Things that scare me

- George Bush

- Jeb Bush

- The notion that we are raising a generation of girls who look up to Paris Hilton, who has done nothing to deserve her obscene amount of fame other than doing the nasty with some shmuck named Rick Solomon, who for his part is only famous for doing the same thing with Shannon Doherty, who at least at one time had a job.

- The president of Iran, and Mel Gibson.

- The possibility of losing another minute of my life to the JonBenet Ramsey case.

- Running out of coffee.

- That creepy beaver in that sleep-aid commercial. You know, the one playing checkers with Abe Lincoln? I don’t get it.

- When people ask me, so what are you going to do with your MFA?

- Myspace, facebook, and any web site that allows subscribers to accumulate huge numbers of “pretend” cyber friends, single-handedly reducing the title of Friend to a name on a list and the idea of friendship to a numbers game.

- Labor. And I mean that both in the child-birth sense of the word, and employment.

- McMansions.

- Did I mention George Bush?

- Bratz dolls, or as my husband likes to call them, Slutz.

For the love of Sedaris

Today has been simply lovely. It has been raining off and on, then a major storm swept through. Although I felt sorry for fair-goers as I imagined them scurrying for cover while shielding their deep fried cheese curds under their armpits, I welcomed the sudden down pours. Our new lawn has been dying slowly because I put a stop to my husband’s excessive and expensive watering habit. The front of our house has been turning a darker shade of dirt with each passing week of continued construction on our street. And I was a little bored with summer. I needed the rain. Fall is almost here and now I feel refreshed. Other than staring out the window watching raindrops fall, here is what else I did today:

In the morning I worked on my thesis, or what my husband refers to as “my stories.” He giggles when he says this because it reminds him of when his grandmother referred to soap operas as “her stories.” I am relieved that he can so easily amuse himself. Working on my stories exhausts me. Can anyone else relate? I can do one at a time. Some days even less.

I started out the summer feeling terribly guilty and worthless because I kept reading how my fellow bloggers and classmates were churning out thousands of words each day. These are all hard working people with real jobs and full lives yet some how they managed to produce ten times what I, the part-time freelancer, could. But recently I have come to realize that we all have our individual paths. I am just walking down mine slowly, casually, while others are zooming by me in Ferraris. Or whatever fast cars they make now. I don’t know cars.

So after I could no longer look at the screen, I made myself a cup of Elite (instant coffee from Israel, it’s divine) and plopped down on my couch. I had two choices in front of me. Thich Nhat Hanh, or David Sedaris. While reveling in The Miracle of Mindfulness seemed appropriately poetic on a rainy afternoon, I stayed true to my shallow self and picked up Sedaris instead. I know I am behind the times and that this is not news to anyone here, but he makes my day. His sense of humor is just self-deprecating enough to be charming without being overly dramatic. It’s an understatement to say that his writing is flawless. I rarely laugh out loud while alone in the house with no one but the confused dog to share in my joy, but today I did. A lot. And it was good.

The maple tree in my yard is already changing colors. There are orange leaves sprinkled on the ground, and I am not sure how to feel about that.

Heads up

It's (finally!) State Fair week. And just as I suspected, the construction in the area is still no where near complete. The crews seem to take great joy in putting down asphalt, only to jackhammer it back up a few days later. So if you are heading to the Fair, take the bus. Cause only one car at a time can park at my house.

I am going three days: Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday next week. I challenge any one to a Pronto Pup-off.

And this is the last State Fair post. I promise.

The big 2-7

Saturday is David's birthday. Everyone should go to his blog and send him a big cyber kiss.

Chatterbox!

The End is Near

I may have already mentioned that the Minnesota State Fair is right around the corner. Since I live about four blocks away, it is hard not to notice the preparations on the grounds. This year, there is an odd structure that resembles a giant white tusk. I have no idea why it is there. Maybe it just fell off a plane.

The arrival of the Great Minnesota Get Together is bitter-sweet. With it comes the end of summer, and the beginning of falling leaves and dropping temps. I have spent my summer taking walks with my dog, reading on the patio at my local coffee shop, and shopping at the Farmers Markets around St. Paul. I don't want summer to end.

On the other hand, there will be Pronto Pups. So you can see why I may be torn.

My father-in-law has a wonderful habit of sitting all the grandchildren around the kitchen table at the end of the day, dishing out big bowls of ice cream, and asking each one of them (there are 12 at last count) what their favorite part of the day was.

I am fresh out of ice cream, but I will ask you all, what has been your favorite part of the summer?

Spooky

Yesterday my friend from Israel IM'ed me asking if I wanted to meet in Europe sometime before September 20th. I checked prices and the cheapest was to London. I thought, hey fun, I haven't been to London in a long time. The only time I could go was the weekend of the 8th, which would have put me back on a plane to the US on September 11th. Yes, the thought did cross my mind, but I quickly dismissed it. I am from Israel after all, we don't live in fear. Too much.

I was about to purchase my ticket when I decided I really just could not justify the expense on such a whim. What with my student loans looming on the horizon and all.

Then I saw the news. I don't mean to be dramatic, but all night all I could think of is that it is entirely possible that being cheap has once again saved my life. Just a thought.

Show of hands please

Who is going to see David Sedaris in October?

Short story

Ok beloved former classmates, just because we are no longer in the Program, does not mean you get to stop telling me what is wrong with my work. Here is a piece with a whole lot wrong with it. I think it started out as a good idea and somewhere in the execution went all Harlequin Romance on me.

They met in Thailand a year ago. She was traveling clear her head, he was traveling to fill an emptiness he could not name. His divorce had left him numb, he told her over tin mugs filled with thick coffee at the tiny stands that dotted the streets of Chiang Mai. Children with skin the color of raw sugar flew by on rickety bicycles while he told her about his wife Sally and the morning she sat across from him at their gray kitchen and told him she needed more than he could give. “I realized right there and then that she was right,” he carelessly wiped the table with an open palm. “I let her go. But that’s not the point.” What he had discovered, in the cold nights that followed Sally’s departure, was that he had nothing to offer anyone. Years of sitting in a cube running figures and creating flow charts had left him with nothing to say, so he sold his car and flew to Asia where he could season his soul with color and dark chili powder.

Tamar didn’t care about Sally or damp London apartments. She came to Thailand to find peace, not spice, and William was just the right shade of vanilla. His auburn whisps of hair curled around his ears and his green eyes narrowed in the harsh sunlight. His touch soothed her like milk and she felt such a calm in his presence that it was easy to flow along with his dreams of a life spent traveling together. She humored him with a touch to the arm. Let me take care of you, he told her, his accent a warm blanket. With William, her feet finally touched the ground.

They rode on tiny blue buses crowded with day workers and merchants who sat quietly, their sacks filled to the brim with copper pots and fragrant seeds. William spoke with everyone they encountered, pulling the tattered English to Thai dictionary out of his back pocket.
“Sà-wàt-dee,” he’d enunciate, bobbing his head.
Thin women selling fruit at the local markets would smile broadly and giggle to each other. “Hello,” they would respond. “You buy bananas today?”
Eyes gleaming, William would purchase arm loads of fruit which they would eat late at night in their humid hotel room with the crackle of late night Thai television in the background.

A few days after they met-William, in a thin white shirt and a huge straw hat, had helped her purchase tea at the market-they rented a car and drove to the hillsides of Mungai where they had reserved a room at a hotel that the brochure had declared “the most romantic spot in Thailand.” The winding dirt road led to a thatched roof building wrapped in a huge veranda. Dotting the ceiling, bamboo fans spread their arms like giant wings, encircling the veranda with a cool breeze. On a swing in the far corner, another couple sat drinking ginger tea. They raised their glasses in unison as William and Tamar pulled their bags up the steps.
“Hi there!” said the Americans. “Welcome to paradise,” they declared.
Tamar and William kept to themselves for the rest of their stay.

On long afternoon walks, William held Tamar’s hand as if to prevent her from falling. The ground was saturated with the cool moisture of the mountain air. She felt as if she could float away, so she let him hold her hand in spite of herself. William talked about their next adventures as if he had already booked the flights, and Tamar gathered giant amber banana leaves which she dragged behind her with her free hand. She had never gone this long without talking, she thought to her self with an inner smirk. It was lovely, she decided.

In the same rented car, they drove across Thailand to Surat Thani, which William declared with a wink was a great name for a girl. Tamar ignored him as the road wound around the bend and the ocean opened up in front of her. They had lunch in half-empty cafés and made love in the afternoons under a canopy of white gauze that kept hungry bugs away. Later, she would swing the shutter doors open and step on the balcony naked, letting the salt stick to her skin, her hair, her eyelids. Looking over her shoulder, she would smile at William spread out on the bed, shaking his head at her. At night they shared bottles of rum and William would add up his money, saying there is plenty left, they could go all around Asia if they wanted to. Or, how did she feel about Europe? They could go to Paris, or Iceland.
“It’s so green there,” he said. “The hills just go on as far as the eyes can see. But we’d have to get you a sweater.” He laughed, poking her bare belly. But in response, Tamar just kissed his neck quietly.

He got the message. For the next few days, they walked quietly on the beach, collecting smooth glass for her mother back home.
“She keeps them in little bowls on her kitchen window sill,” she told him. “There is just something about them she loves.”
“What was once sharp and dangerous is now smooth and forgiving,” William said dramatically.

Two weeks of traveling through the deep green landscapes of Thailand and sleeping in William’s soft arms had been sufficient to cleanse her palate, so Tamar packed her backpack on a stormy July morning and told William she would be leaving after breakfast. He stood frozen in the middle of their hotel room, toothbrush in hand. As she whirled around him gathering her things from drawers and closets, William sat on the bed and watched her quietly. She had known there would be no protest, but his silence unnerved her.
“What? What do you want from me?” she demanded, stuffing colorful scarves into her bag.
Twirling the toothbrush between his fingers, William’s face began to change. The shock was gone, and he now looked at her with an accepting smile.
“You’ve tired of me, haven’t you?” It wasn’t really meant to be a question.
“William, don’t do this,” she collected her books from the end table on her side of the bed. “I just need to get home, I only planned on staying a week and I’ve been here for two as it is.”
“I don’t want to keep you with me if you’d rather go, Tamar,” he sighed. “I think I’ll skip breakfast if that’s alright with you.”

She looked over her shoulder at him as he walked into the bathroom and gently closed the door. A moment later, he emerged dressed and quietly left the room. Tamar stood in the middle of the small space. If she stretched her arms, she could almost reach both walls. She sat down on the bed, letting all the air out of her lungs in a long audible breath. Just like that, she was alone again.

On the plane back home, William’s calm smile lingered in the air like smoke. She smiled back in the dark, shaking her head. Just a month ago, she had left another lover, but it had not unfolded in the same way. Plates were thrown, their angry shouts woke the neighbors. But not with William. His hands had steadied her in Thailand, and although his face had already began to fade from her memory, the renewed strength in her had not.