Winter stories

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.