Sugar-Lips

I have an ongoing joke with a friend of mine in which, during our email banter, we challenge each other to come up with the most ridiculous terms of endearment for the other. I don't really know how this got started, but when he would address our emails to "sugar lips" or "love-muffin," I couldn't resist. Even though I know it's a silly joke, it never ceases to put a smile on my face. It reminds me of this article I once read by Garrison Keillor- which he referenced when he recently appeared with the Progressive Forum (where I met him).

http://www.salon.com/opinion/feature/2006/10/18/keillor/

I finally have the maturity to appreciate the charms of the good ol' South- it only took me the greater part of three decades to do so. People sometimes observe that I don't sound like I'm from Texas, but I used to receive that comment all the time. Less so now. Why? Because I no longer strain to neutralize my Southern accent- I've even grown to kind of like the drawl that occasionally slips into my speech. More than that, I like how I feel when I call someone "sweetie" or "darlin" or "sugar." And I like meaning it when I do.

PS: Even those voting for Obama or Hillary might call you "precious."

Terms of endearment

Why do Southern folks elect regressive, warmongering politicians but still call you "sunshine" when they serve your coffee?
By Garrison Keillor

Oct. 18, 2006 I was misunderstood growing up and have often been misunderstood since, but then so is everyone else. People are busy, and you can't expect them to drop everything and try to understand you. If you want to be understood, practice kindness and mercy. Kindness is seldom mistaken for anything else. Small kindnesses reverberate a long time in people's hearts.
A woman checking I.D.s at the airport saw me coming the other day and said, "Good morning, sunshine." She didn't know me from Adam. She glanced at my driver's license and said, "Have a good flight, darling." This was in the South, of course -- in Austin, Texas, to be exact. Northern women would no sooner address a strange man as "sunshine" than they would ask if you wanted to see their underwear. But that woman's "sunshine" shone on me for the rest of the day, and a week later I still remember it. Like I remember old waitresses in diners who addressed everyone as "love." "Care for more coffee, love?" Yes, dear. And you left a quarter tip instead of a dime. Fifteen cents for a little endearment.

On the flight from Austin, I sat next to a black woman my age from Alabama who was in a chatty mood. I said, "You've seen a lot of history in Alabama." She said, "And it isn't over yet." We got to talking about Dr. King and his family, and she blurted out, "I just cannot forgive those children of his for never giving their mother a grandbaby. Four healthy children. I don't know their sexual orientation, but you would think that one of them could've produced one baby for Mrs. King to hold. She died without ever getting those babies to hold in her arms. Do you have grandbabies?" I said I have two. "I've got two," she said, "and every time I look at them, that's me. They're the continuation of me." She patted my hand. "I am going to pray for your grandchildren. Tell me their names." So I did. When the plane pulled up to the gate in Chicago, she touched my knee and said, "It was good talking with you, darling."

Up here in the north, a man wouldn't touch a stranger on the knee or address her as "darling," lest he be reported to the Attitude Police, but once in Nashville, Tenn., a lady said to me, "Sweeten up to me now," meaning "Give me a squeeze," so I did, of course. She smelled of lavender and talcum and lemons. Everyone craves a little sweetening now and then, but in Minnesota we don't squeeze easily or address each other as "darling."
I went to a big dinner of diehard liberals in Texas and was darlinged left and right and sweetied and even occasionally precioused, but if you were among Democrats in Minnesota, you might think you were at a meeting of Mormon actuaries. We offer a cold handshake and a thin smile, and that's all you get from us. We are wary of the big grin and the shoulder squeeze, the trademarks of the con man, and we resist being drawn into friendly banter with strangers for fear we'll end up with a truckload of aluminum siding or a set of encyclopedias.
We're burdened by the need to be cool. When I was in college, I read Kafka and Camus and tried to write like them, in flat, non-American English, as if writing under the influence of a migraine, until it slowly dawned on me that I was missing the basic experiences that had formed them. Enduring high school is not the same as growing up Jewish in Prague or fighting in the French resistance. I had no solid basis for being cool in that existential motorcycle James Dean absurdist chain-smoking hero sort of way, so I gave up being cool and settled for being pleasant. And now I see teenagers locked up in iPods, looking sour and sleepy and hostile, and I hate to see them reliving that part of my life.

If we can't talk to strangers, if there is no public life in America, then it's no wonder politics is so out of whack. And yet in the South, which has produced the most regressive politicians this side of Sudan, who are proud of bad government and lousy wars, in which a disproportionate number of young Southern men die, you keep running into the friendliest people on earth. Explain that to me, sunshine. Sweeten up here and tell me why these good people keep electing those dreadful idiots.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - --
(Garrison Keillor's "A Prairie Home Companion" can be heard Saturday nights on public radio stations across the country.)

Must Love Library Cards

So, I posted a link on Facebook that started an amusing exchange...

LINK:

Essay About Love and Literary Taste - New York Times
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/30/books/review/Donadio-t.html?em&ex=1207022400&en=be66964abe7c5f54&ei=5087__
(Among the bookish, even casual literary references can turn into romantic deal breakers.)

COMMENTS:

Linda at 2:31pm Mar 30
i JUST read this article this morning and thought it was wonderful. yes yes, so true. :)

Jenni at 2:38pm Mar 30
when i meet attractive, funny men, i secretly cross my fingers, hoping they don't list dan brown and james patterson among their favorite authors... ;)

Linda at 2:42pm Mar 30
HA! i love it! i just usually hope not to get an empty stare when i mention Isabelle Allende or Pablo Neruda...

Jenni at 2:46pm Mar 30
neruda is fair... but i would be a little lenient with allende. unless, of course, said date is from peru.

Linda at 3:04pm Mar 30
true, however Allende does tend to get more of a response then Neruda... go figure! maybe i just don't date enough South Americans. hmmm...

Natalie at 5:55pm Mar 30
You were among the people I thought about when I stumbled upon this little gem. There are the obvious red flags--personally, I think Left Behind tops the Da Vinci Code on that front--and then there are high-brow red flags. Like Ulysses. The only reason to read that in public is to be seen.

Victoria at 2:28pm Mar 31
Absolutely true! Thank you for sharing :)I am just thankful when someone has hear of Pushkin. Forget about reading anything by him. Surprisingly enough, many people have never heard of the great poet.

Colby at 10:48pm Apr 1
I hate to be the contrarian here, but there is, in my opinion, a bit of hypocrisy in writing off someone as shallow, incompatible, or undeserving solely on the book they are carrying around or list as their favorite. So some guy reads Da Vinci Code, Ulysses, or any other book you deem to be pablum, does that truly identify him? Are you not engaging in a hasty generalization? Or even the obvious question: how does your taste become a red flag, why are you able to determine that Pushkin knowledge is a good thing, or more importantly good art? Basically, what I am saying is that some of us didn't have the opportunities to read what you, or the rest of the world, consider necessarily or important to have read. From a Rawlsian perspective I would have you consider what if I rated your appeal based on your philosophical readings or lack thereof--that would seem a bit unfair would it not? And don't worry if you don't know who Rawls was, I won't hold it against you. ; )

David at 11:16pm Apr 3
this guy wants to sleep with one of the three women above.

Colby at 12:34am Apr 4
C'mon Dave I have heard better ad hominem from the kids over at Digg. But seriously, I hate it when yet another qualification is prescribed for men, to which we must contort ourselves. I have no doubt that if Brad Pitt read only Choose Your Own Adventure books, swearing that they were the best literature since Cervantes--even though Alan Bloom himself would recoil--that Rachel Donadio wouldn't be turning him away. That is all I wanted to point out. But if you would care to retort with more of your engaging repartee then be my guest.

Jenni at 2:37am Apr 4
haha- play nice, boys.

ok- now, colby, be fair- dave's comment is funnny. AND a logical retort to your comment.

i also think it's fair that you point out the injustice in dismissing a date if he hasn't read the right book. as a girl who has dated the musician who liked the 'right' composer, the writer who liked the 'right' author, the actor who liked the 'right' playwright, i will agree that none of these things serve as a consistent and reliable indicator of compatibility. i will also posit that dating artists is perhaps the first step towards misguided... i digress.

i would never count it against someone, friend or date, if they didn't, for example, have an affinity for faulkner. i've recommended 'the sound and the fury' to many who haven't made it past the fourth page. however, there is some merit in a comparison of tastes. if a guy lists 'dumb and dumber' and 'van wilder' among his favorite movies of all time- and then, claims john grisham as the second coming- it's quite likely that we operate on different wavelengths. not a value judgement- just divergent sensibilities. (if, on the other hand, he likes 'harold and kumar' and anne rice- we might be workable.) hell- i love 'joe versus the volcano' and read the whole series of star trek TNG books... would you suggest for a second that it wouldn't be a deal-breaker to some?

and regarding all the notable fiction valued by us women- we KNOW that the average joe is recommended some of the best books (excepting machiavelli and vonnegut) by the women in his life. (i am exaggerating, but is this so wrong?) for instance, just the other day, i spotted 'snow falling on cedars' on the bookshelf of one of my favorite guy friends. did he pick that book up of his own volition? doubtful. was it recommended to him by some cute girl? probably. OR his sister. i am OK with this.

then, there are those guys who read the NYer for fun. they are a breed in and of themselves. the self-identified intelligentsia. (i know this, b/c i subscribed for a year so that i could feel smarter and impress at cocktail parties with my academic soundbytes- only to become frustrated that i could never make it through an issue before the next one arrived.) the ones who DO indeed make it through every issue either teach for a living, are wealthy hypochondriacs (thus spending an inordinate amount of time in high-brow doctors' offices), never get laid, or are the type to hitchhike across the country desperately posing for the freedom and seeming effortlessness of kerouac. and believe me, i ain't knocking- i raise my glass to you, mr. chain-smoking-beret-wearing-beat-cum-emo-man! (they make good fantasies, since they are generally passionate and at the mercy of any woman who can pay for their pearl beer.)

and you're right- rachel donadio and harold bloom deserve kudos. they are both exceedingly brilliant and well-read and have managed to function in real life. procreate even. yay for them! you already know my stance on this, colby- must i remind you? we need more supermodels and PHDs to spawn- let's even out this gene pool once and for all!

where am i going with this, you might ask? i don't even know.

all i know is that i think it's kinda hot when a guy wants to recite poetry to me...IF it's good. IF it's his- even better. (IF it's good, that is.) IF it's bad, it makes me want to slap him. and not in a good way. cliched? absolutely! but kind of like large-breasted blondes in bikinis...

if said guy looks like eric bana with glasses, he could be reciting dr. seuss or shel silverstein and it would STILL be kinda hot. (Horton Hears a Who's your daddy?!)

and are you trying to dismiss 'choose your own adventure' books?! they were the bedrock of my elementary literary escapades! i only started denouncing 'baysitter's club' and 'sweet valley high' as pedestrian when i reached middle school and got in trouble with miles for tossing those books out the 2nd floor classroom window. (100% true story. the teacher couldn't bring herself to give us detention, since i think she found the whole affair pretty amusing.)

i leave on this note: i do not consider myself well-read. i only know what i like. i do not judge on the basis of exposure or lack thereof- nor do i damn anyone for an appreciation of a little drivel now and again. open-mindedness and a willingness to expand one's literary horizons is, however, a plus. my bookshelf is respectable, but not impressive by any means. still, if given the choice, i take dave eggers over james patterson. (if he were a few inches taller and unmarried, it'd be even better.)

...and if anyone takes this seriously, they should review the literary genre of satire.

gute nacht!

-jenni "lady love" rebecca

(figured i'd throw in a little rawlsian of my own)

and a quote to grow on:

"Just because the f*cker's got a library card doesn't make him Yoda!"
-Brad Pitt in Se7en

the cyndi/jenni chronicles

she and i amuse ourselves with email banter...

exchange 1:

From: Jenni
Sent: Tuesday, August 28, 2007
To: Cynthia
RE: Is Facebook the new Match.com?

no, seriously. the good ones are all unavailable. i'm not kidding here. either emotionally...or physically (as in, they live in different time zones...or perhaps they hide in jungles)...or legally.

i'm wondering when other women will start to realize this. the answer? a total upheaval of our preconceived notions of love and relationships. we women should stop accepting advances and proposals and such...just long enough until there is an established population of easily identifiable single men. then, we herd them, corrall them, drug them, and subject them to tom hanks/meg ryan movies...just long enough until they understand what it is we want. then, we beat them into submission. and make them like it. then, we pick and choose as we please...maybe some sort of rental policy. except...not like an old blockbuster type rental...more of a netflix rental. as in, we can send them back when we're tired of them without penalty of late fees. but perhaps with the candy, popcorn, and cold drink option. :)

Her response:

A) Legally unavailable? Are you going after 12 year olds now? I suppose if you can't find a good man, raise one.

2) Interesting system you propose. Is there, at any time, an option to buy?

Banana) I wonder what kind of a comparable system guys would propose, if given the opportunity. I think it would be remarkably similar, only replace the tom hanks/meg ryan movies with adult films.

exchange 2:

From: Jenni
Sent: Thursday, August 30, 2007
To: Cynthia
Subject: who's tim
gunn?

her response:

Ah, you clearly have better things to do with your life than watch reality shows on Bravo. Tim Gunn is the mentor on Project Runway (he's also the dean or something of Parson's school for design). He's the most fabulously well dressed older gay man ever. He says things like "carry on" and "sturm und drang."

my response:

i'm over older gay men. even of the fabulously dressed variety. in fact, i'm over gay men in general. you do realize that i work with one straight man in an office of approximately 40? one. and he's the CEO. i'd even question his orientation if he didn't wear big belt buckles and drink shiner out of the bottle. i work in musical theatre for godssake! (jazz hands!) it couldn't get any queenier around here if elizabeth I walked in the damn door.

on the other hand, i AM indeed impressed with anyone who can throw around terms referring to late 18th-century german expressionist movements. and thanks to my music schooling, i didn't even have to wiki that. ;)

her response:

Oh, Jenni Rebecca. You are so educated and clever. ;)

I (only kinda) feel your pain. I was looking around the cafeteria today thinking about what NASA engineers are (incredibly intelligent, generally nice) and what they are not (attractive, socially adept, well dressed). I am wasting my youth on men who actually want me for my mind. How depressing.

my response:

clever? oh pish. thou doth possesseth a keen wit thrice the magnitude of mine own.

to be wanted for one's mind is nothing to sneeze at...it's a comfort when we start to sag in all the wrong places.

regarding NASA men, the fact that they are unattractive and can't dress should be secondary to the fact they can never be fired and probably have decent pension plans. find one with particularly thick bottle-cap glasses...perhaps one getting on in years...and who knows what you can get away with! you see, all of the above never stopped the NASA geeks from walking into the jewelry store at baybrook with astoundingly beautiful russian brides on their arms. i never once questioned the harmony of the universe when i could witness the sweet balancing forces of nature in action. and to take it one step further, these NASA men and their rusky counterparts are doing our dear world a favor. we mustn't get carried away with sharp intellect or a great pair of legs---no! we must do our part to even the playing field for the human race. no more is it necessary for the blind, pocket-protector-donning egg-head doomed to walk this lonely earth alone...or with the adult equivalent of the little girl in lil' miss sunshine. (mind you, i am not poking fun at that little girl---i looked just like her at 8 years old.) no! instead they have their pick of gorgeous, though intellectually confounded women to assist them in upping the ante for the gene pool. we owe them all our deepest gratitude. yay for mail order brides!

...now if only we could manufacture the mail equivalent.

her response:

Ya know, I see your point regarding NASA men, but the truth is that I, too, am a NASA employee and therefore can never be fired and have awesome health insurance, pension plan, etc. I also come with the added bonus of being attractive and dressing well. I guess what I'm saying is - where's my russian bride?

my response:

well, cynthia...you seem to be forgetting the options before you. nowhere does it say you can't have a russian bride. you will just have to go to hawaii or montreal to marry her, that's all.

and PS, i am not a LUSH...luscious perhaps. :)

sublime

would you like to hear sublime?

listen to chopin's Piano Concerto No. 1 In E Minor, Op. 11: II - Romance: Larghetto.

i've heard it time and time before... but currently, i'm listening to a recording of emanuel ax. absolutely stunning.

the recording is part of a compilation... a rather pedestrian collection entitled 'chopin for relaxation.' i think i may have bought it for my mother once upon a time... and then, subsequently stole it back as soon as i realized some of the pieces were performed exceptionally well.

however, i take issue with this recording of one of my favorite chopin pieces: Etude In A-Flat 'Aeolian Harp,' Op. 25 No. 1.

i used to play the 'aeolian harp.' it was one of the last pieces i learned before theatre distracted my attention from my piano studies. i do not know who is playing this particular version, but it is not how i hear the music in my head. too fast. too casual. too steady.

the first time i heard that piece was in the final credits of 'the turning point,' a movie with shirley maclain and anne bancroft centered around ballet (the other love of my life). in the final moments, leslie brown dances this beautiful solo in front of the footlights to the etude... so graceful and lovely. an orchestral arrangement was added for the movie soundtrack... and it is so very effective. rubato... overwrought... emotional... satisfying.

i fell in love with that piece the moment i heard it. i was a young girl at the time...perhaps 11 or 12. as this predated IMDB, there was no way for me to know the name of the piece without tracking down the soundtrack... which is even now only available on LP. once i found it, tucked away in a pile of records at the dance studio, i begged my piano teacher to play it and fortunately, she complied.

this piece is called an 'etude' for a reason, though i know its difficulty pales in comparison to some of the other etudes. nevertheless, i was still a child and never before had my hands hurt so much while playing. i was unprepared for the cramping and the pain...but it was so sublime. so wonderful. i have no words to adequately express how i felt as i poured every ounce of my being into those 6 pages of rapid arpeggiated figures. i can't begin to explain..........

i was not born with a desire to play. to the contrary, i was forced to take lessons by my mother. the hour of practice each evening was as important as the daily chores... if not more. it took years of being chained to the piano bench before a genuine appreciation took root in my heart. and then, with an introduction to chopin and debussy (romantic and impressionist), i discovered the dormant desire in my hands. i now thank my mother for offering me this gift.

i now know that i am a complete musical whore. i remember that rhythm was always my weakness. the intended played second fiddle to my idea of how it should be played. i saw no reason to learn the rhythm if i had heard it before... i needed only to see the notes, to know where to place my fingers...the rhythm was dictated by the sweep of my wrists, the surge in my breasts. disrespectful to the composer? perhaps. blasphemy? i know. surely i would be denounced by my teutonic peers... deemed tacky and overemotional. indeed. but what came from my fingertips was the purest expression of who i was at the time. innocent, tender, and sentimental. in retrospect, i sometimes long to play as i once did. utterly lacking self-consciousness. it almost makes me cry to think about it. my love of the piano was never about dexterity...only expression. perhaps an interesting parallel (or contrast) to my life.

as i write this, i realize that this must be what self-taught musicians and composers experience... those unable to read music. when the rigid notes and values are written in an unintelligble language, how can one be accused of disrespect? it then becomes 'interpretation.' how fortunate they are to escape the burden of this responsibility, unfettered by rules, staves, and note values. how liberating.

i have never envied other pianists. what i experienced was so personal...singularly satisfying and precious... and thus, invincible. it didn't matter what anyone else thought of my playing. good or bad, it didn't matter. in all my life, my piano was the one thing that was mine... for no one's benefit but my own. i don't mind playing for others, but i play best when alone. perhaps it is my secret.

i ask only that other pianists show reverence for my music... and it is indeed my music now. and will always be as it was ingrained in my heart and memory.

me talk pretty online

i am not fond of webspeak.

i appreciate that internet slang saves time...but i have a beef. we use words like 'awesome' and 'fabulous' all the time in our everyday speech, and i am just as guilty of this as the next person. but how many things are truly awe-inspiring? i choose not to get up in arms about this, because these words and phrases are firmly entrenched in our language along with any number of colloquialisms.

yet, the thing that really bugs me: LOL. i can't stand LOL. you might ask why. because! because when i write LOL, i had better be laughing out loud. like...for real. i had better get a hearty guffaw out of whatever it follows. because otherwise, it is a useless phrase. and believe me, writing something stupid and then, writing LOL after it does NOT make it more funny. to the contrary, it makes it LESS funny...or maybe just distracts me...because suddenly, it reminds me of a 13 year-old girl in a chat room. (not that 13 year-old girls should ever be in chat rooms.)

example of unsolicited myspace message from random stranger: 'miss jenni, you seem like a trouble-maker. LOL.'

okay, so i'm not laughing...are YOU laughing? i mean, is that funny? i know they are trying to be cute and flirty...but all they've made me do is think of goofy, socially-inept guys glued to their keyboards AND 'hello kitty.' AND it prompts me to change my settings to private.

men should NEVER use this phrase. repeat. men should NEVER use this phrase.

smileys, on the other hand, are completely acceptable. :)

addicted

so, i just got home from a fantastic show tonight. dashboard confessional. was a solo performance with chris carrabba (singer) and john lefler (guitarist). i grew up with john lefler's little brother and spent a fair amount of time at the lefler household back in the day. turns out pappa lefler was at the performance...was nice to stop and say hello. and the concert was fantastic. i mean, REALLY good. more on that later...

i get home and what's on TV but 'sleepless in seattle.' and i swear, i cannot see that movie on television without stopping to watch it. and every time i watch it, i cry bucketloads. doesn't matter if i see the whole thing or the last ten minutes, i cry...EVERY SINGLE TIME. i LOVE that movie. that's all.

4 musings

1. puppies:

so i get email updates from petsmart. i use banfield, the associated vet. a few days ago, i received an email from them entitled,' loving your pet to death.' thinking this was probably some inoocuous sale anouncement, i opened it to read a rather shocking email about pet obesity. apparently, not only are our children getting fat...so are our pets. the email goes on to illustrate the dangers of over-feeding your pets. and so, of course, i start to panic about poor fidel. i have tried to feed him smaller portions, but this is a rather undiscerning animal that will eat anything if he's hungry. (he has spit up full pecans before.) that being said, dieting is easier said than done for my little fuzzy. and even walking is difficult, because i have to take both dogs...and fidel can never keep up with faulkner for very long. so, must i resign myself to this? must i feel guilty every time i give him a biscuit? poor baby.

2. dancing around my apartment:

last saturday, i spent all morning dancing around my apartment. i had the music playing while i cleaned, and one tune just got me moving. and somewhere, mid-shimmy...i got a brilliant idea for an upcoming play project. that's always a wonderful feeling...when some light bulb goes off in your head and you suddenly have direction. i love that moment of sparked inspiration! now, if i could only remember my great idea....

3. stage mothers:

i am not so sure i enjoy stage mothers. by this, i am not necessarily talking about the women who put pressure on their kids to perform. i'm talking about the next level of stage mothers: the mothers whose children already perform and who might go on tour with their children for a given show. i respect the need for a child to be close to his or her mother, but this situation creates a new breed. so, last night, i'm at a party and these children are running around like comanches. screaming and yelling and playing tag in the middle of a reception for our major donors...with expensive glassware in hand and whatnot. and i am shocked...because these mothers just sat back obliviously as their kids wreaked havoc on the party....children aged 5 to 13. mind you, it is midnight! and the mothers are talking amongst themselves like nothing is out of order. and at one point, the children create a hideout near the coat-check and are yelling at one another...and one child screams at the top of her lungs. and i politely ask the kids to keep it down, when this one little girl screams again. it appears as though she is screaming back at me, and i give her a look that would freeze ice. (seriously... these children should really know better.) and thankfully, the girl looked terrified and got quiet...for a minute anyways. and throughout this experience, i come to 3 conclusions:

-touring with these children must be the best birth control method...EVER.

-it is indeed possible for people to be so removed from reality that they have no sense of propriety.

-these children have hard lives ahead of them. god have mercy on the show-biz kid.

4. bjork

this is random, but it must be said. on my drive yesterday, i came across 'dancer in the dark' on one of my mix CDs, and it reminded me of bjork's oscar performance...and the subsequent flurry of fashion gossips mocking her for her oscar garb faux-pas. but you know...i really, REALLY liked that swan dress. and i admire her for being enough of her own person to unabashedly wear it. i even liked the egg purse. so there.