LaurieWrites

Shorts

Via Sarah Brown, I was just reminded of "To Cut a Long Story Short" from the fiction section of the UK's Guardian Unlimited. Once upon a time, Ernest Hemingway said his best work was a six-word story: "For sale. Baby shoes. Never worn." The Guardian challenged contemporary authors to write a similar story. I'm with Sarah that this is the best they printed:

"Thought love must fade: but no."
George Saunders

Although I'm also a fan of this one:

"Mind what gap?" ... ... ...
Hilary Mantel

It reminds me of AOL's new attempt at what they call "Ficlets", which is actually kind of cool...and also this crazy idea I had recently to write a progressive short story in text messages. I think of these things when I'm in the shower, you see - how to channel annoying yet addictive technology for good instead of just another way to maybe wreck your car while illegally multitasking. I just need a co-author with unlimited service.

Firsts

The lovely Stephanie is wading into the meme waters with "five firsts", and tagged whoever wanted to play. Think about your first anything, she said. First car. First meal of the day. First - of course - love. Anything. I've been thinking about the topic since I last read it yesterday, so I guess I'll give it a shot.

First surgery: At six weeks old (I can't believe I ever weighed ten pounds. And couldn't talk!) my lip that had never fused was sewn together - a first attempt at wholeness that's more or less been a recurring theme through my years, it occurs to me now. No photos of me exist prior to my lip repair, and I wish one did.

First print: The first time I ever made a print in the darkroom, I looked down in the developer and saw the black and white tones form an image I had made on plain paper. And I said, perhaps for the first time in my life, "It's like magic."

First Confession: I mentally added my grade school sins to the stain of the original one, and lined up with my classmates on the stained-glass shiny blue carpet outside the row of wooden confessionals in the back of our cavernous church. Once inside, behind the screen, I promptly forgot the words to the ritual. I sat silent and terrified for a minute or two, until the priest - who knew me, who had baptized me, who was friends with my grandfather, said "Boo!", and then laughed softly, and spoke the prayers aloud so that I could follow along.

First date(s): A lovely night at Planet X coffeehouse (that later burned down) and a drive home through an ice storm. Dinner, a movie and awkward conversation on my couch. Another movie and macaroni and cheese on another couch. Mostly things just come to be.

First paid writing gig: I won several two-dollar bills that I still have somewhere in one of those long white envelopes with the plastic address window, for writing the "best poem about the Redskins" in elementary school, the year they won the Superbowl. I know nothing about football, but no one needed to know it was based on hearsay - just that it rhymed.

Picturing NYC

The New York - Blogher Business photo set is finally up.

I'm way happier with the way some of these shots turned out than I was about my Texas shots. If you see yourself or someone you know, put a tag up.

Saturday Night in Dialogue

Me: I can't believe you didn't tell me about the pineapple and the five pounds of cheese in the plastic top hat. That's the funniest thing ever.

J: It just didn't seem relevant at the time.

***************************************************************

Girl on floor at party: So what kind of degree do you have?

Me: A master's degree.

Loud man near pool table: I have a...master....in....BATORS. Haha! Haha!

Me: That's extremely clever.

S (to me): I like you. I think you're fun. Can I come sit by you?

Me: I really did say that, didn't I?

S: Yes, yes you did. And it was awesome.

**************************************************************

J: You realize, we're somehow at a college party. They're playing Asshole in there.

Me: Oh, I've never even played that.

J: You already missed beer pong.

Icicles

Originally uploaded by rubyshoes.

Thereafter

Yesterday, my mother, my sister and I packed up my grandmother's room at her assisted living. My father will move most of her stuff into the new place today, and tomorrow my mother will pick her up in the morning and take her there.

She's convinced that we're taking her to "the District" (as in "of Columbia") because when they took her down to visit last week, she swears she looked down the hill and saw "it" - the capital city in all its glory, I suppose - when they were leaving. And it's true that this facility is way closer to DC than the one she's in now, but it's still a few miles from the city. I think it's her way of saying she's not sure about this new situation. I decided to start tweaking her about it just to see if her sense of humor was functional regarding the situation or if it really was a major deal. I reminded her that she started her life in DC, so what was the harm in going back at this point? And also that George clearly needed a lot of help running the country so maybe her proximity would make her a prime candidate for a consultancy. She agreed on both points, so maybe the White House could help their approval ratings by setting up an assisted living in the East Wing - a built-in constituency of elders.

The Georgetown-UNC game was on, and my sister the Georgetown alum was there, so we got into the game towards the end of the afternoon. That made the time pass with something fun instead of the angst of "Oh my GOD you are MOVING me to the DISTRICT", and the very sweet nurse aides coming in to lament her leaving, and my mother essentially going hysterical about a relatively manageable assortment of stuff. Basketball is kind of a big deal in our family, such that even I watch it, and it was really thrilling to see Georgetown come back from a ten-point deficit to tie it up in the last five minutes, heading into an overtime that they totally dominated. I mean, North Carolina couldn't have gotten a basket with a cherry picker and a Nerf ball towards the end. They played so badly towards the end that I didn't even feel my usual torn sadness for them as the cameras panned over them with towels over their heads to hide tears, and their dejected, toothless frowns.  This means a trip to the Final Four for Georgetown next Saturday, which will be a lot of fun, and I really loved that we could watch the game there with her in her room.

The bottom line though is that this is really difficult and quite sad, because she still feels displaced and change really isn't easy for anyone, especially when their health is compromised. But what we've done is really move through it, because there hasn't been another choice. She left one of her pieces of furniture behind, because she just didn't want it anymore - donated it to the facility, essentially. And she said, "this way I'll always be here." I'm not sure you ever reach a point - not if you're me, anyway - where stuff like that doesn't break your heart, or at least touch it significantly.

I left around 8 to take my sister to a late birthday dinner. It's almost embarrassing to mention Girlyman again (I swear they're not paying me) but I really do listen to this cd every day right now, because when I like something that's just how I roll. It includes a song called "Reva Thereafter", about the death of band member Nate Borofsky's grandmother. She was someone I really would have liked to have met, a 95-year-old psychotherapist who committed suicide when the pain from arthritis got so unbearable that she felt it was time to end her life on her terms. I cry at least once at every one of their shows (it's usually "The Shape I Found You In" that gets me - every time, I swear) but the first time I heard "Reva Thereafter" I thought the top of my head was going to come off. It is beautiful and powerful and sad, and he introduces it by telling a great story about his grandmother - a true character, in the best sense of the word. This past month, he opened by telling a story about he and his sister being home for Christmas, and them all sitting around the table, and his grandma asking them if they smoked pot, and if they did she had an extra "pipe" to give to one of them. It was a story I wish I had on tape because it was hilarious, and the way he speaks of her, with a mix of grief and awe, is in itself a gorgeous thing. I also happen to believe that Nate is one of the most accomplished songwriters of this generation who is making music today, and this song - which he wrote with help from Doris and Ty, because he needed it from an emotional standpoint - is more proof.

Anyway, it was the next song queued up when I turned the car on. Music is such an integral part of my life that it's really the soundtrack to this story I'm playing out here. People who make good music serve a purpose as strong as any therapist or teacher, because songs help me make sense of and express what's going on in my life just as well as my own words often can. In this case, I strongly relate to Nate's sadness at letting go of someone who was such an influence in his life - watching her lose, but on her terms. And at the same time I relate to his admiration for her presence and personality, and how that's what really resonates for him, even more than the loss, I think. It just takes awhile to sort all of that out. And whereas I'm also afraid to mention crying again, lest I start receiving referrals for therapy and medication, it was just really timely to hear it when I did yesterday, because like I said, it helps me express and make sense of things. And I'll have you know, if you don't already, that it's perfectly possible to smile through tears.

"Up to the rafters
Up through the plaster
Up through the highest beams, I will
Sing of your wonder
In a voice like thunder
Sometimes your heart bursts at its seams"

It's the grill of the microphone I just killed

Songs that became stuck in my head for more than one rotation today:

"Gods of War", Def Leppard (I find this quite a disturbing choice from their catalog)
"Whoomp There it Is", Tag Team (New York is a great place to bust out uncontrollably with "POINT BLANK, gin and juice I drink it...WHOOMP Shakalakashakalakashakalakashaka" because most of the time no one's paying a bit of attention and chances are someone else is doing something even more messed up nearby.)
"Hold it All at Bay" and "Joyful Sign", Girlyman. Get out of my head, Girlyman. Just chill.

Here's what I listened to on the way home (after an unbelievable hour of silence. My brain must have needed to quiet down.) to get these two songs out of my head, just so you can enjoy the usual randomness along with me:

"Just Once", James Ingram. I love to sing this song. I, in fact, love this song. Like, the part that goes, "Seems we're always blowin' whatever we've got goin'/and it seems at times with all we've got, we haven't got a pra-YER" (or, really, "PRAIR-hair", if I was really transcribing.) It's so sad - he just wrenches it out. Okay, moving on.

The whole Girlyman "Joyful Sign" record, twice. I like to try to learn the different parts of their songs, and it also keeps me awake while driving. Almost.

"Can't Come Undone", Last Train Home. This song is like country waltzy jam candy. I can listen to it an embarrassing number of times consecutively.

Most of the 3121 album, Prince. This is a sexY record, friends...as in he definitely still wants someone's extra time and her kiss. It's not as hard as "Gett Off" et all on "Diamonds and Pearls" (also a great album), more...oh...soulful. I hate labels. Check out "Lolita" if you need a new song to dance to in your living room. And oh, you so do. I know you do.

Christina Aguilera - the Little Kim song, "Fighter", and "Beautiful", why yes.

An unfortunate few seconds of the dreadful Blue October on the radio. How these people have a record deal and are played constantly on the radio is beyond me.

Aretha Franklin - The Very Best - the 60s "Baby I Love You" is quite simply one of the most badass songs of all time. You really need to own this cd - too many good songs to list, but "House That Jack Built" is another living room dancing tune, particularly if some misguided boy or girl has done you wrong lately.

Now I am home, and there are no gummy bears here, which is a tragedy, because I would right now like to consume approximately 800 gummy bears. I am still holding my feet together with five SpongeBob Squarepants bandaids, which altogether look like some sort of cartoonish tribal art. I'm officlally exhausted.

The blogging, it is live

I liveblogged the closing keynote at Blogher Business today. Talk about multitasking, what with the listening and the typing and the editing all at once. It's like creative court reporting, and I'm just obsessive-compulsive enough to really get a rush from it. I just got home and re-read the post, alarmed to note after four hours in the car that I hadn't proofread as well on the fly as I'd been congratulating myself for before I left NYC. Hubris'll getcha every time. Every. Time.

I really enjoyed this panel in particular. First of all, I am so impressed with Caroline Little, aka Power Washingtonpost.com woman. She is so well-spoken and makes so much sense. I just love being around people who I think I can learn so much from - even if it's just how to carry yourself, and the energy you project. The other ladies on the panel - Marissa Mayer from Google, Debi Fine from iVillage, and Stacy Morrison from Redbook, were interesting as well. It's so weird to see media transforming so extensively and so rapidly in front of our eyes. What I've taken away from both SXSW and Blogher is that you definitely can't sit around and wait to be invited. You just have to show up, and the chances are quite good that someone will listen at some point.

Recovering

Dumb things I have done since last Wednesday:

Celebrated St. Patrick's Day morning by jigging in pain around my kitchen, after allowing MacBook Pro on which I am typing to fall out of its bag, onto my foot, where I experienced this pain like that which I have never experienced except while perhaps under anesthetic. Twas a horror show.

An Irish Car Bomb shot, which made me forget about my foot for awhile. (Not on fire, however. Small miracle.)

While recuperating from these mishaps, allowed myself to watch actual segments of this horrible show and to catch up with characters on this horrible show, many of whom have been their since I was in high school. That is almost twenty years. (A Days of Our Lives Tarot Reading. Now I know how everything is going to turn out for me!)

Dropped replacement cellphone in the *water-filled* bathtub, causing the screen to go white for approximately one hour and much mental gymnastic activity and roleplay regarding the conversation that would need to occur at the Verizon store to make it entirely, somehow, their fault because of the hell they put me through for the last one.

Bit tongue, last night. Hard. Drew blood.

Wore flip-flops on ruined foot in order to spare toe any pressure, and in so doing ripped new wounds into flesh from stiff new footwear. I mean really, I am not allowed to wear shoes. Ever again.

I'm sure I left out other stupid things, but that's enough. Enough that I just had to get out of town, and if I hadn't been scheduled to come up to New York for Blogher Business, I would have had to invent a trip to somewhere for something.

Luckily I already had somewhere pretty sweet to hang out. I drove here this afternoon, on a very easy trip on the NJ Turnpike. By the way, the Maryland House rest stop kicks the Delaware House's ass in the Free State vs. the First State Olympics. We stopped at the Delaware one on the bus trip up here in November, and it was like stepping into hell. A hell with a Roy Rogers and a not-very-clean bathroom. The Maryland House (which sort of sounds like a nursing home, hmm?) is not only much cleaner and in sort of a colonial real HOUSE-looking structure, but what's to complain about in a place where you can get Roy Rogers pickles (so I like Roy Rogers. Can't help it. I think they branded us all with Double Rs when we got our Buckaroo Cards back in the day), a Phillips crabcake sandwich, AND a cinnabon in the same structure. Are you kidding me? And we actually have to have scientific studies to determine why we're getting fatter as a nation?

The kicker at the Maryland House is the Dino ride. As in Flintstone's Dino. Can't beat THAT with a stick, Delaware.

After this little odyssey I drove into Manhattan for the first time ever. It went quite well, and was actually kind of fun, which cements my insanity for sure. There was a very nice welcome party at Cain in Chelsea, which had an odd sort of "deer head meets African beads" motif, albeit with the same standard crankier than thou bartender you tend to find in places like this. Get over yourself buddy, with your ten dollar a glass rail wine. The Blogher women are always so wonderful to hang out with - everyone is smart and interesting and has such good ideas. I met some nice new people, one of whom, Aura Novembre, has the best real name I've ever heard. My favorite quote of the evening was, "Pre-gay, I dated her sister for three years".

After that I walked the 30 blocks from 27th Street to my hotel, because I felt like wandering and I love 9th Avenue. It's just fun to stop in Duane Reade, and the gourmet market (corkscrew. Water. Gummy bears.), and Gray's Papaya for hot dogs. It felt so good to just walk, even though I'm not sure my foot was quite ready for that many blocks. And I actually did some nighttime shooting, which I love. I've been so stressed about my classes that I haven't been enjoying the photography so much, and that just needs to stop.

So now I'm lolling around in a huge, king-sized bed in less than the usual amount of nightwear that I have to wear because I live with other people (sorry, but it's a big deal these days), eating gummy bears and playing with pictures, letting my brain air out enough to finally get tired. I think a bed this big is good for the psyche.

Vote for new icon, yo

This is totally important, clearly. This one (my nose itched at the last second. Love that! But like the bangs? I have bangs! BANGS! Like Lester Bangs. I hate that word.)

OR this one, which I took on the plane down to Austin, because I wanted the people around me to wonder why in the hell the weird girl in the green sweater was taking glowy pictures of herself.

I know, I am fundamentally quite disturbed. I'm kind of liking the halo effect on the second one. You know, on account of the whole fear of death thing  that I always go through on airplanes and all.

My chatting future depends on you. Do not be deterred by this, however, if you're not in support of adult (or even adolescent) people wasting their lives chatting. My chatting future should likely be very short, as I really should be out and about making the world a better place.

Holla.