admission...

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

That, or I slept last night in my clothes.

looking left and leaving

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

well put

"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

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

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

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

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

"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

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

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

*New Classes* Spring Session 2008

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