arse poetica

I Got Yer Memo Right Here

db loves to torture me with the first few minutes of that billious blowhard Shrill O'Lielly's show during which he gives the evening's "memo." What. Ever. O'Lielly headlines his own television program, but he has to make a big show of a memo, a personal statement, if you will, before he gets to the "fair and balanced" "hard news," AS IF the entire show is not editorializing. I can't stand it. I detest that scurrilous bully, like I detest all authoritarian weenies with chips on their shoulders. How tiresome, really. When will that trait die out of the evolutionary chain? Immediately, please.

Anyhoo, db gets a big giggle every night (well, some nights) over the priapic posturing of this pathetic preener. I just can't find anything to laugh about, though the alliterative prospects are cheering. Too many folks buy into this celebration of self-interest though, and it just makes me sad. For those too sane to dial in -- I would count myself among this number as I have no idea what channel FAUX Noise is, and I would never willingly tune in -- let me set it up for you: The puny pontificator comes on and grandstands for a minute or two about the topic of the day, generally the big news event of the day. Today's topic was, predictably, the Iraq vote. And so O'Lielly stands up to make the manly statement that the voting was an overwhelming success and this just goes to prove that "the good guys" have won. It's awful. The same old, empty, spun garbage. Really, how do his minions deal with being patronized all the time, and by someone who is so dishonest and biased as to win the Misinformer of the Year Award? Jeebus. The memo was a hot air-filled cautionary note to the Dems (Ted Kennedy and John Kerry) to stop being such democracy-haters with their calls for international cooperation and warnings that votes do not equal democracy. Sigh. The sentence, "And President Bush looks like a sage," was ACTUALLY uttered. I will leave it at that. Evidence enough of the lunacy.

P.S. This post went under the "Sweet Jesus, I Detest Donald Rumsfeld" category, because I thought, why not trade one arrogant blowhard for another? Besides, Sweet Jesus, I Hate Bill O'Reilly already exists. Right on.

P.P.S. I'm reminded of that old lawyer joke, tweaked for our purposes:
Q. What's the difference between Bill O'Lielly and a catfish?
A. One is a scum-sucking bottom dweller and the other is a fish.

Best Nap Ever

4 p.m., couch, roaring fire, blanket. 'Night!

Wonderful lazy Saturday. The sleet kept us indoors and warm and happy in our reading (Macrobiotic cookbook and Harper's and the New Yorker). We love the excuse of having to stay in. What beats this? Why the anxiety about "doing nothing"? Why is doing nothing such a bad thing? We worked hard all week; why shouldn't we rest on the weekend? Especially since we spen many weekends running around visiting family. Sigh. Still doesn't seem like a justification to me, and that bugs me, too. The bottom line is that we did have things to do and those that we could take care of at home we did, I'm happy to report. db, in fact, ironed a bazillion shirts. Well, it seemed like that many to me from my comfy vantage point on the couch.

Oooohhhh!

I love this. Book is beautiful. See? There is some value in procrastinating, or whatever it is I'm doing in avoiding whatever it is I'm avoiding, if I'm avoiding something, that is. Either way, one can stumble across some very clever folks and lots of pretty things on the internets, as the dolt in chief likes to say, and I've been having fun poking around some techie sites trying to make sense of it all. I want a little logo, and I think I've stumbled across a logo generator, but it's like stumbling around in the dark in a strange place. None of this stuff is intuitive to me. Ech, I make do. And now it's time for bed. xo...

CWPEB, Pt. II

Okay, I swept, and it did make me feel better. The Dingo must have shed 10 lbs. of hair, though, frankly, it's not as gross as it sounds. it collects in polite little ginger-colored swirls under the bench, safely out of sight and out of reach, but nothing is a match for the Swiffer! I hate to advertise but that thing is convenient. Bleah. So I felt better for a minute, but I've still bitten all my nails, nervously reorganized my bookmarks (!), and run the emails I need to write for work over and over in my head like some OCD Tourette's sufferer (in that I was grumbling a variety of expletives, as well, as mnemonic devices). And I've been fiddling with diff. designs for this blog, AS IF IT MATTERS. But this one seems so wide, but 3 columns is so crowded, and I am NOT about crowded. Lord, give me space, let me breathe, let my eyes alight gently on something. Some folks crowd the bejeezus out of their pages, and I cannot understand it. I like information dumps as much as the next person, but sheesh.

See?!?! Still procrastinating! What the hell am I nattering on about? I think I'll go eat a tangerine. Ignore this post. I will. Here's a pretty picture to look at to distract you from this vacuous nonsense.

Purty.

Comfortable White Person Existential Blues (CWPEB)

I have got to get a better hobby. I'm crabby today because I feel like I'm wasting time, but why? I've got nothing pressing to do, but I feel like I'm not doing "it" anyway. Lately I've been reading blogs for hours, skipping from link to link, half of them not terribly interesting (many of them very interesting). If db and I don't have plans, I come home, play with the pup, make supper, and roll the laptop out. And it begins: an entire night of flitting from one ethereal post to another, nary a care in the world (hah, wanna buy a bridge?). Something is obviously bugging me though. I clearly feel I should be doing something else -- not instead, necessarily, but in addition to.

I wish I had time during the day to blog, to think outloud, to act creatively, but I have too much blocking my field of vision at the Intellectual Circus™. Sad to report that exactly NONE of that is interesting in the least. Not even any juicy office drama. I work with a great bunch of folks, all of them decent, good-natured, funny smartypantses. Goodie. Now what? Oh, right. A real job. Well, that's something to work on...later.

And being on a news hiatus is making me feel a little antsy now. Maybe that's why I'm growly today. Can't sit still, don't want to do anything, I need a hug! And a milkshake. My milkshake brings all the boys in the yard... damn right, it's better than yours ... I could teach you, but I'd have to charge. Hey, a musical interlude to break up the pathetic mewling. My apologies in advance for Comfortable White Person Existential Blues. I'm going to have to dip my toe back in the so-called news waters. You know, Condi's out there lying and Colin's making himself scarce, and that f*cking Rumsfeld is doing the Devil's work somewhere, and Lord knows that dumbyass is f*cking up left and right, and I have no idea. I don't even hear Cokie Roberts change her language to comport with the WH Communications Office's directives. Sigh. I've had some time away now; maybe I can handle it again. I am getting better at making vodka tonics (and, yes, that is relevant).

And not only am I not reading anything "relevant" (debatable, yes), but I'm not writing anything relevant (not debatable). Oh, keerist! What could POSSIBLY be less interesting than writing about not writing? O Death! Pls. forgive me, ghost readers. This is the height of masturbatory martyrdom, of perilous pandering to cliche, of self-referential idiocy! I will do my penance now by going to sweep the floor and thus crossing at least one thing off the list below. That should make me feel a little better.

Things I feel like I should be doing:

• reading about Argentina
• sweeping the floor
• making soup
• writing a post about the Democracy for America meet up on Tuesday
• writing ANYTHING relevant and/or editing half-finished half-decent story
• career planning
• taking a class
• walking the dog
• reading fiction
• reading non-fiction
• (bleep) (edited for content)

Heeeey, aren't there things you should be doing? Yeah, you. Quit reading this and Get Back to Work!

Eavesdropping

Conversation as db was putting his book away and preparing for bed and I was wrestling with the laptop and fighting the Dingo for prime bed real estate:

db: i'm sleepy.
ae: i'm cooooold. Feel my hand. (Puts hand on arm.)
db: This book is very interesting.
ae: Why am i so cold?
db: Cos you're a meanie.
ae: Lay down, Dingo.
db: i don't feel good.
ae: Poor sweetie. What is it?
db: Will you snuggle with me for a while?
ae: Yes. Feel my hand. (Puts other hand on arm.)

I was smiling to think how often we have "conversations" like this, completely separate in our togetherness (or vice versa) but coming back together at the end. Just a funny moment. And I did snuggle and even fell asleep for a little while, but now I'm up again and putting off putting anything down by reading 1001 blogs. Lots of smart folks out there. Whew. Makes me wonder what the heck this is for, but then, this isn't a competition. This is for me to have a place to FORCE MYSELF to write everyday, something, anything, just to get in the habit again. I was missing my notebook this afternoon. I much prefer pen and paper, though I like sleekness and neatness and color and order and all the other good things these spaces have to offer. Maybe I'll engage both analog and digital efforts. Ooh, that sounds too ambitious. Maybe I'll just roll over and take another little nap or surf around instead.

Whereas db is No Longer Allowed to Pick Out the Movies

Tonight's Netflix feature: Grave of the Fireflies, because db read an article about anime, so anime we will consume, by gum! [I would link to the article, but the bratty New Yorker did not put it online.]

Okay, I cried. I'm still sad, and it's 4 hours later. I hate war. I'm sick to death of dumbyass and his warmaking cabal, and I just keep thinking about that little girl Setsuko dying, and I hate it, and she was animated! Sigh. I did read, though, in further exploration re: this film, that it is based on an autobiographical story of the same name. So crying over a cartoon is not so silly after all. I'm in danger of overselling this film, possibly, because it was so subtle and direct and unflinching and full of pathos. I want to yell that it's the best film I've seen in a long time, but that could be just because it has such power to affect its audience (like yours truly). it's beautiful, gentle, and graceful in its way. The details are lovely and the realistic notes are wonderful, like when Seita tells Setsuko that they will not be able to see their mother that night because she is in the hospital and we see Setsuko draw into herself, get very quiet, and rock very slightly, almost imperceptibly, from side to side -- it's such a realistic little person movement. For all it's sensual beauty though, it's also harsh, brutal, and uncompromising in its anti-war message. I'm all about anti-war messages, and this one will resonate for some time to come. Highly recommended. A heartbreaker.

On another note: Netflix is sure dictating the pace of our evenings lately, as db and I have seen more flix in the last 3 weeks than we've seen all year. I wonder how long that will last. It's been an education though, so if it continues to entertain and inspire, we may be in it for the long haul. Such piffle after 2 seconds ago crying over the deaths of two cartoon children! The American Mind, will it allow us to reflect even one moment on suffering before having to turn away?

How 'bout those Mets?

UPDATE: Er, had to edit cos db pointed out that Grave of the Fireflies was made by another anime master. Alrighty then.

I Ate Haggis!

db and I attended our first-ever Robert Burns Supper tonight, thanks to our pal Beth, whose kind invitation to come over for haggis and poetry we could not refuse. But of course! So with shortbread and whiskey in tow, db, Joe, and I arrived faithfully at 6 p.m.

Um, haggis smells good. That was a good first sign upon walking in the door. Actually, the first good sign was that our friend Beth looked good when we walked in the door. That she was even hosting this dinner party delighted us, certainly for all the usual convivial dinner party aspects but especially this evening because she underwent her first chemo treatment (out of 6) for breast cancer on Thursday. We were thrilled that she was still up for having people over, and to eat haggis, no less!

So, haggis...yeah. Um, it tastes like meatloaf, thank goodness. Were it to taste anything like one might imagine it would taste, I think we would all have run screaming for the exits. I'm sure it did not hurt that said haggis was purchased at Whole Foods where strict organic and other FDA-approved guidelines were in effect. We shared a wonderful meal with Beth and John and their friends Eni and Lace, Hungarian-speaking Romanians (English-speaking, too, of course). I ate my haggis and tatties and neeps with a dram of whiskey, thankyouverymuch. When in Scotland...

But before our meal, after a relaxed time snacking and chatting, we had a surprise guest visitor -- a Scottish bagpiper! Well, "Scottish" anyway. He knocked on the door at 7 p.m., dressed to the hilt. [In a kilt! -- Dr. Seuss Ed.) And he proceeded to regale us with bagpipe tunes, which were really lovely, actually. It was amazing how much volume the bagpipes can generate. Battle music, for sure. He took care to stand some distance away from us. And I loved our bagpiper, because he played the whole role, affecting a Scottish accent, dressing in full garb, giving us a little history, reciting Burns' poetry, and at the end escorting us to the haggis. Very ceremonial. Once we were seated, he then welcomed the haggis (!) with a poem, and had a swig of whiskey with us, teaching us a traditional Scottish toast, which sounds like a slurred and very drunken way of saying, "It's a lawn chair!" I have no idea how to spell it. Needless to say, a wonderful meal and a wonderful evening, and, again, I wish I'd had my camera. Mostly, of course, we were grateful that our pal Beth was doing so well, if a bit weakened. Bless you, Beth. It's-a-lawn-chair! To your health.

A familiar favorite from our honoree Robert Burns:

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,    
  And never brought to min'?    
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,    
  And days o' lang syne?    

We twa hae rin about the braes,            
  And pu'd the gowans fine;    
But we've wander'd monie a weary fit    
  Sin' auld lang syne.    

We twa hae paidl't i' the burn,    
  Frae mornin' sun till dine;      
But seas between us braid hae roar'd    
  Sin' auld lang syne.    

And here 's a hand, my trusty fiere,    
  And gie's a hand o' thine;    
And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught      
  For auld lang syne.    

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,    
  And surely I'll be mine;    
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet    
  For auld lang syne!    

      For auld lang syne, my dear,    
        For auld lang syne,    
      We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet    
        For auld lang syne.

L'Age d'Or: Some Thoughts

Finally got around to watching L'Age d'Or, which sat, collecting dust and dingo hair, next to the TV because neither db nor I had the intellectual wherewithal to tackle it. The grey matter's a little taxed lately. There's a war on, you know. We're rationing. So... L'Age d'Or:

Um, I don't get it. That was our general conclusion after the first viewing. Yes, the anti-church/church hierarchy POV was readily apparent, and we could easily note the thwarting-of-love aspect of the religious meddlers, who turned brutally hypocritical at the end in a nod to the Marquis de Sade. And the banal/transcendent bodily function theme was noted with wrinkled nose. That much we could see. But unless you are schooled in Surrealist film or 1930s French socio-political concerns, I'd suggest watching the film with the commentary on. The commentary by film historian Robert Short was unobtrusive, charming, and highly informative. It was like a film class without the pouty poseurs. I've never listened to the commentary on a film before, so I had no idea what to expect. Still don't. This may not be representative, but if it is for this type of film, I'm ready for more.

The film is a series of disjointed vignettes, from which you can glean some thematic coherence, though, hey, this is Surrealist cinema; you're not supposed to be nodding along, 100% comforted by a recognizable narrative. Ostensibly, the film concerns the plight of two lovers, vibrating with lust for each other, being kept apart by bourgeois elements, revealed to be hypocritical and corrupt, of course. So far so good. The imagery is alternately mind-numbingly odd and baldly provocative, e.g. allusions to women masturbating, a child's murder passing without comment at a high society soiree, a sadist made up to look like Jesus (whoa!). But even with the wonderful commentary, there are many questions left unanswered, and the film is interesting enough to warrant further research. I still don't understand what all the references to "the Majorcans" were about, for example.   

The British Film Institute, which has recently released a special-edition DVD boxset with Un Chien Andalou and L'Age d'Or together, describes the film thus:

L'Age d'or is indisputably one of the great collaborations of cinema history, uniting the genius of Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dalí in the making of a Surrealist masterpiece - a uniquely savage blend of visual poetry and social criticism. A sinister and strangely poignant chronicle of a couple's struggles to consummate their frenzied desire in the face of a stream of obstacles from bourgeois society and the Church, the film was banned and vilified for many years, becoming justly legendary for its subversive eroticism and its furious dissection of 'civilised' values.

In the prideful tradition of viewing everything from one's own vantage point, this film had a lot to say for contemporary Murka (that's 'America' to you who do not speak Bushese). As with the Surrealist criticism of a society awash in both religious repression and violent bourgeois excess -- Paris stands for Imperial Rome in the film -- so we have our Imperial version with the punitive theocracy of the Religious Right, as expressed by B*sh Admin. policies, coupled with the crassly sexual output that dominates popular cultural expression ("Desperate Housewives," Maxim magazine, and wardrobe malfunctions, anyone?) and the continuing violence of contemporary American society -- guns everywhere, poverty (this is violence done unto people, surely), waging unilateral war. Anyhoo, interesting and thoughtprovoking film. Two thumbs up. Would that we had Surrealists whose probing work reached the masses today. Maybe we do, what do I know? If anybody knows, drop me a line.

As we are rationing grey matter, I reserve the right to update this post as the mood strikes. I haven't said a word about the scorpions, for instance.

Baby Birthdays

Up this morning and off to our little baby friend's 3rd birthday party. Could not have been more fun. We had a Dora-themed adventure, including Mommy as Map and Daddy as a troll guarding the stairs and a lake full of crocodiles (er, tape-marked "stones" with plastic crocs in between -- a huge hit with the kiddies, who skipped expertly across), and a Messy Room scattered with laundry, under which the birthday boy's candles were hidden. Fun! I played videographer, and let's hope to goodness it looked more like Jane Campion and less like a Dogme 95 film! I got behind the 8 ball on the troll stairs, heck, but other than that, delicious cuteness was digitally captured. Beautiful little chatterboxes with wispy angel curls and bright faces, delighted at the prospect of EVERYTHING! It does a weary heart good.  One adorable little person, whose acquaintance I was delighted to make today, told me that she is going to Disneyworld tomorrow, and when I asked her what she will do there, she thought for a moment and said very seriously: since I've never been there, I want to do EVERYTHING! Beautiful. Couldn't ask for a better answer. Beautiful birthday boy below. Happy Birthday, darlin'. We love you.