Voldechords
Not to be confused with Harry Potter’s Lord Voldemort, Voldechords is Ben’s way of saying “vocal chords.”
brant (brant) v.i. - to simultaneously brag and rant.
brant (brant) n. - a shared on-line journal where people can post brags and rants about themselves and their personal experiences, opinions, observations, and feelings.
branted, brant-ing, brants intr.v. To write entries in, add material to, or maintain a (we)brant.
brant (brant) n. - a shared on-line journal where people can post brags and rants about themselves and their personal experiences, opinions, observations, and feelings.
branted, brant-ing, brants intr.v. To write entries in, add material to, or maintain a (we)brant.
February 9, 2007
February 3, 2007
Nottingham Gate Book Club
The Nottingham Gate Book Club
Hudson, Ohio
January 31, 2007
As always, Laura wants to thank the latest book group to invite her to join them by phone to talk about Piece of Work. Laura always finds it a little difficult at first — there’s the slight time delay on the phone; the speakerphone problem where when she talks she can’t hear anything except the sound of her own voice but not people laughing or not laughing or trying to interrupt her; not to mention trying to find a quiet place to talk for 30-60 minutes where her family either can’t overhear her (Laura’s a little self-conscious when she’s actually self-promoting herself live) or can’t disturb her (somehow Benji always manages to find her and wants to snuggle while she’s in the middle of describing her life, years ago, as a single publicist living in a tiny apartment all alone).
The Nottingham Gate Book Club was, like other groups, terrific. Lively, highly intelligent, full of really good questions (Laura wishes she had taken notes because several of the questions truly were ones she had never been asked before and were really interesting), and just plain nice. It was a pleasure to spend an hour with them even if she did feel a little more tired than usual and hoped that it wasn’t apparent. They had been a group for over two years and all lived near each other (Laura suspects that Nottingham Gate might be a development of houses like a little private neighborhood) and they all seemed to be within her age range more or less and with children around the same age as Benji (some older and some younger). One woman worked at a radio station and had had some very similar experiences as Laura regarding Meeting Famous People and Getting to the Point of Not Wanting to Meet Any More Famous People Because It’s Almost Always Disapppointing (except for the occasional modest celebrity who is actually polite and humble and generally human).
The next day, Laura got a lovely email from one of the group members, Paula Morris, who sent along a photo of their group from that evening. Laura loves getting photos like this not only so she can post it to her brant and prove that she is not lying about having a growing fan base out there but mainly because she loves to know what the group looks like since, after an hour, she generally kind of feels like she knows them all just a little bit. She also wishes that there was a way for groups to email her a photo of themselves at the beginning of their phone call so that Laura could really get a sense of who she’s talking to. But that’s probably asking way too much. This morning she got a lovely comment on her brant from group member Lisa Madel telling her that one reason her brant numbers were so high was because she had told her entire extended family to check out Laura’s brant. And that was even before she’d branted about them and posted their photo!
Laura wants to re-express her thanks to the whole group and extend the invitation that she’s always willing to come back by phone if and when they read another one of her books (or if they just feel like gabbing). But she also needs to remark despite how shallow it might make her sound that the Nottingham Gate gals are yet another incredibly photogenic book group. Laura would like to know what the deal is with this strange and fascinating phenomenon.
Photogenic-ness notwithstanding, here is part of Paula’s email about who’s who:
“I’ve attached a picture of our group from tonight…I apologize for the quality of the picture; my husband isn’t too good with the camera. Standing left to right – Kate, Sherri, Paula, Joan and Linda. Seated in chairs – Maura and Julie. On the carpet – Lisa M., Lisa S., Sue and my dog Max, who figured we were all gathering to pet him.”
Superman to the Rescue
[Superman and the Tonka Fire Engine in the Bathtub]
[Ben, February 2, 2007]
January 26, 2007
Laura’s New Boiler
*
Laura would like to apologize for and explain her lack of branting this week.
After last year’s outrageously expensive first winter in their new house, Laura finally made an appointment with an HVAC (Heating, Ventilation, & Air Conditioning) company to try to solve the mystery of why, despite how low they kept the thermostat, their natural gas bills had been so ridiculously high last year and why their bills were probably going to be just as high this year too.
Within two hours of the arrival of Andy, The HVAC guy, on Monday morning, he discovered that the boiler was cracked. Laura had always assumed this was some sort of idiom, or figure of speech (“What a cracked boiler he is!” “You want a cracked boiler? I’ll give you a cracked boiler!”), but when Andy stuck a hand-mirror into the maw of the raging boiler’s open belly to show her what he was talking about, she saw the jagged scar he was pointing to and suddenly realized that a cracked boiler actually means that the inside chamber of the boiler is cracked!
Even if Laura wasn’t one of those egregiously dumb homeowners who had no idea where the electrical box was (OK, that’s an exaggeration) or how to flip a circuit breaker (but that’s not), she would have been smart enough to figure out that the San Andreas fault line in her boiler (which she had just been introduced to minutes before by Andy himself — she’d always gotten it confused with the water heater) was a bad thing, though she didn’t think it was an incredibly bad thing since at least it was still working! But just as Andy got up from the floor, the boiler suddenly sputtered and then stopped making any sound at all.
Andy shook his head, then explained in a hushed reverent tone that the crackling-hissing noise the boiler had just expelled like a covert belch was the sound of the boiler cracking completely. Andy tried to explain to Laura that a completely cracked boiler had something to do with steam and water coming through the crack and dousing out the flame for good, but of course Laura didn’t understand what he was talking about because 1) she not good at homeowner stuff and 2) she had already detached from herself like a space capsule off a flaming hot rocket.
Laura could barely believe what was happening and was having a hard time processing what incredibly bad luck she was continuing to have into the new year! She suddenly felt incredibly depressed and defeated, not just because she knew the house was going to get freezing cold — they were, after all, facing their first cold snap of the entire winter! and even some possible snow! what perfect timing!– in the absence of a working boiler, but because she knew in her bones that replacing the boiler was going to cost almost as much as she earned last year.*
(*This is meant to imply that Laura didn’t earn much last year; not that she earned a lot. She just felt the need to clarify that just in case people thought she was complaining unduly.)
By the afternoon, two other HVAC guys — Tom and Mike — came into her house and stared at the now quiet cold boiler. And the more they took measurements and talked in hushed tones about steam heat and radiant heat and water pipes and water heaters, the more Laura wanted to crawl away and into her bed so that she would be frozen solid by the time they were ready with their “estimate.”
When Tom finally did give her the bad news, Laura truly did take to her bed for much of Tuesday and Wednesday (not to mention part of Thursday and most of today, as necessary recovery from the incredibly stressful and depressing week). She also took to her bed because it happened to be warm under the covers, right next to one of the six space heaters that the HVAC guys had lent Laura and Brendan and Benji until the boiler was replaced and up and running by Wednesday evening.
For two nights, the three of them slept together in the big bed, huddling together for warmth against the cold while the space heater glowed red beside them. Drifting off to sleep, Laura wondered if this was what it felt like to be a chicken on a rotisserie. Anything to take her mind off of the check she was going to have to write the next day….
January 20, 2007
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January 18, 2007
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January 10, 2007
“Batman in Houseplant”
Laura just finally finally finally figured out how to properly include high-quality decently-sized photos in her brant so she just went back and fixed lots of entries with previously crappy photos and updated them with much much much better photos. Feel free to revisit some of your favorite illustrated brant entries — after all, it’s free!
Of course, because Laura’s finally broken the code on this aggravating problem, she wanted to post this photo: one of the many Household-Super-Hero “tableaus” Benji has made over the years. This is the most recent — Batman in Houseplant, let’s call it.
November 10, 2006
A (Half) Day in the Life of Benji D.
[Benji, last June, in front of Williams Elementary School,
Auburndale, Mass.]
On Tuesday, Laura went to Benji’s school (see Technologically Correct Illustration [TCI] #1 above) for something called “Writer’s Workshop” — a special time every day in his combination kindergarten/1st grade class when they practice their “writing” (i.e. several-sentence stories) and learn about things like books and authors and illustrators. Needless to say, Laura was invited to partake in Writer’s Workshop because, in case you haven’t heard, Laura is a published writer (she’s never sure which word to use — writer or author — but generally Laura sticks with writer since she thinks using the word author, anywhere outside of a library or bookstore information desk, sounds kind of pretentious, especially if you are that particular writer referring to him/herself as an author).
Terminology notwithstanding, Laura was touched to see that the class was anticipating her visit with great excitement (see TCI#2 below)!
Benji had helped Laura put her four novels in a box, and he had filled up the rest of the box with chapter books — Harry Potter paperbacks, Books 1-6 — that he wanted to bring in and show his class (not chapter books that Laura had written, which she didn’t mind even though she didn’t fully “get” why he was bringing in a whole box of books that weren’t hers on a day when the whole Writer’s Workshop was supposed to be about her…). His teacher, Ms. Aronne (see TCI below), who Benji had had last year, too, for plain old kindergarten, quieted down the class and introduced her as “Benji’s Mom.”
[Here’s Brett Aronne, K/1A teacher]
Laura wished that Ms. Aronne had checked with her prior to introducing her to the class so that Laura could have clarified that when introduced in public she likes to be referred to as “The Novelist, Laura Zigman,” or “Laura Zigman, acclaimed author of four novels,” or the simple but elegant “Laura Zigman, writer.” But Ms. Aronne hadn’t checked with her, and now Laura was caught between a rock and a hard place — wishing she could express her needs and assert herself but not wanting to appear ungrateful for the invitation. Always the consummate professional, Laura smiled and basked in the collective attention she was getting from 21 little people.
Despite Ms. Aronne’s deeply disappointing introduction and the strange business with the Harry Potter books, Laura did a very quick presentation — explaining in very simple terms what she does and how she does it — She sits; She thinks; She writes, or She panics; She Obsesses; She Writes [crappy stuff that she ends up throwing away later which is the same as if she just hadn’t written anything to begin with] quicker than she’d anticipated because she could tell that as excited as Benji had been to have her come and excited as he truly was to be up in the front of the room with her and her four novels that he had helped her find in the house (he helped decide which editions — foreign or domestic? hardcover or paperback? movie-tie-in-edition or regular jacket? — she should bring in) Benji was anxious to do his show-and-tell thing with his Harry Potter books.
Had Laura been in a different state of mind — had she been, say, feeling like a failure that day because there she was doing a ‘book talk’ in front of 21 kindergartner/first graders instead of being feted somewhere at some legitimate public venue for book-buying adults — she would have gotten annoyed by the insufficient amount of time devoted to Her and Her Craft. But luckily her mood was up and once again she sailed over the indignities — Benji showing off J.K. Rowling’s books; several children yawning; one question about when snack was which Laura couldn’t answer and didn’t feel she should have to answer since she wasn’t the teacher, she was the special honored guest at that day’s Writer’s Workshop for god’s sake! — without missing a beat.
After her presentation, and after helping Benji and several of his classmates with their writing assignment — to write a three-sentence story about one particular moment in time — all the while wishing she herself could have a little time to complete her own three-sentence story about one particular moment in time (the morning she came to Benji’s school to participate in Writer’s Workshop and didn’t have time to do the assignment herself) — I mean, she was the only actual published writer in the room at the time; didn’t it make sense to give her some time and space to do what she was there to brag about — to be a Writer in a Workshop Who Was Putting Words on Paper in Real-Time As Young Children Watched in Awe and Amazement? Did no one understand how hard it was to be an author especially when no one is treating you like an author and instead only paying attention to the children in the room?
After the debacle that Laura’s visit to Writer’s Workshop had devolved into, it was time for gym. The kids filed out of the classroom and down the stairs and then out to the back of the school since it was Election Day and the gymnasium was being used for voting. As the kids gathered on the field and listened to the instructions of Mr. Tanner (a.k.a. “Mr. T.”), Laura couldn’t help having a disturbing and frightening “retro-memory” about how much she sucked at gym and how much she hated gym when she was in elementary school. (And junior high school.) (And high school.) As she sat on the cement curb of the parking lot watching the kids jump and scream and play, with smiles on their sweaty little faces but no trace of fear and humiliation and embarrassment — she was shocked to see that they were obviously actually having fun — something she never ever had in gym in all the years she was in school.
[Here’s Benji with his best buddy Chris Dare]
Gym, back in the late 60’s and early 70s, was a misery, filled with incredibly hard tasks — climbing ropes up to the ceiling; getting over The Vault; jumping hurdles; dodging the dodge ball. It required strength and coordination and competitiveness, but mostly it required the now politically incorrect Lord of the Flies Take-No-Prisoners The Meek Will Never Inherit the Earth Because All The Meek Will Be Crushed Today While Playing Prison Ball attitude of beating your opponent at any cost. Laura had none of these skills. Watching all the kids swarming around Mr. T., one of the most beloved teachers in the school, and then having Benji take a picture with him, Laura was shocked and amazed and oddly jealous by the fact that her son was actually enjoying himself in gym!
[Mr. Tanner, a.k.a. “Mr. T”]
After gym, came snack. Laura and Benji sat down at their own table back in the K/1 classroom and when they did, Benji commenced to eating his snack. Laura, suddenly hungry, not only from the exhausting gut-wrenching presentation in Writer’s Workshop an hour earlier but also from the emotional disturbance caused by witnessing Benji’s gym class, wished she’d packed herself a snack. What was she thinking that morning when she’d put Benji’s snack together in a brown paper bag because his Batman lunchbox had broken the week before? Why hadn’t she thought to pack a snack for herself? Was this not yet another example of how all of her own needs were subsumed by her child’s needs? Would she ever be able to focus on herself again the way she used to, constantly assessing and reassessing her thoughts and desires and needs and wants, putting herself first in every way possible?
As Laura pondered this unimaginably huge existential question, she reached out for one of the little bags of snacks she had packed, but she wasn’t sure which one to taste: both were Cheez-Its, but the one on the left (Laura’s left, not Benji’s left) was a traditional Cheez-It, while the one on the right (Laura’s right, not Benji’s right) was some new Cheez-it variation — one of the many products that is slightly different than the original product it’s based on* (*more about this fascinating marketing phenomenon in a later brant) and which causes consumers like Laura to become completely overwhelmed and overcome by too many choices at the supermarket and almost start to cry. Not sure what the one on the right was — it looked like some sort of new-fangled ‘baked not fried’ cracker which she didn’t trust — and not completely sure of it’s intent (she didn’t like it’s ambiguous ambivalent amoeba-like shape which belied its questionable identity: Am I a Cracker? Am I a Chip? Laura had no idea so she chose the traditional Cheez-it.
Right before snack was over, Dr. Chris Moynihan, the school principal, stopped into the class to visit. Dr. Moynihan is a gregarious, friendly, funny, affectionate person who knows every single child’s name by the beginning of the second week of every September and who stands outside every single morning rain or shine and helps get kids out of their parents cars or off the bus and into the school. Almost always this “help” includes a big hug. Needless to say, Laura felt another tsunami of insane jealousy that Benji was having a completely different (i.e. positive) elementary school experience than she was. Back in the late 60s, at her elementary school, Claflin (which is now condos), Mrs. Howard, the principal, had polio and walked with difficulty and was almost never was seen outside her office among her students. Feeling that she had been robbed of a childhood filled with hugs from a school principal, Laura wished more than anything that she could crawl over to the little area in the classroom where the pillows were and snuggle up with a stuffed animal as she nursed her infantile psychic wounds caused by so many needs unmet, but she knew she couldn’t. Her childhood, such as it was, was over and gone, she told herself for the gazillionth time, taking the double role of psychotherapist and patient she so often did when she needed to self-comfort herself. Get over it. But she couldn’t get over it. She never could get over it. And so for the gazillionth time Laura swallowed her sorrow — and a mouthful of traditional square Cheez-Its which she’d decided were way better than the Cheez-It crisps.
[Dr. Chris Moynihan, Principal of Williams]
November 1, 2006
The Upper Crust
Yesterday Benji wore his costume to school. As you can see, his costume consisted of three things: a white “powdered” style wig; a Jimi Hendrix t-shirt; and a borrowed guitar. In case you’re not sure what persona Benji was trying to create, Laura will explain: Benji was dressed as “An Upper Crust Guy,” which means “one of the band-members of the Upper Crust,” which will make more sense if you read this description of the band from one of their “unofficial” websites:
“The Upper Crust is a Boston-based rock band that plays terrific power-punk/pop-metal songs. If I were a junior A&R guy at a record label that had to quickly pitch the Upper Crust to the top brass, I might say “it’s AC/DC meets the Buzzcocks at a theater showing This Is Spinal Tap.” But there is much more to the Upper Crust, both aurally and visually.
“Not only are their songs about the trials of blueblood life, but they perform in full aristocratic regalia: powdered wigs, velvet knickers, pancake makeup with beauty spots applied. They even have gilded frames for their 20th century amplifiers.
“Unfortunately, this aspect of the Crust often causes the casual observer to simply dismiss the Upper Crust as a “joke band.” Their loss. The Upper Crust’s music and performance stands up to any other. They’re not a joke band; they’re a great rock band with a damn good sense of humour.”
(From: “Monarchy in the USA! The Unoffficial Upper Crust Web Site”/www.juvalamu.com/crust/)
Laura’s neighbor, John Aber (it rhymes, something Laura always gets a kick out of when she says that phrase), is a huge fan of The Crust (shorthand for rabid fans). Ever since Laura and Brendan and Benji moved in, John Aber has been telling them how brilliant and hilarious The Upper Crust’s lyrics are and how great their music is. This summer, Brendan finally saw the light, and soon after, so did Benji, since Brendan played The Upper Crust in his car while taking Benji to the beach and playground. “Seeing the light” means playing (blaring) Upper Crust CDs as often as possible in the car and at home; singing along with Upper Crust songs when they are blaring in the car and at home; singing little wisps of Upper Crust songs whenever possible. Because of all of this Upper Crust business, Laura finally saw the light, too, though she has yet to burn her own CDs for her car (but she should since she’s been driving all over the place on her book tour).
Laura didn’t mean to digress this much but she feels it’s very important to give credit to the person who first expresses an interest in something instead of taking credit for starting the trend, thereby making it seem like they discovered it. One of the reasons Laura feels so strongly about this is because she’s had friends who have co-opted other people’s stuff — favorite recipes, favorite beaches, favorite restaurants, etc — without ever once explaining that the reason these are their favorite recipes or beaches or restaurants is because someone else told them about them!
(Note: This is one of Laura’s many pet peeves. There are tons more and they will all probably make their way into Laura’s brant eventually. So check back soon to learn exactly what Laura hates and why!!)