WonderBlog

I want to tell you about something that happened to me. I have never told this to anyone before, because it was so strange and I didn’t think anyone would believe me. Also, it was just so special and close to my heart that I wasn’t sure I wanted to share it with anyone.

But I think it’s time.

I love farmer’s markets. I love to go and see all the interesting things for sale; all the different kinds of fruits and vegetables, ones you never get to see anywhere else. I like to try and talk to the people and ask them about their produce.

Several years ago, on the first of June when the world is busy growing things, I saw the most interesting stall at the market. They were selling plants, some of them with flowers and some different types of herbs. I went through them, touching and smelling all the beautiful plants. I’d picked out two kitchen herbs, and then I caught the scent of a new plant. I followed the smell to the plant itself, which was beautiful and lush. I didn’t know what it was for, but the smell was so nice I had to buy it.

The woman selling the plants spoke a language I didn’t understand. I wanted to ask her about the plant, but she didn’t have the words to tell me. In fact, she didn’t want to talk about it. She saw I had the other plants, and through gestures gave me to understand a price for those. But the luscious scented plant was not up for discussion. I couldn’t let it go, and pressed her. Following her as she walked away, I kept on it. She whirled, locked her gaze on mine for a moment.

I felt like staggering back, but I held my ground and kept my eyes right back on her. At last she handed me the plant, indicating no charge.

Ecstatic, I rushed them all home before she could change her mind. I set my plants up outside on my sunny balcony, near the swinging seat so I could enjoy them.

Just as I had settled them into place, my doorbell rang. This guy I’d just met, and was hoping to get to know a lot better, had stopped by to say hello. Of course, I had to show him my new plant.

To my surprise, when we went out to look at my mysterious plant a flower had blossomed. Was it there all along? How had I not noticed it before?

I asked him if he knew anything about plants, and if he’d every seen anything like this before. He bent over to smell the purplypink flower, and he got the strangest look on his face.

I had to smell it too. We both stopped and breathed it in. The feeling that perfume gave me spread through my whole body.

The scent followed us back into the living room, playing with our senses. He turned to me, as if to say something, but when our eyes met the temperature rose.

We walked straight into one another, losing everything but our senses. Breath and skin and warmth and smell and touch became the whole universe. The breeze of his panting breath on my prickling skin and his hair through my fingers and the heat of his skin on mine, my hair rubbing his skin. All the ways our bodies could feel inside and against each other twining and sliding. The world collapsed on the five compass points of our senses then exploded in all directions. There was no stopping. Again and again like nothing I’d even thought of attempting. He was the most interesting object in the world, except for the fascinating thing my body had become.

I didn’t care what he thought. I didn’t care what I thought. He didn’t object but even if he had I could not concern myself with it. I had to have his body for mine.

When dawn came, we at last collapsed satisfied. He left to clean up and let himself out. I didn’t even notice when he left. I was filled utterly and completely by contentment. External things had nothing to do with me. The sun shafting across my bed and over my skin was perfection. I rested, and time slipped away from me.

Maybe I slept a whole day; I couldn’t say for sure. When I got out of bed I tried to put on some jeans but they were uncomfortably tight. I got something stretchy and went to water my garden.

My beautiful flower had dropped off already, but before I could despair I saw a small fruit forming where the flower had been. A purplypink fruit barely begun. It touched my heart, the perfect little fruit.

The sun felt so good, I went to get some honey tea and sat outside. I snoozed on my swing and inhaled the smells of my little garden.

I’ll be honest it felt so good I ignored things I might have otherwise taken very seriously. My new waistline, for example. My jeans, which had been loose before, were nowhere near fitting by the end of the week. Even my sweats had to be pulled down to practically pubic level after the second week. I was quite obviously pregnant, and in some fast-forward kind of way.

Once in a while, searching to find something even looser to fit around my changing body I would consider the consequences in a detached sort of way. Perhaps I ought to do something.

But the way I felt, nothing could be wrong. I lazed in the sun, which had become intoxicating. My hair shone and seemed to grow inches a day. My skin took on a healthy glow that none of the ridiculous products under the bathroom sink had ever achieved. Despite the mushrooming my abdomen was undergoing, the skin was smooth and beautiful, not a single stretch mark to be seen.

I was happy and pleased with everything. I loved my body, and in the thought-free hours, days I spent in my little garden I would stroke myself- my legs, my arms, my breasts and my belly, glorying in the rightness of every part.

I loved that my belly could grow so perfectly huge like a watermelon. I loved the twiney vines of my hair. I loved the ideal function and beautiful art of the skin and flesh that was me. Nothing was needed; everything was exactly as it should be.

I would rub my hands in circles over my belly and sing strange little songs. There was no time but the moment. The sun ruled over the day, and moon ruled over the darkness when I slept.

Of course, the fruit on my plant was growing too. I watched in complete satisfaction as the purplypink fruit grew as I swelled. I had become tight and round and warm in the sun.

It was the 21st of June, the summer solstice when I came outside as I’d been doing for the last three weeks and saw the fruit growing ripe on the plant. I touched it and it fell into my palm. I raised it up to smell it, and surprised myself by taking a bite.

It was indescribably delicious, irresistible to the last scrap, and I licked the juice off my fingers in bliss.

But the moment I had licked the very last lick, a force like a lightning bolt shot through my body. I was splitting in two! With a scream I fell to floor, trying to curl up into a ball. I rocked and moaned, then crawled crying into a corner, trying to move out of my own body. I braced myself in the corner, convulsing and howling from the agony.

There in the dark, I delivered to the world a creature like nothing I had ever seen. On the ground between my legs this tiny perfect beautiful purplypink child had arrived. As the pain subsided my mind cleared, and I stared in amazement. She was so beautiful. I can’t tell you how I knew she was female, but she was. I was afraid that she might be dead, so I reached out and lifted her. As I did so, the cord dropped away.

She was sticky and wrinkled and her eyes were crinkled shut. But when I lay forward into the daylight, her eyes blinked open and she looked straight into my face. Her beautiful green eyes knew me, knew more about me than I did.

In the sunlight, her skin soaked up the stickiness and glowed. I stroked her soft hair and body and told her how beautiful she was, how glad I was she had arrived. That the world was full of sunlight and fresh air. As I told her, she smiled. Her eyes told me that she already knew.

I cried tears of joy for her, and we went to the swing. She was wiser and already growing strong in the few moments she had been in the sun. I fell asleep holding her.

You will probably not be surprised when I tell you I woke up to find her gone. The sun had strengthened her and she didn’t need me. My mysterious plant had also dried up. It was a brown fallen stalk.

I don’t know where my lovely girl-creature is. But I think of her when the sun goes down and especially every solstice. I breathe a prayer for her—or maybe to her.

She did leave me something. Some purplypink seeds were in my hand when I woke up. I haven’t planted them yet. I think I’ll know when it’s time.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 06:02 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

You know, way back when Darwin first came up with the idea of survival of the fittest, he categorized humans as an animal like all the other animals. Bears, pigs, monkeys and humans. We all eat, breathe, sleep, defecate and scratch where we itch.

The idea was hugely controversial. The church of the time wanted to believe that man was only a little lower than the angels, that animals were completely different from us altogether.

Now, we say that man is an animal without thinking about it. Yes: primate, vertebrate, whatever you call it, that is us.

And this classification brings us into greater relationship with our surroundings, our environment. Like cows, we eat grain. Like tigers, we eat meat. At least some of us do. And we grow grain and meat, using our environment to create food and do all the things we do.

As the smoke builds up in my city, we are saddened by the destruction of our environment. For some people, it is their whole environment, their home, that is destroyed. For some, like me, it is the beautiful outdoors, the natural environment that has been destroyed.

The fire was set by human means, there was arson which involved matches, and also a flare set by a lost hunter.

But the reason the fire became so huge is because of some bark beetles that killed the trees. They were standing timber, just waiting to be ignited. And we knew about this, we knew this would happen when the beetles first infected the trees.

This fire was inevitable. Perhaps the vast destruction was not inevitable, but a fire had to happen. Nature was doing what it does.

And we as humans, were decided what we wanted to do about that nature. Mostly, the idea that we should leave it entirely alone was the prevailing ideology.

For many years, most of which are in living memory, America with it's democratic capitalism fought a war of ideology with Communist Russia. This war was called the Cold War, but it was only cold inside the two countries. It was hot as hellfire in some places.

Because we were using our ideologies to justify various actions in different parts of the world. Like one side or the other would prove themselves more RIGHT by having more little countries pick their ideology to govern with.

Lots of countries got caught in the middle. Remember Vietnam? Cuba? Zimbabwe? Tanzania?

Well, not all Americans are capitalists. There were and are a lot of lefty-type americans who were rooting for the communists, or at least socialism abroad. They, and socialists from other countries, were happy to see the so-called 3rd world countries embrace socialism.

Alright. I would now like to present Tanzania. Tanzania tried socialism. It tried it really hard. Socialism didn't work in Tanzania. Nyerere, the president of Tanzania, and seemingly a very nice guy, admitted that it did not work and that Tanzania was pretty much impoverished by the experiment.

Tanzania was trying something out. It didn't work, so maybe they ought to try something different.

Russia, the motherland of communism, is also trying this 'something different' themselves. Smart. If it's broken, fix it.

NOW,
back to the fires in Los Angeles.

These fires, as I said, were naturally ocurring. We kinda knew they were coming. Fires come every year.

There is an ideology of conservationism that says, "Don't touch it! We have to pretend like we don't exist! Humans should not touch nature, we'll screw it up!"

Alright, I think the experiment of pretending that we are angels who float above the surface of the planet and don't make any marks has come to a failed conclusion.

If we are indeed part of the ecological system that we inhabit, it is impossible not to interact with it. Denial is more than a river in Egypt. The time has come for the conservationists to realize that we should direct our interaction with the planet in a useful way.

Let's use this human intelligence to choose wisely. Let's cut down and use controlled fires to protect the environment, WHICH INCLUDES OURSELVES, from these kinds of uncontrolled acts of nature.

Let's be wise and careful, and let's use our smarts to protect the environment. This whole "Don't touch it!" ideology has hurt my state.

It also hurt my home state Alaska, with people who want to treat the beautiful interior of Alaska as some kind of pinned-down insect. It's not a dead, static thing. It's a living place, and getting some people up there to get the oil out and spend a little attention on preservation will do a lot more to help the area than leaving it alone.

It's time to change when we've been proven wrong. Don't cling to outmoded ideas.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 07:17 PM | Permalink

Sinead sure can sing.

She sure can piss people off, too.

This album really shows her voice off, it's full of jazz standards. It makes me feel nostalgic, like I should take up making gin in my bathtub and smoking through a long cigarette holder.

And it makes me want to memorize the words for all her songs and then some.

Which is a decent thing for an album to make me want. I think it's a good album.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 01:47 PM | Permalink

This book seems like the Catch 22 for the 80s. Not everyone in my book club agrees with me about this, but I stand by it.

Catch 22 seemed very rooted in a sense of the ridiculousness of what was happening in the world of the 60s. It centered on a single man in the military, dealing with commercial transactions and the fear that he was going to die, that people were trying to kill him. Of course, people were trying to kill him. This was war after all. But the catch was that he could not be taken out of the army for being crazy because he was sane enough to realize how crazy the war was.

Fine.

White Noise is about a man, a college professor on his 3rd? 4th? wife and the huge mish-mash of half-related children that his family has become. He is also afraid of death, but in a far more abstract way than Yossarian in Catch 22.

He is bombarded, constantly and incomprehensively with messages, the White Noise of the media. He encounters tabloids and TV news and the theories of his professorial colleagues with the same attitude of incomprehending acceptance.

The book is not so much a story as an attempt to capture a snapshot of life. I consider the snapshot to be extremely rooted in the mid-80s. THere are a number of cultural artifacts that come from that time and have passed by.

It was an interesting book. Not so much pleasant, but interesting. Worthwhile.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 09:43 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

You know, I already wrote about the movie One Fine Day as being sweet and romantic. But the whole premise of that movie is that two single parents have to ddeal with their children and intense pressure at work.

For both of them, there was no tolerance for mistakes. How harsh is that? Is this how careers are everywhere? Does every culture demand perfection as much as America does?

The cost for one mistake, at least on the day portrayed in the movie, was so high. I wonder if there is another way. For me, i can't deal with that pressure. That's why I always try to be early when it's something I care about.

Just makes me think...

Posted by Murphy Horner at 08:39 PM | Permalink

The ash continues to fall. The fire is getting worse.

I looked down the block as I was walking to work. I tried to figure out exactly the point where the smoke haze began. Usually, it's to far to be so precise. But right now it is a thick batting around us.

Two Blocks. That's how far it takes before things haze like a romantic movie shot.

People are beginning to get sick from it. I can taste it in my mouth as I am walking outside.

You shouldn't be able to taste the air.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 03:21 PM | Permalink

My honey has been away on a business trip this weekend. Which makes me miss him. Which makes me feel sort of mushy.

There are all kinds of excellent mushy movies on tv this weekend.

The first one I watched was called Beautiful Girl on ABC family channel. It was so formula, but I loved it! The story was about a fat, short girl who joins a beauty contest so that she can get the trip to hawaii for her honeymoon.

And her fiancee was so supportive, and there was all the discussion of beng yourself and what true beauty was. Of course, the old cheerleader from her high school that was mean to her but saw the light at the end.

I loved it.

And then there was Sabrina, I foget which channel, but it was the one with Harrison Ford. Oh, it made me cry! What a great fabulous movie. I have to see the original one now.

And I just finished watching One Fine Day, which was also sweet.

I loved all the women in these stories. I felt like they were people like me. And the men! They can be such bastards when they're bad, but OH! they can be so good. When they're good, they're very very good. I love men.

Mmm...And these shows made me feel all mushy and romantic. I guess that's what movies can do for you.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 01:37 PM | Permalink

My new hometown in the middle of Los Angeles looks like a scene from the apocalypse today. We've had our troubles with grocery store strikes; we've had the buses come to a halt for a mechanic's strike.

It is extremely hot, unseasonably hot-reaching the 100s. And the Santa Ana winds, the ones Raymond Chandler blames for murders have begun to wake up.

The heat, the wind and I believe the discontent have resulted in many fires in our surprisingly brambly metropolis. One in particular is out of control.

45 miles away, where I work and breathe, white ash flecks were raining down. I walked through the grand opening of disney hall, with red carpet and velvet ropes mutely broadcasting BY INVITATION ONLY. And just in case you didn't get it, there were cadres of police security to remind you that YOU were NOT invited.

The cloned waitstaff lined the street in a military at-ease position, their red-vested backs to us, the unininvited. The huge metallic hall, more modern than the day after tomorrow is blurred by the thick air.

The commuters walk in lines to their cars, and the cars file in lines to the freeways, which are far from free at this time of day.

Some self-employed commuters in unwashed clothing hold cardboard signs for the cars driving by: "Hungry. Homeless. Need Help. Need Food. God Bless."

At my space in the wavy asphalt, my sedan gathered small drifts of white ash.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 06:41 PM | Permalink

SOmetimes I don't write because I don't have anything to say.

More often, it's because I don't know how to say what I've been thinking about. Life throws a lot of experiences at me sometimes, and I have to ponder them a while before I can get a fix on them.

Impressions and thoughts and ideas.

I remember when I was living in Russia. That first year was so hard. I was tired a lot, and excited, and doing so many new things and getting used to so much. In a lot of ways, I am realizing how parallel my experiences here are to my first year in Russia. There is a lot to get used to.

This weekend, I went to the housewarming party of a new friend. There was a point in the evening that a passionate discussion about the tastes of different kinds of bottled water occurred. The relative tastiness of Arrowhead, Ralph's brand, Aquafina, distilled vs. mineral-all were discussed.

I come from a place where many people do not have running water.

Yes, this is culture shock. I try not to be judgemental. These different types of water are all available. Why not have an opinion about them?

I remember in Russia, the only tooth cleanser was a powder. That was it. When my friend came to visit me in America, she about dropped through the floor, looking at all the different varieties of toothpaste.

I suppose that's not so different from different varieties of water.

Back to basics has a different meaning in different places.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 08:56 AM | Permalink

So I've been here more than a year now. I still feel like I have no idea what's going on. But the truth is, I 've seen through a glass darkly what it is I have no idea about. I know more about what I don't know about.

As I was walking to work today (yes, you read that right. SATURDAY. This is why I haven't had time to explore my new city..bloody attorneys), I saw a "Best of 03" publication in the LA Weekly newpaper dispenser. I snagged it.

Thing's the size of a phone book! Holey Moley! I'm keeping it, it is giving me all kinds of ideas of things to check out.

And it's inspiring me to make my own list of random stuff. Here goes:

BEST HYPED PLACES IN LA THAT EVERYBODY HAS BEEN TO BUT ME:

Pink's Hot Dogs
Canter's Deli
The Beach (aka Surfing)
Hollywood Bowl

BEST HYPED PLACES THAT EVERYONE TALKS ABOUT BUT DOESN'T ACTUALLY GO TO, THAT I HAVE BEEN TO:

Getty Museum
Free Shakespeare in the Park
Norton Simon Museum
Central Library
The Symphony (including the new Disney Hall)
Swing Dance lessons at the Derby
Museum of Contemporary Art (Twice!)
a bus
A night class at UCLA

BEST COOL THINGS THAT EVERYBODY DOES THAT I'VE DONE TOO:
Farmer's Market
Concerts at the Greek Theater
had an extensive conversation with a dicey used merchandise store owner about said merchandise
the Soda Pop Fountain (mulholland fountain on Los Feliz Blvd by the 5)
Bought FOR PROMOTIONAL USE ONLY cd's and movies from used cd stores
Bought vintage and obscure designer clothes from vintage and obscure shops
joined a book club
Celebrity sightings
done open mike performances
Had highly abstract conversations with just-met strangers about pursuing creativity and staying centered
Seen a Laker's Game (Go Fisher!)

BEST STUFF I STILL WANT TO DO

see original live theater ( oh wait, I did that...so do it MORE)
Drive to Mexico
go to hear authors and artists talk about their stuff
Drive to Vegas
Go to a dance club on Sunset Strip
Go the the H.O.B. Gospel Breakfast
Take a Yoga class

Just for starters.

I guess I 've done a lot of activities that have a hushed-voice environment...the museums, the symphony...That's due in part to the fact that my honey likes calm, contemplative places of beauty. He doesn't feel like doing the loud and crazy stuff. I do that with other people.

There's a ton of stuff I still want to do here. I suspect that there is no danger of running out of kick-ass fun stuff to do in Los Angeles. One of the biggest differences between LA and everywhere else I've lived is the willingness of the people in LA to do stuff.

The difficulty I've had in trying to start a group to do almost ANYTHING...Lord...Everyone seemed to just want to talk about doing cool stuff, but not actually start it.

HERE, I meet tons of ambitious motivated people who are willing to show up and do it. Maybe this place is the place where people come to make their dreams come true. They arrive with their sleeves already rolled up.

Maybe. I don't know. What I do know is that I LOVE that about this city. You say, "Want to start a writing group?'
YES! and they do it.
"Want to work on a project with me?"
YES!

I love that kind of YES.

So I say YES to this city too. YES, let's go do it!

Posted by Murphy Horner at 10:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Working hard on long days. It makes me kind of giddy.

After the tenth hour at work, the guard comes down and you say things that you might not have said.

It's kind of fun, but then, I wonder. Is it GOOD to break down the professional barriers?

Do I want these people to know me personally?

Posted by Murphy Horner at 10:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

A Long Beach Newspaper
Press-Telegram - Opinion

Back then, the lines were clear: On one side were the working people trying to ensure decent wages and basic safety for the dangerous work deep in the earth. On the other side were the heartless thugs brought in by the fat cat bosses to break the strike.

The current Metropolitan Transportation Authority strike by mechanics and drivers and other workers brings to mind the story of striking coal miners -- only in this case the roles have been reversed.

This time the MTA strikers are the thugs, using political blackmail to shut down public transportation for nearly half a million people. And the workers are left by the side of road. Like the coal miners of yore, those who can least afford it are those who will suffer the most.

---
This is not helping. Almost everyone I know has had to tighten their belts and deal with the downturns in the economy. If the union-managed Pension and Health Care fund has lost money, well, almost everyone else's pensions have been reduced.

These mechanics are not going to be very popular going forward.

0671723650

Posted by Murphy Horner at 07:54 AM | Permalink

It's a listFrom London. They are naming the 100 greatest novels. Naturally, they miss all kinds of good ones and elevate some ones I don't think deserve it.

But here's my score of which ones I've read:

1. Don Quixote Miguel De Cervantes YES

2. Pilgrim's Progress John Bunyan YES

3. Robinson Crusoe Daniel Defoe YES

4. Gulliver's Travels Jonathan Swift YES

5. Tom Jones Henry Fielding NOPE

6. Clarissa Samuel Richardson NOPE

7. Tristram Shandy Laurence Sterne NOPE

8. Dangerous Liaisons Pierre Choderlos De Laclos NOPE

9. Emma Jane Austen NOPE, but read others byher

10. Frankenstein Mary Shelley YES

11. Nightmare Abbey Thomas Love Peacock NOPE

12. The Black Sheep Honore De Balzac NOPE

13. The Charterhouse of Parma Stendhal NOPE

14. The Count of Monte Cristo Alexandre Dumas NOPE, I could live without Dumas

15. Sybil Benjamin Disraeli NOPE

16. David Copperfield Charles Dickens NOPE, but read others by him

17. Wuthering Heights Emily Bronte NOPE

18. Jane Eyre Charlotte Bronte YES

19. Vanity Fair William Makepeace Thackeray OWN IT, haven't read it yet

20. The Scarlet Letter Nathaniel Hawthorne YES

21. Moby-Dick Herman Melville YES

22. Madame Bovary Gustave Flaubert YES, love it

23. The Woman in White Wilkie Collins NOPE

24. Alice's Adventures In Wonderland Lewis Carroll YES, pure genius

25. Little Women Louisa M. Alcott YES

26. The Way We Live Now Anthony Trollope NOPE

27. Anna Karenina Leo Tolstoy IN PROGRESS

28. Daniel Deronda George Eliot NOPE

29. The Brothers Karamazov Fyodor Dostoevsky NOPE, but read others by him

30. The Portrait of a Lady Henry James YES, I love this novel

31. Huckleberry Finn Mark Twain YES

32. Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde Robert Louis Stevenson NOPE

33. Three Men in a Boat Jerome K. Jerome NOPE

34. The Picture of Dorian Gray Oscar Wilde NOPE

35. The Diary of a Nobody George Grossmith NOPE

36. Jude the Obscure Thomas Hardy NOPE

37. The Riddle of the Sands Erskine Childers NOPE

38. The Call of the Wild Jack London NOPE, but read others by him

39. Nostromo Joseph Conrad NOPE, but read others by him

40. The Wind in the Willows Kenneth Grahame YES

41. In Search of Lost Time Marcel Proust NOPE

42. The Rainbow D. H. Lawrence NOPE, but read others by him

43. The Good Soldier Ford Madox Ford NOPE

44. The Thirty-Nine Steps John Buchan YES

45. Ulysses James Joyce STILL IN PROGRESS

46. Mrs Dalloway Virginia Woolf YES

47. A Passage to India E. M. Forster NOPE

48. The Great Gatsby F. Scott Fitzgerald YES

49. The Trial Franz Kafka NOPE

50. Men Without Women Ernest Hemingway NOPE

51. Journey to the End of the Night Louis-Ferdinand Celine NOPE

52. As I Lay Dying William Faulkner NOPE, but read others by him

53. Brave New World Aldous Huxley NOPE

54. Scoop Evelyn Waugh NOPE

55. USA John Dos Passos NOPE

56. The Big Sleep Raymond Chandler YES

57. The Pursuit Of Love Nancy Mitford NOPE

58. The Plague Albert Camus NOPE

59. Nineteen Eighty-Four George Orwell YES

60. Malone Dies Samuel Beckett NOPE, but read others by him

61. Catcher in the Rye J.D. Salinger YES

62. Wise Blood Flannery O'Connor NOPE, but read others by him

63. Charlotte's Web E. B. White YES

64. The Lord Of The Rings J. R. R. Tolkien YES

65. Lucky Jim Kingsley Amis NOPE

66. Lord of the Flies William Golding NOPE

67. The Quiet American Graham Greene NOPE

68 On the Road Jack Kerouac YES

69. Lolita Vladimir Nabokov YES

70. The Tin Drum Gunter Grass NOPE

71. Things Fall Apart Chinua Achebe YES

72. The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie Muriel Spark NOPE

73. To Kill A Mockingbird Harper Lee YES

74. Catch-22 Joseph Heller YES

75. Herzog Saul Bellow NOPE, but read others by him

76. One Hundred Years of Solitude Gabriel Garcia Marquez YES, LOVE IT

77. Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont Elizabeth Taylor NOPE

78. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy John Le Carre NOPE

79. Song of Solomon Toni Morrison NOPE, but read others by her

80. The Bottle Factory Outing Beryl Bainbridge NOPE

81. The Executioner's Song Norman Mailer NOPE

82. If on a Winter's Night a Traveller Italo Calvino YES, it was very highbrow

83. A Bend in the River V. S. Naipaul NOPE

84. Waiting for the Barbarians J.M. Coetzee NOPE

85. Housekeeping Marilynne Robinson NOPE

86. Lanark Alasdair Gray NOPE

87. The New York Trilogy Paul Auster NOPE

88. The BFG Roald Dahl NOPE, but read other by him

89. The Periodic Table Primo Levi NOPE

90. Money Martin Amis NOPE

91. An Artist of the Floating World Kazuo Ishiguro NOPE

92. Oscar And Lucinda Peter Carey NOPE

93. The Book of Laughter and Forgetting Milan Kundera NOPE, but read others by him

94. Haroun and the Sea af Stories Salman Rushdie READ IT, own it, love it

95. La Confidential James Ellroy NOPE

96. Wise Children Angela Carter NOPE

97. Atonement Ian McEwan NOPE

98. Northern Lights Philip Pullman NOPE

99. American Pastoral Philip Roth NOPE, but read others by him

100. Austerlitz W. G. Sebald NOPE

Posted by Murphy Horner at 10:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I am forced to fall back on using my car. The bus mechanics are striking, so all the busses are stopped in solidarity.

Now, I think it is important to band together to be heard, but you have to pick your battles.

The public transportation system is something that many city dwellers rely on. There are some that use it exclusively.

the MTA website has this to say about the strike:

MTA Media Relations - Press Release

The biggest issue dividing MTA negotiators and union leaders is over contributions to health benefits. MTA deposits $16.8 million annually into a trust fund administered by the maintenance union which buys medical coverage for 2,000 employees plus retirees. An independent audit of the trust fund shows the union has wasted millions of dollars in recent years through duplicative coverage, poor record keeping and other problems.
Among other issues, the audit faulted the union for transferring $36,000 a month into union operating funds but union officials refused to provide documentation for how the money is spent. The audit also noted that the union has been paying a consultant up to $15,000 a month since 1998 to automate their record keeping but the task still has not been accomplished and the data is kept manually so the union has no real time information about how the trust fund is doing.

--

We already know that the last bus strike lasted for more than a month. It is a crisis, really.

LA has been coming to terms with it's Metropolitaness, and creating public transportation systems that were approaching usefulness. A lot of my co-workers have been learning to rely on busses.

But this is not a step forward. In addition to the massive inconvenience, this same MTA article repeats a figure I have heard elsewhere.

The bus strike costs the local economy 4 MILLION bucks A DAY.

I don't know that I'm terribly supportive of this strike.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 09:33 AM | Permalink

Patrick Brogan's book World Conflicts: A Comprehensive Guide to World Strife Since 1945 is really good. It's the kind of thing I should read, but I always feel sad when I do.

Here's the layout: he gives short synopses on what's been happening in all kinds of countries since WW2. No, he doesn't cover every country. No, he isn't without bias. But this book is a great catch-up on stuff that's been going on.

And stuff has been going on everywhere. When I read his chapter on Argentina, I finally understood the Falkans. I'm sure I didn't have all of it, but I feel like I have some basic facts.

What's the deal with Africa? What's the deal with the Middle east? What is going on in the Phillipines? These kinds of questions pop up in my mind every day. THis book gives me some answers.

It's really great, and it makes me sad. I wish the world were not so full of trouble.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 04:12 PM | Permalink

Iranian Wins Nobel Peace Prize

"Ebadi, who is the first Iranian and Muslim female to receive the honor, has maintained that democracy and Islam are compatible. A devout Muslim, she has fought against conservative Islamic rulers on behalf of women and children, in particular. Her efforts represent a radical change in a country where clerics maintain strict rules."

I am very pleased about this. Iran, and all the middle east needs some brave women to stand and be heard.

This woman literally risks her life to do what she is doing.

Bravo!

Posted by Murphy Horner at 01:08 PM | Permalink

5. It didn't drag on forever.

Regular elections seem to go on and on, allowing for a HUGE amount of junk mail a mudslinging. This one got straight to the point: JUST VOTE

4. I got out of work early to vote.

This might not work everywhere with everyone, but it worked for me so I don't care.

3. With this number of candidates, no one argued with me about "Throwing my vote away" if I vote Green.

It's not possible to throw your vote away on a governor. Actually, it's not possible NOT to throw your vote away. Which of these candidates could possibly be taken seriously? Which brings me to my next point:

2. We can debate about "the principle of the thing" and completely ignore the principles of the people

Yeah! Should we be allowed to recall a governor barely a year after we've voted him in? there are pros and cons, and it may have NOTHING to do with Gov. Davis's personal principles. Or any of the candidates morals. "It's the principle of the thing!"

AND THE NUMBER ONE REASON TO LOVE THE RECALL:

It's fun! Look at the turnout!

Posted by Murphy Horner at 05:31 PM | Permalink

Danny Kaye, with his curly blonde hair gets to be the inspector general for a Russian? French? town. They can't seem to decide which it is. But it doesn't matter, because Danny Kaye isn't either one.

It's very silly and funny. Danny Kaye does vocal acrobatics with his sound effects. The main plot device depends on the fact that Danny (a poor gypsy boy) cannot read.

I'd never seen Danny Kaye before. He's pretty good.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 09:54 AM | Permalink

She is SO bewildered. He is SO un-forthcoming.

What HAS happened with Mr. De Winter's first wife, Rebecca?

I have to use capital letters, you see. This movie is highly melodramatic. It's such a great story for it, too. Rebecca, who is the beautiful first wife. The current Mrs. De Winters, whose name I somehow never caught, is left to feel very inadequate and second class.

Rebecca must have been some act to follow, she thinks.

Of course, it's totally different than she thought. And WORSE!

This is one of those great old classic movies. They over acted, I think because they were still getting used to being able to talk. Over acting was the way you did in the silent movies...

Posted by Murphy Horner at 02:42 PM | Permalink

So my cat had a little disorder last weekend. I made an appointment for him at the vet, and even though he seemed better by the time the appointment arrived, I thought I'd better keep it.

I'd been meaning to talk with the vet about my cat anyway. He's fat. About 18 pounds of cat.

YES, he's big boned, YES, he a very muscular, and YES he's a little fluffy.

But he's FAT. I've been buying him this high-fiber diet cat food for forever, and it seems to do no good. Therefore, I wanted to discuss the situation with a vet.

The vet looked him over, agreed with me that he's fat and told me to put him on the ATKIN's diet. Well, to use the ATKIN's principles anyway. All meat for the cat.

Cats are carnivores, supposedly. My previous diet cat food choice was high in fiber 'n' stuff, and may well have been working against him in his need to lose weight.

He seems to like his all-meat diet.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 12:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)