In Which Reggae May Be Found.

I finally finished Blue Highways. I have to quit reading big books at the beginning of the year, because I bog down easily in the winter months. Last year I started Dorothy Dunnett's Game of Kings early on, and I ended up reading it twice in a row because there was so much I didn't understand the first time through, and that took ages. I keep a yearly list of all the books I've read, and so far 2006's list is embarrassingly short. Meanwhile, I noted with some chagrin that pagefever had read 18 books by the end of January. She must take public transportation, I reassured myself, and then, less charitably, Maybe they were really short books!

But back to Blue Highways. The author, William Least Heat Moon (no relation), went on a road trip in the early '80s that roughly followed the perimeter of the continental U.S. He took notes and photos, and thought about everything a lot, and then went home and kneaded it all into a book. It's a nice snapshot of America, focusing on small towns, backroads, and people who've lived long enough to have more than a few stories to tell. Heat Moon is an insightful narrator, but I inevitably found my attention wandering after a chapter or two (and the chapters were generally 1-6 pages). I think this may have been because, when I am in the passenger's seat of a car, even when I resolve to pay attention to where we're going, my mind inevitably wanders and I stop seeing what's rolling past the window. You definitely get that feeling from this book, that you are sitting in the passenger's seat of Heat Moon's van (which he named Ghost Dancing), seeing America with him.

I told Truck this, last night, and he wholeheartedly agreed with that last comment. Truck is the fellow who loaned me the book. He is a connoisseur of the American Road Trip narrative, and this one is his favorite. I think his first book published will also be a Road Trip story. I think it will be a good one. I'll let you know when he does a reading at Powell's. Truck and I went to see a documentary (you knew there would be D's in here somewhere, didn't you?) called The Real Dirt on Farmer John. I really enjoyed it. I wanted less biography and more about the organic farm, but still: it was a worthwhile and entertaining film.

I haven't done an awful lot of D things this week. I haven't done an awful lot of anything this week, to be honest. I did get the roof patched, and I did do my taxes, in the hope of acquiring funding for more comprehensive repairs. On Monday I had dinner with Aaron, who has been my friend since before I knew that "friend" meant something other than "giant stuffed camel." (No, Aaron doesn't get an alias; he has an eponymous domain.) We reminisced about 1980, when St. Helens blew and we played "Jaws" with an end table standing in for the shark and a bunk bed for the boat. He was on his way to Mississippi, and after some months there, will be heading to Afghanistan for a year. I am happy to say that he fully intends to blog this Excellent Adventure.

So today I'm trying to fit in a few last-minute D activities. I went to the Daily Grind and bought some dates and dried figs, and to Movie Madness, where I rented Dear Frankie. And later in the evening, I will dust off my cardboard harp and play some songs in the key of D dorian.

This song is not in the key of D dorian:
Desmond Dekker - Israelites

In Which the Novel is Revisited.

D for Dad, whom I spoke with a while on the phone yesterday, and D for dare: yesterday I met up with fellow writer recoveringmale (who also starts with D) in order to re-read our novels for the first time since November. You wouldn't think you'd need company for an activity like this, but honestly I don't know when I would have got around to it otherwise. I'm not sure I can explain why it was so hard (and it isn't always; I didn't feel this way last year), but I know that to some degree it was getting more difficult the longer I waited. Knowing that somebody else was doing the same thing nearby made it easier.

I got about 1/4 into the story before the coffeeshop started pre-closing activities. I have not yet returned to it, but the verdict is: boring! It's so tedious. It doesn't move. I haven't finished it yet, and I think it gets livelier eventually, but I have a vague feeling that if it has any future at all, it might be better to reduce it by about half and use it as Part I of a larger story.

D for deals: if there's anything more satisfying to my stingy Scottish blood than getting good stuff for cheap, it's getting good stuff for free. And also, finding good homes for stuff I don't need anymore, because I hate to throw things out. So I want to share something with you that makes me very happy indeed: the swap.

It pops up in various places and under various names, and it has different forms and rules, but what it comes down to is that you have stuff to get rid of and stuff you want, and so do other people, and thanks to the internet, you can pool your unwanteds and everybody wins. It's good for your wallet and good for the planet. Here are three of the best-realized swaps I am currently aware of. May their tribe increase.

PaperBackSwap: Step 1: Mail your old books to people who really want them. Step 2: Other people mail you books you really want. Step 3: Rejoice! This is a credit-based system, where every book you send earns you an opportunity to request not only paperbacks, but hardbacks and audiobooks as well. There's a friendly database that keeps track of your offers and requests, and a customized mailer you can print out and ship your books in. Nice.

Portland Petite Clothing Exchange: If you are a small woman, and you live in Portland, you can clean out your wardrobe and restock it at these well-attended monthly events. (Rumor has it that a medium-sized swap is also in the works.) If you don't fit these qualifications but you wish there were something like this for you, consider that all this was begun by one very determined (and very tiny) person.

Freecycle: Oh, surely you've heard of this one. Every town on the planet has one now. (Yeah, I'm exaggerating, but not much.) The way it works is, you post stuff you don't want, and you keep an eye out for stuff you do. Any kind of stuff: furniture, appliances, toys, records, fill dirt, you name it. Maybe you are one of those people who watches the list like a hawk for things you might want. Or maybe you are one of those people who only uses it to get rid of things. Either way, you win. Craigslist also has a free section which works the same way, and (in my town at least) gets quite a bit of traffic.

Which Contains a Word I Can't Spell.

One of those things I did during C weeks that I didn't tell you about was get a caller ID box. Now when I come home, I don't have to wonder how many people called me and didn't leave a voicemail; the box tells me NO CALLS. THAT'S RIGHT, NOBODY CALLED YOU, it says. QUIT CHECKING ALREADY. Today I had 1 CALL and I was kind of excited about that, but the person who rang me up is apparently named UNKNOWN CALLER. Huh. I can't recall meeting anyone by that name. Well, if you're reading this, UNKNOWN CALLER, you can call back now; I'm home!

I just got back from the last session of my chigong (or chi kung, or qigong, or xlrqmdv) class. This is what I was referring to when I said I was getting an early start on a C activity. Actually, tonight marks the end of the first of two sessions, the second building on the first, but I am not going back for more. At least, not from this teacher. Don't get me wrong, I really liked her; like, I think if we had gone to school together, we probably would've hung out. But her instructional style just wasn't working for me. What I really wanted was either a) a sense of progress toward a definite learning goal throughout the course, or b) to walk away from most class sessions feeling really good (energized and/or relaxed). But I didn't get either one of those. I mostly just felt confused, stupid, and/or bored. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out why, and though I won't bore you with all of the possible reasons I came up with, part of the problem may have been that this was the first class she had ever taught. I am sure she will improve, but I don't want to be her guinea pig.

The xlrqmdv was cool, though. She talked a lot (a lot) about the amazing benefits it can have for your body, and I could see how that could be true. Some of the movements are really neat, all flowy and centering and challenging without being painful. I have heard/read that it is dangerous to try and learn this stuff from a book or video; you need an instructor to make sure you aren't learning it wrong. But I am not a good kinetic learner. I am good with stuff on paper though.

Hmm.

Well, there are lots of other tj!ckuongg instructors in this area, even just at different community centers, and I will likely try another class later this year. I probably won't even wait for the Fortnight of Q. I may take another yoga class first though. In yoga you always get to just lie on the ground and breathe for a while. I am pretty good at that.

In Which D is for Drowsy.

One thing I like about watching movies with Spider is that we always end up close. Not snuggling, just sort of subtly leaning in, shoulders or knees brushing or pressed together, in such a way that it always seems like an accident neither of us are willing to back down from. We have a tacit understanding that we are neither of us romantically interested in the other, for half a dozen really good reasons, so that's pretty much as exciting as things get between us. But it does make for a cozy movie experience.

Last night he rented Broken Flowers (which turned out to be my favorite movie I've seen yet this year), and we started it sitting a good yard apart on the wide leather sofa. Over the course of the movie we tilted sideways toward each other like two halves of a drawbridge, so that by the time the credits rolled, we were both lying flat with the crowns of our heads touching. I inhaled the scent of his weird papaya shampoo and watched the names scrolling by sideways through half-lidded eyes.

"Is that Ethiopian music putting you to sleep?" I asked after a while.

"Kinda." His voice sounded strange, echoing through both our skulls. "Why, is it doing a number on you too?"

"... Yeah."

See if it doesn't make you drowsy as well:
Mulatu Astatqé - Tezeta (Nostalgia)

In Which C Concludes and D Descends.

I think the definitive word for C weeks was cantankerous. I mean when I had an evening at home in the last two weeks with time to sit down and blog, and I wasn't caught off guard by that darn bedtime alarm, I found that I was just too cranky to write for public consumption. I had some good stuff to write about, but every silver lining had a cloud, y'know? I admire people who can spin a readable blog post out of a foul mood, but I didn't have the guts for it.

Anyway, I hope that's past now. Today certainly felt like a fresh start, what with sunshine and happy music and a good sermon (the heartening kind, not the kind that makes you feel kicked in the shins), and some laughs with ah over hotcakes and milkshakes, and then a good nap. I had forgotten how delicious it is to fall asleep in any random spot in my house when sunlight is pouring through the windows.

And just for the record, there were a lot of C activities that I could have written about. There was a slightly surreal episode of cleaning, with children and chemicals. There was the day I went to two different churches and found them a study in contrasts. There's the chigong class I've been attending, which has actually been kind of a disappointment, though I think I would really like it with a different teacher. (If you've never heard of chigong, think tai chi; they're not the same, but they appear so to the casual Western observer.) I also went to Cosmic Monkey Comics, and also back to that neat CD store (though I didn't buy anything this time). And I got some basic instruction on how to use this cool old Canon SLR that I've had for a while now, a grown-up camera from the early '80s, and I went to a concert, not the classical kind but the kind where the kids stand around bobbing their heads. (It was Stars, with the Elected. At the Aladdin. If you were wondering.)

So now it's time for D. Hmm, my list of D ideas is a lot shorter than the C one. Which is probably good. Yesterday I took a tour of the west half of my attic, inspired by a brown spot in my living room ceiling, and found that the roof on that side is pretty much done for. Subsequently, the roll bar on my vacuum cleaner quit spinning, and one of the buttons on my alarm clock popped out and slid deep into the body of the clock. If this keeps up, I'm definitely not going to be bored.