A lot of detail about my trip

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

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

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

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

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

Chapstick Chapstick Chapstick

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

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?