Author: tuckova

Interests: Alfons Mucha, Archibald Leach, big words, Bob Hicok, Brian Eno, Cat Power, Charles Bukowski, Charlotte Masaryk, cheese, clarity, dark chocolate, David Byrne, David Foster Wallace, Dorothy Parker, Douglas Adams, Edna St. Vincent Millay, E.E. Cummings, Frank O'Hara, Fred Rogers, garlic, Gaudi, Gertrude Stein, ginger, Gustav Klimt, Iva Pekarkova, Jane Austen, Jaromir Nohavica, Jeanette Winterson, Josef Skvorecky, Joseph Campbell, Joss Whedon, Just a Minute, Kate Bush, Kurt Vonnegut, laughing until it hurts, Laurie Anderson, Leonard Cohen, little kids singing, Lloyd Alexander, mandarin oranges, making lists, Margaret Atwood, Miss Manners, New Yorker, Paul Simon, performance, P.G. Wodehouse, poetry, Rebecca Solnit, Rob Brezsny, Robert Anton Wilson, Robert Creeley, salt, Salvador Dali, secrets, silence, Star Trek, Stephen Dunn, Talking Heads, Terry Gilliam, things that stain, This American Life, Tom Waits, T.S. Eliot, vegetable juice, veiled cultural references, vinegar, water, wine, W.H. Auden

be-oh-oh age-oh-oh

tuckova1 Comment

so, how long are you planning on being pissed? i’m just asking because,
you know, you make all these rare pronouncements about how long it’s
okay to be pissed and how it’s in your hands to change it or get out of
it and yet you’ve made no changes and here you are, still mad, still all frothy and outraged. the
exception proves the rule, sure, but when it’s your rule i don’t think
you also get to be the exception.

and it’s not like your anger is baseless so much, because i’m not
saying that, but that the base is so well established it seems like
you could be moving into some more complex emotions by now. or moving
on altogether, as this base of yours is already rich with the basics
and their over-dramatic adjectives: your hopeless despair, your fierce
indignation, your unwarranted fear; your overarching, salt-stained sorrow; and of course your unchained anger. really, get a look at yourself. if you can’t stop
running your own emotional gantlet could you at least introduce some
subtlety here and there for the other players? something like, oh, i
don’t know, speechless gratitude? see: you wouldn’t have to SAY anything,
you’d just have to, for variety, have a feeling that is not always about how
bad it is for you. or is that too much?

last week you said you’d lost interest in her because she was in the
habit of witty complaint, and now has nothing of substance to complain
about and yet somehow continues complaining, just in the absence of
wit. a valid judgement, i’m not saying it’s not. i’m saying: you were
never even witty. you are, to be frank, more than a little boring at
your best, when this is your game, the "woe is my middle name" game.

you can change it, you can change how you think about it, or you can
change your proximity to it. but really, shake yourself out of this.
somewhere inside you is a nice person: a good friend, a fun parent,
a solid partner. somewhere inside of you that person is choking. do
you like being this way? then please, if not for yourself, then for the
sake of my slagging patience, knock it off.

what i did on my winter vacation

tuckova2 Comments

what we did: i played boutros at my sister's on my very first night back. allow me please to interrupt myself to highly recommend modafinal, which enables pilots to fly remarkably well for forty hours without sleep, and also makes it possible for me to get out the periodic coherent sentence even very late at night and with jet lag, although it is not such an artificial enhancer that i actually won boutros or successfully argued the virtues of america or anything. sigh. i know that many people take sleeping pills to help overcome jet lag but the provigil rocked my world. i didn't exactly cry when my father asked me to give him back the bottle, but i thought about it.
what we ate: extraordinary mexican food, although i can't remember what specifically.
around that time, Squire Tuck said: fernando was the captain of a starship, and ellen was the first officer. us: why isn't ellen the captain? Squire Tuck: because she's younger. when fer was learning to pilot the ship, ellen was still in starfleet academy destroying records. us: destroying records? Squire Tuck: she was like, totally breaking all of them.

what we did: we hung out at my parents' house, where we did useful things like Discuss the State of the Cotthut and Shop For Clothes In My Size and File My Taxes. once again, what is with the tax unhappiness from people? i'm happy to make enough that i'm finally paying something back; i'm happy to be sensible enough to have budgeted for it. when the government starts asking for more than i would automatically pay a reasonably good server, i may squack a bit, but seriously. in my dream world, at least some portion of our tax paperwork would go to asserting where we want the money to go, because certainly voting doesn't seem to get me the people who make the decisions i want, and it seems like surely this could be an individual decision, where the money goes, but i know it's a dream. my dreams are entertaining to me, what do you want? i was told "but then we'd have this incredibly well-funded public television and no military" and i feel like: yeah. my point exactly.
what we ate: so much goodness! my father seared ahi tuna for me which is his way of saying he likes me even though he suspects me of democratic inclinations; my mother bought my beloved bagels and masses of raw vegetables and dip, which i think is her way of being a little pleased that i follow library scandals such as the newbery scrotum, because it means i was paying attention at least some of the time. plus they took us out a bunch. you know what Squire Tuck had? queserasadilla. over and over again.
around that time, Squire Tuck said: gar, i forgot. something that andrea told me to write down.

what we did: we saw ste3ve and david, who apparently live on daylight saving time, at least on fridays, but compensate by being delightful.
what we ate: some kind of "rainforesty" chicken (?) thing and invisible bruschetta; a caesar salad the size of my skull and a martini the size of my eardrum, which is the opposite of how i usually like things but it worked out fine.
around that time, Squire Tuck said: mom you are not supposed to look at other people anymore when you are married. me: look, if we're in cabos, and i get that shrimp thing, and you get yet another quesadilla, and i go, "hey, that looks yummy!" does that mean i'm going to eat your whole meal? Squire Tuck: of course not, because you know you want the shrimp. me: … Squire Tuck: okay, but you should only look at the young ones.

what we did: spent a few days in sonora with our former housemates, which was remarkable in the way that finding your old comfy shoes and putting them on and realizing your feet still fit in them pretty much perfectly. which is to say: not surprising, but still delightful.
what we ate: the most delicious pancakes ever. some grilled fish that Squire Tuck still can't stop talking about. kale, which was so cleverly disguised that i could taste the love and not the bitter green at all.
around that time, Squire Tuck said: look, i have a pistol and a lightsaber. i'm captain jack vader!

what we did: we went to vegas. i do not have the bandwidth to tell you how much fun i had.
what we ate: among many other fabulous and bizarre things, we came upon an all-you-can-eat japanese buffet thing, which was so so so good. i ate my body weight in sushi.
around that time, Squire Tuck said:  when you die i think i will have special marble poured over you like a statue, but it will be really you instead of a statue, and then your grandchildren, even your great-great-greatest grandchildren will know how you looked, right now and always.

any of you who haven't already guessed that i came home to three-week old food rotting in the fridge and laundry draped all over the furniture as if it had gotten itself dried but just didn't have the energy to walk itself into the drawers have not been playing along these past years. also, Squire Tuck is totally behind in school. those of you who think i was in any way surprised or even particularly angry about either of these things are new to the game. 

i promise to be more reflective and stuff presently, but i had to get this out before a week passed and i was all, "was i gone? or did i just have an exceptionally nice dream?"

moved to tears more often than not

tuckova1 Comment

i had maybe four layered and totally interesting conversations with my brother-in-law today.

my mother worked on measurements and proportions with Squire Tuck by baking cookies in metric. they were quite tasty. and my dad built little rockets with him and they shot them over the house. my parents are going all science on my boy, and it’s adorable beyond words.

we watched a documentary on mr. rogers and i wept as hard as i did the day he died. normally i like my heroes complex and human and fallible; for example i love jim henson because he understood children and because he sampled swedish porn. but i love mr. rogers like some people love jesus.

it was my father’s birthday today, and we went to see "ansel adams and georgia o’keeffe" which turned out to be "photos ansel adams took when georgia o’keeffe and a bunch of other people went on a trip with him" and was kind of disappointed because i thought it would be more muse-ish, but was still neat because ansel adams photographs a human face like it’s a big magnificient rock with a juniper tree in the middle, and that’s kind of cool.

also we saw bridge to terabithia. i cried even before the movie started because there were all these kids in booster seats around us, plus two busloads of schoolchildren, and i thought, nobody knows what these kids are in for because who would do that if they knew. "do they not know?" i kept asking my mother, who was as baffled as i was. but mostly people were quiet, which anymore i don’t expect people to understand what i understand, but i want them to shut up so i can get that understanding. so that was good. word to the wise: expect to be disappointed, and perhaps you will not be. for example, the special effects, which i had thought would be my deal breaker, were actually okay.

we leave for vegas tomorrow. what happens in vegas will most probably be reported on later, so ha.

hey

tuckova5 Comments

i’m in yr time zone, eating yr fudz. spicy chicken drive through was my only mediocre call. other than that, high quality mexican after being seated by a woman with more bust showing than i do when i am naked, bagels bagels bagels i love you the best, more mexican, indian, japanese more than i could eat, ever so many nut-bearing pastries, ever ever so many salads. i am going to start dabbing newman’s salad dressings behind my ears and you will want to make out with me even more than you already do.

other than food i will observe that my parents’ house, although still iceboxingly cold, is a lot more comfortable than i remember it being, and i’ve spent some quality time lounging. its mostly digestive lounging but still involved being more supine than i usually get here. it’s good.

also noticing that people seem to correct each other’s grammar and usage more when i’m around. it is funny, because i fix stuff all day and have less desire to do so when i am off duty. this is why we are all happy i have the job i have, because otherwise i would be a non-stop pedantic bore. ANYWAY. there’s my dad, whose spelling is so admittedly creative that even bill gates doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, going after my sister for "john and me were there." so i bring out the pedant in others. nice.

Squire Tuck is celebrating Squire Tuckukah, in which every day we celebrate the miracle of Squire Tuck with gifts and fancy desserts. he’s taking it gracefully, as befits a little prince. we’ve only had a couple conversations in czech, which is like our twinspeak here, our secret lost language, and i think that’s a good sign. proc ona to dela, kdyz to neni zdravy? nevim, ale nic nerikej! nerikam, jezis. dobre.

i’m having a good time so far. i’ve got the disconnected sorrow that comes with jet lag, but i am generally doing fine. i just wanted to let you know.

blah blah in europe blah

tuckova5 Comments

to quote another famous czech, "you americans are so naive!" oh, i’m
kidding. it’s just been running through my head since i tried to explain the whole "oh the horrors of parents who drink" thing to Friar Tuck.

the beer garden, as i’m sure i’ve mentioned, is an outdoor pub with
tables that border a playground. parents sit and talk and drink and
smoke and relax. kids play and climb and run. it is understood that
parents are not there to play with their kids, but are immediately
available should a child need help. it is understood that most of the
people sitting at the tables are adults capable of taking care of
children and, one likes to hope, themselves.

there are different beer gardens, just as there are different
playgrounds, and one garden (gated, no dogs allowed, smoking sometimes
frowned on when seated at tables nearest the play area) caters to
younger children. we upgraded to the big kid garden year before last,
where the tables are slightly farther from the play area, where there’s
more room to run around and where there are even more people who aren’t
parents there. the kids sometimes have to divert games around adults
playing petanque. some adults are rowdy. we call this "living in a
city" and i recommend that people who can’t handle adult rowdiness in a
public area avoid public areas.

in the 10 years i’ve been going to beer gardens, and it has been a
near-daily summer thing, i have seen actively bad parenting three
times. two of those times, the parent was corrected by another patron.
one of them, the family was asked to leave. so there is a collective
kind of behavior here, there is a willingness to judge, there is social
criticism and even public shaming for bad behavior.

it’s just that there’s not this pre-emptive strike, this someone might
be stupid someday so we’ll assume you’re all stupid right now. there’s
a willingness to assume you know how to take care of yourself. which,
given the option, i’d prefer to have the assumption be that i am, in
fact, not an idiot. i have all the czech grandmas taking care of that
for me, what with the way i let Squire Tuck run around nearly naked (coat with
liner, pants, boots, hat… but no gloves! he’ll FREEZE!) and the
horrific fact that i don’t bake cookies. but in a group of people my
approximate age, the idea of defending my right to be an adult and have a child at
the same time? no. thank you.

zat choo ad never loffed me

tuckova1 Comment

this is your brain. this is your brain on monday.

a fun conversation to have with yourself when walking alone is the one
that starts, "remember when we were in paris together and we ate the
croissants?" it is more fun if you do it in a french accent. today i
nearly moved myself to tears with the "and you said you would always
love me, and that you had never loved me," and decided that perhaps
street performance is too much at 7:30, even if it is just for an
audience of one.

i finally submitted the formal request to let Squire Tuck out of school for
three weeks. STARTING FRIDAY. it is a whirlwind life we lead, tuckovans.

noticing how much of my time is spent wishing i were small,
really small. i’d like to fit inside your pocket. you could carry me
around like christopher robin carried piglet. i sometimes feel so rank
with my own obsessions that i doubt my ability to be of much use to
anyone, even small comfort, but i would like to be. and i would like to
get a good look at an inkpot, like piglet did.

today in czech class i misplaced the words for anesthesia, virus, and
museums. the mind simply would not produce them in czech, so i did the
thing you aren’t supposed to do and went looking for them in english,
hoping to trigger the czech word. interestingly, i had also lost the
english words. brain the size of a planet, it’s no wonder things go
missing, but still.

i went to buy the bus tickets to the airport. this is maybe the most unprepared i’ve
been for an epic journey. (all my journeys are epic). usually i’m packed by now (because i used to
take days to pack, and now i can do it in an hour, but i still do it
days before the departure, because i am not very clever about doing
things). the bus i planned for is sold out (see? see how i should have
planned ahead), so i had to flip out and wander around downtown trying
to think of how to make it right. a man was looking at the lacy underwear in
a shop window while holding a newspaper over his head to ward off the
freezing rain, and he walked right into me.

i have a headache that is slightly larger than my head and a small furry knife in the back of my throat. perhaps i should pack just in case things get worse.

socks are lucky. rabbits are not.

tuckova1 Comment

there is absolutely nothing seriously wrong. there is nothing wrong, in
fact, at least not as far as i know. actually there is nothing
that i know. it’s just the hint of something and i am all over the
place with worry. a hat on the table, we all know what that means. and
worse, certain words that cannot sound good no matter what. even benign
has in it a note of evil, an assonant hint of the evil it does not
(ostensibly) possess.

we smile, we joke, he admires my socks, they are splendid socks. that’s
something i know, see, is that i have a splendid pair of socks. they
are lucky socks, i washed them last night so i could wear them on the
plane, so i could give the poor security guards something splendid to
look at when i have to take off my shoes. so he admires my socks and we
talk
about where we were ten years ago: he had more hair and i had fewer
wrinkles. but we are the same, i am nervous and he is reassuring and we
talk about his typewriter, which i tell him we would find maybe in an
antique store in america, and about his funky little television, which
you don’t see a lot of televisions this fancy in offices. what politics and money hath wrought. i am almost comfortable,
see, between the socks and the jokes about technology.

look, i’m okay, it’s nothing, i’m fine. people have awful things
happen to them all the time and this is not awful. some people don’t
have time for the luxury of dread, the hours of wondering and the
overplayed scenarios, the eyes peeled open in the dark. what if what if. and that is all this is, the
luxury of overthought. except that: this is nothing. you lose your
rabbit’s foot and you walk across the street with more caution but you
should have been cautious in the first place. or maybe caution itself
is what gets you into trouble. maybe you’re looking for the wrong
thing. six percent of americans they say, maybe even twenty-five
percent, and they don’t even know; and what i do not know could fill a
vaccum.

and afterwards i step into the street and cross at the green and walk
downtown and buy some new CDs, new to me. my ideas of what is unlucky
are ridiculous cliches that even i don’t take quite seriously, but my
ideas of luck have always been personal and it’s easy to turn it
around. in the evening i make spinach and pasta and Squire Tuck eats the
spinach and even doesn’t flinch, it’s good because it’s good for me, he
says, and this is surely a sign of good things to come, of right
decisions made. right? of course it is. 

bridges

tuckova6 Comments

the sentence "at least it gets kids to read" drives me nuts when it is
applied to bad books, because it is like saying at least mcdonald’s
gets kids to eat. i don’t think reading is as necessary to existence as
eating, sure, but i do think that the analogy holds up. some people
don’t appreciate well-prepared healthy meals, and would prefer to
subsist on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with the crusts cut off
for apparently the rest of their lives, and if you’re the parent who
wants to prepare that meal day in and day out then i guess you can go
ahead and do that, but don’t expect me to think you’re doing a good job
with your "well at least he’s eating!" and don’t expect the school to
back up your indulgence of your kid’s dietary lack of imagination. i
like to think that as parents we care enough about our children’s
health to see to it that they eat a decent amount of vegetables and we
want the school to exhibit at least a basic understanding of what is
nourishing as well. we may not expect our children to subsist on whole
wheat crackers and fresh vegetables only, and especially at birthdays
and christmas even i have been known to indulge the sweet tooth. similarly, one may
indulge the darlings with a few "glittery unicorns and the dragon
adventures" from time to time, but it should be presented as a
exception to the rule of selecting books that engage the
thinking brain as well as the pleasure centers. i think the reason we
want children to read is not for the sake of the reading itself (we
don’t eat because "chewing is good for you"), but for the fact that it
expands the horizons of their imagination and understanding and makes
them better humans.

i have a more conflicted response when the "at least it gets kids to
read" is applied to books being made into movies. i wasn’t allowed to
see movies until i’d read the book, and i apply the same rule to Squire Tuck’s
movie viewing. this ruined a lot of movies for me, because i had
pictured the book in my mind perfectly and the director didn’t always
do right by my imagination. however, it did wonders for my critical
thinking skills, deciding which things in a book were subject to
interpretation, how far artistic license could reasonably extend,
whether it’s possible that i misunderstood the book and the
screenwriter had understood it better, etc. Squire Tuck is following right
along behind me and when he had a ten minute rant about the "scorning
of the shire" i nearly ate my heart. so although we go about it in one
direction ("you must read the book if you want to see the movie"), while i think many people tend to see the movie and then decide
whether to read the book, i will concede that sometimes books into
movies, and i mean great books into movies, can lead children to great
books. lots of children read "charlotte’s web" for the first time this
winter (because of the movie), and while part of me feels like –how
can they have not already read it and loved it?– on the other hand, if
it takes sending piles of cash to hollywood in order to get people
sucked into "where’s papa going with that ax?" then i’ll accept it.
some people need a cookbook to cook, they need to be inspired to do
what might come naturally to other people. they need to see a picture
of the finished product before they can imagine if they would like it
for themselves. and as long as they accept that their version might
come out differently, and as long as they’re inspired to keep trying
instead of throwing up their hands and dashing down to the
drive-through… i guess i’m okay with that. i guess i can take off my
judge’s robes and sit down with the rest of the people at that table.

that said, if there is a hint of romance between jess and leslie; if
janice is made to seem more worthy of mockery than pity … i mean, i
can handle the emo-girl sock arm thingies, but if they have changed the
ending of this to make it one whit less painful and beautiful, i will
go and punch david paterson repeatedly in the face.

a clean, well-lighted brain

tuckova3 Comments

Squire Tuck and i have been talking about brains lately. this is because he
drew a probe that he would like to design that would help him to access
and understand the brains of others. half of this probe is very
grid-like, the other half is all squiggledy. i imagine that you will
be, as i was, interested to learn that the grid portion of the probe is
for decoding the emotions of others, and the squiggle part is for
thoughts. because thoughts come in different sizes and shapes, you see,
whereas emotions have a limited number of causes and expressions and
always make sense.

the number of times that i can say "ah" in a day continues to amaze me.
i’m clocking "ah" at the speed formerly observed for the
expressionless "yeah" on the west wing.

so i asked Squire Tuck to draw me the inside of his brain, which he did, and it
was really interesting because my picture of the inside of my brain is
radically different. whole people can get in and out of my brain, they
can poke about and learn things, tell me about themselves all day long, settle into the armchair that’s just
behind my forehead and see things from my point of view, should they
choose to do so. people can wander in unannounced and set up their own
little cozy area, decide to stay for a while, and i play really loud
music and ask them to leave but they’re like, gripping tightly to a
dendrite and they shall not be moved. my skull is basically like a
bucky fuller house, it’s my house and it’s where i live and all my thoughts have their own rooms,
and that’s how it is.

it is consistently strange to me to realize that i have a completely
different concept of something than someone else has; that my concept
is based on absolutely nothing other than my imagination and possibly
some vaguely remembered sci-fi films; that this concept is no more or
less valid than anyone else’s. that there may be nobody
wandering around inside my brain except me, or that in fact
wandering does not take place at all.

Squire Tuck has a high and impenetrable wall at the edge of his brain, by the
way. i should have gotten one of those, but i seem to have these rather
permeable walls and they’re right at the property line. so. come on in.
i will make you some coffee and i have these delicious dark-chocolate-covered gingerbread things, they’re taking up an awful lot of space in
here right now and i’m happy to share.

*edited to add a requested link to a picture of the probe. the brain pictures are private, but Squire Tuck okay’ed the picture of the probe.

metaphor with line breaks

tuckova4 Comments

she says
every day you promise me dinner
she says
every day you say it’s about what i want
she says
every day you make steak.
i’m vegetarian.

he says
i don’t mean you have to make it
i don’t mean i have to make it
i don’t care if we make it together
but i have to eat.

he says
she used to like to cook
i thought she liked to cook
she would say i love to watch you eat
there would be little garnishes on the plate
now there’s nothing.

she says,
he never told me when he was hungry
he never told me the food was good
he never said thank you
i stopped cooking.
he can get his own food, i don’t care.
i’m too tired to cook, she says, or worse:
i’m not hungry.

he stops at a subway on the way home
or mcdonald’s, and it’s not on the way home at all
out of the way and he hopes nobody sees his car
something quick, something to tide him over
and he comes home to responsibilities and anger
no dinner
and they sleep clutching the edges of the bed.

eventually he starts working late
ordering in or going out
and it’s not just for sustenence,
like he said it would be because he needed it
but one day he realizes he’s savoring the food
the textures, the colors, the smell
the way it makes him feel

she goes out with her friend
and starts talking about the meals he used to make for her
the effort he used to make,
the textures, the colors
her friend touches her hand, briefly, only
briefly, "i could cook that, i think."
and she’s hungry again, for the first time
in years.