Roughly, from least often to most often...and a pleasing pattern has formed. I was displeased with the previous Google Plus update, which was very like Facebook in tone and presentation, but of course I got used to it, and simplified it where I could. The new update is so simple and elegant, it's astonishing. The best thing about it is that there are options for people depending on their screen size. Also, the screen stays right where I left it and I can more easily pick up where I was last.
I think it was the right decision to move away from the Facebook-style format and toward a more Tumblr-like or even Pinterest-like one, depending on personal preferences chosen.
Everything about this song is gorgeous, from the original writing of it to every aspect of the Talking Heads' treatment of it.
I've continued to listen to David Byrne over the years, enjoy his collaborative works and his writing. I feel certain that if events had only played out differently, we were probably meant to be together, even if only for a brief astronomical experience. But oh, alas. It was never to be.
He turned 61 today! That hardly seems possible because he's just not that much…older than me…and so anyway. This is my favorite recent thing that I've heard him do, from 2010, but I just downloaded the album he recorded with St. Vincent and am looking forward to hearing that and seeing them play live this summer.
One more thing, just because I always always love this song. This is from 1996.
I WROTE THIS IN FEBRUARY 2008. I DON'T LIVE IN THAT HOUSE ANYMORE, AND THE SUPER DREADFUL 2008 PASSED ALONG WITH ME STILL BEING...ME. LOOKING BACK, IT'S IMPOSSIBLE TO FEEL AS I DID FOR THAT ENTIRE YEAR. I GUESS THAT'S GOOD.
some invisible substance that held the universe together. I think that was coined by Descartes. Anyway. Then they figured out that what held the universe together was—the universe. Matter, you know. And the space between all the matter and molecules is actually space, with energy keeping stuff moving around inside it. It's all one and the same. Matter, space, energy, and therefore, dare I say it? Time itself. Cool, eh?
You'd think I could never stop being inspired by that but right now, nothing is really inspiring. We're in the final dregs of winter, and once again, just when I thought life was finally settling into something comfortable with lots to look forward to, things that had been put on hold, turns out I was wrong again. Another rug yanked, another bruise from my backside hitting the floor. Nothing was taken off hold. Instead it was put back on the rack again. NO. WE'RE NOT HAVING ANY DETAILS.
You'd think I'd be used to it by now. It's clear, though, that I never will be. So the thing to do for us Pollyanna types is "pick yourself up, dust yourself off, start all over again." This might be masochistic for some people, but not for the intrepidly optimistic. How to do that, though?
You might say that if the pattern is interrupted over and over again that it's not the pattern you thought it was. But that's where physics comes into play. These patterns we think we see or established aren't even drops in a bucket. Did you know there are many more molecules in a glass of water than there are glasses of water in the sea?
But knowing and feeling are always, thankfully yet tiresomely, two different things. Right now my feelings are dark but my knowledge is as light as a fresh glass of Pellegrino. Okay, that's a sort of faith, really, the belief that I hold that knowledge. A person has to be able to go on something, to keep going.
Saturday was a day of being comfortable in my home. First, though, I went to Panera for a mocha. It was odd doing that by myself, but it was a tasty mocha. I got two interesting-looking books from the library, and then Livvy and I watched all 200 minutes of the BBC series from the 80s called Have His Carcase. It's based on the second Lord Peter Wimsey book to feature Harriet Vane, and was pretty good. We kept the fire in the fireplace going all afternoon and evening.
I had two mixed drinks made with gin and Grand Marnier, one with sweet vermouth and one with dry, both with a touch of lemon juice, shaken and strained. After I made the kids their dinner, which was a baked breakfast casserole, I ordered myself some sushi online and had it delivered. Then I watched Torchwood and went to bed. Never touched the computer all day except to order the food.
Yesterday we were going to watch the next in that TV series, Gaudy Night, but I guess someone noticed another person had finally checked out some of that series at the library, and took it out ahead of me. That's irritating since they hadn't been checked out in forever. But hopefully they'll be returned on time. So instead I tried to organize some of my online life and had a bad job of it for most of the afternoon. I felt so low I thought I was going to have to sit in that chair and not move from it until a meteor came in through the window. But I managed to keep going anyway, and then in the evening, LP and I went to Marshall's to get some things to finish our TV wall. We have such similar taste we either naturally gravitate toward the same things, or else one of us will find something and the other will say, oh, yes, of course. It's a good thing.
I think it looks pretty good. If you look at the pictures full-sized, you can see our light-hearted yet noble African princess in front of the vase next to the TV. And you'll note we chose rather peaceful-looking masks, rather than fierce ones.
Also last night I posted an old poem to my poetry page, which I've renamed. I did this because earlier in the day I was at the Wayback Machine, looking for a file I lost a long time ago, hoping it was on an old web page. I found the old page from 1999 that linked to it, but not the link itself. I did run across another series of poems I'd thought were gone, though, and was amused to reread them. A couple of you may find the one I posted amusing as well, or else disturbing. Or both, you know. Anyway, I renamed the poetry page and created a new banner for it in honor of my very first website, and also the mood I am taking up in order to conquer the external aspects of my current pain. We do what we have to do to keep going, like Dory the Blue Tang.
It's that light and breezy confidence with a measure of reserve just barely visible behind the glint of his eyes. He manages to wear his clothing both fitted and loose at the same time. Unstructured structure? It's something she's seen European men pull off as easily as flipping a switch, and it's one of the reasons she enjoyed wandering New York in summertime, but it's not very common here.
Anyway, none of that is something she can see. It's just what she imagines when she senses a certain frequency in the air, conjured from very little data, more from what she knows or wishes she knows to be there. Impressionist filter on a dimly lit photograph. But as she imagines it, the sunlight is at a sharp afternoon angle, and the surfaces around her gleam reflective, like the surface of the ocean she still mourns and craves; thirsts after in poetic fashion.
He's one of those familiar strangers; someone you see for the first time and are sure you know, though you really never do. He's weather-seasoned around the eyes, but his smile is bright and youthful, willing her to return his carefree regard. She is nearly certain that if she breathed in just a certain way, she'd inhale his scent and he'd know the warm vibration of her skin beneath his fingertips. She's more certain he already does.
There's something truly charming about the unpredictability of Mother's Day for me. You see, I really care about my birthday. I love to be feted and congratulated for being here. Presents are a bonus; something I kinda hope for, because who doesn't like a present? And I have a family of really terrific gift-givers. But it isn't ever required. I just really love the idea of birthdays, and of people being glad I have mine. I really like cake. Last year I made my own birthday cake and dinner, and those of us who were here really enjoyed it.
Mother's Day is different. If there wasn't one, that'd be fine by me. I know my family loves me. And sometimes they, either in a group or a couple of them individually, splash out and do something grand for me. Other times, there might be mostly nothing or an offer to vacuum or make dinner. I would like someone, this year, to offer to reorganize the pantry and then actually do it, but it isn't as if I couldn't point my finger and say, "You. Pantry duty. Today." to whoever is at hand when I think of it. Or just do it myself, as usual.
One year there was a big breakfast and an iPod waiting for me. It was pretty great, but it didn't make me expect something equally as grand and splashy the next year. Which is good because that didn't happen. Anyway. The person who came up with the idea of Mother's Day later disowned it because she was appalled that it became a marketing tool. Personally, I always tried to teach my kids as they were growing up that all these "special" days can be marked, if we choose to, without buying things. Especially Valentine's Day. I want a homemade card or no card, thank you. (That's not really true. Just if you carefully choose a card to give me, I still expect you to write something in it besides your name.)
There are a couple things I don't own I'd like to own, like a fabulous Italian espresso machine and a violin, if anyone is actually making a birthday gift list. But really, someone else making a cake and saying, "Hey, you" would be enough. Or not even the cake part. I'm good at celebrating me, after all. As to Mother's Day, I was actually planning to spend some time in the giant fancy cemetery tomorrow, and so mostly I'd just like to ask for nice weather; slightly gloomy, perhaps, but not too cool.
I think I've mentioned this before; there's a Tumblr called theburninghouse where people submit a photograph of what they'd take with them in the event of a fire. I like to read it and see how simple or complicated people make their "to save" lists.
Since Hurricane Katrina, and then a few other events or maybe since always, I've kept a bag by my bed. Currently it's a bright red one, but sometimes it's orange. My laptop will fit into it, but the laptop isn't the highest priority; if it's nearby and can be grabbed, super.
Occasionally I think about what would fit into the bag, usually things I have near my bed at night, not because of paranoia, but because they are the things I most like to have around, I guess. And they'd all fit into that one bag, with room left over. Maybe I'm always thinking, subconsciously, about running away…
Now, in the car, there's a big blanket, flashlight, and a few other emergency items. Usually a box of baby wipes and an extra pair of shoes, and a small first aid kit. So with me, the bag, and the kids all in the car, life could carry on however it needed to under most extreme circumstances we are ever likely to encounter.
Anyway, here's what would go into the One Bag in case of fire, and it would take less than a minute to pull it all together:
(Going to substitute with a better photo later on)
A pair of clean panties foundation/sunscreen lipstick sunscreen Aleve Sudafed Neosporin hand lotion hair clip nail clippers essential oil blend card deck
Kindle Fire HD and charger camera and charger iPod and headphones pen and notebook phone card holder keys mini flashlight batteries 15-in-1 multi-tool
First I had a light blue iPod mini, in 2005. It was stolen. Then I got a black iPod 5th generation, with 80gb. I guess that was in 2006. In late 2008 or so, it met with a peculiar accident, and stopped working. For Mother's Day 2009, the girls and man colluded to buy me a 6th generation silver one, with 120gb of space. I still have it. It is my number one "save from a fire" object. It has all my digital music, of course, but is also an external hard drive in terms of important writing and photographs that have to be trotted around from one computer to another now and then. I share music with the kids with it, and my playlists are a thing to behold, purpose-wise and archive-wise and just fun-wise.
Later in 2009, the 6th generation Classic iPod was upgraded to 160gb, and it's remained that way ever since. It is still being produced, but hasn't changed since then. The focus has been on the Touch, instead, which makes good sense, of course. But I'm not interested in that, even if it had more space. My Android phone works well with my Apple computer if I need it to, and the Kindle Fire HD covers all the ground I'm interested in online. The fact is that I'm a little old-fashioned at this point; I'm happy with my self-contained music player just as it is.
But the battery won't last forever. Just recently, it shows signs of reduced charge time, though not by all that much. As "old tech" batteries go, it's still very impressive. However, once they start to go, the decline seems to pick up speed. So I want to be prepared. It would cost $66 dollars to send it in for a new battery. I don't know…maybe it would be the right path to take. It would be good to have a better sense of how long the unit itself will last, to know if it's worth battery replacement.
We have a terabyte external hard drive; everything is saved to it regularly enough, so if the iPod fails, I won't lose music the way I did the first two times, when my computer was so small it couldn't contain my music collection and still run properly. But I kind of want a new-in-the-box Classic waiting for me the day I need it, because how long will Apple continue to produce them?
This is the kind of thought process you have as you get older and are, frankly, just a little tired of things changing, when the old thing worked perfectly well. I already don't ever want a new car, even though the CX-5 is such a little badass version of my first-year CX-9. But with cars, there are very good reasons to upgrade now and then; they do improve the technology in ways that benefit us. My music player just handily plays music I can't get on records, and does it anywhere I like. And it has enough space for huge files of things that need to sound glorious, like the Jonas Kauffman Wagner album. I'll occasionally buy improved headphone, speaker, and cable to transfer that sound to my ears, of course.
I don't mind realizing this thought process is occurring more often. It's like when you realized you no longer needed to know every new band that came out, and later when you went back to buying a style of shoes you thought were comfortable twenty or thirty years ago. It doesn't mean you gave up on whatever the world still has to offer, which is changing faster and faster, almost by the moment. Your view hasn't truly narrowed; it's just shifted focus. I mean, for a couple more decades, anyway.
Here's my opera boyfriend Jonas talking about his new album. Just because, is all.
I mean, besides Amazon, YouTube, Google Plus, Twitter, Tumblr, Wikipedia, and wherever those first five places send me. But really, those are just the ones.
I have cooking sites bookmarked, and some comic strips, and Slicing Up Eyeballs, and Retro Housewife, and Retronaut, and the bill-paying places, of course. They are mostly just there, though. All the places are just there, somewhere, beyond the top eight, which is probably ten, because of course.
This says less about me than you and the data miners might think...
if he were still alive, would be 95 when this is posted. Now, let's face it. Even if he hadn't died by "misadventure," no way was this guy making it to 95. Odds were against him living past 70. On the other hand, my dad did. Of course, in my dad's family, dying at 77 was actually somewhat early. Okay, back to wherever we were headed.
My love for William Holden developed slowly over about 30 years, and then suddenly, bam! I could not get enough of him. At nearly 45 years old, I was crushing hard like 1977 ripping pages out of Tiger Beat hard. And after about a year of rewatching his films and catching up on so many I'd never seen, he started invading my thoughts. In 2011 I plastered one of my Tumblrs with him, posted about him here several times, and then last year I saw so much of him at other Tumblrs, etc., I was jealous. I mean that in the possessive sense. I've never minded sharing Gene Kelly or Hugh Laurie, etc., but Bill Holden was mine. What did a lot of young persons know about that world I was birthed into, the world which shaped who he became, and informed my sensibilities as I grew up and as it passed away? This world, the one we're in right now, is unrecognizable by comparison. To love this glowing yet damaged creature fully outside of context is to love a different person than do I.
Yes, I cropped his wife Brenda Marshall out of this photo. It's a metaphor.
But that's mostly preposterous, of course. I know this. I know what it says about me, too. It's not, though, like I'd get into internet fights about it or whatever. It's just a reflection.
It's like how I am about James Garner. I can barely speak of it and risk suddenly being surrounded by a spontaneous retroactive adoration that waters down this particular intensity I've held onto for over 40 years. It's weird, but it isn't really weird at all. It's dreadfully, drearily ordinary. I so dislike confronting how ordinary I am sometimes, don't you?
William Holden was like Dean Martin in certain respects. He did what he did because that's what he did. He was both laid-back and very fussy. He appeared to be all surface; handsome, handsomely wearing what he wore, looking effortless, like sprezzatura.
Looking back, it's obvious how smart Dean Martin was, and that he was laughing at everyone else and how seriously they took themselves. I mean, their effort. He was serious when he needed to be, without all that energy-consuming effort.
I'm not sure Bill Holden was quite so smart, but I do think he possessed the same sharp view of himself, other people, the whole world. Some people, they're tortured by it all, and he was one of those people. And so, Africa, right? But also so much booze and cigarettes and needing to bathe over and over again. Perhaps trying to wash away something he could never take back. Anyway, it wasn't all effortless effort for him at all. Yet he kept at it.
I can love all that only retroactively because I've seen it in others, first hand, and because I'm fascinated by the puzzle of it all. In the every day present here and now, I like my puzzles to be crosswords or mazes on a little screen, and I am way, way over tortured passion. But it is a seriously groovy fantasy, not unlike when you're 15 and you find out a movie star you love prefers other men and you think, because you are 15 and silly, I could change him. He'd want me.
Nah, it's not really like that. It's just intensity, power, a sort of kinetic chiarascurro, and that's exciting; knowing what you know now, all that experience filters your view and colors your desires. You know how to play with fire, or at least imagine that you do.
Is someone reading this and thinking very earnest thoughts? Let's turn the record over and consider this. It is raining hard as I write this, the iPod across the room is playing a gentle jazz tune, I forgot to wash some of the paint off my legs from when I was working on a new canvas earlier, and in a few minutes, when I turn out the light to sleep, I'll press one of the pillows to my side in this great big bed, and contemplate something only briefly earnestly.
From here
To here
Bill Holden was a movie star, a box office hero. Did he want to be revered for more than that? Did he want to be revered at all? Probably not. Who can ever live up to it?
I watch this and grow sad and think, yes, he died too soon. It was a "wrong" death.
But I cannot be serious for more than 9 minutes at a time. (And as pt 2 appears to be missing, that's just as well.) So then I go back to thinking of him as my boyfriend Bill, just before I drift off to sleep.
