hairspray. . .

. . . was pretty cute. Fabulous casting, including some appearances by original cast members from the first movie. It is always hard to see a remake of a movie you absolutely love, so I was glad to see that while the musical played tribute to the original, it definitely went in its own direction. I still prefer the original - but the musical is pretty rockin' too.

let the battery run down. . .

. . . well, it is getting closer to the start of another school year. Less than a month. I have a vague idea of how I am going to orchestrate my classes. Other than that, it will just be nice to be back in the classroom. I always look forward to the first day of class, even when I was a kid. There is just something exciting about having a list of knowledge and assignments to wade through in a timely manner. I do well with guidelines. Which is one reason I am thrilled to have a working outline of my book. I never thought I would like to write that way, with a goal in mind, and in poetry, you don't write that way. At least, you are discouraged to. Poems are more acts of discovery towards meaning, and literature seems to be a more guided tour with acts of connections along the way. Structure seems to be something that is helpful to me at this moment, even as I crave change constantly.

Yummy! . . .

. . . is doing great after his minor lumpectomy. Excellent news. I couldn't be more pleased. He is such a great little guy.

Also met this fabulous child at the pool today who informed me that her Barbie dolls were recovering from a drug and gambling addiction respectively. They were both former cheerleaders. I don't judge. (Except, as far as I know, my Barbies were never into such illicit acts, other than feeling up the Ken doll, and believe me, that wasn't really satisfying for Barbie.)

no spoilers, promise . . .

. . . but I simply have to say that the seventh Harry Potter book was damn good. Yes, that's right. Damn good. Apparently I am a fan of magical realism. Kid books too. The His Dark Materials trilogy (coming soon to theater near you with Daniel Craig and Nicole Kidman) were great also. So what else should I read?

I did have to finish the Pessl book first before committing to Harry. And it was worth it, because after the first three hundred pages or so, the book gets good. Not just, oh, yeah, well I guess it was worth reading it, but more like, holy crap, didn't see that coming, or that, uh huh, oooo, it all makes sense now. But you have to delve through 300 pages to get there! Longest book foreplay ever.

Taking Yummy to the vet. I think he may have a scent gland tumor. Male gerbils have scent glands on their tummies, and they are susceptible to cancer. So, hopefully, Yummy will be a good candidate for surgery. Fingers crossed. He really is the cutest little shit.

if it were easy, everyone would do it. . .

. . . I haven't been blogging about the progress of my "novel project" in a while. I had run into a plot snafu, which, after some incredibly slow contemplation, a solution may have presented itself. Not completely thought out, but on its way. One thing this means is doing some research, which once upon a time would have been considered an extreme hassle. Now, I am looking forward to it. Items to research? The NHL, and Greek mythology. I am not sure about the mythological aspect just yet, but it merits a glance, particularly with my opening scene.

I haven't written a lick of poetry since I have been back from Europe. Although I have some ideas percolating on that too. All these ideas and nothing written.

I am still bogged down in the Pessl book. It is incredibly dense with language and scene. At times I find it incredibly clever, and at others I get frustrated with its slow movement and extraneous scenes. In thinking about this today, I wondered at what point my personal criticism diverges from being critical of the piece on its own merits, and being critical of how I would have done it differently. This sort of bothers me in some respects, because ultimately, I want to respect the intention of a writer, and on the other hand, I want to be able to discern when a piece works and when it doesn't, and have that be based on some concrete concept. Thinking this way all the time can hinder my enjoyment of a book. My expectations for literature are high. Let downs are easy. On the other hand, I totally chilled with a Dan Brown book the other day as a nice break from Pessl. I haven't made up my mind about her yet - we'll see when I finish. But I didn't expect anything from Brown other than some entertainment.

Other news...well, there is no other news. A month from now, new MFA orientation. The birds are adjusting well to their new cage. Phoebes got into Buddha's side tonight and snuggled up before becoming evil. I had to separate them. Yummy, the gerbil, may be sick. He will be finding a vet tomorrow. Sigh. He is such a cute little guy.

i need a verberizer. . .

. . . because this word is still bugging me: condensation. How do you turn this word into a verb? Is it condenscencing? Ah, the pitfalls of the English tongue. I managed to get through an entire education without once having been taught grammar. I mean from day one. Right through college. Amazing that even as an English major I was not subject to having to understand the basic fundamentals of my language and thereby enhancing my own understanding of what I was reading. So I learned grammar the way everyone does - by reading.

But now this has become problematic. Because the ideas of strict writing are out the window. Sentences no longer must be carefully constructed with a direct object, a verb, a noun, or whatever else sentences must have. I don't do sentence diagramming. Never have. (Isn't this kind of funny though? Imagine me teaching people how to write and I have never dissected a sentence. Should I make the obvious surgeon joke? No. That would be trite.)

Any grammar I do know I picked up off the street or in my required French classes. Trying to figure out the equivalent to French grammar in English grammar made those classes twice as hard. My point?

Well my fridge is (where's my verberizer?) condenscencingationing on the outside. And I am reading Marisha Pessl's Calamity Physics, which has a main character who's vocabulary and reading background is pretty damn hot for her age. She even indulges in a bit of ranting on a teacher who uses the dangling preposition. Which does make me chuckle, sure. Until I come across a huge glaring misspelling/typo/editing faux pas that made me laugh. It wasn't intended to be there either - Pessly does misuse grammar upon occasion when it serves her purposes.

So where am I going with all of this?

Nowhere. I'm just ranting. And for no good reason. I like Pessl's book thus far, the fridge will be fixed. The birds will stop yelling. All will be good.

a package . . .

. . . in the mail from my mother! Very exciting to get unexpected stuff. In this case, organic food. The birds are big fans of the gingersnap cookies. So yea for motherly love!

The heat is getting to me. I haven't been outside in two days, and each morning I read the UV index and then I wonder about America's love of creating codes of alarm. Soon, you will ask someone how they are, and instead of the stock answer "Fine," you will get "Oh, I'm a code orange today, and you?" "Code yellow." "Excellent."

So anyway, I am heading out in a bit. Surely a movie is in order. We'll see. It beats listening to C-SPAN and the congress debating the Iraq War Troop Withdrawal Bill. Although I do like listening to government in progress. I am always amazed at how passionate some of them are when they get up to speak, and by the orderliness of Robert's Rules or whatever protocol they use. It is also distressing to know that the vast majority never read the bills they vote on, surely not thoroughly. I still remember watching the debates when they impeached Clinton, and Robert Wexler, a Democrat (Florida I think), get up and rail on the floor - he was so preacheresque. And young. He definitely made an impression. I forget whether he was for or against impeachment, but he was spirited either way. I miss the Clinton days. It will take a full eight years of another presidency to fix what this current idiot has wrought. I personally think that we should exile him, but who the heck would take him?

I finished reading The Buffalo Soldiers last night, and it was very good. One of those 'sad' and 'depressing' but ultimately 'uplifting' books I was railing about the other day. But in a good way. It was a page turner towards the end especially, and I love how Bohjalian was able to make you root for all the characters, and then make you almost hate one particular character, and then root for him in the end despite his flaws. I want to read his other novel, Trans-Sister Radio. As a writer he reminds me of Nicholas Evans. Both in tone, subject matter, and plot development.

And by the way, one of the things I read on some lit blog when I got back from Europe that irritated me, was about how there are no real blogs that do book reviews or in depth analysis. This isn't exactly true to begin with, and secondly, why should bloggers spend all their time writing reviews of books? I can't speak for others, but for myself, I don't write essays. I am not a strong reviewer. I either like something or don't, for a variety of reasons, and I see no point in trying to articulate my own ideas in a way that will make it a high brow review for a personal blog. No one cares. You like the book or you don't, and you move on. If I don't like something, I will say it. But to bash lit blogs or po blogs for not being what they aren't seems ridiculous.

Now I am ranting. It's over. Swear. Off to the day.

and so it begins . . .

. . . the Pottermania! I pre-ordered my book. I had planned on waiting, but to be honest, there is just no way to avoid finding out whether Harry dies or not because this is going to be everywhere. All the newscasts; local, national, international, galactic. I fully expect random relatives to call and express their outrage/glee; strangers asking in the street if I could believe Rowling's gall/genius; spam in my inbox asking if I want to join the Thank God Harry Died/Lived Club!; and so on and so forth. So, from the date of release, to the point when I get the book and read the book, I will be out of commission. I am unhooking. I want no spoilers, no impingements upon my joy of reading a story where I am so engrossed that nothing else in the world matters. If Wilmington happens to have a hurricane while I am reading this, so be it. I have a flashlight. Extra batteries.

The movie I am willing to wait for a bit, until the crowds thin out a bit. I have read the book so no chance of spoilers, just the chance that the director screws up royally and cuts important things. They've all done it. But, who gives a shit. Harry Potter would have been my favorite books as a child, and are among my tops as an adult. I know. And I don't care. Escapism is a great function of fiction and especially magical realism.

it is hot . . .

. . . and muggy. My cats have melted on the tile floor. I don't know how they managed to spread themselves so flat. I feel a bit guilty, not running the a/c, but the birds hate it. They love the humidity and the heat. Poor kits.

Saw Waitress last night. I really liked it, and was most impressed by Keri Russell more so than the story. It is incredibly predictable, but what keeps it from being just another movie is the incredible performances. Although I personally felt Andy Griffith could have been a bit more curmudgeonly. But whatever.

Finished reading Eudora Welty's One Writer's Beginnings. It was not what I expected, but once I got into it, I fell for her rhythms and incredibly keen eye. She doesn't talk about writing overtly, or even how she got started. It is very subtle, but powerful. Onto William Carlos Williams next.

I still have not ordered my books for Fall. I suppose I should if I want them on time. I have a list of things that still haven't been done, but the list of things I have done that didn't need to be done continues to grow. Irony.

Speaking of which, I have scrapped all the pages of the book I had thus far. There was no irony. I am not going to write another 'sad' and 'depressing' but ultimately 'lesson learned' and 'enlightening' book. What fun is that?

Sending out poetry. Will let you know of success. You can count on the rejection!

yes, this is a great way to spend . . .

. . . taxpayer money! The US is so behind on their views on sexuality. I have said it before, and I will say it again - my kids are not going to watch anything but French film. None of this American crap.

Well, reruns of Project Runway are on, gotta go.

Happy Fourth!

away . . .

. . . I have been sick, which isn't fair. It is summer. There is unseasonably cool weather to be enjoyed. Which I did today. Eighty degrees, no real humidity. Awesome weather.

So I found out this week that it is my ten year high school reunion. That totally snuck up on me. For one, I didn't realize it had been ten years. Secondly, I went to a really small school with a graduating class of about 30. A friend who is trying to convince me to go told me that a lot of people are going - around 100. I didn't think to ask where the heck we were scrounging up the extra 70 people. And as far as I know, this will be the first reunion in, say, forever.

Okay, okay. I am being cynical. I am sure other graduating classes are going. It was (and likely still is) a total student body of 500. K-12. Yes. All of us on this tiny campus, bungalow style classrooms, hippie murals on the walls with John Lennon. We celebrated Peace Day once a year. We tye-dyed t-shirts and made homemade vegetarian chili. I shit you not. Yes, this was in California. Yes, I am aware of those connotations. Yes, there was a pot-bellied pig named Bumper who walked around campus.

Thinking back has made me nostalgic. Somewhat. Then again, it is also a major flashback to icky high school memories. And a complete chance for both self acrimony and self validation. The thing is, I am so over high school, that I wonder what the point is in going. College does a pretty good job of wiping out high school. Grad school does a really great job of wiping out undergrad. It is like trading up, and the higher I go, the more I like school. I am finally going for me.

So the question is twofold: 1) will nostalgia win over a healthy sense of self? and 2) can this ridiculous post get any longer?