Emotional Weather Report

morning shows....

can't remember the last time i watched one. is this how dallasites really think of their city?
...another shooting in flower mound.
dancing homer doll
ooh, will we get rain? (shot of ren tower downtown)
tips for redecorating your bathroom before selling your home
grass fire in fort worth (we'll tell you who sparked it later!)
the weather in albuquerque (the 11 dems fled to there)
an elderly man gets a permit to sell produce from his backyard....

off to long morning bath--

repent, the end is fucking nigh

yesterday i steamed and artichoke while george foreman sold the lean mean grilling machine on tv.

so many colors, there's a grill for every family. so amazing, you'll even want to take it on vacation



i can steam an artichoke, but i can't bake a potato.


sigh.

and for those who aren't in the know: the blue mass behind me is indeed a bed. the tarp keeps the cats from turning it into a litter box.

the look on her face is priceless.

just so you know -- despite the torture berkley is sitting in my lap purring right now....

Melissa shares the "A" story:


From "Reflections of A," from ENGL 5349, 10 October 2001:

Differance is confusing, but I have an interesting anecdote that
relates to the concept - and is actually how I first came to understand some of this stuff. My friend was taking this course last year and became essentially obsessed with Derrida (she even toyed with having "Differance" tattooed on her arm), but in any case, she was fascinated.
One night, frustrated with the concept, she decided indignantly that we were going to erase the letter "A" from our vocabulary. So we typed via iCQ (an internet chat program) and replaced all our "a's" with "e's." It beceme very compliceted, but we could still understend whet the other wes trying to sey. Enywey, the situetion grew more confusing es we tried communiceting vie the telephone. We begen to sound like we were speeking Middle English. Then, et one point, one of us mentioned thet it wes ewfully herd to heve e lenguege without the letter "e." Whoops. We had to stop there, for we no longer had a signifier for the letter we'd replaced. We had removed ourselves one degree further from the original signified, and by misrecognition, we reached a point where we suddenly understood "a's" place in our language - arbitrary, perhaps, but distinct because we required it to be. Even in "a's" absence, the idea of "a" was present in our substitution.

Anyway, it was a strange evening to say the least.

You cannot pinpoint Differance. Hell, I couldn't even get through the article without extensive study breaks. But you can understand that, call it what you will, there is some"thing" (forgive me, Heidegger) or concept or general floaty idea that prevents us from thinking of language and difference as extra-temporal. I think that it's important to note that the difference between difference and differance - *shakes her head* - is made precisely because there should be no difference between differing and deferring. Now say that ten times fast.

i printed out the lyrics to a later version of leonard cohen's "hallellujah" when i discovered the song four years ago. right now it's taped to the wall at my desk; i took a couple of pictures of it but my digital camera stuff doesn't seem to be working.

maybe later....

this song seems to pop up -- in the past couple of months the lyrics have appeared on hopkins' and d-n's blogs. there was, of course the shrekkish rufus cover. i've even been known to play the sucker now and then.

each encounter in effect rewrites the song.

before i launch feetfirst into anecdote, let me note this: cohen's first version of the song included this:

I did my best, it wasn't much / I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch

a recent live version:

I did my best, it wasn't much / I couldn't feel, so I learned to touch

.... ah, the peculiar practice of word choice. (incidentally, one of my classmates at smu wrote a paper on "cohen's joan of arc" -- i never read it but i love to entertain different ideas for a thesis....)

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ah. so.

during that dallas beatnik summer of heat and survival, drama, betrayal, drink and depression:

i only worked half-days on friday at the hellish attorney's office that (barely) paid my rent.

thursday night became a bit of a ritual in my sublet apt -- we drank cheap wine and sat about, mildly devastated. i remember sitting, playing guitar and singing some, smoking cigarette after cigarette, long-faced and despairing. ah, the 1999 summer of thursday night depressions. i often drank and conversed until 2am or so, putting everyone up for the night and stumbling hungover to work in the morning.

one such evening my bitch roommate's acquaintence happened by. he was a true hipster musician -- tattoos, the hair, the clothes, the everything. we all drank until we felt sober, wilting on my front porch, talking about shit i don't remember. the time must have slid by as it often does, and the customary 2amish bed-down took place. i went outside for a goodnight smoke, one last hurrah-story or two to share with this dark figure (is it possible that one such as he could have a name?) before retreating to bed.

over camel lights and what we thought was the last cupfull of box wine for the night, the conversation pulled one over on us -- it turned to music. music is not a one-cigarette 'goodnight thanks for coming nice to meet you' topic. as usual, i gushed about leonard cohen, hallellujah specifically.

two drinks and a half-pack of smokes later, i found myself in the cab of his beatup truck as he rifled through the glove box-full of mix tapes. he was incredulous, shocked, appalled, depressed, etc. that i'd never heard this version of said song.

that i'd never heard of jeff buckley.

the back story of buckley's career and untimely death unfolded as the tape player gently screeched its rewind song. musician-hipster-guy spoke earnestly until Click!

drunk, yes. i was drunk, waaaay drunk, so much so that i don't remember many details of the evening. but those opening guitar notes, the sigh.... cohen's (and very much my own) song given new voice.... the stillness and carefulness with which i listened.

that something this amazing had been out there this whole time. that i was sucking it in at 4am on a thursday, taking it inside me more desperately than i pulled the smoke into my body four hours before i had to be in an office chair in a stupid skirt...

we listened to it over and over and over, and lover, you should've come over, talking and listening and ultimately singing, reverently sipping the dregs of pink wine, blowing smoke out of open windows, flicking ash out into the unreal world.

we said our goodbyes around 6:30. i dragged into work still drunk, bumping into stately desks, functioning (barely) on coffee and smiling, the new song singing in my head.

hallellujah.

it feels great to have finally slept a solid eight hours. much less cranky. i was really grouching there for a bit ;)

JC is departing for Oklahomic land soon -- folks who know and love the captain should come to the hipster loft friday eve for good company and alcoholic beverages. (i'll stock up on cokes both diet and regular too)

saturday my friend kelli celebrates her birthday. she has a new puppy.

last night i yogad, showered, took a long reading bath and enjoyed bouncing about the apartment. watched reruns of king of the hill. organized my cd collection while listening to songs and singing.

i think i'll be a george michael cover band.

so unbelievably good to be home.

Doing well this sweltering Tulsa afternoon. 105 outside. The pool is sizzling like the greasy food they serve here.

Went to Appleby's for lunch and basically ate a ton of cheese. They served me cheese and bacon quesadillas, insisting that "bacon's not really meat -- it's just flavor" (so shnn had fried cheese sticks in marinara sauce for a meal that cost about ten bucks. grimace.)

Hmm. Have to run downstairs to man the table for an hour. Pity -- I'm missing the bellydancing workshop.

;)

David Brin on The Postman (a Kevin Costner film based on a book by the same name):

"See it stoned."

How David Brin signed Damon's copy of Kiln People (a book I highly recommend.):

"Damon--
Boy how you blew it!
But at least you were close.
Keep trying.

David Brin
7/03"

planning new mexico trip with mel. deciding which bed i want to use, getting dizzy at the busy insane flower print of the coverlets.

we are taos-bound.

i want to say more right now. but i'm really happy right now, and i can't really IM w/ mel and type this stuff at the same time and pretty soon i'll be choosing (bed on the right, bed on the left???) and sleeping in city three in as many weeks (!!) (!!!!!)

hi to james who is reading this emoti-drivel-goodness.

things are good.

just got in to tulsa.

read fifteen pages of left behind -- what terrible writing.

time to sleep for three hours before boarding a plane
time to fly home soon

home is different now.

the city of dallas
redefined
chicago its new other
(for me)

thunderstorms rippled through this neighborhood last night as i half-dreamt, a tangle of shnn and guest sheets jill recently purchased from the local bed bath & beyond. right now cool air from the overcast day drifts in through the window and i'm wondering what kind of shansploration will take place.

hey everyone! let's move here.

it's so entirely NOT what i expected chicago to be. amazing how the name of the city takes on new meaning as my visit progresses.

the spacebar on this keyboard is a bitch, so i'll have to share more at a later moment. just wanted to record the morning's wonder, to get this down before the day fully comes into being. i have smartmeme whale stories and rorty revelations, text messaging with mel and stimulating conversation with jill and bell.

inshallah.

so much to say, sitting here staring at the screen, at the keyboard.

none of the important shit will be forthcoming in this blog. i need a fucking full weekend to sit and think and write it through. for now dealing with the pockets of odd time that appear as all that's bubbling beneath cracks the floorboards.

strange, that: that i feel the need for some solitude to think it all through. because for now i am esconced a loneliness swirl. self-induced? maybe. feeling so goddamn shannocentric lately. i'm reluctanct to lay it upon others, to somehow distribute the weight of the sum of a myriad of problems.

yes. so a spot of depression. and that's okay.

if not for the late hour, i'd share the dictionary.com definition for "okay" and engage in a discussion of such. what an interesting term that we employ. what different things do people mean when they use it?

goodnight moon.

my orange juice says "new! improved taste"

huh?

how can it possibly be wednesday?

went downstairs to check things out (and break the useless worry)

i went to portico a & b for the filking.

i filked.

chronic fatigue girl was a hit.

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davidgerrold is a fun guy

i went to the locus award banquet thing earlier this eveing. what a freaking hilarious group! i was surprisingly entertained.

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had to shut the balcony door. some asshole directly below is chain-smoking cigarettes and it smells bad.

how things change.

how i wish i still enjoyed smoking; i'd love to sit outside in the temperate night and puff away dramatically. melissa once told me i smoked sexy (and she *hates* smoke/ing), but i think it might have been the skirt and eyeliner i was wearing, maybe the lighting (you know those durn old-timey streetlights at smu)
-----------

thanks to dave rerun for the catchup chat tonight. hasta conestoga, mi amigo.

i was within earshot of a prominent african american sf writer today:

"being smart is like being tall; there's no room to be falsely modest"

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it's just after ten seattle time. i met damon two years ago today at the hidden noise collective. from my balocny i can see a huge expanse of western sky. fireworks go off all around -- at least five local communities' shows spark against the dying sunset.

i thought i hated fireworks. maybe i do. tonight they make me sad and lonely -- or maybe it's the steady chatter that comes from the floors below. everyone is out watching the show. a patriotic woman on the balcony adjacent to mine keeps saying "wow" and "oh my god" a lot while her companions murmur their approval.

it sounds like a thunderstorm out there.

i haven't heard from damon, keeper of the kitties, at all. i'm worried and descending into self-loathing because i only left the cats a day's supply of food and water (having left in a rush due to oversleeping tuesday morn).

i wish i had a sparkler.

hat a wonderful night. it's midnight back in balmy dallas, and i'm feeling it (having had only about three hours sleep last night).

but i'm at the airport hotel in seattle, and despite the late hour the azure night sky is tinged with orange. just had dinner with a couple of our authors and talked shop.

my room has a balcony. i'm going to sit on it and read for a while. i might sleep with the sliding door open, letting in the sounds of traffic (both cars and planes) and

god i wish i'd brought my digital camera, to visually grab this slice of pacific northwest.

will i even leave this hotel this weekend?


i love it here. i don't even half mind the overweight flirtation (i'm literally the thinnest person i've seen here... can you guess who's doing yoga tomorrow morn to make sure it stays that way?) from patchy facial-haired men in costume....

sooo.... tired.....

off to watch the last dregs of sunset and collapse in a heap of shnn in the foreign bed.