off balance, but well shod

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

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)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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.