A Drivel Runs Through It
Monday, October 31, 2005
Saturday, October 29, 2005
I think there is something so beautiful about this image.
Big Man, part of a Parisian exhibit on "Melancholy-Genius and Insanity in the Western World," from a Yahoo! slideshow.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
In my recent efforts to save the world -- at least, one or two of its occupants -- I have been attacked by the right and the left, and worse, I have neglected my homework. It's tempting to wonder why I bother arguing politics at all. What am I getting out of it, except the feeling of sandbagging a New Orleans levee?
I keep trying to talk myself out of this -- blogging, politicking, caring. But I believe that one person can make a difference. I believe that a group of people can change the world. I believe that ignorance is deadly and apathy is worse.
If only I could figure out how to get paid for it. Or at least, school credit.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Please tell us, President Bush, why have 2,000 Americans have sacrificed their lives in Iraq?
I want to know.
Mike wants to know.
Kate wants to know.
Dr. Omed wants to know.
Cindy Sheehan wants to know.
Freeway Blogger wants to know.
Jonathan wants to know.
The Gold Star Families for Peace want to know.
Operation Truth wants to know.
The Quakers want to know.
Kari wants to know.
Answer the question, Bush. We're waiting.
***
Have you ever wondered what 2,000 dead soldiers look like? Something like this.
***
Vigils are being planned across the country for tomorrow -- Wednesday, Oct. 26. In Missoula, the vigil begins at 6:30 p.m. in Bonner Park.
Go here to find one in your neck of the woods.
Monday, October 24, 2005
Funny, I was just about to blog one of my moon photos when I got a note from New West's photo editor, saying they'll be running one of them tomorrow.This photo was taken in August. I just uploaded a big batch of backlogged photos to my Flickr photostream. More to come, eventually.
My computer mouse, that is. The mice in the attic are just fine.
The cursor is freezing up about every minute or so, forcing me to pull the USB plug and reinsert it. In between freezes, it's jerky and moves either really slow or really fast.
I don't want to go buy a new mouse, because what I really want is to buy a new computer. An iBook, to be precise. I'm waiting on flex-spending reimbursement for my braces and jaw surgery, and then I'm going to try to swing the iBook. So if I buy a new mouse now, it will be a waste of money, because I don't need a mouse for the iBook. Although, if I intend to sell my used iMac, I suppose it will need a working mouse, won't it?
OK, I talked myself into it. I'll go buy a mouse tomorrow.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
I have six pillows on my bed in various shapes and sizes. That's not including the pillowtop mattress or the down comforter. (Or the two cats.)
I realize this is excessive, but I can't seem to help myself. I know many other women are the same way. Are pillows some kind of survival strategy hardwired into the female brain? Is it a DNA-level trait -- or some kind of psychological weakness? Am I a compulsive comfort-seeker?
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Evelyn Cameron wrote that she wanted to live "a life worth looking back upon."That quote inspired the title of a new Montana PBS film: "Evelyn Cameron: Pictures From a Worthy Life." I saw a screening of the documentary last night, and it's wonderful. Cameron, who left a well-to-do life in England for the desolate prairies and badlands of eastern Montana, beautifully photographed the land and its settlers from 1894 to 1928. She also took self-portraits that reveal the day-to-day life of a pioneer woman and kept meticulous journals and records.
The film will air on Montana PBS stations at 7 p.m. Nov. 16 and 29. It eventually will be on national PBS.
The film screening was held in conjunction with the opening of an exhibit of Cameron's work at UM's Montana Museum of Art and Culture. The show runs through Nov. 12 and is well worth seeing if you have any interest in history or photography.
I was awed at the reception when an elderly woman next to me pointed to a tow-headed toddler in one of Cameron's photographs and said, "There I am. That's me."
Cameron's work also is collected in a coffee table book, "Photographing Montana 1894-1928: The Life and Work of Evelyn Cameron." I've added it to my Amazon Wish List, on the off chance anyone's wondering what to get me for Christmas.
No, I'm not going there.
But tonight I was on my way into Pizza Hut to pick up some takeout when I passed a guy taking a leak in the parking lot, about 10 feet from the front door of the restaurant -- and about 20 feet from the restrooms, tops.
Not too long ago, I saw a drunk pissing on a sapling planted outside the local Kinko's -- in broad daylight.
When I lived in Whitefish and worked at the local weekly, the police reports were constantly filled with public urination busts, nearly always in the alley behind the bars (all of which have restrooms).
I routinely step over puddles of phleghm on sidewalks. I listen to men loudly, almost proudly, hawk up said phleghm. I've seen men blow their nose without benefit of Kleenex or even a sleeve, and then ask a woman to dance. The two-step.
Now, I'm not saying all men are crude and mannerless. But why is it more or less socially acceptable for men to spew themselves in public, while a woman would never dream of doing such a thing?
Friday, October 14, 2005
I seem to have climbed out of whatever hole I was in when I wrote that last post. This week I focused on the basics -- getting enough sleep, eating when I'm hungry, that sort of thing. It helps.I went for a walk in the cemetery today. It's something I like to do this time of year. The trees are at the peak of their autumnal beauty; the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is growing thinner. That's what the Believers say, anyway. I don't believe much, myself, but walking between the rows and rows of gravestones, reading their tender and sometimes heartbreaking inscriptions, I knew this much: Life is so short.
Walking in the cemetery reminds me of just how fragile and transitory our time here is. It encourages me to do what I can to make life beautiful, while not wasting energy on things I can't control.
Monday, October 10, 2005
The minutiae of my life overwhelm me. Papers to write, books to read, articles to analyze, email to answer, photos to edit, tasks to complete, projects to start, projects to finish, meetings to attend, appointments to schedule, phone calls to make, bills to pay, meals to prepare, dishes to wash, messes to clean, things to buy, things to get rid of, walks to take, weight to lose, cats to medicate, technologies to learn, mail to pick up, checks to deposit, receipts to enter, TV shows to watch ....
Then there are the things that overwhelm my overwhelm. Hurricanes, earthquakes, tsunamis, wars.
And one of those things is even something we have control over.
Does anyone out there happen to have a digital version of King Harvest's "Dancing in the Moonlight" they'd be willing to share with me?
Sunday, October 09, 2005
I haven't posted much lately due to sheer overwhelm. I'm struggling to keep up with homework, paperwork, housework, work work .... I've also been spending an inordinate amount of time in doctors' offices lately, trying to diagnose what are probably stress-related symptoms of insomnia, fatigue, heart flutters, shortness of breath, wheezing and muscle aches. But like a car that won't cooperate at the mechanic's, my symptoms magically vanish when a doctor is listening. Yes. I know. It's spelled n-e-u-r-o-t-i-c.
***
On a lighter note, even after losing 10 inches, being layered and changing colors, my hair is still, ultimately, my hair. In other words, fine and limp. So I am trying to learn how to manipulate combinations of mousse, root lifter, hair spray, combs, brushes and a blow dryer in order to propel les cheveaux up and outward from my scalp. I bought my first hairbrush in about 20 years yesterday. It's a ceramic round brush with boar bristles. And those are all very important qualities for a hairbrush to have, in case you didn't know. The idea is that you wrap segments of your wet hair around the round brush and aim the blow dryer's hot air at them, and the ceramic conducts the heat and the boar bristles distribute the oils and your hair becomes pouffy. And then you spray a bunch of toxic chemicals on your hair until it's too frightened to move. That's the idea, anyway.I actually did buy a brush about five years ago. I bought a metal round brush, probably because I read about its magical volumizing properties in a magazine. I proceeded to wrap a section of my very long hair around and around the brush, like a curling iron, and blow dry it. So far so good. Until it came time to release my hair from the brush. It wouldn't budge. My hair was locked in that brush's bristles so tight I thought I was going to have to cut it out. After a good 30 minutes of tears, wailing and frantic prayers to every goddess I could think of, I managed to get the thing unraveled. And straight into the trash it went.
***
Hugs to friend K., who took the time yesterday to listen to my bitching and whining with a sympathetic ear. Nothing lightens the load like having a friend to share it with.K. also helped me haul home my latest furniture purchase, a Martha Stewart china cabinet, on sale at K-Mart for $225. Yes, it's a little cheap and cheesy, but for the price, it's cute, clean and sturdy. And it's a place to stash my crockpot (which currently lives on the stovetop, because it doesn't fit anywhere else).
***
My to-do list beckons. Happy Sunday, everybody.
Monday, October 03, 2005
Here's an excellent video about the genius public relations strategy behind George W. Bush's verbal flubs.
Here's a news release on the previously mentioned, upcoming lecture by CNN Headline News writer Christine Boese: "Big Media and Little Bloggers: How Corporate Media Responded to War-Blogging Journalists."
Sunday, October 02, 2005
I shot this picture during a recent, smoky August sunset. It's taken from the California Street bridge over the Clark Fork River, looking toward the Russell Street bridge.
Saturday, October 01, 2005
I initially told the stylist to take "four or five inches" off, but she said that I wouldn't get much layering or volume without going shorter. When she said I had to lose at least 10 inches to be able to donate it to Locks of Love, I told her to go for it. She unceremoniously cut off my ponytail and laid it on the counter. I had the distinct impression I was staring at an amputated limb.I kept a positive, even cheerful, outlook during the color and cut, although the whole thing felt somewhat surreal. But after all the moussing and blow-drying and curling and back-combing and spraying was finished, I looked in the mirror with a slow kind of horror. There was a big, off-center pouf on my forehead. Layered ends curled into my face and under my chin. I looked like a bad, bad imitation of Monica Lewinsky.
I began frantically finger-combing the pouf and curls back. I'm sure the stylist thought I was wrecking all her efforts, but it was like a compulsion: Get it OFF me!
In a daze, I bought the $50 worth of Aveda products she recommended. I walked out to my car contemplating tears. Lots of 'em. But once I got the Monica pouf knocked down, I felt a little more optimistic. I decided to take a wait-and-see approach.
Now, a day later, I think I mostly like it. I love the color -- a dark, walnut-brown I've been dreaming of for years -- and I like the fluffy, silky look of the layers. I love how light it feels, how I can wear it down without it constantly getting caught in things like purse straps, power windows and armpits. It's a bit shorter than I'd planned; I'll probably let it grow back two or three inches.But it's strange -- it really does feel as though I'm not quite me anymore. Although I'd worn it up most of the time, my long hair was a defining part of me. It made me feel distinctive, different. Now, I don't know if I completely recognize myself. But maybe that's OK. I might just be ready to move on.
