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"A friend asked yesterday if this blog is addressed to anyone in particular? I said yes– it’s a love letter to someone I haven’t met yet."
CarrollBlog 3.31
Montana
by Gary Johnson
A great many small failures have brought me to this
Dark room where, against the teachings of the church,
I lie in the forgiving dark with you and we kiss
And loosen our clothing and feel the hot urge
Toward nakedness, man's natural destination,
The slow unbuttoning, unclasping, until at last
We lie revealed. The fine sensation
Of you on my skin. A slender woman as vast
As Montana and I am now heading west
On a winding road through the dark contours
Of mountains and into a valley, coming to rest
In a meadow that I recognize as yours.
This is what I drove across North Dakota to find:
This sweet nest. And put all my failed life behind.
CarrollBlog 3.30
There is a discount supermarket chain in Austria (let's call it Delta) that sells almost- things. If your favorite candy is called 'Freddy' bars and they're wrapped in red white and blue packages, what Delta does is sell their own brand called 'Friendly' bars, wrap them in virtually identical red white and blue packages, and charge a lot less for them. Whether it be candy, frozen pizza, red wine... the company's thing is to sell cheaper products that are almost the real thing but not quite. And the same is true about how these products taste or work. 'Friendly' candy bars might have almost the same ingredients as 'Freddy' bars, but they don't taste anywhere near as good. Their dishwashing soap is thin and sort of useless although it's colored and packaged to look just like Palmolive. The meat in their dog food cans is a weird shade of gray and makes the dog fart *a lot*. However as is usually the case, it takes two to dance. The Delta people are saying "Why pay full price for Freddy bars? Ours are just like them but cost half as much." You know though that isn't true. You usually get what you pay for. But you buy the cheaper one anyway and end up disappointed. So is Delta trying to fool you with their almost-goods? Yes. But are you to blame for buying them when you know about 90% of the time products like 'Friendly bars' are crap? Yes. Walking by one of these stores the other day, someone said to me, "You know Michael? He always reminds of something you'd buy at a Delta store." I knew exactly what she meant.
CarrollBlog 3.29
No matter what it is that you give them, some people always react to a gift with suspicion.
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"A man manifests his individuality by his actions."
Stanislaw Lem
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Being with her was like riding a motorcycle in the rain-- exciting, but ultimately dumb and dangerous.
---------------------------------
"I'd like to kiss you, but I just washed my hair."
Bette Davis
---------------------------------
Certain colognes speak of exotic places and adventures impossible to the person wearing the scent. Owning the cologne is the closest they will ever get to that larger life.
--------------------------------
"All great dog stories end badly."
JD Capshew
CarrollBlog 3.28
"While dressing and preparing to go out, she thought of Ben's story about the time he ate the best cassoulet on earth in a small village in southern France. The name of the town was Castelnaudary. He pronounced the name so beautifully when telling the story that German made him repeat it twice just so she could hear the catch and roll of the word in his voice. She didn't want to think about him now but that was almost impossible. Joy, real joy, comes so rarely in life that we mourn the death of it a long time. In the beginning of their relationship she had said to him, 'Where have you *been*? It feels like I've been holding my breath for years, but now I can finally let it out.'
"They were lying naked on the couch when she said this. To her great surprise and consternation, Ben got right up, walked into the kitchen, and started making her cassoulet for the first time. When she entered the room a few minutes later, bewildered by his having disappeared from her arms just like that, he started describing Castelnaudary and the time he had eaten this dish there. His back was to her while he spoke. When he turned, she saw that his eyes were filled with tears but he was smiling. "This is the greatest meal in the world, German. I have to make it for you right now. It's the best way I know how to show how I feel about you."
from THE GHOST IN LOVE
--------------------------
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8VeB7quFcM8
CarrollBlog 3.27
"She fell in love easily but walked away just as easily from a relationship when it went bad. Some men-- and there had been many of them--thought this showed she was cold hearted, but they were wrong. German Landis simply didn't understand people who moped. Life was too interesting to choose suffering. Although she got a big kick out of him, she thought her brother Guy was goofy for spending his life writing songs only about things that either stank or sucked. In response, he drew a picture of what her gravestone would look like if he designed it:a big yellow smiley face on it and the words I LIKE BEING DEAD!
"Little did either of them know that she *would* like it when her time came to die, years later: German Landis would move into death as she'd moved into new schools, relationships, or phases of her life: full speed ahead, hopes ahoy, heart filled like a sail with reasonable optimism and a belief that the gods were fundamentally benevolent, no matter where she was."
from THE GHOST IN LOVE
CarrollBlog 3.26
Recently whenever I walked by that art gallery I frowned and shook my head. The most recent exhibition was the kind that makes us Luddites-artwise breathe shallowly and roll our eyes. One of the works on display was a carefully made bed covered with tree branches. That's all. Long bare tree branches, the kind you see blown down on the sidewalk after a storm. Another of the pieces in the exhibit was a modern white bathtub that had three black alarm clocks inside it. You get the idea. Anyway, today walking toward the gallery I grew a huge smile on my face. They were taking the exhibition down and three men were carefully loading tree branches into a truck. It took my mind a moment to click on where I'd seen those branches before. But when it did, my smile started. By the concerned looks on the workers' faces, you could tell someone important had said BE CAREFUL loading those branches-- they're part of the art. Inside the gallery as I walked past, someone else was slowly wrapping the bathtub in protective bubble wrap. I could only imagine how they would protect the alarm clocks.
CarrollBlog 3.25
There is something very satisfying about making a list but I have never been able to figure out specifically why. A monthly feature in GQ magazine asks well known people for their list of "10 essential things they won't do without." These lists are often surprising because things on them vary from a rare kind of green tea in a bag together with grilled rice kernels, to a brand of cheap off the shelf available anywhere stain remover for clothes. In other words, what's essential in your life is not necessarily rare, expensive or special. Everyone I know who has read the novel or seen the film HIGH FIDELITY immediately starts making lists (either on paper or in their head) of their favorite kinds of music-- the ten most romantic songs. The ten best songs to get you going in the morning. The ten worst pop songs you ever heard.Tthe five CD's you'd take to a desert island, etc. Or how about the list of five things you must do tomorrow morning. Or the grocery list. That list of things you wish you could tell them to their face but you don't have the nerve to do it yet. What I would buy if I were suddenly given millions. Even the list of the sort of lists you make is an interesting indication of who you are or where you are in your life. I know a woman who always makes a list of things she wants to fight with her husband about before she goes into battle with him. Or the child of a friend who starts making a list of what they want for Christmas literally a day after Christmas is over. Naturally the kid revises the list as the year goes on but they usually do begin to draw up the new one a day or two after the 25th. Do we make lists to put order in our lives? Or do we make them to figure out what we like or hate, desire, fear, need to embrace or avoid?
CarrollBlog 3.24
Up in the sky the lovers lay in bed...
by Gary Johnson
Up in the sky the lovers lay in bed
Naked, face to face and hip to thigh,
Her leg between his, his arm beneath her head,
Their hands roaming freely, up in the sky.
In the dark, Manhattan lay at their feet,
A blanket of glittering stars thrown down.
Beyond her bare shoulder, 59th Street,
And from her lovely foot the buses headed uptown.
They came to the city for romance, as people do,
And with each other they scaled the heights
And now, at rest, almost one and not quite two,
They lie almost forever in the sea of lights.
Where will they go? What happens next? I don't know.
I am that man waiting at the bus stop far below.
--------------------------------------
You made crusty bread rolls...
by Gary Johnson
You made crusty bread rolls filled with chunks of brie
And minced garlic and drizzled with olive oil
And baked them until the brie was bubbly
And we ate them thoughtfully, our legs coiled
Together under the table. And then salmon with dill
And lemon and whole-wheat couscous
Baked with garlic and fresh ginger, and a hill
Of green beans and carrots roasted with honey and tofu.
it was beautiful, the candles and linens and silver,
The winter sun setting on our snowy street,
Me with my hand on your leg, you, my lover,
In your jeans and green T-shirt and beautiful feet.
How simple life is. We buy a fish. We are fed.
We sit close to each other, we talk and then we go to bed
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"We are all happy if we only knew it."
Dostoevsky
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"The writer should never be ashamed of staring. There is nothing that does not require our attention."
Flannery O'Connor
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pRFfJJjLpqw
CarrollBlog 3.23
Years ago I saw her almost every day walking with her daughter. The two women were inseparable. I never saw either of them with a man, so I just assumed the father was gone. They always appeared to be having intense conversations. It was clear from the way they spoke that they took each other seriously. Both dressed nicely and with care, as if they were on their way to somewhere special whenever you encountered them. Then one day I saw the woman walking alone. It surprised me because I could not remember ever having seen her by herself-- she was always with her daughter. The girl now appeared to be in her middle teens so I just assumed she was off at school somewhere and would be back for holidays. But I never saw her again. Only the mother and the sad thing is, whenever I see her now she's always walking very quickly, as if late for an appointment. However I discovered eventually where she was going: to the neighborhood park to feed the birds. She carries a large purse and out of it she'll take either bread crumbs or bird food and scatter it on the ground at specific spots around the park. No matter what the season, she's there feeding the birds and filling their drinking spots with bottled water. The other day I saw her and mentioned her to someone from the neighborhood. "Oh yes, the Bird Lady. Do you know she goes four or five times a *day* to feed them? It used to be a couple of times a week. Then every day, now it's four or five times a day. Soon she'll probably pitch a tent and just live in the park." I looked at the well dressed woman and wondered where her daughter was, her great friend, the one who for so many years kept her from becoming the bird lady.
CarrollBlog 3.22
Sometimes a man stands up during supper
and walks outdoors, and keeps on walking,
because of a church that stands somewhere in the East.
And his children say blessings on him as if he were dead.
And another man, who remains inside his own house,
dies there, inside the dishes and in the glasses,
so that his children have to go far out into the world
toward that same church, which he forgot.
Rainer Maria Rilke
CarrollBlog 3.21
Two decades ago before the Internet and websites like www.abebooks.com made the process easy, it was both tough and expensive to find rare or out of print books. We were talking about books that really mattered to us. She mentioned Theodore Weesner's great novel THE CAR THIEF. Both of us swooned on about how wonderful it was and how we had discovered the book when it came out in the 70's. She said years later she suddenly got the desire to re-read it but could not find a copy anywhere. So she contacted a bunch of rare booksellers by mail and one of them eventually said he'd found a mint first edition of the book but it cost a lot. She first thought OW when she saw the price, but then reasoned not only would she get to re-read it, but she'd own a perfect copy of a favorite book that she could treasure always. So she took a deep breath and $$ be damned, bought it. A couple of days after it arrived, she had to go on a business trip to London. She decided to take THE CAR THIEF with her because an airplane is the perfect place to do concentrated reading. But by the time she got on her night flight, she was so exhausted that she sat down and immediately fell asleep. She never even opened the book. The next morning after landing, while moving through Heathrow airport, who should she see but David Bowie walking alone toward her. Bowie was her favorite singer and as soon as she recognized him she thought I have to say hello/do something/let him know how much I love his work. Then it came to her-- she reached into her bag, took out the unopened pristine, outrageously expensive copy of THE CAR THIEF and walked right over to the famous singer. Handing it to him she said, "I love your music and right now the only way I can show you that is to give you this. I hope you read it and love it as much as I do." Bowie took the book, smiled and after a small bow to her, walked off.
CarrollBlog 3.20
For some reason, I keep reading articles these days where different people-- actors, musicians, writers-- are asked why they do what they do. Why do you write? At heart it's a ridiculous question because the answer is so obvious-- because they like to write. Why do we do anything repeatedly-- read, listen to music, cook, have sex, watch the ballgame? Because we like doing those things. But I think the question goes deeper than that, especially when it comes to artists. In today's world where most everything is explained in one way or another, art is one of the last great human mysteries. How a person can sit down with nothing but a pencil, a blank sheet of paper, their imagination and eventually come up with a song like Gershwin's "Summertime," a George Booth cartoon, or Carol Ann Duffy poem is astounding and somewhat psychically troubling. I believe when interviewers ask the question why do you write, they are (consciously or unconsciously) really asking HOW do you write/draw/compose that stuff. In other words, how'd you do that? The simplest answer being it's how I see life and I expressed that vision in this chosen medium. But that's not satisfying. Sort of like asking Michael Jordan how he made those amazing jumpshots when he was playing basketball. More than once I saw Jordan shrug sheepishly and say, "I just threw the ball up." In essence, the question is not "Why do you write?" but more "Where does that magic you use come from?" And of course the answer, if one is honest, is Jordan's "I dunno" shrug.
CarrollBlog 3.19
Today's homework assignment: In one hundred and fifty words or less, describe one of the happiest days of your life.
We spent that summer in Brittany. Every day the weather was beautiful, which is very rare for that part of France. The morning I finished writing my 2nd novel, I took it to the tiny village post office to photocopy, and then watched the ancient postmistress cover every inch of the package with beautiful multicolored French postage stamps. When she finished she said a loud "eh voila!" and smiled. My brand new manuscript was on its way out into the world. Afterwards we went to "The King of Chicken" roadside stand and bought a just-grilled chicken and fresh baguette for lunch. We ate them sitting on a high dune while looking at the ocean. I was elated because I'd finally finished and was positive the novel would make me famous. Months later my agent called from New York to say every publisher had rejected it.
Your turn.
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_RgL2MKfWTo
CarrollBlog 3.18
One of life's small sad facts is there are people we no longer see who nevertheless gave us some of our best or most important experiences; but they don't know it and never will. That's because we didn't know it until much later, looking back. She thought about the summer in Greece almost thirty years before when they were together and flew from island to island on cheap rattle'y propeller planes whenever they felt like it. They stayed in ten dollar rooms with the toilet outside down the hall. They read wilted, water-stained books while sitting next to each other on the small balconies off the rooms. Or they sat silently in complete peace while staring at the sea. No matter what kind of accomodations they rented, there always seemed to be a view of the sea. Every day they ate salads of tomatoes, olives, and thick chunks of chalk-white feta cheese drizzled in fresh olive oil for lunch. They rented a blue Vespa. They walked on black volcanic sand. He bought them baseball caps because the Greek sun was so intense. She was happy then and knew it. But her heart needed three decades more to understand just how happy she had been-- Hall of Fame-happy, once in a lifetime-happy. By the time she realized it, he was many years gone. One of her final wishes was that she could tell him, thank him for those days together. And if life were magical, which it is not, to sit together again in one of those outdoor tavernas at sunset watching the harbor, the boats, the stars coming out, their dinner being prepared, him.
CarrollBlog 3.17
"He was 48 years old, 31 pounds overweight. Seven cashmere sports jackets hung in his closet at home. There were five different kinds of mustard in his refrigerator. He'd had two serious relationships in his life. Both women (smart and accomplished--real catches) had grown terminally frustrated with him and left in heartbroken huffs. He succeeded in small matters with almost no effort at all because of his great innate charm and the not-so-common ability to give something his full attention when it interested him.
"But the few times in his life when the stakes were high and he was put to the test, he had either chickened out or failed. That didn't bother him because more often than not, Kaspar Benn was genuinely content with things easy for him to obtain--good food, women who said yes more than they said no; stylish clothes that made him look and feel more prosperous and attractive than he was. Somewhere in our lives' cast of characters most of us know someone like him. These people are fun to be around but not essential. If we don't see them for months or even years it doesn't matter. When they show up at a party you think oh good I haven't seen them for ages. But by and large it is difficult to remember when you did see them last or what you talked about. They are effusive in their greetings, entertaining; their stories make you laugh and gasp--lots of flash and fun. They're sort of like variety shows on Italian TV. You forgot about them quickly after the party. Accused of being superficial by one of his girlfriends, Kaspar said, 'I make no pretense.' She responded, 'No, you make no effort.'
from the new book
CarrollBlog 3.16
"The real difference between God and human beings, he thought, was that God cannot stand continuance. No sooner has He created a season of a year, or a time of the day, than He wishes for something quite different, and sweeps it all away. No sooner was one a young man, and happy at that, than the nature of things would rush one into marriage, martyrdom, or old age. And human beings cleave to the existing state of things. All their lives they are striving to hold the moment fast, and are up against a force majeure. Their art itself is nothing but an attempt to catch by all means the one particular moment, one mood, one light, the momentary beauty of one woman or one flower, and make it everlasting. It is all wrong to imagine paradise as a never-changing state of bliss. It will probably, on the contrary, turn out to be, in the true spirit of God, an incessant up and down, a whirlpool of change. Only you may yourself, by that time, have become one with God, and have taken a liking to it."
Isak Dinesen, THE MONKEY
CarrollBlog 3.15
THE HAMMOCK
by Li-Young Lee
When I lay my head in my mother's lap
I think how day hides the star,
the way I lay hidden once, waiting
inside my mother's singing to herself. And I remember
how she carried me on her back
between home and the kindergarten,
once each morning and once each afternoon.
I don't know what my mother's thinking.
When my son lays his head in my lap, I wonder:
Do his father's kisses keep his father's worries
from becoming his? I think, Dear God, and remember
there are stars we haven't heard from yet:
They have so far to arrive. Amen,
I think, and I feel almost comforted.
I've no idea what my child is thinking.
Between two unknowns, I live my life.
Between my mother's hopes, older than I am
by coming before me. And my child's wishes, older than I am
by outliving me. And what's it like?
Is it a door, and a good-bye on either side?
A window, and eternity on either side?
Yes, and a little singing between two great rests.
CarrollBlog 3.14
Two very old women are standing at the counter of the konditorei, looking at the different sweeties on display. Big magnificent hunks of multicolored cakes, beige and golden cremeschnitte, Mozart torte with marzipan, mocca, and other delicious ingredients... I'm standing close enough to hear the women. One says, "Let's have sachertorte! I haven't had chocolate for so long." "No No," says the other, "chocolate's too heavy for me. I can't go to the toilet after I eat it. What about whipped cream cake? I love that one." "No, I can't eat whipped cream. It gives me heartburn." If you look at them from afar, they're both smiling like little girls getting to choose their favorites, but all they're saying to each other is no, I can't eat that kind or that or that because it messes me up.
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yt9vKz1tGTM
CarrollBlog 3.13
At the end of the film A VERY LONG ENGAGEMENT, after many struggles and setbacks the heroine is reunited with her adored fiancee. The only problem is the lover has suffered a grievous head wound that erased all of his memory. When they are reunited, he doesn't know who she is. In Julie Christie's recent film AWAY FROM HER, she plays a woman with Alzheimer's Disease who gradually loses her memory and with it her ability to recognize her husband of many years. At the end of both stories the ones "left behind" look at their partners with equal amounts of longing and confusion because there they are right in front of them, but no, they aren't "there" at all any more. In both cases it brings up the essential question-- what makes us who we are? Our physical selves? Our memories? Our ties to other people? Our achievements (including our children)... Other, perhaps more ineffable/undefinable things? It's stuff for a serious ontological discussion (or philosophy class), but also an intriguing question that can be batted back and forth across the ping pong table of your own mind when you're in the bath tonight: what makes me who I am? If you took away this or that (my memory, or my sense of humor, or my eyesight, for example) would I still be me? Or would the loss of such things disappear me?
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http://youtube.com/watch?v=AC0sR5_NTFo
CarrollBlog 3.12
"The composer Stravinsky had written a new piece with a difficult violin passage," writes Thomas Powers, quoted in the book Sunbeams. "After it had been in rehearsal for several weeks, the solo violinist came to Stravinsky and said he was sorry, he had tried his best, the passage was too difficult, no violinist could play it. Stravinsky said, 'I understand that. What I am after is the sound of someone trying to play it.'"
Rob Brezsny
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"We live in a culture where everything tastes good but nothing satisfies."
Daniel Pinchbeck
CarrollBlog 3.11
A writing tip for those who are interested:
If you're ever stuck on something in your fiction-- a character or a scene. You can't make it work the way you want it to, or describe a person effectively-- whatever your problem may be. Get out a separate piece of paper and rewrite it there as a movie scene, or describe them as a character in a movie. It doesn't matter if you know the form of a screenplay or not. Stop visualizing it as fiction for a while and see it as a scene in a film you're watching (or making). If you can't figure out what the character looks like or what they do in an important scene in the story, sometimes when you take them off the page and visualize them instead in a movie talking, moving, gesturing, the sound of their voice..., the problem is solved or the character suddenly comes to life. This kind of lateral thinking often frees up your imagination to take it from there, go back to the fiction you're writing knowing now what to do next
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tQ5VaBgXzuM&feature=related
CarrollBlog 3.10
A publisher told me a sweet story. One of his hugely successful foreign authors came in one day to ask for a favor. The author had a ninety-two year old uncle. The man had not lived a notable or interesting life, but for some reason he had nonetheless written his autobiography. The old guy thought being a writer and having a book actually published was one of the greatest things a person could accomplish. The problem was his book was awful-- dull and badly written. But the famous author wanted it translated into their language and published. The publisher was in a bind because although his company is prestigious in his country and very choosy about what they release, the famous author sells a lot of books there. If the publisher said no, it was likely the author would get angry and change publishing houses. So the company had the book translated and printed up. They sent the famous author ten copies of the finished work so he could give them to his late-blooming author uncle. What the publisher didn't tell the writer was they made exactly twenty-five copies of the book. They kept the remaining fifteen in the office in case the old uncle ever wanted more.
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www.efraimrodriguez.net
CarrollBlog 3/9
Over at Daron Larson's always-interesting website (http://daronlarson.blogspot.com/), I found this lovely poem today:
STATION
by Li-Young Lee
Your attention please.
Train number 9, The Northern Zephyr,
destined for River's End, is now boarding.
All ticketed passengers
please proceed to the gate marked Evening
Your attention please. Train number 7,
Leaves Blown By, bound for The Color of Thinking
and Renovated Time, is now departing.
All ticketed passengers may board
behind my eyes.
Your attention please. Train number 4, The Twentieth Century,
has joined The Wind Undisguised to become The Written Word.
Those who never heard their names
may inquire at the uneven margin of the story
or else consult the ivy
lying awake under our open window.
Your attention please, The Music,
arriving out of hidden ground
and endlessly beginning, is now the flower,
now the fruit, now our cup and cheer
under branches more ancient
than our grandmother's hair.
Passengers with memories of the sea
may board leisurely at any unmarked gate.
Fateful members of the foam may proceed to azalea.
Your attention please.
Under falling petals, never think about home.
Seeing begins in the dark.
Listening stills us.
Yesterday has gone
ahead to meet you.
And the place in a book a man stops reading
is the place a girl escaped
through her mother's garden.
And between paired notes of the owl,
a boy disappeared. Search for him
goes on in the growing shadow of the clock.
And the face behind the clock's face
is not his father's face.
And the hands behind the clock's hands
are not his mother's hands.
All light-bearing tears may be exchanged
for the accomplished wine.
Your attention please. Train number 66,
Unbidden Song, soon to be
the full heart's quiet, takes no passengers.
Please leave your baggage with the attendant
at the window marked Your Name Sprung from Hiding.
An intrepid perfume is waging our rescue.
You may board at either end of Childhood.
CarrollBlog 3.8
"In late November of 1968, I spent a few days in a hotel just off the Piazza San Marco in Venice. At one in the morning, hearing the loud warning bells, I jumped out of bed, grabbed my camera and rushed out to see the famous Venice flood. I stood in the empty and as yet dry Piazza and looked out toward the Gulf, for I expected the flood tides to come in from the open water. Many minutes passed before I turned to see that the Piazza was flooding, not directly from the Gulf, but up through its own sewers. The indented gratings in the pavement had all but disappeared under calm, flat silver puddles, which grew slowly and silently until their peripheries touched and the Piazza had become a lake. That morning I experienced vividly, if almost subliminally, the reality of change itself; how it fools our sentinels and undermines our defenses, how careful we are to look for it in the wrong places, how it does not reveal itself until it is beyond redress, how vainly we search for it around us and find too late it has already occurred within us."
Robert Grudin
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"Do everything right, all the time, and the child will prosper. It's as simple as that, except for fate, luck, heredity, chance, the astrological sign under which the child was born, his order of birth, his first encounter with evil, the girl who jilts him in spite of his excellent qualities, the war that is being fought when he is a young man, the drugs he may try once or too many times, the friends he makes, how he scores on tests, how well he endures kidding about his shortcomings, how ambitious he becomes, how far he falls behind, circumstantial evidence, ironic perspective, danger when it is least expected, difficulty in triumphing over circumstance, people with hidden agendas, and animals with rabies."
Ann Beattie, from Picturing Will
CarrollBlog 3.6
"The French perfumer Jean-Claude Ellena can tell from just one sniff of a jasmine essence the flower's origin and whether the machine that distilled it was made from stainless steel, aluminum, or steel. To Ellena, who has created scents for some of France's best-known perfume houses, a great perfume has a memorable *sillage*-- a word that means "wake," "slipstream," or "vapor trail"-- and is "the sense of a person being present in the room after she has left."
from MERLE'S DOOR by Ted Kerasote
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"The passage into mystery always refreshes. If, when we work, we can look once a day upon the face of mystery, then our labor satisfies."
from THE GIFT by Lewis Hyde
CarrollBlog 3.5
Early in the morning standing in front of the large glitzy jeans shop staring at the display is a little girl with a big school bag on her back. She's talking to the window (or the mannequins in the window), but I cannot hear what she's saying. As I pass, she starts to sing. All I hear of her song is "when I'm beautiful-"
CarrollBlog 3.4
new vocabulary to fit today's personality from the URBAN DICTIONARY:
pregret - Regretting something you're about to do anyway
multislacking - Doing multiple slackeresque things concurrently
email bankruptcy - Clearing your inbox and starting from scratch
workahol - What workaholics are addicted to
foreploy - Misrepresenting yourself on a date in hopes of getting lucky
bluetool - Someone who always wears a Bluetooth earpiece, even when they're not on the phone
breakup buddy - A friend who provides objective advice and post-breakup support
meh - A verbal shrug of indifference
hobosexual - The opposite of metrosexual; one who cares little for their own appearance
testosterphone - To make a quick and to-the-point phone call that lasts under thirty seconds
accountabilabuddy - A friend you get in trouble with and who's somewhat responsible for your actions
business provocative -- Attire used to provoke sexual attention in the workplace.
compunicate -- To chat with someone in the same room via instant messaging service instead of in person.
dandruff -- A person who 'flakes out' and ditches their friends.
CarrollBlog 3.3
There are lots of small mom and pop stores in Vienna, especially in the working class districts. It's always nice to see the owners "dressing" these shop windows. Often the things for sale inside are mundane, drab and dull-- umbrellas or woolen socks and gloves, blood pressure measurement machines, or house dresses the likes of which haven't been in fashion in twenty years. Nevertheless there the proprietors are, out on the street in front, the store window open, tinkering with the display. Or you see them crawling around on their knees behind the window, moving things around, taking stuff out and putting stuff in, creating brand new offerings of their goods. Some of the stores in my neighborhood I can honestly say after living here for years that I have never seen a single customer go in or out of them. But that doesn't stop their owners from frequently changing the displays. Sometimes I stop in front of these windows a day later to see if I can distinguish the new goods from the old. Usually I can't. But that kind of ongoing optimism is always heartening, even in these small doses.
CarrollBlog 3.2
I read the following quote yesterday and since then, the idea has been rattling around in my head like a marble in a clothes dryer. I can't decide whether it's true or just clever. Please discuss amongst yourselves: "Most men would rather have you hear their story than grant their wish."
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A friend broke up with his long time girlfriend so we went out for lunch to talk about it. At one point he said, "I don't know what I'm going to do without her." I asked, "You can't live without her, or life is just darker now and has more teeth?"
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our relationship is getting yesser by the minute