuvered adroitly and un-aided to her car (in spite of cast), large serving of non-fat yogurt (two flavors: one brown, the other white with blue swirls) held aloft in one hand. Tita squawking as usual (All self’s relatives incapable of being in a public place without calling attention to themselves).

Then, self returned home (while Tita ferried Dearest Mum to her next appointment: a sleep-over with friend in Hillsborough), fell asleep, and now it is 6:20 a.m.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Son Is Home — Tra-La Tra-La Tra-Laaaa!

Son is home, and this is what we have done today:

Watched “The Incredible Hulk” — and Edward Norton is just incredible. So is Liv Tyler. So is William Hurt. And Tim Roth! No one makes malevolence so magnetic (other than John Malkovich, that is).

And self was so glad that son is still OK with watching movies with her! And that she got to watch the preview of “Hellboy II” again! And got her first glimpse of The X-Files movie (opening next month), “I Want to Believe”!

And now hubby is exerting himself to the max, doing the backyard barbecue thing with six juicy rib-eyes (which self purchased from Costco just this morning). And it seems like forever since we’ve had a backyard barbecue. We kept urging son to invite his Sacred Heart friends, but he declined, saying he’d meet them all somewhere after dinner.

Meanwhile, self went all the way to Daly City to fetch Dearest Mum. And self has already ferried her to Marshall’s and Target, where she returned some of her purchases yesterday.

To tell the truth, self would be perfectly happy, except that Dearest Mum, ensconced on couch the last two hours, seems to be getting bored with the CW. She was engrossed with “Gossip Girl,” but then the episode ended and now she seems (exceedingly) bored with “One Tree Hill” and keeps asking self for the phone numbers of this and that Tita. Which makes self exceedingly nervous, for when Dearest Mum gets bored, there is hell to pay.

* * * *

And then (in self’s life, there is always an “and then”), at the tail end of this very long and emotionally intense day, son delivers this zinger: “Mom, I am thinking of joining the Peace Corps.”

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Hubby on a Roll!

Self supine on couch, again. Watching Martha: It was “Breakfast Day,” and everyone, even the members of the audience, were in snuggly-looking pajamas. Self was taking mental notes: Martha was in peach pajamas, but self saw a young woman in the audience in lime green pajamas and furry slippers, and self thought the woman looked pretty smashing. The men were wearing “robes” (underneath which were presumably pajamas). The menu for this show was French Toast and bacon and eggs. Oooh, self’s favorite breakfast foods — next to cream of wheat with melted butter and brown sugar, that is !!

Then self’s mind wandered (as it frequently does) to the pile of papers on the dining room table, still waiting to be graded. But, quick as a wink, self nudged herself along to another (more felicitous) thought which was: Should self be daring and watch “The Forbidden Kingdom” in the old Century 12 on East Bayshore which lately has seemed so creepy, what with the cavernous empty cinemas and the occasionally annoying foot-high Spanish subtitles?

And before self could answer this question, a message from hubby popped up in self’s in-box. And self wanted to e-mail back: Read the rest of this entry »

Blissful Tuesday, & the Return of the NYTBR Post

Oh, what a looovely day it is today. Self feels like singing. She’s on the couch, where she spent the morning grading papers. She reald an absolutely fascinating student paper on “Tool,” the heavy metal group, which enlightened her on Tool’s mastery of The Fibonaci Method. Then self realized she was probably not going to Bali in the fall (as she would have done if she weren’t teaching — ha ha ha ha!)

For a while self was engrossed in a TV show that re-enacted the Russian airline disaster of long long ago, when a pilot allowed his 14-year-old son to sit at the controls and the plane ended up crashing. What seems to have happened is that the plane was on auto-pilot, but something went wrong, and the boy did not have the arm strength to manipulate the levers manually, and his father could not help him because centrifugal force (the plane was in a steep dive) kept him pinned to the wall of the cockpit and he was unable to reach the controls to help his son.

After that uplifting program, self switched to the “Dog Whisperer”, and saw Cesar Millan helping singer Patti LaBelle with her dog problem.

Then self began to ponder what other writing contests she could still join this year.

Then self realized she had not posted about The New York Times Book Review in a month (amazing!), so now she will proceed to list the books she is interested in reading after perusing the 11 May 2008 issue of The New York Times Book Review (and at this point, self can’t be expected to remember how many issues she’s skipped, though she thinks it might be as many as two or three):

(1) After reading Ben MacIntyre’s review of Richard Bausch’s “brilliant” 11th novel, Peace:

Richard Bausch’s Peace

(2) After reading Bruce Barcott’s review of Louise Erdrich’s new novel, The Plague of Doves:

Louise Erdrich’s The Plague of Doves

(3) After reading Kathryn Harrison’s review of Honor Moore’s account of growing up with her (bisexual) father, The Bishop’s Daughter: A Memoir:

Honor Moore’s The Bishop’s Daughter: A Memoir

(4) After reading Jonathan Miles’ review of Brian Hall’s fictionalization of the life of Robert Frost, Fall of Frost:

Brian Hall’s Fall of Frost

(5) After reading Marcus Mabry’s review of Robyn Scott’s Twenty Chickens for a Saddle: The Story of an African Childhood:

Robyn Scott’s Twenty Chickens for a Saddle: The Story of an African Childhood

(6) After reading James Glanz’s review of Patrick Cockburn’s biography of radical cleric Moktada al-Sadr, Muqtada: Muqtada al-Sadr, the Shia Revival, and the Struggle for Iraq:

Patrick Cockburn’s Muqtada: Muqtada al-Sadr, the Shia Revival, and the Struggle for Iraq

(7) After reading Maggie Scarf’s review of Andrew Sean Greer’s novel, The Story of a Marriage:

Andrew Sean Greer’s The Story of a Marriage

( 8 ) After reading Alana Newhouse’s review of Lily Koppel’s (fascinating) The Red Leather Diary: Reclaiming a Life Through the Pages of a Lost Journal:

Lily Koppel’s The Red Leather Diary: Reclaiming a Life Through the Pages of a Lost Journal

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