On the heels of reading, "Bound for Glory" John Dos Passos' novel "42nd Parallel comes off as a bit stale, and left me feeling a bit like I was studying up on the labor movement and jumping trains. This might be one area where memoir--handled deftly-- has an edge over fiction. Because Woody took himself for granted he spent more time thinking about the people/characters he encountered and they seemed more provocative. Dos Passos writes in a removed 3rd person about 5 or 6 main characters but the people they encounter are unimpressive. When D.P. is the story of one of his main characters the book moves along well and interestingly. When he is writing a "Newsreel" or "Camera Eye" They drag and for me ultimately seem unimportant.
"The 42nd Parallel" is the first book in a trilogy encapsulating the rise of market capitalism over the turn of the last century and ending in the great fall of the 1927 crash and entrance into the great depression. It is a topic I am interested in, and Dos Passos has a populist viewpoint, but I am not sure if I will run out and buy books two and three. I think ultimately his detachment from his characters left me feeling alienated from them.
The second novel I read this week, the short novel, "The Death of Ivan Ilych" by Leo Tolstoy does not suffer from authorial detachment. In fact Tolstoy takes you right to the center of his protagonists head and heart as he suffers a mysterious ailment that accompanies him down the road to death.
I read this novella in high school and I think again in college, and the scene that had stayed with me was how he at one point rolled over faced the wall in a gesture of giving up hope. I thought of him twenty or thirty times this summer as I rolled over myself. I had thought that gesture was his final one but really it was a middle gesture from which their was no actual hope of recovery.
Not knowing any other languages and being unable unable really to master my own, I am leery of translation. Especially of Russian translations of the Great Masters. I have no way of measuring how much they add or subtract from the texts in front of me and so I feel kind of like a November voter, "I am predisposed to like this guy. But what the hell do I know about it." That not-withstanding I was impressed by Tolstoy's ability to negotiate multiple viewpoints or perspectives in a line or two.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Monday, November 8, 2010
The Eggnog Latte Review: Issue 3 Vol 2
Name: Starbucks
Peripheries
Location: Merle Hay Mall parking lot
Advertisement: Pumpkin Spice Latte's had fancy signage. I feel slighted.
Willingness to provide: Aren't they always just so happy at Starbucks? That is to snarky, I've been to this particular one 4 times and found them to be pleasant. The store has also been sunny and brightly lit.
Side dish: Old Fashioned Donut and Old Fashioned Coffee Cake. I do not like Starbucks "treats" and I hate that their other coffee cakes are low-fat garbage things.
The Drink (#of eggs, out of 5)
Cup: tall, paper, required cardboard sleeve. I was driving so I do not remember if it had slogans and advertisement like Starbucks often does and which drives me apeshit.
Temperature: Hot. I was able to begin consumption right away.
Source of Nog: Unknown. Chemically mix. (1 eggs)
Coffee: Underwhelming. I looked for it and didn't find it. (2 eggs)
Swallow: "eggnog," metal, milk. (3 eggs)
Nutmeg: it tasted like a holiday drink. (2 eggs)
Cover: none. And how could it? (0 eggs)
Finish: Gross. Thick and oily. the only part of it that made me think there might be real Nog in play but was probably just not mixed well. (1 egg)
Other: In full disclosure I am writing this after the fact and without the evidence on hand. Also, Starbucks was the first place I ever tried an eggnog latte as many as 7 years ago, and I almost never tried one again.
Final Score: 2.5 eggs it is to eggnog latte's what McDonald's is to the hamburger. And it shows.
Our Friend Kim will be in Iowa later this week and into next week. She will be bringing her poets pallet and special eggnog rubric to bare upon the services of our town. So keep your eyes peeled for that.
Peripheries
Location: Merle Hay Mall parking lot
Advertisement: Pumpkin Spice Latte's had fancy signage. I feel slighted.
Willingness to provide: Aren't they always just so happy at Starbucks? That is to snarky, I've been to this particular one 4 times and found them to be pleasant. The store has also been sunny and brightly lit.
Side dish: Old Fashioned Donut and Old Fashioned Coffee Cake. I do not like Starbucks "treats" and I hate that their other coffee cakes are low-fat garbage things.
The Drink (#of eggs, out of 5)
Cup: tall, paper, required cardboard sleeve. I was driving so I do not remember if it had slogans and advertisement like Starbucks often does and which drives me apeshit.
Temperature: Hot. I was able to begin consumption right away.
Source of Nog: Unknown. Chemically mix. (1 eggs)
Coffee: Underwhelming. I looked for it and didn't find it. (2 eggs)
Swallow: "eggnog," metal, milk. (3 eggs)
Nutmeg: it tasted like a holiday drink. (2 eggs)
Cover: none. And how could it? (0 eggs)
Finish: Gross. Thick and oily. the only part of it that made me think there might be real Nog in play but was probably just not mixed well. (1 egg)
Other: In full disclosure I am writing this after the fact and without the evidence on hand. Also, Starbucks was the first place I ever tried an eggnog latte as many as 7 years ago, and I almost never tried one again.
Final Score: 2.5 eggs it is to eggnog latte's what McDonald's is to the hamburger. And it shows.
Our Friend Kim will be in Iowa later this week and into next week. She will be bringing her poets pallet and special eggnog rubric to bare upon the services of our town. So keep your eyes peeled for that.
Help me to understand you and your child
I found this sheet and the questions made me mad. rather than throw it away I did the mature thing and set it aside so Katy and I could answer it. She went ahead and answered it without me, so I went out-got trashed- and answered it at 2am. Surprisingly, I still agree with everything I wrote, except the Ozarks.
Name: Katy Reeder [editors note: where am I?]
1. What I like most about my child is: (KF)How interesting and fascinating she is. She has great ideas. (I didn't answer)
2. As a I was: (kf left blank) (me)Short, skinny, and less than 6yrs old.
3. So far, most of my knowledge about being a parent has been from: (KF) From books, my peers, my family. (me) common sense, my children.
4. All children are alike in that they: (KF) are individuals--how could they be the same.
5. All children are alike in that they:(KF) are learning and growing. (me) and are smarter than you think they are X's seven.
6. The most important thing I feel that a child needs to learn is: (KF) That they have worth and can accomplish things independently. (me) And are loved and can love.
7. One thing that I learned as a child that I will never forget is: (me) I aint worth shit.
8. To me, a newborn baby is: (KF) a person who needs care and love and support to reach their potential.
9. The place that I liked to be the most as a child was: under the table.
10. The thing that I like to do the most with my child is: (me) Sleep. Or listen to them digest the world.
11. My favorite activity as a child was: (KF) Swimming and dancing.
12. My childhood hero was: (KF) N/A (me to Katy not applicable) We did not have "hero's" as children because we knew that guidance came from within.
13. My favorite book or story as a child was: (KF) Banner, Forward! (about a golden retriever who was a guide dog.)
14. I believe that childhood should be: (me)Extended far beyond what the books or Ozarks say.
15. What I expect from my child's teacher most is: (me)To provide security, love, gentleness, options (for behavior) and a sense of specialness and belonging for EVERY child!!!
Name: Katy Reeder [editors note: where am I?]
1. What I like most about my child is: (KF)How interesting and fascinating she is. She has great ideas. (I didn't answer)
2. As a I was: (kf left blank) (me)Short, skinny, and less than 6yrs old.
3. So far, most of my knowledge about being a parent has been from: (KF) From books, my peers, my family. (me) common sense, my children.
4. All children are alike in that they: (KF) are individuals--how could they be the same.
5. All children are alike in that they:(KF) are learning and growing. (me) and are smarter than you think they are X's seven.
6. The most important thing I feel that a child needs to learn is: (KF) That they have worth and can accomplish things independently. (me) And are loved and can love.
7. One thing that I learned as a child that I will never forget is: (me) I aint worth shit.
8. To me, a newborn baby is: (KF) a person who needs care and love and support to reach their potential.
9. The place that I liked to be the most as a child was: under the table.
10. The thing that I like to do the most with my child is: (me) Sleep. Or listen to them digest the world.
11. My favorite activity as a child was: (KF) Swimming and dancing.
12. My childhood hero was: (KF) N/A (me to Katy not applicable) We did not have "hero's" as children because we knew that guidance came from within.
13. My favorite book or story as a child was: (KF) Banner, Forward! (about a golden retriever who was a guide dog.)
14. I believe that childhood should be: (me)Extended far beyond what the books or Ozarks say.
15. What I expect from my child's teacher most is: (me)To provide security, love, gentleness, options (for behavior) and a sense of specialness and belonging for EVERY child!!!
music and a story
In late September, for the girls birthdays, we went to see Elizabeth Mitchell and also Justin Roberts in Des Moines. It was the only cold and crappy day of the fall so far, and that was to bad since they had a lot of other music available. I was afraid that E.M. might be a little strummy and like bedtime for our girls. Who were giant big Justin Roberts fans (and had seemed to move on from Elizabeth) but I was wrong. Elizabeth Mitchell was so graceful and her voice is so wonderful the 45 minutes she was up there was far far far to short. Every night since the girls have fallen asleep to the new CD Sunny Day.
The best part of the concert for me was when Elizabeth was singing "Mystery Train," and asking kids for places the train could take them. 2 or 3 kids said, Des Moines or Ames or crap like that, and Nyssa raised up her hand and said, "Wrigley Field." Which was great because one she is generally shy and doesn't like attention at these kinds of things and it was not only far away, but also not a city but a place. Sure it is the only train Nyssa had ever been on, but that train went to Chicago, so she was understanding the question on a different scale. And as Elizabeth sang it her daughter asked, where is that? and Elizabeth said, "its in Chicago." I thought that was really cute.
Below are 2 really nice videos:
The best part of the concert for me was when Elizabeth was singing "Mystery Train," and asking kids for places the train could take them. 2 or 3 kids said, Des Moines or Ames or crap like that, and Nyssa raised up her hand and said, "Wrigley Field." Which was great because one she is generally shy and doesn't like attention at these kinds of things and it was not only far away, but also not a city but a place. Sure it is the only train Nyssa had ever been on, but that train went to Chicago, so she was understanding the question on a different scale. And as Elizabeth sang it her daughter asked, where is that? and Elizabeth said, "its in Chicago." I thought that was really cute.
Below are 2 really nice videos:
Friday, November 5, 2010
The Eggnog Latte Review: Issue 3 Vol 1
Grounds For Celebration: Beaverdale
Name: bad coffeehouse name. Every time I walk towards the door I am worried I am walking into a party store. Until I see the small type, "grounds for" and then I think, why do all coffeehouses need to have bad puns (except for "Late for the Train" in Flagstaff which is dumb because there is no commuter service train in Flag and they really should have splurged for the extra "t".)?*
Peripheries
Location: Central, on beaver**
Advertisement: Minimal-- I saw 2 signs for pumpkin Latte's and had to really look for eggnog.
Willingness to provide: "Okay" but no real excitement. I felt as if I might be the only asker. (No information on date of first nog served)
Side dish: Sitting aside, untasted/untried.
The Drink (#of eggs, out of 5)
Cup: tall, pleasing to look at, does not require cardboard sleeve.
Tempature: Hot hot! After drive home, letting dogs out and in, arranging sofa, and talking to wife, the first sip was Hot. Just right. What would it have been at counter, frozen pizza hot? (4.5 eggs, perfect for travel but with concern)
Source of Nog: Anderson Erickson(?), (Lite?--the package looked like lite, but did not see that word)- (4 eggs for use of carton, with hesitations)
Coffee: Underwhelmed, only bitter. (3 eggs)
Swallow: Light, bitter, nutmeg, "flavor," cover. Pleasant. (4 eggs)
Nutmeg: Nutmeggy, on the verge of dominant. (4 eggs)
Cover: Smooth, not glossy. 5 eggs
Finish: Lukewarm and thick, chemically. (1 egg) ***
Other: A slight chemical after-taste. Added spice "flavor"?
Result: ****
Final Score:
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
*And yes I know I am contradicting myself, but it is a bad pun EYE thought of.
**heehee
***I had already given a score before I got to the bottom of the cup, so it did not effect the score, but should have.?.
****only some of you will want to know, so you will have to ask (I am maturing). I must excuse myself to go find out.
Name: bad coffeehouse name. Every time I walk towards the door I am worried I am walking into a party store. Until I see the small type, "grounds for" and then I think, why do all coffeehouses need to have bad puns (except for "Late for the Train" in Flagstaff which is dumb because there is no commuter service train in Flag and they really should have splurged for the extra "t".)?*
Peripheries
Location: Central, on beaver**
Advertisement: Minimal-- I saw 2 signs for pumpkin Latte's and had to really look for eggnog.
Willingness to provide: "Okay" but no real excitement. I felt as if I might be the only asker. (No information on date of first nog served)
Side dish: Sitting aside, untasted/untried.
The Drink (#of eggs, out of 5)
Cup: tall, pleasing to look at, does not require cardboard sleeve.
Tempature: Hot hot! After drive home, letting dogs out and in, arranging sofa, and talking to wife, the first sip was Hot. Just right. What would it have been at counter, frozen pizza hot? (4.5 eggs, perfect for travel but with concern)
Source of Nog: Anderson Erickson(?), (Lite?--the package looked like lite, but did not see that word)- (4 eggs for use of carton, with hesitations)
Coffee: Underwhelmed, only bitter. (3 eggs)
Swallow: Light, bitter, nutmeg, "flavor," cover. Pleasant. (4 eggs)
Nutmeg: Nutmeggy, on the verge of dominant. (4 eggs)
Cover: Smooth, not glossy. 5 eggs
Finish: Lukewarm and thick, chemically. (1 egg) ***
Other: A slight chemical after-taste. Added spice "flavor"?
Result: ****
Final Score:
 |
| (just under) 4 eggs. Best of the season so far (1st). |
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
*And yes I know I am contradicting myself, but it is a bad pun EYE thought of.
**heehee
***I had already given a score before I got to the bottom of the cup, so it did not effect the score, but should have.?.
****only some of you will want to know, so you will have to ask (I am maturing). I must excuse myself to go find out.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
If This Was
If this was a real blog...
If I weres a real person...
If I knew how to string a narrative together, "you" that are reading this would have a more distinct time-line of my last 12, 9, 6, 2 months. (Those are about the important increments give or take a month.)
I do not remember if I have made this joke here already, (part of the reason will be apparent in the joke) and as a joke it has only made one person laugh out loud (which is how I knew she was right for me), but here goes (again): "In the last 12 months I might have lost my health, my father, a bunch of friends, my job and my mind, but I gained a stutter and short term memory loss."
Inanycase now you are caught up on months 12, 9 and 6. You also know I am not a real comedian, because someone like Gabe Kaplan would have Groucho Marx'd it and said, "...a stutter, memory loss, and a pickle dressed up as a herring."
But enough about my wife. I still don't have my health, father or job, but starting back 2 months ago I began to get my mind back. Slowly.
If I was a real writer, someone who had the confidence necessary to take solace in the loneliness of the task, I would already have the basis of a nice and informative memoir. I do not believe in memoir, there is to much editing between the head, the fingers, and the page. And I think I know instinctively that the pages I turned out would be solely for me, my edification, and the construction of a brick wall that I could point to instead of the mush that actually happened. The facts by themselves are not interesting, I was sad and I.
When I first began to collapse back in March, I thought, all these 5 years of work and I am knocked back to where I started. I was mostly mad that I had to re-climb but positive that the trip up would be faster then it had been the first time. *
Come May the mountain building was extreme and rather than regaining a plateau or two I was sunk into absolute wilderness. In September I had meaningful tasks put in front of me and I was able to do them and enjoy them.** In the difference between action and inaction I was able to recalibrate my mental health, I was still worse than I was 5 years ago, but I was also occasionally out of the abyss enough to be able to recognize when something caused me to fall back in.
You only know where you are if you can place it in relation to something. Losing my health, losing my job, these were inexorable occurrences. They made no sense (in logical/polite society) : I had no symptoms leading up to my illness, what I thought was asthma, and it did not respond to the treatment like it should have (because it wasn't asthma, but a chest infection that apparently didn't have other symptoms), and although there were symptoms and signs for my job, they did not match up with words or actions***
My task of finding and buying a house ended in mid September and I had a month of "packing" to fall back into the sloth of despair. Still I knew that I could be engaged and competent in the completion of a task. I had a success by which I could gauge my well-being. And recently, moving, I built on that success in a new shadow free environment where I could come home and not already feel the years of gordon-molder-and-decay.
I felt free leaving Roland. Free moving to a place no one knew me. Even my furniture, my same old shit, had the chance to be reduced, revitalized, reorganized, repaired. (My sloth and stink has crept into this house now partly, but we made some good decision getting rid of the TV is primary, cutting out space for an office, and deciding to bring my books back into the house and put them in one location.
This last thing I dreaded the most. 4 years ago we packed them up thinking they'd stay in storage for a few months while we sold our house and had our baby. and they sat there with mice and poop and 100% humidity and 2feets of snow, and in my mind they became dusty and decayed. And in the crazyness of 2 dogs and 2 babies I convinced myself I no longer deserved them--really no longer deserved the space they took up in our house (same with an office).
I know I am rambling.
I was afraid to go get the boxes, and I was afraid to bring them into the house, and afraid to open them. So far I have only found 1 ruined book out of 10 boxes. And I think there is only maybe one box that might be damaged. That is pretty sweet!
I had a nice time tonight remembering all of these books, seeing the "collections" I had. I thought I would be negative towards all the useless textbooks and crap i never read, but even books i wont ever read again, I wanted to hang onto because they represented a specific time-texture-moment-enjoyment, and I realized those moments will hold value for me down the line.
And I opened them at an odd time, the same week that I found reading again. The past few years I have read, if at all, jealous and angry****. I have pitted myself against books and found myself a failure even within their inadequacies. But this week I have read one book and started another and one is important (Bound for Glory by Woody Guthrie) and one might turn out to be (the 24th Parallel by John Dos Passos) but just the consumption of words, turning of pages, and embrace of time spent ticking, has been rewarding.
That is it. That was the point I was trying to get at, through loss and death I have begun to find rebirth in activities I had set aside long before and not as symptoms of my decay.
-G$
*An interesting side note: Around last summer so even before and definitely after I lost my health I was not on firm ideological ground. Choices and ideas that I embraced in my teens and twenties were seeming to no longer have a grounded base holding them up. "Do I still believe that?" "How did I get to that belief" and the reason I asked was, "how do these steadfast ideas mesh,mingle,mix with my new and improving self?" It was not a crisis of confidence, but when that crisis came along with the others I was more ripe for collapse.
**Ironically one task I sought to accomplish right here, the listening to problems and giving of advice. But none of the help I offered (and accepted) was an acceptable topic for a blog.
*** This is inanely imprecise, but knowing the signs and messages in light of the ending, I still can not wrap my firing into a cozy sentence or two. Except perhaps to say, "The shit that used to work, it don't work now." Which makes it more fitting that I got the can 2 weeks after my dad died.
****I have even shopped for books angry, which I am not sure has changed.
If I weres a real person...
If I knew how to string a narrative together, "you" that are reading this would have a more distinct time-line of my last 12, 9, 6, 2 months. (Those are about the important increments give or take a month.)
I do not remember if I have made this joke here already, (part of the reason will be apparent in the joke) and as a joke it has only made one person laugh out loud (which is how I knew she was right for me), but here goes (again): "In the last 12 months I might have lost my health, my father, a bunch of friends, my job and my mind, but I gained a stutter and short term memory loss."
Inanycase now you are caught up on months 12, 9 and 6. You also know I am not a real comedian, because someone like Gabe Kaplan would have Groucho Marx'd it and said, "...a stutter, memory loss, and a pickle dressed up as a herring."
But enough about my wife. I still don't have my health, father or job, but starting back 2 months ago I began to get my mind back. Slowly.
If I was a real writer, someone who had the confidence necessary to take solace in the loneliness of the task, I would already have the basis of a nice and informative memoir. I do not believe in memoir, there is to much editing between the head, the fingers, and the page. And I think I know instinctively that the pages I turned out would be solely for me, my edification, and the construction of a brick wall that I could point to instead of the mush that actually happened. The facts by themselves are not interesting, I was sad and I.
When I first began to collapse back in March, I thought, all these 5 years of work and I am knocked back to where I started. I was mostly mad that I had to re-climb but positive that the trip up would be faster then it had been the first time. *
Come May the mountain building was extreme and rather than regaining a plateau or two I was sunk into absolute wilderness. In September I had meaningful tasks put in front of me and I was able to do them and enjoy them.** In the difference between action and inaction I was able to recalibrate my mental health, I was still worse than I was 5 years ago, but I was also occasionally out of the abyss enough to be able to recognize when something caused me to fall back in.
You only know where you are if you can place it in relation to something. Losing my health, losing my job, these were inexorable occurrences. They made no sense (in logical/polite society) : I had no symptoms leading up to my illness, what I thought was asthma, and it did not respond to the treatment like it should have (because it wasn't asthma, but a chest infection that apparently didn't have other symptoms), and although there were symptoms and signs for my job, they did not match up with words or actions***
My task of finding and buying a house ended in mid September and I had a month of "packing" to fall back into the sloth of despair. Still I knew that I could be engaged and competent in the completion of a task. I had a success by which I could gauge my well-being. And recently, moving, I built on that success in a new shadow free environment where I could come home and not already feel the years of gordon-molder-and-decay.
I felt free leaving Roland. Free moving to a place no one knew me. Even my furniture, my same old shit, had the chance to be reduced, revitalized, reorganized, repaired. (My sloth and stink has crept into this house now partly, but we made some good decision getting rid of the TV is primary, cutting out space for an office, and deciding to bring my books back into the house and put them in one location.
This last thing I dreaded the most. 4 years ago we packed them up thinking they'd stay in storage for a few months while we sold our house and had our baby. and they sat there with mice and poop and 100% humidity and 2feets of snow, and in my mind they became dusty and decayed. And in the crazyness of 2 dogs and 2 babies I convinced myself I no longer deserved them--really no longer deserved the space they took up in our house (same with an office).
I know I am rambling.
I was afraid to go get the boxes, and I was afraid to bring them into the house, and afraid to open them. So far I have only found 1 ruined book out of 10 boxes. And I think there is only maybe one box that might be damaged. That is pretty sweet!
I had a nice time tonight remembering all of these books, seeing the "collections" I had. I thought I would be negative towards all the useless textbooks and crap i never read, but even books i wont ever read again, I wanted to hang onto because they represented a specific time-texture-moment-enjoyment, and I realized those moments will hold value for me down the line.
And I opened them at an odd time, the same week that I found reading again. The past few years I have read, if at all, jealous and angry****. I have pitted myself against books and found myself a failure even within their inadequacies. But this week I have read one book and started another and one is important (Bound for Glory by Woody Guthrie) and one might turn out to be (the 24th Parallel by John Dos Passos) but just the consumption of words, turning of pages, and embrace of time spent ticking, has been rewarding.
That is it. That was the point I was trying to get at, through loss and death I have begun to find rebirth in activities I had set aside long before and not as symptoms of my decay.
-G$
*An interesting side note: Around last summer so even before and definitely after I lost my health I was not on firm ideological ground. Choices and ideas that I embraced in my teens and twenties were seeming to no longer have a grounded base holding them up. "Do I still believe that?" "How did I get to that belief" and the reason I asked was, "how do these steadfast ideas mesh,mingle,mix with my new and improving self?" It was not a crisis of confidence, but when that crisis came along with the others I was more ripe for collapse.
**Ironically one task I sought to accomplish right here, the listening to problems and giving of advice. But none of the help I offered (and accepted) was an acceptable topic for a blog.
*** This is inanely imprecise, but knowing the signs and messages in light of the ending, I still can not wrap my firing into a cozy sentence or two. Except perhaps to say, "The shit that used to work, it don't work now." Which makes it more fitting that I got the can 2 weeks after my dad died.
****I have even shopped for books angry, which I am not sure has changed.
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