The Magnetic Fields
2/15/08
Somerville Theatre
California Girls
I Don't Believe You
All My Little Words
Come Back from San Francisco
Old Fools
Xavier Says
Walking My Gargoyle
Too Drunk to Dream
Till the Bitter End
The Night You Can't Remember
I Thought You Were My Boyfriend
Water Torture
* * * *
Lovers from the Moon
I Wish I Had An Evil Twin
Give Me Back My Dreams
Grand Canyon
Papa Was a Rodeo
Drive On, Driver
Nun's Litany
The Tiny Goat
Smoke and Mirrors
Zombie Boy
* * * *
Three-Way
Take Ecstasy with Me
The Book of Love
Lyrics to "Water Torture"
Lorraine MacLean's strange paintings change the rain-stained Maine terrain. Paint rain, Lorraine./ "Teasing bees is easy," wheezed Louise. "These bees are teased." Tease these, Louise./ Jill's drill skills instill ill will. A shrill trill fills the hills. Drill still, li'l Jill./ Jo-Jo knows the snow slows, no, no Jo-Jo slows the snow. Slow snow, Jo-Jo./ Lulu glues two blue shoes to tutus to lose the blues. Glue, Lulu, glue.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Mitt Happened
I can't stop thinking about or writing about Mitt. I don't know what it means. Yesterday at the coffee shop the Boston Herald headline "Mitt Happens" popped out at me. "That's a shitty play on words," I thought as I chuckled to myself. I never had a chance to read the accompanying text that probably reiterated Mitt's reason for leaving the race--to give the remaining Republican candidates a chance to campaign hard against those terrorist and terrorism softies.
I feel safe already. Safe from jello salad and shorts that are too long and revelations from God.
Later when telling Tad about the headline I said something like, "I don't think he'd like that," and Tad reminded me that Mitt lives in Belmont--at least when he's not living in Deer Valley. That means that he probably saw the headline in all of its play on (Mormon) swearword glory. He might have teared up to see his name like that. Maybe he even got on a plane and flew to Utah--like he did when he was our governor.
I'm not really a mean person--I swear. And I'd be nicer about Mitt if I didn't feel so used by his stay in Massachusetts. But how sad is it that he's out of the race? He provided comic relief--much better than that of fried squirrel eating guy. What's a girl to do? Pray? But to which god?
Mitt, I'm lost without you.
I feel safe already. Safe from jello salad and shorts that are too long and revelations from God.
Later when telling Tad about the headline I said something like, "I don't think he'd like that," and Tad reminded me that Mitt lives in Belmont--at least when he's not living in Deer Valley. That means that he probably saw the headline in all of its play on (Mormon) swearword glory. He might have teared up to see his name like that. Maybe he even got on a plane and flew to Utah--like he did when he was our governor.
I'm not really a mean person--I swear. And I'd be nicer about Mitt if I didn't feel so used by his stay in Massachusetts. But how sad is it that he's out of the race? He provided comic relief--much better than that of fried squirrel eating guy. What's a girl to do? Pray? But to which god?
Mitt, I'm lost without you.
Friday, February 08, 2008
Oops, I didn't do it again.
I'm so embarrassed. I am actually on a *second name basis with my best friend Willard Mitt Romney. I won't make the mistake again. I swear on the Book of Mormon with which I sleep. Thanks Derek.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Mittmentum No More
I find it delightful and hilarious and maybe a tad disconcerting that minutes and hours after Mitt's (we're on a middle name basis) decision to drop out of the race, I've had a slew of phone calls and e-mails.
It's true that my disdain for the flip flopper is more than obvious, but I was not aware that so many people think of me when they think of him. I might throw up now.
My brother from Utah called to dissect Mitt's drop out speech minutes after it ended. He had two questions: 1) How did he get elected in Massachusetts?? How? and 2) What happened to the Patriots? Apparently there's a great deal of buzz about both subjects in the western part of the country.
It's true that my disdain for the flip flopper is more than obvious, but I was not aware that so many people think of me when they think of him. I might throw up now.
My brother from Utah called to dissect Mitt's drop out speech minutes after it ended. He had two questions: 1) How did he get elected in Massachusetts?? How? and 2) What happened to the Patriots? Apparently there's a great deal of buzz about both subjects in the western part of the country.
Monday, February 04, 2008
Friday, February 01, 2008
After receiving a few e-mails of concern regarding my recent Clinton endorsement, I feel the need to say a few words. O.k., so almost anything leads to my need to say a few words hence the blog.
I am aware of some of the controversial aspects surrounding Clinton's candidacy. There's her Iraq vote. There's DOMA. There's Whitewater. There's Bill (good and bad). There's the Establishment. There's welfare reform. There's status quo. There's politics as usual. There's divisiveness. There's well-connected, political favoritism. There's: THE SYSTEM IS FLAWED.
This list of things makes me grumble and say, "what's the use?" until I shake myself and slap my cheeks and wake up. Even with the muck aplenty, I still believe it's useful to pay attention to politics and to vote and to try to have a say, not because my single vote can change things, but because having an opinion matters in the grander scheme of things. It's about thinking and mulling and talking. It's about conversations that I'll have with my mother-in-law or my husband or my friends at the bar or a dad at the bus stop or my children. It's about caring about, for better or for worse, the policies that shape our existence.
I'm not one for soapboxes (well, maybe just a little, cough, cough) and this isn't much of a political blog, but I know that when I sat and listened to those know-it-all guys in the coffee shop, I was appalled. And then I felt empathy. This is what Hillary's been up against her entire political life. These are the people saying that she's not masculine enough, she's not feminine enough, she cries, she doesn't cry. These are the people saying that there's no way for her to get it right--because she's a woman.
In the last few weeks she's proven (to me, anyway) to be scrappy and capable (if not a little underhanded) and commandeering and bright. I won't say that she's better than Obama because I don't see their platforms as radically different and I plan to support either Democratic nominee, but I will say that I'm proud to be voting for a woman who could become president for the first time in my life.
I am aware of some of the controversial aspects surrounding Clinton's candidacy. There's her Iraq vote. There's DOMA. There's Whitewater. There's Bill (good and bad). There's the Establishment. There's welfare reform. There's status quo. There's politics as usual. There's divisiveness. There's well-connected, political favoritism. There's: THE SYSTEM IS FLAWED.
This list of things makes me grumble and say, "what's the use?" until I shake myself and slap my cheeks and wake up. Even with the muck aplenty, I still believe it's useful to pay attention to politics and to vote and to try to have a say, not because my single vote can change things, but because having an opinion matters in the grander scheme of things. It's about thinking and mulling and talking. It's about conversations that I'll have with my mother-in-law or my husband or my friends at the bar or a dad at the bus stop or my children. It's about caring about, for better or for worse, the policies that shape our existence.
I'm not one for soapboxes (well, maybe just a little, cough, cough) and this isn't much of a political blog, but I know that when I sat and listened to those know-it-all guys in the coffee shop, I was appalled. And then I felt empathy. This is what Hillary's been up against her entire political life. These are the people saying that she's not masculine enough, she's not feminine enough, she cries, she doesn't cry. These are the people saying that there's no way for her to get it right--because she's a woman.
In the last few weeks she's proven (to me, anyway) to be scrappy and capable (if not a little underhanded) and commandeering and bright. I won't say that she's better than Obama because I don't see their platforms as radically different and I plan to support either Democratic nominee, but I will say that I'm proud to be voting for a woman who could become president for the first time in my life.
At the Other Coffee Shop
The three of us walk in and there's a couple sitting at the corner table. They're reading the paper.
We order a lemon poppyseed muffin and an untoasted sesame bagel with cream cheese and a mocha latte with 2% milk. The German-American woman behind the counter treats four-year-old Cole like he's a king--King Cole. He loves it.
Then others come, white-haired guys who hold or have run for public office. They all sit at a table together, talking--first of football and then of politics.
"I'm voting for McCain. He's the only person capable of running this country."
"Obama. He's Irish, right? If they're drunk enough in Boston, they won't know he's not. O'bama," he says again and laughs.
"I'm not voting for Romney. I know that."
I smile and laugh a little. Eyes turn to me. "I'm a recovering Mormon," I say. "And I wouldn't encourage anyone to vote for Mitt."
They laugh. And we banter back and forth. The couple in the corner throws in its two cents when asked, "Do they vote in Rockport?" "They usually vote Republican," the man says, wrinkling his nose.
There is more laughing. There is more talking about candidates. It is a scene. Aged white guys. The Gloucester political establishment (recently semi-dethroned by a woman) thinking they know how to run it all. Finally one asks, "So who are you thinking about?"
"I'm undecided," I say. Which I am. Still. But it's becoming clearer. I've been making the argument that it's Hillary that's the Establishment, that I'm tired of the Clinton dynasty, that the Clintons are sneaky as can be.
And I continue to think that they're sneaky and that they've made big mistakes and that they're ridiculously well-connected and well-heeled. I also wish that Bill would shut up lately and let Hillary do her job. But as I sit drinking coffee and eating muffins with my young son and my young daughter, I realize that Hillary is my candidate. I know it as soon as the words leave my mouth.
"I'm thinking about Hillary," I say. The solidly male table gets quiet, the hostile silence telling me everything that I need to know.
We order a lemon poppyseed muffin and an untoasted sesame bagel with cream cheese and a mocha latte with 2% milk. The German-American woman behind the counter treats four-year-old Cole like he's a king--King Cole. He loves it.
Then others come, white-haired guys who hold or have run for public office. They all sit at a table together, talking--first of football and then of politics.
"I'm voting for McCain. He's the only person capable of running this country."
"Obama. He's Irish, right? If they're drunk enough in Boston, they won't know he's not. O'bama," he says again and laughs.
"I'm not voting for Romney. I know that."
I smile and laugh a little. Eyes turn to me. "I'm a recovering Mormon," I say. "And I wouldn't encourage anyone to vote for Mitt."
They laugh. And we banter back and forth. The couple in the corner throws in its two cents when asked, "Do they vote in Rockport?" "They usually vote Republican," the man says, wrinkling his nose.
There is more laughing. There is more talking about candidates. It is a scene. Aged white guys. The Gloucester political establishment (recently semi-dethroned by a woman) thinking they know how to run it all. Finally one asks, "So who are you thinking about?"
"I'm undecided," I say. Which I am. Still. But it's becoming clearer. I've been making the argument that it's Hillary that's the Establishment, that I'm tired of the Clinton dynasty, that the Clintons are sneaky as can be.
And I continue to think that they're sneaky and that they've made big mistakes and that they're ridiculously well-connected and well-heeled. I also wish that Bill would shut up lately and let Hillary do her job. But as I sit drinking coffee and eating muffins with my young son and my young daughter, I realize that Hillary is my candidate. I know it as soon as the words leave my mouth.
"I'm thinking about Hillary," I say. The solidly male table gets quiet, the hostile silence telling me everything that I need to know.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Reconnect vs. Disconnect
Today I feel like part of a Wim Wenders movie, things surreal and black and white and German. After a Thursday evening bout with food poisoning and a Friday viewing of Wings of Desire I am thankful to be alive--in all seriousness.
Today I try to pay attention, at the coffee shop with Abby and Amanda, three chairs and a table. With Susan and talk of her studio in which I want to live some days. There's a woman whose MS is acting up and she and Ernie talk gently. There is other conversation about photos and writing and choices and editors.
There's a touch of spring in the air, though it is January. Spring makes me want to find people, reconnect. Ernie and I wonder back and forth about people we've known and where they've gone. I tell him about an old friend of mine. Yesterday I'd been poking around the internet when I found a website for calligraphy and handmade paper. My friend is a papermaker now and a small business owner and a workshop giver, offering paper making to public school children and adults around town.
I am surprised, this the guy I broke up with because, among other things, he'd never had a job. He hadn't needed to work because everything had been given to him. Last thing I knew he'd taken over his parents' clothing business and had recently become a father. That was 11 years ago. I remember because I took the call in the front room of our Newburyport apartment. I'd been married a year. We talked about kids. "You should have one of these," he said. "They're great." Then he described his typical day which did not involve much in the way of do-a-job work. He still had mostly everything he wanted, not much worrying or overworking. I felt a little jealous.
But I don't feel jealous now. I feel surprised and curious and wanting to know more. Spring is in the air and I want to know more. Why do people do what they do? Change? I'm going to ask. And I'm going to start by sending an e-mail to an old friend.
Today I try to pay attention, at the coffee shop with Abby and Amanda, three chairs and a table. With Susan and talk of her studio in which I want to live some days. There's a woman whose MS is acting up and she and Ernie talk gently. There is other conversation about photos and writing and choices and editors.
There's a touch of spring in the air, though it is January. Spring makes me want to find people, reconnect. Ernie and I wonder back and forth about people we've known and where they've gone. I tell him about an old friend of mine. Yesterday I'd been poking around the internet when I found a website for calligraphy and handmade paper. My friend is a papermaker now and a small business owner and a workshop giver, offering paper making to public school children and adults around town.
I am surprised, this the guy I broke up with because, among other things, he'd never had a job. He hadn't needed to work because everything had been given to him. Last thing I knew he'd taken over his parents' clothing business and had recently become a father. That was 11 years ago. I remember because I took the call in the front room of our Newburyport apartment. I'd been married a year. We talked about kids. "You should have one of these," he said. "They're great." Then he described his typical day which did not involve much in the way of do-a-job work. He still had mostly everything he wanted, not much worrying or overworking. I felt a little jealous.
But I don't feel jealous now. I feel surprised and curious and wanting to know more. Spring is in the air and I want to know more. Why do people do what they do? Change? I'm going to ask. And I'm going to start by sending an e-mail to an old friend.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Monday, January 07, 2008
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Photographic evidence from our "not a walk"
Some day they might figure out my tricks. And that I'm really not that tricky. But today it worked well enough to call what we were doing "not a walk." I'm glad.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Since I Could Write
For as long as I can remember, my parents, or church or someone required that I make New Year's resolutions. Often reluctantly, because someone was standing over me, I'd sit down and make a list. It usually went something like this:
1. Get better grades
2. Exercise (starting around middle school)
3. Lose weight (starting around middle school and one that shouldn't have been on the list but was for all sorts of hideous and ridiculous reasons)
4. Don't gossip
5. Be nicer to my brother (this is when I appreciated having a big family)
6. Be nicer to my sisters (some years I dedicated a line to all three)
7. Be nicer to my mom
8. Be nicer to my dad
9. Write more letters
10. Practice piano and violin more
Then once I got out on my own, leaving the home of my parents and religion behind, instead of ditching the lists, I started writing pages of detailed, elaborate and totally unrealistic resolutions. I will be a good person. I will. I will. I will prove them wrong, I think, was my thinking.
I kept writing lists, on and on, one for each new year until a few years ago. "Fuck it," I said. "Who needs resolutions?" People don't keep them anyway. And I went nearly two resolution-free years until last year when I made one: to get out more.
Getting out more has been good. It's made me feel like I exist somewhere beyond the world of three young children and motherhood. I've seen things, heard music, had conversations that I wouldn't have had otherwise. I feel human.
And perhaps this is why I've decided to make a resolution to write resolutions again. Not the stupid ones from childhood (o.k, maybe there is a little crossover). Not 10-page books of ways to betterfy and beautify (crossover again). But plain Jane, simple resolutions. The kind that might actually make my life different, or someone else's.
2008 New Year's Resolutions
1. Take a photo every day (or almost every day)
2. Write letters: specifically: Jason, John, my grandma, my aunt, Olivia, Issac and Grace
3. Deal with shit as immediately as possible--this applies to literal and metaphorical messes
4. Go outside, get walking, take notice
5. Let people know that I love them (I get to be creative with this)
6. Use less
I'm still not sure that I believe in writing resolutions. But it's difficult not to. Each year when the calendar rolls over, I find myself thinking about them and what they should be. This year I didn't fight it. I gave in. Which makes me think that adding a seventh is in order. There are times for fighting and railing against the establishment (my establishment). And there are times for quietly and peacefully giving in. This is one of those times.
1. Get better grades
2. Exercise (starting around middle school)
3. Lose weight (starting around middle school and one that shouldn't have been on the list but was for all sorts of hideous and ridiculous reasons)
4. Don't gossip
5. Be nicer to my brother (this is when I appreciated having a big family)
6. Be nicer to my sisters (some years I dedicated a line to all three)
7. Be nicer to my mom
8. Be nicer to my dad
9. Write more letters
10. Practice piano and violin more
Then once I got out on my own, leaving the home of my parents and religion behind, instead of ditching the lists, I started writing pages of detailed, elaborate and totally unrealistic resolutions. I will be a good person. I will. I will. I will prove them wrong, I think, was my thinking.
I kept writing lists, on and on, one for each new year until a few years ago. "Fuck it," I said. "Who needs resolutions?" People don't keep them anyway. And I went nearly two resolution-free years until last year when I made one: to get out more.
Getting out more has been good. It's made me feel like I exist somewhere beyond the world of three young children and motherhood. I've seen things, heard music, had conversations that I wouldn't have had otherwise. I feel human.
And perhaps this is why I've decided to make a resolution to write resolutions again. Not the stupid ones from childhood (o.k, maybe there is a little crossover). Not 10-page books of ways to betterfy and beautify (crossover again). But plain Jane, simple resolutions. The kind that might actually make my life different, or someone else's.
2008 New Year's Resolutions
1. Take a photo every day (or almost every day)
2. Write letters: specifically: Jason, John, my grandma, my aunt, Olivia, Issac and Grace
3. Deal with shit as immediately as possible--this applies to literal and metaphorical messes
4. Go outside, get walking, take notice
5. Let people know that I love them (I get to be creative with this)
6. Use less
I'm still not sure that I believe in writing resolutions. But it's difficult not to. Each year when the calendar rolls over, I find myself thinking about them and what they should be. This year I didn't fight it. I gave in. Which makes me think that adding a seventh is in order. There are times for fighting and railing against the establishment (my establishment). And there are times for quietly and peacefully giving in. This is one of those times.
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