To be honest, I was a little apprehensive about going to Atlanta. I once dated a guy from Georgia who done me wrong. Part of me was wigged out at the prospect of suffering Georgia-accent-induced flashbacks. Can I take your drink order? No! No, you may not infiltrate my circle of friends and then break up with me! Your room number is 627. Thanks! Thanks for stealing my car and then driving it to the beach! That'll be $10.27. Oh? Is that what they call it now--$10.27? I thought it was called encouraging your friend to abandon his crappy car at my house for almost a year!
Ahem.
Atlanta was much fun, for my mother and me, anyway. Charis Books is in Little Five Points, a super-funky part of town. Mom, Caleb, and I took a cab to the bookstore and we arrived with a little time to spare for dinner. I saw a pizza place across the street, and we headed over.
Did I mention that, by this point, Caleb had almost nothing to entertain him for, like, 36 hours? That at one point he had resorted to playing with his own flip-flop? So, it was maybe not the best place to steer a little old man who was getting increasingly cranky. The cashier, while pleasant, had more metal on his face than skin. Only one table was wiped clean. The music was loud, and by the time our pizza got to the table, someone had popped on a death metal CD.
I looked at Mom and Caleb. Mom was gamely nodding her head to the music. Caleb was vibrating with rage. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT'S UNDER THE TABLE?" he asked me. "CHEWED. GUM. ALL UNDER THE TABLE. IT'S DISGUSTING."
Mom popped out some hand sanitizer and soon we had the joint smelling like Bath & Body Works. Caleb grabbed my arm. "PROMISE ME," he hissed, "THAT WE NEVER HAVE TO COME BACK HERE AGAIN."
Luckily, the evening shaped up very quickly. The women at Charis--Kerrie, Stephanie, Amanda, and Angela--sure know how to throw an event. I met so many great people--including the excellent writer Katherine Hester--and the discussion was lively and just fun. Many, many thanks to everyone who came. I could have stayed much, much longer.
Jessica Handler drove us back to the hotel. Jessica has written several things for Brain, Child, but we'd never met in person. I had absolutely no idea how much fun she is! Even Caleb brightened up.We had drinks; Mom and Caleb had carrot cake; and I decided that I'd like to pack Jessica up and install her in Charlottesville.
*
Confidential to Aunt Kathy: Happy Birthday, lady!
Monday, July 16, 2007
Monday, July 9, 2007
Southern Culture
Please come out and see me if you'll be around Atlanta on July 12, or Charlotte on July 14!
The reading/discussion/signing in Atlanta is at Charis Books & More, the largest feminist bookstore in the South, at 1189 Euclid Avenue, NE. I hear--from the great Ruth Candler, former Atlanta resident--great things about Charis and also the neighborhood it's in, Little 5 Points.
In Charlotte, I'll be at Joseph-Beth Booksellers on July 14 at 2 p.m. My sister Krissy lives in Charlotte--she tells me Joseph-Beth is quite snazzy. It's at 4345 Barclay Downs Drive.
*
My very first meme! The fabulous Barbara Card Atkinson (go ahead--read her blog. I'll wait.) tagged me for this. Here are the rules:
1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
Surprisingly, there is still enough fodder for me, Ms. Spill-Yer-Guts, to do this!
1. I once made up a hobby. In elementary school, my teacher decided to display all the hobbies of her students. My actual hobbies were reading and writing (not much visual pizazz, I thought), so I decided I'd become "interested" in copying comics out of the paper. I did a passable Ziggy.
2. The only sort of dance I can do can be best described as a "walking hug."
3. I didn't realize that I was mildly claustrophobic until we took an overnight train to Florida. Once they opened the beds in the sleeping compartment, it was too tight and I spent the night awake-ish in the bar car, playing solitaire.
4. I say things like "The grass needs cut," and, until recently, had no idea that these sorts of phrases are Pittsburghisms.
5. Stephanie and I named the LLC that publishes Brain, Child "March Press" because our first issue came out in March, and also because we're both one of four sisters (like the Marches in Little Women.) Sadly, neither one of us is in the coveted Jo slot.
6. There is such a thing as too spicy.
7. My child didn't know what an iron was until he saw a picture at school.
8. I love Bob Saget, especially in the later years of America's Funniest Home Videos, when he's clearly bitter.
I'm tagging Lauren, Beth, The Mater, Suzanne Kamata, Libby, Kelli, Lilian, and MemeGrl.
*
All right. Off to launder The Flattering Dress!
The reading/discussion/signing in Atlanta is at Charis Books & More, the largest feminist bookstore in the South, at 1189 Euclid Avenue, NE. I hear--from the great Ruth Candler, former Atlanta resident--great things about Charis and also the neighborhood it's in, Little 5 Points.
In Charlotte, I'll be at Joseph-Beth Booksellers on July 14 at 2 p.m. My sister Krissy lives in Charlotte--she tells me Joseph-Beth is quite snazzy. It's at 4345 Barclay Downs Drive.
*
My very first meme! The fabulous Barbara Card Atkinson (go ahead--read her blog. I'll wait.) tagged me for this. Here are the rules:
1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
Surprisingly, there is still enough fodder for me, Ms. Spill-Yer-Guts, to do this!
1. I once made up a hobby. In elementary school, my teacher decided to display all the hobbies of her students. My actual hobbies were reading and writing (not much visual pizazz, I thought), so I decided I'd become "interested" in copying comics out of the paper. I did a passable Ziggy.
2. The only sort of dance I can do can be best described as a "walking hug."
3. I didn't realize that I was mildly claustrophobic until we took an overnight train to Florida. Once they opened the beds in the sleeping compartment, it was too tight and I spent the night awake-ish in the bar car, playing solitaire.
4. I say things like "The grass needs cut," and, until recently, had no idea that these sorts of phrases are Pittsburghisms.
5. Stephanie and I named the LLC that publishes Brain, Child "March Press" because our first issue came out in March, and also because we're both one of four sisters (like the Marches in Little Women.) Sadly, neither one of us is in the coveted Jo slot.
6. There is such a thing as too spicy.
7. My child didn't know what an iron was until he saw a picture at school.
8. I love Bob Saget, especially in the later years of America's Funniest Home Videos, when he's clearly bitter.
I'm tagging Lauren, Beth, The Mater, Suzanne Kamata, Libby, Kelli, Lilian, and MemeGrl.
*
All right. Off to launder The Flattering Dress!
Friday, July 6, 2007
Strike One
I'd had a plan for the blog: to interview people who appear in the book about happiness, self-help, character, luck, all the stuff that make up PPIEW. That might be interesting for people who read and liked the book, I thought. Or for me, at least.
Yesterday afternoon was one of those muggy, mosquito-y, stay-side kind of afternoons, and I thought I'd get the ball rolling. When you start leaving posts from the perspective of your dog, it's time, no?
So I sat down with the principal player in Chapter Four, and guess what? I conducted the whole interview, but no dice on posting it. He says he doesn't want to be "too famous." Oh, those poor Jolie-Pitt sons-a-bitches, you could almost hear him thinking.
Hopefully, everyone else will succumb to my evil fame-making master plan. Because I am that powerful.
Yesterday afternoon was one of those muggy, mosquito-y, stay-side kind of afternoons, and I thought I'd get the ball rolling. When you start leaving posts from the perspective of your dog, it's time, no?
So I sat down with the principal player in Chapter Four, and guess what? I conducted the whole interview, but no dice on posting it. He says he doesn't want to be "too famous." Oh, those poor Jolie-Pitt sons-a-bitches, you could almost hear him thinking.
Hopefully, everyone else will succumb to my evil fame-making master plan. Because I am that powerful.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Simon
Turn-ons: Peanut butter, belly rubs, varmints
Turn-offs: Carrots, thunder, fireworks
Dominant Independence Day memory: "It's okay, baby. Shh. It's okay. Oooh. Did you see that one, Caleb? Really Simon--it's okay. Ooh! A shower--shhh. Simon. Shh. No, you're staying in here. Ooh! Yeah, I liked that one, too. SIMON! Hush! Aah...that's--Good GOD, Simon! It's OKAY! HUSH! It's OKAY! Simon! ... Oh, for Christ's sake, let's just go outside."
My Very Chicago Evening
Our first night in Chicago, Brandon and I were at the hotel bar, enjoying some beer and a spread of bar food when one of the SNL Da Bears guys suddenly made himself heard. Oh, I tease. It wasn't one of those guys, but the prototype. "That Oprah," he kept saying. "She's an institution."
As it turns out, out hotel was right next to the theater running Oprah Winfrey Presents The Color Purple. At that moment, the theater was letting out, and the sidewalks were suddenly filled with well-dressed black women. I thought of the episodes of Oprah when she pops up at viewers' homes and places of work to surprise them. I dipped a Buffalo drummie into the blue cheese. I don't like to get my hopes up, but I decided that would like to play it gracious, should Oprah suddenly appear on the bar stool next to me. I decided that I wanted to be the one viewer who didn't freak out.
I didn't have much time to ponder this, though. The crowd of theater-goers cleared out, and suddenly, from the window, I could see a large white bus. In large block letters: JESUS SAVES TOUR BUS. It struck me a mite apocalyptic.
And, lo, at the end of the world, The Lord will gather his followers in a tour bus and take them to see a theatrical production.
As it turns out, out hotel was right next to the theater running Oprah Winfrey Presents The Color Purple. At that moment, the theater was letting out, and the sidewalks were suddenly filled with well-dressed black women. I thought of the episodes of Oprah when she pops up at viewers' homes and places of work to surprise them. I dipped a Buffalo drummie into the blue cheese. I don't like to get my hopes up, but I decided that would like to play it gracious, should Oprah suddenly appear on the bar stool next to me. I decided that I wanted to be the one viewer who didn't freak out.
I didn't have much time to ponder this, though. The crowd of theater-goers cleared out, and suddenly, from the window, I could see a large white bus. In large block letters: JESUS SAVES TOUR BUS. It struck me a mite apocalyptic.
And, lo, at the end of the world, The Lord will gather his followers in a tour bus and take them to see a theatrical production.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Jonesing
I'm a sucker for many things: foods with the word truffle in them, ghost stories, anything featuring the comedic stylings of Kathy Griffin. But I've been fascinated for a very long time with What If Things Had Turned Out Differently. You can bet your bippy I've seen Sliding Doors more than once. I loved some Choose Your Own Adventure books as a lass. In a way, I based my book on this idea.
One time, when Caleb was three or so, we went out for bagels. I must have been staring off into the distance. "Mama," he said, touching my hand, "are you thinking about dinosaurs?" I was not thinking about dinosaurs, but probably some alternate reality. If things had turned out differently--different choice of mate, different choice of region, different choice of lifestyle--could I still be happy? Could this other Jennifer be happy living on a farm? Could she be happy as a single advertising executive? Could she be happy hugging some other mate hello each evening?
No good answer, right? Sometimes I'd wonder, though, what it would be like if I weren't a mother. Motherhood's dripped into every facet of my life, but I look at some of my friends without kids and their lives are perfectly fulfilling. I wonder sometimes if that could have been me, if things had turned out differently.
I knew that I'd be travelling away from Caleb for a long time--two and a half weeks--a long time for us, anyway. The morning on the day we left, he leaned in to hug me. He hugged me for a long time. He's almost nine now, and he has that almost-nine-year-old heft, his father's broad shoulders, a certain kind of sturdiness. I had to lean back into him to keep us from tipping right over.
About a week into the trip, I got my answer: I cannot be away from the boy that long. On the Metro in D.C., I tried really hard not to stare at a little kid, maybe eight, in his baseball hat, joking with what looked like his grandma. By the time I got to Philadelphia, I'd been away for over two weeks, and I was jonesing bad. Can I just say halleujah for Lauren, John, and their boys? I hadn't seen Jack and Will since they were tiny, and hanging out with them is just what I needed. We played Speed; we played Crazy Eights, then Crazy Tens (Will's idea), but ran out of time before Crazy Queens. (Isn't that a float at Mardi Gras?)
Because of bad weather, Caleb's homecoming was delayed, and delayed again. I got phone calls throughout the day from him. "Hi," he'd sigh. "We're in the airport." WELL DAMN IT! I wanted to roar.
Finally, he got home and I realized that there is no alternate reality. Maybe I could have skipped motherhood, but I already know my Caleb, and there aren't any do-overs. "How'd I get so lucky to be your mama?" I asked him.
"I don't know," he said. "You just did."
One time, when Caleb was three or so, we went out for bagels. I must have been staring off into the distance. "Mama," he said, touching my hand, "are you thinking about dinosaurs?" I was not thinking about dinosaurs, but probably some alternate reality. If things had turned out differently--different choice of mate, different choice of region, different choice of lifestyle--could I still be happy? Could this other Jennifer be happy living on a farm? Could she be happy as a single advertising executive? Could she be happy hugging some other mate hello each evening?
No good answer, right? Sometimes I'd wonder, though, what it would be like if I weren't a mother. Motherhood's dripped into every facet of my life, but I look at some of my friends without kids and their lives are perfectly fulfilling. I wonder sometimes if that could have been me, if things had turned out differently.
I knew that I'd be travelling away from Caleb for a long time--two and a half weeks--a long time for us, anyway. The morning on the day we left, he leaned in to hug me. He hugged me for a long time. He's almost nine now, and he has that almost-nine-year-old heft, his father's broad shoulders, a certain kind of sturdiness. I had to lean back into him to keep us from tipping right over.
About a week into the trip, I got my answer: I cannot be away from the boy that long. On the Metro in D.C., I tried really hard not to stare at a little kid, maybe eight, in his baseball hat, joking with what looked like his grandma. By the time I got to Philadelphia, I'd been away for over two weeks, and I was jonesing bad. Can I just say halleujah for Lauren, John, and their boys? I hadn't seen Jack and Will since they were tiny, and hanging out with them is just what I needed. We played Speed; we played Crazy Eights, then Crazy Tens (Will's idea), but ran out of time before Crazy Queens. (Isn't that a float at Mardi Gras?)
Because of bad weather, Caleb's homecoming was delayed, and delayed again. I got phone calls throughout the day from him. "Hi," he'd sigh. "We're in the airport." WELL DAMN IT! I wanted to roar.
Finally, he got home and I realized that there is no alternate reality. Maybe I could have skipped motherhood, but I already know my Caleb, and there aren't any do-overs. "How'd I get so lucky to be your mama?" I asked him.
"I don't know," he said. "You just did."
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