Thanks, That Was....Fun?

I've been thinking a lot about writing, and why I haven't done much of it over the past few years. Part of it is time and the lack of it (we moved back to the Indianapolis area in early 2024 so I could help take care of my Mom, who has Alzheimer's). Another reason is that I've been channeling the creative energy I used to put into writing into making art, mainly painting and mixed media collage. You know what I love about art? It's fun and therapeutic in the way that writing used to be for me, but--unlike with writing--it's something you can show people and they can say things like, "Oh, cool!" Or, "Hmm, interesting." Or, "I don't get it, but okay." 

"Welcome To Whoever You Are"
analog collage 
2025

"Follow the Gleam"
analog collage
2025

"Cosmic Jam" 
analog collage
2025

The feedback is more immediate; it's something folks can look at, touch, and have an honest opinion about pretty quickly. Whereas when you write novels, everyone gets really enthusiastic and says things like, "Wow, you're an author? I can't wait to read your book when it's published!" And then sometimes they buy your work (but maybe don't read it, or at least they never mention it again) or they don't buy it, but still say things like, "You're really talented, keep it up," even though you suspect that they've never actually read anything you've written.   

I'm not complaining, and I don't take it personally, because of course it takes more energy and commitment to sit down and read a book than to, say, look a painting. And seriously? What I've learned about any sort of creative endeavor--writing, painting, et cetera--is that the work is its own reward, and if you're not doing it for yourself, you're doing it for the wrong reasons. As cliched as that sentiment may sound, it's also true.

The one novel I've published (I have five other novels that are mostly written, just unfinished) does okay in terms of sales, especially considering that I'm an indie author. Even though Thanks, That Was Fun has been out in the world since 2011, I still get purchase notifications fairly regularly, and they still make me happy. There is something undeniably thrilling when strangers discover and buy your work, and I can't see myself ever getting blase about that.

Overall, I'm satisfied with Thanks. There are a few parts that make me cringe, and certain portions that I obsess over when I go back and read them, thinking, shit--if only I could revise that now! But for the most part, I'm proud of the novel. 

Lately, for the first time in several years (since the pandemic, anyway), I've started writing again--just here and there, enough to get the old juices flowing. There are two of my WIPs (Works-In-Progress, i.e. the unfinished novels mentioned above) that I have decided to go back to, complete, and probably publish independently. The other ones? We'll see. 

****************************************************************************

Recently I've been going through some of my old journals. Ever do that? WOW. Some of the more entertaining bits--to me, anyway--are the entries I wrote when I was chemically altered. Here is the part where I make the obligatory, "Kids? Don't do drugs," statement, or more accurately: "Do as I say, not as I did." These are a few scribblings from 2008, when I popped an Ambien late one night and thought it would be fun to make myself stay awake and write. (It probably was fun, but of course I don't remember it. I do remember gorging myself on carrots dipped in peanut butter, because Ambien makes you do shit like that, and also having a conversation with an imaginary person sitting next to me on the couch.) Anyway....

A hot mess obviously, but I'll translate my fucked up handwriting......

Better to live in a drunken state than a noodle variation of the oman is rate you know it's all the best when you go to the miller

Yeah, my little experiment with Ambien-induced writing didn't exactly produce anything earth-shattering (and this was by far the most coherent passage of the bunch). But I bet if Taylor Swift dropped one of her surprise albums featuring a track with the same lyrics, the media would eat that shit up with a spoon. I can see the reviews now:

Jezebel.com - "Taylor Swift seems to be channeling Arthur Rimbaud and Jim Morrison, and we are here for it!"

AV Club - "Taylor Swift's dark new release leans into the esoteric."

I could go on, but you get the idea.

An aside: it's funny how dated Ambien references are now. Like, it was such a mid-2000s drug to do, only seeming to exist in a very specific post-MySpace era, when Britney Spears was flashing her minge at the paparazzi, and we all thought Dubya would go down as the worst president in history. 

"All hands on deck at dawn, sailing to sadder shores...."

On August 28th my brother-in-law Roger (my sister's husband) passed away from colon cancer at the age of 47. He was just diagnosed in June, so it took him pretty quickly. Despite the giant COVID tornado down here in Texas, I ended up flying to Indianapolis so I could be there for his wake and funeral. In the end I was glad I went. Sometimes you just gotta throw caution to the wind and go with your gut instinct. This was one of those times. 

I've been playing Echo and the Bunnymen's Ocean Rain (from the album of the same name) a lot over the past few months. I don't know if Ian McCulloch intended for it to be a mourning song, but it has that feel. It's melancholy without being maudlin, and it's brought me some comfort.  

I hope that better times are ahead, but I don't know. I do know that if a certain right-wing fascist and his cronies are voted out on November 3rd that it would at least give us all some hope. It wouldn't fix everything, but at this point nothing will.

UUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGH..... 

THIS BITCH

Yes, I know, the real problem is her Antichrist husband. And yes, I'm also aware that between Damien and his boss Cheeto von Trumpsky, we'd be better off with Damien because at least he's less likely start a nuclear war when some "furriner" on Twitter insults his fat orange ass one time too many. (Just to make it perfectly clear, the idea that Mike Pence is preferable to anyone--even a walking scrotum like Donald Trump--hurts my head so goddamn much I can barely force my fingers to type out that execrable thought.) 

Back to my original point: Karen Pence is a homophobic, pig-ignorant, small-minded, Bible-humping bigot. I know, most people with a functioning cerebral cortex realize that. But have they read this gem of a letter she wrote to The Indianapolis Star in 1991? Probably not, since the Washington Post puff piece about our dear second lady linked to an image from newspapers.com, which requires Hawkeye-level vision to read the flyspeck-sized print. Lucky for you--after an hour of pressing my face to the laptop screen, then holding it at arms-length and squinting, then pressing my face to the screen again, ad nauseum--I was able to decipher the damn thing and have transcribed it here in all its glory: 

As an elementary school teacher,* I was disappointed in your July 29 Children’s Express. I have always participated in your Newspapers in Education program and encouraged my pupils to read Children’s Express.

After seeing a whole page encouraging young people to accept their homosexuality I have decided no longer to use the Indianapolis Star to teach newspaper education.

Your implication that an 11 year old having a crush on a teacher of the same sex means that child is gay or lesbian is absurd. Every child at some point in grade school has a teacher he or she admires or looks up to. Your story also unfortunately encourages children to think they’re gay or lesbian if they have a close relationship with a child of the same sex. No wonder our youth are confused.

I only pray that most parents were able to intercept your article before their children were encouraged to call the Gay/Lesbian Youth Hotline, which encourages them to “accept their homosexuality” instead of reassuring them they are not.

Karen Pence
Indianapolis 

At this risk of repeating myself.....ugh, THIS BITCH.

"Oh noes, we can't have young people who are experiencing same-sex attraction be allowed to think that their feelings are acceptable in any way, shape, or form, or that they are anything other than filthy hell-bound perverts if their sexuality leans towards something other than the Jesus-approved 'Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve' variety. And furthermore, what business do they have acknowledging sexual feelings of any kind before marriage, anyway? HEATHENS!"

The fact that Karen Pence wrote a letter criticizing one of the most conservative, right-leaning newspapers in the country for (essentially) being "too liberal" on their stance of "teh homosex" is so absurd I don't even know where to begin. I mean, I grew up in Indianapolis. I know the politics of The Star (back in 1991 it was known as The Star and News, because people still read newspapers and the industry could support a morning and an evening publication, which seems like an alien concept today) and am quite familiar with the political climate of my hometown, especially in the pre-Clinton, George Bush Sr. years. Still, it illustrates how out-of-step this Pence bitch was (and still is), that The Indianapolis fucking Star had a more socially liberal posture than the future first couple of Indiana and future (gag) second couple of the United States.

I know that the Pences, like good little Christian fundies, fulfilled their biological purpose and spawned some children (Wikipedia says it was three--a son and two daughters). Is it dickish of me to hope that one of them turns out to be totally, unapologetically, outspokenly GAY? I don't think so. I really, really, really hope that happens. And not so the Pences can be shamed into disowning the kid. I'm talking about a "come-to-Jesus" (heh) awakening on LGBT issues, like the turnaround Dick "Darth Vader" Cheney did when he reversed his stance on gay marriage because of his lesbian daughter Mary. (That happened well after he left office, but still.) I'm going to do a Frau Pence and "pray" for that kind of a miracle.

In the meantime, this is for Karen......

via GIPHY

via GIPHY

via GIPHY


Looks like these kids might have read that Children's Express piece that got Karen's panties in such a wad, hmmmm?

via GIPHY

*Incidentally, while perusing Karen Pence's wikipedia page, I discovered a little factoid that nearly stopped my heart cold. Apparently, she taught at John Strange Elementary, my alma mater. I'm not sure when she was employed there, but I'm guessing it was long after my time (I was a student from 1979-1985). Still, that makes me several degrees closer to her than I'd ever choose to be.  

NICE TO MEAT YOU

Now, run along and wipe that face off your head. You're getting rancid.

Last night my husband and I had his friend and colleague Bob over for dinner. I hadn't met Bob before, but we laughed and slapped a gleeful high-five when we discovered we were both vegetarian.

Let me clarify. There are a few sub-types of vegetarians. Bob is a pescatarian (no beef, pork, poultry, just fish). I am an ovo-lacto vegetarian. No beef, pork, poultry, fish, or anything in between. Occasionally I'll eat cheese made with vegetarian rennet, and sometimes cage-free, organic eggs (and I still love ice cream). If you want to get really specific, I don't eat anything with a face. 

Except for these guys. Yum!
(Source: Happiness is Cookies by Clawson Cookies.)

If this information makes you want to scream and punch a wall, that's fine by me. I'll admit--it is a bit confusing.

Related: I've lived all over Indiana, Minneapolis, Baton Rouge, and now Reno, NV. Over the last eighteen months, I've traveled to NYC (twice), and to Tulsa, OK (more than twice). 

Of the six locales mentioned above, can you guess where I was hassled for being a vegetarian? I'll give you a hint:

1. Indiana
2. Minneapolis 
3. Baton Rouge
4. Reno
5. NYC
6. Tulsa

Yes--my beloved, progressive, Earth Day-founding Minneapolis and the Seat of the Empire, A-#1, King of the Hill, top of the heap: New York, New York.

I'll back up a bit.

I grew up on the north side of Indianapolis, just blocks away from an adorable vegetarian restaurant called The Stillwater. 

I couldn't find a photo of The Stillwater, so here's a yearbook photo of Dave 
Letterman, graduate of Broad Ripple High School, class of '65. He looks like my Dad!

My mom took me to the Stillwater once when I was ten years old, and I was baffled by the concept of a meat-free menu. You see, I was raised on a very meat-ful menu, which was down to my father, a big Irishman who loved his meat, his potatoes, and sometimes sausage for dessert. To this day he still prefers corn beef, meatloaf, and pork chops, but won't touch chicken since he was raised in Illinois during the Great Depression, when chicken was all anyone could afford.

When I was away at boarding school during my teen years, I developed a taste for beef tacos from Taco Bell, Burger King Whoppers, Big Macs, and greasy pepperoni pizza--stuff I wasn't allowed to eat at home (my parents divorced in 1983 and I was mostly raised by my mom, a health nut who ate chicken, turkey, and a ton of veggies. She now eats fish and veggies). I gave up fast food at the age of twenty, but continued stuffing my face with processed meat products--frozen cheeseburgers, Italian sausage, and corn beef--well into my twenties. 

In 1995, when I was twenty-two years old, I got very sick and discovered that red meat made me projectile vomit. I couldn't even stand the smell or sight of it. It wasn't difficult for me to quit red meat. 

For the next two years, I ate only chicken (I never cared for turkey) and the odd vegetable. In mid-1997, I decided to try going vegetarian. It fit with my belief system (I'm a hardcore animal lover) and I knew it was healthier than fried chicken, the only meat product I found it hard to live without. The last time I ate meat of any sort was Labor Day, 1997. My last carnivorous meal was a half-order of white meat chicken from KFC. I thought "well, I might not be able to do this, but here goes nothing." 

To my surprise, I was able to quit meat altogether and I never looked back. In the last sixteen years, I've haven't had a craving for anything besides--again--fried chicken, and that was during my first year of being meat-free. I even found a healthier alternative: fried cauliflower. Same texture as chicken, wonderful when fried and breaded. It's still one of my favorite dishes ever, along with vegetable pakora. 

 Above: Fried cauliflower. It's de-lish.

       

In my mid-twenties (ca.1998), I had lunch with my Mom once a week (I miss that). She introduced me to India Garden in Broad Ripple, and I decided right then that I could probably live off nothing but their potato samosas, palak paneer, tikka masala, dal, Basmati rice, and, of course, vegetable pakora (pictured above).  

India Garden spoiled me for Indian food. I was unable to find an Indian restaurant in Minnesota that came close to their perfection. I couldn't even find anything comparable in England, either. India Garden is the BEST. The next-best curry house is a cute little restaurant in Baton Rouge called India's.

John and I have already found an Indian restaurant near downtown Reno, called India Kabob and Curry and it is YUM (still not as good as India Garden, but relatively close. And they have great pakora.)

Okay, wow. I never intended to write a food blog. That market is saturated, so now I'll just bitch about dumb things that were said to me in Minneapolis and NYC in regards to my vegetarian diet. 

The Minneapolis comments were made by acquaintances that I'm no longer in touch with. The NYC comments were those of an oddly curious waiter in Hell's Kitchen. 

I'll start with the Big Apple, then I'll take a bite out of the Mini Apple.

ON-DUTY WAITER: "You're a vegetarian? Oh my god, really? So...no turkey on Christmas?"

Oh hell no. As I mentioned, I was never fond of turkey, because turkey is prepared two different ways: Bone-dry (roasted) and slimy and wet (deli). I won't be having either, thanks.

I wish I could properly convey the astonishment in the guy's voice. He was a native English speaker, so there was no language barrier. And he waited tables in Manhattan, so he had to at least be familiar with the concept of vegetarianism. But he didn't act like it. In fact, he seemed utterly mystified, like I'd just told him I was a Roman Catholic nun and I loved the feel of old lady pantyhose against my skin. (I'm not. And I don't.)

MINNEAPOLIS, HALLOWEEN PARTY, 2009.

FRATTY-LOOKING "BRO" DUDE IN A TRUCKER HAT: 
"So, do you eat asparagus all day and then sit around and fart?"

Let me just blow your mind: I rarely need to make time in my schedule to sit around and fart. I can multi-task. I do like grilled asparagus, though.

FARMER'S MARKET, ST. PAUL, SOMEWHERE IN 2004

CUSTOMER: "Oh man, vegetarian? I could never do that. My grandfather was a proud truck farmer (or goat hoarder, or bullshit wrangler, or dog snatcher, or whatever)." 

Truck farming. Yep, that exists.

Good for grandpa. Sorry that you lack the mental resources to imagine a different lifestyle. Still, those trucks ain't gonna farm themselves....

THE GREEN ONION RESTAURANT, ST. PAUL OR MINNEAPOLIS, SOMETIME DURING PREMIER BUSH'S TENURE.

SOMEONE: "I wish I could be vegetarian. But I'm Latvian/German/Hungarian/Icelandic/Spanish/Brazillian/Italian and I need my meat."

Don't loan your meat out to anyone else, then. I'm Irish/English/Choctaw* and I will continue to eat whatever I damn well please, including (but not limited to) a metric shit-ton of kale.

*For years, I mistakenly believed that my maternal grandfather was Cherokee. It turned out that no, he was Choctaw. But he grew up in rural Oklahoma in the 1920's, a time when people didn't exactly broadcast their Indian heritage or care to know much about it. Unlike my dad's family, who will tell anyone who doesn't run away screaming all about the awesomeness of the Emerald Isle and its people. (I do love them Irish.)

SYNAGOGUE, ST. PAUL, 2005 (I worked in the admin office).

CONGREGANT: "No meat? Is that a religious thing? What are you, exactly?"

Ummmm....a Democrat?

MINNEAPOLIS, UPTOWN, MY APARTMENT, 2010:

ACQUAINTANCE #1 (EDITED FOR CONTENT): 
"Oh, I looooove meat. How can you not love meat? That's ridiculous because....BACON!"

Enjoy being an unpaid shill for the pork industry. I'm sure they appreciate your efforts.

MINNEAPOLIS, THEIR APARTMENT, 2010

ACQUAINTANCE #2 (APROPO OF NOTHING):

"Real girls eat meat!"

Congratulations. You're in fine company. Check it out: 

Go cram a cheeseburger in your head, dipdouche.

I just need to stop and have a mild rant here. What's with the T-shirt manufacturer's creepy aversion to the word "women"? "Real girls" sounds all underage and icky. It's probably from Abercrombie and Fitch, proud proprietors of all things underage and icky. 

Sadly enough, the bizarre comments I've listed here are just the tip of the iceberg. I'm still perplexed that I heard brain barf like this from randoms in one of the coolest cities I've ever seen. Also, 95% of the people I knew in the Twin Cities: friends, neighbors, countrymen, urban cowgirls, etc. were--naturally--open, sympathetic, and usually vegetarians themselves. 

The rest of 'em got more brains in their stomachs than in they heads.  

NOTE: Thanks to my John for coining the term "dipdouche" when we were out in traffic the other day. I just felt privileged to be in the presence of the original Master of Brookovian Wit when he spontaneously busted out a new drollery, one that he doesn't mind me borrowing when the situation calls for it (see above).