lyndaellen

Writer's Block: It Is What It Is

lyndaellen — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 19:16:55 GMT

I just want to make sure that we're all on the same page about how annoying it is to hear someone say "It is what it is," because at the end of the day all we can do is think outside the box and figure out a way to monetize our annoyance so it impacts real Americans while staying on message.

Writer's Block: Commercial Appeal

lyndaellen — Tue, 11 Aug 2009 19:27:14 GMT

The world looks mighty good to me . . . and I don't even like Tootsie rolls.

Writer's Block: I May Be Crazy

lyndaellen — Thu, 06 Aug 2009 17:27:51 GMT

It looks like about twenty different scary things. I'm wondering if it's possible to see anything other than scary things---vampire bats, biting beetles, demonic face masks of serial killers---in Rorschach blots, or if that's just me.

Writer's Block: Pick and Stick

lyndaellen — Fri, 24 Jul 2009 18:25:42 GMT

This question makes me feel hungry and indecisive all at the same time. I was going to say Mexican or Indian, because of the greater variety of gluten-free options, but then I remembered how much I like fresh vegetables, and that the Italians also have risotto and polenta in addition to all those vegetables, cured meats, roasts, and fresh fruit desserts, so I will have to side with the majority on this one: Italian.

Writer's Block: Investigations of a Female Nature

lyndaellen — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 18:11:20 GMT

It is impossible to pick just one, because let's face it, ladies are good at finding out stuff.

Early role models: Harriet the Spy, Nancy Drew, and Trixie Belden.

TV inspirations: Veronica Mars, Laura Holt (the brains behind Remington Steele), all the Charlie's Angels, Deputy Chief Brenda Lee Johnson, and Sam from Foyle's War.

Grown-up mystery series: Harriet Vane, Miss Marple, Stephanie Plum, and Thursday Next.

And of course, the No. 1 Lady Detective: Mma Precious Ramotswe.

The Cutest Dog in the World

lyndaellen — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 20:23:08 GMT

I think there can be no argument that Biscuit is the cutest dog in the history of dogdom:

Writer's Block: Le Quatorze Juillet

lyndaellen — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 19:52:41 GMT

This is a hard one---berets, the best national anthem ever, that certain je ne sais quoi---but I'm going to have to go with steak frites. Or steak frites plus that salad with the poached egg and lardons. And a glass of rosé. Followed by a tarte tatin for dessert.

Writer's Block: Duos

lyndaellen — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 17:46:25 GMT

Coach Taylor and Tami Taylor; President Roslin and Admiral Adama; Sheriff Bullock and Mrs. Garrett; Tony Soprano and the one-legged Russian woman.

Writer's Block: Economizing

lyndaellen — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 17:42:32 GMT

Oh there are so many little threads to tug that could tighten up the whole enterprise. Eat out less, buy fewer clothes/books/cute things, drink less wine, etc etc etc. While I admire the spirit of W. Hodding Carter's experiment in extreme frugality, I lack the discipline to enact my own.

Toasters

lyndaellen — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 22:38:06 GMT

I am in love with this cylon toaster oven. If only I had room for a toaster, or ate toast. Ideally the toaster would play the theme music while toasting.

Writer's Block: Get It to Go

lyndaellen — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 23:18:40 GMT

#26 from Yummy Yummy. It's the only thing I've ever ordered from there (except for an occasional add-on of vietnamese potstickers). #26 is listed on the menu as pork bun, or vermicelli salad with chargrilled pork and imperial rolls. As an added bonus, when you call Yummy Yummy to order, they always answer the phone as "Hello Yummy!"

Things to Read When You're in Quarantine

lyndaellen — Mon, 04 May 2009 02:49:26 GMT

All this swine flu talk has been making me think about how much I enjoy a good pandemic. In novel form, at least. One of my favorite micro-genres of fiction is the 1918 influenza epidemic. Who knew that one little flu virus could contribute so much to literature? Some of the best:

Memories of a Catholic Girlhood, by Mary McCarthy. This is technically a memoir, not a novel, but the early scenes of McCarthy's father drawing a revolver on a conductor who tries to put the flu-stricken family off the train in the middle of a blizzard are very affecting. Both of McCarthy's parents died in the epidemic, leaving her and her siblings orphans at the mercy of stern Catholic relatives.

They Came Like Swallows, by William Maxwell. Maxwell is much beloved by writers but not nearly as wide-read as he deserves to be. One of the pivotal events of his life was the death of his mother in the 1918 influenza outbreak, an event that underlies much of his fiction. This novel has the most explicit account of it, centering around the death of Elizabeth Morison and told from the point of view of the 8-year-old Bunny, 13-year-old Robert, and her husband, James. Maxwell's characteristic mix of compassion and precision is in full force here. It's a heartbreaking novel, but also beautiful and deeply moving.

Pale Horse, Pale Rider, by Katherine Anne Porter. The title novella in this collection of three novellas by Porter deals with Miranda, a young woman working as a reporter in Denver in 1918. The backdrop of World War I looms over everything in the story (World War I itself being my other favorite micro-genre, reading Pale Horse, Pale Rider is like the double-coupon day of fiction), as Miranda is in love with Adam, a soldier about to depart for the war. She becomes stricken with influenza and much of the story is told from her fever-addled perspective. So yeah, that horse and that rider.

Other great epidemic novels that don't center around the 1918 influenza:

The Stand, by Stephen King. If you're really worried about swine flu, then this might not be the time to read The Stand. And if you're not afraid of the superflu, you will be by the time you finish reading it. Disease: government-engineered supervirus called "Captain Trips."

Ship Fever, by Andrea Barrett. This story is based on a typhus epidemic among Irish immigrants to Canada in the 19th century during the Potato Famine. They leave Ireland only to find themselves in quarantine at Grosse Ile outside Quebec City, where if they don't have the fever yet they will soon contract it. Thousands upon thousands die. Barrett's story revolves around a doctor at the quarantine station and an Irish survivor who, having lost her whole family, stays on as a nurse. Ship fever = typhus.

A Prayer for the Dying, by Stewart O'Nan. This is a genuinely creepy novel (told in the second person) about a diphtheria epidemic that strikes a small, isolated Wisconsin town in the post–Civil War period. The sheriff (the narrative "you") must take on the responsibility of both caring for the town and preventing further spread of the disease. This is a disturbing read, almost like a horror story (but more of a Shirley Jackon's "The Lottery" horror story than a Stephen King story).

A Brief History of the Dead, by Kevin Brockmeier. This book manages to work in a powerful reimagining of the afterlife; a fast-moving, deadly virus; and the end of human kind. The trifecta. Much of the book takes place in the city of the dead, whose citizens reside there only as long as someone who remembers them is still living. And the population is rapidly declining. Disease name = The Blinks.

Of course, the plague deserves a shelf of its own in the epidemic reading library. Some highlights:

The Decameron, by Boccaccio. This might be the originator of all great epidemic literature. Rich people hiding out in a villa outside Florence during a plague outbreak, telling each other stories to pass the time.

Journal of the Plague Year, by Daniel Defoe. Okay, I haven't actually read this but it is a standard of the plague canon.

The Plague, by Albert Camus. For the French existentialist take on quarantine.

Year of Wonders, by Geraldine Brooks. This one I read and I can report that it's not that good. Not terrible, but not great. From the moment you see children playing with a dead rat they found in the woodpile, you know this small English town is in for a bad time.

And then there's cholera, which, though not quite as famous as the Black Death, probably deserves its own shelf as well:

Love in the Time of Cholera, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. It took me three tries to get past page 75 of this book, but once I broke through I was entranced. Oh Fermina Daza and Florentino Ariza! May we all be quarantined on a boat with our true loves.

The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett. This might not immediately spring to mind as epidemic-related, but if not for a cholera epidemic, young Mary Lennox would never have gone to live at Misselthwaite Manor. The opening chapter where she is the only person left living on her parents' estate in India is very chilling, especially for any over-imaginative little girls that might be reading it.

Writer's Block: Taxmen and Poetry

lyndaellen — Wed, 15 Apr 2009 18:27:45 GMT

There are just so many to choose from, I would probably have a different answer every day and would never be able to give only one answer. Here's what I would say today:

There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet

(I went back and re-read The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock and found it really hard to choose a favorite line because they're all so good.)

Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!

(Same goes for Stanley Kunitz's The Layers: so many gems, how to choose?)

. . . for there is no place on this stone,
that does not see you. You must change your life.

(I always feel like Rilke is talking directly to me with the last line of Archaic Bust of Apollo, so much so that I always remember it as "You! You must change your life.")

Soviet Space Dogs

lyndaellen — Wed, 08 Apr 2009 05:36:16 GMT

It began with Soviet cigarettes. I was looking at pictures of Soviet cigarette packs and I happen to sit next to someone at work who has firsthand knowledge of Soviet cigarettes. Apparently every Soviet city had its own cigarette factory. Lucky citizens of some Soviet city got to smoke Laikas:

When I mentioned that the thought of Laika, who died all alone in an overheated spacecraft, always made me sad, my coworker asked if I knew about Belka and Strelka, a pair of dogs who went up together and survived the flight.

There was more than one space dog? This was news to me. Then we googled "Soviet space dogs" and found my new favorite wikipedia entry.

There are almost too many great details worth pointing out here, but these are my favorites:

Laika-gate: Laika died from stress and overheating several hours into her flight, but the official story was that she died only when the oxygen supply ran out. Not until 2002 did officials admit the true cause of death. The collapse of the Soviet Union might have come decades earlier had the truth been known.

Smelaya, whose name means "brave" or "courageous," was scheduled for a sub-orbital flight in September of 1960 but ran away the day before launch. Knowing the fate of other space dogs, maybe the true bravery is the running away part, a refusal to meet her fate. She did, however, go on to make a successful flight later.

Bolik was another dog who made a break for it just days before her flight. One dog's desperate bid for freedom is another dog's lucky break. ZIB, a stray dog running around the barracks, was quickly recruited and trained to take Bolik's place. ZIB completed his mission successfully.

Damka and Krasavka: these two have Disney movie written all over them. If they were American dogs, they would have had at least three movies and two tv series by now. Their mission was an orbital flight, but something malfunctioned and the rocket crashed. And then the ejector seat failed. The capsule landed intact but Mission Control had 60 hours to find them before the capsule self-destructed. They found the capsule on the first day, buried in deep snow and frosted over with ice in -45 degree temperatures. Daylight was fading and they could hear no signs of life from the capsule. Searchers returned the next day and, miracle of miracles, heard barking as they opened the capsule. Damka and Krasavka were freed, wrapped in sheepskin coats, and flown to Moscow immediately.

It's the sheepskin coats that make it such a great story.

Belka and Strelka: these are the famous star dogs who made the first successful orbital flight by living creatures. Also on the flight, but uncredited with star dog status, were a grey rabbit, 42 mice, 2 rats, some flies, and various plants and fungi. "Star mice" just does not have the same ring as "star dogs."

Strelka's story is an interesting take on the dilemma of successful women when it comes to balancing work and family. Or rather, you can read that into it without trying too hard. She had several pups with a dog named Pushka, a fellow space program dog who participated in many training runs on the ground but never made it into space himself. Can you imagine the strain on the relationship? To be married to one of the most famous space dogs in the world and never make into space yourself?

Even Pushka's pups were more famous than he was. Their daughter, Pushinka, gained international fame when Khruschev gave her as a present to President John F. Kennedy's daughter. Pushinka had a love affair with a Kennedy dog named Charlie.

Charlie and Pushinka (she's the fluffier one) on the White House Lawn.

JFK called the fruits of their union--four puppies--pupniks, and the descendants of these pupniks are East Coast aristocracy to this day.

Pupniks socializing with Jackie and Johnno.

And let's not forget Mushka, a dog removed from her flight crew because she refused to eat properly. Note to self: if forced to go on space mission against your will, go on a hunger strike.

Today's Sponsor

lyndaellen — Tue, 31 Mar 2009 20:06:32 GMT

Today is possible in part due to the generous support of Out the Door and their iced coffee boba.

Posted via LiveJournal.app.

Maira Kalman on Democracy

lyndaellen — Fri, 27 Mar 2009 17:11:57 GMT

Maira Kalman's blog for the NYT is so genius. Yesterday she had a lovely piece on democracy in action that starts with Sir Thomas More and ends with students in the Bronx voting on themes for Spectacular Friday. Also, the origins of Salisbury steak are revealed.

In the News

lyndaellen — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 18:01:56 GMT

My friend Arie, a fellow Georgian (and current resident), paid a visit to Governor Sonny Perdew and it made the New York Times!

Writer's Block: Taking It Personally

lyndaellen — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 22:54:41 GMT

This is an area where I don't test well (and usually I am so good at standardized tests). My most common response to any of the questions on those tests is "it depends." I get a different profile every time I take them. Tests like the MB and Enneagram just seem to me like astrology gussied up with "science." They seem to ride on the assumption that how you feel in a certain situation is the same way that you would act in that situation, which isn't necessarily true. But so many people I know swear by them.

My most recent MB (taken this morning at a random online site): INFP, which sounds a little like me and not like me.

Whenever I take the Enneagram, I'm either a 5 with a 4 wing (known as the "iconoclast") or a 4 with a 5 wing (known as the "bohemian").

Personally, I find the big book of birthdays to be much more accurate at describing people's personalities.

January 19: The Day of Dreams and Visions

Earthquake!

lyndaellen — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 00:18:45 GMT

A couple of little ones all together. I'm trying very hard not to think about unreinforced masonry brick (UMB!) right now.

or maybe not an earthquake, it could be drilling work nearby. either or, whatevs.

Writer's Block: Self-Indulgent

lyndaellen — Wed, 25 Feb 2009 20:13:01 GMT

I would say sugar, but since I put sugar in my coffee and can't stand artifical sweeteners, that would mean also giving up caffeine, which is something I would never do. I already gave up gluten and dairy (in an undisciplined, constantly falling off the wagon kind of way), I don't think I could add caffeine to the list.
I love this article in the WSJ about parents giving up Facebook for Lent, especially the part about the support group on Facebook for people giving up Facebook.

The Faster the Speed the Bigger the Mess

lyndaellen — Thu, 19 Feb 2009 00:50:29 GMT

This is perhaps the most disturbing PSA I've ever seen. Why don't we have these in the U.S., where all our PSAs seem to be about the tobacco industry and all the car commercials shown between the tobacco PSAs seem to feature cars speeding on deserted roads? It's almost enough to make you think the auto industry is behind all the tobacco lawsuits.

Childhood Memories

lyndaellen — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 23:57:26 GMT

urban_yogi's post the other day about his earliest childhood memory made me remember my own time in daycare, waiting for my mother to come get me. She had a habit of arriving in the middle of nap time, which was very frowned upon by the staff at KinderCare and much appreciated by me, because I hated nap time and just wanted to go home. I'm wondering if anyone has happy memories of daycare?

Writer's Block: Animal Instinct

lyndaellen — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 18:59:42 GMT

I would have to go with the goat as my primary spirit/power animal and not just because I'm a Capricorn. On Monday I made goat stew and told a friend it was because I needed to absorb the spirit of my power animal. And I have been feeling a bit frisky and stubborn since then.

My other spirit animal is the bobcat. When I used to work on the peninsula, I would go running at Rancho San Antonio, an open space preserve that rests on the eastern edge of the Santa Cruz Mountains. It's one of those wild areas that suburbia is slowly creeping into; there's a subdivision that backs right up to it. RSA has a working farm (with goats!), lots of wooded trails that go up into the mountains, flocks of wild turkeys, and packs of deer that don't move off the trail as you approach. If you go far enough uphill, you can sometimes see mountain lions. But down by the farm and picnic area, you can see bobcats all the time. There's a big field that borders the parking lot and periodically the district goes in and cuts down all the grass growing there, basically creating a gopher smorgasbord for bobcats. Nothing invigorates your run like the sight of a wild animal on the trail in front of you.

Writer's Block: Sounds Good to Me

lyndaellen — Tue, 17 Feb 2009 20:37:17 GMT

loblolly
gadabout
fussbudget
elevenses

Writer's Block: Conchordance

lyndaellen — Sat, 07 Feb 2009 00:27:02 GMT

Bret is cuter (he's like a pixie!) but Jemaine is sexier (even though his features are too deep-set to be considered classically handsome).