Kasredin

a final word...

2009-08-13T23:33:00.003-04:00

The evidence, then, is that at the very end beyond thought and beyond fear and beyond even self-compassion and divine belwilderment there remains some firm intention to continue doing forever and ever what we last hoped to do on earth. By this final act they had come about as close as body and spirit can to establishing a unity of themselves with earth, fire, and perhaps the sky.

This is as far as we are able to accompany them. When the fire struck their bodies, it blew their watches away. The two hands of a recovered watch had melted together at about four minutes to six. For them, that may be taken as the end of time.

from Young Men and Fire by N. Maclean

always with me (english transl)

2009-07-05T23:56:00.003-04:00

Somewhere, a voice calls, in the depths of my heart
May I always be dreaming, the dreams that move my heart
So many tears of sadness, uncountable through and through
I know on the other side of them I'll find you
Everytime we fall down to the ground we look up to the blue sky above
We wake to it's blueness, as for the first time
Though the road is long and lonely and the end far away, out of sight
I can with these two arms embrace the light
As I bid farewell my heart stops, in tenderness I feel
My silent empty body begins to listen to what is real
The wonder of living, the wonder of dying
The wind, town, and flowers, we all dance one unity
Somewhere a voice calls in the depths of my heart
Keep dreaming your dreams, don't ever let them part
Why speak of all your sadness or of life's painfull woes
Instead let the same lips sing a gentle song for you
The whispering voice, we never want to forget,
In each passing memory always there to guide you
When a miror has been broken, shattered pieces scattered on the ground
Glimpses of new life, reflected all around
Window of beginning, stillness, new light of the dawn
Let my silent, empty body be filled and reborn
No need to search outside, nor sail across the sea
Cause here shining inside me, it's right here inside me
I've found a brightness, it's always with me

... if i could throw strikes

2009-06-24T20:17:00.003-04:00

Not to take anything away from Coach Kieran's finely-tuned weekly game recaps -- for I truly believe them Pulitzer quality -- I suspect they lack a certain something. Realism. This small criticism stems primarily from the failure to grasp a key reality, presence on the field. Me.

Of course.

All that is necessary to redeem them from this small, albeit fatal flaw is to include my highlights from each game. Which I will do for you, the reader, in just a few sentences. But yes, first I must positively confirm that had that foul ball hit the windshield or other glassy surface of the Prius, as opposed to the roof, I would have run as far and as fast away as my less-than-petite legs would carry me. Judging from my exceptional performance at the 10K a few weeks past, it is no exaggeration to imagine me almost 1mile away within 24minutes of hitting the unfortunate ball into the front seat of a energy-happy hybrid. But truly, all this attention is making me blush -- so on to the essential highlights.

Trotting in from 2nd, I caught a soft fly ball. It was amazing.
I threw home for the first time, ever. The guy scored anyway.
Recovering a grounder deflected off the SS I spun around and looked intimidatingly at the runner scoring from third. So intimidating that passersby had their breath frozen and would never have suspected that I was dizzy from spinning to get the ball. Blurry-vision spinning. Given the way our team throws, holding onto the ball was probably the best play of the game.
In the bottom of the last inning with my team down, I painted the right field line for a double. And I don't care what ANYONE says -- it was fair in spirit.

Next week there will be two softball games to report on. Till then!

subject: softball

2009-06-17T21:40:00.003-04:00

When we last gathered on this blog to discuss my softball capabilities, I was recuperating from an intense interview between my face and a groundball.

This was a sad time.
I was sad.

But that was then and this is not then.
And NOW (drumroll please) for the not then update ---

I have

1. returned to 2nd base
2. not improved at all
3. hit into a triple-play
4. won the 1st base coach over to my way of thinking
5. become the official (in my way of thinking) team mascot

And just last eve I was instructed on how to hold a baseball bat; i.e, tightly. As in "not like I hold a golf club. Really?"

What an intense revelation!

how would you like to be blurred?

2009-06-10T10:00:00.003-04:00

Don't Ask Don't Tell isn't just insulting to the nation's gay and lesbian soldiers. It isn't just an injustice to these soldiers. It is an insult and an injustice to their partners.

Click here for an excellent video op-ed on the matter.

There would be outrage if parents risked their child's military career by merely acknowledging them. Kudos to "Clay's" partner for putting a human face, albeit blurred, on this barbarism. And shame on the rest of us!

one of the great songs of the last century

2009-06-09T11:47:00.001-04:00

He was just a Scotsman so... (click to play)

sushi

2009-06-01T12:53:00.000-04:00

Its real nice. And at Kotobuki its real cheap.

Me likey!

thoughts pre-Dothan

2009-05-26T11:10:00.001-04:00

I've smiled so much this morning (already) that I might have maxed out my quota for the rest of this month. As I have an expansive smile-quota, so that's really saying something!!! I dare the smile police to come get me and arrest me.
Hopefully I can count on someone posting bail... :-)

are we there yet?

2009-04-17T11:19:00.003-04:00

Probably not.

Big deal.

Relax.

Take that chill pill. (Note: if Benadryl is the CP of choice, don't follow with booze.)

Go look at some tulips. (Or other pretty flower-like object in bloom.)

Have some pasta.

Eat some delicious homemade bread.

Sleep.

Dream happy.

Gay Marriage and Religious Freedom -- Get the Facts Straight

2009-04-15T10:01:00.002-04:00

This is a truly excellent short video. A must watch for anyone interested in liberty, freedom of religion, and an informed electorate.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A0dKMhYSX20&feature=player_embedded

3 questions...

2009-04-06T10:33:00.002-04:00

One day it occurred to a certain emperor that if he only knew the answers to three questions, he would never stray in any matter.

What is the best time to do each thing? Who are the most important people to work with? What is the most important thing to do at all times?

The emperor issued a decree throughout his kingdom announcing that whoever could answer the questions would receive a great reward. Many who read the decree made their way to the palace at once, each person with a different answer.

In reply to the first question, one person advised that the emperor make up a thorough time schedule, consecrating every hour, day, month, and year for certain tasks and then follow the schedule to the letter. Only then could he hope to do every task at the right time.

Another person replied that it was impossible to plan in advance and that the emperor should put all vain amusements aside and remain attentive to everything in order to know what to do at what time.

Someone else insisted that, by himself, the emperor could never hope to have all the foresight and competence necessary to decide when to do each and every task and what he really needed was to set up a Council of the Wise and then to act according to their advice.

Someone else said that certain matters required immediate decision and could not wait for consultation, but if he wanted to know in advance what was going to happen he should consult magicians and soothsayers.

The responses to the second question also lacked accord.

One person said that the emperor needed to place all his trust in administrators, another urged reliance on priests and monks, while others recommended physicians. Still others put their faith in warriors.

The third question drew a similar variety of answers. Some said science was the most important pursuit. Others insisted on religion. Yet others claimed the most important thing was military skill.

-------------------------------

The emperor was not pleased with any of the answers, and no reward was given.

After several nights of reflection, the emperor resolved to visit a hermit who lived up on the mountain and was said to be an enlightened man. The emperor wished to find the hermit to ask him the three questions, though he knew the hermit never left the mountains and was known to receive only the poor, refusing to have anything to do with persons of wealth or power. So the emperor disguised himself as a simple peasant and ordered his attendants to wait for him at the foot of the mountain while he climbed the slope alone to seek the hermit.

Reaching the holy man's dwelling place, the emperor found the hermit digging a garden in front of his hut. When the hermit saw the stranger, he nodded his head in greeting and continued to dig. The labor was obviously hard on him. He was an old man, and each time he thrust his spade into the ground to turn the earth, he heaved heavily.

The emperor approached him and said, "I have come here to ask your help with three questions: When is the best time to do each thing? Who are the most important people to work with? What is the most important thing to do at all times?"

The hermit listened attentively but only patted the emperor on the shoulder and continued digging. The emperor said, "You must be tired. Here, let me give you a hand with that." The hermit thanked him, handed the emperor the spade, and then sat down on the ground to rest.

After he had dug two rows, the emperor stopped and turned to the hermit and repeated his three questions. The hermit still did not answer, but instead stood up and pointed to the spade and said, "Why don't you rest now? I can take over again." But the emperor continued to dig. One hour passed, then two. Finally the sun began to set behind the mountain. The emperor put down the spade and said to the hermit, "I came here to ask if you could answer my three questions. But if you can't give me any answer, please let me know so that I can get on may way home."

The hermit lifted his head and asked the emperor, "Do you hear someone running over there?" The emperor turned his head. They both saw a man with a long white beard emerge from the woods. He ran wildly, pressing his hands against a bloody wound in his stomach. The man ran toward the emperor before falling unconscious to the ground, where he lay groaning. Opening the man's clothing, the emperor and hermit saw that the man had received a deep gash. The emperor cleaned the wound thoroughly and then used his own shirt to bandage it, but the blood completely soaked it within minutes. He rinsed the shirt out and bandaged the wound a second time and continued to do so until the flow of blood had stopped.

At last the wounded man regained consciousness and asked for a drink of water. The emperor ran down to the stream and brought back a jug of fresh water. Meanwhile, the sun had disappeared and the night air had begun to turn cold. The hermit gave the emperor a hand in carrying the man into the hut where they laid him down on the hermit's bed. The man closed his eyes and lay quietly. The emperor was worn out from the long day of climbing the mountain and digging the garden. Leaning against the doorway, he fell asleep. When he rose, the sun had already risen over the mountain. For a moment he forgot where he was and what he had come here for. He looked over to the bed and saw the wounded man also looking around him in confusion. When he saw the emperor, he stared at him intently and then said in a faint whisper, "Please forgive me."

"But what have you done that I should forgive you?" the emperor asked.

"You do not know me, your majesty, but I know you. I was your sworn enemy, and I had vowed to take vengeance on you, for during the last war you killed my brother and seized my property. When I learned that you were coming alone to the mountain to meet the hermit, I resolved to surprise you on your way back to kill you. But after waiting a long time there was still no sign of you, and so I left my ambush in order to seek you out. But instead of finding you, I came across your attendants, who recognized me, giving me this wound. Luckily, I escaped and ran here. If I hadn't met you I would surely be dead by now. I had intended to kill you, but instead you saved my life! I am ashamed and grateful beyond words. If I live, I vow to be your servant for the rest of my life, and I will bid my children and grandchildren to do the same. Please grant me your forgiveness."

The emperor was overjoyed to see that he was so easily reconciled with a former enemy. He not only forgave the man but promised to return all the man's property and to send his own physician and servants to wait on the man until he was completely healed. After ordering his attendants to take the man home, the emperor returned to see the hermit. Before returning to the palace the emperor wanted to repeat his three questions one last time. He found the hermit sowing seeds in the earth they had dug the day before.

The hermit stood up and looked at the emperor. "But your questions have already been answered."

"How's that?" the emperor asked, puzzled.

"Yesterday, if you had not taken pity on my age and given me a hand with digging these beds, you would have been attacked by that man on your way home. Then you would have deeply regretted not staying with me. Therefore the most important time was the time you were digging in the beds, the most important person was myself, and the most important pursuit was to help me. Later, when the wounded man ran up here, the most important time was the time you spent dressing his wound, for if you had not cared for him he would have died and you would have lost the chance to be reconciled with him. Likewise, he was the most important person, and the most important pursuit was taking care of his wound. Remember that there is only one important time and is Now. The present moment is the only time over which we have dominion. The most important person is always the person with whom you are, who is right before you, for who knows if you will have dealings with any other person in the future. The most important pursuit is making that person, the one standing at you side, happy, for that alone is the pursuit of life."

Leo Tolstoy

my fabulous eve

2009-04-03T13:25:00.002-04:00

If getting dissed by the Red Cross isn't enough to ruin my self-esteem, stepping in dog pooo is.

on abuse

2009-01-14T15:41:00.013-05:00

The children in this story may have been removed by child services for reasons beyond their parents' obvious beliefs. Regardless, the media flurry last month likely sparked interest to look into this family.

So now the obvious, albeit tangential question: When does cult affiliation and cultlike behavior become child abuse?

Less obvious and admittedly anecdotally-informed answer: More often than you think.*

This is a gnarly knot for those of us (read: me) of the classical liberal persuasion. At what point does "I don't agree with your parental beliefs/convictions but I'll defend your right to raise your children in the manner you wish" become, "I don't agree with your parental beliefs/convictions but I'll defend your right to abuse your children"? Egad! Yes, I really mean to stipulate that beliefs, in and of themselves, can be a form of child abuse. Irrespective of whether more traditional child abuse is taking place by the parents or while under their care.

Now as my mother drafts an email renouncing having spent 18 years of her life homeschooling me... let's dig into why this is such a tricky minefield for tepid-to-ardent advocates of the harm principle.

When does the collective "we" determine that a parent's convictions are causing immediate or developmental harm to his child? Even with society's many conflicting belief systems, an anemic objective measure is possible. A rigorous standard... well that's the sort of thing that starts wars. And for good reason. Point being, this is a pretty touchy subject.

How does one even decide which set of convictions to use as a benchmark for all others? My tentative answer is "can't be done." At least not without sacrificing huge swaths of individual autonomy. It would, probably, also violate the US Constitution.

And now I arrive at my inevitable conclusion that this is an economic calculation. How much child abuse are we (the people) willing to tolerate to permit a free-thinking heterogeneous country? And how much parental choice are we willing to cede to avoid a brutal one?

My personal (and highly cynical) stance: If every succeeding parental generation screws up their progeny a little less than the preceding parental generation, well that's a pretty good deal. After all, future generations will be wealthier and better able to afford psychotherapy. If I am any indication, they'll need it.

*Unless you think it takes a village to raise a child -- in that case, about as often as you think.

o lost

2009-01-07T13:39:00.004-05:00

This is not a political statement nor moral judgment. I assign no villain.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/middle_east/7812885.stm

For you who have witnessed “real” modern war, whether in the Balkans, Middle East, et al., these images must lack the surprise element. You already know. You have lived among death and destruction of this sort.

Over the years, the collective ‘you’ have told me of your experiences. This long minute of filmed deformity peals away my visual imaginations. My fairy-tale picture of horror, gore, wreckage, and carnage loses its reality. And is exchanged for a world of a stone, a leaf, an unfound door.

O lost.

“O waste of loss, in the hot mazes, lost, among the bright stars on this most weary unbright cinder, lost! Remembering speechlessly we seek the great forgotten language, the lost lane-end into heaven, a stone, a leaf, an unfound door. Where? When?

O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again.”

old song for a new year

2009-01-02T13:15:00.002-05:00

My wish for 2009 is a chance to visit the bonny bonny banks of Loch Lomond.

Smile, its Runrig, circa 1989.

very nice

2008-12-17T16:05:00.001-05:00

May I recommend a listen to Serge Taneyev's Piano Trio in D Major Op. 22. As Borat might say, its "very nice".

rum can replace having a soul

2008-12-15T11:46:00.003-05:00

It's that time of year. Again! That time when those friendly lawyerly profs apologetically or sadistically pronounce "hey class, as if we haven't made your life enough of a misery since, well whenever, finals are here!" Happy Hanukkah indeed.

So, congrats to my erstwhile colleagues for doing what they do, so well. (In case you don't know what that is, lets just describe it as massive amounts of self-inflicted self-esteem crumbling and all-around misery.) And my sincerest sympathies for the soiling of your hopes and dreams in the ultimately misguided attempt to attain those hopes and dreams via law school.

Don't worry, if money can't buy happiness, it can buy the near empty and hollow equivalent: booze. Now, get those student loans to good use and clink some pint glasses, shot glasses, and handles' of the Captain.

right at the light

2008-12-07T16:47:00.003-05:00

For all those times that I don't remember. It wasn't as if you didn't care. Even when you weren't there.

For all the kisses that weren't kissed. It wasn't as if you didn't want them. Even when you turned away.

So why tears, why now? So why guilt, why now? Have your stories finally rung hollow to your ears?

Walk till you come to the spoiled stone fence. Take a left. Walk till you see the right at the light.

"ouch"

2008-12-01T10:44:00.003-05:00

Who knew vacuum cleaners were so hilarious?!?!? (Click here and check out the right-hand column for amusement and temporary flashes of empathetic pain.)

... a conversation to be

2008-11-30T00:08:00.002-05:00

"I feel a constant thirst though I'm always drinking," she sang.

"That's ok" her sister smiles.

"I'm falling, walking stone from stone."

"Smile," the older girl says. "This song is a good thing."

playing grownup

2008-11-26T12:21:00.004-05:00

We do the grocery shopping, clean the flat, and tell ourselves "no" when we ask for the 15th time if we can buy another pint of Ben & Jerry's. We have our own insurance, claim ourselves on tax forms, and set the curfews. Five days a week we put on dress-up clothes, get on a real live train, and somehow manage to arrive at so-called work before you-got-here-late-today o'clock. And we get the rent in on time. Well, at least some of the time.

We have these real responsibilities and people actually do depend on us -- especially when people is loosely defined to include our pet hamster, Frank, and the first person singular. So why does all this still feel like playing grownup? And what magic will keep it this way?!?!?

smile, i'm broke

2008-11-25T14:08:00.006-05:00

I am not a fan of the thanksgiving holiday. Truth is, I'm apt to snarl at length on the inherent hypocrisy of the event. One day to express gratitude? Really?

That said...

During this time of mass layoffs, economic nationalization, retirement-accounts-turned-vanishing-acts, and all the other financial hysteria, it may be difficult to recall that there are some things worth being grateful for. Things like avocados or cottage-cheesed pasta. Or friends who understand why there won't be presents circa December 25 or who appreciate that the week of Jan19 might not be the best time to crash at the DC pad. And certainly for bathtubs that are ideal size for long hot soaks that leave one's skin looking like prunes.

So, I am thankful for employment, my over-radiated apartment, patient friends, and yummy things I can actually afford to buy at the grocery store. Thankful today, this Thursday, and some random 45 second slice the first week of December.

apparently we do... some of the time

2008-11-24T09:49:00.007-05:00

"We will not negotiate with terrorists." Not only is this ultimatum a foolhardy notion, turns out it isn't even true. The powers that be negotiate when the terrorists are AIG, Citigroup, Detroit, et al other companies too "big" to fail. Except here we mistakenly confuse this as capitalism, instead of what it really is -- economic terrorism.

brewthanks

2008-11-20T16:22:00.004-05:00

What if I had never lost my nerve
Or if the pain had waited til' later
Maybe then I'd be there
What if I had waited for the ball
Never wondering why
It didn't appear
What if I had made it one stop more
And kept the mountains
Where I knew where
What if I had left the party early
Smiled a good morning
Then stayed the year
What if I had made fewer regrets
Found less time for joy
Leaving it all a tear

oh, no!

2008-11-19T10:49:00.003-05:00

Bad news on the pirate front. An Indian naval ship took out a suspected pirate mother ship. Reading this update made me sad -- its almost as if the governments/militaries of the world are uniting to destroy the romantic hopes and dreams of a bunch of privileged white younguns'. Hey grownups -- this is NOT change we can believe in!

Listen up, we want pirates. So here's the plan. Harass those guys, harangue em', on occasion even blow up their ships. Make it tough for them to score. Pirates are naturally cool, but pirates who have to be kung-fu masterminds of Battleship are waaaaay cooler. And do your part to keep our warm cuddly pirates bad ass and topical. Maybe stage a few inevitably flawed helicopter rescue attempts with camera-wearing commandos.

Give us drama, give us some laughs, a few poignant love triangles. But for christmas-sake, leave those pirates' mamas out of this.

further proofs that i'm 5

2008-11-18T12:38:00.004-05:00

As if any were needed...

I'm all kinds of excited that piracy is on the rise. Yes, my wannabe pretend-to-be adult brain says "This trend increases the transaction costs associated with international freight shipment-- and that has to be bad for trade. Not to mention that the potential for environmental catastrophe for all the fishies is like, big. In the event that a hijacked supertanker has a spill, or goes up in flames, who is liable?"

But the real me goes "Yippee~ I want to be a pirate too. I do I do I do."

a declaration in the key of me

2008-11-17T12:48:00.002-05:00

In my ongoing effort to eradicate the 1st person plural from usage I propose to:

Amend Thomas Jefferson's application of "we" to I and/or the currently assembled group of oldish white men who kinda agree.
Eliminate "we" from the first line of the US Constitution. The people is a fine way of beginning the document although, The currently assembled group of oldish white male property owners who kinda agree would provide a more descriptive and illuminating introduction to all following themes and items.
Replace all instances of "we" in "We Shall Overcome" to you and I. As in, You and I shall overcome or you and I shall all be free some day.

Next word on the chopping block: propose.

et cetera

2008-11-13T10:46:00.004-05:00

Reasons I broke up with Daniel Craig:

His lovely, lustful toned abs made me want to cry
Financial troubles (i.e., he had a job)
He traveled frequently
When we cuddled he just talked and talked about his feelings
He quit smoking
Didn't mind filming steamy love scenes for some movie, but wouldn't film one with me
His overall lack of ambition

getting out of bed was the worst decision i've made yet

2008-11-07T12:46:00.003-05:00

Maybe I got out on the grumpy side of the bed today.

Or maybe, everyone has taken more than their share of the oxygen and left me with the surplus CO2, alone in the sandbox.

Either way, I listen to depressing instrumental versions of rock-a-like songs and wish to be less fervently anti-doing-mean-things-to-annoying-people.

got hate?

2008-11-05T11:26:00.005-05:00

Sickening that 5,125,752 people can't see past their prejudice.
Sad that 5,125,752 people see fit to withhold choice that they enjoy.

Thanks, we get the message -- equality for some.
Thanks, we get the point -- justice should be blind only some of the time.

Am I bitter? Yes.
Because yesterday, a slight majority saw fit to continue tyranny.

Am I hopeful? Yes.
Because soon a generation will bring down this wall of hate.

Before us stands a wall that encircles the free sectors of this society, part of a vast system of barriers that divides... separates. Every man and woman is forced to look upon a scar. . . . As long as this gate is closed, as long as this scar of a wall is permitted to stand, it is not the marriage question alone that remains open, but the question of freedom for all mankind. . . .
Americans, Californians, if you seek peace, if you seek prosperity for yourselves, your children, your country -- if you seek liberalization, come here to this gate.
Americans, Californians, open this gate!
Americans, Californians, tear down this wall!

proudly exercising my constitutional right to vote no

2008-11-04T09:10:00.007-05:00

The cost of participating in the voting obsession for a microscopically indiscernible gain (if its even a gain) -- is a deal I can refuse.

I have not and will not cast a ballot in this election. Over the past months scorn, rebuke, and frequent raised eyebrows have been levelled for the simple expression of this intention. Its not a matter of not caring -- oh, I do. Technically I'm even registered in a battleground state! So how could I say no to choosing between dufus 1 and dufus 2? Remarkably easily!

Click here to watch a fine economist explain why he won't vote.

on food

2008-11-03T17:02:00.004-05:00

Spring rolls should not be consumed on an alcohol-free stomach, nor (respectively) after/before 3am/3pm.

At a tapas bar these favorites are termed "thin-sliced fried potatoes" -- when eaten out of a bag or a can we call them "potato chips".

Salted herring was not-so-much a delicacy in the former USSR.

Canned cabbage doesn't taste as bad as it sounds and it beats another night of ramen.

a spirit’s yearning cry

2008-10-20T10:12:00.003-04:00

When life comes, as it came. When love comes, as it came. When grief comes, as it came.
Then someday, maybe can I say with his words as if my own, "I have lived to get a better understanding of myself and those close to me, many of them now dead."

rock this country

2008-10-01T11:23:00.003-04:00

Happening now: music taste degenerating in the direction of that horrible stuff on my froshmore playlist.

Apologies all around to those sad, unfortunate band of brothers who will hear my inevitable off-pitch crooning "we going to rock this country/ rock this country/ right out of this world."

Advise ya'll to duck-n-cover.

Or if you are a first responder -- HELP!

the world is going mad

2008-09-17T09:48:00.000-04:00

That's all.

That's all I have to say.

a short commentary on oatmeal

2008-09-15T13:09:00.003-04:00

Its mushy. And kinda gross. Somehow it makes a nosebag with the raw stuff seem appealing.

On the plus side...

Its cheaper than ass. (Ooops, 'grass' -- I totally meant grass.)

come me my

2008-09-02T14:06:00.004-04:00

Slightly ashamed, I eavesdropped on the silent conversation. Compelled to violate visual space. Though reproaching myself, the stare shifted not at all. Rude was no word for the way my eyes bore into that heated exchange. All I was was fixated, fascinated, unnerved. And not one bit of notice did they pay this direction. That is, until the thought screamed much too loudly, That. I want that. Then, and only then, did he turn towards the unvoiced interruption. The briefest of an understanding smile. Staying put they left me, again. To eavesdrop on the utterance-free dialogue. Compelled, ashamed, and unnerved.

another brilliant analysis

2008-08-28T11:07:00.002-04:00

Lazy-assed folk have properly grasped the opportunity costs of work. And have subsequently captured in actionality their illuminated understanding.

saturday thoughts

2008-08-23T09:42:00.008-04:00

Returning to a first love isn't necessarily simple. Not when the first love is something called books. Loving a plural pulls a girl in so many directions. And when there are always more books to be devoured, how can a girl ever be actually content?

On the desk sit the collection of M Twain's short stories; an irresistible overdose of witty cynicism. Atop the coffee table are the books I ought to, want to read. Shelved in the coffee table are waiting texts by A Sen, A Solzhenitsyn, V Wolfe -- to list the authors visible from this angle. Scattered round are wonderful stories needing to be revisited, embraced anew. On hold at the library are two books recommended by the wise prof. Once I pick them up (in approximately 90minutes) the present near equilibrium can only be upset.

Dishes need washing, furniture wants dusting, various to put away, sundry to do. But I'm distracted. Oh, do I adore this distraction.

kipling knew

2008-08-20T16:35:00.007-04:00

awake are no slobbery kisses
her paws won't lean on the pillow
no echo of mingled sleepy sounds
awake, the spell leaves. she goes.
a spell of fantasy, broken.
my wish let me imagine
my imagined gave pretend
then slipping
falling
startled i wake
i seem to hear her breathe
sneeze and snore
i reach to rub her ears
legs and belly
lean to kiss whisker or paw
and all i kiss is nothing
touch nothing, hear nothing
there is no slip, no fall, no dog.

i've got soul but i'm not a soldier

2008-08-19T12:50:00.005-04:00

I'm still a bit worse from the wear of imagining a night of debauchery in the East Village. Technically, Sangria probably doesn't qualify as debauchery. However, the Sangria-induced fondling of the Greek-born, Egyptian-bred belly-dancer might. To be fair, I wasn't really fondling -- just making sure her girls were cancer free. This is also an inspired way to display the obvious merits of my innovative breast cancer awareness fundraising scheme.

Following activities included a demonstration of my eclectic dance style. I'm of the school that thinks shaking ones hips semi-annually and falling periodically counts as dancing. As the Killers croon, "I wanna stand up, I wanna let go." And then the Sangria pulls me to the floor.

where or where is the promised update on your nefarious activities????

2008-08-17T09:41:00.003-04:00

This prolonged silence is unattractive, even on someone as yourself who finds it impossible to be unattractive.

Miss McClain, I need to know whether some Sheikh has whisked you off to his dudgeon...errrr em' "palace" (yes, I totally mean "palace") to be his head concubi... errrrr em' "wife". Basically, there are a few things that are worth knowing: are you in with the mucky-muck of some oil-rich state yet? Can I come visit your oasis in the oil fields? Is it true that you wear silk underwear underneath the burka?

Oh, you don't wear a burka. Well, that's understandable, Your figure hasn't been shot to hell ,yet, by birthing all the little sheikhs' to be. When it goes, you can bet that currently fine ass of yours that you'll have a burka folded nicely on your then empty bed.

So it goes. Rest assured dear one, when your currently fine ass has borne the brunt of time, I'll still be your friend. A better one, seeing as I will no longer be consumed by a murderous jealousy. What a day that will be.

Write back. Be sure to tell me all about the desert, fast horses, armored vehicles, and trodden-status of women who are not you.

me

conversational styles of men and women, a comparative analysis

2008-08-17T09:00:00.002-04:00

"In the interest of something like disclosure, here is something you probably should know about me."

"Ugh-huh," he sort of mutters.

"If this thing happens, I'm likely to, at some point, stomp my foot. Either literally or otherwise. Perhaps both."

"Ugh-huh," he sort of mutters.

"It is just what I do."

"Ugh-huh," he sort of mutters.

"Seriously! Its not a big deal. I don't know why you have to go and treat this like the end of the world. It isn't. Get over it already."

"Ugh- sure," he sort of mutters.

"You are so sweet and understanding."

"Ugh-huh," he sort of mutters.

...its been awhile, she said

2008-08-15T00:56:00.003-04:00

Today, I "ran" into a friend from years gon' bye. From all those many years ago when I was in college and said things like "like, I don't know. I was all like and like he just like stood there and like did nothing. Like totally." From back in the day when I thought showering at a guy's place circa eight in the morning meant something, as opposed to just pity.

Anyway, about this friend. I couldn't remember his first name, though I didn't realize this immediately. I didn't notice because I was too busy calling him by his middle name; perfectly oblivious to the fact that this wasn't his first name.

Point being, I must be doing something right since I got out of Dodge.

Wait a second... how is that the point!?!?

Can't recall. Something about increased neuronal activity indicated by early onset amnesia.

around a world

2008-08-09T12:44:00.004-04:00

She changed me when
I did not notice.
She grinned, eyes sparkling,
Knowing what I could not.
Having found a simple truth,
Generously she shared the secret.
With laughter. By love. In life.

As a pulsating canvas
She has ascended whole
From all the rejection,
Tragedy,
Fatigue,
Success,
And accidents of a mortal existence.

The story mapped on her body
Shines love to her friends.
Pain, softening her eyes,
Hidden behind laughter,
In time I saw. Sometimes unseen,
Perhaps misunderstood,
A soft residue of life strives on.

i think i said that

2008-08-05T21:51:00.002-04:00

Today during a meeting I happened to ask my employer whether the organization could rent a jump-house for the staff. Judging from her silence, she thought this a fantastic idea. Also judging from said silence, I think she was contemplating bringing in a couple clowns.

That's fine by me, so long as they are sad clowns. Happy clowns give me the creeps.

"One word of truth shall outweigh the whole world."

2008-08-04T08:35:00.002-04:00

MOSCOW (AP) -- When Alexander Solzhenitsyn's "One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich" appeared in the thick monthly literary magazine Novy Mir back in November of 1962, taboos were shattered. Buried secrets were unearthed. And the Soviet Union was shaken to its foundations.

Solzhenitsyn's short novel described a single day in the life of a carpenter caught up in the Soviet Union's secret network of slave labor camps, where starvation, bitter cold and punishing work regimes were the rule and, it has been said, the average life expectancy was one winter.

The author was working as a provincial math teacher, and his greatest work, "The Gulag Archipelago," was still to come. But "One Day" was to shock the U.S.S.R. and the world.

Some of the crimes of the dictator Josef Stalin were exposed and denounced following a secret speech by Communist Party leader Nikita Khrushchev in 1956, as part of his short-lived campaign to reform the brutal Soviet system.

But Solzhenitsyn's novel, based on the seven years he spent as a prisoner, was the first real expose of the gulag - a word derived from the Russian "Glavnoe Upravelenie Lagerei," or Main Camp Administration.

Solzhenitsyn, who went on to win the Nobel Prize for Literature but was exiled from his homeland because of his work, died of heart failure Sunday at age 89, his son, Stepan Solzhenitsyn, told The Associated Press on Monday.

The gulag was, Solzhenitsyn wrote, the "human meat grinder" for processing what Stalin sneered at as "wreckers," vermin and "enemies of the people" who allegedly sabotaged Soviet progress to the workers' paradise. The grim process started, typically, with a knock on the door late at night, an arrest on charges of trivial or imaginary crimes, condemnation by a secret tribunal, transportation by unheated rail car and finally incarceration in the camps.

The prisoners formed a secret army of slave laborers who built railroads, worked in mines and cleared forests in some of the world's most inhospitable terrain. In the end, by the most authoritative estimate, the gulag systematically ground down some 29 million souls.

Armed with his literary talent and prodigious memory, Solzhenitsyn (sohl-zheh-NEETS'-ihn) spent more than 40 years working in secrecy, in fear and finally in exile as he chiseled away at the lies that supported the Soviet system. And in the end he, as much perhaps as any individual, helped to bring it down.

To read the rest of this article: http://hosted.ap.org/dynamic/stories/S/SOLZHENITSYN_LIFE_OF_DISSENT?SITE=FLMYR&SECTION=HOME&TEMPLATE=DEFAULT

boyzone are poets

2008-07-31T11:08:00.002-04:00

Here's the thing: life, work, and futbol practice can't be taken particularly seriously when accompanied by a "Foreigner" power ballad or a "Take That" uptempo number.

--> (chorus) Yes, yes baby! I'm working the cheesy pop.

Conclusion: I'm in little danger of being taken seriously.

--> (repeat chorus)

yet another instance where a professor did me the favor of crushing my hopes and dreams

2008-07-27T22:26:00.008-04:00

Every word that cascades from Rudy's mind is genius, poignant, necessary, illuminated. His heavy Cuban accent makes 66.6667% of these gems unintelligible. This serves to add to the market value of the semitelligible third. Half of this passably understandable talk (or 16.6667% of the whole) occurs during smoking breaks.

Once, during an attempt to prove the seemingly hopeless point that a gal my size could gracefully exit through the same office window that her buck-ten midget-sized nemesis barely squeezed through, his accent was nearly entirely understandable for successive sentences, absent any nicotine inhalation. Standing in the bushes outside the then occupied-by-me window, unlit cigarette hanging loosely from his chops, Rudy decided to quiz us on the implications of paragraph 19 of random scholar's article in the 1969 Economic Geography, spring publication. Specifically in relation to Sam's brilliant analysis, on an entirely unrelated topic, made during class hours earlier. (Apparently, the relevance of an article he read 35 years previously occurred to him somewhere between pulling the cigarette out of his pocket protector and climbing through the bushes to better witness my failing evacuation.)

"Em, Rudy. Due to this particularly awkward position that I find myself currently occupying, (indeed the untrained eye might say that I am technically stuck in this window,) that particular paragraph of that otherwise memorable article has been driven from the functioning portion of my so-called brain. However, I think that... [begin to draw a preliminary outline of a particularly insightful, albeit straightforward logical interpretation on some topic that probably related to incentives.]"

Interruption.

"No, quite sorry. I don't have a light."

So, you can see how I got it into my head that Rudy looked to me as a bright light in the future of economic analysis and theory.

Imagine my horror, shock, and disappointment that after his two crushing exams nary a comment was made regarding the brilliance of my economic analysis and insight. Adding insult, my chicken-scrawled essays were red-penned with statements like: LOL; amusing; maybe you could write for comedy central; you seem bitter- are you married?; somewhat to very creative, though clearly better suited to an anthropology course.

If I ever get around to writing that suicide note, I'll be sure to thank you Rudy.

ice-9 is...

2008-07-25T20:38:00.003-04:00

... proof that life is never too late for discovery of the worthwhile books.

my lil' sister kicks ass

2008-07-21T17:09:00.003-04:00

Admittedly, she hasn't quite finished her first round in this years nat'l champs of 156 awesome junior chica golferettes. And, admittedly she is facing the hardest (by ranking) hole on the course.

Whatever!

She's tied for 17th... and at one point about an hour ago she was tied for 8th. Which further supports my assertion that she kicks ass.

Like, mine!

3 very good reasons to be thankful

2008-07-18T17:30:00.002-04:00

Randomly ran into a friend on a train platform during his walk of shame.
Softball team winning without my having to get out of bed.
Other folks undefeated records.

how things coming before are discussed after

2008-07-14T00:58:00.003-04:00

"So you see I already had my breakdown.” I sip my black decaffeinated Fair Trade tea, weakened with milk. When in Scotland it is only seemly to do as the Scots even if it means partially ruining a perfectly good cup of tea. “It bloody well wouldn’t do to have another one. Greedy wouldn’t you say?”

“I’m not sure bloody well is the expression you were searching for.” Reaching across the small coffeehouse table he grasped my hand to his. “At any rate, it’s over. You got out.”

I smile. That hand grab was awfully well played. Rather impossible to count the number of times I’d been told “you got out!” As unoriginal as the sentiment was, hearing it roll off a Scottish tongue was a delightful addition.

“Geez gal! Your hands are freezing.” With the slight raise of the eyebrow he asks a silent permission. I smile and shyly look down as he “warms” my cold paws.

“As to that breakdown of yours,” with a squeeze a bit strong for warming purposes “it sounds like a sanity break. And you have my permission to be as greedy as you like… provided it involves me!” He throws me a smile initially teasing. It softens as he casually asks, “When?”

“A bit over a year ago.”

His gaze rests gently on my face as he begins to trace slow circles over my right palm with his index finger. This holding hands business across the table is a bit conspicuous for me. I don’t stop him; supporting the direction things are presently headed. Hopefully we can move away from the clown car of my past life. I had been different. Broken. That weakness is an embarrassment.

“Don’t be embarrassed.” He says in his low, rich, accented tone. “It’s a bit… heroic.”

“It wasn’t my doing. My friends rescued me.”

“Look at me.” He gently commands. “You are stronger than you let yourself believe.”

His hands tighten over mine as I shake my head in silent disagreement. My mind wanders back. Back to those sleepless nights in the rickety apartment on 3rd St, tears stubbornly absent. I would hold the pillow close and will the tears to flow. My involuntary stoicism left me feeling like a failure. That feeling of being empty. As if I had run out of all goodness, kindness, and love.

His continued chatter interjects itself into my consciousness. Shame on me, I hadn’t heard a word of that last bit. Scotsmen talk whether or not their audience pays mind so I hadn’t exactly been rude.

He looks at me waiting for a response. “I’m sorry. I was a wee bit distracted. Could you say that again? As in the last ten minutes.” My tone is serious, my eyes playful. He thinks I’m kidding. (Success!!!)

“Em’, I was saying that this place is shutting up. Would you like to go to the PGC?”

“The what?”

“PostGrad Club. You know I’m on the board.”

“I’m not a member.”

“Despite what you may have told me!?!”

I giggle slightly. “You won’t be forgetting that?”

“It’s rather etched into my mind. Associated as it is with how you looked in that lovely undergarment.” His deliberate gaze shifts down from my eyes for a long second.

“And you claimed to remember something other than my cleavage!” mock indignation fools no one.

He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me close as we wait for the light to turn. “Oh, I remember everything,” he says. “Your voice, your face, your smile. Your smile when you said you were a member of the club.” He pauses, smelling my hair. “How you left without saying goodbye. And how your elfish friend flashed me your boobs. Repeatedly.”

“Do you remember the part nine days ago when she didn’t give me time to get my goodnight kiss?”

“You want to lay all of that at her door?” referring ever so gingerly to my propensity for mixed signals.

“No.” I admit with a smile. “I just want you to rectify the situation.”

We silently cross the intersection. As we step onto the far curb I snicker slightly.

“See, ‘rectify the situation’ is subtle for…”

He doesn’t let me finish. I should be expressing mock indignation at this flamboyant interruption with bonus back-dip. Instead I open my mouth, slightly. With a smile.

“What ye be grinning at?”

I arch my eyebrow in that irresistible way. “You really should rectify the situation again.”

anonymous shame is a highly effective instructional resource

2008-07-11T18:58:00.007-04:00

Half six in the morning

"It makes quite a statement. This could... this has..." I leave the thought hanging and contemplate uses of the $2500 first prize. With the haze of the unslept fogging my brain, I mercilessly read over the essay again. My inner voice finds the proper tonal pitch to convey the urgency embedded in sentences laboriously composed throughout the last 16hrs. "If I'm being completely honest about this," I say to the cat curled up on the arm of the loveseat, "perfectly honest; well, I've done quite a good job. Not a masterpiece, of course. Not bloody Keats." With a contented chuckle I realize that never having read Keats, presumably it might be on par... or better. With that pleasant thought and a look at the clock I find my way upstairs to bed after an approximately 37 hour absence.

"Not bad -- no masterpiece -- impressive really." I mumble this repeatedly until passing out.

Waiting patiently in my inbox following afternoon

"Bad," she writes. "Not good. Takes the reader three pages to figure out your point. By then not enough time to develop point. Structure all wrong. Advise to start again."

I'm shocked. She's wrong. As a compromise, a few aesthetic changes are made. Recommended alterations ignored. Moment of hesitancy before pressing SUBMIT NOW button.

Conversation months later where, mistakenly, I believe that I'll be haven' the last laugh

"Admittedly, you did have a point. Still, it wasn't that bad. It got an honorable mention and a few hundred bucks."

She smiles. "No, I was wrong." A sideways glance and a very pregnant pause. "My comments were much too kind. Much less deserving than I noticed on first read."

Confusion passes over my face. First read? She read that slapt-together paper more than once?

Her smile widens to its distinctive fearsome width. "Oh, yes. I removed your name, of course. By mid-term we had all edited it numerous times. It was less coherent under the hood than it first appeared. Excellent sample of what an academic paper should not look like. "

"And by we all...?"

By "we all" she means the required upper-division GE econ writing class of 40+ students.

a kiss through the bars of Orion

2008-07-05T22:32:00.004-04:00

A friend sent me an email today that left my heart glad. In it she included a few candid photos taken over past months. They served to remind me of her beauty, passion, and soul. Perhaps I lovingly misplace these truths in her smile. She walked me through what was to be seen and I believe now to know her. Knowing her, how can I see anything less than this quiet wisdom; the capacity to listen, love, lose, and find the worthwhile in life?

My dear, I miss you too.

the ride

2008-07-03T21:40:00.001-04:00

I keep a spoon in the freezer, eat lemon curd to get high, forget names that might be better unforgotten, cry till laughter chokes up the tears, and pound keys on a piano poorly. And sometimes, I recall what sensai O'Shea taught me ages ago... ^#*@, it doesn't matter.

He was so right.

admission...

2008-06-30T12:12:00.001-04:00

... I traveled to work via Metro this AM in my jammies.

That, or I slept last night in my clothes.

looking left and leaving

2008-06-28T10:27:00.007-04:00

Heartbreak, feel free to mock me. And in turn, let's pretend that you were a two season blessing and not a regular curse. Everything else can remain as it is, as it was. I won't ask for any other lie. I'll own to what I did, what I didn't do.

Waking up next to you in the morning, I did not know how hard that would be. Held tightly by your numerous, merciless tentacles, you stole the day's breath from me. By choice, I believed in the logic of you. The unconquered fear. The words, dearer a girl cannot say, that pounded against your soundless ears he should have heard. With the scent of his leather jacket tantalizing my brain, I left blank-faced and cold. You provided the pain, friends the tequila and the cold chased itself away.

Had I shed my armour and shown my heart he would have melted. For me. But never had I surrendered anything like my heart. Never made myself so vulnerable or so strong. Never asked myself to change.

Heartbreak, feel free to mock me. You know better than any the extent of my folly, my foolishness, my excuses, my doldrums, my depressions, my frightened unbelief. Mock me as you will and know that I hate you.

the limits of bitter & sweet

2008-06-26T20:45:00.005-04:00

You are submerged in the mass of freedom, and you push and shove with the others in the station waiting room. You absent-mindedly examine announcements posted there, even though they can hardly have any relevance for you. You sit on the ancient passenger benches, and you hear strange and insignificant conversations: about some husband who beats up his wife or has left her; and some mother-in-law who, for some reason, does not get along with her daughter-in-law; how neighbors in communal apartments make personal use of the electric outlets in the corridor and don't wipe their feet; and how someone is in someone else's way at the office; and how someone has been offered a good job but can't make up his mind to move -- how can he move bag and baggage, is that so easy? You listen to all this, and the goose pimples of rejection run up and down your spine: to you the true measure of things in the Universe is so clear! The measure of all weaknesses and all passions! And these sinners aren't fated to perceive it. The only one there who is alive, truly alive, is incorporeal you, and all these others are simply mistaken in thinking themselves alive.

And an unbridgeable chasm divides you! You cannot cry out to them, nor weep over them, nor shake them by the shoulder: after all, you are a disembodied spirit, you are a ghost, and they are material bodies.

And how can you bring it home to them? By an inspiration? By a vision? A dream? Brothers! People! Why has life been given you? In the deep, deaf stillness of midnight, the doors of the death cells are being swung open -- and great-souled people are being dragged out to be shot. On all the railroads of the country this very minute, right now, people who have just been fed salt herring are licking their dry lips with bitter tongues. They dream of the happiness of stretching one's legs and of the relief one feels after going to the toilet. In Orotukan the earth thaws only in summer and only to the depth of three feet -- and only then can they bury the bones of those who died during the winter. And you have the right to arrange your own life under the blue sky and the hot sun, to get a drink of water, to stretch, to travel wherever you like without a convoy. So what's this about unwiped feet? And what's this about a mother-in-law? What about the main thing in life, all its riddles? If you want, I'll spell it out for you right now. Do not pursue what is illusory -- property and position: all that is gained at the expense of your nerves decade after decade, and is confiscated in one fell night. Live with a steady superiority over life -- don't be afraid of misfortune, and do not yearn after happiness; it is, after all, all the same: the bitter doesn't last forever, and the sweet never fills the cup to overflowing. It is enough if you don't freeze in the cold and if thirst and hunger don't claw at your insides. If your back isn't broken, if your feet can walk, if both arms can bend, if both eyes see, and if both ears hear, then whom should you envy? And why? Our envy of others devours us most of all. Rub your eyes and purify your heart -- and prize above all else in the world those who love you and who wish you well. Do not hurt them or scold them, and never part from any of them in anger; after all, you simply do not know: it might be your last act before your arrest, and that will be how you are imprinted in their memory!

A. Solzhenitsyn

from a recent conversation

2008-06-26T13:09:00.005-04:00

There exists a place of luscious, unimaginable abundance. A warm spring hidden in the cold of northern extremes. A canyon rift perilous to enter, treacherous to escape. An Eden shorn of life’s breath. A valley of death, disfigured in perfection.

In chorus, old wives and aged warriors insist that the Sick Heart is a curse, that it is death. They know of its beauty, its danger. “Stay clear,” they warn. "Join us, the masses, and choose the path far from it."

But the passionate feel what they know not, do what they ought not, become what they can not. They search with single purpose that must bare the lonely beauty of death's river to their hungry eye. They will find their heart's desire. And wish themselves away.

deep thinking hurts

2008-06-25T17:43:00.002-04:00

One of the downsides to employment (other than being instantly un-dateable) is the probability that one's hardhearted employer doesn't shout "Hey everyone -- gather round. In recognition of some really really supposedly hard work, lets take the summer off. What do you say?!?"

Followed by energetic high-fives all around, of course.

a mime in gold paint makes this song work

2008-06-24T23:32:00.003-04:00

People all get ready'
Cos we're tearing down the stand
Rebuild what's gone unsteady
And see it through with newer hands
And what has gone between us
Is a lot, is a lot
And who'll be there to clean us
When you're not, when you're not

People all get ready'
Cos we're breaking down again
Rebuild what's gone unsteady
And see it through with wiser hands
And what has gone before us
Is a lot, is a lot
And who'll be there to ignore us
When you're not, when you're not

We have all the time in the world
To get it right, to get it right
We have all the love in the world
To set alight, to set alight

People all get ready'
Cos we're breaking down the band
Rewrite what's gone already
And see it through with angry hands
And what has gone before us
Is a lot, is a lot
And who'll be there to ignore us
When you're not, when you're not

And we have all the time in the world
To get it right, to get it right
And we have all the love in the world
To set alight, to set alight
Just look up, just look up

a secret that I’m divulging to no one in particular

2008-06-23T15:11:00.001-04:00

I want to play golf again.

I mean, I would like to hit golf balls and see what happens. Maybe.

It depends.

something wise someone wise once told me

2008-06-23T14:53:00.000-04:00

Yes, I think that caring for loved ones trumps public service and 'changing the world' – and I believe that until recently only men made these kinds of foolish mistakes.

another post about food

2008-06-04T16:09:00.005-04:00

I didn’t enjoy living in Washington DC – the area, but I like living in Washington DC – the city. It’s nice because one can get most places either by walking for a few minutes or taking the Metro or both. My apartment is 2 ½ blocks from the local library and the local library is directly across the street from Vace, the Italian deli with the best pizza in DC.* Can you guess how many visits to the library conveniently turn into “well since I’m practically there, might as well get a slice”?!?**

It's a good thing I have to walk at least as far as the Metro everyday, otherwise I’d be horribly fat from all that delicious deliciousness! Sometimes, I even make up things to do just so that I have to walk to do them. For example, this coming Saturday I'm going to walk the 5 blocks to the zoo, and not because I enjoy gawking at overfed animals. Indeed, the thought of all this strenuous exercise is almost as fat-burning as actually doing it. Almost! At any rate, my plan is to go early in the day and then, on the walk back, stop at Vace for a slice.

* Stated more accurately: "the Italian deli with the best pizza I've had in DC."

**In case you were wondering, the answer is YES; I moved to my current neighborhood and sold my car because I wanted to live near the pizza place. In my defense, they also sell freshly made pasta and incredibly tasty gelato. So I didn’t move just for pizza. Really!!!

my day, starring me

2008-05-27T19:13:00.004-04:00

I unfortunately have both strep throat and a job. This unpleasant coincidence meant that I left the office shortly upon arrival and worked the rest of the day from home. The arrangement worked well for everyone. I could hop in a cold shower every time my fever spiked... and my coworkers weren't reminded that I had totally exposed them to nasty germs all last week. (In my defense, I didn't know! Well, I knew that I felt like crap... but we had a uber-big project, so it didn't pay to find out just how crappy.) Point being, they were happy to see me leave today, despite the VP assuring them that I was no longer very contagious.

I exaggerate my pariah status slightly. See, someone had to be at the office at 7am today and I was the lucky volunteer. I figured strep or not, that no one was going to be too thrilled to finish off their three-day weekend with an early arrival at work. And yes, they were all quite happy that I hadn't passed off the joy to them.

And now, having completed the perilous journey to the Italian deli, I gelato into a pleasant feverish coma and bid all farewell.

running forward

2008-05-22T21:07:00.002-04:00

There is a story in my head. Reasonable, excusable, tough as nails. I'm proud of this story in my head. I'm happy with this story. How compelling yet unchallenging it always remains. Why would I want it to be true? Truth defeats the entire point.

I wish more of it were true. Because then, maybe, I'd be able to pretend a little longer. Maybe then it would be ok. Maybe then I wouldn't notice my choice. Just a little while more. In a second. In a minute. In a sometime else.

So, story in my head, you said what you had to. You did what you had to. Now leave.

its paint your man-hole day

2008-05-22T10:50:00.001-04:00

Crystal City, you sure are the class act of sidewalk maintenance.

well put

2008-05-18T10:19:00.003-04:00

"The only lesson to be drawn from utopian dreaming is that all utopias are
hells. All attempts to design society by reference to one narrow conception
of human nature, whether on paper or in the streets, end in producing
something much worse."
Matt Ridley in Nature via Nurture

a la mode

2008-05-13T15:09:00.007-04:00

The moment I realize that my pecuniary challenges are friendlier than believed: When a credit card listing my name escapes its leather binds and disposes $600 into the Annapolis economy.

The moment I realize that I have pleasantly arrived at the dreaded pasturelands of paupery: 120 seconds later.

aren't i clever

2008-05-08T17:11:00.004-04:00

I think a clock radio would be a nice addition to my few square feet of daytime reign. Not only would a second alarm clock serve the useful purpose of irritating my neighbors, a radio would allow me to listen to NPR to my hearts content.

NPR is a truly wonderful and addictive thing. 1) You feel so much smarter just listening to it, regardless of whether you understand or are paying attention; 2) unlike C-SPAN you actually can pay attention on occasion; 3) working "I heard a very interesting story this morning on NPR" into any conversation immediately lets everyone know that you are smart. Or fierce. Or a douche.

At least I don't have the tote yet!

playing behind

2008-05-06T22:44:00.007-04:00

My dad can't find a punchline. He gets lost so fast in a knock-knock joke that you'd think he was driving through Northern Virginia. Speaking of which, in the time it takes to fly from California to NOVA, board your moon-ship of pedestrian blight at Dulles, and beam back to 1995, it might occur to you that OJ and OJ who? belong between "knock-knock" and "you're on the jury!"

And as you'll realize sometime in the next six words, this sort of thing is inheritable.

confession to a pint glass

2008-05-04T21:01:00.008-04:00

We called him 'Biceps' because he had big biceps. We knew this because he had us feel them. And because we had pretended to forget his name.

Near the end of the time spent with good food, un-witty banter, bicep-feeling, and unsuccessful sailor spotting, Rachel had gone off to snag us a table at the after-hours cafe. Meaning: make a private call. In the freedom of relative anonymity, speaking to no one in particular, though presumably to Biceps, “you know I hate ...”

I pause to swallow the medium-amber, pretending it’s a Fat Tire. I have verbalized the forbidden feeling, truth. “Well not hate, but dislike. Dislike that I did well enough on that stupid test, that stupid LSAT, that effn’ law school happened. It’s stupid. That place should burn in one thousand and ninety-six fires.”

A moment of silence. My barstool confession lacks luster and is patently unimpressive. A pretty white girl comfortable enough in life’s amenities, bemoaning fate’s cruel play. The fate that will satiate her with dark wood paneling , fly her first class, install granite countertops in a spacious kitchen, afford luxury vehicles, bring Mediterranean vacations on client yachts. “What sympathy can she, can I expect” I ask to no one in particular, though presumably to the bottom-third of the pint of what I want to be Fat Tire.

I pay up, walk beside the cobbled street, and sit at the table in the café window. Rachel has a pot of tea and a second mug waiting. Sipping hot normalcy, I nearly tell her that I’m absurd. But I don’t. Instead, I say something about sailors. She laughs. The nagging absurdity of me begins to drift away, soon buried in sands of thoughtlessness.

Pretending to tease she asks, “What was that?” Her smirk fails to hide the earnestness.

The words wait an unnatural second. “Nothing,” I murmur. “Just silliness. And sadness.”

dead blogs tell no tales

2008-04-30T15:58:00.006-04:00

"My phone won't let me text. Sometimes it decides not to ring when someone is calling. It doesn't even tell me if I missed a call."

I pause. The phone's disabilities embarrass me. Hearing myself, I realize that the description sounds vaguely similar to"there is a monster under my bed. It won't let me get up in the morning. It also ate my homework." I'm embarrassed by me.

Madge, the surly Verizon tech support person, finds me ridiculous. Interspersed between her futile attempts to exorcise the mobile terror are unoriginal wails of "ugh! It just froze again... did I mention [insert previously unmentioned complaint]." Madge is determined. Determined to stop the pathetic whining. It took me three months to get frustrated enough to call tech support; Madge is beside herself in fifteen minutes, perseveres, and eventually emerges triumphant.

A friend conspiratorially whispers, "don't tell your Mom. Don't tell anyone."

I vigorously nod my agreement. This story goes no further. The secret is safe. A reader-less neglected blog tells no tales.

Ironically, it was a picture-message of my thigh that froze the phone. Just wasn't enough memory for something that size.

Spark Tips

2007-10-31T23:04:00.000-04:00

10 ways to figure out if you are a 1L at GMUSL (in case you are in doubt).

I say black -- you say dictionary
Speed (hump) signs make you giggle
Your significant other says "I love you" (for the first time) & you ask them to repeat the question
You found 22 "good" letters in the alphabet (hint: L,R,W, & A aren't included)
Affirming remarks from a professor are a triple-shot of espresso for thy self-esteem
Drunken sailors & haunted houses are the highlight of a week
Dune buggies should cease to exist
Last friday night/saturday morning you unwisely & inadvertently mumbled something about promissory estoppel to your date
You realize that some multiple-choice exams may require 33 essay answers
You aren't sure what a tort is -- but you know Ybarra is wrong

New Classes Spring Session 2008

2007-09-28T18:46:00.000-04:00

ADMN 069 4units Prof. IE
Immigration and Passport Compliance

ARC 210 3 units Prof. AJ
Unearthing the Past: Digging up Private Information in an Electronic Era

FASH 212 3 units Prof. NN
Intro to High Fashion w/ royal Obsessional Clothing Descriptions

FASH 308 3 units Prof. AJ
Maritime Fashion: Navy, Merchant Marine, & Commercial

FASH/ECON 461 4 units Profs. SS & TT
Shopping on the Margin: the Marginal Analysis of Fabulous

KAN 113 2 units Profs. AJ & NN
All Things Canadia: A Succinct Synthesis of Why Canada is Superior

INABTPGITB 313 6 units Prof. TT *graduate course*
Intellectual Property Rights & the Dibs System

INABTPGITB 327 6 units Prof. AJ & TT *graduate course*
Motorcycles and Speed Limits: Is Twenty Plenty?

Saturday Workshops: Limited Space

*Library Research Prof. SS

*Basics to Stunning Touristry Prof. NN

*Word and Whiskey guest lecturer D. McD

*Tweed and Aviators guest lecturer D. McD

billable words

2007-09-25T20:16:00.001-04:00

"The water was impacted by his rod, whereupon a polluting effect was achieved. The consequent toxification reduced the conditions necessary for the sustenance of the indigenous population of aquatic vertebrates below the level of viability. Olfactory discomfort standards were substantially exceeded, and potability declined. Social, economic, and political disorientation were experienced to an unprecedented degree."

Exodus7:20-21 New Law Student Translation

El pollo peanuts

2007-09-25T20:02:00.000-04:00

Caddycorner to Dudley Morehead Hall is a slimey, cramped, greasy student eatery. The food is cheap, the beer cheaper, and ketchup is abundantly available. The french toast may kill you --- but what doesn't kill you will probably kill you eventually (it takes more than one visit to this fab spot to irrevocably clog those arteries). And for $3.15, this anytime breakfast is a much cheaper silent killer than cigarettes. [For non-SJSU econ readers, the name of this lovely idyllic spot is Peanuts.]

For SJSU alums there is something about Peanuts that sheds an aura of insurpassibility. In light of this, the following is clearly heretical and treacherous and should in fairness be treated as such.

But...

The fact is that Peanuts has been surpassed. Caddycorner to Hazel Hall is a clean, open, bustling, charbroiled chickenry. 1/4 lb of utterly delicious chicken (choice of white or dark meat) for $4. And if you go easy on the coleslaw & fries your arteries will need to look elsewhere for clogging.

In short, El Pollo Rico totally rAwks...by comparison, everything else is just peanuts.

1 liners anony

2007-09-16T23:31:00.000-04:00

The credits for tonight's Emmys just flashed by and somewhere after director and and key grip there was overall smarty pants. No joke! Its just peachy that people like me are finally getting a wee bit of recognition for all our effort.

Note: I only turned on the Emmys after finishing up my assignment for legal writing. And you thought that I was the stereotypical procrastinating grad student. Goes to show what you know! (Oh, Shoot! Just remembered that I have 50 pages of reading for Torts tomorrow. Actually, I am joking... I've known all day that I had to read those pages.)

elevator troubles

2007-09-15T10:39:00.000-04:00

Riding in an elevator is a simple enough task. If you want to go up you push the up arrow, to go down the down arrow. True, some individuals are genuinely convinced that if you want to go up you should push the down button since you want the elevator to come down to you. But aside from this tiny fragment of the population, humans seem to understand that the elevator process is beyond relatively simple. Which makes me wonder why, at least once a day, I feel obliged to push the 5 button when I get in at the 5th floor... or in some cases the L button when I just walked in from the lobby. One time would be funny but this daily ritual is worrying... primarily because it is becoming a ritual. (Fast forward 40 years and I may not even notice that the elevator car isn't moving.)

Reasonable explanations for this mindless behaviour are nonexistent. But if a conclusion needs to be drawn it would be this: I can kiss goodbye any shot at a spot in the hormonally-charged GA elevator

decisions wanted

2007-09-11T20:07:00.000-04:00

Gone are the days of the baby blue jersey and shorts. Genuinely happy about that. But now I have to pick my goalie jersey and this is difficult. My team wears green otherwise I would have chosen this (it brings out my eyes). Yellow is fantabulous except for my whole terrified-of-bees reality. Blues, reds, pinks, oranges, browns, greys don't do much for me. Perhaps I'll need to just stick with black ala zorro!!! At least it wouldn't conflict with my green/white gloves and blue nike boots.

Why does looking pretty in goal have to be so hard?

keeping it together

2007-09-10T01:22:00.000-04:00

Some weeks it seems that I just can't keep up with my split ends. Millions of strands of curly, kinky, and often-as-not frizzy hair isn't always easy to manage. And when certain individuals are not in close enough proximity to ensure that the hair is sufficiently tidy before I leave my flat... well, you can imagine!!! Still, when all hair issues have been overcome, a good hair day can pay for itself, regardless if the cost is measured in time, money, or homework-not-completed.

It is surprising how much split ends and split infinitives have in common. Its particularly easy to convince oneself that the split sounds "better" or less "arrogant," just like it can be relatively simple to self-soothe with false assurances that messy, frizzy, unbrushed hair is nearly the new "it" look.

Condition, keep the infinitive together, condition... repeat... Voila! Amazing hair and strong sentences. Its enough to make a girl grrrrr like a raptor!

and this was a good idea... how?

2007-09-09T21:05:00.000-04:00

Because sometimes you throw yourself under the bus...

"In Sindle v New York City Transit Authority, the defendant operated a school bus carrying between 65 and 70 junior high school students, including the plaintiff. Some of the other students became rowdy, committed acts of vandalism, and remained abusive even when warned by the driver. The driver abandoned his ordinary route, passed several stops, and drove to the police station. On the way, the plaintiff, who had not behaved improperly, jumped out of the side window, only to be run over by bus's back wheels." (taken from my Torts textbook)

Needless to say, the plaintiff sued... for false imprisonment. And won! This was reversed on appeal.

Moral of the story: if you must throw yourself under the bus, try to avoid the wheels!

chew toys

2007-08-31T16:43:00.000-04:00

Alright! Admittedly it is a wee bit sad that ciabatta bread is the highlight of my day. In my defense, redhead replacement is a slow, arduous, arguably impossible project. As is finding fabulous people who enjoy bossing me around. Though I do appreciate the remote effort a certain dan-the-man made during the wee hours. (In rachel-land 8:30am is painfully bright and shiny.)

Today during class, it is possible that my mind began to wander. And if this indeed happened as perhaps the text messages to any phone number in my address book within the United States (consciously excluding Canadia seeing as that great nation is a distinct country and not within any nation-wide mobile plan) might indicate, one might argue that I wasn't paying quite as much attention as was warranted. This I cannot deny. I will not even use the fabled "but its a friday afternoon" defense in light of my glaswegian spring semester where I had approximately 6hrs of friday class. (Some observers might note my irregular attendance on these days... this is obviously and utterly immaterial.)

Seeing as this post has begun to wander most alarmingly, I'll return to my point.

Which is... I must start bringing my favorite chew toy, ie. wooden pencil, with me to classes. Without this incredible representation of markets, I have no decent way to keep from fidgeting. As the chairs are slightly swivelly and squeaky, my inability to sit still is annoying to my neighbors-in-law. For those of you who have never witnessed me in a classroom ( or a golf course for that matter... though in that instance I generally substituted a wooden tee) the pencil is literally a chew toy. Note to reader: don't ever ask me for a pencil... or at the very least have a can of lysol on hand.

Without this toy I struggle to concentrate on my creative non-curricular-activities-during-classtime. As a result, no imaginary makeovers have been attempted, no poetry composed, no random lists of inappropriate-things-to-say-that-might-make-people-think-you-are-totally-bonkers written, no mobile dart games played, no discussions as to the imaginary details of imaginary boyfriends commenced (perhaps more alarmingly, no imaginary boyfriends have yet been fabricated), and no clean pieces of paper have been desecrated with any unnecessary stray ink markings. Yes, you read that correctly... if one were to flip through any of my notebooks, not one malnourished stick-person drawing would be found!

Clearly, the stars are out of alignment and things are not as they ought to be. And if that ain't something to chew about, I don't know what is.

free to chew

2007-08-30T21:09:00.000-04:00

It occurred to me this afternoon that "gum-only" food is no longer required. As exciting and obvious as this all was, I couldn't entirely remember the food groups that involved biting (or why I would in any way want to imbibe from such categories). But as lovely as yoghurt truly is (and it be lovaly), its constant consumption is just not as appetizing as one might imagine. By contrast a thick sandwich filled with slices of juicy tomato, baby spinach, and turkey bacon was an undeniable, blissful, chewy wrinkle-in-time.

nuts, belts, elbows, forks, and yoghurt

2007-08-28T19:10:00.000-04:00

Sometimes things don't go quite as planned.

Understatement? Most certainly.

Disaster? If one is fortunate... not at all.

Inconvenient? Embarrassing? Slightly amusing? Well, if we are speaking of yours truly no doubt you already know the answer! And as you might have divined there is (as always) a protracted story here.

It is often difficult to know exactly where to commence one's tale... after all, it may have been that Colonel Mustard was in the conservatory with a spanner because Mrs. White was staking out the library with the rope. Events are rarely isolated happenstance. Which makes me wonder: ought I to begin my wee fiction of unfortunate events with the first power outage or the second? With the busy sunday morning or the lazy wee hours of Monday? Perhaps I should merely focus on proximate cause...

Monday morning found me riding big red up the not as gentle-as-I-would-like slope near the intersection of US 50 and George Mason Dr. With a half-hearted lift I stood up in the saddle and expended just a bit more effort to keep from coming to a grinding halt. All of a sudden the handle bar came loose. Not entirely sure why and not having any tools in my pack, I carried on to the campus where I parked, locked, and left red. My schedule was too full to immediately fix the problem (a missing nut)... but one thing was certain: riding red the four predominantly downhill miles home wasn't a safe plan.

Which brings us to today.

I took the bus to campus laden with my cycle-jeans, wrenches, and my packed lunch. In addition I wore slightly more sheveled clothes than normal figuring that I could leave them in the locker as my future emergency supply. At the end of the first class of the day, I dug into my grilled cheese sandwich, tomatoes, and jo-jo's; saving the best, ie. vanilla yoghurt for last. Just after I peeled back the foil lid I discovered, much to my immediate distress, that the plastic cutlery I'd quickly thrown into the bag this morning didn't include a spoon. "Ah! I've got a fork... that'll be fine" I assured myself.

And, undoubtedly it would have been if I hadn't been distracted. (I believe at around this point I began to lecture my classmates on the proper pronunciation of Glasgow and perhaps the finer points of Brad Pitt's pikey accent.) Eventually, I stopped blathern' long enough to discover that I had spilled yoghurt onto both the blue and black shirts I had on... quite the feat even for one eating such a slippery substance with a porous instrument. "Ah! Dang!" I thought, "emergency clothes aren't supposed to have giant yoghurt stains!" (I'll skip the longer-than-strictly-necessary speculation that my classmates began on how a girl who eats yoghurt with a fork got into law school.) And not that it is particularly relevant, but I did happen to have an extra t-shirt in the locker which allowed me to be stain free the rest of the day, albeit shivering from the excessive air-conditioning.

When the studying and the classes were over, I prepared to leave. This meant, among other things, changing into my cycle-jeans. Said jeans have been mentioned in a previous post and as mentioned they really fit most appallingly. However, the increasingly inconvenient roomy nature makes them ideal for riding red, which almost compensates for the ice-cream cone illusion they produce. So you can imagine my dilemma when I realized that I hadn't brought a belt. "Hmmm," I thought, "this will be challenging to walk with but I'll manage. How ever could I forget a belt?" With trepidation, shorter stride, and a wee dose of courage I walked toward the bathroom exit. With thumbs tucked into my backpack straps and elbows jauntily angled outward I turned the corner... to catch the wall plumb on my elbow!

I'm not entirely sure why they call it a "funny-bone"... what exactly is so funny about feeling electric-type shocks up one's arm for ten minutes? But I can tell you this; when supposedly stationary walls play their pranks on you... you won't be laughing!

twisty turns of fates

2007-08-21T13:01:00.000-04:00

Sometimes the most logical and reasonable of events are a direct result of thoroughly absurd circumstances. The almost ridiculous nature of causality should harbour little surprise among the mortals. After all, if a kangaroo sneezing in Australia alters the weather in Detroit can anything be genuinely wacky? By extension, is it actually peculiar that the very existence of my legal career is the result of the synergistic interplay of 1 cubano, 1 russian-jew, 1 failed standardized test, a pair of comedically nosy americanos, and 3 weeks of unending passionate chess? Predictably, the answer is "it depends!"

Some learning mechanisms are more effective for certain individuals than other equally valid techniques. For better and for worse, being the center of attention works well for me. Often embarrassing, occasionally humiliating, it is still far better than the alternative... namely, not comprehending spherically the material. True, many students are able to achieve this without the full energy of their classmates and professor behind them but, in the end, what counts is the ability to concurrently apply a formation defense and performance excuse in one's own life. Which is not to malign the process, arguably the the most causal element of all!

A vital part of the "process" is professor feedback.. Take for example this relatively faithful partial transcript of an actual exam response regarding formation defense; examiner comments in red. (For the readers' well being, comments related to the examinee's better suitedness to comedic writing than economic analysis, sociopathic personality, and general inability to follow direction have been edited.)

Basic conditions that need to exist for a contract to be considered valid are: 1) the parties must be rational, 2) informed (both sides), 3) both sides acting on free-will, 4) and the service contracted for must cause no net harm on others. What about the consideration requirement? Since these conditions must be met for a contract to be bindable, basic formative defenses will argue that one or more of these conditions were violated. Because of 1) children and lunatics are not bound by contracts they enter into...the court has expanded this concept of "irrationality" to include individuals who enter into a contract that "no sane person" would accept. including temporary incapacity like being drunk.

I never meant to be a lawyer, law school was for "those people, and rules were as well. But there is no denying the fatalistic force of putting 1 cubano, 1 russian-jew, a pair of comedically nosy americanos, and one idiotic bet altogether in a small room. Out of this mayhem came something remarkable... where else can a torturedly-reasoned formation defense leave everyone on the floor, tears in their eyes, hysterically laughing?

bicycle chatter

2007-08-20T22:02:00.000-04:00

Authors note: If you can't stand the thought of reading yet another post about my bicycle, I encourage you not to continue reading. Take the opportunity to go outside, get some fresh air, take your bicycle for a spin around the neighborhood... but remember to wear a helmet (unless you want to become an active organ donor).

Bicycles ought not to be ridden on sidewalks. Especially when said sidewalks are narrow. It is dangerous for pedestrians and cyclists alike to share such a narrow strip of concrete. Exacerbating an already tight fit are the street lamps, street signs, overgrown hedges, overgrown trees which further diminish the amount of usable pavement.

Cyclists belong on the road, not the sidewalk!

But here in lovely Arlington there aren't bike lanes and drivers make it abundantly clear that they are thoroughly uninterested in sharing their road. And before certain individuals start complaining about how annoying cyclists are on twisty, curvy mountain roads... Columbia Pike and George Mason Dr. are emphatically not twisty, curvy, mountainous, or even narrow. Especially when compared to the British roads (cart paths) where drivers have no difficulty not running over or flipping off cyclists.

So here is the rub -- cyclists endanger themselves and pedestrians when they ride on the sidewalk, but Arlington drivers are unwilling to make any room for them on the street. As dangerous a bicycle is for a pedestrian it pales in comparison to the dangers that Cadillacs, Hummers, and arrogant self-consumed drivers pose to those of us who are happy to get by on our own sweat.

on the reddish hues of magic

2007-08-18T20:04:00.000-04:00

"The magic of first love is our ignorance that it can ever end."
benjamin disraeli

At times, the power of knowledge to break spells and shatter enchantments is unforgivable. To love, to leave, to suffer through right choices, and to shrug the wrong decisions... Yet, the extraordinary resiliency to reimagine and rethink is as easy as riding a bike.

Despite leaving my first love in an enchanted land where the sunshine is mainly liquid and despite suffering the inevitable pathos of separation, I have not lost my ability to open my heart to an inanimate object with two wheels, handlebars, and pedals. Nor have I merely replaced ol' squeaks with a trophy bike.

Though this new love/bicycle is younger than the venerable Dr. Seuss bike -- circa perhaps 1977 it is vintage without being a prototype of something Foyle rode- this was genuinely coincidental. And, yes... it is RED! Apples are on occasion red and noone thinks them less substantive for it.

Red doesn't squeak (as of this afternoon), but to suppose that everything is utterly perfect would be a mistaken thought. Especially in light of how my inability to get red's seat at the proper height nearly was very painful. Still, not hearing squeak-thump-squeak-thump-squeak-thump-squeak-thump-squeak- thump-squeak... is really something else. Really!!! (To grasp the sense of how "really" say the squeak-thumps really fast.)

As the proverb says, we always return to our first loves... but often only in essence. And for all the differences, squeaks and red aren't so very different. They roll, you place feet on pedals to propel them, they have one gear, they creep up hills, they are jauntily clownish, and most importantly both made me a bargain I couldn't refuse (ie. free).

Of course these are just details.

Which is exactly where the magic is to be found.

reinventions welcome

2007-08-17T16:51:00.000-04:00

Near as I can recall, the activities of August 17 2006 involved shopping, more shopping, and sopping up ice cream with a pb&j sandwich. Much has changed though admittedly some tendencies persist. The gastric-harmony that is ice cream + peanut butter remains a truly blissful experience. But, well...its been awhile.

As to shopping I can't say much. I desperately need to take time for a solitary safari-like expedition... but it is so lonely without the girls on hand that undoubtedly it will be less pleasure and more ordeal. Besides, sinking my teeth into books has severely exacerbated my penury circumstances.

(I find myself rather ashamed of my girlish cravings for companionship but there really is nothing like knowing your girls have your back in a foxhole.... I mean, fitting room. After all, they are your girls and know the right answer to the old "does this make my *#^ look small?")

However! While I may not be buying the pair of jeans so desperately needed, I am most certainly compulsively acquiring my share of books... including some decidedly not needed. I suppose it has something to do with the whole moratorium on book purchases over the last couple years... or perhaps, more specifically (and we all know how much I like my technicalities), it has something to do with the lifting of that book-buying embargo. (I think I just said the same thing twice!) At any rate, now I need to buy a bookshelf.

Which brings me to my point. I may be wearing the same jeans that I had on last August 17 (and I must say they really do fit horribly-- which I suppose means that they don't fit), but I'm also carrying a pink-plaid purse. How alarming! Not only is there a purse... but it is pink! But really, not everything that differs between time-periods is cause for frenzic concern. Only 9 years ago I refused to bathe and well, look at me now! If showering at least twice a day could make one bright and shiny... alright, so it can't do that, but it will make you smell all nice and fresh.

And to utilize more than just my own experience: some people ate their boogers when they were 4 but by the time they were 6 no longer looked for nutrition to grow out of their face; some people dated wildly inappropriate individuals but now acknowledge the potential merit of changing their utility functions in the future; some people used to think that they were practically perfect in every way and now know that they are definitionally perfect from all angles.

See! Change is possible.

As I put off for just another minute my required participation in law school orientation activities, I appreciate that unlike the last orientation I suffered through, I'm not profusely sweating-out last night's curry. And ain't that somethn'?!?

enablers all

2007-08-15T09:21:00.000-04:00

I've been very fortunate this summer to have had two wonderful friends intern in the northern Virginia/Washington DC. region. Over the past weeks, we watched movies, enjoyed jazz, shared good food, played softball, lost teeth, rooted ourselves to porches, and experienced zero-gravity tennis. We stayed up to all hours talking nonsense. We stayed up to all hours thinking we were talking sense. We stayed up to all hours doing nothing at all. And occasionally we just sat on a couch... and giggled.

Now these two are moving on to better things than managing and ensuring my constant entertainment. While I'll sorely miss them, it is but fact that summer-living cannot and should not continue perpetually. (The Irish have a cautionary tale as to the dire consequences of wishing for a month of Saturdays.) Before I relapse into my favorite abandonment complex, which while endearing is perhaps not exactly factually accurate -- though I would remind certain individuals (who shall remain nameless) in Los Gatos, Mountain View, and Glasgow that not following me around the country and/or world is a very serious form of abandonment -- I would like to thank both Felix and Rachel for their role in making this a lovely summer.

And to assure them both... I forgive you for leaving me in this cold and heartless manner...

things that need to be faced

2007-08-08T15:14:00.000-04:00

One fateful summer afternoon, under the shadow of the Washington Monument, many adults (and soon to be adults) grasped at remnants of childhood pleasures and happily played softball before the fast approaching dusk. During this idyllic time of day, off a sublimely bad hop, a second base-person took a softball to the face and lost a tooth (and a wee bit of dignity).

Today is the day I challenge my fear of softballs and rejoin the pastime of recreational leagues. My teeth hurt just contemplating this event. With a heat index in triple digits I wonder if I can use the weather to excuse myself from the play of the day. Or perhaps I can cite academic commitments to explain my absence. Or perhaps I'll emphatically pull my chin up, stick my face out, and play ball.

myself the fool

2007-08-03T17:28:00.000-04:00

According to the man who figured out electricity, "experience is a dear teacher." Of course, quite on the heels of this reassuring statement is the reminder that "fools learn at no other." It makes one think, if I apply the first part to my circumstance am I declaring myself a fool??? In general, that isn't the self-projection of first-choice.

So what? So what if we are fools?

To be a fool and to learn from a mistake is infinitely preferable to a state of unchangeable, folly-ridden, de facto perfection in all one's regaled wisdom. Have not the heralded wise been sufficiently consumed with their philosophy that experience is redefined to parallel their accepted wisdom?

When we know better, we can choose to do better. But on occasion, to know better is preceded by an unpleasant self-confession: "I've been such a fool" or worse, "I am the fool." For there is not enough room in life's classroom for all of our prideful conceits and experience has something to teach.

christmas in august

2007-08-01T20:31:00.000-04:00

It's that time of year when we lie awake into the wee hours of a new day wondering just what it is we want most to wish for. A new pony, a red bike, the Mac with sparklies on it, a Wii, an old pony, 900 count Egyptian cotton sheets, a rocking pony, one's second front tooth... Of course, if Santa were to be bringing that second front tooth he probably wouldn't start by shooting novocaine into my gums! In fact, if I'm not mistaken, the root canal is what he brings the bad children.

Sadly, Santa doesn't fly in August due to reindeer union regulations. Besides I'm not sure how I would feel if getting my new tooth meant that lots of elves had to sweat through a north pole summer. Could my conscience withstand that pain even if it meant alleviating the weight on my checkbook?

I ought not to complain. There is, after all, an upside to getting hit in the teeth with a softball off of a majorally shitey bad-hop. Really! For starters, my jaw swelled up just enough to give me the chin-profile of my dreams. And I found out that not all dentists base their practice on the tools of the 19th century. Not to mention that my inability to chew properly has unexpectedly made me a french-toast-making-machine/guru and with just enough Canadian maple syrup you would never have to guess that I was the cook.

But despite all these wonderful and new developments there are the occasional moments, where like Captain Barbossa all I want... is to eat an apple!

baroque heart and maple syrup

2007-07-27T14:11:00.000-04:00

I don't remember the date other than it was some time in October. The weather was cold and dry. A classmate thought that the 44A would be a more direct route home. It wasn't. By the time we passed the Jordanhill campus everyone on the bus realized I was lost. Obnoxiously, aggressively, kindly they demanded to know where I lived. And then, in painstaking detail they explained which bus numbers I was to take.

I don't remember the date but that is when I decided to love Glasgow.

I stepped off the 118 knowing the general direction I ought to go but uncertain how I would find the house. Tired from my extended bus travels, hungry for dinner, I shivered, crossed over Drymen Rd. and headed east. Eight minutes later I halted in hopeless wonderment regarding my whereabouts. Absently my eyes wandered up to the street sign. Somehow I had stumbled onto my very street. 15 minutes later I melted into the hot shower.

I don't remember the date but that is when I saw that the house on Speirs Rd. was home.

I sat comfortably on the couch. And then I didn't. Cute and flirty quickly transformed into an anxious attempt to breath normally. "We need to go... now!" Keep calm, stay in control, breath in, breath out, repeat... Mentally, physically drained I drive past the illuminated monuments. How strikingly lonely this all is in the wee hours of the day. I pull into the parking lot, give a faint "morning" to the night receptionist, unlock the door.

I won't remember the date but that is when I accept that my bed is no longer a squeaky twin.

Despite having packed the box just over a month before I'm highly anticipative of what I'll find. I catalog in my head: a diffuser, a picture frame (or two), a snowglobe, my favorite sheets. What else? I wonder. Diffuser goes in the cabinet. The picture that epitomizes Glasgow goes next to the bed. The one that represents laughter on the wall. The old snapshop of my childhood inspiration kept where I can see it. Those sheets get a long hug before stowing away neatly in the closet. And then I pull out a slightly crushed, frameless, matted picture of a place that will always be familiar. A thousand times I overlooked that challenging valley.

I remember the place for that is where I found something special.

fine lines and wrinkles

2007-07-17T09:25:00.001-04:00

Perhaps a wee bit late, I've determined that there might well be a certain amount of "crazy"in us all. The sort of insanity that wakes us in the muddle of the night (which is to be distinguished from the "middle"which is by a far a more rational state) and prompts actions that are slightly inappropriate.

It is of course common sense to stay away from the internet during this time of night since you'll be bound to self-diagnose yourself with some horribly incurable, painfully maiming disease. TV is another dangerous activity... infomercial executives could tell you (probably with a pie chart) just how critical the "muddle of the night" demographic is to their bottom-line. And speaking of pie, somehow, during muddle-times one feels compelled to consume all those healthy items in the fridge (i.e. the tub of butter, the raspberry cheesecake with white chocolate drizzle, the whipped cream, the $2.99 container of icing fudge). But even normal crazies know to stay away from hair dyes and mirrors...

bitii-byte-boo

2007-07-08T21:28:00.000-04:00

Someone wise, somewhere, said something about the mind having the power to create reality. Along the lines of "mind over matter" albeit, significantly more intense. Though an appealing metaphysical, self-help concept, it is legitimately hard to understand how paper can beat scissors no matter how much positive energy is focused. Happily, like the best things in life, doubts can be easily ignored and neglected.

It is in this spirit that I have determined to join the ranks of the bright and shiny people. No more drama. Someone wise, somewhere, probably said something about "issues" being relatively self-generated. (Perhaps, I am the only one to make that claim... regardless, this is my newest pet theory. Be fair warned!)

But, I am rambling...

While it might be slightly difficult to conceptualize my sunny-personality with anything like a chocolate covered pretzel, my point is that dark and twisty Rachel is leaving for the bright and shiny upgrade.

seriously!

chips-a-callin'

2007-07-02T22:05:00.000-04:00

When in the course of initiating exploration into the matter of actually working on a dissertation certain items are of utmost essence.

Namely:
a stable internet connection;
a blank copy book filled with hope-inducing pages;
a large quantity of peanut butter;
an even greater quantity of choc-o'-chip cookies;
soft pillows to encourage napping;
inordinate supplies of chips and salsa;
unquantifiable supplies of patience;
other matters more pressing and intimidating then the dissertation...

And of course, the ingredient I always carry tightly --- luck!

losing my connection

2007-06-29T10:23:00.000-04:00

For IM addicts such as myself, little is more liberating while simultaneously frustrating, as losing one's constant internet connection. (Which, by the way, is what has happened to me!) Of course, for a student who still desperately needs to research her dissertation such a loss is... it is virtually undescribable!
All I can say is that forced, involuntary procrastination is not nearly as much fun as the consensual variety.

VA-KJG

2007-06-26T14:41:00.000-04:00

A year ago I had no "scottish" roots. No east-coast status. No electric kettle (the 1st step to brewing a mean pot-o'-tea). No idea as to how single-malt whiskey was made. And of course, no dragonfly necklace.

Amazing how much can change in less than 365 consecutive days. But that hardly prepared me for how pleased I would be to "officially" have a Virginia address and license plates. Not to mention getting to pay all those great taxes. (Ok, I could do without that last item!)

I reconsider my wording above; the first "firsts" were preparation. Without them I might have been to timid to take on the latter set.

No butterflies this time around... I've got dragonflies!