Lady Lazarus lives yet again!

My iPod is a hypochondriac, I think. Only three years old and she's already had battery replacement surgery (scalpel wielded by Dr. William) and a wholesale resurrection (under the healing hands of Mark the Juggler).

Now, every so often, she just freezes up -- unresponsive, catatonic. Every time, I'm sure this is it -- I'll have to put her in a shoebox and bury her in the back yard.

But if I ignore her for a few weeks, then try reconnecting with her, she's suddenly perky and acting as if nothing ever happened.

Obviously, she's a female.

(See, guys, I can say this -- you can't).

Her namesake, btw, one of the first poems I really heard when I read it, back in junior high. Fantasizing about living the tortured, creative writer's life, drinking vodka straight up and falling into bed with older men. Alas, the reality not nearly so alluring ...

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Stupidity in advertising, Part 1

Does anyone else find this ridiculous?


"70% organic"??? What's the other 30%? Where does the one end and the other begin?

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Stupidity in advertising, Part 2

Why does this exist? My god -- even I'm not this fucking lazy or unnourished.

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"I can't explain the way I feel

/ each time I get behind the wheel."
-- "Speeding," the Go-Go's


If I'd spent my Friday doing all the things I'd meant to do, instead of bopping off to NE Lincoln to take my newly grad-e-a-ted cousin Sarah to lunch, I never would've gotten a speeding ticket. The officer didn't seem impressed by the facts that (a) the road seemed rural (especially driving past a newly decimated North Forty Golf Course -- sad); (2) I was just following the guy in front of me (who also got a ticket).

Sigh. I just took the STOP class last spring. I hate to think what my next insurance bill will be. I think Krista's right -- I need to put a block on my speedometer.

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Market day.

Mizzes K and A and I, escorted by "Big" Tom, rode our bikes downtown this morning. I've been negligent -- May's nearly over, and this was my first Farmers Market of the year. Spring mix and sunflower sprouts from Shadowbrook Farms; spicy white radishes from a kid with a talent for salesmanship; tortillas and a nifty new totebag from Emma and Jill's stall; jewelry; giant bubble wands for the niece/nephews.

Detoured over to Urban Trail Gardens, a new nursery at Fourth and F streets. It's small, but they have some good, healthy plants and a great selection of succulents. They live just across Randolph from me, so I want to throw some business their way.

Spent the rest of the day raking out all the old mulch the former owners had spread just before I bought the house. Dyed wood chips marketed as "Husker Red" -- really! Dumped all that detritus behind the lilac bushes; dug some peat moss and nonchemical fertilizer into the clay I call soil; and spread a new, thick layer of natural (Husker-free) cedar.

(The smell of cedar, btw, always reminds me of porn. When I was growing up, my best friend next door had a stepfather who kept his Playboys in a cedar storage closet. Her older brother wasn't allowed to go in there, so he had us nick copies of the magazine for him. Thus cedar always evokes Barbie Benton in my mind ...)

New mulch, garden-dirty fingers and new ring (spiral alert!) from the market:


First peony from the garden:



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Music, trivial.

A new friend shared with me this lovely passage from "The Heart is a Lonely Hunter." The first paragraph sounds to my ear strikingly of Hemingway. Makes we want to revisit McCullers.

This music did not take a long time or a short time. It did not have anything to do with time going by at all. She sat with her arms held tight around her legs, biting her salty knee very hard. It might have been five minutes she listened or half the night. The second part was black-colored -- a slow march. Not sad, but like the whole world was dead and black and there was no use thinking back how it was before. One of those horn kind of instruments played a sad and silver tune. Then the music rose up angry and with excitement underneath. And finally the black march again. But maybe the last part of the symphony was the music she loved best - glad and like the greatest people in the world running and springing up in a hard, free way. Wonderful music like this was the worst hurt there could be. The whole world was this symphony, and there was not enough of her to listen.

Far less eloquently, Amy and I were reminiscing the other day about the days of K-Tel albums and Columbia Record Club -- 13 albums for ONE PENNY! I distinctly remember "Bat Out of Hell" was one of my original 13. Amy said she thought Loverboy was one of hers.

"I was totally into Loverboy," I said.
"I still like you," Amy assured me.

Then she blew my mind by telling me Exene had become a grade school teacher/librarian -- when she's not still making kickass punk rock music, which she still is. That's on top of Scott last week blowing my mind by saying she has a kid with Viggo Mortensen. I'm obviously not on top of my Exene trivia. Must go study.

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Quotes of the day:

Mom: "What did you do with Grandma?"
Daughter: "I don't know ... she ran away."
-- overheard at the Farmers Market

"We're in the throes of passion!" -- Tom, engaging in massive PDA with Amy, also at the Farmers Market

"Well, go throw your passion someplace else." -- me (pretty good line off the cuff, I think)

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Things to do Sunday:

On what would have been her 100th birthday, give a memorial shout-out to Rachel Carson for alerting the world to the dangers of pesticides.

Meet us at 84th and O at 9:30 and let's ride! (Unless it's really raining.)

Exenellent.

My favorite subversive used bookstore maven had a reading tonight with Betty Levitov -- a lovely evening all around. Betty says it's possible to rent a home in Malawi or elsewhere in eastern Africa for $20 or so a month. So tempting I can hardly stand it ... I wouldn't even need to set up an income source, at least not anytime soon. More research is definitely in order; meanwhile, I hope Bookstore Maven, Betty and I can get together again sometime soon, as I really enjoyed meeting her.

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Between the reading and the party, I popped across the alley to Homer's for what likely will be my last visit -- the downtown store closes for good Saturday. This popped out at me from nowhere, and it's like coming full circle: I'm pretty sure I bought my first X album from the Homer's on Howard Street. We used to go to Omaha every summer for back-to-school clothes, then down to the Old Market so Dad could stock up on jazz at Homer's and Drastic Plastic -- 10 or 12 albums at a time, one of the few times he took visible pleasure in any activity. It made an impression; even today, nothing feels more indulgent than scouring a record shop for music I didn't even know I wanted 'til I happened across it. Cruising iTunes just isn't the same. Homer's, I'll miss ya.

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The FDA today approved a birth-control pill for continuous use -- eliminating the menstrual cycle completely. I have such mixed feelings about this.

I already take a pill that cuts my periods down to four a year. I'll admit it: I take it for the convenience. (It'd be a helluva miracle if I got pregnant, even if I *were* having sex with anyone besides myself). I hate the mess, the planning ahead, the discomfort.

But I also wonder, constantly, about what one researcher told MSNBC:

"Menstruation is a normal life event — not a medical condition. ... Why medicate away a normal life event if we’re not sure of the long-term effects?”

Actually, finances (and, again, a lack of legitimate need) have me experimenting with going off the pill. If I can be more self-righteous as an added bonus, so much the better.

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Spring isn't spring without lilacs; the late frost killed 'em this year. But iris from the side yard are good. Peonies should be popping open any time now, too.

Fuschiarama.

What I love about fuschias is how they look so exotic, yet (if treated as an annual) require almost no special treatment. Perfect to gaze at as I'm lazing on the porch swing.

And these roses! They've been halfheartedly trying to climb up the drainpipe since I moved in two years ago. Just the other day Miz K remarked on how healthy the plant looked, clambering all over the place, and I said, "Yeah, but it never blooms." Then, a couple days ago, voila! Don't know the variety; just a double climber that looks pretty old-fashioned to me. More buds all over the place, and yesterday I see that the rose in the backyard shade garden's in bloom as well.

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Playing with fire.


I am so not a renaissance festival person; we went to support Miz K's boyfriend, the juggler; and our friend Jeff was pouring the wine.

Quotes:

"Because nothing says Renaissance like Sno-Cones." -- Miz K

"Your boyfriend's prancing." -- Gwyneth to Miz K

"All dead men are cremated equal." -- Calligraphy card for sale

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Day of rest? What day of rest?



Wrote a mini book review for Sunday's Journal Star -- which still sits, still in its annoying plastic wrapper, on my dining room table. Busy weekend -- rode to Eagle and back with Al and his friends Sunday in the a.m., rushed home to shower and rush to Pioneers Park Nature Center for the Divine Miss Em's 8th birthday party, rushed back home to meet Jeff who kindly made new screens for my basement windows; rushed through planting my weekend purchases; rush rush rush ... I need a day off ...

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My new favorite coffee shop.

It's called the The Cup (that's The with an accent acute on the "e" -- as in French for "tea") and it's right in my 'hood -- 25th, between Randolph and H, in the old bottling plant. ORGANIC coffees and teas (a huge selection of teas), amazing pastries, and what looked like some yummy salads and sandwiches.

The owner's lovely as well, offering us samples of the lavender lemonade she was working on. Gossip is she was popped for embezzling awhile back, but she's wonderfully enthusiastic and has created a great space with lots of tasty treats, and I hope she can make a go of it.

It must have wireless 'cuz I saw Bob Hall there -- so pay a visit, y'all! I'm biking to work this morning and so plan to pick up a roasted eggplant sandwich for lunch on the way. And try the ginger lemonade.

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Recycling tip of the day.

Campbell's Nursery at 40th and South has a bin at the back of the parking lot where you can dump empty flats, plastic pots, etc. If you won't reuse them, don't throw them away!

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I'm a plant whore.

Lured, on the way home from work, by the homemade "Plant Sale" sign pointing to Elmwood Avenue. Someone thinning out their own lush backyard garden. Scored some basics -- cannas (I don't think the ones I saved over the winter are coming up), more hostas and daylilies, some ribbon grass to hold in the soil along the alley. I resisted the phlox and the beebalm.

I have no business, cash- or space-wise, buying more plants. I am officially addicted.

Up early tomorrow to help plant the Sunken Gardens ... though I'd rather laze in bed and then futz around in my own backyard.

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This is hardly the definitive article on why the blogosphere is so rife with angry outbursts and outright hatred, just one of many I've been reading lately.

Not that I want to see any limits placed on anyone's right to say whatever they think, but
I think the combination of mass distribution and anonymity is dangerous. The hatred that comes out from under cover of a pseudonym is just part, it seems to me of a growing trend -- the same one that, for instance, lets us feel so insulated in our cars that we can yell the filthiest things at fellow drivers or the galling lone pedestrian who dares to stray into "our" crosswalk.

I don't mean to be a Pollyanna. I think disagreement is not only acceptable in social discourse -- it's downright necessary. But can't it be civilized? Does it have to come down to blanket stereotypical statements about some perceived Other (Republicans vs. Democrats, hunters vs. vegetarians, drivers vs. cyclists, etc.)? Can't it be about what we think rather than who we are?

And the anger! It just surprises me, sometimes, how vitriolic people can be in addressing "virtual" strangers. Where does it come from?

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Has anyone else been seeing crows attacking squirrels lately? I've never seen it before, but we're having Celebrity Death Match in our own yard, day after day. Is it a personal vendetta between a single specimen of each species? I don't think so. I think we're watching Darwinism in action.

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Spiraling up.

Miz A got one of these funky begonias at Campbell's, so of course I had to get one, too. You know me and my spirals.

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Pete Watters called us yesterday to come hear Sarah Benck and the Robbers at The Zoo -- the place was dead and he's afraid she'll stop coming to town if people don't represent. Actually, by the time we got there, the crowd was good. But -- y'all! You have GOT to go see for yourselves how such a big voice and big sound can come out of such a badass, ponytailed little thing.

She's at Knickerbockers on June 8. Make a note of it. Then GO!!!

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"Bunnies", anyone?

I know a certain Juggler who's eager to get a new gaming league together. It's a complicated sport, so read up on the rules of play first.

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Currently reading: "The $64 Tomato: How One Man Nearly Lost His Sanity, Spent a Fortune, and Endured an Existential Crisis in the Quest for the Perfect Garden," William Alexander (thanks, Miz A!); "A Shuttle in the Crypt," Wole Soyinka (thanks, Miz C!)

Currently eating: Chipotle black bean hummus from Open Harvest. Oh, man, you gotta try this.

Currently drinking: Mothership Wit. Coriander and citrus in an ORGANIC, mass-produced wheat-beer. My snowboard-instructor cousin is moving from Vail to Fort Collins -- home of New Belgium -- this fall, so maybe I'll visit and get a tour!

Currently mourning: The imminent loss of Homer's downtown. It's all my fault for jumping on the digital bandwagon. The store out by Gateway is staying open ... but it's a matter of time, isn't it? I'll miss picking up something new based on proximity or cover art or Charlie Burton's advice.

Current theme song: "Real Friend," Sarah Benck and the Robbers

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Happy. Trails.

Got to Indian Cave State Park around 3:30 Saturday afternoon. Made camp and by 4 or so hit one of the trails. This shot makes it look deceptively easy, and at first we too scoffed at the map's description of "strenuous" trails, thinking it meant only to scare away your average KFC-packin', Bud Light-swillin' Nebraskan.

Pretty soon, though, we stopped laughing and started focusing our energy on forward motion. Surprisingly hilly. I love what that does to me -- both the physical activity itself and the recognition, in intense detail, of what my body is doing. Each muscle concentrating on its task, pulling and reacting, my thighs for once a source not of shame but of power, my lungs expanding and contracting in time with my footsteps, my soundtrack not from an iPod but from the pace of my breath, the crunch of leaves beneath my feet. Rarely am I so focused on a single activity; rarely do I let myself notice so closely exactly what my body is up to.

Later, falling asleep brushed by the breeze, its whispers through the treetops hard to distinguish from ocean's tide. Waking, well-slept, to dappled sunlight and no obligations -- no world outside the immediate vicinity.

Another good hike this morning, four of us this time, finding one brief vertical stretch strangely reminiscent of Bright Angel Trail leading out of the Grand Canyon.

It's a pretty park, and after finding a middle ground between the group tent campgrounds and packing all your gear in for a couple miles or so, we'll camp better next time. I can see myself coming down here a lot this summer -- as a private retreat, just me and my (dad's) tent, or with a group of friends to drink beer and munch Pirate Booty, lit only by the stars and a campfire.

Between all the planting earlier in the week and the ubercalming effect of the past 24 hours in the outdoors, I feel more peaceful and centered than I have in a long, long time. Happy, even, maybe.

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Currently reading:

"Butterfly Burning," Yvonne Vera

(trying to read it, anyway; the writing is really just too pretty ... I can't focus on the action.

What I did today.

Three and a half flats planted. A bit of transplant surgery here and there. A growing list of more to get at Campbell's tomorrow.

Best day I've had in I don't know when.

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Currently reading:

"Disgrace," J.M. Coetzee (actually, read the whole thing before sleep and in the morning before getting out of bed. Lovely. Heartbreaking)

"Harvest for Hope: A Guide to Mindful Eating," Jane Goodall (I'll have more to say on this soon)

"The Best American Travel Writing 2002" (If I can't afford to go on vacation, I bring the vacation to me)

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Thoughts for the day: Three from Wendell Berry:

"Be joyful though you have considered all the facts."

"Eating is an agricultural act."

"Every day do something that won't compute."

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