free at last

A low key MLK day. BBN like almost all the companies I've worked for didn't have a holiday, but other people's holidays, school closings s and the resulting absences of parents doing childcare, combined with a bit of snow contributed to making the it feel a little more casual than usual -- starting with the lack of morning and evening traffic. I spent the day frittering over the application to Eliot house, which I completed but can't send until tomorrow because of the postal holiday, and responses to my two Jdate correspondents. The older one is as reserved as the younger is forthright. Julie B. We talked for about an hour, about family, relationships, her kids, Jdate, finally getting to the key hump that as she said always brings a moment of silence, when she described her separated husbands' suicide. He was a physician, who had too easy access to drugs (and I got the impression abused them in other ways other than fatally). I liked how she said she explained it to her kids: daddy loved you more than anything, but he didn't love himself enough. He had gone down into a place where he didn't seen anyway out. Her mother was divorced when she was 10, she grew up in Chicago with a step father -- is she close to him? I didn't ask. Her own marriage seems to have been difficult; it seems to have taken her a long time to decide to get out of it, but "how many rounds of couple's therapy can you take?" The 3 year relationship she had after that with a divorced man with one son seems to have ended because of his ambivalence over whether he was ready to commit, and whether she thought it was worth waiting (she decided not, not unwisely I'm sure). She has two kids, one 12 one 14 I think, both going to public school, both apparently content with the small but close community where they have grown up, each having a rather distinct character -- the older confident but not very interested in work, the younger studious but in need of some coaching and reassurance (I hope I got that right).

Moving on, looking back

I'm still want Diana in my life. Now that she's planning to go back to Italy, my plans or maybe call them my fantasies have taken a new shape. Since she'll be moving back to Italy in 6 months, what's the cost of doing everything I can do renew the affair? I'd rather have her leave in the middle of a relationship that's a relationship, not monthly movie dates, at best. Perhaps it can start with the road trip to the Cape we discussed, hopefully something that can happen without the kids in tow. And if for some reason, she decides to leave off or postpone going back to Italy, I'll ask her to marry me. Would she say yes? Almost certainly not. Would just asking take the relationship to a new place? I think so, though quite where it's hard to say. That really depends on what happens leading up to such a point, in which case perhaps the marriage offer doesn't really matter -- except as my own symbolice goal. But this has to be something that works for good. We've tried and failed too many times already -- 3 at least -- for another failure to be acceptible.

The hardest part might be the kids. V. obviously still enjoys having me around, but then she's young and enough of a prima donna to like anyone who likes and pays attention to her. S. is another case. She's seemed more aloof the last couple of times I saw her. But then she's an adolescent, and it would be self-asorbed in turn to think that this had anything to do with me personally, rather than just the fact of my being another, and after all not so familiar adult in her mother's company. However if she were aloof because of me personally it might only be to her credit, since she might reasonably wonder why after all that happened I still ready to put up with seeing D. on such a tentative basis, 'as friends', maybe friends with a special affection but that's all. There would a feeling of shame, of falseness, even of a kind of meanness towards the girls, at least, if D and I were to start up again on any but the most rapturous terms, and even then a lot of convincing would be necessary (of myself first of all).

lunch

Had lunch at S-pal in Watertown with last night's duo and D. Almost lived up to it's NPR sandwich hype, though the owner who came over to ask J why she returned the redlentil soup seemed more self-righteous than visionary, insisting the lentils were bleached when they cooked and any actually red red lentil concoction J might be remembering must've been artificially colored. "We don't use any artificial ingredients" he said -- but how would the addition of a little tomato, or beet juice compromise a dish's naturalness? But in any case it was a jolly outing, starting iwth the rather spooky drive through foggy Belmont. Nice though slightly wary young waiter, who J. later figured to be Palestinian, brought us 3 falafel sandwichers and J.'s dish of fool along with the not-quite-red soup. Probably the tastiest falafal I've ever had. Much more sensuous though was seeing J.'s face lit up with a glow of satisfaction, like someone taking a bite of something delicious, as she started questioning the waiter in Arabic abut the dessert choices. I never frankly have enjoyed listening to Arabic, but I enjoy listening to her. Maybe it's the sensuality in her attitude towards the language. I'd like to have the impressions of a native speaker and trained linguist on this. A strong cup of Arabic coffee to end the meal, a nice half-nap at my desk, and I don't know when I've felt more relaxed while at work. She's a funny mixture J., with her appetites for Arabic velars and Arabic sweets like halvah, and the organization of her accountancy-trained mind, enjoying the Inferno in part because of its orderliness.

It's only Wednesday

Suddenly a sense of how long the week's already been. Limbo of several projects in suspension or just getting started, not to mention my technical limitations that prevent me from plunging in -- well more vanity that keeps me from wanting to expose these. "Oh Well". But it's been fun talking to J. She's a trip, esp. her wild enthusiasm about things like Arabic velars. What else has been a compensation? Realizing that if she had a little more confidence and ease and a little less goofiness E. could bring down the hosue. That's house not hose. Well now that you mention it... Maybe some Frankenstein inspired light erotica will distract me -- say transplanting J's spirit into E's magnificent frame. Nothing against their own frames or spirits, it's just, you know F.I.L.E. has to respect the demands of the genre. Or maybe the experiment would turn out unexpectedly, and give each of them enough of each other's respective frames and spirits to create quite at toothsome pair who become oddly attracted to each other even as they loathe the manipulative, selfish Dr. F. whose brief fantasies of a 3some are savagely quashed as the two women slam the door to his bedroom and pull each other down onto a bed that's as far as possible from a lab table to make their own electricity, leaving Dr. F at a loss but considering he's the voyeuristic author's creative alter ego there are compensations. And whoops -- a naked arm veiled by wild blonde hair reaches out into the hall to now pull him into the laboratory of his own bed, even as the the experimentation reaches a fever pitch. Cut to a crescendo of thunder and lightning and titanic music, a closing orchestral crash, followed by a shocked sunrise over the smoking ruins of Casa di F. and the audience's knowledge that though they challenged nature and suffered the consequences, in B. movies there's always a sequel in the wings...

reviews

It's review time at work. I review myself, I review others, others review me, then Marie is the lucky one to have to put all these pieces together. She was smart to forestall a lot of self-consicous and time-consuming prose by reminding people that she works with us all every day. I know my weaknesses more than my strenghts, or rather I know both perhaps equally but don't know is how much one undermines or counterbalances the other in other people's experience, and that makes me feel the weakness more. Everything's a matter of perspective. E.g., I'm smart, hard-working, and engaged, but are my brains properly applied (ick) or am I challenging them where they need to be? Does my sweat move mountains or just create road blocks for other people? Is my engagement a real enthusiasm for projects and people or just need to draw attention to myself? Truth is though all this is off the point, since whatever I'm good or bad at the fact is that I'm doing a job I don't love, I wasn't trained for, and that leaves me feeling baffled and unsatisfied a large part of the time. So it's hardly likely that any 'engagement' I have could at best be mroe than abstract curiosity combined with collegial sympathy combined with a certain neutral work ethic. The more interesting question is whether the same flaws of character would stick to me in a job that *did* fit my interests and background. I think in some ways they might - where was I more narcisistic, confused and misdirected than when I was an academic? I can only hope that the distance I gotten from myself and what I've learned about 'working well with others' in the techie world will stick with me as I move, partly or totally, back into activities that are mroe academically oriented -- and that the intellectual and teacherly parts of me that do deserve the light of day have a chance to get more play.

Still worried about what to tell D. about his novel ms. It occurs to me now I could tell him there are really *3* books fighting to get out her: the eccentric children's story, pictures included; what could be made into a taught if slightly offbeat but essentially realistic political thriller; and the grand, overdressed satire of power politics. This is partly true, partly flattery, partly a clever evasion. Of course many genuinely great books can be seen as many books in one, and that's a genuine part of their greatness, but in this case it's more a case of conflicting, muddled impulses and sheer bad editing. The amazing thing is that D. has had the energy to diligently and with apparently more than a little care crank out 3 of these manuscripts, amounting to thousands of pages int he final versions and who knows how many more in the drafting process. Also scores of oddly concocted characters, patchworks of stereotypes and quasi-caricature and with punning names as lame as their dialogue and yet with enough energy and resourcefulnes to keep puffing through 3, 5, 800 pages. It must be a kind of drug for him, or a catharsis or both; I imagine him coming back late from a long day of lawyering, keeping S. and dinner waiting, bolting it down, playfully roughing up the dog, then retiring tothe office/bedroom to pour his frustrations and displaced energies into another chapter before day's end. I guess this is also the time S. paints, if she's busy during the day teaching and running errands. And perhsp there's a bond between them after all in this strange parallel creative road race. I'll ask her one day, in fact I'll ask him when we talk: working methods may not always be the best guide to the creative process, but in this case it'll be revealing, since I 'm worried less about the writing itself (what's to worry about after all?) than about what it measn to him. Probably a lot, so I need to take some care and forethought with my critique. What if I tell him that if he can whittle 500 pages down to 50 or even 150 he'd have the start of a potentially fun 'young adult' novel? and that i'd not only be willing to edit but illustrate it? Or co write a chapter too... But after all that's nto really what he's interested in, I suspect, and the suggestiion will only serve to undermine the illusions that keep him going. Hey I know what those are like -- it's on another lovel what keeps me blogging. Another question is who's read this or the other books? I'm pretty sure Lisa has -- and I wonder what she's had to say about it. it's hard to imagine her thinking much of the prose or the storyline; on the other hand -- a daughter's love aside -- in all her wit and intelligence she's so generous, curious and open-minded that I'm sure she's found a way to be encouraging and perhaps seen a real ray of light in it all, whihc I'm blind to.

sand

8 am
With all the bad pre-election news coming out of Iraq -- today's headlines included the mass resignation of the election commision in Anbar, the embattled Sunni province west of Baghdad -- you'd think that there'd be a dent in the Bush administrations confident hoopla. Instead, the same old "it's hard but it'll be a great day for freedom" rhetoric. I'm sure that behind the scenes there's a lot of hand-wringing and contingency planning and urgent consultation with the native powers that be in Iraq. This is equally surely though not about ensuring a "free, fair and respresentative" election but making sure that the White House doesn't suffer another propoganda failure for its policies. And the mroe we're concerned about image at the expense of reality, the more reality and ultimately the image too will suffer. It's not about passively burying your head in the sand; it's about getting furiously caught up in your own theater - shoveling a mountain of sand to bury your own and you hope other peope's heads in, for just long enough. The result, ironically, is that what may have begun as spin does in some ways become a matter of sincere belief, but alas in a house of cards that people forget was just a trick to begin with. A self-unfulfilling prophecy.

5:10 pm
Off to work around 9 this morning, except my car wouldn't start, though there was juice enough to turn on the lights, radio etc., but not give more than a disappointed 'chuck...' when I cranked the starter. Called AAA on the cell, found my membership had lapsed since 2003 (which surprised me, since surely I've had some trouble in the interim); I renewed my service over the phone by credit card and had htem to me within the hour. The round blase old fellow from B&L towing recommended that I charge for 1/2 hr and get a new battery soon, but not necessarily immediately if the problem had only happened once. Called Subaru to see if they could take me today, but they didn't have a slot till next week, which I took, but after 20 minutes romaing around (ending up at Lamejun for some ARmenian groceries) I realized why wait? almost any service place would do the same for about the same price, so I stopped at the Mobil Service station in Fresh Pond, and got my state insptection in the bargain, which the manager noticed had lapsed. They would've sold me and oil change and tire rotation too if I'd been willing, though they were so genial and lowkey about it that it was hard to feel irritated. And so after all this into work around 10:45. With pistachio mahmoul in the bargain.

I have been reading Pepys diary on the web. Surprising bloglike.

10:25. I read the first chapter of Don's new novel. You can't tell much from this, which tells you a lot actually about the novel. I'd thought his second manuscript (this is novel #3) showed signs of improvement, wasn't just a pile of weird characters, inflated and anticlimactic flourishes, and an contrived yet childish plot. But this is like 'The Ice Cream War' (#1) in a more polished form. I marked up about 3 pages with what I thought were meaningful comments and suggestions -- ways to make the language tighter, the jokes a little more pointed, the plot, such as it was, more focused. I don't know if he has any talent or not, but it's not on display in this book. The best I can say is that there seem to be two different kinds of books fighting with each other here -- a short, nutty children's book, with illustrations that fill out the atmospheric holes left by the prose; or an elaborate satirical pastiche, carried by worplay and ingenious caricature. Maybe if he went whole hog in one of these directions, it would amount to something. But I don't think that leaves me with much really constructive to say about the current book. I'll read one more chapter, see if I have any mroe useful ideas, and give him a call.

Today Safire ran an awful Op-Ed piece, trying to mine the Book of Job for some morals about the Asian Tsunami. Along with Brooks and Lehigh's pieces last week that makes 3 - the good, the bad and the ugly. I dropped the idea of writing a new blogpiece about the earlier articles, but I don't think i can avoid it now. I haven't really put togehter my ideas about Safire, but he

And again

OK, it's a bit addictive, even while you're waiting for the oven to heat up for another yummy dinner of grilled, Jamaican jerk sauce marinated chicken over mesclun salad. Interesting and boring at the same time. I have to start building my repertoire of such dishes -- cooking takes a little time but it's time that I can lard with reading and writing and it's more satisfying in at least a couple of senses than microwaving a frozen dinner. As always of course it's not the cooking so much as the shopping for raw ingredients that's the issue, but then how much time does it take to go to Trader Joe's for their pre-grilled chicken compared to picking up the raw stuff just about anyware and making it myself? I will have to start listing my plans and inventorying my acomplishments in this regard, a la Pepys. I should cook the peppers tonight as well, in between coats of paint on the moldings, which will require, hmm, at least 5 repositionings of the chest of drawers that is my combined step ladder and work table. Say, between the taping and the two succesive coats of paint, about 20 minutes apiece, wth a 5-10 minute break between them, because I'm too edgy to to these continuously. Much more tiresome than the upper banding, where I could cover everything with one coat of the roller, and I didn't have my judgement pestering me over whether the color is right or not. Phew. OK oven light's off, the chicken's lost its chance....