Draw the Girl

Catch up

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Thu, 15 May 2008 02:45:00 +0000

Last week, my mom called to announced that there was a Camelot special on PBS. Of course I turned it on right away, and behold, there was Live from Lincoln Center: Camelot. I could not believe my bloomin' eyes. Marin Mazzie as Guinevere? LORD. Perfect. I've loved her since 1998, when she created the role of Mother in Ragtime (even though I never saw her in it, I feel like I have, you know?), and seeing her in Kiss Me, Kate was something I'll never forget. I thought she made a fine, fine Guinevere.

Anyway, I'd never seen the guy who played Lancelot before, but I understand he's an opera star and I was pleased to see that he had both comedic and dramatic chops as well as a great voice. Christopher Lloyd as Pellinore? Too good. I have no idea who Mordred was, but he was great. And Gabriel Byrne as Arthur was wonderful. Sure, he spoke through many of the songs, but that is what Arthur does, since it's not a singing part and it never has been. (Hello, Richard Burton.) And sometimes he rushed and didn't speak the words with the proper musical timing. But you know what? I didn't care. He made me cry so hard during the "Proposition" scene that B. could hear me from the next room even though I was sitting on the bed in the dark with the door closed. It was wonderful, wonderful, wonderful to see this show that I have loved so much my whole life reinvented in this wonderful way.

Of course I called my parents crying during the show to tell them it was the best thing I'd ever seen, and a few nights later, while B. and I were over at my parents' house visiting my sister who was in town, my dad busted out his Camelot script from his college production (he played Arthur) and performed the "Proposition" scene for us, stopping to explain how the notes from "I Wonder What the King is Doing Tonight" play in the background and so forth, and it was a beautiful, beautiful thing.

On Saturday, I was running around buying gifts, and I stopped at the Catholic bookstore to buy my dad a gift certificate and next-door I spotted a Mexican bakery. At least it looked like a Mexican bakery. Seeing as I don't speak Spanish, I wasn't sure. But I was so hungry that I ran and not walked inside. I was not really sure what to do, procedurally. This was definitely a Mexican-Mexican bakery and not an American-Mexican bakery. Should I order at the counter even though I could not translate any of the menu items on the wall? Should I stand at the large rack of unlabeled baked goods and inspect them carefully until someone came over to take my order? I did the latter, and the friendly counter guy asked me what I would like. I pointed to a big pastry and said, "I'd like one, please." He said, "It's chicken!" Because I think he thought I thought it was dessert. I said, "Great!" He told me, "Americans always taste that one and come back for more." $2.65 later, I walked outside, got into my car, and tore into that motherfucker. It was so good I moaned. I ate the whole thing with my hands, while driving. And it wasn't small. I took my sister back the next morning, thinking she might want to speak some Spanish. She explained that if she were in Mexico, sure, but that the general consensus among bilingual types and those trying to be so is that as Mexicans operating a restaurant here, they might not want to be used for us to practice Spanish on, but rather might want to use us to practice English on. Which made sense, I think. So they spoke a little Spanish and a little English and all was merry and gay. We loaded up on stuff and it is now my favorite food establishment. They've only been open a month; I hope they're a wild success.

Spending some time with my sister when she was here was nice. We went shoe shopping, which is not either of our things, but we survived. Mother's Day was good. We also celebrated my dad's birthday, and my mom cooked an awesome meal of crawfish etouffee, broccoli casserole, and of course ice cream dessert. It was nice to have the whole family together, plus fiery B. I forced everyone to jump in the air for pictures because I read that it's a good way to spice up a group photo. I feel everyone was slightly annoyed, but these pictures will make me laugh forever.

My mom, sister, and I watched P.S. I Love You, and I'm not sure I have the words to aptly capture how much we hated this movie. Just when we thought it couldn't get any stupider or more unrealistic, it would. IT WAS BAD. I am still kind of in shock that it ever got made. I think we started hating it immediately when Hilary Swank's character complained about how small their apartment was and it was a big, lovely NY walk-up that was bigger than any apartment my NY friend ever lived in. I also hated: her fancy up-do for her husband's funeral [not really a spoiler; his death is basically the premise of the whole movie] and the way she went to bed after it in the most uncomfortable type of bra possible (corset) and sexy black panties. Who dresses like that for her husband's funeral? I hated ... everything about it. EVERYTHING. Except for the beauty of the Irish countryside. That was the only good thing about it. What a slog of a movie ... the worst I've seen in years. Possibly in my whole life.

Don't know what else to say. So ... pictures.

Superhero

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Thu, 08 May 2008 01:35:00 +0000

I've been reading Andrea's journal for a while now. I think I first discovered her site via link on Jessamyn's site. I don't know when I started reading, exactly, but her words and photographs have moved and inspired me from afar from a long time. Learning that she worked for Sark (with whom I was utterly obsessed in my late teens and early twenties, whose cards and books I bought and clung to like she was speaking to me) and is friends with the likes of the Weepies (whom I love so very much) just made me feel more awed by her.

I've also admired her necklaces for a long time, but I've never purchased one until recently. Though I love the look of the beaded necklaces on her models, I wasn't sure I had the style to pull one off.

When Andrea introduced the bullseye pendant recently, I knew I needed to have it. This was the necklace for me. So I ordered one.

My necklace arrived yesterday, and it's now hanging around my neck. And it felt so good to give myself this little gift, not only because it's a very cute and functional piece of jewelry that I can wear every day with basically any outfit, but because I feel like it has a special meaning. The word "superhero," engraved on the back of the necklace, thumps right along with my heartbeat, reminding me that I am strong and brave. It feels nice. Couldn't we all stand to feel a little more Super and a little more Heroic? I think so.

Weekend Update

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Mon, 05 May 2008 23:43:00 +0000

It was a jam-packed weekend to be sure. On Friday evening, B. and I headed out to celebrate the end of his finals with some of his school friends. We ate pizza and drank beer. Then we went to a foul, piss-smelling bar where he played pool and merriment was made. I headed home early while he deservingly partied the night away.

The next morning, I ... am drawing a blank. Oh yeah. I went to World Market to buy some bamboo shades for my back living room windows. I have some cute but flimsy white curtains in there, and now that every last tree that provided shade to the back of my house has been felled either by Katrina or a chainsaw, it gets full afternoon sun and causes my house to bake like an oven every single afternoon. I'm not sure how I feel about the shades, and I broke one of my dad's drill bits by trying to drill a hole in the window frame with the drill set in the wrong direction, but B. saved the day and now they're hanging sturdily and darkly. This does not solve the problem of the curtains I have hanging over my sliding glass door which, despite being think and sturdy and nice khaki Pottery Barn curtains, do zilch to block out the slammin' rays of the sun. But it's a start.

Then I went to class, where I had to walk out angrily and lie on a bench in the quad in the sun for a few minutes and talk to S. on the phone because I was so annoyed that people were going over the set 7-minute time limit for our presentations, like way over, like doubling that time and beyond, and it meant we would likely have to meet the following weekend. And I did not understand why this professor whom I like very much was not just shutting them the heck down. What is wrong with these people? I do not know. But because the last remaining people (myself included) speed-talked through ours, not bothering to fire up our powerpoints, we got done in time. So much for all that time spent on the powerpoint for nothing. I really need to relate, relax, and release over this and unclench. And I have. There. Done! Overall, I loved the class because I got to read and talk about YA literature which is one of my favorite things in life to do.

That evening, we ... I don't know why I am drawing such ferocious blanks on the whole weekend. What in God's name did we do? Oh yeah. We went to a crawfish boil with some of his school friends.

Then we went to a party with some of my school friends. It was great to see some people again I haven't seen all semester and lovely of my classmate to host it. Hi, classmate, if you're reading. I want that tomatilla salsa recipe.

We got up on Sunday morning and prepared to head out to Jazz Fest for our fourth year in a row, which is kind of mindboggling. I enjoyed snapping some photos on our walk through the neighborhood on our way in.

The thing about Jazz Fest is that it's really awesome but it's usually really hot. It's dirty, a lot of the people are annoying, and for every annoying person, there are dirty feet in flip flops. And yesterday all of those thousands and thousands of dirty feet surrounding me at every turn got to me. That and the heat. Other than that, I was glad to be there. The Raconteurs were great, even though I know none of their music. But Jack White is a real rock star and it was cool to be in his presence. Then we saw the Neville Brothers play together in New Orleans for the first time since Katrina, which was awesome. The announcer who introduced them talked about how the people of New Orleans are a family and how this was a big family reunion, and the people around us screamed and held their Miller Lite cans proudly up in the air in salute. Then we took our dirty, sweaty selves out of there. Before the Fest, we ate a very yummy lunch of salads and spicy tomato paste on pita triangles at Fellini's, where we hadn't been in ages, and that was lovely. B. and I sure have had some good meals together.

Speaking of meals, I stopped on the way home from work today to pick up some Thai food over which to enjoy last week's Battlestar Galactica. Unfortunately, the bag broke just as I exited the car in my driveway, and my food splattered on the concrete. Needless to say that is not where I wanted my food to end up. But I guess there's no sense crying over spilled cashew chicken. B. shared his red curry with me instead, and we just finished the episode. All I have to say is that this show just keeps getting weirder and weirder, and I love it.

Life is tiring sometimes, but I'm glad to be alive.

Avett Brothers!

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Thu, 01 May 2008 03:00:00 +0000

Alert. Bulletin. Alert.

Last night I saw the Avett Brothers in concert. ("Avett" rhymes with "pave it," not "have it.")

I am a relatively new fan. My friend Reid put a couple of their songs on a mix CD for me, and I loved them. So he made me a "best of" CD. Then B. gave me "Emotionalism" for my birthday. So I've been digging them for a little while, and I looked to see if they were on tour and by some miracle coming anywhere near here. And they were! And they did, last night.

I bought tickets for B. and me, not realizing he'd have a final the next day. So I brought my little brother instead, knowing he would be inspired musically. The show was set for 8:00, and I knew he had to leave by 9:30 for his own gig, but I figured he'd still see plenty of them.

Well, that was not to be. There was an opening act who was on for the nearly the whole first hour. Matt Butcher. He sang and played the guitar and harmonica and did a fine job and seemed like a nice person. But I don't stay up late, and I was starting to yawn a little bit. And it was no reflection on him; I'm just usually in bed with a book by around that time.

And then it was time for the Avett Brothers, and nothing I'd seen online or heard on CD prepared me for the show I saw last night.

Scott Avett came on stage at about 9:00. And he came out alone and he sang this song, "Murdered in the City." And his voice immediately filled the small theater and I saw my little brother sit up a little bit, like, "Huh," and my yawns ceased immediately. And then Seth Avett joined him, just like he does in that clip. And they sang this song about sharing a name and maybe that song is supposed be about husbands and wives or something, but to me in that moment, it was about mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers, and I was so glad to be sitting there next to mine. "Always remember there is nothing worth sharing like the love that let us share our name." SO! That was a poignant and great way to start the show.

I'm not exactly sure what came next. "Shame," maybe? Which is one of my favorites and it was unsurprisingly fantastic. My brother turned to me wide-eyed as the guys jumped around and sang beautifully and played masterfully and said as if awestruck, "I've never seen anything like this." I said, "I KNOW." Joining the brothers onstage were of course Brad Crawford on the upright bass and also Joe Kwan, who did things with a cello I did not think possible. Sadly, my brother had to leave 30 minutes into the set and I stayed by myself. This theater is small and sort of upscale, and people were sitting somewhat sedately even though clearly enjoying the show from their seats at this time. Not long thereafter, a very loud and bossy guy stood up and started rousing the crowd to get up. "COME ON, Y'ALL," he yelled in sputtering disbelief at the top of his lungs. "GET UP AND DANCE!" And that was all it took and the crowd was on its feet. I think this was during "Paranoia in B flat Major." And lo, it was so fun. And the next song was "Die, Die, Die," which was what I'd been waiting for. And it was great!

And the whole show was just so great. There was a buzz in the air. Somehow the band managed to be having so much fun while also being really serious and professional and it's hard to explain. Sweat was pouring down their faces and there was jumping up and down and the kicking of legs in the air and strings were popping all over the place and Joe Kwan was picking up his cello and playing it while swinging it around and people were dancing and clapping and it was just so damn joyous. Even when things went wrong, like feedback or whatever, if they couldn't get it just right, Scott Avett would shrug from the drumset and command, "Let's go with it!" Scott Avett = very in charge of the whole situation. ("More bass!" "More banjo, please!") By the time they got to "Salina," another of my favorites, and Seth Avett sat down at the grand piano to play the end of the song, tears were streaming down my face because the piano combined with the bass and the cello were so beautiful. That song is a beautiful piece work. DAMN, IT WAS AWESOME.

I can't remember the exact setlist, but they played a couple of brand new songs. One was "And It Spread." Which I loved. "When I Drink" was quiet and lovely and "The Weight of Lies" was lovely and powerful. They came out for an encore when the crowd would neither sit down nor shut up.

I don't really know what else to say. This band makes beautiful music. They are very intense on stage, whether intensely playful or intensely emotional or intensely energetic or just intensely ... intense. Their harmonies are amazing and their lyrics are awesome and they can rock their instruments like nobody's business. Banjoes make the world a better place when played by Scott Avett.

Their songs individually and their show as a whole somehow ran my heart and soul through the entire range of human emotion. I cannot explain it any better than that except to say that the top of my head was vibrating with joy the entire time, even when my heart felt like it was breaking. This morning, I was feeling weepy for other reasons and boo-hooing on the way to work, and "Shame" came on and I started cracking up laughing through my tears at the memory of how wonderful it was live onstage last night.

All I can say is LISTEN UP, AMERICA. They are on tour and they are probably coming near you. Chicago? Are you listening, Chicago? May 14. (The only one of you who is exempt from going is the one who might be giving birth right around that time.) Philly? Is that you? May 25. Alexandria? Yes, Alexandria. That means you, my sister and Elizabeth. And the list goes on and on. Just do yourself a favor and go! I don't care what kind of music you like. I can't imagine your not liking this music or not enjoying the living hell out of this band's show.

I'm so glad I went. I'm so glad I went. I'm so glad I went. You will be, too. I swear.

Fun Home

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 00:48:00 +0000

Boy howdy, but I've read some good books lately. First there was The Story of Forgetting, which I've already mentioned. And I just finished Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic by Alison Bechdel. Which I have to sincerely thank Leenie for recommending in a comments thread. It was -- wow. I don't even know where to start. It might be the best memoir I've ever read.

The way that Bechdel writes (and draws) the story of her childhood and the story of her family knocked my socks off. I felt my heart tightening the entire time with a sense of identification, not because my family or my life are anything like hers in any specific sense, but because she's that great kind of a writer that makes you feel that connection -- that intangible something that makes human beings feel connected to each other no matter how different they are. It gave me that feeling of I Am Nothing Like You, But I Am Just Like You, and How Did You Know How I Feel? And in addition to that nagging, longing feeling of identification and yes, yes, I understand this, the drawing and the words and how it all tied together between past and present and James Joyce and Colette and and Oscar Wilde -- it was just so damn masterful, heartbreaking, funny, and beautiful. See? Kind of hard to explain. But I loved it, and when I tried to start telling B. over sundried tomato pizza and pints of Blue Moon tonight how much I loved it, my eyes got teary and I couldn't find the words. Thank you again, Leenie.

The only other thing I have to say is that my Riggins shirt came in and I was a little excited about it.

Of late

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Sun, 20 Apr 2008 17:23:00 +0000

Of late:

1.) It was five years ago or so when I first became obsessed with the song "Better Things," and I thought I'd since found every cover out there. But I just discovered a new one! It's by the Bouncing Souls. And it is awesome.

2.) I was watching the behind the scenes features of Enchanted, and I learned that some of the older folks dancing in the "That's How You Know" number are old-school Disney movie dancers. They did an interview with one of the guys, and it turns out he was one of the chimney sweepers in Mary Poppins. Then they showed him as the chimney sweeper. And it warmed my heart more than I can even say.

3.) I just finished The Story of Forgetting by Stefan Merrill Block, and it was really good. Here's what it made me think about: memory in general and memories specifically, mothers and children, fathers and children, love and loss, life and death. What I want to look back on my life and remember when it's time for me to die. Heavy stuff, but good stuff. Things that are important to think about. On top of that, it's just a really good story. Impressive & highly recommended.

4.) Stefan Merrill Block is the roommate and best friend of my friend Annegrrl, whom I first met in the summer of 2000 and like to romp around lovingly with when visiting New York. And EXCUSE ME, but they are in today's New York MF-ing Times. I started screaming and jumping around the living room and called her immediately, which might not have been a sane reaction, but I couldn't help it. She seems to be handling this much more calmly than I am. She is too cool for school. Love that girl.

5.) B. and I watched Lars and the Real Girl last night, which I've been waiting and waiting to see. Basically, it confirmed for me that there is nothing Ryan Gosling cannot do. (Read a great review here that really captures the feeling of the film.) Somehow this movie about a real doll ended up a sweet-spirited fable about what it means to be a nice person and help to heal the inner wounds of our fellow human beings, no matter how bizarrely manifested those wounds may be. I'm not sure how this film pulled that off, but it did. I thought it was brilliantly done, and it made me laugh and broke my heart a little bit.

6.) It's a beautiful day. The windows are open. The cats are sitting in the windowsills. I wish I were at Earth Day, but I'm writing a paper. But that's okay. My brother and I are going to see Forgetting Sarah Marshall later, and I can't wait.

V to the Tenth

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Sun, 13 Apr 2008 13:47:00 +0000

Somehow I did not learn about V to the Tenth until earlier this week. Either the local press was late in covering the upcoming event or I was just oblivious. Either way, around mid-week, I started seeing notices of the night pop up, and I knew that I needed to go. My girlfriend and I left boyfriend, husband, children, pets, homework, and housework behind and fled for the big city about 5:30.

Background: My sister and I went to see The Vagina Monologues in New Orleans years ago -- maybe 1999 or 2000? -- not sure, and I went to see it a few years ago here. Both time were great experiences, and when I had to choose a "tough cookie" on whom to do a major project for a class a few years ago, I chose Eve Ensler. So I'm pretty familiar with the show and even own it on audio CD. It was clear that I needed to be present at this event, even if it meant sitting five rows from the very tippy top of the Arena (which we did). We sat back with our shared hurricane daiquiri and chicken sandwiches and fries and prepared to relax and enjoy the show.

Let me get the negatives out of the way first: I know I let this sort of thing get to me too much, and I feel almost disloyal saying this about a fellow woman while at a pro-woman event of this magnitude, but there was a row of twenty-something women dressed to the nines as if going out for a night with Carrie, Samantha, Amanda, and Charlotte who were very loud when they came in, very loud as they crossed over us multiple times, very loud as some of them moved to the row behind us, and just ... loud. I really hoped they would settle down and settle in once the show started -- but they didn't. One woman in particular who was sitting behind us decided that she needed to take the thoughts in her head and speak them aloud in reaction to the show. Not quietly, not under her breath, not whispered carefully into the ear of her friend next to her -- but out loud. At full volume. When Doris Roberts (the grandma on Everybody Loves Raymond) and Didi Conn (YES, FRENCHIE) were doing the "down there" monologue and said something about things being noisy "down there," this woman said, "Are they talking about ____-ing?" (Rhymes with leafing.) When they said something about the smell "down there," she said, "Mine smells like oranges!" After each of these comments, I would turn around and shoot her a death glare, but it had no effect. When Christine Lahti (CHRISTINE LAHTI!) delivered the "hair" monologue, the woman shared with us that hers is shaved. When Kerri Washington performed the monologue about Bob, the man who likes to look, when Washington was describing how Bob liked to sit in the shade in the summer and wore beige clothes, the woman's friend turned around to her and said, "Bob is SUSPECT," I don't even know what that means. Then when Washington was describing how Bob looked at it for an hour, my favorite person behind me said, "He'd better be doing something else while he's down there for so long!" Death glare after death glare -- nothing. Then the amazing Charmaine Neville came on and gave a little personal speech before performing "Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans?" and wondered aloud what happened to the people in her neighborhood. She said that she wondered what happened to the German woman who would come sit on her front porch and drink coffee with her so they could "talk about people." About the boy who would ride by every day and tease her dog. About the Vietnamese family who ran the corner grocery store. My friend behind me said loudly and indignantly, "Um -- stereotyping??" And Charmaine wondered what happened to the Chinese family who ran her dry cleaners. "I am getting offended!" Said the genius behind me who clearly did not stop and think that these were actually real families in New Orleans? Hello? Then she continued, "What's next? Is she going to ask what happened to Apu?" That's when I turned to my friend and said, "Get up! We're moving." So she grabbed her purse and we hustled to some empty seats in the adjacent section. And from then on, the evening was smooth sailing of normal people who don't do anything in the audience but laugh and cry and applaud in the right places.

Highlights: Rosario Dawson & and an Eastern European actress performing the one about the young woman and violence in her village, who explained that the woman who told Ensler that story and on whom the monologue is based was in the audience. Seeing Amber Tamblyn come onstage, not knowing she would be there, and thinking in my head, "OMG Joan Girardi, OMG Joan Girardi, OMG, OMG." Hearing the insane reaction of the audience to the entrance of Jennifer Beals, who, along with Alex Hedison, Ilene Chaiken, and Daniela Sea (The L Word), was hilarious in the monologue about moaning. (Jennifer Beals is really as beautiful in real life as she is as Bette Porter, if that is humanly possible.) It was neat to see Jennifer Hudson, who looked great. She performed a monologue about loving being a girl. And I feel like she had the potential to BE great, but she held her cards so closely up to her nose that I wondered if she had not practiced at all? It was kind of weird. The other actresses had cards, but they only glanced at them sometimes and did not read straight off of them. Oh Jennifer Hudson. I know you have it in you! And Jane Fonda, the amazing Jane Fonda, who was the only person (I think) besides Ensler in the opening "I am worried about vaginas" monologue who went off-book. Not a card in her hand had Jane Fonda for "I Was There in the Room," probably my favorite of all of the classic vagina monologues. In case you don't know, this monologue was written about Eve Ensler being present in the room when the wife of her stepson, Dylan McDermott, gave birth. More on him later!

Now it is time to talk about Liz Mikel, otherwise known as Smash's mom on Friday Night Lights. I have been known to say when watching that show, "This episode could use some more Mama Smash." Which any episode of any show could, frankly. She is always wonderful on the show -- strong and tender and fierce all at the same time. I saw her walking in with the little parade of stars and I got very excited. She performed the "my vagina is angry" monologue, and it was funny and fantastic. I was so proud of Mama Smash and thought she was such a great addition to the night.

Meanwhile, I'd read that Oprah was going to be there to perform a new monologue that Ensler wrote in honor of women affected by Katrina. And sure, I was excited to see Oprah. Oprah is an event unto herself, you know? So when Liz Mikel came back to the stage late in the evening following an amazing gospel choir (Lois DeJean and the Voices of New Orleans) and said this was a new monologue in honor of a New Orleans woman named Patricia Henry, I wondered, "Hm. Isn't this the one Oprah was going to do?" But the thought left my head when Liz Mikel started performing this monologue. She had cards, sure, but she barely glanced at them. She embodied the spirit of this woman with her full mind, body, soul, and spirit. She was soft in the right places, mighty in the right places, angry in the right places, and so forth. It was called "Hey, Miss Pat!" and she told of the people who would come by and say that and ask her what she was cooking that day. And she talked about all of these people who were lost in or damaged by the storm. And I don't really know what to say other than when Ensler is good, she is great, and that Liz Mikel was unbelievable. By the time she was done, she was crying, and Ensler ran to the stage and embraced her, and then Ensler, whilst basically sobbing, called the real Patricia Henry to the stage, so she was escorted up there, and she was crying, and she and Liz Mikel held each other and rocked back and forth and wept, and Liz Mikel said, "God bless you, God bless you," and we were all on our feet and tears were streaming down thousands of faces, and it was just one of those transcendent moments in theater and in life.

A few minutes later, Eve Ensler, still totally overjoyed and overcome by Mikel's performance and the whole beautiful scene, said, "I guess you've figured out that Oprah couldn't here tonight," and she explained that Oprah was sick, and continued, "But I think we can all agree that seeing Liz Mikel was such a gift," and said something about how some things happen for a reason and we just have to let ourselves be carried by however the wind blows. And I mean, it was clear to her and to everyone, I would think, that there is no way that Oprah's performance would have been nearly as extraordinary as Liz Mikel's and that we were blessed to have experienced it. Right? Not long after, we decided to start making our way down to the car as Ensler was wrapping things up, and some people were clearly not as blissed out and zen about the whole thing as I was, because people were PISSSED about Oprah and about not being told until the very end. Which my sister assures me was a very reasonable reaction on their part, and maybe I am just so blindly in love with Mama Smash that I could not be fazed by Oprah's absence. Anyway.

And now for our up close and personal celebrity spotting of the night! As we neared the exit doors, out of the corner of my eye I noticed Dylan McDermott in jeans, a black leather jacket, and black Chuck Taylor sneakers hurriedly making his way to the door beside ours, and I crammed my mouth into my friend's ear and said, "Look to your right, RIGHT NOW," and she did, and her eyes flew wide open and we exited beside him as he totally speed-walked to wherever he was going, I guess to avoid being recognized (sort of funny considering how much, much bigger stars were there, but I guess they were not Among The Common People like he was for some reason), and he was very handsome if a little shorter than I imagined, and I thought for a fleeting moment about how I like him best as Leo Fish in Home for the Holidays. And he was holding the hand of a young girl with long hair whom I suspect was the girl whose birth inspired "I Was There in the Room," and I wondered how it must feel for her to hear something like that being performed by Jane Fonda, to hear about herself -- "first the little head, then the gray flopping arm, then the fast swimming body, swimming quickly into our weeping arms" -- and it was a nice, sort of mind-blowing, full-circle way to end the evening.

It was wonderful, and it was wonderful to spend an evening with my friend, and it was wonderful to be there, and I'm so very, very glad we went.

Getting graphic

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Thu, 03 Apr 2008 23:23:00 +0000

For a few months last year, I really loved going to the CLASS. It was called the CLASS in my mind because regular lowercased letters did not do justice to it. I loved the teacher, I loved the crowd, I loved the volume, I just loved it. Even though it was really hard and hurt a lot, I loved it. Looking back, I don't even know why I stopped going. I wish I hadn't. Anyway. Bygones.

So the other night a few girlfriends (one CLASS veteran, one newbie) and I decided to go back to CLASS. We knew it was a new teacher and were sort of sad about that in advance, but we had no idea that the CLASS would turn out to be the class. Instead of using the whole gym with 12 stations of 10-12 people apiece, only half the gym was used, with only 7 stations, with only 4 folks max per station. Where did all the people go? I guess they left when the teacher did.

The new teacher was perfectly fine in that he was superfit and pushed the group hard and all, but he did not tell randomly yell out, "LOVE YOURSELF!" or give us sweaty high fives when it looked like we might fall over and collapse. He just did not inspire the passion or the self-love that the other teacher did. He also wanted us to do lunges in a giant circle around the 1/2-gym with no alternative exercise, which I think is ridiculous. Part of what is awesome about the concept of this CLASS is that if you can't do what someone else is doing, you can always modify whatever equipment you're using (mat, bike, jump rope, bosu ball, whatever that heavy basketball thing is, those stretchy ropes, the heavy bars, I don't know the names of anything) to suit your own fitness level. I could not do all those lunges without my knees feeling like they were going to explode, so I would just go get water. Which kind of broke the spell and took me out of the moment. Anyway, it was very disappointing.

I did some Googling and found that the old teacher has started his own gym! Good for him, but it's kind of far away. Not so far that I might not try to go some time, though, just because that is how great of a teacher he is. OH, CLASS.

Meanwhile, because I am a nerd, I've decided to try to read some graphic novels in advance of the course I'm thinking of taking this summer. Let me preface this by saying that I've only ever read Persepolis and its sequel and the two Maus books and Autobiography of My Dead Brother, so I'm not exactly an expert of the genre.

First up was Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid on Earth because (a) it's one of the required books and (b) B. said it's awesome. And I have to tell you, that upon starting this book, I hated it. I hated it loudly. "This book is terrible!" I complained. B. told me to stick with it. But I had no idea what was going on, who was who, and when things were taking place, and what was real and what was imagined. Fed up, I went online to read a little about it. First, I saw that it has won multiple awards. Second, I read this, which said, in part, "Some pieces of art, literature and music survive into the decades and centuries to come. Among the bits of 20th-century knowledge that may make the leap are two collections of cartoons. One is Art Spiegelman's 'Maus,' a breathtakingly engaging and nuanced cartoon document of the Holocaust. Chris Ware's 'Jimmy Corrigan' is the other." Now, like I said, I haven't read many graphic novels, but the Maus books are beautiful, powerful, devastating, incredible works of art that I will carry in my heart for the rest of my life. So for someone to put Jimmy Corrigan in the same category made me think that maybe I needed to give this book a real chance.

And I'm very glad I did. Once I gathered from a few reviews that the book skipped around between generations and time periods and characters, I was able to understand who was who and when was when. I stopped and read the author's note in the back cover about his relationship with is father, or lack thereof I should say, and it added a whole level of sadness to the whole book as I read it. I stopped being frustrated and confused and realized I was reading something special, and I finished the book last night and plan to go back and re-read the first half. It's such a painful book, but it's so beautifully done. So, thumbs up. Difficult, kind of, but very good. It occurs to me now that both of these stories -- Maus and Jimmy Corrigan -- are about fathers and sons. Interesting. I had to get the latter via interlibrary loan because neither the public library nor the university library has it. Which is quite frankly bizarre considering that even though I'm new at this, I kind of don't see how a proper graphic novel collection is complete without it.

Today I tackled another of the required books, my first Manga. And based on how much I liked it, I hope it's my last. Oh My Goddess! Wrong Number. What? Why? No. It was not interesting, it was not compelling, and frankly it was sort of a spin on the whole male fantasy of a subservient female who, due to a magic spell, literally cannot leave his side and does things to save him, protect him, please him, and barf. I suppose it's possible that the (male) author was being ironic, but it doesn't really come across that way. Not that the male character really LIKES being waited on and tended to because gee whiz, she's such a trouble maker (see: Jeannie, Samantha Stevens, etc.) and she's so exasperating when trying to please him! But he is definitely sexually attracted to her and wants to sleep with her. And overall, I just found the whole thing annoying and gross. Maybe I just don't know enough about Manga to get what it's all about. But it was certainly no Jimmy Corrigan. And now I need to figure out what to read next.

What are your favorite graphic novels?

Things Worth Doing, 26-50

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Thu, 03 Apr 2008 00:57:00 +0000

26. Watching my older brother shoot free throws.
27. Tubing down Boulder Creek.
28. Canoeing down Green River in North Carolina.
29. Lying on the new Pier One throw rug in the living room of my first apartment on the first night.
30. Walking the dogs after work around my neighborhood with my mom.
31. Sparklers and toasts to new beginnings with friends in the backyard.
32. Sneaking out to Sliding Rock at night to bid a new friend farewell.
33. Riding on the back of a motorcycle through New Orleans City Park.
34. Moonlight canoe trips in the swamp.
35. The first time I saw the Indigo Girls in concert, skipping school with friends one Jazz Fest afternoon in 1993.
36. Floating on rafts in the Gulf of Mexico with friends one spring break, counting the fish.
37. Going to Thursday gumbo lunches at Piccadilly with my grandfather.
38. Riding home with Daisy on a towel in my lap after deciding on the spot that she was the dog I was taking home.
39. Seeing the egrets on the trees at sunset while running around the lakes.
40. Watching a flock of big white pelicans take flight.
41. Drinking sazeracs on the porch of the Columns Hotel in New Orleans.
42. Seeing my little brother take second place on ESPN 2.
43. Reading what my students wrote in my yearbook.
44. Hearing my sister sing to me from an iPod on speakers from across the country at my karaoke birthday party.
45. Watching my friend's four-year-old daughter belt out "Tomorrow," arms flung wide, while standing on top of her backyard slide.
46. Hearing Better Things in the middle of the night in a sweaty French Quarter Bar at the last "secret" Counting Crows Shim Sham show and feeling like it was being sung directly to me.
47. Putting my head down on my desk and laughing when one of my favorite students called out, "Stick a fork in him! He's done," when Romeo killed himself.
48. Sitting in the booth with my dad.
49. Replanting my front flower bed with my mom.
50. Driving down River Road at night in high school with cigarettes, friends, and songs.

(Inspired by Maggie of Mighty Girl.)

100 Things Worth Doing: 1-25

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Tue, 01 Apr 2008 01:03:00 +0000

This entry and others like it to come = 100% inspired by Maggie of Mighty Girl. I loved her idea of making a list of some of life's most special and memorable moments, and I like the idea of holding onto these memories when life seems mundane, hard, or sad. Andrea wrote recently that she heard Elizabeth Gilbert tell a story whose moral was not the message we usually hear -- that we should live in the moment -- but that "the key to a happy life is about having great memories to look back on and great things to look forward to. So take lots of pictures and make lots of plans!" I loved reading that, and it tied into the idea of making this list. So thanks and all credit to Maggie & Andrea for the inspiration.

1. Sledding down a wildflower-covered hill on the Sound of Music tour in Austria.
2. Wandering around Boboli Gardens in Florence.
3. Seeing Paris at night from the top of the Eiffel Tower with my sister.
4. Running the last mile of the half-marathon knowing I would make it to the finish.
5. Walking along the Seine all by myself eating a pain au chocolat on my first day in Paris.
6. Hiking up to the top of Black Balsam and seeing the cloudshadows floating over the hilltops.
7. Hiking through Rocky Mountain National Park.
8. Walking a golden retriever through Chatauqua Park in Boulder.
9. Seeing the view of the snow-covered Alps from the fortress in Salzburg.
10. Walking along the pastel rainbow-colored buildings in Campeche.
11. Braving the bumpy roads to Monteverde.
12. Sitting a hot springs mineral pool in Arenal.
13. Walking through the butterfly garden at the Peace Lodge in Costa Rica.
14. Stirring the makings of peanut butter fudge under my grandmother's watchful eye.
15. Spending the night on a freezing sidewalk in New York and seeing Rent in its first year from the front row.
16. Piling on the bed for a nighttime song with the girls in my cabin at summer camp in the Blue Ridge Mountains.
17. Attending national championship college football games and being a part of a joyful crowd upon winning.
18. Dipping beignet fingers in mugs of half hot chocolate / half cafe au lait.
19. Riding a horse around the base of a volcano in the rainforest.
20. Hearing Anne Lamott speak at a Baptist church on St. Charles Avenue.
21. Driving an empty Friendship Boat across Epcot's World Showcase Lagoon at midnight.
22. Singing with my high school choir in Carnegie Hall.
23. Seeing the protesters lining the sidewalk in front of the White House during the first Gulf War.
24. Building drip sand castles on the beach.
25. Watching my friend's babies being born.

Misc.

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Sun, 30 Mar 2008 13:01:00 +0000

Recently, B. and I were in my car, riding along behind a van with a bumper sticker on it that said, "I'd rather be in Puerto Vallarta." I said, "That guy'd rather be in Puerto Vallarta." B. said, "Where is Puerto Vallarta?" And said he thought it was near Baja or something.

I thought silently to myself, "They used to go to Puerto Vallarta on The Love Boat a lot." A beat later, B. said, "They used to go to Puerto Vallarta on The Love Boat a lot."

Battlestar Galactica: The Phenomenon is one of the more enjoyable things I've watched lately. I happened to flip to it and was so pleasantly surprised to see very random celebrities talking about their love of the show -- really their obsession with it. S. Epatha Merkerson? Check. Jesse L. Martin? Check. Brad Paisley? (??) Check. The guy from Anthrax? Check. Joss Whedon? Of course and check. And these aren't just casual fans -- these are people who truly know the show and love the show. And it was all edited together very brilliantly. FANTASTIC.

This guy takes beautiful photographs.

What else? Friday night: crawfish boil with B.'s school peeps. Last night: art show & ice cream. Today: a one-year-old's birthday party.

I'm thinking of taking a graphic novels course. It's a seven-week course, and in addition to other assignments like a paper and a presentation and an evaluation of a collection, it requires the reading of 10 books per week for a total of 70 books. Is this insane? 70 books in seven weeks? Can someone please tell me if this is even humanly possible? I checked out a few of the required books (the professor picks 10, we pick the other 60) yesterday -- the only ones the library had -- The Sandman: Preludes & Nocturnses by Neil Gaiman, The Originals by Dave Gibbons, Out from Boneville by Chris Ware, and Oh My Goddess (volume one) by Kosuke Fujishima. Where in this town are the students supposed to round up 70 graphic novels apiece? I'd like to think libraries but I don't really see that as feasible, and I don't really want to buy all those books. Still -- I see it as kind of a sick and sadistic challenge, and I'll probably try to do it.

One year

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 17:17:00 +0000

One year ago today, my godchild was born. I met her a few minutes after that:

And what a year it has been! It is fun to be a godmother.

Here are some things I will remember about her first year: her baptism, carrying her in her sling through Whole Foods when she was still tiny, the day we went to the fair and sat in the grass, pushing her in her stroller on a walk around the block, seeing her clap, seeing her wave, watching her try to crawl, holding her hands as she took steps, and pushing her in her swing.

Easter feaster

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Sun, 23 Mar 2008 22:07:00 +0000

For Easter lunch my mom made crawfish fettucini, dirty rice, cabbage crunch salad, a ham, a turkey, ice cream dessert, rolls, and apple pie. I can't decide if it was over-the-top excessive or just right. I think just right.

On Friday night, B. and I attended a bowling birthday party for a friend. After another 70-hour work week (not complaining; many of my colleagues worked possibly twice that), I was a little delirious and did not get too into the bowling revelry. I contemplated posting a video B. took of me taking a turn but I might be just a little too proud for that as my technique is rather spastic. I saw some school pals there, which was a nice surprise.

Yesterday, we woke up early and went to the farmer's market. We bought grapefruit and cranberry cream scones and brussel sprouts and peanut butter fudge. I tried to nap but it was futile, as usual. I went to my friend M.'s house for a little while to hang out with her and her girls. The Annie soundtrack reigned supreme as usual lately. B. and I got sushi take-out for dinner and watched Michael Clayton, which was better than I thought it would be.

I've been watching a lot of behind the scenes features on the Across the Universe DVD, and the more I delve into this movie, the more I like it.

This morning, I was being lazy and watching The Goonies before we went to lunch. Of course I have seen it one billion times and own it on DVD and loved it so much as a child I used to dream about it, but that doesn't mean I won't stop flipping and watch it if it's on TV. Anyway, I understand that at the beginning all of the kids have their backs turned or are distracted when the Fratelli chase is going on so nobody will believe Chunk at first when he tells them about it. But I don't understand what the giant vat of water is that Martha Plimpton is sticking her head into to cool off. What is that about? It certainly doesn't look very clean. Mystery. Okay -- according to this version of the script: "Stefanie, known to her friends as Stef, is at the docks. The chase passes behind her while her head is immersed in a fishing barrel. She surfaces with a crab in hand and tosses it aside, oblivious to the commotion. " -- but why would she be sticking her head in a fishing barrel? Can someone please explain this to me?

I watched Barack Obama's speech of this week this morning. I had tears streaming down my face for approximately 35 of the 38 minutes. I tried to bring it up at Easter lunch but my mom said even though she heard me and understands that it was a great speech. I feel like maybe she buys into the idea that he's a great speaker, but so what? I tried to explain that reading his first book really showed me what's behind the great speeches and how much more deeply I understand where he's coming from now. She said a lot of people don't understand why he would stick with that preacher for the past 20 years if he disagreed with him so much. She wasn't saying she thought that; she was saying a lot of people are saying that. I was so out of everything happening in the world because I was working so much that I haven't really heard the reactions. I didn't know what to say, so I just said, "People are complicated." She thinks it's really going to hurt his campaign. My dad said he doesn't think it will have as much of an effect as she does. He thinks Obama will get the nomination. Both said they don't know if he can win. It was kind of baffling. My dad is careful not to say too much, I think, because I think they get that I love him. I guess I just don't understand how my mom of all people doesn't understand why Obama would not want to stick with someone who helped to bring him to his Christian faith and in whose church he was literally converted even though sometimes he says fucked up things. I just do not know. It's sort of confusing to me. I love my mom and want to understand where she's coming from.

It makes me sad to think about it, so I think I'm going to eat another piece of peanut butter fudge.

Update

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 04:03:00 +0000

Ah, sweet blessed hay fever. The prickly eyes, the nose on fire, what a joy!

Update, update, update. On Friday night, I tried to overcome some of my hermit tendencies by attending a backyard happy hour. I drank 2 beers, and it was pleasant. I had to dash off for a semi-fancy pants party that was basically at a mansion because apparently lawyers make lots and lots of money. It was fun except for getting bitten by mosquitoes, although they did not ravage me as ferociously as usual. On Saturday, I took a mid-term first thing in the morning and fled my fun-filled neighborhood, exploding with green beer and beads, for the office, which was more than a little depressing. But those are the breaks! When I got off of work, I went to my friend’s house and was very entertained by her daughter singing the entire score of Annie while standing on top of her slide. Unfortunately this occurred in the backyard, which I think sent my hay fever over the deep end to depths from which I have yet to recover. B. and I met them later that night for Mexican food, where I ate a crawfish and onion quesadilla and drank a raspberry margarita so potent that I basically ended up in my friend’s lap telling her how much I loved her.

On Sunday, I went to the outlet mall with my mother, which is always fun. As usual, we listened to showtunes en route. She steered me directly to Kasper, where surprisingly a lot of really cute stuff was on sale. I cannot even tell you how many work clothes I was able to rake in for $250. The most I paid for a single item was $25 for suit blazers. Skirts – like, really fancy skirts that go with nice suits – were anywhere from $5 to $15. It was a beautiful thing! I will now feel like much less of a slob when it comes time to dress up at work. It was nice to spend some QT with her.

That evening, B. and I defrosted some vaguely disgusting lentil/brown rice concoction I made a few weeks ago and cooked some fresh asparagus and watched The Darjeeling Limited, which I thought was a total delight. And I finished re-reading Deerskin, which remains awesome. This is still my favorite part:

"Don't be too hard on yourself," said the Moonwoman, reading her mind, or the black and white shadows on her own face. "It is a much more straightforward thing to be a dog, and a dog's love, once given, is not reconsidered; it just is, like sunlight or mountains. It is for human beings to see the shadows beyond the light, and the light behind the shadows. It is, perhaps, why dogs have people, and people have dogs. But, my dear, my poor child, don't you understand that healing carries its own responsibilities? ... But you have not accepted your own gift to yourself, your gift of your own life. Ash is looking forward to running through meadows again; can you not give yourself leave to run through meadows too?"

I can’t believe Easter is this coming weekend and that I am both working and going bowling on Good Friday. I remember how we were never allowed to watch TV on Good Friday but our grandmother was allowed to watch The Young and the Restless and Jeopardy and it seemed so unfair.

Working a lot this week. Trying to accept the gift of my own life. I probably won't get the chance to run through any damn meadows, but I am looking forward to breathing in some fresh air this weekend.

Updatin'

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Wed, 12 Mar 2008 00:52:00 +0000

Taking a moment to take a moment. I want to write down what's been going on lately or I will forget.

On Friday evening, B. and I tried a new restaurant in the crazy new living / shopping / dining compound that feels like something out of a cartoon. I had two strawberry lagers and crunchy rolls and edamame and miso soup because that is what makes me happy no matter what kind of sushi restaurant I'm in, and he had some kind of pasta with pesto and chicken and andouille sausage. Honestly, the avocado eggrolls with the honey cilantro dipping sauce might have been the best part. Also, it was freakishly cold that night.

I was a good student all day Saturday and headed out that night for an engagement supper for my co-worker's son. It is strange to go to weddings and wedding-related events for people when you don't really know them but know their parents. I've always felt very firmly that weddings should be about the couple's friends and not the parents', but I know that's not the way it is in real life sometimes. I love my co-worker a lot, so I went, and it was at a VERY FANCY HOUSE that felt like something out of a very classy episode of Cribs and I definitely enjoyed the wine, fried zucchini, pasta, salad, and bread pudding with bourbon sauce and visiting with co-workers/friends.

Sunday is a blur ... Sunday, Sunday. Oh yeah! I had a late morning coffee with my old friend Herpreet, and we had a great visit. She gave me a 33rd birthday gift that made me cry into my hazelnut latte right there on the patio. Sometimes it is very strange to think that I have now known people for longer than I was alive when I met them, and that applies not only to elementary school friends now but high school friends. Life is going by really quickly but I steel myself against panicking about it on a daily basis.

As for entertainment, I am loving Book of a Thousand Days by Shannon Hale, which is no surprise considering that I also loved The Goose Girl and Enna Burning. I have The Darjeeling Limited and Romance and Cigarettes from Netflix, but there's no telling when they'll actually be watched.

Work is hard, I might fail one of my midterms, and my house is DIRTY. But azaleas are blooming everywhere around me, and somehow that makes it all okay.

If you look to the sky

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Thu, 06 Mar 2008 02:40:00 +0000

There's a man all alone
Telling me his friends are gone
That they've died and flown away
So I told him he was wrong
That your friends are never gone
If you look to the sky and pray

--"Cannonball"

Giant beds of flowers are being planted all over town. Signs of spring are everywhere and mean everything.

I love Brandi Carlile so much that is starting to become ridiculous. I just had to turn off the hairdryer because I was listening to "Cannonball" really loud and I had to take a moment to cry. Brandi Carlile's music makes me fill up with feeling until it overflows while I am trying to dry my goddamn hair.

Pizza and wine with a school pal tonight. New pals, old pals. Pals are important.

Marley is watching a mosquito bounce on the ceiling with crazily good eyesight.

Not sure what else to say. Trying to drown out worries about work and homework and the flies that seem to be swarming from our drains and the fact that my front yard and sidewalk have been destroyed by a sewer line repair, and sure, it's only grass, but I was quite fond of that grass, and pull in towards me only what is important and what matters. I'm frozen in my bed till the day comes around, how I'm lost, how I'm found. I miss my sister. I miss my friend in Hawaii! I am depressed about knowing that as of next week, barring some emergency, I will not be able to take a single day, hour, or minute off of work until July and then July is going to turn around and be crazy at work in a whole different way so Lord knows when vacation can occur??? I am emotional. My sweatshirt that I've had since senior year of high school and is in remarkably great shape smells like marinara sauce, like my clothes used to smell when I would come home from the restaurant I where I worked in college. It's very weird how many memories can be dredged up by the smell of marinara sauce mixed with clothes. WEIRD. I'm feeling groggy and wondering how my friend is functioning having not gotten a full night's sleep in basically a year. I just don't know how she does it and I think she must be fueled by the blue eyes and smile of her nocturnal baby and the hilariousness of her four-year-old. I wonder how people function in general. Truly? How does the world keep spinning? Jim Sturgess is in a new movie with an American accent, and the trailer startled me because I expected him to sound like Jude and start singing in the aisles of a bowling alley.

I think I'm going to bed to read Dreams from My Father. Clearly I'm in no shape for coherence.

33

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 00:00:00 +0000

I had a nice 33rd birthday. It started with a nice card from B. and some calls from people singing to me. We had cake and ice cream at work, and B. and I went out for Thai food and he gave me some lovely gifts. Then we watched Lost, during which I had to start crying near the end of the episode.

The next night, I gathered with friends and family in the private room of a Thai restaurant for a karaoke birthday party I decided to throw for myself. I am not really sure what came over me or possessed me to do this. I am more and more introverted the older I get, and I don't gather with large groups of friends very often anymore. But I decided to say "what the hell" and go for it. My parents came, as did my brother. Frankly, any party where most or all of my family can't come is not a party of mine I want to have. And lots of friends, some of whom I hadn't seen in a while. I had no idea if anyone would get up and sing, but 99% did. I kicked things off with "I Believe in a Thing Called Love" by The Darkness. My mom's jaw hit the floor because normally I'm quite stage fright-y about such things. My dad sang "By the Time I Get to Phoenix." B. sang "Summer Wind." M. sang "Behind These Hazel Eyes" and some Hall & Oates song. My brother sang some Air Supply song. I mean, the songs just ran the gamut, and people seemed to have a lot of fun singing them. There was lots of merriment all around, and I shocked myself by actually relaxing and enjoying the whole thing after a few hand-wringing moments of needless anxiety. My brother even figured out some way to set up his iPod on some speakers and play a recording of my sister playing and singing a personalized, re-written version of Ingrid Michaelson's "The Way I Am," which warmed my heart to no damn end.

The next night, B. and I sat down with Italian take-out and watched Gone Baby Gone, which I enjoyed very much. It was great to see Michelle Monaghan again, whom I loved so much in Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang.

Yesterday, I did homework and spent a little time at the park with M. and her girls. My godchild is going to walk any day now, I can feel it. She pulled lots of sand determinedly and ferociously into her diaper. And the four-year-old sang "Tomorrow" at the top of her lungs while swinging, which is always a good way to have one's spirit lifted, and we all drank Icees for the second day in a row.

B.'s mom sent me a basket of four beautiful plants for my birthday. I bought some new pots and some potting soil and potted them yesterday. They are really brightening up the house. It had been so long since I put my hands in dirt, and it felt really good. I hope I keep them alive.

I have high hopes for 33.

OMG, BUBLE

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Wed, 27 Feb 2008 21:55:00 +0000

I cannot explain my thoughts about Michael Buble without prefacing with a little about my feelings about Harry Connick, Jr. Basically, I fell in love with Harry in 1989 at the age of 14. I first saw him in concert in the fall of 1990, and I still have my t-shirt from that show. The back was eaten through with holes by silverfish, and I still wear it sometimes to sleep. It is soft and thin and has his face on the front and the tour cities on the back. I bought every album he ever made until a few years ago, and I saw him in concert after that first time more times than I can honestly count. I saw him perform in big venues, small venues, and the Angola prison yard. I have loved him for approximately the past two decades of my life. It was Harry who taught me the great standards sung in past generations by Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole, and so forth and inspired me to buy those albums, too. Basically, it was Harry who made me fell in love with the idea of someone crooning in front of a big band, and it's Harry who has always represented that kind of music for me.

So a few years ago, I guess 2004 or so? I went home with my friend K. to her parents' house in Lakeview for a party. Her mom was watching a DVD of some dude named Michael Buble and going on and on about how awesome he was. I was like, who is this Buble and who does he think he is? Harry Connick, Jr. hadn't been making his big band albums for a long time, of course, but in my mind, he was the modern embodiment of this music and no one else needed to bother to come along and do the same kind of thing. That was my first knowledge of Buble. A few years later, after K.'s parents lost their house and their business in Lakeview, along with her brother and his family, something inspired K. to make me copies of Buble's first two albums for me. She'd already seen him in concert a few times by then and basically insisted. I don't really remember what made me have a change of heart, but I've basically worn out those albums by now, and she gave me his most recent one for Christmas. When she invited me to come to his show last night with her and her mom and some of their old Lakeview neighbors who also lost everything, I said sure.

And I'm so glad I did. I owe my pal K. big for the invitation. We went out to dinner across the street from their old neighbor's new Warehouse District loft, which is completely awesome, but not awesome enough to keep her from wanting to rebuild in Lakeview as soon as possible. She is 74 years old. Much of the dinner conversation was peppered with talk about their neighborhood, their neighbors, things that were lost in the storm (the Buble DVD, for one), their new lives.

Highlights of the Buble concert:

We were at a vantage point where we were able to see him sneak into a floor seat, largely undetected, in a t-shirt, jeans, and baseball cap, to watch the opening band, Naturally 7. Everyone seemed very oblivious to this, but K. has Buble Radar, apparently. Three young teenaged girls noticed him eventually, as they were sitting right behind him, and did not hesitate to grab him around the neck and hug him with all their might. The silver-haired gentleman next to him eventually noticed, too, and shook his hand, but it was all very discreet. Three very hot girls in front of him noticed and took pictures of him with their camera phones. No one else really noticed, but that was enough for him and he went back to sit on a stool on the floor below the side of the stage, ducking as far out of sight as possible.

Early after exploding onto the stage for his first song, "I'm Your Man," he greeted the audience and gushed about his love for the Mother's po-boys he'd had earlier that day and welcomed his waitresses, whom he'd invited and who screamed and waved from their floor seats.

He interacted with the audience time after time, holding the microphone down for the crowd to sing along. I honestly don't know that I've ever been to a concert when the performer bent so far over backwards to include the crowd.

He seemed genuinely amazed that the last time he played in New Orleans, a month before Katrina, there were 1,100 people there, and now there were nearly 10,000. It's not that surprising to me considering he's about 10 times more famous now than he was then, but he seemed blown away that this had happened in New Orleans. He dedicated "Home" to the audience and the people of New Orleans, and immediately thousands of women reached for Kleenex in their purses. A few lines into the song, an image of an old Bourbon Street sign faded up on the giant video screens, and people clapped and cheered. The video reel of New Orleans images continued as he sang and people wept and embraced, and a shot of two big LSU flags hanging from a French Quarter balcony rail appeared, and the Arena full of very emotional people went completely bananas. It was somewhat awesome.

I already knew that Buble could clearly sing and had a great voice, but I had no idea that he is such a showman. If he does not have the absolute time of his life performing on stage, then he is the best faker I've ever seen. He oozed charisma and enthusiasm from every molecule in his body, from the tips of every hair on his head to the tips of his toes. It was a polished show, sure, as anything on a tour of this magnitude is, but it was never slick. You can't fake that kind of sincerity and joy and spontaneity onstage. At least that's what I choose to believe.

At one point during the show, he stopped and pointed to the three young teenaged girls we'd seen him being embraced by during the opening act. The camera man pointed at them, so their dumbsquizzled and ecstatic faces appeared on the screens. He had them shout out their names and ages and welcomed them and said, "Without young little cutie-pies like you keeping me straight, I'd turn into Amy Winehouse so fast ..." Then he ran down to take pictures with them, and he grabbed the silver-haired guy he'd sat next to during the opening act and gave him a huge kiss on the cheek.

He explained that he would secretly listen to the old big band artists on his walkman at school and not let anyone know because it wasn't cool. Then one day he saw a hot girl open her locker, which had a pin-up picture of Harry Connick, Jr. in it. He thought to himself, "I'm on the right track after all." It was nice of him, I thought, to give a little shout-out to Harry while playing in his hometown.

There were several encores; I lost count. Everyone was on their feet by the time "Save the Dance for Me" came along, which made me very happy. He finished by standing on the edge of the stage and singing with no musical accompaniment -- and no microphone -- "A Song for You." Everyone in the audience was silent and still, and he just sang it out so loudly and beautifully that I couldn't even believe how great it sounded considering that the Arena is not exactly Carnegie Hall.

I paid a lot for my ticket, but if I'd paid double that, it still would have been worth it because Buble gives you that much bang for your buck. I'm still in a state of stunned euphoria over the whole thing. I had to take the day off from work to recover, which I've spent so far grocery shopping, having lunch and shopping with my mom, and trimming more of my giant mutant shrubs.

I don't know what else to say. I don't even care what kind of a dog Buble might be in real life. His show was phenomenal. If you have the chance, you really just need to see for yourself.

Update

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 12:56:00 +0000

The first thing I would like to say is that I have finished Rob's book. My friend Rob wrote a really, really good book. In case you've been holding out because you think you've already read his blog and it's just his blog on paper between two covers, you could not be more wrong. I couldn't put it down. Obviously I've been following Schuyler's story since she was in utero in Rob's blog, but the story in the book goes far deeper than that. It's beautiful, and it's just a fine achievement.

All I have to say about the Oscars is that I am sad that Hal Holbrook lost and so thrilled that Once won best song that I basically haven't stopped crying yet.

Their performance:

Their speeches.

(For more on the Oscars, go read Kymm's great-as-ever recap.)

I took charge of two giant and dead bushes, a lantana and a plumbago, in my front yard because the garden experts at the farmer's market told me to. "Just cut them all the way back to the ground!" they said, waving their hands dismissively in the face of my skepticism. "They'll grow back!" So that's what I did. And I scratched my arms up and there's now a giant pile of dead sticks on my curb.

I'd really been missing my friend Grace's semi-regular updates -- luckily she recently posted a link to where she's been writing lately. As usual, I am in love with every word she utters.

This weekend, B. and I went to Sunday brunch in New Orleans, where we hadn't been together since last fall, which is weird and wrong. It was fabulous, and it was great to meet his old friend who was in town for a wedding. We treated ourselves to mimosas and sazeracs and creole eggs benedict and seafood gumbo and really soft bread, and between the food, the drinks, the sunshine, and the jazz trio playing "A Kiss to Build a Dream On," it almost felt for a moment like neither of us is in school or working too many hours or doing anything else but relaxing like we used to spend every weekend blissfully doing.

Meanwhile, I turn 33 in two days, but that's too weird to contemplate this early in the morning.

Update

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Tue, 19 Feb 2008 02:01:00 +0000

I worked 70 hours last week, something I hope not to repeat any time soon, though I might. That's nowhere near the number of hours some of my rockstar warrior colleagues worked, so I won't complain.

Here are some things that have made me smile recently:

Standing around the island in my friend's kitchen with her, her husband, her mom, her sister, and her four-year-old daughter as we adults started randomly singing "Dumb Dog" from Annie (her husband making the tinkly doo-doo-doo-doo background notes quite impressively) and the little girl just sat there looking at us like we were all nuts. I started laughing as we wrapped it up, and she said, "IT'S NOT FUNNY!" not unlike this kid, which just made me laugh harder. Then she said to me, "Why do you sing so weird?" and I just had to shrug.

Watching The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters, which I found entirely hilarious and strangely riveting.

Going out for a nice dinner with B.

Seeing my mom's azaleas in bloom.

Hearing about how my dad cannot tolerate the small cups of coffee in Rome so, on a recent visit, brought several large to-go coffee cups from his favorite coffee shop here at home and took one with him every time he ordered coffee. He ordered a café Americano, an espresso, and a cappuccino and poured them all together into his large Styrofoam cup. At first he got weird looks from the locals, but then, he said, they began to envy his giant cup of coffee deliciousness as he strolled out with his cup. When they sat in the audience before the Pope, he aimed his camera at the man but not before placing his coffee cup on the railing. Coffee cup in the foreground, Pope in the background.

Hearing the theme music begin in the trailer for the new Indiana Jones movie. My sister says she does not remember the movies well; I do, especially the second and third - I think I spent a lot of time watching them at a friend's house. I am super pumped about this one.

Spending yesterday in its entirety with my sister on a warm and sunny Sunday. We went to see Definitely, Maybe, which was very sweet and cute, ate soup and salads outside on a nearby restaurant's patio, got coffee, walked to an estate sale, went to the bookstore and posed dorkily with Rob's book, drove around listening to showtunes, had heart-to-heart conversations, and went to the pottery painting place. It was very nice. Then we went to my parents' house for a dinner of shrimp & corn soup. Glorious!

Misc. stuff

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Tue, 12 Feb 2008 00:02:00 +0000

Crazy! That's how life's been lately.

Let me rewind a little bit to earlier this week. On our day off, B. and I decided to go see There Will Be Blood. (Possible spoilers in this paragraph.) I have to say that I rolled right along with it for most of the movie. I found the music highly irritating, but I thought it was a pretty darn good movie. The only other Daniel Day Lewis movies I've ever seen are The Crucible and The Boxer, but they were both so long ago that I have no real memory of them, and so I am not a part of the universal human family who worships at his altar even though I really enjoy his startlingly serious and heartfelt acceptance speeches and obviously think he is a beautiful physical specimen. But I liked him in this part, mostly, and I thought the oil drilling stuff and the small town stuff was really neat, and the kid was adorable, so fine. But by the time it flashed forward, it lost me, and I just wanted everyone to die (except for H.W.) and put themselves and me out of our misery. I also thoroughly misunderstood the preacher character. I thought that Paul and Eli were his split personalities and had no clue they were actually two people. We walked out of the movie theater, and I was like, "Huh?" And B. was like, "Clearly it was an allegory about the defeat of religion by commerce in America." Ooookay. I'm sure he's right, but I really did not need to see that bowling alley scene to teach me that lesson. I am becoming annoyed all over again just thinking of the goddamn straw and milkshake business.

Thankfully, I watched The Jane Austen Book Club a few days later, and it was so sweet and adorable and lovely and I really liked it. I liked every single person in it, and Hugh Dancy is clearly destined to become a Major Movie Star.

Something that makes me happy: The Weepies have a new album coming out on April 22. It is called Hideaway. I cannot wait.

My shopping at the produce market has altered the way I'm trying to eat lately. I'm not trying to diet, but I'm trying to eat so many healthy, natural foods that I don't want to fill up on crap all the time. I still have the occasional cookie at work, but I'm really enjoying the healthier foods right now. I'm also over meat for the time being. I've never been a major meat lover, but I've been eating some tofu and soy crumbles lately and trying to find protein substitutes for meat. I continue to be obsessed with roasting vegetables. This is very dull so I will stop.

Cute.

Based on hearing 2 of their songs, I think I have a new favorite band! The Avett Brothers. "Die, Die, Die" is a song that gets better as it goes along and becomes pretty great by the end. I am intrigued and want to hear more.

One of the better things I've done lately was spend a lunch break pulling over, parking my car, and standing under Japanese magnolia trees and taking pictures of them on a sunny afternoon. They are pretty and pink and smell like heaven.

Yes we can

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Thu, 07 Feb 2008 13:30:00 +0000

Some things I know

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Wed, 06 Feb 2008 23:49:00 +0000

Here are some things that I know:

I want Barack Obama to be our next president.

That he won the state where my sister spent Super Tuesday standing on corners with a sign and pounding the pavement and knocking on doors makes me immeasurably proud.

That it would be wrong for me to miss work at such a busy time to attend his visit tomorrow morning makes me unbelievably sad and has made me weep more than once today.

I had a picture of Barack Obama hanging on my office wall for over a year, and I felt like I should take it down a few days ago because we're not supposed to advertise such opinions there. Which bums me out and makes me mad. I think it's even made me afraid to talk about it on my own personal website. Which is just ridiculous and it's stopping now. It should have stopped a long time ago.

My vote for Kerry was my vote against Bush. I never felt any kind of love for Kerry or any deep belief that he could save us from ourselves. He just wasn't Bush and that was enough for me. But now I feel so much love for Obama, and I believe in him so intensely, and I feel like if he doesn't make it, it's going to leave a trail of broken hearts all throughout this country, my own included.

I have no idea what is going to happen. I know I will be voting in my state's primary on Saturday and for whom I'll be casting my vote. Mine is just one little opinion, mine is just one little belief, but it feels huge inside me right now.

I've watched this video at least a dozen times, and I've cried big honking tears every time. I sent it to my mother, who is a Republican because she is pro-life, really, I think is the real reason; she was zealously, obsessively into politics during Clinton's final term but has stepped back the past few years and focused more on spiritual matters; she told me recently that thinking of Hillary as president makes her "sick to her stomach." She is one of those people who would never, ever, ever vote for Hillary under any circumstances, but I think she would consider voting Democrat if that Democrat were Barack Obama. Case in point, I sent her this video even though as a rule we do not, cannot discuss politics, and she wrote back, "What a GREAT speech!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" with all those explanation points. It made me feel close to my mom. I truly think that if Obama were the candidate, she would at least stop and think about him as an option before voting in a knee-jerk manner along party lines. I feel like he could really speak to her heart. But I worry there are many like her who would cast a vote that would in essence be a vote against Hillary. I think a lot of people's dislike of her dates back to 1992 or even before then and that's a long time to dislike someone. That would be the message they'd send with their vote for the Republican candidate -- no Hillary, no way -- just like my vote was not really for Kerry but against Bush. And I don't really see people lining up to vote against Barack Obama in the same way. You know what I mean? I am no political strategist but this is what my instinct tells me. And I swear I believe that my parents are both big bleeding liberals deep down inside. I do not hate Hillary, and as my sister and I discussed in one of our many rapid-fire e-mails about this, it will not take long for us to get behind her if she's the nominee. But. But.

Obama makes me feel like I have a string of explanation points in my heart. I love him, and I believe in him. I think that if he were our president, the world might stop hating us so much and might even love us a little bit again. Maybe that is simplistic and maybe that is naïve. But I really believe it.

Laughter & tears

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Sun, 03 Feb 2008 01:11:00 +0000

Every once in a while we are lucky enough to make friends with someone who loves the same kind of books that we do and who sends those books bursting through the mail and into our hearts. Melissa is one of those friends for me, and her latest gift to me is a galley of My Most Excellent Year: A Novel of Love, Mary Poppins, and Fenway Park by Steve Kluger.

I feel like the author somehow saw into my mind and put everything into this book that would make it mean a whole lot to me. Like musical theater in all of its awesomeness and insanity and private musical theater jokes that make you feel like you're sharing a giggly secret with the characters who love musicals like you do. And deep and intense friendships between teens that remind me of my friendships at that time, several of which I'm lucky enough to still have. And the love of a really neat little kid. And not only Mary Poppins as a major plot point but the understanding of how important a movie it is and how important Julie Andrews is to humankind. And brothers who aren't related by blood but who are still brothers, just like my nieces aren't my nieces by blood but are still my nieces.

Last night my friend (who's been my friend since we were Annie's age) and I took her four-year-old daughter who is my non-blood-relation-niece to see Annie. It was the national touring company, and it was so fantastically top-notch in every respect. The cast, the production value, everything. It was so wonderful that even though it didn't end until 11:00 at night, this child fought with all of her inner strength to stay awake until the end even though her head and limbs were literally collapsing into themselves. I have known every note of every song of Annie since I was a little girl -- my sister and I wore out the Broadway cast album before the movie came out in 1982, and I remember my mom telling us sadly that it wasn't getting good reviews and we were like, so? Come on! We loved it anyway. My point is that it's not like Annie is anything new to me, but there was something about seeing a big professional splashing performance of it with my friend who's loved it for just as long as I have, if not longer, with her little girl sitting between us in a theater full of little girls that made me weep openly throughout the entire show. I don't know when Annie suddenly became the most poignant thing I've ever seen, but I couldn't help it. The moment when Annie came down the big winding staircase with her hair curled, in that red dress -- it was almost too much to bear. It made my heart explode with joy and my eyeballs explode with tears. It was such an iconic musical theater image and such a beautiful moment. And even though they were all singing about getting a New Deal for Christmas with all kinds of happiness and I was sitting there thinking about how world war was about to break out and was hearing Alejandra from My Most Excellent Year in my head telling me that FDR authorized the Japanese internment camps, I still loved it! It was awesome.

And then today, all afternoon, after a morning of revelry at a parade in the sun with B. on the most beautiful sunny day of 2008 so far, I got to lie on the couch finishing this wonderful book, and I cried and laughed out loud at the same time, and I was like, man. Sometimes I get so despondent for no reason with the weight of a crushing sadness and feel like the world is going to come to an end any day now, but weekends like this remind me that I am living the dream.

Stuff & nonsense

noreply@blogger.com (eliza) — Thu, 31 Jan 2008 02:40:00 +0000

In case anyone was wondering, True Believer by Virginia Euwer Wolff was all I hoped it would be and more. It deserved the National Book Award that it won. I cried while finishing it in bed, lying on my side, until there was a pool of tears on my pillow. I mean, I don’t really know what to say other than that. It was beautiful, and I will now wait with bated breath for the final installation of this trilogy that I did not even know was a trilogy until last week. I have to know what happens to LaVaughn and Jolly.

Let’s see … I feel like this was a pretty excellent weekend despite the fact that the sun did not show its face until Sunday afternoon and Friday was one of the foulest days in history, weather-wise. We avoided the cold and rain Friday night by ordering Italian take-out and watching The Lookout, which was pretty good. On Saturday evening, we had dinner with B.’s friend from school and her fiancée. I drank wine and ate veggies with couscous and a giant plate of cheese fries, my first truly decadent gorging in a while. I’ve been pretty much overdosing on fresh fruits and vegetables from the produce market on a daily basis. I’m sure I need more protein but I can’t help it. I just want to eat satsumas and roasted sweet potatoes all day long.

On Sunday, I slept in and eventually got over myself and hit the road to exercise after a weeklong hiatus. It was GREAT. The sun was out. It was cold but not unbearable by any means. It was a wonderful day to cruise around the lakes. The opening piano notes and then the fiddle of the swelling opening notes of the Everwood theme filled my ears as I rounded a corner and was greeted by dozens of big white pelicans and life was beautiful. I even ran an extra five-minute leg at the end when I wasn’t required to. It was Brandi Carlile’s “The Story.” It just made me start running. Have I mentioned that I love her? Because I do. The fact that it’s January is going to mean going to the gym for some of these workouts even though I truly loathe it. But I have to do it. I felt so good when I was done; I have to overcome my laziness and remember that to feel that way again I have to actually do it again.

I read Fallen Angels by Walter Dean Myers. I have to say that I liked Ellen Emerson White’s Echo Company books a lot better (and I’m psyched to be getting the last two through interlibrary loan because not single library in this entire state carries them and they cost $1,000,000 used, practically). I listened to Boy Meets Boy, which is a cute book, but I think I am just fundamentally annoyed by audio books in general and would have enjoyed reading it more on paper. I'm in the middle of Maus II, which is good to kind of an unbelievable degree. Sometimes I have to stop and sit there and blink and just take it in.

Eastern Promises caused me to hide my eyes too many times for me to be able to recommend it.

Don't forget to watch Eli Stone tomorrow night! I guess that's it for now.