Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Saturday, April 26, 2008
LA Times Festival of Books
My mom and I took in the festival's first day, riding up in a bus chartered by a local bookstore. On board was an author who talked about her work. She writes "self-help fiction," a genre I've never heard of nor seen mentioned in Poets & Writers. It was interesting to hear about her process (which included a focus-group to see what type of book she should write for women--women, of course, because they buy more books than men). It was also, well, revolting?
The festival's highlight (other than seeing my brother, who joined us for the afternoon) was hearing Sherman Alexie talk. He read from his new book, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-time Indian, which is largely autobiographical. Alexie was born with hydrocephalus, and the book deals with this and how it made him "different" in school. Once the talk was opened up to questions, a young boy said he has Turret's Syndrome, and asked Alexie what he could do to avoid bullies. It was a shocking question that changed the Q&A's previously jocular mood. Alexie gave a heartfelt answer about finding allies in both students and adults at the school, about divulging his fears to them, and about realizing that being bullied doesn't mean there's a problem with you. The problem lies with the bully.
I thought about how fiction reveals life, including the inhumanity of being mistreated. And how, if the fiction I read is going to have "lessons" or "issues," or even possibly "help me," I want them to be created organically. And go down with nary a taste of medicine.
The festival's highlight (other than seeing my brother, who joined us for the afternoon) was hearing Sherman Alexie talk. He read from his new book, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-time Indian, which is largely autobiographical. Alexie was born with hydrocephalus, and the book deals with this and how it made him "different" in school. Once the talk was opened up to questions, a young boy said he has Turret's Syndrome, and asked Alexie what he could do to avoid bullies. It was a shocking question that changed the Q&A's previously jocular mood. Alexie gave a heartfelt answer about finding allies in both students and adults at the school, about divulging his fears to them, and about realizing that being bullied doesn't mean there's a problem with you. The problem lies with the bully.
I thought about how fiction reveals life, including the inhumanity of being mistreated. And how, if the fiction I read is going to have "lessons" or "issues," or even possibly "help me," I want them to be created organically. And go down with nary a taste of medicine.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Non-plussed
Early this morning, I found out a TCSD member was killed by a shark at a club workout. This is the point in this blog entry where I don't know what else to say.
Feeling like I should carpe the damn diem, I did a 60 min + 35 min brick that went really well. Since I'm horribly de-trained I'd like to chalk it up to muscle memory, but I think it was a sense of life's urgency.
Feeling like I should carpe some more damn diem, my mom and I went to Starbucks. I worked on a story about the building of a clothes closet, and she read a fabulous book (Aloft by Chang-Rae Lee). Because my mom spent so much time on various word translations at Starbucks, I want to record them here:
Rabbit
Spanish: conejo
Italian: coniglio
(Muchas gracias pro el hombre en Starbucks para ayuda!)
Angstrom: a unit of length equal to 0.1 nanometre
Feeling like I should carpe the damn diem, I did a 60 min + 35 min brick that went really well. Since I'm horribly de-trained I'd like to chalk it up to muscle memory, but I think it was a sense of life's urgency.
Feeling like I should carpe some more damn diem, my mom and I went to Starbucks. I worked on a story about the building of a clothes closet, and she read a fabulous book (Aloft by Chang-Rae Lee). Because my mom spent so much time on various word translations at Starbucks, I want to record them here:
Rabbit
Spanish: conejo
Italian: coniglio
(Muchas gracias pro el hombre en Starbucks para ayuda!)
Angstrom: a unit of length equal to 0.1 nanometre
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Teeth Cleaning
How is it that a dental hygienist, with her rebuke of your poor flossing habits, can make you feel like a complete failure? I have sufficient self-confidence, a wonderful husband, a loving family, a pretty adept brain, a wonderful perrito, very few cavities, and yet, it isn't enough when you hear your thirties will be filled with gloom and doom and inflamed gums if you don't start flossing in every spare moment. Rejections from journals, no problem! Admonishment from a dental professional? I go to pieces.
This evening, I negatively influenced my oral health with candy at the Tri Club meeting. My mom is a superstar for helping me, too. Renewing members and new members and movie tickets, and her help was much appreciated. She even had time to chat up the speaker before the meeting began.
This evening, I negatively influenced my oral health with candy at the Tri Club meeting. My mom is a superstar for helping me, too. Renewing members and new members and movie tickets, and her help was much appreciated. She even had time to chat up the speaker before the meeting began.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Monday, April 21, 2008
Room to Stretch Out
Bryan and I had a dream. A dream of a useable room. And today--minus baseboards--that dream was realized.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Getting to Know My Husband
Bryan and I ran with MarcFit (two Saturdays in a row!) and made it through 70 minutes. You don't realize how tough a long-distance run is when you've been spending your Saturdays at Starbucks or a science lab. We kept pace with V, and talked about the upcoming Journey Concert, about seeing the "Sex in the City" movie.
We laid the hallway floor today. I feel bad that the little time that Bryan has away from work has been spent, as of late, on work around the house. But he claims not to mind, because it's time we're spending together. I agree. During the installation, I asked him why he went into science in college--and chemistry specifically, not biology, pre-med, et cetera. He told me all about his affinity for math but thinking science was a broader field.
At an evening party, he told a story I'd never heard about his roommate sophomore year of college.
Afterwards, at home, I hit him with quick-fire questions about his youth. I learned that his mom made his lunch for him every school day, that "Charles In Charge" was one of his favorite sit-coms, that he didn't like art class because he was always worrying his work wasn't good enough, that he didn't decorate or personalize his bedroom, that his grade school was HUGE, that a trip to a physics learning institute was his favorite field trip.
I regaled him with a story of dumpster-diving with my grandma in search of carpet for the exterior of her ranch house (you can read more about this in a future short story--that is, if I'm worth my salt as a writer). He seemed to enjoy it, but I'm afraid he was picturing me, old, careening through back alleys in a hatchback, searching for discarded carpet of all shapes and colors.
We laid the hallway floor today. I feel bad that the little time that Bryan has away from work has been spent, as of late, on work around the house. But he claims not to mind, because it's time we're spending together. I agree. During the installation, I asked him why he went into science in college--and chemistry specifically, not biology, pre-med, et cetera. He told me all about his affinity for math but thinking science was a broader field.
At an evening party, he told a story I'd never heard about his roommate sophomore year of college.
Afterwards, at home, I hit him with quick-fire questions about his youth. I learned that his mom made his lunch for him every school day, that "Charles In Charge" was one of his favorite sit-coms, that he didn't like art class because he was always worrying his work wasn't good enough, that he didn't decorate or personalize his bedroom, that his grade school was HUGE, that a trip to a physics learning institute was his favorite field trip.
I regaled him with a story of dumpster-diving with my grandma in search of carpet for the exterior of her ranch house (you can read more about this in a future short story--that is, if I'm worth my salt as a writer). He seemed to enjoy it, but I'm afraid he was picturing me, old, careening through back alleys in a hatchback, searching for discarded carpet of all shapes and colors.
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