The Stuff You Find in Books - OTHER PEOPLE'S BOOKMARKS

My library job occasionally requires that I shelf-read... read call numbers on all the book spines within a section and make sure 301.412 Of 101n 1973 sits to the left of 301.412 Of 2n 1973.

I also pull out slips of paper or paperclips and unfold dog-ears.  People leave behind class notes, paycheck stubs, bus passes, student IDs, expired coupons galore, sticky post-its, pens and pencils... all of which once-upon-a-time worked as bookmarks.

The most interesting bookmarks so far?  A New Orleans style Pattypan squash recipe, a bag of tiny rubber bands for braces and a Thank-You note from a grieving widow to someone who attended her husband's funeral.  And some very lovely bookmarks.

I've kept a couple bookmarks.  Everything else is recycled.

If you get to the Pattypan squash recipe before I do - Please send me a review!

Pattypan squash New Orleans
(Makes 4 servings)

8 pattypan squash (about 5-inch diameter)
1 1/2 c water
1 large white onion, chopped
1 small bay leaf
1 c crushed cooked tomatoes
1/4 c freshly chopped parsley
1/4 tsp Tabasco sauce
Salt and pepper, to taste
2 c cooked brown or white rice
1/4 c chopped parsley
_____________________________________
1. Cut squash into wedges; simmer inpot with water, onion, and bay leaf until tender. Drain but reserve cooking liquid. Discard bay leaf.

2. Mash vegetables with fork; place in microwave-safe serving dish. Mix in tomatoes, parsley, Tabasco, salt and pepper. Add rice and cooking liquid as needed to keep moist.

3. Stir well, reheat in microwave, and serve garnished with parsley.

 I'm a Pattypan virgin. Is there a better way to cook this and avoid the microwave?

GOALS FOR 2010: toilet tags

This wall is now painted red. fuck the buff.

LEFT COLUMN
Goals for 2010:
1. Grow a vagina (scribbled out)
2. See what fits up there.
3. Blog (scratched out) TWEET (scratched out) friendster
4. ???
5. Profit!!!
(1) LOVE ONE ANOTHER!
4. UNDERPANTS!!
6. BREAK SOMEONE'S HEART
7. Chill. (A little.)
8. grow a pair and start school!
(Have they grown yet?)
17. KEY WEST OR BUST ... BABY.
#1? Nail Keba - she's so hot. No. Really. Keba is fucking smoking hot.
20. purge self of all narcissistic tendencies

RIGHT COLUMN
21. Dance like everyone is watching!
22. Get a life and stop
writing on bathroom walls <<---- HATER
23. Find a Lover
24. GAY'S number in Brazil
24. LOSE MY ANAL
VIRGINITY
26. fuck bad bitches
smoke big blunts
who am i to tell ya,
ya only live once!

When I Grow Up, I Want to be a Librarian...

... or at the very least work in a library.

I first heard about blogs when applying for grad school in Madison for a MLIS (Masters in Library & Information Sciences). Somewhere in my librarian grad school research I read and got it in my head that a blog would be one way to show MLIS programs that I meant business.

Problem is Hot4Jesus took on a life of its own. By the time I sent in my Madison application I cringed at the possibility of my application and my sacrilegious blog mixing like oil and water. In true Xtine form, I applied to only one program: Madison. I didn’t get accepted. I highly doubt my blogs had anything to do with not getting accepted. I’d been out of college for way too long (though just right for me) and who knows why else – other than Madison is pretty darn competitive and luck would have it that “God” didn’t want me going there anyway.

No – seriously – while looking at other library grad programs I kept hearing rave reviews about a two year Associates program in Minneapolis for Library & Information Technology (LIT). After I sat down with the department head I was sold hook, line and sinker.

I’m starting my second year in the LIT program and absolutely love it. Actually I’m on the two and a half year track. Once again – typical Xtine. Maybe I’ll continue and pursue a Masters. Maybe I won’t. Either way, this summer I started work in the campus library after years of whoring myself out for tips.

Every shift in the stacks makes my head spin - creatively speaking – and I’ve been itching to blog about it. It’s going to take a lot of hard work to get me blogging in such a way that doesn’t make someone blush – so until a more professional library blog phase comes along I’m going to let it all hang out.

Years ago I worked in the Rolvaag Library at St. Olaf College. Back then I was innocent and could barely look anyone in the eye. Soon after graduating, I quit my teaching career to pursue music, the stage, writing and me. It’s taken over ten years but I know that if I had a job shelving books and answering mundane questions for the rest of my life, I’d be a happy camper… especially if I can write about the books, about my love affair with Jesus, about anything under the sun. Maybe someday music.

So here goes... The stuff that inspires me about libraries. The stuff that inspires me about print and images and audio and and and. The stuff that inspires me about helping people find what they are looking for – when we finally work up the courage to search.

I’ll write library posts when I can – and maybe sometimes when I should be doing homework instead.

Bis dann…

POLE ART: a cat in its natural habitat

Am I the only one who looks at a telephone pole and visualizes the forest it once stood in, the birds of the air that nested and rested in its branches, the whistle of wind between needles?

Nope - finally came across telephone pole art that acknowledges that trees are for climbing and cats know it.

Stuff I'd Do This Weekend - If I Didn't Have to Whore Myself Out For Money

I plan to make a habit of this. A wish list. A Let's Riot, Minneapolis! List.

If I could, I would:

# 1. Avoid two of the Minneapolis Art Fairs which I can't avoid in Uptown and Loring Park. Instead, on Saturday I would go to.....

The Banquet Hall Backyard Art Sale & Flea Market "located between Loring & Powderhorn art fairs.: Music, grilling, jewelry, screenprints, photography, zines, paintings, pinatas & more!"

Where? 2904 3rd Ave South, Mpls 55408

When? TOMORROW! Saturday, August 7th - 11am - 6pm

For your own sanity and mine - stay off the beaten path this weekend.

# 2. Hang out at the Bedlam Theatre All Weekend Long! I have yet to eat/drink on their rooftop - and with countdown to closing time, I really, really need to. I've done a little volunteering there - love the space and the vibe and the ballziness of their performances. It is also the Fringe Festival this weekend - so I could kill two birds with one show. Which show?

ANIGA ADIGA - which will be performed near the Bedlam at the Mixed Blood Theater... but is a Bedlam production about "what it’s like to be young and East African in Minnesota." If I could - I would imbibe at the Bedlam - get played at the Mixed Blood - then go back to the Bedlam Social again - then hop on the train. Goddamn! I'm going to miss the current Bedlam location - unless it moves closer to me.

Better yet - DONATE YOUR TIME at the Bedlam this weekend or before they move. Email wemakeit@bedlamtheatre.org if you're interested in volunteering.

Break A Leg Fringe Thespians!!!

# 3. Go to North Dakota. There is a niece there I haven't met yet. Enough said.

RED HOT ART FESTIVAL: If You Can't Be Art - Buy Art ... & Vice Versa

I've bought thrift store and rummage sale junk art. I have pieces of my college roommate's - a studio art major - which I cherish and move everywhere with me. I compulsively photograph graffiti. I visit art museums and avoid galleries. I invested in soft pastels a few years back for my own sanity. I encourage friends who do or should be doing more art - for everyone's sanity. I prefer to bastardize the phrase BUY ART into BE ART - but today - I bought Art for the first time ever at Stevens Square's Red Hot Art Festival in Minneapolis.

I've never taken an Art History class but the artists in my life rubbed off on me and this is the girl who memorized the layout of the P World Book Encyclopedia - because P is for Painting. I like what I like and sometimes I can explain why - and other times not. For instance... would it be fair to ask me to explain why Dadaism makes me salivate but Warhol doesn't? It may be fair but you won't get the answer you're looking for. So ... just sit back and enjoy the pieces I bought. Or not.

And PLEASE! If you live in or around Minneapolis - support this Red Hot Art Festival - and others like it. It sure beats the crap out of next weekend's Uptown "art" Fair. If I have to explain myself there - then you're wasting your time here :)

Worm Killin' Dogs by Chuck U

I've seen his prints out and about in Minneapolis and actually remember writing about it when I should have been doing homework. It is a blast from the 70's - for me - and he mentioned Escher as an influence to the art fair-goers. And note to Chuck: David Macaulay is the artist I couldn't name on the spot.

Chuck gets a Grand Prize ribbon from me - because for whatever reason his was the official first art piece I've bought from an artist EVER! And because his work already inspired daydreams on paper. Tons of work and information on his website: Chuck U.

The Secret Oaks by Ben Boylan (2004)

Ben is moving to the East Coast - so he is selling everything half price. But half-off is not the reason I tracked back to his booth. I like it. A lot. I'm most excited to hang this on my wall. You can see more of his work on the MNartists site and he will eventually have an Etsy site under the name of Everyday Practice. I'll link asap.

Go Back by Mike Mason

Mike tells me I've got the ONLY one of the above ink drawing. :-p He talked of an argument/discussion with a professor that led to this new leaf. The prof dissed drawing from photos and Mike defended his work but also came to a compromise. Clothes from photos. Flesh from real life. There are more in this series and I also have my eye on the orgasmic women False Alarm woodcut print. Hunt it down in his online portfolio.

Why did I not buy from any women artists? I was very tempted to. Charlotte Mann's oceanic/shoreline paintings over architectural floor plans totally float my boat. O god. Sorry. That was a horrible pun. She doesn't have a website yet, but if I trek back over to the Art Fair tomorrow - it will be to buy one of her pieces. Charlotte - keep on keepin' on.

Otherwise - to be honest - some of the art by women was too girly for me - some of it not. I'm not about to go into a dissertation about the male to female ratio of art I bought today. Maybe another time.

Biggest Criticism: Beyond the stuff that is stuff that you can buy elsewhere that doesn't jump out at you... there were too many octopuses, birds, butterflies, human hearts galore (irony), nautical themed, steam-punked, inked and printed animals. I also prefer graffiti to be subversive and on the side of my apartment building... please! And thank you. That is as far as I'll take my lame-ass attempt at being an art critic. I'd hate to discourage anyone from doing more of what they are doing.

Ooops: forgot to mention Devin Johnson's accessories. I bought a pair of earrings for my burgeoning earring collection which have a steam-punk flavor to them - done really, really well - with a lot of thought and love and an eye for history: "The hammers from the chimes of a grandfather clock," he said. I'm going to wear them to work tonight and will pass on further reviews. **

This is far from a comprehensive collection of what is good at the Red Hot Art Festival. Go dig for your own treasures. If you're lucky you'll have background music provided by Tortuga! - a jazz-electro combo. Once that Hammond organ flavored group began it was like I was sitting in my childhood library, drooling over the P Encyclopedia with my dad playing in the background. I will go to see them play - and I encourage you to do so also.The best background noise a girl like me could wish for.

Thank you to DIM Media for reminding me of the festival. I'll write all y'all up in your very own blog post - eventually.

Gotta go before my Study Buddy gets bored with shredding Dostoevsky's Notes From the Underground and moves onto my new pretty pictures.

Product Placement Footnote: What Was I Drinking When I Wrote This? Canada Dry Green Tea - i love the colors on the can.



** UPDATE: EVERYONE at work asked about the earrings, loved them and wanted to know where they could buy them. If only all art could be worn.

AMERICAN SWEDISH INSTITUTE: Reminding US That We're All Immigrants & To Be Tourists in Our Own City

Once upon a time the King of Sweden visited Minnesota.  During a parade in his honor there was a shout from the crowd, someone using the King's given name - not his royal name - and the king turned to see a boyhood friend. They tearfully embraced and with emotion exchanged stories from their childhood together.

Or maybe it was the King of Norway, or the Crown Prince of Sweden. Which king? Not sure. Which royal visit to Minnesota? Get back to me on that. Who was shouting from the crowd? My great (great?) grandfather. He had grown up around royalty because his father was the head honcho Royal Mason who built stuff for the Swedish kings.

We all have these flippant stories with murky details about our ancestors - speculations of royal illegitimacy or grandmothers who refuse to talk about where she got her dark eyes.

My visit to the American Swedish Institute yesterday reminded me that it might be fun to take genealogy seriously. While I've toyed with the idea for years, I've also told myself over and over again that our ancestors don't matter. Today matters. Now matters. What's the point in digging up bones? Don't I and all Americans just need to let it all go?  The way heritage was described in my family - "She/He was a Proud German." (and pride as one of the greatest evils, mind you). "He/She was a Stubborn Swede."  "He/She was a Crazy Norwegian." - it was seldom something to be proud of.


As I toured the museum exhibits a lady came up to me with a survey. She asked me:
1. Is this your first visit to the Swedish Institute?

Yes

2. What brings you to the Museum today?

The Finnish Architects exhibit (My Paradise: Finnish & Finnish American Summer Architecture) but I've been meaning to stop in for quite a while.

3. Are you Swedish?

Yes, partially.


4. In what ways do you celebrate or practice your Swedish heritage?

Um. Hmmm. Ahhhh.... None really.

(she looked disappointed)

Maybe a few recipes?

And then we chatted for a bit.

All I have from Sweden was a crazy stonemason grandfather who told crazy stories. Perhaps when I practice writing I practice my Swedish storytelling heritage... or when I played with legos or puzzles as a kid and salivate over architecture as an adult I celebrate the Swedish Stonemason genes. Or when I obsessively write about religion I celebrate my Swedish Baptist ancestors who preached or claimed to be related to the crazy Christian mystic Swedenborg.

There are no Swedish recipes - I lied about that. My grandmothers passed on German recipes, but no Scandinavian ones. The first time I stuffed my face with Scandinavian food was when my Norwegian college fed us smorgasbord style at Christmas.

Yes, I lied about the recipes.

I overheard the lady telling other volunteers, "The only thing people say they still celebrate about their Swedish heritage is the food."

"Yep. Isn't that too bad?  The majority of our visitors say that."

Believe it or not, this post is meant to praise and plug the American Swedish Institute in Minneapolis.  The Museum is housed in the gorgeous Turnblad mansion and they are expanding their space.  The mansion is worth visiting just for the sake of the mansion - and if you're into your Swedish or immigrant heritage there are permanent exhibits about Swedish emigration/immigration, a huge painting of Jenny Lind the Swedish Nightingale, and a well-stocked gift store including books on how we can learn about environmental and socially conscious civic life from modern Scandinavians.  I downed two cups of coffee in the Kaffestuga before hopping on my bike to go have a margarita and quesadilla elsewhere.  But I will return.

FYI: Hennepin County Libraries offer FREE Museum passes! 

In what way do you celebrate or suppress your heritage?

Vintage City Classics: Bling That Makes Me Smile

Vintage City Classics is a Minneapolis jewelry, accessory and clothing company that recycles old baubles into new jewels.  This summer I've been stopping by their studio when I need a girly fix.  I dropped off sentimental bits and pieces that were falling apart and returned to pick up re-invented bling: 3 crumbling bracelets turned into a necklace, a reinforced wooden necklace, and my first clip-ons turned into pierced earrings.

There's a story there worthy of Hot4Jesus - but yes - I got my ears pierced for the FIRST TIME EVER last winter! The earrings that convinced me to take the leap from virginal lobes to pagan piercings are gaudy, ghetto gold hoops within hoops with dangling fake pearls. I wore them as clip-ons until my ears screamed to just be pierced already!  With the help of Joan, Holly and Jen I bridged the gap between unpierced to all-grown-up and back to girly again.

This Friday Vintage City Classics will display their talents at OutSpoken: Beauties, Bikes & Beats "a bike-centric music and fashion event showcasing the city's growing enthusiasm for urban cycling while supporting local [Minneapolis/Minnesota] artists." I went into their studio this week to throw my hooker cash around and invested in a new key chain for my bike key & bag.  I got to see some of their pieces for the OutSpoken event - and if someone doesn't buy the recycled bike tire cascading rubber hearts earrings on Friday (I can't go - I'll be whoring myself out elsewhere) - then I really, really, really want them for my "I'm all grown up" collection.

Thank you Ladies! Your work & art makes me feel instantly girly :) - and makes me smile :)

RELATED PAGES:
Vintage City Classics - Facebook fan-page with links to their twitter and etsy pages
OutSpoken: Beauties, Bikes & Beats - Facebook Event Page describing the event at Red Stag Supper Club in Northeast.

READERS: Do you have a good "when I first got my ears pierced" story?

street smART: I'm so bored, Minneapolis. Let's Riot!

Stuff to Stop the Boredom in Minneapolis Today. In decreasing levels of interest:

Favorite : RIOT!

Top : Twin Cities Zinefest - to remind myself that I still want/need to publish a zine

Top Half : New Belgium Tour de Fat - already wandered through and checked out boys in tu-tus with fabulous facial hair

Bottom Half : Basilica Block Party - as a musician, music and people standing around watching musicians bores me - and the hell if I would give my money in a round about way to any church remotely affiliated with catholicism

Bottom : Work My Corner

street smART: HOTTEA string theories

Finally, HOTTEA string tags a telephone pole which makes it easy to photograph. I've photographed his work for over a year, but the string on chain-link fences doesn't show up very well. I've been photographing telephone poles anyway - because I love the mass of nails and staples and left-over posters.

My sticker-artist friend and I like to speculate on what HOTTEA stands for.

My Theory: a round-about way to spell HAUGHTY

Her Theory: he goes by the nickname T - and tags as HOT T(EA) - because she's seen him doing his thing - and he is a hottie :)

General Theory: he doesn't give a fuck about how we interpret his tags.

Happy Midsummer Dreams!

Once upon a time I played Helena in Shakespeare’s Rom-Com A Midsummer Night’s Dream. When I was cast for the part my on-stage experience included Hodel from Fiddler on the Roof and Nancy from Oliver!. Since musical theatre lines are mostly sung I freaked out when I was cast as Helena. Helena had some of the longest monologues and there were no musical cues to remind me of the blocking. How the heck was I going to memorize all those lines?

But I did it, thrived and survived to tell the tale.

Three years earlier, my senior year of college, I had taken my final required English Ed major class: Intro to Shakespeare. I rarely showed up, rarely did more than read the scripts and threw together a few essays and watched the required Kenneth Branagh BBC Shakespeare videos. There is such a thing as too much Kenneth Branagh.

The Prof was horrible and I was overwhelmed with Level Three Education and English classes. Because of missed attendance and assignments I barely passed – but somehow managed a C-. I was embarrassed. I still have nightmares that I DIDN’T pass Intro to Shakespeare and was denied my diploma.

But I managed to kick ass as Helena a few years later. Once you perform Shakespeare, or whoever wrote those plays, you gain a new level of respect for language, movement, rhythm, sound… unlike what is found in musical theatre… and a well-timed grimace and re-adjustment of the bra strap can send the audience howling.

Shakespeare turned me into a “laugh slut.” It’s one thing to get tears or applause after a scene or song, but making people laugh? O fuck… it’s as good as sex.

You say it, then say it again, then write it down, then read it out loud, then read it differently, different inflection, different timing, different perspective, say it, read it, write it, read it, block it, play it.

The words spin and saunter and banter on stage. This is magic. You can’t stop it.

Happy Midsummer!

Raven Reads His Fortune Koan

A raven landed on a tree branch outside my window with a fortune cookie in his mouth.

Do I want you reading my shit if you don't get it?

Picture above: a murder of crows - which is quite different than an unkindness of ravens. Do you have a preference?

Do I get it?

I hope not.

Crushing on Keats: What Spring can not sing, Autumn can

I’ve had a crush on John Keats and his assonance since 1995. And I have an earnest college essay to prove it. Keats was one of the first or the first poet (it’s a blur) to move me to tears. Last month I watched Bright Star. I bawled like a baby.

Some of my Keats crush is based in my own experience of growing up country – tv-less, quiet, slow days watching seasons burp, belch and sneeze the earth’s wildness, watching life sprout up around the edges of death. When I first read "To Autumn," the season, the poem that blows all seasonal poems out of the water, when I first read this I was just beginning to realize that sometimes the less said the better, and the more said with my ear to the sound, the better.

If I could taste the words like these... “Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn / Among the river sallows, born aloft / Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies (27-29)”… if I could taste the words in my mouth, if I could feel them vibrating in the back of my throat, if my ears tingled without reading it out loud – this was good.

And his letters. I remember pulling the book of letters from the college library stacks and standing there – standing there reading until I had to sit. He knew so much. He knew too much.

What would he have said to Spring, not Autumn, being the official time to observe Poetry? What would he have said about urban bird nests threaded with plastic?
Coleridge and Keats and Whitman - the ménage a trois that held my hand and kissed my neck and stroked my hair – all in the name of lessening my fear of the blatant, lessening my fear of the sensual, lessening my fear of life.

Why do I keep naïve essays about long-standing crushes on dead poets? For the same reason I keep letters back and forth from my first “love” affair with a writer – to remind me that the urgency will pass, that words attempting to describe life and death and first kisses are never frivolous. We can only try to repeat in words what is felt in the chest when we watch a chrysalis split open. We can only try.