Sarah Hepola

Go read her July 13 post about her dad at sarahheppola.com. Then read the rest of her site. Sarah is extra keen. Here’s an excerpt:

So when I get to Michigan, I said, tearing some bread, I thought I might spend some time in Detroit. Sometimes, when I am talking in a restaurant, I like to tear things. A paper napkin. The sweaty label of a beer bottle. I tear these things into pieces and put them in a pile of little white wads on the table. When there is nothing left to tear and wad, I arrange the pile in different shapes. A circle. A square. An S, for Sarah. Tonight, I am breaking up pieces of crust in front of me. If you listen closely, you can hear the tiny clicks of my fingernail on the plate. So anyway, I thought we might talk a little bit about Detroit

You should talk to your aunt. My Dad tears off some bread.

Okay, I say (click click), but I thought maybe you and I could talk.

Talk to your aunt.

The clicks become louder and more frequent. Did you not grow up in Detroit? I ask.

He waves his hand. Eh. And then he laughs. It’s such a mystery to me, my father’s laugh. I mean, she’s the one who lives there and

I’ll call my aunt. Later, I will wonder why I cant stop crying about this, but for now, I brush my hands off and put them in my lap.

The waiter appears. Would you like something to drink? he asks.

We answer at once: Yes.

DON’T LET’S START

Went to a They Might Be Giants concert last night at the Fillmore. Everyone bounced madly and sang along. THESUNISAMASSOFINCANDESCENTGAS.

My life is officially a Passat commercial.

Hootenanny (Or Thanks, Mr. Dave)

Saturday night, I went to see Chris Isaak and Natalie Merchant at the Chronicle Pavillion in Concord. Ms. Merchant, you may be surprised to learn, is a mover. She bends at the waist, rips her head back and forth, and uses her elbows to do a convincing airplane propeller imitation. It’s fascinating and somewhat terrifying. I wanted to catch her head and say, Natalie, Natalie, you’ll need your neck in the morning, love. Stay away from that bad man with the Minithins.

Chris Issak is so much the better once you have a good wine buzz. This was easy to come by, as the walking vendors were selling carafes of red wine. I shit you not. This was when I knew I’d landed squarely in my target demographic, and I went down without the slightest struggle. The audience was a sea of happily bouncing white thirtysomethings wrapped in fleecy goodness. I had my Calvin Klien Jeans, a cellphone in my pocket, and a general sense of goodwill. I’ll be expecting my Pottery Barn Kids catalog in the mail next week.

Of Course

I was headed for a film festival, but had a dentist visit just before. He knocked around for a while and said, All set. Just don’t eat popcorn for a few weeks.

Synchronicity

I like Dave Eggers. As I’ve mentioned before, I subscribed to Might and McSweeny, I was among the hordes of subway riders who carried A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius on the commute, and I even attended a reading or two. When I heard he was starting 826 Valencia–a non-profit writing center for kids–I decided that Dave Eggers was certifiably swell. I also signed up to be a tutor. They called me in for an interview a few days ago, and I finally met Mr. Eggers.

For some reason, I was unprepared. I knew it was his project, but didn’t consider that I might see him there. He talked to me and two other tutors for about an hour, giving his take on the student-teacher bond and going through some sample writing. He had fantastic genius-hair, and seemed shy until he’d been talking for a few minutes. I listened and tried to seem more at ease than I was. On the way home, I thought about how weird it was to sit two feet from a guy whose work I’d been reading since I was 19. Then I realized my fly was open.

Thinky

We did a bunch of interviews about the future of technology for an upcoming issue. A few interviewees were talking about how data acquisition is changing. We’re coming up with the technology and storage capacity to record the infinite details of everyday interactions. I’m curious about how this will affect mourning. Right now, we can go through photo albums, maybe some journals or home movies, to remember someone we’ve lost. What will happen when we have thousands of hours worth of tapes to review? It seems like it would take much longer to break out of grief when tangible reminders of a loved one are so plentiful.

FLOWER UPDATE

My landlord lives above me and operates a small convenience store nearby. This weekend, his wife stopped me as I was headed out. I think I know who took your flowers, she said. She told me her husband had seen one of our neighbors, an old lady, milling around the area. We walked two doors down, and sure enough, all of my plants were sitting on the lady’s front porch behind a locked gate. Let me type that again: two doors down, on the front porch. “She’s a little bit nuts, so wait until her son is home to ask for your plants back. Fabulous. First my neighbor steals my plants, and then I have to administer the smackdown to some poor senile old lady to get them back. I wasn’t sure if I had the stomach for it. Fortunately, my new roommate ran into the ladyï¿½s son and explained the situation. My flowers were waiting on the front porch when I got home. I like people again. I plan to buy ice cream for everyone.

Bitter Fruit

A few days ago, the Home Depot nursery seduced me. I purchased many blooming, good-smelling things and the terra cotta pots to go with them. I hummed all the way home, changed into some grubby clothes, and planted three pots of basil, some sage, thyme, red and yellow ranunculus, a happy red geranium, marigolds, small yellow roses, and a flowering cactus thingie.

I finished potting, swept the sidewalk, cleaned the dirt from under my nails, and arranged the pots artistically in front of my new apartment. I was about to sigh with deep satisfaction when my city-girl side said, Someone is going to steal these cheery little babies the minute you turn around, dearling. I frowned. Then my sunny optimistic side interrupted, Oh, shut up. Strangers give you directions, people offer their seats to pregnant women, five people held doors open for you just today. People are basically good. Why would anyone steal your precious flowers? I set my chin, watered carefully, and went inside to primp for an evening out.

When I got back home, they were gone–every last pot. People are bad, and I no longer like them.

Value Added

I’m afraid of heights. My new dentist is in an old building with an elevator that has mesh walls. I didn’t realize the elevator was of the see-through variety until I’d already climbed aboard, pushed my floor, and begun to hum. By the time I noticed the swaying cables of the elevator next to me, it was too late. I was well on my way to the sixth floor.

I concentrated on breathing, closed my eyes, and clutched the railing behind me. The elevator stopped. I stepped forward to the doors, but they didn’t open. I pressed the convenient little “door open” button. Nope. I pressed it with authority. The button ignored me. I watched as the elevator next to me zoomed past with its passengers. They stopped, and disembarked, about five feet above me. My transparent elevator was dangling between floors.

As panic rose in my throat, I pressed the alarm bell. Nothing. I pressed the intercom. Nothing. I glanced around nervously, then yelled at the person behind me on the stairwell. (I could see him, you see. Just as I could see the swaying, decaying cables above me, and the 300-foot drop below me.) He didn’t respond. After about five minutes, another elevator zoomed past me. I yelled out to its occupants.

I’m TRAPPED!

What?

The elevator stopped between floors!

Are you serious?

YES!!

A few minutes (hours, millennia) later, the security guard ascended the stairs behind me.

Well, I’ll be. There you are.

Yes

I didn’t see you get in. I would have stopped you. They’re doing repair work.

What? What’s wrong with the elevator?

Wasn’t working right.

How? Like, what’s wrong? I mean, OK Can they turn it back on?

Maybe, I’ll see.

Twenty minutes later, I was lying supine on the floor, sweating. The lights came back on, the floor started to hum, and the elevator edged upward.

By the time I got in to my dentist appointment, I was shaking. I had some enamel drilled and some plastic items put in my mouth that weren’t there before. It was almost comforting.

On the way out, the dentist was headed for lunch. He held the elevator door open for me.

I took the stairs.

Mom Material

In San Francisco, when people don’t want outdated computer components (or bedroom sets), they put them out on the street in hopes that someone will take them away. I was walking by a school this weekend when I saw two boys coming up the street with an old printer. They were stalking around a recessed playground where a young couple was playing basketball.

The courtyard was about 15 feet below street level. The boy holding the printer was looking around nervously; the other one was yelling, Drop it! Drop it! I knew the printer would smash spectacularly, I also envisioned some of its smaller component parts flying up into the basketball players eyes. So I mustered my most adult voice and yelled:

HEY! Don’t drop that there, you might hit those people… Drop it, like, over there.

MY COSMOPOLITAN LIFESTYLE

The girl at the video store knows what movies I want to see.

Her: Hey! How are you?

Me: Good! You?

Her: Good! Are you renting two?

Me: Yeah.

Her: Want to see Ghost World? We just got it in.

Me: Yeah!

Her: Should I put it on your book?

Me: Please. Thanks so much, I’ve really been wanting to see this.

Her: Well, that’s what happens when we get to know you.

No, sweet thing. That’s what happens when I need to leave the house more.

4:13 p.m.

MOMENT OF SILENCE

Is anyone else inexplicably bummed about Dave Thomas dying?

11:27 a.m.

FIT

I went to the gym this morning. Afterward, I had potato chips for breakfast.

9:08 a.m.