Still no new camera. The lack of pretty photos here is bumming me out, but I went way over budget last year (mainly due to my 100 recipes goal), so I'm feeling kind of poor right now. Maybe next month!
This entry is just a bunch of housekeeping stuff for my ongoing goals. The book review is kind of a rant, my fitness progress is less than inspiring, and I wrote way too much about going to some ordinary places around town (but I hope those bits are at least a little funny, maybe even interesting). Here 'tis:
BOOK REVIEW:
You Had Me at Woof: How Dogs Taught Me the Secrets of Happiness, by Julie Klam
A few years ago, I was at an Antropologie store (I'll occasionally go into one to be absolutely sure that yes, this store, which is purposefully designed to look like a crappy garage sale, has absolutely no clothes in it that I can afford), and after perusing price tags and scoffing, I saw this book on a table--it has an eye-catchingly cute black-and-white photo of a Boston Terrier with googly eyes and mismatched ears on the cover. I opened the book and read the following paragraph:
I think because their dogs were so much bigger than Beatrice, my parents and their dogs didn't begrudge her lying on the couch with the people at cocktail hour. I remember the first time I went to their house with Otto. They had recently put down wall-to-wall sea-foam carpeting in the upstairs. Definitely no dogs allowed. That didn't apply to Otto. "He doesn't see color," I'd tell my father. Dad wasn't amused. I watched him stand at the foot of the stairs, Otto at the top, head cocked, with my dad yelling, "Get down here, fatty!" Otto looked at him, considered the offer, and went back to my mother's dressing room to lie in the sun. Sea foam wasn't his choice, and it wasn't his problem either.
I remember I snapped the book shut, put it back, and muttered, "What kind of books do they sell at the store for annoying, self-indulgent rich people? Books written by annoying, self-indulgent rich people." I walked out.
The next time I saw the book was when my mom unwrapped a copy on Christmas Day, 2013. She laughed at the funny title and cover photo and smiled at my dad, who had given it to her. He smiled back. It was a relevant gift since my mother had taken in the small stray dog I'd found a year earlier who had given birth to puppies in my room just before Christmas 2012. (The puppies still live with me, but their mom lives with my parents.) My mother read the book and then handed it off to me, not saying much about it. I decided I had been ignorantly presumptuous in the Antropologie store that time, and made up my mind to put aside my previous judgments and see if I had anything in common with the author, both of us being "dog people".
It turns out the author and I did have a few common experiences. When she adopts her first dog of her own as a single 30-year-old, she wonders if this will mark her as a person who cares more about dogs than people and render her unmarriageable. (When I found myself suddenly spending 18 hours a day taking care of puppies that I hadn't planned on adopting, I worried I would never be able to leave the the house and gaze upon a male human again.) We both get embarrassed when our dogs bark at strangers during walks, and we both agree that potty training a human is easier than house training a dog in that it doesn't involve going outside on freezing nights. We even both like to let a small dog cling to our shoulder while we hum romantic jazz standards and dance in the kitchen. But the similarities end there. It turns out my initial judgments were far more accurate than I could have known.
The author (even as a 30-year-old entry-level employee) lives on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, where she regularly bumps into celebrities at the dog park. She complains about Upper West Side veterinarians not giving discounts to her Boston Terrier rescue group (I can just imagine what the vets think when they get hit up for money by the well-coiffed and well-heeled.) She spends thousands of dollars on a New Age retreat so she can learn to communicate telepathically with her dog. She only tells her whiny daughter "no" once, and even then she has to quote an incredibly shitty thing her daughter's teacher said to do so, and, in the end, gives in after all. She quotes emails from the other ladies in her rescue group at length because she thinks they're hilariously witty (they are not), and bitches about a guy from a poodle rescue group who tells her that she doesn't know what she's doing (she almost never does) and tells us it's appropriate that his name is Dick (her name is Klam). She writes a lengthy, guilt-trippy, oversold, lie-ridden sob story for a dog she's fostering that she wants someone to adopt, then can't believe her own daughter wants the dog because the dog is, and I quote, "kind of a nothing". I put the book down in disgust at several points, and it was all I could do to continue giving the author the benefit of the doubt until the end. So much for trying to set aside my judgments and find something to like about someone anyway--I find myself relieved not to know or have to interact with this person.
The book does have some high points. Klam is good for a few dozen laughs (she's a comedy writer, so she'd better be), though the best ones come from people she interacts with, especially her husband and other family members (her brother came up with the title for the book). The last page is beautifully written, almost to the point that I'd forgive the book its other failings. If you have never had a dog and plan to get one, this book could prove useful as a cautionary tale since the author screws up so many things in such a great variety of ways, despite having grown up with dogs. There are plenty of cute dog stories (but some distressing ones too--watch out), though not a single photograph besides the one on the cover, which does not seem to be of one of the author's dogs but rather just a staged photo (I could be wrong, but the caption only gives the copyright of a professional photographer). All in all, it is an okay book with good and bad points that mostly balance out. I would recommend it only conditionally, to certain people, like rescue group enthusiasts, airheads, and wealthy jerks.
HEALTH AND FITNESS GOALS:
This month I'm just listing my stats for the Physical Fitness Test... next month maybe I'll do little graphs in Excel to show my progress in a glance.
I slacked off fitness-wise in February (bad weather + laziness + surprisingly busy for an unemployed person) so I didn't show much improvement, and I was feeling lousy when I did the "running" test, but I made myself walk the route just to keep my commitment to doing this test every month.
1.5 mile "run": 28-1/2 minutes
Sit and reach: 2-1/4" past heels (a 1/4" improvement! Woo-hoo!)
Half Sit-ups: 20 in one minute
Push ups: 11 without stopping (one more than last time!)
I've also been making a conscious effort to eat more seasonal produce. This month it was lots of grapefruit, oranges, asparagus, beets (with greens), and spinach. I recommend seasonal produce because it is usually cheaper and tastes better (which means adding less sugar and oil to make it palatable).
This is my big goal for 2014. It's meant to counteract my agoraphobic tendencies. It's also an excuse to practice writing essays about places I've been.
Places Three and Four: Chinese New Year at the Crow Collection and Nasher Sculpture Center
Early in the month, my sister's friend invited both of us to meet her at a Chinese New Year celebration downtown at the Crow Collection of Asian Art. I wasn't sure if I could count this as a "new place" since my sister and I had been to the Crow Collection building one night a couple of years ago after a performance of Don Giovanni at the Winspear Opera House (quite an impressive place itself), but we toured much more of the museum this time, as well as crossing the street to see a bit of dance and music on "the main stage" and to pet some ponies and miniature horses that were standing in a little petting zoo nearby in honor of the Year of the Horse.
The festival wasn't a heck of a lot (the performer Betty Soo and her band were surprisingly good, and the food trucks smelled wonderful--the rest was kitsch), but the museum was awesome. In the ground floor exhibit space was an Ai Weiwei piece called "Circle of Animals/Zodiac Heads: Gold" (that's a link). I was excited to see something by Ai Weiwei since I had read so much about him but never seen his work. This particular piece was a reproduction of just the heads of some statues that used to adorn a fountain/water clock at an 18th-century European-style imperial palace that was looted in the 19th century by the French and the British (the original bronze heads were recently auctioned, sparking protest over their ownership and inspiring the artwork). I think the heads at the Crow Collection were smaller, but they were made of GOLD(-plated bronze). Often when I walk into a museum, I'm struck with the feeling that what I'm looking at is very valuable or even priceless, but that's always in an artistic/humanistic/spiritual sense. With this, I felt that I had walked into a bank vault and suddenly found myself in the presence of SO MUCH MONEY. Artistically, it could be a statement about value--what makes something worth something? But it was also just very eye-catching and electrifying. It was even difficult to really see the detail on some of the heads because they were so darn shiny. Upstairs in the museum were a variety of Asian art objects spanning a couple of millennia (mostly bowls). My favorites were a little gold Japanese short sword and scabbard, decorated with enamel flowers and birds, and an entire upper-story facade from a Mogul palace, made of intricately carved rose-colored sandstone, with three-hundred-year-old ironwood shutters still intact.
My sister's friend still hadn't shown up by the time we exited the museum, and it was too cold to stand around outside, so we went across the street to the Nasher Sculpture Center, which opened to much hoopla a couple of years ago. I'd been longing to see it because I had admired the work of Renzo Piano back when I was an architecture student but had never been to one of his buildings. I almost cried going in. My initial impression was of a grand simplicity that felt both futuristic and ancient, the high, smooth stone walls contrasting with a multi-layered roof/ceiling structure that seemed to float above and let in natural light through sheets of punctured metal. But as I walked through the museum, it began to feel like a much less poetic copy of Louis Kahn's nearly perfect Kimbell Art Museum in Fort Worth, and the arrangement of the sculptures lacked any sense of awe or magic--it was kind of like when you go to visit someone who has just moved and nothing's been put in its proper place yet. I was, however, pleased to discover a new favorite sculptor, Alberto Giacometti, and to find out that Gauguin did some very good "primitive"-looking sculptures in addition to all those colorful paintings of naked ladies (both sculptures in the museum were also of naked ladies).
After we toured the sculpture garden, my sister's friend and several of her friends finally appeared. We walked down to see the ponies again (technically two Shetlands, half a dozen miniature horses, and a donkey, all very shaggy for winter). We decided, based on their glazed-over eyes and perfect stillness, that they must have been given a moderate dose of tranquilizers with their morning oats. As we stood by the corral, I looked up and saw a gigantic (42-story?) glass skyscraper which my sister's friend confirmed was the infamous Museum Tower, which has been accused of destroying some installations in the Nasher Sculpture Garden with an excess of harsh reflected light. (My sister and I didn't notice it in the garden because the sky was so overcast.) My sister's friend said an artist whose installation had been destroyed was working on a new installation that would make the building seem to disappear from the skyline!
I had forgotten how much I love seeing Dallas proper, especially the now somewhat dated I.M. Pei building called Fountain Place (I always cry when it appears on the horizon, especially if I'm returning to the city by air). The trip downtown was a bit of a leap into the future for me since I hadn't been there in a while. I hadn't yet seen the new Calatrava bridge (so much taller than it looks on the news!), I hadn't yet seen the new LED billboards that have sprung up here and there in the city (just like Time Square, only less so!), nor had I yet seen jeggings on men (at least not in real life!). I had been anxious about the long drive (which turned out to be mostly pleasant) and about being stuck standing around making small talk with a bunch of strangers (which only lasted about 20 minutes, and they were all very nice) and about leaving the puppies for so long (no one wet the bed!). I was exhausted afterward, both physically and emotionally, but all in all, it was a pleasant day, and I'm glad I dragged myself out the door.
Places Five and Six: A Wendy's and a Gelato Place
For a couple of weeks I found myself unable to get to the post office, even though I've been there millions of times and it's not very far away. I needed to go, though, because I had an exchange order for a clothing company in England and I didn't want it to get canceled because my return parcel was late. So finally I managed to get myself to the post office (I actually had to postpone mailing some bills that I was going to take in on the same trip because somehow adding three letters to a parcel made everything too stressful--I know it doesn't seem like much, but until I took them off the table, I couldn't get out the door). There was almost no line, and I actually let a couple of people pass me while I filled out my customs form. Waiting in line is the thing that triggers panic in me the most, and there was one guy openly ogling me and another guy who I thought might be making fun of me behind my back but turned out to be laughing over some inside joke with the postal worker at the counter, who was apparently a good friend. The person at the counter always has to type up the address that I've already written on the package and the form, and it's a seven-line address, so I apologized. "Oh, this one ain't too bad," he said. "Some of 'em don't even have numbers, they just say, 'Turn left at the tree!'" This got a big laugh from everybody.
Once the package was on its way, I felt so happy and relieved that I decided to try to visit a new place while I was out. I had to go a long way before I found a business that I could reasonably go into for at least five minutes: a Wendy's in a part of town that I hadn't been to in a while. I hadn't been in a Wendy's in a long time either, since I am both a health nut and too cheap to eat out unless someone else is paying. I ordered "whatever the medium size of fries is?" and paid with a five that I had gotten out of my wallet ahead of time to expedite things. My change was only two filthy dollars (one seemed to have roofing tar on it?) and a tiny pile of rust, which means either I was cheated, or the price of fries has more than doubled since I was in college. I went out to the car with my dirty money in my fist and realized that I could have just refused the change and been able to eat with relatively clean hands. Then a dime slipped through my fingers, and I went ahead and picked it up from the asphalt. If there's anything more profoundly ingrained in my personality than germaphobia, it's an egregious cheapassery. I ate half the fries right there in my car by picking them up between my knuckles. (Now I remember fries! Now I understand why we have an obesity epidemic!) Then I powered up my CR-V (Echo & the Bunnymen's "Lips Like Sugar" was just starting--I think that song is beautiful despite the goofy chorus), drove to a favorite scenic sitting/thinking/contemplating the universe spot, and sat down on a concrete embankment right by the water's edge. There were no ducks or geese about, so I figured I wouldn't have to share my fries until suddenly, silently and seemingly out of nowhere, a gigantic swan appeared before me. I've seen these birds attack people (including babies), so I gathered up my stuff immediately and tossed a fry to the ground in the hope that the swan would stop to eat it, buying me time to run to my car. Instead, he was visibly insulted by my meagre offering and turned his beak down and sideways, then opened it in a loud hiss as he rose from the water. This was not the hiss of a bicycle tire leaking air, or even the hiss of a snake, but the hiss of some primordial dragon awakening from centuries of slumber beneath a dark, secluded mountain tarn (like the one that swallowed the House of Usher). From the safety of my car, I could see that the swan had not followed me, but I don't take chances with those freaks.
Later in the same day, still feeling free and hopeful, I was out for a walk when my mother called and said my dad wanted to take the whole family out to dinner for her birthday. Hooray! (See above about only eating out when someone else is paying.) We went to our current favorite restaurant, a Mediterranean-food place owned and staffed by a small family from the Middle East. Afterward, my dad (who is supposed to be on a diet) took us to a gelato place I'd never even seen before. It was very busy and smelled faintly of ivory soap inside. I was delighted that many of the flavors were dairy-free, and you could get four of them in a single cup, so I did! My mom, my dad, my sister, and I sat around a tiny table eating our gelato with tiny plastic spoons and sharing funny stories about the puppies and their mom. It was probably one of the most pleasant little outings of my life, so I'm very, very, very glad I went.
Place Seven: Another Assisted Living Facility
My mom and I had all but decided on moving her mother to a bright, clean, airy place not too far from where she already is (it was our second choice back when she first moved out of my parents house), but thought we had better check out more of the competition. This place was so cold, so dark, so eerie, so labyrinthine that it might as well have been a carpeted version of the winding catacombs beneath the Castel Sant'Angelo. Also, the sales-pitch lady ended her every utterance with such a dramatic descent into vocal fry that I would have run out of there screaming if I'd had any hope of finding the exit on my own. A least it counted as going to another new place!
Place Eight: A Chipotle
My sister wanted me to bring her some food at work. The traffic was scary, so I made a detour to make the drive easier, then missed my turn and ended up having to come back at it from the first direction. I hope her burrito wasn't too cold. I wasn't going to get one for myself (cheapskate, health nut), but holy COW hers looked good when they were making it. I got a vegan one (unless there's butter in the brown rice? close enough) to eat at home and removed the cold parts and reheated the rest and then dumped the cold parts back on. It went so well with the Izze grapefruit soda that I also bought on impulse. Heavens it was good!
