CarrollBlog 11.30

I've mentioned this somewhere before, but I enjoy studying the look on people's faces as they're waiting while their dogs shit. Generally speaking, the facial expressions can be divided into two specific groups. The first are the people who look just plain embarrassed and are staring at anything other than their defecating dog. They wear uncomfortable, impatient looks on their faces. You can almost hear them muttering under their breath, 'Come on come on-- will you please finish so we can get *out* of here.' The second group are people who wear expressions that say "I do not know this animal even though I am holding its leash. I have nothing to do with either the dog or what it's doing. Don't blame me."
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a good one from MD:

CarrollBlog 11.29

Every day the middle aged man stands in the exact same place on the sidewalk, panhandling. I never knew why that spot in particular and I have watched him often. Perhaps today I discovered the reason. The place is about twenty feet from a Starbuck's coffee shop. An employee in a green and white apron was out on the sidewalk giving away free samples of one of their products. It looked like some kind of drink with lots of whipped cream on top. He passed them out to whoever went by. When there was a lull, he walked over to the panhandler and said in a very kind and friendly voice "Here, take two. They're really good." The look on the other's man's face was enough to light up the whole city.
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'tis the season to be Joey:

CarrollBlog 11.28

Look at every path closely and deliberately. Try it as many times as you think necessary. Then ask yourself, and yourself alone, one question. This question is one that only a very old man asks. My benefactor told me about it once when I was young, but my blood was too vigorous for me to understand it then. Now I do understand it. I will tell you what it is: Does this path have a heart? All paths are the same: they lead nowhere. They are paths going through the bush, or into the bush. In my own life I could say I have traversed long, long paths, but I am not anywhere. My benefactor's question has meaning now. Does this path have a heart? If it does, the path is good; if it doesn't, the path is of no use. Both paths lead nowhere; but one has a heart, the other doesn't. One makes for a joyful journey; as long as you follow it, you are one with it. The other will make you curse your life. One makes you strong; the other weakens you.

CarrollBlog 11.25

"The best part of having an affair is whenever you get a chance to meet, your lover is always fresh from the bath and smelling wonderful, thrilled to see you, eager to hold you, hear about your day or anything else you want to talk about. For them the eau de toilette you've worn your whole life is delicious, your stories are new, your insights fresh and compelling. Their eyes light up when they see you, their looks say where have you been all these years? I've been waiting so long. The problem of course is how long does that last? How long before the new gets sanded away by time and life and the day you forget to use mouthwash."

CarrollBlog 11.24

"It was the difference between great graffiti and the no-talents writing their names or initials badly anywhere in a pathetic try for immortality. Most of the graffiti on the walls of the world was crap. Now and then however you saw some that really made you stop and stare in admiration. Too bad everyone had access to cans of spray paint and blank walls. To him, graffiti was like karaoke-- if you can't do it, why do you want everyone to witness your lack of talent?"

CarrollBlog 11.23

Suddenly a young man in a black baseball cap and an orange backpack bursts out of the large department store and starts running down the sidewalk as fast as he can. Moments later a man only a little older than him comes racing out of the store and starts chasing him. He's yelling Stop! Thief! He's a thief! Stop him! But no one does. People on the street only stop to watch the pursuit. They do nothing else but stare. The first man runs into the street and although the traffic is thick, weaves his way between honking cars to the other side. Then he takes off again at top speed. The man behind does the same only he's slower and losing ground. He gets to the other side and screams STOP! The first man slows and does stop. Completely. The second man runs up behind, slams him into a wall, pulls out a pair of handcuffs and slaps them on the guy. Then he frog marches him off. Having watched this whole thing from far away, the only thing I can think is why did he stop? He was getting away. Why did he slow down and stop?

CarrollBlog 11.22

During Christmas season I always get a kick out of the stores that fill their windows with Santas, wrapped presents and ornaments... but what they sell is about as Christmas-y as a flat tire. One store in the neighborhood sells bandages, crutches, bedpans, etcetera. In one window is a large sign that says you can order prosthetic limbs from them. In the background of another window are stacked large boxes of adult diapers for the incontinent, four different kinds of electronic blood pressure measurers, etcetera. But amidst all those sad reminders of age and infirmity are also tinsel and large silver tinfoil snowflakes hung with great care, a sled with reindeer sitting on top of a display of "hospital strength laxative," etcetera. The store window is like something from a Fellini movie-- heartbreakingly wonderful and awful at the same time.

CarrollBlog 11.20

The Nearness That Is All
by Samuel Hazo

CarrollBlog 11.19

When I Am Old
by Ray Nargis

CarrollBlog 11.18

Someone wrote in to say there are now over 1,000 entries in this blog.
Good Lord.

CarrollBlog 11.17

Here's a good one from SS:

CarrollBlog 11.16

Today I walked past a large department store. In the window was a typical gaudy Christmas display and a sign up front that said "What will you give them this year-- a tie or a book? Why not be different and come up with a really original gift this time?" Several angry shout outs ran through my mind after reading that. The first was do they really think a tie and a book are equal presents? Some woman spends ten years of her life getting everything down on a page that matters to her in just the right words and that is the same as a Calvin Klein rep tie? The second thing was of course the deeply offensive phrase "Why not come up with something original..." As if books, even bad ones, are not the most 'original' thing humans can create and give to each other. Books, paintings, music... When was the last time you were pissed off by a store window?
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"A long time ago, I attended a speech in which Doris Lessing said something interesting describing her practices as a fiction writer. Often, she said, you must imagine details about your fictional world that will never be included in the story--and yet, their presence will be indirectly felt, thus giving a richer, fuller dimension to the universe you have created."

CarrollBlog 11.15

One of those nice moments in life where you expect nothing but suddenly out of the blue you receive a prize: I was in a hurry to get somewhere but was very hungry too. Waiting for a bus in a far part of town, I turned around at the stop and behind me was one of those tiny hole in the wall sandwich shops that offer everything from Shish kebab to fried chicken to pizza. What the hell-- why not? I walked in and ordered a doner sandwich which is called different things all over the world (gyro, shwarma..) but here is a grilled lamb sandwich on pita bread with lettuce, tomato, yogurt sauce, etcetera. The man put the bread into what looked like a waffle iron-- but a machine like I'd never seen before. Turns out it was some kind of whizbang apparatus that somehow toasted the bread perfectly on the inside, grilled it on the out. Outstanding. The meat was carved hot off the revolving spit and succulent/wonderful as only great cooked lamb can be. The vegetables were fresh and crisp... Just watching him build it I knew this was going to be a treat. He wrapped the finished sandwich expertly in aluminum foil and slid it across the counter. Two Euro. Warm in my hand on a very cold November day, I rode with it on the bus wondering if this thing was going to taste as good as it looked. It did. It was one of the all time great sandwiches and its unexpectedness in every way made me smile and happy for at least an hour afterward.
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J9PKO5WyPpg

CarrollBlog 11.14

The couple walk out of the restaurant, the man first and then the woman. He pushes the door open and barely holds it long enough for her to catch before it closes again. Out on the street he strides off, a few steps ahead of her. Neither of them look angry or upset. From all appearances, this is their normal way of doing things. I have seen this so often before but I never understand it. The couple walking apart from each other, rarely talking, rarely even making an effort to 'be together' as they share the days of their lives. The couples in the restaurants who never say a word to each other throughout the course of a meal. The couples like this one walking down the street a few steps ahead or behind, ignoring each other. I am not talking about the angry ones, the ones who just fought, or have a valid grudge against the other at the moment. I'm talking about the 'this is the way we do it every day' people. It's like living with a shadow but a shadow that is not quite yours and talks to you now and then.
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For those of you who have seen the terrific movie ONCE, here's a treat. For those of you who haven't seen it, do, and watch this anyway because it's good. It's sung by the two stars of the film..

CarrollBlog 11.13

I was going through some old old papers and is so often the case with that practice, found a lot of stuff that was sometimes alarming, sometimes enlightening. Anyway, I came across a graduation speech I gave twenty years ago. Re-reading it felt nice and the quotes from other people in it are worth the price of admission:

CarrollBlog 11.12

In November
by Lisa Mueller

CarrollBlog 11.11

A director of an Edward Albee play asked the playwright to read out loud one of the central monologues of the play so she could gain insight into what he meant when he wrote it. "Hearing him read it, with his own cadence, was fantastically illuminating." People frequently ask what you intended in a certain book when you wrote this or that. But I have always said that as soon as I finish writing a book, I become "only" another reader of it, nothing more or less. As a result, what I think of a certain character or passage in the story is no more valid, and in some cases less so, than another reader's opinion. This is not even talking about the fact you were an entirely different person when you wrote the work. What you meant back then is sure to be different from what you mean or think now of certain things in that book. Albee reciting a passage from a play he wrote ten or twenty years ago is similar to someone who read a play many years ago and is coming back to it after a few thousand days (and experiences) have passed. They read it now with the soul and perception of the person they have become. But the one who read those words the first time is very different from the person reading them today.

CarrollBlog 11.10

I think one of the reasons why people have pets, particularly dogs and cats, is because living with them allows us to give our truest, most honest love without having to worry about being rejected or hurt in return (as well as the other painful consequences that can come with loving another human being). Love your dog and it will love you back unreservedly. It will never manipulate your affection or devotion. It will never misuse it against you or for its own gain; never wield it as leverage to get some thing or someone else. Show a pet true love and it will "only" love you back to the best of its ability-- no games, no power plays, just gratitude and appreciation.
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Thanks to the people who wrote in after reading Thursday's blog, telling me NOT to feed grapes to dogs because sometimes it causes renal failure in them. Phew-- The Grape Killer. Not a good thing to have as your epitaph..

CarrollBlog 11.9

"Give light, and the darkness will disappear of itself."

CarrollBlog 11.8

One of the pleasures of having a young dog is watching what it does when you feed it certain foods for the first time. This morning I was in the kitchen eating grapes for some inexplicable reason. I say inexplicable because I don't like grapes and eat three or four perhaps once a year. Usually when I'm bored or thinking about something else and discover I've unconsciously put one in my mouth because my hands got fidgety and felt like doing something while my mind roamed or fretted. But enough about me-- let's talk grapes and puppies. The puppy, now nine months old and enthusiastic but not very informed about life yet, watched as I ate these yellow things. Eventually I noticed and handed him down one. Dogs are amazingly trusting creatures-- usually if they see you putting anything into your mouth, they'll eat whatever it is you're eating without a moment's hesitation. He took the grape from my fingers but if a dog could narrow its eyes in dismay, that's what he did after it was on his tongue and he'd tasted the thing. Then he dropped it on the floor and stared at it. What the hell is *that*? Which made me think what does a grape taste like when you first put it in your mouth? Smooth and rubbery until you burst its surface with your teeth, it has no taste. Maybe that's why he spit it out. He thought I was giving him something tasty to eat but it turned out to be only a little soft ball (or something). After staring at this dubious thing a while and tapping it with his paw twice, he carefully took it back into his mouth. At first his expression didn't change. Then his mouth stopped moving and I could tell he'd accidentally bitten into the fruit. He chewed slowly and cautiously. Eureka! These balls taste pretty good once you figure out how to eat them. Can I have another?
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S4aJXcoiNK0

CarrollBlog 11.7

"The photographer was set in his ways. A traditionalist, he did not have any faith in digital cameras, no matter how many millions of pixels they were capable of producing today. To him, half the pleasure of photography was working in a darkroom bringing pictures manually to life. He disliked the immediacy of digital cameras--the way you could see a shot seconds after taking it. At heart photography should have a certain degree of mystery in it, something ineffable and elusive, which was why he liked being in a darkroom developing pictures. It was a hands- on process you could not measure or ever replicate exactly. The photograph slowly emerging in its chemical bath was like a woman undressing in front of you--slowly slowly everything was revealed."

CarrollBlog 11.6

Gate C22
by Ellen Bass

CarrollBlog 11.5

The subway car is very crowded with early morning travelers-- standing room only. I am pressed up against one of the doors and can barely move. I'm trying not to make eye contact with the people inches away in every direction. My eyes dart around, looking for anything in the middle distance to rest on and carry me through to the next stop. A middle aged woman is sitting nearby. When the train pulls out of the station she reaches into her large purse and takes out a long metal pencil box, the kind kids take to school. When she opens it I see there are several black perfectly sharpened pencils inside, all about the same length. She removes one, closes the lid, and returns the box to her purse. Then she gets out a stenographers pad, opens it and begins to draw. I cannot see specifically what she's drawing but her hand and face are all concentration. The train shudders and waggles from side to side. She lifts the pencil from the page and closes her eyes until the ride smooths again. Then she goes back to work. I stop
looking at her hand, trying to decipher what she's sketching, and watch only her face. Her expression is serene and completely "in" the work. Nothing else matters. Her world for now is on that page. She could be anywhere but I am glad she's here because her drawing in this unlikely place is a small but singular gift from the gods.

CarrollBlog 11.4

In "Crying: The Mystery of Tears," Frey and co-author Muriel Langseth concluded that boys and girls do equal amounts of crying until puberty. But as boys take the testosterone highway and women the estrogen bike path, their responses differ. Women do tend to cry more than men, four times as much, he found, and usually between 7 and 10 at night. (Which seems to be the precise time when husbands are home, hmm.) He also discovered that crying (the emotional kind, as opposed to the onion-slicing variety) releases internal toxins, a sort of purgative action.

CarrollBlog 11.3

The mothers and daughters, sons and fathers out for a walk together on a Saturday afternoon. Some look alike, some are night and day different. Some of them are talking animatedly, old close friends with a lot to discuss. You can see and feel how much they enjoy each other's company despite the age difference. Others obviously dislike being together and do it only because they have to for any number of family reasons. The strangest thing to see is when they look like different versions of each other but aren't speaking. Both of their faces are set into hard silence. Usually they're walking fast to wherever they're going, wishing they were already there and away from each other. But they walk and move so similarly-- as if two parts of one self that don't get along have split in half and gone not their separate, but same ways.

CarrollBlog 11.2

The woman in a wheelchair rolls up to the ATM machine. It is above the top of her head and I wonder how she's going to manage this. Should I go over and offer to help? But she doesn't seem fazed by the inconvenience. In fact watching her, it is clear she has her moves at a money machine choreographed for maximum efficiency. A purse is hung around her neck which allows easy access to it. Her hands slide in to get a wallet, and then the bank card inside. Gesture gesture gesture-- she has her money from the machine in no time. After putting it into the wallet, she looks up and sees me. She smiles, knowing in an instant that I have been watching her very fluid and efficient hand dance. I'm embarrassed, but at the same time it's clear from the expression on her face that she doesn't mind having had an audience.

CarrollBlog 11.1

The journalist said, "This is the 19th book you have published in this country." Her voice shifted into an altogether different, more triumphant register. She spoke as if she were Sherlock Holmes announcing the key clue-- "*And* it just so happens it was officially released on the 19th of October. Was that on purpose? Are you a superstitious man?" She finished off rhetorically-- like she had the goods on me and there was no way I could deny her detective work.
I made a dumb face. "Am I superstitious? Yes. But no-- I didn't even know that many books were published here. It's more than there are in English." I'd forgotten they'd published this blog as a book, as well as other things.
The journalist looked she didn't believe a word I'd said. "You're telling me it was only a coincidence that they published book 19 on the 19th of the month?"
"Yes, it was completely coincidental."
She shook her head no and smiled. "I find that hard to believe."
Thinking about this exchange later, I remembered something else: In a review of an early book I wrote, one critic said the story was clever because it begins at a railroad station and ends at a railroad station. Things wrap up in a nice tight circle (his words). Reading that sentence, my mouth dropped open. Then I scurried to find a copy of the book. Sure enough it was true: I was genuinely surprised to see the book *did* begin and end at railroad stations. Not that I realized or intended that when I wrote it. The similar settings were a complete accident. Like the 19th book on the 19th day of the month. Isn't it great when you get extra credit in life for things you didn't do?