Anniversaries, Birthdays, Heatwaves, and Thoughts on Asteroid City and the Poetry World

Glenn and I at the lavender farm on our anniversary

Anniversaries, Birthdays, Heatwaves, and Asteroid City

Since my last blog post, I’ve celebrated my 29th wedding anniversary, my husband’s birthday, there’s been a crazy heatwave, I had my doubts about poetry, caught a summer virus (not covid, no worries, just a regular childhood virus my immune system isn’t strong enough to fight off), and watched Wes Anderson’s newest movie, Asteroid City.

For our anniversary, we accidentally stopped in for a Lady A (formerly Lady Antebellum) mini-concert at Chateau Ste Michelle, stayed out late with the first sunflowers in Woodinville at the Lavender Farm, and Glenn made a wonderful dinner of duck with cherry sauce and black forest cake for dessert. (We looked at reservations, but the menus weren’t very allergy friendly, and the prices have gone way up since we last went out—pandemic inflation maybe?) I was a little under the weather on Glenn’s actual birthday, so my little brother Mike took him out axe-throwing (yes, it’s a thing) and then out to dinner, which they really enjoyed. (Glenn said I’d enjoy the axe throwing, but my MS and joint problems said probably not, LOL.)

First Sunflowers in Woodinville

First Sunflowers, Heat Waves, and Asteroid City (Thoughts on Film and Poetry)

My weird summer virus coincides, weirdly, with a huge heat wave—temps of 90 (and humidity levels at 30) meant an almost desert-like feeling to Seattle in the last couple of days. We were watering the hummingbirds, two bird baths and fountains, our poor flowers and baby trees – and ourselves. We have air conditioning, but it struggles to catch up with temps over 80. A common Seattleite’s summer retreat to a cooler area, Cannon Beach on the Oregon Coast, had to close today because a mountain lion went to the beach to cool down!

Thirsty goldfinch at our bird fountain

On my sick days, I had a chance to catch up on movies—and I watched Are You There God, It’s Me Margaret (which was cute, and very true to the book, except for I remember the mother worked in the book?) and Wes Anderson’s Asteroid City, which felt like a mashup of many of my own poetic obsessions—apocalypse, the Cold War era’s paranoia, mistrust of the government, aliens, nuclear testing anxiety, quarantine and its reverberations, and of course, death, Shakespeare, and witches. Some of my friends really did not like this movie, which highlights artificiality in a sort of odd black and white narrated Rod Serling juxtaposed with a tableau of the American West in color and admittedly does not have a linear plot. But I loved it—and more than that, it was the first movie I’ve seen that made me want to make a movie. (I have a friend with a fancy Ivy League degree in film and I suddenly had the urge to ask to borrow all her books from the program.) This film almost felt like a visual poem—a pastiche of Wasteland-like fragments. The other thing I noticed was influences from my generation—from Futurama episodes (I recommend watching “The Series Has Landed” and “Roswell That Ends Well” for shot-to-shot comparisons) and MST3K fifties apocalypse anxiety films. Wes is four years older than me, so we probably watched and read a lot of the same things growing up. I loved Moonlight Kingdom, but I strongly identified with this film—it’s practically set in my childhood home of Oak Ridge with its massive government buildings and kooky genius children in nearby schools, called “Atomic City.”

It’s weird because this week I had a little bit of poetry-life anxiety (ie I applied to jobs that pay money again and felt my book wasn’t getting enough reviews and I wasn’t sure what else to do to promote it and that made me feel like a failure, tbh) so it was good to focus on another art form—especially since I’ve also been reading Tom Hanks’ book on movie making magic (Tom Hanks was also terrific in Asteroid City, and he should keep the silver hair from the movie.) And of course, the writer strike and actor strike are very much in mind. What would it be like to be a writer and director in the Hollywood world right now? I’m looking forward to two new movies coming out too—Barbie and Oppenheimer (which as you probably know, in my mind I combined as “Barbie as Nuclear Scientist: I am Become Death.” It’s hard to break new ground and be unique in the world of movies—it’s an art form that’s been around for about 100 years, but it feels like so many movies are sequels or remakes of earlier, better things, as if people have run out of ideas in that amount of time—and all these movies are sort of the opposite of that (Barbie could be a corporate movie, but with Greta Gertwig in charge, I doubt it). And poetry can be the same—it sometimes feels like the same ten people get all the awards and attention and just get rotated, and they come from the same neighborhoods and fancy colleges and sometimes all their poetry can feel the same. It’s hard to stand out in the poetry world! It’s hard to be unique. My favorite poetry books are quirky and off-the-wall and very much reflect the poet’s personalities—and I guess if my book finds its audience eventually, that’s the most important thing, not if it gets reviewed in the “cool” places or wins the “cool” prizes (though of course those things would be nice). With Flare, Corona, in particular, the experiences of being diagnosed (wrongly) with terminal liver cancer and then (correctly) with multiple sclerosis, with the science and comic book and humor and solar weather spins that I brought, I hope sharing it helps people going through some of the same things, even though that sounds corny! Anyway, I’ll be positively distracted this week because my older brother, his wife and kids are coming out to visit – the first time I’ve seen him in over six years, and I’ll be meeting the kids for the first time. So that’s exciting.

Stay cool as the whole country seems to be encountering a heat wave this upcoming week, and take advantage of any summer lulls to see movies you have been wanting to see or read books on your to-be-read stacks. You never know where inspiration might hit.