my embarassing admission is...

i've never been a bridesmaid before, but i've been DYING to. and i realize, this is bizarre. i think its mostly because my few female friends are either pointedly unfroofy and so had no use for bridesmaids, already married, or a long way off from being married. sometimes more than one of these things at once.

yet, the big secret is, that though i can fix my own car, go for days without showering in a camping context, and curse like a sailor, i am fundamentally a girly-girl.

i love weddings, and babies, and shopping, and tulle, and shopping, and pedicures, and brocade and shopping, and pink, and diamonds, and shopping.

and i will admit, that someday, i pray someone will love me enough to want to let me have all of those things. my wedding dress will likely be about 9 miles wide. and i have had many anxious hours fantasizing about my elaborate wedding and wondering how the hell i can hope to have it when i dont have enough really close friends to adequately man the phalanx of attendants i envision beside me on that magical day.

sigh.

but! finally! a close friend who's a girly girl is having a fancy pants wedding! and i'm IN IT! palm springs in march? nice. the dress is even something I WOULD ACTUALLY WEAR OTHERWISE! how lucky am i?

i guess we all have our embarassing secret admissions. as far as it goes, mine could be lots worse...

any other not-so-secret secret admissions?

In The Woods

enjoyable mystery novel with a degree of sensitivity and complexity missing in the usual murder investigation tale. the story told in first person, follows the climax and subsequent collapse of the personal and professional life of one detective Rob (Adam) Ryan.

the mystery is twofold; first is the relatively straightforward whodunit tale he and his partner are investigating and second the dimly recalled details of his own traumatic history. a nicely paced and well written peice of mystery fiction, the action centers around a child murder investigation that brngs our hero into close proximity to a place charged with meaning for him: the wood near his childhood home where as an adolescent he and two of his best friends disappeared for several days before only he is discovered with no memory of the events which befell the lot of them.

for a police investigator he shows a remarkable degree of ambivilance toward trying to recover his memory or discover the truth about the fate of his two closest childhood friends. yet as the investigation continues his carefully ordered coping strategy of avoiding the subject mentally begins to unravel. however, his only attempt to unearth his recollections offers no ultimately meaningful revelations, but instead serve only to alienate him from his meaningful current relationships.

while i fundamentally did enjoy this book, i found the primary mystery somewhat predictable, (i tagged the "culprit" on first introduction) and the secondary tale left questions unasked and unanswered in a way i felt was ncongruous with my expectations of the main character.

i also have a slightly weird tendency to hyperscrutinize when authors choose to write in the voice of a gender not their own. i find it is rare that an author can accurately capture the nuance of communication necessary to have the overall effect seem authentic. and while i considered this to be a better than average effort, there were a number of ways in which i felt detective Ryan behaved in a sterotypically "male" fashion that did not seem to serve any meaningful purpose in informing us about him. nor did they reflect the sensitivity this author showed herself capable of when describing other characters or atmospheric elements.

i do consider this to have been a much better than average murder mystery novel when left to its own merits. most of the things about it i didnt care for are pretty idiosyncratic and probably unique to my peculiarities.

recommended

Viking Adult (2007), Hardcover, 429 pages

only you understand me explodingdog

i swear. i love explodingdog.com the artwork is fun and interesting and i am routinely amused by it. my wallpaper is almost always some piece or other. it's good stuff.

but lately, it's been more than that. the work is always accompanied by quirky titles that sometimes have nothing to do with the imagery, but have an eerie way of echoing what's going on in my life. especially lately.

a few examples follow...

it is enough to know you are out there

i'm afraid i will lose my faith

i will follow you into the dark

i am going to miss you

i hope you miss me too

sleeping to dream about you

i dont think you meant to do that

everything i touch turns to stone

love songs make me cry

i just cant stop

you have learned nothing












i regret everything

my life in cartoons....

hmmm

twitter is over capacity. and so am i...

i feel so exactly just like this right now i find it almost hilarious. i have a host of little birdies trying valiantly to hoist me out of the sea of tears i might drown in else.

thank you birdies. you know who you are.

hodie pointed out

something funny to me yesterday...

i've seen The Little Mermaid about 8,479 times. i can quote dialogue, sing all the songs, blah blah blah. and yet, the following escaped me;

"mom, you know how when Ariel and Flounder are exploring the shipwreck and the shark comes after them?"
"yeah?"
"why does Flounder scream 'RUN?!' they don't have legs..."

no shit. huh. ha.

the way the crow flies

by Ann-Marie MacDonald

i found this work both luminous and dusky. its singing prose conjures an intimacy both of emotional and corporeal locus, and the language sings with an authenticity which absorbed me wholly. even at a hefty 811 pages this book was a pleasure to devour.

set in post World War II Canada, we are introduced to the McCarthy family as father Jack is about to assume his duties on the Centralia air force base. our first glimpse of the McCarthy’s is one of utterly bucolic happiness. parents passionately in love, children innocent and enriched by their nomadic existence. the voice of our primary character Madeline is remarkably genuine. this nine year old is intelligent and unblemished, and rarely have the impressions of a child been so authentically rendered and counterbalanced with the more sophisticated and nuanced perspective of the adults who surround her.

readers are privy to an array of forces which will begin to pull at the fabric of this singularly happy family in ways they cannot predict or even, once set adrift, begin to adapt to.

we begin with the depiction of post WWII politics and culture fraught with questions and concerns of the atomic age, and the author uses the alluring mechanism of episodic fractions of a nuclear fairy tale. the singsong narrative describing the mining techniques used to obtain material as well as slave labor practices which produced German missiles crafts a parable exceptionally evocative in the context of our sympathy for this child heroine.

in more direct, but no less compelling language the author communicates the paranoiac hysteria of the cold war mingled with a singularly Canadian sense of anti-Americanism; equal parts disgust, admiration, and inferiority complex. the author’s sense of time and place are absorbing and informative. subtle but meaningful distinctions of culture and context are woven expertly into a narrative about family dynamics, power, and abuse of trust that could take place anywhere. in the microcosm the author creates for us, we see a passionate belief in the value of the “space race” contrasted to an exquisitely sensitive and lovely portrait of a ripened romance between married adults. the innocence of childhood opposed to the cynicism of maturity. the drama of family dynamics juxtaposed against the pressures at play in the wider world.

all of these elements combine to make a mesmerizing tale and yet, this novel is, at its heart, a murder mystery. the foreshadows of tragedy are both tantalizing and oblique; simultaneously giving the reader the sense the outcome is predictable and that there is much yet to be revealed.

the book does change its tone significantly in the wake of the crime and subsequent legal proceedings. it follows Madeline into an adulthood which has aconsiderably different timbre than her childhood. eventually the tale comes full circle and all is revealed, but the jarring transition from child to adult, from singing evocative language to a quality harsher and more matter-of-fact is a mechanism i see the value of, but did not particularly enjoy adjusting to.

apart from this relatively minor (and probably totally personal) preference for more tonal consistency, i would say this is one of the finer novels i have encountered in recent memory. recommended, heartily.

Great and Minor Moments in Oregon History by Dick Pintarich

"Oregon's Social History" was the first class i attended in college while trying to get my educational bearings. i took it from the author of this book and really enjoyed it. he was funny, engaging, well-informed, and entertaining. i found the book to have these same qualities.

Dick Pintarich works as a tour guide over the summers when he isn't teaching at Portland Community College, and this book has the tone you might expect from someone leading an especially entertaining excursion through Oregon's colorful history. an expert on southern and eastern Oregon, he touches on many of the less-well-known aspects of culture and landscape in the far corners of the state. he recounts interesting anecdotes from his own travels and brings tidbits of information to the fore that are both interesting and, in many cases, hilarious. the chapters on place-name sanitization is particularly amusing. (hint: rooster rock was NOT the original name!)

in addition to covering the more far flung corners of the state, this book also brings up many of the less than savory aspects of Oregon's culture that many natives, and more transplants, would rather forget. a rampant pattern of racism, prejudice, corruption, political pandering, the inflexibility of many residents toward social progress, and a legendary tight-fistedness among its residents.(remember, we're) one of the only states in the union without a sales tax!) an entertaining and instructive read, this book is a must for anyone curious about the less-well-traveled paths of Oregon's history. ( )

You're my best friend!

i've been wondering lately if the notion of a "best friend" endures into adulthood. if you'd asked me this question a year ago, i would have answered with a resounding,
"uh-huh!"
however, the person who filled that role in my life since i was about 17 and i haven't even spoken in almost a year, and so now i am no longer sure.

the common wisdom tells us it becomes more difficult to make substantial social connections as we age. that intimacy becomes harder to establish, new friendships less likely to endure.

the way we forge connections changes radically as life goes on. our life circumstances, personalities, ethics, preferences, and degree of emotional competency take on distinct texture and permanence as we age. proximity is, then, no longer the defining characteristic of friendship. the accessibility of a playmate, once the cardinal trait of friendship, becomes largely irrelevant. our sensibilities evolve with our interests and we learn to make alliances based on hobbies, political leanings, fondness for drink, and countless other considerations.

and though these might seem to be a more sound and enduring basis upon which to form a lasting social connection, there are constraints presented by our maturity which can hamper the evolution of the emotional connection of the intensity and scope inherent to the "best friend" role. no longer can we hope to be as unaffected or vulnerable as when we were children. our actions are moderated and mitigated by our experience and politesse. the fear of revealing too much, or pressing upon the tolerance of another. we no longer possess the glorious insensitivity to the effect of our unbridled self upon others.

to my mind at least, it is in many ways the drama of our adolescence that makes the profound and enduring emotional and cognitive impressions upon us that allow us to feel as though we really, really know someone, deep down at their core. it is unusual to encounter a relationship, not romantic in nature, that can (or should) generate this same type of intensity once we are out of those tumultuous formative years. and perhaps if we don't emerge from this time with a person who has run this gauntlet beside us, they cannot really know us; cannot appreciate our evolution and our constancy.

not to forget the logistical and practical constraints of adulthood. we don't have time on our hands to devote to just being around to discover or communicate every damn thing.

and all of this being said, i have to admit, the conclusion i come to is that while it may be possible to have a best friend as an adult, it might not be possible to acquire one if you wrecked or lost the one you already had. and this makes me sad and lonesome and wistful. because that's what seems to have happened. and there doesn't seem to be anything i can do about it.

The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai

draped with acclaim and praise on the jacket, i had fairly high hopes for this book. i'm not certain if it's my frame of mind at the moment, or something more inherent to the text itself, but i was disappointed.

set in a back-and-forth time scheme ranging from WWII Europe to 1980's India, the story focused on 2 generations of a famiily and their close associates. these characters, to greater and lesser degrees, all experience a sense of being displaced in whatever social culture they happen to be currently entangled in.

if this book has a theme, i would say it is non-belongingness, which just did not resonate as expected. these characters all encounter significant turmoil both in their personal lives as well as in the growing political unrest raging around them and we are able to see how they cope with, or fail to acknowledge, these changes, the story moves back and forth in time and place in a way that isn't so much confusing as it is distracting and vaguely annoying.

i failed to find the main characters particularly sympathetic or engaging in terms of their internal struggle, or their responses to the upheaval in their surroundings. the most interesting emotional connection in this book seemed to be between the elderly judge and his dog. plowed through it, but didn't much enjoy it.

Grove Press (2006), Paperback, 384 pages

tags: India, romance, politics, immigration

A voyage long and strange : rediscovering the New World by Tony Horwitz

My first impression of this book was exceedingly favorable. The opening chapters commence with a self-depricating stroll past Plymouth Rock and down Amnesia Alley. The author has an engaging and witty style i found immediately enjoyable to read. If the remainder of the book had maintained this initial promise, i would be rating as one of the better peices of non-fiction i've ever encountered.

perhaps not surprisingly though, the bantering tone of the early chapters did not last. once we left newfoundland (a HOTBED of hilarity, as is well known) and travelled further south, the timbre of the strory become singularly depressing, and virtually unleavened with the asides and insights that made the first portion so enjoyable. i suppose this might be partially because of the darker cast of the events post-wiking (i mean, spaniards vs. norsemen in a contest of levity? foregone conclusion!) but the feeling i got from the remainder of the book was of a wholly uninspired travelouge of places people would rarely care to visit even if one COULD be sure any of the purported historical events actually occurred there, which no one actually can.

suddenly "Plymouth Pebble" doesn't seem worthy of the mockery it receives in the opening chapter!

On the whole, i found this book a worthwhile read, though was disappointed with its unevenness. i felt like the momentum of the early chapters had totally dissipated by about 2/3rd though. And even though the final portions seemed long and drawn out, the end also felt rather abrupt back on the Massachusetts shore. I suppose if he hadn't raised my hopes for hilarious historical hyjinx, the overall impression would have been better. ah well.

New York : Thorndike Press, 2008.

tags: non-fiction, history, early america, humor

The Anxiety of Everyday Objects by Aurelie Sheehan

"This book was a breezy 6 or 7 hours to get through. It was amusing if not terribly insightful or absorbing. Fairly typical girl-novel where nothing very consequential happens, but all is made well in the end by getting of crushable boy. Had so many aspects reminiscent of the movie "Secretary" I am convinced the author of the screenplay lifted much of the stroyline from this book. I found this a little distracting, particularly because I enjoyed the movie far more."Penguin (Non-Classics) (2004), Paperback, 288 pages

tags: romantic-comedy, fluffy, girl

Blatantly stolen from Lyza...

is the following idea.

my personal life is a mess. and rather than a) complain about it relentlessly to the chagin of all OR b) go through a period of blog-io silence, i'm going to post about what i've been doing: reading relentlessly.

i sleep with the light on so that when i wake up any of the 4-9 times per night all i have to do is lift the book back up to my eyeline and start reading again. this prevents pesky nighttime thoughts from occurring for longer than it takes for my sleepy eyes to focus on the page. has lead to some weird dreams, but is overall a generally successful strategy for coping at the moment.

as a result, i have run through quite a few books recently, and have enjoyed putting in my 2 cents about what it is i think of said books. sadly, there haven't been many winners lately,(one always runs this risk when we play the sale table lottery) but i'm thinking my luck is about to change. AND i'm getting a library card so as not to bankrupt myself at Powells.

at any rate, i'm going to post a few of the book reviews i'v written as the fruits of my last few days of labor. enjoy!

nts nts nts

went with friends lyza, david, and brett to the Armin VanBuuren show last night at the Roseland. i haven't been to a dance show since seeing John Digweed @ the crystal back in 2002? woah.

danced the whole set. was bathed in other people's sweat and excitement. overcame my usual crowd terror to follow lyza right up to the edge of the stage. was struck by the contrast in this show vs the multitude of other shows i've been to in recent memory...

crowd, though sweaty, smelled good and this is crucial. i was far less anxious being surrounded on all sides by people who didnt smell in a way that distressed me. people were generally polite and trying to take care of each other. stage hands tossed water out to the crowd and generally seemed to be trying to make sure everyone was feeling included. dj looked HAPPY. like he was genuinely enjoying himself instead of the faux-torment put upon by some musicians attempting to convey the seriousness of their art by dint of a glower.

there was jumping. there was smiling. there were various stages of undress. it was good times.

what the fucking fuck

driving up canyon rd today. there's a speed trap, accordingly, i do not speed. i'm doing 35 thinking about the chores i have remaining and the show i am going to tonight, when i glance in my rearview mirror to see a black Durango EXCEEDINGLY close to my rear end.

i think to myself "what an asshole."
he stays menacingly close
i think to myself "what the fuck is his problem?"
there is plenty of room to go around me in the left lane
i think to myself "what the hell does he think he is doing"

and then he rams me.

its little more than a tap; frankly i can tell by the skill with which he executed the maneuver that he's probably done it before. i am stunned and frightened by this. and can only think: he did it on purpose. why would he do that??

i'm not going to stop for this person. this was no accident. and i know full well there is a police van about 2/3's of a mile up canyon (remember that speed trap i was trying to avoid?) and that is where i am headed.

and then, he races around me in the other lane and takes off. he's a few hundred yards in front of me when he then slows down dramatically and waits for me to come parallel with him. i look over into the SUV with a "what the fuck?" look on my face and he proceeds to smile and wave. he then peels off to the left and disappears up canyon crest.

i am, uselessly, so freaked out that i fail to look for a plate number. i mean, he was in a black durango. how many of those bloody fucking things are there in beaverton anyway? too many to even credit.

proceed next to hysterical, terrified, bewildered sobbing.

call police. without more identifying information, there's nothing to be done but for the nice officer to say he's sorry it happened.

Klaus seems mostly unscathed. still have touch up paint from accident in november, so i may make use of that for the handful of small scratches evident on the rear bumper.

call friends for comfort. one suggests park klaus and his distinctive plates somewhere else. when i mention this is impractical the advice is that i get some pepper spray as this happened so close to my house, they might see my car parked there and decide to come pick on me some more. strangely, this idea IS NOT IN ANY WAY COMFORTING!!!!

took myself to pedicure and mexican food as antidote. dancing later.

and breathe...

i woke up this morning in the same mood i've been in for days. it's not a happy one. and yet, for some reason, as i walked past the lilac bush outside my front door, i plucked some blossoms and decided to breathe.

some time ago i was compelled to take a theology class. though it wasn't necessarily a choice i would have made on my own, i found the class deeply rewarding. not least because of the reading material the sister required for the class. as pertinent to this; Peace is Every Step by Thich Nhat Hahn. and though this is a simple book in every sense, it has offered some of the most practical and useful advice about life i have encountered. yet as simple as it is, i have been truly amazed at how easy it is to forget these truths.

Like:

breathe
smile
be gentle
attend to the smallest and most immediate pleasures
stay present in the moment

and i have not done as much of any of this as i should lately. and for some reason, on this soft grey spring day, i am finding it a little easier than usual. i think i can thank the lilacs...