written through the lens of another

Last night, I was chattin' with babes on the Internet (Dom) and working on two pieces. One, I'd just started. It was a "real" piece, one that would "matter."

The other I found accidentally. I'd started it in January. Upon rereading, I had that moment of, "Hey, this is decent and I wish I had kept going with it." Momentum rested with the latter.

Both are nonfiction and circle similar circumstances. I'm in both of them. But it became clear very quickly why the second was (and is) more interesting: it's not about me.

I suppose it is, at the end of the day. But it's more oblique. There is less "follow me around as I meditate upon things" and more "action happening now and I'm there!" More movement. I get out of myself to follow myself.

With the second piece rolling, I see opportunities now to bring in the "real stuff" of the first. Slip it in so that it's there, so that it still holds weight, but it doesn't bring down the other pages. They wish to fly.

...

#167: My Morning Jacket, "Holdin' On to Black Metal" (I knew this sounded familiar!)
#168: Pone Tala Pone, with YouTube saying that the rest is "PM 7 - 60S Psych, Freakbeat from Thailand." How can you turn away? (Just don't stare at the screen for long.)

dissipates

Why are the people outside of my window speaking with the rain?

#166: Regina Spektor, "Fidelity"

give me the beat, boys

I think today, I'll let the music speak.

#162: Neil Young, "Old Man"
#163: Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, "Down By the River"
#164: Allman Brothers, "Ramblin' Man"
#165: AC/DC, "For Those About to Rock"

I'm supposed to be here at 9:30. I arrived at 8:56. Who am I?

Set fire to the rain

I love the electricity.

In other news,

I made minor edits to the template.

If you'll take a gander to your right -->, there is a tiny blurb to serve as a bio, plus a search option.

The search box is there mainly so I can see if I'm repeating songs. But you can most certainly use it, too, however you'd like to.

Additionally, Flo and I will be writing a Disney movie, with a score composed by our MFA/musical friends.

End scene.

...

#161: Belle and Sebastian, "I Want The World to Stop"

If the medium fits...

Smart phones stress me out. I hunch over the teeny-tiny screen and carefully hit each letter. Oops. Gotta back it up and start all over. I visit my normal websites but feel restricted. I know I can pinch my fingers to zoom in or spread them to zoom out. But there's a feeling of I'll just wait until I'm on my computer.

People like my wondrous boyfriend find so much to do on these beasts: apps for heart rate, exercise, journaling, gaming, remote controlling, adjusting studio lights. Spreadsheets (we know how I feel about those) and Office documents.

But I just can't get into that small of a space. The solution would be a larger phone, but they're tremendous and remind me of old cordless phones (remember those?). Or something even larger, like an iPad, but those are silly-looking and completely unnecessary to anyone's lives.

Then something mysterious happened. I became the owner of an iPad.

And...I kinda love it.

The size is just right. I can scoot around the Internet with enough room so that I can see everything without feeling as though I'm straining. And the touch keyboard with the sideways orientation -- love! I fly along.

I can actually picture myself writing on this apparatus, which was what I'd hoped for -- something that functioned like a netbook in capabilities and size, with fun touchy qualities.

Will I write on it for an extended period of time? Will another novel be born? We shall see.

...

#160: Sade, "No Ordinary Love"

disclosure and canciones

I've hooked up my super awesome new piece of technology and the registration page loads. Please enter your name, address, and phone number. I can bypass all of that, right? I don't want spam in the mail or calls from telemarketers.

I click "Next."

The red error message: Please fill out the following fields.

I have always hesitated when it comes to sharing personal information. Why do you need to know where I live or how old I am? No, I do not want email updates. No, no, no.

How closely do I write to my real life on this blog, and where do I stop? Do I write about the burning things for everyone, or for myself? Do I give real names to people and places, or adopt my own?

Flo and I talked blog at the BBQ, where Flo said something in the vein of, "I don't give a shiz about the details of people's personal lives" and I responded with something like, "Oh, I love that stuff." I do -- I love being in other people's heads and in other lives. But I'm not willing to divulge as much.

I started a piece in a workshop two years ago. It generated a good amount of energy, both in the writing of it and in the responses from classmates and the teacher. But it dealt with people and places in maybe too honest a way. For now.

It seems that I can't get away from writing about life, or something very parallel to it. I've mentioned many times my love for nonfiction. But even so. I drift near the current and paddle back.

...
#141: Maroon 5, "Never Gonna Leave This Bed"
#142: Howie Day, "Sorry So Sorry"
#143: Keane, "Somewhere Only We Know"
#144: Muse, "Undisclosed Desires"
#145: Soundgarden, "Spoonman"
#146: Placebo, "Running Up That Hill"
#147: The Smiths, "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out"
#148: Arctic Monkeys, "I Bet You Look Good On the Dance Floor"
#149: Atreyu, "Right Side of the Bed"
#150: The Kooks, "Naive"
#151: Phoenix, "Run Run Run"
#152: Fenix TX, "Threesome"
#153: Green Day, "21 Guns"
#154: Bullet For My Valentine, "Your Betrayal"
#155: Miike Snow, "Silvia"
#156: Miike Snow, "Animal"
#157: Diana Krall, "You Go To My Head"
#158: Emmylou Harris, "Making Believe"
#159: Brad Paisley, "Old Alabama"

Whew!

buenos dias

It's been a jam-packed five days of traveling, humidity, traumatizing childhood amusement park rides, and good people.

Therefore, there are quotes:

Me: "Every time Coach Kim texts me, it shows up as a blank text."
Kyleigh, age 7: "Does he have AT&T? AT&T is the worst."

"Next week at this time, we'll be at the club!" - Rob, 5 pm on a Friday

"It's where I belong." - Matt, discussing the flip phone

Danielle: "Hey, Flo."
Flo: "I'll cut you. What?"

Me: "How's your Tumblr going?"
Flo: "I've already stopped updating."

I love it when my characters have trust issues!

When I woke up at 3:56 am For the airport, I thought, "At least I'll be in the same time zone." I like that - traveling enough to disorient myself.

"Can I have a blanket?"

We are in metaphor country.

This weekend, I traveled down to the shore for our gymnasts' Regional Championships. It was the finale to their season, which began in October.

I wasn't sure how the meet would go. A new environment, lots of activities, lots of giggling and running around the hotel. Sunburn and stubbed toes from the impromptu soccer tournament on the beach. These do not necessarily translate to a good competition.

"We're on a business trip," I said. Nod nod giggle giggle.

But they did, in fact, find focus and pulled off an excellent meet. They treated second place like first place, running into the gym and yelling, "WE GOT SECOND" with their banner. They congratulated one another on every score and clapped throughout each other's routines. They made fun of each other. They got on each other's nerves. They looked out for each other.

All of which has something to do with gymnastics but even more to do with friendship, and comaraderie, and a certain generosity of spirit. Things that remain after the chalk settles.

Take it to the limit

They say gas prices are on their descent. Supposedly. I saw $3.96 in the normal neck of the woods and $4.25 where I work. So it goes.

The newspaper runs its requisite cover story every few months with a photo of a gas pump and screaming text about prices per barrel. A Facebook event will crop up proposing a gas station boycott. My friends complain, everybody complains.

Me, I approach gas prices the way some people approach death: I'll have to buy it inevitably, whatever the cost. Kicking and screaming won't do. I roll with it.

things I held sacred/that I dropped

(I think I used this lyric as a blog title back in, say, 2006 or whenever the song was kickin'.)

In my "What is this blog?" quest, I've come to think of this -- this intangible bit of cyberspace -- as a place for meditation and reflection, a starting point for larger pieces.

Which leads me to reflect on the sacred. There are people who were once vitally important that I now hear from rarely, if at all. I miss some of them, but we keep moving. There were boys that made my heart weep who no longer matter. I used to fear not being in school, but now a year out from grad school, I feel perfectly fine not in the classroom.

But if there is one thing that was once sacred and has now become secondary, it is exercise.

In college, a day didn't pass without going to the gym, or thinking about going to the gym. Elliptical, bike, feet on the sidewalk. Injuries didn't stop me. Snow didn't stop me. Saturday nights didn't stop me. I ate salads and fat-free yogurt. I was slender, but I never wanted to cross that line into not-quite-so-slender. I ran all of it off.

Now I have five jobs, which is no excuse to the people who also have five jobs, and a family, and a dog, and get up at 4 a.m. to train for their marathons. I admire those people. I do not like waking up at 4 a.m. unless I absolutely have to. My days fluctuate and I find it hard to find a rhythm. Excuses, excuses.

Regardless, I find that I don't mind as much when a day passes without a run. I'll get to it eventually in the week, and I usually do, but sometimes I don't. I eat chocolate and don't immediately exercise after. I am back to full-flavored salad dressings, when the mood is right.

And here's the bizarre part: I've lost weight.

My weight danced up and down in college, mainly due to injuries (Diana gains muscles/Diana gets injured and loses all muscle). Now, for the past few months, I've weighed less than I did when I graduated high school. Sure, I must have lost muscle. But I still have definition and I can still bang out pull-ups and chin-ups with the best of them.

Can there be a benefit in not holding on so tightly, so long?

hawaiian pizza

Last night, I drifted to sleep thinking of a short nonfiction piece I'd like to write. Flash nonfiction, perhaps. A brief scene of the wider story.

And then I thought that somebody will probably be offended by this story. It happens sometimes.

• "Why didn't you write about me?"
• "Why did you say this about me?"
• "That's not how it happened/Did that actually happen?/That didn't happen."

1. I just didn't. Sorry.
2. Because I wanted to.
3. I have an excellent memory. I'm not saying I'll remember every conversation verbatim. But put me up against most people I know, and you'll see that I hold the details they overlooked. It's how I did well on tests and used quotes on in-class essays that didn't require quotes. I remember.

I'll take out the names, but I'll still write what I want.

I feel okay with this because I'm not setting out to hurt anyone or air unairable truths. By no means am I writing exposes. I want to write these stories because they are funny, or sad, and I think others will get something from them. They are the stories I find fulfillment in writing.

Metagenomics

is a word I saw yesterday, and wondered about.

But what I want to talk about is this: What is the story you were meant to write?

When I sat in for the last fifteen minutes of Roger's class, he had already thrown that question out to the room. I didn't have to respond, but I scribbled in my notebook anyway. I'm not sure that I found the answer.

If there is just one story, are we simply rewriting it over and over again? If there's more than one, which one weighs more? And, of course, in which form should it be told?

I thought I might take a look at what I've written over the past two years and pull from those themes. Contemporary issues in my writing, if you will.

The predominant ones seem to be:

• Power struggles in relationships: romantic, familial, platonic. Nick and Kristina, Nick and Pete, my YA protag and her BFF, short stories about crazy women and passive men. Both heavy and humorous.
• Departure from the known land into the unknown. Not a willing departure, persay, but a necessary one. I think this is coming closer.
• The borderlands near death and how those left behind react and restructure themselves.
• Athletics as a metaphor for joy, growing up, alternate means of victory. Noise and solitude.

I expect that these will change as my life changes. But they seem to be a universal starting point.

What about you?

...

#140: Broadbelt Guitar Duo, "Seven of Nine" (Tony will enjoy the scientific fun facts in the description)

la cositas de esta semana

The weekly(-ish) roundup of songs!

#131: Shakira, "Gitana"
#132: David Archuleta, "Something 'Bout Love" (lol)
#133: Big Time Rush, "City Is Ours" (second lol)
#134: Vampire Weekend, "A-Punk"
#135: Ra Ra Riot, "Can You Tell"
#136: Ra Ra Riot, "Ghost Under Rocks"
#137: Joan Sebastian, "Margarita"
#138: Explosions in the Sky, "Your Hand In Mine"
#139: Explosions in the Sky, "First Breath After Coma"

These pieces are pliable

After the first rotation, second session, day two, my stomach starts closing in. People talk to me and I tighten my breath. My fingers tremble.

Too much carbonated water? Too much reliance on the power of a Clif Bar breakfast? Is it the limp lettuce on the sandwich I bought last night and brought with me today? Or too much gymnastics?

I walk outside into the gray afternoon. It's barely after noon. I have my watch but I keep forgetting the time, keep thinking that the gray has hissed into black already. Every time someone in the gym opens a door and I catch a glimpse of light on the trees, I am surprised.

I turn down the sidewalk and walk briskly though nobody is around. I call my mom to tell her that we have our first state champion from the morning session: the winner on floor, a hardworking girl who deserves the title. I keep walking. I try to take comfort in the air next to the road. Farther down is a picnic table in a thicket of trees, but I don't stop there.

Instead, the best decision seems to be sitting on the curb. I put my head in my hands and think of what my fictitious coach would say to Nick Galveston. Empty your mind. In the black I see leotards of all colors and grips rubbing chalk. Those colors are exhausting. So are the music and the hip-shimmying floor routines, the wobbles on beam, the slow and shaky bar routines.

You need a real fire to burn this long.

...

At the end of the meet, we ask her, "Do you want to beat your teammates? Do you wish them well, but want to do better?"

She doesn't hesitate: "Yes."

When I look back on how I spent the in-between time, I know I will not regret the extra miles to the oceanside.

Blogger, why must you scare me into thinking that 7 years of blog entries (and many a "saved as draft") have disappeared?

Finding Focus (?)

So I'm thinking maybe this blog will be more interesting to, I don't know, the world? if I find a particular focus/theme, besides the broad-based "my life."

Except I like this place for note-taking, the jots and glimpses, and fun quotes, and serious quotes, and fun times and real times.

I've been going through random Tumblrs to get a sense of the "Tumblr experience," and the site seems to be home to many a twenty-something doing their thing in life, or trying to do their thing, or figuring out what that thing is. I think all of that applies to me and what goes on in here. It's like an extended personal essay, this blog: I am on a journey, and recording in bursts.

Thoughts, reading friends?

Elves and music

In a discussion of how Wikipedia leads to inexplicable searches...

Mark: "I'm reading about elves."

Diana: "Why?"

Mark: "I don't know."

...

It's a beautiful day out here on the Eastern Front, and so 'tis time to return to the music.

#124: TV On the Radio: "Wolf Like Me"
#125: Matt & Kim, "Daylight"
#126: Fitz and the Tantrums, "Breakin' the Chains of Love"
#127: Secret Garden, "Dreamcatcher"
#128: Three Doors Down, "When You're Young"
#129: Shinedown, "Call Me'' (stay away from this one if you've got a case of the emos)
#130: Revive, "Blink"

It's me and the moon, she says

I thought up a novel about a girl,

and I'm glad, not because it's a girl, but because I worry sometimes that the long-form stories will fall out of me and there won't be anything to follow. The fiction, that is. I suspect that there will always be enough real life to write about.

Right now is a weird time. I have expectations, maybe too rigid, about what I should be doing and where, extending to others my age (and influenced by them). I am in neither country nor city, but it would take only a moment to access either. This is a place in some turns enviable and others stifling. It could be better and also worse.

There is the gravitational pull, the constant, and also the individual rotation of the planets. Free will, if you believe in such a thing. Can you reconcile them? How do you find a midway?

You tell me: Is anyone truly happy where she is?

"I've basically carbonated my toilet water." -Dom

the "we are not magicians" speech

You have to walk the right line between fostering dreams and tempering them. Letting them fly and dragging them back down. Go ahead and what are you doing?

You can only hope that you're doing it right.

in addition

This is no longer a world for your garden-variety superhero.

I decided to Wikipedia the word "stringer" to make sure that I use it properly, because what else should one do at 1:31 in the morning before bed? I found this grand little line:

"...But with the collapse of the traditional newspaper advertising model and the emergence of the Internet, many stringers are becoming superstringers."

Cue theme music.

quicksand's got no sense of humor

When I'm enraged, there's no better feeling than writing an angry email.

The blood rises, the speeches form, and I realize: to properly capture how annoyed I am, I need to write this down. And not just anywhere. Someone needs to read it.

I think this is why Christina and I have remained friends since our first year of living together at college. Life strikes and boom, we click the "New" tab and get rolling. The novel floweth.

I can organize and rearrange, use all the background and "evidential stories" that I wish, cut repetition, add zinging lines I wish I could say out loud, and have an immediate audience that will still like me afterwards. Then I can reread and feel satisfaction in the narrative. "That's right!" I'll think.

So coherent! So clean! So unlike the way I would speak about such things!

como empieza el cinco de mayo

It just hit me so clearly that I needed to put it down.

As I have the propensity to remember to submit the day before, or the day of, the deadline, I thought: Why not create a calendar with the deadlines for the magazines/journals/contests that interest me? Mayhap even a G-calendar?

So much modernity.

Yeah, it happened.

http://twitter.com/dianamariegal

Note that I've done nothing but change the background. The rest will come with time.

Come join me on this journey.

Lunes

If you sit quietly, you hear the train go by.

Mobile Titles

Sweet, it worked! Except I suppose that I'll need to go back via computer (or someone else's phone) to create titles.

So mod.

...

Woman on train: "I haven't had a wine cooler in twenty years. I haven't seen a wine cooler in twenty years."
Man: "It's like riding a bike."

Flo on playing Words With Friends with Tony: "I come up with a fancy word for twelve points. Tony puts down 'DOGS' for fifty points."

...

#119: Sam Sparro, "Black and Gold"
#120: Interpol, "Slow Hands"
#121: Interpol, "Lights"
#122: Ray LaMontagne, "You Are the Best Thing"
#123: As Tall As Lions, "Love, Love, Love"

My maiden voyage at mobile blogging. Here goes!

38.35

WOW.

We are all born superstars.

Go-To Words

In my fiction, I notice that certain words keep making the rounds.

• "Looks." The biggest offender. "He looks like he smells bad cheese," etc. I try to vary it up with eyebrows raising, faces scrunching in some manner. There's a lot of looking.
• "Even," "ever." These two have appeared more than usual in the YA nov. I guess it makes sense when you consider sixteen-year-old speak: "You think you know my life? You don't even know!" Not to hate on teen-speak whatso-ever. Everything seems extreme, and not very even.

I don't think it's necessary to pull out fancy words to eliminate the plainer ones, like "look," but I do want to be cognizant of boring patterns so I can break them up. Same with sentence structure. I tend to have a full sentence, and then a fragmented list. Going a little like this. Then a little like that. And a little repetition. I need to mix it up, you know what I mean? Yeah? You know.

porque lo hago

Last night I dug out the NaNoWriMo novel and stayed up way too late reading it. It's rough and there are side stories without resolution, and an unexpected mystery that I haven't completely unraveled.

But it's good.

Quick-paced, humorous, truthful. I can see these places and people. It hits the right notes in many instances.

I reread to remind myself, This is why I'm doing this.

..

#118: Chambao, "Papeles Mojados"

A city wall and a trampoline

I need to let these things evaporate.

..

This is an Adele-happy playlist. I think it's awesome that she's earned recognition for her singing and not her gimmicks (though you can't take away my Gaga love).

#114: Adele, "Set Fire to the Rain"
#115: Adele, "Turning Tables"
#116: Adele, "Someone Like You"
#117: The Killers, "Read My Mind"

Amongst others, answers for the queries "Kazakhstan Pop" and "80's Europop"

#110: Ladytron, "Destroy Everything You Touch"
#111: Mecano, "Hijo de la Luna" (shades of Mustafina, por supuesto)
#112: R. Lizer, "Freestailo" (lol)
#113: Nu Shooz, "I Can't Wait"

Be your literary magazine tonight

This afternoon, it struck me: Why not start an online literary magazine?

I've kicked the idea around casually. But now, I may be in it for real.

Por que?

I enjoy reading, editing, and creating. The Transition days were some of my favorite undergrad memories. I'd like to be back on the other side of the magazine.

To be hammered out:

Well, just about everything--

• title and domain name (experimented with several earlier; nothing struck me)
• a mission (I have a sense of this)
• genres and frequency (also have a sense of this)
• publishing rights, legalities, etc.

and...

Quien?

I can go about this solo. But I'd like this to be a team act. I don't mean "initial enthusiasm followed by excuses and drifting off." I mean folks I can rely on, from the get-go and down the road, who will read submissions and argue over which should and shouldn't go in and how the magazine can be pushed further and improve.

Could that be you?

...

Update:

Quoth Cheff Salad, "I do want to be a leader, actually. Or at least a subordinate with input."

genre studies

Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, I wondered yestereve if I ought to put my energies into one writing genre. Combine the powers of those fiery baskets. Certainly most of my stories come down the pike in one or two directions. Should I follow them and not look back at the stragglers, the little beats of other forms?

Then I thought, Well, what's the fun in that?

---

Diana and Anonymous Individual on Skype:

Diana: "What are you up to?"

Anonymous Individual: "Reading."

Diana: "Reading what?"

Anonymous Individual: "...Twilight."

take a good look around

Today, my life is a pro/cons list with a twitching elbow, a good helping of chicken, and a tired face.

I may need more sleep.
..

#109: Trace Adkins, "You're Gonna Miss This"

seasonal shifts

I feel astronomically better about life each spring. The increased sunlight bringing necessary Vitamin D, the prospect of hope and rebirth and birth?

Or the fact that I really like wearing shorts?

I can go either way on this one.

...

#108: Rolling Stones, "Ain't Too Proud to Beg"

I read your diary

Lest you thought I'd forgotten the songs!

#96: The Offspring: "Why Don't You Get a Job?"
#97: Muse: "Thoughts of a Dying Atheist"
#98: Ronnie Dunn: "Bleed Red"
#99: Chromeo: "Needy Girl"
#100: Straight No Chaser: "Sitcom Medley"
#101: Ke$ha: "Sleazy"
#102: Acid Bath: "The Bones of Baby Dolls"
#103: Thompson Square: "Are You Gonna Kiss Me Or Not?"
#104: Great Lake Swimmers: "Your Rocky Spine"
#105: Audra McDonald: "My Stupid Mouth"
#106: Lady Gaga: "Judas"
#107: Ke$ha (yep, on the list twice): "Cannibal"

Indemnity

Just a coincidence that as I left the fingerprinting place, "Don't Stand So Close to Me" came on the radio?

dreams

"Do you want to know how the story plays out? I get Finn, you get heartbroken, and then Finn and I will stay here and start a family. I'll become a successful real estate agent and Finn will take over Kurt's dad's tire shop. You don't belong here, Rachel. And you can't hate me for helping to send you on your way."

I will write myself out of this.

External forces

The easiest way to spice up what I'm writing is to pull from the world around me.

That sounds grand, like I'm writing about world conflict and environmental catastrophes. But I keep it to smaller scale (for now). I need a last name -- who is someone I just met, or read about? Take that name. What's a great line a friend said off-handedly the other day, or that I overheard? Make a character say it. Situational beats. The soul of a song I just listened to. Friend's lives that become back stories. I borrow and re-craft. Thank you, by the way.

we did it, honey b

A banana and a Mylar blanket for 5 a.m. Buffer zones. The smell of a clean port-a-potty in the morning. Elite corrals and energy gel. When there are enough people squeezing us into ourselves, we drop the blankets. When there are enough trees, I veer off the concrete for grass. I would have preferred dirt to highway, but I chose it this way. When the miles move from seven to eight, I hit repeat repeat repeat. The number dwindles and I move finally the way I want to: fast and free.

These legs don't know you

It's easy to be afraid around here. You could get lost if you wanted to. You could lose your way until it becomes night and the space between the trees loses light faster than the sky. You would look for the whites and you wouldn't find them.

You could be all of these things.

I set out to run the farthest distance I've ever done. Eight miles, my version of the ultra-marathon. Rain quickened on the windshield and all of the school kids darted into cars on their way out of practice, looking like people I've known. I thought about bailing. Nah. I'll do it.

Around three miles I wasn't feeling so hot, and again at six, and then six-and-a-half onwards I became very hungry. I zoned in and out of the running and the stories I tell myself. Stories that have happened and stories that I want to happen, maybe.

At sixty minutes, the watch ran out of time. It reset to zeros and ran back up again.

When I finished, I thought I'd feel exhausted, or exhilarated. Instead I felt dazed. I walked on the bends around the trees, not sure where to go but still moving. My legs were all light. Two things that fizzled away under my hips. If I stood still long enough, the wind might pass through them.

Superman

"I spun twice in the phone booth and I was Superman!" - Kristen circa 4 a.m.
...

The artist must possess the courageous soul that dares and defies.

...

#92: Blink 182, "The Fallen Interlude"
#93: Spring Awakening, "Mama Who Bore Me"
#94: Spring Awakening, "Totally F*cked"
#95: Apocalyptica, "Not Strong Enough"

consider yourself under examination

Remember the test-taking days? The state and AP exams in high school, the college finals, the other tests in between that required jamming information into your mind that you'd promptly forget once the semester or year (or, sometimes, test) was finished? I can still recall the literary terms and Spanish vocabulary, but AP Calculus? 'Tis but a fond wisp of memory.

And let us recall, too, the reactions to the study experience. There were the procrastinators, of course. I mean, I don't think you can write about tests without mentioning procrastination. There were the Emelines, who finished one test and started studying for the next one immediately after, although it was weeks away. (AND LOOK AT HER NOW, folks! A super success!) There was me, studying history and astronomy on the elliptical and memorizing the syllabus for a Spanish literature final, because where else was I going to find a complete list of all the poems we'd read? There were the study sessions of brownies and delirium and hysterical giggles when you pass maximum capacity for knowledge taken in and sleep not taken.

Then we had the test itself. I've always had a number of friends who decried multiple choice. "I'd so much rather write an essay," they'd say.

True confession: My writing self will take multiple choice any day.

• It's faster.
• The answer is in front of you.
• You don't really have to demonstrate a strong grasp on the material if you can at least tell what's not correct.
• If you know the answer, it goes even faster!
• How can you forget the satisfaction of darkening the Scantron bubbles with your freshly sharpened number two pencil?

In contrast, the written exam: in World History, our test consisted of half definitions, half essays. By the time I finished writing the definitions, classmates were already handing in the test. They were done. And meanwhile I was still spewing everything I could remember about Iwo Jima, not even on the essay page yet. Hand cramps and sweet times.

In honor of my exam tonight (what? A test after grad school?!), here's to you, rote memorization, good guesses, and a mind that holds all it can!

...

#91: Chris Young, "Tomorrow"

Group 3, 6, 7

I posted about how my character's voice changed, either through her maturation or mine (or both). Well, I started to work on the last chapter, as I wasn't sure how all these arcs were going to wind up and thought I might try to figure that out. 

Although it's Chapter 15 (for now) and much has happened, as soon as I put her back in a car, that voice came out again. Funny, self-deprecating, sassy. Maybe not so much has changed.
...

#89: Parachute, "Something to Believe In"
#90: Rise Against, "Help Is On the Way"

Hotel, motel, Hampton Hamlet

It's one of those days where you're grateful to own black pants, even if they're a little baggy and attract lint. You do what you can.

--

#87: REM, "Everybody Hurts" (Another song that I should know, or should have known, but didn't know I knew...if you know what I mean.)
#88: Skillet, "One Day Too Late"

There's money in the banana stand

I like to strike deals with myself. Tonight's: if I finish my ten-minute play, then I may watch the YouTube videos of the Pac-10 gymnastics championship. Win-win? I think so.

climb on my back so we both can fly

I like this grasping of names and placing them onto myself. With each one I grow a bit taller.

---
#85: "Money Grabber," Fitz and the Tantrums
#86: "Happy Ending," Mika

These songs are particularly rocking.

cross-country

My girls exude the excitement that other teams reserve for, say, 9.5's.

I've zoned out a bit, staring at the uneven bars, when suddenly arms accost me and Kaylee is jumping up and down, yelling, "I GOT AN 8! I GOT AN 8!"

The judge looks baffled. Why is this girl celebrating? But we know. It's a victory indeed.

Keep On Burning

Because we're carrying the fire.

We spent classes and email exchanges and Blackboard review sessions dissecting each other's work, finding the right pieces for the literary magazine, finding the places that were right for us and our kinds of art.

Then those dreams went somewhere else.

I still hold the torch.

...

#83: "Folsom Prison Blues," Johnny Cash
#84: "Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon," Neil Diamond

1-2-3-4

is a rhythm I could get used to. I like to see them up there. Super proud, maybe a little embarrassed, but smiling nonetheless. Makes me feel like I'm doing something right.

...

#81: Dire Straits, "Sultans of Swing"
#82: Single Gun Theory, "Open Grave" (it had only 61 views, so I figured I'd help out)

we make the hipsters fall in love

Accomplishments:

• Making it to the station in fifteen minutes despite the Mini-Cooper situation.
• Sprinting onto the 7:40 train at...7:40.
• Downing the bottle of orange-pineapple juice without feeling ill.
• Successfully following Flo across the avenues and boulevards, though she did not know the way.
• BURRITOS
• Singing "Don't Stop Believing," "The Thong Song," "I'm On A Boat," and similarly exceptional songs.
• Covering nine miles in one hour, via car.
• Invading a hipster establishment that had super comfortable chairs. By "invading," I mean "trying to take a nap while people danced in the next room."
• Researching how to rip one's music off of one's iPod, lulled by the Glee soundtrack.
• Sleeping on the Whoasef's couch for ~4.5 hours, putting my contacts in mini Tupperware containers, driving home for the floor music CD, driving to the meet, and learning that I could have used my iPod all along.

Yes.

...

#76: Kansas, "Dust in the Wind" (pretty sure I knew this song, but never knew the name and artist, know what I mean?)
#77: Empress Gladys & the Pips, "Midnight Train to Georgia"
#78: Rufus and Chaka Khan, "Tell Me Something Good"
#79: The Smiths, "How Soon Is Now?"
#80: Earth Wind and Fire, "Let's Groove"

March Ides & Poetics

(Is it possible for other months to have ides? Can I declare my birthday to be such a day?)

***

"Midsummer, Tobago" -- Derek Walcott



Broad sun-stoned beaches.



White heat.

A green river.



A bridge,

scorched yellow palms



from the summer-sleeping house

drowsing through August.



Days I have held,

days I have lost,



days that outgrow, like daughters,

my harbouring arms.


***

#74: Wynton Marsalis & the Boston Pops, "Carnival of Venice"
#75: Thelonious Monk, "Round About Midnight"

On the 100th day

Last June, I needed motivation to run in the muggy afternoons. So I followed the same process as I did for my thesis: When it's done, mark it down on the calendar. Write how much time. Doesn't matter if it's ten minutes or sixty. Count the days up from one.

Then the harder step: Keep going.

Sometimes a full week went by without a number. Sometimes more. Snowy times were rough. Starting-the-job times were rough, too. And sometimes I just didn't feel like running.

Today, the 100th day of running, I wore shorts and a T-shirt and wondered why everyone at the track wore sweatshirts and pants. When the wind picked up, I understood. But I was already 2:30 in.

I felt light. A unity in dirt and roots and an extra hour of sun and pink iPods. I needed that sun. I needed to find out that this was possible.

...

#72: Jimmy Eat World, "Coffee and Cigarettes"
#73: Blues Image, "Ride, Captain, Ride"

Friday nights in your twenties

-"That doesn't look like dollar pizza."
-"No, but that does look like Diana."

...

#71: The Nightwatchman, "The Road I Must Travel"

I hear voices all the time

(For the record, those are Chris Young's words, not mine.)

Two summers ago, I wrote the first chapter of the YA novel for the Children's Literature Conference. My protagonist's voice came through glib and sarcastic and fun. This would be easy, I thought. Sit right back and watch her sass around.

I've worked on the novel on and off since then, and more so in recent times. But she's changed. She's still sarcastic and sassy, but she's much more introspective. Wistful. Sad, at times. A maturing voice. Is she maturing through the writing? Turning inward as I dive deeper into who she is and what has brought her here?

Or am I the one maturing?

---

Victor, age 27, on his girlfriend: "She realizes that I'm kind of infantile."

---

#68: Jo Dee Messina, "Bye Bye"
#69: Miranda Lambert, "Heart Like Mine"
#70: Foo Fighters, "Rope"

The Art of Not Sounding Like a Toolbox When Writing About Yourself

("Tool" is a versatile word, and I like to combine it with "box" for maximum effect. Or, as Urban Dictionary eloquently explains, "More toolish than just a tool, but not quite as toolish as an entire toolshed.")

I'm required to write a brief professional biography of myself. Which should technically be called an "autobiography," but nobody has called it that. Maybe it's due to the whole writing-in-the-third-person style.

For inspiration, I read the biographies of other folks on similar pages.

___________ is the winner of [prestigious award] and was the director of [something that sounds important]. He/She also [don't be fooled by "also," which sounds like an aside, but this is where the real zinger comes in, where the person did something that sounds way cooler than everything mentioned thus far] in [an exotic location, or a place of low income, adding a sense of nobility].

Mmm.

I'm inspired by such biographies. A little jealous, too, but it certainly gets me amped: I want to be that kind of literary/teaching/life rock star.

After further reading, having cool or important experiences doesn't make one a toolbox, I've decided. It's the overlong biography that does.

Look, we get it. You're awesome. Maybe even a bestselling writer. Maybe some movie deals yielded from said bestseller(s). Everyone proffers awards in your general direction. And, to boot, you're also a humanitarian who has changed lives all over the world.

But a lesson in brevity might not hurt.

That said, I'm about to finish my three-sentence bio. I could be leading a rock star's life. I could be leading a rather, um, less rock star-ish life. But either way, I'll always be brief.

You held your breath/and the door for me

I swung bars tonight for the first time in a while. By "swung," I do mean swings. A few clear hips.

I never loved bars, but I felt strong this evening. The old rhythm of that initial glide to start the routine. The attack. The declaration: Here I am.

---

I'd like to take this opportunity to throw back to a couple of old songs. Two that I really enjoyed back when they frequented the airwaves and forgot about until this evening, when two separate stations played them back-to-back.

Though I was never a full-out Alanis fan, I particularly admired "Hands Clean" on this listen. It's intimate. Playful and bittersweet. There's a sincerity: you know this is real. As is "Head Over Feet."

Thanks for you patience.

---

As recommended by the Bahlin' one,
#67: John Garrison, "Never Far From Me"

Aliya Mustafina and Internet Outrage

This is what I love about technology: the American Cup marches forth, and the Internet (well, the gymternet) lights up with irate fans. Fights brew over execution scores and cries of "SCAM." Lengthy comments break down the scores of each athlete and where possible deductions lurked. More cries of a scam. Shouts back of "No scam." Emeline and I text about floor music. Other friends text to say, "Hey, there's gymnastics on TV and I thought of you."

How can the rest of the world go on in ignorance?

Also, if there's something worth dissecting in a public forum, it's the moment where the camera panned to Aliya Mustafina (as it often did) after her beam routine. Our current world champ sat in a chair and surreptitiously drank diet Coke.

Move over, Gatorade, we've got aspartame.

...

#62: Sarah Darling, "Something to Do With Your Hands"
#63: U2, "Desire"
#64: Steve Azar, "I Don't Have to Be Me ('Til Monday)"
#65: Sara Evans, "A Little Bit Stronger"
#66: Reba McIntire, "Consider Me Gone"

channel surfing

I don't like to write from sadness. When I'm heavy, I'd rather the feelings burn away like morning fog instead of letting them seep through my words. I don't want to remember those moments.

Last night I decided to donate my feelings to the character and watch what she did with them. I don't want my characters to be thinly veiled imitations of myself in my various moods. But I figured there might be a universality to this feeling.

So I set the scene and she reacted in such a way that lifted the heaviness. Or rather, she shared it with me, and the heaviness evaporated quietly, knowing it was time to go.

...

#59: Kenny Chesney, "Somewhere With You"
#60: Katy Perry, "E.T. (Futuristic Lover)"
#61: George Thorogood, "One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer"

Rensselaer and anthems

#53: Rob Thomas, "Fire On the Mountain"
#54: The New Pornographers, "Sing Me Spanish Techno"
#55: Anberlin, "Impossible"
#56: Bruce Springsteen, "Born to Run"
#57: Keri Hilson, "Pretty Girl Rock"
#58: Dido & A.R. Rahman, "If I Rise"

Whew!

--

As we slowed to a stop near the river, I saw a young man in a T-shirt in jeans, walking on a ledge and playing his guitar. There was no one at the dock. Just ice breaking apart in the slow current.

Posturing? Playing sincerely?

I'll say a mix of both.

--

I hope that no matter how old I am, I'll always have a friend to drive beside me down the highway, radio cranked up, voices rising.

5 miles to nearly finish February

is just what I needed, methinks.

I go through phases of what I think I need to run successfully. Music in my hand so I can adjust the volume and song to whatever mood the minute finds me. No music. A watch that counts up and down. Now switch the wrist so that each gets equal wear. Now no watch at all.

Trail and wind and no engine behind me. That's the way to run.

*

#52: Ozzy Osbourne, "Mama, I'm Coming Home"

instruments of measurement

I want to be able to describe that sound. The unpeeling from one world to another. The isolation of that single drop.

---

So! What about the writing?

I dabble as ever but it seems that my attentions are best spent on the longterm, hauling it over the miles and back again, and so I return to the page-a-day mantra.

In the world of minor victories, I unraveled the tremendous knot that is the project that interests me most right now. The whole "just go with it" mentality left me with 140 pages of chaos. Despite what the back of my car looks like, I hate the disorganization. It can be a mess, but it has to make mental sense to me.

After slow and infrequent returns since the summer, it turns out a simple solution was all I needed: Take the sections, call them chapters, save each as its own chapter, give them numbers that suggest some sort of order. Fourteen Word docs later, I see the unburied arc. And I see myself finishing this.

---

#50: And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead, "Caterwaul"
#51: Led Zeppelin, "Immigrant Song"

A Porthole of One's Own

The Perks of Having An Office, Despite the Windows That Are Too High For Anyone to Gaze Out Of:

• Leftover Sierra Mist and half a bottle of water. The previous occupants don't want you to dehydrate.
• Leftover printer, which could prove useful.
• Super crisp and profesh legal-ish pad.
• Really nice pen.
• Phone extension. Call the work line, baby.
• Aforementioned porthole.
• Doors that lock behind you.
• Spinny Chair. Did I even need to list the above items? I think not. In the world of Rock, Paper, Scissors, Spinny Chair wins. Always.

...


"I usually get protein by having a raw egg. Or an egg with beer. Or none at all." - Victor

#48: Blondie, "Maria"
#49: The Killers, "Why Do I Keep Counting?"

open arches/gently kneeling

I want to say that writing will swim me through this but I'm not sure what will. Swim to greener marshes or whatever metaphor you like. I move indistinctly as sunlight in the window today. Blink and I drift through.

...

#46: "Knights of Cydonia," Muse
#47: "Cathedrals," Jump Little Children

Si te vas

I'm hoping that by the act of opening up the YA nov document and starting to type, Flo Davies will be summoned into my life.

--

#43: Voz Veis, "Que No Daria Yo"
#44: Zac Brown, "Colder Weather"
#45: Lady Gaga, "Born This Way" (let the inevitable "Express Yourself" outcry begin)

There is Superstition

If there's but one way blazed to success, you'd best believe I'll try to follow it again and again.

When I competed in gymnastics, there were rituals. Touch all my trophies, medals, ribbons on the way out the door. Say we went to this competition the year before and I did well. The next year, I copied my preparation. Same sandwich for lunch at the same place. Same hairstyle. Same clothes packed in the overnight bag. Same songs cued up on the Walkman and later the Discman.

Everything arranged just so, and then set into motion.

A few weeks ago, the Level 4's competed on Saturday and were rock stars. Could such a performance be repeated by our girls the next day?

So on Saturday night, just as on Friday, I cued up an episode of Glee online. Stayed up way too late and woke up as the sun was breaking. Listened to the same music on the drive. Arrived too early (not a usual problem of mine).

And it worked.

You'll see me again, old road.

All sorts of blue ribbons later,

I'm very tired, and very proud.

This is the train to Friday

Maybe it's the blue sky through the bare trees as I tilt my head to the window, or the green-brown grass revealed by melting snow, but for the first time all week I sit down and start writing, and I don't stress it. I just go.

*

#42: Chris Young, "Voices"

Hollywood and me

I've watched three movies since Saturday.

Months easily go by for me without movies. I like movies. I support their existence, mostly. I just don't usually sit down for them.

It's always been, "I could watch this movie or I could do work/talk to my friends/write/frolic out and about/fall asleep." That latter option sans movie. I've never been of the "watch a movie and fall asleep" camp. I prefer to sleep without sound. And I've never been of the "put on a movie while I do work" team, because if I've never seen it before, I want to give it my full attention.

Thing is, I always loved making videos in high school. I spent hours editing projects, making sure the cut was just so. Ideas came easily for sketches and longer pieces. They still come through. Maybe the process interests me more than the product. Or maybe the product would interest me more if I were part of the process. I'm not sure.

Maybe this lack of watching is due to lingering fear from being traumatized by movies as a youth. Anywho, I think it's clear at this point that I don't often watch movies, and this week, films and I have been in the same room as one another and we sized one another up.

The three:

Everyone's favorite "Girl Gone Fowl"

Followed by

Everyone's favorite pseudo-intellectual thriller with inexplicable shoot-outs in the snow (sorry, Tony)



And finally

From the genre of, "Wow, this movie makes me hate life and yet feel somehow uplifted"

As always, I think, "Hey, that wasn't so bad, and I liked two of the three. I should watch movies more often."

And always, I know, Nah, I won't.

...

#40: Eric Clapton, "Lay Down Sally"
#41: Jason Aldean & Kelly Clarkson, "Don't You Wanna Stay?"

I may start a movement to BRING BACK THE POWER BALLAD!

Destiny Prefers Tiny Dancer

This is what I mean by "coincidence":

On the drive home, I flip through the stations and arrive at "Tiny Dancer." Brings me right back to slow dancing in Shelter. I'm enjoying this flashback when, just as Elton sings, "Dancing in the sand," a gust of wind blows sand into the windshield. Sand from the plows that have lumbered over the streets this winter. Sand that will crunch under my boots when I step out of my car later. Plenty of sand to go around.

But only in this instant does it fly up around me.

...

As per the suggestion of Emeline, who has officially moved from a GN "great nurse" to an RN "ravishing nurse":

#39: Adele, "Rolling in the Deep"

Cool me down.

So behind on the MUSICS.

Correcting that now:

#33: Darius Rucker, "Come Back Song"
#34: Sugarland, "Baby Girl"
#35: Lady Antebellum, "American Honey"
#36: The Black Seeds, "Cool Me Down"
#37: White Stripes, "Icky Thump"
#38: Yeah Yeah Yeahs, "Heads Will Roll"

It's a veritable playlist 'round here.

her wings are breaking through

Last night I read an interview with Vincent Cassel, who plays the director in Black Swan, and found this small quote quite interesting.

"Q: Do you take an interest in the world outside of acting and film in general…

Well I have more interest in the world outside of films than films. I don’t watch a lot of movies anymore actually. I wish I could but I don’t. You have kids, you have life, there are so many things. I’d rather watch documentaries or the news than movies after a certain point because once you become what you do you are dead. So if you keep on shooting movies and then in your free time watch movies you’ll think that’s what it’s all about. And I know it’s not. I still know it’s not all about movies. So yes: I’m interested in the world."

The art cannot survive without outside forces. Multiplicity instead of singularity. I love writing about gymnastics but it's not the only story I tell. Telling stories in beats and light. All of this comes to mind.

Throw your world wide. See what you pull in.

Circle Road

Some days my mind grinds to a stop. But my body's still moving. Dance in the dining room and slam my thumb into the wall. The music still plays. This is the making time.

A tisket, a tasket, some gymnastics

Shawn Johnson Back on US Team

Yessss!

...

While we're talking gymnastics, I must say that I'm starting to be won over by Division I. Back in the day I'd catch college meets on television and find them a little lacking. Less difficulty than my Olympic favorites, inflated scores, silly floor routines. Not my scene.

Thanks to YouTube, though, I'm starting to appreciate the following:

• Hit routines. It's not easy to compete every weekend. And it's not easy competing in front of a packed arena as fans and teammates scream.
• The CROWD. Those folks are crazy. It's awesome. (Ah, the high school varsity team days, where at away meets, my parents were our only audience.)
• Girls who rock their floor routines. Not really feeling the weird techno theme that all of the Florida team has, but Alaina Johnson is lovely. And if you're looking for a real rock star, look no farther than this gem -- I've posted it before, and I'll post it again, gosh darnit!

...

Speaking of Shawn Johnson two ellipses ago, just watched Bud Greenspan's 2008 Olympics documentary, namely the Nastia segment. I'd love to see what her father/coach, Valeri, is really like in the gym. But he's pretty funny in the interviews:

"Nobody likes beam. I went on it once. I couldn't run. I could only walk slowly. I don't like to talk about beam. It's crazy."

marketable skills

• writing Peace Corps recommendations
• creating ridiculous slogans <- trust me on this

---

In light of an unhurried day, I spent much of the time working on a essay*. It felt right to do so. Sprinkling water on the earth and pushing the edges together.

(*Except I don't really like the word "essay," nor "nonfiction" dangling on its lonesome, so I'll go with "a creative nonfiction piece" instead. You know what I speak of.)

---

#32 (Oh, noes -- I can no longer use the days of the month as a handy tool for keeping track):
Arcade Fire, "Wake Up"

The question arises:

Which country next?

I'm ready.

...

Alex, as he drags laughing Beth to her feet on the sidewalk: "Tony, will you date me?"

...

Just roamed into the bathroom, where I found my sock in the sink. Hmm.

To finish January, the 31st song:

Unwritten Law, "Seein' Red."

24 while 25

I drive home in the rushing flakes of yet another snowfall on the stretch of highway where nobody passes and nobody approaches. At 55 mph, I let go of the wheel. Let the car drive itself.

...



28: Gondwana, "El Baile de Los Que Sobran." (Originally done by Los Prisioneros, in case you were interested.)
29: Kenny Chesney, "Out Last Night."
30: Jason Aldean, "My Kinda Party."

(A developing theme?)

solitude (the night inside me).

Last night I listened to old and beautiful music, and the times came back so fresh that I shut it off. Not a night for nostalgia, for this oneness.

But when I thought enough about those times, wasn't I always pedaling away, missing something, partially present? Haven't I always ached? Maybe it's not a feeling that can be chased off but one to carry, from this age to the next, from here to there, them to me and back to them. A part of me.

...

Vingt-Sept: Martin Solveig Et Dragonette, "Hello"

Phoenix

You find a way to keep the fire burning in a blizzard.

...

Twenty-six: "La La Lie," Jack's Mannequin (I hope Rachel attempts to like this post, too).

Out of the circle and onto the beam

Me, for the third time: "Everyone start over."
Young Level 3: "I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS ANYMORE."

The Winner's Circle

still feels pretty fantastic for Coach two days later.

I hope it reverberates for them, that kind of applause.

This makes me want to write an essay, as usual.

..

Oye! Where was I?

23: Van Halen, "Why Can't This Be Love"
24: Velvet Underground, "Pale Blue Eyes"
25: Ingrid Michaelson, "Everybody"

x 4

I'm pretty ecstatic about the performances of our youngest ladies today. 1st vault, 1st and 2nd bars, 1st and 2nd floor, 2nd all-around, 2nd team. Lots of places in between. One legit trophy. YES.

To soothe you tonight, here's a lovely little piece that apparently came with my computer (as per the YouTube commenters, they've had a similar experience):

Veintidos: Bob Acri, "Sleep Away."

Well-slept Friday

My selves lie all over the floor. Teacher is curled under Runner, Coach flipped over beside On the Town, Netherlands Meets U.S. reaches one arm above School Spirit.

The question is not which of you will I inhabit today? but how many of you? I am no stranger to costume changes. New self, take your place, lights up, action.

*

Yesterday (#20): "Basket Case," Sara Bareilles (as recommended to me by Rachel, bringing back fond memories of our mutual basket case times)

and

Today (#21): "River of Deceit," Mad Season.

Spiral sounds

are spinning faster.

..

In honor of, and from, the country station that just launched on the radio today in these parts:

Brad Paisley, "Then." (Note: It's a happy country song!)

Not so inevitable

(I can see that as a line from a tween song, if it's not already.)

I finished the short story and debated one line in particular, a line the woman says, thinking it was too obvious. It would induce an eye-rolling "Of course she'd say that."

But I left it in and sent it 'round. The Flo and the Laurel both mentioned the same line. "That was chilling," Laurel said. "Whoa," said Flo.

The line stays. Perhaps not so inevitable after all.

..

For the 18th day:
Cake: "The Distance."

And on your way out:

17: Defiance, Ohio: "Calling Old Friends."

Skyless

I feel her now, the beating of wings against wires
Metal cross-stitching becomes the single road.
She is all air.

Additional bedtime stories for Emeline

Our gal Laurel just started a blog, and she's filled with equal parts sass and wisdom. Check it out. :-)

...

I still can't get the Next to Normal soundtrack out of my head (nor do I have any need/want to do so), but for diversity's sake, here is:

1/16: Sex Pistols, "Anarchy in the U.K."

Light

Last night I went to see Next to Normal on Broadway, knowing only that it was a rock musical about mental illness. A strange combination, it seemed.

Well, it blew my mind.

I'm not the type to cry during books or movies, and it was pretty tough not to at this show. People around me were wiping their eyes. Talk about quaking the human heart.

Tonight's the last performance before it closes, but I've half a mind to see it on tour when it swings nearby in the spring/summer.

And so:

Fifteen: Next to Normal, "I Am the One." (Original Broadway cast -- not the same folks we saw last night, who were just as excellent.)

Less heavy highlights of the evening included Lena driving in reverse onto a sidewalk, CHIPOTLE, and me dashing from her car whilst at a red light, buying a soft pretzel, and jumping back in before the light turned. You know how I feel about soft pretzels.

All that I could pillage

This is what you do: you roll up your roots, call it a life.

..

For the 14th: "Pacing the Cage," Bruce Cockburn.

Seamless (Acting Out)

Best line from The Social Network: "I'm six-five, 220 pounds, and there are two of me."

...

Until the girl who plays the assistant at the law firm shows up, I'm buying into the story. Good writing, good acting, nice pace.

But this character's presence feels contrived. The acting is obvious. And now I'm saying, "Ah, she's a device, and she'll plant a zinger at the end to be 'profound.'" Now I remember that this is a movie.

That's how I feel about writing that works too hard to be "writerly." Showing off, making too much of too little.

WWWBYD? (What Would William Butler Yeats Do?)

"A line will take us hours maybe;

yet if it does not seem a moment's thought,

our stitching and unstitching has been naught."

...

Number Thirteen for Thursday the Thirteenth: Wanda Jackson, "Funnel of Love." (Thanks, Boo-sef!)

cognizant

The best part of snow: lying in the middle of the unplowed road, looking up, thinking this bed is better than sand.

...

Keeping it Zen on the twelfth day of music:

Vienna Teng, "Lullaby for a Stormy Night," and also, "Gravity."

And another note on eleventy-one:

You need a special kind of song on a day like 1.11.11.

So:

Day 11 (1/11): Exile, "I Wish For You." Watch it. Just for a moment. You won't be disappointed.