nina turns 40

cure for grey seattle winters

Orange tulips in a glass vase on my counter and the smell of just roasted Indonesian Gayo Mountain Organic coffee in the air (full tasting report tomorrow--babies gotta rest before you brew 'em).

reality bites

I've already confessed that I was addicted to this last season, and now I've been glued to the set watching this and I've noticed something interesting. In both of these shows there are big personality conflicts--duh, it's part of the fun. But what I find striking this time around is that on both shows it's the strong, confident black woman who seems to be getting everybody's panties in a wad. On The Apprentice Omarosa is a woman who grew up in the projects and has worked in the White House. She's formidable. She's completely self possessed and calm, and she's in the game to win and couldn't care less about being nice. All the other women seem to rely on their charm as equally as their smarts, and they can't quite figure out how to deal with Omarosa. Same thing over at Top Model. Camille is a million times more confident than the other girls, and she is very driven. Bugs the crap out of the other girls. And the thing that I find truly fasinating is that during the vocal confrontations that they've filmed for our voyeuristic viewing pleasure, the white girls are getting seriously upset. They are crying, they are trembling, these black women push their buttons in a big way. Perhaps a white woman with a similar personality woud have the same effect, but somehow, I don't think so. I think it has something to do with the "nice" factor. The white women have gotten where they are at least in part by being nice, being cooperative and charming (and yes, sexy), getting along with each other and those in authority over them. I think the black women have been successful for different reasons. They've had to be tough, they've had to believe in themselves with little cultural support, they've had to work harder. Like the old feminist saying goes: women have to work twice as hard to be considered half as good. That's compounded for a black woman. I think it pisses off the white women that they can't make the black women play nice. Who knows for sure; these shows are certainly contrived, and every tiny bit of potential drama or conflict milked to death. But I find the group dynamics on them fascinating.

it's all virtual

I was talking to a friend, telling her how much I enjoyed the women that I was meeting through my blog, and how I corresponded regularly with some of them. It was about all she could do not to call me a socially intept freak. This is one of my friends who doesn't "get" blogging, and who can't imagine putting one's journal online (but it's not really a journal, I say, to no avail). "I don't know," she said. "For me, it's just so, oh...limited." It's kind of like a pen pal, I explained. Sure, it's not as rich as the friendships I have with people who live in Seattle and I spend time with, but many of my friends here are so busy I rarely see them anyway, and I can drop a quick line to my virtual friends whenever I feel like it. She just shook her head, apparently feeling sorry for me. So it brings me to the age old question. Are relationships that you have with people that you only know online somehow less real than the relationships you have with people face to face?

honky tonk

Some mornings, the only thing that will do is a little Kasey Chambers.

Finally made it to see Lost In Translation yesterday, and since I'm so late to the party on that one, I won't bother to comment other than to agree about how wonderful it is. As we were sitting in the dark watching the previews I got this almost tingly anticipatory feeling about each trailer that came on. I love movies, I thought to myself, I love getting lost in someone else's life. But then it occurred to me that my love was broader--I love stories, whatever their medium of expression, I love stories. Nothing gives me a thrill quite like a well told tale. And I'm constantly processing my own life in terms of making into an interesting story (hence the endless journaling and blogging). To paraphrase Isak Dineson, all sufferring becomes more bearable if it is part of a story. I would add that the triumphs become sweeter as well. Each thing that happens, even the mundane details of life seem more interesting when written down--the distillation of experience into story. There is a certain danger in this, I suppose, which manifests itself in the endless seeking of drama. As I get older, I find that I need drama for drama's sake less and less. Life offers up enough twists without me seeking them out. One thing I know for sure: it's my life, and I want to be the one telling the story.

I discovered a huge dark indigo bruise on the side of my thigh today, and I have no idea how I got it. Are poltergeists beating me up in my sleep? Am I being drugged and having crazy bondage sex that I don't remember in the morning? More likely I'm just walking into things. It hurts. It's ugly. Dang.

Went for a walk around Greenlake (a quintessential Seattle thang to do) with V. yesterday. We cheated a bit by stopping about 2/3 of the way around to have coffee at a small cafe called Chocolati--how could I resist with a name like that? Had one of the best mochas ever. I groaned after each sip. The secret? Why, the chocolate, of course. This is first and foremost a chocolate shop, and I knew it was going to be good when the barista scooped the chocolate for my drink out of a vat of warm bubbly stuff with a ladle, as if making a hot fudge sundae. When he thoroughly stirred the shots of espresso and chocolate fudgey stuff together, I knew I was in for a treat. It was fabulous. It's a good thing I live nowhere near there, or I'd never leave. And yes, we did finish our circumnavigation after we finished our drinks. I'm not a total cheater.

checka checka

Here's a cool blog written by an Iraqi woman. This is what it's all about folks, hearing those voices we'd never get a chance to be exposed to otherwise. Oh! And if you scroll down and click on the Is Something Burning? link on her sidebar, she posts Iraqi recipes. How cool is that?

(Link nabbed from DruBlood)

Been thinking a lot about traveling, how much I miss it, how long it's been since I've gone anywhere, how much I wish I could buy some sort of used camper and a laptop with WiFi, pack up the kidlet and hit the road for a year or so, blogging on the way. I could homeschool the kidlet, and he'd learn more that way than in the classroom, or at least learn different if equally important things. We would swing North into Canada and South into Mexico so he could finally meet his daddy's parents, and we'd zig zag around to everything in between. My vagabond soul is restless.

Now here's a motto I can live with (swiped from Inga Muscio's site): The only bush you can trust is your own!