Dita Parker

Friday, February 18, 2011

Promise to try

I get angry about things, then go on and work.
~Toni Morrison

Words to live by, Ms. M. 

Happy Birthday to you, ma'am. And thank you for the books, for the life that breathes and bleeds in every word.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Dear Universe

Because there apparently is no end to how greedy, seedy and needy I am, I mean, answering the call of a calling and expecting to be paid for it (no end, absolutely none, told you) with (get this) money, as in actual, vulgar, bourgeois (what happened to striving and starving and suffering, gracefully and silently suffering for your art) money, *gasps of disbelief and disgust*, if you could please pulverize the pirates plundering the produce of petit moi plus plenitude, I would be eternally grateful and forever in your debt instead of forever in debt period.

May I suggest instant karma? When you have a spare moment. Don't think about it for too long, though. They think nothing of it, those little [utterly unprintable utterances].

Okay! Thank you. Enjoy your, hmmm, eternity now,

Your love slave for life,


Monday, February 14, 2011


Temperature: -21/-5.8

Snow depth: ridiculous

Drinking: hot chocolate

Eating: see above; the one I'm having makes breakfast redundant, really

Watching: over my feverish baby's sleep

Listening: to my conscience calling

Reading: things that aren't probably there into the dream I had last night

Writing: as fast as I can, he'll wake up any second now

Feeling: like The Rubber Band Girl

Thursday, February 10, 2011


Oi, New Yorkers! Go see this play. Right away.

Oh, and read the book. Wherever you are.

Monday, February 7, 2011

Poindexters and space cadets, improvisers and men on a mission

May I have the attention of the class, please. Today's lesson: The importance of perfect timing.

So. Nature calls in the middle of your walk home from wherever you happened to be at such an unnatural hour. Do not, I repeat, do not make your presence known before the utterly unsuspecting woman you had never laid eyes on in your life prior to the moment you had to take a whiz in the wild is long gone.

For the love of all that is holy, do not jump right in front of her, even if you are all done, even if it is a hundred below and you and yours are both freezing, even if your intentions are good. She might not care. She might be inclined to take your head off, just to be on the safe side, and, let's face it, gentlemen, jumping from the bushes, headed straight at her, displays truly appalling judgment on your part, the time and your timing considered.

Your back in a bush is far preferable to your face in hers, trust me. Since that is no place or time for small talk, big words, asking for her number, a cigarette, or the time, only one thing left for you to do, really, i.e. nothing. Do. Not. Move. Should she detect you, she'll have time to decide between fight and flight, time to make sure the coast is and remains clear. Present a clear and present danger and run the risk of a can of unforeseen consequences to be opened on your person.

Do we have an understanding? I said, do we have an understanding? Excellent. Class dismissed. Behave.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Back to the future

The bad news: I'm back. The good news: I still fit in my jeans, which is nice since going out in a bikini is no longer an option, and nothing short of a miracle after a carefully premeditated and conscientiously executed attempt to consume some two hundred acarajés, a bovine, all the seafood and desserts you could name and some you have never heard of, all washed down with guaraná, sweet coffee and some very fine cachaças. You do not want to see the contents of my suitcases. I could open a supermarket, except I wouldn't sell any of the goodies I brought back for anything, I just couldn't.

Bahia did me good. Brazil, she heals me. I'm descansada and bem passada, rested and roasted. Funny how you sometimes don't realize how badly you need a break until you give yourself permission to unplug. I did, and fully embraced living without clock or calendar, amazed at how they search you for sharp objects at the airport but what do they hand you when your unidentified fried object of an airline meal arrives: cutlery to carve up whatever and whoever looks tastier; how on some hauls you can only resentfully dream of the liquids and lotions on sale beyond the Strip Here And Then Bend Over There checkpoint because they will all be taken away from you in the next said checkpoint unless you had the foresight to bring along those silly silly little containers and good luck trying to transfer anything into them when turbulence it is from start to finish (I say drop off the gentleman who lost some very expensive beverages and the lady who was forced to hand over a small spaful of stuff at Helmand because they looked and sounded pissed enough to win the war on terror in five minutes flat); how many shades of red, green and gold there are; how there's fruit and then there's fruit; how Salvador had grown but how some things never change; and how, sitting on the beach, enjoying the sand, the wind and the water, I felt like what the horizon looked like, as I hadn't felt in a long time: calm, clear, whole.

Fast forward to the present, here where the sky hangs low, the rhythm stomps instead of swaying and people sound as if they were talking backwards. Our house had taken a beating courtesy of the seasawing temperatures. A landslide of snow falling off the roof had torn off both the gutter and the downpour from the southern side of the house and a rather freakish phenomenon had killed our internet connection on the northern side. No fun at all when you have some catching up to do, news, gossip, and yeah, work, but it is what it is, it will all be sorted out eventually, everything is going to be all right.

Until then, plan B, a.k.a. Hubby's phone, which I've confiscated and hate using, damn annoying nonexistent buttons, illogical apps and programming, but as I said, it is what it is, on with the show now playing at Whipped Cream where I'm picking up where I left off and guest blogging about revisions. Hope I didn't sound too harsh. It's my personal take, based on my limited experience, of course. If it annoys you, I'm sorry. If it helps, I'm glad.

I hope the rest of the year is as good for you as the last two weeks were for me. So I don't know you. It doesn't mean I don't care. Happy Groundhog Day and Chinese New Year, Feliz Festa de Yemanjá. Happy Wednesday and forever after, my dearest, dearest denizens.