For a little context, Jake is my pseudofacebookboyfriend. Yes, that is all one word. I'm pretty sure it will be in the dictionary someday. Perhaps not Merriam Webster will take it, but I'll write my own damn dictionary to accomodate it...damnit.
Anyway, we were talking about the usual mindless repetitive tasks of temp work, writing and losing sleep. This is the end result of one of our mad conversations. That's right, I somehow managed to get married over teh internets.
[18:07] Jake: well
[18:07] Jake: it's bedtime once again
[18:07] Me: ok
[18:07] Me: I won't deprive you of sleep.
[18:08] Me: I've got to get to writing this batshit crazy ending anyway...
[18:09] Jake: both are important
[18:09] Me: indeed
[18:09] Me: :tucks you in and gets you a glass of warm milk...but keeps the cookie:
[18:13] Jake: hey
[18:13] Jake: that's my cookie
[18:13] Jake: i theory
[18:14] Jake: i guess that's presumptuous of me
[18:14] Me: ok...fine...:gets you another cookie:
[18:14] Me: :takes a bite out of it before handing it to you:
[18:14] Me: hm...better be careful...you never know which cultures recognize food sharing as a sort of marriage ritual...
[18:15] Jake: sometimes a cookie is a commitment
[18:15] Me: indeed
[18:15] Me: :offers you choice of cookie with bite taken out of it and whole cookie that has nuts in it:
[18:17] Jake: hurm
[18:17] Jake: i have to go with nuts
[18:17] Me: ha! it was a trick
[18:17] Me: there was a bite taken from beneath the cookie
[18:17] Me: ha! now we're married according to someone's arbitrary ritual
[18:18] Me: (all it means is that you can't marry anyone else unless you reimburse me with a cow or something)
[18:18] Me: haha
[18:18] Me: so sweet! I get a free cow!
[18:18] Jake: okay
[18:18] Jake: or a free me
[18:18] Me: that works too
[18:18] Jake: well, a cookie isn't really free
[18:18] Jake: everything has its price
[18:18] Me: it is if you steal them
[18:18] Jake: right
[18:19] Me: (or steal the ingredients from orphans)
[18:19] Jake: haha
[18:19] Jake: you've got it all figured out
[18:19] Me: but not the ending of this book
[18:20] Me: (or how you're going to sleep with these weird ideas in your head of how we're apparently married now)
[18:20] Jake: haha
[18:20] Me: this conversation has to get posted somewhere (I'll put it in my blog or something)
[18:22] Jake: nice
[18:22] Jake: i'll sleep quite comfortably i think
[18:22] Jake: nice and warm
[18:22] Me: especially after the warm milk and inadvertent marriage cookie
[18:22] Me: good for you...I miss being warm
[18:22] Me: you know what, screw it, I'm getting in that bed with you. it's too cold in my apartment for me to finish my novel.
[18:23] Jake: i'm into long underwear now in a big way
[18:23] Me: ah...I like the flannel jammies, but I'm going to have to invest in the longjohns again
[18:24] Jake: i only ever wore them skiing but now i put them on when i get home from work
[18:24] Jake: they're so comfortable
[18:24] Me: ah
[18:24] Me: well, either way, move over. I'm getting in.
[18:25] Jake: gladly
[18:25] Me: just know that while you're all snuggly and asleep, some part of my brain is there with you while the rest of me shivers over my laptop and tries to end this novel once and for all
[18:26] Jake: good luck!
[18:26] Jake: you can do it!
[18:26] Jake: have a good night
[18:26] Me: g'night
[18:26] Me: and tanks
[18:26] Me: *thanks
24 November 2007
The Portland Literary Salon or, Why Valerie Is No Longer Allowed Near Absinthe
So Steve asks me via google talk while I'm checking my email if I'm going to the salon tonight (it was Saturday) and I had completely forgotten about it despite Heather (not Helen) telling me about it last week.
I am already getting ahead of myself.
For those of you who don't know and actually do care despite perhaps not keeping tabs on this seemingly defunct blog, I am now living in Portland, OR. I have for the past couple of months lived in relative isolation, scrounging up work here and there, getting a bit of writing done. At a National Novel Writing Month-related event, I met Steve, who introduced me to Heather (along with a bunch of other writer/musician/artist types) at his book release party a couple of weeks ago. Heather told us that she was going to read a piece at this literary salon hosted by Jessica (who I met last night). The idea was supposed to be like the French salons and coteries from back in the day (hence the wine and the absinthe...but I'll get to that later).
When I got there, I had my usual preliminary apprehension at going to a social function where I knew nobody except the person I arrived with and had my usual cigarette outside. There, I met Winona and Cari (at least I think she spelled it that way) who were friends with the hostess, but likewise didn't know many other people at the salon.
Once I got in, it was a good time, lots of good company, lots of wine and baguette bread to go around. The readings were interesting, starting from the noise/spoken word combo O'Grady (at least that's what I think they were called). The guy (one of the Mikes?) had a sweet tattoo of a typewriter keyboard which reminded me of Naked Lunch and read pieces about working in a pen factory (with a receptionist who had a nice ass) and going to a strip club. While he read, his girlfriend (?) did interesting things with sound involving a crushed can and some electronic equipment ... experiments in feedback.
One of Steve's friends (I don't remember his name either, so I'll just assume it's Mike) read too, but not from his book "Help, a Bear is Eating Me!" (or was it "Help, I'm Being Eaten by a Bear?") Unfortunately, I'm drawing a blank as to what it was about, especially considering like most of the other pieces tonight, it was funny or intentionally humorous ... Ok, now I remember, it was a satirical commentary on the whole "natural food" trend "Hi! I milk the cows for Sunnyview farms! ... Hi! I'm the person who fucks the cows at Sunnyview farms! ... We put love in everything you eat!" (or something like that).
Another guy (I think his name might have been Mike too) read a short story about a woman talking to a lizard at the side of the road about her relationship/life problems (deadbeat stoner boyfriend), wanting her life to be like a poem, only for the lizard to say "It sounds to me that you just need to grow the fuck up." When I asked him if it was from personal experience, he explained that for awhile, he agreed with the lizard, but his (ex)girlfriend Jennifer actually randomly went to New York to become a documentarian, and things actually worked out, so he figures that it's better to be idealistic. I agreed, but sometimes people do need to grow the fuck up when it comes to relationships (by now one would think I would have learned that lesson at least), but it is better to be idealistic and go after "crazy" dreams when it comes to careers. There was a funny moment when this Mike and Steve talked about the awkwardness of being either the oldest or the youngest person in the room. As soon as Steve told Mike his age, Mike immediately said, "Thank God!"
Jessica's friend Tara sang, projected well in the crowded room with the wood burning stove. When I spoke with her, she told me that she had been singing since she was three, on stage since she was six. I just started piano at six, let alone be at any sort of performance level. It never ceases to amaze me how many incredible people I meet here in Portland.
One of the artists who had work on the walls was there, Jason, a Puerto Rican metalworker who was in the military for awhile. I think I spent the most time with him talking about, of all things, food and the fact that food now not only does not look like food, but actually isn't. He worked in a meat packing plant/warehouse which supplied food for McDonald's. Apparently even in the freezer, while wrapped in plastic, the food smelled like French fries and hamburgers, a scent synthesized in a lab somewhere. How horrifying. We also talked about what our immigrant parents/grandparents in the old country ate and how they got by without having to go to the gym because they worked and cooked their own food.
I also asked him about the masks he had made, which were quite beautiful. One was based from a photograph of Montezuma's death mask he had seen in his nephew's social studies book, another was the "sister" of another piece (the sister was fire and the brother was water), another one was inspired by the patterning on a motorcycle he had built and painted.
The next morning when Steve and I went to collect my keys (I was a dumbass and didn't make sure my keys were secure in my coat pocket before leaving, thus resulting in me crashing at Steve's), Jessica commented that she would have liked to see more women reading, especially since it seemed a bit unbalanced. So, at the next one in January, I'll try to have something written that I won't be completely ashamed of reading. I wish I had my old blue notebook with the stuff I did from Blue Room, although I had a policy of never reading the same piece twice back then. On another note, the one person we would have known otherwise, Heather (not Helen) wasn't there. I'm trying to remember if she said at some point on Tuesday that she wouldn't make it, but I can't. I think her pieces would have fit in well with the brand of humor prevalent last night.
To think, I was just going to stay in, knit, watch Doctor Who and try to get some NaNo-ing done last night. Crap...speaking of NaNo, I'm falling behind and we're getting to the final stretch.
But yeah...the bit about the absinthe. Jessica got a bottle of "fake" absinthe and demonstrated the process of dripping cold water on a sugar cube rested on a slotted spoon. I made a comment about how I had heard that they sometimes lit the cube on fire before dripping the water. This was to my downfall, as they insisted that I go up (especially since I had my lighter at the ready from having had a smoke earlier) and demonstrate. I tried lighting the cube directly, which only resulted in it being immediately reduced to elemental carbon. Then someone suggested pouring a little absinthe on it. Ok, keep in mind at this shindig, we were all using plastic cups. Usually there are special glasses specifically made for the purpose of drinking absinthe. So, 180-or-so proof alcohol+plastic cup+flame=holy crap! The cube burned nicely, but then the fire only spread to the alcohol in the cup, melting it even as I was trying to blow it out. Then we had to use the pitcher of water to put it out.
Thus I learned a very important lesson: I should never make suggestions concerning fire and alcohol preparation when plastic cups are involved.
The guys up at the podium with me just reassured me that things would be ok. One of them (the beatnik with a hip hop cadence poet whose name escapes me at the moment, something beginning with D) started stroking my back in a way I interpreted (at least in that moment) as being less solicitous than somewhat presumptuous, especially when he joked "well, now your face matches your jacket" (I was wearing a red jacket). So, I immediately freaked out and shouted "Ok, why is everyone touching me?!" He was probably just adding levity to the situation so I wouldn't feel like such an ass, so I can appreciate that. I still felt like an ass though, especially after that outburst.
Ok Valerie, way to make an already awkward situation worse. I immediately headed for the back of the room and got another cup of wine. Things turned out all right in the end and I don't think anyone even remembers their near brush with immolation at my inept hands.
At any rate, I had an excellent time last night. This is pretty much the sort of thing I've always wanted to be involved in, meeting like-minded people and not being too serious all the time. Bleh, I need a shower and to deposit this paycheck. I also need to get more groceries and get more writing done. Look forward to more dispatches ... if I feel like it.
I am already getting ahead of myself.
For those of you who don't know and actually do care despite perhaps not keeping tabs on this seemingly defunct blog, I am now living in Portland, OR. I have for the past couple of months lived in relative isolation, scrounging up work here and there, getting a bit of writing done. At a National Novel Writing Month-related event, I met Steve, who introduced me to Heather (along with a bunch of other writer/musician/artist types) at his book release party a couple of weeks ago. Heather told us that she was going to read a piece at this literary salon hosted by Jessica (who I met last night). The idea was supposed to be like the French salons and coteries from back in the day (hence the wine and the absinthe...but I'll get to that later).
When I got there, I had my usual preliminary apprehension at going to a social function where I knew nobody except the person I arrived with and had my usual cigarette outside. There, I met Winona and Cari (at least I think she spelled it that way) who were friends with the hostess, but likewise didn't know many other people at the salon.
Once I got in, it was a good time, lots of good company, lots of wine and baguette bread to go around. The readings were interesting, starting from the noise/spoken word combo O'Grady (at least that's what I think they were called). The guy (one of the Mikes?) had a sweet tattoo of a typewriter keyboard which reminded me of Naked Lunch and read pieces about working in a pen factory (with a receptionist who had a nice ass) and going to a strip club. While he read, his girlfriend (?) did interesting things with sound involving a crushed can and some electronic equipment ... experiments in feedback.
One of Steve's friends (I don't remember his name either, so I'll just assume it's Mike) read too, but not from his book "Help, a Bear is Eating Me!" (or was it "Help, I'm Being Eaten by a Bear?") Unfortunately, I'm drawing a blank as to what it was about, especially considering like most of the other pieces tonight, it was funny or intentionally humorous ... Ok, now I remember, it was a satirical commentary on the whole "natural food" trend "Hi! I milk the cows for Sunnyview farms! ... Hi! I'm the person who fucks the cows at Sunnyview farms! ... We put love in everything you eat!" (or something like that).
Another guy (I think his name might have been Mike too) read a short story about a woman talking to a lizard at the side of the road about her relationship/life problems (deadbeat stoner boyfriend), wanting her life to be like a poem, only for the lizard to say "It sounds to me that you just need to grow the fuck up." When I asked him if it was from personal experience, he explained that for awhile, he agreed with the lizard, but his (ex)girlfriend Jennifer actually randomly went to New York to become a documentarian, and things actually worked out, so he figures that it's better to be idealistic. I agreed, but sometimes people do need to grow the fuck up when it comes to relationships (by now one would think I would have learned that lesson at least), but it is better to be idealistic and go after "crazy" dreams when it comes to careers. There was a funny moment when this Mike and Steve talked about the awkwardness of being either the oldest or the youngest person in the room. As soon as Steve told Mike his age, Mike immediately said, "Thank God!"
Jessica's friend Tara sang, projected well in the crowded room with the wood burning stove. When I spoke with her, she told me that she had been singing since she was three, on stage since she was six. I just started piano at six, let alone be at any sort of performance level. It never ceases to amaze me how many incredible people I meet here in Portland.
One of the artists who had work on the walls was there, Jason, a Puerto Rican metalworker who was in the military for awhile. I think I spent the most time with him talking about, of all things, food and the fact that food now not only does not look like food, but actually isn't. He worked in a meat packing plant/warehouse which supplied food for McDonald's. Apparently even in the freezer, while wrapped in plastic, the food smelled like French fries and hamburgers, a scent synthesized in a lab somewhere. How horrifying. We also talked about what our immigrant parents/grandparents in the old country ate and how they got by without having to go to the gym because they worked and cooked their own food.
I also asked him about the masks he had made, which were quite beautiful. One was based from a photograph of Montezuma's death mask he had seen in his nephew's social studies book, another was the "sister" of another piece (the sister was fire and the brother was water), another one was inspired by the patterning on a motorcycle he had built and painted.
The next morning when Steve and I went to collect my keys (I was a dumbass and didn't make sure my keys were secure in my coat pocket before leaving, thus resulting in me crashing at Steve's), Jessica commented that she would have liked to see more women reading, especially since it seemed a bit unbalanced. So, at the next one in January, I'll try to have something written that I won't be completely ashamed of reading. I wish I had my old blue notebook with the stuff I did from Blue Room, although I had a policy of never reading the same piece twice back then. On another note, the one person we would have known otherwise, Heather (not Helen) wasn't there. I'm trying to remember if she said at some point on Tuesday that she wouldn't make it, but I can't. I think her pieces would have fit in well with the brand of humor prevalent last night.
To think, I was just going to stay in, knit, watch Doctor Who and try to get some NaNo-ing done last night. Crap...speaking of NaNo, I'm falling behind and we're getting to the final stretch.
But yeah...the bit about the absinthe. Jessica got a bottle of "fake" absinthe and demonstrated the process of dripping cold water on a sugar cube rested on a slotted spoon. I made a comment about how I had heard that they sometimes lit the cube on fire before dripping the water. This was to my downfall, as they insisted that I go up (especially since I had my lighter at the ready from having had a smoke earlier) and demonstrate. I tried lighting the cube directly, which only resulted in it being immediately reduced to elemental carbon. Then someone suggested pouring a little absinthe on it. Ok, keep in mind at this shindig, we were all using plastic cups. Usually there are special glasses specifically made for the purpose of drinking absinthe. So, 180-or-so proof alcohol+plastic cup+flame=holy crap! The cube burned nicely, but then the fire only spread to the alcohol in the cup, melting it even as I was trying to blow it out. Then we had to use the pitcher of water to put it out.
Thus I learned a very important lesson: I should never make suggestions concerning fire and alcohol preparation when plastic cups are involved.
The guys up at the podium with me just reassured me that things would be ok. One of them (the beatnik with a hip hop cadence poet whose name escapes me at the moment, something beginning with D) started stroking my back in a way I interpreted (at least in that moment) as being less solicitous than somewhat presumptuous, especially when he joked "well, now your face matches your jacket" (I was wearing a red jacket). So, I immediately freaked out and shouted "Ok, why is everyone touching me?!" He was probably just adding levity to the situation so I wouldn't feel like such an ass, so I can appreciate that. I still felt like an ass though, especially after that outburst.
Ok Valerie, way to make an already awkward situation worse. I immediately headed for the back of the room and got another cup of wine. Things turned out all right in the end and I don't think anyone even remembers their near brush with immolation at my inept hands.
At any rate, I had an excellent time last night. This is pretty much the sort of thing I've always wanted to be involved in, meeting like-minded people and not being too serious all the time. Bleh, I need a shower and to deposit this paycheck. I also need to get more groceries and get more writing done. Look forward to more dispatches ... if I feel like it.
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