Monday, May 25, 2009

Wrong Thinking

I wouldn't have to play catch-up if I were more diligent, would I? Well, I've been busy helping Leone get ready to move, and then my mind has been just racing with the idea of moving myself -- this, after fifteen years at the same address. Here's what I think mostly about my moving: The party I'd have. Yes. I think about where people could park and whether I should invite the new neighbors. I think about whether Buddy Helm could bring a bunch of drums and some of us would get to play. I know I'd want Andrea to sing, maybe over by the fire pit, while others are engaging in edgy repartee in the side yard. I'm pretty social out of my house, but in it? Not so much. Still, I could have the party right away, so if something's not absolutely perfect, I could wave it away, breathlessly claiming that, gee, I just moved in. After the party, I'd never have anyone over again.

I have a couple examples of wrong thinking that just floor me. I suppose I could be grateful that I'm able to shock myself. It might be an odd sort of skill, like the ability to tickle yourself.

See that amazing photo above? It's by Clark Little ( Isn't that something? You can check out his site to see how he manages to catch waves like that. He was recently one of the options on, a free service that daily presents interesting (or not) tidbits. There are usually seven or eight things to choose from -- beautiful Indian women, over-loaded Chinese bicycles, strange fruit, things like that.

Well, this morning, my inbox held a set of Little's photos, sent by a friend. I instantly wanted to write back and tell her that I, in fact, was the one who, who ... who what? gave birth to him? inspired him to be so talented? gave him the break he needed? No. I merely saw him first -- first, of the whole two of us.

It blows my mind, if we may dip back into the sixties for a moment, to realize that that was my thought. I wanted credit, fer crissake, for having seen something first. How absurd! It's bad enough that the same thing happens with relatives. I'm so proud that Rachel Z ( is my cousin -- my first cousin! Again, I want credit for that. At least with that, some of the same DN and A's are ambling through our veins, which, again, was none of my doing. Well, let's move on to the other, more embarrassing sample of wrong thinking.

Clarence Bekker. Do you know him? You would if you'd followed my instructions earlier and gone to to hear their version of Stand by Me. I still get choked up when I watch it. Bekker is the handsome black man with the medium dreads from the Netherlands. There's something about him that makes me want to call him "tight." I hardly know what I mean by that. And usually "tight" is a negative, like uptight or tightwad or tightly wound. It's something about his chest, I think, or the way he holds himself close and bounces. Anyway, my god! what style! what a voice! what beauty!

Yeah, and it turns out he's gay.

You know my first thought there? What a waste!

Yes. What a waste! As if, what? as if love is wasted if it's gay love? Or as if sex is wasted if it's gay sex? Now, you know I don't believe that. But there's some bizarre thought here. Did I expect Bekker to find me somehow and come fall in love with me? Am I saying boo hoo -- my chances with Bekker are now dashed: he's gay!

What idiocy!

Now please sit quietly in your chairs while we catch up on the books I've read.
  • Belong to Me by Marisa de los Santos. It has a happy ending, which is just one reason I loved it.
  • Sum by David Eagleman, subtitled 40 Possible Afterlives. He's creative and fun, a neuroscientist or something. I'd look it up, but it occurs to me that the book may have gotten mixed up with books that ended up at the thrift store (instead of back to Liz where it belongs), so: yipes! Anyway, Eagleman looks to be at least twelve, and his short essays use speculation about afterlives as a vehicle for talking about human nature.
  • Skylight Confessions by Alice Hoffman. She's one of the writers who responded to my fan letters years and years ago. I'm never sure of her, though. Still, I'll buy each of her books because some are fabulous.
  • Burning Bright by Tracy Chevalier. This was an historical novel about, peripherally anyhow, William Blake. I don't even know who he was. I enjoyed her Girl with a Pearl Earring better than this one, although this was okay. I just went to her website ( It's showing the UK and U.S. covers of the same books. That's interesting right there. Check it out.
  • A Much-Married Man by Nicholas Coleridge. One way I judge books is whether I lend them to Mike's mother, Ruth. Only the first one on this list will be offered to her.
  • Slow Man by J.M. Coetzee. Well, in the first place, I can't pronounce his name. I read Disgrace by him. Twice. It was only twice because I didn't remember it from the first time. I enjoyed the second reading, though. He's ... odd. That's all I know.
  • How to Be Cool by Johanna Edwards. This was a two-for-ten book from Walgreens. I always enjoy the opportunity to find a good writer this way. This particular book seemed a bit too young for me, but I'd read another book by her.

There. I think we're caught up in The Library Corner.
If your home page isn't Google, you should at least check Google each day to see if it's a holiday of some sort. They decorate their name to indicate the special event. I found this on my screen and was taken aback. I was afraid something horrible had happened to my computer. Nope. Mister Google was simply commemorating Mister Morse's birthday.

I should have known that it wasn't my computer. I'd told you earlier that I was getting a new one, but the TechGuy came over and pronounced my old computer just fine. He gave it a tune-up and removed a loose screw -- literally -- from the tower (the hard drive?). That's Marty Belford at 727 418-0219. Use him. Tell him I sent you. Hah!


Anonymous said...

So you don't know who William Blake was??? Take a look at Wikipedia's entry about him; I was delighted to find that the article actually reproduces a number of his wonderful illustrations, which I love. And, for his most well known poem, look up "The Tyger" at -- which begins "Tyger, tyger, burning bright in the forests of the night...." I suppose my academic background is showing; unless you're a veteran reader of poetry or a college English major you probably wouldn't be aware of Blake's work, but I think he's well worth discovering. -- Eunice

Steve Robinson said...

Hey Babs!
Speaking of wrong thinking - just wanted to reprimand you for not knowing about William Blake.
Funny how it's easy to slip into that thought process isn't it? It's like when you find a band that you love and then five years later they have a huge hit. All of a sudden you're liable to shrug them off with a glib "Actually, I prefer their older stuff" comment. Not that I've ever done that, of course, but some people have.
Love your chattering natter (although I prefer the older posts!)
Cheers then,
Steve R.
PS. I don't really know anything about William Blake either; I'm just trying to avoid being scolded by Eunice.
PPS. Is it me, or would "Scolded By Eunice" be a great song title?