Categories
Just Shelley

Tinker Tinker

New tagline, by mutual dare with Dorothea. What the hey? I’m now going by Burningzilla and I have a blazing toad for an icon. (No, that is NOT a Jersey torch!)

Now, if I can effect sweetness and light throughout all my interactions with others, my transformation into something totally unrecognizable as “Burningbird”, would be complete.

Though, after Dorothea’s new digs, I’m hankering for a new look. However, must finish book. Must finish RDF Book! Must! Must! Stop writing to the weblog, Shelley! Stop it now!

Oh, no! I can’t stop! I can’t help myse…

 

Please excuse the interruption. Shelley has been admitted to the Betty Ford clinic for Hopelessly Addicted Webloggers through the efforts of Mike Golby. Mike, recognizing an advanced case of blogaholism, scheduled an Intervention with all of Shelley’s weblogging friends, who quite gleefully and with unusual enthusiasm threw her down, wrapped her up tight, and hauled her off.

 

When last seen, Burningbird was trying to type into a keyboard with her nose and tongue, hands bound behind her back, being fed an occasional Tim Tam. Mocha Tim Tams.

Categories
Just Shelley

Mid-life special

Yesterday one of my errands took me to KMart, home of the infamous Blue Light special. The store was strangely empty for a Saturday afternoon, with few customers and fewer store employees.

I couldn’t find what I was looking for and pushed the button at one of the service stations to get help. As I waited I looked around at the empty aisles and the tacky blue lights and the huge sale signs in this cavernous building, when I was suddenly hit with the thought, “This isn’t where I’m supposed to be. This isn’t what I had planned for myself.”

The force of the feeling of complete alienation from my surroundings almost folded me over. When the service person came up, I managed to communicate what I wanted, follow her, have an intelligent conversation with her, but inside it was, “Get the hell out. Now. Run!”

However, I didn’t run, but calmly paid for my purchases and slowly walked out to the car. Closing myself in I turned on my air conditioning and my music, and sat and thought.

I thought back to being on the road, no longer living in San Francisco, but also not yet living in St. Louis. I remembered driving through the thunderstorm in Nevada, and the biker gang and the trucker in Utah, I think it was. And I remembered my last cross-country trip and getting pulled over for speeding on the Navaho Reservation, and the Dog with No Name in New Mexico.

I wanted to enter the freeway and just start driving, but I sat in that car with my music and my thoughts, cool air blowing on me, drying the sweat on my upper lip and lifting my hair away from my face. Finally, I put the car in gear and I drove to another store, where I bought grapes and bottled water and some Corona beer to go with taco fixings. You have to have Corona with tacos.

Categories
Just Shelley

Simple Love

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

A couple of days ago Jeneane wrote in a posting:

That problem being that too few of us understand what it means to love. Simply to love and to love simply.

I’m not married, nor do I have a boyfriend, but it seems to me that the simplest of loves–an uncomplicated love–can’t really occur between adults. We bring too many expectations, too much background and hidden baggage into our relationships with each other. We can love deeply, sincerely, painfully, honestly, hopefully, and joyfully, but I’m not sure we can love simply, at least in my understanding of simple love.

I think we see true simple love only from very young children and our pets. Both have such minimal expectations from us: food, shelter, warmth when it’s cold, coolness when it’s hot, tenderness and care in times of illness, fear, and pain. And they give so much–total and unconditional love.

I never had a child, but have always had pets, and currently have a ten year old cat named Zoe. As an example of what I see as simple love, a couple of weeks ago I received a cardboard box containing a couple of shirts. I opened it in the living room and left the box near the door. When I returned from taking the shirts upstairs, my cat, Zoe, had climbed into the box and curled up, a picture of perfect contentment.

I’ve bought expensive cat toys and carpet condos and a fleece lined bed for her, but she hasn’t liked anything as much as she’s liked this box. Everyday, she curls up in it for an hour or two, that time that she’s not spent curled up next to me, or playing with me, or entertaining me by looking out at the birds and “chatting” with them.

I’ve not the heart to throw the box out so now we have a cardboard box next to the wall at the bottom of our stairs. Simple things: a cardboard box for her, gentle head butts accompanied by copious purring and occasional washings for me.

Perhaps I’m complicating adult relationships too much, but I don’t know of many men who would be happy with a cardboard box (though I do know of a few that seem to like dishwashing tools).

Joking aside, I’m not sure what simple love would be like between adults, but it sounds like it would be nice, doesn’t it? Probably a lot like this.

(Speaking of pets, Flightless Farrago has provided the most humorous cat photo I’ve yet seen [scroll down page]. And two virtual neighbors just brought home new furry friends: Ryan and Jonathon. Lots of gentle head butts and much copious purring to you both.)

zoe

Categories
Writing

Paper gold

No links in this posting. To those who are mentioned, apologies. But sometimes links just disrupt.

I’ve not been reading books lately, I’ve been devouring them. I’m making a trip to the library every other day and they’re starting to know me by name. It’s so nice to have access to such a terrific library system.

I’m in a strong mood to spend the next 3 or 4 days curled up with a book. You know the type of mood I’m talking about. I hope we get some nice thunderstorms, with lots of rain and wind. From my bedroom on the second floor I can watch the storms roll in, hear the rain on the roof, see the lightening. The only thing left to complete the picture is my books.

Thanks to Ben, Karl, Denise, and Leesa for book suggestions (and Dorothea’s admittance to being “the woman with the ocular equivalent of a tin ear”, which I thought was a hoot). I’m now going to add to my reading list “VOX”, “Leaves of Grass”, “Geek Love”, “Good in Bed”, and I downloaded a PDF version of “Baby Head”. I have a feeling when I show up at the library with this list of books tomorrow, I might raise an eyebrow or two. It is an eclectic assortment.

Two of the books I’m reading/finishing are Whitney Otto’s “A Collection of Beauties at the Height of their Popularity” and Agee and Evan’s “Let Us now Praise Famous men”. Both books are very interesting, though I prefer the Agee and Evan’s book. By far.

Otto’s book focuses almost entirely on character in its portrayal of several women in the hedonistic age of the 80’s in San Francisco. The common thread tying the women together, and quite loosely, is that each character goes to the same ‘tea’ room, and is captured in a modern day “pillow book”, or diary, kept by one of the women. However, Otto skips from person to person as casually as one would brush up against a person in a bar, first focusing on Coco, then on Jelly, and so on. You’re never quite on any one person long enough to like them or dislike them.

Of one of the characters, Elodie, Otto wrote:

It seemed safe to love something so abstract because her life did not seem to offer her a way to have anything, and so she spent her life not learning to let go but training herself not to want.

In the book the endless parties, relationships, and drugs swirl around in a kaleidoscope of pieces and fragments, highlighted against the emptiness of the women’s lives. This book is not an easy read, but is skillful in its characterization.

If “A Collection of Beauties” is about character, “Let Us now Praise Famous Men”, is pure imagery, one of the most visually compelling books I’ve read in some time.

In the chapter titled “Near a Church”, Agee talks about he and Evans finding a perfect church. As they look for an entrance into the church, a young black couple walks past. Agree writes:

They were young, soberly boyant of body, and strong, the man not quite thin, the girl not quite plump, and I remember their mild and sober faces, hers softly wide and sensitive to love and to pleasure; and his resourceful and intelligent without intellect and without guile, and their extreme dignity, which was effortless, unvalued, and undefended in them as the assumption of superiority which suffuses a rich and social adolescent boy; and I was taking pleasure also in the competence and rhythm of their walking in the sun, which was incapable of being less than a muted dancing, and in the beauty of the sunlight of their clothes, which were strange upon them in the middle of the week.

This section doesn’t even capture the richness of the rest of the chapter, but there was no way I could include anything else without including the entire chapter, each sentence so dependent on the one before and the one following.

Reading “Let us Now Praise Famous Men”, I can see why Jonathon and Jeff Ward decided to turn to writing rather than photography–there are certain things a camera just cannot capture.

I can recommend both books, Agee and Evan’s strongly, and Otto’s carefully.

Now, on to more books. And since discussion recently is about getting paid to weblog, you can ‘pay’ me by adding more book recommendations to the comments. With these and a library card, I’m a rich woman.

Categories
Political RDF Writing

Debate at the eye of the needle

As noted yesterday, Jonathon had suggested that if I was interested in a debate about Iraq, I should focus on Steven Den Beste:

Although I don’t have any interest in discussing an invasion of Iraq on my weblog, it occurs to me Bb—if you’ll excuse the gratuitous advice—that your time might be more constructively spent debating the issues with Den Beste, who writes well, is not patronising, listens carefully, and links to opposing viewpoints.

He specifically mentions a couple of Den Beste’s postings such as one about an invasion and international lawAlan Cook suggests before I do, though, I should review the posts by Demosthenes, suggesting as a starting point this post.

First let me say that not only is my headache of yesterday not gone, it’s worse. To the point where I can’t even read Demosthenes’ white on black weblog postings. In addition, trying to follow this debate thread as it wound it’s way through several posts (with references to side material as support for specific debate points), would be nearly impossible if I was well, much less sick.

Which returns me to what is most likely a better use of my time at this point — working on my RDF book and finishing ThreadNeedle.