We don’t want to read about you either
Last week was the annual Planned Parenthood book sale here in Santa Barbara. Every September thousands of people converge to buy loads of secondhand books, CDs, puzzles, etc. for ten whole days. We normally hit the sale multiple times each fall because volunteers bring out new stuff every day. Weekdays are swarming with old folks like us, and weekends bring out a younger crowd to mix with the thrifty retirees.
So last Saturday I happened to be at the new fiction table along with a couple of young women. Most people browse in silence but these two seemed to be having a catch-up date and were talking about their lives and sharing their opinions about every book they laid eyes on. “I can not read any book over 450 pages,” the taller one declared, then quickly amended herself to say, “but then I’ll read some giant fantasy novel that’s like a total brick.” Her friend made a little supportive Ha ha sound. “But what I really won’t read,” tall one went on, “is books about middle-aged women! I mean, oh my god, who cares??”
Let me eat cake
I am a devoted fan of The Great British Baking Show, and like a pernicious yeast I infected Brian until, after much proofing and kneading, he became my Baking Show couch buddy.
The new season airs in the fall (first episode is tomorrow!) but in this house anticipation builds early. Certainly more than once this past summer I stood in the kitchen and announced, “They are filming the Baking Show right now. They’re all in the tent. Noel is wearing ankle boots.”
I personally would never make it past the first round of this show, I’m enthusiastic but my skills are limited, and it’s for this reason that I love the celebrity winter/New Year’s episode when they get random beloved British celebrities who either (a) admit to having never made anything more complicated than toast in their entire life, or else (b) they get a ringer who will produce a flawless batch of Chelsea buns using the recipe they memorized from their gran’s tombstone.
Anyway, I’ve been watching old Baking Shows in anticipation of new Baking Shows (Did you hear? It starts tomorrow!). Seeing all those familiar bakers and their iced biscuits and steamed puddings has been like a cozy blanket around my psyche. I’ve been experiencing some unanticipated autumn blues (empty nesting, various personal miscommunications, general feelings of irrelevance), and it’s all resulted in an overwhelming craving for cake.
In conclusion, television + mild sadnesses = me purchasing a slice of grocery store carrot cake, the end. Maybe this is why the stories of middle-aged women don’t have wider appeal.
Fearless
I recently digitized an old student film I made with my friends Elisa and Matt, and I put it up on Vimeo.
The original assignment was to make a short nonfiction film. The three of us partnered up and brainstormed until we got very loose and weird and randomly got to wondering what blind people see in their dreams. The teacher didn’t think it was the worst idea he’d ever heard, and gave us the go-ahead. I’m pretty sure it was Elisa who managed to find someone who’d answer our possibly insensitive question, and that person turned out to be ten-year-old Tyler Dumm.
Tyler had been blind from birth, and the Dumms were really kind to open their home to three goofballs who just about knew what we were doing. Tyler’s family worked to let him have the same experiences that a normal, sighted kid would, and Tyler and his little brother, Ryan, were really close. Ryan was happy to be Tyler’s eyes in a lot of situations, and I remember their dad saying that if Ryan woke up early, he’d just sit quietly on the edge of Tyler’s bed and wait for him to wake up so they could start playing.
This was 1993 so we filmed on actual super-8 film, and we recorded the audio narration on a big old Nagra reel-to-reel that weighed a ton. The film ended up on a Beta master tape that I carried around for literal decades until Elisa messaged me last spring to let me know that Tyler had died at age 41. Cancer came and went all through his life. He still managed to be a celebrated high school athlete even after he lost a leg, and he graduated from Stanford and went on to become a physical therapist. He was a great kid, and ultimately his answer to our question about what he saw in his dreams was simple. He dreamed what anyone dreams - flying, falling, running through quicksand, taking tests you’re not prepared for. He “saw” his dreams in his imagination, just like he “saw” his life as he lived it, if that makes any sense. He experienced it in his own way, just as vividly as anyone else. In the end we didn’t even put his answer in the film because I don’t think he thought the question was terribly interesting. Which was fine, the answer didn’t actually matter that much, it was the question we needed to open that door and I’m glad we did. I’m sorry he’s gone.
What will October bring?
Packing, mostly — we’re gearing up to move in November, which is exciting (the new house has a sun porch!) and overwhelming (we have some great neighbors here and will miss all the neighborhood dogs, even though we are only moving like five minutes away).