I Wear the Cheese; It Does Not Wear Me

A partial list of things I must remember:

1) the image of two well-dressed gentlemen swinging high into the air at the playground,
2) living inside walls can get cramped,
3) a cherry-print dress goes great with a bag full of weapons,
3 1/2) sitting still is its own journey,
4) the underside of the leaf is riddled with bugs,
and 5) a weasel is a weasel is a weasel.

And so life begins again. Things are cast aside as material possessions usually are, and the real reason for breathing steps forth. The poodle dreams of squeaking purple monkeys without suspecting that the next day holds anything different for her. The mermaid squirms in her plastic cocoon, writhing with every human touch. The walls grow farther and farther apart, the bugs grow quieter, and the air becomes lighter. There is a need for whispering, a lust for deleafing. Selves fall away, neatly, as clothes fall to the floor at bedtime. This is the time of the id, the season of rebirth, the growth of a new skin to replace the one previously shed. Boxes are packed; rooms are swept clean. And the self emerges.

On a Desert Island

I was once asked in a Facebook survey what three things I would take to a dessert island. I said: a fork, a spoon, and a bib. I don't think anyone got it. Probably only another English major would care about a little thing like spelling. And not wanting to be a pedant myself, I guess I should just let shit like that go, no matter how difficult that might be.

I guess the gist of a question like that is to explore what is most important to you, not to actually test your survival skills. And while dessert is an important part of my life, I'd like to find answers for a few more categories of things I wouldn't want to live without. So here goes.

What I Would Take to a Desert Island

DVD: Harold & Maude . This is my all-time favorite movie and I'm not even sure why. I think maybe because it's sense of life matches my own. And Bud Cort and Ruth Gordon are adorable together. And Vivian Pickles as Harold's mother is priceless! I can watch it over and over and never get bored.

CD: The Concert in Central Park by Simon & Garfunkel. This CD has too many great songs on it from The Boxer to America. Paul Simon is undoubtably one of the best songwriters of all time, right up there with Bob Dylan and John Lennon.

Book: A History of the Modern World by R.R. Palmer and Joel Colton. I chose this book only because it's what I'm currently reading and I just don't want to put it down despite the space it would take up in my luggage.

Drink: Hot tea with lemon and a few ginger-flavored biscuits to dip into it. I mean, what's tea (or coffee, for that matter) without biscuits for dunking?

Outfit: I think I'd like to take my shimmery silver minidress and long black boots (There might be an abandoned discotheque on the island, right?). Also, I'd like to have one or two of my vintage nightgowns with me. And a brown felt hat. You never know when you might feel like being peruked.

Toy: Kennedy Pearl, of course. I can't leave home without her.

Piece of Jewelry: Shin Cleo. For those of you who don't know, Shin Cleo is a diamond ring that used to belong to a great-aunt. I used to dream about it when I was a little girl; it always held for me some sort of mystical significance. Can't be on a desert isle (or a dessert isle) without it. Plus, it looks great with the shimmery minidress.

Art Supplies: Oil pastels and paper. And a camera or two (one digital and one pinhole). And maybe some charcoal pencils. And colored pencils. Oh, some gouache and watercolors, too. It's hard to limit yourself when it comes to creativity.

Food: Another hard category to limit yourself in. I think the most I can limit here is to choose a cuisine; if I had to eat one type of food for the rest of my life, I would choose Indian (and no, I'm not talking frybread here). Chicken makhani, poori bread... this is the stuff heaven is made of.

Miscellaneous: I obviously need notebooks to write in since writing is my raison d'etre. And mechanical pencils (an instrument I fell in love with when I was an engineering student). And my rollerskates. Oh, and my Flonase and Ortho Tri-Cyclen; the island can't be that deserted, can it? And, of course, the poodle (aka The Ghost Pony); every island needs its own whirling dervish.

Okay, it's a pretty long list. But I really did try to narrow it down to the most important things. It's really an interesting exercise to try to come up with what you wouldn't want to live without. It helps when you need to prioritize so that you can put the things you love first and not let them get squeezed out by other seemingly important things. I realize it's probably easier for me than for most people to work these things into my life (by virtue of not needing a j-o-b or having a k-i-d). But I think that even people with less leisure time than I have can find a way to make time for the good stuff.

I've known people who worked their entire lives, saving time and money for retirement so they can "really live" only to retire and become sick, or to find that by that age they're really too tired to do the things they love. Or even people who didn't work, but just postponed gratification until they couldn't remember what it was they loved. I know I'm just a slacker who couldn't delay gratification if my life depended on it, but it just seems crucial to me to be able to identify those things that make you happy. What would you take to a desert island, what would you save in a fire? Same question, really. And I doubt that it matters what your answer is, as long as you know it and live by it.

I feel as though I'm being way too serious here. I started out with a spelling lesson and lapsed into a spiel about "doing what you love." Scary.

Anyway, enough desert island blather. I'd rather contemplate this mysterious dessert isle. A fork, a spoon, and a bib. It's all I need.

Even People You Don't Like Die

I figure I'm contributing quite a bit to global warming these days. I've been leaving the back door from the kitchen open AND running the a/c all day long. I like it this way; it means I don't have to get up to let the dog out every fifteen minutes.

Time and energy.... energy and time. Waiting is something that I detest, yet there is really no way to avoid it. Wait and see. Just you wait. Waiting for Godot. Watching and waiting. Wait Watchers Anonymous (okay, a bit of poetic license on that one).

At most funerals, no one mentions what a bitch the old hag was, or what a sleezebag he was. Everything said is kind and decent even if it's the furthest thing from the truth. My cousin Gary wasn't a druggie; he was a great dad and a sweet guy. My grandmother wasn't the meanest woman on the face of the earth; she was funny and a good cook. Maybe some of the reason for this discrepancy is the different faces some put on in public. My mother was a complete bitch at home, but was so good at disguising it that everyone else thought she was an angel. I'm sure this public facade is a social necessity if you want to stay well-liked in your community. But it sure seems like a lot of work. I think I avoid insincerity due to laziness and a complete apathy concerning what other people think of me. I don't desire to be liked by people I don't know. I'm not even sure I desire to be liked among people I do know. There just isn't time or energy to worry about trivial things like that. In You Kill Me, Tea Leoni's character says, "Even people you don't like die." Why hide the fact? Not everyone is likeable.

Sexist Male Fantasies on Ice

Heraclitus said, "One cannot step twice in the same river." The river seems to be constant, just as the moment always seems the same. But the water is always moving; the water that touches your legs flows on until it reaches the ocean, or some other destination. Those same water molecules will never be in that location again, along with the organisms that it carries with it.

I dream of the passageway that opens up like a gift, like a small stream opening suddenly into an ocean...

Stuff found today:
1. I have to let the dog out of the trunk.
2. Boy, is it a white day. It must be the whitest day yet.
3. He made her bark.
4. Ravi Shankar is tuning up somewhere.
5. Oh, waiter, my date is ice cold.
6. A. That's what she'd lke to do to him. B. Stir his olive?
7. We have a radioactive something-or-other.

I'm more suspicious than I used to be. Monsters can disguise themselves as postal carriers; postal carriers can disguise themselves as competent persons.

"Every man has the right to risk his own life in order to save it." Jean-Jacques Rousseau

Dear Gershom Gillespie,
I realize you are dead. But if you could give me some idea of the workings of the universe in general, and of time in particular, I would forever be in your debt.
Love,
Your dead Uncle Eli

Dreams are nocturnal emissions, much like semen, but easier to clean up in the morning.