tuckova

turning eighties

 It may be yet a while before I can type with my eyes open again. There is this feeling of needing to talk in the dark, still. Of slumber parties, whispers, things we say only into the night. How everything looks so pointillist, which is not the same as pointless.

I was in Maryland for a few days at a Family Thing. My aunt turned 80. She was celebrated by family and friends, people getting choked up talking about their love for her, sharing memories. I don't plan to make it to 80 and I'm not a pillar of the community now so it is unlikely I will become one. So I don't have to wish for a party where we raise our glasses and remember the crooked porch, the rugged determination, the practical jokes that passed the time. Hush puppies and potato salad and fried chicken. I did think it was pretty cool that my aunt had that party, though. And that she turned 80, and that we all got to be there for that.

My sister reminds me over and over what it is like to laugh really hard. She is serious about making up new lyrics on the fly, and it is nice to revel in her talent. Also my cousins regularly surprise me with how just straight-up awesome they are. Also crab cakes are pretty incredible. It occurs to me that the food of my youth is remarkably similar to the food of Czech pubs, both the color and texture and the ingredients. Fried things with cheese. No wonder that even while my California sensibility winces at the absence of vegetables my shriveled little heart still knows when it's home.

I came home to a list of things to do about a mile long, a determination to make up for lost time, and the usual jet lethargy. Yesterday I unpacked and did all the laundry, which seemed promising, and then I slept 10 hours, which also seemed a step in the right direction. But then today I mainly ate a plate of cookies that Squire and his pals made while I was gone and wandered from room to room touching things to be sure they're there. I did maybe half of the work I was supposed to do. I'm convinced that tomorrow is another day, though, with no mistakes in it yet. And there are still two macaroons on the plate.

the place near the thing that we went that time

Yesterday we went to the Frida Kahlo exhibit in Vienna, because hey, we live in Europe and they have museums and stuff. As preparation we watched Julie Taymor's Frida, which turns out to be a bit more sexytimes than I remember, and that was sort of awkward and funny. Hey, thirteen-year-old son, come sit down with mama and watch fiery Mexicans getting it on. Whourps. The movie was good, though, and I think it helped Squire with appreciating the art a bit more. I do wish that museums were more like IKEA, where you have to walk up and down every aisle but then you see everything. I mean, go faster or slower if stuff interests you or doesn't, but I like that you have to walk by everything. I feel like the standard model of a bunch of rooms, where you walk through some rooms multiple times and others you can miss, is not effective. Particularly not when there are crowds that are coming in bunches - some people are like me, and want to go "in order" (I assume the museum curators did put it in some kind of order, right?) and others dart from picture to picture. So I got shoved some, and spent some time having the back of someone's head put itself in front of the painting, and also there were children touching the art, which is like: wow, parents. This is not an interactive exhibit. BUT the show itself was well arranged for the space, I thought, and I liked seeing her early drawings, so rough, and then you sort of watch her come into herself, and then there's a sort of deterioration at the end that is understandable but sad. Drugs, you are not actually a friend to art, despite how it sometimes feels like you are at the time. Also they had films and photographs and some of her actual dresses. Also I really liked the explanations, even though it meant I spent at least half the time reading instead of absorbing the visuals, but that is the curse of being me. I did think they went a little far with some of the explanations on the still lifes, but otherwise I came out feeling quite a lot better informed and even a bit more in love than I was, which was a lot. My goodness, are you still reading this? Let's move on, shall we.

It is not yet snowing here. I am going on a trip next week so I expect it will bust out the snow more or less on the very day I am leaving, to ensure some drama. Oh, drama, where would I be without you? I like to imagine I would be in a musical. I do so like it when people burst into song, as long as it is not me bursting, because nobody needs to hear that.

What else? Yesterday I ate a lunch so salty that my hands swelled and I thought I was having an allergic reaction to something. It is entertaining to think about the size of your tongue and whether it it is swelling. Mine was not, it turns out. Uh. Today I remembered to buy everything I needed at the grocery store without having remembered to take my shopping list. None of the eggs broke on the way home. So basically I rock. Except, all of my fingernails are splitting at the cuticles and it hurts. I painted them to try and cheer them up a little.

Workwise... I'm feeling a little challenged with work, but also enjoying a great deal of smug superiority over the Cooks Source editor. About fictional media, I know the more popular thing is to be mad as hell and not taking it anymore, but I feel more and more like Jane Craig in Broadcast News. I should watch that again; I have a feeling it influenced me more than just a little, and I don't mean just the baggy sweaters.

How are you doing? Things I thought were really terrible are turning out to be... not easy, but less difficult than I had imagined. I wish the same for you.

running after the rain

I'm sitting at my desk with my eyes closed trying to think of what to type and my friend is coming over 10 minutes ago so there is a certain pleasant urgency to writing now because there's this obvious deadline. Go go go. I have some terribly important questions burning holes in my head.

Do you think it's pretentious when listing your favorite authors to list their real names if they're frankly better known by their pen names? I mean if you say for example that Samuel Clemens is your favorite writer maybe that's not so hoity toity, I mean we know who that is, right, but if you say William Porter is that pushing it a bit? What if that writer also wrote less-famous things under their real name?

Is it funny when people in marketing talk a lot about themselves in one-on-one conversations or is that just me? I think that part of marketing is knowing your audience first and then charming them. Or not? I admit that I have sometimes played the game of trying to see how long it takes a person to realize that they know nothing about me. You know that game? The rules are fluid but generally you have to answer any question put to you as straightforwardly as possible while also pretty much making the other person feel so fascinating that they lose all interest in you. I think in my life I've met one person who was on to me. Partly this is because a lot of people I meet are pretty fascinating; fair enough. But I do think it's funny like if someone wants to tell you how awesome their week at the Dale Carnegie intensive course was, etc., before they even ask like I don't know about your hobbies or whatever. Awesome job learning "people skills" there; high five. Right? For clarity, I have an ego that could stuff a blue whale so really blah blah I'm still talking, here shhh.

How much does the way you answer a question have to do with trying to be entirely honest vs. trying to sound smart or funny vs. not really thinking about these things at all? 

If you had one day in the United States what would you do with it? Is it wrong that I want to spend it shopping? Is there a special bad place for me? Or is it like, no, Anne, nobody hates you because you're beautiful and you're Worth It etc. It's probably a little gross, you're probably right. On the other hand allow me to show you what a typical Czech dressing room looks like and then you can judge, mmkay? I mean am I going to burn if I spend more than let's say a hundred dollars and then don't go to an art museum or something? Can I just go to the movies?

Things have been better than this but they have also been worse. Until I bust out the Tori Amos I think we can all say it's going splendidly well. Okay I already busted out the Tori Amos and the Alanis Morissette so whoops but to my credit I did not post it to facebook or anything. I've been a little oh, my special unique pain that is all only mine and is also pretty well expressed in this best-selling album. I still cry like a teenager but at least I have a little elderly-wisdom distance while doing so. And it was a pretty good year. You oughta know. What's your sad and angry anthem?

When you were 13, how did you think about romance? Did it seem like something you absolutely yearned for? Kinda corny, but you still kinda wanted it? Icky? Not necessarily 13: I mean when you were on the cusp of experiencing relationships but had not yet had any. For me I had my first kiss at 15 so I'm thinking about 14, about what I expected then. I think I thought I was much too sophisticated for that kind of nonsense, which is why by the age of 18 I had a shell of cynicism so thick that one boyfriend said he would never dare to buy me flowers because I would mock him and destroy them. I actually kind of liked flowers and still do, though I can count on one hand the number of times I've gotten them as a romantic gesture. My friend who is now like 30 minutes later than I expected has brought me flowers from time to time, even though just talking is enough. The coffee is going to be kind of bitter but I'm not going to worry my pretty little head about it.

You know I think knowing all the lyrics to Knights in White Satin is a perfectly good substitute for knowing the names of trees. I'm like, thank you brain for storing all those Duran Duran lyrics, because otherwise I would know the names of birds, the periodic table, or something else totally useless. Good job brain. Way to prioritize. What have you stored that baffles you? Childhood phone numbers, friend's names from pre-school, the teachers from high school, the license plate of every car you owned; do you remember all your Halloween costumes? Does it help if I tell you now that you are not alone? Or would you rather know that scientists somewhere are probably working on a way to re-prune your gray matter so that you can memorize more important things, like maybe you would like to remember where you put your passport or what was the thing you wanted to go shopping for, anyway, while you stand in the middle of the mall with a dazed look: Was it a Christmas present? Did you already forget Christmas? Do you need to buy more righteously, indignantly wounded music?