What books are on your nightstand?
Annabel: An Unconventional Life: The Memoirs of Lady Annabel Goldsmith (I keep reading this out of order, and always end up tearful)
The Ethics of Liberty by Murray Rothbard (solid)
Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro (talk about a page-turner!)
With Nails: The Film Diaries of Richard E Grant (funny and baldly honest, but too much of the ALL CAPS used for EMPHASIS)
Our Bodies, Ourselves (frighteningly stupid when it comes to the politics of socialised healthcare, but a good resource on all the woman stuff - fertility, pregnancy, nutrition, and all aspects of women's health)
I don't go into Oxfam shops very often. (The reasons, briefly: They do much harm in the third world, they don't clearly label their clothes by size, their secondhand books are ludicrously overpriced.) But I wandered into one a month or so ago and, as I was moving to leave, Anchorage came on the sound system. I lingered by the tatty handbags and the filthy bric-a-brac for the next few minutes, until the last note had finished, just so happy to hear that song.
I first heard Anchorage during David Letterman's last week hosting his show (to which I was hopelessly devoted) on NBC back in 1993. That week, he had his favourite bands and musicians on to play his favourite songs, and he had Michelle Shocked come on to sing this. I was completely gobsmacked, and thankful I'd taped the show. I wore that tape out. (That was also the week that, for better or for worse, I discovered 10,000 Maniacs. They performed a storming version of Stockton Gala Days that made me feel as if every cell in my body was vibrating. The next week, they broke up. Story of my life.)
Today, after a lazy morning spent reading and writing in bed, Antoine made us lunch. Then we went out for a walk and a wander around our neighbourhood, around charity shops so I could buy more books, to the market for vegetables and watermelon. I felt - feel - so content, so lucky. We came home, and Antoine watched football while I cooked soup for supper and listened to Anchorage. It was a good day.
I find myself more afraid than I ever have been before in my life - before the baby was born, I like to think I had a healthy dose of paranoia and skepticism - now, the desire to protect Matthew from all things potentially deadly is stronger than I ever anticipated. I used to cross the street when the sign was flashing Don't Walk. Now, I stop and wait patiently for the walk signal to light up before I even step off of the curb. My heart aches when I read newspaper articles about people who do really terrible things to their children, and I tear up. When Matthew was in the hospital for phototherapy treatment, a volunteer from Project Linus came and gave us a blanket for Matthew, and as soon as she left, I cried, because did they know something we didn't know about how sick Matthew was?
-What it's like, by Casey
I want Antoine and I to be parents together so much that it hurts. It hurts a lot, because my suspicion is that it won't happen for us. I have my reasons for thinking this, primary amongst them that I have never wanted anything more in my life. It seems too good ever to happen for us, for me.
A few nights ago, I had the worst, most scary dream of my life. (I know how boring other peoples' dreams are, but I will be brief.) I had two babies, both infants. Suddenly, there was a war happening, and we were right in the middle of it. Bombs were going off all around us, many of them being openly carried by men whose faces I could not make out. I had never been so scared, but I was not scared for me: I was scared for my babies. I was separated from them, and I swear to God that I never felt more sick to my stomach than I did in that dream.
Another man from my hometown was killed in Iraq this week. He's the third from our county, the second from my high school. His mother was one of my customers when I worked in a tanning salon as a teenager, a wonderful, friendly woman.
I try to tell myself that, if we can't have kids, the silver lining will be lots more rest, the ability to live impulsively, and a less expensive life. But Casey says she wouldn't trade the motherhood gig for anything in the world. I believe her. She is right.
I am full of hope, and of something far less pleasant.
After the bank holiday weekend, I head to the Alps on Tuesday to spend the rest of the week at Antoine's parents' summer home near Aix-en-Provence. His mother and I are planning to go down to Monte Carlo and Nice, and to Italy to do some shopping, but I doubt we get to Spain during this trip. I need to spend lots of money to distract me from the scorpions (SCORPIONS!) which live in the mountains. Or at least that's what I'm telling Antoine, who has to stay in London and work.
I guess the fluffy feel of this blog gives me permission to blog stuff I wouldn't write elsewhere, which must be why I feel the need to confess here: If someone told me I could cancel my trip and not lose any money and not disappoint Antoine's parents, I would cancel it and stay in London with Antoine. I hate being apart from him, especially with no work (and, despite what I may have said in the past, shopping is not work) to distract me. Existing with him is just easy, and provides things I don't think words have been created to describe. Plus, I jet off to LA soon after coming home, which is a trip I must make and which I am eager to make, so this one seems a little optional.
So if I should find comfort in the arms of Hermes while I'm there, I expect no one to blame me or even mention it. Okay?
What's the nerdiest thing about you?
I have dreams about using the computer, blogging, Flickr, bloggers, bloggers I haven't met, email, texting, IM, and - years ago - IRC. This may pass for nerdishness with some of my friends, but the coders and engineers would only scoff at me, the sad excuse for a geek.
I know you have it in you.
Ever since I was a kid, if my brother or I complained of being tired, my father would reply mockingly: "TIRED!" Then he'd tell us to go clean our rooms or something. He meant it half-jokingly, but I know he was thinking, "You're not a parent, you don't have full-time jobs, and you have boundless energy. How could you possibly be tired?"
Well, I'm still not a parent, I make my own working hours, and I should have boundless energy. But lately, I'm just plain tired. All the time. If I could sleep for an entire weekend, I would.
Here are the possible explanations I can come up with:
1) I have chronic fatigue syndrome
2) I need to go to bed earlier and sleep later
3) I need to lose 50 pounds
Well, number three is true fo' sheezy, but I don't know if it would make me feel less tired.
Man, my dad was right to mock.
What's your morning beverage of choice? Coffee, tea, juice? Homemade or store-bought?
Juice is full of sugar and lacking in fibre; I am not really a hot drinks person, either. In the morning, I'll have a diet pop, if anything. Usually I don't bother drinking anything until lunchtime, though.
When I do drink coffee, I only drink Ristretto Roasters, the best coffee on earth. Din Johnson, husband of my good friend Nancy Rommelmann, hand roasts it in small batches in his vintage Probat roaster. He's obsessive about his coffee, and his passion has seen Ristretto romp to huge success in less than a year of operation. Seriously, talk to me if you want the hook-up, or order it from their site. It is, as Amy Alkon says, like drinking liquid velvet. (Below, a photo I took of some Ristretto beans prior to grinding.)
Yesterday was Antoine's (41st!) birthday, and we went out for dinner at La Smorfia (local neighbourhood place) and then drinks at Sirous (ditto). I guess we're pretty stupid together, but he cracks me up. (I'm extra stupid for rotating my camera when I made this video. Anyone know how to rotate a .mov video so it's the right way up? I'm challenged.)
Tim Taylor took me for a long, beautiful drive around San Francisco on Saturday in his Mustang convertible. It was an unexpected treat, and one I will remember forever. Thank you, Tim. Above, a very short clip that gives you an idea of what our spin around town was like. (Tim was in the middle of telling me about Johnny Moseley bringing in 100,000 cubic feet of snow for a ski jump in Pacific Heights last summer.)
Tim is a new friend, made thanks to Ben Casnocha and the wonderful pipes and tubes. I'm fortunate to have met him and hope to hang with him again very soon.
