It’s been an unhappy week.
The worst of it was learning how much something I had posted earlier this month had upset someone I used to care for quite deeply. I now realize my thoughtlessness in violating this person’s privacy, even if I thought it was well-masked, and only one person who might read this blog would have any idea who he is. I was also made some mean-spirited remarks in subsequent comments. I am sorry for all of this. I fucked up. I’ve removed the post and am eating my remorse, but the damage is done. Hopefully, I will at least move a little closer to becoming a kinder person from all of this.
I’ve also realized I’ve been spending more time in Voxland than is healthy for me, and have decided to take a break for awhile (though probably won’t be able to resist reading neighborly updates and sincerely hope y’all don’t delete me from your ‘hoods out of inactivity, if you haven't already deleted me for my unkindness).
So, just to sign off for the time being on a positive note, at the risk of diluting the second paragraph, let it be known that I’m going to binge on the following comfort food. Consider this a substantial portion of my desert island disc list, with the raucous and celebratory stuff missing. I don’t deserve those right now.
The Clientele: Strange Geometry, God Save the Clientele
Glenn Gould edition of J.S. Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier I & II
Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci: How I Long to Feel that Summer in My Heart
John Wesley Harding’s New Deal
M. Ward: Transistor Radio, End of Amnesia, Transfiguration of Vincent
matt pond PA: emblems
Mojave 3: Spoon and Rafter
A mix of 23 songs co-/written and /performed by Joe Pernice and his various bands
Rachel’s: Systems/Layers
Robyn Hitchcock: A Star for Bram, + Egyptians: Queen Elvis
Sam Phillips: Fan Dance, A Boot and A Shoe
Ted Hawkins: The Next 100 Years
Yo La Tengo: Fakebook
Bye for now.
While they have already had one brief introduction, the two creatures with whom I share my home are demanding enough attention this morning that I feel compelled to introduce them again.
Muki is my heart. I adopted him when he was about six months old and I was living with Mark#2. Muki has been with me through nine moves (three of them cross-country), six jobs, three relationships, one going-back-to-school, and my mother’s death. He is now 15. He has a mild heart murmur, hyperthyroidism controlled by topically-applied methimazole, high blood pressure kept in check by controlling the thyroid, and a tendency to produce calcium oxalate crystals which are discouraged by a potassium citrate solution mixed into a prescription diet. He has had two surgeries to remove stones from his bladder, and when he was young almost died when his pancreas became inflamed for a reason that was never discovered. For a couple of years, he was under the regular care of a cardiologist. He is a finicky eater, which makes administering the potassium citrate a painstaking process involving progressive bribes of k/d crunchies. He is a very high maintenance boy, but the checkups he has had over the past three years have found him to be holding steady, and he is still spry and enjoying life. He is a good traveler and a patient patient. Oddly, he loves to lick plastic – bags, shower curtains, shrink-wrap, bubble-wrap – anything flexible, though bags appear to be his favorite. He is a very social boy, happy to meet anyone who comes to visit. He snuggles down next to me every night. He is almost deaf, but I talk to him anyway. He is my bunny, my Mooklet, the Mook.
Lila, also known as Bean, joined the family in 2001, at four months old. She was incredibly shy at first, and it took a couple of years before she would let me pet her. Her most distinguishing physical feature is her owl-like countenance. She is also the one who attracts the attention of visitors with her beauty, unapproachable as it is. Her approachability continues to increase in tiny steps; she is no longer afraid of my brother and sister-in-law and actually seemed to like having the last boyfriend around. I wish she would let me brush her, but she prefers to shed her prolific fluff, supplemented with the occasionally hairball, directly onto the rug. These days she often wakes me in the morning with a soft mew and a gentle claw plucking at the shoulder of my t-shirt, which seems to mean “if you please scratch my ears and chin briefly I will purr, but soon thereafter you must get up and feed me.” When this doesn’t work, she is very creative at finding ways to make noise. This morning it was the bag of paper recycling, followed by a race around the room. I rarely have a satisfying lie-in thanks to the Bean, but she is less annoying and more entertaining than most alarm clocks, and fuzzier.
I wonder if the sign art people leave clues and secret messages for each other.
Walking home up Olive today, I saw several Poo In Your Shoe stickers along the way:
The dog on this sign is painted on a piece of cloth with a stitched border. I was tempted to rip it down and take it home, but that would have been as wrong as picking that tulip (which was still there this morning, delightfully).
This one, along 11th next to Cal Anderson Park, is a floppy disk.
Teeny has a close neighbor:
I walked along Denny between Olive and 11th, to see if Marco had made the move yet. He had:
He was lounging in the new children's room:
I bought this book, and hope it's not too scary:
The new store is larger and more labyrinthine than the old store, and doesn't reek of litterbox - yet. As soon as the new carpeting finishes outgassing, it will be a fine place for getting lost. I hope the carpet doesn't poison the cats and the employees in the meantime.
I do not like these words:
- groove, except 1) as joinery terminology, 2) in the context of phrases like long-playing microgroove, or 3) whenever my brother uses it. I have also disliked the word groovy ever since Mr. DiPietro required me to sing the second verse of "The 59th Street Bridge Song" out loud in sixth grade English. (Mr. DiPietro also gave me poor marks for penmanship. Beyond than these acts, he was a very nice teacher.)
- proper terminology for genitalia. This probably stems from formative discussions with at least one parent as well as sixth grade sex education class.
- sphagnum, because I can't pronounce or spell it. It was probably a vocabulary word in sixth grade.
[I also have quite a few other-than-verbal scars from sixth grade. That was a year of wearing unbearably dorky and mostly oversized ("so you'll grow into them") clothes, hand-sewn with love by my hard-working single mom -- clothes which inspired frequent teasing from peers, and even Mrs. Szlosek, my homeroom teacher, remarked on the hugeness of a certain pair of pants (I was chubby but not that chubby). That was also the year when, attempting a forward somersault, I lost both consciousness and control of my bladder in gym class, awakening beneath a circle of staring, snickering classmates. The worst of these experiences came from telling my friend Mitzi in confidence about something I did as an inquisitive younger child. She did not keep it a secret, and it became even greater fodder for ridicule.]
Today I am especially fond of these words:
- elevenses, which I am consuming right now (please note that I first read The Hobbit in sixth grade)
- rhubard, though I can't spell that one either, because it is a key ingredient of today's elevenses
- primary, because it is nearly resolved
- coquette, for containing the /k/ sound in both syllables
- spackle
[I tried to think of some other positive word associations from sixth grade, but it was a pretty low year.]
Now it seems necessary to include this, with my apologies:
What do you do EVERY day to take care of the earth's environment? What could you do more of?
I try to walk there (and could do more of that). I like the view from on foot.
I don't know why it didn't occur to me to include this with my post on Friday. No matter -- here it is now (and no doubt I'll be posting plenty more neighborhood loss rants in the coming months).
Last Sunday I worked with the Wake dancers in the studio. They are both beautiful movers (as I already knew) and fortunately improvise well together.
Today we had planned to work down at the sculpture, but it’s still wintry – a third day with snow this late in April. Also, without full sun, the contrast of light and shadow wouldn’t be there, and the effect of shadows will drive much of the movement. So no progress this week.
There is no unifying theme here, other than being a bunch of signs and street art that struck my fancy this week.
Show us a spice in your kitchen.
Submitted by homebody.
