quotidian – Page 9 – Words’ End

September 14, 2003

Weekend misc.

My place is a disaster, as I rearrange things and put other things in their place and throw out or give away what I don’t use. When I’m done with this project (probably sometime in October), I’ll have less Stuff and it will be glorious. Meanwhile, hopefully the apt. will at least look respectable by the end of today.

Here’s an odd etymological moment. Walking away from my office the other day, shaking my head at the thought – I’m ABD; actually within reach of finishing. This doesn’t happen to people like me. – I wondered, to whom does it happen? The word that came to mind, the adjective to describe a kind of person who is not me, who belongs in my place, is solidnyi. In Russian, this denotes a person grounded, weighted down with a respectable baggage of knowledge like with sandbags, someone not bloody likely to be blown away by the slightest wind, someone… solid.

Oh. There’s a linguistic connection out of nowhere. Thank you, brain.

Yesterday was full of green and yellow and blue, all the calmer primary colors.¹ Perhaps it’s my insides’ continued refusal to concern my self with the war not mine that kept red at bay. Perhaps it’s the leisurely morning, waking up for half an hour, finally stretching into the quiet at 7; long drive to Somerville’s reward of linguiça for breakfast in a place with green and turquoise walls, in the company of two kind sporty spice, whose faces sparkle and glow even when they’re slow and sleepy. Or, then, sitting outside at JB’s, talking family trees and Ukrainian ancestry, wondering if our great-greats might have met. Or Davis Square’s warm metal benches, Russell Hoban causing heat around the eyes as novemberish London sweeps and twists me in, down to the Thames where Orpheus’ floating head sings soundlessly, signs half-undeciphered, echoed decidedly in Herman Orff’s [post]modern life, myth creeping in and out of familiar geography with words so different from Gaiman’s, floating in a – sea? no, a stream, a chattering brook of human hands and smiles and ice cream cones carrying me as white noise does, taking care not to disturb, and I share the sunny day with them but remain entranced by Hoban’s words in a way I haven’t been since Harry Mathews…

Having walked and walked and walked with John, who seems to enjoy Boston as much as his New York, having chimed the chimes in the MIT subway station, gone down to the river to see the sailboats, walked through MIT through Indian grocery with samosa snack and too-sweet lassi to Harvard Square, having chattered and laughed and taken photographs, I reluctantly take my leave of him and other MUDfriends, heading towards Davis and my car uncharacteristically early, in an attempt to feed recent homebody tendencies and the desire to have a consistent sleep schedule, because something, dollop of conversation perhaps, reminds me of early to bed, early to rise and I want my four walls, I want to avoid driving sleepy, I want to be leisurely and not tortured about the over-hour-long drive back. On the way back, remembering the three new used CDs I’ve scored for free by bringing in a large stack of mine, in goes DJ Spooky’s Optometry, and how did this escape me before? – it’s jazz! wasn’t the sticker enough of a clue, the cornered announcement of a special guest appearance by Billy Martin? I’m stuck in traffic going through Boston, but nothing matters, it’s jazzy and trancy and smoothly then hip-hoppy, and the sunset’s subtly purple – ah, there’s that red, but smoothed out, calmed, lulled by the blue in it; sky turns darker darker dark, and headlights flash back to the trance of driving cross-country, except now it’s only for an hour then I’m

home

and Afrocelts break my heart.

¹ Green’s a primary color too: in theatrical lighting, it’s green, blue and red.

August 10, 2003

Return of the

Well, I wasn’t planning to take a hiatus this long, but there we are. The past month was spent too busy living to update; now, the schedule has calmed a bit, although I’m not sure how long that’ll last. In 15 days, I’m off to Burning Man, and after that will drive back to Providence with a friend. Although there’ll be a bit of a rush to get back to the place H.P. Lovecraft called home, I’m looking forward to several days in a car with Andy, chatting and eating fruit and listening to music. Plus, he can drive too. Big plus.

Right. So what’s happened? The whole last half of July another friend was houseguesting here from Britain. He’d never been to Los Angeles; this was Jon’s second ever time in the States. We took advantage of relative freedom of action and did the following:

– allowed ourselves to be attached to hard bodysuits and harnesses for the privilege of being hoisted Really High Up by a rope, our bodies parallel to the ground. After which he pulled on a string and we hurtled forward and down, swinging at “up to 60 miles per hour.” There were two of us in this thing (maximum is three), and at the end of the first swing we had gone so far forward that for a few moments we were suspended vertically in the air many meters above ground. It was quite easily the best thing I’ve ever experienced in an amusement park.

– hiked up a little residential hill to see a house built like a Mayan temple, which was used in the filming of Blade Runner.

– watched several movies. Rented Blade Runner and Christopher Nolan’s Following on DVD. That last one was excellent. Beautifully shot, good use of black-and-white, good acting. Also saw Tomb Raider 2, god help me (no, it really wasn’t *that* bad, indeed I quote enjoyed myself, but would’ve never gone to see it on my own), as well as Chicago which, to be fair, received a lukewarm review from Jon.

– shopped in a good bookstore in Venice Beach, in which I bought my first Harry Mathews book. Human Country is a good solid collection of short stories. I like Harry Mathews enough that I would say I’ll seek his work out some more, except that realistic expectations of dissertation workload prevent me from making foolish promises.

– lounged about the house. glorious.

– took an afternoon to lounge on the beach in Malibu. Cold, cold ocean water and warm sun, with burritos afterwards which were so good, even Adam might have approved of them.

– attended a João Gilberto concert at the Hollywood Bowl. Be still my beating heart! That man seems in love with his guitar, still, after all these years.

– spent time at the Getty Center, where I gawked most of all at the medieval bookmaking exhibit and all the manuscripts. You’d think I’d have gotten this fascination out of my system by now, but no.

– went to Las Vegas. Another thing I’d never have done on my own, but this is the way to do it: with a Briton fascinated by its gaudy Americana, whose comments make you laugh even when it’s ungodly-hot, at midnight.

Good visit, that was. My grandmother thought he was great, and was duly impressed with his obscure mathematics book. Every morning, they re-introduced themselves to each other. (sigh.)

Besides this, I’ve been working on an online journal (of which I’m the techincal editor – watch this space for the grand opening), and on a book review. As well as cooking, cleaning and taking grandma to sundry doctors. Mom’s away on a well-deserved week-long vacation, and I do hope that she’s having a fabulous time. It’s quiet here.

June 21, 2003

Tasty sin!

Today I transcribed enough of the Neverending (Because Victorian) Roland Novel to feel satisfied; watched an amazing war movie; bought gorgeous books I cannot afford; talked over the phone with two brilliantly fun friends from back East; and drank a frappuccino, which is sending shivers all through me right now: oh, corporate Americana! In addition, I got out of the house—!

Hm, this’ll probably get long. I’ll break it up into several posts. Since the sort order is by most recent post, this little blurb will reside at the “top” of the few that follow.

June 20, 2003

Pole Chudes

Then there are good days. Today, Grandma and I started up a new activity: I read Russian classics to her. This benefits both of us, as I’ve been meaning to read more of these but haven’t had time. On her part, Grandma seems to be happier and doesn’t call us over to her room quite as often as usual. At least, that was the case today; we’ll see how long it lasts. Today’s reading was a short story by Chekhov and some poems by Pasternak at bedtime. Can’t say I’m complaining; besides being generally pleasurable, this also trains me to speak for long periods of time. Since I’m planning to conduct a few sessions of my humanities computing course as more or less lectures, this is great practice.

We had her a foot bath; we ate tasty food; she even let me work for over an hour with surprisingly few interruptions. (Today my imaginary monkey and I learned about lists and arrays in Perl.) Mom was relaxed when she came home from work, we ate more good food and watched Russian TV. Usually I tolerate it and/or try to tune it out (hm, funny; I’ve been reading DeLillo’s White Noise lately). Today, however, I enjoyed watching not only a film based on Pushkin’s The Queen of Spades, but also – to my surprise – a game show.

I don’t know, does Disney’s Pinocchio have the Field of Miracles in it? In the Italian original, as in the Russian version named Burattino [“puppet” in Italian], Pinocchio meets a deceitful Fox and Cat, who tell him about the Field of Miracles, located in the Land of Fools. You bury your money there and pour some water over, and overnight it grows into a biiig tree full of money! Then you’re rich and can buy Geppetto (or Papa Carlo) that new jacket and all.

Well. Pole Chudes is the name of the Russian take on The Wheel of Fortune – with four important exceptions. First, everyone gets a participation prize. Three-times-three people play in each half-hour show, and they all get the same prize, although the prize changes show to show. They’re all practical prizes: microwaves, vacuum cleaners, what-not. Second, this must be a tradition that has evolved over the show’s near-decade-long run so far: the participants bring gifts to the charming host. Gift-giving has taken on a life of its own; sometimes a whole town or village (if it’s small enough) from which the participant hails participates in the gift. For example, some of the gifts brought out today were:

– two live rabbits and some Armenian cognac;

– a drop of crude oil encased in glass, from a town near the Baikal;

– homemade Ukrainian vodka-like drink;

– children’s drawings of Moscow done specifically for the occasion;

– a full assortment of non-perishable products from a dairy factory, including powdered soy milk;

– homemade smetana (thick Russian sour cream, tasty stuff, and homemade it is well loved) – this was specifically for the beautiful helper girls on the show, as they were proclaimed too thin;

– a beautifully-done icon of some saint or other;

– and a bunch of other stuff I can’t remember now.

The host cracks jokes, lewd to a greater or lesser degree, and never lewd with children. That’s the third thing: many people, participants and audience members alike, bring along children, who announce commercial breaks. The fourth and final difference is that this isn’t really about money so much as it is about prizes and banter. The puzzles are all single words, never phrases; and the clues given to them are not, say, “thing” or “sport” but rather interesting trivia questions. For each show, there is a theme to the questions; today’s was symbology. (Is this the right word?) For example: what did the walnut mean in ancient Greece? What was the meaning of this other particular nut (I think it was hazelnut) for the ancient Germanic peoples? What does the almond tree symbolize most often all over the world? Finding out the answers is left as an exercise for the curious reader.

All of these particulars make the show homey, interesting. Nobody seems to care how much money they’ve won, it’s not about that. Fun stuff.

June 18, 2003

California ain’t N’awlins, I can tell you that.

Whatever time I take for myself, here in California, comes directly out of the time available for [academic] work, or for regrouping my forces and preparing for the next day. Nevertheless, distracting myself from family life with unrelated activities (such as writing) seems to ground me. I’ll try to write often. Every day. We all know how such intentions work out.

I tried to write chronologically, but there’s just too much. So I’ll post entries as things occur to me. Road trip interspersed in other.

For the record, I think every human before the age of, say, 35 should spend some time caring for an elderly person, or anyone unable to fully care for themselves. It really does provide a different perspective. In the last week, my thoughts have turned to: death and dying; mental degradation with age; why exactly it is that one’s sense of shame persists more strongly than other mental faculties; the importance of a living will (please, someone put me to sleep if I’m ever struck with irreversible illness); a [re]new[ed] appreciation for nurses…

Continue reading “California ain’t N’awlins, I can tell you that.”