Wednesday, November 26, 2008

As the Old Crow flies ...

It is not even 9 a.m. and I am already salivating for tonight's festivities.
I don't know where the road will take me, but I am 110 percent sure it shall include copious amounts of alcohol.

I think mayhap the reasoning I am so "thirsty" already is because of the fact that my haus has smelt of my yearly bourbon chocolate pecan pie (that's heavy on the Old Crow, natch) since about 8 a.m. this morn.
Old Crow Bourbon Pictures, Images and Photos
I thought I would save myself the trouble of making it tonight or, God forbid, tomorrow morning and then transport it before it can properly cool. Betty Crocker would be none too pleased methinks to hear her protege did such a thing!

I hope this weekend stems to be as awesome for you as I hope it will be for me.
Bring on the tryptophan!!

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Bored ... or not??

Oh, I am so very bored and so very cold.
But I am really, really, really liking the fact that I am already in my leaf-printed Old Navy jammies and it's not even 7 p.m. on a Saturday night.
Sometimes, these boring nights are the best nights of all ...

So many better
things I could do, but much less
comfortable, yes?

Monday, November 17, 2008

Oh, Dorothy, you have bewitched me so.

It's taking me a little longer than I thought it would to get through "The Portable Dorothy Parker." It is deliciously large - 613 pages of her short stories, poems, reviews, magazine articles and personal letters.

I've been reading it on and off for about a month and a half now, and have highlighted so many lines and entries already that it resembles a textbook. I identify with so many aspects of her writing: the drink, New York, the dark thoughts, the era.
Dorothy Parker Pictures, Images and Photos
I'm finding that her poems enthrall me the most. That's surprising because, while I can appreciate poetry, it's just not usually my bag.

Dorothy is so darkly humorous, such as in "Resume" from "Enough Rope:"

"Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live."

So simple, and just so adaptable to anyone who just feels tragic some days, you know? The list goes on - she could have written "Nocturne" or "Symptom Recital" from some of my journal entries over the years.

Just a few minutes ago, I finished reading the short story, "The Little Hours," whose narrator is an insomniac, a trait I share. There are too many little snippets of brilliance for me to share here, so I can only suggest that you read the story yourself.

(OK, here's just one:
"Solitude is the safeguard of mediocrity and the stern companion of genius."
That's all.)

I look forward to getting deeper into the works of Mrs. Parker, about whom writer / critic / Algonquin Round Table founder Alexander Woollcott said,

"That bird only sings when she's unhappy."

I'd like to think that she was happy with her stories and her poems and her booze and her dogs. I'm pretty happy most of the time with all those things (sans dog right now) regardless of how dark or bitchy I can be. (Not that I can be compared to someone so incomparable as Dorothy of course.)

Here's one final savory Parker-isms:

"I know this will come as a shock to you, Mr. Goldwyn, but in all history, which has held billions and billions of human beings, not a single one ever had a happy ending."
Well, I'd still like to strive for one, wouldn't you?
The Portable Dorothy Parker Pictures, Images and Photos

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Loaded question.

From the moment I joined MySpace, I was addicted to surveys.
The addiction came naturally: I'm a nosy, inquisitive kinda girl, so I love reading other people's answers, and, likewise, love having people read mine.

I was so frequent a surveyor, that a coworker - who we will call "Tiffany" for shits and giggles - did nothing short of an intervention, so, as one of my 2007 resolutions, I resolved to keep surveys to a minimum.

Proudly, I have kept that vow now for nearly two years.
I still do some here and there, just to keep my public interested (JOKE!), so now it's an occasion when I post one, and not some eye-roll inducing occurrence.

Of course, when I see one posted from one of my favorite fellow survey junkies, I can't help reading it and I cannot tell a lie: I sometimes copy a survey, fill it completely out and then delete it without posting. This way, the addiction gets fed and I don't make anyone sick of me.

Tonight was one of those nights, and one question in particular stuck out.
"What would your one wish be?"
My immediately reply was what it always is: Unlimited wishes.

Of course, that struck me as something so completely selfish, but I refuse to change my answer.

- I'd wish that my upcoming Christmas present Uggs will miraculously find their way to my feet before my trip into the tundra that might be New York City tomorrow.
- I'd wish that my credit card would somehow pay itself off.
- I'd wish that the monster cover story I'm working on and mapping out in my head could telepathically be translated to the computer without typing.
- And I'd sure as hell wish that I was Heidi Klum's identical twin sister.

And then I'd wish that narcissistic wishes like that would be negated by the wishes I already have, and the ones that I pray for, such as:
- "I wish Mom and Dad would feel better."
- I'd wish that all my loved ones, like my brother, could have their own dreams come true.
- I'd wish that God wouldn't let kids get sick, hurt or worse.
- I'd wish that our world wasn't so far gone in regards to ignorance, strife and the mayhem that gets closer every day.

I'd wish a lot of things I guess, but mostly, I'd wish that, if all my wishes came true, I'd stick to paying them forward.

And then I'd wish to come up with a better term than "pay it forward" because the saying really just rubs me the wrong way.

Fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa ...

Wow, I knew it's been a while since I've blogged, but I didn't realize it's been this long!
I've just been in my own head lately, writing a lot of dark haiku/tanka, what I oft do when I am working through something that I just don't want to share with the world yet.

I guess it's like when the Talking Heads say in "Psycho Killer:"

"When I have nothing to say, my lips are sealed.
Say something once, why say it again?"

I firmly believe that if I don't have anything to say, I don't.
(Now if only I could make that be relegated also to my mouth and not just my writing! LOL!)

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Two haiku for you (+ a tanka) ...

Spent day - as I do nearly every Sunday - at my parents in Dallas, or my "country haus" as I fondly call it.
Mom and I took a nice walk around our pond, and up our dirt road a little. I so love this time of year up there.
The smells are so fantastic, the air is just so crisp and fresh and I found it very inspiring, majestic even.

So much so, that I am going to share two haiku and one tanka poem with you - as well as two pics I've taken previously. Enjoy ...

Rusty trees reflect
on the black inky water
under chilly sky.

(this photo was taken a few weeks ago, before the colors of the trees exploded)

Country air just smells
different - more pure, holy -
than the city air.
Breathing in its cool freshness,
I am reborn every week.

A sun-dappled path
leads off into the unknown,
leaves crunch underfoot.

(this was taken last fall, I love how ethereal the light is shining through the trees)

Thanks Liz Wakefield!

Tonight, I came across the beginning of one of my favorite movies, "Orange County."
I watched up until the part where the character Sean finds, buried in the sand next to him, the book that changed his life - the book that made him want to be a writer.

I wish I could say that my "I want to write" epiphany was as profound as Sean's, but sadly, it's not.

I wanted to be a writer because of Elizabeth "Liz" Wakefield.
Liz was one half of the "Sweet Valley Twins" book series that I couldn't get enough of as tween, and the thrill continued with the "Sweet Valley High" series as I got older. Both starred Liz and her twin sister Jessica, as well as their friends and sometimes foes in the fictional town of Sweet Valley in SoCal (at first, yes I did think it was our local Sweet Valley).
Both were blonde and beautiful, natch, but Jessica was the flirt, the fun one. Liz was studious, always writing and fiercely loyal to her sister no matter what trouble she got them both into. I loved how Liz would hole up in her favorite tree spot - something I had as well.

I lost myself in dozens of their books, and looked forward to going to Walden Books or Tudor Book Shop each month to pick out the new one to see what happened next to these friends of mine.

I would give anything to still have those books because I would definitely love to revisit Liz and Jess, and that innocent me who would take my notebook up into my tree and traipse away into a world of the characters of my mind.

Obviously, my inspirations have changed and grown in leaps and bounds. I'm into writers that I can only dare dream to emulate, but Liz will always hold a special place in my heart. After all, we're both 5'6" ...
P.S. - I'd like to think that Liz is a novelist, living in San Francisco or maybe London, perhaps moonlighting for the Chronicle or Daily Telegraph ...