From a greazy griddle

texas grind

2008-11-25T21:36:00.003-05:00

San Antonio was sunny, busy, warmer than here, and one day, downright hot. I stayed on the River Walk, which is super touristy at night but quite pretty all the same. It almost manages to be the right kind of river for me. If only it was a little less Hard Rock Cafe and a little more Yuri Jazz Cafe, it would be perfect. I like the vines, the old stone, the arched bridges, the wrought iron. I like the precariousness of narrow, slippery paths dropping right off into the river (which seemed to me like a canal), combined with ample drinking places. Kind of European, or Asian, or any less litigious continent than mine.

I was not planning on going to the Alamo. Alamo, I thought - whatever. But when I told that to my dad, he acted like I had just said I was no longer going to pay taxes (although he doesn't seem to have let tax evasion affect his love of one Mr. Willie Nelson). So out of father-induced guilt, and because I basically stumbled right over it as I walked through a busy part of downtown, I did go. I asked the Alamo people how I could cut the hourlong audio tour into a much shorter time, and it seemed like they had been asked that before. Anyway, the first line of the audio tour was something like, "The biggest misconception about the battle at the Alamo is that it was part of a war between Mexico and the United States." I privately blushed a little then, and realized maybe I would actually learn something. And I did. But I'm not going to tell you what. You will have to google it, or go to the Alamo yourself.

I also went to a place called Mission San Jose, which was pretty. I saw wheat being ground into flour on a millstone. Jealous?

I had some trouble finding things that I could eat, so a few meals consisted of bloody marys.

I was taken to cool places, away from the tote-baggery of the teacher crowd that had landed en masse for the convention, by some friends of Alec and Mollie. They were so nice and interesting, and I got to see where people who live in San Antonio actually go.

My hotel had a snack bar called Muggs. I kept wishing that various members of the Detroit band the Muggs would be there. That would have made the whole trip so much more exciting and fun. I would have hung out around the lobby a lot more than I did. Plus, I am sure that Danny would have brewed me a mean cup of coffee.

Oh, I also went to a lot of conference sessions and got a lot of cool ideas and fresh inspiration for teaching. But that's not what you want to know about. You are all about the millstone...

bad dumb poem made while lying on my back, laptop on my stomach

2008-11-18T21:00:00.003-05:00

Winter has descended.
I cannot feel my toes.
My glove is soaked in gasoline
from a leaky hose.

Don't want to pack a suitcase
or be a good fore-planner.
Just want to get to San Antone,
come back a little tanner.

Yeah, I'm going to San Antonio tomorrow. It is not a place I ever had any particular desire to go to, but now I'm excited to meander in a new place - any new place. It is for an education conference, and I am not paying for flight, hotel, or conference fee. The conference should be really good. Barbara Ehrenreich is one of the keynote speakers! But I can't think about the conference or which sessions I will go to; all I can focus on is the fact that it's going to be mid to high 70s and sunny. There is a pool at the hotel. Will I have time to sit by it? That, and will I find things to eat? Going out to eat has become not that fun to me. And it's Texas... (sorry, Jen).

It's only November - kind of early to be desperate to get to a warmer place. Also, it is already after 9, but I cannot seem to make myself pack. I'm either ahead or behind on all things, as always.

Our new national dish

2008-11-15T12:18:00.003-05:00

OH MY GOD. I logged on all ready to explain about my lovely day and the nice food I made, and someone on the radio is talking about putting earthworms into a quiche in place of bacon. Umm... I know it's bad economic times, but are we really already at the Great Depression-esque eat-whatever-scurries (or slithers)-by point of the recession yet?

I also happen to have a very serious worm thing. I didn't think it was that bad until I read our new science curriculum and realized that we were going to have to keep worms in the classroom and do experiments and activities with them. Can you imagine? My coworkers said, "You just keep them in a jar with soil," and I was like, uh... jars are clear. That is a problem. Can't anyone else see that?

It leaked to my students that I hate worms, and they came in from recess the other day, which was rainy, saying, "We touched you FAVORITE animal today on the playground!" Of course I made them wash their wormy hands, but they definitely brought in the combined smells of a rainy day - wet leaves, rain, grass, mud, and worms.

What I was PLANNING to write about is that I haven't had a day like today in a long time, where I just wake up at my leisure, hang around in bed for awhile, make a big pot of coffee, and start a cooking project that will take a little while, because I don't really have anywhere to be. Isn't that nice? The past week was long and hard, due to conferences and a psychologically broken student. I had been wanting to try Heidi Swanson's cornmeal crunch recipe, but every evening was filled and there was never an hour to spare. Still, I could imagine exactly how it would taste and what it would be like to eat. And, oh my god. I was right. It is amazing. I want it to be available everywhere I go. Made with parchment paper instead of butter and flour on the baking dish, it is gluten free. I also left out the cheese, but I think it would be really good with it, too. I kind of want it to be our new national dish. It fits, right? It's inexpensive and wholesome, which is what people need. It's got that comfort food warmth and texture. You could top it with lots of different things, or dunk it, as she suggests. It seems like a perfect recession food. FAR superior to earthworms.

getting heavy, like the blanket of smoke at the new way bar

2008-11-08T23:46:00.006-05:00

I tried to go to bed early, but it didn't quite work. I swear I still smell the smoke from the bar last night, even though I have taken TWO showers to get it off me and washed the clothes I wore. I think I may have sat on my bed before taking the clothes off, and that small contact must have transferred the smell to my bedding. When, oh WHEN will Michigan get that public places smoking ban in place? Last Tuesday, voters passed medical mary jane and stem cell research proposals, after all. The smoking thing seems relatively easy. I really liked the bands I saw last night, and despite being spooked by a possible psychopath or sociopath and ending up being accidentally alone at the show with a whole bunch of youngsters, I had a great time. The youngsters seemed to accept me into their fold. It was just the damn smoke that makes me feel like I never want to go to another show again.

I continue to get emails, invitations to various online networks, etc. from a guy I went out with ONCE last fall. At the time, it was immediately obvious to me that I just had to get through the date politely and then I would never have to deal with him again. It was originally an aesthetic turn-off, which made me feel shallow, but it quickly turned into a total personality revulsion. He was clingy, needy, and totally inappropriate in his "feelings" for me after ONE MEETING. It was ridiculous, and I was very clear that I was not at all interested.

This week I have gotten an invitation to his flickr page, another bullshit invite that I can't remember now because I deleted it (oh, after googling myself just now I see it was an invitation to be his friend on amafuckingzon.com), and an email titled Halloween, which I haven't opened. I have gotten several other emails over the last months, and I just don't even open them, but clearly this is a person who cannot take hints? I should probably just respond with a "fuck off," but I don't want to engage the crazy, I guess. I have tried to remove all traces of myself from the internet and managed to make my flickr and some other things stop showing up, but I can't figure out how to disable my amazon profile (even though it's got no information in it, it still shows up). And I have a facebook page that he has tried to contact me through, but he can't get past the basic page or look at my (less than ten) friends.

I know this is not the kind of thing I usually write about, but it is seriously upsetting me. What kind of loser just keeps sending missives out into the ether even though the person not only never acknowledges them, but removes evidence of herself as a result? Does he think he is going to wear me down or something? Twisted.

I am actually paranoid about internet dating because I'm afraid he would be on there posing as someone else! That is very telling of my level of anxiety, huh?

Also, if you google me (try it!), he comes up as the second hit for friending me on my amazon page. Nice, huh? Love that my workplace also shows up there. Ugh. Why can't I have a name like "Mary Smith?" My combination of first and last are unique, according to google...

important lesson

2008-11-07T20:04:00.005-05:00

Right now I'm wondering about skinny jeans, and if there is any kind of law about me wearing them or not.

Also, I am enjoying reflecting on this moment at school today, as students were grappling with the economic concept of goods vs. services:

Me: "Well, services are things like getting your car washed. Or having someone cut your lawn. I would hate having to cut a lawn, if I had one. I live in an apartment, so I don't have a lawn. Or, some people get their nails done, and that's a service. Obviously, I don't (holds up hands for all to inspect)."

God, why didn't I just go on with things like, "Obviously, your moms all have personal trainers or tennis coaches and I don't. Check out this flab! And your parents probably have financial advisors. I pretty much just let whatever happen with my money, since there is so little of it. Oh, but I do have a real estate agent. That's a service! Of course, I'm trying to only look at things under $90,000. Your houses cost at least five times that, if not more! But it's cool. At least my preferred candidate won the election"

Then we all would have shared a large, deeply unflattering belly laugh, they would have advised me to never wear skinny jeans, and I would have totally agreed.

Instead, here I am, still not sure.

Conspiratorial angst

2008-11-03T22:09:00.004-05:00

Why did I get an email from John McCain just now, asking me to vote for him? Considering that all my monetary gifts go to Planned Parenthood, I don't really know where his campaign may have gotten hold of me as a potential love interest.

I am really scared about tomorrow. I'm glad I don't have to go to work; school will be used for voting. I would be unable to focus or maintain the neutral political stance required by my job. I'm just really scared that bad shit is going to go down, and it won't matter how people actually vote. I'm in a conspiratorial place.

I wish I had something good to eat right now. I have nothing. good. to. eat. in my home, ever. I should change that, maybe. No, wait. I am all twisted up with nerves. I couldn't eat even if I had something good, like almond-stuffed olives, guacamole, and/or fresh vegetarian grape leaves with pine nut hummus. Well, maybe I could eat the grape leaves. Yeah, I probably could.

Ohio Power

2008-11-02T21:56:00.002-05:00

I think we should have set the clock back 25 hours instead of one. I could have used a whole extra day this weekend. I say this as I survey my surroundings, which have somehow erupted into chaos when I wasn't looking. I have laundry that i haven't put away yet, half-graded papers strewn around, and the components of my Halloween costume on the floor. I was the Statue of Liberty at school (and then slutty Statue of Liberty that night). (Just kidding, but I kind of like the idea). I was a hit with children and adults alike. Apparently no one could tell the difference between me and the actual SoL, it was so realistic. It's amazing what a nicely draped sheet can do.

Instead of tidying all this up, I went to my nephew's championship football game. They got to play under the lights because it was already dark. It was also super cold. I got confirmation of something I already suspected: Something in my brain refuses to understand the rules of football. Something with claws will not let go of my unwillingness to understand it. Mostly I just did funny hairstyles on my niece and occasionally was reminded (usually by an obnoxious parent) that a game was in progress. I realized at some point, too, that all of the players who were acting all tough on the field were going to be going home in car seats. Did I mention that they are first graders?! Anyway, my neph's team won, I am pleased to report.

Has anyone heard the new Pretenders? I love the idea of it - the Pretenders do country - and I also love that they recorded it in Chrissie Hynde's hometown of Akron. It does an Ohio girl's heart proud. Dave Grohl just had a street named after him in my hometown. His hometown is my hometown. Ohio power, everyone. Ohio power.

dazed and confused

2008-11-02T01:20:00.004-04:00

I went to the Hentchmen show tonight. They have been playing for 16 years, and I have been watching them for most of those. I wore boots of questionable sluttiness to mark the occasion. I was happy to see that hardcore Hentch fans Long Haired Guy and Old, Jean Jacket Guy were there, too.

On the way home, after dropping Alice off, I found Dazed and Confused on the radio. If there was an all Led Zeppelin station, I would be happy (except when Fool in the Rain or whatever it's called came on; then I'd have to change the station). Anyway, I was rocking out to Dazed and Confused, and didn't realize until it was too late that a Who song came on next. It turns out that I had listened to quite a lot of the Who song before realizing it. The thing is, I hate the Who, and I always have. Really, I just had gotten to thinking about other things, but nonetheless it made me feel like I had lost my ability to discern between things that I do and do not like. I feel like that happens to people as they get older. I am not ready to accidentally like the Who yet.

I feel like you need to see what my bedroom walls looked like when I was a kid (above). Maybe it's because I am in house-buying mode; I am all pre-approved and ready to go. Soon I will have chosen a house, and will only have to decide things like, "should I replicate the walls of my youth?"

She and I are not ignorant (but she and me are)

2008-10-22T22:46:00.003-04:00

Tonight I learned that I don't like gluten-free beer. At least, not the brand I tried at the Berkley Front. Could it have anything to do with the fact that when I requested it, the bartender had to consult with the waitress and then disappear for awhile, eventually bringing it out from a mysterious room, then dusting it with his shirt before setting it down? Still, nice that they had it at all.

The dude at the next stool tried to woo my friend/coworker and me* away from our drinks with offers of more drinks and darts at the place next door. I had to laugh, wondering which overheard snippets made him all into us: the endless conversation about a mentally ill child, or the complaining about feeling old and broke? All so hot.

*I'm tired of people thinking that this should be "I" instead of "me." People have over-generalized some rule they once learned about "You and I, not you and me" to the point where I am paranoid that people think I am ignorant when I use it correctly (as above). You don't think I'm ignorant, do you?

2008-10-21T22:49:00.004-04:00

My feet, they are cold. Almost like blocks of ice already, and it's still October. It is supposed to go down into the low 30's tonight, so I guess it makes sense. Having a house guest (the lovely Chris) motivated me, at least, to turn the heat on. Also to clean the tub and coffee maker.

I'm thinking about how nice and warm my feet were in the picture above. I was in Santa Fe, sitting by the pool at the Sunrise Springs resort. I was on a break from writing, and I had my Amy Hempel book there at the pool with me. I felt a little bit guilty reading at the pool during a designated writing time, but no one cared. We were there to write like adults, not like kids. It had to involve wine and frequent breaks in the sun or the shade. It had to involve plenty of snacks at all hours. Some people even napped, but I am not a good sleeper. Despite all this, I was productive. It was those blocks of time. Now the project I started there is almost due and I had to force myself to work on it tonight. I enjoy working on it. I always, always enjoy writing. It's just getting myself to do it. I do think it's harder when my feet are cold.

I like this picture. I like the dog wandering in (although I think it is the same one that snarled at me). Unfortunately, the junk on the roof is kind of reminiscent of some of the bank-owned houses I looked at with Chris last weekend (note to self: do not look at any more bank-owned houses). But that aside, I like this picture very much. Was I really in New Mexico in June, driving around on my own and exploring all kinds of little places? I know it was, but it seems like so long ago now.

Circus Peanut Pumpkin Dreams

2008-10-15T22:51:00.005-04:00

That is a seasonal candy given to me this morning by a crafty student. It is made from a - you will like this - Circus Peanut. Oh, Circus Peanuts, you still exist? That is kind of gross, yet comforting in a way. I just found out that one ingredient in the Circus Peanut is pork-skin derived gelatin. Also, that some cereal dude sliced one up on his cereal and that led to Lucky Charms. Yeah, I googled "circus peanut." Anything to avoid the debate. I followed the Liveblog on Jezebel.com, and even that made my blood boil, so now I'm just going to pretend I live on Planet Circuspeanutluckycharm. There are unicorns and rainbows everywhere! And the Circus Peanuts make lovely pillows.

This is my green-on-green-on-green, etc. salad, a.k.a. tomorrow's lunch. First I cut up some Swiss Chard and massage it with a tiny bit of flax oil until it bends to my will. Then I throw on some steamed broccoli, some fava beans, some pepperoncini, and some avocado. It is delicious, and also quite pleasing in its monochromaticism. I have other things I could add, but they would ruin the color scheme.

I am up late for the recent me, but tomorrow isn't a real day, really. It's one of those days where the kids take a state-mandated test all day and I "proctor." They pretty much have to do all the thinking. I just have to tell them, "Sorry, I'm not allowed to help you with anything. Oh, you can't read the directions to the math problem? Apparently the math test is also a test of reading, because I'm not allowed to help you with that at all, according to the state. Best wishes to you."

Mean state.

My Dinner

2008-10-06T21:42:00.004-04:00

I made an actual recipe for actual dinner tonight! I planned ahead, bought the ingredients, and followed all the steps. I am very proud. Lately I have just been eating in a way that shows very, very low expectations for myself. But it's fall, and I wanted something warm. I wanted lentil soup, specifically. I wanted to make a very typical Lebanese lentil soup, but then I found this recipe in Heidi Swanson's cookbook, Super Natural Cooking. I love her website, where she mostly tries out recipes from other cookbooks, and her book, which consists of her own recipes. I had already made the Black Tea Spring Rolls, which were awesome, although slightly unconventionally shaped due to my, um, overly creative methods. So tonight I made the Chunky Lentil Soup. The chunkiness comes from butternut squash. I had to watch an internet tutorial about how to cut a butternut squash, because all day I carried a vague anxiety, knowing I had this potentially digit-removing activity ahead of me. I like having fingers. It turns out that my usual method was correct. Cutting squash is just inherently risky. I enjoy life on the edge as usual.

Oh, the soup also has tomatoes and smoked paprika. It's super good!

Blame-placin', ma'am style

2008-10-05T17:39:00.004-04:00

I'm kind of tired of people calling me "ma'am." I just don't believe I am a "ma'am." But if I examine the evidence....shit. No matter how long into my thirties I insist on shopping at Urban Outfitters, I am still a "ma'am," really. Just a slightly hip ma'am.

A few weeks ago, Jen and I were having a drink and they were playing Band of Horses at the bar. I recognized some of the songs (ok, mostly I recognized the one used in a commercial), and I bought the album from ITunes the next day. I love it so much. It is what I want to listen to these days. I don't even care that they gave some car company commercial rights to their song. It is just beautiful.

Reality hit me today that I have a deadline. The article I started in Santa Fe is due soon. They gave me this gorgeous, perfect writing experience for very minimal cost to me, and in return, I owe them a polished, finished product. As of a few hours ago, the article was anything but. I have been working at it diligently over the last couple of hours, though, and I think it will be OK. But what have I been doing since late June? All I can say is, it's so typical of someone whose root chakra is blocked... That, plus long-term effects of gluten poisoning, are my new excuses for everything wrong with me. Why haven't I followed through with the part-time writing thing I pursued this summer? Root chakra. Why didn't my students score better on their end-of-year writing assessments last year? I was in a gluten (pictured above) haze and couldn't properly coach them. Why can I never get anything mailed in a timely way? Obviously root chakra!

I am being facetious, but only kind of. I got confirmation of the whole gluten thing this week, and it is staggering to realize that I have been unknowingly harming my body for who knows how many years. I have always tried to be a healthy eater, but all along I was malnourished. It explains a lot of vague health problems I have had. Ugh.

Time for a fresh start.

the degrading thing that i do

2008-09-30T20:23:00.003-04:00

Sheeesh. One month into the school year and all my stories relate to school. There has got to be more. Um, I could tell you about my chakras, I guess. I found out via an online quiz that my root chakra is terribly blocked. That is one thing I have recently learned (I have been doing Kundalini yoga, and it is apparently a gateway drug other new agey things?). Another non-school thing is that I talk too much about gluten. See, all of these things are coming together in my mind and making me realize that I might need an intervention. A "please stop talking about school/chakras/gluten" type intervention.

But I don't know what else, so just one last school story before I start living it up in some other way and can tell you about that instead.

There is a thing I do that I don't internally approve of and did not come up with, but that is a needed thing for this one kid in my class. It is a daily update sheet that goes through each part of the day - "Writing," "Math," "Snack," etc. I have to assign a smiley face, a straight-mouthed face, or a frowning face for each part, as well as comments. Anyway, I started thinking about what it would be like if someone was following me around all day with a clipboard containing that sheet. Hoooo. That's a horrible, horrible thought.

Getting up: Frown (major abuse of snooze)
Drive to school: Straight line (went kind of fast on the curvy road)
Pre-student-arrival: Straight line (could have been more sharing with the copier)
etc.
I would have gotten a smile at snack (ate all of her banana! GREAT JOB!!!) and possibly at science (effectively used a healthful flower at second dissection attempt!).

But, oh my god. It just adds a whole new perspective. Especially if I have to imagine that the kid actually has to complete the sheet. How degrading!

Lilified

2008-09-26T23:30:00.007-04:00

Just when I start thinking I can drink many glasses of wine on a Thursday night without fretting about my extra-long teaching day on Friday comes one like today. i really, really could have used all of my brain functionality today. Or maybe it wouldn't have mattered, really. It went something like this....

Wouldn't a flower dissection be an interesting way for kids to learn about the parts of flowers? Why yes, it would! Pistil, stamen, anther, etc. - I brushed up on it a bit, but in the end I felt like I needed to buy flowers with as clear-cut examples of these parts as possible. Looking at the alstromeria at Trader Joe's, I couldn't see everything. The more expensive lilies, on the other hand, were gorgeous, big, and very obvious in their anatomy. I decided to buy an extravagant amount - one for each kid, plus a bunch left over to brighten the classroom. I spent a bit more than I meant to, but I thought, fuck it. A lot of things have been hard/upsetting/disappointing lately, and I should buy the prettiest flowers possible.

I walked into school this morning all Miss America-like, with this big spray of lilies across my chest. I was so excited, and expected the kids to immediately start quizzing me about them when they walked in, the way they start quizzing me if my hair is sticking up or I have accidentally worn a similar outfit as the day before. No one said anything about them, though, which I was also kind of happy about, because it would be such a great surprise come science time.

The room was all lilified and fragrant by 11:00. The tighter blooms had opened in the sun. I cut one for each kid, and gave the first set of directions: to make a sketch from the top and one from the side. As I was cutting, I noticed that the anthers (yeah, I've internalized at least that vocab word) were fucking full of pollen. Like, tons of pollen spilling out. I'm not that smart and didn't think much about it except, "Wow. That's a lot of pollen."

Soon, coughs started up around the room. Kids started clearing their throats. "I don't feel right," someone said. "Me either." "My throat itches." "My eyes burn." "My head hurts." "I'm dizzy." Then my personal favorite: "My tongue feels funny."

That did it. As a person with long-standing tongue-feeling-funny paranoia, my attention was caught. I took a good look around at a sea of watery eyes, blotchy skin, and woozy expressions. Shit. I had triggered a mass respiratory event in my classroom! Now my throat was itching like mad, too.

The next minutes were a blur of emergency lily confiscation, rapid-fire hand washing, and classroom evacuation to the fresh air of the outdoors. My fears worsened when about half the class opted to sit listlessly in the wood chips on the playground rather than actually play. I pounded on a colleague's classroom window and asked her to remove and destroy the lilies, open my windows wider, and alert the principal. This colleague later reported that the lily smell upon opening my door was overwhelming, sickening, unbearable...

I gathered the kids in a temporarily empty classroom and read to them, hysterically noting in my mind who was reacting normally and who was not, hoping my voice wasn't betraying my own swollen throat. My students were bizarrely sedate, glassy-eyed, zombie-esque. One girl's throat bloomed with red splotches, and I sent her to the office to be watched over.

I finally took them to lunch, then cried a little from stress and worry. This day was a low, low point in my teaching career thus far. Almost any job seemed preferable. I would have strongly preferred to be a fish-catcher, and I have deep existential fear of both worms and fish.

Instead of eating my lunch, I scrubbed every possible pollen-harboring surface and sniffed the air fretfully. By the time the kids came back in, only a lingering perfume remained. We talked about what had happened, and I explained that the room was now totally lily-free, even though the scent was still there a little.

"Don't we get to take our flowers home?" they cried.

Uh...no.

Heavy Metal Food Fight

2008-09-20T10:30:00.003-04:00

Oh my god! Mike Hentch told us at TV Nigh about doing this heavy metal food fight voiceover for the Del Taco website, with Danny Muggs playing backup on guitar. He had kind of demonstrated, so I knew he had some skillz, but wow. I am so proud to say I know him. If you click on each item at the bottom of the screen (for some reason they are hard to click just right, but be persistent), you can hear their interpretations.

Doomy, gloomy mornings

2008-09-18T22:19:00.005-04:00

I have been springing out of bed so easily these days, because when my radio goes off early, I don't want to loll in bed and listen to NPR like I usually do. I want to propel myself away from the radio, source of all the terrible news and doom and gloom that seems to be so relentless lately. Luckily, my radio is on the side of my bed near the wall, so propelling myself away from it gets me to the bedroom door, not against the wall.

I always thought it would be cool to have some effective way of giving myself reality-check messages in the morning. I used to leave notes: YOU HAVE TO GET UP NOW BECAUSE YOU NEED TO STOP FOR GAS ON THE WAY TO WORK!!! or, YOU DIDN'T MAKE YOUR LUNCH LAST NIGHT AND IT TAKES FOREVER! But when the alarm went off, I never looked at the notes. Even if I had looked at them, I would have thought I was above the person who wrote them. That's how I am in the morning.

Maybe this is one of those pragmatic reasons for cohabitation, like free rides to the airport: someone to make you get up.

With all this American doom/gloom blasting into my ears in the morning, though, I'm able to handle it on my own just fine.

House Schooled

2008-09-16T20:58:00.005-04:00

I had a pile of the Mindless Cutting Tasks that come with being a teacher, and as is my habit, I turned on the TV for distraction. House was on. I watched this show when it first came on a few years ago, then I stopped because every episode was so much the same. It still really annoys me, I found out. Like, they really tolerate this assholery day in, day out? I started to imagine the elementary education version of the show. I am the star, and i am just impossible. However, my genius in the education of children, and solving complex educational problems through out-of-the-box thinking, is unparalleled at my school. Almost every day, or at least on Tuesdays, I get sulky when something doesn't go my way, and I take off, just when a third grader most desperately needs my expertise. My colleagues bumble around ineffectively, trying out different, ill-conceived instructional techniques and losing valuable time. Finally, a male colleague is sent to my house to beg me to come back to work. I make some sexually degrading comments towards him, and he rolls his eyes a bit, but he just refuses to give up on me. He knows that deep down inside, my heart is crying out in pain. They all know it. Finally, I agree to go back, but I twist it to make it seem like it's all on my terms. I sit down with the suffering student, say the rudest things I can think of to make him or her feel like shit, and then a random, over-heard snippet sparks an idea. Just like that, the solution comes to me in a flash of certainty. I know now how to solve this educational problem, and I do so, swiftly and skillfully, in the harrowing last ten minutes of the school day. The student tries to thank me, but I just gnash my teeth and criticize his or her body.

Wouldn't that be an awesome show? I'm going to start thinking about who should play my male colleague, the one who refuses to give up on my frozen heart.

Poor DFW

2008-09-14T20:53:00.004-04:00

Ugh. So sad to hear about David Foster Wallace. I really liked his stuff (although I don't think I finished Infinite Jest, despite a friend urging me on). I still remember picking up Girl With Curious Hair, not really knowing anything about him. There was a story about an actor going on David Letterman that was hilarious and brilliant - at least, I remember it that way. He was also the guest editor of the 2007 Best American Essays, and at first I was not pleased with his choices. They seemed like too much work. I wanted easy, clever essays. These were on a different level, requiring my full attention. His introduction was, of course, extensively footnoted, and he questioned the whole point of choosing the "best" essays. In the end, I enjoyed most of his choices, and appreciated that he didn't just pick the most popular kids of the essay world, as I would surely have done. Now I'm remembering that I had been meaning to check out his collection Consider the Lobster, since I liked the title essay when it appeared in, I think, Gourmet. I guess I still can, right?

Just sad, though. Not like he didn't come across as the depressed type, but it is still shocking when someone who seems to have reached so many of his goals makes the choice to kill himself. Like I know what his goals were, or anything about him, or that it's even a choice! Ha. Silly. Anyway, I obviously put writers on some kind of pedestal, or at least I put The Writing Life on that pedestal. I imagine that if you are able to not only make your living that way, but also be widely lauded for your talent, that would be everything. It's like I missed the Literature 101 class about tortured, depressed, yet successful artists.

It rained all weekend. I stayed home and nursed my cold, except for the hours when I hunched over in the rain, bailing water that was about to stream into my parents' basement.

Autumnal Breakfast, plus My Little Conservative Charges

2008-09-13T10:35:00.004-04:00

I went to bed really early last night (after watching a grainy post of the last Project Runway episode on Youtube), hoping to sleep off this cold that has suddenly sprung up on me. When I woke up today to rainy gloom, I had that fall feeling, even though it's supposed to be in the 70s today. I felt like eschewing my summer breakfast and making something more autumnal. So I made this polenta and tomato concoction. I just sliced some polenta off the tube, sprinkled some pepper and nutritional yeast on it, added a layer of tomato slices, then more pepper, parsley, and a little salt. I baked it for fifteen minutes and it was just exactly what I wanted it to be.

Some recent political comments from my classroom as we have been reading articles about both major candidates and the conventions:

"A Democrat is a person who want to raise taxes and make gas more expensive." (in answer to the question "What does the word "Democrat" mean?")

"John McCain is COOL!" (EEEEEEwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!)

"Sarah Palin is sooo pretty!" (Uuuuuuuuuuuugggggggggghhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!)

"Democrats are tiny little losers!" (from the same kid: "My sister's friend thinks that global warming is real. Isn't that hilarious?")

"Barack Obama kills babies" (OK, that was actually from the classroom next door. Still....I had to hear about it).

Sigh. Ugh. Ouch. Yuck. Gross.

All I can do is keep saying, "Well, that's an OPINION. Let's talk about facts."

The wilting flower of my no-so-secret disinterest in anything

2008-09-09T21:52:00.008-04:00

It's true that, for teachers, August is one long Sunday night, and the first few weeks of September are somehow traumatic. Not that I wasn't in need of some routine and intellectual challenge (teaching actually is an intellectual activity, despite what many think. It is not just about picking out adorable theme outfits, making dittos, and thinking up new ways to torture children). Still, I feel like dropping out of everything. All the commitments I ambitiously made for the school year seem like too much. I want to put in a hard day of work, then lie on the floor all evening and listen to music. That's as far as my ambition stretches right now. I don't even feel like cooking, reading, or watching movies. But Instead of indulging this unmotivated mood, I have signed up for a bunch of classes at the gym to pile on top of my after-school activities. So I guess I'm in all the way now.

On the up side, my lovely art teaching co-worker brought me kale and spinach today, sauteed. She brought me rice pasta with goat cheese and avocado and pesto. She considers me when she puts away her leftovers. To boot, she brought me big fancy gold earrings that dangle way down almost to my shoulders. Tomorrow I am taking her an Indian classical CD that I like for yoga. If I had a desire to cook, and the corresponding leftovers, I would totally take her some.

The last movie I watched from Netflix was an Almodovar one, while I was illin' with food poisoning. It was The Flower of My Secret. I really liked that the main character was, for one thing, an older woman, without it being a movie about "an older woman." I also liked that she couldn't get her boots off and had to pay a panhandler on the street to try to tug them off, unsuccessfully. That was fantastic.

I have decided that these Miz Mooz boots are the ones I would like to get stuck on my feet this fall.

A super grouchy version of "Vegan's 100"

2008-09-05T23:49:00.006-04:00

I'm jumping on this internet food blog list craze, even though I'm not really sure what the point of noting foods I have eaten or would never eat really is, or why anyone should care. I also don't know what it is all supposed to say about me. It's pretty damn privileged to fetishize food in this way. I'm going to provide notes, which isn't in the instructions, because I guess then it becomes about prompting stories rather than just obsessing about food.

Yeah, I don't know what the point is, but I can never sleep and it's something to do.

Here are the instructions for the "Vegan's 100" challenge. It comes from the "Omnivore's 100," which is pointless for me to try. Also, the word "challenge" can't be right, can it? I must have made it up to make myself seem more Olympian in taking on the task, or something.

***
VEGAN'S 100

Your mission, should you choose to accept it:

1) Copy this list into your own blog, including these instructions. (google it to find a clean list w/o my dumb notes)
2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating. (don't know how to cross out on this blog template so am putting a bold x next to those)
4) Post a comment here once you’ve finished and link your post back to this one.
5) Pass it on!

1. Natto Determined to like it back in the day; mostly succeeded. Pictured above.
2. Green Smoothie frozen mango, frozen pineapple, water, and spinach is how I like it
3. Tofu Scramble Like it best when others prepare it for me
4. Haggis X I'm flummoxed about why this is on the vegan list.
5. Mangosteen
6. Creme brulee not a big dessert person but I like the way the burned sugar makes the crust for your spoon to break through
7. Fondue childhood New Year's Eve food (family tradition)
8. Marmite/Vegemite Tried during a student's Australia presentation
9. Borscht I love beets but I'm underwhelmed/grossed out by borscht.
10. Baba ghanoush A fine use of eggplant
11. Nachos Loved to eat them with giant margaritas at the Del Rio in Ann Arbor. Del Rio is gone, as is my desire for nachos.
12. Authentic soba noodles Taught how to make them from scratch by a sweatband-wearing grandpa in Toyota City
13. PB&J sandwich Who hasn't?
14. Aloo gobi When is the last time I ate Indian food, anyway?
15. Taco from a street cart
16. Boba Tea I had to google it to find out that it's bubble tea. I've tried it but didn't quite get what the big thing was.
17. Black truffle This may or may not be what Carrie's neighbor handed over the fence to us after a lucrative mushroom gathering day.
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes Cherry wine and plum wine. They are way too sweet, but some version of me once liked them.
19. Gyoza I like the frozen vegetable gyoza from Trader Joe's.
20. Vanilla ice cream Suffered teasing over my preference for it above all other exotic flavors
21. Heirloom tomatoes accidentally spent a crazy amount of money on them last summer (learned valuable lesson about noticing prices)
22. Fresh wild berries Wistful about berry patches of my youth.
23. Ceviche X
24. Rice and beans I was a Vegetarian College Student
25. Knish
26. Raw scotch bonnet pepper X
27. Dulce de leche Went through a weird phase in Japan where I would buy tiny one- or two-serving containers of dulce de leche or rum raisin ice cream, two flavors that I had never wanted before and haven't since.
28. Caviar Awkward "fancy restaurant after treating me to VIP sumo tournament experience" situation with student and her mom
29. Baklava A bad choice for the cavity-prone (me)
30. Pate X
31. Wasabi peas I like them, but can't eat them now that I'm gluten free. Yeah, I've recently become that much more annoying to feed. My stomach isn't killing me all the time, though.
32. Chowder in a sourdough bowl X
33. Mango lassiMango tastes like sunshine and rainbows. I'll take it in any form.
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float Sometimes we blended it to make a cooler.
36. Mulled ciderThe cider mill I pass on my way to and from school just opened for the season, which is sort of tragic, summer-wise. I get excited about mulled cider, but usually end up drinking my cider cold, instead.
37. Scones with buttery spread and jam The Swan tea room, London
38. Vodka jelly
39. Gumbo Howe's Bayou has vegetarian gumbo now
40. Fast food french fries I'm sure I ate enough fries in my 0-16 years to even out the last twenty, in which I haven't eaten any.
41. Raw Brownies
42. Fresh Garbanzo Beans Or maybe I haven't. What is a "fresh" garbanzo bean? I will say that I have never met a garbanzo bean I didn't like, so if I had the chance to eat a fresh one, I definitely did.
43. Dahl I used to cook this a lot.
44. Homemade Soymilk
45. Wine from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Stroopwafle
47. Samosas Saturdays, street vendor in flea market district of Nagoya
48. Vegetable Sushi My top takeout (clarification: My only takeout)
49. Glazed doughnut Possibly never actually enjoyed it.
50. Seaweed Love to eat nori by the crispy sheet.
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi Near-daily lunch in Japan consisted of a seaweed-wrapped rice triangle (onigiri) with umeboshi at the center, from convenience store. Wish our 7-11 sold that.
53. Tofurkey Expensive, depressing, gross.
54. Sheese
55. Cotton candy Carnival, Warren, OH
56. Gnocchi My free-association brain says, "mommy."
57. Piña colada X
58. Birch beer
59. Scrapple X
60. Carob chips I was a Hippie Day Care Employee
61. S’mores Preferably slightly charred.
62. Soy curls
63. Chickpea cutlets
64. Curry Indian style, Japanese style
65. Durian Just dried, not fresh.
66. Homemade Sausages Why is this on the vegan list??? Or...I guess there is a recipe in Vegan with a Vengeance that I would try for white bean and tempeh sausage
67. Churros, elephant ears, or funnel cake My sister was the real elephant ear aficionado.
68. Smoked tofui used to eat this kind of thing a lot. what do i eat now? this list is full of things i used to eat.
69. Fried plantain
70. Mochi Every year in Japan, several old and young people choke on it and die while celebrating the arrival of a new year.
71. Gazpacho I only made it once this summer, which seems incredibly sad right now
72. Warm chocolate chip cookies The Saturn dealership never had the fresh, warm cc cookies the ad campaigns promised. They were boxed and heated, I believe.
73. Absinthe
74. Corn on the cob Weird to think some people haven't tried it. I'm all midwestern America-centric like that.
75. Whipped cream, straight from the can
76. Pomegranate Tastes good but dries out my teeth.
77. Fauxstess Cupcake X
78. Mashed potatoes with gravy Like the potatoes, hate everything about gravy
79. Jerky X
80. Croissants I'm not sure I have every had one that is the correct consistency/flakiness. It's usually a plastic-wrapped feature of some begrudging, last-ditch attempt to feed myself when there is nothing else for the vegetarian/sugarphobe at the breakfast meeting.
81. French onion soup I made a labor-intensive vegetarian version for a date once. Something happened - a culinary disaster of some type. I have blocked it out, but it reverberates in my inability to date and my disinterest in french onion soup.
82. Savory crepes Eaten in Paris, at a creperie near our hotel on our "spoiled suburban high school student art history trip" (thanks, mom and dad)
83. Tings
84. A meal at Candle 79
85. Moussaka A way to ruin eggplant
86. Sprouted grains or seeds I've eaten many a health food restaurant salad in my day.
87. Macaroni and “cheese”
88. Flowers I once put them on top of a stir-fry, back before I was bitter and hopeless.
89. Matzoh ball soup
90. White chocolate Easter basket bunnies. Always gave them to my mom (coincidence?)
91. Seitan I can't eat it without thinking of the Mol Triffid song, "Satin Rules," about people trying to be all bad-ass and spelling Satan wrong in their grafitti.
92. Kimchi Question: Why don't I ever go out for Korean food anymore?
93. Butterscotch chips Was thinking about butterscotch today, possibly because of my fake caged classroom pet by the same name.
94. Yellow watermelon
95. Chili with chocolate After disliking chocolate my whole life, I have come to understand that I like very, very dark chocolate with something spicy in it.
96. Bagel and Tofutti
97. Potato milk
98. Polenta Mollie can prepare it best.
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Raw cookie dough annual stomachache after xmas cookie making

****

There. Fascinating, I'm sure. I killed an hour. I took my mind off some stuff. My eyes are a little tired. I hope a will sleep. Of all these foods, I would like to dream about butterscotch, which seems like a warm, safe, childhood kind of food. Please, no dreams about potato milk. That seems upsetting even to me. I imagine the potatoes hooked up to a milking machine, producing super starchy milk. Ugh.

Death Bed

2008-08-31T23:49:00.004-04:00

Rock solid logic from a food poisoning-compromised brain: I will set my alarm for two hours from now so that I can find out if I have died in my sleep or not. I will set the backup alarm for two hours after that, so I can keep checking my status throughout the night.

That was me last night. In all, I had two days in bed, illin' like crazy. I don't know if I have ever been so sick, or so illogical. I couldn't drink water, let alone eat. I dropped four pounds. Waking up with a palpitating heart and the dizzies (nod to Liza Minelli in Arrested Development) set me into full-blown panic that I was in a dehydrated state and about to slip into a coma or die. Google will do that to you. So I came up with the alarm clock plan. I'm pleased to report that I wasn't dead either time my alarm went off.

Photo is of my food poisoning culprit: my beloved carrot juice. I blame myself, not the juice. I exercised poor judgement and carelessness. I hope the day will come when I can stand the thought of carrot juice again. According to everything I saw online, botulism is the food borne illness most associated with carrot juice. That would have been worse (paralysis...). My carrot juice went easy on me, relatively speaking.

third post of the day and sexing things up

2008-08-23T23:20:00.006-04:00

i know, what's wrong with me? this is what happens when i don't leave the house all day, i reckon. i had actually meant to write about something else, not gram parsons. that just slipped out. what i meant to say was that i found this apartment that i'm going to look at tomorrow. actually, it's a house. anyway, it sounds really ideal (price, location, and amenities-wise), but there weren't any pictures. i'm nervous because the landlady told me to drive by it first, then as a second step to look in the windows, then if i was STILL interested, call her and she'll come show it to me. it sort of seemed like she doesn't expect anyone to really get beyond step one and two. So then she said that there is something falling apart on the porch, and don't worry, she is going to fix it and replace the door now that the other tenant is out. also, something about the tenant having left a bed in the backyard? i don't know... it's raining like hell right now all over that bed.

It's all a bit sketchy, no? But just perfect enough price/place/amenities-wise that i will have to embark on at least step 1 tomorrow.

The other thing was that i got in trouble at my painting class for not following directions very well. true, i was supposed to paint the kitchen sink. also true, i totally cheated and painted my pretty rainbow-edged colander filled with blueberries, with the stainless steel sink surface below it. the teacherchastised me for taking this mundane subject, which apparently was mundane for a purpose, and sexing it up. what can i say? everything i touch gets sexed all up. GET USED TO IT.

Movies, music, and doom

2008-08-23T22:39:00.007-04:00

Brendan Benson has not yet been bested by Yo La Tengo, but there is still almost an hour and a half left in the day. That sentence will only make sense if you read the last post, by the way. Actually, I took a break from my Stockholm Syndrome pity party and watched the Gram Parsons documentary, Fallen Angel. It was pretty good, considering there are no interviews with him, except two short audio snippets where he talks about working with Emmylou Harris. Anyway, I knew about his tragic end, or thought I did, but it's quite a bit more tragic than I realized. I only have one Gram Parsons song on ITunes and I have listened to it, let's see...twenty times less than Stockholm Syndrome and 66 times less than Metarie (why so many listens for that one? I like it, but it's not like it's my favorite song ever written. Weird). I like GP's music in theory, but I have never really dug into it; it all kind of sounds alike on the surface. He was pretty mesmerizing to look at, till he got bloated and old at 26...

Last week I watched the Townes Van Zandt doc Be Here to Love Me, which I had partly seen on PBS. Loved it. Didn't I mention that the theme of the summer is Doomed Geniuses of American Music? Hopefully I am not somehow accidentally dooming Brendan Benson or Georgia, Ira, and James of YLT in the process!

I haven't really been managing my netflix list, just getting whatever is next on the queue without much fiddling around. The other one I just watched was Lars and the Real Girl, which was too quirky and folksy for me. I am only willing to suspend my disbelief so far...

Oops, there is less than an hour left in the day now. There is no possible way I can listen to that song 46 times, even if it is only two minutes, fifty-one seconds long.

Carpal Tunnel and Heartbreak/ache

2008-08-23T14:19:00.005-04:00

When I decided to cave and pay for wireless internet in my home, I expected convenience and new excitement. I didn't expect carpal tunnel and heartbreak.

But that is what I got. Also, heartache.

Stockholm Syndrome by Yo La Tengo is still my favorite song for that fucked-up heartbreak/ache mood. I predict that by the end of the day it will surpass my current most-played song on ITunes (Metarie, by Brendan Benson).

I just listed six cute pairs of shoes on eBay. I hope people will buy them so that I can get the shoes I really want for school. Comfortable, sensible shoes. Is the frivolous, uncomfortable-but-cute shoes phase of my life over? Oh my god. Cue Stockholm fucking Syndrome.

name-dropping and pitchers

2008-08-21T16:16:00.005-04:00

Don't let the back-to-school hype fool you; summer is not over! Proof: sangria.

There are many ways to make sangria, but this was a no-nonsense and simple way: fruity Hungarian Merlot, cut up apples, pears, grapes, plums, slices of orange... just left to soak together in the pitcher. The recipe called for agave nectar and/or maple syrup, but I left them out and it was plenty sweet.

Mostly I just want to show off my pretty Iittala pitcher, which i barely ever use.

Asterisk Plate

2008-08-17T23:52:00.006-04:00

There are lots of things I just don't need more of, like black shirts and plates. But how can one resist an asterisk plate? Alice and I found it at an antiques shop Friday night. It was cheap and an ASTERISK, which is a great punctuation mark (although an ellipsis would have been the real score, since that is the punctuation mark I abuse). There was a larger plate with an exclamation point. "Chips and salsa," Alice suggested, and she was right. But the exclamation point seemed kind of gaudy. The asterisk was just right.

It will look great filled with candy or nuts or something, right? For the time in the future when I have people over. I wanted to try filling it, but of course I have nothing interesting to test it out with. I finally settled on dried kidney beans, just to get an idea.

I like it quite a lot.

Three more things:
1. Yesterday at the bookstore, I saw a magazine called "Natural Dog." Natural dog? Are there other options for dog-hood? Maybe it's all about resisting the urge to buy your dog clothes or to feed it conventionally produced dog food. I don't know...

2. Also, in another magazine I looked at, there was an article by my train romance, whom I once wrote about here. It's all about his family's crazy adventures roughing it. I'm glad it didn't work out, because I don't really like to rough it. It's hard when you wear contacts.

3. Today I made a potato salad that contained potatoes, chives, capers, and a mustard/vinegar/caper juice/olive oil dressing. No mayo, of course. I don't normally cook potatoes, but I like this, and it was for my dad's birthday dinner. Although it is not his real birthday. On his real birthday (65th), he got into a car accident, broke his nose, cut his eye, which swelled to the size of a small egg, bled profusely all over his clothes, and had the new car he was just driving home from the dealership smashed. So for him, I make potatoes.

Owls and Rivers

2008-08-16T10:50:00.009-04:00

I realized last night that I'm somewhat scared of owls. Not of physical owls; we don't really cross paths. But I'm scared of liking owls and owl motifs too much.

Take this woodblock print:

It is by Kawano, an artist who I love. I would love to own a Kawano print, and I like this one (although there are others I like more). Last night on eBay, it was at $9.99, but that will not stay. It will go quite high, and so I am not bothering right now, as it's belt-tightening time, not art-buying time. I like to fantasize once in awhile is all.

Anyway, the owls. I don't know why my mind is stuck in junior high lately, but there was this teacher there who was head-to-toe owl lady. Not Ms. G-W, but Miss H. Miss H. struck me even then as a tragic, tragic owl-adorned figure. She was probably close to retirement and could not relate to the students at all. She was grumpy and mean. Consequently, the students were not kind (I was among them). And the owls. Good lord, the owls dangling around her neck, from her ears, perched on her desk, etc. Big, ornate owls.

So I don't want to be like her, you know? Liking owls can lead to bad things.

Also, rivers. I love rivers as a motif, and I think that's OK; I never had a tragic teacher who wore voluminous river jewelry. But I've been wanting to move, and thinking about the concept of place, and this print made me think:

It is a lovely one, by Koitsu. See the lovely summer night on the river? I look at this and could cry at how much I want to be in that scene, on a river in Kyoto, fitting in and drinking at one of those glowing inns or in that little boat, looking at all the lights and stars. The thing is, I basically live on a river right now. I'm steps from being riverside. Across the street is a hotel with a restaurant that looks over the river. There are several restaurants, in fact, along the river. But it's not the right river, and they're not the right restaurants, and there sure as hell is no little pleasure boat like that.

See, some people are disappointed because they expect reality to be like the movies. It's woodblock prints that get to me.

But really, is it so wrong to want to do a bit of sophisticated merrymaking in a little lantern-strung pleasure boat on a romantic river under a clear, unpolluted night sky? It seems like it should be do-able.

Art inspiration

2008-08-15T00:31:00.003-04:00

I meant to add another heroine to the previous post: the author of this cooking site from Spain. She is a phenomenal artist. Many of the recipes involve meat, so I don't go there for the recipes, necessarily, although I always find them interesting. Really, I go for the paintings, because they are so lovely.

I have an assignment to paint my kitchen sink before next Tuesday's watercolor class. I hope I can channel lobstersquad...

Random thought-gatherings (fair warning: involves wine)

2008-08-14T23:58:00.005-04:00

1. The lovely meal Jen S-G and I ate: Chopped-up things meant to be wrapped into Thai fresh rolls, but which became a salad due to tearing fresh roll wrappers. Such a good, good thing to eat...

2. Why am I getting mad about the scoring for the Olympic gymnastics competition right now? Why am I even watching it? Why haven't I gone to bed? Why this foolishness? (that came from a high school English teacher I know who wanted to write "WTF???" on some of her students' papers, and tried to come up with an acceptable reason, like "Why this foolishness?" My thought was "Where's the focus," which only highlights my squareness).

3. Added to my cadre of heroines, along with Lynda Barry, the "Picture Lady" who presents at my school, and others, is Vivian Vasquez. You might not be interested if you are not an educator. But if you are an educator? Seek her out right now! She has a blog and a podcast and uses technology in classrooms in a good way (i.e., the kids actually use it).

4. Today I went to school to start setting stuff up. The desks looked really, really small. I feel far from the reality which is about to descend upon me.

A thicker skin (plus a new coat)

2008-08-13T13:56:00.009-04:00

I had my painting class last night. God. I enjoy the physical act of it, but it is hard on my ego. Last week, we worked on color values, and to practice we had to paint a selection of black-spectrum buttons on black paper, and then a selection of white-spectrum buttons on white paper. I sucked at it. I have never been good at faithfully copying stuff anyway, and the colors were hard for me to replicate. I also misunderstood the homework and felt embarrassed, although as a teacher, this is information that can be put to use in the future. File under, "empathy when someone misunderstands her or his homework."

Last night, we did a variety of things, but I just felt like the teacher kept going to the other new students and saying, "Wow!" "Good!" "You've really got it!" etc., and just kind of looking at mine without comment. I keep meaning to grow a thicker skin, and then forgetting to do so. Instead I just keep buying new jackets, which is not the same at all.

Anyway, it reminds me of the time in junior high school when my teacher, Ms. G-W., gave everyone in the class an adorable nickname, usually consisting of some form of their real name with "-ski" tacked onto the end. For example, Brad became Bradski. Jennifer became Jenny-ski. These names were said lightly, with a shared fondness or secret implied. My name, however, stayed exactly the same. No -ski was added, and the voice returned to normal seriousness when it was said, placing me firmly outside her whimsical circle. In retrospect, this is a fantastic thing. I might have gone down an entirely different path if I had been wrapped into this little sorority training group. At the time, though, I took it as further proof that I didn't fit in and had deserved to be left by my one good friend for the cheerleaders. I know. I'm like the only person you have ever heard about having a hard time in junior high. All I can say is, good thing for the Cure and the Smiths, who were there through thick skin and thin (mostly thin). See how Robert Smith stuck by me even when I was alone in my room, all sullen, with a shower cap and panty hose on my head?
Take that, Ms. G-W! What a shitty teacher. I'm sure she thought she was a great one.

Anyway, I didn't really mean to go down that path, because my painting teacher is not shitty. She is good, and she is honest. I'm kind of lazy and ridiculously crave validation. I'm starting a skin-thickening program right now. Please hurl insults at me when we meet so that I can use it to better myself. Is that Am I Hot or Not? website still around? I am so posting a picture of myself in a bathing suit right now.

OK, maybe not. I am in one of my semi-annual Unsuccessfully Attempting to Date phases. That may be a good enough skin thickening exercise in itself.

I did get a new coat for fall. The welcome-back letter came from the superintendent. One must cope somehow.

Eggplant picture

2008-08-12T16:01:00.005-04:00

Finally, the much anticipated eggplant picture! See how Michigan-esque? Sure, the thumb area is a bit exaggerated, but still. I can't use it to show you where I live, however, because it's already been cut up and marinated with tomatoes and basil. Yum! Here's the recipe I used (loosely):

Marinated Tomatoes and Eggplant

1. Turn on broiler.
2. Mix together 3 T. balsamic vinegar, 2 T. olive oil and 2 cloves of garlic, crushed.
3. Cut up 2 small eggplants (mitten-shaped optional), toss with half the dressing, and broil for 3-4 minutes. Toss/turn pieces over, and broil for a few more minutes.
4. Cut up 2 or 3 tomatoes (any shape OK)
5. Combine tomatoes, eggplant, remaining dressing, and 2 T. or so chopped basil.
6. Let marinate for at least an hour, up to overnight. Serve chilled.

Michigan-Shaped Eggplant

2008-08-10T03:01:00.004-04:00

Today this eggplant-loving Michigan girl scored big at the farmer's market:

A Michigan-shaped eggplant.

(where is the USB cord for my camera???)

Michigan is in a terrible way, economy-wise. People are losing their jobs, their homes... The auto industry is going belly-up. It's hard to feel great about anything.

Our mitten shape, however, is a constant, economy-proof source of joy. This eggplant celebrates what's right about Michigan, minus the upper peninsula.

(If only you could see it! Where is that cord?)

warm beer in a cold mug

2008-08-05T21:32:00.004-04:00

I am, indeed, drinking warm beer in a cold (frosted) mug in recognition/celebration of the following facts:

1. Despite waving her frightening fingernails centimeters from my face during dozens of expansive gestures at our training today, my principal somehow did not put out my eye.

2. I have polished off a few more of the walnut-stuffed pickled baby eggplants that Chris and I bought in Skokie. I am always fearful of them, as is she, because they may or may not be properly sealed, and the labels are usually translucent from oil - but from the jar, or another source? It's kind of sketchy, but we like them anyway.

3. There was actually a frosty mug in the freezer when I wanted one!

opening the conversation

2008-08-02T16:46:00.005-04:00

Do you know about the durian fruit?

The durian is known for its powerfully rank smell. Its smell is considered so bad that is in fact banned from many public places in Thailand, Singapore, and Malaysia. I have tasted the durian only in dried form. It tasted fine, but with a weird aftertaste that I think relates to its infamous smell.

Do you know about the peanut?

The peanut is known to cause allergic reactions in a growing number of people. Unlike most other food allergies, a peanut allergy can be airborne. The slightest trace of peanut dust can be like anthrax if it hits the right set of nostrils. Consequently, "peanut-free zones" are set up in schools and some other public places.

Do you know about tuna?

Tuna has an incredibly strong smell. To people who like the taste of it, this strong smell apparently is a good one. To people who do not like the taste, the smell is nightmarish. Take me, for example. One whiff is all it takes for a major gagging reaction to unfurl. One whiff. I bring this up because of recently being in a close-quarters tuna situation, in which the person next to me in a closed-up, airless conference room LINGERED over a tuna sandwich over the course of several hours. Lingered, I tell you. For hours I breathed through my mouth, waiting for her to please, god, finish the sandwich and throw the remains far, far away. In the meantime, I couldn't focus on the conversation or add to it, so I'm sure I came off looking like a mouth-breathing imbecile. All of my resources were engaged in not becoming sick from the smell - the overwhelming, gut-wrenching smell!

This has also happened to me in an airplane. An airplane must be a tuna sandwich-free zone! I'd totally support the airlines in searching carry-on luggage for tuna sandwiches before boarding.

Please, tuna eaters of the world, do not enjoy your sandwiches and salads in closed-in places. I'm gagging right now just thinking about it - even the memory of the tuna smell is that strong!

And don't even get me started on the time I bought what I thought was a plain roll at a bakery in Japan only to bite in and discover that it was FILLED WITH TUNA. I can't go back to that dark place to tell you what happened next, but I will say that it was the impetus for me to get serious about learning to read more Japanese...

limoncello

2008-07-23T23:54:00.002-04:00

That is the limoncello my mom and I made. We soaked the peels of about 5 lemons in vodka for four days, then today we combined 1% milk and sugar and cooked it up, combined it with the infused vodka, and bottled it to take on our annual "up north" trip with the fam. It's good. I had never had a creamy limoncello, and generally I don't go for creamy things, but my mom found the recipe and really wanted to try it, and it is lovely.

Mollie says that when she texts my name it comes out as 'Messhut." I think that might be my new name for my apartment.

The days lately are weird. I guess I did injure my back, and it's causing my legs to hurt, too. I am trying to rest a lot, but as a result, I can't sleep at night from the inactivity. I am going out and doing things, but not exercising except for stretching. It also seems like I keep wearing the same shirt. That is an unrelated issue, though.

I'm taking a painting class and it feels great. I can't wait until I get to try out my new skillz on F.I.A.T.

2008-07-21T22:36:00.003-04:00

So, I finally made peace with the fact of getting an occasional pedicure, and now this. That is completely horrific. Jen says that it is also horrific to people who aren't terrified of fish as I am. Is it true?

I am so tired. Partly because my sleep was marred by a bad feeling in my back and legs. I have had this before and I think it is a spinning-related injury. I got up at around 3 to google "Spinning lower back" and got quite far through one article before I realized it referred to using a spinning wheel, not pedaling on a bike going nowhere at a gym. Apparently the spinning wheel can also aggravate the lower back. The tip-off, finally, was when the author suggested switching to a kitchen chair. It just didn't seem as effective as a bike.

Beware the 'Zilla!

2008-07-20T16:42:00.004-04:00

Having reliable internet access at home has made a huge difference in my life. Yes, I caved and stopped relying on unreliable others. Now I can do all the important stuff I need to do, like finally confirm that, yes, the woman in my one Pilates DVD is indeed the actress who played Kathy, Buffy's evil roommate! Critical stuff like that...

You might be interested to know that the monster that lives in Lake Merritt in Oakland has been named Merrittzilla . I find it kind of cool.

2008-07-19T20:07:00.005-04:00

One benefit of the aforementioned New Bed is that in moving the dreaded Old Bed (which I gave away on freecycle) I found the ring I have been missing for many months now. The one that a student noticed was missing from my finger, which made me feel like my students watch me a little too closely, perhaps. But anyway, it is back on the middle finger of my left hand, like it had never been gone. Yea. I feel that my good luck begins now.
It's weird because I'm restless, kind of, but I don't feel like going anywhere. Usually when I feel this way I just want to go somewhere, anywhere. But I don't. I want to stay home, but in a new kind of way. What would be a fresh, interesting new way to stay home? Probably I will just read my Amy Hempel book. I actually haven't just stayed in and read in awhile.
I put up some of my pictures from NM on the post a few below.

2008-07-19T17:11:00.003-04:00

I have a new bed, and it's lovely. It's all about newness - new bed, new mattress, new sheets, new quilt. Newnewnew. I went with a quilt because no matter what preventive steps I take (tying the corners, mild sedatives, etc.), my duvet always slips out of its cover and I get all tangled up in it. It is a really gross feeling somehow and I'm DONE. Anyway, I love my new Bed plus Accessories, even though I keep bumping my knee on the corner of the frame. That's just my bed's way of reminding me not to take it for granted. Really, it's more than a bed. It's a receptacle for my hopes and dreams. I can tell my bed anything and it won't judge me. I am trying to stay on its good side by not filling it with magazines like I did my old bed. I got up and put my magazine in the living room last night when I was ready to turn off the light. I want to be a good steward of this bed, you know? I made it today and even tucked the quilt into the sides because then it looks very modern and streamlined. I propped the first set of pillows against the slanted headboard and then I propped the other pillows, the ones with the shams, over those. It was very responsible of me.

Did I mention that the quilt is reversible? The other side is orange!!! This is why I picked out sheets with red, orange, and pink stripes. The quilt was $48, marked down from $200. Because it's reversible, I consider each side to have cost only $24. The real savings will be in better sleep from not having to wrestle with it all night like I did that stupid duvet.

So, that's what's new with me.

Caring about deer

2008-07-03T18:05:00.003-04:00

Today, when I pulled into my parking lot, a deer was meandering about between the cars.

I see them all the time on my way to and fro school, often in various states of decomposition along the side of the road. Never in my parking lot, though. I felt bad for it. It so does not belong in this parking lot. I just kept looking at it, trying to convey to it that if it wanted to follow me, I would lead it to safety. But I don't think it got my drift. I tried English, French, Japanese, hand movements, interpretive dance, etc., but still it just stood there frozen, as though in proverbial headlights, too dense to get the message.

I also have been thinking that I would like to build some bridges across the roads specifically for deer to use for crossing. But I'm worried that, again, I wouldn't be able to communicate this news to the deer population, and the bridges would go unused. You know?

Big Brother figure wanted

2008-07-01T19:20:00.003-04:00

Blogger is taking an agonizingly long time to add photos today, so I can't be bothered with it for the last post right now. Maybe I'll put them on my flickr page one of these days soon.

The last post is really, really long. I don't expect anyone to actually read it. I think that was more for myself.

I have committed to writing 20 minutes a day. It reminds me of a post from last summer, when I was writing every day and, basically, laughing at Hemingway. He had what seemed to me to be ridiculously easy writing goals for himself. But here I am, unsure whether I can actually manage 20 minutes a day (or a cumulative total of 100 minutes a week). I sure as hell have the time. I have vast acres and long swaths of time. But I also have a bad case of ennui. Ennui cripples me. How do I shake it?

My favorite bar in Detroit is Cliff Bell's. It's so fancy and beautiful. I had been there before, but never to see music. Jen and Deborah and I went to see ladies play music Sunday night. There are little tables with chairs to sit in while the music is playing, which seemed exotic. It also seems like a natural/inevitable progression in my life. I may suddenly be too old to go to bars where I have to stand up to watch the music. My pins enjoy a break now and then.

Last night I watched the Wilco documentary, I am Trying to Break Your Heart. It added melancholy to my ennui, although I'm not sure why. So now I have melennui.

I think it has to do with the creative process, and people living their real creative potential. I feel like I flee from my creative potential, or that it inhabits my home in the form of dust bunnies. At the retreat, the vast, epic chunks of time were motivating, not frightening. I think, sadly, that I feel like I'm not quite real if I'm alone too much. I need to know I'm being watched or something...

A lot of detail about my trip

2008-06-25T17:28:00.007-04:00

I'm at the Albuquerque Airport - I mean, Sunport, as it is really called. Anyway, one important outcome of this trip is that I can now confidently spell "Albuquerque." That's new.

It feels like I have been gone many weeks, have walked many moons, etc. It's weird, because my trip turned out not really how I thought it would, but so much better. Although I did have a few footwear issues, my fears of the previous post did not materialize. Instead, I accomplished a lot at the retreat (which seems like forever ago now) - I felt good about my writing, met very cool people, and realized that I like being in a place with really good-smelling air. After the retreat, which was at Pretty Fancy Place just outside of the city of Santa Fe, I went into the city and dropped my new friend Jenny off at the super gorgeous, amazing, and fancy-ass inn/resort where her friend worked and so where she was staying for cheap. After touring the grounds, opening the door to the eucalyptus steam room, drinking fruit-infused water in the lobby, and learning about the place's rich history, including a resident ghost, I moved on to my accomodations, which can only be described as a motor lodge with plastic-y bedspreaded rooms. Oh well. It was within walking distance to a lot of bars, you know? So way better, really.

I had major culture shock in Santa Fe. It seemed like just super-expensive shops and galleries, older, wealthy tourist ladies in vaguely southwestern-themed clothing, and ultra-exclusive-everything. Ugh. I hung out there Sunday night, when I got in, and just wondered where the real people like to go. I had dinner at the fancy inn with Jenny and her nice friend, Maggie, then wandered around more, and I decided to go on a road trip the next day. I got up early and took the "high road" to Taos (as opposed to the quicker, less scenic (so they say, but it's also amazing, I found out on my way back) "low road"), stopping at little towns and sights along the way. Dude, it totally changed my feelings about the whole area. It was so beautiful, the whole way. I loved the little towns, which were so not glamorous in any way, although they have been somewhat artified as galleries have moved in. No matter; these towns are just so lovely in their way. One place I stopped was Chimayo (accent over the o), home to the Santuario de Chimayo, with its supposedly healing dirt. I got there at 9:00 am, which is when it opened (yes, I hit the road early this day), and as I went through the church, I just felt so scared. I have always been scared of religious things. This was just full-on creepy. There were bleeding Jesus images everywhere, in all types of art media. There was a wall of crutches that people had left after rubbing the holy dirt on their legs and being healed. There were offerings - photos, baby shoes, crosses made of twigs - all over the church and grounds. Whoa. It was seriously frightening to me, although I guess I can't explain why. Supernatural things are just creepy to me, I guess. OK, anyway, the dirt is in this little room off the main chapel. You have to duck through a low doorway, and then you see the hole in the concrete floor. Down in the hole is the miracle-giving dirt, with plastic sand shovels stuck in it. If you bring your own container (or buy one for $2.50 in the gift shop), you can get some for yourself.

I hadn't brought a container.

I loved the town of Chimayo. It is also known for its weaving, although I have the wool thing and so couldn't get into that. ("The wool thing" refers to an allergy). I just liked driving the windy mountainous little roads and seeing the half-falling down houses, which I don't mean in a demeaning way. I find that far more beautiful than big, new houses. There were tiny, nicely signed restaurants and art galleries stuck in here and there. A dog growled at me and prevented me from going into one local artist's place. The local artists aren't rich people from Santa Fe. They are people who live there and are supposed to, and also make art, and, in some cases, have mean dogs.

To speed things along, I will say that after leaving Chimayo, it was one incredible "blink and miss it" town after another. I eventually wound my way to Taos, had lunch at an outdoor burrito place, and felt an almost immediate need to get out of Taos. Also arty, rich, expensive (although later I'd change my mind about this). I went to Taos Pueblo. It was the best part of my day. I looked around, took a tour, talked for a long time with a super cool woman who lives on the pueblo and makes paintings, soap, etc. (see picture of her painting), ate fry bread for the first time, and got drenched in a sudden thunderstorm. The artist was concerned that her teenager daughter only wears black these days, and I was able to talk her down on that. I felt comfortable enough that I could ask her what she felt about all these tourists (like me) hanging around the place where she lives. She said she got upset at some ladies the day before who asked her how she goes to the bathroom, but that for the most part people are sensitive and that she can't remember it being any other way. I read that tourists sometimes think that the pueblo residents going about their daily lives is some kind of re-enactment, for their tourism pleasure, when in fact they are actually just cooking their food/getting their water/etc. I guess my thing is that I do some reading beforehand, you know?

After getting soaked at the pueblo, I drove to the Rio Grande Gorge bridge. It is a bridge of some distinction, and you can walk across it and look at the deeply cut gorge below. There were thunderstorms all throughout the area - I could see them in the distance at that point - and the wind made me a little reluctant to lean to far over the railing of the bridge. It swayed like crazy when trucks went over. I normally don't have a height worry, but I guess I do have a thing about falling into a gorge. I got back in the car and drove further on, to the Earthship settlement, where I learned all about these super sustainable homes built of old tires and cans, and with all kinds of off-the-grid features. It was actually quite beautiful. I liked going from the pueblo, which has been there for at least 800 years, to the super-futuristic earthship. Past and future actually had quite a lot in common.

Still not ready to go back to Santa Fe, I instead drove up, north of Taos, to Arroyo Seco. I loved this little town, at the base of Taos Mountain. Beautiful and small and cool in a not-too-arty way. I met a nice older cowboy-like gentleman who welcomed me to town and was very disappointed that I wouldn't be able to make the Fourth of July parade. He gave me his business card, which indicates that he is or aspired at one time to be a New Mexico senator, and said that next time I'm in the area, I should call so that he can show me around on horseback. I gave him my email address, swept up in the friendliness of it all, and he has already emailed me, lamenting that he could neither show me around on his horses this time nor welcome me to the Fourth of July parade.

Finally, I went back to Santa Fe, had dinner at the Cowgirl Hall of Fame place, which was pretty cool, and then met up with Jenny and Maggie for music (Maggie is an awesome musician) and drinks at Jenny's hotel.

The last full day in Santa Fe, Jenny and I walked around, went to the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum, which I have long wanted to go to, sat by the pool at her hotel (although she had already checked out - so rebellious!), and drove up a mountain to 10,000 Waves, the super fantastic Japanese-style spa, where we used the Women's Communal Bath. Oh my god. It was a heavenly rotation of hot bath, sauna, cold plunge; hot bath, sauna, cold plunge; lie around on the deck; repeat. I felt so good after that. If I lived there, I would be there all the time.

We went to Albuquerque (see, I know how to spell it) that night, got a hotel room near the airport. Jenny left early the next morning, but my flight wasn't until afternoon, so I went to Old Town Albuquerque - disappointing, since again it seemed to exist solely for tourists. I hung out just long enough to eat a bowl of grilled vegetables with salsa and guacamole, then left for the Indian Pueblo Cultural Center, a museum. I liked that a lot. There was an exhibit focusing on seven prominent Pueblo women artists, and their work was lovely.

Later: Airport. Change planes in Denver. The closer I got to Detroit, the worse things got. The seat in front of me broken, forcing my knees into my lower lip, practically. The guy across the aisle clipping his nails and letting the clippings float through the air like confetti. Super crazy turbulence. Lost luggage.

Finally, got the luggage back. Got my phone in proper working order (I had to get a new one in NM and they programmed it in such a way that I could see that I had messages, but couldn't get to them). Normalized my food and alcohol consumption (both of which were super high, like the elevation of Santa Fe). Made a laundry pile.

Now my trip sort of seems like a dream.

(will add photos later)

Collard wraps, travel plans

2008-06-17T11:03:00.006-04:00

Last night I made collard wraps. Big leaves of collard greens were flash-boiled, marinated, then rolled around a semi-delicious filling and cut into small rolls. I got the recipe from the book The Balanced Plate, but I didn't really follow her recipe for the filling, which I think is why it was only semi-delicious. Anyway, it was an exciting and pretty dinner.

I am going to Santa Fe in a couple of days for a writing retreat, and then staying on a bit to meander on my own. I'm worried about the writing thing, which is a professional article kind of writing thing. I already feel like I'm going to be the worst writer, the least academic, the laziest, etc., and have the least comfortable footwear on top of it. Maybe I should get some new shoes before I go.

I'm also in a mild (extremely mild) panic about meandering on my own, for some reason. I could count the times I have meandered new places on my own on many hands. It is not a big deal. I think I just shouldn't have read the guide book. The guide book made me feel like I should go everywhere and do everything, that I will be missing out on massive life experiences if I don't rent a car and drive to every canyon, pueblo, and top-notch margarita place in northern New Mexico. I was just planning on walking, going to the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum, drinking and eating good things, and going here as many times as possible. I guess I'll just see how ambitious I feel.

The last week of school was weird because school was canceled every single day because of a power outage. On the last day of school, the kids just had to come in and get their stuff out of their desks.

It's summer and I want to see bands and go to barbecues and sit in the sun and wear skirts. That's my agenda for the summer.

New F.I.A.T. and clean hair

2008-05-04T15:21:00.005-04:00

I was thinking about just abandoning this di altogether, since I barely ever write anymore. But Mollie liked this little story about, not surprisingly, my hair. It is a favorite topic, after all. I saw my mom Friday and she said my hair looked nice, and I said, "I can't remember when the last time I washed it was." Then I started really thinking about it, and it was not good. I am out of my normal exercise routine, which seems to dictate my hair washing. Anyway, I started worrying about it a little and decided I'd wash it before bed. But I kept falling asleep on the couch. I would wake up, and decide to go to bed, then remember about my hair, be unable to muster the energy to get up and deal with it, and fall asleep again. This kept happening until around 2:00 am, when I decided to go to bed without washing it. I remember worrying that my head would slide off my pillow, but I don't think it did. Then I woke up around 4 and the first thought was, "I should wash my hair right now." Like it really couldn't wait until morning? Luckily I fell asleep again before I could actually follow through.

So, nice, huh? I thought I'd share with you that my hair was pretty dirty on Friday. It's nice and clean now.

Mollie liked that story, and Pam liked my new way of drawing F.I.A.T. She thinks it's a little more urban, kind of edgy - the citified cousin of the previous F.I.A.T., with a sleeker look and sharper lines. I think her words were something like, "He's always moving so fast." Compared to that less sophisticated version, you know?

Trash Talkin' the Dalai Lama

2008-03-05T10:24:00.004-05:00

It's a snow day again, our fifth and last one before we have to start adding days to the end of the school year. Right now there are 61 days of school left, and I'd like to keep it like that. This morning I slept in, read a little, then dug out and got in my car. I heard on the radio that the Dalai Lama is coming to Ann Arbor, and that he hasn't been there since 1994. Uh, yeah, I remember Dalai Lama Visit 1994. That is most likely the root of my displaced anger at the DL. That day, and the drunken night when Jen and I read some bits from a book of his that she was supposed to read for class, and we realized that all of these gems of wisdom were so stereotypical, basically boiling down to "Be nice to other people," and "Do the right thing."

So, in 1994 I was working at the hippie day care, and the owner was a Buddhist, and she asked if I'd be willing to work at the day care on the Saturday of the dalai lama visit so that people from her temple or whatever could drop their kids off before the big show. I dumbly agreed, without really getting enough details. The day came, and dozens of kids showed up, ranging in age from like 2 days old to fifteen, and I was supposed to somehow entertain them all. They were all named Rainbow, or Aura, or other such things. It was a horror show of unmet needs, gluten-free baked goods shortages, and botched craft projects. I blamed the Dalai Lama, and still do, and always will.

Here's one website's Dalai Lama words of wisdom for the day: "I always have the feeling that I'm just another human being." Huh. Me too, DL. me too...

arabic phrase book

2008-03-02T14:40:00.003-05:00

Today I left my laptop in my car at the mall while I was attempting to hunt/gather lip gloss. I put my coat over it, the same smoky bar coat that I was trying to air out on the way there by driving pretty fast, with the window all the way down. So,my laptop is my most expensive possession, except for my car. You'd think I would have rolled the window up before going into the mall, right? Nope. Not me. I just left it wide open for over an hour (lip gloss being a harder goal than it sounds). Amazingly, my laptop was still there! So was the coat.

Mysteriously, there was also an Arabic phrase book in the back seat.

F.I.A.T., alone at the Majestic Cafe

2008-02-19T16:53:00.004-05:00

Chapstick Chapstick Chapstick

2008-02-18T10:55:00.004-05:00

I can't act like I really understand what a Zen koan is, but I do know it's a kind of riddle or story given to a student by a teacher. It seems nonsensical to begin with, but after meditating on it, it suddenly seems really super deep.

Example:

Hui Neng once approached a student who was sitting in meditation. "Why do you spend so much time sitting?" he asked. "Because I want to become a Buddha," the student replied.

At this, Hui Neng picked up a brick tile from the floor, and began rubbing it with his robe. "Why are you doing that?" asked the student. "Because I want to make a mirror," Hui Neng replied.

"But Master," said the student, "no amount of -- oh, wait, I get it! Very funny, very funny."

So, I bring it up because of two recent moments that made me think of Zen koans:

Third grade student: Did you watch the Superbowl last night?
Teacher: No. I watched a show about elephants.
28 third grade students: (laugh to point of tears)

They really got how funny it was, you know?

Second example:

Student: I found this Chapstick on the floor.
Teacher: That Chapstick? I threw that away yesterday, and the day before! Who keeps putting this Chapstick on the floor?
Student: It's haunting you!
Teacher: Put it in the garbage if no one is going to claim it.
Student: What if we find it again tomorrow?

OK, maybe that one isn't really like a Zen koan. I just like it. The cool inside joke in my classroom right now is that various things are haunting me, the teacher. Another cool thing going down at the moment is to combine "mad" and "sad" to make "smad." It seems like something I would teach them, but they just came up with it without me. I'm touched and proud.

Winter stories

2008-02-02T16:02:00.000-05:00

Happy Groundhog Day! I totally forgot about it, which is unlike me. Apparently, there will be six more weeks of winter.

That's a little less daunting to me today than it was yesterday at this time, when I still had this apprehension hanging over my head. That apprehension reached its natural apex around 6:15 yesterday evening, near a dumpster behind the Berkley Front.

See, I take one major spill every winter. I can't predict how or when, but I always know it will come, usually in front of a bunch of people and/or while wearing a skirt. It's a lot of what-if to live with. Once it comes, though, the pressure is officially off, and I can be all nonchalant about snow and ice.

Last night was the night. One minute, chatting with Alice about how we both are wearing high heeled boots in the snow and ice, the next moment, on my ass in a giant, cold puddle of slush. I cut my finger and bruised my hip, but the worst part was the total soaking of my jeans. So Alice and I went into the bar and found Deborah and Tim, where we learned that Tim had also fallen into what sounds like the same puddle, getting his jeans similarly soaked.

This past week, I only worked two days. It went like this: Sick day, snow day, work, work, snow day. Winter is the time to be a teacher. Also, summer.

Wake-Up Calls 4 Hair

2008-01-28T19:21:00.000-05:00

I have recently had three separate wake-up calls regarding my hair, casting an aura of doubt around my head area. That aura is a really gruesome smoky yellow color, by the way.

First, I found myself behaving kind of bizarrely last week. I was having a meeting with two women who I am working on a schooly project with. I don't know them very well. We worked on our project for a couple of hours, then started making plans for our next meeting. Everyone else took out their calendars or planners or whatever. I opened my bag to get mine, but absently noticed that my brush was in there. That's strange, I thought. Without even realizing I was doing it, I took it out and started brushing my hair while having a conversation with these ladies. Like, "Yeah, I think if we align the benchmarks from kindergarten to fifth grade with the blah blah blah..." - all while brushing my hair for what felt like ten minutes.

It didn't even occur to me until I was driving home that that might have seemed kind of weird. Also, I never did write down the date of our next meeting.

So then, I was talking to my students the other day and realized I had a giant knot in my hair, on the side. It's the dry weather and the bunching up that happens with scarves (not scrunching up with scrunchies). I suddenly realized that they weren't chatting and ignoring my fascinating insights about math; instead they all seemed mesmerized by something. They were mesmerized by what my fingers were doing to my hair. Like, pulling it all apart out of the knot in the most violent way possible.

That scene repeated itself almost exactly today, except I was waiting in line at the pharmacy. God, I thought. That guy keeps looking at me. Do I know him? Or is it just because I'm so mesmerizing in general? Then I realized - the hand. Another knot. The basic motions of pulling my own hair out (depilating?).

So, those aren't normal ways to be out in society. They are totally normal ways to be in my apartment, but that's different. So I think I need to do something. But then, I think that a lot, and it doesn't generally translate to any action, due to my inherent fear of fancy salons.

Anyone have a vision for my hair?

megadeth sez your kid is failing

2008-01-28T13:23:00.001-05:00

Look, yesterday wasn't just a fluke. I'm writing again! Not coincidentally, I'm also "doing report cards" again.

I'm not working today. I was struck with a horrible headache and sore throat yesterday (possibly brought on by the report cards), so today I slept for the first half of the day, then decided to finish the r.c.'s. I am also doing an experiment of sorts. Here is my research question:

Does the kind of music I listen to while working on report cards influence the quality of comments I put on the cards?

I'm listening to Nick Cave right now, so I expect that those cards might come out kind of gothic. Later, when I switch to the Shins or something, the comments will become kind of lighter. And I am saving the Megadeath for a few select kids' cards.

I forgot to mention that Alice and I saw Persepolis and I'm in love with it. The only disappointment is that I am in no way responsible for it. The quality of the drawings was fantastic. I loved the shading and movement of everything. So gorgeous.

We, plus Jen and Mollie, also went to a play that my friend was in. It was sad and good. Tons-o-culture for me this weekend which, apparently, gives me a headache.

not heeding advice of bag

2008-01-27T13:45:00.000-05:00

Sheesh, it's been a long time since I've written. Now I'm avoiding finishing report cards, and thus very motivated to update my blog...

So, here's part of why I haven't been writing. When I bought the bag pictured, before Christmas, I kind of thought of it in a light-hearted way. I didn't think I would really be contending with any serious freak-outs or anything, just the usual small worries like, "Now that I'm used to driving with gloves on, will the steering wheel seem too slippery come spring, when my hands become bare again?" That one comes and goes every year.

In fact, the bag gave much-needed advice. It's too bad I didn't think to look at it more often. It all started with this sinus infection that was buried deep between my eyes, in some head cavity never before discovered by science. The head cavity, in all its infected angriness, began to play tricks on me by messing with my balance and making it hard to turn my head even slightly without needing to get my physical bearings all over again. This made driving hard. I kept starting to go places and then having to pull over all upset because the road was sort of swimming in front of me. In this way, I failed to go to Chicago for a second time, and feared I had some psychological disorder that prevented me from driving, or that I was flat-out going crazy. Finally I connected it all with the stabbing pain between my eyes and got medicine.

Life was good with medicine, for awhile anyway. Then after a few days the driving symptoms started to return. My gloves maintained their good grip on the steering wheel, but inside them my hands were going numb. It's not good to drive with numb hands. I felt dizzy and reality was somehow distorted. I felt fearful of the other cars, unconnected to the other things on the road. At night I would wake up with a racing heart, a horrific headache, tight lungs, numb lips, searing heat under my skin, tingly legs, and other exotic treasures of the body. I couldn't sleep, and when I did, I had nightmares. I was terrified much of the night, and spent a lot of time wondering if I should call 911. I knew I was going completely crazy and I wanted to hide it as long as I could.

Then I forgot to take the medicine one day and it was like I was human again. I didn't make the connection until after I took the next dose and had a worse freak-out than ever.

Then finally, duh, I put it together and realized that I was allergic to the medication (on whose website every one of my side effects, including "fear," was listed, some of them with the comforting words "Seek emergency medical attention immediately!" Oops.).

And I'm not crazy! I can't believe how exciting it is to not have numb hands or fear when I drive, not to feel that a freak-out is imminent.

Don't freak out! OK? OK!

T

lamest person ever born

2007-12-27T13:42:00.000-05:00

Hi. I'm the aforementioned l.p.e.b. God. I've been planning to go to Chicago tomorrow to see the Waco Brothers as part of Sydney's birthday event, finally see Chris's new house, and probably eat some good things, but as usual I've been all "La, la, la..." about it. La, la, la, eventually I'll get a train ticket so as not to have to worry about the weather this time. Tra la la... Amtrak is certainly anticipating my needs and saving a special seat just for me! MEEEE! Who the hell else takes the train, really, besides Pam and the terrible dude who sat next to her last week?

And who hasn't sat next to a terrible dude on an Amtrak train, anyway? Not to negate Pam's story, but god. I have a bunch of stories, too. The relative comfort of your trip is set in the first few seconds, when you decide if you should react in friendly way to the person who sits down next to you. If it's the wrong person, and you give any hint of encouragement, you are opening yourself up to a very long trip. Like the guy who was really into gummy candy in all its forms, and also had plenty of advice on desert survival. Once, though, I did have a desirable neighbor. He was a writer, and I sometimes see his travel stories in magazines these days. We talked harmoniously the whole way, and I was wearing some kind of zebra-print shirt, and I pretty much had it all worked out that I'd soon have to make some decisions like whether or not I should wear my contacts during flights to Australia, or if I should bring some of my own toilet paper to Vietnam. Obviously, it never came to that. Ours was but a romance of the rails.

Back to today, or, rather, yesterday - it turns out that Amtrak has done a bad job of anticipating my needs. Regardless of whether I leave from a station kind of close or kind of far, there are no seats. Even if I give up the Waco Brothers and settle for a day-after-Sydney's-birthday thing, there are no seats. There are seats coming home, but no seats going there.

And I want to see the Waco Brothers. I hadn't been to a show in a long time, and then Pam and Deborah and I went to the Hentchmen show, and it was really fun, and now it's what I want to do a lot. I want to go back to that for awhile, and have new rocker crushes. I just wish the smoke didn't nestle so deeply in my hair. That part's gross.

snowed-in sleepover

2007-12-17T19:40:00.000-05:00

I can't believe it's been almost a month. I had a birthday since then. My new age is very significant to me. I have to admit that I don't much like it, but maybe it will turn out to be just the thing?

Today was a snow day, but I had already taken it off, so it didn't have the usual thrill. I finished my shopping and ate an extended remix of a lunch with Mollie. The Bloody Mary made time not matter.

I didn't go to Chicago like I said I would, but I had a Snowed-In Sleepover at Alice's involving Cosmos, hot chocolate with Bailey's, TV, snacks, and waiting for the snow to fall. Also, Alice put a hot water bottle in my bed, and it rocked my world! In the morning was sleeping late, then tea, coffee, muffin halves, Christmas card preparing, both of us doing stuff on our Macbooks, reading, napping, Indian food, triple layers of socks, and, finally, digging out just before the sun went down.

It's my second or third ever Snowed-In Sleepover, and I can't say enough good things about it. Let's have more snow, and more corresponding sleepovers!

God, maybe I need a roommate. Is my enthusiasm for the Snowed-In Sleepover really just about human companionship?

I got a digital camera for my birthday, bringing me that much closer to not being totally lame. Sometime around 2012, I should finally get an IPod.

f.i.a.t.

2007-11-18T12:19:00.000-05:00

We had an especially painful staff meeting on Tuesday. As usual, the agenda was kind of random, unrealistically timed, and basically abandoned after getting off track within the first ten minutes. All the terrible tension between co-workers was floating around unacknowledged in the room. A lot of people can't stand each other right now. As always, I coped through doodling. I doodled hard. I regressed to a time in my past when I could get through anything via sketching. Math classes were made tolerable in this way.

I now feel really bad, by the way, that just that day, I had repeatedly gotten on one poor kid's case for constantly drawing when he should have been doing other things. I understand why he was doing it, but I don't want to accept that he was as bored in my classroom as I used to be in other people's classrooms. Shouldn't he perceive my classroom as a smorgasbord of enthralling activities?

So, Tuesday I found myself drawing this Fox in a Turtleneck (F.I.A.T.) series. Some of my co-workers seated near me were interested in this bold new concept, and wondered how they could be part of it, too. Some wanted me to know that the acronym forms a word that's also the name of a car. Just to be clear, these foxes in turtlenecks don't have anything to do with any cars. They are above/beyond such a mundane, everyday thing.

Remember: Fox in a Turtleneck. Don't get left behind.

I don't iron

2007-11-04T17:38:00.000-05:00

Right now I'm wearing really pointy shoes with a shiny, no, *gleaming* snakeskin pattern. I'm shocked that people sitting here in this cafe aren't just lining up to kiss them, to be honest. I haven't worn them to school yet. I am leaving children behind in their knowledge of shoes.

Jen and I saw Wristcutters: A Love Story yesterday. I liked it a lot. Tom Waits was in it, and so was Gob. I liked the weirdness of the alternate place where they ended up - the tiny little train, the outfits, and all of it. And I liked that it was really a road movie in the end. I also watched the Japanese movie Linda, Linda, Linda, which was super fun. I can't get the song out of my head.

My time online is almost up (an hour per beverage purchase, which is silly). Lately I can't get online at home. Is it time to take another step toward adulthood and get my very own wireless account? It's a slippery slope. I'm worried that owning an iron would not be far behind.

blame it on the black star

2007-10-27T00:39:00.000-04:00

i tried googling "colt" to find an image to fit my mood, but instead of finding a frolicking young horse, I mostly found guns and boobs, plus some sports team. What do boobs have to do with colts? I guess they have to do with anything. To be clear, i feel coltish, but like a young horse with long and energetic legs. My legs are actually relatively short, but that's not how I feel.

I gambol, not gamble.

See, any time I flirt even briefly with any kind of romantic entanglement, I feel like I'm killing all of the best parts of myself. Then I let go of said entanglement, and I feel coltish, free again. I tried really hard just now to make an artistic photo showing this clash between my true self and romantic crap. I tried to pose with a Godiva chocolate over each eye (i have a box of 48 from my doomed date on sunday), to comment on, you know, how these "romantic" gestures are supposed to cloud my vision, etc. But all the pictures just came out hilarious. Strung together, they would actually be a pretty awesome statement on my typical Friday night, after a nap, plus wine, and why I am still and probably forever single.

so, da

2007-10-11T19:48:00.000-04:00

So, I haven't written in awhile, due to all the adventures and everything.

Today my lungs hurt and so did my stomach. I have had a constantly recycling cold and/or mild flu since school started. I wish my stomach was a happier place, in general. Look, I'm drinking soda (ginger ale) in the picture above. I don't usually do that. Only when the stomach gets really ornery. I scored an Avatar necklace today, though, also pictured above. It was the free gift that came with a book set I ordered for my classroom. My students like this Avatar, whatever it is. TV show, I think? Anyway, other than that high point, I kind of struggled through the day today. But when I got home, I had something waiting for me. The MUJI speakers I ordered from the MOMA store! Yea!

I love these cardboard speakers. They can pop onto my laptop or fold up flat for times when flatness is a boon. And they are from one of my all-time favorite stores, MUJI, which we don't have in the U.S., except as a few products in the MOMA store. There's a U.S. website now but you can't order stuff there. Actually, it looks like there is going to be a NYC store this November. Weird that they chose NYC and not Detroit.

Anyway, in Japan I went there a lot and always got that unhealthy rush of shopping excitement. Everything is just so simple and cool and affordable. They even had good snacks. And clothes. I still wear some of those MUJI clothes, and use the colored pencils, markers, notebooks, etc. I frittered my yen away on. I never bought furniture because there was no room in my compartment, but their furniture is cool.

So, yeah. Good little speakers! They made my day better.

tomatoes, cider, and gloom

2007-09-16T22:21:00.000-04:00

Today I am gripped by a pointless melancholy, prompted by a visit to a farm stand.

There were tons of tomatoes of several varieties, and I bought a hefty bag of them. But I know, and they know, that the tomatoes' days are numbered.

This time of year, I eat at least a tomato, if not a few, a day.

Tomatoes on toasted wheat bread. Tomato slices eaten straight. Tomatoes eaten right side up, upside-down, with clothes on, naked, in the shower, in bed, chased with beer, snorted, worked into my performance pieces, etc. You get the idea. Tomatoes, tomatoes, tomatoes. I eat them. I love them.

But now it's getting past tomato time and getting into cider time.

And that reminds me that I'm really thirsty right now, and that cider seems to quench a thirst really well, but I didn't buy any today because I didn't know if I had sufficient cash in the wallet for cider and tomatoes.

The most melancholy thing of all is that, as it turns out, I did. If only I had known!

tote bag

2007-09-07T20:09:00.000-04:00

I am in a listless place as far as writing goes - except for super cheesy country songs. The super cheesy country songs fall into my head already written, fully formed, with backup vocals and seventies-style strings already worked out. I hear them as they might sound coming out of a jukebox in some divey bar. The harmonies include one of those super deep male voices.

We had our North African dinner party last weekend (next up: South America). There was a ridiculous amount of amazing vegan food. I went to the farmer's market early, then I spent all day chopping and prepping for my Moroccan stew, only to leave it untended for a bit too long while on the phone in the other room. It burned a little. I thought, "Well, at least there's the Moroccan carrot salad," as I threw the carrot sticks into boiling water for a 10-second dip. I took the pot off the stove and was moving toward the colander in the sink when the HANDLE of the POT came suddenly DETACHED. Carrots and boiling water landed all over the kitchen, including my now-blistered left foot. So the carrots also didn't really work out, you know? And I lost my favorite pot. It was one of my grandma's wedding gifts in 1943 or 1944, so I guess it had been around. Still...

THe other ladies had made tons of amazing food, and my stew ended up being fine, really, as long as you didn't have the bad luck to get one of the crunchy burned bits, heh heh. Jen sent me pictures of our meal, which perhaps I will post a bit later. I have to go buy some Spiderman bedding for my neph right now.

School began and the kids aren't broken in to my ways yet. I'm determined not to constantly bring twenty-five tote bags* of schoolie stuff home every night, so I can also focus on the country songs in my head.

*when is the last time you heard someone say "tote bag?" oh my god. i am a person with a lot of tote bags, and not ones you'd find at some alternative craft fair. it happened to me without my realizing it. tote bags are such a teacher thing. do nashville songwriters have tote bags? how about the backup singers?

3 cases of wanting to weep, though not sad

2007-08-23T02:58:00.001-04:00

Jen called to tell me about the pricey but perfect nectarine she had today. It set her back more than a nectarine normally would, but it was totally worth it, she said. I understood, and felt happy that she would confide in me about her fruit purchases. I was reminded, too, of the time Norma visited me in Japan, and we went to a little town that had a kind of farmer's market going down. We saw a bin of lovely peaches, and marveled and laughed at the fact that they cost $10 each. Then, before I knew it, I was frantically whipping out my wallet and buying the biggest one. N. looked at me like I was insane. She, being of California, didn't understand that I hadn't had a fresh peach or any exciting fruits in awhile. That peach was amazing. I think I may have eaten it with tears of joy streaming down my face. That's how I like to remember it, anyway: Peach juice and salty tears charting a mingled course down my blissed out face. Sorry about that ridiculousness of that.

Once, years ago, a co-worker put some flowers on my desk at work, as was her occasional habit. Late in the morning, I started getting really red and itchy. It was maddening. I didn't connect it with the "flowers" (more like weeds, I think) until I caught a glimpse of them and had the urge to weep. I connected this emotional surge with the flowers, got rid of them, and the itchiness stopped. Cut to this week, when I have been super dry of eye, with burning skin. I even had to go without my contacts Monday, which I hate. I had no idea what was going on, until in the shower this morning, when I opened my way too expensive Lush "Big" shampoo, and the smell, which I had always liked, unexpectedly made me want to cry. Suddenly it all made sense! The crazy herbs in the shampoo were to blame! I washed my hair with good old fashioned chemicals instead and had no problems with my eyes today.

OK, I just spent too long reading message boards about a medical topic and I feel like I have subconsciously taken on all the bad writing style that is to be found in such places. Also, it's 3:00 a.m., which sucks. Actually, 3:00 a.m. doesn't suck; I quite like 3:00 a.m., which is part of my problem. What sucks is that I went to bed at 1:00 and it didn't work! And I can't sleep in very late tomorrow.

I have been watching the first season of Arrested Development. I like it so much! I had only seen a bit here or there. Who would anyone do - Buster or Gob?

Directions and directionlessness

2007-08-21T13:33:00.000-04:00

I'm way, way out of sorts, all dry-eyeballed and prickly-skinned.

My favorite green shoes are slippery on the bottoms, and I know I'm taking a chance whenever I walk on any kind of smooth surface, which makes wearing them feel kind of reckless. Today, it finally happened: In the parking lot of the grocery store, I wiped out, right in front of a car. I think I might have ended up in the splits. I expected the person in the car to roll down his window and ask if I was alright. Instead, he waited for me to pick myself up, then continued following me to my spot so he could park there. Is it so naive of me to want a little humanity in the cut-throat game of parking?

Sunday was rainy, and I spent it in Ann Arbor. I went to my favorite place for Bibimbap - it is oh, so fresh and delicious. Then I walked to the art museum (which is actually not the art museum, but a temporary locale while they re-do the art museum) and saw an awesome, but small, exhibit of young Japanese photographers. Happy under my umbrella, I then walked to the Michigan Theater and saw "Nashville," which I have always wanted to see. I'm usually so-so about Altman. I did end up liking it, even though some of the early scenes were so chaotic I almost couldn't stand it. In the end, it was worth it. The only thing is, I've had that song "I'm Easy" in my head ever since...

During the movie, the drive home, and in days since, I have been wracked with a weird guilt. It all stemmed from that bebimbap I mentioned. As I was walking to the theater, a group of four young and friendly people stopped me and said, "Excuse me. Do you know a Korean restaurant around here?" I think they were from Japan. Anyway, I started gushing about how I had just that day eaten Korean food, and how fucking awesome it had been. So I started giving them directions. At some point during the direction giving, I realized that the place was kind of far. "It's on campus?" the main guy asked (I decided he was the main guy). "Well...no. It's totally worth it, though!" I kept giving directions using sketchy landmarks and descriptions. I didn't know the name of the place, and even if I did, I knew there wasn't a sign outside. It's kind of attached to a market, but with the directions I gave, the market would also be hard to find... I suddenly realized that there were 2 other good Korean places basically a stone's throw away. I offered to give directions to one of those instead, but Main Guy said, "But the other place is better?" "Oh, yeah! Oh my god, it's so good!" Really I have no idea if it's better at all. I was just excited. Eventually, off they set. For some reason I felt like I had sent them into the wilderness, so vague and inaccurate were my directions. It seemed unlikely that they would find it. I worried about that on and off through the movie. Then I started imagining that they had found it, and I wondered whether it even qualifies as a Korean restaurant. Sure, they have bebimbap, but also a lot of stuff like "hot dog wrapped in bacon, deep fried, and topped with kimchi." Even now, I imagine that they are still wandering around, wet from the rain, kind of bedraggled, or else suffering from stomach troubles if they ordered that hot dog thing.

I really need to stop feeling so responsible for shit like this, huh? Besides, if they are from Japan as I suspect, they should be used to directions like these. When someone came to visit my place there, it was, "From the train station, walk away from the giant red torii. Pass Family Mart and Lawson. When you see the big garden, turn right. Pass the sake shop. Stop at the beer machine and I'll pay you back when you get here. Keep walking straight. When you see the futon place, start looking for a big white building on the right. My apartment is the one that does NOT have a futon airing on the balcony, as it should."

off balance, but well shod

2007-08-17T01:09:00.001-04:00

Today was a day of klutziness, bad timing, and poor coordination, saved only by seeing friends tonight, including J&J, who are visiting from Cali. I cooked my brown rice/avocado/corn/almond/red onion/dill pickle concoction for Jen, a.k.a. Birthday Girl to Be. Sadly, the red onion was pretty scant, for lo! When I went into the produce drawer, I found the following:

- a zucchini, frozen solid
- a yellow squash, frozen solid
- a red onion, frozen solid
- a carrot, frozen solid

Do you see a theme? Although the day was hot and humid, frozen vegetables did not bring me any comfort. All of these were beautiful specimens, from the organic farm, now changed into -sicles. This onion, for example. So pretty, but it's going to be all limp and weird when it thaws out.

My old friend Tomoko sent me this picture of a meal we shared in Japan two years ago now - an awesome and beautiful vegetarian place, where we had our own little room, with our own sliding shoji, and our own little pit to dangle our legs into beneath the table. The waiters unobtrusively brought course after course of tofu and vegetable dishes, each so different and good. Tomoko chose the place with me in mind. She is super good like that.

I've started setting up my room at school, but I have so far avoided all the terrible places where one goes to buy classroom supplies. My co-workers are getting ready for school through trips to office depotmax, the teacher store, etc. I have been getting ready through shoe buying. This year's group of kids is going to be better prepared in the areas of shoe knowledge and appreciation than any other group I've taught yet. Heels, wedges, flats, pointy toes, squared toes: It's an exciting time to be an educator!

coldhungry times ahead

2007-08-08T23:10:00.000-04:00

Tonight I had my own pesto making party for one. All the basil I harvested from the pot outside my window was about to go bad (confession: actually, all that basil died in the dry summer no-rain heat. A professional farmer grew the basil that was about to go bad). First I made this lovely beet pesto. I put it on some broccoli for tomorrow's lunch. It is really good, for the beet-inclined. I myself am very inclined toward the beet. I just wish I had a food processor. My blender didn't quite do the trick. It's not nearly as pretty as hers, much chunkier, but it tastes really good.

Then, since I still had basil left, I made this asparagus pesto. I had made it before with a combination of asparagus and green peas. Today I made it with a mix of asparagus and edamame. Delightful! I did the fancy thing of putting it in an ice cube tray to freeze it for hard/cold/hungry times ahead.

comeuppance (warning to jen: includes birds)

2007-08-02T22:46:00.000-04:00

I got a major comeuppance about my supposedly transcendent hair tonight. I met Alice at the WAB for fresh air and beer. I got there first and sat a spell with my Hefeweizen. Then Alice came, and within a few minutes, she said, "I think you have a stick in your hair. Or is it a feather?"

It was the latter! I had a nasty, dirty, fresh-from-a-flying-thing feather woven into my hair. I don't know how long it had been there or where it came from. Was it there all day? I was really grossed out. I'm not like the mom of the kid in my class who came on our field trip and picked up a wild duck and stroked it and cooed to it, OK?

But back to my hair. I'm not planning on talking about my hair in EVERY entry, really. But only because I couldn't ever hope to do it as well as this dude.

Gots to go wash bird-ridden hair now.

heart of glass

2007-08-01T17:37:00.000-04:00

I am filled with ennui right now. It could be the hot day, or it could just be a case of intellectual overload. I have been thinking critically for three whole days now, after many summer days of sitting around drooling and stuff.

I found an old pal's blog yesterday and read it beginning to end, going back a year or so. It was awesome to read what she has been doing. She never stops moving around and doing cool and important things. She is "Social Justice in Central America" woman, whereas I'm "Look at the lush alien life force that is my hair!" girl. Kind of embarrassing. The good thing is that this "institute" I am doing right now is all about teaching as a political act towards social justice. The leaders are both really awesome and rabble-rousing, and it is inspiring and makes me somewhat excited for school to begin again. I, too, will rouse rabble in my classroom by subverting the dominant hierarchies! Or, I'll do a better job teaching fractions. Or remember to take attendance. Or a little of all of these.

I have been sitting with three teachers each day who I didn't know at all before. Today one of them pulled an NRA magazine out of her bag and started flipping through it. The other two got excited and said that they also subscribe. "WE ALL subscribe to the NRA magazine at this table!" one of them announced to the whole group. "No!" I said, shaking my head and grimacing. "I don't!" I may have also waved my arms around frantically and made a big "X" out of my arms like they do in Japan when it is imperative that everyone understands the "No"-ness of it all.

What if I only wore yellow and drove around in a yellow car? That would be very out of character. Another thing that would be out of character? Not breaking a glass every other day. I just did it again. It was a thin glass, and it shattered into microscopic shards and flecks all over the kitchen. Just like the day before yesterday, I swept with the broom, then spilled the dust pan and swept it up again, then vacuumed, then mopped, then picked sparkles out of the mop, then thought I had gotten glass in my eye, then took out the garbage, then mopped again. I think that stepping on glass is one of my irrational fears. Wait, actually it's a totally rational one. (Having to touch or interact with a fish, to be judged or acknowledged by its bulgy eye or forced to drape its see-through fins over my skin is my irrational one. To have the see-through fins somehow end up in my mouth. To have one waiting in my path with its grotesque mouth gaping, sucking all happiness out of the day). After all, if the glass gets in your foot, it could enter your bloodstream and make its way to your heart. Is that what you want for me? Also, there was a time during my teenage years when my foot really, really hurt on the bottom. I could barely walk, but it looked ok, so I ignored it. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore, and had my mom look at it. She started pushing around, and soon a river of pus flowed, and out came basically an intact wine glass.

So I hope I'm done breaking a glass every other day now.

P.S. I don't like the trend of people saying, "What it is, is...." Example: "What is glass, anyway?" "What it is, is a product of molten sand, cooled..." Why not just say, "It is a product..."?

Homework and horror

2007-07-28T01:58:00.001-04:00

It's been troubling me a little that Pam thought that my profile picture was actually my thumb, dressed in a costume and posed. Ummm... no, it's a little gnome pushing a wheelbarrow containing a candle. I only get out the thumb outfits for very, very sacred purposes. Anyway, it has made me think about changing my profile photo. Lately I've been preoccupied with both my hair and with horror*, leading to these two photos.

I am perplexed about how I suddenly got all this hair. While I have been distracted by stuff and other whatnot, my hair has been following an independent and aggressive growth agenda. Now I think of it more like a pelt. A 1970's pelt.

Because of the Shirley Jackson books, I also took a scary picture. I apologize for any preoccupation with horror it may cause in the night.

I'm supposed to be doing homework right now. Homework! I'm doing a two-week workshop. Here is one of the best sentences I've ever read:

"Quintessentially and overly simplistically depicted through the juxtaposition of synthetic phonics-based instruction versus holistic whole language approaches, this vacillation has resulted in the artificial and detrimental segmentation of concurrently complex and codependent literacy skills, processes, and practices."

So many pretty syllables!

* horror lite, of course

Keepin' on in the mitten

2007-07-27T23:57:00.000-04:00

I was away, on a dreamy pinkie finger of a peninsula, also known as the Leelanau Peninsula. It is possibly my favorite place on earth. That is a bit of hyperbole, of course. Let's say someone said, "You have won a free trip to either Kyoto or the Leelanau Peninsula!" In truth, I'd pick Kyoto. But I love this yearly trip I go on, and it's so much closer and cheaper than Kyoto. I should probably make it twice or thrice yearly.

The Leelanau Peninsula is all about the following: beaches; dunes; forests; wine (and it's good!); fresh produce; vegetarian food; locally produced coffee, chocolate, spices, teas, cheese; art (not cheesy tourist art! Real art!); writers (real writers who write books and publish them right there!); beach bonfires with poems and songs (kind of hippie-ish, but I like!); film festivals; music; one traffic light, which just blinks; and no chain stores or fast food whatsoever. Nothing's all that expensive, and it's just about devoid of Detroit hipsterism, which I am feeling terribly fed up with.

I'd like to link you right to it, but no one site seems to really get it right. Although the New York Times has written about it a few times in recent years.

Now I'm home, at any rate. After leaving the pinkie, I went to the base of the pinkie (I'm a fan of my state's mitten shape and don't feel cheesy about it at all), Traverse City, and partook in a family reunion of sorts. That involved tons of lying around on the beach, eating good things out of doors, swimming, and even jumping on a giant inflatable trampoline in the middle of Lake Michigan (probably not the geographic middle).

Now I'm home, and wistful. Summer vacation is kind of traumatic for teachers, as Chris has noted.

I have been reading Shirley Jackson. First I read "We Have Always Lived in the Castle," Pam's recommendation. It was so good. Her style is unique, and I find myself wanting to know more about her as a person. I had to have more, so I picked up "The Haunting of Hill House." It was almost as good. The ending got to me. I didn't think it had, but then night fell, and....the spookiness! "I was chilled," as the main character in "We Have Always Lived in the Castle" would say.

Now I'm reading "The Ethics of What We Eat," by Peter Singer and Jim Mason. It is disturbing and enlightening (also under-edited, but I'm letting it go). Anyway, so far my eating habits are coming out pretty well. I still have a third of the book to go, though. What evil will I learn is lurking in my extremely spartan cupboards? I hope it's not the walnuts. I need the walnuts.

I'm listening to Nick Cave's "And No More Shall We Part," after a long separation. Why a separation? It's so great. I could just write quote after quote on this blog and feel really good about myself.

My Friday night was spent watching an episode of Big Love with my mom at her house, and then an episode of 20/20 about dwarves and giants. That was my Friday night. I like my mom, I love/hate Big Love, and dwarves and giants are interesting (I HATE that 20/20 guy, though!!!), but Friday night? That's why now I'm staying up late, drinking Hemingway quanitities of wine, and trying to figure out the deal with the spelling of "blond" or "blonde," listening to Nick Cave sing about his sorrowful wife, which is absolutely the kind of wife (I almost wrote "whife," which I like!) I would make. Super sorrowful.

The problem with summer is that it just doesn't last.

playing hangman with mu_a_a_i

2007-07-17T19:53:00.000-04:00

I took care of my 8-year-old niece today. I picked her up in the morning, and we meandered around town a bit and ate lunch at the fifties style diner (not my stomach's happiest plan, but...it's her fave). Then we came back to my house and played about a million games, including hangman. I told her she could pick any length word or phrase for me, but only if she was sure she could spell it correctly (a stipulation learned the hard way from a few disastrous games of third grade student-led hangman). So she decided to look around for a word. She disappeared from the living room and came back a few minutes later, ready to go. It was a two-word phrase. I immediately got some A's, and went for "I" next. I was surprised to learn that both words ended in "I." Anyway, I guessed a few wrong letters, then tried "R." at that point it looked like this: _ A R _ _ I*** _ _ R A _ A _ I. She hinted that there was another vowel. I guessed "U," and it got me to _ A _ U _ I *** _ U R A _ A _ I. "Haruki Murakami???" I said. "YES!" We both just doubled over laughing, although probably for different reasons. To me it was just so hilarious that she went looking around for a word, and that's what she found and picked. For her, it was sort of nonsensical, and plus she had probably had too much sugar from her fifties-style chocolate milkshake.

The book that she got that from was the one currently next to my bed, Underground. It's his interviews of people who were somehow connected to or experienced the sarin gas attack on the Tokyo subway system. I had read it before, but got it out again after watching a documentary about Aum Shinrikyo, the cult held responsible for the attacks. I first went to Japan a year or so after that happened, and I remember seeing these Wanted posters for missing key Aum members all over the place: The documentary (called "A," and randomly available at my library) followed Aum's naive and young official Aum spokesperson/follower as he tried to hold things together after the attacks. It was a very psychologically interesting glimpse of this one guy, but the film was surprisingly ambivalent about the cult itself and some of its stranger doomsday sci-fi beliefs. I guess it was intended for a Japanese audience that had already been beaten over the head with stories about those. Oh, but in one scene, the main guy, Araki, showed his oozing, nasty toenails and said that the pus was actually bad karma leaving his body. The filmmaker said, "Really? It looks a lot like a bad case of athlete's foot."

This scene was tremendously helpful to me, because the next day my mom and I went to get our first pedicures ever. Yes, you could say that we country mice finally visited the big city. I had a gift certificate and wanted to treat my ma. Anyway, as I settled into the aggressive yet pleasant massage chair and turned my feet over to a gentle-handed young dude with slicked-back hair, I felt a bit self-conscious about my flaked-off old polish, unmaintained cuticles, rough edges, etc. But after seeing those Aum Shinrikyo karma feet, wow. I knew mine looked pretty damn good. Now they look pretty damn great. Seeing as I will be on my annual beachy/small town up northy vacation within days, this is exciting!

Anyway, Underground is not my favorite Murasaki book by any means, since it's not enough of his own voice, but I'd still rather read it any day than something by, say, ne__on *_em___e or a__*__ul__r, for example.

institution, served sunny-side up

2007-07-13T22:17:00.001-04:00

God, I'm really not a Francophile or anything, but now here I am listening to old Stereolab, with their French/English singing. I like the lyrics to this one:

Originally this set-up was to serve society.
Now the roles have been reversed that want society to serve the institutions...

The whole song is that, pretty much, again and again. Now I'm feeling bad about going to Old Navy today. That seems kind of like serving the institution. But I needed a bathing suit. Today I learned that it's very, very difficult to buy a bathing suit in July, one of the hottest months. Eventually I did manage to get one, once again by serving the institution. Target. I keep meaning to stop going there, and there.

Once, in my bon vivant days (DAMN YOU, FRENCH!), I gently yet boldly stalked a non-local singer after a show. I made my friends, two guys, drive around the block a few times to give me some time after I spied said singer in the restaurant below the club. I just sat down with him and chatted him up and ordered a drink. We got to talking about Detroit, then I recommended a book to him, and he asked me to write it down. I found a receipt in my purse and wrote the info down on it. He got all disgusted and said, "Old Navy?! You shouldn't shop at Old Navy." I stammered something about cheap clothing and a tight budget (all on the backs of third-world children, his point). I lost all my cool at that point. Then I saw my poor friends at the window, gesticulating madly. I guess they had driven around the block one time too many.

"Serving the Institution since 1999": My new t-shirt.

By the way, I still listen to that guy's records sometimes, but only while wearing my sweatshop-free, 100% organic hemp, Parisian-designed outfit that was delivered through carbon-neutral transportation (trans-Atlantic rowboat, multi-state relay race, Detroit rickshaw, slingshot).

la fille de summer

2007-07-12T15:01:00.000-04:00

Mollie and I discussed the mysterious water chestnut today at lunch. It's a delightfully crunchy, nearly-flavorless treat, but what the hell is it, we wondered? I have done my research on the matter, and found that it is a tuber that grows in marshy, high-nutrient waters. It is not easy to harvest, and, according to one website, it is quite competitive. I assume this means it will challenge other salad ingredients to a crunch-off, and will likely win.

Hemingway set a daily writing goal for himself of 400 words. Once accomplished, he was free to go drinking. This is craziness. 400 words? It's nothing. It takes very little time. It leaves an awful lot of time for drinking, which makes a lot of sense. Yet he managed to write many books. Anyway, I thought I'd try for 400 words a day, although my 400 would be far less manly than his, but it's not enough most days. I feel like I'm just getting going. Maybe it's a good rule of thumb for those days when one does not want to write at all. Sort of like tellling myself that I only have to go for a walk - more often than not, it turns into a run.

La la la. I feel so lazy. I had a lunchtime drink avec Mollie, and it made me sleepy. I saw La Vie En Rose (Edith Piaf movie) yesterday, which I liked, although it was crazy depressing in some ways. The actress who played her was pretty amazing. Anyway, the French stuck in my head, I am the annoying, annoying person now who randomly sticks French words into sentences. Please stop me now.

formal portrait

2007-07-09T15:02:00.000-04:00

1. I finally painted the little guy's formal portrait.

2. I am pickled in summer vacation. Pickled in a way that my original flavor has been lost. Like when school time comes back around, I am going to have the blankest look ever on my face. "You want me to what, now?"

3. It is super hot, which people keep noting, including me. I feel like, all over the world, people are toughing out hot weather every day. It doesn't have to be a big deal, right? The best plan is to just live with it, and maybe eat something spicy.

4. I just re-read one of my favorite books about Japan. I'm going through a little thing. A little phase of romanticization of my life there, including the things I used to eat, the places I went, the plush-seated subway, the tofu shop, my bike, and the rice paddies I rode it past... So this book is called A Zen Romance, and it's written by this woman who lived in Kyoto in the late sixties/ early seventies, when she was a college student. She lived on the grounds of a Zen temple and was in love with all the monks. She remembers every outfit she wore for everything, and she did all kinds of Japanese arts. The book is hilarious, because she was so over-the-top into philosophy and poetry and Zen, to the point of ridiculousness, and she makes fun of herself in retrospect, although her writing style is still kind of that way. Anyway, she has a really good memory for little details, and some of those little details remind me of things I loved there. I never made out with any monks, though, like she did. I did make out with a fireman.

5. I also found this crazy notebook where I used to write down my dreams. Oh my god. Super disturbing. How could i have remembered all those details about my dreams back then, when today I swear I remember nothing? Or when I do, it's boring, not all messed up and sexy like those dreams were!

6. Maybe I will add lucid dreaming into my summer sleep experiment. I can't tell you how that's going, by the way, until all the data is analyzed. Let's just say that the little guy's formal portrait was not painted between the hours of 8:00 am and 11:00 pm. Judge me if you must. It's true that I have no discipline.

beginning to see the li-ight

2007-07-08T14:34:00.000-04:00

I saw Yo La Tengo last night at the Detroit City Fest thing. It was so, so good. I love them. I would like to try being Georgia for a day or two. Hell, I'd even like to try being Ira. They are just so cool without needing to be cool. They did a lot of songs that I love, a lot of awesome wall-of-sound type stuff, as well as quieter stuff. I love a wall of sound, especially while under the darkening sky. And the haze of barbecue smoke added a lot! Mmmm. At one point it seemed like an amalgam of barbecue smoke and fresh-from-the-can tuna. I must have really liked YLT to put up with that!

I went by myself, which was my choice. I will never not do what I want to do just because no one can join me (I dare you to translate that sentence!). But it was just a little depressing, I must say. I saw one dude I used to know, and it was a continuation on a recent theme of seeing people from the past who I have not exactly missed seeing around. I would love to run into people from the past that I have missed seeing around, but... Nope. Instead my fate is "too-tight-in-the-butt-overalls guy," "ethiopian-food-smeared-up-to-his-elbows-guy," "stare-at-my-tits-guy," and "hide-next-too-my-garage-until-i-get-home-and-then-try-to-make-out-with-me-even-though-i'm-your-friend's-boyfriend-guy." Oh, and "protest-the-state-of-the-world-by-refusing-to-vocalize-guy." Yes, I've seen all of these former would-be boyfriends, although I managed to avoid actually talking to most of them. God. Why are these the dudes I have stories about? Where are all the awesome ones from my past? I guess there really weren't many.

I'm listening to the Velvet Underground. On those 100% humidity summer days in Japan, when I had to put the office mandated hosiery on my sweating legs, I listened to "Beginning to See the Light." Somehow it got me pumped up to do what needed to be done.

So, I also saw the Hentchmen at the City Fest (why do I hate writing "City Fest?") with Deborah and Isidora. We were assaulted by a freak gust of hurricanic wind. Otherwise it was great. I hadn't seen them play in forever. So fun and good!

AND I saw the Buffy musical at a midnight showing, with Jen and Lisa. I liked it, because it's the Buffy musical, and as Lisa said, involved movie-screen-sized Spike! But I'm just not all that wacky. We were encouraged to be wacky.

I spent the first part of today reading Persepolis 2, after just having re-read Persepolis. I liked the story so much. Her drawings weren't as good, though. I wonder if she was rushed to complete a sequel? Some of them looked like planning-stages sketches. Still, it was awesome and makes me want to draw. All I need is some motherfucking motivation. Can I hire you to hang around my apartment and prod me with a pointy stick when I get lazy? I hate being lazy. I do. It is a straight line from lazy to depressed for me. But laziness is so easy. So I need a prodder. You will also be required to fetch beverages for me.

I'm writing at a coffee shop. Now I'm listening to the Johnny Thunders song "Hurt Me," and my headphones came unplugged, and I treated everyone around me to his high pitched, "Oh, hurt me!"

oh, mop...

2007-07-03T16:51:00.000-04:00

I bought a new wet-n-dry mop at Target yesterday. It's called the "O Mop," part of the Method line of cleaning stuff. I like those products, so I decided to leave behind the days of on-the-knees floor cleaning and evolve to an upright mopping style. This mop is ergonomically and enviornmentally friendly, supposedly, with this lemon-ginger aromatherapeutic solution that you squirt here and there, hither and yon, on the floor before you begin moppage. The mop head is a soft cloth that is velcroed on and can be washed and re-used.

But the problem is, I keep thinking of it as the I-Mop instead of the O Mop. I feel like I should be able to download music or videos to the handle to enjoy as I mop. It's kind of disappointing that nothing revolutionary really happens. Unless you consider me mopping to be revolutionary, in which case, you do have a point.

I just tried it. It is pretty good. But oh my god, the instructions are kind of sickening. It's that hipster style of marketing. Stuff like, "align flat side of male pole with flat side of female pole (this sounds dirtier than it is)," and "squeeze metal doodads." The whole theme of the instruction booklet is eating off the floor, because this is how clean they will be. So there are all these recipes included, and accompanying photos of the food right on the floor. Wacky!!! They also note that when you do eat off your floor, "liberal use of cushions can make the whole experience much easier on the tush. Can we say "tush?" Guess we just did!"

Why does it make me kind of mad? There's something super obnoxious about it.

But, my floors are pretty clean. I think tonight I am going to steam some carrots, bok choy, and broccoli, and eat it on brown rice with some spicy bean sauce mixed in. Call me unadventurous, but I am NOT going to pile it on the kitchen floor.

*

Last night I met up with Mollie, A, and O after my spinning class. I changed my clothes and "freshened up," but that was all. Gross, right? My hair was saturated with sweat, but during the drive to Ferndale, I just kep combing my fingers through it. Then I got compliments on my hair. I think it's my new style secret: well-distributed sweat!

Wide awake

2007-07-02T01:25:00.000-04:00

So, my Sleep Experiment was going well, up until right now. I can't sleep right now. But instead of tossing and turning, cursing and moaning, I am following the advice of Sleep Experts and leaving the bedroom for a relaxing activity.

But honestly, it's not really going that well. I mean, it's stricter than I'm used to. I have been doing a routine like this:

11:00: Stop all activity and move to yoga mat!!!
11:35: Stop all yoga and move to bathroom for Nightly Grooming!!!
11:45: Read just a little!!!
12:00: Lights out!!!

Then, in the morning:
8:00: Alarm sounds!!!
8:10: Leave apartment for bracing morning walk!!!
8:50: Begin Day!!!

To me, the three exclamation points are an important part of each section of the routine. But I haven't been feeling those so much. I do like doing the yoga. The whole evening part is actually really nice. I like it. (I forgot to add "Light a scented candle!!!" during yoga). It's just that I feel like I'm being filmed. It all feels staged right now. Maybe at some point it will start to feel normal.

But the morning part is hard. I wake up every day with my sinuses heavy, anchoring me to my pillow. It's hard to feel energized in that situation. I thought eight hours was going to be a revolution in restedness, but I don't feel that much more rested.

Oh, and I already have made "but it's the weekend!" concessions to this routine. Because who can go to bed so early on the weekend? Not a fun lady like me!

Also, my new routine conflicts with my old habit of drinking some wine in the evening. For one thing, Sleep Experts caution against it. For another, the yoga practice suffers. Perhaps I need to move the glass of wine to earlier in the evening?

***

Today was lovely. A lovely and gourmet Barbecue Event on Patti and Andy's long, lazy front porch. I would live on the porch if that was my house. It's all about sturdy pillars and fancy pillows. Pillars-n-pillows.

I can't sleep partly due to an unhappy stomach, but that has nothing to do with the grilled corn on the cob, grilled foil packets of potatoes/mushrooms/garlic, lentil rice salad, and green salad served by P & A. No, sadly it has to do with a staple drink of my twenties - my beloved umeshu (that's plum wine). How I guzzled it all over the nation of Japan! And so, whilst feeling a bit blue on Saturday, I spied it in the Japanese food section of one of my fancy local markets and decided to go for it. It was a lot less expensive than I usually see it in actual Japanese markets. I drank a little last night, but found it strangely unappealing. I tried again tonight, really tried to put myself back in that cared-for and loved umeshu place, mixing it with water as I used to do, putting it over ice... but, no. Syrupy and sweet. Undrinkable, almost.

Although just now, as I hauled it out, I see that it has PRODUCT OF CHINA written all the hell over it. It looks exactly like the product I so loved, but - is it? I'm starting to wonder. The cheap price! The style is the same, but... I'm sure what I used to drink was a Japanese product. Is it the same company? Do they make it syrupier for different markets? I hope it's something like that. Then I wouldn't have to feel bad about not really liking it anymore.

Here's what the bottle looks like. Maybe you've seen it. My friend Heather ate one of the plums from the bottom and did not file a good report about it. The picture is backwards, and it would take only a few seconds to fix it, but suddenly I am feeling tired. The Sleep Experts would encourage me to leave my quiet activity now, and return to my bedroom sanctuary, reserved only for the purposes of sleep and sex. G'night.

nothing to say, no one to say it to

2007-06-30T16:13:00.000-04:00

Even though I have done so many good things that I like so far today (a walk, buying stuff at the farmer's market, writing, grinding ink and drawing, listening to Saturday NPR shows, reading my Moomin comic collection, taking a nap), i think i will scream if i don't talk to a real human being soon.

That said, I guess I'll have to make do with talking to you. Whoever you are.

But now it turns out that I have nothing to say. So, perhaps I'll just mention some things I have eaten lately.

There is a newish nearby market, which calls itself a "lifestyle center." Eeeew! I knew they would have good stuff, but it was hard to get past that. I finally went, and it has some awesome things. I have always wanted to make preserved lemons, but never have, and behold, they sell Moroccan ("what could be mo' rockin'?", Pam would ask. "Mo Rocca?" I would reply, after a pause, because I'm not as quick with the wit as she) preserved lemons in their olive section!

So I made green beans with preserved lemons. Super good! I also made another fava bean dish. The first go-round with the favas, I cooked them with ginger and bok choy. This time I marinated them in a lemony dressing. All about the lemons right now. I also marinated some red onion slices and some cucumbers for use in salads, but I tend to eat them by themselves, it seems. At Deborah's last night, we grilled vegetables and bread and had sandwiches with ancho chile hummus. Super good. Oh, and we had guacamole. It was my first guac of summer vacation, and my first barbecue of the summer.

I just got word that I will go to my second barbecue of the summer tomorrow, at Patti and Andy's! My summer theme is coming 'round. I'm so glad it's "vegetarian barbecue summer," and not something like "billy joel summer."

wild life

2007-06-26T12:19:00.000-04:00

Little gross creepy crawlies have taken to squeezing through the place where the floor meets the outside wall in my front room. GROSS. GROSS GROSS GROSS! They are simple-minded, pathetic little beasties that don't understand who they have chosen to invade. Their lives are ridiculous. It's almost laughable, how lame and unrealistic their dreams and goals are. Almost laughable. But mostly just gross. It reminds me of when I had the Screaming, Flying Cockroach problem in my compartment in Japan. I went from horrified - unable to sleep, roaming the streets of my neighborhood until I gathered courage to sleep in a tiny ball on the bathmat, the farthest point from which I had seen it - to trying to humiliate it. "You are so stupid and pathetic. You can't do anything fun. Why do you bother? Your brain is a joke," etc. Then I would be at work and imagine it lounging on my "chair" (a term I coined to loosely represent the thing I put on the floor and then sat on sometimes) and watching my T.V., not cleaning up after itself, just an annoying houseguest of the peskiest sort. This gave way to a total giving in on my "I don't use chemicals in my home" stance, and I staged a full-on bug bomb attack. I moved all my things into the closet, as best I could, set off the bomb of chemical doom, then took off to a friend's house for the night. The next afternoon, it wasn't nearly as nuclear holocaust-like as I had imagined, but it was eerily quiet. I couldn't hear any high-pitched screams. The houseguest seemed to be gone. A short time later, I heard a neighbor lady screaming, "GOKIBURI!" Which means cockroach. I apparently drove it into her apartment.

I don't want to drive my current critters (which I'm reluctant to fully describe, because I'm already in their existential throes enough as it is) into the home of the couple that just moved in next door. They seem super nice. I wish I could send them straight to Frat Boy's place upstairs. That would be great. But I get the sense that these losers stay pretty low down.

The bug bomb, by the by, didn't get rid of my little frenemy altogether. One summer night, a season or more later, I heard the inimitable high-pitched scream and I knew. I found it and, psychological horror now truly piqued, went toward it with my upraised shoe. Is there anything more horrible, really? The thing was huge and hard. Whacking it with a shoe would have been like bludgeoning a small mammal to death with a stapler or something. But I was determined to off the motherfucker. As I approached it, it let out a blood-curdling scream and leapt at my face. I screamed like hell and ran, out the door, down the apartment building stairs, to the curb, dialed my unsuspecting boyfriend, and then waited an hour for him to drive across town to fetch me. Neighbors looked at me funny, or funnier than usual. I smiled weakly and said, "Gokiburi."

It wasn't even because of my current creepies, but I switched around my bedroom and my "office." I now sleep in the small room whose window is not easily accessible to anyone walking by outside, and my office is all big and spacious and I can open the blinds because I don't care who sees me working on my computer versus sleeping in my skivvies. I am keeping the bedroom really bedroomy. That's right - no extraneous whatnot unrelated to sleep. I've decided to use my summer leisure to do a study on sleep, with me as the subject. Does all that wacky good-night's-sleep advice work? I was planning on starting last night, but I got involved in something. I made myself wake up early today so I'll be all ready to start tonight.

I'm also going to buy a new bed. I'm in research mode. The problem is that the bed I want is the one pictured here. It is not a bed that just anyone can have. It is not a bed for a regular person of regular means. But it is the most beautiful bed I have ever seen. All beds should follow suit. Now I have this in my head and nothing is going to seem right.

happy

2007-06-22T14:47:00.000-04:00

I'm happy right now. i've only been off of school a week, but i have already brang the fun. For one thing, I've been saying "brang" a lot more, and it feels right. but that's just the beginning of the fun i have brang. I turned in my classroom keys on friday and then hit the road for chicago. mere hours later, i was sitting at the bar with my ladies and two mysterious brothers. Pam and I went to Madison in the morning. Of course, we only travel as guests of the governor of whatever state we are visiting, so we checked into our Governor's Club hotel room and then I went to my Lynda Barry class.

Lynda Barry is so great. I already was in awe of her, but now I also flat-out love her. She was so normal and nice and hilarious. She invited us to stay and talk to her at lunch, and acted like we'd be doing her a big favor by doing so. The second day, she brought tons of work samples for us to look at, and also her chinese ink painting supplies, and spread it all out and taught us all how to do that during lunch, if we wanted to learn. She also said she could never draw birds well until she realized that they don't really have necks. I totally understood this. And i mentioned that I like the sock monkey she draws, and she was like, "Oh, that one is so easy. You can do it, no problem. Here, let me show you how!"

So there was the drawing inspiration, but of course it was a writing class, so mostly it was doing tons of deep work with writing. It was similar to a process I've done before, but I got tons of ideas not only for my own writing, but for teaching writing, too. She was so supportive and motivating and it was very important that I saw her system of organization of her teaching notes. Basically a collection of notecards spread all over the table, with just a few words on each, all cattywampus but sense-making to her. And to me, actually.

We also got to sing the song "Jimmy Carter Says Yes," led by Kelly Hogan, who organizes LB's classes for her.

Pam and I enjoyed free cocktails on the governor, then ate at an awesome place that reminded me for some reason of bars I used to go to in Nagoya. Particularly, it reminded me of Yagiya, the exciting exterior of which is pitured above. It didn't look at all like Yagiya, but that's where it felt like I was. We also meandered about a bit. You know how I love to meander. The second day, we ate Nepalese (or Nepali? Which is best?) food. Awesomely awesome.

That's what Lynda Barry taught me - that "awesomely awesome" is the kind of thing I should be writing more.

I have lots more to say, because then we went back to Chicago, and then I spent days with Chris, and saw lots of other peeps, and just came back last night and saw "God Grew Tired of Us," as part of a Save Darfur fundraiser.

Life has recently been divided into various chunks of enjoyment. But I'm all super distracted for some reason and can't continue writing this now.

I luff summer!

fear my prowess

2007-06-13T21:54:00.001-04:00

I got a run today at the mandatory kickball game!

An athletic scourge on the school no longer.

I feel I earned the extended periods of time I otherwise spent chatting and swigging cold coffee in the outfield, sometimes facing away from the diamond. Those fifth graders never kick it out that far, anyway.

I started writing and a bunch of job related stuff came out unexpectedly.

2007-06-11T22:00:00.000-04:00

I won't go into the boring details (pronounced with the emphasis on the second syllable), but this day was mythic in its exhaustion making opportunities. I felt boxed in and under-challenged, except in the patience department. So I've been all brain-deadily looking on the internet for other career options. Just looking, of course. Just one of those days, really.

But I have to tell you something secret about myself. I SUCKED at my business jobs and can never do anything remotely like that again, ok? I always did just enough to not get called out. I found I didn't really care at all. I lacked passion of any kind. I like to pretend that I have this great work ethic, burdensome in its magnitude, but really I'm just clever enough to get by. I'm clever enough with words that I can hide the lack of content. A professor wrote something just like that on a paper once - she was almost dazzled enough by my language to ignore that I really didn't say that much.

It's not something I like admitting. But I'll tell you even more. I'm organizationally retarded, I HATE making business related calls, and I have no mind for details. I'm daydreamy and unfocused. I avoid with a vengeance. When those daydreams drift to alternate job paths, the sad truth is that I'm not cut out for any of those dream jobs (i.e., southeast Asia correspondant for NPR).

I just looked at my old diary that I kept online while I was working at the translation company, and remembered it all so vividly. Those days were the worst. Here are a few supporting quotes:

"Shit, I messed something up and it's too late to fix it. Well, if you receive your HMO benefits summary in Arabic, and something doesn't make sense, let me know and I'll clear it up for you."

"I nearly bought a pair of dominatrix-looking boots at lunchtime. Ready to whip those projects into shape and show them who is boss. But I'm so not the boss of my projects. I didn't buy them."

"God, I wish my co-worker would shut up. The complicated project involves module 2 and module 3, and each module has sections 1, 2, and 3. All day she has been talking constantly about it. Module 2, section 3 is fine, but module 3, section 2 is not, and modules 2 and 3, section 2 have this issue, whereas only module 2 has that issue with sections 1 and 3. I don't have any idea what she's fucking talking about."

"At my meeting, my jokes fell flat. "We are still working on the lead poisoning prevention brochure," said co-worker. We have been working on this since Jeff was a pup. "Still???" said I. "God, in the meantime, a bunch of kids have gotten lead poisoning!" "We have sent the Arabic translation of the gambling awareness brochure to the State of MI for a final review," said co-worker. It's the 50th or so such review. "Meanwhile, dozens of Arabic-speaking people have developed gambling problems!" I said. Well, no one laughed, but I did. Then I started imagining stroking a cat's belly. A soft, silky, cat belly. I thought about this for a long time. Then I started thinking about stretching exercises. I want to stretch out, and i want someone to hold my hands while we spread our legs and sit feet to feet, then we take turns leaning back, as far back as the other person can take it. This made me start thinking about other couples' stretching exercises and imagining photo layouts of couples in matching warmup suits, doing various couples' stretches. I snickered out loud. I was afraid that when they asked me to give updates on my projects, I was going to blurt out something like, "I like couples' stretching exercises!!!"

God. See what I mean? Unfit. But able to act the part.

This is really depressing me right now. I see that I'm basically unloveable (so much so that I don't even know if I am supposed to keep the "e." This, from a fourth grade spelling bee champ!!!).

At least there's Galaxy 500. I'm good at listening to them.

fava beanz

2007-06-10T22:56:00.000-04:00

The Sopranos! We hardly knew ye, and ye will be missed.

What a crazy ending. I have to watch the whole thing again. Was the guy at the end familiar, or not? Meaningful, or not?

I'm all hyped up about it. I just got home from watching it, and I had just today vowed to start some sort of soothing bedtime routine to try to teach myself proper grown up sleep habits. Instead I am drinking wine, looking around online, changing my sheets, and cooking rice, and it's just about 11. The plan was to do some relaxing stretches, put on some quiet music, or some such shit, and lights out by 10:30. Oh well. Tomorrow night?

I was hoping that in my sheets I'd find my ring which for years I have worn on the middle finger of my left hand. It is square on the outside and round on the inside, and I've literally had it on since at least the late nineties, if not longer. One day at school recently I suddenly realized that it wasn't on. "Oh my god!" I said, right out loud. "What?" they said. "My ring!" I replied. They all started talking at once. "The square one, that's round inside? On the middle finger of your left hand?" Then I realized that yes, I'm truly under a weird scrutiny all day, every day, and this makes my job tiring.

But only for 3 and a half more days.

Anyway, the ring was not loose at all. So how did it come off? I imagine I took it off in the night, due to some dramatic dream, and flung it deep into the sheets.

I have had a headache since Friday. The exact moment it started was at the end of our "read-in," which involved an afternoon of sleeping bags, pillows, flashlights, and books (real purpose: keep 'em busy while I started taking stuff off the walls). And pajamas. NOT FOR ME, THOUGH. The moment that 28 kids started telling me at the same time that they couldn't roll up their sleeping bags was the moment the headache began in earnest. And despite copious sleep at strange hours all weekend, it hasn't let up.

I bought fresh fava beans today! It has always been a dream of mine.

Screw the good sleep habits. I feel fantastic!

Ashtray bed

2007-06-03T16:11:00.000-04:00

The weekend is almost over, but who am I to complain? 9 more days I have to rise in the darkness of morning and then go teach kids. 9 little days, then I'll be off to Madison and Chicago, then I'll be back with leisurely days at home, a trip up north, a workshop here or there. Just nine old days between this and that.

But complain I do. I don't want the weekend to be almost over!

The dude upstairs is a ruiner of sleep. He had a party last night. Fine; I have no desire to be that person who gets mad at someone else's party. But the party started at 3 a.m., woke me up, and hit a peak of obnoxiousness around 4:30 when they gathered on the front porch to smoke and talk about strippers. The porch is right by my window. The window is by my bed. I was essentially on the porch with them. They were essentially in my bed with me. They were pretty much shouting in my ear about strippers and their crazy stripper-related hijinx. And blowing smoke into my eyes. It was all atrocious. I finally slammed shut my window and they all started laughing. How hilarious that they pissed off some dumb chick! They are so crazy and fun!

I was scared of them, as I am of groups of drunk men, so I didn't say anything. To put my face in my window and ask them to be quiet would be to draw too much attention to the fact that they were basically hanging out in my bed. So I left the window closed and tried to close my smoke-stinging eyes.

Have you ever slept in an ashtray? That's what it was like. I slept in a Japanese ashtray once. An American ashtray is much the same, as yucky places to sleep go.

Fertile at the garden center

2007-06-02T20:00:00.000-04:00

After a lunch out with my mom and aunt recently, I found myself at this big garden center with them. They know their plants. They know their flowers. They know their soils, their mulches and seeds. They know their Latin names, even. They wandered around and spoke intelligently about the growing things around us. I wandered around with a little drool at the corner of my mouth, pointing and simple-mindedly saying things like "pretty," "nice," and "orange." I don't know my flowers, or my plants. It's sad, really. But I did see something that quite struck my fancy at the garden center that day. The suburban, upper-middle-class garden center. The golf-shirts-and-khaki-shorts garden center. I saw a dude. Not just any dude.

A dude dressed in a fancy white suit and a black shirt, like Nick Cave might wear, and a white tie.

A dude with a very dramatically long mustache, like Dali might have sported.

A dude with big ol' shades like Elvis favored.

Oh my god. What was he doing at the suburban garden center? So brave and bold. He could so easily have soiled - literally! - that suit! He was so dashing. I mean, Nick Cave-Dali-Elvis? Come on. I was totally ashamed of my own dull fashion statement. I could barely look at him. I NEVER see dudes I like. Almost NEVER. My mom was kind of giggling about him. I don't think she understood that my excitement was in no way ironic.

He was fancy yet manly, you know? He was Fanly.

I'd like him to accompany me to my end-of-the-year staff party. Him, or, of course, Danny Dollrod has an open invite.

Punto

2007-05-27T12:06:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was the day that the fourth grade girls at my school found out from their trusted teachers that they will one day begin to bleed from their vaginas, and they will spend about a quarter of the rest of their lives in that condition. Yes, they got the changing-bodies-and-periods talk. After school, I saw the fourth grade girls walking around all dazed, with big-eyed shock all over their faces. They probably felt duped. Who can blame them?

In other health news, I can't seem to get a good stretch in my hamstrings. I don't know what it is. But those who know me well may know that my basic life philosophy is that the key to happiness is well-stretched hamstrings. So I guess I don't need to spell out my emotional state these days. That's part of why I haven't been writing. I also haven't been writing because of poor internet availabiltiy in the home, and because of grand adventures, etc., keeping me too busy. And my period.

scary post

2007-05-12T01:56:00.000-04:00

Why do I get so mad when I get home and someone is parked in my space? The person might not know it's my space. But I know, and it pisses me off but good. I guess I just feel like, I don't have a washer/dryer; I don't have a place to sit outside; I don't have any windows in my kitchen; but goddammit, I have a conveniently located assigned parking spot!

So tonight, like other nights, I wrote a note and stuck it under the car's windshield wipers. A note along the lines of, "Hey, this is my space." Nothing crazy. But tonight, unlike other nights since I've lived here and found someone in my space, it's nice weather (the air right now is cool, but in an edge-of-warm way). And I want to open my bedroom window when I go to bed. I've been doing that, and feel just a little uneasy because I'm on the first floor, and the windows are low, and the parking lot is right there. And if I make the parking space stealer angry, he may enter my home through this window, right? It would be very simple to do.

So I just went out and removed the note!

This is how freaked out I am lately. I didn't realize how strong a psychological grip these low windows would have on me. I'm not usually one to freak myself out about living alone kinds of things. I'm only keeping the one window open while I sleep (cramping my fresh-air style), but still, I'm waking up to any sound with a start. I dreamed last night that someone came in. It is not helping that I'm reading A Strange Piece of Paradise, in which the author recounts being attacked while camping and hacked up by an ax.

Maybe I should pick out another book.

Also, I think I should get a piece of wood to wedge in the top of my window so it can't be opened wider from the outside. Or at least sprinkle some shards of glass on the outer sill.

P.S. I was going to put a picture of an ax on this post, but I started looking for one and got scared. I am not going to look for pictures of axes anymore. One picture that came up was of the Virginia Tech guy. That reminded me that I had a dream that I was supposed to meet him for coffee, but I didn't want to go. I was scared of him, and also I was afraid for people to see me with him, because I knew they'd all recognize him. But then again, I was afraid to not go, because now I knew how violent he was, and I knew he would come find me.

I'm not going to look at anything on the internet, read books, or stay up late anymore.

Open letter to inanimate objects everywhere

2007-05-09T19:14:00.000-04:00

Dear inanimate object;

Should you find your way into my hands, consider yourself warned. I will drop you. I will not be able to sustain a grip, and you will clatter to the floor. Be you fork, phone, roll of tape, or apple, you are not safe with me, inanimate object. That's just the way it is these days.

xxx ooo merrichan

reading today

2007-05-06T17:01:00.000-04:00

I am reading Ma Jian's "Stick Out Your Tongue." A few years ago, I read his memoir, "Red Dust," which I loved. In Red Dust, he writes about his time spent wandering, hiding from government censors in the remotest parts of China and walking, walking, walking. It was all very romantic, and I found Ma Jian to be very hot in a renegade artist kind of way. Today I started "Stick Out Your Tongue," which if I understand correctly was the reason he was running from the censors. The book consists of stories that all take place in Tibet, and they show a side of Tibet much different than the Hollywood Buddhist/prayer-flag version. Ma Jian writes about some horrible, horrible things in these stories. Think lots of maiming, rape, and congealed yak blood. It's a very slim book, and I just now lay in a patch of sun and read about half of it, but I need a break from the desolation. He is such a good writer, and I know he spent time in Tibet, so it makes me wonder how much is based on real events. Anyway, the Chinese government didn't like his take on Tibet, and so he was banned from ever publishing in China. Which I guess I don't really understand - the Chinese government isn't exactly pro-Tibet, so why was he banned over this? I think they just like to harrass artists and writers.

Now he lives in London. I tried reading his novel The Noodle Maker earlier this year but couldn't get into it. Maybe i'll give it another try.

I love reading about China and reading Chinese literature. I'd like to study Chinese, and I'd go there in a second. I'm a little worried about the bathroom sitch, though. That's the only thing.

Inexplicable shame in paper or plastic

2007-05-04T23:44:00.000-04:00

Will Ferrell is staying across the street from me at the fancy hotel. He's been eating at the bar that would maybe be my local if I wasn't afraid of seeing school people there whilst drinking too much.

Recently, I'm just kind of ugh. You know?

I got the new Trader Joe's catalogue in the mail today. I do love Trader Joe's, although a lot of the stuff I won't eat because I'm a snob who doesn't understand the logic behind "deconstructed burrito bowls." I don't really like pre-prepared stuff, I guess. See? I'm a food snob. It's just that it takes less than 10 minutes to make a real, fresh burrito, you know? So you just end up left with a plastic container to get rid of.

But there are some things there that I love. Like mango black tea!

Today I was there to get some mango black tea, it so happens, and Friendly Guy was all like, "Hey, welcome back! Great to see you! How have you BEEN?" Does he actually remember me from weeks ago, or is that just Friendly Guy's work survival schtick? He touched me on the arm, oh so comfortingly and supportively, and said, "See you again soon!"

Much different from Mean Guy, who forgot to read the section of the Trader Joe's employee manual about over-the-top friendliness. Recently, this cash register conversation transpired shortly after M won a bag of fancy stuff from her local Trader Joe's from the monthly contest you get to enter when you bring your own bags:

Me, holding out my brought-from-home bags: "My friend got a bag of fancy stuff for bringing her own bags - do you do that contest at this Trader Joe's, too?"
Mean Guy: "We don't just GIVE you that for bringing in your bags. You have to enter and win."
Me: "Oh, I know. Can I enter?"
Mean guy, huffily: "Lots of people enter, you know. Just because you enter doesn't mean you'll win. Some people enter every month and never win."

Yes, I do get the basic idea of contests, Mean Guy. Thanks for the inexplicable shame.

Help!

2007-04-30T21:33:00.000-04:00

I have a problem and need advice. My students are doing biography book reports. They all get to choose who they do, but they have to be dead (this is my attempt to get them not to do a Detroit Pistons player, American Idol contestant, or George W. Bush; Reagan is now fair game, though. Damn!). One of my students really wants to do hers on a famous Asian or Asian American. I'm all for it, of course, BUT - I cannot find a single kids' biography book about a non-living person from any part of Asia! I've scoured online resources and my library's catalogue. Anyone have an idea or know something I don't? I hate that I have to tell her no, sorry, there is NO ONE from Asian history who is important enough for someone to have written a book about... I may just lift the "has to be dead" requirement and suggest Maya Lin, because there's a book about her...

Maybe this suggests a writing project for me!

cass corridor crash pad

2007-04-29T01:31:00.000-04:00

People in my world often seem to have second homes of some sort. No one in my family does, but school-related people do, in numbers I find shocking. Usually these second homes are on a lake or an ocean, or near a lake or an ocean. For some reason they are not generally in cities. Tonight I thought about how I need a second home - or, a second rental - in Detroit, for use on the weekends. I have always wondered about this grandiose, abandoned castle on Cass. Here's what I found on the Metro Times website:

"Known by locals as “the castle,” the grandiose, turreted GAR (Grand Army of the Republic) Building is still there at 1942 Grand River on the corner of Cass, still boarded up, still owned by the city and still occupied solely by pigeons. Built at the end of the 19th century, the castle has been vacant since 1973."

Maybe I could just have one turret as my weekend crash pad? Hmm... Pigeons. Gross! Forget it.

See, I am trying to go out more, with Pam as my role model. I'm not really interested in going out around where I live. I drive to Ferndale or Detroit. Tonight Alice and I went to two places in Detroit I'd been wanting to go to. Both were great fun. Before tonight, I had never had a dude try to pick me up by telling me about the awesome new walk he tried out at his fashion show today. He is a model, you see. He told me about how he innocently took off his shirt one day at some fashion event, and within minutes was handed a different shirt to model and whisked onto a runway. Ever since then, he's been in high demand as a model.

He must have said "model" at least twenty times in less than ten minutes. I don't think I said it at all.

all-night garage sale of the mind

2007-04-27T22:52:00.000-04:00

I just lost a big long entry. I think it's because my pinkie nail is too long. Something got pressed. I don't know.

Do you know the song "Billy Boy?" It's totally haunting me right now. In the constant loop it's playing in my mind, it starts as a chorus of cheery hay-riding children, then slows to a macabre horror movie high-pitched refrain. That's maybe just what happens when one of your job requirements is to dress up like a pioneer schoolmistress two days out of every year and teach readin', writin', and 'rithmetic to a bunch of kids dressed in knickers and bonnets at a one-room schoolhouse. Two. Whole. Days. Including fake beating them with fake hickory sticks. While wearing calico. Things go funny in your head. Trust me. Especially when you have a fever. Like me.

I'm feeling better, though, and I'd like to catch you up on what I have and have not been doing.

Recently, I have not been doing these things:
- having insomnia
- settling on a new master plan for my hair
- maintaining an interest in the small bit of gentle online stalking I normally do
- having planned or surprise thrillz
- the splits (but I just checked, and I still can)
- seeing Hot Fuzz
- cutting my pinkie nail
- maintaining communication effectively

I have been doing these things:
- admitting that I should do something about my hair
- eating frozen black cherries
- switching out the summer and winter clothes
- buying nail polish (next step: apply nail polish)
- dragging myself by the elbows through a desert towards my oasis, Friday, 3:10, which has now come and gone, leaving me much refreshed
- drank outside at mollie's a la summertime fun
- signing up for Lynda Barry class in Madison
- listening to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs (at least right now I am)
- deciding that I want the summer to be all about people hosting and inviting me to barbecues of skewered vegetables and soy protein shapes, and beer.
- fondly reminscing about the crush i used to have at whole foods. anything seemed possible back then, in late summer of 2006, when any shortage of cereal or kale would get me all excitable...
- counting down the wake-up days until summer vacation.
- finding a list chris and i made called "A List of Things to Do on the Eve of the Summer Solstice: 1992 Edition." There are 27 options listed. Some highlights include: Flint Expo; home body piercing; visit pam; fix washing machine; balance eggs; shoot: guns, pool, and heroin; and all-night garage sale.

misfit girl doll

2007-04-21T01:36:00.000-04:00

Tonight was my school's Family Fun Night. Or, as I call it, Family Freakin' Fun Night. Not that any freakiness really occurs. It's a school carnival, basically, with a cakewalk and games and stuff. Promises of fun be damned; we are always pressured to go, and it always leaves me a little depressed and misfit-toy feeling. It's actually held at my old high school. Around these families in a social situation, I feel just as misfitesque as I did back in the day.

Looking for this picture, I read some guy's opinion that the misfit toy girl, above, was a misfit more for psychological than physical reasons. Touche! (Sorry - I don't know how to do the accented e on my mac and am too tired to look it up).

This week: I got tenure in my district. I also got 1% retroactive pay on what I've made this school year so far - because we finally settled our contract. One percent didn't come to that much, but it's enough to buy a nice new piece of art... and I think that's a good way to celebrate a milestone... but I shouldn't... but I want to... and I have just spent hours looking at art online and pondering... but I probably won't... will I?

I saw a lovely $10,000 Japanese print and had to laugh. People don't really spend that, do they? I am agonizing over whether or not to spend less than two hundred dollars!

There's nothing funny or fun to report! I ate sushi tonight. That was fun. I had work obligations 4 out of the past 5 nights. Neither funny nor fun. Perhaps writing in the ol' di isn't the thing to do after that kind of week. I'll try to build up something to say before I write again.

Back in the day (junior high?) - Smiths "Meat is Murder" t-shirt and a magazine - Star Hits, maybe? My red folder has a Far Side comic taped to it. How zany! And there is a radio/tape player in my bed, just visible behind the blankets. I look really mad. My eyes look weird. Twenty years later, I still don't make my bed. I still have that t-shirt. My hair is not asymmetrical (which it was in those days). Maybe it should be. Also, I still sit on the floor with stuff around me. Sometimes in the midst of a project, I box myself in.

My glamorous friend, Lisa

2007-04-14T13:45:00.000-04:00

Lisa apparently has a higher tolerance for pinchy sensations than I do.

Letter Proposition

2007-04-12T21:39:00.000-04:00

Do they make pasta sauces in small, single-person sized jars? Or must one be coupley to enjoy waste-free pasta eating? I am tired of throwing away old uneaten pasta sauce. I remember for awhile one could find small cans of black and garbanzo beans, but I haven't seen those in awhile. Could this niche be the answer to my "summertime extra income stream" challenge?

Not wasting pasta sauce now joins "free rides to the airport" as reasons to be part of a couple.

Can you tell I'm on spring break? All kinds of time to think, in conjunction with ample fridge-cleaning opportunities.

This has been the craziest spring break EVAH!!! MTV should totally have a camera rolling in my apartment. Unlike every other break in recent memory, I have been crazy... PRODUCTIVE. Dudes, I am never productive. This is huge. The room with the monster has finally been exorcised, and it now can function as a proper office. What did I discover in this process? Well, I discovered that I have a completely inappropriate amount of stationery. I have a bunch of weird Japanese stationery; I have arty paper; I have homemade "Fuck White Supremacy" stationery; I have weird old travel postcards; I have too-bumpy-to-write-on stationery; I have more stationery than is in any way reasonable, especially considering that I don't write letters.

So here's the deal. Would you like a letter from me, Imaginary Reader? Just leave me a comment to that effect. You will have to give me your email address. Then via email, you will have to give me your real address. I know. It's weird. But if we go through all that, I will send you a letter on carefully selected stationery. Or, most likely I already know you and your address. Still, if you want a damn letter, you have to sign. No sending me a text message. That's just the way it is. Don't even TRY it, bucko.

digging deep

2007-04-02T20:56:00.000-04:00

My eating life has been all about noodle soup lately. I'm on a "I spend too much money on food" kick, wherein I'm trying to go deep into the cupboards, eating what I have before breaking down and going grocery shopping. It turns out I have quite a lot of noodles (soba and udon), plus a bunch of soy-ginger broth, plus a ton of frozen edamame and other vegetables, and seaweed. Hence, noodle soup.

It brings back to mind my old idea for a cooking show called "Poorly Stocked Kitchen." The contestants try to make do with the slim pickins in a, well, poorly stocked kitchen. Chris would definitely win, no matter who she took on. She always could whip up some good shit from some mighty incongruent ingredients. That's how I remember our roommate-hood, at least. I would look in the cupboards and see a few blobs of mustard, half a can of beans, soy sauce, and old packets of yeast. Chris would see a delightful Pan-Asian feast, somehow, and it would be really good to boot.

I went to two movies on Saturday night at the DFT. I saw the Thai cowboy movie "Tears of the Black Tiger," and the Jonestown documentary. Both were good. I don't really like writing about movies, or books, even though I love movies and books more than I love most other things. I chalk it up to the art snob dude who exerted terrible control over my opinions for a few years. Yeah, it's still his fault, somehow. Why not? Anyway, I enjoyed a glass of wine before each film and did a lot of people watching. People kept smelling a certain way that reminded me of student co-op parties at U of M. Not really a pleasant smell - in the patchouli family, but different. I hadn't smelled it in years, and oddly, I smelled it all throughout that night. Then in my car, driving home, lo! I smelled it again. Only I was alone now. Which could mean only one thing.

I was the student co-op party smelling girl!

Damn Lush products! You know, I like the idea so much, and they are all so pretty, but this is the second thing I've bought from them that has left an unexpected lingering hippie odor!

I have been watching season 7 of Buffy again (thanks, Jen). As they talk about the impending apocalypse, and how something is coming, I keep getting it mixed up in my mind with April in general. I will have a spring break, then when I return to school I will be slammed with a near-apocalyptic maelstrom of events and stress-inducing obligations, all involving intense preparation and task-mistressing. I am not looking forward to it.

I look ahead in my calendar, feel a chill pass through me, and brace for it - from below, it will devour me. Or from above, or the sides. Someway, April is probably going to devour me.

See you in May?

overtired

2007-03-27T22:55:00.000-04:00

This morning on my way to work, I almost ran over a mallard duck, which was standing stupidly in the road.
On the way home, I saw a frog hop right into the spot that my tire was about to occupy. I doubt he made it.

It was a bad day to be an animal in my way, I guess.

I keep seeing the same license plate numbers. I always make words out of license plates - you might call it a hobby - and at least five times in the last few days I've been behind a "bch." I make Bach, bitch, blech, and beach. I don't make broach, birch, or brunch, though I could. Which of those things do you like best? I do enjoy brunch. Birches are good, too.

Another one I have been behind a lot is BFG. There is a Roald Dahl book called The BFG. I think it stands for.... god, I don't know. I think "Big Fuckin' Giant" in my head when I read it to my students (I hope that's just in my head). I'm not sure what the F really stands for.... Freakin'?

I haven't read The BFG to this class yet. Maybe the license plates are giving me a message.

Come to think of it, maybe I was also getting messages today when I was behind "KLL DCK" and "KLL FRG."

dark sidin' it

2007-03-20T22:22:00.000-04:00

I miss my old contact solution, which they no longer make. It cleaned without leaving any kind of tacky film behind.

I also miss the old days, when my contacts weren't all specialized, and I didn't have to pay $155 EACH for them, which I did the other day.

I miss these cool dark green vinyl boots I wore in high school, and the black two-piece goth-girl outfit with the notched collar, which the kids at school referred to as my priest, or maybe priestess, outfit.

I miss the topics I wrote about on my old Ida-Red diary, which were usually more along the lines of going to shows, drinking too much, polling strangers on topics of relevancy to me, and taking vacations.

As I have recently told Alice: I'm considering exploring the dark side of life. What do you think? I wish I still had that goth outfit. It would be a starting point.

the hunchback of fisherprice village

2007-03-18T23:21:00.000-04:00

I feel really hunched.

When I was a kid, my method of playing was to hunch over something and play with it for hours. There I'd be, in the dark basement, hunched over my Fisher Price people or my Barbies or whatever. I still remember exactly how absorbed I would get, and how that felt. I was no longer a human girl in a damp basement, but the powerful architect of those little Fisher Price peoples' lives, with their little hospital and village center, their school and gas station. I wasn't aware of having a body, really. Hours, literally, would go by, until suddenly something would make me look up, and I'd be brought back to reality - that I was in the basement, and it was really quiet, and I was alone, and had been for a long time. The basement had suddenly become a terrifying place. I'd abandon my game and run up the stairs, a little rusty from having sat all hunched for so long. I imagine how I might have looked when I reached the top of the steps and burst into the kitchen: teeth all fangified and eyes all swirly, not quite returned to my full human form, a weird little badly groomed hunchback Me.

My back would be sore from the hunching.

My mom would ask if I'd cleaned up my mess.

Of course I hadn't. The basement was too scary a place to linger for such a purpose.

So here I am, decades later, with my back sore from hunching over about eight million hours worth of work (I literally did spend at least five or six hours today), the majority of which I did on the floor. I'm not exactly freaked out, a la the basements of my youth, but I have left a mess of discarded papers and stuff. I would clean it up now, but I should make my lunch and get to bed, right? It's already late. The mess will have to wait until tomorrow.

Just have to stretch out my back before going to sleep.

(P.S. You know that's not my couch in the picture, right?)