kill your tv

or at least sign a DNR for it.

my, uh, "warren" and i do not have a tv. i am smug about a lot of things, and i'm truly sorry about that, and i'm trying to change, but i am most proud of not having a tv. it happened quite by accident--i can't take credit for any initiative to kill the tv--warren's little sister broke it and we decided not to replace it. as a result, i am reading again, i have not watched a single rerun of "sex in the city" on UPN, which, the last time i did that filled me so full of revulsion and shame i wanted to die, i have not been subjected to our government's propaganda, and i have room for a new lamp, which i am shopping for like a lamp-shopping fiend, and i am smug smug smug about all of that. i mention it as frequently as i can, and now i am announcing it on my blog. tada!

the only things i miss (we didn't have cable):

antiques roadshow
america's next top model
and...uh...

i guess that's it. i guess i can live with that.

disclaimer: we still netflix and watch stuff on the computer.

my reading

i just finished *a chance meeting*, by rachel cohen, a pleasingly gossipy book about american writers and artists--and one general, u.s. grant--over the course of the turn of the century and up to duchamp and john cage and people like that. each chapter features one encounter, and its context. it seems i am only interested in the nonfiction of fiction these days. maybe this is the beginning of a transition from exclusively fiction to just nonfiction. or maybe i will remain stuck here in the land of belles lettres for the rest of my life.

i did also just finish a nonfiction book about adoption, *a love like no other*. it's a collection of essays about adoption experiences. domestic, international, multi-racial, gay, straight, single, married, with no other kids, with biological kids, open, anonymous. although the stories were fascinating--i read it in two nights--i found myself most interested in the glimpses of the writers' lifestyles, the periphery. they are mostly magazine journalists. wow. there are people who make a living by writing.

p.s. welcome back, compy.

life these days

1. am i supposed to say, when i pick up my takeout, that my "fiance" ordered us some catfish? they don't care that i'm gettng married, and i think the word is kind of too formal for me, like white linen napkins at a barbecue. but isn't it a lie that my "boyfriend" ordered? there needs to be a different term. other than "boo", though.

2. i am not one of those people who thinks that everyone in america should speak english immediately necessarily. but if you wax eyebrows for a living, you absolutely should.

3. my life right now feels like i'll look back on it some day as "the best times".

update

my compy, she broke.

BTW i am engaged to be married. is that inappropriate? to announce stuff like that on your blog? i don't know. i'm a feminist. we play by our own rules. or we change the rules. or whatever. anyways, just thought you'd like to know.

three things

1. is it terrible that i can't find my glasses so i've been wearing old glasses i can't really see through because the prescription is too weak and also they're really scratched and i haven't even really looked for my newer glasses for about three months?

2. i just ate at vanel, which is a new soul food restaurant, their terminology, on first avenue between 5th and 6th streets. it was so incredibly good! not the fried chicken so much, as the mashed potatoes and mac and cheese. oh, and the crispy and moist cornbread, served with melted butter and fresh garlic to dip it in, italian restaurant style. plus, all the plates had paprika decoratively sprinkled around the edges, so you know they mean business. i'd never even had mashed potatoes like that before. i think it's what kentucky fried chicken tries to go for; i'd always wondered. i assumed there was some kind of meat stock in it or something, so i didn't save any for my boyfriend, who is a vegetarian, but then i found out that all of their sides, including the mashed potatoes, are vegetarian. i should have saved him some because they were just amazing. but i ate it all. it's the kind of thing you go all the way up to harlem for. that is if you're not me, someone who never rides the subway.

3. there is a really weird painting in there of a black child looking out a window at a lawn--the point of view of the painting is from the outside--and in the grass are three little teeny tiny kkk dudes in the white conical hats and everything. i didn't look at it for very long--i only noticed it as i was leaving--so i can't do a whole art history thing on it, you know, theorize about what it means and all that, and anyways i never was very good at that anyway, but i had to wonder, at least, who would want to look at kkk dudes while they're eating? parenthetically, the only people i've ever seen in there, and they've been open for a couple months, are black.

i never will marry

this is my dad's friend, peter stanely, and i, a few years ago. he used to play with dylan and joan baez. his parkinson's was just starting to get to him here, but he still kicks it out, if that's the expression.

our band

my boyfriend and i have decided to form a bluegrass band. he is a kickass classical guitar player and can, i recently discovered, sight-read bluegrass music. that means, for the musically untrained, that he can play elaborate finger pickin' represented by notes on a page. my contribution will be that i have a "period voice". i was in a bluegrass band before and they told me that that was why they had wanted me. my voice is weak and untrained and unreliable, just like someone on a national geographic recording. plus i know all the songs already because my parents were in a bluegrass band when i was a kid. we didn't have a tv, so one of the things we used to do for fun was sit around and sing songs while my dad banged out chords on the guitar. i never thought of music as something that had to be done well. it was just something you did with the people you loved. it was a part of life, something you used, like a hand thrown mug or bowl.