Monday, April 18, 2005
Blahg
It is so nice and also surprising to think of you reading this. I will return the favor and read your blog, if you begin one. I am certainly shy at the thought of blogging to so-called everyone, and it amazes me how many people have the confidence to do something like blog--though, as confidences go, the confidence to blog seems unnecessary. Wouldn't it be in the species' better interest to have the confidence to jump from tall places, confront one another with one's feelings, etc.? But no, it seems--seems--we are more likely to be stricken with the confidence to blog. And to think how many people karaoke, as well!
But the reason we all do or eventually do blog--as you, too, will eventually--is because it takes three to four seconds to set up, and is easy, and is free.
And all of you--those I trust enough to inform of this blog and will continue to trust even if you never read a word--there, you're off the hook, now, go, be free!--so,
those of you who are left, whom I, of course, trust much more than the ones who just dissed my blog--
are probably to blame for my confidence, for, with your encouraging smiles, you've made me feel eager to share.
As many of you know I hovered around Mountain View for three weeks, with Tully providing endless chaperoning and support amid his many projects and my departure dizziness.
My first destination was Moab, Utah, where my Dad, his wife Glynda, their daughter Kim and grandson Grayson live nestled in red mountains. I arrived on April Fools Day, the only sad part of which was that as usual I forgot it was April Fools Day in time to do anything useful! It's not just me though, is it? Why is this such an undercelebrated day?!?!?! Is it because we're distracted by taxes? If so that is just a crying shame.
The Amtrak arrived in the tiny, somewhat drained looking town of Green River, Utah, where in the early morning amid a few gray old buildings sparkled a little shiny cafe with all the proper elaborate coffee drinks. Because half of Green River's population of 900 is LDS (Mormon) and does not drink coffee, the cafe must advertise for miles up and down the highway. They do this, they said, to sustain this labor of love, their passion for coffee.
Mysteriously, I saw little Starbucks mints for sale on the counter, and later they served me a bagel in a Starbucks bag. No, they weren't a Starbucks, they explained only once I asked. "No no no no," they shook their heads passionately. They'd gotten the bags in a truck wreck. There's a particularly bad hill about a mile from the cafe that trucks customarily tumble from. The truck companies call the townspeople to clean up the mess and keep what they find. Hence the tiny cafe lucked upon a smattering of spilled Starbucks bags and put them to good use. I think this is also what explained the three Chapsticks for sale by the cash register.
Thank goodness Glynda did remember it was April Fools Day in time for us to play a round of trickstering in the pool; their pool is surrounded by a low stucco wall dotted with lamps and folkart, and has the backdrop of the red Moab mountains, so swimming in it is very beautiful. At night they lit a firepit and Grayson played around it with sticks and whatnot, very excited by the fire, and readily adopting the epithet the God of Fire, which is a very good epithet for an 8-year-old.
Like so many beautiful places, the most amazing and funny part of Moab was to walk around feeling perfectly natural doing simple things like reading the paper, buying milk and coffee, going for a jog in one of the world's beautiful deserts. My dad is developing a website (www.jogtunes.com) devoted to helping people make their PERFECT exercise mix and he wanted me to testrun some mixes, so we jogged up the endless red mountains with our custom-made mixes. Very fun. During the day we went to Arches, Canyonlands and a place called "Swiftrock" with is the same red rock, gently rolling over a plateau, so very friendly to walkers, hikers, bicyclists, 4-wheelers, who come from all over the country for this friendly floor. I was there 9 days, then trained to Iowa, which Amtrak likes to think of as on the way to San Antonio. On the way I met my first GREAT person, Al Sikert, a man who splits his time between Monterey and Lake Powell and some other place, who recited to me slam poetry, told funny jokes and had a big laugh that filled the observation car--a fearless laugh that teaches you how momentous a joke can be. He left me his leftover wine, peanut butter, a banana and a loaf of bread.
Fastforwarding: In Iowa City I visited quickly my friend and her lovely friends at the Iowa Writer's Workshop, the most respected MFA for writing...ever. We went to one of the readings the students give each Wednesday night, in which some students read and others coordinate extremely elaborate introductions for them. For instance, to introduce two of the readers, two students had prepared and sang elaborate love songs to them, such as "If you ever decide to leave your boyfriend I'm here for you". At the time I didn't know they were joking and was thinking, gosh writers are so weird! The camaraderie they had was very appealing, and seemed especially impressive in a program of that intensity.
Now in San Antonio I visit with family and buy last minute things that I will later regret buying when I see how much cheaper they are in India.
I confess I would not recommend Amtrak for this long trip; too much time in small, shaking spaces (the trains are not overly shaky but not smooth) in close quarters with suspect strangers... (yes, like much of india will be, but that's different). One problem I have is that I get into too many conversations with people. There is something I'm doing wrong; I cannot end up talking this often throughout the next year so there is some new facial expression I must learn. I think it is along the lines of: "I know I look like I want to talk to you and I do, nevertheless please ignore me."
Of the few books I have been reading, the best is "Brutal Imagination," a book of poems by Cornelius Eady about being black in America. Specifically, in one long poem he takes the voice of the black man Susan Smith made up and described in detail as the man who kidnapped her children. His narrator speaks of himself as imaginary, sometimes aching to become real even if it requires being guilty of such a crime. I have read a few things about India too. And I have managed to spend more time on logistics and planning than I ever planned to.... To this extent I look forward to travelling only with a pad, a book, some clothes, and oh, god, everything else in my two ton backpack.
I leave for New York City this Tuesday and for Delhi on May 12. I miss you all! Please let me know how you are, here or at sucramibag@yahoo.com!
But the reason we all do or eventually do blog--as you, too, will eventually--is because it takes three to four seconds to set up, and is easy, and is free.
And all of you--those I trust enough to inform of this blog and will continue to trust even if you never read a word--there, you're off the hook, now, go, be free!--so,
those of you who are left, whom I, of course, trust much more than the ones who just dissed my blog--
are probably to blame for my confidence, for, with your encouraging smiles, you've made me feel eager to share.
As many of you know I hovered around Mountain View for three weeks, with Tully providing endless chaperoning and support amid his many projects and my departure dizziness.
My first destination was Moab, Utah, where my Dad, his wife Glynda, their daughter Kim and grandson Grayson live nestled in red mountains. I arrived on April Fools Day, the only sad part of which was that as usual I forgot it was April Fools Day in time to do anything useful! It's not just me though, is it? Why is this such an undercelebrated day?!?!?! Is it because we're distracted by taxes? If so that is just a crying shame.
The Amtrak arrived in the tiny, somewhat drained looking town of Green River, Utah, where in the early morning amid a few gray old buildings sparkled a little shiny cafe with all the proper elaborate coffee drinks. Because half of Green River's population of 900 is LDS (Mormon) and does not drink coffee, the cafe must advertise for miles up and down the highway. They do this, they said, to sustain this labor of love, their passion for coffee.
Mysteriously, I saw little Starbucks mints for sale on the counter, and later they served me a bagel in a Starbucks bag. No, they weren't a Starbucks, they explained only once I asked. "No no no no," they shook their heads passionately. They'd gotten the bags in a truck wreck. There's a particularly bad hill about a mile from the cafe that trucks customarily tumble from. The truck companies call the townspeople to clean up the mess and keep what they find. Hence the tiny cafe lucked upon a smattering of spilled Starbucks bags and put them to good use. I think this is also what explained the three Chapsticks for sale by the cash register.
Thank goodness Glynda did remember it was April Fools Day in time for us to play a round of trickstering in the pool; their pool is surrounded by a low stucco wall dotted with lamps and folkart, and has the backdrop of the red Moab mountains, so swimming in it is very beautiful. At night they lit a firepit and Grayson played around it with sticks and whatnot, very excited by the fire, and readily adopting the epithet the God of Fire, which is a very good epithet for an 8-year-old.
Like so many beautiful places, the most amazing and funny part of Moab was to walk around feeling perfectly natural doing simple things like reading the paper, buying milk and coffee, going for a jog in one of the world's beautiful deserts. My dad is developing a website (www.jogtunes.com) devoted to helping people make their PERFECT exercise mix and he wanted me to testrun some mixes, so we jogged up the endless red mountains with our custom-made mixes. Very fun. During the day we went to Arches, Canyonlands and a place called "Swiftrock" with is the same red rock, gently rolling over a plateau, so very friendly to walkers, hikers, bicyclists, 4-wheelers, who come from all over the country for this friendly floor. I was there 9 days, then trained to Iowa, which Amtrak likes to think of as on the way to San Antonio. On the way I met my first GREAT person, Al Sikert, a man who splits his time between Monterey and Lake Powell and some other place, who recited to me slam poetry, told funny jokes and had a big laugh that filled the observation car--a fearless laugh that teaches you how momentous a joke can be. He left me his leftover wine, peanut butter, a banana and a loaf of bread.
Fastforwarding: In Iowa City I visited quickly my friend and her lovely friends at the Iowa Writer's Workshop, the most respected MFA for writing...ever. We went to one of the readings the students give each Wednesday night, in which some students read and others coordinate extremely elaborate introductions for them. For instance, to introduce two of the readers, two students had prepared and sang elaborate love songs to them, such as "If you ever decide to leave your boyfriend I'm here for you". At the time I didn't know they were joking and was thinking, gosh writers are so weird! The camaraderie they had was very appealing, and seemed especially impressive in a program of that intensity.
Now in San Antonio I visit with family and buy last minute things that I will later regret buying when I see how much cheaper they are in India.
I confess I would not recommend Amtrak for this long trip; too much time in small, shaking spaces (the trains are not overly shaky but not smooth) in close quarters with suspect strangers... (yes, like much of india will be, but that's different). One problem I have is that I get into too many conversations with people. There is something I'm doing wrong; I cannot end up talking this often throughout the next year so there is some new facial expression I must learn. I think it is along the lines of: "I know I look like I want to talk to you and I do, nevertheless please ignore me."
Of the few books I have been reading, the best is "Brutal Imagination," a book of poems by Cornelius Eady about being black in America. Specifically, in one long poem he takes the voice of the black man Susan Smith made up and described in detail as the man who kidnapped her children. His narrator speaks of himself as imaginary, sometimes aching to become real even if it requires being guilty of such a crime. I have read a few things about India too. And I have managed to spend more time on logistics and planning than I ever planned to.... To this extent I look forward to travelling only with a pad, a book, some clothes, and oh, god, everything else in my two ton backpack.
I leave for New York City this Tuesday and for Delhi on May 12. I miss you all! Please let me know how you are, here or at sucramibag@yahoo.com!
Saturday, April 09, 2005
hello, i just wanted to say hi to my new blog.
