Books I Must Read Before I Die

I have started a personal book list of Books I Must Read Before I Die and if you have any title selections for me, I would be very interested. My current read is Me Talk Pretty One Day by the brilliantly witty David Sedaris.

I have seen a couple of good movies I would like to suggest. I have long awaited the arrival to DVD (I hardly actually make it to a theater) of A Love Song For Bobby Long and it was well worth the wait. One of the most flattering things a friend once said to me is that I remind him of hot babe, Scarlett Johansson. Ever since then I paying close attention to her career. Also, I have to say I very much enjoyed Finding Neverland. Of course, Johnny Depp is a hotty and Kate Winslet has come a long way from her Titanic days. I want to watch Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind over and over and over and over. Of course, not such a new one, but Garden State is still on my top 5 recent movies.

When I first moved to Portland, I was so bored and lonely that I started making "TOP 100" lists. My favorite 100 movies of all time, my favorite 100 books of all time (I honestly don't think I have read 100 books, because I am a recovering literary degenerate) and so on. I have seen (and liked) so many movies that I easily got to 100 and beyond. I am a little pickier now and you might be seeing some of those pretentious lists popping up on this very blog. Don't worry, I will start with a smaller number than 100.

Send me your favorite 10 books (or authors) and I will get to reading (as part of my recovery of course). One day at a time...

Mix Tape Stories

My friend Kate, she has a website, which I think is a truely unique and interesting idea. Anyone can go and add a song title and a story or poem about what that song means to them or where they were we they first heard it or whatever. I have to say that I helped her come up with (if it wasn't completely my idea) the name vikingmeat.org and I couldn't be happier with Mix Tape Stories being hosted there.

When I went it looked like it was completely wacked out, but I will big her and see if she can't find some time to make it work again. So, try back soon. But here is my newest entry:

Caring is Creepy
by The Shins

I lost a boy...a friend -- who I never got a chance to become friends with because we worked together too long. And for a strange reason this song makes me think of him...

I know that what has happened between us "is way beyond [his] remote concern of being condescending". There's no reason for me to think of him and I'll try to just "Hold [my] glass up, hold it in. Never betray the way [I]'ve always known it is."

He sees the world as noise. As an inconvience for him. He couldn't understand
"All these squawking birds won't quit.

There's reason to forgiving their job to do...
"Building nothing, laying bricks."

Just maybe...
"One day [he]'ll be wondering how
[he] got so old just wondering how
[he] never got cold wearing nothing in the snow."

"I think [you'll] go home and mull this over
Before [you] cram it down [your] throat.
At long last it's crashed, its colossal mass
Has broken up into bits [your] heart."

I think I just might wonder why caring got so creepy and brought the stalker out in me.

"It's a luscious mix of words and tricks
That let us bet when you know we should fold
On rocks I dreamt of where we'd stepped
And the whole mess of roads we're now on."

At the end of that mess of roads, I'll find the answer. Has it been long enough to try again? And why do I want to? If caring is creepy, not caring is just plain terrifying.

Parenthood is Strange

Parenthood is strange and it involves a lot of change, but so do so many things in life. I know that sounds corny, but I wont retract it. I've gone through a lot of changes lately and I'm not ready to talk about them directly...but they have made me want to write more. That which does not kill me...makes me want to be a better person.

Untitled (for now)
by Eva G. del Vecchio-Porter
April 26th, 2005

My dad always said,
"I loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you"

When I was young
it made me feel special
when I was older
and he witnesses the birth
of the woman he loved's baby
it made me wonder
So I asked,
"Did you love Aven, the minute he was born?"

He took a moment to recover.
"It didn't feel the same,
but I knew I would love him."
I wonder if he was lying.
I wonder if he was over thinking
what I wanted him to say.

Now, as a mother,
I wonder if I'll be able to lie
to my children
if I will want so much
to protect them that every word
will be geared at making them happy.

I didn't love my first born child,
my son,
the moment I met him.
He will learn through experience
I am selfish
I was happy when he was born
I was happy I had done it
I was happy he was healthy
and beautiful
But I didn't love him
Until I got to know him.

And everyday I love him
a little more
because I know who he is
a little more.

"Better Safe Than Sorry"

My blog (and all blogs, but particularly this one because it is mine) seems like the perfect place to explain something about myself.

I am a big fan of the Internet, always have been. But I don't think I will shock anyone by saying there are some aspects of the community I could do without. This is not a funny peice. There are many things on the web that are completely useless, harmless and can occationally give those die-hard web-surfers a chuckle now and then.

Bear with me while I digress a bit more. Email forwards are 99% annoying. Very rarely are they useful, but it's nice sometimes to know that your friends are thinking about you. Maybe they didn't have the time to write you an originally authored email, but the forward they send will do. And isn't it better than spam and pop-ups?

With that in mind, today I recieved an email from a friend. Well, actually one of my mother's close friends, but I consider her a friend. This email was titled: "a must read". I opened the email and the first line read: "Abduction Precautions for Women". I should have instantly closed the email and deleted it (I did actually close the email, but read it later). This is my least favorite type of email. Yes, I hate it even more than the religious forwards and the joke lists and the chain letters and stupid animated gif picture mails, combined.

These emails are even more evil than your local nightly news for one reason: I completely disagree with the theory "IT IS ALWAYS BETTER TO BE SAFE THAN SORRY. (And better paranoid than dead.)". Personally, I would rather have no life, than a life lived in overwelming fear.

I know the world is not a safe place, but I try to live like maybe it could be. I'm not saying a woman (or man) walking home at night, alone, should choose to walk down a dark alley instead of a well-lit main street. Dogs (and assailants) can smell fear and I don't like to show any. You can hide some fear, but you can't hide as much fear as media and this kind of propaganda would like for us to have.

My friends email forward continued and gave all kinds of tactics to avoid being attacked and abducted. Statistically backed ideas and true-life what-not-to-dos can't compete with the advise I will give you right now. Don't be affraid. Don't be affraid and you wont appear weak, you wont appear vonerable. Walk down the street at night the same way you would walk through the park on a warm sunny day with your boyfriend (or girlfriend). That attitude would scare away the half-hearted attacker and the whole-hearted attacked wouldn't have been scared by much.

Horrible, aweful things happen to men and women everyday in every nation and culture. I hope nothing unthinkable ever happens to me or you or someone you love. And I hope it hasn't already. The same media that is mostly responsable for young boys seeing women as objects is now trying to warn us not to leave our houses. It's all a bunch of hooey.

I hope I don't die by the hand of anyone else. If I do, at least you'll all know that I lived my life without looking over my shoulder.

If you would like to read these Abduction Precautions for Women, here is a copy. Who am I to say anything, they just might save your life.

...Quarter of a Century...

Ben jenkins is my best friend. He has been for about 10 years. Today is his birthday. He is a quarter of a century old. He is in New York, with his "boyfriend". I don't know if Teejay is still his boyfriend, but obviously they are still very close and see each other on special occations. I feel silly, like in High School when Ben wouldn't return my calls and he wasn't online or checking his e-mail and I thought he was dead. But it turns out he is just in New York, having a helluvatime.

The way he was talking about growing old a couple of weeks ago, I thought he was head-under-the-covers sobbing about being old. That isn't really Ben's style, but he can disappear. He is better at disappearing than anyone I know, I wish I could disappear like him. I thought he needed me to cheer him up, but he doesn't. That's okay. I don't need him all the time either, just knowing he is there is enough to get me through most rough times.

I am getting drunk for Ben. I am glad he isn't unhappy on his birthday. I am looking forward to knowing Ben when he IS old (not 25, but 75) and still loving each other and being young at heart together in our golden years.

I love you, Ben. Happy Birthday!!!

a poem for review...

medium for the archieves
april 8th, 2005

my mom wasnt a stay-at-home mom
she was a housewife*
I dont have childhood memories
of her scrubbing, and vaccuuming
and moping the floors
to a spin-n-span sparkle
But the house was always clean

When I stay home
I get some chores done
but my house will never be
as clean as my mother's

My mother went to college
she was never taught
that she was to marry
a nice-man to take care of
she married for love
and took care of him
none-the-less

generations of women
are being rasied
to think they can be
good enough to work
but are they good enough
to keep up a home?

I remember the ironing
a lost art form
my mother would iron
a gargantuan table cloth
the "good linen"
with masterful skill
not a millimeter would touch the ground
not a centimeter ironed twice
in 25 minutes
the weeks ironing was done

I dont know how to
turn my own iron ON
i cant remember if
you wait for it to beep
or the light to go off
when it is ready
because I iron
once a year
at most

my mother is an arist
of ink and paint and word
but the thing I admire most
is her artistic stylings
in home care
because that is americana
and truely
a thing of the past

*revision -- after my mother's review I decided I should change this word to "homemaker". A) she like the word better (a.k.a. thinks it has better connotations) and B) thinks it drives home the point of caring for a home. I agree with point A, but point B...is actually more shocking to hear and therefore makes the poem more striking when it takes the turn of respect. We discussed this and we both agree, either could work either way. She also told me the story of how she learned to iron...from my father's father. A story for another time.

Pictures Worth A Million Cocktails...

24 pictures from my 24th birthday misadventures:

http://wadeandeva.com/gallery/evabday05

Need I say more?