The Scroll

Lucien Carr, the guy that supplied Kerouac with the freakishly long scroll on which to type On The Road, died on Friday.

The scroll is actually on tour now.

Looks like I might have to take a road trip of my own.

ants

What do you do when a herd of ants swarms into your little orange purse that is sitting all nice and innocently on the bench in the living room?

Do you hose down that purse with Raid?

Because that's what I did.

Probably not a good idea in a one bedroom apartment.

Now I can't get the smell of Raid out. I've got the door open and it's freaking cold outside and lighting three sticks of my new "healing" incense does not even come close to helping.

Damn ants.

In other unrelated news I finally finished Infinite Jest. It took me 3 months. 1,079 pages. I feel like I should be given a celebratory gala or plaque or something.

Thelma and Louise

My sister Cristin has an obsession with guinea pigs. We've probably owned about 10 different little oinkers in my lifetime. Finally, we had to stop getting them for her because they don't live very long and my mom couldn't handle it when they died. Serious loss of composure. One time she called me absolutely hysterical - you know one of those early morning or late at night calls that you just know are not going to herald good news. I thought a family member died. For like TEN minutes. Finally I was able to decipher the word Oreo between sniffles and sobs. I chuckled, relieved that it wasn't a real person, but that just made the sobbing worse. Cristin responded with a drawn out awwwwwww. (She knew she would get a new one).

After that my mom had had it with the guinea pig deaths. Not to mention the dogs were becoming increasingly curious about the patch of land in the backyard with little shoebox sized dirt mounds covered with rocks.

Enter Susie. Your basic short-haired Cavy. Kind of like this little gal. Well, Susie got sick. And somehow my mother convinced the local vet to treat her. Finally the local vet gave up. but my mother did not. So the vet assembled a special "Guinea Pig IV" for Susie. My mother did not leave Susie's side for weeks. Except when another family member could administer the IV. And that family member would've been me. Yes, I have given a Guinea Pig an IV - as well as shots. Although she was a trooper, and hung on longer than any small rodent-like animal should have in her condition, Susie finally passed.

We didn't get Cristin a Guinea Pig for a while after that. But every time she could bring it up that she missed Susie, she did. This from someone who only said awwww when the pigs died. (she did think she was getting a new one).

Finally, after a couple of years, my mother felt prepared to take on another one. But this time we got two. Thelma and Louise.

Thelma was a long-haired kind of like these guys, but she had a patch of hair like this in the back and was all black. My friend Jessica said she looked like a giant toupe. Louise was a sleek, slender little squeaker in contrast to Thelma's enormity. But Louise terrorized Thelma, most days chasing her around their rather spacious cage causing woodchips to fly out in all directions. Thelma eventually began hiding in a note card box.

Louise died first. She was a runt, and the person that sold her to us had said she may not live that long. But she actually lived longer than any other GP we'd owned. Thelma continued to hibernate in her box.

One day, months later, when Cristin was letting Thelma run around upstairs, Thelma took off in full stride towards the open railing that overlooked the living room below. She didn't stop at the edge and in effect actually flung herself from the second floor.

She landed with a thud between the couch and the wall.

My mother heard and her face turned white. She just knew Thelma was dead.

But alas! Thelma just shook herself off and and continued scooting around.

My mom took her to the vet, who said the GP would probably not last the night. She said Thelma probably had internal injuries. (And no, my mom was not crazy enough to convince the vet to give Thelma an X-Ray).

So we waited. and waited. and waited.

And to all of our dismay, Thelma not only survived her brush with death, she continued living for several more years.

Suggestion

It must be pretty cool to design a building. Especially a building that gets built and makes people say "wow, that's cool" when they look at it.

Of course with art, at least for me, it seems it's either one of two reactions upon completion: Damn that shit is awesome. Or the more commonstance: That did NOT turn out how I wanted it to.

But to say that after building an ugly building - well that might be a bit of a stretch. Not to mention investors might get a little pissy.

I think that building buildings should be considered a form of art. And if you are an architect and you have any sense of self-dignity, you should think of it that way too.

I mean, hell, don't you make the little models of what you are going to be building? Can't you tell that a building is going to look like crap from that? Who is telling you that a giant tan rectangle will look cool?

Ah, it's about money right.

And then there's functionality.

Gimme a break.

These are not cool buildings.

But This and this and this - now those are cool buildings.

Take note.

Thank you, that is all.

I swear I'll learn how to play it

I just entered a contest to win a hand-crafted Djembe drum made by the guy from Rusted Root.

I do not know what I would do with a Djembe drum.

I imagine it would probably follow the same suite as the great guitar fiasco of 2000, ending up as a unwieldy piece of home decor collecting dust in the corner.

Perhaps it would be different. Perhaps I have a hidden talent for the Djembe. Perhaps I will win the contest.

It's funny that I ran across this today because just this morning I was talking about Rusted Root. I mean how often does Rusted Root come up in conversations these days? Not often. And twice in one day, well that's just craziness.

The reason for the first Rusted Root conversation occurred early this a.m. as I was riding back with my co-worker from a meeting with a local police deputy chief. At this point in time I was introduced to a band called Slim Cessna's Auto Club. I suggested that the singer kind of sounded like the lead singer from Rusted Root.

I then admitted that I was a fan of Rusted Root. Don't tell anyone.

But Slim Cessna - I liked what I heard. I highly recommend checking them out.

Perhaps I can play the Djembe for them someday.

among things

Watched Life is Beautiful last night. It'll make you cry. Seriously. I can't get over how goddamn heartwearming that movie is.

I've been feeling pretty beatniky lately. It's good because I'm getting back into the whole poetry thing, which I've been missing for a while. I've been re-reading all of these poems that I had pushed to the back of my head and forgotten about. Anyway, I ran across this classic one by Ferlinghetti. Thought it fitting for the whole inauguration/state of the country situation.

I feel like it's time for something to happen. We need a movement.

Linda

I don't know Linda's last name. In fact, I don't know much about Linda except that she had to take off work for a couple of weeks a while back when her aunt died someplace far away like Oregon or something. The poster for her deli on the bottom floor of the building usually yielded a picture of a heart or a coffee mug listing the daily specials which included things like chocolate pie or some kind of hearty casserole. But this time, instead of the usual greeting, the sign, held up on flimsy wooden stilts put out and put up by Charles the building security guard, alerted us that Linda would be absent for an extended period of time. She apologizes for the inconvenience. Until then I hadn't given Linda a second thought. I'd occassionally visit her deli for a can of Coke or a granola bar. She always said "bless your heart" as I was paying. I found, in Linda's absence, that I began to miss that. Since she's been back I've begun to visit Linda more often. Each time, I find, she always makes me feel good. She always greets me with a smile - a genuine smile - she really seems so pleased to see me. Even if she's not, she has that infectious good mood that some people just have. Now, me, I'm usually not a people liker. In fact, you might say I'm a misanthrope. But I honestly cannot help leaving Linda's deli without a smile on my face.

Sprites Not Fries

This is not a good week to be sick.

Here I am clawing away on the keyboard to take my mind off of feeling like a big baby and trying to override the overwhelming urge to call my mom and whine.

But I'm going to feel better.

Last night I decided to order a pizza. I wasn't hungry, but figured I needed to eat. So I waited. And waited. And waited.

All I could think about was how much I wanted the sprite that I ordered along with my pizza.

Finally, after about 25 peeps through the blinds and neck cranes toward the clock, I called.

Seems they forgot to finish printing out my ticket and the order was never placed. Or something.

Damn.

So I had to replace my order. A Hawaiian Pizza and two sprites.

Well.

At least I got thirty percent off because after the order arrived and I sat down to take a cold sprite out of the bag, I was suprised (and not pleasantly) to find an order of cheesy FRIES instead of the two SPRITES.

Damn.

Someone show him how to use the TV

My dad called me at work yesterday morning to tell me that he thought I really should be tested for MS or diabetes.

This was entirely random.

In my entire 24 years of living not once have either one of those terms come up in a conversation between my dad and me, about me. I asked him why he was so concerned with this all of a sudden. He said no reason. Just thought since I was tired all the time I might need to have it checked.

But the thing is, I've been suffering from chronic tiredness probably since high school and he's never mentioned this before. So, naturally I asked him if he saw something on TV or heard about something. No, he says. In fact, he says, Laura has been out of town for a week and he can't figure out how to work the TV. He's been making his way through the set of Seinfeld DVDs I gave him for Christmas and has enjoyed them immensely. Especially that Kramer. But really, Lauren, he says, you need to go see a doctor and have that checked out.

Am I missing something? Does Seinfeld have something to do with MS? Diabetes? Or has my dad just crossed over that border into the world of the elderly where he can't entertain himself when he's left alone and has to think of ways to harrass his children?

for granted

I was reminded just now of how much we, as Americans, take for granted.

On the TV, a businessman in Iraq spoke of his excitement about the upcoming elections. Before this businessman, a series of scenes showed the danger of going to vote in the war-torn country. A woman was quoted as being afraid to leave her home to vote. Afraid of the explosions, she said. But this business man, with enthusiasm, spoke of how they could now choose one way or the other, instead of just one way. He said, "I tell my customers. Vote. Vote even if it means you are going to die."

PGBS

This is my hometown, Ruston, Louisiana

As you can clearly see, Ruston is no hub for excitement.

I will give it a little credit though - since I left in 1998 they've made it legal to sell liquor inside the city limits, which in turn attracted the much heralded erection of a Chili's on the service road. And they have cleared out the land behind Wal-Mart to build a movie theater. Although, judging from the abandoned bulldozers and machinery I noticed while home for Christmas, it doesn't look like that theater will be opening anytime soon.

If you'll scroll down on the city profile to the colleges and universities section you will see three listed: Louisiana Tech University, Louisiana Technical College (aka the Vo-Tech) and Pat Goins Beauty School.

In high school, threats made by teachers, one in particular - Mrs. Overstreet or "Ovy" as we liked to call her - followed this hierarchy. If we were not paying quite enough attention it was "Do you want to end up at Tech?" If we failed to work hard enough it was "Why don't you just go take a class at the Vo-Tech?" But the worst threat of all was Pat Goins Beauty School.

And it was Ovy's favorite to throw out with that little smirk you couldn't quite determine if it was in anger or humor. We liked to think she was humored by torturing us. Now don't get me wrong. Ovy was one of our favorite teachers. I think we actually liked the tourture.

"This isn't PGBS!" she would scream if we couldn't get something right. Or if we were talking to loud "Were not at Pat Goins Beauty School!" She said these words super fast. And if you didn't know what she was talking about, chances are you wouldn't be able to figure it out.

PGBS.

You definitely did not want to end up at PGBS.

The ultimate threat.

One day, someone, I forget who, but someone we all knew got really drunk and drove their car through the front window of PGBS.

It was a great day for Ruston news, indeed.

Notes, thoughts, and revelations from an uneventful Sunday night

1. I wish I lived closer to south Florida.

But that's okay. At least I can get a little string band fix next month with Yonder Mountain at the Gypsy Tea Room.

These guys put on a pretty decent show. Good times will be had. Not to mention a little foot stompin'.

2. I don't care what people say, boy short panties are not that comfortable.

3. After reading the entire February issue of Natural Health cover to cover I realized that everything I put into my body is pretty much toxic. However, I maintain that it is physically impossible for my body to sustain life (or good humor) on a diet of Quinoa and Kale.

4. They did say that dark chocolate is good for you. I firmly believe this.

5. Watching a double feature of Clueless and Blue Crush cannot be good for sustained brain activity.

Interesting

If you're a fan of people watching or perhaps just fancy the occasional observation of bizarre human activity, might I suggest visiting a CVS on a Thursday afternoon. More particularly the CVS at the corner of Mockingbird and Skillman.

Of course this may have only been an isolated incident. Maybe an odd phenomenon resulting from the sudden drop in temperature. But nevertheless I will report to you my findings.

After racing through the sliding doors for fear of frostbite (alas I had only worn a t-shirt and light jacket believing it to be a mild 68 degrees instead of a miserable rainy and bitter 35), I made my way towards the pharmacy section, whereupon I was not particularly greeted by the clerk, but more so shouted at. In Spanish.

HUH? I thought. And I thought my face expressed this concern, but the clerk (I say clerk and not pharmacist because I'm fairly sure she was not the pharmacist) turned hastily toward the filling area where about three other employees milled around a computer and one (I think he was the actual pharmacist) other transferred liquid from one bottle to another while precariously holding a pencil in between his lips.

I stood there, perplexed. But finally after the woman yelled in Spanish at me again I heard a voice reply in Spanish behind me. Aha! And then the Spanish yeller, in English, said (i.e.,yelled) she'd be with me in a moment.

While waiting for the computer-millers to run my insurance through the computer, I got the opportunity to watch several customers come and go. (And no, the clerk did not stop yelling at people. It seemed she wasn't so much angry as she was just a really, really, loud talker.)

The first lady's last name was Brown. I made note of her mom jeans and I could've sworn she had on a woven belt. But what I found most interesting about Mrs. Brown is that she paid full out for her prescription, which, came in one tiny bag. The price? Not so tiny - $496.98.

Next up? Mullet Man. But Mullett Man, hefty and husky and stout, was sipping nonfat cappuccino delicately from a red snowflaked Starbucks cup.

Hmmm. Interesting.

I'll skip the credit card machine issues and the bewilderment of one of the computer-millers to move along to my exit from the store. Having to zigzag through the maze-like aisles I turned a corner to find a blond lady sitting cross-legged on the floor amid an assortment of hair products (she was not an employee). She was in the process, it seemed, of testing out each different bottle by rubbing the gel (or whatever) between her fingers holding it up to the light, smelling it and then inspecting the ingredients listed on the bottle. It reminded me of that scene in Clerks where the man comes in and tests every single egg in each and every one of the cartons.

Then, as I passed the register, I noticed a woman in line with two - only two - very short strands of silver garland and a bag of chips. I can understand stocking up on the Christmas decorations after Christmas because they are on sale. And I can even see going out during Christmas to get a couple of random, but needed extra pieces of garland. But it's January 5. Christmas is over. Why would you need one foot of garland?

Right.

Then, as I approached my car, an SUV jolted into the spot I was walking past. Still bouncing from the speed-into-the-parking-spot-until-you-hit-the-curb maneuver, the woman behind the wheel (with curly brown hair and a yellow raincoat) promplty lit a cigarette.

Upon that, I left.

Dream Dictionary?

So I clicked on the "what do your dreams mean" link located on the lower right hand side of my hotmail inbox today. I looked up water.

Water (see Ocean)
1. If the dreamer is drinking water, this is a symbol for enjoying life. If the dreamer is at presently in bad circumstances, dreaming of drinking water implies that good times are ahead.
2. Clear, calm water portends happiness, while river rapids or crashing surf implies rough times on the horizon.
3. A waterfall, particularly if there is also a rainbow in the dream, indicates success, happiness, and wealth coming into the dreamer's life.
Astrological parallel: Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces.
Tarot parallel: The suit of cups.

Here is my dream in three stages:
Stage 1: I am at the top of a cascading waterfall/slide. It doesn't seem to be man-made, but it is looks like it is a waterpark ride. Serious white water rushing down - but kids and adults litter the scene in brightly colored swimsuits and water-soaked clothes seemingly having fun with this waterslide/fall thing.
Stage 2:: Assuming to be at the bottom of the waterfall. The rushing water is quiet. In a pond of sorts. Calm, smooth surface. The water is murky and brown and dark brown. There are twigs slicing up through the murk. I poke at them with I guess a paddle.
Stage 3:: Somehow am back at the waterfall/slide frenzy. People are going down the chute and water sprays past me. Some of the people try to get off right in front of me by grabbing mid-slide onto something - not sure what it is.

So in trying to figure out this dream using the "Dream Dictionary" I am at a loss. I am not drinking the water in the dream so we can scratch definition number one out. But do I go with the happiness factor b/c of the waterfall and calm water? I could definitely use some success, happiness and wealth - or should I hunker down for rough times b/c of the crashing surf/river rapids definition? Although it was not crashing surf or rapids per se, but more of a crashing waterfall.

Here Goes

Make the most of yourself for that is all there is of you.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Each year seems to get stranger and stranger. Not in a bad way, necessarily. This year was no exception - although I can't necessarily explain why. Some days I feel like I am living in sort of a sub-existence, disconnected from that to which I should be connected; i.g. conversations about the weather with the fuschia-shirted woman in the elevator or children with the pregnant lady in my office whose belly button has just recently popped out and is afraid she may have to go on bedrest but will not know for sure until next week. I have never been comfortable with small talk. Really, never. I do not feel sorry for this. I am not whining. It is just a fact. I've accepted it. I have even mastered a technique of walking backwards while nodding in agreement or throwing out some generic response to the this-diet-works-best-for-me thread and then looking down at the paper I am holding as if it is important (even if it is only the Mapquest printout of directions to the furniture store)and turning to walk away. I nod a lot these days.

But this year I've made some strides. I got a job that I love. I am more confident. I am starting to make decisions for myself and not decisions that I feel like I am just supposed to make because that's the way things are supposed to be done. I feel like I am starting to make my own tracks instead of following in footsteps that I never felt comfortable in following. And that, that feels good.

This year my step-brother died. He was 16. We were not close. But damn, do I miss him. Or more so, I miss getting a report of his latest mischievous stunt from my dad. We were never close for a few reasons, but one was because we never lived in the same house. Shortly after he became my stepbrother I went to college. When I was home for the holidays he was always gone to visit his dad in Ohio.

I found out something during this time about my family that in a way shocked me. I learned that bitterness can run very deep. In fact, so deep for some people - people you are supposed to look up to, people you are supposed to respect - that they can hate another person even when that person is suffering something so tragic as the loss of a son or brother.

This realization was not comforting. In fact, coming to terms with this realization is almost as bad as coming to terms with my step-brother's death.

But in seeing that, I have let go of my own bitterness.

And that is good...

In the next year I hope to accomplish many things. They are not big things. They are small things in the greater context of the world. But to me, they are significant. And to me they are important.

And on a lighter note, I do have a couple of things on the agenda other than getting a handle on my own neuroses ( from which I will spare you any further annotation).

And here they are (in no particular order):
1. Finish Infinite Jest and then work through the stack of unread books on my shelf.
2. Do some more paintings.
3. Remember to call people on their birthdays (I've been told ecards do not count as birthday greetings).
4. Make more time to read (obvious).
5. Learn/do Yoga.
6. Watch all the movies I've been meaning to see, but just haven't gotten around to because there are always those new and shiny ones at the front of the movie store. A couple I can think of are Apocalypse Now and, for the love of God, I am determined to get through Godfather III in its entirety.
7. Learn how to play tennis.
8. Take more pictures.
9. Cook more.
10. Buy a couch.

So anyway, here's to a new year, full of promise for self-improvement.
Cheers.