Friday, December 17, 2010
Is there any hope for the planet, when the privileged cannot behave with grace & aplomb in a little cheese shop? Not that they were so bad, but come on.
Also I would like to know why, as I drive along the roads here, and wind up behind someone who's about to make a turn, usually a right-hand one, why they must slow to a crawl, come to a virtual stand-still, and then ever so slowly, gingerly make the turn. True, D says, as I fly down Route 9, why do you actually speed up before slowing down to make the turn onto our little road? But, heck, at least I get off the road right away, I don't hem & haw about it endlessly! And by the way, those painted lines on the side of the road, whatever they are, they're not turning lanes, and these crayon-within-the-lines types treat them as such.
Yeah, I'm off on a bit of a rant. Is it the same everywhere with the driving, or just here? Today was worse than usual, it seemed as though everyone was doing it, everyone I was stuck behind anyway - why?
The cards I bought are beautiful, and I look forward to penning a few tomorrow and getting them off in the mail. Also today I started some pizza dough, which is rising at the back of the pellet stove. I see that Rafe is upstairs in the aerie now - he just sneezed. Dinner will be Alaskan cod and rice, and spooned on top will be caponata, a melange of farmstand vegetables from late summer - eggplant, peppers, tomato, and the like.
I enjoyed shopping local today. I look forward to doing it more often, say, when I manage to "monetize" my blog. Yeah right! "Publication is the auction of the soul," wrote Emily, ruling dispositively on the subject with her usual conviction, and I count myself in a similar camp. I prefer to give it away. I know just what she means, one (me) wishes to write what one (me) wishes, without regard to the world of commerce, to "what sells."
What a lofty, airy position I've taken, trapeze artist in training flying through the air at the side of the West Side Highway. Here I am on the river, flying through the air, without a safety net... That's not right either, but I do enjoy being aloft, and there wasn't a reason D couldn't have been either, the way we were for a long time, and the sort of person I'd like to be with again. That's the beauty of, if not capitalism, then of capital - one can swing in the air from branch to branch - not be down in the mines
What? I must place my final order by Monday morning the latest? Feigning practiced stricken look.
That's not the sort of freedom-from-capital I mean, or the sort that shows up with Christmas bonuses to buy decorative objects at auctions. I mean the freedom to write what she wishes - publish, without auction, her soul.