Superman Falling

A Sundance post to come, but as I hamster frantically to get caught up with schoolwork after my weekend adventure, a small reward for past work: I have a short story called "Superman Falling" in the the current issue of of Colorado Review.

When I arrived home from Park City, my check had arrived--woo hoo! It's not big, but will cover the massage I plan to get. And then the editor was kind enough to send me this link to the Review Review. The author was generous with the journal as a whole, and also with my story.

The title of Barrington Smith-Seetachitt’s story “Superman Falling” comes from a joke someone tells at a high school reunion Sarah and her husband Alex are attending in Indiana. The joke is pretty funny until you find out why not everyone at the table is laughing. It’s brilliant of Smith-Seetachitt to make it a good joke so that the reader is laughing also before being blindsided by the revelation. At that point in the story, we become, as the saying goes, putty in her hands.

Sarah and Alex are tremendously sympathetic characters. They have suffered a loss, and “Superman Falls” is about the impact this loss has on their marriage. Of Alex: “He marvels that they can seem so together on the surface as everything is crumbling underneath.” Everything rings true. At a critical point, one of the characters, drunk, rides a mechanical bull—and doesn’t fall off. Smith-Seetachitt subverts our expectations more than once, just like life.

Stories on this topic are not hard to find. Anne Tyler’s novel The Accidental Tourist comes to mind. But “Superman Falls” is one of the best I’ve come across. It’s my favorite of the forty-nine pieces of prose and poetry in this issue.

I haven't yet checked to see if other reviews by the author are more "balanced." For the moment I'm just basking in the positive feedback.

Sundance Dance Part 3

There are no cute low-heeled non-ugg-like winter boots in L.A. At least that I could find. But I found these online:
I ordered them in two sizes. I hoped they would arrive in time. I hoped they would fit. They did. It was like a miracle...a sign? And even if it wasn't, if I was making a bad decision, if the whole trip was miserable, at least I would have cute boots.

Two weeks after C and I bought our tickets on Southwest, I ran my other professor for next semester. The class he teaches is large, and usually consists of screening a film I could probably rent, so I was very casual when I mentioned that I would be missing his first class, but having a classmate record his lecture. I did not at all expect his reaction, which went something like this:

“Why would you do that? Not only will you miss class, but you go to see films first and be cool, and you won’t get to see any of the films you want to. If you have something to sell, it’s not the place to do it, you’ll be on the fringes of everything and you’ll get sick. Is it too late to get out of it?”

That was enough to topple my fragile state of travel non-anxiety. My unease increased three days later, when I received an email from C, saying that due to financial considerations, she could not longer go, and asking if I had any ideas for someone who might take her slot.

It also dawned on me that after asking the student organizers of the trip for out location on a few occasions, I still had no idea where I was staying. The whole thing was giving me a bad feeling. I wrote to see if I could get a refund. No response. I placed our spots on USC affiliated listservs, and asked me friends. On three occasions I came close, but in the end there would be a twist, a boyfriend who decided to go, a dissertation too unfinished, etc. Finally I decided to embrace the experience.

What did I need for the trip. Appropriate footwear and business cards. And I didn’t have much time to pull these together. I brainstormed and came up with an idea I liked. An evening on Paul’s computer trying to understand Illustrator made me realize I would have to bring in some real talent. At two in the morning I sent my crude attempts to Carl King Creative and asked for an estimate for time and money. He wrote back with an extremely reasonable quote, and said he could work on it after breakfast. When I looked at the design, I loved it. I entertained a small fantasy, where I am having a casual conversation with someone while leaning against a bar in Park City, and the person requests a card. Surely with such cute cards give the world, I was meant to go to Sundance!

The Sundance Dance Pt 1

Since I first heard it, I’ve been fascinated by that story that goes “Once there was an old man who live in a village. He had one horse, and one son. One night, the horse ran away, and everyone said “Oh, bad luck.”
But the old man said ‘maybe so, maybe not.”
The next week, the horse returned, bringing with it another, wild, horse. “Oh, what good luck,” said the villagers.
But the old man said, ‘maybe so, maybe not.”
The son mounted the new horse in order to tame her, but he was thrown off, and broke his leg. “Bad luck.”
“Maybe so, maybe not.”
But then the land went to war, and the king of the land sent his men to conscript all the able-bodied young men from the villages. However, the old man’s son, because of his broken leg, did not have to go to battle. “Good luck.”
“Maybe so, maybe not”

I have an ongoing dialogue with myself about the nature of the universe in this way.

Perhaps I am supposed to gather from this story that there is no good luck or back luck.

On optimistic days, I believe that everything works out in the universe, that every piece of bad luck can be somehow redefined as good luck in the context of later events. I discuss this to some length in one of the essays I wrote in my thesis project about cancer. If I hadn’t gotten cancer, I wouldn’t have taken the emotional risk to say to the world that I wanted to be a writer, etc…

But sometimes I am tempted to want to define things in terms of positive and negative--to believe that life, like movies, somehow has a happy on unhappy ending. I want to play the story all the way out—to see how, at the end, things fall-one way or the other, and to think that at some point I will know if my decisions were right or wrong in that context.

This is the kind of thinking that can drive a person crazy. I got into USC Screenwriting: good luck. But if spend all my money and have to live on the street: bad luck. But if it gives me great insight and I write the great American novel about living on the street: good luck. But if the stress of adapting the book into a movie that bombs, despite having Cate Blanchett in the title role makes me sick and I die: Bad luck.

So ultimately, it was bad luck. So where was my mistake? Was it that December night when I sent off my application, or the May day I sent in my acceptance? Or any of infinite other points between then my ultimate death? Was there some sign or portent I should have seen, that would have kept me from following the wrong path?

The same thing has happened of late with my upcoming trip to the Sundance Film Festival.

I am not someone who hates to travel, who hates a party or an event. More, I am a person who strongly dislikes preparing for these things. I hate trying to predict what I should pack, or wear, or bring. Rather I like the comfort and relative predictability of home.

But when a student organization sent a message saying they were organizing accommodations for students, for just $300 for four nights I thought, “I should do this. It’s cheap, it’s a good way to meet students from other departments, once I graduate, I’ll either be working or very poor…so I should do it…shouldn’t I? Maybe this email is a sign I should do it.

“Yes,” said my friends. “Yes,” said my husband. “Yes,” said the friendly human resources woman at my internship.”

“No,” said my student mentor, “you don’t want to miss the first days of class.”

What? I consulted a calendar. Indeed, the dates included two of the first days of class. And, like many childhood over-achievers, I love going to class, and of course want my teachers to love me and think I’m good. Plus I’d heard my Friday teacher is pretty hard core. So that was the end of the plan for me. I let the deadline go by.

Then I ran into the “hard-core” teacher. I introduced myself as a future student, and mentioned, jokingly, that I had foregone Sundance so that I wouldn’t miss his class.
He said “AWWW—your should have gone to Sundance!” and went on to explain that this was expected among the teachers, and that now was the time to get this sort of experience.

Oh no…had I made the wrong decision? Was the random meeting with the teacher a sign I should go?

I decided to email the organizer and ask if I could still get him a check, and if he said yes, then I was meant to go. As I was doing this, I asked Christine, a friend who was over at the house, if she wanted to go.

“Yeah—that would be so fun!”

So I added a paragraph pleading for her as well, and sent it off.
The reply came back, “Sure, just bring a check to my house before noon tomorrow.”

It was a sign from the universe.
Maybe, or maybe not.

TO BE CONTINUED

Sinus Report

Before Christmas, I got a cold. First the aching, then the sore throat, then the upper respiratory fun that always follows. I toughed it out with echinacea teas and extra rest when I could swing it. But I got worried when, two weeks later, I was still having intermittent coughing fits...and of course the multi-shaded mucous that this produced.

I mentioned my weariness of the cold to my sister who had had it. She said, "I'm over that, but now Aidan (my nephew) and I both have sinus infections."

A few days later, I was still battling. The cough was exhausting, and seemed worse at night, and in the mornings. In fact, I realized, it was bad every I changed position, from upright to lateral and back, as if the mucous was shifting in the back of my throat.

A friend from Tallahassee called. "How are you?"
"Good, except for the cold that never ends."
"Oh yeah, I've had a sinus infection forever. I took antibiotics but it's still not right."
Wow, I thought. My cold sucks, but I guess I'm lucky I've never had a sinus infection.

Then yesterday, in the wee hours, I woke with a sore throat. Oh no, was the cold taking a new turn? I started to panic. Maybe it was some new killer virus I would never be rid of. How could I possibly share a house with other students at Sundance in three days? I sat up and immediately started coughing. Suddenly it dawned on me...maybe "I" have a sinus infection!

I dove for the laptop and started researching. It hadn't occured to me because I have suffered the headaches or "pressure" that you see in the commercials, but it all made sense. The fluid wasn't in my lungs, it was dripping down my throat, irritating it and making me cough. I had a sinus infection!

Reading more about it, I felt better, then worse, but ultimately better. First, while a cold should run its course in a week. Sinus infections regularly last as much as a month. At first this didn't seem great, because of course a week is shorter than a month. But since this had already lasted more than a week, better a sinus infection than worrying that one's three-week-old cold is now walking pneumonia. Finally, my sinus infection might be gross, but it is not contagious. I could travel guilt-free.

The next question was, how should I treat my sinus infection. I had already been researching the "what does green mean" question in regards to cold mucous. How did this apply to a sinus infection. It seemed like a fairly localized thing. It's been five years since I've taken antibiotics, and that's a track record I'm proud of, after overusing for many years. But just going to the health center and getting that great feeling of relief you sometimes get from antibiotics seemed tempting. I decided that if the advice pointed in that direction, I would do it.

But this articles from the New York Times stayed my hand from picking up the phone. Apparently, even if the infection is bacterial, antibiotics are not as helpful as some of the people on the discussion boards exhorting one to "go take care of it immediately" would have me believe.

I did some follow-up research, and as the sun hit the window panes, I walked to the CVS and bought a neti pot.

As I stood over my sink contemplating the act of pouring salt water in one nostril and letting it come out the other, I had some trepidation.

"Won't you drown?" asked Paul.

The answer is no. A little trick is to make your throat like you are about to make a "k" sound. It's really not to bad, and I think of it like gargling-standard operating procedure for a sore throat-only for my sinuses.

I followed up last night by pulling out the humidifier.

How do I feel this morning? Still a little snotty. But my irritated throat is much improved, and my hopes are high.

Plan Unfulfilled

Well, things did not go as planned today. The plan was to not eat, but to write and read and be happy. Instead I did not eat, but got hungrier and crankier as spent four hours on the telephone talking to over two dozen different people, waiting on hold, all to find out what the doctor's fees were going to be tomorrow. Admittedly this was a project I should have started earlier, as I have done in the past (and related http://barrington99.blogspot.com/2007/11/why-its-hard-to-trust-anyone-associated.html and here), but it never ceases to amaze me how a no one associated with a business can estimate the cost of its services. Obviously someone bills when it's all over, where is that person?

In my opinion this is a HUGE factor in the problems with our health care system, is that providers are not upfront about their prices--indeed in some cases I don't think they are laying when they say they don't know--and that patients (i.e. customers) let them get away with that. I'm not the only one. Here is a short article that summarizes the problem quite articulately. In the end, I canceled tomorrow's appointment, in part because I was so frustrated, and in part on principle. I'm tired of rewarding people and institutions for doing a bad job--and in doing so, contributing to the failure of the entire systems that they are part of and causing real people real suffering. I left a message with the doctor himself and told him I was sorry we couldn't do business but that I no longer make appointments with health care providers who can't provide at least some basic estimate for common services. And this was a basic service. For a G.I. department not to know the cost of a colonoscopy is like a Jiffy Lube being unable to quote the price for an oil change.

In the end, I got a referral from my sister and called the office of her doctor. The first person who answered the phone was able to quote a ballpark cost for the facility and doctor. (Miraculously, the doctor is also part of my insurance plan.) So the answers are out there. I urge anyone who reads this to please, hold your health care providers accountable. Your awareness will create pressure for open pricing which will result in a more realistic depiction of our country's health care costs. Without this basic information, no health care reforms by any political party can work.

The Fast Unbroken

Tomorrow I observe my annual ritual...the colonoscopy. I have discussed this before, I think, that the procedure--which involves little pain and fun drugs, tends to be less offensive than the prep--liter's of foul tasting saline that "clean you out."

The prep begins tonight, but first, the pre-prep--in the form of a fast of sorts. I can drink only clear liquids with little or no color. This apparently includes such things as strained chicken broth, or non-colored jello, but I am far to lazy (oh...I mean "busy") to procure such things in advance, so I tend to just drink water for the day. I don't really mind the fast once it gets started. You can turn your mind to other things, and there is part of me that finds it a burden, constantly having to find things to put in my body. Some advocate a monthly fast, and I think I would not mind that too much, physically. It is the organizational and social inconvenience of not eating. Even tonight, Matt and Lotte are coming for a final night and a final meal...without medical imperative, I would never turn this down.

Though I don't mind a fast, I will say, as a person who loves breakfast, it is strangely disheartening to wake with no breakfast to look forward to. What impetus is there to get up and face the cold house if not to prepare my cereal with blueberries and almond milk--and just a spoonful of yogurt?

Instead I lie in bed and read. Reading is kind of a luxury, so it is like giving myself something to substitute for the food. I've just begun the letters of Simone De Beauvoir to Nelson Algren. They aren't at all what I expected...not that I should have expected anything because I know very little about her. But I'd heard she was feminist, a philosopher, that she'd had an unconventional lifelong relationship with Sartre, and that they both took lots of lovers and then sat about in cafes discussing their conquests--and of course she was French...and I feared she would be over intellectual and pretentious sounding.

So far, not true. She writes in a flawed English that is endearing, and seems so emotionally honest and direct, and there is a kind of buoyancy about her--at least in her writing. She seems so interested and engaged with the world, and open to her own experiences. Of course it's only been 22 pages and there are some 500 more.

Ahh...Vacation

Friends Matt and Lotte have been visiting from Melbourne, Australia, and as a result, in the past few days I am happy to have done some things I have long said I was going to do, but had not:

Thursday night we made it out dancing after years away from the floor! The dance we all share is Lindy hop which is a dance that was popular in the 30s and 40s, but became popular again in the 90s (“swing dancing”). There’s still a whole international subculture based around it today—but the players and the styles evolve and change. Locally, I used to know or recognize at least a few dancers anytime I went out, and most of the steps. On Thursday I knew only the people I went with and felt like I was faking or creating steps about half the time, but everyone was friendly I and I got to dance my fill. I would like to make dancing a bigger part of my life in 2009…it’s great fun, and is like working out in disguise, which I could use more of.

Friday we visited the La Brea tar pits—something that after seven combined years in Los Angeles, I had never actually done. Here’s a picture of the mama mastadon stuck in the tar, while the dad looks on and the baby is like “nooooo!” the baby has his trunk fully extended, but it’s about ten feet too short to save her. It’s really very tragic—like the beginning scene of a Disney movie, except longer and more drawn out.

The tar pits are affiliated with the Page museum, which has fossils and such. We decided to bypass this $7 ticket (although we went to the gift shop of course), in favor of the nearby Los Angeles County Museum of Art (LACMA). It has grown over the years and is now a campus of galleries, which made me feel good about buying a year’s membership. We are walking distance to the Museum, and another of my goals for 2009 is just to stop by more often now. I can get in for free whenever I want, so there’s no reason not to just stop in for 15 minutes if I need a writing break, or inspiration. Our group visited just the exhibit at the newly opened Broad Contemporary Art Museum (BCAM), which features works by Warhol, Basquiat, Lichtenstein and the like. I am a big fan of this large balloon dog by Jeffrey Koons.

First post of the New Year

It is now 12:36, and we are home from our eve's adventures--first stop a splendiforous fondue spread hosted by our friend Kendall, who hosted an "East Coast New Years Eve"-popular with out friends who have children this year, as the ball drops at 9pm and the kids can be in bed by ten. Then we went to the valley and visited a newer friend, Ruth, at her and her husband's new house--which is large and impressive--as was the screen on which Rock Band was set up.

Altogether pleasant. We ducked out a little early both to beat the drink-impaired, and because I am still fighting a nasty cold, and even though I start the day with a voice, by evening it is pretty much shot. I have a 9AM trip to the acupuncturist tomorrow, so maybe she will give me bitter herbs to make me sound sweet again.

In other news...I got an amazing deal on bookshelves at Office Depot today...I had planned to abandon veneer-assembly-required furniture forever and just get nicer stuff but second hand from Craig's list, but I never saw the perfect item at the perfect price, and transporting real furniture in a Hyundai Elantra presents a real challenge...So when I saw these shelves marked down from $149 to $20, I bought the last five on the spot. Our friends Matt and Lotte from Australia are coming back through tomorrow, and I'm hoping they will think furniture assembly is a fun activity. I'm excited to transfer our book to a place where they don't avalanche every time I look for one.

Then--my cup runneth over. When we arrived home with the shelves, what should be on our stairwell, but a package from the Solutions company. Yes--my SLANKET had arrived!