Remember December

So I'm back again, almost a month since my last post. Wow, December tends to fly at the speed of sound. That sound being the Rat Pack Christmas album, the best darn Christmas album there is, though the Beach Boys harmonize a very close second.

Still waitressing, don't want to talk about it.

I may be moving into an actual office, which will hopefully spring me into the thick of my profession! Will keep you posted....

Now down to business. For Christmas I got crafty this year, a euphemism for frugal, which itself is a euphemism for cheapo. So I made the Fiance's niece and nephew a puppet theater out of the hideous giant medicine cabinet that actually hung in our tiny bathroom (shrinking it even smaller) when we moved in. We removed the monstrosity and hung a flat mirror in its place. Hey, we don't have children yet, we have plenty of room to choose form over function. On with the puppet theater.

I took this thing, which only would have hit us in our heads in our tiny bathroom, and removed the doors and hinges. I washed it (it had baby powder on it - eewwww) and primed it.

After priming, I painted it with chalkboard paint from Home Depot (they also have dry-erase board paint!) on the sides, front, and the "display area" top (which was the bottom in the yucky powder vanity). Then I painted the bottom insides and very top part light blue (left over from painting our kitchen). And then, handy Fiance removed these little curtain rod holders from above the kitchen windows (where we now have wide-slatted blinds), and screwed them into the top front of the puppet theater, into which I fit the gold curtain rod that came from either the kitchen or some other formerly curtained window in our home. Then I cut some felt into the shape of fake grass and water and glued it to the bottom of the theater. I recoated the chalkboard paint twice. Then I rested. For a bit.


Then came the part I dreaded and put off, literally until Christmas morning: I cut some red velvet velour fabric I've had for years into two panels, the approximate shape and length I desired (as you can see, a tad too long, but that's better than too short). I turned the fabric under on the inside and sewed to create an inch long loop. Then I slid the panels I'd cut and sewn onto the rod and popped it back into place. Voila!


So it's a terrible picture (below), but here's the final product. In between sewing the curtains and touching up paint, I made a batch of caramel brownies. The bag of caramels contained popsicle sticks to make candy apples, so I took the popsicle sticks, cut some felt into heads and glued them to the sticks, slapped on some googly eyes (love those things!), and twisted pipe cleaners into arms and legs (gluing to make them stay put on the stick). So I had puppets for the puppet theater. These took me about 30 seconds each to make, and surely would take only twice as long to destroy, but they were more presentation than anything else. On that middle chalkboard slat (just below the stick puppets), I wrote "___ and ___ 's Playhouse" in chalk (of course), cut off those pesky white threads hanging on the curtains, and we were on our way, brownies and puppet theater in tow. Don't you think that on that crazy crafting planet where Martha Stewart is president, I would be McGyver? I mean, come on, taking the unused sticks from the caramels and combining them into my plan to make little puppet people?? So I rode to Christmas dinner with a satisfied, accomplished glow. And the kids loved the theater. And after two minutes, one said "What happened to your puppet's mouth? It's not there anymore!" Yes, my stick people were not going to last.

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR! More to come in 2010!

Back in Business

It's been over a month since I posted, and this time I am not going to make that empty promise to post more frequently, because right now, I know that is unrealistic. What I will say is that I will make an effort to post more than once a month, and hopefully write at least once a week (again, possibly unrealistic). So there. My explanation for slacking is that I've started working more often-balancing my chosen career with the waitressing job-and have actually begun the process of really working on our wedding.

The wedding planning so far (after already getting a caterer and venue) has entailed fun stuff like looking for a dress and figuring out decorations, but this coming week is about locking in lodgings, and officiant, and entertainment. Scary stuff, but we're ready! So there, B, that is the wedding update! Not so exciting yet, but I hope to post some good stuff soon (though the best place to look is the wedding website, or the phone of course!).

To catch up since my last post, the month started with a trip to D.C., courtesy of my dad. We met there for an annual meeting of his specialty professional group, and I learned a lot about a very interesting area of work (that he thinks would be great for me to get into, and that is quite a hot-button issue in Detroit-labor unions). I enjoyed the meeting, though I struggled at times to understand what was being discussed. You think you know what's what about things, that you can wrap your mind around anything given a few minutes to digest it, until you step outside your little patch of the world and find seemingly infinite worlds of information, practice, and belief; which leads me to my favorite quote to sum up living in this universe: "The complexity of things - the things within things - just seems to be endless. I mean nothing is easy, nothing is simple." Apologies to Alice Munro if I misquoted!

I throw that one out there when I need a wise soul to commiserate with over our overly-complicated world. Maybe a simpler quote, from a certifiable wise soul, is "There are more things in heaven and earth...than are dreamt of in your philosophy." (If unsure of origin, drop everything and read Hamlet now.)

When I wasn't participating with my father in meetings, or contemplating the cosmos (see above), we sure made good use of our time. A VIP tour of Congress; a trip through the National Gallery (see an art critic contemplating, below); an (always fun) train ride to and dinner in Alexandria, breakfast at the Mayflower; touring of Ford Theater (where President Lincoln was shot, and where Dad and I did our best to blend in with the enthusiastic Japanese tourists); chamomile tea with the Dolly Madison (or a very good historical reenactress); not to mention our awesome launching point at the Hay-Adams Hotel (the only better place would have been the White House a hundred yards to the south of where we laid our heads after a long day).

I went to D.C. once before, with my older sister. We stayed in Maryland and took the train in that time. I have some words of advice when it comes to touring D.C. Stay in the city because it saves you that travel time, especially if you are a chronic morning dallier, like me. And if possible (and by the way, I did not pay for my own flight, so take this advice with a grain of salt and a peak into the pocketbook), fly into National (a.k.a. Reagan, if you thought trickle-down economics worked). You can take the train to the city in fifteen minutes from National! Try that from Dulles or Baltimore, just try it! Final word of advice: see the Mall in daylight, sunset, and at night. But especially at night, when those miles of white marble shine through the darkness, when Lincoln's temple looks its most lincoln-y, when the Washington Monument shines with possibilities reaching to the stars, and when the energied rush of the city has taxied off to the suburbs or to heat up the streets of Georgetown, allowing you to contemplate your country at its symbolic and political beating heart.

D.C. has an Eastern Market, which we did not go to, but that apparently bears some similarity to the farmers and artisans market of the Eastern Market of Detroit, one of my favorite places in my home city. Yesterday, the Fiance and I took his sister and her two children, and his brother and brother's girlfriend to the market. They all seemed to like it - what's not to like? There is something for everyone! I bought some butternut squash, swiss chard, and a big basket of carrots for about half what it would have cost at the grocery store (all told maybe $3.50). And shopping accompanied by live music and people-watching rather than cart-bashing. But alas, Good Girls Go to Paris was not at the market (maybe because it's getting chilly?), so instead of crepes we ate at the Russell Street Deli right by the market sheds, which was awesome! I had an Avocado Melt, continuing my trend of ordering my meal around the inclusion of either avocado or goat cheese. This deli was right up my alley: real maple syrup and no high fructose corn syrup!!

But before our foray to the Eastern Market, and after returning to Detroit from D.C., my mom came to visit me here. I don't think she was exactly impressed with the city, but we had hard time with some logistics. We go to a store on Monday to read a sign "closed Mondays," etc., etc.! And she bemoaned all the driving that had to be done in the suburban sprawl of Motor City. We did get to the U of M v. Purdue game. That was fun. I love college football - if pro football had marching bands I might say the same of it. Other than the game and a brief foray into Detroit (with a stop on the interesting Belle Isle - I definitely will go back), we mostly hung out and talked, always a nice thing to do! I was sad to see her go, and look forward to another visit from family, though I'm not holding my breath on seeing anyone else before the wedding next October. Below is the conservatory at Belle Isle. There was no docent (no sign of anyone in charge until we came across a man watering some plants about 30 minutes in), though that just may be during the fall/winter months. It was very peaceful, but not nearly as well kept as the active Matthaei Botanical Gardens in Ann Arbor (institutions attached to the powerhouse university seem to weather the recession better that most). However, the slightly unkempt Belle Isle conservatory had a deserted, wild, and melancholy feel that seemed to fit the city it inhabits.

I end this post with a note on Thanksgiving: I am thankful for the year that has passed so far, with a change from a steady income but no time to spend with family, friends, or my new surroundings, to a life that is less economically certain, but heading in the right direction in all possible ways. I went from what I still see as a dead end to a world full of possibilities (if not the security I desire). I was able to spend more time with many members of my family than I have in years. I have done new things in my career, in artistic endeavors, in exploring Detroit and other areas of Michigan, and I have learned good things about myself in the process. So, if I don't say it again, thank you to all of you who had a part in my ever-changing, ever-interesting life! I hope I have had a positive effect on your year (and life) as well!

More Provacative Vegetables

"That looks nice," the strange man on the street said, nodding at me while he paused so his dog could sniff a hydrant. Under normal circumstances, this comment would be ignored or met with a stern look. But this time, the man wasn't referring to me. You see, this happened in Kerrytown, the Farmers Market district in Ann Arbor. And I had in my hand the coolest vegetable I have ever taken away from any produce market...brussel sprouts still on their two foot-long stalk! As I made my way to my car (2 blocks away), I received a few more fresh looks, but the lookers only had eyes for my fresh veggies.




In other vegetable news, I finally came across the Mennonite farmers who sell the amazing carrots again. I asked the man if he comes to the farmers market every week, and where his table usually is (he moved on me!). He assured me they were there every week, but moved around. I said, "You have good carrots." He said "Thanks." I bought two bunches.

Wedding Bells will Ring (Next Year, That Is)!

It has again been a very long time since I wrote. I have been directing my attention to creating a wedding website, after Fiance and I finally chose a date and location to be married.

The wedding will be "Up North," which is, from what I understand, anywhere north of The Thumb (we are now looking at the top of our left hand - a surprisingly close-to-scale, very "handy" representation of the state of Michigan). The wedding will take place somewhere around the upper right corner of the ring finger (how appropriate!). For those who don't wish to locate airport, lodging, and attractions via cuticle and knuckle landmarks, I suppose we will provide addresses and maps, though that takes some of the mystery and romance out of it.

Below is a picture of the barn from a cornstalk-lined road. We hope for a sunny day, but one can never tell in Michigan! (I think I've mentioned before how every state I've lived in claims that saying "If you don't like the weather here, wait 5 minutes." And I can say with authority, that all those states stole the saying from the peninsula state of Michigan (okay, maybe Florida has a valid claim too).

We liked the relaxed vibe of the area, the rustic charm, and the lack of pushiness, among other things. We juxtaposed our visit to the barn with its polar opposite-a visit to Castle Farms (which locals call "The Castle"). It is a wedding factory! Not in the good "this is a great location anyone would want to marry in" either. No, Castle Farms is a faux castle on the state highway (we could hear trucks wizzing by when we were outside looking at some of the gardens where presumably, you must urge the harpist to crank it up to hide the noise). We took a quick tour of the four venues, which are all booked on the same day. And because the Castle books four weddings per day, they choose the time of day you get married based on the room you rent (King's Quarters is 5 p.m. sharp, Queen's Tavern is 3 p.m., no negotiations, military precision) so as not to intersect with another wedding party.

The thing Fiance and I couldn't understand is why so many people choose to get married there. When the (very nice) on-site planner looked at our desired dates, they were already booked for all four times that day, a year in advance! I am sure that when they decorate the castle in the couple's personal style, it is lovely, but the pictures on the internet site are much nicer than the actual venue. We found the opposite to be true with our barn - the pictures on the internet don't convey its appeal and simple beauty.

Fiance is a little worried fall will come too late next year for people to experience the changing leaves.

If that's the case, though, and it's warm, then we may get out on the water (lots of surrounding lakes, including Michigan and Huron) without freezing to death!

No matter what the weather (except please no snow!!!) we are most looking forward to a gathering of loved ones and are excited to let the planning begin!

On a more somber note, the cornfield is gone! The only corn we actually ate went into soups, due to its chewiness. But when fall arrives in Michigan, people start serious corn decorating, so we followed suit, and killed the cornfield (my baby!).

And our doorstep.

HAPPY AUTUMN!

Where Have I Been??????

It's been 3 weeks! This neglect won't happen again! So, where have I been? Here, there, everywhere. A little east coast last month, and a little west coast this month. I went to San Diego to ring in my dad's 60th birthday with him and family. It was lovely! See...?

We went to the zoo, where we saw these flamingoes dancing...

We marvelled at an awesome aircraft carrier and a neat soldier statue on the harbor (and again were reminded of the HUGE military presence in the city-not the first thing you think of when you think SoCal).
And we went to the aquarium in La Jolla, from which you can see forever...
Most of all, I enjoyed just hanging out with my family. The memorable times often happen during downtime, whether surrounded by wise elephants or groovin' flamingoes, surly balloon artists or sad seahorses, freeway traffic or miles of sand and surf.

When I got back, I had one day to decompress, and it's been run, run, run ever since. I feel like I am wearing my own personal groove into the M-14, hustling back and forth between Wayne and Washtenaw Counties. I met with my clients (I need more!), attended a 2-day trade convention (learned that it is necessary to sink way more money in!), networked with a fellow tradesmen, got a fever and then got better, became more involved in my literacy volunteer organization (I'm a mentor now), got a different waitress job (did not put too much effort into that one), paid my bills, reorganized my office (was a disaster), reorganized basement (still a disaster, but a neater one), dog-sat, and slept a little. So, I hope that answers the question posed in this post's title.

As for the corn crop, I'm hoping that we don't get a frost for at least another month. I have some small ears and some big ears-the big ears are the ones that have received the most direct sunlight. When I walk in the cornfield now I can actually smell corn-it is really cool! Also, our tomato plants are still yielding, after 3 months! Either it's beginner's luck, or we really do live in suburbia's promised land. Here's the latest in corn-if you look closely you can see the cornsilks and follow their origin to the growing ears!

Ode to The Line, a Debriefing of The American, and a dash of Tomato Porn

Before I get to tonight's topics: today, my first paying client...paid me! And now, stuff that is not as exciting.

Tonight I stood with about five others in a slow-moving Line at the library, impatiently waiting my turn while reminding myself that I really hadn't been waiting that long. All of sudden a rogue stepped up to the counter just vacated by another patron. The problem with his sudden appearance at the counter: he skipped the Line! He had simply ignored the sign that read "Please form one line here" and blithely sallied up to the counter at the end farthest from the hanging directive. Others in Line grumbled a bit, while I pondered the lack of character, to be so unaware of one's surroundings, much like bad drivers on cellphones or those merely daydreaming. Or perhaps he was from Europe or some such place, where people congregate around a desired purpose in a frightening absence of longitudinal order. Well if so, he had been in the U.S. long enough to get a library card, and probably long enough to wait in Line at the DMV (ha! he could not have survived skipping that Line without some bite marks or bullet holes, right L.L.?). Regardless, we said nothing as the man readied his books and library card, though this faux pas is one of the few remaining that inspire patriotic ferver in fellow Lineholders....but wait! A man, clearly a regular geek/patron of the library (takes one to know one) said politely, with a slight tremor, "Sir, the line forms over here." Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! The man grabbed his things from the counter, turned, and made his way to the back of the line in an agreeable manner, no scowl to be detected! And the last semblance of American public civility lives to fight another day.

Speaking of American/European clashes (real or imagined), I finally finished Henry James' The American. I must say, I almost gave up about halfway through, when it appeared that absolutely nothing would happen. So our hero Newman travels to Paris to hunt down a bride after having accumulated massive wealth as a "commercial man" in the U.S. circa when steamership was the way to go. He makes some friends and proposes to Claire de Cintre, a titled young widow. Her family begrudgingly allows the engagement, and the story plods on with nary a hint of coming drama (okay, there were hints, just wanted to say nary, and the hints were few and far between). Newman is irritatingly happy and good-natured. I suppose he is the Everyman (the New-Man) American travelling abroad, risking language and etiquette gaffs along the way. Well, his Parisian acquaintances prove disloyal, snooty, and wrapped up in stupid things like gentry, which I think is the point James is trying to make. The good guys in the story get the short end of the stick, except for Newman, who ends up good-natured and relatively happy, until the very last line of the book (don't bother trying to impress your friends with your book knowledge by reading the first and last lines of the novel, it doesn't work with this one, you will have no idea what is going on). Was this review helpful? I think not. Did reading The American make me a better, more enlightened guest at cocktail parties? I think not. Do I wonder why there are people who devote their careers to studying Henry James? I think so, and I welcome their venom (maybe someday I will learn to appreciate James, possibly by reading another of his novels...but that day has not come, especially when my reading time is occupied by such fantastic modern work like The Thing Around Your Neck by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie!).

Last but not least, some saucy Tomato Porn. Well, it is a fetish of all in-season vegetables, but Tomoto Porn is much more sonically enticing than Vegetable Porn, and tomatoes are far and away my favorite. Don't worry folks, what you are about to see is not obscenity, which we know is illegal, but simply some tasteful photos of recent footage from behind the garage and at the farmers market. Feast your eyes on this from the Ann Arbor Farmers Market:

And this behind my own garage:

Animal Attack Part II

*My artsy take on the Massachusetts State House*

I have been back home for almost two weeks and finally have a chance to sit down and write. I've been busy starting my own business while waiting tables (sob!) a few days a week to generate some income until I can generate my own income without schlepping food I could make better at home (the fiance and I have become quite uppity about our own food preparation skills). But I have my first client lined up, so things are moving right along!

Boston was lovely! I forget how vibrant some cities are. Detroit, not so much. I spend quite a bit of time in Ann Arbor, which is pretty lively, but Detroit itself can be a bit of a downer, and while my suburban home is no downer, it is pretty sedate. However, it was nice to come home and get working again.

We went to Boston to go to a wedding in a beachy area north of Boston. We road-tripped there, a good 12+ hours each direction, all through beautiful, green-lined highways practically free from traffic until the Boston burbs. We stayed in Essex, a cute town on a marshy river, at a hotel with loads of personality (I could tell by the website and the room prices that it was b.y.o.shampoo!). Can you see the Massachusetts-appropriate name of our room?

We were right across the two lane road from Woodman's, a popular seafood restaurant that had the best scallops I have ever had, and some darn good lobster too. I had lobster every day. I miss eating lobster every day. Here is a picture of a 3 pounder the fiance picked up for lunch one day, eaten at the picnic tables on our hotel's waterfront lawn.

The wedding was gorgeous. It was held at the Crane Estate, which has been featured in movies requiring a super-fancy giant house, like The Witches of Eastwick and Flowers in the Attic. The ceremony was beautiful, overlooking the ocean, and the reception was nice, until we were ATTACKED by swarms and swarms (and swarms and swarms) of mosquitoes. The wedding bartender gave me ice to bring down the swelling on seven or so bites on my back. I had more than 50 bites and looked like I had the chicken pox. So I tucked away some hard-won info for planning my own wedding: either it's going to be before/after mosquito season or it will happen in a land free from nature's most questionable creation. Here is the view of the lawn leading toward the ocean from the reception patio (not the best picture, but the others had flash malfunctions).

Other than a lovely but itchy wedding, we checked out downtown Boston's historical sites. I took this picture in the Granary Graveyard (Cemetery?). I took reams of photos at this and other cemeteries. The gravestones are so cool, very thin and most displaying a skull and/or bones.

The only mediocre part of the trip was Salem, a place I would not have chosen anyway had I been travelling alone (I'd much prefer seeing Concord, being the book-reader that I am--Alcott, Thoreau, Hawthorne, oh my!). Salem is not even the site of "Salem!" The witch trials apparently happened in Danvers, not Salem. But I did have a tasty lobster roll in Salem, so it was all good.

Last but not least, Niagara Falls. We debated back and forth about going or just skipping it, but the quintessential, road-trippy, American-ness of it won out, and we made the detour. Worth it!

Back in the D

We are back from our trip to Boston. It was great. We had some chowdah, lobstah, and a beah to go with the food. We saw some historical sites and beautiful scenery, all of which I will detail with pictures when I am not so tired!

A Post Before Heading to Boston

Well, I failed to post after we went to Eastern Market on Saturday. As usual, things did not go as planned. It poured rain (which is fine because the market is under several huge shelters) and the restaurant serving ribs did not look as inviting without the usual setup (people usually sit outside, eating and people-watching while listening to live music). Instead, Fiance and I walked through the market and found something even better! I have been wanting to try Good Girls go to Paris crepes for a few months, and the owner was set up at the market. I had a yummy spinach, boursin, and turkey crepe, and to my surprise, Fiance had the same and loved it (he ate his more like a burrito). Next time we will do his thing and eat ribs though. As it happens, my Seattle sister and her daughter C had crepes at the market (in Seattle) as well - great minds eat alike!

We had planned to go to John K. King's bookstore after leaving the market, but my google directions failed me, and we ended up doing our usual potholed tour of deserted downtown streets, ending up at one of our favorite turnaround points, a giant building that says United States of America, which I assume is a U.S. Customs building. My advice: Do not attempt to cruise the area of downtown near Joe Louis Arena and Cobo Center (and the customs office) - it is futile and you will be lost. Follow the signs to the freeway and just ride to whatever suburb the road takes you. Then try again next time, possibly bringing several maps and a satellite device. I will stand up for myself and say that it is not easy finding one's way in the pouring rain.

My latest headline on the corn crop: Animals Attack! After noticing suspicious scratch marks on a stalk of corn, I went back the next day to see an entire stalk chomped off and left for dead! I know this is the same animal that is eating halves of tomatoes and halves of some unfortunate neighbor's cucumbers, then leaving the rest near my cornfield. I am thinking of creating a scarecrow, but first I'll look into the efficacy of scarecrows before bothering.

My latest creation: I painted a picture for a friend's baby, though I worry about copyright stuff. Just a little paranoid. Not sure which side of the law I stand on here...

Finally, I just want to give tribute to John Hughes, who died a few days ago, at the age of 59. I loved his movies. There is nothing as good as them made anymore in that genre of feel-good teens comedy/dramas. He set the standard by which teen movies are made. I watched Some Kind of Wonderful on a VHS home recording (but without commercials!) a hundred times. And Ferris Bueller's Day Off (with commercials) another hundred times. I did not see one of my other top favorites, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, until I was older (like the characters in the movie), but it struck the same perfect cord between irony, sincerity, and laugh-out-loud situations that today's Hollywood output doesn't come close to.

That's all. The fiance and I are going to Boston this weekend for a wedding. It is rumored that Leonard Cohen and Wilco will be there-we shall see. Until next week, bonsoir (?).

Renewed Vigor

I have not posted for a while: I fell into a midsummer's inertia for the past two weeks--doing too much thinking and not enough doing--that I've finally been able to shake. Still looking for jobs, mining my resources, and getting closer to opening my own shop, which has great appeal anyway--the only reason not to be my own boss is for the security of a steady paycheck to shrink that pesky student loan. My area of work becomes more competitive every day (no different than any other I guess), so it seems I can forever deal with rejection and/or settling for less than favorable work circumstances, or I can take control. Instead of struggling with how things are, I can carve out my own niche and enjoy the process...in a home office with pink walls. This is me in a confident moment.

While I have been pondering my life's direction, my corn crop's direction has been decidedly up. It is now waist-high, save for one knee-high straggling stalk. Today I noticed scratch marks on two stalks. I think it is a squirrel looking for food and then realizing the stalks are not quite edible. My sister in Seattle thinks the night invader is a raccoon, which freaks me out--where do they go during the day? Are they watching me admire my cornfield and laughing, then coming out at night and trashing my garden, while mocking my efforts and gossiping a la The Great Outdoors (what was it with those '80s movies featuring pivotal animal roles-Caddyshack...Trading Places...)? I've also noticed half-eaten tomatoes in the dirt. At least eat the whole tomato, it's delicious!

Above is the flower paintings I did for my younger sister, who just had a baby girl (hooray!). It was fun. I used acrylics, which are the most user-friendly paints as far as I'm concerned. I think they came out well, but now I notice other acrylic paintings with perpective, light, and texture--doing my own painting and then seeing the more polished work of talented painters inspires me to learn how to add realistic depth to a canvas. In the meantime, until I can afford the paint supplies with which to experiment, I will happily paint my cutesy, one-dimensional pictures. The lovely gallery wall is my office floor (the one with the pink walls).

Tomorrow the fiance and I head to Eastern Market, the big farmers and wholesale market district downtown. It should really be going off this time of summer, so I am excited to see what they've got. After shopping for fresh fruit and veggies, Fiance plans to indulge in smoked ribs that we've passed up on several occasions-we will sit at a plastic table, eat some ribs and drink some sugary soda while watching a blues band play. Not a bad start to a Saturday. After that, we'll head to the big used bookstore downtown-John K. King Rare and Used Books. That is, assuming we can find it. Vegas spoiled me on logical, square street blocks. Detroit is a little more curved and slanted. When leaving the Eastern Market, we generally drive in potholed circles for 5-10 minutes until happening across a freeway launching point. The good news is that all big roads end downtown, a ground zero with the roads radiating outward to the distance suburbs and beyond. So we can always find a main road, and go from there. So what if you have to drive to the riverfront to find the highway entrance ramp in the opposite direction? Anyway, finding another downtown destination is a different story, one that I hope will end well.

Finally, and speaking of downtown, there are some interesting living spaces designed by Mies van der Rohe in the downtown area, and some interesting people living in them, one being the author of Sweet Juniper!, a great blog started by a person I consider Detroit's Hipster in Residence (I am guessing the guy would hate this reference-sorry!). The site has great pictures of and commentary on Detroit, showing many beautiful, interesting, and uplifting sides to the city (among other great things), a rarity in the face of a ton of one-dimensional bad press--hooray! See for yourself at http://www.sweet-juniper.com/.

I hope to post again tomorrow, what with my renewed vigor.

Debriefing A Slipping-Down Life

There is a film theory that no matter what is shown on the big screen, the very quality of projecting the images and the very fact that it is on the big screen add an element of glamour/legitimacy to the characters and actions onscreen. Applying this theory to the film version of Trainspotting, despite the pathetic lives and unfortunate deaths of some of the characters, and despite Renton's positive message to "Choose life" over heroin, the film is nevertheless befuddled because the characters all look kind of cool, relatively attractive, and just plain more appealing than the average heroin addict laying in a gutter or living with his parents.

I have a similar theory about fictional characters in books. They may be messed up, villanous, and miserable but I often romanticize them, though if I lived through the same predicaments I would feel anything but romantic. Well, Anne Tyler creates fictional characters that sidestep any notion of romanticism I had for them. And I love that. She is steering this ship. Her characters tend to make choices I generally would not agree with, but in addition to my romantic notions, they also sidestep my judgment. They are people working with what they've got, guided by their insticts and desires.

A Slipping-Down Life by Anne Tyler is by no means a new book. I chose the book off the library shelf because I liked the other books by Anne Tyler I have read (also because it is fairly short and would fit in nicely to the other 4 books I am still juggling). Evie, an overweight, unpopular teenager, falls for a singer/guitarist she hears on the radio one night and goes to see him perform at his weekly gig. Why Drumstrings Casey appeals to Evie is a mystery, to everyone including Drumstrings it seems. But the otherwise unattractive Evie forcefully draws his attention, and they form a strange connection that is quite begrudging and guilty on his part.

What motivates Evie to make repeated bad decisions and compromise her future for a marginally talented man with a less than sparkling personality? Her relationship with her father is our clue. He cares for Evie, but does not know how to be a mother too. Furthermore, Evie suspects he blames her for her mother's death (her mother "had been the last woman in Pulqua County to die of childbed fever"). But in the end, her father seems to help her grow up a little, to become an independent woman who can start the process of adulthood, which is nothing more than making painfully correct decisions all the time.

Finally, I love the hyphen in the title. Hooray for freedom of grammar! Sure, America will defend freedom of expression, but there seems to be a recently clamorous group of people who speak the English language and want to tell everyone else how horrifying it is that they are using it wrong. Some of these people come from England. To be fair, the clamoring is tempered by a concession to the evolving quality of the language. In my opinion, there is no longer a proper English in the United States, if there ever was. I believe it is important to get the "proper" basics of grammar in school, but then go from there, inventing and riffing on a language that, if strong and sensible enough, will not die.

Cornfield

Ice Cream, Mutant Tomatoes, and Dad

I am dedicating this post to my Dad, who inspired me to post today when I spoke to him on the phone and he asked about the blog. I will try to make this interesting, Dad, but I think we already talked about almost everything going on in my day on the phone earlier...

One thing we didn't talk about was my ice cream-making skills. Last week I used my machine for the first time to make cherry frozen yogurt. I have a Cuisinart ice cream maker, and its directions state that 20-30 minutes in the machine should present edible ice cream. What I had after 20-30 minutes was pretty runny, so I just put it in tupperware in the freezer and it was good the next day, just more like sorbet. But it was very, very good.

Tonight I am making mint chocolate chip ice cream, with mint I picked this afternoon from my backyard. It is incredibly satisfying to pick something from your yard and eat it. It is even more satisfying to turn that edible yardstuff into ice cream! The results are still pending, but I have dipped my finger into the custard that is cooling (the pre-machine step is to make a minty custard), and it is very, very good.

On the topic of fresh mint, I cannot get over the fact of growing food in my own yard. I was raised, as I have said before, in a desert city, and tomatoes don't grow on trees, let alone tomato vines, there with much success (although my Aunt N and Uncle J, living at the foothills of a rocky, sandy mountain on the edge of town, obviously have not heard that news, because they have repeat raging success with their tomato plants).

It's not as if Vegas is a totally barren wasteland (visit neighborhoods built pre-1990 to find a desert oasis), it's just that people have to work harder at growing non-desert plants there, and water is scarce (more so now in a city of millions than when I grew up in same city of hundred-thousands). And Vegas does a fantastic job of making people feel guilty for every drop of water consumed, as well it should considering the water level at Lake Mead these days. And gardening things like tomatoes, mint, and corn takes plenty of water.

My fiance and I ate our first tomatoes from our yard last night. There were only two ripe ones , each from a different plant (we have two), so I cut them in half and gave us both a piece from each plant. They are cherry tomatoes, but these things are big. Some of them are beyond golf ball-size (though no golf ball-size fruits are yet ripe). We ate normal cherry-sized last night, but I wonder about those mutants. Our tomatoes, if I can judge based on only two, are wonderful. They smell and taste like warm sunlight and redness. I don't think that is anything but a lame description to someone who has eaten only grocery store tomatoes, which is why that 'real tomato virgin' should go straight to a farmers market asap and get a sunlight-tomato and realize my description is not lame, it's true! The only four people who read this blog (please, correct me if there are more!), have all experienced real tomatoes, so the sunlight/redness description is sufficient at this time. I have 100+ tomatoes waiting to ripen on the vines, and I go out every morning now to check on them, and tie twine around the branches too heavy with fruit now to support themselves. I have several pieces of twine connecting vine branches to our fences. I am sure the neighbors are thrilled.

Back on water, I have a theory that while Vegas and the entire American west is the hotspot for growth in America right now, as the twenty-first century progresses, places where food grows and water runs with ease will gain in popularity--headline in 2015: Detroit Boomtown! Okay, it's a bit of a crazy theory, but so are desert boomtowns! Look at Vegas, but even worse, look at Phoenix! I think that original Las Vegans** enjoyed the wealth that came from the boomtown development, but also look back wistfully on the pleasant, mosquito-free, small city with all the benefits that the Vegas Valley offers, but with none of the big-city problems that exist now. Anyway, a more likely theory is that the rest of the country will steal water from the Great Lakes, resulting in water for everyone, maybe just cheaper for those who actually live in the Great Lakes states.

So, this is what my blog is about Dad. I hope you are not asleep already. It is like an episode of Seinfeld ("It's a show about nothing!") without the humor. I will work on the humor if you promise to read on.



** I count myself as an Original Las Vegan although I obviously wasn't around 100 years ago at its founding: in a town this new, it was rare to meet many natives my age (uuhhh...31) in town up to a mere few years ago. Now it is nothing to say you're from Vegas, but the switch from novelty to old-hat came very recently. Original Las Vegans were born there. Everybody else moved there (usually from California and New York--Oregon, we feel for you) and turned it into a logistical quagmire.

Various Regional Observations

Just a few observations about my new home: the hometown diner, the awful traffic solution/problem, and the elephant in the road, uh I mean room.

#1: Coney Islands

Though you wouldn't guess it from the name, a Coney Island is generally a Detroit coffeeshop (haven't seen any in Ann Arbor, but correct me if I'm wrong) that serves regular Denny's-type fare, hot dogs (which I guess you would expect), and some pretty good Greek and/or Mediterranean food (which you wouldn't expect if you don't live in Detroit, but makes sense if you do). I don't have much to say about Coneys, except that they are everywhere, possibly more everywhere than a Waffle House in Georgia is everywhere (this is because Coneys come in buildings of all shapes and sizes, with different peoples names on them-and you are never more than a stone's throw from a Coney). Another thing worth saying about Coneys is that most people seem to have a devout love for one or two. Another thing is that Patti Smith had her wedding reception at Lafayette Coney Island. And the last thing is that Coneys are way better than greasy spoons like Denny's (ugh)and IHOP (ick), and are one of those Detroit quirks that, like many things Detroit, you have to go to appreciate and know.

#2: The Michigan Left

The Michigan Left is the pernicious work of a traffic expert in need of some advice from this Dilettante. If I could get the ear of whoever invented the Michigan Left, I would indeed give him/her an earful. For those who don't know what I am talking about, here is the concept, gathered from rumor, myth passed down, and my own conjecture: It is ostensibly safer and more convenient to not turn left on the street you want to turn left on and instead either a) continue straight through an intersection, make a U-turn, and then take a Right onto the street you just passed, or b) take a Right where you want to take a Left, and then make a U-turn and then continue through the intersection. I have to make a Michigan Left every time I want to go west on the 96 freeway, which would be okay, I guess, except for the fact that there are speeding cars exiting the freeway only 30 yards from where I peer to my right to see if it's safe to make my U-turn. So I usually end up pulling in front of a car exiting at 60 mph, in order to end my wait in a long and impatient queue gathered on a bridge over the freeway (said queue possibly in fear of the infrastructural security of said bridge, given road conditions in Michigan--see #3).

In another scenario, I am cruising along in the left lane of traffic on a major road, when all of a sudden, the car in front of me comes to a dead stop, because the driver of the car needs to make a U-turn, in order to take a left (actually, now a right) at the intersection we have already passed through! Sigh....I prefer the practical Pittsburgh Left to the Michigan Left. The Pittsburgh Left is the practice of the first person in the left-turn-lane line turning at the moment the yield-left light turns green (those brave Pittsburghers correctly presuming that the oncoming traffic will not beat them if they move fast, thereby keeping traffic flowing, not doing a bit of harm, and getting where they're going a minute sooner).

#3: Michigan Roads

Like many other parent-expatriates (not expatriates that are also parents, but people expatriated from the geographical region of their own parents), I receive mail from both Mom and Dad (not married) that recounts various bits of news to me. Sometimes it is funny, sometimes it is advice, sometimes it is an update on friends or family, and it is always touching and much appreciated by this Dilettante, who misses her family. So recently I received from Mom a Parade Magazine article listing the worst roads in America. There were several towns listed (for example, Gatlinburg TN, West Orange TX) and then "any road in Michigan." Not "Detroit MI" or "Flint MI," but any road in Michigan. And I wholeheartedly agree. Another thing you have to go to really know, though that one I'd like to keep under wraps.

The Fifth of July and a Book Review

It's the day after Independence Day, which for me used to signify the downswing of summer. After moving to Michigan, though, I find the officially mandated seasons to be quite on target. In Detroit this year, it reached sweat-inducing temperatures exactly one day after the first day of summer (June 20th). In Vegas, summer heat comes in early May (and leaves around mid-October!). Regardless of the frequent and wild temperature fluctuations here, I've enjoyed our weather ever since the clocks sprang forward, ending my first run-in with a mild case of S.A.D. It's more about sunlight than temperature for some folks.

The upside of a cold dry winter is that if during that season for some crazy reason I choose to bare some skin, I would not be ravaged by blood-thirsty mosquitoes, as I was last night despite practically standing on top of a smoky firepit to avoid such a result. I count eight bites on my feet, and one on my arm (the arm bite by a mosquito who had the audacity to appear in broad daylight this afternoon while I was tending to my corn!).

Here is my first book review--anyone reading this can get a more expert viewpoint from a number of newspaper book critics who get paid to do this, while I am a mere dilettante, but hey, these reviews are mostly for my own benefit, kind of a debriefing. I just finished the novel Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi by Geoff Dyer, an author who I had never heard of until a few weeks ago, but whose work I now intend to follow. What first attracted me was the title, how cute! I tend to be random when it comes to reading new or new-to-me authors, and what attracts me to a book is the title or cover art (the latter not being a fair basis for judgment, as authors may not have much control over that marketing/artistic device, depending on their contract, etc.). So I picked this book up because I liked the title and figured it could allay some avid-reader-guilt for having avoided Death in Venice my whole life.

Dyer's book is divided into two parts-Venice, Italy and Varanasi, India of course. In the first part, the main character, Jeff Atman, is a British journalist at the Biennale, an art world event held in Venice, though he actually was sent to cover not the event itself, but to interview a woman only tangentally related to the event who lived in Venice. He's a habit in the arts circuit though, and got invites and passes to good parties and exhibits, his commentary on which provides the reader a brief and amusing look into the Biennale from a rather jaded perspective. In Venice he meets and falls in love with Laura, an American who works at a gallery. The story covers their affair amid the parties and exhibits. In Laura, Jeff finds a partner who seems to share his view of the silly, grand, boring, beautiful spectacle of art as well as the outside world. Jeff embraces this newfound love and the prospect of a new life with this woman, after what seems to have been a long spell of cynical, unmotivated plodding through his former life in England.

I loved this first part in Venice. It was like...well, like my first couple of years in college. A little work mixed in with a little more partying, fueled at times by a bit of booze but more so by youthful energy and the exciting promise of what a new day and night might bring (turning out to be, like this Venice, full of random meetings and colorful characters). Jeff is very likeable despite his jaded outlook, or maybe because of his jaded outlook, because I saw myself in this character, a character who channelled his despair into a glib, tough sense of humor. It's my measure of a good writer - real, recognizable characters. Yes, I loved the Twilight series (guilty), but even though those books were constantly describing what Bella thought, how Bella felt, what Bella thought Edward and Jacob were thinking and feeling (based on exhausting scrutiny of their words and facial expressions), the Twilight books did not make me feel like I was ever in any character's shoes (or heart or mind) in a given situation. Rather, Twilight's writer (who I think is great!) told an entertaining story but kept you the reader at a distance, despite the very personal nature of the story. On the other hand, Dyer brought me in to this guy's head to recognize myself, my desires, my sense of humor** and coping strategies in the face of the same old sameness, and my kindred joy at the promise of having found a soulmate/co-conspirator to shake things up.

On to part two: Varanasi. I think Brits are more familiar with all things Indian, but this American had to look up "ghat" in the dictionary: steps leading down to a body of water (big thing in Varanasi, which is on the Ganges). Part two is not a continuation of part one. It is the opposite side of the same rupee. It is squalor and death, this after the reader has had a stint in Italian luxury and the embrace of a promising new life. The two parts structured the book into a jarring upside-down V. Up, up to a grand life with a new love. Then down, down to watch the bodies burn at Manikarnika ghat, to fight the native filth and then embrace it, to experience the gradual disconnection of one's self with one's former life.

I waited like a puppy for the Jeff in part one to show up and reclaim his Venetian splendor. I can be such a shallow American. It took a while, but I grew accustomed to the spare, ascetic, and ickier developing-world life of our hero, who never spared the reader a description of a dead body, confused monkey, or bout of dysentery, which means he never spared the reader from the colorful observations of a full life (though not all lives encompass negotiation with monkeys).

If Venice was college, Varanasi was my brief stint housesitting on the Florida Gulf Coast: What was I doing here? Who are these people? Bleak (yes, really, in Florida, go there some time and you'll see), foreign, exotic, and a renunciation of my former, malfunctioning life. I went jogging in 100% percent humidity as angry self-entitled soccer moms honked at me for blocking their charging SUVs, and I worked as a cashier with people who were still mad at the Yanks about the Civil War. I related to no one. And I fled what I felt was unnecessary torture and strangeness from my congenitally relaxed and breezy west coast life. A different outcome than that of Dyer's evolving character, who felt he had nothing to go back to in his former life. Or perhaps he learned something in a foreign world that I didn't take the time to: "I was in my way. I was ahead of me in the queue. I was keeping me waiting. When I drank beer, I was waiting for the glass to empty so I could have it filled and start drinking again....All I'm saying is that in Varanasi I no longer felt like I was waiting....I had taken myself out of the equation."

Regardless of any wisdom acquired on an ancient Indian riverbank, what it comes down to is how well the story, any story, is told. As I happily would watch on film a person shop for groceries for an hour if directed by Woody Allen or Spike Lee, so I could read Geoff Dyer's account of Jeff Atman ordering food at a restaurant in Venice or wandering the ghats of Varanasi. What a pleasure to find a character you care for, even as he cares less, and slips through your and everyone else's fingers.


**"...that it's possible to be a hundred percent sincere and a hundred percent ironic at the same time."

Welcome

Hello and welcome to my blog. I hope that it will be of at least a passing interest to people who, like me, enjoy trying new things and observing the fascinating world we live in. I also hope this blog will urge me out of my comfort zone to find all the interesting things Detroit has to offer, be they the good, the bad, or the ugly (ugly-good like the beautiful derelict train station or ugly-bad like certain public representatives). I intend for this blog to be a journal in which I give my dilettantish impressions of not only Detroit but my life at this place in time, about which I discuss a bit below.

I like to try my hand at new things. I am growing tomatoes and corn for the first time, a big deal for a born-and-raised Las Vegan. I am making from scratch pasta, bread, pesto, tortillas, and anything else that looks tasty, with the help of some great cooking blogs I've found (and will link as soon as I figure out how). I will soon foray into fresh ice cream, and have the equipment on the ready. To the serious cook these are modest accomplishments but I am just getting started. I hope to amp my from-scratch cooking and eating, as I have recently read The Omnivore's Dilemma and sadly now "ruminate" over every processed corn-doctored food item I buy, yearning to some day declare independence from Kroger and their ilk.

I am a big fiction reader, but lately I've read some nonfiction, mostly dealing with growing and eating food (Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle and Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma) or planning weddings (don't really know who writes these). My current fiction books, after getting over a recent, near deadly Twilight obsession, are: Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi by Geoff Dyer, My Father's Tears by John Updike, The Appeal by John Grisham, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon, and The American by Henry James. I am in the process of reading all five of these right now, and will finish all of them, despite what my fiance says.

Other than reading, gardening, and cooking, I am hunting for work (and considering opening a business), planning a wedding, remodeling a 1950s era house, doing some volunteer tutoring, and in general trying to become a productive member of this country and planet.

My thought is that I will post my impressions of things: the books I read, my gardening/cooking/sewing progress, the movies I see, places I go in the Detroit area, perhaps with some job-hunt gallows humor thrown in. I don't have any agenda but to muse and have some place to put my musings for others to follow or not, to comment on or not. The name of the blog should alert you that I am no expert in any of the subjects on which I will expound, but rather an enthusiastic amateur, like most everyone else. Wow, thanks for reading this far.