Lisa Jones's Blog: THE UNBEARABLE CROWDEDNESS OF BEING LISA JONES, page 4
May 10, 2009
i KNEW they were saying things…
I’m told I shouldn’t only mutter what’s new to myself as I shuffle around the house. I’m told I should put what’s new on THIS BLOG. So, lots of new and nice things are happening around the book, whose formal birthday is just two days away. Check ‘em out!
“Healing the broken spurs new live, love” from The Denver Post
http://www.denverpost.com/headlines/c...
“Got Warriors?”
from High Country News
http://www.hcn.org/issues/41.7/got-wa...
“The Gentler” from Spirit magazine
April 18, 2009
This Lisa Jones
THE UNBEARABLE CROWDEDNESS OF BEING LISA JONES
Number of US women named Lisa Jones: 4,262.
Number named Ann Smith: 2,991
(source: Whitepages.com)
My name is Lisa Jones. Not Lisa Jones the adjunct professor of nutrition at LaSalle University. Not the college basketball player. I run neither a home for the needy in Florida nor a Pilates studio in New York City. I’m not a realtor, anchor woman or a porn star.
Even among authors, a certain amount of individuation from other Lisa Joneses is in order: I did not write Bulletproof Diva (whose author, Lisa Jones, was hailed by the Boston Globe back in 1997 for writing “so vibrant and dynamic, her words create a kind of fierce music… a fabulous book.”) Damn! I wish I DID write that book. Its publisher called it “chock full” of “fierce black girl humor.” Lisa lives in New York City and even worked with Spike Lee.
Me, I’m of Swedish/Irish stock and am pretty much white as snow. I was raised mostly in Denver, worked briefly on used car lots, started practicing Buddhist meditation, and wrote a book. But so did ANOTHER Lisa Jones, whose book, Up: A novel (about car sales and love) won her a 2003 “Best Novel About a Car Saleswoman” citation from Westword magazine, Denver’s weekly newspaper. I got an e-mail from that Lisa Jones a few years back when I wrote a column about my boyfriend that appeared in the Denver Post. The by-line had caused some confusion among her friends, since she was, in her own words, “a big ole queer.”
So I’m the white, straight, married, suburban Lisa Jones. In the spectrum of things, I may be showing as the boring Lisa Jones. But, listen: I have a fascination and love for the Northern Arapahos of Wyoming, in particular with a member of that tribe named Stanford Addison (whose name sounds like it belongs to some guy who graduated from boarding school with John Kerry and is now a stockbroker, but actually belongs to a quadriplegic native healer and horse gentler.) He — and his extraordinary family — are the heros of Broken: A Love Story – my book.
Number of US women named Lisa Jones: 4,262.
Number named Ann Smith: 2,991
(source: Whitepages.com)
My name is Lisa Jones. Not Lisa Jones the adjunct professor of nutrition at LaSalle University. Not the college basketball player. I run neither a home for the needy in Florida nor a Pilates studio in New York City. I’m not a realtor, anchor woman or a porn star.
Even among authors, a certain amount of individuation from other Lisa Joneses is in order: I did not write Bulletproof Diva (whose author, Lisa Jones, was hailed by the Boston Globe back in 1997 for writing “so vibrant and dynamic, her words create a kind of fierce music… a fabulous book.”) Damn! I wish I DID write that book. Its publisher called it “chock full” of “fierce black girl humor.” Lisa lives in New York City and even worked with Spike Lee.
Me, I’m of Swedish/Irish stock and am pretty much white as snow. I was raised mostly in Denver, worked briefly on used car lots, started practicing Buddhist meditation, and wrote a book. But so did ANOTHER Lisa Jones, whose book, Up: A novel (about car sales and love) won her a 2003 “Best Novel About a Car Saleswoman” citation from Westword magazine, Denver’s weekly newspaper. I got an e-mail from that Lisa Jones a few years back when I wrote a column about my boyfriend that appeared in the Denver Post. The by-line had caused some confusion among her friends, since she was, in her own words, “a big ole queer.”
So I’m the white, straight, married, suburban Lisa Jones. In the spectrum of things, I may be showing as the boring Lisa Jones. But, listen: I have a fascination and love for the Northern Arapahos of Wyoming, in particular with a member of that tribe named Stanford Addison (whose name sounds like it belongs to some guy who graduated from boarding school with John Kerry and is now a stockbroker, but actually belongs to a quadriplegic native healer and horse gentler.) He — and his extraordinary family — are the heros of Broken: A Love Story – my book.
the unbearable crowdedness of being Lisa Jones
THE UNBEARABLE CROWDEDNESS OF BEING LISA JONES
Number of US women named Lisa Jones: 4,262.
Number named Ann Smith: 2,991
(source: Whitepages.com)
My name is Lisa Jones. Not Lisa Jones the adjunct professor of nutrition at LaSalle University. Not the college basketball player. I run neither a home for the needy in Florida nor a Pilates studio in New York City. I’m not a realtor, anchor woman or a porn star.
Even among authors, a certain amount of individuation from other Lisa Joneses is in order: I
April 11, 2009
IF WE DIDN’T LAUGH WE’D CRY
Last winter I drove six and a half hours to central Wyoming, to my friend Stanford’s place on the Wind River Indian Reservation. I did the usual – hung around the kitchen table, chatting and drinking Folgers, then entered the sweat lodge for an evening-long ceremony. There were several breaks, which just about everyone spent lying on the floor of the lodge, gossiping and making jokes. During one of these, one of the men I knew best, a guy who happened to be white, said he was under investigation
April 10, 2009
December 4, 2008
If we didn't laugh so much we'd cry
Last winter I drove six and a half hours to central Wyoming, to my friend Stanford Addison’s place on the Wind River Indian Reservation. I did the usual – hung around the kitchen table, chatting and drinking Folgers, then entered the sweat lodge for an evening-long ceremony. There were several breaks, which just about everyone spent lying on the floor of the lodge, gossiping and making jokes. During one of these, one of the men I knew best, a guy who happened to be white, said he was under investigation for stealing a woman's $800 in winnings at the tribal casino.
"I probably should never have told the casino guys that I was living in their parking lot," he said, letting loose a hail of laughter and installing himself as the evening's entertainment. The conversation kept coming back to him and the details of his story, to the fact he was so broke (ha!) and out of friends willing to take him in (hahaha!) that despite the winter freeze he had parked his car in the parking lot a couple of weeks ago, to the fact that a security guard told the local paper the guy took the money and took off running. He's probably still running down the highway. Eventually his story segued into another guy's story about being kicked out of church because his friend brought a gun to mass. A gun.
Stanford once told me that on the Wind River Indian Reservation, people laugh so much because if they didn't, they'd cry. Well. I hadn't laughed that much in weeks.
Get more on Lisa Jones at SimonandSchuster.com
"I probably should never have told the casino guys that I was living in their parking lot," he said, letting loose a hail of laughter and installing himself as the evening's entertainment. The conversation kept coming back to him and the details of his story, to the fact he was so broke (ha!) and out of friends willing to take him in (hahaha!) that despite the winter freeze he had parked his car in the parking lot a couple of weeks ago, to the fact that a security guard told the local paper the guy took the money and took off running. He's probably still running down the highway. Eventually his story segued into another guy's story about being kicked out of church because his friend brought a gun to mass. A gun.
Stanford once told me that on the Wind River Indian Reservation, people laugh so much because if they didn't, they'd cry. Well. I hadn't laughed that much in weeks.
Get more on Lisa Jones at SimonandSchuster.com
November 26, 2008
THE UNBEARABLE CROWDEDNESS OF BEING LISA JONES
Number of US women named Lisa Jones: 4,262. Number named Ann Smith: 2,991 (source: Whitepages.com)
My name is Lisa Jones. Not Lisa Jones the adjunct professor of nutrition at LaSalle University. Not the college basketball player. I run neither a home for the needy in Florida nor a pilates studio in New York City. I’m not a realtor, anchor woman or a porn star.
Even among authors, a certain amount of individuation from other Lisa Joneses is in order: I did not write Bulletproof Diva (whose author, Lisa Jones, was hailed by the Boston Globe back in 1997 for writing “so vibrant and dynamic, her words create a kind of fierce music... a fabulous book.”)
Damn! I wish I DID write that book. Its publisher called it “chock full of the fierce black girl humor that has made her column so popular, this provocative collection of essays and observations on race, sex, identity, and the politics of style speaks to a young generation of blacks who were raised in an integrated society and are now waiting for America to deliver on its promises of equality.” She lives in New York City and even worked with Spike Lee. I am of Swedish/Irish stock and am pretty much white as snow. I was raised mostly in Denver, worked briefly on used car lots, became a Buddhist and wrote a book. But so did ANOTHER Lisa Jones, whose book, Up: A novel (about car sales and love) won her a 2003 “Best Novel About a Car Saleswoman” citation from Westword magazine, Denver’s weekly newspaper. I got an e-mail from that Lisa Jones a few years back when I wrote a column about my boyfriend that appeared in the Denver Post. The by-line had caused some confusion among her friends, since she was, in her own words, “a big ole queer.”
So I’m the white, straight, married, suburban Lisa Jones. In the spectrum of Lisa Joneses, this may sound like I have just put down my gun to sob into my coffee about McCain’s dashed presidential hopes. Believe me, I’m not. I’m the water conservation fanatic Lisa Jones; the backpacking Lisa Jones. I’m the one with a fascination and love for the Northern Arapahos of Wyoming, in particular with a member of that tribe named Stanford Addison (whose name sounds like it belongs to some guy who graduated from St. Paul’s with John Kerry and is now stockbroker, but actually belongs to a quadriplegic native healer and horse trainer.) He is the hero of the book by this Lisa Jones.
Get more on Lisa Jones at SimonandSchuster.com
My name is Lisa Jones. Not Lisa Jones the adjunct professor of nutrition at LaSalle University. Not the college basketball player. I run neither a home for the needy in Florida nor a pilates studio in New York City. I’m not a realtor, anchor woman or a porn star.
Even among authors, a certain amount of individuation from other Lisa Joneses is in order: I did not write Bulletproof Diva (whose author, Lisa Jones, was hailed by the Boston Globe back in 1997 for writing “so vibrant and dynamic, her words create a kind of fierce music... a fabulous book.”)
Damn! I wish I DID write that book. Its publisher called it “chock full of the fierce black girl humor that has made her column so popular, this provocative collection of essays and observations on race, sex, identity, and the politics of style speaks to a young generation of blacks who were raised in an integrated society and are now waiting for America to deliver on its promises of equality.” She lives in New York City and even worked with Spike Lee. I am of Swedish/Irish stock and am pretty much white as snow. I was raised mostly in Denver, worked briefly on used car lots, became a Buddhist and wrote a book. But so did ANOTHER Lisa Jones, whose book, Up: A novel (about car sales and love) won her a 2003 “Best Novel About a Car Saleswoman” citation from Westword magazine, Denver’s weekly newspaper. I got an e-mail from that Lisa Jones a few years back when I wrote a column about my boyfriend that appeared in the Denver Post. The by-line had caused some confusion among her friends, since she was, in her own words, “a big ole queer.”
So I’m the white, straight, married, suburban Lisa Jones. In the spectrum of Lisa Joneses, this may sound like I have just put down my gun to sob into my coffee about McCain’s dashed presidential hopes. Believe me, I’m not. I’m the water conservation fanatic Lisa Jones; the backpacking Lisa Jones. I’m the one with a fascination and love for the Northern Arapahos of Wyoming, in particular with a member of that tribe named Stanford Addison (whose name sounds like it belongs to some guy who graduated from St. Paul’s with John Kerry and is now stockbroker, but actually belongs to a quadriplegic native healer and horse trainer.) He is the hero of the book by this Lisa Jones.
Get more on Lisa Jones at SimonandSchuster.com
THE UNBEARABLE CROWDEDNESS OF BEING LISA JONES
Number of US women named Lisa Jones: 4,262.
Number named Ann Smith: 2,991
(source: Whitepages.com)
My name is Lisa Jones. Not Lisa Jones the adjunct professor of nutrition at LaSalle University. Not th ...more
Number named Ann Smith: 2,991
(source: Whitepages.com)
My name is Lisa Jones. Not Lisa Jones the adjunct professor of nutrition at LaSalle University. Not th ...more
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