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In a certain light, he looked like Elvis…

WOW. I saw Elvis Costello last night at the Fraze in Dayton. Aside from the management pulling the plugs early because of a storm (BOO!) the show was wonderful.

He did a version of “femme fatale” that still has my brain falling out, it was so good. And his newer song, “Delivery Man” has been haunting me ever since. He’s still got it! This was my first time seeing him, but friends confirm it’s true.

And it was his birthday! Happy Birthday, dear Elvis.
elvis-costello-por_1423878cElvis Costello photographed in New York, 2009 Photo: Michael Schmelling; location thanks to the Bowery Hotel

rebeccakuder

More on the stuff

I was thinking more about this having excess stuff in the closet, house, etc. It’s like having a really wordy paragraph. I need to edit. In my house, or closet, I’d rather have clear, good sentences and words, without noisy distractions, so that reading my life (and getting dressed in the morning) is more elegant and calm.

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Why do we wait for the end?

I was thinking about something that is often on my mind: sentences. When building a sentence, depending on style, and purpose, often a writer will place the idea or word that needs the most emphasis at the end. I’m sure there are reasons for this placement; people remember what you put last. Or, maybe no one pays attention until the sentence is (almost) over.

Recently, my daughter, who will soon be 21 months old, has been filling in the last word of many books my husband and I read to her. So she’s tracking that last word; the end is what resonates. Maybe what’s at work here is something primal. Maybe, even as babies, we are waiting for the period. For the pause. For the breath.

I don’t know, but I suppose there are worse things about which to obsess.

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How to quiet the stuff…

I have this weird aversion to getting rid of clothes. I don’t know what it is about, but it’s been a trend that I would like to change. I’ve often sorted and winnowed and taken bagfuls to Goodwill, so that’s not exactly the problem. But what bugs me is that I hang on to things I think I might wear (usually made from fabric I love, but garments that don’t quite fit me, aesthetically or literally) and I never wear them. Or worse, I put them on and take them off, month after month, as if perhaps they would have magically become flattering by languishing in the closet.

Just by their presence, the unsorted clothing murmurs and sometimes yells at me. Sometimes it’s loud in my head. This unpleasant background noise complicates my mornings and stresses me out.

I dream of opening my closet and having a just a few piles of folded clothing, and maybe ten things hanging there, all arranged by color, all washable, and all reassuring. “It’s okay, you’ll look great today no matter which of us you pick,” they whisper, with a whiff of lavender sachet. In my dream, making decisions is easy.

I have a few “go to” pieces that I do love, that I always feel great wearing. But most of my stuff is not in that category. Most of it seems like failed dates, ill-advised unfinished projects, and then frowsy things I paid too much for, so it seems a waste to jettison.

But, as soon as I have the time and energy, I will sort into these categories:

1. Things I wear all the time
2. Things I wear seldom but need occasionally
3. Things I would get rid of if I had the courage to do so
4. Things I love but need to fix/alter/etc.
5. Get thee to the closest Goodwill

The house would be so much quieter.

rebeccakuder

Wexler reading in NYC

Just wanted to post a (very cute but of course I’m biased) photo of my husband, Robert Freeman Wexler, reading at KGB in NYC last week.

According to Robert and the weather report, the heat was oppressive, which, although a bit of a cliche, lines up nicely with the opening of his novel, The Painting and The City. Funny how life imitates art, and vice versa, and there’s always a lot of sweat involved.
3840913834_53dfc7ff2e (Photo courtesy of Ellen Datlow)

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Reading went well

Thanks to all who came out…it was so fun to read with my husband. That’s the first time we’ve read together. I read from my novel in progress, The Eight Mile Suspended Carnival, and he read from The Painting and The City (recently out from PS Publishing). I was jittery, but got through it. I wish my background in theatre helped me with readings, but apparently it’s not that simple. Of course I’m biased but it’s always great to hear Robert read, he’s so good; his hypnotic words come to life when he speaks them. I hope that’s not a cliche. Words coming to life. But he is a conjurer when he reads. He’s reading at KBG bar in NYC on Wednesday.

If you’re in NYC, stop by and have a drink and a listen.

Thanks again to Brother Bear’s Coffee for being such great hosts.

rebeccakuder

One more night to practice…

Robert Freeman Wexler and I are reading tomorrow night at Brother Bear’s in Yellow Springs.  6:30pm, the best coffee in town, maybe some of the best fiction (written?) in town…  okay, I know there are plenty of writers around here, but yeah, gotta self-promote, it’s my blog!  And free wine afterwards.  And you can buy a book and support a great small press, and read a good yarn after.

Anyway, yes folks, as Tom Waits said,

“Step right up
Please allow thirty days for delivery, don’t be fooled by cheap imitations
You can live in it, live in it, laugh in it, love in it
Swim in it, sleep in it,
Live in it, swim in it, laugh in it, love in it
Removes embarrassing stains from contour sheets, that’s right
And it entertains visiting relatives, it turns a sandwich into a banquet
Tired of being the life of the party?
Change your shorts, change your life, change your life
Change into a nine-year-old Hindu boy, get rid of your wife…”

Okay hopefully no one will get rid of his wife tomorrow night at the reading, but nevertheless:

August 14, 2009, 6:30pm, Brother Bear’s, we’ll see you there.

And Tom Waits will probably not be there.
Tom Waits_Small Change

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(Bad) Poetry is everywhere

A bad poem for a bad and good situation

Being a pack rat
Can be good
And bad
In the same moment
Apparently.

Having discovered a leak in the basement
Drowning
My ancient cassette tapes
Music now swimming in a pool of water
(thankfully clean)

Then finding I had saved
Two years’ worth of old phone books
Including the one with the plumber’s mobile phone number
Handwritten in the margin

Once again, a reminder:
Poetry is everywhere.