In Starbucks
a cover of Duke Ellington’s “Caravan”
plays over the speakers
in a way that cannot be ignored.
Quasi-artistic,
semi-bohemian,
mockably mediocre.
Were I living the life I should,
I would be sitting
in a coffee house in San Francisco—
a real one—
like the ones Hemingway
and Kerouac haunt,
but not the ones they actually
haunt, because those are
popular tourist stops.
A coffee house, though,
that has no corporate office
with men in suits
around a conference table
lamenting stock indexes,
market bottoms,
and underproducing store locations.
A coffee house, perhaps,
that would pour whisky into your mug
if you asked
because it does not cater
to stay-at-home moms
in tennis skirts and visors
who have no plans
to swing a racquet today.
If I were serious
about art and music,
I would have earphones playing
the real Duke Ellington,
and maybe Dizzy Gillespie,
or even Stan Getz.
Instead, I hear a woman’s call
to “Uncle Matt”:
‘Mom’s getting home from vacation. She called me from the boat today. Just calling to see if you all wanted to come over for dinner. I don’t know what I’m making yet. So call me later.’
Her son comes to Starbucks so often
he thinks the toys in the corner are his.
She snaps her cell phone closed
and asks her bored son,
‘Wanna go to the grocery store?’
At this moment
the only song title I can recall
from my personal knowledge of these giants
is “Caravan.”
“Desafinado” from Getz’s
Girl from Ipanema
will come on later,
but I only know that
because the 32-inch flatscreen
tells me so.
And instead of writing
my American Masterpiece,
or, at least my own scholarly interpretation
of an American Masterpiece,
I am reading teenage attempts
to complete an assignment
they don’t understand.
The undeniable truth,
as I sit here
among the step-children of genius,
is that Starbucks is my life.
It’s safe; it’s close; it’s familiar.
It’s a place to sit in judgment
and feel superior
to the cult of soccer moms
I’m a year away from joining.
At Starbucks,
I can pretend I adhere
to the Emersonian calling
of ‘greatness,’
and in the midst of the crowd
keep with perfect sweetness
the independence of solitude.
But this is not true,
and the bland cover design
of Tuesdays with Morrie
that sits beside my
grande
nonfat
sugarfree
vanilla
latte
tells me so.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
On Having Never Taught You
A Cafe Mots Front Row Perspective
It’s a shame I never had you in class.
You would have made me laugh,
probably on a daily basis.
I’ll mourn the loss of all those laughs and smiles
until something distracts me, and I forget to.
You probably would have been a good student too—
not the kind of good student who always has his work,
studies for tests, takes notes, sits in the front,
and answers all of my questions—
but the kind of good student who thinks for himself
and reads all he can.
There have been others like you—
other creative, comedic clowns—
off to their graduated lives
of being funny for other people.
I have admired you
from the Little Theatre front row.
And I’ll probably remember you,
until something distracts me, and I forget to.
It’s a shame I never had you in class.
You would have made me laugh,
probably on a daily basis.
I’ll mourn the loss of all those laughs and smiles
until something distracts me, and I forget to.
You probably would have been a good student too—
not the kind of good student who always has his work,
studies for tests, takes notes, sits in the front,
and answers all of my questions—
but the kind of good student who thinks for himself
and reads all he can.
There have been others like you—
other creative, comedic clowns—
off to their graduated lives
of being funny for other people.
I have admired you
from the Little Theatre front row.
And I’ll probably remember you,
until something distracts me, and I forget to.
The Art of Genocide
(I wrote the following after contending with ants in the kitchen. . .)
First there were three.
A trio of black vagrants
on a plain of white linoleum.
Mash—mash—mash—
unspotted white again
with a threat of more to come.
Then there were many.
A steady march
toward strategically laid bait.
An invasion of black bodies moving
purposefully in search of something sweet,
something fulfilling.
They splash in a deadly pool,
gulping the poisonous nectar.
If they do not drown themselves
in the paradisiacal font,
they stagger away,
drunk with syrupy bliss.
Toward home they carry
an infectious plan—
a hope of future death.
Mash—mash—mash—
mashmashmashmashmashmashmash
Then there were hordes.
An undaunted mass,
filled with the faith of their number,
and conspiring with the communication
of devout industry.
The noxious well drained dry
only to increase their power,
firm their resolve,
improve their approach.
Spray—spray—spray—
A chemical shower to halt the arrogance,
to assert authority,
to flush improvements.
Black bodies writhe in silent pain,
paralyzed with asphyxiation.
One survivor drags another
across the white plain—
spraysprayspraysprayspraysprayspray
Then there were few.
Alive to wander
confused, intoxicated, undetermined,
with a faint memory of egg-filled nests.
Sweep—sweep—sweep—
First there were three.
A trio of black vagrants
on a plain of white linoleum.
Mash—mash—mash—
unspotted white again
with a threat of more to come.
Then there were many.
A steady march
toward strategically laid bait.
An invasion of black bodies moving
purposefully in search of something sweet,
something fulfilling.
They splash in a deadly pool,
gulping the poisonous nectar.
If they do not drown themselves
in the paradisiacal font,
they stagger away,
drunk with syrupy bliss.
Toward home they carry
an infectious plan—
a hope of future death.
Mash—mash—mash—
mashmashmashmashmashmashmash
Then there were hordes.
An undaunted mass,
filled with the faith of their number,
and conspiring with the communication
of devout industry.
The noxious well drained dry
only to increase their power,
firm their resolve,
improve their approach.
Spray—spray—spray—
A chemical shower to halt the arrogance,
to assert authority,
to flush improvements.
Black bodies writhe in silent pain,
paralyzed with asphyxiation.
One survivor drags another
across the white plain—
spraysprayspraysprayspraysprayspray
Then there were few.
Alive to wander
confused, intoxicated, undetermined,
with a faint memory of egg-filled nests.
Sweep—sweep—sweep—
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Love (for Summer)'s Real--Not Fade Away
Compared to last, this has been a deliciously industrious summer for me, but with a perfect amount of downtime. As I am staring down the last week of summer vacation, I do not sense the racking anxiety of back-to-school preparations that incurred my "Teacher's Perspective" blog roughly 365 days ago. So, the top five golden highlights:
5. Wedding Planning in the Mond: Any occasion that brings me to my hometown of Richmond, VA is a worthwhile one. I arranged the church, reception, band, photographer, guest hotel rooms, and invitations. It was stressful at times for a couple of reasons. For one, you would think the Catholic church doesn't want people to get married considering the difficulty it takes to book a day with them. Secondly, I am NOT an enthusiastic decision maker (refer to "A Teacher's Perspective" blog for more about this personal anxiety of mine), and thus I am eternally indebted to God for providing me with a mother and a fiancee who lust for calling the shots.
Anyway--it's clear to me now why people say, "F--k it" and jet off for Vegas to be married by a man in an Elvis costume--it may be ugly as hell, but it sure is easy!
4. Teaching Summer School: Five years ago I distinctly remember uttering "Never again" upon completing my first 6-weeks Freshman English repeater course. I met with students for four hours a day, M-F. These were kids who did not like reading and writing enough during the school year to pass. Now we were locked in a classroom during their summer break to somehow magically ignite the same desire for language arts. It will suffice to say that I remember watching a lot of movies that summer.
With house payments and children on the near horizon, suddently the money from summer school is more attractive to me than being able to lounge by a pool or take off to Vegas on a moment's notice. So, for two weeks this summer I taught roughly 45 middle school kids which, among other things, solidified my previous suspicion that I am not a middle school teacher. 7th and 8th graders retain a heartwarming innocence that completely vanishes a quarter of the way through 10th grade. But they do not understand my humor (read: sarcasm) very well and they are paralyzed with self-consciousness. This latter point is particularly painful for someone who remembers the terror of "freakishness" when she was that age. The mantra of our class thus became "We are all uncool." If middle schoolers think that part of the course objective is to "be cool" we would NEVER have gotten anything done. And we did read some great stories.
3. The Dark Knight: Hands down, best movie of the summer--BUT several things bothered me. For one, (and I'm partially stealing this from a review I read online) someone in the sound mixing department thought it would be a good idea to make Christian Bale's Batman sound like a cross between Clint Eastwood and a grizzly bear. It's a bizarre decision and one that distracted me throughout the film. I also detest Maggie Gyllenhaal--and it pains me to say it, but Katie Holmes was a MUCH better Rachel Dawes. I also get confused sometimes when superhero movies go to this many editions with sequels mixed in: Are we supposed to erase the first Batman's portrayal and backstory of the Joker completely or somehow mix the two movies together, because I'm not sure the latter is possible. On a positive note, the makeup job for Two Face was exciting (and nauseating!).
2. Waterskiing and Wine Tasting: I worked in some great recreational activities this summer, among them this alliterative pair. I executed the former at my grandparents' house on the Eastern Shore of VA. The water was warm and nettle-free (always an excellent combination), and I tested the old "it's like riding a bike" cliche. After not skiing for a few years, I shot out of the water with ease.
The latter activity is one I have not indulged in for some time, having completely quit drinking for a 16-month period in August of 2006 and then occasionally sipped red wine since. We rented a limo, hit five wineries, grabbed a pizza for dinner, and played Catchphrase into the night. It was a good day :D
1. El Salvador: What to say. . . In truth, this trip deserves its own separate blog space, but I've been too busy (read: lazy) to write the piece it deserves. Without contest, this trip tops the list of highlights for summer and is certainly a contender for best lifetime experiences. On Friday the 13th of June, twelve rising seniors and two teachers (myself included) departed from the San Jose airport for San Salvador. Upon arrival, I considered the setting similar to Cabo (a recent trip I took in February). After a lovely dockside breakfast, we took a long drive to the small village of Guarjila. I don't think the panic set in until Sal (the director of the immersion trip) and I arrived to our "hotelito" and I observed the stark reality of poverty that revealed itself to me through our toilet and bath accomodations. The "bathroom" was a little shack divided into two "rooms" with a well between them. On the right side, a porceline-like toilet sat over a hole in the ground. The "shower" in the adjacent room provided a bucket for dipping and pouring water over my head. To put it mildly, I was terrified.
Within a day, the people of the village (especially the youth minister, John Guiliano), with their warm smiles and eager enthusiasm to be amused by the silly "gringos," put me at ease. At our core, we are human (most of us are Catholics)--we care about our families, have a need to communicate, and believe in the goodness of others. In short, faith in something greater than ourselves brought us together more quickly than I would have guessed.
Throughout the week, we explored the people, the land, and the history of a recent war in El Salvador. Two events most impressed me (in that they brought me to the floor in irrepressible sobs). While visiting "the UCA" (Universidad Centroamericana) and hearing about the massacre of several Jesuit priests, their housekeeper and her daughter, we were led into a stark room with a few pictures on the wall. John produced two full albums of pictures of these people who had been dragged from their peaceful beds (in their pajamas!) by Salvadoran National Guardsmen and shot point-blank in the face or head or chest. I looked at the photos until something inside me cracked wide open and I could not contain myself (even in front of a room of students who were probably terrified at my tears).
The other event that continues to give me goosebumps when my brain calls the memory to mind was a visit to the small town of Mozote where roughly 1200 people were killed by the same National Guard brigade that later invaded the UCA. 85% of those massacred were under the age of 12 years old. The screams and cries of children for their mothers are still there--embedded into the thick humid air you breathe as you walk through the town (which is all but completely abandoned still).
El Salvador is a beautiful country with amazing beaches and excellent food. I would definitely "vacation" there--but that kind of reflection seems nearly perverse when there is another, palpable force that makes the place remarkable: a people who have witnessed and endured more pain and suffering than any other on earth (at the hands of their own government, no less--and ours, sadly). They looked at us (the Americans they have every God-given right to condemn to hell for their losses) with warmth. I don't think I will ever be able to fully understand that level of acceptance and that degree of compassion.
This latter portion of the blog teaches me that some things may be too precious to write about justly.
5. Wedding Planning in the Mond: Any occasion that brings me to my hometown of Richmond, VA is a worthwhile one. I arranged the church, reception, band, photographer, guest hotel rooms, and invitations. It was stressful at times for a couple of reasons. For one, you would think the Catholic church doesn't want people to get married considering the difficulty it takes to book a day with them. Secondly, I am NOT an enthusiastic decision maker (refer to "A Teacher's Perspective" blog for more about this personal anxiety of mine), and thus I am eternally indebted to God for providing me with a mother and a fiancee who lust for calling the shots.
Anyway--it's clear to me now why people say, "F--k it" and jet off for Vegas to be married by a man in an Elvis costume--it may be ugly as hell, but it sure is easy!
4. Teaching Summer School: Five years ago I distinctly remember uttering "Never again" upon completing my first 6-weeks Freshman English repeater course. I met with students for four hours a day, M-F. These were kids who did not like reading and writing enough during the school year to pass. Now we were locked in a classroom during their summer break to somehow magically ignite the same desire for language arts. It will suffice to say that I remember watching a lot of movies that summer.
With house payments and children on the near horizon, suddently the money from summer school is more attractive to me than being able to lounge by a pool or take off to Vegas on a moment's notice. So, for two weeks this summer I taught roughly 45 middle school kids which, among other things, solidified my previous suspicion that I am not a middle school teacher. 7th and 8th graders retain a heartwarming innocence that completely vanishes a quarter of the way through 10th grade. But they do not understand my humor (read: sarcasm) very well and they are paralyzed with self-consciousness. This latter point is particularly painful for someone who remembers the terror of "freakishness" when she was that age. The mantra of our class thus became "We are all uncool." If middle schoolers think that part of the course objective is to "be cool" we would NEVER have gotten anything done. And we did read some great stories.
3. The Dark Knight: Hands down, best movie of the summer--BUT several things bothered me. For one, (and I'm partially stealing this from a review I read online) someone in the sound mixing department thought it would be a good idea to make Christian Bale's Batman sound like a cross between Clint Eastwood and a grizzly bear. It's a bizarre decision and one that distracted me throughout the film. I also detest Maggie Gyllenhaal--and it pains me to say it, but Katie Holmes was a MUCH better Rachel Dawes. I also get confused sometimes when superhero movies go to this many editions with sequels mixed in: Are we supposed to erase the first Batman's portrayal and backstory of the Joker completely or somehow mix the two movies together, because I'm not sure the latter is possible. On a positive note, the makeup job for Two Face was exciting (and nauseating!).
2. Waterskiing and Wine Tasting: I worked in some great recreational activities this summer, among them this alliterative pair. I executed the former at my grandparents' house on the Eastern Shore of VA. The water was warm and nettle-free (always an excellent combination), and I tested the old "it's like riding a bike" cliche. After not skiing for a few years, I shot out of the water with ease.
The latter activity is one I have not indulged in for some time, having completely quit drinking for a 16-month period in August of 2006 and then occasionally sipped red wine since. We rented a limo, hit five wineries, grabbed a pizza for dinner, and played Catchphrase into the night. It was a good day :D
1. El Salvador: What to say. . . In truth, this trip deserves its own separate blog space, but I've been too busy (read: lazy) to write the piece it deserves. Without contest, this trip tops the list of highlights for summer and is certainly a contender for best lifetime experiences. On Friday the 13th of June, twelve rising seniors and two teachers (myself included) departed from the San Jose airport for San Salvador. Upon arrival, I considered the setting similar to Cabo (a recent trip I took in February). After a lovely dockside breakfast, we took a long drive to the small village of Guarjila. I don't think the panic set in until Sal (the director of the immersion trip) and I arrived to our "hotelito" and I observed the stark reality of poverty that revealed itself to me through our toilet and bath accomodations. The "bathroom" was a little shack divided into two "rooms" with a well between them. On the right side, a porceline-like toilet sat over a hole in the ground. The "shower" in the adjacent room provided a bucket for dipping and pouring water over my head. To put it mildly, I was terrified.
Within a day, the people of the village (especially the youth minister, John Guiliano), with their warm smiles and eager enthusiasm to be amused by the silly "gringos," put me at ease. At our core, we are human (most of us are Catholics)--we care about our families, have a need to communicate, and believe in the goodness of others. In short, faith in something greater than ourselves brought us together more quickly than I would have guessed.
Throughout the week, we explored the people, the land, and the history of a recent war in El Salvador. Two events most impressed me (in that they brought me to the floor in irrepressible sobs). While visiting "the UCA" (Universidad Centroamericana) and hearing about the massacre of several Jesuit priests, their housekeeper and her daughter, we were led into a stark room with a few pictures on the wall. John produced two full albums of pictures of these people who had been dragged from their peaceful beds (in their pajamas!) by Salvadoran National Guardsmen and shot point-blank in the face or head or chest. I looked at the photos until something inside me cracked wide open and I could not contain myself (even in front of a room of students who were probably terrified at my tears).
The other event that continues to give me goosebumps when my brain calls the memory to mind was a visit to the small town of Mozote where roughly 1200 people were killed by the same National Guard brigade that later invaded the UCA. 85% of those massacred were under the age of 12 years old. The screams and cries of children for their mothers are still there--embedded into the thick humid air you breathe as you walk through the town (which is all but completely abandoned still).
El Salvador is a beautiful country with amazing beaches and excellent food. I would definitely "vacation" there--but that kind of reflection seems nearly perverse when there is another, palpable force that makes the place remarkable: a people who have witnessed and endured more pain and suffering than any other on earth (at the hands of their own government, no less--and ours, sadly). They looked at us (the Americans they have every God-given right to condemn to hell for their losses) with warmth. I don't think I will ever be able to fully understand that level of acceptance and that degree of compassion.
This latter portion of the blog teaches me that some things may be too precious to write about justly.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Walk Out: When Film Adaptations Go Terribly Wrong
So, I've been sick this week, and under a self-imposed quarantine as to not infect my beloved friends and family with the plague. It got so damn lonely, that I decided to go see The Other Boleyn Girl today, against my better instincts. I read the 660+ page book very quickly earlier this month (in anticipation for the movie release, actually). I loved the book in the same way I loved The Da Vinci Code and The Kite Runner--easy, psuedo-intellectual page-turners that do not require an ounce of effort to follow, digest, or complete. After having a terrible experience with the film version of The Da Vinci Code and an OK experience with The Kite Runner adaptation, I thought my chances were at least 50/50 that Philippa Gregory's historical fiction bestseller would be at least as amusing as doing my taxes (the task with which I was engaged immediately before). It's possible I've never been more wrong about anything in my entire life.
The film, in the grossest understatement of all time, was less than faithful to its literary counterpart. The acting was atrocious (Natalie Portman--it's like I don't even know you anymore!), which didn't really matter because the character portrayal was NOTHING like it is in the book. And the editing just might have been executed by a high school Film Club enthusiast. The writing, filming, editing, and acting were in fact so horrible that I decided to leave in the middle of a scene where King Henry VIII (played by Eric Bana--rrrrrrr) forcibly enters Anne Boleyn from behind--undeniably, the climax of the film. It was the most boring rape scene ever filmed--and, staunch feminist that I am, it does not please me to have to make such commentary!
The last adaptation I saw after having read the book was Atonement. I'm not in love with the novel or the film, but they made me appreciate each other, which is not a common occurrence in the literature/film dichotomy. Usually, the movie is a disappointing rendition of the book (at least that's what I tell my students!!). With Atonement, the movie made visual things that were too damn subtle in the book, and the book fleshed out the details the movie did not have time provide. It was a nice relationship. Movies like The Other Boleyn Girl and The Da Vinci Code, in severe contrast, ought never be made. They unabashedly present themselves as half-cocked money-making schemes, roping in the readers of popular fiction who want the story again, but don't want to spend the time reading the novel twice.
Thus, I exited the dark theatre, leaving the chumps to their mediocre movie viewing, and came home to draw up the financial report for my St. Vincent de Paul conference meeting tomorrow. My cough syrup is more fun than that movie.
The film, in the grossest understatement of all time, was less than faithful to its literary counterpart. The acting was atrocious (Natalie Portman--it's like I don't even know you anymore!), which didn't really matter because the character portrayal was NOTHING like it is in the book. And the editing just might have been executed by a high school Film Club enthusiast. The writing, filming, editing, and acting were in fact so horrible that I decided to leave in the middle of a scene where King Henry VIII (played by Eric Bana--rrrrrrr) forcibly enters Anne Boleyn from behind--undeniably, the climax of the film. It was the most boring rape scene ever filmed--and, staunch feminist that I am, it does not please me to have to make such commentary!
The last adaptation I saw after having read the book was Atonement. I'm not in love with the novel or the film, but they made me appreciate each other, which is not a common occurrence in the literature/film dichotomy. Usually, the movie is a disappointing rendition of the book (at least that's what I tell my students!!). With Atonement, the movie made visual things that were too damn subtle in the book, and the book fleshed out the details the movie did not have time provide. It was a nice relationship. Movies like The Other Boleyn Girl and The Da Vinci Code, in severe contrast, ought never be made. They unabashedly present themselves as half-cocked money-making schemes, roping in the readers of popular fiction who want the story again, but don't want to spend the time reading the novel twice.
Thus, I exited the dark theatre, leaving the chumps to their mediocre movie viewing, and came home to draw up the financial report for my St. Vincent de Paul conference meeting tomorrow. My cough syrup is more fun than that movie.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Blog Black Out
It's been quite a while since my last posting on my beloved blog space. I was in my car the other day and started constructing "my next blog" aloud. I know I shouldn't care, but I do get faintly embarrassed when, after speaking to myself (aloud) in my car, I look to either my right or left and catch someone catching me talking to myself. I try to pretend that I've simply been singing along to the music as I start bobbing my head and feigning self-possession. Anyway, I had hit on the most brilliant of blog topics, and was composing the loveliest prose, and knew as I was doing so that I wouldn't remember what the hell I wanted to write about when I finally reunited with my keyboard. This, in fact, was the case.
So, I thought it might be fun to construct some would-be blog titles in lieu of any real material this time. A little ambiguous taste of what I've been up to lately--here goes:
1. Gift Card Nation (I was actually going to write this blog after having received roughly 50 gift cards this Christmas--but I only got as far as the title. Sorry.)
2. On Forgetting to Remember
3. To-Do-List, You Scoundrel
4. My Kingdom for a Puff Pastry: On Attempting Atkins Once More
5. Wagon Schmagon
6. On Making New Year's Resolutions
7. On Breaking New Year's Resolutions
8. The Office: A Love Story
9. What is This 'Gym' of Which You Speak?
10. Mozart, Shakespeare, and Other Miserable Failures
11. Forgive Me, I Thought It was Cash Wednesday
12. The Other Boleyn Girl: A Horror Story for the Biological Clock Watcher (I think this is actually getting pretty close to the content of the blog topic I blacked out. It's probably for the best.)
13. Timeshare Pressure Cooker: Or The Art of Getting a Free Dinner and two Mexican blankets
14. Your Pandemic Flu is Showing
So, I thought it might be fun to construct some would-be blog titles in lieu of any real material this time. A little ambiguous taste of what I've been up to lately--here goes:
1. Gift Card Nation (I was actually going to write this blog after having received roughly 50 gift cards this Christmas--but I only got as far as the title. Sorry.)
2. On Forgetting to Remember
3. To-Do-List, You Scoundrel
4. My Kingdom for a Puff Pastry: On Attempting Atkins Once More
5. Wagon Schmagon
6. On Making New Year's Resolutions
7. On Breaking New Year's Resolutions
8. The Office: A Love Story
9. What is This 'Gym' of Which You Speak?
10. Mozart, Shakespeare, and Other Miserable Failures
11. Forgive Me, I Thought It was Cash Wednesday
12. The Other Boleyn Girl: A Horror Story for the Biological Clock Watcher (I think this is actually getting pretty close to the content of the blog topic I blacked out. It's probably for the best.)
13. Timeshare Pressure Cooker: Or The Art of Getting a Free Dinner and two Mexican blankets
14. Your Pandemic Flu is Showing
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)