Monday, April 30, 2012

Dorothy Parker and the Tao Te Ching




Source
Source
April is National Poetry Month, so as a seasonally-appropriate diversion,  I've been re-reading Dorothy Parker's Complete Poems.  It's been an easier task than committing to an entire book,  which I can't seem to do lately, but it's also occasionally been a rather depressing exercise.  Her stuff is so good, but it's an equal megadose of hilarious and heartbreaking.  A lot of people find her unnecessarily caustic, but that's really why I love her. She gets the joke.  Always rhyming cleverly, she can comment on life's - or more specifically, love's - most awesome and devastating aspects and she can make you laugh while doing so.  But it's a laugh that you try to catch and stifle on the way out, because, DAMN.  It's hard to admit identifying with her, especially when you do a little background reading on what her life was like.  I've been skimming through biographies of her (see above comment on my own literary brand of commitment issues) and learned that she tried to commit suicide a grand total of four times (I had previously thought she only attempted it once).  She lost her mother as a young child, hated her stepmother, and went through bouts of depression and alcoholism, troubled relationships, and multiple marriages.  And though she ultimately died of natural causes, a woman who tries to off herself four times cannot have had a terribly happy existence.  So all this gives me mixed emotions about reading Parker.  I love her stuff, and get such a charge out of how eloquently she pokes fun at things that annoy her or things that she likes, or even things that have obviously hurt her deeply.  I laugh out loud at her take on the vast human potential for stupidity.  But I can't help feeling like taking so much pleasure in something borne out of so much pain is somehow a bit wrong.  But then again, how much incredible art and music exists largely because of someone's pain?  


So as a kind of counterweight to the above, I've been carrying around a little pocket copy of the Tao Te Ching that my dad gave me and thumbing through it when stuck on public transit (so a whole freaking lot).  And I've been looking for passages to balance out the sad messages of Parker's stuff.  Y'know, peppy prose passages versus Parker's purple poetry?


So for every "General Review of the Sex Situation," which leaves me kinda sad and resigned to a life played out like the lyrics of a Liz Phair song, there's a Taoist passage like this:

The path into the light seems dark,
the path forward seems to go back,
the direct path seems long,
true power seems weak,
true purity seems tarnished,
true steadfastness seems changeable,
true clarity seems obscure,
the greatest art seems unsophisticated, 
the greatest love seems indifferent,
the greatest wisdom seems childish.

I'm not trying to be deep or profound here, but there's definitely room for that in the above if you're looking for it.  I just think that this passage is a rather reassuring message that life is ridiculously confusing and things - BIG THINGS - aren't always what they seem.  There's so much in this little snippet that can get you through a rough day, and it helps remind you that you can't always look at things in black and white opposition.  Sometimes the black and white flip, and flip so quickly that it all blurs to grey.  But it's all potentially confusing.  For everyone.  Which is a pretty good lesson, I think, and more hopeful than Parker's summation of love in her ending line: "What earthly good can come of it?"  

Which, now that I think more about it, isn't necessarily read as terribly negative.  It's phrased as a question, so you can answer it yourself.  And maybe you can answer it with "a whole lot." Sorry.  If this were an English essay, I would have just contradicted my thesis statement.  Y'know, if I had actually written one.

So then I thought, instead of finding passages and poems that cancelled or balanced each other out, I would try to find ones that had the same message, if approached from different directions, and I think I did. I found this in the Tao te Ching:

The Master doesn't seek fulfillment.
Not seeking, not expecting,
she is present, and can welcome all things.

Empty your mind of all thoughts.
Let your heart be at peace.
Watch the turmoil of beings,
but contemplate their return.

Each separate being in the universe
returns to the common source.
Returning to the source is serenity.


Now I don't think Parker ever really screams serenity, but I definitely think she hits on a lot of the same ideas - especially watching the turmoil of other beings and contemplating return - in much of her work, including  "Now at Liberty," which is good reading for anyone who has every been really, really disappointed or felt harshly rejected by a person or PhD program (screw you, Columbia, NYU and CUNY in that order.)

I'm not quite sure about where I was going with this post when I started.  I should have made an outline or something.  It seems like a weird project, comparing these works.  But I guess if I could construct a worldview out of this two books (not that I SHOULD do that, but I COULD do worse), I'd have to aim for where they intersect on a big old philosophical Venn diagram.  I can only do so much Taoist navel-gazing because I can't sit still that long, but I shouldn't embody Parker's bitterness completely, either.  A little of both is a good balance.  Which I think my homegirl D.P. nails in my favorite poem of hers.

OBSERVATION

If I don't drive around the park,
I'm pretty sure I'll make my mark.
If I'm in bed each night by ten,
I may get back my looks again,
If I abstain from fun and such,
I'll probably amount to much,
But I shall stay the way I am,
Because I do not give a damn.


Check her out, not seeking fulfillment like a straight-up Taoist Master.






Monday, April 23, 2012

Let's take a little trip together.

Ok, someone sent me this clip about a Ukrainian supermodel who has had numerous plastic surgeries in order to look like a Barbie Doll.  That compelling subject matter notwithstanding, it's the medium that brings us this information that really intrigues me.  Get a load of this.




I mean, the creepy real-doll gestalt she's got going on here is rather frightening in and of itself, but this clip is apparently a news segment..?  Complete with CGI people and animated bears engaging in onanism.  And I love how mimes represent French culture.

What if the news here were like this?  It'd be kind of awesome to hear Pat Kiernan and Louis Doddley doing voice-overs while a CGI Mike Bloomberg talks about the latest updates to the city's 311 service. And gets eaten by a bear.

Oh wait!  Apparently they have this in Pawnee!  I just remembered this!



Ok my cursory bit of research has yielded this: the organization that makes these little news sequences is called NMA.  I should do more homework on them, because this is hilarious.  "We have EXCLUSIVE animation of this event."  And the fact that Ben recognizes it makes me think it must have dorky origins.


Also, the animation in the Barbie Girl clip reminded me of Toki's dream in that Metalacolypse episode where his cat died. Ahem, sorry, hamburger timed.


Saturday, April 21, 2012

Signs of the times


I pass this sign several times a week walking between my job and the 4 train.  And every, EVERY time I pass it, I think of this.




Yeah, and I'm judgmental about ads that aren't edited before being stuck on the downtown 6.  I mean, I've screwed up the spelling of judgment many times myself.  But nobody has ever paid me for my words.  Also, I've learned.




These signs were posted about 2 meters apart on the same beat-up wooden barricade surrounding the huge vacant lot near my house. It's actually a very good - if thoroughly depressing - juxtaposition of low-cost advertising.  Honestly, it's very poetic and one could write extensively on the symbolism of that lot lying fallow, the price of a failed marriage, and the overwhelming accumulation of human detritus (tm Morgan).  I kind of want to call both numbers and see if I get the same agency.  Like they offer quickie divorces and then take your ex's crap out of your apartment in less than 24 hours, all for one low price.  It's the 51st way to leave your lover.

Oh my god.  Maybe these are Paul Simon's phone numbers.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

Kentucky-fried Awesome

I planned that hairstyle so we'd match.


I just got back from visiting my buddy Morgan in Kentucky. This was my third time visiting the bluegrass (I never remember if that should be separate words, compound, or hyphenated and I'm too lazy to look it up right now) state and these last few days were full of activities both local - horseback riding, looking at horses, seeing the countryside full of horses - and surprisingly global - eating really amazing Jamaican food, stopping at the Mexican bakery to gaze at enormous pastries, and seeing yet more horses, but from faraway lands and being ridden by ethnic stereotypes. Morgan celebrated a birthday while I was there, and I had the privilege of hanging out and remembering what a terrible bowler I am with all her Kentucky homeboys and girls from the UK English department on Thursday evening. For 3 days we bopped around Lexington and the surrounding areas, taking in oddities like the Peddler's Mall, eating at rather awesomely inexpensive joints, and indulging in a time-honored Morgan-and-Rosie bonding activity: watching a lot of TV together. Usually, a visit to Morgan leaves me with a new TV interest/addiction/obsession. Last time it was Parks and Recreation, this time she got me slightly into Community.

She also took my to the Kentucky Horse Park where we took a trail ride (on actual HORSES!), toured the park in a horse-drawn trolley, and got to see the aforementioned horses from around the world and their accompanying ethnic stereotypes. It was a helluva lot of fun, and there are few people on the planet besides Morgan who will not only indulge me in my dork proclivities, but revel in them as well, and that's why she rules with an iron fist.

Here are some of the hi-lights. I flew out of NYC Tuesday morning, and felt like a super-deluxe big girl because I got there on my own without any help from anyone, so nyeh. Thinking I'd do some live blogging from LaGuardia, I brought my laptop, but was disappointed by the lack of free wireless (which by the way, Lexington Bluegrass airport DOES have. KY-1, NY-Zip, so far) and ended up typing the following:

***************************************************************************
Subject: Checking in?  What the HELL is all that?!

I have to PAY for wifi at Laguardia apparently, so this post is being written well in advance of its posting.  So right now, you’re taking a journey back through time to visit me at Gate 12, waiting to board my plane.  I’m going to Kentucky (say it with me:  I’m going to the fair…) but have a 2 hour layover in Charlotte.  I’m excited by this idea.  I wonder what adventures await me.  Like coffee and a newspaper.  I hope there’s no problems with my flight that leave me stranded in Charlotte, but who knows?  It could be the making of me…

Years from now I’ll look back and think, “It all began then.  Little did I know, while sitting at LaGuardia, mildly annoyed by yappy dogs in carry-on bags and screaming toddlers in Disney-Princess crocs that I’d be set on a path to my destiny.  The previous 30 years all meant nothing.  My life began the moment that plane took off in Charlotte without me and I was forced to…”
Ok, here’s the choose-your-own-adventure part:  What was I forced to do?

A)     Join a travelling circus as the impromptu ringmaster, where I’ll spend the rest of my days wearing a top hat and hot pants.
B)      Participate in a Hunger Games/Battle Royale death tournament where I’ll FINALLY be able to put my archery skills to good use
C)      Make use of my rusty Italian to help save the life of a gladiator re-enactor who doesn’t know how to say “I have gnocchi in my trachea” in English and thinks the universal sign for choking is a series of rude hand gestures. (I’ll actually save his life accidentally because I’ll punch him in the stomach, thinking he’s a big creep.  It’ll be HILARIOUS.)

Now that I’ve imagined all these cool scenarios (don’t worry, I’m actually a pretty good archer) I’ll probably get to Charlotte with very little fanfare,  have a cup of coffee and read the paper and get on my plane to Lexington and arrive in the city where they DON’T film Justified (but they do have final four riots) and take a break from my NYC-paced life for a few days.  Which I probably need more than scenarios A, B, or C.  Even if it is less exciting.  Exciting is sometimes way overrated.

Sometimes.
*******************************************************************************

Speaking of "sometimes," sometimes I really hate re-reading what I've written a few days earlier.  It's like confronting a younger and snottier version of myself.  P.S., None of that awesome or weird stuff happened at Charlotte.  I got there without any incident, although I did sit next a lady on the plane who kept opening and closing her mouth and I could hear the smacking and squishing going on in said mouth, and that was kind of gross.  Also, there was a lot of turbulence because it was really windy that day, so the guy on the other side of me (who was also on the plane to Lexington - instant travel buddy!) and I kept looking at each other and nervously laughing about how we pay for this on roller coasters, which was better than panicking and barfing all over one another.  The most exciting thing to happen at the Charlotte airport, which by the way is like 800 miles long, was that they changed my departure gate and it was fortunately way closer to the Burger King, so I got a Whopper while waiting.  Then I rejoined my travel buddy, boarded a teeny tiny plane, re-entered the turbulent troposphere and got to Lexington in time to join Morgan for dinner.  

So my early morning predictions didn't come true.  Oh well.  My legs are too pale for hot pants this time of year anyway.

The next day, Morgan and I went to Peddler's Mall, and HOLY CRAP this was a weird place.  We had an anthropological field day here, and I bought something truly ridiculous for my buddy Kristin.  (I don't know if she's gonna read this or not, but here it is: a pack of Menudo Trading Cards.  Yeah, that's right.)  Basically it's a ginormous (like the size of a square block in my neighborhood) warehouse: 2 floors of dozens of booths selling everything from antiques to collectibles to piles of crap.  And sometimes all of the above.  Seeing all the ridiculous stuff was initially wacky and entertaining, but after about an hour of poking around there with all that piped-in country music as a soundtrack the atmosphere in the place got kind of desperate and depressing. 

Here are some of the items we encountered.



Behold: the evil genetically engineered cousins of cabbage patch and strawberry shortcake.



What kinda dreams you gonna catch with that?  The dirty kind.


So many bottles.


So very many.


Hey look!  Prince Albert in a can! 

So eventually, we felt like getting lunch, and we went for some awesome curry at a Caribbean place in the part of town Morgan referred to as "Murder Central" because a mummified body was discovered in a garbage can not very long before my visit.  Food was great, and the atmosphere wasn't murderous at all.

The next day we went to the Kentucky Horse Park, which was very exciting because it was a beautiful day and horses are fantastic.  We saw a whole bunch of different breeds of horse in the 2 scheduled "Horses of the World" demonstrations (the 2:00 show is...sort of different from the 11:00...) We then got to pet a bunch of horses and giggled like little girls at how much fun this was.  We also took a trolley ride and were seated among a group of about 20 fifth grade boys from Harlan County (like on Justified!), and the trip mom with us admired us for our bravery.  I was like, yeah, we have brothers.  And Morgan was like, Also, we're teachers.  And you could hear the proverbial pin drop from these kids.  I was actually pretty impressed with how well-behaved they were for the ride.

Here are some pics from that day.


This is Morgan standing near a sign for obvious reasons.  



Mini-horse!  Like little Sebastian! He was so freaking cute, I wanted to scream.



I believe that's a saddlebred...? And I *know* that's a Morgan on the right, har har.


That Palomino didn't suffer fools (or little boys) gladly.


This horse was soooooo soft.  And very mellow.  And he and Morgan had very similarly-colored hair!



The next horse show had an actual Morgan horse, and an Appaloosa and a gypsy horse, as well as some culturally insensitive choices of narration and music, but, y'know, baby and bathwater, blah blah blah...





Morgan and the Morgan horse bonded.  Seriously, the horses LOVED her.


These were the horses that took us on our trail ride.  My mother was nervous that I'd be getting on a horse because a horse dropped me on my head when I was 7.  Please, that was so long ago.  And as Morgan pointed out, these horses were more like walking couches and behaved like they were under sedation.  And they were really sweet.  And peed a lot.


This was the horse they put me on because I had such miniscule riding experience (getting dropped on my head didn't actually require me to be on the horse when it happened.) They told me his name was Cisco, but I heard "Sisqo," and guess what has two thumbs and had The Thong Song stuck in her head the whole ride?  This girl.


That night we went bowling, and I was a jerk and didn't take pictures of Morgan's celebration.  I did, however, take a picture of the car wash next door to the bowling alley because it was called "Mr. Sparkle Car Wash" and I immediately thought of this:



One can only assume that this car wash banishes dirt to the land of wind and ghosts.



The next morning, I had to fly out of Lexington (and got a body scan in the process - hope you enjoyed the free show, mustachioed Kentucky TSA worker guy).  So Morgan and I went to the Waffle House for a birthday brunch, and also because the Waffle House is the most amazing place on the planet.  I wish they had them up here.  I'd be all up in that.  Their coffee is - no joke - the best coffee I have ever imbibed.  And I needed it, because after a few beers (actually, 2) at the bowling alley (the new miller-lite vortex neck? Overrated) and a big old mimosa at Morgan's after bowling (with the birthday girl and her rather delightful homegirl, Mary Clai), I woke up with the worst hangover and non-migraine headache I've had in quite. A. While.  I don't know what the hell happened to my tolerance level, but it seems to have left me along with my twenties and my faith in the Catholic Church.  

(Funny aside: Morgan made a joke about planes falling into the ocean before we left for brunch, and I was like, "Oh, THANKS for that, Morgan!" And she was like, "Really, you're worried about your plane falling into the ocean?  On the way home from Kentucky?" And I was like, "Oh, yeah, geography fail."  And I can't even blame that on booze.)

So yay to the Waffle House, and BOO to flying hungover.  I was already grouchy and dehydrated, and I had to schlep back home via Charlotte and its 672 gates in a row and suffer delays and cramped seating until I finally got home to LaGuardia and decided to splurge on a cab home.  That's right, I got myself home like a motherf*ckin champion.

And now I'm back home, and have to go back to work tomorrow. But I'm glad I spent my spring break visiting the south and my homegirl, and I liked horseback riding so much that I might splurge once in a while at Pelham Bay Stables for a lesson or trail ride. 

Grrrrrr....

HOLY SH*T, WOMAN!!!


Saturday, April 7, 2012

I woke up with crucifixion on my mind...



It's Holy Week. Lapsed Catholic that I am, the guilt runs deep and manifests itself in some of the strangest dreams I have all year during Holy Week. And let me tell you, I have strange dreams with more regularity than the lunar cycle. For the last few years especially, when I've shut my eyes on the nights before Easter, I've been greeted by a parade of unsettling images and sounds: several dead relatives checking up on me, rides in airplane-rollercoaster hybrids alternating with terrifying plunges in futuristic elevators, co-existing in a state of perpetual sadness with a former flame in a beach house in Germany (as if the phrase "beach house in Germany" didn't instantly fill one with a sense of dread), actually being a BUMBLE BEE and screaming at all the other bees to "get (their) shit together" and pollinate the damn flowers correctly, and catching a baby with a FULL SET OF TEETH. Each of those items corresponds to a separate dream I've had in the last three years. The bumble bee one happened early Monday morning, the toothsome baby woke me up at 3 a.m. on Wednesday and never let me get back to sleep (just like a real baby!), and the airplanes/rollercoasters/elevators were all early morning yesterday - I know it's Good Friday (and really, how's that for an ironic label for a holy day) when I wake up gasping and drenched in cold sweat.

The bumble bee one was actually kind of fun, but probably reveals deeply set control issues. (My friend Ruth interprets my dreams for me, and she's been both a source of reassurance and an honest mirror when it comes to this stuff. And with the health coverage I have, providing Ruth with the occasional cupcake beats a 60$ copay for therapy.)



I don't remember much about the bee dream, except that I was actually a bee hovering around flowers surrounded by other bees and attempting to pollinate said flowers. I remember being fed up that the other bees weren't pulling their weight, or their technique was off, or something. Anyway, they weren't up to snuff, and I was being a raging bee-yotch and kept bee-rating them. (Sorry.) I didn't actually see myself in the dream in bee form, but I like to imagine that to the other bees, I had a black and yellow bee's body with the pale, angry face my friends and family get to see whenever they piss me off.

Dream chat to be continued. I suddenly crave a nap.

Friday, April 6, 2012





I love this. I love everything about this. I don't even love it ironically.

"No no no, my glasses!"

"They're not real glasses, Loch Ness. THEY'RE NOT REAL!"

And I know that at this point, hipsters are kind of an easy target. But I really don't care, and it's not like this was a vicious attack or anything. And I'm someone who will wear fake glasses once and a while.

Because I was, like, suffering from insomnia and rocking bloodshot eyes before anybody else.