He stood ankle-deep in the foam from the surf and peered into the waves, without taking a step, for the longest time. The family went down to the water's edge to have a word with him.
"What are you doing, Walt?" Helen asked.
"What are you doing, dummy?" Duncan asked him.
"I'm trying to see the Under Toad," Walt said.
"The what?" said Garp.
"The Under Toad," Walt said. "I'm trying to see it. How big is it?"
And Garp and Helen and Duncan held their breath; they realized that all these years Walt had been dreading a giant toad, lurking offshore, waiting to suck him under and drag him out to sea. The terrible Under Toad.
Garp tried to imagine it with him. Would it ever surface? Did it ever float? Or was it always down under, slimy and bloated and ever-watchful for ankles its coated tongue could snare? The vile Under Toad.
Between Helen and Garp, the Under Toad became their code phrase for anxiety. Long after the monster was clarified for Walt ("Undertow, dummy, not Under Toad!" Duncan had howled), Garp and Helen evoked the beast as a way of referring to their own sense of danger. When the traffic was heavy, when the road was icy--when depression had moved in overnight--they said to each other, "The Under Toad is strong today."
"Remember," Duncan asked on the plane, "how Walt asked if it was green or brown?"
Both Garp and Duncan laughed. But it was neither green nor brown, Garp thought. It was me. It was Helen. It was the color of bad weather. It was the size of an automobile.
March 5, 2007
March 2, 2007
The lost cause of words walks away with my nerves
('cause I'm gay as a choir boy for you.)
I feel like sharing a poem today. My friend Scott shared this with me awhile back (for which I am eternally grateful) and it immediately became one of my favorites.
Her Lips Are Copper Wire
by Jean Toomer
whisper of yellow globes
gleaming on lamp-posts that sway
like bootleg licker drinkers in the fog
and let your breath be moist against me
like bright beads on yellow globes
telephone the power-house
that the main wires are insulate
(her words play softly up and down
dewy corridors of billboards)
then with your tongue remove the tape
and press your lips to mine
till they are incandescent
I feel like sharing a poem today. My friend Scott shared this with me awhile back (for which I am eternally grateful) and it immediately became one of my favorites.
Her Lips Are Copper Wire
by Jean Toomer
whisper of yellow globes
gleaming on lamp-posts that sway
like bootleg licker drinkers in the fog
and let your breath be moist against me
like bright beads on yellow globes
telephone the power-house
that the main wires are insulate
(her words play softly up and down
dewy corridors of billboards)
then with your tongue remove the tape
and press your lips to mine
till they are incandescent
February 23, 2007
Henry Winkler is not my cousin.
(Title to be sung to the tune of "Billy Jean" for maximum impact.)
I grew up watching "Happy Days." It wasn't that I particularly liked the show, it just always seemed to be on when I got home from school. When I was 7 or 8, my grandmother (whose maiden name was Winkler) told me that Henry Winkler was a distant cousin of ours. This was fascinating news.
"Really?!" I cried. "How do you know?"
She explained that his father was a second cousin (or something like that) of her father back in Germany.
I was totally excited, and for years this was the most interesting thing I had going for me. (Well, aside from eating boogers and obsessively counting things. Henry Winkler totally won the prize.)
As I got older, occasionally converstions would come up about encounters with famous people; other times there would be little ice breaker activities at various functions where you had to tell two true things and one lie about yourself so that other people could guess what you were lying about. Of course, I worked The Fonze in at every opportunity.
The first time I went to Hollywood (I was 24), I took a picture of Henry Winkler's star on the Walk of Fame and sent it to my grandmother. I couldn't understand why she wasn't more excited.
Chris always doubted my story. "Henry Winkler's Jewish," he said. "You're family's not Jewish." For me this wasn't a deal-breaker.
"So what? Maybe there's some Jewish branch of our family that never came over from Germany," I defended.
One day I saw him being interviewed on TV, so I decided to look up some information about him and his family on the internet. His dad was the president of some big company and his family had money. Certainly no one in my family had any money. I started to have my doubts, and expressed them to my aunt.
"She made it up," my aunt confided. "But don't tell her I told you!" So, of course, I confronted my grandmother.
"I'm starting to think that Henry Winkler is not our cousin," I told her pointedly. (And keep in mind this is my grandmother for whom cussing consists of "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!")
"Oh, Jesus Christ!" she snapped. "I just said that to entertain you kids! None of the others ever cared! You were the only one who remembered and you just kept on and on and on about it!"
I pretended to be really wounded. "How could you lie about something so important?"
"I didn't think it would go one for 20 years! You just wouldn't let it go!"
So. My grandma's a liar. I love that about her.
I grew up watching "Happy Days." It wasn't that I particularly liked the show, it just always seemed to be on when I got home from school. When I was 7 or 8, my grandmother (whose maiden name was Winkler) told me that Henry Winkler was a distant cousin of ours. This was fascinating news.
"Really?!" I cried. "How do you know?"
She explained that his father was a second cousin (or something like that) of her father back in Germany.
I was totally excited, and for years this was the most interesting thing I had going for me. (Well, aside from eating boogers and obsessively counting things. Henry Winkler totally won the prize.)
As I got older, occasionally converstions would come up about encounters with famous people; other times there would be little ice breaker activities at various functions where you had to tell two true things and one lie about yourself so that other people could guess what you were lying about. Of course, I worked The Fonze in at every opportunity.
The first time I went to Hollywood (I was 24), I took a picture of Henry Winkler's star on the Walk of Fame and sent it to my grandmother. I couldn't understand why she wasn't more excited.
Chris always doubted my story. "Henry Winkler's Jewish," he said. "You're family's not Jewish." For me this wasn't a deal-breaker.
"So what? Maybe there's some Jewish branch of our family that never came over from Germany," I defended.
One day I saw him being interviewed on TV, so I decided to look up some information about him and his family on the internet. His dad was the president of some big company and his family had money. Certainly no one in my family had any money. I started to have my doubts, and expressed them to my aunt.
"She made it up," my aunt confided. "But don't tell her I told you!" So, of course, I confronted my grandmother.
"I'm starting to think that Henry Winkler is not our cousin," I told her pointedly. (And keep in mind this is my grandmother for whom cussing consists of "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!")
"Oh, Jesus Christ!" she snapped. "I just said that to entertain you kids! None of the others ever cared! You were the only one who remembered and you just kept on and on and on about it!"
I pretended to be really wounded. "How could you lie about something so important?"
"I didn't think it would go one for 20 years! You just wouldn't let it go!"
So. My grandma's a liar. I love that about her.
February 15, 2007
February 14, 2007
Love and all it's harrowing travails
When I was in my early 20s, I asked my Grandmother what it was like to be with someone longer than you'd been without them. My grandfather had passed away several years earlier, and we were reflecting on their 40+ year marriage.
She responded that sometimes it had been really hard. "There were whole decades of our marriage when we barely saw each other, barely spoke. We were both working hard to raise six children. There was no time to just sit around and talk and learn about each other. We didn't get to do that until all the kids were gone and we were both retired. He didn't even know I liked baseball until then."
I found that pretty depressing.
Then she went on to say, "But you know, even after all that time, I still got excited to see him. When I'd hear the garage door open and his footsteps coming up the stairs, my heart still beat faster. Even after all those years."
I loved that part.
Over the years since that conversation, I've often thought about those two ends of the spectrum of their relationship to try to figure out if it seemed worth it overall. The younger I was, the more it seemed that it was absolutely worth it. Now I find myself thinking that its not. I don't feel like I have the strength or the stamina.
That really bothers me. I hope I don't always feel this way. I don't want to end up completely bitter and jaded and cynical about love.
Today its pretty easy to feel that way, though.
She responded that sometimes it had been really hard. "There were whole decades of our marriage when we barely saw each other, barely spoke. We were both working hard to raise six children. There was no time to just sit around and talk and learn about each other. We didn't get to do that until all the kids were gone and we were both retired. He didn't even know I liked baseball until then."
I found that pretty depressing.
Then she went on to say, "But you know, even after all that time, I still got excited to see him. When I'd hear the garage door open and his footsteps coming up the stairs, my heart still beat faster. Even after all those years."
I loved that part.
Over the years since that conversation, I've often thought about those two ends of the spectrum of their relationship to try to figure out if it seemed worth it overall. The younger I was, the more it seemed that it was absolutely worth it. Now I find myself thinking that its not. I don't feel like I have the strength or the stamina.
That really bothers me. I hope I don't always feel this way. I don't want to end up completely bitter and jaded and cynical about love.
Today its pretty easy to feel that way, though.
February 13, 2007
The cure for loneliness
Dan Savage recently suggested a cure for loneliness: "Masturbate. Hang out with friends. Repeat."
Hmmmm.
Hmmmm.
February 11, 2007
Big, clumsy feet
It turns out that I need to be careful when wandering around my backyard in the dark when its raining. I end up unknowingly stepping on squishy, delicate creatures that are left for me to discover and mourn in the harsh morning sun.
Some days, like today
I feel completely and unbearably crushed. It's all I can do to keep bitter and hateful little comments from overflowing out of me.
I hope Natalie Portman DOES taste like heaven.
(Oops. That one slipped out.)
I hope Natalie Portman DOES taste like heaven.
(Oops. That one slipped out.)
January 22, 2007
You were right--no one's running this whole thing.
Alternative titles for this blog:
A Few Things I've Learned Since January 22, 1977
Shit King ofFuck Mountain
A Few Things I've Learned Since January 22, 1977
Shit King of
I’ve learned to tread cautiously around words such as “never,” “forever,” and “always.”
Losing toenails doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as I imagined; bloody nipples do.
I don’t believe in God and, although I’ve spent about a decade coming to terms with this, I still find it terrifying.
Girth trumps length any day of the week.
Patience really is a virtue and something with which I have a difficult time. Even though I don’t want it to be my m.o., sometimes there is a great deal of power in waiting and holding back.
Formal education is mostly overrated.
When I was little, I truly believed that I could fly if I just tried hard enough. What I would give for five minutes of that belief again.
Most of the passionate black and white thinking of my youth has faded into varying shades of grey. This is a good thing.
There’s nothing in the world quite as nice as a bird’s belly feathers.
Depression teaches valuable lessons if you pay attention.
Hot baths, red wine, or candles can make almost anything more bearable. All three at once are unstoppable.
S’mores also have great healing powers.
I need massive amounts of affection. I think most people need more than they may even realize.
I don’t believe I’ll be able to forgive my mother, but I think I can find ways to love her in between those wounds.
I feel that people’s treatment of animals is a more powerful indication of their character than is their treatment of other people.
December 27, 2006
Holes
I wish that you would move to the sun
'Cause you're like diggin' holes in thin air and we know that can't be done
I wish that you would cheat with someone
'Cause you're like diggin' holes in water and we know that can't be done
Bravery and stupidity go hand-in-hand
and I guess that makes me the bravest man
'Cause I was quick to learn but slow to understand
Well, what can you do?
'Cause you're like diggin' holes in thin air and we know that can't be done
I wish that you would cheat with someone
'Cause you're like diggin' holes in water and we know that can't be done
Bravery and stupidity go hand-in-hand
and I guess that makes me the bravest man
'Cause I was quick to learn but slow to understand
Well, what can you do?
December 8, 2006
The barbecue sauce that refused to be taken
My favorite barbecue sauce is K.C. Masterpiece Hickory Brown Sugar. I like to eat it with Morningstar Farms veggie chicken nuggets. Safeway had a special 2 for 1 deal on my favorite sauce, so I bought two.
For some reason, when it came time to open the second bottle it refused to be budged. I mean, seriously, this lid would not move. I have wimpy little hands so I wasn't that surprised when I couldn't open it. But other people couldn't open it either. My nuggets just weren't the same. And what the hell to do with a bottle of barbecue sauce you can't open?
As a last resort, I took it to work. My friend Tony is one of the stronger people I know and I was hoping he could help. Plus, I could surprise him by leaving it sitting in the middle of his desk while he was away just to amuse myself. (It worked. At least the part about amusing myself. He knew exactly who left it there so there was very little surprise involved.)
Finally, finally. He got it open. Now I can take it back home and pop it into my fridge to enjoy later.
(This might seem like a stupid thing to write about, but it's my goddamn blog and I can write about whatever's on my mind. Right now it's barbecue sauce. And it's a Friday afternoon.)
For some reason, when it came time to open the second bottle it refused to be budged. I mean, seriously, this lid would not move. I have wimpy little hands so I wasn't that surprised when I couldn't open it. But other people couldn't open it either. My nuggets just weren't the same. And what the hell to do with a bottle of barbecue sauce you can't open?
As a last resort, I took it to work. My friend Tony is one of the stronger people I know and I was hoping he could help. Plus, I could surprise him by leaving it sitting in the middle of his desk while he was away just to amuse myself. (It worked. At least the part about amusing myself. He knew exactly who left it there so there was very little surprise involved.)
Finally, finally. He got it open. Now I can take it back home and pop it into my fridge to enjoy later.
(This might seem like a stupid thing to write about, but it's my goddamn blog and I can write about whatever's on my mind. Right now it's barbecue sauce. And it's a Friday afternoon.)
December 6, 2006
Undeniably dear to me
My grandmother is very ill and will likely not be here much longer. She has been a very important part of my life, more so than most grandparents ever are, and I love her tremendously. I went home for a few days to spend some time with her while I was still able to do so.
When I first arrived she was in the hospital. I brought her a boquet of yellow roses and swept in--determined to do my best to keep her spirits up. Instead she lifted mine.
I had flown all night and was tired and dirty and hungry.
While I sat by her bed her dinner tray arrived. She was having turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, apricot jello, and pumpkin pie. (Two desserts?)
She offered to give me her dinner since I hadn't eaten. I said, "Are you crazy? I can grab something anytime. You need all the strength and energy you can get. You need to eat as much as you can."
"Yes," she admitted, "but I haven't pooped in five days and there's not much room left in here." I laughed. I knew I was lucky that she didn't provide more detail.
We ended up sitting together and splitting her dinner. I cut up her turkey into small, bite-size pieces since she had trouble pressing hard enough with her knife and fork. I offered to butter her roll for her, and she said, "No. There's no way I can eat that. Well, maybe just half."
We talked about which nurses she liked and which ones she reported to their bosses. We observed through her hospital room window the grey winter clouds moving swiftly across the sky. She told me, for the millionth time, why she prefers to drink decaf coffee in the evenings. We watched Jeopardy, one of her favorite shows.
It was one of the dearest times of my life.
When I first arrived she was in the hospital. I brought her a boquet of yellow roses and swept in--determined to do my best to keep her spirits up. Instead she lifted mine.
I had flown all night and was tired and dirty and hungry.
While I sat by her bed her dinner tray arrived. She was having turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, apricot jello, and pumpkin pie. (Two desserts?)
She offered to give me her dinner since I hadn't eaten. I said, "Are you crazy? I can grab something anytime. You need all the strength and energy you can get. You need to eat as much as you can."
"Yes," she admitted, "but I haven't pooped in five days and there's not much room left in here." I laughed. I knew I was lucky that she didn't provide more detail.
We ended up sitting together and splitting her dinner. I cut up her turkey into small, bite-size pieces since she had trouble pressing hard enough with her knife and fork. I offered to butter her roll for her, and she said, "No. There's no way I can eat that. Well, maybe just half."
We talked about which nurses she liked and which ones she reported to their bosses. We observed through her hospital room window the grey winter clouds moving swiftly across the sky. She told me, for the millionth time, why she prefers to drink decaf coffee in the evenings. We watched Jeopardy, one of her favorite shows.
It was one of the dearest times of my life.
The first time I was not afraid
Last Wednesday night I flew from San Francisco to WV. It had been a particularly rough couple of weeks and I was feeling very, very sorry for myself as big, hot teardrops ran down my cheeks and off my chin. It felt like there were deep dark pools of misery waiting for me on either coast and I was glad to be somewhere over the middle of the country for a change. I gazed out the plane window into the night sky and saw more stars than I'd ever seen at one time. Then our plane hit some particularly bad turbulence as we flew over a storm system in the midwest at about 4am.
This usually terrifies me.
Instead I threw myself back across my empty row of seats and told myself, "If this is it, I don't care. I'm ready. I hope this metal tube goes screaming toward the earth." All I needed to do was huff dramatically and place the back of my hand across my forehead.
I am awaiting the call about my Oscar nomination in the category of melodrama.
This usually terrifies me.
Instead I threw myself back across my empty row of seats and told myself, "If this is it, I don't care. I'm ready. I hope this metal tube goes screaming toward the earth." All I needed to do was huff dramatically and place the back of my hand across my forehead.
I am awaiting the call about my Oscar nomination in the category of melodrama.
November 27, 2006
Change is fucking painful.
(Not that these are any particularly wise words.)
Has it really only been two weeks since that last posting? Wow. Shed a river of tears since then I have. I'm trying to collect them in buckets and find something more creative to do with them.
Has it really only been two weeks since that last posting? Wow. Shed a river of tears since then I have. I'm trying to collect them in buckets and find something more creative to do with them.
November 14, 2006
A wellspring of optimism
I am feeling better about my life than I have in a long time. It's funny, because everything is completely ambiguous and uncertain--I normally have a very difficult time with such things--but right now it's great. I am trying to embrace change. I have no idea where I'm going or where I'll end up. I have a general idea of the ends I seek, but the means are completely unclear.
November 3, 2006
October 25, 2006
The Tire Store of Truth
When I ride the 31 Balboa bus home in the evenings--which I do most weekday evenings--we pass a tire store in the Tenderloin (a not-so-great neighborhood) that I've come to think of as the "tire store of truth." It's not much to look at, even for a tire store, but they have a large sign in the corner of the parking lot. Every couple of months the letters of this sign are changed to make a new quote. Most of them strike me as bizarre quotes to find in such a dismal location, but it cheers me up every time I see one.
Three of the most recent quotes:
"Show me a sane man and I'll cure him." (Carl Jung)
"Martyrdom is the only way in which a man can become famous without ability." (George Bernard Shaw)
"If we saw ourselves in others there could not be war." (Unknown)
I always wait with anticipation to find out what the next quote will be. Someday I want to jump off the bus and go inside to find the person who takes this initiative. I want to know how he/she chooses the quotes, and whether they are open to suggestions for others. I think it could be taken to a whole new level.
Three of the most recent quotes:
"Show me a sane man and I'll cure him." (Carl Jung)
"Martyrdom is the only way in which a man can become famous without ability." (George Bernard Shaw)
"If we saw ourselves in others there could not be war." (Unknown)
I always wait with anticipation to find out what the next quote will be. Someday I want to jump off the bus and go inside to find the person who takes this initiative. I want to know how he/she chooses the quotes, and whether they are open to suggestions for others. I think it could be taken to a whole new level.
October 6, 2006
October 4, 2006
Mememememememe!
I went to www.thesurrealist.co.uk/slogan.cgi to find my slogan. I typed my name in the box and hit "sloganize" repeatedly to see what came up. Here are some candidates. Let me know what you think:
Lipsmackin' Thirstquenchin' Acetastin' Motivatin' Goodbuzzin' Cooltalkin' Highwalkin' Fastlivin' Evergivin' Coolfizzin' Amie.
Amie: The Other White Meat
I'd like to buy the world a Amie. (I wish they'd make some adjustments for when a/an is appropriate. It kind of bugs me.)
3-in-1 Protection for Your Amie
I liked the Amie so much, I bought the company.
We don't make Amie. We make Amie better.
Yo quiero Amie. (Awww....)
Leaves your Amie Minty not Mediciney. (Ewwww....)
Would you give someone your last Amie?
Hands that do dishes can be soft as your Amie.
(It seems like the first one was the best one. Acetastin'?)
Lipsmackin' Thirstquenchin' Acetastin' Motivatin' Goodbuzzin' Cooltalkin' Highwalkin' Fastlivin' Evergivin' Coolfizzin' Amie.
Amie: The Other White Meat
I'd like to buy the world a Amie. (I wish they'd make some adjustments for when a/an is appropriate. It kind of bugs me.)
3-in-1 Protection for Your Amie
I liked the Amie so much, I bought the company.
We don't make Amie. We make Amie better.
Yo quiero Amie. (Awww....)
Leaves your Amie Minty not Mediciney. (Ewwww....)
Would you give someone your last Amie?
Hands that do dishes can be soft as your Amie.
(It seems like the first one was the best one. Acetastin'?)
October 3, 2006
The Green Beans That I Need
I have been eating very, very well for awhile now. I have been planning all of my meals carefully, doing lots of cooking ahead of time, and eating plenty of beans, vegetables, fruits, whole grains, and turkey. I have been bringing my lunch every day except Tuesdays. On that day I need a treat to help me get through my long afternoon meeting, so that treat has been going to Portico's salad bar. I realize that a salad bar doesn't sound like much of a treat, but that's because you've never had the green beans they serve.
They are lovely: lightly sauteed in a little olive oil with garlic, parmesean cheese, and black pepper. Usually half of my take-out container is made up of green beans. I have come to look forward to these beans every week.
But, alas....today there were none. There were only boxes of raw beans that had just been unloaded from the truck--ostensibly from some green field in the central valley.
I felt confused. I planned on BEANS. What else do I eat? I made another lap around the salad bar and ended up sadly compensating with an extra dolma (not such a hardship--lemony lusciousness) and more kiwi and strawberries. While I was paying the lady who takes my money every week with a smile and an "Enjoy your lunch!," we mourned the lack of beans together.
I shouldn't complain too much. My lunch was still very good. But there better be some beans next week.
If only all my troubles were so simple...
They are lovely: lightly sauteed in a little olive oil with garlic, parmesean cheese, and black pepper. Usually half of my take-out container is made up of green beans. I have come to look forward to these beans every week.
But, alas....today there were none. There were only boxes of raw beans that had just been unloaded from the truck--ostensibly from some green field in the central valley.
I felt confused. I planned on BEANS. What else do I eat? I made another lap around the salad bar and ended up sadly compensating with an extra dolma (not such a hardship--lemony lusciousness) and more kiwi and strawberries. While I was paying the lady who takes my money every week with a smile and an "Enjoy your lunch!," we mourned the lack of beans together.
I shouldn't complain too much. My lunch was still very good. But there better be some beans next week.
If only all my troubles were so simple...
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