This Is Just to Say

that Art Spiegelman is the keynote speaker for AWP 2009! ART SPIEGELMAN! Chicago, here I come. I think I would like to go ahead and get a ticket and hotel room just because if I miss this, I will cry for forty days. ART SPIEGELMAN! I guess it's time to buy Maus, too, so I can get it signed. ART SPIEGELMAN! I. Am going. To see. Art. Spiegelman. ART SPIEGELMAN!

I Can't Win. But Luckily It's Not a Competition.

I'm back in Wilmington now, just getting used to the new/old rhythms and responsibilities. My body doesn't remember this place; the sand shifts as I walk on it, while the mountains always stood firm. The air is thick and wet, the sun goes down so early, and I'm just now not too stiff for yoga (which I skipped for the summer in favor of hiking). It's strange, albeit delightful, to read until midnight--in Montana, I always got caught up in something social instead. So little time now, for just hanging out and doing nothing. Always a lesson plan or a workshop piece or a library trip looking over my shoulder disconcertingly until I do it. I'm glad to be back with my clothes and kitchen and bed and friends, and praise the Lord! I actually write every day! But this summer I just got another magnet under my skin, pulling me toward yet another place I'll always miss. I knew this would happen--while I was there, I thought about being here, and now that I'm here, as I predicted, I'm obsessed with Montana. I wonder if I'll ever stop doing this to myself, going to places knowing I can't stay, and then I wonder if I even want to.

Rocky Mountain Fever

Either Audubon or Muir called Glacier National Park a place with "care-killing scenery," and that's what it is. When work is ridiculous and tiring, I forget it when I step outside and see the mountains. The Blue Ridge is (are?) really nothing in comparison. We have this peaceful coexistence thing going with the big-horn sheep, the marmots, the Columbian ground squirrels (who sound like birds and are nicknamed whistle-pigs), and we just let awe take over in case of bears and moose. I saw a moose swimming across the lake one day, only its head above the water.

My motto for the summer is "The world needs all kinds of people." Slow hikers and non-hikers in addition to hard-core, race-ya-to-the-top hikers. Reserved alongside gregarious, sweet next to salty. We can't do without each other, no matter how one type dominates in certain settings. And if one's gifts are private and hidden rather than obvious to all, they're just as valuable and dazzling as the easily-spotted ones. This comes, as most of my insights do, after a childish fight with the way things are. I got here and felt like a slow-hiking, taciturn fuddy-duddy. It took me a while to realize those first two terms don't make me inferior to anyone who walks fast or talks a lot. Hence the motto.

I had planned a much grander blog post, having waited so long to write it (the internet at the hotel is--shudder--dial-up, so I'm now in Canada, in the parking lot of a Safeway, which for some reason has WiFi). I think you've got the gist of my summer so far, grand or not. I'm sending you the wind on the lake, the reflection of the trees, a patch of snow the shape of South America, someone eating a bug on the front porch, profoundly inane conversation, sweet fatigue, and knowing on the steep way up that you get to take it easy on the return. I'm going to try to get some pictures up, a lame simulacrum being better than nothing. I can't really see them, so I've picked three more or less at random. Enjoy.

Step It Up and Write

Back when I had my TV on the wrong setting and thus only got twenty channels, I watched a lot of Top Chef on Bravo (strangely, that was one of the channels). A few months ago, I watched and enjoyed some Project Runway and realized it had a very similar structure and style, the way the challenges were set up, even the graphics. Then the other day, I came across Step It Up and Dance, and by gum, it's the same thing too. I find the formula engaging to the point of addictive, and clearly I'm not alone because Bravo has realized what works and stuck to it.

Which brings me to my latest imaginary entrepreneurial endeavor: a writing retreat that's structured like one of those shows. I'm sure people would pay lots of money for such a thing--they already drop a lot for writing retreats, and if it has a gimmick like that, all the better. I'm not sure whether there would be elimination, since everyone would have paid the same amount to be there. And it's sad.

To be clear, this would not be a show. No cameras present. When I found out the latest Project Runway champ was only 21, I referred to him as "just a baby," and my friend said, "Uh, how old are you?"
I laughed and said, "Twenty-four, but I don't have my own clothing line."
She said, "Well, if there were a show for writing, maybe you'd be on there. It's just a matter of opportunity."
As I agreed, another friend piped up laughing: "If there were a show for writing, it would be the most boring show ever."

Completely true, I'm afraid. Thus, it's just a retreat, not a show. Although we might have a shot at PBS. Maybe Levar Burton could be the host.

Woooooo.

I'm trying something new and exciting. Will we be able to see this video? I hope so. Enjoy.

Actually, It's Tolerable, but Just Barely

Today I watched part of Intolerable Cruelty. Besides having really gorgeous people in it (George Clooney and Catherine Zeta-Jones), it's just not that great, from what I could tell. And that made me happy, because the Coen brothers are so talented, such masters of their art, and they have still made some forgettable, mediocre films. Barton Fink left me feeling the same way, and Blood Simple. Or A Simple Plan, whichever was theirs--see? It's not even good enough to remember the title! It means there's hope for the rest of us, swashing along through the creative muck. If you do stuff often enough, something great will probably come out eventually. A comforting thought.

I've still been indulging in nostalgia, about to start the last Dark Is Rising book and talking about it to anyone who'll listen. To add to the list, I found an online version of You Don't Know Jack, the best computer trivia game ever. It doesn't have the jingles for each question number, but it's still fun and challenging.

I Love the 90s

The other night, I found Quantum Leap on Ion, this weird channel with reruns from that era. I can't even tell you how happy that made me. The show is emblematic of childhood summers--it used to come on at noon every day, and we'd watch it while we ate lunch, then resume our playing. I want to find DVDs now and spend days watching Quantum Leap. It's better than the other bad-but-good shows from the 90s. I was up earlier than usual a few weeks ago and got to see Saved by the Bell and Fresh Prince. And I'm rereading the Dark is Rising sequence, from even earlier. So, nostalgia all the way lately.

It's remarkable how abruptly something can lose hold of me; I'll read two-thirds of a book and suddenly realize I'm not interested. And since school ended, I've had fun being mostly alone and reading, but just today I decided that time is over and I'm ready to be sociable again. It's like something outside me has flipped a switch, arbitrarily. So let the cartoons begin.