The wealth of artists

Is not in their paintings' value, nor their notoriety.

I inherited my grandmother's art supplies and her dining room table. A grand irony, as I used to paint at my dining room table, which was formica with chrome legs and didn't suffer a little paint. The new dining room table is striated wood, perfectly crafted with a beautiful gear mechanism for expanding to add table leaves. It's something I fear to eat from, let alone paint upon.

So, with a wealth of supplies: oil paints and oil brushes, three handfuls of watercolor brushes and two fresh, still-wrapped canvases, I find myself perplexed at where to put this wealth.

A friend once said "Djavla fan, vad ska jag gora med all dom har grejorna?" (Which, when translated from the Swedish, means "What am I going to do with all this stuff?" and I'm glad to make use of it now because I couldn't quite determine the context then.)

For now, there are paintbrushes growing from bud vases and Ball jars in my living room. There's a half-finished portrait the new-to-me easel.

And a dining room table for eating and imagining conversations we never had.

Why I prefer Ben, Jerry and Jed Bartlett to my peers

I went to a party tonight that one of my salsa classmates was throwing. A backyard, grill-out, Memorial Day kind of thing in the far south suburbs.

I thought it was nice of him to think to invite me. Besides, he seemed pretty nice in class, and isn't half bad-looking, either. So I thought I'd go and expand my social circle.

I should have saved myself the trip.

I'm an introvert with an intellectual streak. I use words like "metamerism." I like to talk about politics and theology and current events. I also like to talk about art, culture and music. I like to visit new places, meet new people and eat new food. I've been good-naturedly called a snob (to my face, who-knows-what behind my back).

You'd think I could have found at least one person at the party who shared one or more of those interests.

Instead, I learned that "muthaf***a" can be used as just about any part of speech. I also learned that someone can live in a very diverse neighborhood and still be a racist. (I don't know why this surprised me, but it did.) I learned that talking about porn and one's, um, "undercarriage" (as it was so elegantly euphemized) can fill two whole hours. Oh, and that joking about misogyny is still funny.

I like guys. Many of my friends are guys. I guess I didn't fully appreciate how blessed I am to have guy-friends who are so mature. Sure, many of them think the word "butt" is funny. So do I. When we discuss world affairs, none of them advocates killing an entire population of people.

So, thanks to my guy-friends: Stephen, Gabi, Ben, Brian, Rob, Matt, Mike, David, Dave, Benjie, Gabi, Brad and Chris. Thank you for being the good guys who give me hope that there's someone out there who will not treat me as if I'm property, who won't be threatened by my gay friends and who will enjoy exploring and celebrating the contributions of our fellow travelers on this fascinating planet.

I'd planned to spend this evening with new friends. Instead, it's the old ones. A pint of cookie-dough ice cream and the staff of The West Wing.

Underarm Waxing: $17. Confidence: Priceless.

(Tonight's workout CD: Putumayo's: Arabic Groove)

Men, you don't know what you're missing.

Stacy escorted me into one of the salon's back rooms, which was full of posters about the benefits of electrolysis and illustration of hair follicles.

Do you remember Dr. Nick from Simpsons? Imagine what a Dr.-Nick-owned day spa might resemble.

I stared at the cheesy clouds-on-blue-sky ceiling, trying to act as though it was completely normal for Stacy to assess the length of my underarm hair.

"Well, it's not really long enough, but we'll try anyhow," Stacy said. "You should have grown it a little longer for the first time, becasue those follicles have been hanging on to that strand of hair for your whole life, and they're going to be real pissed off. You might have some follicle bleeding afterwards, but that's normal."

Oh, great, I think. Not only has she anthropomorphized my follicles, but they're going to bleed.

Stacy contorted my arm over my head so she could apply the wax.

Not just any wax — mind you — the new experimental wax the salon is testing. It was pink and smelled nice. I think I'll ask for it next time. It took half as many cloth yanks as the blue stuff she tried on the other armpit.

It didn't sting like Stacy predicted. Even after the antiseptic lotion was applied.

"Okay, now, you're going to need to come back in two weeks," Stacy says. "So we can get your second hair cycle."

Two weeks?

Perhaps this is more than I bargained for.

I'll show you fear in a handful of dust …

(Tonight's workout CD: Suede Chain: Ripplemark)

It's deadline at work, and my co-worker Julie remarked that I seemed to be in a good mood. That's incongruous.

Perhaps it's that the harder I work, the more easily the poetry comes to me.

Perhaps, it's simply that I'm writing poetry again.

Mathematics for poets

(Tonight's workout CD: Putumayo's Arabic Groove)

I've realized that there is an inverse proportion between my creativity and the time I have available for creative pursuits.

There are poems to be written about traincars stacked double-high and swaying their way from your hometown to mine; about the rivers and roads between us; and the April hail we conjured with our kisses a year and a month ago.

There are paintings to be done, in black and blue, of beautiful bodies wearing only emotion.

There are photos to practice, to remember the day years from now. And a photographer who will smile at you from behind the camera, because through the lens she sees you as possibility and promise. And she's not very good at flirting, otherwise.

There are thousands of novels to be dreamed. Snippets of real-life conversation to be transformed to pure fictional gold. Surely the hateful words can become great literature. What other worth have they?

But tonight, I'll read for class. I'll learn new words, like reified, noumenal and soteriological. Not the words of great literature …

Cardamom, rosemary, sumaq, coriander and crushed red peppers

It doesn't have quite the ring of a Simon and Garfunkel tune, but I've decided those are my five favorite spices.

Why?

While scouring the kitchen, I was dismayed at the sight of my overcrowded spice rack. Bottles teetered precariously on others, the white mustard poised for another tumble into the dishwater.

Then I remembered. The Christmas gift I couldn't bring myself to give J. last year, because he was being distant and noncommittal around Christmas.

So, instead, he received from me a book of James Bond movie posters. Something to match his mystery and attitude.

Our relationship improved for a few weeks.

In late January, I'd removed the blue Christmas paper and re-wrapped it in bright red for Valentine's Day, just in time for him to start acting distant and noncommittal again. Again, my insecurities about our relationship surfaced, and I dreaded giving him something so nice, so domestic.

So back into the closet it went, to wait for the next appropriate holiday.

And then we broke up.

I've just now torn off the shiny red paper and silver ribbon. Happy Valentine's Day to me, three months late! Alas, the solution to my overcrowded kitchen. Five round, glass-lidded chrome spice containers with magnetic bases that adhere to a chrome panel. It's beautiful.

What's blog?

Hey, Bryan, that's for you! Last night was kebabs with spackle-sauce, sweet corn and Rummikub (with sound effects). We watched the technical category awards, but we didn't see Monika on the Daytime Emmys.

Oh, wait: I forgot something:

(Today's workout accompaniment: NPR's Saturday programming)

I'm counting scouring and vacuuming my apartment as today's workout.

I've lived in this airy, light-filled, funky apartment for almost three years. I've never rearranged the living room furniture. I have a beautiful new kitchen table arriving shortly (courtesy of Grandma), so I decided to mix things up … and then discovered the arrangement of my bar, bookshelves, couch and endtables cannot be improved.

Grandma was an artist. The painting of hers that I chose fits beautifully in my dining area, right above where her table will go. It's a pale pink dogwood against green foliage and set in an elliptical gold frame.

There are new photos from my March trip to Sedona, ready for display in the living room.

And a pile of books for my seminary class to read once the apartment is clean.

I have to give up my addiction to Harry Potter fan fiction for at least a month, or until I have these books read for class.

Adventures in economics

It's either nine brand-name bay leaves for $2.19 or a quarter pound of local-grocery brand for $1.40.

Accept ambiguity

Took a personal day away from the office to clean my house and run errands today. My seminary course begins tonight, so I know I won't have time for much else once it begins.

While cleaning, I found a card from the "52 Ways to Find True Love" deck my dad bought me a few years ago.

It reads: "Accept ambiguity."

Anyone who knows me knows I'm not very good at ambiguity or uncertainty. If I don't know where I stand, I'd rather walk than live with the unknowing. I take people seriously, and I have no patience for those who don't.

You will receive good news from far away

(Tonight's workout CD: Over The Rhine: Eve)

Two friends from far away called tonight.

Kella, who's really brave. Even though it's been almost a year since I've seen her, I recognized her voice on the phone. I love that!

Straz, a high school friend who called to tell me to save July 2, 2005 because that's the day he's getting married.

Fast-forward*

(Tonight's workout CD: Suede Chain: Ripplemark)

Sometime in late March, my life sped up.

I spent seven consecutive weekends away from home.

This past weekend was my first since before I'd left for Germany to do errands, clean my apartment and take care of other household chores. I had a pile of ironing, groceries to restock, winter sweaters to pack away for the summer.

Did I do everything on my list? No. I accomplished a lot. I also took a nap, caught up with some friends and took care of myself.

I'm still exhausted. And I'm sad, because the weight of everything that's happened recently is catching up with me. But never fear, I'm starting a seminary class this Wednesday, so soon I won't have time to think, again.


* For any Gen-Y or younger readers: Fast-forward was the way we old folks used to advance to the next song on our cassette tapes.

Her: Do you need some help?

Me: Nope, I'm finding everything I need, thanks.

Her: Well, it's not often we have customers who wear fishnet stockings in the "outdoors" section.

Had tapas for dinner …

and two glasses of sangria. Crab cakes and mushrooms do not dinner make. Off to raid the fridge.

But before I go …

Has anyone seen "Return to me," that movie with David Duchovny and Minnie Driver? This will wreck the bad-ass image I'm trying so hard to cultivate, but it's one of my favorite movies. I could watch it every week and not tire of it, despite the fact that the plot is completely predictable.

Anyhow, remember the scene with "water lady" Marcia? I have this shirt that I've come to realize is exactly like the one she wears on her date with Bob (David Duchovny). Every time I wear it, I look in the mirror and think: "I'm water lady!" and look for something to put on over it because I can't live with the image.

If whomever I date has unreasonable expectations to live up to, they're from that movie: successful, single, attractive, patient, emotionally grounded Chicagoan wins the heart of free-spirited artist. Whoever you are, future boyfriend, don't worry. Just take me for ice cream in Grant Park or to the Twin Anchors for dinner and we'll be off to a great start.

There goes the neighborhood

(Tonight's workout CD: Suede Chain: Ripplemark)

I live in an affordable, unusual apartment above a bakery in a quaint neighborhood business district. I haven't checked my lease lately, but I wonder how long my neighbor gets away with running a real estate business out of his apartment.

I know, I know. I've done a few freelance gigs in the privacy of my own home.

It's not like he's giving music lessons at all hours of the day. But there are a few unnerving aspects to the enterprise:

• The dry-erase board on his apartment door. (The man is at least forty, and he needs a dry-erase board so clients can leave him messages?)

• The sticky gold-on-black block letters in which he's spelled the name of his business on his apartment door.

• The light-up sign bearing the name of his business and owl logo in his apartment window.

• The airbrushed fabric sign bearing the name of his business and owl logo that hangs out the apartment window.

• He's trying to sell real estate out of a cheap Chicago-area apartment with appliances from the fifties.

P.S.

Read Rob's North Carolina story and Dave's spoof.

They're both hilarious, even if you don't know either of them.

Where's Donnie?

Traffic lights reflect off the shiny black streets, creating streaks of red and green like the aurora borealis.

Driving home, XRT blessed me with Radiohead's "Creep" followed immediately by Gary Jules' "Mad World" (from the Donnie Darko soundtrack)

A gorgeous soundtrack for a humid, rainy night.

I want to paint, write or read. But the apartment's a mess from seven sequential weekends out of town. Receipts, plane-ticket stubs, unfilled photo frames, and things packed and unpacked are flotsam and jetsam around the moored furniture. It slows me down, like resistance.

I could just create, pay no mind to the mess.

No, first I'll clean, then create. I'll save irresponsibility and neglected housework for when I next fall in love, when I need days to swoon and dream and let the mess collect around me. Until then, I shall live a neatly ordered life.

Hello, E.J.!

(Tonight's workout CD: Putumayo's Arabic Groove)

Tonight I got to meet the new son of my friends Liz and Leslie. His name is Evan. He's such a sweetie, and so mild-mannered. We spent two hours lounging in the park, looking at tree leaves and watching high schoolers at soccer practice.

I wish I could have spent the whole evening there. Alas, I was responsible and went to the gym.

I saw my doctor yesterday. My last scheduled visit was one of the factors that made me start my exercise routine. My doctor was impressed with my progress so far, but she was concerned that my blood pressure had spiked since my last visit. She asked if I'd been under any undue stress lately. I asked whether she'd consider a two-week overseas trip, ending an unhealthy relationship and the illness and death of my grandmother "undue stress."

She told me to try to relax and have my blood pressure checked again in a week.

I hadn't really put the pieces together, but the elevated blood pressure is pretty much coincident with the tension headaches I've been having for the last three weeks.

My friend Lorel says I'm a bit of a hypochondriac. I guess that's true. So we'll just wait and see …

Name that tune

(Tonight's workout CD: P.O.D. Satellite)

In my previous post, I forgot to mention that the aforementioned Austin party featured the great fondue pot fire of 2004, which thankfully burned itself out to a strangely appropriate (and completely random) musical selection: Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire".

Speaking of parties, one of my salsa classmates just e-vited me to a summer cookout later this month. I'm so glad to be in town the next few weekends, and therefore able to accept invitations to hang out with my local friends. Nothing like a suburban grill-fest to start the summer off right.

Rumor has it that Monika is going to be in town tomorrow. Will I see her?

My friends Janelle and Brad also just accepted my offer to shoot their wedding. I gave them fair warning that I'm not wedding-experienced (in either sense), but my price was right and their expectations are reasonable. I'm looking forward to the challenge and glad I can help out on their big day.

Kathy is a rock star

She got her MBA two days ago and threw an awesome party. It was door-to-door Austin A-list.

And today's her birthday.

So, if anyone sees Kathy, be sure to wish her "Happy Birthday" and "Congratulations."

Keeping good company

As many of you may already know, I'm going to the Parliament of the World's Religions this July. I'm SO excited. I'm taking a seminary course to prepare, with LOTS of required reading. I ordered my books from Amazon already, including one especially for fans of Lord of the Rings. (Confession: I am not a fan of Lord of the Rings. I am, however, a geek.)

Anyhow. Here's the speaker list I got today. See if you can't hide your envy:

• His Holiness the Dalai Lama
• Jane Goodall
• Karen Armstrong
• Mairead Corrigan McGuire
• Deepak Chopra
• Hans Kung
• Ela Ghandi
• Cornel West
• Ben Harper
• Cat Stevens

The Rites of Spring

It's spring in Chicago. Finally. Break out the light jackets and warm-weather clothes. Not that it matters. My office building is the same temperature year-round: refrigerated. However (because I am philosophically opposed to the air-conditioning in my car) what I wear for the day's hour of commuting matters.

There's something so nice about slipping into sandals for work. Seems like it takes half the stress and at least a minute out of getting dressed in the morning.

However, the warmer seasons reveal my ineptitude at those trappings of female-dom necessitated by social expectation. I've been wearing sandals without toenail polish for a whole week. Scandalous! And the most fashion-conscious of my colleagues has noticed my shoes EVERY DAY this week. And those naked toes. Well, here's to skipping the gym to paint my toenails. How pathetic.

I've never been hung up on my appearance. I'm always clean, usually stylish and often a little bit funky. I've never paid much attention to the numbers except as tools for selecting the right sizes. Regardless, I inherited a bit of vanity from Grandma Phyllys.

I've been working out. Because it feels good. And people have been noticing. At least once a day, someone mentions that I look thinner. It's good for the ego.

A group of guys actually wolf-whistled me yesterday. That's never happened before. I keep asking my inner feminist if she's offended, but she's not answering …

More important things …

I'm skipping the gym tonight to return emails and phone calls, wrap bridal shower gifts and baby gifts.

Dave just reminded me about "Playing by heart," a movie I did not expect to enjoy. I did.

My other acquired tastes include:

• blogging
• world music
• pink and magenta
• sans serif
• dancing
• vodka
• manga
• heels
• more to come …