i know more liars than i know fish

~'Ben's Waltz' by Marcelo Zarvos because it's a meandering little piece that is at once sympathetic and mocking and, like most good things, ends too soon.

+

~'After Hours' by Velvet Underground because the form and content work together just about as perfectly as any i can remember. maybe Cake's 'I will survive' is a far-away second place.

~Leaving Las Vegas because it's tender, tragic, heartbreaking, frustrating, funny.

~"The moon ain't romantic, it's intimidating as hell." -Tom Waits. the most accurate, non-scientific explanation of the moon i've ever heard.

hiya gang. today was... a moody pre-teen.

i know when i wake and the sun is up full it's going to be a semi-non-disastrous day, no matter what medical results are waiting for me. i know that when i feel totally at ease bringing out the seersucker trou that 'my' seasons are on their ways and sundresses and strappy heels are sure to follow. i had a great weekend 'round the pool and i'm feeling California. but, as if to snap me back into place, as if to tell me 'don't get ahead of your happy self, hairgrove', today was a mix of sweet and weird.

sweet: fine weather, at work early and looking fab.

sweet: decent work load

sweet: time enough to hit the post office at lunch

weird: thankless bitch cut in front of me in line at said post office. very rude and on her mobile phone.

weird: i didn't tell her she was rude

sweet: fella behind me said, "i saw her cut in front of you." i said 'yea, choosin' my battles these days.' he said, "well, hey, she gets helped first, but you've got your looks."

sweet: passport is on its way to our blasted department of state

weird: when did passport photos go from costing me 5$ to 15$? yea, it's been that long since i traveled proper

sweet: only took 10 minutes at the post office

sweet: that left me the rest of the hour to walk hard along the embarcadero

sweet: with weather like this, it's a sundress, meet strangers and a BR-549 day

weird: went for a walk on the pier where any number of puckered men were fishing. i watched one man kneel over a small fish, paying it no heed as he disentangled his lure. this little silver fish quivered and plopped around for a while until the guy picked it up and tossed it into a pink take-out bag that already contained three other fish of the same type. he went back to his lure. and that bag just kept jerking. each time it stopped i felt relieved, but then the jerking would start again and startle me again and this went on until i couldn't bear to stay there anymore.

there i was amongst a dozen fishermen with my eyes welling up.

i can imagine being tossed away carelessly (from lovers to hospitals), but the persistent jerk of the bag meant such a struggle for life. i've known that, too. but never from the inside of a chinese take-out bag. knock wood. i mean, i've seen james colburn struggle for it in Charade, but that's Hollywoodweird.

thanks for hanging on, gang. more news to come as april takes on its own life.

~~
The male Lincolnfish is solitary by design. It does not travel in schools, but, rather, in a group of no more than three. Even this is somewhat rare, however, as they are known to prefer lone travel. To see more than two together is a brilliant, flickering sight to behold.

The fish's color is so silver that it borders on white. Or perhaps, it is the other way around. In the deep, powdery recesses of the ocean, the Lincolnfish is neither predator, nor prey. As it flees to the very dark bottom, it does so in order to rejuvenate its sheen.

Students of the Lincolnfish have discovered that the particular and very specific recipe of silt and fine residual grains of coral work as a type of exfoliant which 'polishes' the fish's exterior. He performs a rather rapturous roiling in his sandy bath that disrupts the immediate area and turns it into a mess of beige and pink clouds. Once the Lincolnfish returns to the intermediary level of the ocean, his primary habitat, he does so with a newly vibrant appeal.

This brings us to the Lincolnfish mating ritual. Like many other species, it is the male Lincolnfish that pursues the female, but he does so in an almost passive/aggressive manner.
You see, the reason that the lucky Lincolnfish must rejuvenate his exterior is because in order to capture the attention of a female, the male will rub the side of its body against the rather rough coral, leaving brilliantly-colored scales behind to signify his virility and potency. He then hangs about waiting for the female to approach. So, he primps, he paints, he waits and he pounces.

As one would expect, being solitary by design, the Lincolnfish is an absentee father. Perhaps Mother Nature's method of justice comes here in to play. Shortly after mating, the male Lincolnfish is rendered paralyzed for, sometimes, nearly up to an half hour. This obviously makes him easy prey and he is quite often gobbled up by his number one enemy, the most unsightly DevilStinger Scorpionfish.

~~

words: fish & hour

Voiceover from Great Britain

rise & fall & rise. lie & lying.

~'Hey Cowboy' by Junior Bonner because i'm getting back into the swing of things, all hips and lips and hotpants. 

& because i couldn't choose just one song this time:

~'A cream or a lotion?' by James Newton Howard because it's a lilting little ditty that is a very smart tease.

~Let the Right One In for a few reasons: 1. any movie that includes a woman being attacked by cats clinging to her ankles, shoulders, neck, back, chest is a-ok in my funny-book (although i'm not sure the Norwegians intended it to be funny), 2. i watched the English-dubbed version and it sounded as though the voice-overs where calling it in from their couches, stoned cretins, eating Doritos, having never seen the movie before. in other words, the voice overs were a judd apatow movie, 3. i think it's quite possibly the best title, at least of the year and 4. i loved the ending. 

~"Clever men are good, but they are not the best." -Thomas Carlyle because clever in the crafty sense gets to be sometimes too much and overrated.  there is a cleverness to kindness and i'll take that over crafty any day of the week.



hiya gang. sit for a spell. bit of exciting news on the homefront: Louie and i will be moving soon into a one-bedroom apartment! This is good because i'm starting to go a little stir crazy in my studio. it's not small by any means, but i can't help but feel the walls compressing. in reality, it's most likely my state of mind that's crumbling. the really cool thing about it is a large-ish balcony. long enough for me to stretch out and summon tan lines amongst the mint and rosemary. i've started a tomato plant as well. even better is that there is ample sunlight so my skin can soak up the vitamin d as my liver soaks up the vitamin v (or rejects it, whatever the case may b).

so busy april: the move, a beer/baseball-filled visit with my sd sis and then i'm going to see the Cold War Kids at a great venue that holds a buncha memories.  big fan (thanks, prejza).  all that and i'm trying to take on another work project so i can make my future travel a smidge more comfy. as promised, more on that later. i guess i must be superstitious because i hesitate to really write about it just yet lest i jinx it. never know how this old body is going to get in the way of things (again).

i want to raise a proverbial toast to 2 close pals of mine - you know who you are.  west coast pals and east coast pals of mine have had to put down their fuzzy buddies and that ain't easy. i take such things to the heart of my hearts.  my east coast pal is a mother of three and noted how her pooch offered up to her a different type of work and how much she appreciated it.  great way to put it. i've got to say that it's the best responsibility i've had, myself.  when i feel like i want to bemoan being owned by a dog, i realize what a privilege and fortune it is to be part of this little life and help make it better, good, great even.  never will there be another relationship so rewarding and delightful.

on the flip:

my vet checked out the lump on my buddy's neck and "declared" it "potentially cancerous". have i not had enough of this bullshit around me already? 

to check for certain is $1k. so, he either has cancer, i find out and can't afford the treatments (actually, i wouldn't wish chemo on my worst ex-boyfriend, so there'd be no need for it), or i spend the thou$and+ and find out that it was just a harmless tumor.  

some medicine i trust, some doctors i trust, most i don't. 

so no matter. i keep him in check. he romps about like a 5 year old and wags his tail enough to make me scheme over how to channel the energy to keep my lights on at nite. i honestly think the dog sleeps less than i do.  everytime i wake up, there he is, staring at me, eyes as wide as the full moon.  maybe i should flip on 'keeping up appearances'.  

all in all, all is well. 

i know snow is beautiful and quiet, i know we need the rain, but this sunshine calms me like an arm around my shoulders.

here's another 15 minuter: i need to pull away from using pronouns so much.

words: basket & route

sweet lemons

I fill my basket full with meyer lemons to give my lover.
He hasn't spoken to me since it was said that I'd kissed Manoli by the well.
It was he who kissed me and tasted of salted onions and beer. He tricked me by saying that my hem was unraveled, though I'd only just mended it.
But everyone knows that Manoli takes what he wants and is too strong for me to resist.
He is too strong even for Carmella to cast a lasting spell.
She says the best I can pray for is to get my lover to admit that he believes me. She says this with laughter for, in our village, to take the side of a woman makes you just as weak as one.

I have rubbed it so often that my St. Lazarus charm has tarnished please don't give me a broken heart please don't give me a broken heart
I kiss each lemon, place it in the basket and walk to his shed.

No one walks this route because it is overgrown with the spiny berberis but it is the shortest and I take it because I miss him.

Halfway there, a flash of silver catches my eye and I hear Manoli whistle.

~~

headed out, folks.  thanks for playing. here's to firsts and new memories.  cheers.

the physical / metaphorical properties of bubbles, or: how to keep others at bay without really trying

~'Full Moon, Empty Heart' by Belly because for some reason it makes me want to take up ballet again. wtf?

~Duplicity, because it was better than i thought it would be and totally worth it for the slow-motion beginning. and the soundtrack was fair. and my pal christian worked on it and it makes me proud of him. i love to see my friends' names in lights. maternal, i suppose.

~"Change or fail." -Don Fischer. not often i quote a sartorial tycoon, but i just love the simplicity and ultimatum-isness of this. how nice it would be if it were that cut/dry.

hiya kids.

yesterday a dear pal of mine sent a brief article titled 'when do i tell her?'. i wish the article had been longer and...just more, but i'm not altogether sure how it could have been.

the fella who was asking the question had various scars around his neck area which begged questions from girls he dated. he has a history of cancer. what type in this particular instance doesn't matter. it's a question we (singles) ask ourselves, maybe daily, but definitely when we meet people we might be interested in intimately.

do you wait until the other person divulges something personal? if you wait for that, then tell them, does it seem like you're trying to match them or 'one-up' them, or just trying to share? do you show your cards before you even have a date?

do you tell them ON your date? how much do you tell them?

just once i'd like to meet someone who doesn't freak out (correct me if i'm wrong, fellow survivors, but when you start to talk about it, do you not see the wheels turning, the eyes lower and dart...?),

meet someone who doesn't say 'i'm just not good with illness, but you can talk about it if you want' (been there)

or someone who says, 'it's not that you HAD cancer, it's that you could get it again and i don't really want to be around for that' (good riddance, steve. comments like that make me hope cancer hits you in the part of your pants where you do most of your thinking).

i don't know, gang. it's a pressing question. essentially, that's what the author wrote. he doesn't know. there's no answer. you'll just know when you meet the right person. or you won't. and then you'll adopt old dogs and write ridiculous blog entries.

today's 15 minute exercise:

words: black-bearded & lemon jade

untitled

My black-bearded papa and I boarded when I was 7. Clement weather saw us out of the slip and into the Atlantic.

I was too young to know exactly how many days we were out or why. I lost count after 14 nights.

There were others wealthier than my papa, but his straight back, mediterranean skin and finely-trimmed beard made him the most elegant man I'd ever seen. I could tell the moneyed women on board agreed. So it was odd when he turned his attentions to a squat, rather swarthy woman.

Her wiry black hair was piled high and without any reason to it. As a pair they looked like opposites in the same family. Perhaps she reminded him of someone.

When we docked at dawn in Cartagena, my papa ordered me to stay on ship. When I fussed, he promised to return with a basket of sugar-apples and an aluminum model submarine. He locked me in the room with a book on Francis Drake, a blood-thirsty fright of a man.

~

As I peered out the porthole at the glassy stars, I heard the key in the door and ran for him.

It was not my papa there, but the woman I'd secretly named Hair Pile.

~

During the days Hair Pile would keep me in the ship's sizable kitchen while she prepared heavy cream sauces and fish encrusted with Jerusalem spices. She soon broke me of my crying, but not of missing my papa.

When I had 9 years old she fashioned for me a hammock above her bunk so she could spend her nights with crew. My clothes came carefully pilfered from passengers' trunks and bartered fabrics from ports. I was landless and kin-less and I looked the part.

At 11 years I was allowed to roam the ship a tad more freely if I promised to wear shoes. I always watched the bearded men thinking that, even if not my papa, they would see me and want to take me home with them.

~

At first I picked out little girls because they smelled of marshmallow creme and soap. But they cried too quickly and one bit my arm after the telling.

So I chose little boys with whom to share my tale. I pulled them aside and told them the stories of their fathers and what could happen at the next port.

I promised to convince their fathers to keep them if the boys brought me things: a coin with a Greek silhouette, a lemon jade ring, a yellow scarf, a submarine model, a wooden flute and a pair of high-heel satin slippers.

At first the boys didn't believe me because who could believe that such a heartless father could exist? But who better to convince them than I?

~~~~~~~~~

need a refill, gang. thanks for your continued support/feedback. your emails make my day(s).

take a load off and make the most of your hump-day.

also take a look around and see if you can detect one single solitary person who couldn't benefit from a simple smile.

vena cava footprints

~'Fuck was I?' by Jenny Owen Youngs  because today was full of the question 'what the fuck was i thinking?' and i just always love a string instrument opening.  it's a strolling cynic song that best fits on a soundtrack, but sometimes, a stroll needs a soundtrack.

~Forty Shades of Blue because it's in my top 10.  may not be in 10 years, but it has been for a lot of years.  i almost very nearly hope that it doesn't resonate with me forever.

~"Everything I touch turns to shit. Everyone I try to love won't hear of it. Now my hands are over full of things I'd like to give." -the same, Jenny Owen Youngs, from her song 'Drinking Song'. bah that sounds ultra-dramatic.  i think what i really like about it is the phrase 'won't hear of it'.  you just don't hear anyone say that anymore.  'let me give you gas money.' *actually, THAT is something you don't hear anymore either* 'no please, i won't hear of it.'  it's dismissive and polite at the same time. ? also, i'm getting ready to start a book titled 'Drinking: a love story'. so there's that.

hi gang. pull up a.

i was just doing the numbers today: 35 years old.  35.  that makes my mom 69 years old.  my dad, 71. most of my schooltime pals have families of some sort or another. i'm nowhere near marriage and kids are completely outta the question for me.

in theory, the idea of marriage appeals to me so much. in reality, it's so crazy it's funny and it's so funny it's not even a joke.   don't get me wrong.  i really like married couples.  they fascinate me and, if i'm being honest here, i envy them. but i look around and, jesus, it's just me here.

not only am i not bothered by that, but i'm not bothered by the fact that i'm not bothered by that. sure, i have bouts, but in the long run...if you don't have anyone around, you don't have to shave when you don't want to, you can sleep on your own cracker/cookie crumbs in bed, you can laugh and cry whenever you want without offering explanation...i'm not going to go on about the perks of solitude.  that's the cowboy junkies' job.  i'm just letting my fingers do the thinking as i'm doing the drinking.

when i was a young girl, pre-pre-teen, i was cleaning house and my older sister said, "you're going to be a great wife." knew she meant it as a compliment. didn't think much of that until i got a little older when i thought i wanted to be either a cigarette girl (still do, kinda) or a stewardess.  those gals are on the go! i thought husbands are too heavy! (still do, kinda).

on the flip.

when i was young young college-young and having a fling with an older fella, he said to me, "you're not the marrying kind, Red." (he flew me to vegas. he asked me what to bet and i said, " 7 red", hence the name).

 it felt like a slap, but he meant it as a compliment.

i had a visual flash when he said that:

fast forward to years gone by and ______ (enter multiple names there) is sitting and staring, spacey-eyed thinking, just briefly, about our time together (could be hours, nites, years). his wife walks in.  dkny robe and good hair.  she sees him with his twilight zone eyes and asks, in passing, not really meaning it, 'what're thinking about?'  and he answers, truthfully, 

'nothing.'

clink.

empty elevators & the people who ride them

~'All the world is green' by tom waits. this song is quite possibly perfect: lamenting, romantic, brilliant lyrics, hopeful. this is one of those if i was in a relationship, this would be our song songs, but it's also intensely personal so i'm not sure i'd want to share its meaning. but it's DEFINITELY a care to dance? song.
i mean, look, this song is so good it almost brings me to climax just by filling my ear-space. i hit replay and sway as i'm doing the dishes.

~Bleu- i know, i refer to this movie all the good goddamned time, but it runs so many themes and messages and emotions yet somehow manages to keep it all contained in such a lovely photographed packaged. i recently watched it again and it struck me that you can be with someone, really with them - married, joking, fucking, looking, working, loving, fighting, driving, eating, caring, supporting- and still feel so absolutely abandoned.

~ “Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief." W. Shakespeare. as with most things that are worth anything, i've spent a lot of time with this quote. it's just…pretty.

hi gang. i don't anticipate making an entry this weekend so i thought i'd just drop a quick line or so. i'm going on nite 2 without sleep. no reason in particular except that the old noggin's been working overtime.

here's what happens when the ruler of deeannland doesn't get sleep:

*i find a collection of typos and grammatical errors totalling 7 in a hefty three-sentence construction

*i make a completely off-the-wall (but hilarious nonetheless) remark regarding a co-worker's rambunctious children & maybe something to do with ny-quil & the silent game. not for naught; the super quiet guy in the far corner let out a raucous howl thus piquing my interest. 

*in an attempt to compose a tale around the terms 'black-bearded papa' & 'lemon jade' i instead come up with two ideas for new TV shows:
'Marilyn Manson Dinner Theatre' & 'The Last Amputee Standing'.

enjoy your weekend, pals. you've been good to me. cheers and leers of the foxy-persuasion may they come your way and stay.

implications of synchronicity, diane baker, 3rd floor survivors and a coming together of what was is now

~'Brother Lee' by Citizen Cope because my silver dancing pants prove to be a hit and approve this song as a hit. just fun.

~“While her heart is still in the grave of one love affair, she is making eyes at another man." -a companion of Edna St. Vincent Millay.

~Morvern Callar, because, gruesome & despicable or not, the sight of Samantha Morton (sigh) in 70s shades, drinking brandy and prepping her bathroom for when she hacks her beau to bits...is beautiful dammit.

hi gang, pull up a tall one. a full day to relay! sometimes, things just align. don't know how else to put it.

had lunch with my pal jeff today which always sets a good tone. i love to talk to a man about scrabble. gave him his octopus and he was officially beside himself with pleasure. nice. good feeling.

next: received some terrific pics from a dear old pal from college. we were a tight-knit group and the photos feel like yesterday. seems i've had a thing for fishnets since i've been old enough to.

next: talked to sis Kel today which always makes me think of 'silence of the lambs'. she's a huge fan and i have good memories myself of going to see the flick. i'm leading up to it. sit tight.

i walked home in the late light of spring - the light that promises to caress my shoulders and carry me to my beloved sandy-beach naps - to greet my sweet captain dirtyface, Louie. tonite was his first bath at the hairgrove hotel.

to prepare for his bath i headed to my local for some treats (jerky for Lou, bubbly for me). so i sidled up to this tasty boy in grocery line 4, but when i looked to the lady in the next line, a bolt of lightning, kids, a bolt! anyway, line4boy was too much a hippie for my tastes.

a bottle of wine, asparagus, a magazine, et cetera...she seemed a tad frazzled, harried even, but she looked at me. i smiled, she smiled. then i asked "senator martin?" ...she looked at me with a question mark and cock of her head, smirked and said "yea, yep." kids, senator martin from 'silence of the lambs'!! i said, "you did a two-hour episode of Columbo. the commander episode."

kids, i met Diane Baker! what a doll. she said that she heard peter wasn't doing so well & had i heard (uhm, yea), she'd tried to call him without success. we chatted a tad then said tah tah.

so fun.

i beat it home to give Louie his bath--a perfect gentleman! he's currently super-poop'd and splayed on the couch.

the real reward of the day comes next:

a fellow stupid cancer happy hour attendee and i have played tag with the last couple of happy hours. she's there when i'm not & vice versa. i added her on facebook and noticed she's listed some info about where she works. ...it's the same place where i work. small world yea?

she's a victim of a rare form of cancer for which there is next to nil re: research.

www.dtrf.org

since there's no research (read: interest), this sweet biscuit is starting a fundraiser/party. her beau plays in a blues band with john lee hooker's nephew & it's sure to be a dancin' bash. i'll be writing a press release or two for it so stay tuned over the next few months.

60% of the victims of this type of cancer suffer recurrence and many, amputation, due to lack of research>primitive "treatment". my gal's friend is going back into surgery this week and we're all crossed-fingers and hope.

just so happens that i'm freelancing for an orthotis/prosthetist.

1+1+1 = full circle. i'm looping him in on the fundraiser, and hopefully, some results will come from this lovely coincidence. at the least, comes support and resources.

i'm spent, kids. thanks for your emails about the previous post. so many of us. it's weird. it's unusual, but it isn't. and that's too bad. but it isn't.

where discombobulation is a way of life: deeannland! make yourself at home. i love to have you. kisses and near misses. clink.

not nothing

~'Running up that hill' by Placebo. i know i know- Kate Bush did it first and best, but their version is truly stimulating. i first heard it on 'CSI: Las Vegas'…and i effing hate that show…but there's an end scene where jorga fox (cool chick) lets her face just own everything and it gives me chills.

~You Can't Take it With You because the title seems apropos today and it's a goofy tale with some sweet performances. Anarchism, false arrest, consumerism, eccentricities? a true feel-gooder.

~"You've got a great set of gams, Hairgrove" -my chiro dude. thanks doc!

hi gang-

not going to lay any exercise copy on you. i relay the above quote because it felt good to hear that. i've taken stock of my stuff and it ain't bad. i don't need anyone to tell me that, but it sure felt nice to hear it. once in a while, i like to be reminded. a great number of readers have emailed me with stories about how cancer (yes, there it is AGAIN. the other C word) does a number on your confidence level. on the one hand, we feel like awesome victors with unparalleled tolerance, and on the other hand…unappealing wastes of space.

i've been freelancing for this pretty remarkable guy who invents and fabricates prosthetic limbs. i've interviewed about 15 of his patients and their stories are our stories: lose a part of your body >> feel inadequate and embarrassed. you can't help it. all the logic and well-meaning advice-givers tell you about how it's a badge, it's what makes you unique blah blah blah. there are other ways to display my uniqueness.

i've had any number of people say I shouldn't be so concerned since, with clothes on (and a padded bra and only the right kinds of "careful" shirts) you could never tell i've had a mastectomy. to someone such as me who is tremendously sensual by nature and loves skin-on-skin and intimacy…looking decent in your clothes is only part of the situation. it's a horribly personal and sensitive issue. don't get me wrong, i'm the first to shout out my good fortune, but…i miss my breast. that's just the truth. i'm getting a lot better about missing it and maybe someday, someone will look at me and just love no matter what it looks like. if i ever have the courage to let anyone in.

again, i don't require that kind of confirmation, but just like the long legs comment, it helps lift my spirit and that can't be anything but a good thing.

just for today, and at this moment, i know i'm not unbeautiful.