These urges!
Today I want to, greatly desire to, am nearing a need to wear flip-flops. Oh yeah . . . I don't know what the ground-hog said, but summer in the south must be on it's way! For the past three weeks every time I go to Wal-mart (and you might be surprised at how often that is) I gravitate toward the flip-flops.(I know, why do they even have flip flops out already right?) Then I think, No, it's not warm enough yet, (besides I made a new month resolution to not buy shoes in Feb.)
And I look at my oh-so-white feet and realize the destinction of my summer-in-the-sun-nothing-but-flip-flops-tan line is all but gone.
sigh
what did the hog say?
Tuesday, February 11, 2003
Monday, February 10, 2003
I don’t know why.
Yesterday I got an urge to see what would happen if I stared at the little librarian girl for a long, long time. I was staring at her while I wondered, and in those few minutes I could tell from her body language that she had noticed me and that she was already becoming nervous.
What is it that causes alarm and tenseness disproportionate to the apparent threat, as someone, maybe across the room, someone clearly out of reach, simply looks at us?
Yesterday I got an urge to see what would happen if I stared at the little librarian girl for a long, long time. I was staring at her while I wondered, and in those few minutes I could tell from her body language that she had noticed me and that she was already becoming nervous.
What is it that causes alarm and tenseness disproportionate to the apparent threat, as someone, maybe across the room, someone clearly out of reach, simply looks at us?
Sunday, February 09, 2003
I went to a Bible study sponsered by the Chinese church. We looked at Luke 5:1-11. Jesus spoke to the crowds from Simon's fishing boat on Gennesaret Lake. Jesus amazed the fishermen by providing a mighty catch of fish. When Simon realized what Jesus had done, he said: "Go away from me, Lord: I am a sinful man!"
The resulting quote of the day: "Maybe if Peter had been an accountant, he would not have believed Jesus so much."
I like Bible study with Chinese people.
The resulting quote of the day: "Maybe if Peter had been an accountant, he would not have believed Jesus so much."
I like Bible study with Chinese people.
Friday, February 07, 2003
I was walking to my door the other day when a little girl, about 7 years old, (long black hair, no front teeth) said, “Hi.” She was holding a picture she had made in her hand.
I said, “Hi.” She showed me the picture and said, “Do you think this is pretty?”
Being a patron of the arts and little girls, I looked at the legal size sheet of typing paper she was displaying. It had cutouts from magazines pasted to it (pictures of a necklace, a ring, Tigger and a bottle of shampoo) and I said, “Yes, that’s very nice.”
She said, ever so cleverly, “Do you want to buy it? I’ll sell it to you for 50 cents. I need two quarters for the ice-cream truck!”
Without a doubt, she looked like a girl in need, dire need of something from the ice-cream truck, (whose soul purpose is the entice small children and weak adults with its flashing lights, and it’s music box tones to eat ice cream, even on cold days!) I quickly remembered my need as a child with no teeth for “something from the ice-cream truck.”
I said, “Okay.”
In I went, got four dimes and two nickels (needed to keep the quarters for laundry). I told my roommate about the dilemma of the child outside who needed ice cream. Summer agreed to buy a large sticker from the first girl’s friend for a mere 50 cents.
When we came out with the money. My little artist (con artist) looked disappointed that it wasn’t two quarters. So I counted it out for her, to prove that it was just as good as two quarters. Summer made her exchange, and a few minutes later I made a second purchase from the last little girl who was “in the sale too, but just not outside” at the time of the original offer. This time the three had a little two year old with them, so I gave the little one my last two dimes and nickel and told them to share whatever they got with her.
I think our combined $1.75 was well spent.
I said, “Hi.” She showed me the picture and said, “Do you think this is pretty?”
Being a patron of the arts and little girls, I looked at the legal size sheet of typing paper she was displaying. It had cutouts from magazines pasted to it (pictures of a necklace, a ring, Tigger and a bottle of shampoo) and I said, “Yes, that’s very nice.”
She said, ever so cleverly, “Do you want to buy it? I’ll sell it to you for 50 cents. I need two quarters for the ice-cream truck!”
Without a doubt, she looked like a girl in need, dire need of something from the ice-cream truck, (whose soul purpose is the entice small children and weak adults with its flashing lights, and it’s music box tones to eat ice cream, even on cold days!) I quickly remembered my need as a child with no teeth for “something from the ice-cream truck.”
I said, “Okay.”
In I went, got four dimes and two nickels (needed to keep the quarters for laundry). I told my roommate about the dilemma of the child outside who needed ice cream. Summer agreed to buy a large sticker from the first girl’s friend for a mere 50 cents.
When we came out with the money. My little artist (con artist) looked disappointed that it wasn’t two quarters. So I counted it out for her, to prove that it was just as good as two quarters. Summer made her exchange, and a few minutes later I made a second purchase from the last little girl who was “in the sale too, but just not outside” at the time of the original offer. This time the three had a little two year old with them, so I gave the little one my last two dimes and nickel and told them to share whatever they got with her.
I think our combined $1.75 was well spent.
Wednesday, February 05, 2003
Today I played the “I’m just a girl . . . with a car” game. It works every time. I have needed to put air in The Buick tires for some time. But putting air in the tires is one of those things. One of those things I just can always find a reason to put off, like vacuuming. It’s not hard, nor is it time consuming, but I just don’t want to do it.
I decided today I had put if off long enough, so when I got gas, I bought a tire gauge. I checked the pressure, and while the little stick should have poked out to 32, it only poked out to 20 on the lowest tire and 25 on the highest.
So I went back into the gas station to get change for the air machine. Thus begins the game:
Me: I need quarters please.
Gas station guy: Here you go.
Me: So, when you put air in your tires, if the tire says 35 P-S-I this little stick should poke out to 35 when you’re done right?
GSG: Yeah, but 35 sounds like a lot.
Me: Oh? That’s what it says on the tire.
GSG: I always put in 32.
Me: Okay, I’ll put in 32.
GSG: If you put in the code 2-6 before you put your quarters in the machine will turn on.
Me: It won’t turn on if I don’t put in 2-6?
GSG: Not without your quarters.
Me: So I put in 2-6 and then my quarters?
GSG: Not if you want to keep your quarters.
Me: Oh! Okay! Thanks!
----
Outside, I punch in the code, the machine comes on and I start filling up the first tire.
GSG: How’s it going?
Me: Oh, okay I guess.
GSG: Here, let me do it for you.
Me: Okay.
Three tires later, I say “Thanks!”
He goes back into the gas station mini-mart. Good has been done.
I decided today I had put if off long enough, so when I got gas, I bought a tire gauge. I checked the pressure, and while the little stick should have poked out to 32, it only poked out to 20 on the lowest tire and 25 on the highest.
So I went back into the gas station to get change for the air machine. Thus begins the game:
Me: I need quarters please.
Gas station guy: Here you go.
Me: So, when you put air in your tires, if the tire says 35 P-S-I this little stick should poke out to 35 when you’re done right?
GSG: Yeah, but 35 sounds like a lot.
Me: Oh? That’s what it says on the tire.
GSG: I always put in 32.
Me: Okay, I’ll put in 32.
GSG: If you put in the code 2-6 before you put your quarters in the machine will turn on.
Me: It won’t turn on if I don’t put in 2-6?
GSG: Not without your quarters.
Me: So I put in 2-6 and then my quarters?
GSG: Not if you want to keep your quarters.
Me: Oh! Okay! Thanks!
----
Outside, I punch in the code, the machine comes on and I start filling up the first tire.
GSG: How’s it going?
Me: Oh, okay I guess.
GSG: Here, let me do it for you.
Me: Okay.
Three tires later, I say “Thanks!”
He goes back into the gas station mini-mart. Good has been done.
I’m inspired after watching Amelie for the first time. (I’ve decided I should watch it every week until the end of the semester, you know to learn French, and be inspired of course.) I was inspired first to write a few lists about myself. I will share one of my lists at this time:
Things I was afraid of as a child. (not exhaustive and in no particular order)
1. Public toilets with black seats.
2. Flying insects.
3. Being thrown away.
4. The “Melting Man” who sometimes visited under my grandparent’s stair case.
5. The bathtub ghost.
6. Chickens.
An explanation of these fears:
Public toilets with black seats made exceptionally loud flushing noises. These noises had something to do with why I made my mother, with the bad back, hold me over the black toilet seat to pee so I didn’t have to touch it. Maybe I thought it would suck me down? I don’t know.
Flying insects; when I was a baby I ate a live bee. Just picked it up and popped it in my mouth. It stung me of course. Ever after I was afraid of flying insects. I didn’t know why until my mother told me this bee-eating story.
Being thrown away, I’m sure my older brothers had something to do with this one. I have a vivid memory of a windy day, walking across a parking lot and the wind was blowing me away from my mother and toward a garbage can. I was sure the wind was trying to throw me away.
The Melting Man. Although Dracula stole my Mickey Mouse ring, I was not afraid of him. I was afraid of the Melting Man whom I suspected vacationed under my grandparent’s stairs. There was one step missing at their house. There was a board placed where the step should have been, but there was no backing on it, so a little girl could see all the blackness behind the step. Although I knew full well that there was a games closet under the stair case, I was still sure some times the Melting Man was there too. I was never afraid to open the closet, but I was some times afraid to step on that board. (because he might reach his melty hand out and try to grab me) Some mornings after I suspected the Melting Man had waited all night for me to step on that step, I would check the closet (in the full light of day, nautrally) to see if he had accidentally melted on any of the games. This fear too, I believe, stemmed from my brother’s tall tales.
I’m sure the bathtub ghost was my own doing. I knew (don’t know how I knew, but I did) that if I was not dried, dressed and out of the bathroom by the time all the water had run out of the tub, the bathtub ghost would come out of the drain and try to suck me down with him! But, if an adult was in the room with me, he couldn’t come up, and if one walked in, he had to let me go. Apparently I had some trouble with bathroom fixtures as a child.
Finally, chickens. I don’t believe I need a reason for this. Chickens are scary! They are dirty and ugly and gross, and they run up and peck you on the feet for no reason at all! (Even when you aren’t stealing their eggs.) Never trust a chicken.
Things I was afraid of as a child. (not exhaustive and in no particular order)
1. Public toilets with black seats.
2. Flying insects.
3. Being thrown away.
4. The “Melting Man” who sometimes visited under my grandparent’s stair case.
5. The bathtub ghost.
6. Chickens.
An explanation of these fears:
Public toilets with black seats made exceptionally loud flushing noises. These noises had something to do with why I made my mother, with the bad back, hold me over the black toilet seat to pee so I didn’t have to touch it. Maybe I thought it would suck me down? I don’t know.
Flying insects; when I was a baby I ate a live bee. Just picked it up and popped it in my mouth. It stung me of course. Ever after I was afraid of flying insects. I didn’t know why until my mother told me this bee-eating story.
Being thrown away, I’m sure my older brothers had something to do with this one. I have a vivid memory of a windy day, walking across a parking lot and the wind was blowing me away from my mother and toward a garbage can. I was sure the wind was trying to throw me away.
The Melting Man. Although Dracula stole my Mickey Mouse ring, I was not afraid of him. I was afraid of the Melting Man whom I suspected vacationed under my grandparent’s stairs. There was one step missing at their house. There was a board placed where the step should have been, but there was no backing on it, so a little girl could see all the blackness behind the step. Although I knew full well that there was a games closet under the stair case, I was still sure some times the Melting Man was there too. I was never afraid to open the closet, but I was some times afraid to step on that board. (because he might reach his melty hand out and try to grab me) Some mornings after I suspected the Melting Man had waited all night for me to step on that step, I would check the closet (in the full light of day, nautrally) to see if he had accidentally melted on any of the games. This fear too, I believe, stemmed from my brother’s tall tales.
I’m sure the bathtub ghost was my own doing. I knew (don’t know how I knew, but I did) that if I was not dried, dressed and out of the bathroom by the time all the water had run out of the tub, the bathtub ghost would come out of the drain and try to suck me down with him! But, if an adult was in the room with me, he couldn’t come up, and if one walked in, he had to let me go. Apparently I had some trouble with bathroom fixtures as a child.
Finally, chickens. I don’t believe I need a reason for this. Chickens are scary! They are dirty and ugly and gross, and they run up and peck you on the feet for no reason at all! (Even when you aren’t stealing their eggs.) Never trust a chicken.
Friday, January 31, 2003
Monday, January 27, 2003
When I was growing up in PA, we would always wait for the robins to come back. A red-breasted robin was among the first signs of spring, along with the crocuses and irises poking up through the snow. (Snow still being present was of course no indication that winter wasn’t going anywhere for a while.)
These signs of spring were a sure sign that Punxsutawney Phil had been right all along, spring would come six weeks early.
Usually it was just one lone robin- there he was hopping gingerly along the frozen ground. His red breast showing brightly against the dead earth, cocking his head, looking at you with his little beady eye as if to say, “If I leave right now, it will be winter forever! I am the bringer of spring! I and I ALONE!” (He gave no account to the irises and the crocuses.)
That lone robin was the harbinger of hope-the feathered optimism for better days, a mighty symbol of sunshine, shorts, pool parties and popsicles. That robin, after five long months of snow on the ground, that robin made everyone smile, everyone. (Even if he was a little cocky about his role in the scheme of things.)
Today I saw a flock of robins. Wow! I didn’t know they came in flocks! (It was only ever that first one who got noticed, after him they were old news.) I was amazed, I stood and watched them for a while. They were everywhere, swooping and resettling. I had to move for fear of droppings.
Being pooped on by the harbinger of hope would be a bad thing.
These signs of spring were a sure sign that Punxsutawney Phil had been right all along, spring would come six weeks early.
Usually it was just one lone robin- there he was hopping gingerly along the frozen ground. His red breast showing brightly against the dead earth, cocking his head, looking at you with his little beady eye as if to say, “If I leave right now, it will be winter forever! I am the bringer of spring! I and I ALONE!” (He gave no account to the irises and the crocuses.)
That lone robin was the harbinger of hope-the feathered optimism for better days, a mighty symbol of sunshine, shorts, pool parties and popsicles. That robin, after five long months of snow on the ground, that robin made everyone smile, everyone. (Even if he was a little cocky about his role in the scheme of things.)
Today I saw a flock of robins. Wow! I didn’t know they came in flocks! (It was only ever that first one who got noticed, after him they were old news.) I was amazed, I stood and watched them for a while. They were everywhere, swooping and resettling. I had to move for fear of droppings.
Being pooped on by the harbinger of hope would be a bad thing.
Today I have black hair, a black dress, black stockings black boots and red lipstick. My co-worker said I would look goth if I had on "more threatening accessories." I guess my red beaded choker with a sweet little silver heart doesn't cut it.
I dyed my hair black last night, just because I never had black hair before. But I sure did feel like a fountain pen trying to wash the dye out. I had a tub full of black ink-water, and it was all over the the tiles, the tub the shampoo bottles the shower curtain (the wall, the counters- I don't know how I managed that from inside the shower.)
It's alright, but I think next time I'll go back to burgundy.
I dyed my hair black last night, just because I never had black hair before. But I sure did feel like a fountain pen trying to wash the dye out. I had a tub full of black ink-water, and it was all over the the tiles, the tub the shampoo bottles the shower curtain (the wall, the counters- I don't know how I managed that from inside the shower.)
It's alright, but I think next time I'll go back to burgundy.
“O Ye Jigs & Juleps!” Virginia Cary Hudson
“The Baptist church is next door to our church. They sing as loud as they can all the time we are trying to pray. I bet the Lord can’t hear one word we say. The Baptists sing about plunging sinners in a bloody fountain drawn from Emmanuel’s veins. We sing about Crown Him Lord of All. I think it is much more ladylike to crown the King than to be plunging around in a bloody fountain. I took the cotton off my sore finger once and stuffed it in my ear on the Baptist side. But just once. My mother attended to that.” Pg 7.
“But you sure hear plenty about Hell at the Baptist Church. . . . that preacher hollers himself red in the face about Hell. When you get to hell with your Everlasting Life, the devil waves his pitchfork and turns it into Everlasting Damnation, and he builds a fire under you and you wail and gnash your teeth . . . If I have to go to Hell, I sure hope I go to the one for Episckpalians, and don’t, by mistake, get pushed into that horn punching, and tail wagging, red hot blazing one the Baptists are going to have.” Pg 25.
“China has millions of people. The tall ones live up North and the short ones live down South. My grandmother says my legs are too long. I would have to live up North and that would be aweful. But maybe China does not have Yankees.” Pg 45.
“The Baptist church is next door to our church. They sing as loud as they can all the time we are trying to pray. I bet the Lord can’t hear one word we say. The Baptists sing about plunging sinners in a bloody fountain drawn from Emmanuel’s veins. We sing about Crown Him Lord of All. I think it is much more ladylike to crown the King than to be plunging around in a bloody fountain. I took the cotton off my sore finger once and stuffed it in my ear on the Baptist side. But just once. My mother attended to that.” Pg 7.
“But you sure hear plenty about Hell at the Baptist Church. . . . that preacher hollers himself red in the face about Hell. When you get to hell with your Everlasting Life, the devil waves his pitchfork and turns it into Everlasting Damnation, and he builds a fire under you and you wail and gnash your teeth . . . If I have to go to Hell, I sure hope I go to the one for Episckpalians, and don’t, by mistake, get pushed into that horn punching, and tail wagging, red hot blazing one the Baptists are going to have.” Pg 25.
“China has millions of people. The tall ones live up North and the short ones live down South. My grandmother says my legs are too long. I would have to live up North and that would be aweful. But maybe China does not have Yankees.” Pg 45.
Friday, January 24, 2003
words for the day:
fabliau (fablee-o) noun plural fabliaux: a short usually comic, frankly course, and often cynical tale in verse popular in the 12th and 13th century.
fabular: adjective, of relating to, or having the form of a fable
fabulist: noun, a creator or writer of fable, a liar
"I would love to write a fabliau, however, I don't believe I could ever write fabular literature as well as the most famous and fabulous fabulist Asop."
fabliau (fablee-o) noun plural fabliaux: a short usually comic, frankly course, and often cynical tale in verse popular in the 12th and 13th century.
fabular: adjective, of relating to, or having the form of a fable
fabulist: noun, a creator or writer of fable, a liar
"I would love to write a fabliau, however, I don't believe I could ever write fabular literature as well as the most famous and fabulous fabulist Asop."
Thursday, January 23, 2003
Tuesday, January 21, 2003
Someone told me the other day that she thought the “stars were aligned for her” all the little things were going right. She hit all the green lights on the way to work, she found her favorite pen, things were good.
I’m beginning to think the stars are against me. At least one of them is out to get me.
This morning I think I broke my little toe. I was in a hurry so I put on my shoe and walked out the door. It hurt, but who has time for complaining little toes? When I got to work I took my shoe off and saw that it was bleeding. Hmptht! Stupid little toe, bleeding in my shoe. But I’m not going to put a bandage on it, oh no! I’m wearing control top hose, there’s no way I’m taking these suckers off for a little inconsequential toe!
Sunday I went for a walk in the woods. I was looking for a fossil. Not only did I not find a fossil, but just as I was about to get back to level ground, I fell. I don’t know how, but I strained and scraped my left wrist, and got bruises and scrapes on my right hip, my left shin, my right elbow. While accomplishing all that I, at the very same moment (and this hurt the most at the time) I fell right on, (smack flat on) my right boob.
I told my friend looking for a little sympathy and she laughed and said, “You FELL on your BOOB?!” Well, it’s not like I tripped over it! “Yes! I fell right on it!” Says she: “I think I would have hit my nose first.” My nose—that’s one of the few things not effected.
Late last week I lost my purse. Details below.
So now, I have a lost purse, a broken bloody little toe, a skinned shin, a strained wrist and a bruised boob. (Among other things.)
I’m hoping for better things soon.
I’m beginning to think the stars are against me. At least one of them is out to get me.
This morning I think I broke my little toe. I was in a hurry so I put on my shoe and walked out the door. It hurt, but who has time for complaining little toes? When I got to work I took my shoe off and saw that it was bleeding. Hmptht! Stupid little toe, bleeding in my shoe. But I’m not going to put a bandage on it, oh no! I’m wearing control top hose, there’s no way I’m taking these suckers off for a little inconsequential toe!
Sunday I went for a walk in the woods. I was looking for a fossil. Not only did I not find a fossil, but just as I was about to get back to level ground, I fell. I don’t know how, but I strained and scraped my left wrist, and got bruises and scrapes on my right hip, my left shin, my right elbow. While accomplishing all that I, at the very same moment (and this hurt the most at the time) I fell right on, (smack flat on) my right boob.
I told my friend looking for a little sympathy and she laughed and said, “You FELL on your BOOB?!” Well, it’s not like I tripped over it! “Yes! I fell right on it!” Says she: “I think I would have hit my nose first.” My nose—that’s one of the few things not effected.
Late last week I lost my purse. Details below.
So now, I have a lost purse, a broken bloody little toe, a skinned shin, a strained wrist and a bruised boob. (Among other things.)
I’m hoping for better things soon.
Monday, January 20, 2003
There was a woman who had identical twin boys. She couldn't keep them so she gave them up for adoption. One was adopted by a family in Egypt. They named him Amal. The other twin was adopted by a family in Spain. His name was Juan. After many years, Juan wanted to contact his birth mother, so he sent a letter and a picture to her. The woman was very happy to receive the letter and picture. She said to her husband, "My son is so handsome, I only wish I had a picture of Amal too." Her husband said, "Honey, they are identical twins. If you've seen Juan, you've seen Amal."
:0) read it out loud
:0) read it out loud
Saturday, January 18, 2003
Friday, January 17, 2003
This is an excerpt from a “private blogger.” I’m sharing the wealth be it ever so anonymously. The great truth present here has effected me, I’m buying new underware!
“Most theologians (as well as lay-people, I suspect) would agree that wearing my Christmas-new sparkling snowflake underwear is of no interest to God the Almighty, but I insist that it's an act of worship as surely as we're told to rejoice in all things. Doing so gave me the extra gumption I needed to finally attend church in Atlanta. Going for worship is something I haven't done since - well maybe last summer.”
“Most theologians (as well as lay-people, I suspect) would agree that wearing my Christmas-new sparkling snowflake underwear is of no interest to God the Almighty, but I insist that it's an act of worship as surely as we're told to rejoice in all things. Doing so gave me the extra gumption I needed to finally attend church in Atlanta. Going for worship is something I haven't done since - well maybe last summer.”
I answered the phone at work the other day. "Good morning, Science Learning and Career Center." and the girl on the other end started jabbering, and fast.
"Hi! (really excited) Wow! You sound so professional! Listen I have to take Spanish class, so my schedule's all weird and I have to register today, so I wanted to know if you know which teacher I should take? I mean, I want to take the easiest one obviously, right, that only makes sense. Have you ever taken Spanish? Do you know which teacher I should take?" (This was all rapid fire information giving, and I realized at some point that she had dialed the wrong number, and she thought I was her friend, but I wasn't.)
So I said, "No, no I don't know."
She said, "Oh, well okay, that's fine. I just wanted to know. Just checking. Oh, and I heard there is a social tonight, are you going to it? I heard Brittney was going, and it might be cool, I don't know, I might go. Will you be there?"
Me: "Ummmm, no. I don't think so." (thinking, I hope she talks to her friend about this conversation later, because leading her on in her assumption that I'm her friend is making me laugh on the inside.)
It's the little things that amuse me. I wonder if that is considered passive agressive behavior, or if it has anything to do with keeping my food in the dishwasher. (which I don't do any more, maybe that's why I need new outlets for my behavoir.)
"Hi! (really excited) Wow! You sound so professional! Listen I have to take Spanish class, so my schedule's all weird and I have to register today, so I wanted to know if you know which teacher I should take? I mean, I want to take the easiest one obviously, right, that only makes sense. Have you ever taken Spanish? Do you know which teacher I should take?" (This was all rapid fire information giving, and I realized at some point that she had dialed the wrong number, and she thought I was her friend, but I wasn't.)
So I said, "No, no I don't know."
She said, "Oh, well okay, that's fine. I just wanted to know. Just checking. Oh, and I heard there is a social tonight, are you going to it? I heard Brittney was going, and it might be cool, I don't know, I might go. Will you be there?"
Me: "Ummmm, no. I don't think so." (thinking, I hope she talks to her friend about this conversation later, because leading her on in her assumption that I'm her friend is making me laugh on the inside.)
It's the little things that amuse me. I wonder if that is considered passive agressive behavior, or if it has anything to do with keeping my food in the dishwasher. (which I don't do any more, maybe that's why I need new outlets for my behavoir.)
Thursday, January 16, 2003
I lost my purse! Seriously lost this time. I'm always losing something, but just temporary lostness, but this time I think she's really gone. And I'm sad about that. I didn't have any money in there, but being the materialist I am I really liked my stuff that was in there! My cute little blue wallet, my blue head phones, my blue compact (it was a blue purse) and my cranberry lipstick! The expensive kind! *sigh* my little green notebook with all my church quotes and my grocery list in it, my lucky Sacaguwia gold dollar and my switch-toothbrush, all gone. Scandalous, you would think when someone figured out it didn't have any money in it, they would have turned it in. I'm still hoping for the best.
Wednesday, January 15, 2003
Silas Marner, Geroge Eliot
“Even people whose lives have been made various by learning sometimes find it hard to keep a fast hold on their habitual views of life, on their faith in the Invisible- nay, on the sense that their past joys and sorrows are a real experience, when they are suddenly transported to a new land, where the beings around them know nothing of their history, and share none of their ideas-where their mother earth shows another lap, and human life has other forms than those on which their souls have been nourished.” p 16
“Even people whose lives have been made various by learning sometimes find it hard to keep a fast hold on their habitual views of life, on their faith in the Invisible- nay, on the sense that their past joys and sorrows are a real experience, when they are suddenly transported to a new land, where the beings around them know nothing of their history, and share none of their ideas-where their mother earth shows another lap, and human life has other forms than those on which their souls have been nourished.” p 16
I went to see "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" last night. It was free movie
night at the university. Pretty good movie. The place was packed out and
this guy came up, asked if the seats next to me were taken. I said no, so
he and his friend sat down. Then he looked at me like he knew me, and said,
"Don't pretend like you don't know who I am." I gave him a blank look and
thought, "I don't know who you are." He said, "Come on! I'm Bob, your
ex-roommate's, sister's fiancé!" Oh yes, it's all coming back to me now--
indeed that is who he was. Friendly little critter.
There is a line in the movie where the daughter wants something, but she
doesn't think she will get it because her father will never agree. She
tells her mother, and the mother says don't worry, "He is the head of the
household, but the woman, she is the neck, and she turns him which ever way
she wants to go." Everyone started laughing. I just smiled. Bob said,
"Didn't you think that was funny?" I said, "Yes, it's a great truth, it's
from the prophecy of Zerubabble in the Apocrypha." It was his turn to give
me a blank look. He said, "Ah, Zerubabble" like he knew what I was talking
about.
night at the university. Pretty good movie. The place was packed out and
this guy came up, asked if the seats next to me were taken. I said no, so
he and his friend sat down. Then he looked at me like he knew me, and said,
"Don't pretend like you don't know who I am." I gave him a blank look and
thought, "I don't know who you are." He said, "Come on! I'm Bob, your
ex-roommate's, sister's fiancé!" Oh yes, it's all coming back to me now--
indeed that is who he was. Friendly little critter.
There is a line in the movie where the daughter wants something, but she
doesn't think she will get it because her father will never agree. She
tells her mother, and the mother says don't worry, "He is the head of the
household, but the woman, she is the neck, and she turns him which ever way
she wants to go." Everyone started laughing. I just smiled. Bob said,
"Didn't you think that was funny?" I said, "Yes, it's a great truth, it's
from the prophecy of Zerubabble in the Apocrypha." It was his turn to give
me a blank look. He said, "Ah, Zerubabble" like he knew what I was talking
about.
Monday, January 13, 2003
Sunday, January 12, 2003
Saturday, January 11, 2003
I don't get art. I don't want to pretend to understand and like something that doesn’t speak to me.
If I see something I like, I appreciate it. I may enjoy the look, the texture, the form and shape of any particular piece. Generally for me (don’t know about other people) it’s an emotive appreciation. It gives me remembrance of a person, a place—a belief, a narrative in my own history, the stories I know and claim. Art I like always gives me something. It may give me myself, it may give me something completely outside my experience. It may give me understanding of what I’ve never known, what I may never know.
I understand that everyone will like different kinds of art. Diverse pieces will whisper personal stories to individuals on various levels. I’m glad for that, so I’m not dissing museum choices. But I get the distinct feeling that if I declare I don’t like something considered an “important piece” I am seen as less of an art appreciator than the one who unconditionally accepts that artistry is attached to a name that someone, somewhere decided was good.
I saw Picasso’s Femme Couchee Lisant and Warhol’s Twenty-five Colored Marilyns. Two big names. I didn’t like those particular pieces. Honestly I didn’t like most of what I saw. A few things held my interest. I guess I’m just not “into” modern art. How uncool of me.
If I see something I like, I appreciate it. I may enjoy the look, the texture, the form and shape of any particular piece. Generally for me (don’t know about other people) it’s an emotive appreciation. It gives me remembrance of a person, a place—a belief, a narrative in my own history, the stories I know and claim. Art I like always gives me something. It may give me myself, it may give me something completely outside my experience. It may give me understanding of what I’ve never known, what I may never know.
I understand that everyone will like different kinds of art. Diverse pieces will whisper personal stories to individuals on various levels. I’m glad for that, so I’m not dissing museum choices. But I get the distinct feeling that if I declare I don’t like something considered an “important piece” I am seen as less of an art appreciator than the one who unconditionally accepts that artistry is attached to a name that someone, somewhere decided was good.
I saw Picasso’s Femme Couchee Lisant and Warhol’s Twenty-five Colored Marilyns. Two big names. I didn’t like those particular pieces. Honestly I didn’t like most of what I saw. A few things held my interest. I guess I’m just not “into” modern art. How uncool of me.
I found a new internet penpal. It's been a long time since I had a new pen pal. It's interesting the things one reveals to a stranger.
For example: he said he was a vegetarian for ethical reasons.
I said, “I'm a vegetarian because I get physically ill when I eat meat. I'm pretty sure its all in my head, its a texture thing. I don't eat meat, I don't eat wiggly deserts (jello, puddings, flan etc) and equally as random I don't eat anything artificially purpled. (thus I am against all things grape that are not actually a grape) The one thing that defies both the wiggly and the purple principle is jelly, but I never said any of this made sense.”
He understood. He said wiggly deserts (except jelly) have gelatin in them, which apparently is unethical, he doesn’t eat wiggly deserts either.
I said, “I’m trying to get back into the groove of eating eggs. I stopped eating them about 6 years ago, but I want to start eating them again.”
He said he does eat eggs, but only ones laid on “cage free farms.”
Wow- that's dedication
I remembered, but did not comment on my childhood experiences in the chicken coop. How my brother and I had to go collect eggs, how the coop was full of fleas and how he would gallantly volunteer to “stand guard” outside the coop so that once I scared all the hens out, they wouldn’t come back in and peck me as I stole all their babies. Inevitably I came out with dozens of flea bites and a few eggs.
For example: he said he was a vegetarian for ethical reasons.
I said, “I'm a vegetarian because I get physically ill when I eat meat. I'm pretty sure its all in my head, its a texture thing. I don't eat meat, I don't eat wiggly deserts (jello, puddings, flan etc) and equally as random I don't eat anything artificially purpled. (thus I am against all things grape that are not actually a grape) The one thing that defies both the wiggly and the purple principle is jelly, but I never said any of this made sense.”
He understood. He said wiggly deserts (except jelly) have gelatin in them, which apparently is unethical, he doesn’t eat wiggly deserts either.
I said, “I’m trying to get back into the groove of eating eggs. I stopped eating them about 6 years ago, but I want to start eating them again.”
He said he does eat eggs, but only ones laid on “cage free farms.”
Wow- that's dedication
I remembered, but did not comment on my childhood experiences in the chicken coop. How my brother and I had to go collect eggs, how the coop was full of fleas and how he would gallantly volunteer to “stand guard” outside the coop so that once I scared all the hens out, they wouldn’t come back in and peck me as I stole all their babies. Inevitably I came out with dozens of flea bites and a few eggs.
Thursday, January 09, 2003
I got a rock tumbler. It's been described as "really really loud." Indeed it is. I didn't know, but once you start the process of doing the "work of rounding a rock that would take hundreds of years in nature in a few short days" you can't stop. You have to keep it going "rattle, rattle, rattle, RATTLE, RATTLE, rattling 24/7 for four to five days. Other wise everything is ruined. Just a few more days--then I'll take it away, to live in the country, where it can run free, and it will be happy with out all the evil vibes the neighbors and the room mates hurl toward it. Poor thing.
Saturday, January 04, 2003
The Handmaid's Tale Margaret Atwood
"There is more than one kind of freedom, said Aunt Lydia, Freedom to and freedom from. In the days of anarchy, it was freedom to. Now you are bein given freedom from. Don't underrate it." 24
". . . women on their own, making up their minds. They wore blouses with buttons down the front that suggested the possibilities of the word undone. These women could be undone; or not. They seemed to be able to choose." 25
"We have learned to see the world in gasps." 30
"We lived, as usual, by ignoring. Ignoring isn't the same as ignorance, you have to work at it." 56
"We lived in the gaps between the stories." 57
"I compose myself. My self is a thing I must now compose as one composes a speech. What I must present is a made thing, not something born." 66
"This contradictory way of believeing seems to me, right now, the only way I can believe anything. Whatever the truth is, I will be ready for it." 106
"We are hers to define, we must suffer her adjectivies." 114
----------------------------------
"A man is just a woman's strategy for making other women." 121
------------------------------
"It's impossible to say a thing exactly the way it was, because what you say can never be exact, you always have to leave something out, there are too many parts, sides, cross currents, nuances; too many gestures, which could mean this or that, too many shapes which can never be fully descried, too many flavors, in the air or on the tongue, half-colors, too many." 134
" . . . forgiveness too is power. To beg for it is a power, and to withhold or bestow it is a power, perhaps the greatest." 135
"Maybe it isn't about who can sit and who has to kneel or stand or lie down, legs spread open. Mabye it's about who can do what to whom and be forgiven for it. Never tell me it amounts to the same thing." 135
"To want is to have a weakness." 136
---------------------------------------------
"Context is all." 144
"Winter is not so dangerous. I need hardness, cold, rigidity; not this heviness, as if I'm a mealon on a stem, this liquid ripeness." 154
"Context is all; or is it ripeness?" 192
---------------------------------------
"Maybe I don't really want to know what's going on. Maybe I'd rather not know. Maybe I couldn't bear to know. The Fall was a fall from innocence to knowledge." 195
"Better never means better fro everyone, he says. It always means worse, for some." 211
------------------------------------------
"God is love, they once said, but we reversed that, and love, like heaven, was always just around the corner. The more difficult it was to love the particular man besided us, the more we believed in Love, abstract and total. We were waiting, always for the incarnation. That word, made flesh." 226
" . . . most likely the man, would go wandering off on a trajectory of his own, taking his addictive body with him and leaving you with bad withdrawal." 227
"There is more than one kind of freedom, said Aunt Lydia, Freedom to and freedom from. In the days of anarchy, it was freedom to. Now you are bein given freedom from. Don't underrate it." 24
". . . women on their own, making up their minds. They wore blouses with buttons down the front that suggested the possibilities of the word undone. These women could be undone; or not. They seemed to be able to choose." 25
"We have learned to see the world in gasps." 30
"We lived, as usual, by ignoring. Ignoring isn't the same as ignorance, you have to work at it." 56
"We lived in the gaps between the stories." 57
"I compose myself. My self is a thing I must now compose as one composes a speech. What I must present is a made thing, not something born." 66
"This contradictory way of believeing seems to me, right now, the only way I can believe anything. Whatever the truth is, I will be ready for it." 106
"We are hers to define, we must suffer her adjectivies." 114
----------------------------------
"A man is just a woman's strategy for making other women." 121
------------------------------
"It's impossible to say a thing exactly the way it was, because what you say can never be exact, you always have to leave something out, there are too many parts, sides, cross currents, nuances; too many gestures, which could mean this or that, too many shapes which can never be fully descried, too many flavors, in the air or on the tongue, half-colors, too many." 134
" . . . forgiveness too is power. To beg for it is a power, and to withhold or bestow it is a power, perhaps the greatest." 135
"Maybe it isn't about who can sit and who has to kneel or stand or lie down, legs spread open. Mabye it's about who can do what to whom and be forgiven for it. Never tell me it amounts to the same thing." 135
"To want is to have a weakness." 136
---------------------------------------------
"Context is all." 144
"Winter is not so dangerous. I need hardness, cold, rigidity; not this heviness, as if I'm a mealon on a stem, this liquid ripeness." 154
"Context is all; or is it ripeness?" 192
---------------------------------------
"Maybe I don't really want to know what's going on. Maybe I'd rather not know. Maybe I couldn't bear to know. The Fall was a fall from innocence to knowledge." 195
"Better never means better fro everyone, he says. It always means worse, for some." 211
------------------------------------------
"God is love, they once said, but we reversed that, and love, like heaven, was always just around the corner. The more difficult it was to love the particular man besided us, the more we believed in Love, abstract and total. We were waiting, always for the incarnation. That word, made flesh." 226
" . . . most likely the man, would go wandering off on a trajectory of his own, taking his addictive body with him and leaving you with bad withdrawal." 227
Friday, January 03, 2003
I went to a dinner party last night. There were Chinese guests and a few American guests. I learned many things. An example:
A Chinese girl talking: "American's eat cheese for no reason at all. Just for a snack!"
Same girl later: "It is proven that American women have longer noses than Chinese women"
Quiet older Chinese man: "That's true, how do Americans kiss one another?"
there was also the discussions about eating your food live: Live newborn mice (it's okay because they are newborn, they are completely clean) and live octopus
according to the Chinese and Korean traditions-- and this is why I'm a vegetarian.
A Chinese girl talking: "American's eat cheese for no reason at all. Just for a snack!"
Same girl later: "It is proven that American women have longer noses than Chinese women"
Quiet older Chinese man: "That's true, how do Americans kiss one another?"
there was also the discussions about eating your food live: Live newborn mice (it's okay because they are newborn, they are completely clean) and live octopus
according to the Chinese and Korean traditions-- and this is why I'm a vegetarian.
Wednesday, December 25, 2002
A Christmas conversation in the Hughes' car:
A screech from the back seat quickly followed by a second screech
Dan:What?!
(third screech)
Dan: What’s wrong!
Sarah: It pinched me!
Dan: Why is it out in the car?!
(sobbing)
Sarah: I was holding it, I didn’t know it would pinch me!
Dan: That’s why I told you not to take it out!
Sarah: I forgot! (sob, sob)
Dan: You forgot? I just said it when we got in the car!
Sarah: I know you said, but I didn’t know- I forgot! IT PINCHED ME! I HATE IT! (sob)
Ayesha: (burst into tears)
Sarah: I hate it!
Dan: Did it pinch you too Ayesh?
Ayesha: (sobbing) no .. .
Dan: Why are you crying?
Ayesha: It pinched her! And Sarah hates my crab!!
Sarah: Stupid crab!
Dan: It’s not the crab’s fault.
Sarah: I hate it! I hate it!
Ayesha: I’m never going to touch it again!
half hour later:
Ayesha: Daddy?
Dan: Yes, Love
Ayesha: Thank you for giving me my crab, I love it.
Dan: Yes, I knew you would.
Sarah: Stupid crab
A screech from the back seat quickly followed by a second screech
Dan:What?!
(third screech)
Dan: What’s wrong!
Sarah: It pinched me!
Dan: Why is it out in the car?!
(sobbing)
Sarah: I was holding it, I didn’t know it would pinch me!
Dan: That’s why I told you not to take it out!
Sarah: I forgot! (sob, sob)
Dan: You forgot? I just said it when we got in the car!
Sarah: I know you said, but I didn’t know- I forgot! IT PINCHED ME! I HATE IT! (sob)
Ayesha: (burst into tears)
Sarah: I hate it!
Dan: Did it pinch you too Ayesh?
Ayesha: (sobbing) no .. .
Dan: Why are you crying?
Ayesha: It pinched her! And Sarah hates my crab!!
Sarah: Stupid crab!
Dan: It’s not the crab’s fault.
Sarah: I hate it! I hate it!
Ayesha: I’m never going to touch it again!
half hour later:
Ayesha: Daddy?
Dan: Yes, Love
Ayesha: Thank you for giving me my crab, I love it.
Dan: Yes, I knew you would.
Sarah: Stupid crab
Monday, December 23, 2002
Sunday, December 22, 2002
I was the youngest grandchild. My brothers and cousins were two to seven years older than me, and to indulge me as a toddler they called Santa Claus "Ho-Ho" because Santa Claus is kinda hard so say. However, I couldn't say "Ho-Ho" quite yet either, so I called him "Who-Who."
my brother: "Shannon, Who's coming on Christmas to bring presents?"
me: "Who-Who!"
brother: "Who?"
me: "Who-Who!"
brother: "Who?"
me: "WHO-WHO!!"
my mom: "Stop it! Leave that baby alone!"
I was just reminded because Ayesha was singing about the "partrige in a bare tree."
Merry Christmas
my brother: "Shannon, Who's coming on Christmas to bring presents?"
me: "Who-Who!"
brother: "Who?"
me: "Who-Who!"
brother: "Who?"
me: "WHO-WHO!!"
my mom: "Stop it! Leave that baby alone!"
I was just reminded because Ayesha was singing about the "partrige in a bare tree."
Merry Christmas
Saturday, December 21, 2002
Wednesday, December 18, 2002
Friday, December 13, 2002
Groove is in the Heart
Whether picking up white go-go boots at a second-hand store or rounding up the troops for dinner at the chicest sushi joint, you've got psychedelic diva written all over you. People like you make it cool to be groovy again, which is why "Groove is in the Heart" is your theme song. The bubblegum-meets-techno melody of your signature song gets you to jog that extra mile, or take on extra work with a jive-y cock of your head. Deee-Lite's dancehall fave never gets old playing in your head after each successful interview and promising date. Yes indeed, this is the soundtrack to those dee-lovely days and delicious nights when you've got an audience, and your phone number keeps coming up in conversation. But you'll only share your number with that special someone who can figure out "the depth of your hula groove," dig?
Whether picking up white go-go boots at a second-hand store or rounding up the troops for dinner at the chicest sushi joint, you've got psychedelic diva written all over you. People like you make it cool to be groovy again, which is why "Groove is in the Heart" is your theme song. The bubblegum-meets-techno melody of your signature song gets you to jog that extra mile, or take on extra work with a jive-y cock of your head. Deee-Lite's dancehall fave never gets old playing in your head after each successful interview and promising date. Yes indeed, this is the soundtrack to those dee-lovely days and delicious nights when you've got an audience, and your phone number keeps coming up in conversation. But you'll only share your number with that special someone who can figure out "the depth of your hula groove," dig?
Wednesday, December 11, 2002
Learning about other cultures:
SHE says: will you guys send me a little explanation of what it is you do on boxing day and why?
Manxett says: Sure
Manxett says: It's traditionally called St. Stephen's Day
SHE says: good, religious themed parties are the best
Manxett says: and its basically used to recover after Christmas Day!!! lol
SHE says: recover!?
Manxett says: Christmas Day is all about overeating, drinking, the Queen's speech, chocolate, etc!!!!!
SHE says: okay, we'll drop the queen's speech and keep the drinking and the chocolate
Manxett says: I like that idea!
SHE says: and chips,
SHE says: and salsa
SHE says: cause it's texas
Manxett says: why not! lol
SHE says: will you guys send me a little explanation of what it is you do on boxing day and why?
Manxett says: Sure
Manxett says: It's traditionally called St. Stephen's Day
SHE says: good, religious themed parties are the best
Manxett says: and its basically used to recover after Christmas Day!!! lol
SHE says: recover!?
Manxett says: Christmas Day is all about overeating, drinking, the Queen's speech, chocolate, etc!!!!!
SHE says: okay, we'll drop the queen's speech and keep the drinking and the chocolate
Manxett says: I like that idea!
SHE says: and chips,
SHE says: and salsa
SHE says: cause it's texas
Manxett says: why not! lol
Tuesday, December 10, 2002
This is how my brain works
I was reading a story about Marco Polo and how he chronicled his adventures through the east. He told a story recounted to him in the Persian city of Sevah about the wise men who went to see Jesus.
As I was reading the story of the wise men according to Marco Polo, I remembered I should get out my Christmas decorations, because even though I don’t have room to put up my itty-bitty tree, I could at least display my nativity set.
While I was pulling out my Christmas stuff, I found a snow globe the Manx gave me a few years ago. Seeing the snow swirl around in the globe made me think of winters in PA, and how I never liked snow.
Thinking about not liking snow made me think of this story my mom told me.
When I was a baby, about a year and a half old, I experienced my first snow. My mom dressed me up in my snowsuit; boots, hat and scarf, but she forgot to put my mittens on my hands and left them hanging on my “idiot string.” (That’s what my mom called the string she crocheted connecting my mittens to each other. The string ran through the sleeves of the coat and the mittens hung about an inch outside the sleeves so only an “idiot” could possibly lose one or both of her mittens.) She dressed me first and sent me out to the porch while she grabbed her coat.
She said I put my hand on the railing, which was covered in snow, and I just started screaming like someone was killing me. I had never touched snow before, and I didn’t like it.
After that she said I would cry every time she got out the snow suit, because I knew I was going to have to go outside and that cold stuff might get me again.
I was reading a story about Marco Polo and how he chronicled his adventures through the east. He told a story recounted to him in the Persian city of Sevah about the wise men who went to see Jesus.
As I was reading the story of the wise men according to Marco Polo, I remembered I should get out my Christmas decorations, because even though I don’t have room to put up my itty-bitty tree, I could at least display my nativity set.
While I was pulling out my Christmas stuff, I found a snow globe the Manx gave me a few years ago. Seeing the snow swirl around in the globe made me think of winters in PA, and how I never liked snow.
Thinking about not liking snow made me think of this story my mom told me.
When I was a baby, about a year and a half old, I experienced my first snow. My mom dressed me up in my snowsuit; boots, hat and scarf, but she forgot to put my mittens on my hands and left them hanging on my “idiot string.” (That’s what my mom called the string she crocheted connecting my mittens to each other. The string ran through the sleeves of the coat and the mittens hung about an inch outside the sleeves so only an “idiot” could possibly lose one or both of her mittens.) She dressed me first and sent me out to the porch while she grabbed her coat.
She said I put my hand on the railing, which was covered in snow, and I just started screaming like someone was killing me. I had never touched snow before, and I didn’t like it.
After that she said I would cry every time she got out the snow suit, because I knew I was going to have to go outside and that cold stuff might get me again.
Monday, December 09, 2002
Ft. Hood, the largest military base in the free world. (Which of course begs the questions, “where is the bound world and who has their largest military base?”) I forgot to ask, I was distracted by an airfield full of $18 million helicopters, and lots and lots full of sandy colored jeeps, hummers, trucks, tanks and other unidentifiable to me vehicles.
I went to Ft Hood this weekend for a visit with “any soldier” as in, during the Gulf War you could write a letter to any soldier and maybe someone would write back. He did and we’ve been pen pals since 1991. I suppose once you meet a pen pal, he’s not your pen pal any more, just a regular old pal. Drat, I don’t have any pen pals left.
I learned ever so much about tanks and helicopters, about military structure and funding. I found out that the stuffed mushrooms at Olive Garden have meat in them, remembered why I stopped watching scary movies years ago and realized that “Grease 2” has a really funny soundtrack. :0) I found out my soldier pal is sci-fi geek. I love sci-fi, but I’m no where near as geeky as he is. (Geekiness is in the details.)
I reminded myself of the importance of relationship over life’s details. This is finals week, were I a “responsible” student I would have stayed home to study all weekend. But how often does one get to meet a friend she started to know years ago?
As females we constantly carry the weight of wariness. It was encouraging to know after all these years that he wasn’t an ax-murderer who wanted to rape and pillage me. I’ve heard all the horror stories about meeting people though the mail and on the net, but I was lucky enough to find another really nice guy. (I think) I’m a pretty tough judge of character, and he minded his manners so well. Of course before we met I may have mentioned the fact that if he “messed with me” I would have to stab him. That may have figured in. It’s hard to say. He may have thought I was kidding, but sufficiently threatened I believe I am that close to the edge of insanity. Thanks mom, I got that from you.
I went to Ft Hood this weekend for a visit with “any soldier” as in, during the Gulf War you could write a letter to any soldier and maybe someone would write back. He did and we’ve been pen pals since 1991. I suppose once you meet a pen pal, he’s not your pen pal any more, just a regular old pal. Drat, I don’t have any pen pals left.
I learned ever so much about tanks and helicopters, about military structure and funding. I found out that the stuffed mushrooms at Olive Garden have meat in them, remembered why I stopped watching scary movies years ago and realized that “Grease 2” has a really funny soundtrack. :0) I found out my soldier pal is sci-fi geek. I love sci-fi, but I’m no where near as geeky as he is. (Geekiness is in the details.)
I reminded myself of the importance of relationship over life’s details. This is finals week, were I a “responsible” student I would have stayed home to study all weekend. But how often does one get to meet a friend she started to know years ago?
As females we constantly carry the weight of wariness. It was encouraging to know after all these years that he wasn’t an ax-murderer who wanted to rape and pillage me. I’ve heard all the horror stories about meeting people though the mail and on the net, but I was lucky enough to find another really nice guy. (I think) I’m a pretty tough judge of character, and he minded his manners so well. Of course before we met I may have mentioned the fact that if he “messed with me” I would have to stab him. That may have figured in. It’s hard to say. He may have thought I was kidding, but sufficiently threatened I believe I am that close to the edge of insanity. Thanks mom, I got that from you.
Wednesday, December 04, 2002
Tuesday, December 03, 2002
A girl just walked in who smelled of toilet paper. Not used toilet paper (don't be gross) but that smell when you open a fresh 6 pack of Charmin-- that smell. How does one go about getting that smell? At first I thought it was my imagination-- I mean who smells like fresh toilet paper? But then she left and came back, and there it was again- the tp perfume in the air. I suppose there are worse things to smell like.
"She was nice, whey did you dump her?"
"She smelled like soup."
"She smelled like soup? You dumped her because she smelled like soup?!"
"Yeah, she smelled like tomato soup!"
So I married an Ax Murderer
"She was nice, whey did you dump her?"
"She smelled like soup."
"She smelled like soup? You dumped her because she smelled like soup?!"
"Yeah, she smelled like tomato soup!"
So I married an Ax Murderer
I went to the used bookstore this weekend, just to look. I was looking, minding my own little used-bookstore-business in the atlas section, finding great pleasure looking at the pictures in a pretty little book called “Atlas of the World’s Highways” when someone behind me started talking.
I figured he wasn’t talking to me, so I flipped the page from the “Friendship Highway” which runs from Katmandu though Tibet to the “Scenic 101” which runs along the California coast.
The thing was, the guy behind me kept talking, finally he said, “Excuse me” and reached around me to get an atlas I was sitting in front of. Then he proceeded to inform me of the most intimate details of atlas publishing and cartography.
Mind you, I had asked no questions, but he proceeded to tell me not only were these atlases overpriced, but that they weren’t even the quality ones he was looking for. “Quality ones like the Rand-McNally 1978 Gold Medallion edition, which has county specific maps of northern Canada . . .” As he was talking I was thinking:
1. I’m trapped in the not-so-much-frequented atlas section of a used bookstore by a gregarious cartophile.
2. I wonder if cartophile is really a word? English is cool because you can just make up words and people still know . . . Wait! I’m trapped!
3. This man has an immense amount of knowledge about atlases and map-making in his brain.
4. He thinks I care.
5. His head is shaped just like an egg.
6. I wish I did care, why don’t I ever come across these kind of people who know stuff when I want to know stuff?
(30 minutes later)
7. He looks weak, I could probably take him.
8. I bet he would never approve of this Highway atlas, the pictures are superfluous, the maps are undetailed and probably (gasp) computer generated.
9. If I start easing my way toward the self-help I can escape into the fiction section—Here’s my chance!
I was just trying to mind my own-little-used-bookstore business.
I figured he wasn’t talking to me, so I flipped the page from the “Friendship Highway” which runs from Katmandu though Tibet to the “Scenic 101” which runs along the California coast.
The thing was, the guy behind me kept talking, finally he said, “Excuse me” and reached around me to get an atlas I was sitting in front of. Then he proceeded to inform me of the most intimate details of atlas publishing and cartography.
Mind you, I had asked no questions, but he proceeded to tell me not only were these atlases overpriced, but that they weren’t even the quality ones he was looking for. “Quality ones like the Rand-McNally 1978 Gold Medallion edition, which has county specific maps of northern Canada . . .” As he was talking I was thinking:
1. I’m trapped in the not-so-much-frequented atlas section of a used bookstore by a gregarious cartophile.
2. I wonder if cartophile is really a word? English is cool because you can just make up words and people still know . . . Wait! I’m trapped!
3. This man has an immense amount of knowledge about atlases and map-making in his brain.
4. He thinks I care.
5. His head is shaped just like an egg.
6. I wish I did care, why don’t I ever come across these kind of people who know stuff when I want to know stuff?
(30 minutes later)
7. He looks weak, I could probably take him.
8. I bet he would never approve of this Highway atlas, the pictures are superfluous, the maps are undetailed and probably (gasp) computer generated.
9. If I start easing my way toward the self-help I can escape into the fiction section—Here’s my chance!
I was just trying to mind my own-little-used-bookstore business.
Monday, December 02, 2002
I went to the geology building today. They have cases of rocks on display all down the halls. It was the first time I had been there, and it reminded me that I miss my rocks. My box of rocks that (when I live in facilities larger than a shoebox) I like to sit on my bookshelf.
A box of rocks? I can hear you—“That’s dumb as a . . . box of rocks.” I don’t care. Rocks are cool—if geology didn’t involved chemistry, and chemistry didn’t involve math (“Do you think anyone will love a girl who doesn’t know new math?” Sally from the Peanuts) I’d be a geologist. Exploring strange new rocks, new minerals and new formations (okay old ones, but new to me) boldly going where no geology girl has gone before!
Or I can just be an English teacher.
A box of rocks? I can hear you—“That’s dumb as a . . . box of rocks.” I don’t care. Rocks are cool—if geology didn’t involved chemistry, and chemistry didn’t involve math (“Do you think anyone will love a girl who doesn’t know new math?” Sally from the Peanuts) I’d be a geologist. Exploring strange new rocks, new minerals and new formations (okay old ones, but new to me) boldly going where no geology girl has gone before!
Or I can just be an English teacher.
Wednesday, November 27, 2002
I went to the mall the other day to see a movie. I recommend both “Die another Day” and the AMC at the Parks.
Before I got inside there was an encounter with a Salvation Army bell ringer. I’ve never come across a better bell ringer anywhere. Mostly they just sit there, looking sad and “ding, ding, ding (pause) ding” their bell. But not this guy, he saw me coming from across the parking lot and revved up (because he was still going from the last person who had walked by) his bell-in-each-hand-ring-a-ling-a-ling-ling-ling-sidewalk dance. His energy in the cold was well worth a dollar in the pot. He was nearly as entertaining as the movie.
The mall is a happening place these days what with a new cinema, skating rink, eateries and stores. Of course all the clothing stores had the same stuff . . . so I didn’t go into clothing stores- I did go into “The Great Indoors” a home improvement/décor store that seemingly never ends and where I found a shower head (not that I’m shopping for a shower heads) that cost upwards of $1,600. $1,600 for a showerhead?! Granted it was made of pewter and was as big as a dinner plate, but still . . . I could do a lot with $1,600. While I was still thinking about this showerhead I moved on to the “Knife Shoppe” where they were sporting swords upwards of $1,600.
I was standing there looking at $1,600 swords, thinking about $1,600 showerheads and wondering where in life I’d have to be to even think about considering purchasing such items. Alternatively, what would I do with a random extra $1,600? It’s hard to say . . . it is half price day at Goodwill today. :0)
Before I got inside there was an encounter with a Salvation Army bell ringer. I’ve never come across a better bell ringer anywhere. Mostly they just sit there, looking sad and “ding, ding, ding (pause) ding” their bell. But not this guy, he saw me coming from across the parking lot and revved up (because he was still going from the last person who had walked by) his bell-in-each-hand-ring-a-ling-a-ling-ling-ling-sidewalk dance. His energy in the cold was well worth a dollar in the pot. He was nearly as entertaining as the movie.
The mall is a happening place these days what with a new cinema, skating rink, eateries and stores. Of course all the clothing stores had the same stuff . . . so I didn’t go into clothing stores- I did go into “The Great Indoors” a home improvement/décor store that seemingly never ends and where I found a shower head (not that I’m shopping for a shower heads) that cost upwards of $1,600. $1,600 for a showerhead?! Granted it was made of pewter and was as big as a dinner plate, but still . . . I could do a lot with $1,600. While I was still thinking about this showerhead I moved on to the “Knife Shoppe” where they were sporting swords upwards of $1,600.
I was standing there looking at $1,600 swords, thinking about $1,600 showerheads and wondering where in life I’d have to be to even think about considering purchasing such items. Alternatively, what would I do with a random extra $1,600? It’s hard to say . . . it is half price day at Goodwill today. :0)
Saturday, November 23, 2002
I went to see my first Indian movie last night. It was so fun. I think it may have had more to do with the audience than the movie though. It was a romance (of course) where the young people fall in love, but the father (Babuji) of the girl insists she take part in an arranged marriage to a stranger . . . but how can she go on living with out her lover? Her lover is considered a 'westeral' by her Babuji (I don't know what a westeral is either, but something bad, maybe a cross between a rascal and a weasle) and the father will never approve the match.
The whole movie had the air of a never ending Mentos comercial, complete with cocky-smiling young man, pearly white teeth, head tilted to the side and a thumbs up for every accomplishment made.
But the audience (it's safe to say I was a minority white girl) was awesome. When the female main character danced in the rain singing about the perfect man she is waiting for (as all young women do) the men in the audience whistled and yelled out comments (in Urdu or Hindi so I'm not exactly sure what they said, but I have a pretty good guess from what was on the screen and how the rest of the audience reacted.) When the main male character proved his prowess on screen by scoring in rugby, slam dunking the basket ball and driving a fast car to graduation-- all the women in the audience screamed, and my friend leaned over to let me know this young actor was the "heart throb" of India.
It was an older movie, from the mid 90s. I'm sure most of the audience had seen it, most likely several times. I don't remember the name, something about the groom shall come for the bride . . . This movie came no where near the precision Hollywood gives to its movies-- but it was completely enjoyable for me because it was completely enjoyed by the rest of the audience.
Maybe I'm a crowd follower in the area of Indian movies.
The whole movie had the air of a never ending Mentos comercial, complete with cocky-smiling young man, pearly white teeth, head tilted to the side and a thumbs up for every accomplishment made.
But the audience (it's safe to say I was a minority white girl) was awesome. When the female main character danced in the rain singing about the perfect man she is waiting for (as all young women do) the men in the audience whistled and yelled out comments (in Urdu or Hindi so I'm not exactly sure what they said, but I have a pretty good guess from what was on the screen and how the rest of the audience reacted.) When the main male character proved his prowess on screen by scoring in rugby, slam dunking the basket ball and driving a fast car to graduation-- all the women in the audience screamed, and my friend leaned over to let me know this young actor was the "heart throb" of India.
It was an older movie, from the mid 90s. I'm sure most of the audience had seen it, most likely several times. I don't remember the name, something about the groom shall come for the bride . . . This movie came no where near the precision Hollywood gives to its movies-- but it was completely enjoyable for me because it was completely enjoyed by the rest of the audience.
Maybe I'm a crowd follower in the area of Indian movies.
Thursday, November 21, 2002
I took a “psychic test”. When the page first opened up, I was looking for the directions for the test, I didn’t see them anywhere on the page, and then I thought, “Wait, is this part of the test? Am I just supposed to know what to do?” I thought about it for a little while, didn’t come up with anything, figuring I wasn’t psychic but I clicked on the first graphic anyway, which (don’t I feel sheepish) led to the directions for the first test.
The first test was a “precognition” test. I was to click one of four boxes, guessing which one was going to be chosen randomly as the correct box. I did it 75 times (it went really fast, maybe 4 minutes tops for the whole set) I got 31% correct. That is 95 to 1 odds of guessing right. I was ranked # 5 of 120 people who had taken the test that day. Whoo-hoo! I’m semi-psychic!
On the next test I was to choose the correct card (which had already been chosen), and if I didn’t get it, I was to keep on guessing until I got it. For some reason, I didn’t do so hot on that one. I don’t know what the difference was but I missed almost every time. I ended up with .2 to 1 odds ranked # 61 of 82 people who took the test that day.
For remote viewing I started out really well, I was supposed to guess what picture was going to be shown. I got the first one right on (food on a table) I missed the next 6. I was ranked # 20 of 57.
On the last test I was feeling psychic again. I was to look at a blank square, pick a spot on the square where I thought the “target” was (it was a little itty bitty target). After I guessed, the target showed up to let me know how far off I was. I ended up with 12 to 1 odds, ranked # 4 of 86. Supposedly people good at this test didn't get lost and/or find lost things quickly. What I don’t understand is why after such a ranking, I am always freaking lost and looking for something I put somewhere "safe"?!
Maybe I should ask a psychic.
The first test was a “precognition” test. I was to click one of four boxes, guessing which one was going to be chosen randomly as the correct box. I did it 75 times (it went really fast, maybe 4 minutes tops for the whole set) I got 31% correct. That is 95 to 1 odds of guessing right. I was ranked # 5 of 120 people who had taken the test that day. Whoo-hoo! I’m semi-psychic!
On the next test I was to choose the correct card (which had already been chosen), and if I didn’t get it, I was to keep on guessing until I got it. For some reason, I didn’t do so hot on that one. I don’t know what the difference was but I missed almost every time. I ended up with .2 to 1 odds ranked # 61 of 82 people who took the test that day.
For remote viewing I started out really well, I was supposed to guess what picture was going to be shown. I got the first one right on (food on a table) I missed the next 6. I was ranked # 20 of 57.
On the last test I was feeling psychic again. I was to look at a blank square, pick a spot on the square where I thought the “target” was (it was a little itty bitty target). After I guessed, the target showed up to let me know how far off I was. I ended up with 12 to 1 odds, ranked # 4 of 86. Supposedly people good at this test didn't get lost and/or find lost things quickly. What I don’t understand is why after such a ranking, I am always freaking lost and looking for something I put somewhere "safe"?!
Maybe I should ask a psychic.
Tuesday, November 19, 2002
It's getting more and more complicated-- I never wanted a higher education, I just wanted a job that didn't suck. Now I'm trying to figure out how to get this done asap. I need four semesters of under graduate language study. I have two. I remember nothing. So, I could try to remember all the things I've forgotten (not sure I ever really understood in the first place) and take two more upper level semesters of Greek, or I can just start over.
To start over, I can try to find a place that teaches a language I want to learn, at a time I can take it, (Seems the University of Utah has a summer Farsi program) or I can take French. French-- France doesn't call to me. French doen't give me much intrinsic motivation-- "Hey! I want to learn French so I can talk to . . . French people . . .so I can go to . . . France?" Okay, I know Canada, North Africa, Lebenon . . . I can talk myself into French because I took it in high school. I can't even try to talk myself into other languages I'm not interested in.
le français n'est pas parlé ici
To start over, I can try to find a place that teaches a language I want to learn, at a time I can take it, (Seems the University of Utah has a summer Farsi program) or I can take French. French-- France doesn't call to me. French doen't give me much intrinsic motivation-- "Hey! I want to learn French so I can talk to . . . French people . . .so I can go to . . . France?" Okay, I know Canada, North Africa, Lebenon . . . I can talk myself into French because I took it in high school. I can't even try to talk myself into other languages I'm not interested in.
le français n'est pas parlé ici
Thursday, November 14, 2002
All my new toys work today :0) I am now the proud owner of a working computer, digital camera, scanner, printer and copier (a fax machine too I think) I have picture programs I don't know how to use, and I am ready to take on the world with all my (okay still behind the times, but new to me) technology.
I had a technological break through like this a few years ago too, I got a bunch of new toys all at once and I got to make some really fun things. This time, unfortunately, I won't have as much time to dedicate to learning how to use my toys. This time I have to work and go to class, as opposed to being locked in my house with the curtains drawn so nobody "gets" me. This time I'm not living in a "dangerous for you" Islamic nation where (according to my employers) I couldn't go outside alone because someone might look at me, or touch me or drop a bomb on me. Ahhh . . . those were the days.
Thinking of those days made me think of Cha-cha-gee. I don't even know what that man's name was. We called him Cha-cha-gee, I was told it meant Uncle-uncle-sir. He was our house guard; we had to have a house guard 24/7 because we were vulnerable, single, American women living alone in an Islamic nation.
Cha-cha was a tall, dark older man with a beautiful oiled beard and blue eyeliner. When he smiled his whole face wrinkled up, delighted. I never understood a single word he said. Nine months, not one word. But on Fridays, I knew what he wanted. He would approch me with an odd mixture of Pushto, Urdu and sign language. He said his prayers faithfully, I watched him sometimes from the balcony. Stand, bow- face to the ground and he would do something I never had seen before. While standing he would put his fingers near his ears and wiggle them around . . . I was told later that was to keep the evil spirits away while he prayed. On Fridays he wanted to go to the mosque to pray.
Our guard was never supposed to leave the grounds while he was on duty. Those were his orders from the man (my supervisor) who hired him. He knew he wasn't supposed to ask, and my two house mates has both told him "no" when he had asked before. But he also knew he could ask me if no one else was around. I would look to be sure my house mates were gone, and I would smile and nod my head.
He would come back an hour later all smiley and wrinkly . . . delighted.
Who was I to keep him from God? Anyway I figured if any one broke in to rape and pillage me at the hour of prayer--well, if they were that determined, they could have got past a napping house guard anyway.
I had a technological break through like this a few years ago too, I got a bunch of new toys all at once and I got to make some really fun things. This time, unfortunately, I won't have as much time to dedicate to learning how to use my toys. This time I have to work and go to class, as opposed to being locked in my house with the curtains drawn so nobody "gets" me. This time I'm not living in a "dangerous for you" Islamic nation where (according to my employers) I couldn't go outside alone because someone might look at me, or touch me or drop a bomb on me. Ahhh . . . those were the days.
Thinking of those days made me think of Cha-cha-gee. I don't even know what that man's name was. We called him Cha-cha-gee, I was told it meant Uncle-uncle-sir. He was our house guard; we had to have a house guard 24/7 because we were vulnerable, single, American women living alone in an Islamic nation.
Cha-cha was a tall, dark older man with a beautiful oiled beard and blue eyeliner. When he smiled his whole face wrinkled up, delighted. I never understood a single word he said. Nine months, not one word. But on Fridays, I knew what he wanted. He would approch me with an odd mixture of Pushto, Urdu and sign language. He said his prayers faithfully, I watched him sometimes from the balcony. Stand, bow- face to the ground and he would do something I never had seen before. While standing he would put his fingers near his ears and wiggle them around . . . I was told later that was to keep the evil spirits away while he prayed. On Fridays he wanted to go to the mosque to pray.
Our guard was never supposed to leave the grounds while he was on duty. Those were his orders from the man (my supervisor) who hired him. He knew he wasn't supposed to ask, and my two house mates has both told him "no" when he had asked before. But he also knew he could ask me if no one else was around. I would look to be sure my house mates were gone, and I would smile and nod my head.
He would come back an hour later all smiley and wrinkly . . . delighted.
Who was I to keep him from God? Anyway I figured if any one broke in to rape and pillage me at the hour of prayer--well, if they were that determined, they could have got past a napping house guard anyway.
Okay, I admit it! I'm a little addicted to the quizes!
Which book of the Bible are you?
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Which book of the Bible are you?
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I still believe
When we’ve all grown up, when we are too old for fairytales, fables, miracles and myths, when the prophet, mystic and dervish no longer speak rhyming riddles in our ears, when the magic show is discredited and we teach ourselves objective, logical, empirical 'truth' . . . where will we find poetry, story, life? Where will we be found? Where will a soul take comfort?
When we’ve all grown up, when we are too old for fairytales, fables, miracles and myths, when the prophet, mystic and dervish no longer speak rhyming riddles in our ears, when the magic show is discredited and we teach ourselves objective, logical, empirical 'truth' . . . where will we find poetry, story, life? Where will we be found? Where will a soul take comfort?
Wednesday, November 13, 2002
I went to a "Who created whom" debate. The theists, atheists and the agnostics all went in and came out with their opinions intact. I came out with a few interesting quotes.
The skeptic: "Any sufficiently advanced ET intelligence is indistinguishable from God."
Skeptic: “Ets will not be like what we see on Star Trek. They will not be like us with gnarly things on their heads who speak English with an Indian accent.”
Skeptic: “What do you get if you cross an atheist with a Jehovah’s Witness?’ Someone knocking on your door for no reason.” :0)
God guy: “Torturing babies and flying planes into buildings is wrong. If you don’t think these things are indisputably wrong, you are wrong.” (Question from Shannon: If God tells you to do something “wrong” is it still wrong?)
God guy: “Historical evidence doesn’t have to be perfect, only good enough.”
Question from the audience for God guy: “Is God an atheist?”
God guy: “Hmmmm . . . well, I’d have to say the answer is No . . . “
(Skeptic shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head)
Question from the audience for Skeptic: “It seems events like this only bring more disagreement among us, so how should believers and non-believers get along?”\
Skeptic: “Beer and Pizza. I believe adult beverages are needed after events such as this.”
God guy: “I agree.”
God guy: “There are infinities, but not physically.”
The skeptic: "Any sufficiently advanced ET intelligence is indistinguishable from God."
Skeptic: “Ets will not be like what we see on Star Trek. They will not be like us with gnarly things on their heads who speak English with an Indian accent.”
Skeptic: “What do you get if you cross an atheist with a Jehovah’s Witness?’ Someone knocking on your door for no reason.” :0)
God guy: “Torturing babies and flying planes into buildings is wrong. If you don’t think these things are indisputably wrong, you are wrong.” (Question from Shannon: If God tells you to do something “wrong” is it still wrong?)
God guy: “Historical evidence doesn’t have to be perfect, only good enough.”
Question from the audience for God guy: “Is God an atheist?”
God guy: “Hmmmm . . . well, I’d have to say the answer is No . . . “
(Skeptic shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head)
Question from the audience for Skeptic: “It seems events like this only bring more disagreement among us, so how should believers and non-believers get along?”\
Skeptic: “Beer and Pizza. I believe adult beverages are needed after events such as this.”
God guy: “I agree.”
God guy: “There are infinities, but not physically.”
Tuesday, November 12, 2002
What's YOUR Writing Style?
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You are a descriptive writer. An avid reader of Robert Frost, perhaps, you LOVE to use flowery words and use the paper and pen as your canvas and paintbrush. You prefer to paint a mental image rather than simply toy around with people's minds. A very inspired person, you love to be in nature and usually are a very outdoorsy type of person. A writer with a natural green thumb, perhaps?
The Greek Festival was a bust. The food, (which although looked yummy enough) was way expensive,(turned out to be a church fund-raiser) and they had already run out of vegetarian mousaka, so what was the point? There were alot of people there, I extimate 90% non-Greek, non orthodox-- I suspect they were mostly Southern Baptists looking for some Saturday night grub, being unwilling to wait for the Sunday night church pot-luck.
The music was okay, the dancing was sub-par and the costumes, well they didn't want to make me cry out "opa!" to say the least. The icons didn't inspire me and the pillars were dissapointing. While I wanted to blow out the prayer candles, one of my companions wanted to steal the offering and the other was offended we (girls) couldn't approach the alter so she suggested we "dance naked" on it.
In the end we settled for a New York style pizza and Harry Potter. Does that count as an intercultural religious experierence?
The music was okay, the dancing was sub-par and the costumes, well they didn't want to make me cry out "opa!" to say the least. The icons didn't inspire me and the pillars were dissapointing. While I wanted to blow out the prayer candles, one of my companions wanted to steal the offering and the other was offended we (girls) couldn't approach the alter so she suggested we "dance naked" on it.
In the end we settled for a New York style pizza and Harry Potter. Does that count as an intercultural religious experierence?
Wednesday, November 06, 2002
Tuesday, November 05, 2002
Sunday, November 03, 2002
I didn’t really have anywhere to go Thursday, but I decided since I had a car, I could find someplace. So, I got in the car, and decided to take inventory before I started out on my first solo adventure in some time.
After I’d discovered almost $5.00 in change in the ashtray, I decided to head to the Greek place down the street to celebrate my good fortune with a falafel combo. While I was waiting for my food, I started thinking about the other things that I had found. I’d found a lady’s watch that no longer kept time, ten hair pins, a scratched out grocery list, three pens and a coin from Thailand. I found a set of directions under the driver’s seat and a can of pepper spray under the passenger’s. I didn’t bother to go through the glove compartment before I threw everything I couldn’t use in there.
I wondered if I should feel bad about being the beneficiary of a divorce. I do feel bad. Not for my gain, but for their loss. No matter how okay they say they each are about it, I can’t believe them. I can’t believe it even from this couple I never stood in the same room with. Even though I know next to nothing about their relationship or their lives together, I can’t believe it’s okay. Divorced is just another word for broken hearted, I know that’s not okay.
It doesn’t matter what they say.
But I can’t dwell on broken hearts too long. It makes me lose my optimistic focus for the future, it makes me remember my own brokeness, it makes me wonder how I’ll make it though my next broken heart.
So I shake my head and consider the irony of my situation, about how I couldn’t come up with a better fiction of how I came to drive this car.
I’m driving my ex-boyfriend’s ex-wife’s ex-car.
I was driving down the highway the other day when I suddenly had the sensation that I was on the wrong side of the car. Not the wrong side of the road, but actually driving on the wrong side of the car. It only lasted a moment. Afterwards I tried to figure out if it was a result of being a passenger for so long or some sort of Cypriot flashback.
This car I’m using. It was dark when I went to get it, and there wasn’t any parking anywhere near my apartment when I got home, so I parked way over on the east side of nowhere. When I walked back out there the next morning I realized I didn’t even know
what color the car was, let alone exactly where I had parked it. It took me a while, but I found it. It’s blue.
This car I’m using. It was dark when I went to get it, and there wasn’t any parking anywhere near my apartment when I got home, so I parked way over on the east side of nowhere. When I walked back out there the next morning I realized I didn’t even know
what color the car was, let alone exactly where I had parked it. It took me a while, but I found it. It’s blue.
I think my computer is against me. After faithful service all these years, it’s finally giving up. *sigh* Okay everyone out there, if you believe hard enough my computer will start working correctly again, if you clap your hands and give the Care Bear Stare it will all work out! Just believe! Believe!
Friday, November 01, 2002
I don't have any problem saying I believe everything in the Bible is "gospel truth" (gospel: concerning the message of Christ, the kingdom of God and salvation.) Not literally true, not exclusively true, but it is true to my understanding of God, relationship with him and relationship with men. We've been given the right, even the responsibility within relationship, to interpret, reinterpret, understand, (at least really try to understand) and embrace what resources we have. Including the text. As people of God, we have been blessed (word not used lightly) with a wealth of written information, to help us gain the slightest glimpse of an indescribable entity. To me, the "gospel truth" of the Bible is shaded and nuanced, not changing in the times, but shifting within our understandings. It's beautiful in its art, engaging and repelling at the same time.
Honestly, I don't like reading the Bible (gasp from the audience) but I love to search it out, probe it, question it, and examine details. I love to hear it, learn it, say it, sing it, study it--know it.
I'll spare you all the reasons I proclaim thusly, it's more than enough that it is known it is easy to believe this way.
Honestly, I don't like reading the Bible (gasp from the audience) but I love to search it out, probe it, question it, and examine details. I love to hear it, learn it, say it, sing it, study it--know it.
I'll spare you all the reasons I proclaim thusly, it's more than enough that it is known it is easy to believe this way.
Congratulations, you're New Orleans, the wild city.
What US city are you? Take the quiz by Girlwithagun.
Rich with stunning beauty, this city glows with bright colours by day and is hung with seductive mists by night. They say no-one lives in New Orleans, but that it lives inside the people. Exotic, beautiful and dangerous; it is a city of extremes. Decadent hotels, historic buildings and crafty criminals inhabit the same streets. From the towering oaks in city park to the magnificent French quarter, every corner of this city is a breath-taking panorama of mysteries. Anyone who visits this city cannot help but take a piece of her home in their heart.
Wednesday, October 30, 2002
I got this as an email signature from a military guy trying to sell me something:
"Those who turn their guns into plows will plow for those who don't."
First of all, dude, it's swords, swords in to plows, not guns. However, point made, weapondry into farm equipment-- secondly, it also says, "...and no one will make them afraid, for the LORD Almighty has spoken." (See Micah 4:1-6)
So, when the meek inherit the earth those who "haven't turned their guns into plows" just won't have any veggies.
"Those who turn their guns into plows will plow for those who don't."
First of all, dude, it's swords, swords in to plows, not guns. However, point made, weapondry into farm equipment-- secondly, it also says, "...and no one will make them afraid, for the LORD Almighty has spoken." (See Micah 4:1-6)
So, when the meek inherit the earth those who "haven't turned their guns into plows" just won't have any veggies.
Tuesday, October 29, 2002
Monday, October 28, 2002
My Degree
I finally made some money using my degree. I was at a party this weekend when the subject turned from Micky Mouse to Moses. (???) Someone mentioned the 10 commandments and the woman sitting next to me pulled $3.00 out of her pocket and said, “I’ll give this money to anyone who can name any commandment besides the first one.” I said, “Heck, I can name them all!” I rattled them off and she said, “We’re really not supposed to use God’s name in vain? I’m in big trouble.” I told her not to worry, there are lots of other cuss words she could use. When she found out I had a Bible degree she said, “You have that degree and you’re hanging out with HERE, with US?” I smiled and wondered if I should tell her that Jesus hung out in the most interesting places too.
I finally made some money using my degree. I was at a party this weekend when the subject turned from Micky Mouse to Moses. (???) Someone mentioned the 10 commandments and the woman sitting next to me pulled $3.00 out of her pocket and said, “I’ll give this money to anyone who can name any commandment besides the first one.” I said, “Heck, I can name them all!” I rattled them off and she said, “We’re really not supposed to use God’s name in vain? I’m in big trouble.” I told her not to worry, there are lots of other cuss words she could use. When she found out I had a Bible degree she said, “You have that degree and you’re hanging out with HERE, with US?” I smiled and wondered if I should tell her that Jesus hung out in the most interesting places too.
Barbie
So, I went to the “Midnight Masquerade” Saturday night. I was sitting next to some gregarious drama boys when this skinny blonde wearing a yellow formal walks by. One of the boys says, “Hey, are you supposed to be Barbie?” She says, “No, I’m ‘I dream of Jeanie’ . . . at a party.” I’m thinking that’s kinda random when he turns to me, looks at my black dress and pointy hat and says, “No offense, but you look like a witch.” I said, “No, I’m Barbie.”
So, I went to the “Midnight Masquerade” Saturday night. I was sitting next to some gregarious drama boys when this skinny blonde wearing a yellow formal walks by. One of the boys says, “Hey, are you supposed to be Barbie?” She says, “No, I’m ‘I dream of Jeanie’ . . . at a party.” I’m thinking that’s kinda random when he turns to me, looks at my black dress and pointy hat and says, “No offense, but you look like a witch.” I said, “No, I’m Barbie.”
Minis
Turns out “mini long horns” aren’t so mini. Granted, regular long horns are huge, so that means when you make a “mini” one they are actually just runt to regular cow size. I took pictures; hopefully I will be able to have them up on my picture site (PSA) soon so that you can live the experience too.
There were about 25 minis occupying a very small pen with one full sized long horn. They got their horns tangled up surprising less than one would expect in such close quarters. The most amazing thing was when the cowboys came and herded all the cows from a very small pen to a cartoonishly-ridiculously small trailer. Much to our wonder we watched the last miniature cow butt be pushed into the trailer, and the door closed. There were little noses, horns and tails sticking out of every window and crack. The trailer drove away and a half hour later the cows “stampede-ed” back to their little pen.
The minis did make a more impressive cattle drive than the big long horns I saw in Ft. Worth. There the cows come out, give the crowd an apathetic cow nod and meander on down the street followed by the cowboys who look equally disinterested in the whole affair.
The minis ran through the West End like mad bovine. They were preceded by cowboys and followed by the “Dallas Police Posse.” There must have been a man on horse for every cow. I guess one can’t really guess the mind of a miniature cow. You never know what kind of mischief size altered cows might get into next. I can see the headlines now, “Mad Minis Mutilate Mob in West End.”
Turns out “mini long horns” aren’t so mini. Granted, regular long horns are huge, so that means when you make a “mini” one they are actually just runt to regular cow size. I took pictures; hopefully I will be able to have them up on my picture site (PSA) soon so that you can live the experience too.
There were about 25 minis occupying a very small pen with one full sized long horn. They got their horns tangled up surprising less than one would expect in such close quarters. The most amazing thing was when the cowboys came and herded all the cows from a very small pen to a cartoonishly-ridiculously small trailer. Much to our wonder we watched the last miniature cow butt be pushed into the trailer, and the door closed. There were little noses, horns and tails sticking out of every window and crack. The trailer drove away and a half hour later the cows “stampede-ed” back to their little pen.
The minis did make a more impressive cattle drive than the big long horns I saw in Ft. Worth. There the cows come out, give the crowd an apathetic cow nod and meander on down the street followed by the cowboys who look equally disinterested in the whole affair.
The minis ran through the West End like mad bovine. They were preceded by cowboys and followed by the “Dallas Police Posse.” There must have been a man on horse for every cow. I guess one can’t really guess the mind of a miniature cow. You never know what kind of mischief size altered cows might get into next. I can see the headlines now, “Mad Minis Mutilate Mob in West End.”
Tuesday, October 22, 2002
Miniature Cattle
This is my newest quest. I must see some miniature cattle, more specifically miniature Texas long horns. Why must I see them? Because, they exist and I'm Shannon. I need no better reason. I have serious questions about these animals, as does my cow expert friend. (She would deny this title of "cow expert" but with a bachelors in agriculture and an SBC seminary degree, she not only knows about cows, but plenty about bull crap too.)
Questions that need answers:
How mini is a mini long horn?
What counts as a "long horn" on a miniature cow?
Does a mini long horn need a counter-wait on his butt to keep him from tipping over forwards?
Why were mini cattle created?
Are there miniature cowboys? (Do they ride miniature horses?)
Do full size cows make fun of the minis?
Would you pay to see an all out mini rodeo?
I looked on the net to find a picture of a mini long horn, but as fate would have it, none of the pictures would open. I took that as a definite sign, a sign that I should see these creatures in person. I suspect these cows may even surpass the Nigerian pygmy goat experience.
This isn't just out of the blue you know-- there happens to be a miniature Texas long horn cattle drive in the West End this Saturday. Not a miniature cattle drive, with just a few cows, but actually miniature cows.
Who wants to take me?
Come on ... you know you are itching to see mini long horns too!
Seriously, miniature cattle--I'm not kidding.
This is my newest quest. I must see some miniature cattle, more specifically miniature Texas long horns. Why must I see them? Because, they exist and I'm Shannon. I need no better reason. I have serious questions about these animals, as does my cow expert friend. (She would deny this title of "cow expert" but with a bachelors in agriculture and an SBC seminary degree, she not only knows about cows, but plenty about bull crap too.)
Questions that need answers:
How mini is a mini long horn?
What counts as a "long horn" on a miniature cow?
Does a mini long horn need a counter-wait on his butt to keep him from tipping over forwards?
Why were mini cattle created?
Are there miniature cowboys? (Do they ride miniature horses?)
Do full size cows make fun of the minis?
Would you pay to see an all out mini rodeo?
I looked on the net to find a picture of a mini long horn, but as fate would have it, none of the pictures would open. I took that as a definite sign, a sign that I should see these creatures in person. I suspect these cows may even surpass the Nigerian pygmy goat experience.
This isn't just out of the blue you know-- there happens to be a miniature Texas long horn cattle drive in the West End this Saturday. Not a miniature cattle drive, with just a few cows, but actually miniature cows.
Who wants to take me?
Come on ... you know you are itching to see mini long horns too!
Seriously, miniature cattle--I'm not kidding.
Sunday, October 20, 2002
A study in Genesis or Things they don’t tell you in Bible college
“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now, the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.”
“Why was God hovering over the waters?”
“I don’t know.”
“And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. God saw the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness.”
“If the light was good, why did he keep the darkness?”
“That’s a good question, I don’t know.”
“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now, the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.”
“Why was God hovering over the waters?”
“I don’t know.”
“And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. God saw the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness.”
“If the light was good, why did he keep the darkness?”
“That’s a good question, I don’t know.”
Saturday, October 19, 2002
My free lunch Friday Christians get alot of air time from me. I think its because I don’t want to really take advantage of their free lunches that I try to want to be involved with their other activities. But I’ve learned from my free lunch Christians that I’m a snob. They didn’t tell me so, they would never do such a thing, but I’ve realized that I am. Indeed, I am. But the food is usually good.
I went to a Bible study one week and snobbishly left feeling it was terribly shallow and uninformed.
I saw one of their banners on campus, their slogan for the year is “Live to Die.” I snobbishly thought 'that’s not the smartest slogan to have on a college campus if you want people who don’t know what it means to come to your ministry. College students don’t want to die, its not their thing.'
I read their news letter and snobbishly yawned at the most incredibly boring, trite and flat attempts of wit, humor and profundity I’ve read in some time.
*Sigh*
What to do with my free lunch Friday Christians? I’m sure they mean well. They are always nice at lunch. They know my name when I come in the door. This is where I wonder about my role in such situations. I take notice, but I’m not a revolutionist. I don’t
want to be, leadership seems to me disenchanting. Disenchantment is easy enough to come by without the hunt. Should I point out what I have noticed? Would it even make a difference? Would they be offended? What will it require of me? Most importantly, what
will it require of me? Am I ready to give it?
I don't think I am, not yet.
I went to a Bible study one week and snobbishly left feeling it was terribly shallow and uninformed.
I saw one of their banners on campus, their slogan for the year is “Live to Die.” I snobbishly thought 'that’s not the smartest slogan to have on a college campus if you want people who don’t know what it means to come to your ministry. College students don’t want to die, its not their thing.'
I read their news letter and snobbishly yawned at the most incredibly boring, trite and flat attempts of wit, humor and profundity I’ve read in some time.
*Sigh*
What to do with my free lunch Friday Christians? I’m sure they mean well. They are always nice at lunch. They know my name when I come in the door. This is where I wonder about my role in such situations. I take notice, but I’m not a revolutionist. I don’t
want to be, leadership seems to me disenchanting. Disenchantment is easy enough to come by without the hunt. Should I point out what I have noticed? Would it even make a difference? Would they be offended? What will it require of me? Most importantly, what
will it require of me? Am I ready to give it?
I don't think I am, not yet.
Thursday, October 17, 2002
There are days that are just muddled through. Days where at the end I sigh, and say to myself, “I made it through again.” There are days that go unnoticed and unremembered. We remember the good, we remember the bad, but I think too often we forget the living that happens in-between.
I celebrate yesterday’s living by remembering today.
Yesterday was not extraordinary.
I slept in, went to work, had a late lunch and got my winter clothes out of storage.
Then I remembered to live.
My friend and I went out to eat. We decided to get an appetizer and a desert. On the menu we found corn meal-rolled-deep-fried pickles and jalapenos. (This, you must admit is living.) Because my friend knew the waiter, we also got a free order of chips and salsa and finished off our meal with a deep fried cherry pie alamode. This is living with no concern for that night’s bellyache or tomorrow’s not fitting into my jeans.
Afterwards we went to our weekly community group meeting, and told our stories. Following the meeting, we all went to a fifties diner for milkshakes. White-rhinestone-jumpsuit-seven-foot-tall-Elvis was performing. As a matter of fact it was his birthday, and his entire fan club (spearheaded by his mama) was present for the celebration. Elvis sang “Amazing Grace,” because he loves Jesus, and we joined the fan club to sing “Happy Birthday,” because they love Elvis (and we just happened to be there).
There had been mention earlier in the evening about an old graveyard near my apartment complex. It was a place for unwed mothers, illegitimate children and orphans to be buried at the turn of the century. I wanted to see it. And what better time is there to visit such a place than a crisp, three quarter moon, mid October evening between the hours of 11:00 and midnight?
Sometimes living means visiting the dead, remembering the forgotten, pushing away dead leaves and grass from 100 year old graves. Sometimes it means wondering who mourned for Josephine, Edward, Lura and infant 17. Living means remembering our collective pasts, forgiving our collective mistakes, celebrating our collective present and anticipating our future together.
Yesterday was a good day to live.
I celebrate yesterday’s living by remembering today.
Yesterday was not extraordinary.
I slept in, went to work, had a late lunch and got my winter clothes out of storage.
Then I remembered to live.
My friend and I went out to eat. We decided to get an appetizer and a desert. On the menu we found corn meal-rolled-deep-fried pickles and jalapenos. (This, you must admit is living.) Because my friend knew the waiter, we also got a free order of chips and salsa and finished off our meal with a deep fried cherry pie alamode. This is living with no concern for that night’s bellyache or tomorrow’s not fitting into my jeans.
Afterwards we went to our weekly community group meeting, and told our stories. Following the meeting, we all went to a fifties diner for milkshakes. White-rhinestone-jumpsuit-seven-foot-tall-Elvis was performing. As a matter of fact it was his birthday, and his entire fan club (spearheaded by his mama) was present for the celebration. Elvis sang “Amazing Grace,” because he loves Jesus, and we joined the fan club to sing “Happy Birthday,” because they love Elvis (and we just happened to be there).
There had been mention earlier in the evening about an old graveyard near my apartment complex. It was a place for unwed mothers, illegitimate children and orphans to be buried at the turn of the century. I wanted to see it. And what better time is there to visit such a place than a crisp, three quarter moon, mid October evening between the hours of 11:00 and midnight?
Sometimes living means visiting the dead, remembering the forgotten, pushing away dead leaves and grass from 100 year old graves. Sometimes it means wondering who mourned for Josephine, Edward, Lura and infant 17. Living means remembering our collective pasts, forgiving our collective mistakes, celebrating our collective present and anticipating our future together.
Yesterday was a good day to live.
Wednesday, October 16, 2002
She is the Creator: Rumi
There's a tradition that Muhammad said,
"A wise man will listen and be led by a woman,
while an ignorant man will not."
Someone too fiercely drawn by animal urges
lacks kindness and the gentle affections
that keep men human.
Anger and sharp desiring are animal qualities.
A loving tenderness toward women
shows someone no longer pulled by wanting.
The core of feminine comes directly as a ray of the sun.
Not the earthly figure you hear about in love songs;
there's more to her mystery than that.
You might say she's not from the manifest world at all,
but the creator of it.
There's a tradition that Muhammad said,
"A wise man will listen and be led by a woman,
while an ignorant man will not."
Someone too fiercely drawn by animal urges
lacks kindness and the gentle affections
that keep men human.
Anger and sharp desiring are animal qualities.
A loving tenderness toward women
shows someone no longer pulled by wanting.
The core of feminine comes directly as a ray of the sun.
Not the earthly figure you hear about in love songs;
there's more to her mystery than that.
You might say she's not from the manifest world at all,
but the creator of it.
Tuesday, October 15, 2002
Sunday, October 13, 2002
Free Lunch Friday with the Christians.
The lunch topic this week: “post apocalyptic literature class.”
The guy I was sitting across from said he was taking a “post apocalyptic lit.” class. Really? This sounded interesting. My first thoughts: 1. he was taking a class on the book of Revelation at a Christian school, which would transfer to UTA as a lit credit? (it’s possible) 2. He doesn’t know what “apocalyptic” means. (very possible) 3. There was an apocalypse and I missed it. (I’m not a history whiz, but come on!)
I decided to ask. “What kind of class is it?”
“Post apocalyptic. Apocalypse is like the end of the world or something.”
“Yes, I know what apocalypse means, I want to know how you are studying literature that was written after something that hasn’t happened.”
(he gives me a blank look)
“Oh, no, it’s like Fahrenheit 451 and The Postman, stuff like that.”
“So, it’s negative utopian fiction class?” (gasp on the inside)
“Yeah, I guess.”
This is big news in Shannonland! Negative utopian fiction is the preferred form of literature here. I’ve been talking about such a class for years now. Brave New World, 1984, A Handmaiden’s Tale, Fahrenheit 451-- these are standard classics for negative utopia, but are there more? Where are they? I need to know! I’ve asked around before, but you say “negative utopia” to most people and their eyes glaze over like you are talking in tongues or something. I’ve already started looking for info, but I haven’t found it in the class schedule yet. At the very least I need the reading list for this class. I’m going to have to call the English department Monday.
The lunch topic this week: “post apocalyptic literature class.”
The guy I was sitting across from said he was taking a “post apocalyptic lit.” class. Really? This sounded interesting. My first thoughts: 1. he was taking a class on the book of Revelation at a Christian school, which would transfer to UTA as a lit credit? (it’s possible) 2. He doesn’t know what “apocalyptic” means. (very possible) 3. There was an apocalypse and I missed it. (I’m not a history whiz, but come on!)
I decided to ask. “What kind of class is it?”
“Post apocalyptic. Apocalypse is like the end of the world or something.”
“Yes, I know what apocalypse means, I want to know how you are studying literature that was written after something that hasn’t happened.”
(he gives me a blank look)
“Oh, no, it’s like Fahrenheit 451 and The Postman, stuff like that.”
“So, it’s negative utopian fiction class?” (gasp on the inside)
“Yeah, I guess.”
This is big news in Shannonland! Negative utopian fiction is the preferred form of literature here. I’ve been talking about such a class for years now. Brave New World, 1984, A Handmaiden’s Tale, Fahrenheit 451-- these are standard classics for negative utopia, but are there more? Where are they? I need to know! I’ve asked around before, but you say “negative utopia” to most people and their eyes glaze over like you are talking in tongues or something. I’ve already started looking for info, but I haven’t found it in the class schedule yet. At the very least I need the reading list for this class. I’m going to have to call the English department Monday.
Quotes from Gustave Flaubert’s Madam Bovary
“Love, she felt, ought to come all at once, with great thunderclaps and flashes of lightning; it was like a storm bursting upon life from the sky, uprooting it, overwhelming the will and sweeping the heart into the abyss. It did not occur to her that rain forms puddles on a flat roof when the drainpipes are clogged, and she would have continued to feel secure is she had not suddenly discovered a crack in the wall.”
“ . . . since no one can ever express the exact measure of his needs, his conceptions or his sorrows, and human speech is like a cracked pot on which we beat out rhythms for bears to dance to when we are striving to make music that will wring tears from the stars.”
“But disparaging those we love always detaches us from them to some extent. It is better not to touch our idols; the gilt comes off on our hands.”
“Why was life so unsatisfying? . . . But if somewhere there existed a strong, handsome man with a valorous, passionate and refined nature, a poet’s soul in the form of an angel, a lyre with strings of bronze intoning elegiac nuptial songs to the heavens, why was it not possible that she might meet him some day?”
“ . . .for of all the winds that blow on love, none is so chilling and destructive as a request for money.”
“Love, she felt, ought to come all at once, with great thunderclaps and flashes of lightning; it was like a storm bursting upon life from the sky, uprooting it, overwhelming the will and sweeping the heart into the abyss. It did not occur to her that rain forms puddles on a flat roof when the drainpipes are clogged, and she would have continued to feel secure is she had not suddenly discovered a crack in the wall.”
“ . . . since no one can ever express the exact measure of his needs, his conceptions or his sorrows, and human speech is like a cracked pot on which we beat out rhythms for bears to dance to when we are striving to make music that will wring tears from the stars.”
“But disparaging those we love always detaches us from them to some extent. It is better not to touch our idols; the gilt comes off on our hands.”
“Why was life so unsatisfying? . . . But if somewhere there existed a strong, handsome man with a valorous, passionate and refined nature, a poet’s soul in the form of an angel, a lyre with strings of bronze intoning elegiac nuptial songs to the heavens, why was it not possible that she might meet him some day?”
“ . . .for of all the winds that blow on love, none is so chilling and destructive as a request for money.”
Thursday, October 10, 2002
I took the "death test" at http://www.thespark.com/deathtest/ this is what it told me:
Mark your calendar or Palm V. You can expect to die on:
July 26, 2051 (an idle Wednesday)
at the age of 76 years old.
On that date you will most likely die from:
Alien Abduction (22%)
Cancer (19%)
Heart Attack (14%)
Alcoholism (12%)
Third Degree Burns (7%)
Contagious Disease (7%)
Wow, I'm really impressed by the fact I have a better chance of dying from alien abduction than from cancer. Hmmm, my time watching X-files was well spent I see.
Mark your calendar or Palm V. You can expect to die on:
July 26, 2051 (an idle Wednesday)
at the age of 76 years old.
On that date you will most likely die from:
Alien Abduction (22%)
Cancer (19%)
Heart Attack (14%)
Alcoholism (12%)
Third Degree Burns (7%)
Contagious Disease (7%)
Wow, I'm really impressed by the fact I have a better chance of dying from alien abduction than from cancer. Hmmm, my time watching X-files was well spent I see.
Tuesday, October 08, 2002
I had a conversation tonight that baffled me. Generally I don’t feel quite so inept in conversations. I think I’m pretty patient and I’ve had lots of practice attempting to (and not doing so bad) understand not-always-clear conversations from people who don’t know
English well, are really old and/or senile are drunk, high or crazy (really crazy and off their medication,) but there is a guy in one of my linguistics classes who just . . . baffles me, every time.
I would like to point out that he’s a really nice guy. I don’t mean that in a generic way. I mean I intuitively know, for sure, he’s an honestly good person. I don’t even know how to express the fact that I believe that he is absolutely genuine in his goodness.
Usually when I meet people perceived as “really nice” I try to avoid them, like they are too goody-goody-syurpy-sweet-happy-lovey-lovey-fake for me to take for more than a few minutes in Shannonland. Shannonland is full of brutal realities laced with garlands of free
flowers the florist can’t keep over the weekend, sarcastic inside smiles, 30 year old discarded double-knit polyesters, hard candy and homemade gifts. I don’t have much room for sticky pretenders.
But this guy isn’t like that-- I would allow him in Shannonland if only I could understand what the heck was coming out of his mouth. He looks like a together person, well groomed, his clothes match-- it’s not his accent, it’s standard American, but when he starts talking I get the sensation that his words aren’t coming out in the proper order. (I’m not the only one who thinks so, the girl who sits in front of me turned around and asked me if I thought he was on drugs.) He takes long pauses in the middle of his sentences, which makes me think that he is formulating something profound, but when it comes out I find myself thinking, “I know its English, but . . . WHAT IN THE WORLD?!”
He approached me tonight to comment on something I had said weeks ago. I hardly remembered what he was referring to--a question about a linguistics technique for formulating structurally correct questions. Once I figured out he was referring to,
he started talking about how people are drawn to him, how is mother is depressive and how he’d been thinking about my question for a while. I was trying to figure out how these subjects related, but I found my mind wondering to other questions like, “IS he on drugs after all? or maybe I am and this conversation is the result of a bad trip.” After a while I just agreed with him. I don’t know what I agreed to. He wished me a good life as a missionary (did I say I wanted to be a missionary?-- I don’t remember that) and we departed. He is a odd duck, an odd, odd duck.
Odd Duck--here’s to you-- keep’em guessing!
English well, are really old and/or senile are drunk, high or crazy (really crazy and off their medication,) but there is a guy in one of my linguistics classes who just . . . baffles me, every time.
I would like to point out that he’s a really nice guy. I don’t mean that in a generic way. I mean I intuitively know, for sure, he’s an honestly good person. I don’t even know how to express the fact that I believe that he is absolutely genuine in his goodness.
Usually when I meet people perceived as “really nice” I try to avoid them, like they are too goody-goody-syurpy-sweet-happy-lovey-lovey-fake for me to take for more than a few minutes in Shannonland. Shannonland is full of brutal realities laced with garlands of free
flowers the florist can’t keep over the weekend, sarcastic inside smiles, 30 year old discarded double-knit polyesters, hard candy and homemade gifts. I don’t have much room for sticky pretenders.
But this guy isn’t like that-- I would allow him in Shannonland if only I could understand what the heck was coming out of his mouth. He looks like a together person, well groomed, his clothes match-- it’s not his accent, it’s standard American, but when he starts talking I get the sensation that his words aren’t coming out in the proper order. (I’m not the only one who thinks so, the girl who sits in front of me turned around and asked me if I thought he was on drugs.) He takes long pauses in the middle of his sentences, which makes me think that he is formulating something profound, but when it comes out I find myself thinking, “I know its English, but . . . WHAT IN THE WORLD?!”
He approached me tonight to comment on something I had said weeks ago. I hardly remembered what he was referring to--a question about a linguistics technique for formulating structurally correct questions. Once I figured out he was referring to,
he started talking about how people are drawn to him, how is mother is depressive and how he’d been thinking about my question for a while. I was trying to figure out how these subjects related, but I found my mind wondering to other questions like, “IS he on drugs after all? or maybe I am and this conversation is the result of a bad trip.” After a while I just agreed with him. I don’t know what I agreed to. He wished me a good life as a missionary (did I say I wanted to be a missionary?-- I don’t remember that) and we departed. He is a odd duck, an odd, odd duck.
Odd Duck--here’s to you-- keep’em guessing!
Sunday, October 06, 2002
I went grocery shopping for the first time in over a month this weekend. It wasn’t as fun as I had hoped it would be. I was feeling rushed for time, and there were way to many people in the store. But at least I have some food in the kitchen now. (Added bonus, I got paid $7 to take a survey and tell them that I didn’t think their new product was a good one.)
Where to put the food in the kitchen was another challenge in my ever-so-interesting life. I was the last one to move into this apartment. Everyone else has a full size cabinet to keep their dishes and food in. Being last, I got what was left over in the way of storage space-- a shoe box sized space above the sink, which I can’t even reach with out a chair, and a sliver space next to the oven. In a regular kitchen this would be the place you keep you baking sheets and really skinny skillets. I don’t have baking sheets or skinny skillets.
So after careful consideration, I decided to put my dishes and food in the dishwasher. It’s good storage space. I’ve never seen anyone use it and it’s just taking up space. I thought about telling my room mates about my decision, but for some reason I found a cryptic pleasure in the idea of them discovering it for themselves.
I was informed this is classic passive-aggressive behavior.
The passive-aggressive life is good.
Where to put the food in the kitchen was another challenge in my ever-so-interesting life. I was the last one to move into this apartment. Everyone else has a full size cabinet to keep their dishes and food in. Being last, I got what was left over in the way of storage space-- a shoe box sized space above the sink, which I can’t even reach with out a chair, and a sliver space next to the oven. In a regular kitchen this would be the place you keep you baking sheets and really skinny skillets. I don’t have baking sheets or skinny skillets.
So after careful consideration, I decided to put my dishes and food in the dishwasher. It’s good storage space. I’ve never seen anyone use it and it’s just taking up space. I thought about telling my room mates about my decision, but for some reason I found a cryptic pleasure in the idea of them discovering it for themselves.
I was informed this is classic passive-aggressive behavior.
The passive-aggressive life is good.
Leading Lipstick Indicator
"Coined by Leonard Lauder (Chairman of Estee Lauder), it follows the idea that when a consumer feels less than confident about the future, she (or he) turns to less expensive indulgences such as lipsticks. Therefore lipstick sales tend to increase during times of economic uncertainty or a recession."
Did you know there was a lipstick indicator? Indeed, I've seen this more than once. I don't think my lipstick buying habits would lead to this conclusion. Lipstick is expensive (when you live below the poverty level.) L'Oreal lipstick costs $6.99 a tube. Admittedly, it's a lot cheaper than going to the hair salon (I get my hair cut once every three years, so whatever) and cheaper than buying an new outfit (unless, like me you shop at second hand stores on sale days.) I try to keep my lipstick buying habits under control-- but tonight, I had to buy some. There was a sale (don't you see, I had to do it!) It was L'Oreal buy one get one on the "Endless" line. It is supposedly an 8 hour lipstick, but I have my doubts. The good news is it goes on very smoothly, smells good (tastes good) and has great color. This is my recomended purchase of the week. It's right up there with my globe lamp from a few weeks back.
"Coined by Leonard Lauder (Chairman of Estee Lauder), it follows the idea that when a consumer feels less than confident about the future, she (or he) turns to less expensive indulgences such as lipsticks. Therefore lipstick sales tend to increase during times of economic uncertainty or a recession."
Did you know there was a lipstick indicator? Indeed, I've seen this more than once. I don't think my lipstick buying habits would lead to this conclusion. Lipstick is expensive (when you live below the poverty level.) L'Oreal lipstick costs $6.99 a tube. Admittedly, it's a lot cheaper than going to the hair salon (I get my hair cut once every three years, so whatever) and cheaper than buying an new outfit (unless, like me you shop at second hand stores on sale days.) I try to keep my lipstick buying habits under control-- but tonight, I had to buy some. There was a sale (don't you see, I had to do it!) It was L'Oreal buy one get one on the "Endless" line. It is supposedly an 8 hour lipstick, but I have my doubts. The good news is it goes on very smoothly, smells good (tastes good) and has great color. This is my recomended purchase of the week. It's right up there with my globe lamp from a few weeks back.
Wednesday, October 02, 2002
I remember when I was in kindergarten I used to walk to school with my friend Donny. My mother never worried about us getting lost, because Donny knew the way. He had been to kindergarten the year before me too. In the autum, we would walk, crunch, kick-- splash through the fallen leaves. Northern PA in the autum is beautiful, the air is crisp the trees are abundent and the colors are spectacular. I would look for pink leaves as we walked along (which I could occationally find in the mix of reds, oranges, yellows and greens.) Donny would look for blue leaves, (which may be one of the reasons why he spent the year before me, the year with me and the year after me in kindergarten.)
I miss the leaves. I wonder if Donny ever made it out of kindergarten.
I miss the leaves. I wonder if Donny ever made it out of kindergarten.
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