“you are seriously weird”

After thinking it over, and going through the my five year anniversary of my blog, it occurred to me that I’m never, ever going to have a money-making blog.

I’m just not like other people. And MOST people are not going to be interested in the unadulterated contents of my head.

They are going to want recipes for homemade popcorn. And who can blame them?

But that means that I should not worry about my hitcount. It’s just never going to get too high, no way around it. So that means my blog has a different purpose. After thinking about it, I think that it should be what it started out to be. A scrapbook of my thoughts. And an exercise book for writing, just to keep in the habit of stringing words together one after the other.

My blog entries are not all good. Some of them are crap. But then again, there have been a few jewels that I am really proud of. And others that are like elixirs of larger ideas, that I can remember and use while puzzling over bigger ideas.

So, THAT means I should not ever worry about the weirdness of an idea. It’s okay to be weird; it’s my blog and I can weird if I want to.

an observed particle is a damaged particle

In preparation for next week’s journey I bought a book.

I would have got it from the library, but they didn’t have it. I read so many books that i have to be incredibly self-discipled about not acquiring too many.

I have begun to mourn the books I have read. It is getting harder to find good books to read.

But today, as I bought Speak, Memory by Nabakov, I was mourning that i would actually be able to read it. Anticipating what a good book it will be keeps it always in the possibility. But reading it destroys forever my ideas about what it might be.

Then I must grapple with what it is.

It is said that the reader is a very important part of the life of a book. Writing it is only part.

As AGONIZING a part as the writing of it is, it is only a part. The reading is the other part. It is a collaborative effort. I write my book, and you others read it. When I have shared my writing with others, they often understand it to mean something I had never thought of. It is a collaboration of creating meaning.

Knowing that, I feel almost as if I am destroying the book by experiencing it.

That reminds me of a scientific principle, whose name i forgot. About how an observed particle behaves differently because of the observation.

that the very act of watching a supposedly inanimate object changes it’s behaviour.

so….by reading a book I change it. and in a way, I feel, I destroy it.

I have destroyed hundreds…thousands, perhaps, of books by reading them. Like a ravenous dragon, I tear through them and leave their half-consumed carcasses in a trail behind me creating a never-ending path of carnage.

I may be unworthy of these books, treating them without respect.

But then again, I do at least give them the respect of reading them.

Quote

From the play The Busy World is Hushed

The mother is talking to her 20something son about his life choices

“From here on out, everything is written in ink”

I’ve had that conversation before…I have had it in my head and I had it with a friend once.

I told him “You wear your freedom like it’s a jean jacket, like it can handle all kinds of rough treatment. I wear mine like a prom dress, that it is so delicate. I have to keep it clean and fresh.”

and he just looked confused. He didn’t know that freedom had consequences.

Which is what that means, you know? “…written in ink…”

“on your permanent record”

reversion
perversion
conversion
inversion

All the versions end up in the final draft of your life.

But that only matters if someone is reading the record.

it didn’t used to be this way

Me and my piano have been together for 8 years.

This piano has been an adventure since it first came into my life. It was free, which should mean easy. But no, it was free if I came to get it. And I began to understand right away that pianos are a thing not to be taken lightly. My piano is very heavy.

I took it to my home, and began to refinish it. It took forver, and the process carried me through the toughest time of my life, when my marriage was ending.

But I refinished my piano and it was beautiful in the end. Of course, through the process of refinishing it, I took it apart and got to know it’s insides very very well.

It began to really bother me that I did not know how to tune it. I could see the tuning pins right there. I had no problem tuning my guitar, and I could barely play it. But my piano I knew inside and out. I began to feel like I could tune it, if I could only find the right tool to turn the tuning pin. It was my piano, dammit, practically a limb off my body. I would be able to tune it if only I could find a way to get started.

Naturally, I turned to the internet. I found an old tuning tool on ebay. But I didn’t know if the price was a good one, or if I could do better. I thought I needed just a little more information.

So I found a book on tuning. It came with high reviews online, so I was pretty excited. Once I got it in my hot little hands, i opened it up to find the chapter on tuning tools and tuning.

it seemed that it was not so simple.There seemed to be more to it.

I thought then that i should pay a tuner to come in, and I could watch and ask a lot of questions. I did, and I learned a lot more. My tuner even told me that there was a correspondence course in how to tune pianos. Wow! I was so going to sign up.

Of course, life caught up with me a little bit and I didn’t have time to devote to the pursuit of greater intimacy between my piano and me.

Piano tuning is a career, you know? People can earn a living doing it. But I was too busy doing the things I was already doing to earn a living. Spending all day on pianos was just a dream. I had real work I had to do.

But last night I went to the Pomona Valley Piano Technicians Guild meeting. These people have been piano tuners…no, TECHNICIANS for years. As they introduced themselves, they said, “we probably have more than a hundred years of experience sitting here.”

They were very serious and engaged in their work. It reminded me of other technology conventions I’ve attended, where the people are all eager to talk to one another since it is so seldom that they can find a peer on their level.

Piano nerds. I felt like a noob, but like these were my kind of people. I aspire to be a professional piano technician, but even if I don’t make a career out of it, there is no doubt that i will be learning how to tune and repair my own piano.

Apparently way way back, one of the Patriarchs of their group had become interested in learning to tune pianos. I will have to learn more about this man, but they told me that he was determined to learn the skill. Naturally, he went to a local piano tuner and asked him “Teach me how to tune pianos.”

The man slammed the door in his face. But Mr. Stubborn wasn’t taking no for an answer. He was going to do this thing. He loaded a footpump organ onto the back of his wagon (this must have been before horseless carriages) and took it with him to tune a piano. He tuned the piano to the sound of the same key on the pump organ.

…not the right way of tuning a piano…

Later he found a book on how to do it right, and sold his cow to purchase the treasure.

He later held classes for people in Claremont to learn what he had become a master at: Piano tuning and repair.

This makes me humble. It was so easy for me to find excellent resources to satisfy my curiousity.

It didn’t used to be so easy to learn. It didn’t used to be so available. People were stingy with their knowledge.

This is a great time to be alive. Information wants to be free. But like my free piano, that doesn’t mean it is easy.

…remember to breathe….

Okay, it’s finally hitting me.

I am getting married! In FOUR MONTHS!

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*pant* *pant* *pant*

I’m very excited. It took a while to sink in that I would be Mrs. Daley. Well, MS. Daley, because I am my own person. And that makes me smile just about all the time.

But there are some details that come with throwing the big party. Wow!

I need a dress. And I need to figure out what kind of food. And I need to get some invitations.

And I need to register.

…register…that seems to weird. I wonder if I can register at home depot?

what I do know is that I better get on this thing, and fast. I want to have a lovely memory, a time shared with all the people who wish me well, to start on this Marriage thing.

…it’ll be great…

I just have to remember to scream in my head, not out loud.

report

ah, last night went very well. A good time was had by all, and puppy was charming. Cat did not make an appearance. He is chary with his public.

And today, despite our busy Friday and Sunday (mother’s day) plans, was the first real relaxed saturday that i think I’ve had ALL YEAR. I guess it proves my idea that Chris really needed to be jerked away from work by the scruff of his neck and do something else for a change.

This is one of the reasons to have company over. That, and to force you to really clean the house for once.

Chris has been a hero-prince all day. He eve woke me up from a nap to say “I made you dinner. I BBQed for you, and it’s all ready now.”

How great is that? He’s wonderful.

So this is just about the most boring entry ever, especially after all my showcased work. But oh well. I’m feeling good, and I will be boring if I must.

Happy mother’s day, everyone!

GAME NIGHT!!!!

I’m having friends over for a game night.

how exciting! This will be the first game night in my new house of joy.

ah…let us pause as I contemplate my beautiful happy home. I love my home. I love that it’s mine and I get to make it beautiful with flowers and pretty things all the time, and no one can tell me otherwise.

And one of the ways of making my house even more beautiful is by having a bunch of great people over and doing something that will be remembered as a good time. It’s important to have the memories of good times, for the sake of bringing them to mind when I am alone, and even more for the sake of bringing them up with the people you shared them with. I will be able to say “Remember that one time…” and every gets that special look of remembering, which usually includes a smile.

Yes, it’s a vortex of looking forward to the time when I can remember the good time that I am looking forward to having tonight, which leads to…

YAY! We are having the first game night at my house!

There is a big selection of games. I have purchased snacks…Salsa and chips and pretzels…. And sodas, and maybe we’ll makes margaritas…maybe…depends.

The only outstanding question is the playing surface. Our dining table is up against the wall, and in that configuration seats four. It could be moved away from the wall to seat 6…which may end up being the choice…but that would make it a tight fit in that passage way.

We COULD go in the living room and put the board on the ottoman and sit on the floor. I will have to consult the players when the arrive and see what everyone thinks. Either way is fine with me…

yay!

The Wrap

It’s been 5 years, and I’ve culled some of what I consider my best entries from that time to share with you all.

But just because I consider them my finest does not make them the most popular.

BY FAR, my most popular entry is this one. It’s a recipe for homemade microwave popcorn.

haven’t all of you wondered why you should spend ridiculous amounts of cash on a bag designed to pop popcorn in, only to throw it away at the end? Well, even if you haven’t, enough of the internet has to lead them to a search, which leads them inevitably to my site.

A strange glitch in the internet makes me the only source of information on this most basic of tasks. Just about every day someone comes to the wonderblog to find out how to make popcorn themselves with common household materials.

I am the dispenser of popcorn wisdom. Do not be tricked into losing your hard-earned money to that suspicious Redenbacher character with his beady little eyes.

The next three most popular are probably tied. I declare them tied because I can’t be bothered to actually figure out which is more clicked…

This one is about the camia flower. I was given this pretty flower as a present, and blogged about it. Camia is a pretty name, isn’t it? It’s such a pretty name that a lot of daughters were named this name. Said daughters do searches on that name. So do the friends, admirers and desperate rejected suitors of these daughters.

Due to another black hole in the fabric of the internet, I am one of the very few sources of information about the camia flower, and the only source that is actually interesting.

This entry is a riff on a Dilbert cartoon. He is meeting his new boss, who introduces himself curtly as “Niel.” Dilbert bows on one knee. Get is? KNEEL. I did an entry on all the names I could think of that were action verbs. A silly little execise which resulted in a very popular entry.

This one, a highly popular entry, I am actually proud of. It’s a full on personal essay about curly hair. I like it. If I ever get off my butt I may submit it Oprah magazine or something.

This was found by the site naturallycurly.com. They came to me wanting to post in on their site. I negotiated a tank top for my writing. You can find it here.

Yes, I was giddily proud of that at the time. Now, I want more.

My Moose Kill story is still a popular one. People find it searching for moose anatomy.

And I like some of the fictional stories the blog inspire me…This sexy little number was fun…and then my Nadia story.

Miriam wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for my blog, so I am well rewarded for the last 5 years.

I don’t want to stop. But I do want to get better. But this is virgin territory, folks. I am a veteran blogger, even if I am not as well-known as the other people who’ve been blogging for the same amount of time.

Truth is, I know why those four entries are so popular. It’s not rocket science…Someone links to them, pretty much. That’s the deal with the curly story and the popcorn. Okay, the powerful names one just stands on it’s own, as does the Camia flower. It’s an accident of the internet.

I could make like a shark and really go for the hits…Hit me baby! Again! HARDER!

But I can’t muster up enthusiasm for it.

Right, that’s the other thing I forgot to mention. For a year or two, I was a major poster on Blogcritics…They were a start-up site, and are now something of a force on the internet.

But that was when I was a baby blogger. I reviewed (not very expertly) CDs and movies and such things. But as I got better, I didn’t feel like doing that anymore.

We parted ways. I just don’t get excited about popular subjects. And so I stopped posting, and they eventually redesigned their site. I wasn’t linked to as much and my hits dropped by more than half. That hurt. I guess the internet is a lot like a mall, where traffic matters…I had relagated my wonderblog to an obscure untravelled corner of the internet. And it was not enough to keep the readers.

I don’t want to be like the other guys…I want to be me, but better.

And a little rich-and-famous wouldn’t be bad…

But thanks so much for those of you who are reading this. it’s a journey…I’ll try to keep entertaining…at least I know I can entertain myself along the way.

january 23, 2007

It is a constantly running train of thought, but here lately it’s been on my mind—the difference between men and women.

I love men. And I love being a woman. It seems to me that these two, when done right, are very complementary.

I know Chris and I work together very well. We have great love and respect for one another, and we manage to do really well on the various projects and entertainments we take up.

There are other men I have known on the job, who I can really click with, who give me respect and collegial affection. I’ve love working with them and miss them terribly when I’ve had to move on.

What is it that men and women give each other? It’s so much more than just procreation. We are broader than that. What, really, do we need each other for?

Of course, need is relative. Do I NEED to go to the gym and work out in the morning? Not really. NEED is for survival. Food, shelter, air.

But perhaps I am too stoic. Perhaps, for the time being, I can count the survival as a given, and set the bottom standard a little above DEATH.

About 8 years ago, I came to the conclusion that it is best not to need anyone for anything. That I am responsible for myself and myself alone. I wanted to be independent and able to get whatever I needed. I didn’t want to have to wait for someone else to get me what I needed.

It turns out I was very able. I pushed my abilities and pruned my wants appropriate to my circumstances. I learned how to be independent and not need things.

But that opened up other questions.

During our first year, while trying to figure all that out, I asked Chris, “If we don’t need each other, what will keep us together?”

He really didn’t understand the question, but he answered: “We will love each other.”

At the time, it was hard for me to understand how he would stay—how could I be sure?—if he wasn’t dependent on me in some way. He should need me.

I’ve learned a lot from trusting his love.

It turns out that instead of being dependent on someone, you can value them highly. In the same way that you would be unwilling to part with an object of value and beauty, you would be unwilling to part with a person of high value and beauty.
And knowing what I value in him, I can try to foster those same things in myself. When I look at myself honestly, I can see that I am of high value. And I can feel confident that he would want to be with this good stuff that is me.

Okay, that’s the micro. What’s the macro? What do men and women need from each other? What desirable thing is it that we are particularly suited to give to each other?

Earlier this summer, I had that highly annoying conversation with a co-worker. You know the one.

“Men and women cannot be friends, because men only want to sleep with the woman.”

Basically, this argument means that men have no use for any part of a woman except…well, you know what I mean.

He brought it up, because I’d met someone who I thought was interesting but who obviously was attracted to me. I’d hoped that he might get over it and be a friend.

“OH no,” co-worker said. “Let me tell you something about men: they never want to be your friend.”

I brought up examples and hypothetical situations. It was a slow day, and we were getting into it. But he was adamant. Friendship was impossible.

I threw this back at him, “So what you’re saying is, while I want to be friends with a guy, he has no interest in my conversation or friendship. Since I am nothing to him, the only thing I’m going to get out of interactions is whatever entertainment I can create….So I should be the biggest possible bitch so that I can get maximum entertainment value.”

The rest of the guys were laughing, but he wouldn’t back down. “I’m telling you, guys do not want to be friends. Ever.”

Well, that made me depressed for a few days afterwards. Upon reflection, I took away two things:

Guys who have that conversation with females are hoping for something. Note to self: avoid that sort of discussion. It’s just an excuse for guys to talk about sex. I thought I had learned that lesson my first year in college, but I guess I forgot. Or hoped that maturity was more widespread than it is.

Also:
Guys who hold that belief have no clue what to do with the huge amorphous feelings they have about women.
Women are highly desirable, but barely understood. The desire they feel is so scary, they try to cover they metaphorical nakedness with this little insufficient scrap called “sex.”

If they have an answer, they can stop asking the question. It matters little that the answer is wrong (or at the least, insufficient). They can put to rest the discomfort of their ignorance with it.

So that leads to another question. What is it that women give men?

I once knew this guy. He was a friend of my ex. He was the most misogynistic young man (~26) I have ever met. He literally had no interest in anything I had to say. I was a woman, and did not count.

It was kind of stunning to realize this. He was never rude, but he treated me as if I were his friend’s cat–simply not a source of intelligence.

He had been dating a 16 year-old (get this, ASIAN). Typical stereo-type. How much more controlling can you be? It was a half-step removed from a mail-order bride. He got married her when she told him he’d gotten her pregnant.

I’d never met her, even though we knew this guy for years while they were dating.

Long story short, after baby boy was almost 2, turned out that wifey had had a boyfriend they whole time and the child was his. She left Mr. Misogynist. He was devastated.

During this bad time, after his wife and erst-while son had left him, he called to talk to my (then) husband. When I told him I was the only one home, he wanted to talk.

I thought he had brought this disaster on himself somewhat, but I felt bad for him. I knew he was hurting.

But the amazing thing is, he wanted to talk to ME.
ME.
The woman he had no use for. The female who might as well have stayed in the kitchen and walked three steps behind for all he cared.

He really wanted to talk to me. He really really wanted to hear words from a kind female. That was all. We talked about small things for maybe 45 minutes.

He needed what I had. He needed womanhood.

I don’t know the boundaries of what masculinity and femininity are. I suspect they are not hard and fast.

But we need each other. And we need each other to be strong and independent in order to receive the good stuff from each other. I think that if we could learn to work together like that, the whole world would change and be beautiful.

January 17, 2007

Hmmm…thoughts are floating around in my head today.

On the way in to work, I listened to Instapundit’s podcast on Marriage and Caste. Ms. Hymowitz has a lot to say, and talks about how marriage is a very valued institution in America.

She also mentions that in the 50s, people got married even younger than ever before. Younger than now, that’s for sure. My best research says ladies got married at age 20, on average.

Now…about the 50s…I spent this week sick at home in my cute house.

That house that I love so much and am renovating to look modern, just like the time period it was built, in 1950.

It is staggering, how much was changing in the 50s. They talk about the 60s being a time of revolution, but that was just the people catching up with…well…everything!

okay, the teens and 20s were wild and crazy and full of ideas and wealth. Yes, the wealth and ideas were churned by the Great War, what we now call world war one. Hopelessness, the Flu that killed almost anyone that was left standing after the trenches were abandoned.

Meaning? God? What did that mean to anyone at those times? Wild and free to be…wild and free.

But then the depression knocked the wind out of everyone. Resources? Invention? Everyone was too busy making sure they could eat.

Well, Hitler came along and saved us all by being as evil as anyone could be. Hooray! Let’s fight him. Let’s everybody fight him.

And in doing so, the economy got back on it feet. There was fighting to be done. And work to be done at home, Rosie. There are ships to put together, and enough work for even the ladies to have paying jobs.

They worked, and they worked together. Everyone sacrificed for a reason. We won the war, evil was smashed and the world was once again as it should be.

But all the pressure that the century had put on people up to that point exploded into the 50s.

It’s hard for me to understand how modern the Modern age of 1950 was. How very very much had changed as how fast.

I was researching paint. They said that there were colors that were invented for the first time, because they had the chemical know-how then. That the pinks and pastels and bright colors finally got to be used.

The war had rationed even colors.

And the depression…well, that was entirely in Black and White. Like Fred and Ginger.

Refrigerators and washing machines. And those incredible cars! Modern and sleek and dreamy.

And what did people want to do with this beautiful new world of promise?

they wanted to get married. and live in little houses with a yard and a garage.

IMG_6535

and as soon as possible, thank you very much.

We look back at these stories. Ozzie and Harriet. Leave it to Beaver.

I’ve always thought of them as traditional. But they were not. They were very very modern.

which is kinda blowing my mind right now.

On the other hand, why not have a cute little family in a safe little house that has every comfort in it? In so many ways, isn’t that the pinnacle of what we could wish for?

Not the 60s kids, though. They had to tear it down. They wished for anything but.

maybe because they already had it.

Hmmm……