the christmas/graduation part of the holidays is over, and for the past few days i've been doing a whole lot of nothing. it's not too bad. i'm trying to somewhat vibe will crowley who, and i quote, "just spent a lot of time alone. which i like." we'll see if i can ever get there. i doubt it.
i feel as though there is not any coherent narrative way to wrap up these last few weeks, which in all honesty have seemed like months. so i guess a bulleted-type thing will have to do.
- i said goodbye to a lot of people. it was really sad, and i only really almost cried when i hugged my friend keith, drove jamie back to her apartment in pullman before she left for new york (i don't know when i will see her again), and when i hugged my freakishly smart and lovely volleyball player kimika and my favorite student-athletes of all time, michael willis and kendrick dunn.
i for real cried while i turned in my keys to work for the last time: walking out of bohler gym while the place was completely deserted and crossing by the football practice field by the library. i had walked that path to the elevator thousands of times during my time at wsu. and i still remember walking up those stairs to todd hall for my first HD 101 class of freshman year, panting and thinking, "my GOD how do people walk up these?" two weeks later, i discovered the elevator. success.
- i drank in excess only one time in my "sarah says goodbye to the palouse" time. i was carried home by my firefighter friends ted and jon. a fitting end, i suppose.
- i graduated. the ceremony was sweet except for the bitter seattle times owner complaining about his industry going down the tubes. andy's text to me during his commencement, "wow. this guy's a dick." couldn't have said it better myself. my father wore flannel and fell asleep during the commencement. my sister wore her Ugg boots and i still love her. my mother ironed my gown in the hotel room before we left. some things really never change.
- i packed my entire life in moscow up in 5 hours. i should have been better prepared.
- i wrapped andy's and brelin's christmas present in newspaper this year. a first. i say that i am helping the environment, but really i didn't want to get the wrapping paper from under my parents' bed out. pathetic.
-i watched movies and cried. the notebook on abc family by myself (because dementia is sad) and the curious case of benjamin button (because growing young/old and getting dementia-ish is sad).
- i drove all the way home from pullman with a broken thermostat in the snow. this means that the windows inside my car were freezing, forcing me to scrape my window so i could drive. thankfully i didn't have to change lanes very much.
- andy bought the john mayer live album for me and i found O.A.R.'s live album while packing. listening to them religiously.
-nancy bought me martini glasses. because graduation matters.
- i had a surreal experience while at the semi-annual sale at victoria's secret on monday- it was like that episode of friends where monica beats up the woman for the sample sale wedding dress. being there alone surrounded by dazed boyfriends and ravenous women looking for bras made me thankful once again for having a male twin. he might not be that nice to me, but at least i don't have to fight him for undergarments.
- i procured myself a date for my friends' wedding january 3rd-- my most favorite and attractive ex-boyfriend will. he will look nice if someone takes pictures and he's a hilarious dancer. i hope he doesn't back out on me. otherwise it's smith-- who doesn't really want to go. in fact, when i told him he didn't have to go with me he whooped. i have never heard him whoop before.
- i rescheduled my appoinment to shadow and then hopefully get signed on with Washington CAN january 6th. it's becoming real.
time to get geared up for the last eve-eve party i will be attending. a little sad.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
proof
i drank my way through this semester and got a 4.0.--proof that i needed to be done with college.
it's not as if grades really mean anything except for the fact that i can do school. woot. but it's nice sometimes, the validation. i wonder where it will come from in the future.
...now to nurse my hangover.
it's not as if grades really mean anything except for the fact that i can do school. woot. but it's nice sometimes, the validation. i wonder where it will come from in the future.
...now to nurse my hangover.
Friday, December 5, 2008
miles
one of the group members for my black pop culture class is a guy named miles. this is a CES 336 class, which counts for my minor. most of the people in the course are either CES majors or minors. it's a nice, happy, diverse club. i am one of the only white girls in class. it's a lovely change.
there are also students in the class who are not majors or minors- this course fulfills at Tier III requirement for graduation. needless to say, some of these students stick out like sore thumbs. those who are not in the "club" of CES folk look like scared puppies- and most of them are white as well. honestly, they probably haven't seen that many brown people in a WSU class before. the class is loud, boistrous, and out of the ordinary. it's "edutainment" as KRS-One (a rapper, listen to his stuff) calls it. i love it.
for this semester we were put into groups for the dreaded final group project. we did not get to choose our groups and i happened to end up in the only all white group (a change for WSU). we're writing about political hip hop-- i promised myself we wouldn't be lame.
while i immersed myself in the lyrics of KRS-One, Public Enemy, and scholarly work on hip hop (yes, it's out there and a growing field) we asked Miles to do his piece on the music composition of hip hop-- the sampling, the disco rebellion, the scratching, etc. we knew he was a trumpet major so i was pretty excited to see what he came up with, considering in know nothing about music composition.
this skinny white kid who comes in every day blasting jazz on these ginormous headphones killed it. he downloaded this virtual dj thing with turntables you can scratch on your computer and demonstrated how to sample stuff. he made a break beat to play while the rest of us were giving our presentation. he put on the gangsta look, made sure we all had our MC names and taught us how to properly hold a mic like an MC and how to scratch records. he was phenomenal. his name is miles raker so he went by dj moon raker- so brilliant.
as he was going through his thing the class couldn't stop laughing- they loved it because they wouldn't expect this to come from a skinny white kid, and miles bought in to the whole dj persona. while not a gangsta in any way that you would imagine, miles might be the most gangsta of them all because he did his thang. skinny white kid with sweet sampled break beats...who woulda thunk it.
there are also students in the class who are not majors or minors- this course fulfills at Tier III requirement for graduation. needless to say, some of these students stick out like sore thumbs. those who are not in the "club" of CES folk look like scared puppies- and most of them are white as well. honestly, they probably haven't seen that many brown people in a WSU class before. the class is loud, boistrous, and out of the ordinary. it's "edutainment" as KRS-One (a rapper, listen to his stuff) calls it. i love it.
for this semester we were put into groups for the dreaded final group project. we did not get to choose our groups and i happened to end up in the only all white group (a change for WSU). we're writing about political hip hop-- i promised myself we wouldn't be lame.
while i immersed myself in the lyrics of KRS-One, Public Enemy, and scholarly work on hip hop (yes, it's out there and a growing field) we asked Miles to do his piece on the music composition of hip hop-- the sampling, the disco rebellion, the scratching, etc. we knew he was a trumpet major so i was pretty excited to see what he came up with, considering in know nothing about music composition.
this skinny white kid who comes in every day blasting jazz on these ginormous headphones killed it. he downloaded this virtual dj thing with turntables you can scratch on your computer and demonstrated how to sample stuff. he made a break beat to play while the rest of us were giving our presentation. he put on the gangsta look, made sure we all had our MC names and taught us how to properly hold a mic like an MC and how to scratch records. he was phenomenal. his name is miles raker so he went by dj moon raker- so brilliant.
as he was going through his thing the class couldn't stop laughing- they loved it because they wouldn't expect this to come from a skinny white kid, and miles bought in to the whole dj persona. while not a gangsta in any way that you would imagine, miles might be the most gangsta of them all because he did his thang. skinny white kid with sweet sampled break beats...who woulda thunk it.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
exams
my life for the past 3 1/2 years has been defined by exams-- essay exams most notably. there are usually about 3 prompts you can choose from, and i try and remember just about everything i've learned up to that point, making sure to remember the right page numbers and such in order to be great. most of my grade in a course is dependent upon how well i can write (legibility is always an issue as well) in fifty minutes. as if fifty minutes will do for a topic as big as "Explain Barack Obama's election in the context of colorblind racism." yeah right, fifty minutes will do.
today though, oh today, i took my final in-class exam of college.
the good news was, i went to lunch and had a delicious beer right before the test. a BIG beer. it was a delicious honey ale from portland. i couldn't pass it up. because of this fact, and possibly due to the elation of my circumstance, the bullshit flowed like wine. i figured, "i might has well go out with a bang here...i never have had anything in my system when taking an exam before. let's see."
also, i can do essay exams in my sleep. apparently i'm hardwired to write them.
i also used the phrase "hunky-dory" in the essay. i hope my teacher doesn't mark me down for that phrase because it's weird and she's puerto rican. we shall see. at this point though, i've stopped caring.
today though, oh today, i took my final in-class exam of college.
the good news was, i went to lunch and had a delicious beer right before the test. a BIG beer. it was a delicious honey ale from portland. i couldn't pass it up. because of this fact, and possibly due to the elation of my circumstance, the bullshit flowed like wine. i figured, "i might has well go out with a bang here...i never have had anything in my system when taking an exam before. let's see."
also, i can do essay exams in my sleep. apparently i'm hardwired to write them.
i also used the phrase "hunky-dory" in the essay. i hope my teacher doesn't mark me down for that phrase because it's weird and she's puerto rican. we shall see. at this point though, i've stopped caring.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
cemented
for the last month or so, graduation day and the thought of not having school anymore is exhilirating and scary. i'll just say it: the thought of graduating, still not having a job, and working at bed, bath and beyond with my degree (magna cum laude, honor's college, the whole nine yards) basically makes me piss my pants.
knowing this, i've been thinking about the possibility of somehow sticking around here and working in the athletic department: maybe extending my job at least until may so i can find gainful employment, or applying for an academic counselor position that will be left when my colleague Anna has a baby in February. these are great opportunities. if i work full time i would be able to at least start on a master's paid for by WSU, and i would get some good experience that would help me land another job later. and really, what's two more years here? it can't be that bad.
but yes, it CAN BE.
the last two nights have proven to me without a doubt that i have to get the hell out of here as fast as possible. and it's not that these events are in and of themselves terrible, or reason to make a move. but they were, "the straw that broke the camel's back" as it were.
i am a morning person, despite the complete uncoolness that goes along with being a morning person. if i've made the decision to wake up, i'm up, ready to rock. the only reason i can sleep for days while on breaks from school is because i can. but at school i wake up at 7:30 every school day and start it off. because of this, regardless of what's going on, i make sure to get at least 7 hours every night. these are precious hours, all of which have been violated the past two nights.
tuesday night: i'm happily sleeping in my bed, and all of a sudden i here this violent thump-crash followed by a car-horn blaring outside my window. i live on the third floor on the corner of the two main drags of moscow, so i'm used to traffic noise lulling me to sleep. but this time, something had ran into the building right next to mine and the horn did not stop for HALF AN HOUR. i'm pissed. i'm assuming that it will stop, and once the cops and EMS come it does. sweet release. i'm ready to fall back asleep. BUT NO. immediately after this some sort of saw-type weed whacker sound went on and off for the next hour or so. i moved to the living room, watched sportscenter for an hour, and moved myself to the couch to sleep there. it's farther from the window so i could fall asleep. i got four hours of solid sleep, and the next morning i go outside to find a snowplow and EMS still directing traffic. i have no idea what happened.
last night: again, happily sleeping away after watching two reruns of sex and the city on tbs and writing a short paper. andy and alyssa went to the bars (yes mom, people go to the bars on wednesdays, they're not drunks. it was margarita night and i would've gone too) and i went happily to sleep at 12:30. a solid 7 hours of sleep was in my future. perfect.
i wake up sometime in the middle of the night to andy and alyssa talking loudly about something. from what i remember it was andy's usual semi-buzzed rant: how corporations are destroying the world, how he hates his major and study because it doesn't help anyone (too late for that shit, andy, is what i want to say to him), and that people in general are stupid. the usual things that i study every day (racism, classism, etc) and would gladly have talked to him about at a reasonable hour. BUT IT'S 2:30 IN THE MORNING. apparently they forgot i lived there. i was PISSED. i walk out of my room, don't even open my eyes and say, "could you not yell about polymers?"
i woke up this morning at 7:30 to my alarm. only 4 1/2 hours of solid sleep.
i can't do this anymore. i can't live with people who come in drunk on a weekday and i can't sleep. i can't deal with my apartment shaking every time a semi drives by. i just can't do it.
so whether i end up being a barista for two years in seattle, i'll do it. my mind is made up. thanks apartment building.
knowing this, i've been thinking about the possibility of somehow sticking around here and working in the athletic department: maybe extending my job at least until may so i can find gainful employment, or applying for an academic counselor position that will be left when my colleague Anna has a baby in February. these are great opportunities. if i work full time i would be able to at least start on a master's paid for by WSU, and i would get some good experience that would help me land another job later. and really, what's two more years here? it can't be that bad.
but yes, it CAN BE.
the last two nights have proven to me without a doubt that i have to get the hell out of here as fast as possible. and it's not that these events are in and of themselves terrible, or reason to make a move. but they were, "the straw that broke the camel's back" as it were.
i am a morning person, despite the complete uncoolness that goes along with being a morning person. if i've made the decision to wake up, i'm up, ready to rock. the only reason i can sleep for days while on breaks from school is because i can. but at school i wake up at 7:30 every school day and start it off. because of this, regardless of what's going on, i make sure to get at least 7 hours every night. these are precious hours, all of which have been violated the past two nights.
tuesday night: i'm happily sleeping in my bed, and all of a sudden i here this violent thump-crash followed by a car-horn blaring outside my window. i live on the third floor on the corner of the two main drags of moscow, so i'm used to traffic noise lulling me to sleep. but this time, something had ran into the building right next to mine and the horn did not stop for HALF AN HOUR. i'm pissed. i'm assuming that it will stop, and once the cops and EMS come it does. sweet release. i'm ready to fall back asleep. BUT NO. immediately after this some sort of saw-type weed whacker sound went on and off for the next hour or so. i moved to the living room, watched sportscenter for an hour, and moved myself to the couch to sleep there. it's farther from the window so i could fall asleep. i got four hours of solid sleep, and the next morning i go outside to find a snowplow and EMS still directing traffic. i have no idea what happened.
last night: again, happily sleeping away after watching two reruns of sex and the city on tbs and writing a short paper. andy and alyssa went to the bars (yes mom, people go to the bars on wednesdays, they're not drunks. it was margarita night and i would've gone too) and i went happily to sleep at 12:30. a solid 7 hours of sleep was in my future. perfect.
i wake up sometime in the middle of the night to andy and alyssa talking loudly about something. from what i remember it was andy's usual semi-buzzed rant: how corporations are destroying the world, how he hates his major and study because it doesn't help anyone (too late for that shit, andy, is what i want to say to him), and that people in general are stupid. the usual things that i study every day (racism, classism, etc) and would gladly have talked to him about at a reasonable hour. BUT IT'S 2:30 IN THE MORNING. apparently they forgot i lived there. i was PISSED. i walk out of my room, don't even open my eyes and say, "could you not yell about polymers?"
i woke up this morning at 7:30 to my alarm. only 4 1/2 hours of solid sleep.
i can't do this anymore. i can't live with people who come in drunk on a weekday and i can't sleep. i can't deal with my apartment shaking every time a semi drives by. i just can't do it.
so whether i end up being a barista for two years in seattle, i'll do it. my mind is made up. thanks apartment building.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
still lovin it
ah, the new york times op-eds on a sunday. there is nothing i love more than taking some time off of reading or writing, doing homework or writhing in pain after a rough saturday night, than reading the times. and although i'm not as high-brow of those intellectuals who get the times delivered to their house, or actually have time to attempt reading the entire sunday edition (if you know who these people are, tell them to get another hobby or more friends. or better yet, tell them to take some time off and watch a rerun of the 100 Greatest Songs of the 80s), i do still get the times online every day. some days i simply read the headlines and don't go any further. but sundays, oh sundays, i pore over the op-eds.
and it's not just because i happen to agree with most of them. it's because they are smart, thought provoking, and thankfully a break from everything else i'm reading.
i'm also still loving obama. the happiness has not worn off. and you're thinking, "sarah, get with it. he's got a lot of shit on his plate right now and you can't expect him to be the messiah." and i'm not. i'm just happy that we soon will have a smart man in office. in the words of nicholas kristoff, a smart op-ed guy today: "
"Barack Obama’s election is a milestone in more than his pigmentation. The second most remarkable thing about his election is that American voters have just picked a president who is an open, out-of-the-closet, practicing intellectual."
it feels so good to me that i am absolutely positive my president is smarter than me. it's comforting. and i love it.
and it's not just because i happen to agree with most of them. it's because they are smart, thought provoking, and thankfully a break from everything else i'm reading.
i'm also still loving obama. the happiness has not worn off. and you're thinking, "sarah, get with it. he's got a lot of shit on his plate right now and you can't expect him to be the messiah." and i'm not. i'm just happy that we soon will have a smart man in office. in the words of nicholas kristoff, a smart op-ed guy today: "
"Barack Obama’s election is a milestone in more than his pigmentation. The second most remarkable thing about his election is that American voters have just picked a president who is an open, out-of-the-closet, practicing intellectual."
it feels so good to me that i am absolutely positive my president is smarter than me. it's comforting. and i love it.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Monday, November 3, 2008
VOTING (we care)
mondays usually suck for me. i work 8 hours, i leave the house at 9 and come home at 10:30, and then i usually have homework for another hour and a half if i manage to stay up that late. but today, today was a good day.
my friend (and unfortunately not yours) michael willis was in the ARC this morning when i got to work. i was excited to see him as usual and started talking about the big day tomorrow. as an employee of an institution run by the state i cannot really discuss partisan politics and tried to not be excited with willis about barack obama. i also had to bite my tongue just a few short minutes ago about a golfer who said every myth about Obama on Fox News as fact. (come up with the list in your head...he said it).
but i digress in frustration.
as i was talking to willis he told me that neither he nor his mother got their ballot, even though both are registered in whitman county. this was a huge deal to me- see, i've been working on getting willis registered to vote for the past 8 months. he felt his vote didn't count, that he couldn't be a part of voting in a black man who might get shot (god forbid, but it's a real fear for many student athletes of color i have talked to), and he was just overall disappointed in the democratic process. so when he finally registered to vote i was ecstatic- finding out today that he didn't receive his ballot took the wind out of my proverbial sails.
a few people i talked to didn't get their ballots in time, including andy. according to andy though, "what's a vote for the socialist worker's party really going to do anyway?" i got you andy.
willis, though, is not a socialist like andy.
so i was freaking out. i didn't have the answer to his question and was bummed that i didn't know how to help him. after my class got out, though, i got a voicemail on my phone: "whatup dub, i was jus wond'in if the votin thing is still no -can-do or what. if you could hit me back i'd 'ppreciate it."
then my brain went into high gear: who would know?
so i run into the class i just left and ask my amazing and very fiercy CES 201 professor Carmen Lugo-Lugo what to do. she tells me willis has to drive to colfax (colfax?!) and get a special ballot she didn't know the name of so they can vote. i wish i knew the name. damn.
i get to work and she's emailed the name to me-- PROVISIONAL BALLOT! YES! but is there time?
willis calls me and i tell him what to do. now i just pray that he goes with his mom sometime to do it.
tonight he comes in for tutoring and he tells me both he and his mom voted in colfax today. the first time he's voted, and he actually cares a lot.
so it's still monday. it's 9:00 pm and i'm at work, i have lots of things still left to do.
but i helped someone vote today. it took some time, and it took some resources. but three people (including another student whose story i don't have time to tell) voted today. and that makes it a good day.
and don't worry, folks. while i'm at work tomorrow night i'm setting up election center 08 and will follow it on CNN all night via internet with the electoral white board- in honor of tim russert (may he rest in peace) and my dad (an avid fan of the electoral white board). i just hope my dad picks a winner this time.
my friend (and unfortunately not yours) michael willis was in the ARC this morning when i got to work. i was excited to see him as usual and started talking about the big day tomorrow. as an employee of an institution run by the state i cannot really discuss partisan politics and tried to not be excited with willis about barack obama. i also had to bite my tongue just a few short minutes ago about a golfer who said every myth about Obama on Fox News as fact. (come up with the list in your head...he said it).
but i digress in frustration.
as i was talking to willis he told me that neither he nor his mother got their ballot, even though both are registered in whitman county. this was a huge deal to me- see, i've been working on getting willis registered to vote for the past 8 months. he felt his vote didn't count, that he couldn't be a part of voting in a black man who might get shot (god forbid, but it's a real fear for many student athletes of color i have talked to), and he was just overall disappointed in the democratic process. so when he finally registered to vote i was ecstatic- finding out today that he didn't receive his ballot took the wind out of my proverbial sails.
a few people i talked to didn't get their ballots in time, including andy. according to andy though, "what's a vote for the socialist worker's party really going to do anyway?" i got you andy.
willis, though, is not a socialist like andy.
so i was freaking out. i didn't have the answer to his question and was bummed that i didn't know how to help him. after my class got out, though, i got a voicemail on my phone: "whatup dub, i was jus wond'in if the votin thing is still no -can-do or what. if you could hit me back i'd 'ppreciate it."
then my brain went into high gear: who would know?
so i run into the class i just left and ask my amazing and very fiercy CES 201 professor Carmen Lugo-Lugo what to do. she tells me willis has to drive to colfax (colfax?!) and get a special ballot she didn't know the name of so they can vote. i wish i knew the name. damn.
i get to work and she's emailed the name to me-- PROVISIONAL BALLOT! YES! but is there time?
willis calls me and i tell him what to do. now i just pray that he goes with his mom sometime to do it.
tonight he comes in for tutoring and he tells me both he and his mom voted in colfax today. the first time he's voted, and he actually cares a lot.
so it's still monday. it's 9:00 pm and i'm at work, i have lots of things still left to do.
but i helped someone vote today. it took some time, and it took some resources. but three people (including another student whose story i don't have time to tell) voted today. and that makes it a good day.
and don't worry, folks. while i'm at work tomorrow night i'm setting up election center 08 and will follow it on CNN all night via internet with the electoral white board- in honor of tim russert (may he rest in peace) and my dad (an avid fan of the electoral white board). i just hope my dad picks a winner this time.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
politics (really Sarah?)
i know, i know, i am rarely political. i don't like to get in fights with people about who's better than who, but most people know my political leaning. if you don't, it RAGING LIBERAL.
more importantly, there are few core things that i believe matter- making sure that those of the underclass get some help from the government, that people are "free to be you and me" (thanks Marlo Thomas) regardless of whether you are foolish enough to believe that war is a good thing or not, and that people in this country are entitled to a level-headed, intelligent president. (A novel idea...). Much like everyone else, though, i'm getting a little tired of the political fodder-- it's just getting to me. November 4th cannot come fast enough, sheerly for the fact that i am tired to hearing about McCain and Palin. they're behind in double digits in many states now, and they seem to be on their last leg; so much so that they are reverting to outright racist behavior in order to get their fear rhetoric across. the fact that the phrase "real, hard working American" (read WHITE) is spat out from their campaign as easily as "freedom" was in G-Dub's tenure is evidence to the fact that it seems they have nothing left to really say.
i'm by no means saying that Obama or anything other politician doesn't have their hangups, i get that. but the McCain campaign (and it's supporters) stop alienating the rest of America from the "Americans" you speak of. reading an Op-Ed in the Times today, the writer finally said something i can agree with to a degree http://www.nytimes.com/2008/10/26/opinion/26rich.html?th&emc=th. while he talks a bit about the fact that we aren't all racists, which i can agree with to a point, he mentions that the "real Americans" McCain-Palin refer to aren't all bigots and won't automatically listen to their rhetoric. by palying merely to this faction of America they are alienating a majority of the population. news flash McCain: black people, Hispanic people, and gay people vote. in a particularly good quote: "Subtract all those players [black Americans, Hispanic Americans, and extended families of gay Americans] from the actual America, and you don’t have enough of a bench to field a junior varsity volleyball team, let alone a serious campaign for the Electoral College."
in the changing face of American demographics, the bigot-vote is just not big enough to win. you can't alienate a vast majority of Americans and expect the country to be unified. sorry Republicans.
i just pray that Nov. 5th i won't have to wear some sort of mourning garb to school if McCain wins. then i really will move to Central America.
more importantly, there are few core things that i believe matter- making sure that those of the underclass get some help from the government, that people are "free to be you and me" (thanks Marlo Thomas) regardless of whether you are foolish enough to believe that war is a good thing or not, and that people in this country are entitled to a level-headed, intelligent president. (A novel idea...). Much like everyone else, though, i'm getting a little tired of the political fodder-- it's just getting to me. November 4th cannot come fast enough, sheerly for the fact that i am tired to hearing about McCain and Palin. they're behind in double digits in many states now, and they seem to be on their last leg; so much so that they are reverting to outright racist behavior in order to get their fear rhetoric across. the fact that the phrase "real, hard working American" (read WHITE) is spat out from their campaign as easily as "freedom" was in G-Dub's tenure is evidence to the fact that it seems they have nothing left to really say.
i'm by no means saying that Obama or anything other politician doesn't have their hangups, i get that. but the McCain campaign (and it's supporters) stop alienating the rest of America from the "Americans" you speak of. reading an Op-Ed in the Times today, the writer finally said something i can agree with to a degree http://www.nytimes.com/2008/10/26/opinion/26rich.html?th&emc=th. while he talks a bit about the fact that we aren't all racists, which i can agree with to a point, he mentions that the "real Americans" McCain-Palin refer to aren't all bigots and won't automatically listen to their rhetoric. by palying merely to this faction of America they are alienating a majority of the population. news flash McCain: black people, Hispanic people, and gay people vote. in a particularly good quote: "Subtract all those players [black Americans, Hispanic Americans, and extended families of gay Americans] from the actual America, and you don’t have enough of a bench to field a junior varsity volleyball team, let alone a serious campaign for the Electoral College."
in the changing face of American demographics, the bigot-vote is just not big enough to win. you can't alienate a vast majority of Americans and expect the country to be unified. sorry Republicans.
i just pray that Nov. 5th i won't have to wear some sort of mourning garb to school if McCain wins. then i really will move to Central America.
Friday, October 10, 2008
stolen from alyssa
Because it's Friday at work, all my athletes are competing, and I have twenty minutes before a meeting. (According to The Office, this would be time theft, but my cubicle mate is on Facebook, so there.)
1. What time did you get up this morning? 6:30. worst ever.
2. Diamonds or pearl? diamonds. becuase i'm a balla.
3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? Mama Mia with the Mama.
4. What is your favorite TV show? These are the one's I tape: Grey's, The Office, Project Runway, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. And lately lots of CNN too.
5. What do you usually have for breakfast? any breakfast-y food we haven't run out of yet. so... usually just a latte.
6. What is your middle name? Eileen. Grandma Dub's name.
7.What food do you dislike? is chai tea a food? if so, then that. or coleslaw. any slaw, actually. ick. now that i think about it, most cabbage-based things.
8.What is your favorite CD at the moment? anthony hamilton's ain't nobody worryin'. sick.
9. What kind of car do you drive? 98 Honda Civic. Blue Steel.
10. Favorite sandwich? Tuna Melt.
11. What characteristic do you despise? elitism and arrogance. hello Honors College.
12. Favorite item of clothing? any and all scarves.
13. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation where would you go? gotta agree with alyssa and say greece.
14. Are you an organized person? i would say yes in my career and school. no in my life.
15. Where would you retire to? close to andy, unless he lives in the tri-cities.
16. What was one of your most memorable birthdays? 17- it rained so hard our court flooded and we rode bikes and i swam in it with all my mud and wonderfulness. for three years in a row there was a downpour on my birthday. really cool. 21 was just a week long debacle.
17. What are you going to do when you finish this? tutor a student in African American Literature.
18. Furthest place you are sending this? i'm breaking the rules not emailing this
19. Person you expect to send it back first? i don't play favorites and only my family and 3 other people read my blog
20. When is your birthday? may 10. it will actually be on mother's day this year, just like the day i was born. aww.
21. Morning person or a night person? night if i'm dancing, morning if i have to think.
22. What is your shoe size? 7 ish. but i have unpretty feet like Grandma Sarah. shoes hurt.
23. Pets? nope. if i have a husband who likes dogs i might give in. but i usually stick to my no-pet guns.
24. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share? i'll put an exclamation point after this so it seems exciting- i snagged a portion of a free costco chocolate muffin in the copy room today! woooo!!!
25. What did you want to be when you were little? a sportscaster or Celine Dion.
26. How are you today? tired and ready to be done with school.
27. What is your favorite flower? tiger lillies and calla lillies.
28. What was the last thing you ate? a turkey-swiss wrap. not too shabby but overpriced.
29. What is a day on the calendar you are looking forward to? DECEMBER 13TH- GRADUATION. and the day i get a job.
30. Do you wish on stars? most of the time i can't see the shooting stars to wish on them. i have poor vision.
31. If you were a crayon what color would you be? jungle green. because i'm adventurous.
32. How is the weather right now? shitty. they say it's going to snow tonight in pullman- i didn't sign up for this.
33. Last person you spoke to on the phone? andy for a second. brelin for more than a second.
34. Favorite soft drink? diet coke is the only one i drink, and i use it like a drug when i need caffeine.
35. Favorite restaurant? breakfast club in moscow. the tomato basil omelet kills.
36. Hair color? brownish blonde. i don't particularly like it at the moment.
37. What was your favorite toy as a child? andy and i has this green stuffed worm whose face was supposed to light up. i remember andy and i later using the hard plastic head as a bludgeon of sorts. his name was wormy. original, i know. but we were three.
38. Summer or Winter? summer, i guess. i actually prefer fall so this is a limiting question.
39. Chocolate or Vanilla? chocolate everything. dark chocolate is better. but vanilla ice cream with pie.
40. Coffee or tea? a tough one, because i am constantly drinking one or the other. coffee in the morning, green tea throughout the rest of the day.
41. Do you want your friends to email you back? didn't we do these type of questions earlier?
42. When was the last time you cried? i teared up during Extreme Makeover Home Edition. the Oprah effect works on me every time.
43. What is under your bed? empty bags and construction paper that used to hang on the walls of my apartment with Lewis.
44. What did you do last night? tried to do homework but watched a lot of TV instead. thursday is TV night, and the first one of the week when i'm not at work till 10.
45. What are you afraid of? john mccain becoming president, him dying and then palin being president. i will flee this fine nation.
46. Salty or sweet? sweet. unless with beer, in which case always salty.
47. How many keys on your key chain? i'm gonna say about ten. one of which is to a church in the tri-cities i no longer attend.
48. How many years at your current job? nine months: the longest relationship i've ever had.
49. Favorite day of the week? thursdays. saturdays coming in a close second due to football games and dancing time.
50. Do you make friends easily? yes, but i think they don't stick around because they're scared of me or something. i only have a few close ones.
-- i skipped those two, they were dumb logistical questions.
53. What thing or person do you miss most? joy, alyssa, mara, brelin, mom and dad. i also miss spudnuts.
54. Do you like finding out all this stuff about your friends? if i have five minutes to kill, yes.
--note to mom reading this: this only took me ten minutes at work, in which i was interrupted by a student writing a paper. i don't think this was time theft.
1. What time did you get up this morning? 6:30. worst ever.
2. Diamonds or pearl? diamonds. becuase i'm a balla.
3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? Mama Mia with the Mama.
4. What is your favorite TV show? These are the one's I tape: Grey's, The Office, Project Runway, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. And lately lots of CNN too.
5. What do you usually have for breakfast? any breakfast-y food we haven't run out of yet. so... usually just a latte.
6. What is your middle name? Eileen. Grandma Dub's name.
7.What food do you dislike? is chai tea a food? if so, then that. or coleslaw. any slaw, actually. ick. now that i think about it, most cabbage-based things.
8.What is your favorite CD at the moment? anthony hamilton's ain't nobody worryin'. sick.
9. What kind of car do you drive? 98 Honda Civic. Blue Steel.
10. Favorite sandwich? Tuna Melt.
11. What characteristic do you despise? elitism and arrogance. hello Honors College.
12. Favorite item of clothing? any and all scarves.
13. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation where would you go? gotta agree with alyssa and say greece.
14. Are you an organized person? i would say yes in my career and school. no in my life.
15. Where would you retire to? close to andy, unless he lives in the tri-cities.
16. What was one of your most memorable birthdays? 17- it rained so hard our court flooded and we rode bikes and i swam in it with all my mud and wonderfulness. for three years in a row there was a downpour on my birthday. really cool. 21 was just a week long debacle.
17. What are you going to do when you finish this? tutor a student in African American Literature.
18. Furthest place you are sending this? i'm breaking the rules not emailing this
19. Person you expect to send it back first? i don't play favorites and only my family and 3 other people read my blog
20. When is your birthday? may 10. it will actually be on mother's day this year, just like the day i was born. aww.
21. Morning person or a night person? night if i'm dancing, morning if i have to think.
22. What is your shoe size? 7 ish. but i have unpretty feet like Grandma Sarah. shoes hurt.
23. Pets? nope. if i have a husband who likes dogs i might give in. but i usually stick to my no-pet guns.
24. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share? i'll put an exclamation point after this so it seems exciting- i snagged a portion of a free costco chocolate muffin in the copy room today! woooo!!!
25. What did you want to be when you were little? a sportscaster or Celine Dion.
26. How are you today? tired and ready to be done with school.
27. What is your favorite flower? tiger lillies and calla lillies.
28. What was the last thing you ate? a turkey-swiss wrap. not too shabby but overpriced.
29. What is a day on the calendar you are looking forward to? DECEMBER 13TH- GRADUATION. and the day i get a job.
30. Do you wish on stars? most of the time i can't see the shooting stars to wish on them. i have poor vision.
31. If you were a crayon what color would you be? jungle green. because i'm adventurous.
32. How is the weather right now? shitty. they say it's going to snow tonight in pullman- i didn't sign up for this.
33. Last person you spoke to on the phone? andy for a second. brelin for more than a second.
34. Favorite soft drink? diet coke is the only one i drink, and i use it like a drug when i need caffeine.
35. Favorite restaurant? breakfast club in moscow. the tomato basil omelet kills.
36. Hair color? brownish blonde. i don't particularly like it at the moment.
37. What was your favorite toy as a child? andy and i has this green stuffed worm whose face was supposed to light up. i remember andy and i later using the hard plastic head as a bludgeon of sorts. his name was wormy. original, i know. but we were three.
38. Summer or Winter? summer, i guess. i actually prefer fall so this is a limiting question.
39. Chocolate or Vanilla? chocolate everything. dark chocolate is better. but vanilla ice cream with pie.
40. Coffee or tea? a tough one, because i am constantly drinking one or the other. coffee in the morning, green tea throughout the rest of the day.
41. Do you want your friends to email you back? didn't we do these type of questions earlier?
42. When was the last time you cried? i teared up during Extreme Makeover Home Edition. the Oprah effect works on me every time.
43. What is under your bed? empty bags and construction paper that used to hang on the walls of my apartment with Lewis.
44. What did you do last night? tried to do homework but watched a lot of TV instead. thursday is TV night, and the first one of the week when i'm not at work till 10.
45. What are you afraid of? john mccain becoming president, him dying and then palin being president. i will flee this fine nation.
46. Salty or sweet? sweet. unless with beer, in which case always salty.
47. How many keys on your key chain? i'm gonna say about ten. one of which is to a church in the tri-cities i no longer attend.
48. How many years at your current job? nine months: the longest relationship i've ever had.
49. Favorite day of the week? thursdays. saturdays coming in a close second due to football games and dancing time.
50. Do you make friends easily? yes, but i think they don't stick around because they're scared of me or something. i only have a few close ones.
-- i skipped those two, they were dumb logistical questions.
53. What thing or person do you miss most? joy, alyssa, mara, brelin, mom and dad. i also miss spudnuts.
54. Do you like finding out all this stuff about your friends? if i have five minutes to kill, yes.
--note to mom reading this: this only took me ten minutes at work, in which i was interrupted by a student writing a paper. i don't think this was time theft.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
reminders
because i have a few minutes before i go to work, and also because i was reminded of a friend who is far away from me by a song, i realize that most of the songs i hear are attached to people. i might not see this people that often, or at all anymore, but they will always have those memories. you should know that. the list:
joy- say my name by destiny's child. and billie jean by michael jackson because she busts out the best moves to that.
alyssa - push it by salt n pepa.
andrew smith- radiohead. and anything i wouldn't normally listen to.
andrew winters- like i love you by JT.
erica lewis- santeria by sublime. she will have that ringtone until she dies, i think.
jamie deyette, roommate sophomore year- gold digger by kanye west. again, ringtone that woke me up every morning at 6.
neil- out loud by dispatch.
will crowley (my favorite ex-boyfriend)- green eyes by travis.
nathan roueche- cleaning windows by van morisson.
richie withycombe (least favorite ex-boyfriend)- crazy game by O.A.R. don't worry, he didn't ruin the song for me.
andy- too many to mention. but always jeremy by pearl jam. he does an impressive eddie vedder impression.
brelin- love medley in moulin rouge. and rainbow connection by me first and the gimme gimmes.
mom- at the zoo by simon and garfunkel. mandy by barry manilow. and never gonna give you up by rick astley. oh, and anything by hall and oates.
pop- aqualung by jethro tull and penny lane by the beatles (for the line: he likes to keep his fire engine clean/it's a clean machine)
joy- say my name by destiny's child. and billie jean by michael jackson because she busts out the best moves to that.
alyssa - push it by salt n pepa.
andrew smith- radiohead. and anything i wouldn't normally listen to.
andrew winters- like i love you by JT.
erica lewis- santeria by sublime. she will have that ringtone until she dies, i think.
jamie deyette, roommate sophomore year- gold digger by kanye west. again, ringtone that woke me up every morning at 6.
neil- out loud by dispatch.
will crowley (my favorite ex-boyfriend)- green eyes by travis.
nathan roueche- cleaning windows by van morisson.
richie withycombe (least favorite ex-boyfriend)- crazy game by O.A.R. don't worry, he didn't ruin the song for me.
andy- too many to mention. but always jeremy by pearl jam. he does an impressive eddie vedder impression.
brelin- love medley in moulin rouge. and rainbow connection by me first and the gimme gimmes.
mom- at the zoo by simon and garfunkel. mandy by barry manilow. and never gonna give you up by rick astley. oh, and anything by hall and oates.
pop- aqualung by jethro tull and penny lane by the beatles (for the line: he likes to keep his fire engine clean/it's a clean machine)
Thursday, September 11, 2008
still in love (possibly lust)
as i was face-stalking (what people my age do on facebook when they look at their 'friends' who they will never actually see again), i ran across the boy i had a crush on for five years of my childhood. as my usual m.o. as a kid, i had a few friends that were girls, but in class there were two boys that i hung out with all the time...and then i realized that i was in love with one of them. this changed the dynamic between us, as i was vaulted head-first into the awkward middle school feelings of female inadequacy in the face of the opposite sex. a lovely time.
childhood progressed, elementary school crush turned into daydreams of us getting married in a big church with lots of people around/coaching our children's soccer team/not having any dogs. normal stuff to think about when you're ten. there was a period in seventh grade that i wavered in my love for the boy-who-shall-remain-nameless, but for one more solid year my love remained.
and then i realized that i was a loser. i sucked at sports, and he was great at sports. oh well, can't win 'em all.
but at least i had enough balls to fess up to this right after graduation. you know, the part where you hug everyone even if you hate them? i went up to him, gave him a big hug, and said: "i just wanted to know that i had a huge crush on you from third to eighth grade. we were gonna get married. but don't worry, i'm not in love with you now." to which he said so plainly and enthusiastically: "REALLY?! i was in love with you too!"
that was all i needed. for some reason that was the perfect thing to say- obviously nothing ever would have come from that, but it's still nice to think about. i guess some sort of validation for those terrible middle school feelings. sometimes they just get away.
and damn, he got more attractive.
childhood progressed, elementary school crush turned into daydreams of us getting married in a big church with lots of people around/coaching our children's soccer team/not having any dogs. normal stuff to think about when you're ten. there was a period in seventh grade that i wavered in my love for the boy-who-shall-remain-nameless, but for one more solid year my love remained.
and then i realized that i was a loser. i sucked at sports, and he was great at sports. oh well, can't win 'em all.
but at least i had enough balls to fess up to this right after graduation. you know, the part where you hug everyone even if you hate them? i went up to him, gave him a big hug, and said: "i just wanted to know that i had a huge crush on you from third to eighth grade. we were gonna get married. but don't worry, i'm not in love with you now." to which he said so plainly and enthusiastically: "REALLY?! i was in love with you too!"
that was all i needed. for some reason that was the perfect thing to say- obviously nothing ever would have come from that, but it's still nice to think about. i guess some sort of validation for those terrible middle school feelings. sometimes they just get away.
and damn, he got more attractive.
Friday, August 22, 2008
an open letter to...
Dear Idaho Driver who ran me off the road in March 2008:
You van-ed me. You straight up van-ed me.
This is what you did to me: "Van-ed (v., past tense): to be inconvenienced on the road by a person in a minivan or larger van; this may include bodily psychological, or emotional harm often leading to feelings of rage and discomfort. Vanning most often occurs while you are in a hurry, or when those driving the minivan deem it necessary to assert themselves as imcompetent rulers of the road."
Like most of the driver's of minivans (i say most as not to offend), you decided it would be a perfect time to go five miles under the speed limit in the lefthand lane on Highway 395 on the way through the Tri-Cities. I was on your tail, yes: I was on your tail because of your apparent lack of knowledge of highway driving rules. The signs are everywhere, "Slower Traffic Keep to Right." You were the slower traffic, therefore you should be in the right hand lane. We were the only two cars on the road. Seems simple enough.
But no, driver-of-teal-Safari-minivan-with-Idaho-plates, you did not follow the rules. What was I supposed to do? Wait another five miles on your tail and hope that you will notice there was someone on your tail?...My outlook was looking grim to say the least. So I decided to take matters into my own hands and move into the righthand lane in order to speed around you. Chances were probable that you were not going to move into the righthand lane, so I made the decision and stuck with it. This decision, mind you, was made as my rage toward you as a minivan driver finally seeped to the surface and came out verbally as a couple of choice swear words. I wish you could've heard me.
Mostly though, I wish you could've seen me. It must've been too much to look in your rearview mirror, it must have been too much effort to turn your head to the right and look behind your shoulder to see if anyone was in the other lane. You must've been swatting a child, changing the radio station. Perhaps you were picking up Goldfish that were strewn about the interior of your car by an angered toddler.
You don't even know that you made me slam on my brakes, do a 360 on the road and end up thankfully in one piece in a ditch on the side of the highway. You were too busy with the above tasks. You just drove away, drove away in your VAN, leaving me with a busted car, a condescending police officer (there is no other kind) and a 124 dollar ticket for "Driving with my wheels off the roadway." You're swell.
Concisely put, it is this, terrible epitomizing van-driver: I don't wish you harm. I'm gald I'm alive, and I truly hope that you are happy being an ignorant and terrible driver. I hope nothing remotely close to my accident happens to you, because I'm not that type of person.
But, karma's a bitch.
Sincerely,
Sarah Weakley (proud Civic driver)
You van-ed me. You straight up van-ed me.
This is what you did to me: "Van-ed (v., past tense): to be inconvenienced on the road by a person in a minivan or larger van; this may include bodily psychological, or emotional harm often leading to feelings of rage and discomfort. Vanning most often occurs while you are in a hurry, or when those driving the minivan deem it necessary to assert themselves as imcompetent rulers of the road."
Like most of the driver's of minivans (i say most as not to offend), you decided it would be a perfect time to go five miles under the speed limit in the lefthand lane on Highway 395 on the way through the Tri-Cities. I was on your tail, yes: I was on your tail because of your apparent lack of knowledge of highway driving rules. The signs are everywhere, "Slower Traffic Keep to Right." You were the slower traffic, therefore you should be in the right hand lane. We were the only two cars on the road. Seems simple enough.
But no, driver-of-teal-Safari-minivan-with-Idaho-plates, you did not follow the rules. What was I supposed to do? Wait another five miles on your tail and hope that you will notice there was someone on your tail?...My outlook was looking grim to say the least. So I decided to take matters into my own hands and move into the righthand lane in order to speed around you. Chances were probable that you were not going to move into the righthand lane, so I made the decision and stuck with it. This decision, mind you, was made as my rage toward you as a minivan driver finally seeped to the surface and came out verbally as a couple of choice swear words. I wish you could've heard me.
Mostly though, I wish you could've seen me. It must've been too much to look in your rearview mirror, it must have been too much effort to turn your head to the right and look behind your shoulder to see if anyone was in the other lane. You must've been swatting a child, changing the radio station. Perhaps you were picking up Goldfish that were strewn about the interior of your car by an angered toddler.
You don't even know that you made me slam on my brakes, do a 360 on the road and end up thankfully in one piece in a ditch on the side of the highway. You were too busy with the above tasks. You just drove away, drove away in your VAN, leaving me with a busted car, a condescending police officer (there is no other kind) and a 124 dollar ticket for "Driving with my wheels off the roadway." You're swell.
Concisely put, it is this, terrible epitomizing van-driver: I don't wish you harm. I'm gald I'm alive, and I truly hope that you are happy being an ignorant and terrible driver. I hope nothing remotely close to my accident happens to you, because I'm not that type of person.
But, karma's a bitch.
Sincerely,
Sarah Weakley (proud Civic driver)
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
prepared
i am getting on a plane for south carolina in about three hours.
as mentioned in an earlier post somewhere around here, i have spent this summer not being in any one place for a long time. my mother likes to use the term "traipsing," mostly in a condescending way, to describe the way at which i have been moving about life recently. "traipsing" means (v.)- to walk aimlessly, with a storklike gait. i pray that when i walk i don't look like a stork, but this summer sometimes i have felt aimless. aimless mostly because i have been moving around so fast, gone every weekend that i am traveling across the country to a place i am nowhere near prepared for and i'm not really even fazed. amazing what traveling around mostly by yourself for a whole summer will do for you. it makes you tired.
and i don't honestly know what being "unprepared" for a trip is, but it mostly is mental. i'm very excited to go, but i haven't thought about all the great things that i'm going to get to see. all the amazing food i'll eat, all the Dolly Parton fake breasts i will discover (yes, i'm going to Dollywood). my physical being has just been moving so fast that i can't seem to remember what it means to be mentally prepared for something. but i guess that can be a good thing- no expectations and an open mind i think can lead to the best kind of journeys. just waiting, prepared enough but not overanticipatory (pretty sure that's not a word).
as for "traipsing," you can be sure i'll be checking out my walk in the mirror too. maybe the storklike gait is what my mother has been referring to all these years and has just been waiting for me to really look up the word.
maybe though, with all this traipsin and unpreparedness, i'll meet a cute Clemson boy. that would make my aunt Mary very pleased. i think i can be ready for that.
as mentioned in an earlier post somewhere around here, i have spent this summer not being in any one place for a long time. my mother likes to use the term "traipsing," mostly in a condescending way, to describe the way at which i have been moving about life recently. "traipsing" means (v.)- to walk aimlessly, with a storklike gait. i pray that when i walk i don't look like a stork, but this summer sometimes i have felt aimless. aimless mostly because i have been moving around so fast, gone every weekend that i am traveling across the country to a place i am nowhere near prepared for and i'm not really even fazed. amazing what traveling around mostly by yourself for a whole summer will do for you. it makes you tired.
and i don't honestly know what being "unprepared" for a trip is, but it mostly is mental. i'm very excited to go, but i haven't thought about all the great things that i'm going to get to see. all the amazing food i'll eat, all the Dolly Parton fake breasts i will discover (yes, i'm going to Dollywood). my physical being has just been moving so fast that i can't seem to remember what it means to be mentally prepared for something. but i guess that can be a good thing- no expectations and an open mind i think can lead to the best kind of journeys. just waiting, prepared enough but not overanticipatory (pretty sure that's not a word).
as for "traipsing," you can be sure i'll be checking out my walk in the mirror too. maybe the storklike gait is what my mother has been referring to all these years and has just been waiting for me to really look up the word.
maybe though, with all this traipsin and unpreparedness, i'll meet a cute Clemson boy. that would make my aunt Mary very pleased. i think i can be ready for that.
Monday, August 4, 2008
marriage- a list of sorts
moving into my new apartment, i now have a slight feeling as to the inevitable "combination of crap" that occurs for the newly married. except this time, i am marrying not one, not two, but three people's crap. the two people who lived there before andy and i moved in left most of their stuff behind, as they are only leaving for a year to head off to korea or something for some socialist thing. from here on out they will be referred to as the "socialists." because that's what they're under in andy's phone.
the good news is that the apartment is a sweet location. the bad news, i didn't realize quite how much crap the socialists left for us, and discovered it all last night as it is my job to make the space functional before andy moves in for real next weekend. it was a daunting task. so, in order to understand the severity of the issue, i will make a list entitled:
2 Socialists Who Left Behind...
- 1 trunk (old school style) filled with most of the spices and pots they left in their kitchen cupboards. most of the spices i will never use (i.e. rice wine vinegar), so i put it back in the trunk, on which the TV is now placed. the contents will never be seen again.
- 3 containers of garlic powder (found in the trunk)... because you might need to take one in your purse to a restaurant.
- 5 traffic signs stolen by one of the socialists in their high school years. if i was 17, this might be cool. andy likes them. they're going behind the couch.
- 1 clock about 2 feet in diameter. it's always 5:07.
-roughly 6 sets of four glasses in varying sizes and colors. the dude apparently "couldn't resist" buying sets of glassware, so we now can have a cocktail party for the whole english department. i have no clue what to do with them. i will also never drink out of them.
- NO EXAGGERATION. roughly 90 hangers. there are no words.
-20 half used legal pads. i opened up the drawers to the dresser they left for me and discovered two full drawers of legal pads, broken binders and filler paper. they obviously had lots of business meetings to attend to, or in my case they had about 20 theses to write. i could probably use them as wallpaper for the whole apartment.
- in another drawer, about 30 highlighters. odds are none of them work, but they are clearly meant for the legal pads. i'll have to start doing something very important soon.
-1 almost completely empty bag of cat food in a drawer in the bathroom. you all know my love for felines. (see "tolerate" if you are unaware.)
-2 containers full of white "stuff." one container has "Powdered Sugar?" scrawled across the top. my confidence in their food is waning at best.
-1 of the ugliest giant area rugs i've ever seen. circa 1985. possibly stolen from the set of The Cosby Show. the only place i can think to put it is in my room, but i'll have to write a disclaimer.
-2 boxes still unopened as of monday morning.
it's going to be a long day. good thing i live above a bar.
the good news is that the apartment is a sweet location. the bad news, i didn't realize quite how much crap the socialists left for us, and discovered it all last night as it is my job to make the space functional before andy moves in for real next weekend. it was a daunting task. so, in order to understand the severity of the issue, i will make a list entitled:
2 Socialists Who Left Behind...
- 1 trunk (old school style) filled with most of the spices and pots they left in their kitchen cupboards. most of the spices i will never use (i.e. rice wine vinegar), so i put it back in the trunk, on which the TV is now placed. the contents will never be seen again.
- 3 containers of garlic powder (found in the trunk)... because you might need to take one in your purse to a restaurant.
- 5 traffic signs stolen by one of the socialists in their high school years. if i was 17, this might be cool. andy likes them. they're going behind the couch.
- 1 clock about 2 feet in diameter. it's always 5:07.
-roughly 6 sets of four glasses in varying sizes and colors. the dude apparently "couldn't resist" buying sets of glassware, so we now can have a cocktail party for the whole english department. i have no clue what to do with them. i will also never drink out of them.
- NO EXAGGERATION. roughly 90 hangers. there are no words.
-20 half used legal pads. i opened up the drawers to the dresser they left for me and discovered two full drawers of legal pads, broken binders and filler paper. they obviously had lots of business meetings to attend to, or in my case they had about 20 theses to write. i could probably use them as wallpaper for the whole apartment.
- in another drawer, about 30 highlighters. odds are none of them work, but they are clearly meant for the legal pads. i'll have to start doing something very important soon.
-1 almost completely empty bag of cat food in a drawer in the bathroom. you all know my love for felines. (see "tolerate" if you are unaware.)
-2 containers full of white "stuff." one container has "Powdered Sugar?" scrawled across the top. my confidence in their food is waning at best.
-1 of the ugliest giant area rugs i've ever seen. circa 1985. possibly stolen from the set of The Cosby Show. the only place i can think to put it is in my room, but i'll have to write a disclaimer.
-2 boxes still unopened as of monday morning.
it's going to be a long day. good thing i live above a bar.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
fan, not ashamed
Sometimes I've found in the academic writing world there seems to be one thing missing- sports. I have rarely had a conversation with friends who are writing majors about sports, save my friend who runs a zillion miles a day. But even then, we only talk about track and field. They don't start a conversation about the amazing game on television the night before, the steroids scandal with that tool Roger Clemens, they don't even talk about the possibility of Michael Phelps breaking Mark Spitz's record for number of golds won at a single Olympics. It's as if sometimes, I should be thinking about more cerebral things than sports- that sports are only meant for overweight middle aged men and frat boys.
But I want to talk about sports. I want to have a beer and talk about the Celtics coming back from 24 down in Game 4 to eventually kick the crap out of Kobe, and I want to talk about it while still at the same time being "academic" and "smart". I think it's possible to talk about with others, but I just miss having someone around like my Dad who always knows what's going on the world of sports. And even though he might not catch a game, or even like to watch certain sports (i.e. tennis, which he deems merely a 'recreational event'), he still knows what's going on. Same with me. I like to keep myself updated on just about everything in the sports world, even baseball (sooooo boring). It's a problem. But also comforting.
I love sports. I am a sports fan.
There.
When I was growing up, my dream was to be a sportscaster for ESPN. I'd be the girl on the side of the field talking to Brett Favre before he walked into the tunnel at halftime of the Super Bowl, I would be the one holding the microphone while being soaked with champagne in the locker room of the Chicago Bulls after they won their 15th Championship (bear in mind when I was a kid), and I would finally get to hit balls with Pete Sampras (14 singles Championships...how the hell do you do that?). Unfortunately, I am neither a former amazing athlete that got a job at ESPN after my career is over, nor am I a busty blond. So I'm out. Also, I don't really have much affinity for Com majors. That dream eventually had to fall by the wayside.
I have sports heroes, even though I suck at sports. I care when I see a terrible injury on the field, and I cry when a see a touching montage when a sports figures career has finally come to a close. I was watching the ESPY awards on Sunday and I got misty three times. I don't think that is normal. I have favorite sports movie moments, my most favorite being the end of Rudy- you can't help but cry like a baby during that- and I know odd facts and figures about athletes that are long gone. I don't particularly know why I care. I just do.
Again, I am a sports fan. Maybe it's because of my father, but I'm not sure. Maybe it's because I like to memorize facts. I think it might just be because I love my emotions going up and down like all good sports fans do while waiting for the underdog to finally beat the giant (Nadal-Federer Wimbledon 08). Or watching the statements that can be made on the largest of stages (Tommie Smith-John Carlos raising the gloved fist on the 1968 Olympic podium). I don't know why I got to love sports the way I do, I just do. So my husband better be ready to attend football games, buy me tickets to the U.S. Open, and get his ass kicked in Trivial Pursuit. That might be asking too much, but that would be perfect. He better be ready for me to cry during sports movies.
And yes, I will be buying cable so I can watch the Olympics. There's nothing my brother can do about it.
But I want to talk about sports. I want to have a beer and talk about the Celtics coming back from 24 down in Game 4 to eventually kick the crap out of Kobe, and I want to talk about it while still at the same time being "academic" and "smart". I think it's possible to talk about with others, but I just miss having someone around like my Dad who always knows what's going on the world of sports. And even though he might not catch a game, or even like to watch certain sports (i.e. tennis, which he deems merely a 'recreational event'), he still knows what's going on. Same with me. I like to keep myself updated on just about everything in the sports world, even baseball (sooooo boring). It's a problem. But also comforting.
I love sports. I am a sports fan.
There.
When I was growing up, my dream was to be a sportscaster for ESPN. I'd be the girl on the side of the field talking to Brett Favre before he walked into the tunnel at halftime of the Super Bowl, I would be the one holding the microphone while being soaked with champagne in the locker room of the Chicago Bulls after they won their 15th Championship (bear in mind when I was a kid), and I would finally get to hit balls with Pete Sampras (14 singles Championships...how the hell do you do that?). Unfortunately, I am neither a former amazing athlete that got a job at ESPN after my career is over, nor am I a busty blond. So I'm out. Also, I don't really have much affinity for Com majors. That dream eventually had to fall by the wayside.
I have sports heroes, even though I suck at sports. I care when I see a terrible injury on the field, and I cry when a see a touching montage when a sports figures career has finally come to a close. I was watching the ESPY awards on Sunday and I got misty three times. I don't think that is normal. I have favorite sports movie moments, my most favorite being the end of Rudy- you can't help but cry like a baby during that- and I know odd facts and figures about athletes that are long gone. I don't particularly know why I care. I just do.
Again, I am a sports fan. Maybe it's because of my father, but I'm not sure. Maybe it's because I like to memorize facts. I think it might just be because I love my emotions going up and down like all good sports fans do while waiting for the underdog to finally beat the giant (Nadal-Federer Wimbledon 08). Or watching the statements that can be made on the largest of stages (Tommie Smith-John Carlos raising the gloved fist on the 1968 Olympic podium). I don't know why I got to love sports the way I do, I just do. So my husband better be ready to attend football games, buy me tickets to the U.S. Open, and get his ass kicked in Trivial Pursuit. That might be asking too much, but that would be perfect. He better be ready for me to cry during sports movies.
And yes, I will be buying cable so I can watch the Olympics. There's nothing my brother can do about it.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
unearthed opinions
kay ryan is the new poet laureate, i read about her today in the times and liked her poems. so much so that i printed out one and pasted it on my desk at work. i actually got misty a little after finishing one.
that is not what this is about.
what this is about is my long dormant opinion that she and i both share, thus i can feel validated in my opinion. she's the poet laureate, after all.
i hate workshops. she also hates workshops. i hate the fact that "workshopping" is now an acceptable verb nowadays in writing classes. it's not a verb to me. i will now tell you why i believe this, and am beginning with a typical workshopping/peer review mindset:
walking into the class. i know that most people (slackers, not obsessive types like me, etc.) have not prepared a fully completed piece of their writing at all. they probably believe that this is not a time they need to have anything done, because they assume that others will want to rip apart their work and give them an entirely new idea to work with. mostly they just want help with grammar mistakes. their stuff is usually unfinished, which pisses me off- i managed my time well enough to get something decent written down, a complete piece so that you all can read it and give me advice that i won't use. but NOOOOO, they clearly don't understand that this was an assignment. so i'm angry there, and my general distaste for the class session only declines when i have to read an 8 page story about someone's completely forgettable high school swimming career. please, if someone could stab me in the eye with a pen that'd be great.
i hate workshops because the only opinion i really take into account much is the professor's. i have respect for him or her, and i will listen to them. they matter to me because they're smarter than me. much smarter than me. (sometimes i don't listen). so, i don't understand why i have to listen to our unremarkable high school swimmer-friend about how to structure my piece of writing. i am not going to pander to her needs, and i don't think i have to. there are people's opinions i care about, and i will work with those people in my own time. if i want.
i also don't enjoy reading other people's crap. i know they don't care as much as me and that makes me feel ripped off. i could've been writing my own stuff, but now i have to come up with a nice way to say on the back of their paper, "you should probably be a math major...this whole writing thing isn't your cup of tea." that takes a lot of effort. i usually have a smiley face drawn somewhere instead and say something like, "you're on the right track...keep going!" (must add exclamation point in order to make them believe my excitement about their crap).
if i do eventually get to the point of letting other people read my writing, i know that it doesn't suck. it might not be the best in the world, but i know that it's not terrible either. so i take people's criticism with a grain of salt. by the time someone reads my work i also care about it a lot, and am pretty firm in my ways. i'm not going to change my feelings just because someone doesn't like it. oh well, screw them.
mostly though, writing is too personal. i'm too invested to have someone i don't know, don't care about, or don't have respect for give me advice i'll actually use. writing is something to be worked out in your head first: sentences cried over, quotes chosen specifically, words placed and re-placed based on the way they rolled off your tongue. and if it doesn't work out, it's just me i have to worry about, not a grade. your writing should make you want to try something else, learn something new for yourself, not someone else. and when i'm finally done with at least a first draft, i'll let someone read it. until then, though, i'll stay in my own workshop and hide for a little while.
kay ryan was totally right: "It doesn't really matter if their opinions are respectable. I just think the writer has given up way too much inside. Let's not share. Really. Go off in your own direction way too far, get lost, test the metal of your work in your own acids. These are experiments you can perform down in that old kind of workshop where Dad used to hide out from far too many other people's claims on him."
so no, i won't like to workshop with you. you might like it, it might help you- go nuts. but me, i'll hang out here and get lost until i appear with something i like.
that is not what this is about.
what this is about is my long dormant opinion that she and i both share, thus i can feel validated in my opinion. she's the poet laureate, after all.
i hate workshops. she also hates workshops. i hate the fact that "workshopping" is now an acceptable verb nowadays in writing classes. it's not a verb to me. i will now tell you why i believe this, and am beginning with a typical workshopping/peer review mindset:
walking into the class. i know that most people (slackers, not obsessive types like me, etc.) have not prepared a fully completed piece of their writing at all. they probably believe that this is not a time they need to have anything done, because they assume that others will want to rip apart their work and give them an entirely new idea to work with. mostly they just want help with grammar mistakes. their stuff is usually unfinished, which pisses me off- i managed my time well enough to get something decent written down, a complete piece so that you all can read it and give me advice that i won't use. but NOOOOO, they clearly don't understand that this was an assignment. so i'm angry there, and my general distaste for the class session only declines when i have to read an 8 page story about someone's completely forgettable high school swimming career. please, if someone could stab me in the eye with a pen that'd be great.
i hate workshops because the only opinion i really take into account much is the professor's. i have respect for him or her, and i will listen to them. they matter to me because they're smarter than me. much smarter than me. (sometimes i don't listen). so, i don't understand why i have to listen to our unremarkable high school swimmer-friend about how to structure my piece of writing. i am not going to pander to her needs, and i don't think i have to. there are people's opinions i care about, and i will work with those people in my own time. if i want.
i also don't enjoy reading other people's crap. i know they don't care as much as me and that makes me feel ripped off. i could've been writing my own stuff, but now i have to come up with a nice way to say on the back of their paper, "you should probably be a math major...this whole writing thing isn't your cup of tea." that takes a lot of effort. i usually have a smiley face drawn somewhere instead and say something like, "you're on the right track...keep going!" (must add exclamation point in order to make them believe my excitement about their crap).
if i do eventually get to the point of letting other people read my writing, i know that it doesn't suck. it might not be the best in the world, but i know that it's not terrible either. so i take people's criticism with a grain of salt. by the time someone reads my work i also care about it a lot, and am pretty firm in my ways. i'm not going to change my feelings just because someone doesn't like it. oh well, screw them.
mostly though, writing is too personal. i'm too invested to have someone i don't know, don't care about, or don't have respect for give me advice i'll actually use. writing is something to be worked out in your head first: sentences cried over, quotes chosen specifically, words placed and re-placed based on the way they rolled off your tongue. and if it doesn't work out, it's just me i have to worry about, not a grade. your writing should make you want to try something else, learn something new for yourself, not someone else. and when i'm finally done with at least a first draft, i'll let someone read it. until then, though, i'll stay in my own workshop and hide for a little while.
kay ryan was totally right: "It doesn't really matter if their opinions are respectable. I just think the writer has given up way too much inside. Let's not share. Really. Go off in your own direction way too far, get lost, test the metal of your work in your own acids. These are experiments you can perform down in that old kind of workshop where Dad used to hide out from far too many other people's claims on him."
so no, i won't like to workshop with you. you might like it, it might help you- go nuts. but me, i'll hang out here and get lost until i appear with something i like.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
phantom
some of you have been in my car, affectionately and bad-assly named "Blue Steel". he's great. pretty reliable, some dents here and there with stories attached. most of those dents, especially one on the roof, are attributed to joe undem, a childhood friend of my brother and i. quite a large boy, the guy stood 6'3" 260 at the age of 14 and he decided it would be a great idea to relax on top of the car. poor thing, the car's roof didn't stand a chance- now it's a little concave.
but i digress.
my father used to drive this car. in fact, every time the car comes up in conversation now he has to reply with, "that's a great car" or "man i wish i could drive that car again." sucka.
anywho, because this was my father's car there wasn't a whole lot of music blaring from it in its past. the guy likes music, that's no lie, but he's not the one who opens all the windows and sings harmonies at the top of his lungs on the freeway. no no. instead, the volume on his stereo never went above levels three or four and the cd player never played burned cds. he never needed them, i suppose. because of that, i think the soul of the car got stuck on that volume level. i didn't realize this until i inherited the car.
not only is the seat worn down like an old couch due to my father's girth, the soul of the car is a phantom. sometimes the volume on the radio would go up, sometimes it would go down, and most of the time it took about 15 minutes to get the volume to the highest possible. whenever i got it to level 4 i would try as i might to keep it there. i wouldn't dare brush my arm past the knob, wouldn't think about turning it down, and NEVER, NEVER would i turn it off. if i did, i would have to make sure that the knob went straight back, or else the next time i turned it on there would be nothing. this turned into a needless stressor in my life, and i hated having to explain to newbies to my car that no, you can't change the volume, and no, you can't play burned cds. terrible.
the worst part is when someone would come into the car and try turn the stereo down i would stop everything and yell NO!!!!!! -now that's just not the way to treat a guest.
today i got a new car stereo. and even though it wasn't lil' wayne, i blasted my music nonetheless. no dog and pony show this time. just regular old white-kid john mayer.
ahhh......
but i digress.
my father used to drive this car. in fact, every time the car comes up in conversation now he has to reply with, "that's a great car" or "man i wish i could drive that car again." sucka.
anywho, because this was my father's car there wasn't a whole lot of music blaring from it in its past. the guy likes music, that's no lie, but he's not the one who opens all the windows and sings harmonies at the top of his lungs on the freeway. no no. instead, the volume on his stereo never went above levels three or four and the cd player never played burned cds. he never needed them, i suppose. because of that, i think the soul of the car got stuck on that volume level. i didn't realize this until i inherited the car.
not only is the seat worn down like an old couch due to my father's girth, the soul of the car is a phantom. sometimes the volume on the radio would go up, sometimes it would go down, and most of the time it took about 15 minutes to get the volume to the highest possible. whenever i got it to level 4 i would try as i might to keep it there. i wouldn't dare brush my arm past the knob, wouldn't think about turning it down, and NEVER, NEVER would i turn it off. if i did, i would have to make sure that the knob went straight back, or else the next time i turned it on there would be nothing. this turned into a needless stressor in my life, and i hated having to explain to newbies to my car that no, you can't change the volume, and no, you can't play burned cds. terrible.
the worst part is when someone would come into the car and try turn the stereo down i would stop everything and yell NO!!!!!! -now that's just not the way to treat a guest.
today i got a new car stereo. and even though it wasn't lil' wayne, i blasted my music nonetheless. no dog and pony show this time. just regular old white-kid john mayer.
ahhh......
Monday, July 7, 2008
fireworks
there i am, waiting for the ultimate fireworks of the year. all of the partying (which for me ended in physical disaster), the hooting and hollering, the millions of americans waiting for their moment to say, "hell yeah, go America!" is at hand.
the fireworks display on the fourth of july.
some people love the fireworks- they pre-funk the big city display with their illegal fireworks purchased on a reservation, they might even start a little bonfire on their porch (ask andy), and they give their small children sparklers- because what's better than children running? children running with something on fire.
but i have no bated breath this year, nor have i ever really had bated breath in regards to any fireworks display. i think i got it all out of my system when i went to disneyworld when i was 12. bum deal. and, to make the fireworks display all the worse and truly uneventful- you might even say painful- the organizers this year decided to pump up the patriotic volume by blaring the now classic and much hated american song, "proud to be an american." we've discussed my hatred for country music (see earlier post) and most of you already know that my idea of patriotism is writing about racism in america. not the most "put a boot in 'yer ass" to our "enemies," type of gal.
the only fireworks i like are the ones you can't see. the moment when you're watching the person you've just fallen in love with eat his or her eggs across the table from you, when you realize that there's nothing you want to do more than stay home all day with the same person and talk to them, kiss them, and watch a marathon of top chef. you want those fireworks to go off when you think, on paper, this person should be the one you start a relationship with. everything adds up- the brains, the lifestyle, the personality.
there are no fireworks, though.
some might say, "suck it up, this person's great for you and you're just too picky." others might say, "you're thinking with your gut and not giving this person a chance. see how it turns out." but then, oh then, someone comes and says the thing you wanted- the thing that validates your emotions. the fireworks inside of you telling you to run. "he just has a lot of life inertia. not a lot of spark," the brother tells you. and he's right. there really isn't any fireworks.
and you know what, sometimes you need fireworks in your life. just as long as there isn't an american song attached.
the fireworks display on the fourth of july.
some people love the fireworks- they pre-funk the big city display with their illegal fireworks purchased on a reservation, they might even start a little bonfire on their porch (ask andy), and they give their small children sparklers- because what's better than children running? children running with something on fire.
but i have no bated breath this year, nor have i ever really had bated breath in regards to any fireworks display. i think i got it all out of my system when i went to disneyworld when i was 12. bum deal. and, to make the fireworks display all the worse and truly uneventful- you might even say painful- the organizers this year decided to pump up the patriotic volume by blaring the now classic and much hated american song, "proud to be an american." we've discussed my hatred for country music (see earlier post) and most of you already know that my idea of patriotism is writing about racism in america. not the most "put a boot in 'yer ass" to our "enemies," type of gal.
the only fireworks i like are the ones you can't see. the moment when you're watching the person you've just fallen in love with eat his or her eggs across the table from you, when you realize that there's nothing you want to do more than stay home all day with the same person and talk to them, kiss them, and watch a marathon of top chef. you want those fireworks to go off when you think, on paper, this person should be the one you start a relationship with. everything adds up- the brains, the lifestyle, the personality.
there are no fireworks, though.
some might say, "suck it up, this person's great for you and you're just too picky." others might say, "you're thinking with your gut and not giving this person a chance. see how it turns out." but then, oh then, someone comes and says the thing you wanted- the thing that validates your emotions. the fireworks inside of you telling you to run. "he just has a lot of life inertia. not a lot of spark," the brother tells you. and he's right. there really isn't any fireworks.
and you know what, sometimes you need fireworks in your life. just as long as there isn't an american song attached.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
mostly, i am just...
frustrated.
i rarely get frustrated, but my students today put me over the edge. there were good ones- the day started out swimmingly, talking about rhetorical analysis and what a commonplace is in an argument. i was excited. i was amped. then, my new favorite student, kendrick, came in and we talked about intercultural communication. we went through a whole chapter, i taught him a bunch of new words and concepts, and he appreciated what i did for him. i, like most people, enjoy being appreciated.
but sometimes this job is hard. athletes don't want to be in my office. they don't want to be tutored even though they know full well that i am able to help them. complaints and excuses come at me at every angle, and i'm getting a little frustrated by it. but mostly i'm frustrated because for the first time at this job, i've had to teach a white person comparative ethnic studies.
it's not that she's racist- not outwardly so. and it's also not that she doesn't understand the concepts. i could deal with her not understanding the idea of white privilege, or social identity, or something else. if that was the case, i would throw sweet books and articles at her, i would be the best damn teacher she ever had. no no.
she just doesn't care.
she did the age-old white person move when it comes to issues not directly relating to white people- "it's not like anything is going to change...i don't have the power to do anything about racism so there's no point in me caring." ARE YOU KIDDING ME????
that excuse for being ignorant, for choosing to not accept or even attempt to correct others in their stereotypes of others, is why racism happens. it's ignorant, and insulting to all people who are trying every day to open people's minds about issues beyond their little apartment. i felt like i was defending myself- and i pulled out all the stops. theorist after theorist, personal experience after personal experience. but she just gave me this look like she doesn't even want to hear what i'm saying. i just can't believe she doesn't see it. and that, on top of everything else going on in my life now, makes me frustrated.
in the words of my mother, "i just wanted to shake her."
i rarely get frustrated, but my students today put me over the edge. there were good ones- the day started out swimmingly, talking about rhetorical analysis and what a commonplace is in an argument. i was excited. i was amped. then, my new favorite student, kendrick, came in and we talked about intercultural communication. we went through a whole chapter, i taught him a bunch of new words and concepts, and he appreciated what i did for him. i, like most people, enjoy being appreciated.
but sometimes this job is hard. athletes don't want to be in my office. they don't want to be tutored even though they know full well that i am able to help them. complaints and excuses come at me at every angle, and i'm getting a little frustrated by it. but mostly i'm frustrated because for the first time at this job, i've had to teach a white person comparative ethnic studies.
it's not that she's racist- not outwardly so. and it's also not that she doesn't understand the concepts. i could deal with her not understanding the idea of white privilege, or social identity, or something else. if that was the case, i would throw sweet books and articles at her, i would be the best damn teacher she ever had. no no.
she just doesn't care.
she did the age-old white person move when it comes to issues not directly relating to white people- "it's not like anything is going to change...i don't have the power to do anything about racism so there's no point in me caring." ARE YOU KIDDING ME????
that excuse for being ignorant, for choosing to not accept or even attempt to correct others in their stereotypes of others, is why racism happens. it's ignorant, and insulting to all people who are trying every day to open people's minds about issues beyond their little apartment. i felt like i was defending myself- and i pulled out all the stops. theorist after theorist, personal experience after personal experience. but she just gave me this look like she doesn't even want to hear what i'm saying. i just can't believe she doesn't see it. and that, on top of everything else going on in my life now, makes me frustrated.
in the words of my mother, "i just wanted to shake her."
Sunday, June 29, 2008
delicate
my blogging group was given this prompt- just "delicate".
immediately i started singing the damien rice song, "delicate," which i absolutely love. one of the main reasons i love the song is because i've ended up crying to it. in fact, i've ended up crying to a lot of songs. that usually leads me to saying or writing something stupid and solely emotionally driven to an ex-boyfriend or to someone who i might have at one time wanted to be my boyfriend. or maybe it just makes me think of really sad stuff. like being lonely. that's sad.
what i started thinking about though is that although i am not a big person, no one has ever described me as delicate. apparently physically i am not delicate. and i didn't used to be as emotionally delicate either. but now, i've embraced the fact that i have become emotionally delicate in certain situations with open arms. most days i shed a tear about something- whether it be a song, something i saw on tv, something i've read, or just the usual sad shit that happens in everyday life. i cry a few tears because i'm not afraid to, and mostly i'm just at home by myself. i don't bawl alone with enya in the background and patchouli candles blazing. just a few during extreme makeover home edition, no biggie. or during "tears in heaven." i believe it's impossible to not cry during that. trust me.
immediately i started singing the damien rice song, "delicate," which i absolutely love. one of the main reasons i love the song is because i've ended up crying to it. in fact, i've ended up crying to a lot of songs. that usually leads me to saying or writing something stupid and solely emotionally driven to an ex-boyfriend or to someone who i might have at one time wanted to be my boyfriend. or maybe it just makes me think of really sad stuff. like being lonely. that's sad.
what i started thinking about though is that although i am not a big person, no one has ever described me as delicate. apparently physically i am not delicate. and i didn't used to be as emotionally delicate either. but now, i've embraced the fact that i have become emotionally delicate in certain situations with open arms. most days i shed a tear about something- whether it be a song, something i saw on tv, something i've read, or just the usual sad shit that happens in everyday life. i cry a few tears because i'm not afraid to, and mostly i'm just at home by myself. i don't bawl alone with enya in the background and patchouli candles blazing. just a few during extreme makeover home edition, no biggie. or during "tears in heaven." i believe it's impossible to not cry during that. trust me.
Friday, June 20, 2008
the restaurant
finally it's time to unveil the greatest restaurant you might never eat at, mainly because i'm making it up. SWF 21.
this restaurant is not for the pretentious, and the food served might never win awards. but, it gets you from Starbucks trip to Starbucks trip, following the my mother's credo- "i don't live to eat. i eat to live."
the restaurant will be a trip into my world, with only a few items that stand out as staples of my diet. 5 ways to use a can of tuna, variations on quesadillas, and of course the single chicken breast. seasonings will be salt, pepper, and Johnny's Salad Elegance.
the walls would have hanging tapestries from vintage stores, with original framed black and white photos from places i've been, and the guests are invited to put their photos on there too. oh, and a bulletin board for anything. because every college house has some sort of bulletin board. and lots and lots of bookshelves. people will sit on the floor around a coffee table or around a folding card table (that's for joy).
for drinks, beer is served in plastic keg cups (red only) and while our bar has all types of alcohol, they're only mixed with OJ or Diet Coke. no exceptions. beer pong is optional, but customers have to bring their own table.
i choose the music.
as i got farther and farther along in this description a couple of days ago, my friend brought up a very good question, "who the hell would want to eat there, and why?" the answer, friends, is simple: atmosphere and cost.
every dish (including drink) will be $5. even with this ridiculously low price i'll still be making a profit because the ingredients are so cheap. the venue will be a renovated warehouse so there will be virtually no overhead. and quite frankly, i don't care about making a profit. also, i will be in a location where this type of environment is a novelty- i would never dare opening this in pullman because i could haphazardly pick a house on D Street and i would come upon the same thing. nonono. it's gotta be in a town with just a community college because this is the way for those getting ready to go to a 4 year or those who will never leave their hometown get a little bit of the college lifestyle. also, i feel i cater to the needs of middle aged folks yearning for a bit of the nostalgia of their college years. can't you see it- 4 middle aged women with their Sigma Kappa letters around my table. i love it.
and hell, it also is a good place for dieters too, because all the portions will be me-sized. it might help.
mostly though, i'd want to eat there because conversation will always be lively (due to the cheap drinks) and there won't be an obnoxious waitress named Kelly screaming at you about the jalapeno poppers. nothing is more of a buzzkill than that.
this restaurant is not for the pretentious, and the food served might never win awards. but, it gets you from Starbucks trip to Starbucks trip, following the my mother's credo- "i don't live to eat. i eat to live."
the restaurant will be a trip into my world, with only a few items that stand out as staples of my diet. 5 ways to use a can of tuna, variations on quesadillas, and of course the single chicken breast. seasonings will be salt, pepper, and Johnny's Salad Elegance.
the walls would have hanging tapestries from vintage stores, with original framed black and white photos from places i've been, and the guests are invited to put their photos on there too. oh, and a bulletin board for anything. because every college house has some sort of bulletin board. and lots and lots of bookshelves. people will sit on the floor around a coffee table or around a folding card table (that's for joy).
for drinks, beer is served in plastic keg cups (red only) and while our bar has all types of alcohol, they're only mixed with OJ or Diet Coke. no exceptions. beer pong is optional, but customers have to bring their own table.
i choose the music.
as i got farther and farther along in this description a couple of days ago, my friend brought up a very good question, "who the hell would want to eat there, and why?" the answer, friends, is simple: atmosphere and cost.
every dish (including drink) will be $5. even with this ridiculously low price i'll still be making a profit because the ingredients are so cheap. the venue will be a renovated warehouse so there will be virtually no overhead. and quite frankly, i don't care about making a profit. also, i will be in a location where this type of environment is a novelty- i would never dare opening this in pullman because i could haphazardly pick a house on D Street and i would come upon the same thing. nonono. it's gotta be in a town with just a community college because this is the way for those getting ready to go to a 4 year or those who will never leave their hometown get a little bit of the college lifestyle. also, i feel i cater to the needs of middle aged folks yearning for a bit of the nostalgia of their college years. can't you see it- 4 middle aged women with their Sigma Kappa letters around my table. i love it.
and hell, it also is a good place for dieters too, because all the portions will be me-sized. it might help.
mostly though, i'd want to eat there because conversation will always be lively (due to the cheap drinks) and there won't be an obnoxious waitress named Kelly screaming at you about the jalapeno poppers. nothing is more of a buzzkill than that.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
don't worry
i just joined a blogging group. check it out on the right hand side of the page. we have prompts that are usually thought provoking. i promise i'll post sometime about the restaurant. i've already discussed my idea with a friend and she agrees. if you want, you can use their blog prompts too. joy, tell james to write about that. it seems like he has nothing on his blog to write about.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
knowingly impulsive
there are few things in life that i impulsively do on a regular basis. i know this concept seems like an oxymoron, but let me clarify. impulses on a regular and cautious basis are what i like to do, especially when it comes to money. yes, i spend money, we all spend money. but i usually spend it on other people, specifically buying them drinks or dinner. all of the "fun money" is usually reserved for other people. it is a rare occurence that i walk into a store with the specific purpose of buying something for myself- it's not as though i'm trying to tout myself as the "ultimate giver", but it has been engrained in me for a long time that "we" (assuming my family) just don't spend money on ourselves for fun. my dad doesn't ever buy anything, and only recently has my mother grasped onto the concept of buying things because she wants them.
there are also things that were basically forbidden to buy in my household growing up, as they were deemed a waste of money- most notably DVD's and magazines. little things like nail polish were also cautioned against, as the satisfaction from it is transient at best.
but magazines. that is really my only true impulse buy. once every 2 or 3 months i just buy one. i know that it is basically a waste of five dollars. for many people magazines are something that you read at the bookstore to pass the time- i usually thumb through one while i'm eating a bagel at the bookie and put it back on the shelf for those weaker-willed to be sucked into its glossy pages. i regularly stand my ground. yesterday i gave into to my impulse. you know why? -Andy Roddick.
i will forever have a weak place in my heart for that 6'2" 195-pound beauty of a tennis player, and when i saw his blue eyes and perfectly chiseled jaw on the cover of Outside magazine i couldn't help it. i read his article and meant to put it back- i did. but then i got sucked into a segment written by ben harper, then another about this writer who trained for a triathlon. so i bought it. i also did the core exercise routine written in there yesterday too, so i therefore deem it a worthwhile purchase. i read most of it yesterday, and plan on reading the rest when i'm sick of language diversity (for those of you who don't know, my thesis topic). i took it home in my bag and a sense of joy came across my face as i set it down on my coffee table. now there is something there to read if a stranger stops by. lovely.
now i just have to decide what my impulse will be next.
there are also things that were basically forbidden to buy in my household growing up, as they were deemed a waste of money- most notably DVD's and magazines. little things like nail polish were also cautioned against, as the satisfaction from it is transient at best.
but magazines. that is really my only true impulse buy. once every 2 or 3 months i just buy one. i know that it is basically a waste of five dollars. for many people magazines are something that you read at the bookstore to pass the time- i usually thumb through one while i'm eating a bagel at the bookie and put it back on the shelf for those weaker-willed to be sucked into its glossy pages. i regularly stand my ground. yesterday i gave into to my impulse. you know why? -Andy Roddick.
i will forever have a weak place in my heart for that 6'2" 195-pound beauty of a tennis player, and when i saw his blue eyes and perfectly chiseled jaw on the cover of Outside magazine i couldn't help it. i read his article and meant to put it back- i did. but then i got sucked into a segment written by ben harper, then another about this writer who trained for a triathlon. so i bought it. i also did the core exercise routine written in there yesterday too, so i therefore deem it a worthwhile purchase. i read most of it yesterday, and plan on reading the rest when i'm sick of language diversity (for those of you who don't know, my thesis topic). i took it home in my bag and a sense of joy came across my face as i set it down on my coffee table. now there is something there to read if a stranger stops by. lovely.
now i just have to decide what my impulse will be next.
Monday, June 9, 2008
gone
this is the first summer of my life where i have the opportunity to leave home. just get up and roll out of town. so i do. for the past few weeks i've left the palouse and done some adventuring. some with brelin in seattle, some in the tri, and then some in the couer d'alene area. and, i won't be in town the next three weekends either. i'll be gone.
for me though, being gone is a pretty nice thing. i get a little stir crazy when i have to stay in one place for a long time. i like to spread myself thin, get done doing laundry from the trip before just in time to pack it in my backpack and go somewhere else. what happens, though, is that i leave. and everyone else stays. i've been missing those people that used to make up my every day in pullman. i miss knowing who i was going to sit by in my rhetoric classes (always daniel schafer for four semesters in a row) and i also miss getting my latte every morning from the bookie barista that i have a secret crush on. (oh damn, guess it's not so secret anymore). i continually toe the line between a creature of habit and a frenzied being who can't sit still. maybe that's why my father rocks so much in that damn recliner. hmmm...
those friends though. in my mind they always stay. those friends that you forget about here. they stay, and you think they're going to stay forever. but they leave. it just happened to me.
i showed up at my apartment and erica's stuff was off the walls and gone from the kitchen. no whale painting. no kitchen gadgets. no canadian flag. all in boxes and all taken down. an overwhelming sense of sadness came over me and something like loneliness sunk in for a moment. soon she will leave my apartment and i will be alone in that place for a little while. she will be gone and i will be the one to stay. i never stay. i wonder what it will be like. it's like that part of Close Encounters of the Third Kind with the big pile of potatoes- "This MEANS something!" i think this moment just might mean something.
for me though, being gone is a pretty nice thing. i get a little stir crazy when i have to stay in one place for a long time. i like to spread myself thin, get done doing laundry from the trip before just in time to pack it in my backpack and go somewhere else. what happens, though, is that i leave. and everyone else stays. i've been missing those people that used to make up my every day in pullman. i miss knowing who i was going to sit by in my rhetoric classes (always daniel schafer for four semesters in a row) and i also miss getting my latte every morning from the bookie barista that i have a secret crush on. (oh damn, guess it's not so secret anymore). i continually toe the line between a creature of habit and a frenzied being who can't sit still. maybe that's why my father rocks so much in that damn recliner. hmmm...
those friends though. in my mind they always stay. those friends that you forget about here. they stay, and you think they're going to stay forever. but they leave. it just happened to me.
i showed up at my apartment and erica's stuff was off the walls and gone from the kitchen. no whale painting. no kitchen gadgets. no canadian flag. all in boxes and all taken down. an overwhelming sense of sadness came over me and something like loneliness sunk in for a moment. soon she will leave my apartment and i will be alone in that place for a little while. she will be gone and i will be the one to stay. i never stay. i wonder what it will be like. it's like that part of Close Encounters of the Third Kind with the big pile of potatoes- "This MEANS something!" i think this moment just might mean something.
Friday, May 30, 2008
killed
i can honestly say, sometimes during the slow month of may around the athletic department it is difficult to see any sort of measureable outcomes. i am a woman of measureable outcomes. i like to see the grade on my paper in red pen (even though my friend a sociology grad student said that it's bad for the psyche to see red on your work), i like to see my calves starting to appear after a few weeks of working out, i like to see a spreadsheet done. and, i like getting a paycheck in the mail.
but as far as teaching goes, sometimes it takes a long time to see if a student understood a concept, or if in fact all of your work has been in vain. sometimes, when no one's around, i wonder if i am doing anything worthwhile around here (which i feel is a question that everyone asks themselves at one point or another in their life). and sometimes, the day seems wasted because i get all of the administrative stuff done in about twenty minutes. that stuff is not difficult.
for the past three days, though, work has been fulfilling. my history of jazz student just left to take his final, and although he still doesn't like jazz at all he's actually remembering who john coltrane is and what instrument he played- a measureable outcome. also, my russian tennis player is able to write relatively complete sentences about the flu epidemic of 1918. outcome two. and, i was able to draw a really sweet diagram of a house that represented the function of ideology and the colonization process for my african american history student. i haven't erased it from the board. he understood. outcome three.
more than anything though, i managed to kill a purple dry-erase marker in the span of two days. that might be the most tangible result of my work in a long time.
but as far as teaching goes, sometimes it takes a long time to see if a student understood a concept, or if in fact all of your work has been in vain. sometimes, when no one's around, i wonder if i am doing anything worthwhile around here (which i feel is a question that everyone asks themselves at one point or another in their life). and sometimes, the day seems wasted because i get all of the administrative stuff done in about twenty minutes. that stuff is not difficult.
for the past three days, though, work has been fulfilling. my history of jazz student just left to take his final, and although he still doesn't like jazz at all he's actually remembering who john coltrane is and what instrument he played- a measureable outcome. also, my russian tennis player is able to write relatively complete sentences about the flu epidemic of 1918. outcome two. and, i was able to draw a really sweet diagram of a house that represented the function of ideology and the colonization process for my african american history student. i haven't erased it from the board. he understood. outcome three.
more than anything though, i managed to kill a purple dry-erase marker in the span of two days. that might be the most tangible result of my work in a long time.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
i told you.
sitting in my desk sending an email to someone (as usual) a poor golfer comes into the office and says, "there's a bird in there and it just landed on my head."
anna goes, "was it a black and white bird? because in the weight room all day they've been trying to get a bird out of there- the cops came and some weird bird specialist. either way, it's pretty crazy down there."
to which i reply, "special ops for birds."
the poor golfer, who is also failing accounting 231 (no surprise) has to deal with a freakin bird attacking his head while he's trying to study. as i was walking out of the office we had trapped it in the computer lab, and all i saw was my co-worker danny's limbs failing.
wanna know what kind of bird it was?
A F-ING (for brelin) MAGPIE.
i rest my case.
anna goes, "was it a black and white bird? because in the weight room all day they've been trying to get a bird out of there- the cops came and some weird bird specialist. either way, it's pretty crazy down there."
to which i reply, "special ops for birds."
the poor golfer, who is also failing accounting 231 (no surprise) has to deal with a freakin bird attacking his head while he's trying to study. as i was walking out of the office we had trapped it in the computer lab, and all i saw was my co-worker danny's limbs failing.
wanna know what kind of bird it was?
A F-ING (for brelin) MAGPIE.
i rest my case.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
tolerate
In no particular order, 5 things that i merely tolerate and in no way find joy:
-magpies. they are obnoxious birds on the whole. for nostalgia purposes i feel like i should like them because it was one of the many nicknames of my childhood best friend maggi crow. but no. they like to hang out in the trees outside my apartment and they attacked/frightened my roommate. i must stand by her in her anger at the animal.
-fake grape flavored things of all varieties. yes, if someone gives me a laffy taffy that is grape, i will eat it. mostly because i love taffy. and the rap song, "laffy taffy" also has nostalgic purposes. fake grape things conjure up a childhood spent taking grape dimetapp whenever i was sick, and even though i know candy doesn't taste like it at all i will avoid it. grape juice only consumed at communion when no other options are given.
-smoking in bars. tolerate only due to the fact that it is generally cheaper to drink in moscow and there are usually sweet bands playing. also, sometimes people want to smoke and i will let them.
-punk rock. i would never choose to listen to it, but it is far better than my massive hatred of country music. that though, is another blog. many of my friends really like punk music, and andy went through a loud/smelly/angry/terrible musician phase that involved being "punk." it never went to the point (because my parents wouldn't allow it) of dyed mohawks. it merely stopped at failing to wash his clothes for weeks at a time and having a "spit-corner" in his room while the "band" (i use that term loosely) would "rehearse." pitiful.
-cats. some people are cat people. i am not. there is nothing pleasurable about getting fur all over your clothes for the once-in-a-blue-moon comfort of a cat. they scratch, they bite, they seem to be quite mean, and serve no purpose: they can't fetch. my toleration of cats is illustrated most lovingly in my friends kasey and cori's cat, hudson. it is the mangiest cat i've ever seen and i took a page from dwight schrute and renamed him "garbage." that is the most fitting name for all cats, i believe. or possiblly klepto, short for kleptomaniacal kitten. it is fabulous alliteration.
-magpies. they are obnoxious birds on the whole. for nostalgia purposes i feel like i should like them because it was one of the many nicknames of my childhood best friend maggi crow. but no. they like to hang out in the trees outside my apartment and they attacked/frightened my roommate. i must stand by her in her anger at the animal.
-fake grape flavored things of all varieties. yes, if someone gives me a laffy taffy that is grape, i will eat it. mostly because i love taffy. and the rap song, "laffy taffy" also has nostalgic purposes. fake grape things conjure up a childhood spent taking grape dimetapp whenever i was sick, and even though i know candy doesn't taste like it at all i will avoid it. grape juice only consumed at communion when no other options are given.
-smoking in bars. tolerate only due to the fact that it is generally cheaper to drink in moscow and there are usually sweet bands playing. also, sometimes people want to smoke and i will let them.
-punk rock. i would never choose to listen to it, but it is far better than my massive hatred of country music. that though, is another blog. many of my friends really like punk music, and andy went through a loud/smelly/angry/terrible musician phase that involved being "punk." it never went to the point (because my parents wouldn't allow it) of dyed mohawks. it merely stopped at failing to wash his clothes for weeks at a time and having a "spit-corner" in his room while the "band" (i use that term loosely) would "rehearse." pitiful.
-cats. some people are cat people. i am not. there is nothing pleasurable about getting fur all over your clothes for the once-in-a-blue-moon comfort of a cat. they scratch, they bite, they seem to be quite mean, and serve no purpose: they can't fetch. my toleration of cats is illustrated most lovingly in my friends kasey and cori's cat, hudson. it is the mangiest cat i've ever seen and i took a page from dwight schrute and renamed him "garbage." that is the most fitting name for all cats, i believe. or possiblly klepto, short for kleptomaniacal kitten. it is fabulous alliteration.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
whore
one of the students at work needed a tutor for music 362, which i knew was the history of rock and roll. a relatively simple class, and i knew just the person to tutor it. a couple of emails later and appointment was scheduled- that's how easy my job is sometimes. yesterday was their first meeting in my office, with me behind my womb-like cubicle so i could spy on them while they were working. the session began with the tutor, "so, how far have you gotten to in the book?"
student: "the last thing we talked about today was billie holiday."
tutor: "have you started talking about the British Invasion yet?"
"uhh, no....wait, are you tutoring the History of Jazz?"
"no...the History of Rock and Roll."
my brain: DAMMIT. History of Rock and Roll is Music 262, not 362. i am a tool.
i pop out from my cubicle and go, "crap, i'm sorry guys. totally my bad...i guess i'll have to pinch hit."
so, the tutor leaves and i'm left to fumble through the study guide for the midterm with this super high-risk student as i speed read the book to try and help. the hour ends and he promises come in before friday so we can work on the study guide when i know what i'm talking about.
i leave work feeling like an idiot and bent on success in teaching this course to him. so, i sit myself down at the coffee shop and learn the first five chapters (half the course) of the History of Jazz in two hours. i write illegibly, i learn so many new things that eventually i get to the point where every five minutes i go up to andy and say, "i have something new! did you know that billie holiday only had a one and a half octave range?!" i am tired but thrilled that i can learn this much in so little a time...i want to keep going but am getting fatigued and i finally quit when i stop being able to write things down legibly for me.
eventually after the fifth or sixth "did you know?" outburst andy goes, "you know what you are right now?... A KNOWLEDGE WHORE."
he is correct i think, and there is nothing wrong with that. now back to jazz.
student: "the last thing we talked about today was billie holiday."
tutor: "have you started talking about the British Invasion yet?"
"uhh, no....wait, are you tutoring the History of Jazz?"
"no...the History of Rock and Roll."
my brain: DAMMIT. History of Rock and Roll is Music 262, not 362. i am a tool.
i pop out from my cubicle and go, "crap, i'm sorry guys. totally my bad...i guess i'll have to pinch hit."
so, the tutor leaves and i'm left to fumble through the study guide for the midterm with this super high-risk student as i speed read the book to try and help. the hour ends and he promises come in before friday so we can work on the study guide when i know what i'm talking about.
i leave work feeling like an idiot and bent on success in teaching this course to him. so, i sit myself down at the coffee shop and learn the first five chapters (half the course) of the History of Jazz in two hours. i write illegibly, i learn so many new things that eventually i get to the point where every five minutes i go up to andy and say, "i have something new! did you know that billie holiday only had a one and a half octave range?!" i am tired but thrilled that i can learn this much in so little a time...i want to keep going but am getting fatigued and i finally quit when i stop being able to write things down legibly for me.
eventually after the fifth or sixth "did you know?" outburst andy goes, "you know what you are right now?... A KNOWLEDGE WHORE."
he is correct i think, and there is nothing wrong with that. now back to jazz.
Monday, May 12, 2008
creepin
i am 21, so i've now decided i don't really like bars. they're pretty skeezy, mostly smell bad (especially in idaho where you can still smoke in them), and expensive.
also, there are creeps in bars. it's like, "let's put all of the socially awkward people in a room with loud music and alcohol." contextually it's a disaster from the start. and then, people buy me drinks and i make mistakes. it's a sad commentary that i can't go into a bar by myself for fear that i'll be creeped out, so i'd much rather go to a restaurant and order a glass of wine.
which is exactly what andy and i did yesterday in order to placate the alcohol withdrawal i am still currently experiencing. the worst part about the restaurant we went to, though, was that the waiter creeped me out.
damn.
also, there are creeps in bars. it's like, "let's put all of the socially awkward people in a room with loud music and alcohol." contextually it's a disaster from the start. and then, people buy me drinks and i make mistakes. it's a sad commentary that i can't go into a bar by myself for fear that i'll be creeped out, so i'd much rather go to a restaurant and order a glass of wine.
which is exactly what andy and i did yesterday in order to placate the alcohol withdrawal i am still currently experiencing. the worst part about the restaurant we went to, though, was that the waiter creeped me out.
damn.
Monday, May 5, 2008
hitting rocks
i am done with school, and i don't know quite what to do with myself. work is easy and rather boring because there aren't a whole lot of people who need my help on only the first day of the semester. all the idaho peeps are working on finals.
i'm antsy, agitated, and irritable.
there are other nagging issues involving men, but that's just a waste of time and adding to my agitation.
i just want to hit rocks with sticks.
yesterday, because it was freakin gorgeous outside a few friends and i drove to the snake river where they usually practice rowing and we laid on the dock for a good hour and a half i'd say. well, they laid the whole time. i had to hit rocks.
one of the girls' boyfriends obviously did not do well with just laying around and needed an activity. the two went off for a while and walked around and when they returned they reported the guy tried to hit rocks in the river with a stick but wasn't very good. instinctively then, i shot up from my sunbathing position and yelled, "i love that shit!!" (eloquent, i know). it was great. i procured a sweet stick-bat after some searching and climbing trepidously on the sharp rocks and i'd say that my friends boyfriend and i hit rocks in the river for a good 45 minutes. it was the best thing ever. the healthiest way to deal with stress as you are focused on something else besides yourself, and it also reminds me of some great memories of this summer at Shoshone. either way, i need to hit rocks sometimes- i just forget about it.
my back muscles are sore from it today, and i have a blister on my hands from the stick. but it's worth it.
and, to make it all better, i was way better at it than the stupid boy.
i'm antsy, agitated, and irritable.
there are other nagging issues involving men, but that's just a waste of time and adding to my agitation.
i just want to hit rocks with sticks.
yesterday, because it was freakin gorgeous outside a few friends and i drove to the snake river where they usually practice rowing and we laid on the dock for a good hour and a half i'd say. well, they laid the whole time. i had to hit rocks.
one of the girls' boyfriends obviously did not do well with just laying around and needed an activity. the two went off for a while and walked around and when they returned they reported the guy tried to hit rocks in the river with a stick but wasn't very good. instinctively then, i shot up from my sunbathing position and yelled, "i love that shit!!" (eloquent, i know). it was great. i procured a sweet stick-bat after some searching and climbing trepidously on the sharp rocks and i'd say that my friends boyfriend and i hit rocks in the river for a good 45 minutes. it was the best thing ever. the healthiest way to deal with stress as you are focused on something else besides yourself, and it also reminds me of some great memories of this summer at Shoshone. either way, i need to hit rocks sometimes- i just forget about it.
my back muscles are sore from it today, and i have a blister on my hands from the stick. but it's worth it.
and, to make it all better, i was way better at it than the stupid boy.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Better Safe
At this point in my academic career, it is safe to say that I know MLA format like the back of my hand. When a student comes into my office and asks how to do their Works Cited page for a paper, I go to the whiteboard with confidence in my citation skills. Sometimes though, I second guess myself- like the other day.
The good news is a couple years back I had to get a book that has citation styles for MLA, Chicago, and APA (score), so all I had to do was walk across the room and grab it off my shelf. I haven't used it in close to a year, it's just been moved from shelf to shelf. When I picked it up this time, though, I found a glaringly green sticky note on it that said in my handwriting, "Better safe than sorry-" I could only assume that I wrote it in a moment when I was trying to decide what to do with it when I was moving, deciding eventually that it would be a good idea to take it "just in case."
That phrase though has been rolling around in my brain ever since I saw that note to myself. Yes, while things like that book, good friends, a stable (relatively) bank account, makes sure that I always have a safety net for my life, sometimes you can't be safe. It's just not possible. You can prepare all you want, be cautious down to the last penny, but sometimes life gives you shit that even the most pious and well prepared people can't handle.
I was talking to my mother (once again, the keeper of much wisdom) about the theology going around these days that if you do the right things, if you just have enough FAITH (whatever that looks like) good things will come to you. After we both agreed that was complete crap, my mom, while walking into the Onion on the North Side of Spokane said, "Sometimes you just have to accept the fact that your agenda and God's agenda don't work out. And God's not punishing you for not being faithful enough, not at all. My daughter will never be well. And that sucks. What can happen though is we can continue living our lives and hope that she has a long and happy life in whatever situation her health is. You can't be angry or mad at yourself because that will get you nowhere. It just happened."
Sometimes we can never be safe enough. I can write as many sticky notes as I want, pray as hard as I can, but life happens. Brelin is sick in the context of everyone else's standards. (Even though she might say she's feeling better this day or that day.) But that doesn't mean I'm allowed to be pissed, or sad, or depressed forever. Prepare, but don't count on much of anything.
It is nice, though, to have that book.
The good news is a couple years back I had to get a book that has citation styles for MLA, Chicago, and APA (score), so all I had to do was walk across the room and grab it off my shelf. I haven't used it in close to a year, it's just been moved from shelf to shelf. When I picked it up this time, though, I found a glaringly green sticky note on it that said in my handwriting, "Better safe than sorry-" I could only assume that I wrote it in a moment when I was trying to decide what to do with it when I was moving, deciding eventually that it would be a good idea to take it "just in case."
That phrase though has been rolling around in my brain ever since I saw that note to myself. Yes, while things like that book, good friends, a stable (relatively) bank account, makes sure that I always have a safety net for my life, sometimes you can't be safe. It's just not possible. You can prepare all you want, be cautious down to the last penny, but sometimes life gives you shit that even the most pious and well prepared people can't handle.
I was talking to my mother (once again, the keeper of much wisdom) about the theology going around these days that if you do the right things, if you just have enough FAITH (whatever that looks like) good things will come to you. After we both agreed that was complete crap, my mom, while walking into the Onion on the North Side of Spokane said, "Sometimes you just have to accept the fact that your agenda and God's agenda don't work out. And God's not punishing you for not being faithful enough, not at all. My daughter will never be well. And that sucks. What can happen though is we can continue living our lives and hope that she has a long and happy life in whatever situation her health is. You can't be angry or mad at yourself because that will get you nowhere. It just happened."
Sometimes we can never be safe enough. I can write as many sticky notes as I want, pray as hard as I can, but life happens. Brelin is sick in the context of everyone else's standards. (Even though she might say she's feeling better this day or that day.) But that doesn't mean I'm allowed to be pissed, or sad, or depressed forever. Prepare, but don't count on much of anything.
It is nice, though, to have that book.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Moderation
I have wanted knee-high black leather high heeled boots for I would say a better part of 7 years. Over a third of my life, then, has been spent pining/hunting for the perfect pair of black boots.
I found them.
My mom was in town this last weekend and there was a ridiculously giant sale at Macy's on shoes. Not a little sale, mind you. They took all their shoes from last season, found an abandoned space in the mall and set up tables and tables of shoes. I see the sign: "EVERY SHOE 19.99." No fucking way. My mother, being the skeptic as she is, couldn't possibly believe that EVERY shoe could be 19.99, so when I picked up the boots she said, "Those are not shoes, they are boots." Of course when I asked the man putting Nine West pumps onto a shabby card table three pairs at a time if the boots really were 19.99 he replied dolefully, "Yes....every shoe."
I decided to try on the boots.
But I must preface.
The reason I have never been able to buy black boots is not because I've never had enough money, nonono. I simply have not been able to fit into them- my calves have always been just a touch too big. Invariably the zipper on every boot I ever tried on would get about halfway up the calf (the part where there isn't any muscle) and then would get stuck. I tried to suck my calf in, point my toes so as to change the length of the muscle, but always ended up feeling worse about my life because my calves were too muscle-y. And my calf ended up looking like a busty woman spilling out of a corset made for Paris Hilton. My attempts never worked: until this time.
So yes, the boots I bought on super-sale "fit". Sometimes I have the urge to suck the calves in, and the boots are pretty much vacuum sealed onto the Cougar Calves. But they fit, dammit. And I look hot.
I decided today would be a great day to wear the boots. It's cold, I was doing a reading in front of people for my Creative Writing class, and I wore cute charcoal gray trousers. The boots were perfect in every way for the first 6 hours of wearing them. The last 4 didn't go quite as well.
Home now, I still have the feeling on the bottom of my foot that I've been dancing for 10 hours. The balls of my feet are also swollen. SWOLLEN. I didn't realize it was possible.
As Lewis mentioned to me, though, after a certain amount of time things just need to end. Moderation really is the key, I guess.
I'm still learning.
I found them.
My mom was in town this last weekend and there was a ridiculously giant sale at Macy's on shoes. Not a little sale, mind you. They took all their shoes from last season, found an abandoned space in the mall and set up tables and tables of shoes. I see the sign: "EVERY SHOE 19.99." No fucking way. My mother, being the skeptic as she is, couldn't possibly believe that EVERY shoe could be 19.99, so when I picked up the boots she said, "Those are not shoes, they are boots." Of course when I asked the man putting Nine West pumps onto a shabby card table three pairs at a time if the boots really were 19.99 he replied dolefully, "Yes....every shoe."
I decided to try on the boots.
But I must preface.
The reason I have never been able to buy black boots is not because I've never had enough money, nonono. I simply have not been able to fit into them- my calves have always been just a touch too big. Invariably the zipper on every boot I ever tried on would get about halfway up the calf (the part where there isn't any muscle) and then would get stuck. I tried to suck my calf in, point my toes so as to change the length of the muscle, but always ended up feeling worse about my life because my calves were too muscle-y. And my calf ended up looking like a busty woman spilling out of a corset made for Paris Hilton. My attempts never worked: until this time.
So yes, the boots I bought on super-sale "fit". Sometimes I have the urge to suck the calves in, and the boots are pretty much vacuum sealed onto the Cougar Calves. But they fit, dammit. And I look hot.
I decided today would be a great day to wear the boots. It's cold, I was doing a reading in front of people for my Creative Writing class, and I wore cute charcoal gray trousers. The boots were perfect in every way for the first 6 hours of wearing them. The last 4 didn't go quite as well.
Home now, I still have the feeling on the bottom of my foot that I've been dancing for 10 hours. The balls of my feet are also swollen. SWOLLEN. I didn't realize it was possible.
As Lewis mentioned to me, though, after a certain amount of time things just need to end. Moderation really is the key, I guess.
I'm still learning.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Candy Bowls
Every time I pass my co-worker Allen's desk when he is not there, I steal his candy. It's not candy I would normally eat, as it is Easter-themed candy corn. I don't even like candy corn.
I feel like I'm not the only one who does this.
I feel like I'm not the only one who does this.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Confessional
You were getting excited about me telling you one of my deepest, darkest, secrets...weren't you?
Well sorry. Besides, if you know me at all, I'll probably tell you something about my life you weren't expecting. In the words of someone I know, "You're a sharer, aren't you?" Why yes, yes I am.
Regardless, listening to Pandora (the sweet internet radio), Dashboard Confessional comes on because I guess they're in the same genre-ish as this artist Matt Nathanson, who I rather enjoy. Dashboard Confessional, though, I tend not to enjoy overall. The man is whiny, and their popularity peaked in my sophomore year of high school (not a good one, as my boyfriend was a jerk), precisely during the semester that I took Photography. Someone in the Independent Study class would invariably put it on, as it must have chronicled their romance (and fallout thereafter), as all CDs played on heavy rotation signify. There is always a soundtrack to a relationship and then to the disaster that is its end.
The angst-ridden band Dashboard Confessional, though, is not my soundtrack. Instead, they remind me of flooding the Photography washroom. And getting away with it.
I had just finished stealing and eating a terrible breakfast Hot Pocket from the gargantuan Photography teacher's stash and was still waiting around for my print to wash. If for some reason it was underdeveloped, or I had not gotten the darkroom process correct, I would have to spend even more of my after school time alone in the classroom, sve the Independent Study girl who loved Dashboard. I'm not sure how I fenagled my way into that particular unsupervised situation, but I did. And it was glorious. So, I hung out in the darkroom in the overstuffed recliner and realized, OH SHIT.
Walked into the washroom, water everywhere. Feet soaked in water as I scramble to find some semblance of a towel, of course forgetting to first turn off the faucet so that the water is no longer going through the hose pointing out of the washtub and onto the floor. Why would I do the logical thing first? This is why I am not an EMT, I've decided.
So, my print turned out badass and I ended up ruining some other kids print that were just laying on the counter. They sucked anyhow, I did them a favor.
That is why when a Dashboard Confessional song comes on for some reason I can't turn it off. I will mercilessly make fun of it, oh yes, but I will not change it. The flood must be remembered, and I'll listen to three and a half minutes of whining for that memory. I think it's worth it. Now stealing that gnarly Hot Pocket, so not worth it.
Well sorry. Besides, if you know me at all, I'll probably tell you something about my life you weren't expecting. In the words of someone I know, "You're a sharer, aren't you?" Why yes, yes I am.
Regardless, listening to Pandora (the sweet internet radio), Dashboard Confessional comes on because I guess they're in the same genre-ish as this artist Matt Nathanson, who I rather enjoy. Dashboard Confessional, though, I tend not to enjoy overall. The man is whiny, and their popularity peaked in my sophomore year of high school (not a good one, as my boyfriend was a jerk), precisely during the semester that I took Photography. Someone in the Independent Study class would invariably put it on, as it must have chronicled their romance (and fallout thereafter), as all CDs played on heavy rotation signify. There is always a soundtrack to a relationship and then to the disaster that is its end.
The angst-ridden band Dashboard Confessional, though, is not my soundtrack. Instead, they remind me of flooding the Photography washroom. And getting away with it.
I had just finished stealing and eating a terrible breakfast Hot Pocket from the gargantuan Photography teacher's stash and was still waiting around for my print to wash. If for some reason it was underdeveloped, or I had not gotten the darkroom process correct, I would have to spend even more of my after school time alone in the classroom, sve the Independent Study girl who loved Dashboard. I'm not sure how I fenagled my way into that particular unsupervised situation, but I did. And it was glorious. So, I hung out in the darkroom in the overstuffed recliner and realized, OH SHIT.
Walked into the washroom, water everywhere. Feet soaked in water as I scramble to find some semblance of a towel, of course forgetting to first turn off the faucet so that the water is no longer going through the hose pointing out of the washtub and onto the floor. Why would I do the logical thing first? This is why I am not an EMT, I've decided.
So, my print turned out badass and I ended up ruining some other kids print that were just laying on the counter. They sucked anyhow, I did them a favor.
That is why when a Dashboard Confessional song comes on for some reason I can't turn it off. I will mercilessly make fun of it, oh yes, but I will not change it. The flood must be remembered, and I'll listen to three and a half minutes of whining for that memory. I think it's worth it. Now stealing that gnarly Hot Pocket, so not worth it.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Fiercely Independent (for my mother)
For one of my classes, a memoir reading class taught by a totally badass professor, we read a book called Fierce Attachments by Vivian Gornick. Most of the people in my class didn't like the book because there wasn't a "story" but I enjoyed it because it was about the attachment (mostly volatile) that she has with her mother. While I don't have any large conflicts with my mother like this woman had, I realize more and more every day that I am becoming her.
The woman is 51 years old and just broke her elbow while taking a "brisk walk" with my father. She likes to remind people of this event and add that, "Exercise will kill you." But, what I noticed more than anything is that I don't think I've ever seen my mother so frustrated as when she had to ask me for help turning the ignition key in her car. She was pissed. She is fiercely independent, and she has led me to believe the same things.
What she's taught me:
You not only can do anything a man can do, but you can probably do it faster and better.
You can multitask- men cannot.
Only ask men for help when you need it- otherwise you simply look pathetic.
From when I was fourteen: "Men are like buses, if you wait around long enough another one will come by. So no need to worry."
Trim the fat of your life: you can't spend your life dealing with other people's problems. If that means you have to be the bitch in the relationship and leave, then leave.
My mom is the shit. And, I feel like she has made me a somewhat intimidating person. But, I'm over it.
Gornick's quote from her mother reminded me so much of mine: "When a woman can't tell a man to go to hell, I have noticed, she is often crazy."
I have to agree.
The woman is 51 years old and just broke her elbow while taking a "brisk walk" with my father. She likes to remind people of this event and add that, "Exercise will kill you." But, what I noticed more than anything is that I don't think I've ever seen my mother so frustrated as when she had to ask me for help turning the ignition key in her car. She was pissed. She is fiercely independent, and she has led me to believe the same things.
What she's taught me:
You not only can do anything a man can do, but you can probably do it faster and better.
You can multitask- men cannot.
Only ask men for help when you need it- otherwise you simply look pathetic.
From when I was fourteen: "Men are like buses, if you wait around long enough another one will come by. So no need to worry."
Trim the fat of your life: you can't spend your life dealing with other people's problems. If that means you have to be the bitch in the relationship and leave, then leave.
My mom is the shit. And, I feel like she has made me a somewhat intimidating person. But, I'm over it.
Gornick's quote from her mother reminded me so much of mine: "When a woman can't tell a man to go to hell, I have noticed, she is often crazy."
I have to agree.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
An Offering
I have had a bike with one wheel sitting outside my apartment on the tiny "patio" since I moved in. I've never been much of a bike-rider, and with Pullman's massive hills I question the safety of journeying on the bike due to my novice status in this area. The other wheel of this bike is in the locked storage closet outside, so I just assumed that no one would steal the bike. It's not like you can ride it away. And I was correct- no one ever rode the bike away. It was there for months and months, getting buried and un-buried with snow, always hangin out with the flattened cardboard boxes I used to move in with.
And then just a moment ago I looked out the window and it was gone. Just...gone.
I assumed it would always just still be underneath the cardboard boxes. One wheel is still there and I never noticed that a bike was not attached to it. So...no one took the wheels, just the body of the bike. I don't blame them. It's a nice body, and clearly I haven't ridden it ever. Instead of being upset, I have chosen to consider it an offering to someone who will get bike riding love out of it. Clearly I have not.
And now, I can look out my window without guilt that I'm not out riding my bike.
And then just a moment ago I looked out the window and it was gone. Just...gone.
I assumed it would always just still be underneath the cardboard boxes. One wheel is still there and I never noticed that a bike was not attached to it. So...no one took the wheels, just the body of the bike. I don't blame them. It's a nice body, and clearly I haven't ridden it ever. Instead of being upset, I have chosen to consider it an offering to someone who will get bike riding love out of it. Clearly I have not.
And now, I can look out my window without guilt that I'm not out riding my bike.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Back in the game: a bit apprehensive, but getting over it.
Hello all, I seem to be back in action. Mostly due to the fact that I remembered how much I enjoy writing even if no one reads any of it. While not the best writer in the world (like most of my other friends in the blogging-world), I do believe that I might be interesting to some people. And, if you don't see me on a regular basis for some reason or another, here I am. I'm waiting to hear from you. Also, maybe if you come visit me I'll buy you lunch. Either way, on with the musing of the day:
Brelin recently invited me to go to a concert with her in Portland. I was surprised for a moment when she failed to mention to me what band it was. Oh yes, friends, she wanted me to go to a RASCAL FLATTS concert. I puked in my mouth. I recoiled from my gut reaction and weighed my options: I would get to see Brelin, who I see maybe three times a year, BUT (and this is a big BUT) I would have to listen to a slightly overweight man sweaking out like Windex on a whorehouse window some supposedly uplifting song about his mother. Options weighed: not a chance in hell.
That, and the fact that there is no way in hell I would let Brelin drive to Portland by herself. That would be the worst sister move in the world.
So to sum up this anecdote, I think I'm with everyone when I declare that listening to Kool and the Gang's "Celebration" for 4 hours in a row is far better than any ONE Rascal Flatts song.
I'm back.
Brelin recently invited me to go to a concert with her in Portland. I was surprised for a moment when she failed to mention to me what band it was. Oh yes, friends, she wanted me to go to a RASCAL FLATTS concert. I puked in my mouth. I recoiled from my gut reaction and weighed my options: I would get to see Brelin, who I see maybe three times a year, BUT (and this is a big BUT) I would have to listen to a slightly overweight man sweaking out like Windex on a whorehouse window some supposedly uplifting song about his mother. Options weighed: not a chance in hell.
That, and the fact that there is no way in hell I would let Brelin drive to Portland by herself. That would be the worst sister move in the world.
So to sum up this anecdote, I think I'm with everyone when I declare that listening to Kool and the Gang's "Celebration" for 4 hours in a row is far better than any ONE Rascal Flatts song.
I'm back.
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