Makin' Candy setlist, 11/9/04

Check out the strings of rants and useful information at www.ibrattleboro.com... it has been making me feel if not better, at least in like company regarding this election fiasco. I have also been enjoying www.sorryeverybody.com, though I contest that the "red" states have gotten ripped off even more than the blue states (either through fraud or, worse, being brain-washed by vituperative talk radio, etc.) so I hate to see those "blues" pulling back and pointing fingers. That's just what THEY want us to do. We gots to work together, man. Anyway, here's the list:

• Faith: George Michael
  
• The Phone Call: Memphis
  
• Equal Rights: Peter Tosh
  
• Dreamin': The Photon Band
  
• Watchin' the Detectives: Elvis Costello
  
• Don't change Your Plans: Ben Folds Five
  
• Mom's Sound System: Buckminster Fuzeboard
  
• Feeling Sad & Lonely: Bush (a 60's garage-rock band)
  
• I Like em Big and Stupid: Julie Brown
  
• Limbo: Throwing Muses
  
• I Wish You Would: Bowie
  
• Waltz #2: Elliot Smith
  
• Bullroarer: Midnight Oil
  
• The Cowboy Mambo (Hey Lookit Me Now): David Byrne
  
• Time to Build: Beastie Boys
  
• Nobody told Me: John Lennon
  
• Terror: The Stockholm Monsters
  
• Jupiter, The Bringer of Jollity: Isao Tomita (and Holst)
  
• See the Girl: Psychopaths
  
• The Man's Too Strong: Dire Straits
  
• Band of Gold: Afghan Whigs
  
• Radio Free: Smiley Bob Project
  
• Now You're Gone: Counts
  
• Hearts and Bones: Paul Simon
  
• Take Your Clothes off when You Dance: Frank Zappa
  
• Early Ev'ry Midnite: Roberta Flack
  
• You're Gonna Love Yourself in the Morning: Sammy Davis Jr.
  

Makin' Candy setlist, 11/2/04

This show was a dee-luxe Beastie Boys special edition... as DJ Pockets pointed out, good music for election night, especially if you're angry. I must add that the new "To the Five Boroughs" CD is really starting to rock my world. Thanks y'all.

• Sabrosa
  
• Body Movin'
  
• Right Right Now Now
  
• Brass Monkey
  
• Lighten Up
  
• I Don't Know
  
• Shake Your Rump
  
• Sure Shot
  
• Groove Holmes
  
• Time to Build
  
• Rhymin' and Stealin'
  
• Negotiation Limerick File (The 41 Small Star Mix)
  
• Shadrach
  
• Alright Hear This
  
• Now Get Busy
  
• Fight for your Right
  
• Root Down (Free Zone Mix)
  
• Alive
  
• Sounds of Science
  
• Drinkin' Wine
  
• Crawlspace
  
• Brand New
  
• Hey Ladies
  
• Paul Revere
  
• 20 Questions
  
• Sabotage
  
• Intergalactic
  
• Egg Man
  
• An Open Letter to NYC
  
• Gratitude
  
• Transitions
  
• Benny & the Jets
  
• Boddhisatva Vow
  
• We Got The

The least of it

Of the many, many loud and ANGRY and apologetic (to the rest of the world) things I have to say about what happened in this country in the past 24 hours, here's just one: Bush was not RE-elected. This is not a RE-election win. This is the FIRST time he's been elected. And THAT is even worse. WHO elected this person after everything that's gone down in the past 4 years? What are we going to do for the NEXT 4 years? I feel like Lewis Black today in that I can't help SHOUTING.

Makin' Candy Setlist, 10/26/04

Radio show details finally available after a weekend spent moving house. Tribute to John Peel and tiny Hallowe'en set included in this show...

• Fool's Gold: Stone Roses
  
• My Guru: Kalanji & Ananji
  
• How Long Can This Go On: Kitty Craft
  
• Eve of Destruction: Buzzo
  
• Eardrum Buzz: Wire
  
• Frontier: Dead Can Dance
  This next chunk dedicated to John Peel, BBC DJ 1967-2004
  
• Is She Weird: Pixies, recorded on the John Peel show, 6/11/90
  
• Transmission: Joy Division
  
• There is a Light that Never Goes Out: The Smiths
  
• (White Man) in Hammersmith Palais: The Clash
  
• Badhead: Blur
  
• clip of Mr. Peel opining on Grand Rapids... here endeth the John Peel tribute
  
• Goodbye: The Universe
  
• David's Last Summer: Pulp
  
• Spin: Death of a Salesman
  
• Out of Myself: Arco
  
• Brackish Boy: Frank Black
  
• (She's a) Universal Emptiness: Swans
  Halloween trio:
  
• I'm a Vampire: Future Bible Heroes
  
• Scary Monsters: David Bowie
  
• Great Pumpkin Waltz: Vince Guaraldi
  
• Action at a Distance: Matmos
  
• Bushman's Samba: Lullatone
  
• Acknowledgment from A Love Supreme: John Coltrane
  
• Playford Tunes: Maddy Prior
  
• Time on My Hands: Ben Webster
  

Makin' Candy setlist, 10/19/04

A sweet & sticky revue of indie/oldie favorites from Makin' Candy this week.

• Pasttime with Good Company (originally Henry VIII): Super Madrigal Brothers
  
• American Flag: Cat Power
  
• What Are You Wearing: Kahimi Karie
  
• Strawberryfire: Apples in Stereo
  
• This Night Has Opened my Eyes (originally The Smiths): Pipas
  
• Educated guess: Ani diFranco
  
• Ritual: Charming
  
• Terror: The Stockholm Monsters
  
• Apple Scruffs: George Harrison
  
• Thinking of You: Dr. Frank
  
• Wait for Me (Please): Kleenex Girl Wonder
  
• Roller King: The California Oranges
  
• Wild Bill Jones: Bad Livers
  
• The dissenters have risen: The Cannanes with Steward
  
• Mood Elevator: Lu
  
• Blue & Beautiful: Modesty Blaise
  
• The Eve of Destruction: Al Bruno aka Buzzo (see also Rudy Rucker's 10/19/04 weblog for more)
  
• The Vanishing: Stars
  
• Planeta Engraja: Lineland
  
• I Wish You'd Stay: Club 8
  
• New Mate: Figurine
  
• Bubblegum popgirl: The Cherry Orchard
  
• St. Elmo's Fire: Uilab
  
• No Op: Isan
  
• Brazil: Cornelius
  
• Invincible: Holiday Flyer
  
• Tonka Truck remix: Kevin & Paul
  
• 1987: Fingernail
  
• Zefiro torna: Monteverdi
  

Your website, madame

I've been going through a little Madame de Pompadour obsession lately (I know, who hasn't?) and was toying with the idea of recreating some denominator of a 44-course meal she hosted on November 4, 1747. Since I didn't have my Nancy Mitford biography on me, I tried finding the menu online. Thanks to Google I not only found it (in French & Italian), but there is an entire Madame de Pompadour website to play with. There goes my lunch hour--huzzah!

With an old fashioned hug, Prof. K.

Lunchtime flu thoughts

Since herbalism and conspiracy theory are a big part of my family life, here are my thoughts on the flu shot shortage this year.

It seems to me like a really crazy ad-campaign: "These are great, get them every year... oh wait, never mind." I only started hearing about flu shots 6 years ago, and was surprised that grown adults were encouraged to get shots at their local drug store on an annual basis. Sounded like a scam to me... much like the theory that putting fluoride in drinking water is a handy way to get rid of fluoride, actually a toxic substance. But with shots, people actually have the stuff injected voluntarily! What is it exactly? Concocted from strains of last year's defunct flu? Then this year, with flu shots limited, the CDC is trying to assure the same flu-shot-happy masses that only "high risk" people need the shots. But it's too damn late, we're trained to get the shots every year and begorrah, we're going to get them! So what if I'm over 2!

Here's where herbalism comes in. Nature has already made a powerful and tasty flu-fighter, called the elderberry. Ask your local herbalist or health-food store about elderberry and give yourself a break from shots. Heck, someone told me the FDA is thinking of regulating elderberry, so that means it must be good.

David Crosby puts it nicely:

Say, can I have some of your purple berries

Yes, I've been eating them for six or seven weeks now

Haven't got sick once

Prob'ly keep us both alive

Makin' Candy setlist, 10/12/04

This week was 774 years of human song--voice music going backward in time from 2004 to 1230. The Time Machine edition!

• Tiny Apocalypse: David Byrne 2004
  
• Soma: The Strokes 2001
  
• Perfect Time: Archers of Loaf 1998
  
• Maybe, I Don't Know: The Elevator Drops 1997
  
• Power of Equality: Red Hot Chili Peppers 1991
  
• Secret Separation: The Fixx 1986
  
• You Spin Me Round (Like a Record): Dead or Alive 1985
  
• Take On Me: a-ha 1985
  
• Love Will Tear Us Apart: Joy Division 1980
  
• London Girl: The Jam 1977
  
• Barracuda: Heart 1977
  
• 1977: The Clash 1977
  
• Some Kinda Love: Velvet Underground 1969
  
• Stephanie Knows Who: Love 1967
  
• It's No Secret: Jefferson Airplane 1966
  
• The Getaway and the Chase: Anita O'Day 1956
  
• I Don't Mind: Hadda Brooks 1953
  
• Steppin' Out with My Baby: Fred Astaire 1952
  
• Prisoner of Love: Lena Horne with Teddy Wilson & his Orchestra 1941
  
• Quando m'en vo (from La Bohème): Puccini 1896
  
• Un di felice eterea (from La Traviata): Verdi 1853
  
• Sorrow's Tear: Stephen Jenks 1805
  
• Der Hölle Rache (from The Magic Flute): Mozart 1791
  
• Ma heureuse Iphigenie (from Iphigenie en Tauride): Gluck 1779
  
• I'm Sick of Life: Henry Purcell lived 1659-1695
  
• Tornate o cari baci: Claudio Monteverdi 1619
  
• Awake, sweet love, thou art returned: John Dowland 1597
  
• A Robyn: William Cornysh c. 1500-1550
  
• Que vous madame: Josquin des Prez lived 1440-1521
  
• excerpt from The Play of Daniel: manuscript from 1230
  
  

Makin' Candy setlist, 10/5/04

Tune into Makin' Candy every Tuesday night from 10pm to midnight! Here's what played this week--it was mainly a "wax from the stacks" show centering heavily on LPs from the Chelsea House Folklore Center Collection (click here for brief history).

• Pachysandra/Sunday Driver: Gordon Stone Band
  
• Maple Leaf Rag: Scott Joplin (Joshua Rifkin, piano)
  
• Bonny Lass of Anglesey: Martin Carthy
  
• Saint Behind the Glass: Los Lobos
  
• I'm goin' to Take You Fishin': Dice
  
• Old Joe: The Early Minstrel Show
  
• Davy Green: The Ivy Ross Experiment
  
• Coal Tattoo: Guy & Candie Caravan
  
• Misty Moisty Morning: Steeleye Span
  
• Ease the Pain: Mr. Love [from "Only in America," an Arf! Arf! compilation]
  
• Down the Valley: Sparky Rucker
  
• Salty Dog: Pinnacle Mountain Boys
  
• Cold Sailor: Arwen Mountain
  
• Must've Been High: Supersuckers
  
• Cigarettes, Whisky and Wild Women: Sons of the Pioneers
  
• Don't Let Your Deal Go Down: Barbara Carns
  
• Tennessee Border: Red Foley
  
• Liberty: Jay Round and the Williams Family
  
• Batik: Gordon Stone Band
  
• Face Up: Jimmy Ryan
  
• Simply a Road Song: Jim Ransom
  
• Everybody Knows this is Nowhere: Neil Young with Crazy Horse
  
• Homemade Music: Bob Gibson and Hamilton Camp
  
• Did You Hear John Hurt?: Tom Paxton
  
• The Young Man Who Wouldn't Hoe Corn: Burt Porter
  
• Logie O'Buchan: Burt Porter (fretless banjo) & Sandy Kepler (guitar)
  
• Happy Song #1: Pete Swinnerton (from an LP called "Folk Songs from the Red Herring Coffee House, Urbana, IL")
  
• Barbara Allen: Mitzie Collins
  
• Fantasia on Nonesuch: Mitzie Collins (both these from a 1976 recording on Sampler Records)
  
• Woodsman's Alphabet: Sara Cleveland
  
• Shady Grove: Garcia, Grisman & Rice (from "The Pizza Tapes")
  
• Dust: Gene Autry
  

This blog hurts me

Ok, yes. Was feeling very chipper about this project several hours ago when I started wrestling with it. My patience has sadly worn thin. I'll start with some dope links, yo:

radio free brattleboro
fametracker
darla records
ibrattleboro
national novel writing month

The End (but not really)

Please note: this blog will shortly be relocating to the site from whence it came: discontent. If you're interested in keeping up with our laconic editorial musings, drop by now and then. Do let us know if you need any issues of discontent--or any kind of content. The zine's email address is logomachia at hotmail dot com. Cheers.

UPDATE: As you'll see, my break from blogging didn't last. I've finally pieced my 2 blogs together--tacking together the "writer's block" blog from June 2002 to July 2003 with the present "Cabinet of Prof. Kitty" which I started in October 2004. It turned out that physical print, in the form of my zine discontent, was actually the one to go, not this blog. Written by Prof. Kitty, 4/5/09.

Gilliam-ing

"When are you going to release my film, 'Brazil'?"
It's been Terry Gilliam week at our house. First we got the Criterion Collection edition of Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas, featuring commentary by Terry Gilliam, Johnny Depp, Benicio del Toro, and Dr. Thompson himself (he does not speak extemporaneously but is interviewed/goaded by an officious-sounding Criterion executive). Then we impetuously purchased Lost in La Mancha, the documentary of Terry Gilliam's failed attempt to film Don Quixote. Orson Welles failed too, so Gilliam is in good company. My conclusions from watching these are (1) Terry Gilliam has a demonic little laugh that I must imitate, often. (2) I am glad that "The Man Who Killed Quixote" (or whatever it was called) never made it through production because it looks...annoying. I suspect I enjoyed the story behind the movie's failure much more than I would have liked the movie itself. There are only so many slo-mo fat giants and dirty bald men in tatters and shackles and elderly protagonists with funny noses that I will accept. Time for pistachio ice cream.

Medical notes

Observation from the medical community:

If a single virus caused all the deaths, all the birth defects, and all the health care costs that tobacco does, governments all over the planet would move to find the virus, then find a vaccination or a cure. But tobacco is an important cash crop. Through huge campaign contributions and other outlays of money, the tobacco industry influences our government. Tobacco is the single most preventable cause of death in America, yet our government subsidizes its cultivation.
Klag, Michael J., et al. Johns Hopkins Family Health Book. New York, NY: HarperCollins, 1999. 79.

--

Found poem in the Journal of the American Medical Association:

Even as the end approaches,
heart failure is characterized
by wide excursion
between good and bad days,
often preserving hope for another good day
until the last.
Uncertainty regarding time
and mode of death exceeds that
for other terminal illnesses.
Even our predictions of imminent death
are patches of fog, from which
survivors can emerge unexpectedly.
Each patient travels a unique journey,
on which many share remarkable determination
to prevail.
As we embolden our patients
to understand and influence their course,
as we appreciate their individual preferences
for quality and length of life,
we will guide each other
through the changing management
of advanced heart failure.

JAMA, Feb 6, 2002--Vol 287, No. 5, p. 639--last paragraph in "Medical Management of Advanced Heart Failure," by Anju Nohria et al.

Eleanor of Aquitaine

Another book excerpt; thank goodness I don't have reader's block! I think the paragraphs below might make a good movie or story. I like the idea of stealing a chain of events straight from history. I have never seen The Lion in Winter but from what I've read, Eleanor of Aquitaine's life is enough material for hours of documentaries and dramatic film, and volumes-worth of saucy medieval romance novels and tales of political intrigue. In this excerpt, Richard is Eleanor's son Richard I of England, Philip is King of France, and the Vexin is a bit of France northwest of Paris that England and France bickered over for years. Vexin indeed.

"In September 1198 Richard overran the Vexin, reclaiming Gisors with such ferocity that Philip was nearly drowned in the frantic retreat of the French; in a letter to Hugh de Puiset, Richard gleefully related how 'the King of France drank river water on that day.' A record one hundred French knights were also taken prisoner. It was at this point that the church intervened to negotiate a peace between the two kings.

"The Bishop of Beauvais was now being held by Richard in a dungeon at Château Gaillard, which many regarded as an outrage. The new Pope, the formidable Innocent III, who would emerge as one of the greatest pontiffs of the Middle Ages, was determined to have the Bishop freed, and sent a legate, Cardinal Peter of Capua, to order Richard to release him on the grounds that it was forbidden by canon law to imprison a bishop.

"The King was in no mood to obey, and unleashed a flood of abuse upon the legate, shouting that the Holy See had never intervened on his behalf when he was being held captive--an attitude that echoes the sentiments expressed in Eleanor's letters to Celestine III [the previous Pope]--and accusing the Bishop of Beauvais of being no better than a brigand and the Cardinal of being a traitor, liar, simoniac, and suborner. Then Richard sent him from his presence, commanding him never to come before him again.

"When Eleanor learned what had happened, she was much disturbed, having heard of Pope Innocent's ruthlessness. She therefore arranged for the Bishop to escape--probably by bribing or duping his jailers--and offered him asylum in her own domains. Then she let it be known that Richard had freed him. In this way she averted the threat of excommunication falling upon her son and avoided making an enemy of Innocent and driving him over to Philip's camp. It was a brave thing to do, considering just how angry Richard could be when he was thwarted; yet there is no record of any recriminations, and it is likely that, once his wrath had cooled, Richard saw the wisdom of Eleanor's actions."
Alison Weir, Eleanor of Aquitaine: A Life, New York: Ballantine Books, 1999. 309.

You can picture the scene, the ginger-haired king roaring with laughter at his French rival wallowing in river mud. Later, brandishing a huge piece of meat, he unleashes a torrent of invective on the man of God come to demand clemency. His seventy-six year-old mother connives from her remote palace, combing her hair before a low mirror and duping jailers with abandon. The bishop stealing from his tapestried cell, wondering why the king chooses to release him in the dead of night into the hands of hooded horsemen...

Cheever

The writer at home:

At Thanksgiving the family followed a regular ritual. First John and Fred lined the sloping lawn with tennis-court tapes, and then the crowd--as many as two dozen--arrived for the touch football game. Cheever himself was not much of a player. Next there were drinks for all and then the turkey that Mary had prepared and John carved, after reciting a grace he constructed out of the Cranmer Bible and Jowett's Plato.

The Cranmer is loud, resonant and liturgical and cuts into the small talk and the noise of silver. "Almighty God, maker of all things, judge of all men!" Then comes the Plato, even louder. "Let us consider that the soul of man is immortal, able to endure every sort of good and every sort of evil. Thus may we live happily with one another and with God." The close is incantatory, close to plainsong. "By Whom and with Whom in the Unity of the Holy Ghost all honor and glory be to Thee oh Father Almighty, world without end. Amen."

Scott Donaldson, John Cheever: A Biography, New York: Random House, 1988. 233-234.

Fametracker

Exciting and addictive website discovery of the day: www.fametracker.com.

Yes, I found out about it in Bitch magazine. Yes, it's Canadian (adjust your pronunciation of "found out about it" accordingly). And yes you must go there now. It's exactly my kind of thing--sassy about famous people and their pathetic quirks, and willing to recognize good actors that haven't yet been slathered everywhere by Hollywood's raving drooling publicity machine. (I assume there must be such a thing, how else would I know that Kate Hudson even exists?) Check out the Sam Rockwell Fame Audit. Yeah!

Afro Ken

I have a new doll. It is a pink dog with a velcro blue afro. He is called Afro Ken and I love him.

Vital Information on Afro Ken

Name: Afro Ken

Mood: Always in good mood

Characteristic: Likes to get close to things that look like Afro Ken (Maybe it wants to be friends). Afro’s hair color changes to the Afro-like things that it gets near.

Species: Afro Dog (Like Shiba dog, Tosa dog, there is also Afro dog)

Yelping: Unconfirmed
(From Confidential information, it speaks Afro language)

Sex: Unknown

Food: Afro Ken will try anything at least once

Personality: Innocent, blameless Afro Ken surprises many people

Movement: Walking

Rats!

Material for possible children's story about the saga of my pet rat:

On January 17, the day before the full moon, I ran into my boyfriend's badass friend Ted while walking home from the library. Ted asked me if I needed a pet rat, and when I expressed interest he told me the pathetic story of how he had bought a rat earlier in the day to use as a practical joke. He put it in somebody's coat pocket as payback for that person having adulterated his looseleaf tobacco with pencil shavings. Apparently the joke was a dud because the guy didn't even check his pockets when he put his coat on, so Ted had to stop him and tell him he had a rat in his pocket. Ted had made no provisions or plans for the rat after this incident. He placed the rat in a 10-ream paper box, gave it some granola bars and a sawed-off Dixie cup of water, put the lid on, and left it in the mail room while he prowled the streets for someone naive enough to take it as a pet. That person was me. When I saw the rat at the bottom of the box, wet from stepping in its water cup, and shivering, and pretty cute, I said I would take him home. I stopped by my boyfriend's work and as soon as he saw the rat he gave me his credit card and told me to buy it a proper cage and some food. He's a good guy.

At the pet store the girl told me that Ted had dropped the rat while trying to put it in a box, and then told her he was taking it home to get it stoned. She was very unpleasant to me until I told her that I had rescued the rat from Ted and would like to give it a good home. Then she gladly sold me $46 worth of rat supplies. She also told me the rat was a boy. On the drive home I decided to name him Henry.

Over the weekend I read up on rats. I learned that they don't like apples, shouldn't eat lettuce or cat food, and are very intelligent. If your rat has no rat friends, you should play with it at least one hour a day. Unfortunately the more I play with Henry the sicker I get. Wherever he touches my skin I get pink itchy welts, and after playing with him I have trouble breathing. Every day my boyfriend and I play with Henry (he specializes in sleeves and will spend the entire hour sitting in the sleeve of my sweater destroying my shirt while I watch movies). And every day I get sicker. After eight days I can no longer sleep through the night because I keep waking myself up by gasping for air. It feels like there is a concrete block on my chest. I have to sleep propped up or else not enough air gets into my lungs. I have coughing fits that last for half an hour at a time. It feels like my rib cage is going to break from coughing. Also my eyes are watering and my sinuses are running like a faucet. Every time I exhale it feels like there's poison ivy inside my lungs and I start to cough again. Am I ALLERGIC TO THE RAT?

We start changing variables. We buy different rat bedding. We buy different rat food. We break out the air purifier and buy special chemicals to clean it and the air in the rat room. I buy homeopathic asthma medicine, and Breathe Easy tea, and Apitherapy Honey Wild Cherry Syrup, and my mother gives me a bottle of "Vitamin O," and I also take lots of other vitamins and herbal extracts and drink tea and lots of water and use an Olbas Inhaler. After two weeks I am utterly exhausted.

Then Henry runs away. We've had him for sixteen days and played with him every day (mostly my boyfriend does the playing because being near the rat seems to propel me towards death) and he obviously hates us because he is always hiding in sleeves or boxes or trying to burrow into things. In a fit of energy I built Henry a rat playland featuring a simple labyrinth and some toys and boxes and also a VIP room with groovy wrapping paper on the walls. Perversely, Henry enjoys hanging out in the maze and doesn't like the open parts of his Playland. On the sixteenth day, Groundhog Day, Henry disappears into a hole in the cabinetry under the kitchen sink and does not reappear. We watch the hole for hours. During my nightly coughing fit I sit with my back to the fridge and wait for Henry to come out for food or water. He does not come out. Is he dead? Has he fallen into the plumbing? Is he happy to be in a dark hole under the cabinet? In the morning I try to coax him out with a dog biscuit. He pokes his nose out the hole and YANKS the biscuit out of my hand, then runs back into his hole. We feel completely betrayed by the feral rodent. The next day I am so upset that I leave work to get my mom's Havahart trap and set it up on the kitchen floor. I've also constructed a wall of cardboard around the cabinetry so if Henry comes out he won't run into other parts of the apartment. But Henry does not come out. I'm worried he might start to dehydrate so we set up his water dispenser on the wall of cardboard and we can hear him come out and drink--but only when we're nowhere near the kitchen. He still isn't falling for the trap. After he's been under the cupboard for 48 hours I am actually starting to feel better. I can sleep through the night and don't need a hankie with me at every moment. But we're so worried about Henry!

At 2AM on Wednesday morning, I catch Henry by hand. I do this by calling his name over and over again (we've been trying to teach him his name) and rubbing my hands with dog food. He falls for it. When I put him back in his tank I notice that Henry is strangely fat. Is he suffering from malnutrition? Does he have tumors? Has he been drinking too much water? Is he a she? By now we're definitely going to take Henry to the Humane Society. He is stressing us out. We have started to bicker. I call the Humane Society but they are fricking closed on Wednesdays. So I make a vet appointment for Friday morning so we can get Henry checked out before getting rid of him. We love Henry, but he's just too much trouble. We're not meant to be rat parents!

On Thursday Henry is still fat. When I check up on him in the evening he is sitting on something strange and purple. It is a dead rat baby. I am completely distraught--Henry and his babies were malnourished while he was hiding under the cabinet! We failed to care for him during a crucial part of his pregnancy! I read up some more on rat breeding and learn that rats will instinctively dispose of any dead babies. It turns out that only one baby wasn't born completely healthy. The other eight are fine.

Now we have nine rats. We are getting used to calling Henry "she." She turns out to be a good mother, and we make sure she gets enough seeds and pellets and nuts and oats and things. The babies are still pink and hairless and their eyes are still shut, but they're starting to get some color where their fur will be. They'll be black and white like their mother, Henry. I am feeling almost completely recovered. One of the many things we changed about Henry's cage or room seems to have solved my asthma problem. We now understand why Henry was so interested in finding close snuggly places to hang out--she was nesting. I thank heaven she did not have those babies under the kitchen cabinet or else we would have had to saw them out of there. Also according to my rat literature Henry must have gotten knocked up the day before Ted bought her--their gestation period is 21 days, and we had Henry for 20 days when she suddenly produced a litter. I am more convinced than ever of the incompetence of that particular pet store. The manager there is also insanely rude.

We will have to give away most of the babies once they're old enough, but I am secretly thinking of keeping one of Henry's daughters along with Henry. Then she will have someone to play with all the time.

1*21*03

Before starting this blog I felt guilty about not working on my zine. Now I feel guilty about not working on my zine AND not working on this blog. But let's have some fun. It has come to...a weblog of weblogs:

Eszter's Blog Eszter Hargittai is one smart broad. Her blog is an interesting blend of political commentary and musings on technology, but she doesn't forget to include personal stuff to give some idea of where she's coming from. She is going places.

Marking Time Peter Marquis-Kyle is an Australian conservation architect. His weblog is graphically pleasing and you never know what he's going to annotate next: Samuel Pepys? Bucky Fuller? The weather?

Heath Row's Media Diet Reviewed discontent once so he must have excellent taste. I check up often to verify that.

Hey....Listen! I love to "spy" on college kids and their crazy websites. This one is a good example. Hey Liam, keep it coming!

38 Special's Official Home Page This isn't a weblog. Can you believe it though?? Check out those song titles. I've never heard of any of them! And I thought I was so up on eighties music. I thought I was such a fan. Now I realize I am way more familiar with Loverboy than I am with 38 Special. (And "If loving Loverboy is wrong, let me never be right."--actually a quote from that short-lived but tickling WB show, Off Centre)

Men Who Look Like Kenny Rogers. Really!

1*4*03

Today I turn thirty-one, and this town has gotten about fourteen inches of snow in the last twenty-four hours. Since the weather precludes any birthday visits to, say, famous museums or remote picnic spots, we are spending the day watching "catalog" (that is, "no longer new release") movies from the video store's generous program of "seven movies for $7.77 for seven days." So far we have seen Diane Keaton's bizarre documentary called "Heaven"--an amusing if dry compendium of the ravings of "ordinary" people and cuts from old fantasy films and evangelical propaganda. The person who chose this movie is also a big fan of "Wax, or the Discovery of Television Among the Bees" and Orson Welles' "F for Fake," both great-sounding movies that send me quickly into slumber. I have high hopes for some of our other selections, including "Easy Living" with Jean Arthur and Ray Milland, Busby Berkeley's "42nd Street," and "Road to Morocco" with Crosby and Hope. Then perhaps there will be some birthday bacchanal.

12*21*02

Seasonal Affective Disorder! As the days get shorter, I get crankier. But long early evenings are perfect for watching "The Fellowship of the Ring" extended edition DVD over and over again. First watch the movie, then watch the movie with director's commentary, then watch the movie with cast commentary, then watch the movie with designer's commentary, then watch the two disks of Appendices. By the time you're done the daffodils will be out. The Ghostbusters DVD is pretty good too. I had no idea that Dan Aykroyd is a crazy biker dude with a military checkpoint outside his Martha's Vineyard home and a camo-painted bunker in the basement.

11*26*02

My weblog has fallen into disrepair because I no longer work in front of a computer all day long. I do not mean to imply that when I did hold that particular job I actively sought interesting stuff to add to "Writer's Block." But looking up (or really, "googling") information on books and faculty and academic research always led to other neat-o websites that I could not help but note, and usually read.

These days I have no way to stumble happily upon great websites; instead I use the internet as a glorified dictionary. My browser bookmarks reflect the ephemera of various short-lived obsessions and hobbies, such as where Lali Puna are playing, info on Rug Hooking Magazine, and downloads of Indian Movie Music. My latest interest is "how to smoke a pipe." My kinesiologist tells me that my body doesn't mind tobacco, but hates the paper in cigarettes so I should use a pipe instead. A thoughtful friend gave me a new corncob pipe and some screens, but I have no idea what to do next. Can I use American Spirit looseleaf tobacco in a pipe, or do I have to get that stringy sweet-smelling pipe tobacco? Is it true that you're not supposed to inhale? (As if!) The What You Need to Smoke a Pipe page at www.pipes.org somewhat useful, but it doesn't say anything about screens or inhaling. I need a crotchety uncle or grandfather to show me the ropes and someday, when I'm showing promise, give me my very own pipe tool with a little miniature shovel and tamper and cleaning nail. Or maybe I should just order a hookah from Turkey.

11*10*02

So far the novel-writing thing isn't working out. Instead I seem to be heading directly into middle aged-ness. For example I am listening to an inordinate amount of Harry Connick, Jr. (he really sounds like Mel "The Velvet Fog" Torme!). And I finished Shirley Maclaine's Hollywood autobiography (Danny Kaye was such a romantic--I just KNEW it!) which was, like me, more introverted than racy. I have seriously considered buying things online like movie soundtracks (the soundtrack to Grease, for example), and bath salts (Batherapy comes in 20 pound buckets!). The metal-studded belt doesn't seem to be keeping me as young as micro-liposuction might (I read about this in Vogue--maybe I'll get a subscription in my downward spiral towards total mediocrity!).

Perhaps I am still getting used to my new lifestyle. I am only working three days a week now, leaving a healthy and mind-bogglingly long chunk of time to accomplish my goal, which is to make money by doing it myself. What is "it" in particular? If novel-writing doesn't pan out, I may go into the craft business--people from New York City seem to like New England themed items like hooked rugs and chunky mittens. I could make them at home while listening to audiobooks and sell the results for $20 per square inch. However this has been my first week of having four days off in a row; I have spent most of my new free time doing laundry.

I spent two weeks in October on a "detox diet," following a Gaia Herbs program that involves swallowing both a fiber mix and an herbal extract capsule twice a day, and also consuming only soy products, fresh vegetables, whole grains, and green tea. During the two weeks I did nothing but bitch and moan and find new ways to eat tofu, but by the end I really felt a terrific INNER ENERGY coursing through my being...I felt calm and resilient and in order. Then I started a two week retox founded on wine and cheese and beer and coffee and croissants, and now I am just as cranky and conflicted as always. Woohoo!

10*31*02

Pagan rituals seem complicated, perhaps just because they are less familiar than receiving the eucharist or hiding the afikomen. It is suggested that Hallowe'en be celebrated by leaving a door open so the friendly dead can come visit, then putting apples and hazelnuts in a cauldron, invoking the blessings of the Celtic New Year, prophesying the coming twelvemonth, and blessing the living, the dead, and the yet-to-be-born.

Along with casting a circle, propitiating the elements, and speaking the prescribed (or spontaneous) words, this is a lot to remember. A little web research into this ancient festival (with the door open, sure) seems almost as dedicated, no? Here are a few things I've rooted up about Samhain (apparently pronounced "Sown," rhymes with "gown"), the Festival of the Dead, when the Lord of Misrule and the Crone Wisewoman dish out tricks and visions.

The Great Wheel "Samhain is the festival of the dead and is also known as Hallows, or AllHallow's Eve. It is the Witches New Year.The veil between the worlds of the living and of the dead are thin. It is a time to honor the ancestors and to honor the Lady of Death Herself. Samhain is the feast of The Dark Goddess, She who claims all living as her children. It is the death of the Year. There is a profound stillness that occurs between Samhain and Yule, when the Golden Solstice Child is born."

Hallow's Eve Musings by Karri Ann Allrich "As the year’s Wheel once again turns our harvest into winter, our spiritual focus shifts inward. Our journey moves us away from the territory of daylight into the realm of shadows. October can be cold and windy here on the New England shore. The Celtic New Year, known as Samhain, is a deliciously dark and witchy time, rich with seasonal delights that stir the soul. Autumn leaves have turned with the magic of the Crone's alchemy - gold, orange and scarlet. Fall rain has swept the beaches bare. Pitch black crows gather in murders and scour the fields of mowed sunflowers. The trees at dusk sway and beckon those who dare to enter the dark woods of childhood. Autumn's joys are bittersweet. The early dark floods many of us with an undertow of loss. Emotions feel intensified, fed by energies dark and unknown. This is Shadow territory. And we are in the thick of it."

Rae Beth, author of The Wiccan Path, writes:

"Try standing under a Yew tree and saying,

Part the veils
between the worlds.
Open doors in hollow hills.
Let the mounds be emptying.
Let the spirits dance and sing.
Let the wild communion bring
a freedom, wisdom,
love, healing.

A good time for this would be twilight on October 31st, or, for those with very strong nerves, midnight.”

Finally, there is the all important element of CANDY. After much thought in the "Hallowe'en Headquarters" aisle at the supermarket, we opted for mini Reese's peanut butter cups and a bag of "Fun Size" Three Musketeers. Some little kid dressed like a bee took most of my Three Musketeers. I called her honey in a sarcastic manner, as in "You took all my Three Musketeers HONEY." Fortunately I had stashed some around the kitchen first. This hearkens back to the ancient Hallowe'en ritual of feasting on the best of everything before the season of cold and want and the root cellar takes hold. "Eat the best, store the rest."

10*25*02

Not having a phone line for almost two months is very educational. I have been writing letters to people and even sending them gifts. I was a crappy email correspondent anyway. We also don't have a television so after dinner we play Parcheesi or Black Jack or read books out loud. It feels just like the olden days out here in the sticks, yep!

I've also joined the local food co-op and earn my member's discount by washing dishes for two hours a month. It is a very meditative job and is also good for the complexion--lots of steam. Here is a short list of great coops along or near Route 2 (the only road we've ever known).

The Harvest Coop in Cambridge, MA, is a well-meaning establishment that has a cool cafe in front, lots of produce, and also a good vitamin section. There are nice bocconcini sandwiches in the refrigerated case across from the fish, I like to load these up with the roasted Mediterranean vegetables sold bulk from the olive bar.

Green Fields Market in Greenfield, MA is another hoppin' store--their eat-in section is on a second-floor balcony and they have an amazing selection of lip balm. Whoa.

Brattleboro, VT, is very proud of their coop. Their cheese section seems to be the best in the country and is run by a former Hollywood film director (or maybe it was TV). There are always hot entrees available to eat at tables or takeout (good for lazy or tired people) and there is a monthly "shareholders day" when they give out free coffee and samples and musical coop members perform for the lucky shoppers.

Just up route 91 is the Putney Coop in charming wee Putney. This is a low-key place with a popular bulletin board (need a catsitter? have a spare cabin?), great prices, and a cool location right across from the rib shack and down the road from the crossroads that is downtown Putney.

The crunchy lifestyle is lovely. However I try to balance things out by wearing a studded belt and knee-high pleather boots.

9*17*02

Presently reading two books by Edmund W.... here are some excerpts:

I was struck by the enormous reverence that the Algonquinites felt for Ring Lardner. He never mingled with them. He lived at Great Neck, Long Island, and came into town only for business; I never saw him at the Algonquin. He was somehow aloof and inscrutable, by nature rather saturnine, but a master whom all admired, though he was never present in person. It may be that all any such circle demands is such a presiding but invisible deity, who is assumed to regard them with a certain scorn.
Edmund Wilson, The Twenties, New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1975, 48-49.

In Jean-Paul Sartre's words, his work habits with Simone de Beauvoir:

We worked from 9 a.m. till noon, when we went out to lunch. At 2 we came back and talked with our friends till four, when we got down to work again till eight. And after dinner people came to see us by appointment. It may seem strange, all this, but the Flore was like home to us: even when the air-raid alarm went off we would merely feign to leave and then climb up to the first floor and go on working...
Edmund White, The Flaneur, New York & London: Bloomsbury Publishing, 2001. 20-21.

9*10*02

I'm thinking of writing a book about a guy named Tom who teaches at a fictional SUNY school. I have a notebook of unhelpful ideas from my first attempt back in March. For example a tiresome description of a local diner that is astonishingly similar to every other description of a local diner: "The waitress has dyed hair and a leathery nicotined face and a croaky voice and a nasal local accent." God help me from including such a witless and sodden stereotype in anything.

I have become a jill-of-all-trades, including taking minutes at a meeting of the local biodiesel cooperative, designing a website for a local retailer, and dogsitting an elderly black lab for five days. This last was a life-changing experience--since the dog can't see I talked to him constantly so he'd know where I was. He is a large and happy and slow fellow whose blank eyes and furry girth gradually convinced me that he is a tranquil bodhisattva dog here on earth to teach the simultaneous value and futility of life. During our walks I told him my plans and my concerns. I wondered what he was thinking. Does he remember the green fields and dead ducks of puppyhood? Does blindness and slowness bother or frustrate him? Does he live simply in each moment, listening to HBO, lumbering downstairs for a walk, smelling clumps of grass and marking them with pee, standing in the brook to cool his belly, rolling in the grass growling, then back upstairs for more lying in the living room? I should spend time with elderly persons of my own species.

In fact I have been obsessed with human mortality and the trials of existence since leaving Boston. Fortunately I have a good store of Woody Allen movies to help me interpret my angst. For example, Alvy Singer's joke in Annie Hall:

Two elderly women are at a Catskill Mountain resort. And one of 'em says: 'Boy, the food in this place is really terrible.' The other one says: 'Yeah, I know. And such small portions.' Well, that's essentially how I feel about life. Full of loneliness and misery and suffering and unhappiness, and it's all over much too quickly.

And in Love and Death Sonja counsels:

Natasha, to love is to suffer. To avoid suffering, one must not love. But, then one suffers from not loving. Therefore, to love is to suffer, not to love is to suffer, to suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love, to be happy, then, is to suffer, but suffering makes one unhappy, therefore, to be unhappy one must love, or love to suffer, or suffer from too much happiness. I hope you're getting this down.

9*3*02

Long pause due to leaving my job, packing up all of my stuff (where did it all COME FROM?), and moving to another state. I have been claiming that this plan will put me just where I need to be in order to write a kick-ass book, or a decent story, or even just a page of something. So far, the only thing that has come easily is not working. I have moved far from my friends to a place of dubious cultural value, given up my Massachusetts license plates (I now have to appear to drive with some sort of plan rather than the randomly aggressive driving style to which I've become accustomed), and I've weaned myself of the desire to earn any income. I am passing time by marking contests and awards in the back section of Poets & Writers magazine. I calculate that I just need to turn out two short stories per month and win 100 per cent of contests entered and I'll never have to work again!

8*14*02

Being a total geek I recently became addicted to Googlewhacking, a game in which you plug pairs of words into Google to find a single search result. I have spent a horrifying amount of time typing different pairs of words involving "camaraderie," "grosgrain," "lenticular," and "defenestrate" into Google to see what comes up. There is a googlewhack rule that if the single search result is a dictionary or list of obscure words, it doesn't count. If you find a single match, earn a brief moment of fame by entering it on the googlewhack website where it will perch at the top of the list for about three seconds until someone else posts something.

This is a more exciting variation of my Books-in-Print game, which involved typing random ISBNs into a BIP database to see if I could come up with a legitimate one. I have done this for hours, and even cheated by using real publisher prefixes, but I have never been able to come up with a bona fide ISBN just by guessing.

Another exciting Google game I've invented: type a random phrase, in quotation marks, into Google and marvel at the galaxy of mad crap that's freely available on the web. I tried "I hired a detective," and Google offered the following intriguing matches:

*I don't want Mark to know that I hired a detective to find him as I have already been accused of stalking by the previous detective.

*I hired a detective, but there are so many Colemans, and Jim is a pretty common name. We narrowed it down to about a thousand," the drummer said.

*He never knew him, so I figured I'd find out more. I hired a detective to look into it for me. Selena (nervous): Oh that's great. Isn't it great, Buzz?

*You can’t stop me. Nothing can stop me. **** I hired a detective, the kind who thought his badge represented a job rather than any moral obligation.

*in vane. The goats were the next to help. The goats were selling well. And I hired a detective to come to the house. Told him the

*I hired a detective and he discovered that she had been stung by a bee while camping and had died of anaphylactic shock on the way to the hospital.

*I asked your friends to tell me if they knew where you were, they said they thought that you were ill. I hired a detective to try and find out where you are.

*WELL YOU NEVER REALLY LOVED ME AND YOU KNOW THAT THAT'S THE TRUTH I HIRED A DETECTIVE AND BABY HERE'S THE PROOF I PHOTO OF YOU DANCING WITH THE GUY DOWN AT THE

8*8*02

I spent last weekend in Calgary, Alberta, and my dear relatives correctly assumed that I would most enjoy seeing the "weird" side of Alberta. And so we did. We took two day trips with packed sandwiches. The first day we went north--the featured stop was the Torrington Prairie Gopher Hole Museum. The town of Torrington has put itself on the map by mounting an exhibit of stuffed, dressed-up gophers taking part in little scenes, like hitting a baseball, going to church, camping in bikinis, driving chuck wagons, and working at the forge. Some of the gophers had little speech balloons: I especially like the gopher dressed as a clown standing in the middle of an empty street and pulling a little red wagon. The diorama was called "Parade," and the gopher wonders, "Am I in the right town?"

After we took pictures of the 12-foot gopher statue at the outskirts of town, we went on to GuZoo, a disturbing outdoor zoo where the eccentric owners keep all manner of animals that do not belong in provincial Alberta. Lions, lynx, camels, tigers, yaks, a sullen muskox, a trio of kittens (one disemboweled), rabbits and dead rabbits, some Chilean rodents, monkeys, very very sad looking raccoons--all are kept in cages for anyone to pelt with buns (perhaps their only sustenance) and ogle. We were amazed that a) you can actually get in the cage with most animals and pick them up if you like, and that b) the place was still in operation since it seemed rather...sketchy.

Spirits still high, though, we pushed on to badlands country. The Red Deer River has spent a lot of time carving coulees and hoodoos and buttes out of the multi-coloured sedimentary rock around Drumheller, Alberta. The result is a beautiful canyon with black coal layers, red layers, white and green clay layers, and a pleasant smell of sagebrush everywhere. We stopped in Drumheller so my niece and two nephews could climb Dino 2000, which is a hollow dinosaur installation EVEN BIGGER than the dinosaur in "Pee Wee's Big Adventure." Afterwards we dined at the All You Can Eat Western/Chinese buffet at a restaurant called Fred & Barney's, next to the Reptile Museum.

On the way home we passed a large statue in Beiseker, Alberta--their town mascot is "Squirt the Skunk." Many many Canadian towns sport Large Roadside Attractions. Someday I would like to make a pilgrimage to some of the more bizarre ones, like the giant perogie or the world's largest ball of string.

The next day, Sunday, we traveled in the opposite direction for a SURPRISE. It turned out to be the small but fascinating town of Vulcan, Alberta, which has recently been done up in a Star Trek theme. The tourist information kiosk, in particular, is built to resemble an alien craft, and inside you can take your picture with any assortment of three different Star Trek crews. (I chose Spock, Kirk, Bones, and Picard, of course.) Sadly it was raining quite heavily, so after a hasty picnic in a wet abandoned playground, we progressed to Nanton. Here we stopped at the Lancaster Museum, mainly because my father had insisted on visiting the same place a few years before he died. Our family has a soft spot for the Avro Lancaster bomber because our dad worked in the Lancaster factory in Ontario during WWII. He did not do anything particularly difficult there--I think he drilled holes in something. Still, it is interesting to think of our pa taking part in the great war effort. We paid extra to tour the Lancaster at the Nanton museum and saw where the poor cold rear gunner has to sit for ten hours at a time, and also we noted the huge bomb bays and the rotating midships gun-bay thingy. (It's like the part of the Millennium Falcon where you sit and shoot in all directions, except it's in the middle of a huge four-propellor plane and you have to do everything standing up.)

Because it was a rainy day we next went bowling. From living in Massachusetts for some time I have taken quite a fancy to candle-pin bowling, which most people think is some messed up mutant form of the sport. But in High River, Alberta, I met an even stranger bowling variant: Five Pin Bowling. The ball is the size of a candle-pin ball, but the pins are the shape of ten-pin pins. The result is PRETTY FRICKIN' FUN, and I managed to pull into the lead during my last two rolls by bowling two strikes in a row. yessir.

Last we stopped near Okotoks to look at a rock. Sounds strange, but it is a glacial erratic of great geological significance, or something. Basically we climbed on the rocks, hallooed at each other, and threw a ball for the dog over and over and over and over and over again. The short version: some glacier dropped the rocks after carrying them all the way from Jasper.