a day spent outside is a good day
Monday 30 April 2007 | 2 cookies in the jar
Yesterday the Brujo took me cactus-hunting around Zia and Jemez Pueblos; we got happily sunburnt, nearly stepped on lots of nearly concealed baby button-cute cacti and in the end finally came across three sclerocactus in hot-pink bloom. I also found a sandy blue lump of turquoise, just lying on top of a ridge among the brown geodes, a square piece about the size of a single die; but the earth does not belong to us so I left it there, doubtlessly for someone else to find and take home and forget about.
We drove back to Santa Fe making up a dumb white-person rap song and coming up with preposterous scenes for my latest terrible screenplay idea, kind of Mississippi Masala meets Sixteen Candles, Dance Me Outside meets Revenge of the Nerds. It’s repellently commercial and Heartwarming and thus could actually conceivably survive the ruthless natural selection process of the pitch. It’s odd, these three babies of mine; I always thought if I could ever manage to come up with anything screenplayish, it would be some unwatchable Warhol-Cocteau dialogueless art thing, like a five-hour film from Pyewacket’s perspective, starring Björk; but my cinematic imagination has turned out to be quite satisfyingly derivative.
Back in town, the Brujo bought me a papaya paleta (the first of the summer! I saved the stick) and an horchata which I guzzled thirstily while he had shrimps and rice and things. Then we collapsed at our separate apartments for naps, something I think both of us are secretly enjoying while it’s still possible. The only distressing thing about the day was that in the morning I tried to put on the same pair of khaki hiking pants I’d worn the entire Baja trip in December/January—with, mind you, usually long johns on underneath— and I couldn’t get them to zip. The entire day, hiking up hills, I felt as though I were carrying a very heavy pack behind me, maybe a fanny pack (bum bag, for UK readers) filled with laundry quarters or lead fishing weights. But there was nothing behind me, only my behind. This has GOT to change.
The Brujo remains unflaggingly supportive of my bodily shape, no matter what it be: and thus, he concocted the following inspirational rap song. It reads much worse than it sounds, and bear in mind that for some reason that his wiry Irish Philly-boy demeanor can also, for no reason I can fathom, somehow pull off an uncanny impression of Public Enemy.
I said YO, FAT is a FEMInist ISSUE
don’t MAKE fun of my BAby’s ADIpose TISsue
I’m PROUD to love a WOman with LOTS of fine CURVES
ALL you little SKINny girls is GETtin’ on my NERVES
IF you want a GIRL go BACK to high SCHOOL
I want my ARMful of WOman I’m no MOTHerfuckin’ FOOL
I don’t WANna look DOWN and SEE no rib CAGE
there be TIME enough for THAT when you’re IN your OLD age
you CALlin’ it THIN, I call it EATing disORDered
BETter eat some FRIES girlie GET another ORDer
your TINY milkSHAKE can’t bring the BOYS to the YARD
that PANcake ASS will never MAKE your man HARD
I LIKE to be WRAPped in my WOman’s sweet THIGHS
better BURN all those MAGAzines TELLIN’ glossy LIES
So serene in the knowledge that I have yoga class at 8:30, I bake:
MIDDLE-OF-THE-NIGHT BLUEBERRY BRAN MUFFINS
one egg
some canola oil
some honey
some vanilla
some almond milk
some white flour
some wheat flour
some brown sugar
some crushed vaguely bran cereal you’re never going to eat because it’s too old
tiny bit of baking powder
tiny bit of salt
generous folding in of frozen blueberries
Blearily put paper muffin cups in tin, because who wants to wash out muffin tins at five in the morning? Mix everything enough to moisten it and dump in paper cups with the cat squalling on the floor like no one’s ever fed her anything. Forget that you usually put in applesauce until too late. Sprinkle unnecessary brown sugar on top and bake in 350º oven until crispy.
In upcoming events, I not only have yoga class at 8:30 but I’m expecting the high-speed Internet technician sometime between one and five…which means…at the end of the day, I may have a working DSL connection again. It took me two hours on Sunday morning calling Earthlink, Qwest, Earthlink and Earthlink (like some evil law firm) to accomplish this feat. But since this is the week of finishing both my dad’s and my official websites, prior to being subsumed in (hopefully) two paying web projects, I can’t not have a connection any more.
To say nothing of the importance of determining which water bottle I can’t afford! The Life Is Good one, only $10 (because I have my annual REI rebate); but the $20 Sigg “Maharadsha Turquoise” one is so much prettier….I have a perfectly good Nalgene but the allure of a shiny new thing is for some reason tremendous.
Also this week I plan to distract myself with another set of shiny baubles: the rosary for the Professoressa, which will be primarily lapiz and tiger’s eye beads, with garnet spacers. Kimba received hers of rose quartz and amethyst and, though grieving, wrote to say she likes it very much; note an inquisitive kitty foot entering one of the pictures at lower left. Princess just had to pat the pretty beads. Anyone else want to commission their very own pagan rosary?
2 cookies in the jar
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What, exactly, is cactus hunting?
I have that sagacity quote, by the by, taped to my bathroom mirror. Deepstep now baby deepstep.