dark water

Now I'm watching the Japanese version. There are several allusions to Sadako (from Ringu) in it: the ghost of the dead girl walks by the doorway and looks just like the young Sadako in the flashbacks to when Sadako's mother was doing a psychic demonstration for the press. Then when the girl first approaches the alive little girl, you only see a pair of white stockinged legs and shoes, similar to the legs that appear in front of Ryuji (that part wasn't in the book, though).

Also, in the American version of Dark Water, there are some homages to the Japanese Ringu--the most notable one is the kind of filming that occurs when Jennifer Connelly's character climbs up the water tank. The footage flashes back and forth between her and the past, when the little girl (Natasha) climbed up and drowned. Also, there are shots from inside the tank, looking up, similar to the ones in Ringu (with Sadako at the bottom of the well).

expensive conferences

I just spent $320 on a ticket to San Antonio for the end of January. I justified going to this conference since I need a job by May and because I have semi-estranged family in San Antonio and it will be good to visit them.

You can get a flight from O'Hare to San Antonio right now for about $140 round trip. However. The cheap flights are all at 8 AM and have ridiculous amounts of waiting time between connecting flights (on average 3 hours a pop). Factor that into the $80 round-trip ticket I'd have to pay for the shuttle to the airport, which only leaves every four hours, as well as the taxes on top of the ticket, and you're looking at a trip costing about $250 and a full days' worth of travelling time on each side. So I think $320 out of Champaign made some sense (even though the connections aren't going to be that much better, at least I don't have to get my ass to Chicago by 6 AM--I'd have to get a 1 or 2 AM shuttle at that rate).

I am so ready to blow the popsicle stand that is C-U, Illinois. My life is far too important and busy to be so highly inconvenienced whenever I need to fly anywhere. :)

Thank God I'm sharing a room with like, eighty people. I think. Hmm. Guess I'd better double-check that.

this time of year

I'm getting awfully sick of all the romance and couples bullshit that is continually crammed down my throat by our society, especially at this time of year. I'm just about the unluckiest girl when it comes to love and this shit isn't helping. Thankfully, though, I'm finally at an age when men seem to actually *notice* me, so maybe in ten years they'll start asking me out on dates.

Anyway.

I just saw a movie all about plumbing. It really wasn't bad, and the director is a dreamboat.



Turns out he directed Motorcyle Diaries, which I haven't seen. I've been looking up a few articles here and there about the popular American perception of Che. We're pretty divided.

It's unusual for me to see a remake of a Japanese film first--I usually try to see the original first. I think Ringu is infinitely better than its American remake. The same holds true for just about every foreign film that is remade in American versions. But this was pretty good. I'll obviously have to see the Japanese one now. I think the film had good direction, acting, and design. The cast has amazing credentials.

idle thoughts

Did you guys hear this a year or so ago?

preserving our tacky past

I wonder how one becomes a Disney librarian? As much as I hate Disney, I think they need to take some responsibility (yeah, get in line, right) for their own cultural past.

I was dismayed to learn that they've completely changed the Tiki room and the song and everything. That was one of Walt's own creations. While Walt was an incurable asshole, it still is a bit of history. Theme-park history in itself will probably become a serious field someday if it's not already--there are so many societal and cultural aspects to the creation and success of a theme park. Plus they canned the Main Street Electrical Parade. Disney is just like downtown Urbana--to stay updated, they just tear everything down and start over. There must be some serious collectors of vintage Disney music out there. I hope this stuff is being preserved. You can't even buy a recording with the Tiki Room on it anymore--the last time that was offered was back in about 1994, and I don't think you can buy those recordings anymore, either. Unless they're used. But you CAN get some new version with Lindsay Lohan or Hilary Duff or someone. Groan.

what to do with my life

OK. I can't move to New Zealand. I'd be stuck in the middle of one of two islands with only expensive ticket options to escape.

However, I'm suddenly feeling a bit more clear-headed about some things. I've been beating myself up about the possibility of getting a second master's in musicology, since I've wanted to be a music librarian for a long, long time. I've since decided that staying in Urbana for another degree and taking out loans at this juncture isn't worth it. I really, really, really dislike Urbana and Champaign (actually with quite a passion) and it doesn't suit me at all. More important, it's too much risk for too little gain. Since I consider C-U to be most decidedly in the middle of nowhere, with pretty much nothing to offer, I hate to think how I would find some little music library in the middle of Alabama or something, should I be successful in music librarianship.

But being at home, with my stepmother (who has a Ph.D. in public policy), my activist blood is really kicking me in the shins. Most people don't have activist blood. I do. It's something you're born with or not, sort of like a calling to be a clergy member. I've decided that I find music scholarship important and I want to fight to ensure that it can continue to be a serious discipline in which people may find livelihoods. But it's not for me. I am finding music to be too inconsequential right now. There is too much at stake to go into music. I think I knew this on some level and that's why I suddenly started to find public librarianship to be a much more attractive option. My strong interest in communities and community activism would be richly rewarded if I were to work for Chicago Public in some disadvantaged neighborhood.

And, incidentally, the Scherzo and Allegro from Borodin's second string quartet is totally fucking addictive. Why can't all string quartets have interesting melodic lines? Maybe people don't take this string quartet as seriously as some of the ones lacking melodies.

ummmmmm.....

you know, looking through my Flickr account at my pictures, I've decided this is what my vacation is all about:

dogs.dogs.dogs.dogs.dogs.dogs.dogs.tchaikovskyoverkill.
dogs.dogs.dogs.dogs.dogs.dogs.diezauberflote.dogs.dogs.
dogs.dogs.figaro.dogs.dogs.booze.dogs.dogs.dogs.dogs.

Christmas Eve

P1000624
Originally uploaded by freyjawaru.

Here are two of Bearly's spawn, fighting over a toy hedgehog. It lasted about ten minutes, until the hedgehog was pretty much torn in half.

technology is not my friend today

so why am I writing a blog post? Cuz I haven't done so in a week.

I got this rockin' new iPod for Christmas but I can't seem to organize my photos to save my life. There are about eight copies of every photo I've ever taken on the thing. I've gone back through all the computer's folders to delete extra copies of everything (which has taken several hours) and it still doesn't work. Now I am hanging around on Apple's message boards because other people have similar complaints. There are some photos I've completely deleted from my computer (and I double-checked with the Find option and they are nowhere) so I don't know why this isn't reflected on the iPod since I keep updating it. Grrrrrr.

Also, applying for jobs these days can be a nightmare, especially if an organization or company requires you to fill out their online forms (which usually are technologically so five years ago and so sometimes erase all the work you've done and you're required to start over). My application for CPL just took about three hours.

In the meantime, though, I'm seriously considering moving to New Zealand because I have a big connection (and I've spent about two months there, too) and so that's kind of exciting! I've been having a great time at home, where my father lives, and last night I went back to my real home and visited a bunch of folks I've known for oh, two decades. Yikes.

I also spent quality time in Dogville at my mother's house in the country, where all her Labradors live and where her Labradors' offspring visit (my aunt adopted two). Pictures to come.

If I have to listen to Tchaikovsky's fucking violin concerto or any Mozart operas again in the next year, I think I will drive a screwdriver into my eyeball. I don't know why my stepmother and my father listen to these things over and over and over again but you would think they would get sick of it. Oh, well. :)

holy crap, standards rock

I love them, I love them.

My friend made me watch Love Me Tonight last spring, and it had all these fabulous Rodgers and Hart songs that you always hear in the background of classic films during dance sequences for some reason. Richard Rodgers could write a mean melody. But of course, I also adore Gershwin and Porter and Arlen. Sigh. And Johnny Mercer, of course.

Some of my faves:

Tangerine
Just One of Those Things
Lover
Isn't it Romantic
Desafinado (from the Latin line of standards, by Jobim)
Stardust (duh!)
But Not for Me
Mimi
Amapola
Perfidia
Take the A Train

Thank God all these hot new jazz singers love standards, too. May they never, ever die.

Yes, old people love me.

I first recognized the enormous power of the jazz standard when I went to a Willie Nelson concert in Denver several years ago and he sang Star Dust and made me cry. He also sang The Rainbow Connection, which killed me. Only Willie can put that kind of beauty and emotion into a song in spite of a raspy voice.

thanks, richard!

You Are Japanese Food

Strange yet delicious. Contrary to popular belief, you're not always eaten raw.

What Kind of Food Are You?

this wonderful news from Sweden

Harper's mentioned this tidbit:

Drunk Moose Invade Swedish Seniors Home

AP article

tea

I realize I'm an annoyingly picky eater, and not in the most rational way. Of course, I suppose many people aren't exactly rational about eating. My coworker, who is moving away, wanted to go to TGIFriday's for lunch the other day and I had to send my salad back because about 1/4 or more of it was carrots and cilantro, neither of which was mentioned in the menu. Sigh.

But I'm finding that I truly love plain black tea. English Breakfasts. Irish Breakfasts. Your basic Lipton hot tea. For some reason, swanky restaurants these days seem to always run out of that stuff. So I'm thinking I'm not the only one who would select one of those over an Earl Grey or something. I really, really don't like Earl Grey at all. I think it tastes like medicine.

Today, at Square Kitchen, they offered me Stash tea. I understand that Stash is quite the thing these days. But they only had chamomile, Earl Grey, green tea, and Chai. I will not drink chai if it's steeped from a bag. Because then it just tastes like spice tea, which I'm not fond of. I love the smell of spice tea but I don't like steeped spice tea in water. Yuck.

my stepfather

certainly has a lot of strange connections. I just learned that he had Kinsey's office when he started graduate school in the biology department at Indiana. Kinsey had just died or left or something and left all his stuff in the office, too. Did my stepfather care? Apparently not.

And of course, my stepfather's brother-in-law is Michael Mann. So we get to hear all the buzz about his latest and upcoming movies. The Aviator was his baby, of course, but he turned over directing to "Marty" Scorsese. But he wrote the screenplay. My stepfather chose the location for Last of the Mohicans.

Does my stepfather care about his big Hollywood connection and all of the fabulous Christmas parties his sister puts on? Of course not.

turks, king kong

I'm starting to find that some Turkish guys seem to find me attractive. Maybe I should move to Turkey and get some action.

I should have listened to various people over the past year who have said that the fondue at the Bread Company totally blows. It's really not any good. Don't eat it. Stick with the pasta or pizza.

I need to get cracking on listening to my favorite Christmas song over and over and over. I love "Joseph lieber, Joseph mein." I think it's a variation on the older hymn "Resonet in laudibus" or something like that, but the H. Praetorius version of the former is beautiful and ethereal--the older hymn has a great tune but different sound usually when it's performed.

I had to turn down my friends' invitation to go see a movie tonight. Since one of them gets out of work at 10:30, we can't see anything except King Kong, which starts at midnight. And it's over three hours long. I have never liked the King Kong story; in fact, I rather hate it. Also, I can't deal with that level of pathos--it drives me completely nuts. For some reason, no movie about animals seems to be without major pathos. I refuse to see Babe, for instance.

temporary insanity

I've been going a bit crazy in the past 24 hours, but I hope I'm getting better now. I learned only yesterday that I didn't get a graduate hourly position and was thinking I couldn't afford to stay in school another semester, so in the past 24 hours, I've also applied for a bunch of jobs in Chicago and asked my friend if I could move in with her for a few months if I land a job by mid-January.

However, I saw my therapist today, and she pointed out that it would only be a couple thousand dollars I wouldn't be making. (My assistantship was cut in half in the spring, and I picked up a second this fall, but that's not continuing next semester and so I'll be making half the pay, which wasn't a living wage to begin with....)

That's still a couple thousand dollars, but in the scheme of loans, it's probably not the biggest deal in the world. I'd be better off staying an extra semester and having a tuition waiver and health insurance and all that than manipulating people into letting me onto the graduation list this semester and going out into the world cold turkey with no insurance and no job and no money. And as luck would have it, I am now going to be interviewed for the second grad hourly I've seen posted in the last two months, for which I might also be qualified (I don't know too many other people on this campus who are qualified for the grad hourly I didn't get--and yes, I was quite qualified).

I am trying to decide if I'm going to Chicago this weekend--I just received an invitation to a swanky party, and my friend who's hosting it called me "Meatball." I think it's a good nickname. It can go down on the list of my others: Cookie, Doodlebug (an obvious one on this blog), Bug, Doodle, Bong, Chanandler, Katty Chan, Leggy, Lippy, and Busty. This particular friend calls me Meatball because I was one of the original organizers of the Swedish "Meet" Ball in Chicago and he thought that was just hilarious.

autobiography of Bear

Courtesy of my stepfather. I really can't deal with this--it makes me sob.

My name is Bear. I am also called Mr. Bear when I am good, Bearly or Bearlet or Little Bear when I am cute, and Bessie or Bruiser or Daisy May when my Daddy is confused. I died on Saturday after Thanksgiving, 2005, at 1030 am. I was at Mountain Vista Dog Kennel in Platteville, waiting for my Daddy to come back from a trip, and I got a stomach ache. Nobody was there to help. Then a lady came and took me to Dr. Larry in Fort Lupton. I passed out there. Dr. Larry tried to fix me up, but I died anyway, without seeing my Daddy.

I was born a very special dog because I am from Gumbo of Black Forest and Lady Brandy Valentine and other important dogs such as my grandfather, Sir Hershey. I remember my early days in Louisville, where my first mommy nursed me and 12 brothers and sisters. My doggie daddy was not around. He left some puppy seeds and went back to his own kennel . My real Daddy came to pick me out in February, 1997, when I was 10 weeks old.

I did not like my Daddy at first. He put me in a truck that scared me. I stayed away from him on the other side of the seat. Then we went to the University in Boulder and picked up my Mommy at work. She held me in her lap all the way out to Weld County and I sucked on her finger. At the end of a long trip, my Daddy carried me into a house trailer where they fed me and petted me, and I was happy. The trailer smelled like mice, and I liked it.

During the day I stayed in a pen with Opie, who didn’t like me. I had a hard time.

Opie pretended to be a good brother to me, but he bit me and wouldn’t let me drink any water. When my Mommy and Daddy came home, they took me into the house and I was happy.

One day I felt strong and I bit Opie. He went into the dog house to hide. A few days later I picked him up by his neck and shook him some. After that I could drink whenever I wanted to. I was happy.

The house trailer was a good place for me. One time a bird came down the stove chimney and I caught it.

My Daddy started to teach me obedience. He was looking at the book by Mr. Wolters, who knows about dog education. Pretty soon I would “heel,” “come,” and “fetch.” My Daddy was happy. I was happy.

We had a new house, down the hill toward the river. I went down to it every day with my Mommy and Daddy. I jumped out the windows and I went up the stairs. After a while the windows got glass and I could not jump out. It was my house, and I went to every part of it.

My Daddy took me hunting when I was one year old. He told me to “stay” while he went on his stomach over to the slough. He shot a duck and I retrieved it. He was very happy, and so was I.

After that, Uncle Harold came over. We went hunting very early, when it was dark. We had a blind, and one time I had to retrieve a duck but could not see out. I went through the wall and got the duck. Everybody was mad at me and I still don’t know why.

One time I ate a duck that my Daddy shot. He was very angry, so I never ate another duck.

After a while I could wait for my Daddy to send me out for a duck. He liked that. Then one day I saw him hit a duck and it kept on going down the river. I went after it. He called me but I knew he shot it. I was gone a long time. I found the duck and took it to my Daddy. After that, he let me decide when to go. I was happy.

My Daddy almost had to save me one time. He shot a goose and it was not dead. It was icy and very cold. The river was high. I went across and there were many chunks of ice. I found the goose but he fought with me and we went under water. We got trapped on a log. I came up after a while. I still had the goose in my mouth. I saw my Daddy coming after me into the river. I brought the goose to him. He was happy and I was happy.

My Daddy and I got many ducks. We would go out in the dark and shoot one or two when the light came. I got them all. We would go into the kitchen and I would get warm. My Daddy said that I was a perfect dog. I was happy.

My Daddy tried to teach me to hunt pheasants. I got too hot and I was very sick and almost died. My Daddy carried me to the car and gave me water. I was ok then but he would not let me hunt pheasants any more.

My Daddy wanted a pheasant dog, so he bought Daisy May. I went along to help pick her he out. She was also a very important dog with many famous dogs in her family. I liked her because she loved to play and she smelled good. We slept together many times, but my Daddy had her fixed, and that was sad. She was my buddy. She hunted pheasants very well and made my Daddy happy.

Opie died of old age, but I didn’t care.

I slept in the house with my Mommy and Daddy. Sometimes I would go up on the bed. I talked dog talk when I was comfortable and my Daddy liked that. I licked my Daddy’s ear when it was time to get up. His ear was always clean. Mommy did not let me lick her ear.

I learned all the important words, especially “Bear,” “out,” “pee,” “truck,” “kennel,” “no,” “come,” “sit,” “stay,” “lie down,” “fetch it,” “heel,” and “damn it.” These were the only words I needed.

I realized that it was my job to protect our farm from dogs. I did not consider female dogs to be dangerous, so I let them come around. I liked Pepper, who lived next door and I went to see her often. She smelled good like Daisy but she was a granny and did not want me around.

I saw a male dog on a pickup truck on the highway in front of our house one time. The truck was moving but I jumped up on it and started punishing that dog. The truck guy got out and tried to stick me with a pitchfork, but I got away. My Mommy and Daddy were very excited.

I punished many male dogs. My Mommy and Daddy always got very excited but no male dogs ever stayed around to cause problems. I did my job and I was happy.

I had some favorite places. One was beside my Daddy on the bed. My Mommy did not let me sleep on her side. Another place was in front of the shower when it was on. It always put me to sleep. Also beside the kitchen table was good and I spent many hours sleeping there. I would sleep in the truck bed if my Daddy would let me. That way if he went anywhere I would know it.

When my Daddy went onto the farm he would stop and get me and Daisy. We would run in the fields and the river and in the irrigation water. I taught Daisy how to catch mice. After a while she was the best mouse catcher. Sometimes I caught a coon, which I punished. Daisy did not catch coons.

One time I hurt my Daddy. I was on the bank of the irrigation ditch and he was standing inside it. I jumped across it and he bent down at the same time. I hit him on the head with my head and he fell down. He didn’t get up and I was unhappy. Then he got up and I was happy.

My Mommy and Daddy wanted to find a mate for me. They went to Aspen Kennel in Holyoke and I went too. We bought Bessie who is related to me. Bessie and I were going to have puppies after 18 months. My Daddy locked up Bessie when she started to smell good. She was only 12 months old but she smelled really good and she liked me. When Mommy and Daddy went to the Doubletree to eat dinner, I opened the wire with my nose. My nose was bleeding but I was happy.

My pups were born in October, when my Daddy was hunting grouse. I looked at the pups but they were too small to play with. Bessie nursed them but she ran out of milk and my Mommy fed them by hand. Nobody had time to pet me. Finally my Daddy came home and petted me and I was happy.

The pups got big and ate up all of our dog food. My Mommy got people to come over to get pups. Uncle Harold took one called Molly. She looks like me. Aunt Nancy and Uncle Jule took two, and I played with them some when they visited. Soon, the pups were gone. Except for Bruiser

Bruiser was the big one who got on top of the food so none of the other pups could eat. I punished him and he screamed and my Daddy got mad. After that Bruiser nibbled my chin and played with me. I started to like him, and I was happy.

In the year I died my Daddy made an exception and took me on a pheasant hunt to South Dakota. We took Daisy May, who is the best pheasant hunter, and he took Bessie too, and Bruiser. We slept in the aluminum box in my Daddy’s truck. I could sleep with Bessie or Daisy because they both loved me. My Daddy was worried that I would punish some male dogs, but I didn’t see any. He let me get some pheasants and I did a good job. I was very happy. He said he would take me pheasant hunting again sometime.

Now I am buried behind my kennel. My Daddy made me a deep grave with the old backhoe, he put a blanket under me and he wrapped me in his hunting shirt and put his duck hunting cap under my head. Then he put my striped blanket over me and covered me with dirt. He was very very sad, and so was my Mommy. I am resting on my farm near my Mommy and Daddy and Bessie and Daisy May and Bruiser, and I am happy.

Bear

i hate S

Rant. She drives me completely insane. According to some rather high-up connections of mine, she tries very hard to justify her position at the school by being a complete and total pill at all times.

This summer I had to drop a practicum in cataloging and she would just make sweeping statements about how I couldn't do it and then make comments that made it abundantly clear she had no idea what she was talking about.

Now she's making this practicum hell. Is it my fault that she schedules meetings during very common class times? Am I supposed to ditch class for a meeting that basically exists to make her feel good about herself. Argh. Everyone else at the school is so pleasant. I don't understand what her problem is.

festivus challenge

P1000434
Originally uploaded by freyjawaru.

it was a hoot!

grr

P1000408
Originally uploaded by freyjawaru.

more randomness

heat_miser
Originally uploaded by freyjawaru.

*where* did Peter Jackson find the kids who play the child Hobbits? Does anyone really look like that?

I've decided that my New Year's resolution will be to stop fucking talking like a sailor all the goddamn time.

The nurse at McKinley who drew my blood two days ago was a sadist and took it out of the side of my arm, which is now completely black and sore. Duh.

It's that time of year again. Unfortunately, Heat Miser's Hot Spot and Snow Miser's Cooler have been yanked temporarily, so they cannot be visited.

balkan aprons

Last night in rehearsal, our fearless leader of the Balkan Ensemble said the women would only have to wear Bulgarian apron-type things if she was strong-armed into it. I mentioned this to someone who shall go unnamed, and he suggested that many Balkan women are probably about as tall as they are wide. I corrected him and said, "Well, I saw the Bulgarian Women's Choir when I was in college, and there were quite a few who were quite petite and small."

My friend said that surely,the smaller and younger women came by way of the older, larger women being opened up and discarded. He said that in Eastern Europe, there must be empty, wooden halves of women strewn about the fields where cows must sniff at them.

today's music thoughts

We started working on the Mozart Requiem today. Now of course, if you've ever seen Amadeus, you will never be able to listen to parts of that without thinking of Forman's film. I've only sung this requiem once before, and it's not a thrill to sing if you're an alto. Supposedly, sopranos love Mozart and altos love Brahms. Naturally.

However, I will always love that Confutatis and Lachrymosa. Those segments are played in Amadeus when he's dying and during his funeral. Pretty powerful stuff. When I was little, I thought that movie was an historical documentary. Hah! Regardless it's an excellent film.

I was very excited over break to find the versions of "Silhouettes" and "Sh-Boom" that I've been looking for for about, oh, fifteen years or so. We got a jukebox when I was about fourteen and we could buy 45s at a store in Boulder that sold them. I always loved "Silhouettes" but the version we got was Herman's Hermits and it sucked. The version I got of "Sh-Boom" was by the Sh Booms and it was quite different from the one I was looking for--that's the one in the movie Clue.

today's thoughts

1. I kept running into an acquaintance of mine whose wife is pregnant. He found out today that the baby is a boy. I asked him if he was going to name the boy Seamus, and he said he actually probably was. He thought he'd told me that before but I hadn't heard anything about the names and truly just grabbed it out of the air. Weird.

2. I hate planks.

3. Jerry Lee Lewis was a lunatic.

the squash-blossom necklace

My grandmother was supposedly a rather eccentric woman.

My mother always told me that my grandmother hated slugs with a passion. She used to scoop them up and flush them down the toilet, but that all changed one night when she used the toilet and sat on one that had crawled back out. After that, she would go outside and use the salt shaker on them to melt them. I have a mental image of her with the salt shaker in one hand and a martini and cigarette in the other (she drank martinis way too much and smoked like a chimney). I think my mother also mentioned that my grandmother would even go out and kill slugs in her bathrobe.

She used to wear her squash-blossom necklace with her bathrobe, too. She loved it so much, she'd wear it with anything and everything. This squash-blossom necklace was Zuni and made with petit-point (the turquoise was cut into tiny pieces and the way they were laid into the silver was intricate). My grandmother died in 1977, and then our house was burglarized in 1979. Clifford, the burglar, took the necklace. He was detained eventually and imprisoned--some of the items he'd stolen from other people were recovered but the necklace was gone.

Strangely, my parents saw another necklace that was more or less identical to the one that belonged to my grandmother at an antique show in Denver. They bought it and my mother still has it. To this day, they've never seen another like it.

dur

P1000355
Originally uploaded by freyjawaru.

I got to celebrate my birthday after all, for a bit.

our darling Bearly....

...has gone off to the Happy Hunting Ground. We will never again get trampled in bed by his massive body in the morning, nor will we hear his groaning and moaning when he is happy and walking around in circles for hours on end with a shoe in his mouth. He was a dear, dear boy. I adored him.


Bear. November 1996-November 26, 2005

my first birthday

my first birthday
Originally uploaded by freyjawaru.

happy birthday to me! the scary thing is, this picture was taken thirty years ago today. damn I'm old. I think this was taken just before I plunged my hand into the lamb cake.