A love letter, sort of /  by mrm

Before you end up married and buying a house in the Berkeley hills, before you become respected and a fixture of your community and successful at your profession, before you take your daughter to kindergarten, having played trucks and bulldozers with her for years because you’re so progressive and you’re such a great dad, and before you have a dinner party where you and your wife cook together and she’s not even boring or unattractive in fact I kind of like her, I quite like her, she’s funny in a subtle way and like you she has a good career, a graphic designer, I think, or maybe a psychiatrist, and sure you have your ups and downs sometimes it’s hard, even, but you love one another and you love your daughter and you’re talking about maybe having a second child and you’re fun, you’re fun people, you do strange things and you have costume parties still and in a lot of ways you’re grown up but in other ways you’re still quite raucous, in fact I think she must be a graphic designer or maybe a programmer, freelance, anyway, like you, because even though you’re not rich you still pick up and move from time to time, those three months you spent in Maine house-sitting and clam-digging and that long month in Uruguay where you stayed with friends and the internet connection was poor and you got a lot of writing done, and anyway you’ve decided to buy this house in Berkeley, reasonably close to all of the grandparents and a community garden and when you get up in the morning you usually feel pretty good, at least once you have some coffee, before all of that, before all of that, I’m saying, I’d like to take you out, I’d like to take you out now, when you have a lot of options and let’s face it probably a lot of offers but a lot of things have happened to you already and I think a lot will continue to and all I’m asking is please, before anything else happens, can we please go out. And after that, anything.

Kiki Smith /  by mrm

at the de Young. So delightful. 

Also, some of my favorite things at the de Young are the strange views.


Just moving spaces around.

I go out walking /  by mrm

On the 33 bus from the Mission to the Haight, I looked to my right and saw a hill, somewhat craggy, with people and dogs on top. I thought, I don't know where that is; a rare experience for me after six years in the city. A quick map consultation suggested that this was Corona Heights. I couldn't remember having heard of Corona Heights. On a sunny day, I decided to walk there.
That's it, that hill far away.

I took that narrow stairway to get there, which made me feel clever and sneaky.

At the top of the hill, there's this: (forgive us if you can, this is San Francisco, now).

And then, of course, you turn


and look out.

oh scone, oh scone /  by mrm

Let me tell you about this scone. 

Actually, to begin my life with the beginning of my life, let me tell you about my relationship with scones. I definitely ate scones growing up. Those dry, crumbly triangular things you can find at most cafes. They didn't tend to taste like much and they usually had cranberries in them. The first time I had a life-changing scone experience (understatement is for other people) was in Kraków, Poland. I was at a little potluck party, and a Scottish fellow brought scones he'd made and, significantly, clotted cream. Spare a moment, if you can, to pity the poor me who, until the wise age of twenty-three, had never known the joys of clotted cream. What is this? I remember asking. And then eating. A lot. From that day forward, I had a different idea about scones. The scones, as I recall, were less dry, less tired-seeming than the scones to which I'd been accustomed. But it was the addition of clotted cream that did me in.

Picture me now, cozy in San Francisco, coming home from a late Saturday morning run to find two trays of scones being pulled from the oven. My housemate Tim has recently taken up baking (as if he needed to be more charming), much to everyone's delight. So there they were, these scones. Tim made them from the Cheeseboard cookbook. They have lots of things in them, including blueberries, buttermilk, and heavy cream. And pure joy. These are the best scones I have ever had. In my life. I don't know how to tell you this. They were so good, I not only didn't want clotted cream, I didn't add butter. I can think of no higher praise.

representing it visually /  by mrm

At a recent party at my house, I overheard two people, who hadn't known one another previously, begin an animated conversation over their shared enthusiasm for carpentry and table-making. There were so many people who didn't know each other. I am always wanting to introduce people and particularly those with overlapping areas of interest. I began a kind of Venn diagram on the chalk board in my kitchen of people and the things they liked, experiences they'd had, qualities they possessed. Then I let everyone else take it over. (pictured here) 

I would not describe this as a functional image, necessarily. No doubt there are far more elegant and scannable ways of displaying the same content visually. But it was a lot of fun to make and to puzzle out later. I've dubbed it a disinformation graphic, which is amusing but not quite apt. Perhaps a hermeneutic circle of a party? I'll accept suggestions.

stay the execution of 2010 /  by mrm

My friends,

It has recently come to our attention that the Year commonly known as 2010 is about to expire. This grieves us mightily since, as you are well aware if you have kept abreast of our efforts, we have been diligently lobbying Time to abolish its artificial and tyrannical construct The Calendar, a monstrous creation which, in addition to relying on arbitrary and senseless groups of numbers (7? 12? Outrageous!) for its foundational structure, unnecessarily and cruelly privileges certain categories (Days and Months) by allowing them to recur with great frequency while simultaneously discriminating in the most blatant and baseless fashion against others. I refer, of course, to Years, which are allowed to appear but once and then fade away, seemingly forever.

We have nothing but scorn for the defense offered by Calendarials: namely that, by virtue of the greater length of its existence, the Year is not suffering unfair treatment. That other categories, including such deeply unpopular representatives as the dreaded Monday, are granted immortal recurrence while Years are banished to the annals of memory is an untenable situation, and one which has no place in a free society.

Sisters and brothers! We ask that you join us in decrying the foul massacre of 2010, a noble Year that, while certainly in possession of many flaws could, we firmly believe, progress and improve – given Time! Lend your voice to the growing chorus and sing out against that heartless despot, The Calendar! Let us abolish this ridiculous notion that we must destroy the Past in order to create the Future, and let us instead float together in harmonious accord in a boundless Present!

As members of the Society for the Abolishment of Chronological Hierarchy, we work towards a more fair and equitable system of Time, with the ultimate goal of liberating humanity and the universe from the cruel shackles of clocks and segmented experience. One Day, we shall all be joyfully emancipated into the pure and unregulated realm of Timelessness.

As always, we welcome your letters and are grateful for your ongoing support.

Yours eternally,
MRM
President at-Large, Society for the Abolishment of Chronological Hierarchy (formerly the Anti-Calendarian Association)

some thoughts from Nabokov /  by mrm

"The magic has endured, and whenever a grammar book comes my way, I instantly turn to the last page to enjoy a forbidden glimpse of the laborious student's future, of that promised land where, at last, words are meant to mean what they mean."

"One's home is always in one's past..."

"...something, in short, that I could appreciate only after the things and beings that I had most loved in the security of my childhood had been turned to ashes or shot through the heart."

                      — Vladimir Nabokov, Speak, Memory

I'm going /  by mrm

to start a new blog called "Please stop blogging" and all it will do is tell people who really should stop to stop. I'm sure I will get to everyone eventually and this of course includes me. But I'll be the last.

consumerism satirizes itself for my benefit /  by mrm

This has to be the worst thing that will ever happen. I say this based solely on the information provided below.

You would think Hallmark, of all people (and by people I mean soulless megacoporations, as defined by the U.S. Supreme Court) would know what month Christmas is in. Or do you think they might be attempting to start the consumer frenzy even earlier? What if you could send people "Happy November Christmas" cards in addition to the "Merry Christmas" cards you send them in December? My god, that would probably double their business! Someone give that CEO a raise. And give me his address. I'd like to send him a card.

remnants /  by mrm

from this year's Dia de los Muertos, a decisive day, and also as weird a mix of legitimate ritual and weird, privileged white-person appropriation as you'll find anywhere, I imagine. I observed and purchased food.



This is Esmerelda. She is made of sugar. (All of this, of course, was at the beginning of November. But she's still here. I quite like her.)

alchemy /  by mrm

I was chatting with someone today at Mission Pie who told me that she always felt that cooking was a little like alchemy. To take a squash, for example, and turn it into muffins.



There are so many ways to distract one's self from the things one knows one should be doing.
These were tasty – squash, butter, flour, milk, sugar, one egg, baking soda, cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg, chopped walnuts on top – but I think next time, I want to go the savory route. I'm thinking out with the sweet stuff, and in with some cheddar and rosemary.

the root of the problem is not cohabitation /  by mrm

Dear Prudie,
I'm in my early 30s and have been dating the love of my life for three years. We moved in together a year ago. Before we began dating, I explained to my boyfriend that I was looking for marriage and children. I thought he wanted the same things. He says that he still does, but after a year of living together, we are not married and there is no engagement ring in sight. (Believe me, I know.) We have been invited to his cousin's house for Thanksgiving. He has a large family, and I am looking forward to going. However, my parents are the only family I have in town, and they were not invited. For the record, my parents have invited his over for parties, dinner, and holidays. I asked my boyfriend whether, if we were married, my parents would have been invited, and he said yes, which made me wish I hadn't asked. What should I do about all this?
—Not So Thankful

Dear Not,
Your letter is a perfect example of how moving in together can get you further away from your life goals if a clear plan for achieving those goals is not part of the discussion you have before signing the lease. I actually don't understand why, after two years together, you would agree to an open-ended cohabitation. You want marriage and children, and you don't have lots of time to waste, but here you are, snooping in his sock drawer to see if there's a wedding ring hidden there, and waiting for your boyfriend to decide your fate. In the meantime, you're supposed to leave your parents alone on Thanksgiving because his family doesn't consider your family to be part of the family. I suggest you take more control of your life, and start with Thanksgiving. Tell your boyfriend either his family finds two more seats at the table, or you are going to have to decline their invitation and spend Thanksgiving with your parents. You could also tell him that the discouraging way this holiday is playing out is making you realize that after three years together, you two really need to talk turkey.
—Prudie
more available here.

emphasis – need I say it? – mine