Holidays

I'll be taking the tour of MT for the next week or so. With intermittent time spent off the grid. No phone service for our cells even. Kinda nice. Kinda scary. Always an adventure. So not much for posting during that time, if at all.

In the meantime, here are random thoughts- the kinds of things that I am thinking in the middle of the night, when I wake up. And yes, I have real problems sleeping when I'm drunk. So the other night was full of bleary ideas. They have to go somewhere, no?

When you sell something on Ebay, ship the fucking thing. Don't do something mysterious with it and then claim that it was lost in the mail, here's a refund. I don't want my fucking money back. I want the item. It was a Chrismas present you assmunch. Fuck you very much.

I had a friend in High School who this pertains to- her personal history still haunts me- I wish I had known about it at the time, and had the wherewithal to do something to protect her- Hey Mom of the friend- how about you protect your daughter from the monsters in your fucking house, rather than your stupid, scary porcelain dolls? What do you think your bloody job is, anyway? You're her MOM- you are supposed to keep her safe. And if she's not safe from your creepy sons and horrible husband, you are supposed to get her to someplace safe. Not take their side and call her a liar. You are just lucky I didn't hear about it when I was still in High School. I would've probably told my parents, and you would've lost all of your kids. You bitch.

Sound like I'm a little angry today? Well, maybe. It just seeps out around the edges in the middle of the night, and I felt like venting a bit. That's all. Otherwise, everything is just fine. FINE, I tell you!!! Seriously, all is well. I'll be getting back to the list of things to do before we leave town now. Give all of you I know and love a hug! Have a shiny, happy Christmas (if you believe in such things)!

Rudolph et al

Rudolph's little girlfriend was named Clarice. I looked it up on IMDB once I sobered up and remembered.

The whole thing was directed by a Japanese guy. This makes sense- that movie has some Godzilla-like elements- check out the Abominable Snowman some time. Silly Japanese. Making Snowmen all scary and such. Like making Komodo dragons into movie stars. Silly. Funny joke men.

Yeah- I'm feeling a tad peckish at the moment. My teeth hurt. My head doesn't hurt all that much, but my tummy is rebellious. Gotta go and try and become human. Probably shouldn't have had that last hard cider. Or two. Silly me. Trying to make myself all drunk and such. Funny joke lady.

It's the most wonderful time of the year

You got your celebs shutting down toy stores in NYC to play, you got your santas at the grocery store getting cash for the downtrodden, and you got your Tennessee Williams film fest on TCM. Yeah, nothing says family holiday quite like that dissipated old cynic. Astute student of human nature, sure. But quite a jaundiced view it is. And yes, I am watching them all. Identifying with elements, despite my Northwestern roots, and trying not to let him get me all down n such.

Seems that Kenga was a Williams fan from back in the day. Along with Capote. I don't know if he tried on Faulkner for size too, but I do know that he didn't get into the chicks (O'Connor, Carson, etc.). I can see him. Earnest young man, intent on intellectual folly, in his threadbare green courdoroy jacket, stone in pocket for striking matches, smokes in other pocket, drink in hand, belly up to the bar, Charlie B's on a Tuesday night...astute student of human nature himself. But didn't write it down. Bummer- I would love to read his thoughts back then.

Last night I had on Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, while Kenga was working on the computer. It's the one he dislikes the most. The family dynamics really piss him off. Funny- here's where I can identify with the movie- we had that extended family going on- unlike him. And though I hope that we weren't as ill-bred and obnoxious as the no-neck children, I'm pretty sure that there were plenty of undercurrents between the adults. I think there always are in large families. Rivalry, thy name is siblings. I have no idea how to avoid that- unless you breed only solo children. Then there's another can o worms to deal with. Then there's the spouses brought into the mix, and expected to get along. This is the interesting part. How does the mix work? Will the ladies cut eachother to shreds? Or will they be nice? It probably has a lot to do with middle-class aspirations and little to do with their time if they pull the former out of their handbags. Give them a good calving season and some branding, or a cattle drive, or some kind of harvest, and they'll no doubt get along- at least for the duration of time spent in the kitchen preparing food for the menfolk.

Anachronism. I know it. Most of the ranch girls I knew in school were just as likely to be involved in the physical reality of ranch life as their brothers. These girls wouldn't be in the bloody kitchen working on muffins while Dad and company bucked the bales. These girls were in the thick of it. That's why I really do wonder about the more traditional communities- like the Hutterites and the Amish. How do the women stand it? Is it because they're ignorant of the outside, and their reality is the only one they know? What if you really suck at the women't arts, and are really good at welding and mechanics? Will your Hutterite daddy let you work on the truck? Or will he hang his head in shame, and make you go back to the kitchen and fail at pie crust again?

Mine eyes have seen the glory

Or not. Actually I feel the need to post because of popular demand. ok- I'll admit it, my sister wants me to post.

Friday of last week I scratched my cornea on a plant. Ah, sweet irony, why do you taunt me so? It was a lovely phalaenopsis spike, loaded with buds. About dropped me. Knocked a tiny chunck of my cornea out. Damn. Since Kenga was on the road, I whined around the house, not sleeping, moaning and bitching. Then he came home. Things hadn't improved. We had a full-on investigation of Seattle's emergency care system.

We filed into the U of W urgent care clinic, adroitly avoiding the homeless people, and waited. It wasn't as long as I thought it would be- about 90 minutes. Then the good Dr. saw me, put crap in my eye, looked at it under ultraviolet, said, "yup, there's a scratch there" and flushed it with saline. He gave me a perscription for antibiotic eye crap and sent me on my way. Said that asperin would take care of the pain. Bullshit I say. Oxycontin. Stat. But no.

So I got home, lubed up the eye and took one of my "only in emergencies" migraine pills. And slept for the next 17 hours straight. Woke up grumpy, and hungover. Felt like the bears must in the spring.

Went to bed early Sunday night. Slept in on Monday- still felt hungover. I had forgotten why the pills are for emergencies only. Because they not only take care of the pain, but knock me on my ass for a couple of days. I am so sensitive. Like a little flower. That hits you in the eye and scratches your bleeding cornea.

So now I'm fine. Eye feels better. Sleeping like a normal person again. But since my life was on hold for several days, not much happened to report on blog. Thus the silence. Which wasn't golden, just sleepy.

What's the buzz

Kenga returns at 1:00 AM tomorrow. He's been in Viva Las Vegas for the last several days. Business trip. Then he was supposed to go see a rally race. I don't care for the rally races. He met up with his racing buddy Gern. They were supposed to return on Sunday. Seems that the racing organization didn't post on their website that Sunday's stages were the only ones open to the public. So the boys said, "fuck it." and left. Now they're cooling their heels in Vegas. Scary thought that. I said that they should visit the Liberace museum. They nixed that idea right out.

In the meantime, the bloody cats have been driving me to distraction. I had to sleep in the spare room last night, because Buddy keeps running around and throwing things on the floor. He has been upset since Kenga left. It's hard not to kill him. So I slept in, and feel better for it. Right now he's in my lap, rooting around for his nipple. Go for the nipple, kiddo. Go for the nipple.

I watched a couple of noteworthy movies last night, Warlock, with Henry Fonda (I wish I could like him more, but like Bing Crosby, he was a jerk in real life to his family, so I can't.), and then Moonfleet, a quasi-pirate movie directed by Fritz Lang. That one was lovely. Then I settled down with Hemingway. I'm trying A Farewell to Arms for the second time. First time it didn't take. This time, it's much better. Gotta thank AMP for that recommendation. It helps immensely that I've watched about a half a dozen movies about WWI in the meantime, too.

Now I have to run. I have things to do before Kenga returns, and since I had originally planned them out to spread over 2 more days, I gotta get them done more quickly. No need to budget.

Roadtrips

When I was little (many of my stories start like this), I was taken on many roadtrips around the state of MT. It just happened like that. I think that my parents and grandparents used this as a diversion- not as boring as spending Saturday afternoon watching curling and drinking beer.

I really didn't enjoy them much. Time is so funny to kids- especially in the car where you can't move around and spend energy. I hated the process of getting there. And all small roads in MT in certain parts of the state look the same. Trees. Sunlight laughing through the trees. Rocks. I often wondered what was looking at our car pass by from the trees. I had read lots of books about fairies, Greek mythology, and the like, and wanted them to be true. But MT isn't really the place to transplant those stories. They fit locales with more gentleness of character.

The one destination that I hated above all others (most were fine once we arrived, and I could run around and make noise) was the Big Hole. We went there on some kind of annual pilgrimage with my grandparents. I really, really hated the place. It has bad hoodoo in my book. I swore after one interminable road trip in my pre-teen years never to return. It's where the Nez Pierce were ambushed and killed in their sleep. I was probably exposed to Little Big Man at too early an age to handle these kinds of stories with aplomb. I hated the thought of all that screaming, dying and blood. And then the silence. I hated that there was a visitor's center with a slide show about the history, and exhibits featuring bullets. I just plain hated the place period. I had wanted to be an Indian princess when I was 5. I insisted on wearing my hair in braids and jumping on the bed in some kind of approximation of what I thought an Indian princess would do. I always thought that the cowboys and army men were poor sports, and just plain mean. Guess I was a child of the 70's after all.

And no, I won't go to the Big Hole ever again. Some memories need to fade out.

The Russian

Class was in the history seminar room. Smallish size, so it wasn't going to be normal. When she walked in I was taken aback.

First, she was large. Not fat- huge. Like superhuman. Over 6 feet tall, wearing 3" heels. She had enormous, lively and remarkably, ludicrously messy blondish hair. She constantly was flipping it off of her face with manicured and shellacked hands. She always wore dresses, even when it was 30 below. And an enormous, somewhat ratty fur coat that resembled a bear, but was likely mink.

She spoke with exhuberance and grandeur. Her features were slavic and very exotic. I was terrified of her. She could've beat the hell out of me. Both in a fight, and drinking.

She told the story of what had happened to her that very day. She had had her purse snatched from her. The thief had jumped in a car down the street and drove off. She had chased him for a couple of blocks. In heels. Betcha it put the fear of God in him- I would've peed myself if she was chasing me. Scary, scary lady.

I didn't do as well that year in class- had a better year the last one with the old Irishman. He was easier to read, and I thought a more effective teacher. But she was dramatic, eclectic, and certainly something new for Missoula.

Yesterday's heroes

The name for yesterday was Gregory Peck. I gotta say, if he wasn't dead, I would marry him. Well, if he was younger. And alive.

Watched The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit, where he made adultery look honorable. Then The Yellow Sky, where he was an outlaw, but not a murderer.

Also on the play list, and highly recommended was The Red Shoes, and Out of the Past, with Robert Michum- who has the kind of craggy elegance of Peck, but not the decency.

That's the movie report for today.

Response to friends

Blogger is being a pain in my ass right now. The word verification seems to be broken. So I will respond here.

In regards to my posts from yesterday:

Not to worry, ladies, twas a relatively momentary detour into a kinda dark place. But I do have to venture into those places from time to time. Just trying to shine a little light in there, n all.

Good luck on finals, Andrea!

You're ON for Narnia, Allison!

Songs- continued

From a song- I wish these were my words, but they're where I'm at right now-

I know that we don’t talk
I'm sick of it all
Can you hear me when I sing
You’re the reason I sing
You’re the reason why the opera is in me
Well, hey now
Still got to let you know
A house doesn’t make a home
Don’t leave me here alone

Songs

I was watching the Freeview Direct TV U2 concert this morning. Yeah, I know- we went to it already. But it was good to take a refresher. It made me think about a lot of things. The power of words and music for one. It was funny- that was one of a very few concerts that I have attended where my attention didn't wander off somewhere during the proceedings. I never looked at my watch. The others include Tony Bennett, Sigur Ros and a couple of old Blues guys.

The meaning of all this- just that I was thinking about it, and felt like indulging myself and putting up a somewhat meaningless post. Now I gotta go do some stuff. I'm thinking too many deep thoughts for my own good and comfort.

Confidential

I thought that if I was like you, you would love me more. I tried my best. But it backfired, you see. I am guessing that when you look at me, you see yourself looking back. That can't be comfortable.

So I'm left with me and you inside my skin. I'm told that it's terminal. I'm never going to escape being some percentage you. It's too ingrained. So it's the balance I'm after. I've been working on it for years. Balance, balance, balance. Striking a compromise between black and white and red all over. Finding myself and my own voice inside the mirror that you see. Finding the courage to be part you and wholly me. To look at myself in the mirror, even when I'm mad at you, and know that it's ok. That I can love you and be angry and feel hurt, and carry you inside me and it'll all be ok. That I can be angry at myself, and get over it too.

In the time that we have left, and I hope ardently that it's lots and lots of time, mind you, I hope that we can grow to know eachother better. And that you'll see beyond the mirror image of yourself in me and see the original and unique me parts and it'll be good. And I'll try my best to be brave enough and strong enough to let you see those parts. No more hiding behind masks and mirrors. That's kid stuff.

Stickin it to the man

Friday I had another interview. It went well. Ramping up to it was, shall we say, interesting, though.

I drove. Didn't take the bus- I generally try not to when it's an interview- I want to control all aspects that I can. I gave myself 30 minutes to find parking. Thought this was good. And it was. I found a place, and was preparing to parallel park. Had my blinkers on, and was in reverse. Then a female she-devil tried to poach my spot. She pulled right in behind me, put her blinkers on, and proceeded to honk at me. I kept pulling backwards, threatening her front end. I figured, she has an expensive red car, looks like a rich doctor's wife, and I drive a piece of shit Grand Am that could survive some red paint and another dent or two. Cars were piling up behind her, getting impatient, but I wasn't gonna blink. I kept it in reverse. Then she started easing forward. Brinksmanship, indeed. I'm sure she had some very important shopping to do, and I was getting in her way.

Fuck this, I thought. I put the car in park and started to get out. She got an alarmed look on her face and drove off. Heh, heh, heh. Then I took the spot. I was triumphant. Blond bitch in the expensive car. Stickin it to you, sweetheart!!! Funny thing, I heard later from someone that this is kinda common. But usually people do blink. Pretty sad state of affairs, ifn you ask me.

No brainer of the day

I was just reading that Disney is selectively targeting Christian groups when promoting the new Narnia movie. Well. Shiver me timbers- that's alarming! Really, I'm surprised that this is news. No I'm not- the news industry is bankrupt of ideas, so my cat crapping on the living room floor rather than in the box would probably make CNN if I worded the press release properly.

But I hope that no one who has read the book and is over the age of 8 is surprised by the subtext. I figured that one out when I was in 3rd grade. And I'm no bloody protegy- just was a relatively smart kid. I still plan on seeing the movie- I really have no problem with old C.S.- he seemed like a good enough egg. I had a friend (had being the operating word) who was a bigot. She refused to buy shoes from Sierra Trading Post because it's a faith oriented organization. But, I protested, they have really, really good shoes! For cheap! But she was determined to punish them for having Bible quotes on their catalogs. This really pissed me off. I saw it as just as bad as refusing to do business with a store run by someone Jewish. Or by a Muslim. I tried to explain that I thought that they had a right to their beliefs, and just because they chose to include those quotes in their own literature, they weren't adverse to taking our money or selling really, really good shoes for cheap. She was a bitch. That's about where I'll leave it for now.

But let the headline for today be- news flash, English Christian theologian, C.S. Lewis wrote a series of books with Christian overtones. The movie developed from this series also includes Christian overtones. You are hereby warned. Funny though, the advertising I've seen on the tv has emphasized the fighting/war elements of the movie rather than the magic, religious ones. I'll ponder that one for a while.

Favorite quote

From one of the best film noir movies of all time- The Third Man-

"Don't be so gloomy. After all it's not that awful. Like the fella says, in Italy for 30 years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love - they had 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock."

Time for me to get all High Fidelity n shit. (didn't really care for the book, was so-so on the movie- must be a guy thing)

Top 5 film noir movies of all time:

Sunset Boulevard (gotta love Billy Wilder- I would put The Apartment on the list if I didn't think someone out there would bitch n moan)
Double Indemnity
The Third Man
M
The Maltese Falcon

They would make an excellent boxed set. Or an equally excellent film festival. But the bestest, most earthshakingly bizarre film festival was one I undertook in Grad school- Kafka, followed by Naked Lunch, finished off with the ever so fine Barton Fink. Warped my mind forevermore. Who needs drugs, people?! This did nicely, thank you.

Another round

Today I have another job interview. This afternoon. I am hoping that it doesn't snow before that- it's supposed to- because this place gets scary when it snows. I can handle snow driving. It's the others who worry me. And we live on a very steep hill, and I'm pretty sure I wouldn't get up it if it gets very slick.

I was thinking about the whole snow thing. What I don't miss is the nasty cold. And shovelling. We had a long sidewalk in Bozeman, and it had lots of foot traffic, so we had to shovel often. The city would cite us if we didn't- the bastards. That wet, heavy snow was the worst of it.

But there is something magical about snow at night. In Missoula I lived near a park with lots of old Maple trees. The lights at night would create these orange-tinged halos around the trees. On snowy nights, it would get quiet. Muffled. I would walk to the park, and stand there under the trees and watch the snow fall. It would be so quiet I could hear the flakes hitting the ground beneath me. It was so hushed. I felt like I was alone in the world, and it was ok.

Then no doubt, I would get very wet and cold and have to go home and quit being silly in the snow. The best was walking home from school when I was little, though. What doesn't seem like lots of snow now that I'm a tall girl was pretty deep when I was 6. I would roll in it, and jump in it, and basically make a huge mess in people's very sculpted sidewalks along the way home. It usually took me twice to three times longer to walk home, because there was so much to divert my attention. Bright, shiny things have always distracted me. I also loved to eat the snow. Not the dry stuff- it's icky. But the wet melting snow that makes perfect iceballs was the best. I was a regular connoseur.

And I used to ski. It has been well over 15 years since I've done that- kind of a bummer really. But I'm sure my knees are thankful. They were really starting to suffer. I was never all that good, and the equipment back in the day was pretty unforgiving. I just liked to go really fast down the hill. Sort of out of control. But it was fun. I was too scared to really get good at it- never could take the proper chances, and never really learned to control the momentum. I was also too bloody lazy to approach it from the right level of fitness. This was before I was diagnosed with the exercise induced asthma- so running was really painful, and I avoided it.

I don't plan on getting back into the skiing thing at this late date, but it's fun to remember. And hope that the snow here waits until tomorrow. Then Kenga will take a snow day, and we can watch movies. I have a few more spaghetti westerns keyed up on the tivo, along with Yojimbo, and a couple of 30's gangster flics. He oughta enjoy at least one of those! Maybe. I think he's getting very sick of my western phase. Who can blame him. I plan on starting up with musicals next (see the earlier post to that effect), and he will then long for the days of westerns. Ah, sweet, sweet nostalgia.