Archive for May, 2007

tornado alley

Dudes, I am in Oklahoma, and am going on 48 hours of doing so. This is where I spent 8 or so months of  miserable late teen life, a place that should be so much like Texas but is unmistakably not. Not like the South, not like the West, not like anywhere but sprawling, smelly, broken down, like everywhere.

In Davis, which is as much a Niagra Falls of Oklahoma, we went to the drive-thru wilderness park, the place that has commercials on Dallas tv, where in fact you can feed giraffes and zebras out of your car. We ate at the diner with an overweight grown woman waiting tables in CHEER butt shorts, a probably teen dude in a back brace talking to whomever about painkillers and unemployment.

When I went to school and lived in Norman I got drunk and lived in a dorm, and at the time everyone seemed so much older, so permanent in their college-age college town lives.  I saw one of the old-er guys on the street today, wearing a purple t-shirt and a guatemalan vest, balding, but looking the same.

The purpose for all this is a corny regional organization’s corny conference in Oklahoma City, seemingly always in shitty cities. (Like consciously enjoyable cities abound in this part of the country.) Conference hotel is huge rotting structure by the airport, and our room in back had stained carpet in the outdoor breezeway and a feral, crucifix-bearing toddler and an unattended bbq grill ad-hoc installed in the parking lot. I felt justafiably prissy for pulling out, and am anticipating the squawking complaints of the following days.

While I was heading out, I caught the door for a woman coming to the conference, who lives and works in the same city as me. I’ve met her half a dozen times, at least. I said hello and got no reply. She was dressed in sweatpants.

springtime in texas

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Houston’s got these civic styles of commodifying art, experience- based art, beyond recognition, thus separating art as expensive product from the un-commodity of joyful everyday life as a rhetorical exercise on par with highway building and ruthless emminent domain as a way to isolate and insulate the poor. I object!

But listen to these poems written and read by 5th Ward senior ladies about romantic love, natural disasters,
houseplants and cast iron skillets, via a grasping-at-prestige nonprofit via public radio (sponsored by the war n’ oil giants of industry). Seriously touching, although still slightly disconcerting in their delivery.

on mixed marriage

Zaki Chehab, on the survival of Hamas on Democracy Now:

You know, when someone want to get married, he would ask his fiancée if she’s going to be loyal to him, faithful, not going out, respectful, all sorts of things, and she would ask him if he snores and, you know, make certain conditions, because she will say, “Yes, I will marry you,” or he will say, “I will marry,” you know, “you, as well.” So Israel would jump straight and ask for marriage straightaway.

On tonight’s Independent Lens Jehovah’s Witness doc, KNOCKING:

It was always my dream to marry an older Jewish man who smoked a pipe, but who stopped smoking a pipe when he became a Jehovah’s Witness. But I guess he could still be older. 

ISABELLA

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R.I.P.  I wonder sometimes why on earth I would ever read Nancy Mitford, or why I should even be willingly aware of  rich people. This is why- every once in a while one of them makes use of herself for the better.

shut up, mom! (re: unopened pinot grigio, “suggestive” dancing)

T-Pain,

It’s the end of the semester, y’know, and I haven’t checked in, but it’s urgent that I tell you that I know what you are up to! You are, through sloppy alchemy,  combining two genres of pop music: the woeful casual sex wail of top 40 hits of the 1970s,  and the jams about strippers of the 2000s that only make sense when you dance to them at Chances.  It’s okay with me, but you are a cheeseball. This “Ima take you home with MEEEE!” is nothing else but “OH WHAT A NIIIGHT!”

And also, I like how you allude to your basic Gene Hackman fandom with “I luv The Conversation” Who fucking doesn’t? I took a page from Anthony Lane this week and immediately watched Baby Face, I think you’d like it.

xo,

pizza