Monday, August 1, 2011

All Day Gawker Delay

Below is from Sunday. A bit heart-weary today. 

I hereby vow to check out the Detroit Maker Faire next year, because I lamed out today, in the name of duty. So much for that! T'was a sludgy day, lacking in discernible achievement, so I don't even get shiny virtue points for having restricted myself. The only *truly productive thing* I can point at? A pot of lentils hyderabadi hanging out on the stove, which I make whenever I don't care to think about what I'll make. Thank goodness for Madhur Jaffrey and Neelam Batra.

Rust Belt Market went well yesterday. My best selling day there so far! Especially surprising, since it followed an unpromising morning with a scanty crowd; where I chided myself, "You shouldn't have signed up for a day when Maker Faire was on!"  At the very least, a handful of good conversations would be had; as well, there would be pie. I spent the late morning torn between Oreo and plum-blackberry-brandy....Perhaps the runner up could become Sunday's breakfast? No pie left behind! These are the silly games I play with myself.Yoga people: I got yer monkey brain right here! In spades, sadly.

I was also geeked to hear I Love Lightning Bugs. But sadly, a perfectly fine James Taylor-alike took to the stage mid-afternoon and it eventually became clear that ILLB had never planned for a Saturday gig. The second act, "Andie and Tracey," a young married couple who had a full band backing them on some songs, were solid. Andie's voice was gorgeously honeyed and who doesn't love a fiddle-cello-guitar combo?

I fiddled around with my display, took at a stab at letter writing, chatted with the couple selling organic dog biscuits to my left and then gave in to pedestrian gawking. A large man with emphatic Spock eyebrows walked by. I really wanted to remove his sunglasses. Did he have eyes that actually stood up to such strong facial lines? Maybe they were different colors, like Bowie! Probably not. A timid-looking young boy stumbled past, his little chickeny arm stretched upward to hold his Dad's hand; they had dressed him in a muscle shirt that read "TOUGH GUY." Sweet little furrowed brow. An older African American woman paused at my table. Her t-shirt read: "Me and Mr. Rogers think YOU'RE SPECIAL." I initially took this as ironic or snide, but her demeanor was earnest-to-somber.

A huffy woman who could not stop messing with her head scarf -- which to be fair, was definitely NOT behaving-- halted at my beaded scarves.

She misread my sign: "Festival scarves! GIRL, in the hood, ANY day is SCARF day!!" She would have glared at my sorry white ass, had it not been deemed pitiful.

"Festive," I noted. "You know, the beads, shiny/happy." I couldn't be bothered too much, either. I stand by my scarves, I used to wear them all the time and the hand-beading is solid. But I did make them a few years ago. I am not obsessed with fussy beading, whereas I always need to be printmaking in some way or other.

"Ahhh, aiiiiight, yeah I can't read. It's cool though!" We agreed everything was cool. You'd think the conversation would peter out at that point. Some mutual head nodding, glance shifted elsewhere, maybe some idle weight shifting. But aha! Within a couple minutes' time, she announced:

"I'M someone who believes in TELLING THE TRUTH." It's fascinating when people state this, isn't it?? The wording varies, sure. But the enunciation almost always follows. UNLIKE MOST OTHER people, THEY call it like they SEE IT (which, WOW, flashback! brings me back to a boyfriend from the ancient past, who explained earnestly to me that in his brand (sect? we're talking teeny-tiny offshoot) of Christianity, THEY didn't put anything INTO the Bible, THEY just read what was there! Golly, don't you other sects feel silly now?). You know, most of us are quivering in our boots, afraid of this bizarre thing called self expression. If we have insights, we have no spine! We cower before convention! Ahh, but the truth tellers, they bravely forge ahead~~!

Would that it were so. On so many occasions, it comes down to people giving themselves go-passes to be overly black-and-white or rude or plowing over other people's viewpoints because their need to be heard is just that much more insistent. Let-the-chips-fall-where-they-may -- as long as they're not called to account. So, at that point I tried to put on a poker face (which is relatively pointless, as I suck at this).

Luckily my attempt at care was beside the point; she was not in an observational mode. You'll be shocked to know that people don't get her on the internet! Friends, even! Seems they don't always make allowances for her unleashing rants, because Hello, she's just TELLING THE TRUTH.  While she clearly enjoys opening the flood gates, she is wistful about having viable undo buttons. Luckily, though, if people just don't get her, it's better that they're gone. No one's going to keep her down! Etc. etc. She seemed pretty happy, though. She eventually wandered off, still messing with the scarf which was now threatening to completely unfurl.


  1. Why is it that you aren't writing for the New Yorker?

    BTW - I'll vouch for your head scarves - or maybe neck scarves? The scarf I have of yours hangs so nicely because of the weight of the beads, no fussing needed once in place - but maybe not everyone is looking for anchoring - especially truth tellers.

  2. BTW, noticing your "Tantalizing Comestibles" - you might like this blog "Comestibles":

  3. Dannnnnng, Stone Bridge, you are WAY too nice to me! Glad the scarf is working out, the one you picked was my favorite, along with the black velvet. Thanks for sharing comestibles -- looks like she has a nice healthy blog list,too.