Fall color in Baltimore

The change of season isn't quite evident from the temperature in Baltimore, but the trees know. It's Autumn. (Do you like "Autumn" or "Fall" better? I think I like "Autumn," but I don't know why for sure. Maybe because "Fall" can be such a negative word. Like break-your-hip kind of negative. Of course, there's also falling in love, which isn't negative at all. In fact, it's quite pleasant. Like ethel's truffles, or a new magnet for your fridge.) My short walk from home to office and office to home finds brown and yellow leaves crunching under my feet; they and their fellows are being pulverized into brown dust on the sidewalks. The leaves swirl in the wake of passing cars, or drift slowly, aimlessly from branch to ground, one of them resting for a moment on my shoulder this afternoon as I walked. And yet so many of the leaf-fellows remain supple and green, firmly attached to their elevated homes. It's the perfect time of year: still warm, lower humidity--Fall is poised on the precipice, ready to take over, but Summer is not quite ready to let go.

Steve at The Sneeze is watching the brain grow from the tree in his yard. I wish I had a tree with a brain.

Insomn!a

Once upon a time, there was a young princess named Tracie. Well, actually, she wasn't that young anymore, but since she was still unmarried and in her thirties, the other princes and princesses felt sorry for her, and let her still say she was young. Anyway, this princess loved to sleep. She loved sleep more than she loved bananas (which was a lot, considering they are the world's most perfect food). She loved sleep more than she loved writing her weblog; more than chocolate; more even, than sex.

And so it was with bitter irony that Princess Tracie found herself awake and awake and awake until far past her bedtime. At first she just lay there, thinking "oh how difficult it will be to get up and go about my princessly duties tomorrow." Then she decided to trick herself into sleeping, by thinking about other things. She thought about her young prince (who was even less young than she, herself, and even had gray hair, but nevertheless was wholly entitled to call himself "Young.") She thought about other princes she had known, and about what tasks needed to be completed to keep the kingdom running smoothly. She even thought about that good-looking guy on Heroes, the one who can fly--there was that one episode she saw recently where he had his shirt off--yum.

She tried to contact another princess on the other side of the planet, but alas, the other princess was likely on her lunch break, and away from her gmail chat. She thought about the stupid essay she had to write in order to be admitted into the MS in Marketing at the Carey Business School. She thought about the fact that she had not yet dusted the kingdom, and had lived there for 2 full months. Gross. She got up and put more clothes on because it was cold once she was out from under the covers. She watched some television, but her princessly salary didn't support cable tv, so she quickly grew bored with the four broadcast channels.

She thought about her friend, Princess h, and how much h loves bacon. She thought about the time h ordered a BLT, hold the lettuce and tomato, and with a side of bacon. Okay, that didn't really happen, but Tracie figured it was only because h hadn't thought of it yet. She wondered if h knew about the bacon mints for sale at Archie McPhee, and thought, again, about purchasing some for her.

She wished, once again, for a digital camera, so that she could share more images with her subjects in internet-land, and lamented that they may never know the wonders that she sees everyday: the beautiful gardens in Charles Village; the photograph of the princess as a toddler, chocolate donut in hand, chocolate icing on mouth; that freaky guy who looks a little like Jenny's husband, except totally crazy and asking for her spare change in between yelling about how Angelos, the owner of the Orioles, has totally fucked everything up (he always tries to look you right in the eye when he yells the word "fuck"); that crazy-tacky clock she keeps on her mantle with the light that reflects through the painting of a waterfall so it looks like the water's moving. (Oh, my dear subjects, how I deprive you because of my own lack!)

Does anybody have an Ambien? How about Lunesta? What about that one that Abe Lincoln and the beaver advertise? I love those commercials. Rozerem. What about just a good, stiff drink? I'm dyin' here!

Evolutionary Eyebrows

Something has been bothering me over the past couple of days: what's up with eyebrows? Specifically, what was the process by which humans evolved having eyebrows?

When the early humans were going through the mutations bringing them further from Abraham--that shared ancestor between humans and chimpanzees--and toward modern day humans, what made the eyebrow stick around? What was the evolutionary advantage? I mean, obviously eyebrows keep sweat and dirt out of our eyes, but as we were losing the fur/hair on our faces, what was the advantage that made us keep the hair above our eyes? Did the hunter-gatherers without eyebrows die off more quickly because the sweat dripping into their eyes made them miss seeing predators or other hazards? Or did the eyebrow-wearers have the ability to express more subtle emotions with their faces, making them more attractive to potential mates? Or are eyebrowioed creatures more ruthless, beating to death their bald-faced rivals?

These are the things that keep me up at night. That and the ever-gnawing question: what's better, Ben & Jerry's Phish Food, or Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough? (and of course it's corollary, will they let me use both Ben & Jerry's coupons at the same time, or will I have to make two trips?)

I'm in deep smit.

Regular readers of the chutzpah files will know that, for better or worse, I've been seeing a man, Ryan, who lives in Las Vegas (though I don't usually actually see him, because he lives in Las Vegas).

I really like him. He's smart and funny and handsome and left-of-center. But I know this whole thing is sort of, well, fool-hardy. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. In reality, I know that absence is just a pain in the ass, and that proximity and convenience are the single largest factors in whom a person marries.

Ryan and I email or talk at least every other or every third day. The time difference sometimes makes it tough to talk on the phone during the week, but we do what we can. (It helps that for work he more or less keeps an east coast schedule.) I know that he feels the same way about me as I do him. I know that, intellectually. The thing is, I also know that this is fool-hardy. I'm finding, as a result, sometimes I doubt what I know, intellectually, to be true. In my mind we're being a little silly, and so if we go more than about a day and a half or two days without speaking, I hold my breath a little when I call, afraid that he's come to his senses. Every time he answers the phone with the same excited "Hey there!" as the first time I called I smile ear to ear. We're in deep smit together.

I gotta get a better agent!

Bill needed off today, so I filled in at Gallery 44. I gotta say, for the record, working six days a week really bites. Especially when on the sixth day, someone comes into the store who is displeased with the fact that her frame came in approximately a half a hair darker than the sample she chose from and then needs to see every blessed frame on the wall until she picks another one which is $140 more expensive than the first and then doesn't want to pay the difference between the two--even though the original frame is within the tolerance of variation for a hand-made item (which is what it is). Holy Mother of Pearl, woman! It doesn't matter that much! Don't waste 2 hours of my time, make me get down every frame on the wall and then complain when I DON'T charge you for labor, for the new materials, or for the fact that you're a goddamn pain in my ass, but DO expect you to pay for the materials you receive!

This is the reason I'm not taking over the family business even though I'm pretty good at the whole framing design thing and I'm here in town. I ain't cut out for this shit.

I need a fucking beer.

It's crap, I say!

D'y'ever get in one of those moods where you just sorta feel crap? Not just feel crap, but think everything is crap? Me, too.

Tonight I had a great workout at the Hopkins Rec Center (6.5 miles in 30 minutes without moving the bicycle at all), came home, had a shower, ate a crap dinner and then watched some crap t.v. I should be feeling great after that workout. It was Peaches and me, lots of sweat, and some quality people-watching. And yet. Maybe it was the scores of tight-bodied undergraduates who surrounded me during the workout. (It's tough being the oldest chick in the room when you're only 31.) Look at them with their young thighs and their young asses, seeing and being seen. Bastards! I hate those sonsabitches.

It's hot in my bedroom (crap). I have too much to do at work (crap). My cupboard is bare (crap). I have $30 to get me through to next Friday (crap). No one called me tonight except a candidate for Baltimore mayor (crap). [And it wasn't even him--it was a recording of his mom! Crap! (The primary for the mayoral race is on Tuesday. There are no Republican candidates. So really, the election is on Tuesday. I guess I should make a decision on who'll receive my vote, huh?)] The only man in my life who isn't related to me by blood or marriage lives 2500 miles away (crap).

A moment ago, I even looked at my own blog (the very one) and thought "I wish this thing were updated more often. I'm bored with this crap."

You! Hypocrite lecteur--mon sembable--crap! crap!

(That last wasn't fair. You're not crap (I dunno if you're a hypocrite). I was surely projecting.)

Shadow of the Vampire

I rewatched this 2000 movie this weekend. It is much darker than I remembered from first viewing (all that stayed with me from the first viewing was Willem Dafoe's creepy vampire saying "The script girl...I'll eat her later!").

It's an odd movie. The story of the making of the early cinema picture "Nosferatu." The conceit of the film is that the vampire movie was as creepy and convincing as it was because the Count in the film was a real vampire. John Malkovich plays a director willing to sacrifice friends and lovers and employees in order to "finish my picture!" Willem Dafoe plays a really creepy really old vampire who is obsessed with an actress whose breast he fondles as he drains her blood. In the final scene Malkovich films the vampire killing the actress (with whom Malkovich's character had had a romantic relationship), his friend and producer, and the camera man. Malkovich continues to call out direction even as everyone dies. At one point he says "If it isn't in frame, it doesn't exist." The movie's POV jumps back and forth between the color film I was watching, and the black and white camera through which Malkovich's camera captures "Nosferatu." I'm certain there's a message in there about sacrifice, obsession, art, and the danger of the artist dehumanizing his subject through the creation of art, but I couldn't articulate that message.

I ruminate about movies and fiction sometimes here, but if you want to read a really interesting blog about movies check out We like to watch. It's a sort of discussion group of academics who all really like movies. They have fascinating conversations about high cinema and blow-em-up movies alike, analyzing at a higher level of intelligence and insight than your average reviewers. They also snark at each other in interesting ways. That's almost as interesting as what they have to say about movies.