"You're only as old as you feel."

Philosophically, I agree with age adages like this one. However, they're no consolation when I feel like buying and wearing one of those boxy, shapeless, snap-front dresses with thigh pockets that my grandma and her sisters used to wear at home when they weren't expecting anyone. "Housecoats", I believe they're called.

Sedienta de ojos

This came in the mail yesterday, but I didn't have a chance to open it until late this afternoon. I was waiting by the cart (containing the new portable air conditioner!) in Costco and about to have a seizure from staring at the same bright moving images on the several dozen TV screens of different sizes I was facing. I turned away abruptly and started digging through my purse for my phone so I could Twitter something smart-assy about being in Costco and the sizes of TV screens expanding in direct proportion to American roads and my own American ass when I saw the book in there.

Before the intro, before the table of contents or dedication, Michel de Certeau begins this incredible work, indeed begins it before the pages are even numbered, making impossible a proper cite.

"To the ordinary man.
To a common hero, an ubiquitous character, walking in countless thousands on the streets" Or, as the front cover image suggests, driving in countless thousands on traffic-jammed highways.

DeCerteau continues his introduction of the "anonymous hero" and his/her(?) being subject/object of study:

"The increasingly sociological and anthropological perspective of inquiry privileges the anonymous and the everyday in which zoom lenses cut out metonymic details - parts taken for the whole. Slowly, the representatives that formerly symbolized families, groups and orders disappear from the stage they dominated during the epoch of the name. We witness the advent of the number. It comes along with democracy, the large city, administrations, cybernetics. It is a continuous and flexible mass, woven tight with neither rips nor darned patches, a multitude of quantified heroes who lose names and faces as the become the ciphered river of the streets, a mobile language of computations and rationalities that belong to no one."

Yet, this morning, walking between classes, I wanted glimpses into the everyday life of those who make up the parts of that flexible mass who were walking around and past me. And I wanted to see what makes them different, what makes them them. A hundred people, or maybe even more were on the same part of campus I was, moving toward their next occurrences. And it was hot. And, thirsting for a connection not necessarily reciprocal, I looked as much into their eyes as I could. Driving home in traffic later, I heard a song called "Poker face". I realize that I believe that even when we think we have them, something always shows. Or tells. If we're lucky, it won't be what we're trying to hide. Today in looking for those connections, I wasn't trying to look through windows to the souls of my fellow passers-by to see some deep secret hidden pain or joy. And the flooding of those everyday life expressions into my eyes was transfusive and the rest of the afternoon has been a floating of energy and calm.

Guest Blogger #¿? or publishing a comment late

Some weeks ago, I did a cut and paste of a Proust-questionnaire type questionnaire, stating that my readers' answers would be more interesting to me than mine and that said readers could just copy and paste their responses into a comment. This guest blogger went one better and sent it to me vía e-mail. In fact, since Laurie is someone I've been wanting to do a guest, I'll count this one of her guest posts! As soon as I have her permission, I'll publish her answers to the questionnaire.

Laurie is one of my sisters-in-law and is reallyreally cool.

Name: Laurie S.

Age: 44

Occupation: Completer of tasks, sufferer of whining, sustainer of life, comforter of death i.e. RN

Home base: Worden MT

Retail standby: Eddie Bauer—makes the only jeans that fit my weird body

Music venue: i-tunes, you tube

Favorite concert: Riders in the Sky at Alberta Bair Theater, Actually the last concert by the High Plains Chamber Singers is my current fav

Music: Pretty much anything done well except for guitar solos and LONG jazz solos

Provisions: Diet coke, carrots, cheez-its, dried fruit, almonds

For gifts: For me? Or for someone else

Restaurant: Staggering Ox (I’ve never been disappointed)

Drink: Red Robin Peach Daiquiri, Vodka Cran (heavy on the cran)

Party central: introvert…. Anti-party

Momentary style obsessions: anything that will hide my fat belly

Reading material: This is your brain on Music, The World According to Bertie, True Mom Confessions

Art pick: Anything by Pernille, Renoir, Cassels, Bruegel

Museums: What’s the one in Amsterdam called?

Movie: Singin’ in the Rain, Princess Bride

Vacation destination: Ohio (?), Oh do you mean DREAM vacation—to go and see my foreign kids

Winter survival tip: enjoy it

Something you are looking forward to this spring: Horselets… actually spring is my second to last favorite season. I really don’t look forward to it.

Ed.'s note:

As editor-in-chief of StringOfLights, it's my policy to edit nothing, but as such, I reserve the right to comment. Today's author's body is just fine and for someone who's anti-party she throws a helluva shindig.

Musician, healer, mother to many, scrapbooker extraordinaire, Laurie also has farm animals!

Bulb out. Writing.

I miss StringOfLights. :(

Me: (jumping up and down and pointing to medium-sized brightly colored sticky notes with writing on them stuck to giant white sticky note stuck to wall) Look at my system! Pink = prostitutas. Yellow = entertainers like actresses/singers. Green = financially independent women (green for money, get it?). Blue = writers. Orange = lesbianas

Her: Very good. Color-coordinating your chapters can help you stay organized, but isn't it a bit extreme to change into a shirt that matches each time you switch chapters?

Me: Umm, I don't...oh, and look, I have colored candles for them, too! Man, I wish I could change font colors in my proposal, too! What color would the Intro. be? Purple, I guess...

Her: I hate to ask you another question, you really need to focus on writing. But, why are the putas pink? I mean, shouldn't the lesbianas be pink?

Me: Yeah, I wanted the hookers to have red sticky notes, but they don't make them. And the gay women pink? Yeah, that's logical, but it's a bit obvious, don't you think? I like orange for them. It's transgressing the trangressor...

Oh, crap! Karl caught me blogging and not writing! I had to pay him $5.00.

I keep forgetting it's gone, just like I kept forgetting it was there.

On the way to meet everyone for breakfast Monday before we left for the airport, I ran my fingers through my hair front to back to smooth it out. My fingers met in the middle when they reached that little soft spot below the bone. The little hard bump that had been there almost longer than it hadn't was just not there anymore.



It wasn't ever painful so I don't feel immense relief. It's not painful now, so I don't have any concern. I just sort of wonder how long it's been gone. And another thing. It's not really that near it, but I had to google the word that popped into my head the day before: hippocampus.

Ran 42, Waterfront (Tuesday, 19 May)

I probably shouldn't have gone running. It was hot and I'd been dizzy since Monday, but it had also been 4 days since I'd done anything. I ran slowly and the only thing that sort of kept me going past 20 was the fact that I saw someone I know, also running! We were running in opposite directions, so I was looking forward to meeting her again on the way back. After 30 minutes passed I decided that I could stop whenever I wanted. Good songs came out of my iPod and the temperature dropped, and those things also kept me going for the remainder of the run.

When the number on my watch finally turned to 42, I stopped and walked back the way I came. As I approached the L corner a man in a HUGE knit cap leaning on the railing said something to me. From that distance, he looked like either he could either be sketchy or just eccentric. Despite the warnings in my head (voiced by my more cautious friends), I removed my earbuds and shut off the iPod. "Pardon?" I asked the older man. He had dark skin and white hair. Like me, he was wearing sweats, running shoes and earbuds around his neck. Everything of his was at least 2 upgraded versions of mine. "You used to run," he repeated. For some reason I felt the need to justify my pace. "I still do. I just finished and I'm trying to cool down." "No," he clarified, "I saw you. You used to run. Years ago." Still misunderstanding I explained, "No, not here, I've only been coming down here just under 2 years." It finally sunk in as he explained, "I mean like when you were a kid. You look like you've been running for a while."

I explained how I'd had a few stops and starts in my running "career" over the last couple decades and he said he could tell I was a runner from years back. Lest it gets creepy, I should explain that he said he was a runner and a coach. "I watched you run by. You looked like you wanted to quit, but you just kept going. That was good!" I thanked him, and found myself talking candidly about my running, saying that yes, I did want to quit, and quite a few times. And that even when I want to quit, and when I know it might be a good idea to quit, I almost never can. I just slow down and finish. He then told me about a distance runner for the high school he no longer coaches at, latina, he said. He asked her once why she didn't push harder and finish fast enough to place. "She told me, 'I guess I'm scared.' And I asked her, 'Scared of what?' And she said, 'Of not finishing.'" We chitchatted more about running (he thought I was doing well) and about the meanings of first names and then he began his own run, a slow canter across the grass, elegant and smooth stride for anyone, but especially for someone of 65.

I would have liked to take some sort of Jedi lesson from that interaction and apply it to my own running. But I'm not exactly afraid of not finishing. I certainly feel an exhilaration every time I push myself and run the farthest I ever have. But I still feel that the minutes are generally more important than the speed and distance.

I would have liked to take some sort of Jedi lesson from that interaction and apply it to my own running. But it might just be best applied to other courses that I'm afraid to not finish and/or afraid of not finishing.

"Tick check."

It's a plausible explanation for a suspiciously lengthy absence from the family gathering only in limited circumstances; Mid-may in Yellowstone county, for example.

At the bottom of the hill I had to slam on the brakes.

The SUV I narrowly missed crashing into was too big for me to see what had stopped it, but a few seconds after, its driver pulled out and sped ahead. I remained, abreast with the cars in the other 3 lanes, at a full stop. I saw a big rig pulled off to the right, looking not-all-there and when I looked left I saw that it had dropped a whole axle mechanism. The wheels were still attached, and the whole assembly was rolling, slolwy but politely, across all four lanes. When it had crossed I-80 completely unharmed, it considerately settled in the ditch, next to the rig.

It looked like this, but with a bigger axle and 4 wheels.

I wanted to prove to their parents that I "can too" be punctual when it counts.

So I skipped the shampoo and even managed to leave the house early. I think my superhuman effort to impress backfired a bit when I showed up at the kids' parade with my messy hair tucked up into a baseball cap from Captain Jack's Liquor Land.

It just occurred to me that this might mean something...

Long ago and for no plumbing-ly sound reason whatsoever, I removed all the drain stoppers from the sinks and bathtubs in my house. None of the faucets have aerators or washers, either.

Whatever's behind this is probably a Freudian wet dream.

Note to self: bring this up during lull in next therapy session

Feliz cinco de mayo...¡desde "mañana", mis cuates!

A veces me preguntan, "¿Pero, dónde aprendiste hablar así el español?"/I'm sometimes asked, "Where did you learn to speak Spanish like that?"

It's always a compliment: "así" or "like that" is actually more often "tan bien" or "so fluently", either implicitly or explicitly. Sometimes it's an even higher compliment; not "¿dónde?", sino "¿por qué?"/not "where?", but "why?". Depending on who asks, sometimes I stifle the automatic response that comes to my lips (and I think we all know what that is). However, when I am being honest, this is one of maybe three things I would say that I do well. But still, my answer varies, also depending on who asks. "En Oaxaca." "De las canciones de José Alfredo Jiménez." "En el salón de clases." "De las telenovelas." or some combination of the aforementioned.

The last time I was asked, it was also a (back-handed) compliment, I think...but also not the kind of question I was expecting. Granted, it didn't help that I wasn't exactly feeling positively disposed toward that particular interviewer. It was the sort of situation in which proficiency in Spanish is a non-issue, not even mentioned. It should have been considered a given, given that it's been my vocation for more years than it hasn't and given what I'm doing with it now. Almost a month later, I realize I feel ever-so-slightly, perhaps, maybe sort of possibly, even though I probably have no right, almost, dare-I-say-it? ¿reverse?-discriminated against. After I briefly explained my various immersions with the language and cultures (leaving out the smart-ass references to pop culture), my interlocutor congratulated himself on pegging my "accent" as Mexican and followed up, surmising that I must feel myself to be "como en casa"/ "at home" in Mexico, among Mexicans and then asking how I'd absorbed so much culture (I heard the implied "for a gringa"). During the pause I cut a glance to his chagrined colleague, the one who knows and reads me like the Latin American Literature that is his specialty. More for the sake of this person I respect and love than for my developing academic reputation I didn't answer with what sometimes comes to mind. Of course it depends on who asks, but sometimes I'd love to say:

"You know...I think I probably started learning Spanish and absorbing a bit of México in utero. My mom was either already or veryvery soon to be pregnant with me when she went to Guadalajara back in '67 for a quickie divorce so she could marry my dad and she made a mini-vacation out of it." And when I'm feeling literary and/or bitchy and/or because I believe it, I want to add, "You know, magic realism happens to U.S. too sometimes!"

I didn't have any madeleines so I ate a few almonds.

I'm sort of into micro-interviews of the Proust Questionnaire variety these days. Especially ones where the questions are rapid-fire and random. This one, "The insider" comes from a fashion magazine, The Moment. I found it while researching The Juan McLean, a musical group comprised of Juan McLean and Nancy Whang, who are actually more like DJs, I guess. They're quite good, had a free download from iTunes last month. But they were interviewed in the March 6 "Insider". Their answers are more interesting to me than mine, but you know what would be even more interesting to me? Your answers to them! It would be so easy to copy and paste the questions into the comment field, erase my answers and put in yours...no pressure. Ever. I'll be doing more Proust Questionnaire-inspired questionnaires in the (hopefully not-so-near) future.

Name: Valerie Hecht

Age: 41

Occupation: Student of Latin American literature of this and the last two centuries

Home base: Vallejo, CA and UC Davis

Retail standby: Retail for me is actually re-sale. I frequent thrift shops more frequently than retail stores.

Music venue: Slim's or The Independent in San Francisco

Favorite concert: White Stripes in Berkeley

Music: Whatever the shuffle cues up. Ani Defranco's "Both Hands" is on every running mix I make now because it gets me up a hill or through the last few minutes.

Provisions: Dried cranberries, coffee, Bombay Sapphire, oranges

For gifts: Flowers, iTunes

Restaurant: Matsuri Sushi; The Front Room; Taquería La Cumbre

Drink: Pimm’s Cup or Sapphire tonic when it's hot, red wine when it’s not.

Party central: Any dinner table surrounded by friends.

Momentary style obsessions: black, properly-fitted t-shirts that bear an image or saying incongruous to my personality (ex: "What happens in Vegas" or the "Nascar" logo)

Reading material: This week, Judith Butler's Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity and the poetry of Mexican feminist and one-time ambassador to Israel, Rosario Castellanos

Art pick: Jim Dine's "Blue Clamp" at SFMoMA

Museums: SFMoMA; Museum of Musical Instruments inTrondheim; Train museum in Old Sac

Movie: Women on the Verge of Nervous Breakdown. It's time for a sequel or remake or update.

Vacation destination: Mexico City

Winter survival tip: Meyer lemons

Something you are looking forward to this spring: There and back, safe and sound.

FaceBook refrito

Las 25...¡completamente nuevas! y ahora ¡en español! (que no se duerman)
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Sunday, February 8, 2009 at 6:55pm | Edit Note | Delete
Claudi Darrigrandi, por alguna razón tú me inspiraste a escribir una lista nueva en vez de referirte al posting anterior...

1. Suelo conducir demasiado rápido y expresar mis ideas demasiado lento.
2. Quiero tener a todos los compañeros habitantes de Sproul conmigo aquí en Facebook.
3. No soy sangrona. Soy tímida. Pero amo a la gente y sus creaciones más que nada.
4. Me encanta mi teléfono rojo pero a veces no me gusta hablar por teléfono.
5. El español es mi lengua madrastra...pero definitivamente no la mala de las películas Disney.
6. No me gustan las joyas tradicionales de oro y diamantes, etc.
7. Vivo en terreno emocional pero a veces piso tierra cerebral.
8. No estaría donde estoy sin el apoyo de los amigos y la familia. No les agradezco suficientemente.
9. Si no fuera estudiante, trabajaría en el bar que acaba de comprar mi hermano.
10. Siento una fuerte atracción a los cigarrillos (especialmente cuando escribo y especialmente a los de clavo de olor) pero nunca he fumado nunca nada. Repito, nada. Ni éso. En serio. Pero apoyo a los fumadores. De lo que sea. En serio.
11. La primera película que vi fue "El submarino amarillo." Poquito después de su estreno.
12. No sigo la vida política de mi país.
13. Mi color favorito es el rojo.
14. Prefiero escribir con lapiz, pero tengo una colección impresionante de unos 100 bolígrafos de tinta de distintos colores. Los uso solamente en "occasiones especiales".
15. Canto fatal, pero me dieron un nombre Sioux que se traduce "mujer de buena voz".
16. No comprendo cómo funciona La Bolsa.
17. Mi ópera favorita es "Cavalleria Rusticana" de Mascagni.
18. A veces no considero San Francisco una ciudad verdadera.
19. Lo que diera por estar en una playa...
20. Los retratos fotográficos me fascinan.
21. Estoy en contra de clubs/bars con "cover charge" y/o "dress code".
22. Mi comida chatarra preferida es...Taco Bell. En serio.
23. Sé pintar el interior de una casa, cambiar el aceite y la llanta de un coche y hacer pequeñas reparaciones en el baño.
24. Cualquier tipo de luz para mí tiene su encanto.
25. La primera cosa de que me hice fan en Facebook fue Pedro Almodóvar.