persepolis

I was a total nerd in high school. I was a math geek, a science freak, an art lover and even a book worm. But there were two subjects that I despised: social studies and geography. Frankly, I found them boring and forgettable. And maybe I hated those subjects so much, simply because I wasn't very good them.

Maybe it was just the delivery.

The irony being, I suppose, that now I utterly love maps and traveling (though I'm still pretty bad at identifying places) and I absolutely love listening to public radio on my drive to and from work. The best days are when I'm running a little late and I catch both NPR news and BBC news back to back. I wouldn't say that I'm a history buff, but that I've learned to embrace the hiSTORY part. I guess that's my bookworm coming through.

But that's why I feel compelled to write about this book Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi, which I read last year for bookclub. Persepolis is more of a HERstory as they like to say. It's a memoir in 2 parts—a graphic novel—based on Satrapi's childhood in Iran during the 1979 Iranian Revolution. I just cringed as I wrote that last sentence. These books are almost impossible to ecapsulate in words. The illustrations are brilliant and grant access to a world that is inaccessible to someone like me via any other medium, be it a history book, full-length novel or any media outlet—even NPR. So I guess delivery does make a difference. You just have to read it (see it) to know what I mean. And how timely with so much media attention on Iran these days too. You read the book and then you hear the news and you can't help but wonder about the people. The real people.

Even better, they made a film from the graphic novels. (It was nominated for an Oscar - Best Animated Film - in 2008.) We watched it tonight for bookclub. We do that sometimes when we get tired of reading books.

Again I was blown away by the illustrations, the animations were brilliant. So much was said between the text—I felt like I understood. Like I knew a little more and was a little more hopeful. Art is so powerful in that way.

Satrapi says:

If I didn't know any people from other countries, I'd think everyone was evil based on news stories. But I know a lot of people, and know that there is no such thing as stark good and evil. Isn't it possible there is the same amount of evil everywhere?

If people are given the chance to experience life in more than one country, they will hate a little less. It's not a miracle potion, but little by little you can solve problems in the basement of a country, not on the surface. That is why I wanted people in other countries to read Persepolis, to see that I grew up just like other children. Read more.

So you have to read the book AND see the film. In that order. And then you'll probably want to go back and read the book again and then compare your own personal timeline to hers. It might make you sad, but it also might make you feel some gratitude and hope.

Maybe I won't turn on NPR tomorrow...maybe just for one day. I'll listen to music instead.

when it rains, dance

I guess you could say it's been raining a lot here over the past few weeks. I actually love the rain. One of my favorite things is waking up in the morning to the sound of rain falling on the street outside. The best is when a car goes through a puddle splashing the water all around. I love that sound.

Of course, to really enjoy the rain, you must have a stylish umbrella or two. And you must have a good attitude.


Hannah and I went to a parade last weekend in Burlington. It was for the Champlain Quadricentennial celebration. It was a big deal and they had invited a lot of fantastic performers from all over Vermont and Quebec.

It rained on the parade. Lots of performers had to drop out at the last minute, but the ones that did march down the Union Street to Union Station promenade definitely made up for it.

I mean, they were DANCING in the RAIN! They were dancing and singing and banging their drums. It was impossible not to get caught up in the energy. I mean, that's just so fantastic. They were exactly right. Why feel down about something that's totally out of our control? Why not just dance?

Here are some of my favorite pictures from the parade.

Bread & Puppet Billionaire Bail-Out Club:

Hannah learned some African dance moves:

This was one of my favorite performances. The man on stilts looked like an elegant spider wizard dancer.

The Bail-Out Club again:

Crazy bikers from Old Spoke's Home:

My friend Laura and her husband in their vintage Citroën:

it's summer, hot and heavy

Since I last wrote, summer solstice has come and gone and a sultry heat has settled on this place. When it's so hot, everything slows and expands and perspires. It's heavy. I want to soak my feet in a bowl of ice cubes. But at the same time, I just want to sweat it out.

When it's so hot, sharp focus gets fogged by a swelling cerebrum. I'm only half-present and half-functional right now.

It's been a strange day for more than that.

Farrah Fawcett died this morning. Then Michael Jackson this afternoon. Ed McMahon passed earlier this week. It's strange when cultural icons pass. Their careers, sometimes their entire lives, are recorded in a medium that never dies. And in that respect they live on and on and on.

But I'm still sad. To those of us who've never known the person, the sadness comes from the idea that a source of such amazing artistry and inspiration is no more. And also the idea of a person leaving this world too young and too violently—an exit that breaks the idealism of celebrity yet at the same time explodes their status to celestial heights. They'll always be superstars in my mind.

at the drive-in

I don't know how long Sunset Drive-in in Colchester, Vermont has been around, but I'm willing to guess that it looks a lot like it did back when it first opened—the only difference being the movies they play. Everything—from the man at the ticket booth bearing a strong resemblance to Richard Keil to the fake wood-paneling at the concession stand and 70s funk background music during intermission—seems to be stuck in a time warp. And who would want it to be any different? That's just part of the charm.

Colin and I went to the drive-in for our date night on Thursday. The place has four big screens and plays 2 different movies on each screen (for $8 a person, that's a steal!). So we had a lot of options, but in the end opted for Screen 1, which was playing Pixar's Up at dusk, followed by Star Trek late-nite. We got there a little early, so we hung out by the swings till sunset and then hit the concession stand before hopping back in the car and tuning in to 94.1 on the radio.

Up started around 9 p.m. I had no idea what to expect since I hadn't seen any trailers for it. 10 minutes into it, Colin and I were both crying, but then just a few minutes later we were laughing and then crying again. We both loved it. The illustrations were fabulous—the use of colors and scale were so inspiring.

After Up, I was a little nervous that our car battery was going to die, so we turned the car on for a minute to recharge.

All of a sudden a commercial for the concession stand came on. This is where that 70s funk music came from that I mentioned before. They wanted us to go buy hot dogs and popcorn and then in the next instance there were pictures of roses blooming and then candy and then shots of clouds in the sky moving very fast (the 70s funk music was playing the whole time in the background). At that point we both looked at each other and laughed out loud. What the heck? That was so weird.

Well, we did go back to the concession stand, so I guess it worked. And since it was such a nice night out, we decided to get Chesters ice cream cookie sandwiches. Mmmmm!

At this point, it was really late out and we both had to work in the morning, but Colin was determined to stay for Star Trek. I'm so glad we did, even though we didn't get home until 1:30 a.m. We both loved the movie. I forgot that I used to watch the old T.V. episodes on the Sci Fi network. I forgot how much I loved that old Sci Fi stuff. Before seeing the movie, I had this idea in my head that it was going to be some over-produced blockbuster garbage. And while it did border on that genre, there were a lot of nostalgic throw-backs and even some story-lines that made you have to think a little bit. I would highly recommend both of the movies!

And I would highly recommend the Sunset Drive-in. It's funny, that the next day on public radio, there was an opinion piece about drive-ins in Vermont. There used to be more than 20 in the state and now there are only 4. We're so lucky to have one in our backyard. So we have to support it! Bring your friends, bring your kids. Go to the drive-in this summer!

david brooks, I love you

What makes for better T.V.—the Oscars or President Obama's address to joint session of congress? I'm watching the latter right now on PBS. (It's the red carpet right now; everyone's waiting for the big guy to show up.) And can I just tell you how much I'm in love with David Brooks? OMG, he just commented on Lady Obama's outfit, which by the way is beautiful. It's too much, he's such a dorky politco. I just can't get enough of him. Okay, Mr. President's speaking now. Gotta go.

col gets interviewed

I interviewed my boy Col for NPR's National Day of Listening. We went snowboarding together on Friday after Thanksgiving and I interviewed him on the way to the mountain, at the mountain, in the lift and then finally at home. I thought the location was very fitting.

Colin couldn't understand why I wanted to interview him. It's not because he has a lot of history under his belt--he's only 32 years old. But we both lead very busy lives and sometimes we can go through an entire week without really talking to each other. It felt good to set aside an hour of time to have a conversation and get to know each other again. He enjoyed it too, I think, and was honored to be asked.

Here are some excerpts from our conversation:

On personal accomplishments:



A favorite memory:



On life influences:

"sangweiving" & national day of listening

It's the night before Thanksgiving. Tomorrow Col and I will drive down to Sugarbush to be with my family and Kev's family. I'll be bringing my favorite Brussels sprout dish from Bon Appetit. Col's bringing the best-ever pecan pie from Harvest Market in Stowe (thanks Burton!). I tell you what, it's been Thanksgiving EVERYTHING at work. I can't believe it's finally here and I'm so excited. It might be my favorite holiday...

And just to let you know: Friday is the National Day of Listening. Storycorps & NPR want to inspire people to ask those around us about their lives and listen to their story. Storycorps even has a neato question generator to help you come up with interview questions. I've decided to interview Colin, my boyfriend of more than 3 years, since he's the one I'll be with on Friday. If all goes well, I'm going to post the interview here on my blog. (Provided he gives the a-okay).

Okay, Happy "Sangweiving" everyone.

loveyoubye

d.i.y. dining room chairs

We finally took the plunge and reupholstered our dining room chairs, which were Emi's before they were ours, and I think big Kevin's before that. We splurged on some beautiful tweed fabric from Rags & Riches, but were able to save money and time by reusing the old cushions underneath. (Who knew? At $29 a yard, foam cushioning is more expensive than the fabric itself. Ick.) So instead of buying new foam, we just padded the old ones with a new layer of batting for a little more bounce. Then we stapled on the new fabric—it's just like stretching a canvas really—while listening to This American Life's episode about the financial crisis.

To be honest, reuphostering chairs was a lot easier to maneuver than the report we were listening to (I had to listen to it twice to really understand it). But at least we feel a little smarter, more enabled, and we have a beautiful dining room set to show for it! So here are the pics.

And if you want to hear more about the moving parts behind the financial crisis, listen to This American Life's first collaborative report with NPR: The Giant Pool of Money. It's eye-opening.

Before:

After:

you, me and the couch

It's been one of those weeks. Wake up go to work. Work. Get home late. Eat dinner on the couch. Watch T.V. (It's not all bad: Watching Heidi and Sarah back to back on Wednesday night was an interesting, if not pointless, study in American culture). Go to bed. Wake up. Go back to work. Is that what they call the grind? That's not what I want to be doing with the rest of my life, that's for sure.

Emma mentioned I haven't written on Eat Peas since June. Quelle tragédie! Is it awful to say this? I kind of forgot about it. Should I just bag the whole thing or carry on? I certainly have much to write these days on nourishment and I can't wait to tell you about the ice cream recipe I concocted last night: candied figs and Vermont plums, cassis, a little Syrah and toasted pine nuts with a Jersey cream custard. Can you handle it? I certainly can't. And I've been stuffing my face with it ever since it came out of the spinner.

Okay, I'm determined to stay off the couch all weekend. So for now, I'm off to hop on some art.

Loveyoubye.

if you do spend it, spend it on local art

I met my friends Beth and Jewel for dinner last night at Flatbread (soooo good!). Somehow or other, our conversation turned to the stimulus package. I told them my plans for keeping it in the bank. Beth had a better idea: buy some local art. She too, plans to put save most of the money, but she's also setting aside a little bit of it to buy two prints from her favorite local artist.

Most people want to buy a bigger TV, a new game console, or go clothes shopping. The economic stimulus package is designed to encourage spending and stimulate our economy but most of the things Americans buy are manufactured overseas. And due to quality issues, most of it doesn’t have much of a shelf life. And a piece of art will last a lifetime. I know it sounds cheesy but it is true.

Please consider buying art and contributing to the artists who will build up the American culture as opposed to taking away from it."

Read her full post (and maybe even buy one of her beautiful handmade Strange Dolls!)

wash me trousers & the birth of butter boots

I probably shouldn't be telling you any of this. I should keep it locked up forever in the memories of those select few who were there. To keep it safe and untouched by the outside world. To keep the pub and the field and the memory just as they were. But to lock it up would also risk losing the story forever. For, what happens to unspoken memories? They fade.

So I've decided to tell—to share this sacred memory—if only for the sole purpose of keeping the story vibrant and living.

It all began with a woman, a pub and a tub of butter. Well, not real butter—the spread kind that's made from oil. She would never rub real butter on her Ferragamo boots... lest it become rancid and spoil the fine leather...

But it really started here: at the Square & Compass, a fine English pub situated on a hillside by the sea in the Dorset village of Wash Me Trousers (not its real name). We ventured there one sunny spring day during our visit to Uncle Richard's et al in search of their infamous meat pasties (prounouced pas-tē—I'm ashamed to say we were pronouncing the word incorrectly that day) and cider. The real-deal cider.



The pasties and cider were out of this world. They quite made our heads spin. And by the end of lunch, the whole lot of us were giddy as kids. So we decided to walk it off on a public footpath by the sea.

So we started our refreshing afternoon outing. The boys walked on ahead, while we three sisters hung back. We were enthralled in a conversation about my boots and how nice they looked. (I had polished them with butter that morning, upon the suggestion from my sister Emma, when there was no wax to be found in the cottage where we were staying.) The three of us concurred: tub butter, in a pinch, makes a very nice shoe polish.

All of a sudden...



And Butter Boots, our great Super Hero, was born. And she grew. And we made up more and more stories for her. She had super powers. She had back-up dancers. She had pink rubber gloves. She would save the world from evil criminals and even hemorrhoids. But that was then.

If you're wondering where she is now, I haven't a clue. The thing is, well, she can only come to life when the three Wall sisters are reunited again. I'm not sure if she'll ever grace Vermont or California with her presence (Butter Boots and her ladies are distinctly English). But I'm sure we'll find her one day, back in Wash Me Trousers. In the field with the cow pats and sheep. In the wheel well. With a jug of cider from the Square & Compass and Cornish pasty in hand. That's where the magic is. So, we'll be back to find her one day. Ahoy, Butter Boots!

hong kong toys

Colin just got back from Hong Kong tonight. He brought me lots of good presents. Here they are.


This is the smallest handmade origami crane I've ever seen. Col got it on a stopover in Tokyo. It's on a lanyard—the Japanese love lanyards. You can hang it on your cell phone, camera, purse, keys. Anywhere to show off your personal style.


Last year, Col got me a fine selection of teeny-bopper socks and leggings during one of his trips to Hong Kong. They were a big hit. So he got me some more. And yes, I do love them. They're funny.


Sometimes the translations are funny. This one for Zocks cracks me up. "Guards against smelly. Guards against the perspiration."


A pretty Chinese purse to cover my checkbook. It has pretty sparkles on the flowers. You could even use it as an evening purse. Maybe I'll bring it to London next week!


Yummy Pocky chocolate sticks from Tokyo airport. Col knows I love the Pocky sticks!


This is my favorite present. It's a pretty leather purse with little embossed dragon flies all over. I love it. And so I put my origami crane lanyard on it.

sugaring

I love winters. I love them snowy and long. I even love them cold--sometimes. Even come early March, when most people are itching for the first signs of spring, I'm looking to the skies for a good Nor'easter. You have to love winters when you live in Vermont. Because they're inevitable. And not loving them makes living here a struggle.

That's not to say I don't love spring. And summer, and fall. I'm just not ready for them yet. So when I looked out the window on our drive up to Newport today with Emi & Kevin, and saw smoke coming out of a passing sugar house, I was perplexed.

"Why is there smoke coming out of that sugar house?" I asked.

"They started boiling sap this week," Kevin replied.

"Really? Cool!" But the minute I said it, I was a little bit sad. Spring already? It's too early...

We were driving through an ice storm--the second one this week. Ice was building up everywhere. On the windshield wipers, on the car antenna. It covered the landscape in a glassy sheath. It forced the the pine trees into a deep, stately bow.

"Should we stop by Hull's and see if they're boiling?" Kevin asked us.

"Yeah!" So we took the out-of-the-way way towards Enosburg. We pulled into Hull's sugarhouse in the pouring rain. There wasn't any smoke coming from the chimney.

We were greeted at the door by Kevin's friend Eric. "It's too bad. We just barely finished boiling!" he said.

"Isn't it too early for sugaring season?" I asked as we stepped inside the small wooden building.

"Yeah, this is just a bonus for us," he replied. "Sugaring season doesn't come for another couple of weeks. You can tell it's real sugaring season when you go out and look at the trees and see a ring of thaw around the base. If you go out there right now, the trees are still buried in snow."

There was steam coming from the vat where they boil the sap. I took some pictures.

Eric walked over to a small metal drum with a spigot and poured out three generous cups of fancy grade maple syrup, still hot. I wondered how much sap it took to bowl down to this cup of liquid amber.

"Here, have some of this," he said and handed us each a cup. "It's good for you." We drank the warm, sticky liquid--a sweet tonic like nothing else in this world. I finished in one grand swig. Vermont maple syrup--the first of the season. From the tree to the pot to my belly. Mmm!

We looked out the window across the street to a pair of ancient maples glassed in by frosty icicles.

"See that one there?" Eric said. "We call that one Old Faithful. We still tap it the old way with buckets. We tap about 200 trees with buckets. Not because it pays. Just for something to do."

I thought to myself, "That is so cool." They're preserving a bit of history there. Not for the money, but for the artisan experience. As we looked around at metal buckets filled with syrup, at old bits of wood with the scars of 40 years worth of sugar taps, I felt a sense of Vermont pride. Everything in the work room at that moment emanated a little piece of Vermont. The history, the hand work, the raw wood, the people, the dedication, the flavor.

We stayed and chatted for a bit longer. But soon we knew we had to get back on the road. Maybe it was the hot maple syrup still trickling its tonic magic down our throats, maybe it was the good old Vermont hospitality we received, maybe it was a little bit of both--but we all left Hull's sugar house feeling a little bit warmer, despite the ice raining down in pummels all around us.

a whole pound of chocolate—or just one rich, sumptuous bite?

I couldn't help but be inspired when I read my sister Emma's contribution for Eat Peas this week. She's been thinking about this idea of extreme dieting and extreme obsessions all weekend. It's all very American she says—we do everything in extremes. We work hard, we play hard. We fixate on ideas to the point of being unyielding. That's the American way; that's how we get things done.

With the help of a little book and a big epiphany, Emma found her way back to moderation—and personal enjoyment. I was definitely inspired by her essay. I laughed out loud at parts; I felt a pang of recognition. Her situation resonates with many of us.

So how to stop with the obsessing? I think you'll find her solution both alluring—and doable. Oh, and you must read the book.

80s prom

If you had an 80s prom to go to on Saturday night, what would you wear? It seems simple enough, but when Col and I actually had a prom to go to this weekend, I was stumped. Do I try to wear pink satin with puffy sleeves and a sweet-heart neckline? Do I go for the shimmer and glam? Or black lace and stringy hair a la Madonna in Desperately Seeking Susan? In the end, I opted for the third option, because it felt the most "me" and meant the only thing I had to buy was a pink flower for my hair. Colin went for the rock n roll look as well with black jeans, skinny tie and lots of eyeliner.

Turns out, for every guest, there was a different interpretation. Stacey, the birthday girl, wore a shimmery green prom dress and tiara. There was a Bret Michaels. A Punky Brewster. And one guy even came wearing a red leather jacket and robotic arm with Nintendo controls on it.

more holiday crafts

After the pomander ball, some of us gals got together last night to work on holiday crafts. Once we got underway, I looked around and noticed that most everyone was sewing—and quite well I might add! Who knew there was so much hidden talent and resourcefulness among us? I must say I think Emma's mini clothespin doll ornaments stole the show. She made one for each of us ladies (they even look like us!) and had time after that to whip up one of Kevin, their dog Cooper, a Jewish snowman for our friend Brett, and a Hawaiian hula lady to go with the Christmas song, Mele Kalikimaka, that kept playing over and over on our holiday playlist. I'm thinking this might be a special calling she never knew about til now. What do you think, Em?

As for me, it took me the entire evening to make just one ornament—a star stitched from the silk of an old nightgown with buttons and ribbons from various sources. The star along with my mini clothespin lady are now on the tree.

die fledermaus

That's German for: "The Bat," a cheeky little puppet opera Em and I attended last night at the Flynn Space, put on by the Viva La Voce Puppet Opera. I say "little," which it was in many aspects, quite especially in size, but in others it was large and grandiose.

Based on the operetta Die Fledermaus by Johann Strauss II, the puppet show, according to the show's program, tells the story of the wealthy Gabriel von Eisenstein, a gentleman of leisure.

In 1873, the Viennese Stock Exchange collapsed on a day called 'Black Friday.' What was urgently needed was a brilliant new operetta to cheer up the Viennese bourgeoisie and console them from their depleted bank accounts. The result was Die Fledermaus, first staged in Vienna, 1874.

Also known as The Revenge of the Bat, Die Fledermaus tells the story of the wealthy Gabriel von Eisenstein, now the object of exquisite revenge after he played a prank on the respected Dr. Falke (when Falke was dressed as a bat). A forthcoming party at the eccentric Prince Orlofsky's offers the opportunity Falke has been waiting for..."

I've never been to a puppet opera before, and so I didn't know what to expect. Opera? Puppets? Well, yes and yes!

It really was an opera: the show's producer, Roxanne Vought—who I recognized from Spielpalast Cabaret, local Vermont soprano Beth Thompson, and other singers carried us through a complicated little love affair half in German half in English and sometimes in French and Italian. And even though I don't speak the language, the story and emotion were quite clear in their every sound and movement.

But for me, what really stole the show were the puppets, reigning over a brightly lit puppet stand center stage. Costume couturier extraordinaire Kathleen DeSimone really outdid herself this time. The intricate detail and fabrication was exquisite. From the expressive dresses and suits right down to the top hats, masquerade masks, and lady fans—and right back up again to the people-proportioned costumes to match their mini-alter-egos.

The show was fun, light-hearted, and witty—a satire of wealth, love, deceit, and power. It offered us both plenty of chuckles throughout the night and culminated in the fourth act with all the drunk little puppets dancing and singing in the city's prison, all the whilst downing champagne and resolving to blame it all on the bubbly. And rightly so!

nylon thinks burlington is cool

If you Burlingtonians haven't checked out the November issue of Nylon magazine yet, you should. There's a story on Burlington with some familiar faces printed therein! The article itself is kind of cutesie and patronizing: "Northern Exposure: On a roadtrip to Burlington, Vermont, we discover cool shops, a burgeoning Indie music scene, no shortage of stylish denizens...and not a single cow in sight." But they mention the Possibility Shop as "thrift-hunter's heaven" which leads me to believe that an insider's hand is involved. I hope they don't ruin it forever...

Other mentions include our friend Sarah's Made Boutique, Maven, Green Closet, Steez, etc.... And for music Marie Claire, James Kochalka, The Cush, and The Smittens with a photo of the one and only David Zacharis. And more!

name this person and you could win a free comb

Remember a while back when I wrote about the barber shop in town that displays its hair trimmings in the window? I finally got a picture last night of the bizarre goings-on in there. The hand-written sign on the man's head says, "Name this person and you could win a comb." Does anyone know who this person is? My guess is either Magnum P.I. or Richard Kiel.

new mural outside the roxy

One more reason I love the Roxy, besides its great movie selection, is the new trend in outdoor murals (a.k.a graffitti) on its facade. Okay, the Simpsons display was kind of cheeseball and I'm not a big fan of aerosol paint. But this new mural we happened upon on Sunday (in process) is pretty cool. It adds interest to a normally bland concrete wall. It engages passersby. And it sends a message of respectful irreverence to the community. Plus it's a neat way to promote the theatre's business while supporting local artists. Cool.


In other news... Suki got spayed today. It was traumatic to say the least. I cried when we put her in the carrier and I almost started crying again when I dropped her off at the vet. But now that she's home and safe, and she's licked off enough of the vet smell so that Au Lait is willing to be in the same room with her, it's kind of funny. With the pain meds she's on—or perhaps because of a sore abdomen—she's taken to falling asleep upright. And crooked-like at that.