Doubly Entendretic

The other day, when I went to buy Tanya her dog food at one of our local doggy merchandisers, I noticed that the Shakey's restaurant next door was fenced off and had a SOLD sign hanging above the entrance. I've never been to Shakey's, but my students tell me they had an excellent salad bar. There was actually much discussion about the excellentness of the salad bar.

I'm always curious about what's coming and going in my homeland. For instance, to my great delight, I noticed the other day when I was walking Tanya to our local coffee joint that Monrovia is getting with the classy and welcoming its first wine and cheese store. California wine and cheese, no less. This is cause for great excitement in a town where we have much in the way of eyeglass, stationary-and-stampin', and antique stores, but little in the way of spirits and curdling (e.g., things I might actually purchase). I think I speak for all Monrovians when I say, "Welcome, spirits and curdling!"

So when I was ready to pay for my cans of dog food, I noticed a bright blue sheet on the counter by the cash register. Being a read-y sort of person, I distracted myself from an awkward interaction with the cashier by brushing up on the latest canine literature. Turns out, it was not just doggy-centric.

I left the store with two cans of dog food and a shake of the head in disbelief. Because, despite the extreme irony, the powers that be are trying to turn that Shakey's into a strip joint. Shakey's, indeed.

The Well Running A Little Dry is Relative

It's September, which means it's almost officially fall here in southern California. It doesn't really become fall until the end of October -- the air starts to smell of burning leaves, or maybe just burning hillsides, and Russ and I usually celebrate by ordering a pizza of sausage, garlic, mushrooms, and tomatoes. Very fall-y tastes. We sit around our coffeetable, eating pizza, marveling at how dark it is at 6:30 and sometimes - if it's Halloween, which often coincides with this autumnal celebration - keep the door open and listen to how many kids are walking by, but not stopping, at our house. And we always get the good candy, too.

I've always been on an academic calendar, so fall to me has always meant the beginning of things. This is in contrast to the real calendar, where the beginning of things coincides with buds and pastels and the smell of jasmine. Now I'm teaching instead of taking classes, which means that this signals the start of grading papers, trying to rouse college freshman with witticisms, and the loss of freedom. In a way, teaching college is an easy gig -- I only have to show up three days a week and on these three days, I don't start earlier than 10:30 in the morning. It's wonderful and I'm spoiled. But work is still work and writing all day (with random trips to wikipedia and Ebay, of course) is real freedom. Checking eBay at work just doesn't provide the same thrill.

And this is why I've been so absent of late. My energies have been going into work and curriculum and thoughts about how to best communicate to my students about how wide the world is, how many factors there are pressing down on their cute little brains trying to get them to think in certain ways. These are all exciting, in their English-y way, but by the end of the week, I'm seriously wiped. Not just from communicating, but from performing, because that's a big part of teaching. Being a performer, making subjects fun (and, as some tell me, a little sexy, as in cool and attractive) is hard work. It's putting both your body and your brain out on the line with the hopes of communicating the real, the important, not just random blah-blahs of the Charlie Brown school of learning.

But writing is writing and to do it, you have to practice a lot. At least that's what I tell my students. And I don't want to be one of those teachers who tell their students to do something that they don't do themselves. It always bugged me - and still does - that various gym teachers throughout my school-life would assign us miles to run without running them with us. So here I am, a writing teacher, and the writing part of my title has been sadly lacking. I need to get out there, like the gym teachers of school years' past, and do the work myself.

For starters -- I'm writing for the very cool Not For Tourists Guide as a L.A. Radar Writer. I think this is just a fancy way of saying that I'm a reviewer. So, if you're interested in my reviews of off-the-path San Gabriel Valley establishments, check out the website.

If not, fear not. I'll be back soon, doing my laps along with the troops.

On Being Mortal and Stupid

Today is that most infamous of recent American dates and I am commemorating it by not listening to any TV or radio or even reading published media about the day. There are many reasons for this, but me being a cold, heartless bitchy-type is not one of them. In fact, I feel certain that by not intaking all the spewed sentimentality, the forced photo opps, and the countless coverage of questions that are easy to ask - as opposed to difficult, complicated, and necessary to ask - I'm actually memorializing a tragedy in a way that's meaningful, at least to me. Thinking about it. Chewing it up. Digesting. Rinse. Repeat.

Yesterday, our pastors mentioned that 9/11 was the day that the world changed. I love and respect both of them, but I totally disagreed with that statement and sneakily wrote so on my bulletin. There's nothing about the world that changed today or any other day -- it was only our perceptions of our place in the world, our status, our own inpenetrability as a nation and people that changed. After all, there is death all around us and always has been; as Anne Lamott says, we are all terminal on this bus. I think what this day did was just remind us that our own terminalness was and is crouching on the doorstep, that our notions of safety were a myth, and that our actions in the world - shock and awe! - had consequences.

When it happened, I was addressing our wedding invitations. It's probably one of those moments that people remember exactly what they were doing, a la Kennedy. I watched the coverage on TV all day, sometimes on mute in order to get the NPR version of what was going down. I listened to the coverage pretty obsessively for the next three weeks. I was trying to understand all the layers, all the pieces that made up this attack. There were lots of them. My work was definitely cut out for me and I dug in with much moxy. I wanted to understand; I wanted it to be logical and seamly, as in having neat, straight seams with no gaps or snags. Like Martin Scorsce, I was looking for the narrative thread, the thing that tied all the information and loss and anger and meltdown together. But, it's never been seamly, at least for me, and that's why I've been so chafed at how it's being remembered, memorialized, talked about these days. As somewhat neat and condensed.

It just so happened that I watched the Buffy episode "The Body" today, which is about loss and anger and meltdown. Above all, it's about death, sudden death. Buffy's been dealing with death ever since she became the slayer, but not natural death. Quick, unexpected death. And in this episode, she has to deal and so does the rest of the Scooby gang. At one point, Buffy is talking to Tara, the only other person who's experienced the death of family member.

Buffy: "Was it sudden? Your mother?"
Tara; "No. (pause) But yes. It's always sudden."

And at another point, Anya (a now-human-once-vengeance-demon) asks about what's going to happen at the morgue, what happens to the body, what do humans do with the body and Willow explodes. Tells her how inappropriate all these questions are. Anya, looking unusually helpless, says "But I don't understand! I don't understand how this all happens, how we go through this. I mean - I knew her, and then she's... there's just a body, and I don't understand why she just can't get back in it and not be dead anymore! It's stupid! It's mortal and stupid! And... and Xander's crying and not talking, and...and I was having fruit punch, and I thought, 'Well, Joyce will never have any more fruit punch - ever, and she'll never have eggs, or yawn, or brush her hair, not ever,' and no one will explain to me why."

I found truth in this today, much more so than watching memorials or speeches or unity gatherings. Because on today, 9/11, it's still sudden. It's quiet. Like the Buffy episode, there's no musical score to make it more comforting. What happened then and what's happened since seems so mortal and stupid. And I, for one, still have the feeling that I don't exactly understand and no one will explain to me why.

We Do Not Interrupt Anything Like A Broadcast For This News

My posting life has sadly ebbed as new responsibilities and schedules have taken over. I have only had the urge to sit down and pound out some blogs on this front about a zillion times in the last week. So many changes spark my interest in the new and the old in life -- for instance, my new life-gig involves something new, as in new curriculum, and something old, as in I'm teaching at the university from which I graduated six years ago. Now all I need is something borrowed and blue and I'll be ready to really take the plunge.

In between all the driving and teaching and taking in of surrealness, I've been flying through Buffy the Vampire Slayer episodes. I'm in the middle of season 4 (Riley Finn territory, as Hillery says) and seemingly unable to think of anything else meaningful or carry on normal lines of thought without wondering what twists Joss Whedon is going to throw at me next. Oh, and the way you know that both Russ and I are addicted? We throw around "Joss" in casual conversation all the time, such as "That's totally what Joss would say!" or "Do you think Joss likes M*a*s*h?" We now factor him into all our theoretical conversations and try and guage his response.

This is how you know you're really addicted to a show.