Nom de Plume

I got a very nice e-mail complimenting the blog–and then asking whether I would mention a book from a small literary printing press with no marketing budget.

I thought this was strange.

I’m sure it’s a great novel. (Aren’t they all?) But I am, like, 30 books behind on the reviewing cycle. And I really, really want to give a plug to a fellow writer who’s actually finished the damn thing. BUT.

Is it just me or is it really presumptuous to e-mail a stranger and ask her to mention your newly-released book? What about directing the aforementioned stranger to the library to get a copy of the book (blithely noting that if they don’t have it, they can order it for you)?

Yep. Pain in the derriere. Not going to do it.

On the other hand, if you want to send me your book, let’s talk.

I thought it was entertaining that this was posted on Craig’s List, of all places.

TEMPORARY JOB ON SHEEP AND TIBETAN YAK RANCH

I have a friend in Idaho that needs temporary help next month on his sheep and yak ranch. His name is Joe, and he owns hundreds of sheep and a small herd of Tibetan Yak. Starting the beginning of next month, his sheep will start to have their lambs and he will be going around the clock and needs help! He needs help for most of the month of May.Chores include some cooking and house cleaning, and then being available to help Joe with lambing - for example, might need to hold the animal, etc, but not expected to be able to pull a lamb!
Person does not have to have livestock experience, but that would be a plus! Job is in Howe , ID.

with our little L.A. Water thingie plunged into the rock pathway.

But check out these truly amazing manhole covers from Japan.

See the whole gallery. Via core77

Move over “What kind of alien lover are you.” Sayonara “What is your Star Trek horoscope.”

That’s because I am officially …

… William Wordsworth! You get a bad rap
these days, alas. Many people think you
oppressed Coleridge, but there really isn’t
much proof. You may have oppressed the women
in your life, but hey, everyone was doing it.
You honestly love nature, and admire an
aesthetic of simplicity and honesty. You love
Milton and human freedom, though some say you
sold out in the end. Oh dear. But you left us
“Tintern Abby” and “The Solitary
Reaper,” bless your heart.

Which Major Romantic Poet Would You Be (if You Were a Major Romantic Poet)?
brought to you by Quizilla

A burning question, I know.

This is Steve’s first attempt at making beer. I suggested calling it Pug Pilsner, but he looked down his nose at me and loftily explained that it was a bitter.

From the inbox:

Hey Zia,
My tale: I used the new Google Local to find trailer hitches in Seattle. My daughter and grandkids are moving to Portland, and I’ll do some hauling for them. I got a bunch of hits on U-haul, of course, but I like to buy locally so I noted the hit on Ballard Muffler. The guy wanted a deposit so I rode up there and gave him $50.00 cash, because his card reader didn’t work.

The place looked very dirty, and there was a very “Deliverance” looking guy staring at me from the back of a ‘60 Chev pickup. The creep factor was arching to the right.

I’m scheduled to take the car in tomorrow morning for the installation, and I was getting a bit antsy. Then two things happened. I was relaying this tale to a friend who responded that he has always had good luck with the small businesses in Ballard.

And, a search for “ballard Muffler” took me to your blog and your happy tale.
I feel much better.

But, same friend and I were wondering something. If you have a 2002 BMW , whouldn’t the muffler be covered under warranty? The car is only 2.5 years old.

It’s really hard to justify the $600 for a Kamado grill, so I’m sure the Eva Solo grill is even more out of the question. But isn’t it pretty? Of course, we would be in danger of veering into the unbearably hip with this–and I’d have to haunt PCC for organic goods … (see previous post).

link

Funny that I just finished a novel about Orthodox Jews and Reformed Orthodox (I think that’s the term and yes, I PLAN to catch up on book reviews at some point), which goes into kosher and triefe and all that happy jazz.

Why, you ask? Because I went to PCC and was astounded by the sheer religiosity of the segregated scoops.

So for those of you who don’t know Seattle, PCC is a chain of health food stores where people fall into one of two camps: 1) They are vegan terrorists; or 2) They are ultra hip.

Because let’s face it. Most of the people buying organic stuff don’t really care that much about being organic. They care about being PC. They recycle religiously, they bemoan the use of pesticides, they hate Bush pillaging Alaskan oil fields. Of course, a lot of them drive Hummers and live in 3,000 sq. ft. houses too but that’s beside the point.

So I ran to PCC last night to pick up some tea from the bulk foods section. Most of their herbs, teas, spices and so forth are proudly emblazoned with those two magic words: Certified Organic. But lurking on the shelves were a couple of shamefaced commercial varieties.

Oh the horror. You mean my certified organic scoop could be contaminated?

Actually, no.

PCC has solved this pressing dilemma by providing not one, but two sets of scoops. One organic, the other not. Not only that, but the buckets were placed as far away from each other as possible.

Seriously.

Which is, in my mind, taking things a little too far. I admit to being a wannabe cool person. I admit to buying organic. (Well, when it’s cheap.) I admit to getting caught up in the whole Dwell magazine, yoga, buy local thing.

But if the 80s and 90s were about excess, the 00s are about justifying the excess with a backbreakingly expensive minimalism. Where are the gods? Where are the heroes? Its actually kind of sad that people feel so disconnected that organic is no longer something you buy; it’s something you worhsip. And the rituals that once surrounded religion are now found in the segregated counter of the organic scoops.

even though someone has WAYYYY too much time on his hands.

via the Seattle writergrrls listserve

and how could I possibly forget this, also by Nicki?

Our neighbor, Nicki Hitz Edson, creates some of the most beautiful fiber art I’ve ever seen, including wall hangings and kimonos. A lot of her work has the same aesthetics found in Japanese prints–and so I love them. Alas, I can’t afford anything she does, although I really want to buy one of the kimonos for my mother. Perhaps one of these days … But in the meantime, I must content myself with posting some of her work.

See more at her web site.

Having flowers around the house always makes one feel good. I usually have to buy my own (ahem), but these mammoth lilies are from the garden.

The dog’s asleep on my feet, my plants are thriving now that I’ve poisoned all the slugs that were munching all the green, and I FINALLY (after nine months) have a room of my own.

At least that’s what Steve keeps telling me.

The story boggles the imagination.

1) Jennifer Wilbanks has a lavish wedding planned to a loving, caring man (who, granted, seems a little clingy).

2) She disappears right before the wedding, leaving family and fiancee utterly frantic. Her community combs the area fearing the worst; her family offers a reward. They spend sleepless nights.

3) Riiiing. Riiing. “Hi Mom? Dad? I’m in New Mexico. Oh, and by the way, a Hispanic male may have abducted me.”

4) Her fiancee blathers on about how he made his commitment to her the day he put a ring on her finger. Oh the mounting pressure: he still wants to marry her. “DARN!”

5) “Well, maybe a Hispanic male DIDN’T abduct me. Why are there people camped out on the lawn with placards?”

6) She denies having wedding jitters, instead citing various problems she needs to work through. “I’m running from myself,” she says.

7) Her community wants her to apologize and pay them back for the search.

“Oh, but I have problems!”

9) Apparently shoplifting is one of them.

10) She checks in to a treatment center. We’re still not really sure what her problems are. But we know one thing for sure: her wedding is on hold.

Steve showed up Friday evening with a beer making kit. He carted in two large buckets, malt, some mix, a siphon, tubing, and 300 bottlecaps.

“Didn’t you buy the bottles?” I asked.

“No, I’m recycling,” he said proudly. And then brought in two cases of beer.

I finally returned this to the library, albeit reluctantly. I dream of making my own cold-process soap. I’ve checked this out twice in the past year, and resolve I’m going to do it. And then I imagine slopping lye all over myself. Sigh.

Arlene and Paul Tobler give up teaching to run the Tobler family farm after Paul’s father dies. Now in their fifties, Arlene is accustomed to the silence of their marriage and of the careful frugality of a family farm that exists from crop to crop. But she is also aware of what she has given up.

In their circle of friends, who gather for cards and chitchat, Nancy and Burton are conducting a clandestine affair. Nancy’s husband Harvey confronts the lovers one night and pulls out a gun. Although the sin is Nancy’s and Burton’s, they don’t pay the price.

Full of uneasy silences, Wilson’s novel is haunting–especially the first part, told from Arlene’s point of view. This was a novella in and of itself.

But then it continued. I initially had reservations about the second section, which is told by Nancy. Completely different from Arlene–willfully blind, haplessly female, and completely uneducated–the continuation of the story takes off with Nancy and Burton married. Violence once again erupts; again they don’t pay the price. At least at first.

Recommend.

On a final note: Most of the time, you can tell when someone of the opposite sex has written from the other gender’s POV. Not in this case.

Look at Wayne’s garden. How do you beat that?