Yes. Light in August. No "a," no "the."

Just wanted to correct my error.

Sigh.

I was looking over my research paper from Blythe's American Lit class (I'm really not good at research papers. My research always seems a little -- half witted? flimsy? rushed? random?) and I realize that even though I wrote that paper in May -- I read those poems totally differently now. I look at what I wrote, and I think -- geez, I was really only seeing one layer, wasn't I? And poetry...well, I write an awful lot of theraputic prose, none of which is a stone's throw away from barely lyrical journal entry type writing...and I've been kind of a coy kitten about really jumping into analyzing great poetry, because I don't feel immediately comfortable with poems -- who does? It's not even supposed to be comfortable -- but, because it's so immeasurable, I shy away, which is rediculous -- REDICULOUS! because when I read my research paper I realized that poems are such a personal written expression that they take some getting to know. I read the poems I had written on again, and it was like I read whole new meanings. It was like, what did you write your paper on, you shallow halfwit!

Morrissey writes -- "has the world changed or have I changed?" and it's haunting, really, because the words don't change -- but I read and understand differently, and end up changing my story. Maybe that is why I get so conflicted about writing. With writing, especially fiction, poetry, you are never right. You are always dealing with conjecture -- and that's the beauty, no? It's just when I go to write essays, it's like I tell my brain -- okay, you are writing this to society, so you better dumb it down. Not that you, my dear, cherished instructors are "society," but you know, I'm trying to write this so anyone actually interested in whatever I'm writing about can follow my line of thought. But I never get past the tip of the iceberg. I know the Hemingway thing, about only giving the tip -- but when it comes to essays, you are supposed to go to the bottom of the polar cap -- you know, like the cores that they drill in the artic? you are supposed to go UNDER that stuff! (I'm laughing out loud) you know, where the fish dont even have eyes anymore.

I think teaching literature must be the greatest job in the world. I mean just reading those poems again after studying them four months ago -- I have a whole fresh take on them. Sylvia Plath keeps amazing me with Lady Lazurus -- which may be my favorite poem by a woman. And Neruda's poems? I mean, yes, okay, romantic -- but so heartbreaking. Of course, I have a little thing for heartbreak -- who doesn't? Admit it.

And animals? Animals trip me out. I mean, my cats like to sleep with me. They like to curl up in the crook of my arm, RIGHT NEXT TO ME, and sleep. I mean, human, human, cat,cat. I'm a human? Don't they know this? When my male simese, Roman, was a kitten, he was so small, the runt of the litter, that he fit in the pocket of my cargo pants. If I tie one of my sarongs into a sling, he will stay in there, right next to me all day. Um. I didn't just admit to carrying around my cat in a sling, did I? What I'm saying here is that these are animals, man! What do animals dream about? How do beings function that don't have language? Just instict, feelings, and some memory. Todd's Uncle, UM, thinks that it must be peaceful in an animal's brain. Maybe.

And you know what? I didn't apply for facilitator. I was really entertaining the idea -- but the commute just didn't...the drive...the hours...but let me tell you, I am a nice girl to have in the class. I won't let you down as a student. I'lll always have something prepared. Bible as Lit -- I'll give you my best. Early American Lit -- I may be sleepy -- but if I have that triple Americano before class -- which I know I will, because I will have to leave my house stupid early to beat traffic, and will have time to stop -- I will have questions, comments, etc. I should have been a fasiclitator a year ago. Dang.

And you know, I really am sad to leave after next semester. I'll probably still ask you for help/thoughts. But the big school should have some instructors that ring true -- but it's like I tell Tamara -- you guys have something special at Fullerton College. You all get an honorable mention in my book.

Absalom Revisited

I tore through the last few pages of Absalom, not knowing where I left off, really, and have started it over again. I can take in more of the details now that I know the plot. For instance, Rosa is only 60 years old when she tells her story, and I know that 60 in the 1920s may not be too young, especially for anyone malnourished during a war, but I thought of her as much older the whole time, like, 90. It's a very difficult book to put down and pick up again. It's like pausing Gone With the Wind, and coming back to it a few days later. Huh?

My in-laws are in town for the weekend, and I spent over $200 dollars in booze at Trader Joes...but, hey, I was out of lots of things, like vodka, whiskey, and Grand Marnier. Keeping a well stocked bar is an investment, especially when you have lots of family around. My brother, who I just visisted, as noted in this blog, is here this weekend, so they may stop in for a cocktail tomorrow as well. He's my sweetheart brother. 100% trustworthy. I love him, and those kinds of people. Who doesn't?

Since he and his family are here, with the newest member of our family, we are going to take a family picture on Sat. Great. I gained four pounds on the trip and have a weird cold sore on my upper lip. And the family fashion palate is brown and khaki. Fabulous.

I missed Ryan Adams at the Wishire Theater tonight. You blink in this town, and every great act passes you by. Things will be better Monday.

A Light in August

I don't know if any of you other than Joe have read ALIA. I believe it to be the best beginning of any of his novels I have read thus far -- although that may not be true. The Sound and the Fury is pretty phenomonal, but I don't know if you can really compare Sound with his other works. Critics often hail it as his most important work, and I'm down with that. But if you are just talking plain old novel -- which ALIA

**wait. I've been listening to NPR this morning, and I just heard that China has an overpopulation of males -- something something due to ability to determine the sex with ultrasound. That doesn't sit right with me. Don't you have to be at least five months along to determine sex? Does that mean that after five months of pregnancy, women are aborting females? OK, maybe I'm out of the loop on this, and this may be nothing new -- but that makes me sad. It's like a grief for femininity. It hurts my heart.**

is, much like Sanctuary, then the beginning of ALIA is incredible. I almost don't feel like the standard make-up of story, rising action, climax, falling action, denoument, applies to Faulkner. Even in his most acceccible works, there is more of an inverse of this. I feel like it's a sinking action, a deepening, and then when you feel like you can't hold your breath any longer, he releases you, only to maybe actually, watch you drown before you get back to the surface. I feel like Faulkner plays upon my notions of conventional mystery -- some unthinkable twist, some suprise -- with most of the plot. There's villany, heartbreak, stereotypes are explored, but he always gives this explanation for the evil that occurs in his novels as simple intolerence. And when he does this, he makes you feel the fool for ascribing any romance to violence, or evil. The whole premise of ALIA is intolerence -- and he doesn't really hide this, but he really drives home how intolerence is the cause for most suffering, and even shows you how you have been able to bear the story due to your own intolerence. You read a story about a black man getting lynched. There are many stories with this action at the fore. But ALIA puts together all the reasons, all the possibilities that could lead up to a lynching, and the question of why this action is so ineviltable is never chalked up to chance -- but always blamed on ignorant intolerant white people, and the chaos that their blind hate creates. He deftly includes love, religion, spirituality, poverty, history, and ecomonics into the mix. There were moments in this book where I had to put the work down, and look out the window just bowled over by the great, great, writing.

Faulkner also does this thing. I will try to get some examples, but its like he writes a sentence, describing some scene, and he will insert a definition into the sentence, and this definition is totally unneccesary, the sentence doesn't need the definition, it's like a sage whispering into your ear -- this is what time means, this is what love means, this is what age means. It's almost like there is a second narrator, a lexicographer of sorts, who is telling you the meaning of life between commas.

I don't know what's next for me on the novel list this summer. I may try American Pastoral, oh! or finishing Moby Dick. Hope everyone's having a good time.

P.S. It's strange now not to post pictures.

Day 20 -- NM to CA

We made it home. We left pretty early -- Todd photographed how lovely I am in the morning, how excited I am to be up.

Here's me whittling away the time on the road, doing what I do best -- blabbing. I know, I'm not using hands-free. Hey, I was weaned on cell-phone driving. Sue me.

Here's the car -- we made it many thousands of miles, and I should probably end this here, before I start sounding like Willie Nelson. I loved this trip! I loved the south the best. I want to go back soon. Our next vacation is in December, Cancun -- I don't imagine it will be as interesting, but it will be fun. Thanks for the ride, America.

Day 19 -- OK to NM

Back in Albuquerque. It is beautiful desert night. Stunning. I got about four hours sleep from last night to now, and I'm worked. I'm excited to get home, and tomorrow we may just power home. I'm excited to get home to Southern California summer. I want to get started on a juice fast, start surfing, read all my books...etc. So these stops on the way home will probably be a little boring.

We did stop at the Caddilac Ranch in Amarillo. We found a 1960 Series 62 Blade Top in the mix, just like we had when we were dating and first married. I wrote on the Series 62 -- but they look like they get spray painted all the time. There were a lot of Marine Corps symbols on them.

Day 18 -- TN to OK

Back in Oklahoma. This morning, in Memphis, we stopped to get brunch at the Arcade, a famous ol' diner that has been in several feature films, including the compelling 21 Grams. It was just okay, if you ask me. No Ajax, that's for sure. My ham sandwich was not the freshest hog I've tasted, and the pear slices were a little thick. The sandwich, which had brie as well, didn't need to be that warm, either. Well. What can you do. As we spilt out of there we saw the celebrity pics on the counter, and I saw a pic with Jack White. Oh, if I'd a been there that day. I mighta cried. Writing postcards.

We made one last stop in Memphis -- Sun Records. Now, I wasn't too excited about Graceland, since it seems very amusement park-ish, and trust me, I like my Disneyland, but nothing about Graceland was very moving, I can't really tell you why not. Maybe because it seemed like an example of success, an effigy to having made it big -- a trophy, if you will. But. When we went to Sun records, I got nervous and jittery. Imagine! I saw the pictures of Carl Perkins and Jerry Lee and Johnny Cash and Rufus and Howlin' Wolf...and gosh. I just about lost it several times. You imagine teenage Elvis, unsure, stuttering, cute as a button, all ma'ams, constantly trying to get a break there, maybe a little broke. He was real then, a real artist, his eagerness pliable, malable, palpable. You imagine Cash and Lee the same way, although you feel a little superior to Lee, 'cause he seems like kind of a annoying punk, but you wipe that thought away anhow and remember that redheaded piano god of rock and roll and you dont care, you don't care about any of their shag carpet sins, because they recorded music that will probably always be played, and your children will know it, and theirs, probably, and this is art that didn't occur hundreds of years ago in a chapel in Rome, but right here, amidst the freakish nature of post-WWII America and post-Depression America and pre-Nixon America and pre-Vietnam America, there was this art recorded and it blew everyone over like a supernatural wind, like a switch that had been in everyone's soul, suddenly buzzing with heat and intenisty. And all of it, the fame the house, the cars, the jewlry, the clothes, it took the music away from him, the music, the music, the music. When you hear That's Alright, when you hear it, you change. You hear some trio singing There'll Be Peace in the Valley, and and it's quaint -- but you hear Alright -- and you change. Like you change when you see Michaelangelo's Moses. Charelton Heston was totally acceptable -- but then you see M's Moses and you change. I know, it's outrageous! Comparing invaluable Reniassance art to Elvis. What is the difference? Is it that many more people can agree that Moses is sacred than can consent to rock and roll being spiritual? I tend to think so. What else did Elvis sing? Gospel. And as was so gingerly brought to our attention in Ray!, what is rock and roll but secular Gospel? But you have to believe that it's spiritual. That's what I like about Tori Amos -- she has always admitted that music is a means to a spiritual experience. And it's not so much that one admits it, or, kind of like the Beatles, actually writes music about it, but has the awareness...I mean, when Elvis sings Gospel, it's...grand, it really is, but when he's just kid, and you hear him sing and play, and you see early Elvis playing and dancing -- its pure. He strove for spirituality for the rest of his life. But he had it. He had a channel.

So Sun Records was a great stop. I'm so grateful Todd pushed it.

We then took off for Oklahoma City and never looked back, except to get a sandwich at an odd roadside winery in Arkasas. We bought Todd's mom some Arkansas Muscat. Can't wait to taste it.

By the way -- the other night at a hotel I saw a good part of The Misfits. We need to talk about this movie. Absolutely mesmerizing.