mydarlingcurse.com

Dream Post - read at your own risk.

Post on February 22nd, 2010 by Jodie

I am a person who believes that dreams means something. I have always been a very vivid dreamer. It’s scary sometimes. I scare myself. I also have the ability to remember several dreams, not just one.

Last night I had a dream of the Chicago Cowboy. For those who aren’t familiar with the Chicago Cowboy he’s my big college ex that I’ve tried in all sorts of ways to stay in touch with and remain friends with. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. But a few months ago we broke up. For real. Over e-mail. And unless I reach out to try and mend things, I’ll never from him again. He’s one of those types that doesn’t make an effort ever. He’ll always take your call, but he’ll never call you. He’ll always write back, but never write first. Sometimes this is okay with me, but right now, it’s not.

A part of me will also wonder about the well-being of the Cowboy. I love him. I’ll always want him to be okay. But I can’t make him okay. I can’t make him anything, I don’t want to.

The dream was brief and realistic. We were face to face saying goodbye. I was leaving somewhere, somewhere far. And he simply reached out and touched my face. Usually this kind of tenderness from him would cause me to try and get into contact with him. I would feel like he needed me. But maybe that was all a bunch of crap and self-projection. Him not needing me, me needing him. And today I release all of that. Today, maybe it doesn’t mean anything.

And I get the irony that while it might not mean anything I’m posting about it, so it must mean something. Maybe. But I already feel better getting it out there and not feel the need to mention him again. So welcome to the list of other losers that I will not give any more time, energy, or thought about.

Names Never Again Mentioned Here:
~~Sarah Palin~~
~~Octomom~~
~~Chicago Cowboy~~

Category just the day, dreams | No Comments →

Iowa redeems itself

Post on February 19th, 2010 by Jodie

Down in Iowa. Brought The Boo with me for a little girl time. Visiting my Aunt down here resets my batteries. It’s a lot of lounging around talking and drinking wine. Her house is warm and welcoming with a great view. Boo is having a blast and I appreciate this time with all of us on many different levels.

I love talking about my family and catching up. I also love the fact that I can talk about my Mom in such a safe way. Like it can be good or bad and I can cry or we can laugh together and it’s all okay.

Category Worst Trip to Iowa EVA! | No Comments →

Happy Dick Day!

Post on February 14th, 2010 by Jodie

The Vet is a Winter Olympics fanatic. She loves it, it’s insane. She’s been like that since high school. In 1988, I was sleeping over at her house the weekend before Valentine’s Day. We were lounging around her living room with her Mom watching the games and making valentines. I can’t remember if it was hockey or ice skating that we were watching but Dick Buttons was doing the commentary. The three of us were so engrossed in the games that The Vet’s Mom wrote “Happy Dick Day” on one of the valentines. We all laughed until we cried. It’s a great memory of friendship and love.

Hubbin and I are not breaking with tradition tonight, even though we have one of the little french girls sleeping over. We’re all heading to The Tower for pizza. I don’t remember last year’s Valentine’s dinner there, but the year before was a hoot.

So Happy Dick Day darlings.

Category just the day | No Comments →

The love continues for Jonathan Carroll

Post on February 12th, 2010 by Jodie

Mr. Carroll’s words mesmerize me. The world is a much brighter place for me because of his talent and generosity. This caught my attention today.

“The mind is like a detective– it wants facts and figures. But the heart, its perennial sidekick, keeps shaking its head and smiling: There was no way in the world they were going to find the facts and crack this case.” - from his blog post 2.4.

Category just the day, Jonathan Carroll | Comments Off

A Common Pornography: A Memoir by Kevin Sampsell

Post on February 11th, 2010 by Jodie

Many thanks to Mr. Sampsell for putting me on the list to receive his book. My apologies for not getting to read it fast enough and for not writing this review sooner.

I know nothing of Kevin Sampsell. I’d never heard of him or his publishing house - Future Tense Publishing - before the Crybaby Publicist* put me in touch with him. So I came into A Common Pornography a blank slate. I must say how grateful I am that Mr. Sampsell totes his book as a “memory experiment”. Memoir is a tricky genre, I usually shy away from it. Often times memories are presented as fact rather than an extremely opinionated view of events. Writers of memoir will say, all this happened, but I changed some of it. Bah! But reading A Common Pornography is like sitting on a couch with Kevin Sampsell and you only have an hour before someone walks in you, so he opens a photo album and starts flipping through the pictures at a rapid pace, giving the reader only the slightest context of each scene before moving on to the next shot.

What prompted the writing of A Common Pornography was the death of Mr. Sampsell’s father. During the time Mr. Sampsell returns home for the funeral he learns horrors about his father and one of his siblings. That’s all I’ll say about that because that seems to be the hook for the book. What I found however was that these atrocities were still so fresh for Mr. Sampsell that he can barely talk about them. And the events themselves take up very little time or energy in the book. Instead Mr. Sampsell frames his early life by these events and what he sticks in-between is the crappy, fluffy, filling you find in Twinkies or Oreos. His own story was not that out of the ordinary to write an entire book about. But I can understand why he wanted to try. What happens within Mr. Sampsell’s family is pure evil, but it’s not really his story to tell since he wasn’t remotely involved. So we just get mention of these horrible events and lots and lots of quick quirky little blurbs about being a teenager, liking girls, drinking, wanting to be in a band, and getting jacked-off by other guys. None of which is really outstanding or touching. Mr. Sampsell writes away from himself giving us only the memory - the picture - and then somehow removing all emotion from the telling of the tale. For a book written about his life, I still don’t feel like I know anything about him.

Because A Common Pornography was written as a memory experiment, the memories or snapshots aren’t that long, nor are they explored at any length. For lack of a better word you could say that this book was broken up into “chapters”, but I hesitate to say it that way. The titles of each chapter or memory seem more like words hastily written on the back of a photograph. Then you flip the picture over and see two kids playing air guitar or a young man getting a hand-job on a couch. And no matter how long you look at that photograph it only gives you a certain amount of information. There are no little clues or hidden meanings. It is what it is.

Make no mistake, Mr. Sampsell is a deft and talented writer. It takes an immeasurable amount of courage to put the best and worst of yourself down on paper; to pop open the secrets of your family like a can of new tennis balls. And the style in which A Common Pornography was written is quite fresh. But I feel that Mr. Sampsell keeps his readers at arms length, almost as a warning; as if to say,here is all the really bad stuff - if you still like me after this, then we’ll talk. Okay man, let’s talk.

(*The Crybaby Publicist contacted me through Bookclub Bitches and sent me a book. When the review/podcast was not to her liking she sent me an e-mail telling me how she didn’t like the way BCB did things. Obviously, she didn’t research BCB at alll since we’re pretty obvious about what we do and pretty open about the BILF system. She stomped her foot and said she wasn’t going to send us anything more (fine with me), but before that she put me in touch with Mr. Sampsell. So something really great came out of the whole thing.)

Category books, bitch!, Kevin Sampsell, A Common Pornography: a memoir | No Comments →

The Babysitter scene

Post on February 10th, 2010 by Jodie

I hate to gush about a TV show, because it makes me feel really insipid. Oh I love this show so much I have to BLOG about it, it feels pathetic in a stay-at-home-mom way that just makes me cringe. At least it’s not about Oprah.

I was watching Twin Peaks last night and I got to the episode (ep. 14 or 15) when Ben Horne is in jail for Laura Palmer’s murder and his brother Jerry comes to visit. There are bunk beds in Ben’s cell and Jerry says, Ben remember? Me on the top bunk, you on the bottom bunk and Louise Dembowski dancing on the hook rug with a flashlight? Then the scene changes and this Angelo Badalamenti 50’s-rock music starts playing and it’s about a minute of this girl in bobby socks dancing slow-mo with a flashlight and it’s one of those moments from childhood that is so wonderful and sweet it makes your heart swell. Ben and Jerry pause and look off in the distance sighing and smiling, thinking of an easier time. Then Jerry says, Lord, what’s become of us? And we’re back in the jail cell with two men who aren’t nearly as successful as they think they are.

It is one of my favorite scenes from the series and I had completely forgotten about it. It is the antitheses of the whole Twin Peaks series and David Lynch’s filmmaking philosophy. In jail for murder, flooded by this great memory. Aching for a simpler time, for a chance to go back and make things right. Having no choice but to move ahead toward your doomed fate. All of Lynch’s characters are doomed on Twin Peaks. All of them. Every single one. Even my beloved Agent Cooper.

I used to think that the whole world was like that. That no matter what we did, we were doomed, more specifically damned. But we aren’t. There is an abundance of love in my life and with the slightest effort I can open my mind and receive it. We all can. No matter how bad your day, there is a moment of love waiting for you. Be open. Be ready.

Category just the day, the love i have for you, the revolution will not be televised, dorkdom | No Comments →

Starting the year off right

Post on February 7th, 2010 by Jodie

Every year I participate in the Barnes and Noble Gift Wrap for charity. And every year I get about ten new book ideas and recommendations. Two years ago it was Christopher Moore’s Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal - you can listen to the BCB podcast here. Last year I only had two shifts and didn’t talk to anyone at length about what they were reading.

This year, I spoke with an older woman - a bookstore favorite of mine. She has longer grey hair, glasses, always has a pen and some kleenex and she probably is into pottery or owns a loom she brought back from Paraguay. I know you know the type. This year, she recommended Mister Pip by Lloyd Jones. She said, I’ve been in a bookclub for over twenty years and this book provided us with our best, most meaningful discussion, ever. I was sold. It was the first book I read in 2010.

Mister Pip is the story of thirteen-year old Matilda and her small village on a tropical island. Due to tribal/civil war most of the village has left, most of the boys have gone to war. Children roam with stray dogs with no school or teachers until one man steps up and decides to open the school again. This man happens to be the only white guy in the village, and the only thing he has to teach is a battered copy of Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations.

What is so lovely about Mister Pip is that you don’t need to have previous experience with Dickens or Great Expectations. Part of the charm of Mr. Jones’s book is that Matilda discovers Pip’s story along with the reader. Having no experience with Charles Dickens myself, this was a huge relief. As a common reader, you shouldn’t have to read one book to enjoy another. In Mister Pip, Jones gives us a great example of basing a novel on a previous classic and having his work stand on its own merit (without zombies or sea-monsters).

At the core of Mister Pip is inspiration and imagination, and ultimately the dangers of both. Mr. Watts is the lone white man of the village who reopens the school. As he begins to read Great Expectations he expands the understanding and imagination of the few island kids who attend his school. Among the blossoming minds is young Matilda - who takes Mr. Watts and Pip into her heart and soul. She is so desperate for knowledge, love and inspiration and she connects so deeply with Pip, that she builds a shrine to Pip on the beach - spelling his name with shells and stones. When rebels enter the village they discover the shrine and demand to know who this “Pip” is. In a grand and noble misunderstanding terror and tragedy ensue.

Very few books surprise me, but there comes a moment in Mister Pip that literally made me cry out. In retrospect, I knew it was coming. It can happen no other way. Yet I was still surprised and heart-broken when it happened. That kind of writing and storytelling is very special. If you’ve never read Dickens or Great Expectations, or if you have and loved it or hated it; Mister Pip does not alienate any reader. Jones’s writing is splendid. This book is a beautiful tragedy.

Category books, Mister Pip, Lloyd Jones | No Comments →

The hidey hole - variations

Post on February 7th, 2010 by Jodie

So, it’s be quiet here lately. Yeah. And here’s the thing, I don’t want this to be my virtual tampon for every gush of something wrong or unpleasant. I mean, let’s get down to brass tacks here. I am a housewife, mother of two. I spend my days with a rambunctious two-year old who is at the stage where every time you say “No” or do something he does not like - he throws a huge screaming and crying fit. Seriously, it looks like the kid has been tasered when he gets going. It’s awful and something you just have to ride out. But it’s draining as well.

This is also a hard time of year for me. My brother died on February 5 2007. He celebrated his last birthday in the hospital. My parents’ wedding anniversary is around this time too. My Dad and Annie Oakley just got back from two weeks in Mexico. I guess that’s how he deals with it. Granted there are no right or wrong ways to dealing with death. Running off to a beach with your girlfriend and buddies pisses me off, but it must make him feel better. And I don’t agree with him just taking off. My cousin and my niece have a really hard time with all this death in the family. He could at least be around to call his grandkids - especially the two who lost their father. I understand that you need to take care of yourself. You need to cope and grieve. But as head of the family - which he reminds us all of so frequently - he needs to reach out and help others heal as well.

In unrelated news, I hate that today is Super Bowl Sunday. I am still so mad and hurt by the Vikings loss that I swear and choke up still when I talk about it. And here is why everyone is so broken up about it. This is the closest we will get to it. This was the year, this was the team, this was the QB. Chickenshit Childress had no answer or strategy for the Saints’ “Let’s Get Favre” defense and he should have. They fucking talked about it all goddamn week on ESPN. All the fucking time you heard “N.O. is going to force the turnover, the are going to attack Favre and try and strip the ball.” I head that shit every day!! Was Childress deaf to it? I hate it, hate it, hate it when games come down to a field goal. Because when that happens it means you fucking up some sweet opportunity earlier in the game and now you’re not play as a team, you’re counting on one guy. I was there at the Dome in 1998 when we missed the FG against Atlanta. It was awful. I’ve never recovered. And when the Vikings were gearing up for the FG….the FG that would have sent them to the Super Bowl I knew deep in my bones that they would fuck it up. I KNEW IT! Hubbin and I were pacing and clenching our fists and I had tears, seriously. And when it all went to hell I wanted to punch the TV and then stick my bloody hand in salt and lemon juice. I wanted to put a toothpick in my eye. I wanted to kick every single O-Line guy in the throat and then in the nuts. I wanted to box ears. I don’t give a fuck that N.O. has never been to the Super Bowl. I don’t care about healing the city or whatever. I want to peel the skin off of every FB friend who is rooting for N.O. I take some comfort in the fact that no way do they have a chance to win. But it should be us. A dear friend really, really, really, wants us to come over for the game and I don’t want to. I just don’t care. Sorry.

A few good things - it’s been about 30 days since my last cigarette. I think about smoking maybe once a day, but nothing is tipping the scales one way or another. Which is good. I coordinated a Bake Sale at Boo’s French school. We made about $700 in three days. I’m really proud of that. We are working on going to Arizona and I might take Boo down to Iowa during her February break. It was this time last year that I had emergency surgery down there. Oye!

Category just the day, fam damnly | No Comments →

Dinner with friends

Post on January 30th, 2010 by Jodie

Sometimes it’s the simple things that fill me with joy and extreme contentment. Like hosting a dinner with some wonderful friends. My BFF, her crack-up hubbin, my hubbin, Il Pirata, his lovely wife and I are all going to have an adult meal with no kids. The stars indeed are aligned.

On the menu - because you know how I like lists….

Brie en Croute with fresh grapes, toasted nuts and crackers
Spinach Quiche (and Quiche Lorianne).
Roasted potatoes and parsnips with herbs and tomatoes
some kind of funky salad
asparagus
fresh bread
and
The BFF is bring dessert…

Pair all this with some delicious wine and some belly laughs and it will be on par with NYE. Except Lori wouldn’t be showing off her wet t-shirt skills and let’s face it, that really was a highlight.

Category just the day, the love i have for you, lists | No Comments →

Sticks and stones

Post on January 22nd, 2010 by Jodie

I had to dive into this after being absent for about a week, but oh well.

I read an update on FB about a friend whose daughter was the target of some name calling on the school bus. I guess the parent called the school, the school social worker and some other parents. Obviously this sparked quite the comment flurry and since I don’t know the person well enough to comment on FB, I do have my own experience to share.

As a kid I was gross, fat and greasy. And not much has changed, believe me. I was picked on quite a bit. My father is blind and that caused a lot of name calling, looking back I was a real easy target. Being that I went to the neighborhood school, I walked to school every day. I’d walk up my North Minneapolis alley and memorize where the cracks were, where puddles formed, the backs of garages and what flowers people planted. Then I’d schlep two and half blocks up and be at school. The whole journey took ten minutes.

There was a kid on my block, Mike, who would ambush me in the alley several times a week. Name calling and hitting. I’d go home with scrapes and bloody noses and my Mom would call Mike’s Mom and try to “work it out”. Mike’s older brother Tony had leukemia. And even with phone calls nothing much changed. One day Mike really clocked me on the side of the head/corner of my eye. My Mom called Mike’s Mom, but my Dad cried Bullshit. Dad and my brother Randy, took me out back, behind the garage where my Mom couldn’t see and they taught me how to throw a punch; thumb on the outside, don’t just swing your arm, but channel your energy from your shoulder and then explode out. Then they took turns holding up there hands for me to hit. I remember my Dad saying the next time Mike bothered me to “sock him, right in the gut”. And two days later that’s just what I did.
Mike had me pinned up against the back of his garage. I balled my fist - thumb on the outside - and thwunked Mike in the gut. He dropped like a brick and I ran home, scared and proud. Mike never bothered me again.

This is not to say that violence is the answer. It is not. Violence to me is large scale, unlawful, and meant to terrorize. Defending oneself is different. As a parent I’d hope to teach my children to have thick skin and ignore the chatter of idiots. But being a kid is hard and kids listen to other kids. But I’d hope to teach my kids how to cope with name calling and other kid-dom injustices. Getting all riled up and calling the school seems like a such a temporary fix to me. Gun in a locker, yeah call the school. Name calling on the bus, it’s gonna happen. Can we call our kids’ boyfriends and girlfriends when they treat our kids unfairly? Can we call their boss and co-workers because they don’t appreciate our child as much as they should? No. But we can give our kids coping skills and other tools to help them stand-up for themselves. Defending our kids is natural. HOW DARE THEY! Right? I get it. But stupidity and injustices happen all the time, everywhere. Yes, we need to work to change it, but we also need to accept the reality of it and not let it destroy us.

Mike could have annihilated my spirit. He came close, I’m sure. But we need to make sure our kids know, especially girls, that even though no one can take that from them, they may have to fight for it. And that’s okay. Just remember, thumb on the outside.

Category just the day | Comments Off

Dream Post - read at your own risk.

Iowa redeems itself

Happy Dick Day!

The love continues for Jonathan Carroll

A Common Pornography: A Memoir by Kevin Sampsell

The Babysitter scene

Starting the year off right

The hidey hole - variations

Dinner with friends

Sticks and stones

Greetings My Darlings

Tweety Pie

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