This is too a blog

Mondays I can always manage to sleep walk through with relatively little damage. Even yesterday - the Monday after a week off, after waking up at 2 a.m. and not being able to get back to sleep - was ok.

Well, now it’s Tuesday. I have been a wreck all day. I had to force myself to hold out till 10:30 for my second Dunkin’ Donuts latte (I already have a one-a-day habit, and I’d rather not divert any more funds their way).

Somehow I made it through two classes without falling into a coma.

The little cup of latte did its best, but I was still fairly zombiefied for the rest of the day. I was hoping my walk home would perk me up, but alas it did not. An hour in bed with Love and Other Impossible Pursuits took a little of the dullness away, but I still think staying awake past 8 will be quite a feat tonight.

My grandfather always reminds me, when the subject of boiling vegetables comes up (which, between him and me, is not infrequent) not to throw away the resulting liquid. Never throw it away. It conains whatever vitamins have seeped out of the greens, and should not be dispensed with when the vegetables are cooked.

My father is equally adament on the subject, only while my grandfather prefers to sip a steaming mug of pot liquor, my father likes to cook pasta or rice in it. Same theory - it’s a crime to waste all those nutrients.

I succeeded in locating some broccoli rabe at a tiny vegetable store on Court Street just beyond Atlantic. I’d gotten used to being able to get it at the recently- defunct (soon to be a CVS) Key Food where my grandmother always shopped, but since it closed I haven’t had any luck.

I walked into the tiny vegetable store today on a whim, having grown used to striking out in my foraging for the green. I got the next to last bunch, along with a $2 box of blueberries (all the berries I’ve seen lately require a mortgage to purchase). Afterwards, I thought about the changes wrought on the neighborhood (Carroll Gardens) over my lifetime so far. Not the bigger ones, but the shoe gazer’s-view details.

I was relieved to see that the orange tree that has grown in its store-window micro-climate accross the street from The Cobble Hill Cinemas is, for now at least, still there.

It’s icy and sunny out. When we headed out to dinner last night, it was downright balmy. But by the time we were done with our four courses (plus an amuse bouche or two - it’s good to know someone in the kitchen) and three bottles (there were five of us), the temperature had dropped at least 20 degrees.

Whine, whine, whine. Winter is cold! Mostly I’m trying to keep from falling into the-last-day-of-vacation rigor mortis that usually overtakes me. It’s different than early vacation, exhaustion-induced inertia: Overwhelmed by the impending loss of freedom, I find myself having a hard time deciding amongst the trillion ways to savor the last bit of it. Instead, dizzy from the last day of limitless choices, I usually end up in a fetal position under mounds of blankets. I wonder if this is what a furloughed con feels like.

So far I’m off to a better start today. I’ve already left the house and read the paper at the gym (40 minutues on the stationary bike
probably undid one crackle of creme brulee). Appointments: haircut at 11 (with a new haircutter since Hitomi is trapped in Japan for 9 months waiting for her visa) and tennis clinic at 4 promise to keep me out of the bed for the majority of the day.

Brrr.

So, I saw THE CONFEDERATE STATES OF AMERICA yesterday. As an overall moviegoing experience, it was excellent. However, the CSA itself let me down a bit, perhaps because the word “brilliant” had been tossed around in describing it. It was quite good, but definitely short of brilliant. The film was most successful at conveying the cheerful creepiness of what it would be like to graft the slave-holding culture of the Confederacy onto today’s technology and pop culture. (So “Cops” becomes a very similar show called “Runaway” where escaped slaves are captured to the strains of fake reggae; you can add to your slaveholdings through the Home Shopping Network).

The weirdest part were the faux-commercials. They were amusing, though they seemed out of place within a Ken Burns-style documentary (which might be interrupted by a PBS pledge drive and bookended by “brought to you by…” ads, but not outright interrupted by commercials). That said, some of the products the filmmaker had come up with seemed a little over the top: “Niggerhair tobacco,” for instance. I did think it was strange that he included one product I’d seen in real life - “Darkie” (renamed “Darlie”) toothpaste- among the made-up ones. Of course, at the end of the film he lets us know that all of the advertised products were once available for purchase in the USA! My persistent naivete surprises me sometimes.

As a filmgoing experience, yesterday’s outing surpassed the day before. It was my first time at the relatively new IFC theater (formerly The Waverly), and the place kicks ass! Beautiful, down to the comfortable and differently upholstered seats (who says they all have to match?). Instead of the pre-film fare the megaplexes have inured me to by now (real commercials; “The Twenty,”, etc.) we were treated to a Guy Madden short (”The Very Heart of the World”) as well as previews for the new Steve Buscemi auteur effort (”Lonesome Jim,” which looks awesome); and “Drawing Restraint 9,” a Matthew Barney/Bjork train wreck.

I hate Matthew Barney. Forget Katie Holmes; FREE BJORK!

I did make it out of the house yesterday and saw THE FALLEN IDOL at Film Forum. It was the last day it was playing, so the sense of urgency (it’s not out on DVD) helped trump the inertia I’d cultivated all week.

So, the movie: It was fantastic. The 1948 collaboration of Graham Greene and Carol Reed (who would later give us THE THIRD MAN together), it’s set in and around an embassy in England and told from the point of view of a little boy. Bobby Henrey, who was born in France and raised in England, speaks with a french accent, runs around in short pants, hides his pet snake from his tyrranical maid, worships his butler, and is unbearably adorable, even when he almost gets his butler arrested and especially when he buries his face in the bosom of a hooker.

All in all, definitely worth leaving the house for. Today, The Confederate States of America is on deck.

I won’t set the timer today; there’s a clock on the desktop, for heaven’s sake.

Stripped naked, forced to wear women’s underwear, threatened by dogs. (Maybe it’s a good idea to turn off NPR when I’m writing).

I finished a novel this morning, THE LOVELY BONES. Quite good, though a little too tied up in a bow at the end. I started THE ALIENIST right after, which a coworker lent me more than a month ago. It’s set in nineteenth century NYC, and the author (Caleb Carr) is quite the historical detail buff.

It’s dreary out. There’s nothing at the movies I want to see. Mostly, I’m lazy. Why leave the neighborhood if I don’t have to go to work? (Precious vacation seeping away; only three days left).

I am hibernating, essentially. My big plan for today is to make a version of the beet ravioli at Al Di La, only with the buttery/cheesy beets serving as a pasta topping rather than a filling; I sold my pasta maker at the stoop sale we had to winnow down our belongings and fit into the same apartment. Though parting with it was purely sweet, no sorrow. Like I said, I am essentially motivated by sloth.

I’ve agreed for a study group to write for 10 minutes a day. At least till we meet up again. So I set the timer on the stove, and here I go.

I think I agreed to write about my teaching. I have the week off, though, and I really would rather not think about what I have to do to earn these little respites while I am enjoying one.

Last night I wrote three “found” poems and submitted them to a poetry journal. I “found” the words in the dialogue of a Scarlett Johansen movie.

Here they are:

AUGUST

Malachite, vermillion, linseed oil.

You grind it with a mortar like this:

o

n

w

uoyou

rytry.

Twist from the shoulder.

Did you get the lapis? You can mix the colors.

I haven’t time.

Make time.

PRESENT DAY

Wine,
a good meal on your table,
your friends all about.
Music,
and dancing.

You shouldn’t believe gossip!

Just remember who you are.

Don’t get caught up in his world.

OPEN YOUR MOUTH

Open your mouth.

Now lick your lips.

Wear these.

Good.

Do not ask this of me!

This has to be.

Well, girl. What’s to be done?

There goes the timer!