Things That Make You Go Hmm...

Just got a traffic ticket on my way back from my night class. The pull over was because my "tag light" was burned out. The tag occupies about 1/48th of my license plate in the upper right hand corner. Does it have its own little light I never knew about?

"Tag light? Is that the light over the license plate?" I asked.
"Your tag light."
Helpful. Thanks.

I managed to find in the glove compartment, among the dental bills, tuition bills, and car repair bills, at least one paid insurance bill with our policy number on it--convenient since i had recently cleaned my wallet, and apparently pared away the cards.

Registration--last year's. But the number is the same, and since he literally spent half an hour back at the patrol car, I have to assume someone on the other end of the walkie had a computer and confirmed everything was paid up.

After a few more minutes, he returned.

I'm issuing a warning for the tag light, but I'm citing you for not having up to date registration in the car.

"Does citing mean a ticket?"
"I'm issuing you a citation."
"Is a citation a ticket?"
"Yes."
Really, was that so hard?

I drove home, berating myself for lack of organization, but arrived home to find the registration in a perfectly legitimate file folder, marked "auto." The notice on it said, KEEP THIS DOCUMENT. IT IS YOUR REGISTRATION. Nowhere does it say: Keep This IN YOUR CAR. I had obviously looked at it, thought, "Let's see, the tag goes on the car, maybe I'll keep this document in my files, where if something happens to my car, I can access the information on it."

Apparently what I was supposed to think was, "Let's keep this document in my glove compartment, so if my car is stolen or broken into, the thieves can look and find my full name and address too!"

P.S. Monthly "citation" quotas don't exist. It is merely coincidence that today is the second to the last business day in September.

This is What Acceptance Looks Like

My first acceptance letter for a real "print journal!"

Dear Barrington Smith-Seetachitt,

I'm pleased to inform you that we at Sycamore Review are in love your
submission, "My Panda," and would like to include it in our fall/winter issue.
A hearty congratulations! You note in your cover letter that it is a
simultaneous submission, so as soon as you confirm that it hasn't already been
accepted elsewhere, we'll send a you contract in the mail.

Thank you for your submission. We look forward to hearing from you.

Is it a form letter? Are they "in love" with everything they accept? Probably, but still, it felt sooo nice!

In Case You Miss Us

And want to see our smiling mugs.
Haven't received too many pics yet from my friend Christa's wedding in Indiana this summer, although I can't complain since I carried a broken camera around all weekend and didn't even notice because I didn't take it out of my purse! Friend Joe sent this one, of me, flanked by Chicago friends Anne and Paula, and an unaware Paul.

Blah.

Oh no...I feel a little sick! Like a little pressure in my chest, accompanied by the occasional weakish cough, dry eyes, a bit of extra mucus in the back of my throat. I'm a bit spoiled because I've been sick so rarely over the past couple of years, that when it does happen, I get bummed.

Oh..plus this---when I do get sick, it seems often to be accompanied by a crick in my neck...I don't have a theory yet to explain why this might be.

A Post About Hummus

Generally I try to avoid foodie posts, since I believe there are so many in the blogosphere--but then, there's probably a reason for that. People are interested in food, at least their own, and sometimes the compulsion strikes. Also, in my case, few other exciting things are happening, so...

I believe I might have mentioned in the past my love for Sabra Supremely Spicy Hummus. I like it better than my own hummus—I think mostly because of the kick. I first started closely inspecting the label in the hopes of seeing what the spices were, so that I might add them to my own recipe. Sabra, despite the fact that the spices rest atop the hummus as almost a separate entity, is tightlipped about their exact composition, preferring to refer to them on the nutrition label as “seasonings and spices.”

Once my eye was drawn to the label however, I could not help but notice that the oils used were not olive, which I tend to be prejudiced toward, but “soybean and/or canola oil.” Plus, I never really trust the “and/or” in labeling….They make thousands of containers of this hummus…don’t they know? And finally, the fat content of one ounce of Supremely Spicy Hummus was 6 grams. Not terrible, but for me, eating a serving size of one ounce of hummus is about as likely as eating just four potato chips. I decided to take a store-bought hummus hiatus.

Recently however, a combination of new job, laziness and the fact that a neighbor currently has our food processor has recently sent me back to store-bought hummus. The first day I went shopping for lunch fixings I was drawn to the Sabra case, but brought up short by the Athenos brand on sale 2 for $4.00. Generally Athenos is a little bland for my taste, but I let my eye wander and Hmm, what’s this? saw something new. Spice Three Pepper Hummus, with “Pure Olive Oil and Spicy Three Peppers.” I checked the label…only 3 grams of fat. I threw it in the cart.

The three pepper hummus was pretty good—not as creamy, which I expected, because it’s not as fatty—but good. As I ate, I looked at the label to revel once again in my cleverness. Reading past the comforting whole foods of chickpeas, olive oil, red, green and jalepeno peppers, I arrive at the last few ingredients…the ones behind the words “less than 1 percent of.” My personal opinion is, that any time a product specifically states “less than 1 percent,” it means that at least one of the ingredients they are about to list is just plain bad for you. In the case of Spice Three Pepper Hummus, that ingredient is High Fructose Corn Syrup. Why, I wondered—would that be? Why does a plainly savory concoction of chickpeas and oil need sweetening? The answer I found from doing some research, is probably that along with sweetening, HFCS increases shelf life, reduces freezer burn, and makes items a little softer and more pliable. All good for the manufacturer…but not so good for the consumer. If you want to read more about the evils of the corn syrup conspiracy, you might want to look here, or here, or here or here.

Just on principal I decided to go fat over fructose, a week later I returned to the Sabra Hummus case, only to find that every flavor was sold out, except Jalepeno Hummus. Really? Ugh, I thought.
But the clock was a ticking, and I didn’t have any other great lunch time ideas, so I picked one up and took it home.
Sabra Jalepeno Hummus is my new favorite hummus. For some reason, it has only five grams of fat, dropping one from the Spicy Hummus, and the taste is cleaner. When I get my food processor back I’m going to try to make it myself, but until then, Sabra gets my weekly $3.89.

Fun Cancer Reads

I think one of the most valuable things I learned from my screenwriting experience was how very helpful it is to really look at a good grouping of example works that deal with some of the same issues your project will have. So for the screenplay I watched John Hughes movies form the 80’s, other movies about high school, about romance, about high school romance. (I’ve looked for movies about invisible people, but there is a dearth, so as I prepare for the third draft, I’m watching movies about ghosts).



So, to get to my point, I am now working on some essays about cancer. I have books stacked so high on our side table that is a precarious maneuver to turn on the lamp. Many deal with various perspectives on healing and illness, now the medical industry works etc. But the ones that have really caught my attention, that I have actually read, and really very much enjoyed, are the memoirs. Of the three that stand out to me so far, two are graphic memoirs, Cancer Vixen, by Marisa Acocella Marchetto, and Miriam Engelberg’s Cancer Made Me a Shallower Person. The third, the product of a writer/editor who was struck by the disease, riveted me, and has me going back to it’s pages to see how it is crafted, is Katherine Russell Rich’s, The Red Devil.

Cause for Lament

Madeleine L'Engle has died. She was 88.

Once, A Wrinkle in Time rocked my world...And many of her books-both adult and children's-- that I read while growing up made me think a lot about compassion and faith and suffering and forgiveness.

Thanks and good passing Madeleine!

Que sera, sera--but que sera?

So, while in Indiana, my sisters and I went to see a psychic in Indianapolis named Jennifer. I’ve seen her two other times in the last fifteen years, when finances, location and need have converged, and never cease to be amazed at how accurate she is (though not absolutely perfect in every instance). She tends to be really strong on where you are in your life and what's going on with various relationships in the present, etc...but she does also foray in the future a bit.

Keep reading this blog for the next decade and see if these things happen:

I have children—one maybe even two within the next two years...a girl then a boy.
I will go back to school around five years from now for undisclosed subject matter.
I do not get cancer.
We move houses sometime this year.
I write an unintentional book.

I think one of the reasons I am not a complete addict to hearing about my future is that it doesn’t usually help that much in a practical sense. For instance, I tried to pump her for information about the unintentional book, thinking maybe if I knew the subject matter I could start keeping notes, maybe sneak in a little research…but of course, this information wasn't available, which is probably for the best—because if I intend to write the book, it won’t be unintentional, will it?

The most interesting case of how clues the future don't always help was when I was younger (mid-twenties), Jennifer described to me someone I was going to meet who was going to be a be a fairly serious boyfriend. She described his height, his eyes, his hair, and a few personal details about his life. And when she got to his age she said she saw the number 6--like he was perhaps 26, although he seemed older...she wasn't sure, it was something I would find out when the time came. So for several months I had my eye on this guy who was twenty-six who was a little too tall for the description, but cute enough that I tried rationalize that and half-hoped...but nothing came of it. Meanwhile, I really started to like this other guy who I figured was not interested/out of my league. He was thirty-four...his age was printed in a magazine article I had read about him, people knew he was thirty-four. Then one day after we'd been together for a couple months he confessed that the buzz was inaccurate, and he was actually thirty-six! In that moment it didn't hit me. But sometime later, I remembered Jennifer's prediction, and lined up all her descriptions against the guy and realized it was him to a T. Had I known it was him and thought I had a chance to begin with I probably would have acted all nervous and freakish and never ended up with him at all...one of those movie things where if you know the future then you do something different, you'll change it.

Still, now that the idea has been put in my head, I really want to write an unintentional book!

Rejected Author Sells Books!

My short stories have not taken the literary world by storm as of yet, but now that I've got going, my half.com store seems to have some legs. I've sold three books--yay! Some, like the grant writing textbooks, will definitely make me pocket money. Others, like my Richard Russo paperback that just sold for 80 cents...I'm not so sure. Half.com takes 15%, so that's about 70 cents. The real profit margin I think, is that it might only cost me a $2.50 to send it, but the shipping reimbursement is $3.50. So really, it all comes down to packaging. I was amazed yesterday at Office Depot to see that padded mailers, dependent on size, are slightly more or less than a buck a piece. I'm thinking Saran Wrap and plastic bags inside an unpadded envelope is appropriate for an 80 cent book...but what if my buyer thinks I'm tacky?

Oh the stresses of being an entrepeneur!

In any case, I'm my own book shelf space--that is, if I could quit filling it up by ordering more books from half.com...

Macrame Barf-Bags Deemed Stylish but Impractical

Got back to Tallahassee last night. Largely uneventful flights, except for the toddler who barfed in the seat in front of me during the Indy to Atlanta leg. The barf poured between the seats. Most landed on the floor, narrowly missing my sandal-clad feet, but a good portion landed on my purse.

My seat-mate was a nice computer nerd from Atlanta with whom I’d been having a pleasant discussion about Neil Stephenson novels. “Wow,” he said now, taking a whiff, “bleu cheese!”

I tried cleaning with baby wipes, but found the majority of curd-like vomit quickly took refuge in the holes between the coarse weave.

Fortunately we were soon landing. In Atlanta I transferred my belongings into a plastic bag, and forced the purse into a sealable zip-lock. Today I soaked and scrubbed, and just put it out on the clothesline…I’m hoping we have a thunderstorm tonight.

Back Home Again, in Indiana

Hanging with the family in Terra Hautia (Terre Haute, my home town). Went to my friend Christa's wedding in my college town of Bloomington this past weekend and saw some old friends.

Why can't I connect my blog to Google Reader?

Graduation

Paul graduated from the Film School this past weekend...I would attach a picture, except that true to form, I ran home to get the camera, arriving minutes after the grand entrance, to find that the camera was completely uncharged...so, only a very small and shadowy picture on my phone! There were no caps and gowns however, so you can close your eyes and imagine Paul shaking hands with some dude you don't know, and you pretty much have the picture!

Graduation was followed by the "premier" of this years thesis films, and then a swanky party at the sound stages where many people complimented him on his Director of Photography work on his friend's film "Goodbye Pluto."

I am very proud of Paul. He got what he came for--a great education. Two years ago he knew nothing about film-making, and today he can compete with many professionals in terms of his skills.

But it also feels like coming off a show..theatre or film. You get a good product, but the cost is emotionally high--the result of interpersonal conflicts and a sometimes seemingly unfair rewards system. The party line, offered by the most successful alumni and the dean of the film school, is that all the bruises will fade within a year or two and there will be nothing but fond memories and a supportive group of friends buoying each other up in the badlands of L.A.

Having spent some time on a few sets myself, I can't corroborate the warm fuzzy feelings from many of my own experience...it's a little more complicated...and has more to do with becoming a little inured to the pain, and able to spout an enlightened philosophy that you sometimes even believe.

But I'm willing to hope they are right.

Will I Ever Again Be a Faithful Blogger?

It's hard to say, strange how the urge to write waxes and wanes...mostly the latter lately.

In recent days I have...

Been on several morning walks around our house-sit neighborhood. Nice and residential, bordering a golf course..but NO SIDEWALKS-bar the red brick paths that seem to lead from the curbside to each front door. Everyone who walks must walk in the street. Racist? Classist? Just incredibly bad planning? I might also mention the complete dearth of bicycle paths in this entire city...the capital I might remind you. It makes me both angry and embarrassed.

Picked Paul up from the airport, he's back from L.A. :)

Completed the second draft of my screenplay. My teacher was exceptionally complimentary. She say three more drafts and I might be done! Although encouraged by accolades, my enthusiasm is at low ebb--the "only three more drafts" comment was not as comforting to me as I believe it was intended to be.

Recruited the requisite number of faculty (3) for my thesis committee, at least until spring, when one person will go one sabbatical and have to be replaced.

In recent days I have not...

Yet payed the rent (no late fee until the 10th).

Shopped for a dress to wear to Paul's graduation festivities this weekend, and my friend Christa's wedding in Indiana on the 12th.

Started reading Harry Potter. I am trying to hold off somewhat so that I can have it for my plane trip to Indy on the 9th, but I'm thinking I might just read a little before then...a dangerous line of thought.

Guilty...pleasure?

This was one of our weekly topics about six weeks ago, and I never wrote on it.

"Today on MSN". This is the little side column that shows up on the web page when I log into Hotmail...(the account that I have been trying to phase out for about four years, but it just never happens). It has little blue links to the day's top stories. Here are today's.

Confessions of a dating...
Gossip: Meg Ryan's new...
Is it time to dump your bank?
Games: Try the 'Potter' puzzle

and then, under the red "Only on MSN" header:

America's riskiest real estate markets.

Who could resist these tempting morsels?

If it's eating you alive, I have now clicked on three of the five topics and can fill you in. Incidentally, MSN stories come up more slowly than almost anything else on internet. I've downloaded entire movies faster. But perhaps it was worth it to discover
"Confessions of a dating late bloomer." A guy starts dating in his twenties, and after some initial anxiety, realizes that everyone gets nervous about dating, adn that there really are no set rules in overcoming this.
Meg Ryan is rumored has a new boyfriend. I already forget who it is. I rebember that they described her as the "pillow-lipped actress" though.
Los Angeles is indeed one of the riskier real estate markets, while Indianapolis is one of the least risky. The article suggests that one should consider buying a house to be investing in a home, not a get rich quick scheme.

Thirty minutes later, I am armed with mundane bits of information I mostly remember from some after-school special in the 8th grade, and a kind of regret induced nausea as I realize that there's thirty minutes (or two hours, depending on how far I follow a chain of links)I'll never get back again. That I could have used to write something amazing, or volunteer at a soup kitchen...or at least read the CNN feed instead.

So, guilty? Yes, I think so. Pleasure? That's one to think about. Certainly I feel compelled to click on the links, but now I have done so enough to know how empty the results will be that the disappointment actually begins when I move the cursor. Kind of like a chocolate sundae ruined by the thought of all the calories. Where's the joy?

I don't know, but maybe if I "try the Potter" puzzle, I can rediscover it.

Honorable Mention goes to

I don't think I ever mentioned the results of our applications to the Telluride Film Festival Student Symposium. We did not get in, but Paul and I both got wait-listed, which is not bad, as apparently there were only five people on the waiting list for grad students. However, it is apparently extremely rare for someone to give up their space, so no one is holding their breath around here.

Then the results of the Princess Grace Foundation Film Awards were sent this week. This is the grant application that tormented me for a good couple months. Paul was not an Award "Recipient," which means he did not receive the $24,000 dollars needed to produce the film concept he applied with, but he was named one of the Film Honoraria. He will recieve $2000 toward a film, we haven't yet heard details of what the expectations are for an end product.

So these are outcomes that evoke mixed emotions. I'm definitely happy and grateful to know we are at least "almost" there. It's very encouraging, and a salve to the ego. But while it's nice to be recognized for what you have done, the big prizes these days are the opportunities to do more, or more specifically, the opportunity to have something be easier. So I guess the end result is, that I think...yes, we should persevere, but oh man, it's still going to be all uphill and I'm tired already!

Oh, well. On to the next!

And you are getting old when...

Ohhh...I don't feel so good. I feel little hung-over actually.
Why, you might ask. Did you party the night away and drink too much?
Ummm. No. I stayed up 'til 4 AM sitting in the stinky papasan chair reading Jeffrey Eugenides' Middlesex.

And I ate too much cake yesterday at a birthday day tea. The better I get with limiting sugars in my diet, the more falling off it impacts me. In fact, it might have been the sugar high that influenced me to stay up the extra two hours. My stomach is not thanking me today.

Another reason for my malaise. Today is my official start date on draft two for the screenplay. I want to do it...in that same way you want to go back to the gym after a long hiatus. You know that once you're there, you'll feel better, and feel better about yourself, but from the pleasant distractions of other pursuits the task only looks arduous and painful.

Done Got Old

Ever notice how some days seem to have a theme?

I was driving around the other day when the radio played a version of that Junior Kimbrough blues song, Done Got Old, which starts out with the phrase “Done got old, can’t do the things I used to do.”

This was shortly after a discussion where someone quoted somebody, saying that if we really lived truly in the present, each second, all the time, we would be able to feel the incremental decay of our own bodies.

Coming home to our housesit I picked up the mail and found this catalogue “First Street—for Boomers and Beyond.” Flipping through, I found myself laughing in that “shit—it’s so sad, but it’s funny cuz it’s horrible and completely common and true,” kind of way.

As you get older, you might need this:



It’s a clock that tells you what day it is. Say you don’t have much sense of time anymore, but your son comes to visit you on Sundays. You can just sit and watch the clock until Sunday rolls around.

And what if you get lonely while you’re waiting, but you can’t bend over anymore to clean a clean a litter box or put food in a bowl? No worries, you just need one of these:



With the help of two double D batteries, they actually “breathe” so you can take comfort in that feeling of having another body in the room, just like when your spouse was alive, and your family lived with you…

The catalogue of course frames it’s products in a less doleful light.

A Day Clock is for those who don't have to worry about punching in or out at work, who don't have to report for meetings at a specific time, who aren't tethered to a day planner and who need only remember which day to head to the golf course or grandkids house. Basically it's for those for whom time simply means leisure!

Put it that way, it sounds pretty good.

The House Sit Begins

The most comfortable chair in the house is this one
A papasan chair with a decent cushion, red and velvety soft.
One of the few not infused
with dandelion fluff fibers
Of cat’s fur.

There is a reason for this.
A story of how the cat once peed on this chair, on this very velvety cushion.
How they took it outside (the cushion not the cat)
and hosed it down
and cleaned it with a special product (it’s under the sink if I need it)
You can’t smell it, can you? they asked
And I agreed I couldn’t.
When the cushion was dry, they sprayed it with another special product
(it’s also under the sink)
That keeps the cat away,
which is why this chair alone
is fur free.
So I sit in it, but can’t help wondering,
what chemicals do I loll in
That so repel another species?

And although I spoke the truth in the moment I was asked
I am haunted now
by what could be a figment...
or could be
the faintest,
ghostliest,
scent
of cat piss.

Party All the Time

Had a BBQ last week end. Sent it out to the whole listserv at school. It's the beginning of the term for the new incoming teaching assistants, so figured the new could meet the old. The party started at six. The rain started at 5:30.
Not a lot of new people, but other friends were very sweet, came, and alternately stood in the rain or sang karaoke til midnight...good times. Ended up with more food than we started with, so my neighbor Ginger suggested a leftovers dinner yesterday, which helped alot--I can now open the fridge door without fear--plus I got to get to know some of our neighbors better.

And during the daytime these days--reworking the script, which now feels liek the most boring tired piece of shit on earth...This, I am told, is part of the process, so I am plugging through, while periodically doping myself with episodes of Entourage.

Entourage is great, though not probably the best subject matter to be watching right now. It makes me a little angsty to watch the vicissitudes of the movie biz while writing something that could only be useful in the movie biz....

Oh well, I'll have some more left over pasta salad and try not to think about it.

Things I Do Passively

There are many. Sometimes I feel I ride in the wake of those who are more energetic than I and would barely do anything other than sit on my couch without their catalytic force. I feel I am very fortunate in this regard, as friends who call invite me to leave my house, neighbors stop by and invite me to play volleyball. The one thing I do contribute is that I say “yes,” and then must follow through.

Example: This weekend, for the first time, I traveled to both Alligator Point—a beach area an hour and change to the south of us, and Blue Springs Park in Marianna, a bit farther to the west. While I often think of spontaneously hopping in the car and taking a trip to such places…I think of it in a remote “I might do that” kind of way that has almost no relation to anything I would actually do on any given weekend, when I usually feel accomplished if I make it out of the house by three and go to a movie.

So anyway, one of Paul’s film school acquaintances invited me to audition for her short film. I said yes Thus on Saturday I got to swim in the bathwater warm ocean, and Sunday got to dive into a very chilly but super clear spring.

If anyone has ever been swimming with me, they know that cold is not something I do lightly…or quickly. I can easily spend the better part of an hour acclimated to the water, inch by inch, so that by the time people are ready to leave, I am almost submerged to the neck. In this case, my acting role required that I dive straight in and swim toward the underwater camera, as if reaching for someone at the bottom of the ocean. Rolling film is money, and scared I would chicken out on the clock, I struck a deal with the Assistant Director, where I would bend over in that ‘learning to dive pose” from swimming lessons when I seven, and when the director called “Action” she would push me in. Passive, yet efficient.

For the first take, I had not been in the water yet, and it definitely knocked the wind out of me. I couldn’t get as deep as I needed. Take two was my best—good splash, remembered to open my eyes right away, had breathed out before the push so it was easier to get deep (although for some reason holding my breath out is more panic inducing that holding it in). Unfortunately, I was told upon surfacing, the camera had not been rolling, so back to the diving board I went…Third time was a charm, and I felt very athletic and accomplished—like I had just swum the English Channel or something.

So, thanks be to the forces that pull me along and make life more interesting than I really deserve!