stop-and-get-ripped-off

growing pains

2006-11-05T20:23:00.000-05:00

I have moved. But I have not moved the content from here. I am afraid. I am still learning, and working on the set-up over at the new place and it seems easier to leave good old sagro right here where she has been happy for almost a year. After all, moving is scary, no matter how nice and shiny and fancy the new place is.

I encourage you to come visit me at the new place. Check it out and let me know what you think.

a heavy hearted blogger

2006-10-23T14:06:00.000-04:00

The next and what may be the last installment in my recent "farewell posts" on sagro:

My friend Anita died yesterday.

She lost a long battle with cancer.

She was loud. And she knew it. She was also a crutch for my soul. I knew the world was ultimately good when I thought about her. She was very likely the most generous person I know; with everything that she had to give: love, support, empathy, solidarity, money, time, kindness, coffee, or an ear. She was the only person you needed on your side when the odds were not in your favor. You felt like you had an army at your back with Anita at your side.

Losing Anita feels a little like I imagine it might feel to have my legs blown off, or more certainly like being punched in the stomach by someone much bigger than me.

making good

2006-10-19T14:03:00.000-04:00

Smugness may not be attractive, but it sure is satisfying.

I said I would be working on the web-page thingy, and I did.

farewell mr. milkman

2006-10-18T18:30:00.000-04:00

I stop at the local stopandgetrippedoff most mornings. The Garelick Farms milkman makes deliveries several times a week at the same time I stop to get my morning dose of Bergamot flavored caffeine in the form of Earl Grey tea. He has a habit of quietly complimenting me in over the top and ridiculous idioms. Cheesy pick-up lines, but more sincere.

I awkwardly smile and mumble thank you, and internally marvel at how astoundingly bad I am with compliments. Particularly when I know I was wearing the same outfit yesterday and there are definitely pillow marks on my face. The whole scene is nonsensical.

He was switched to a different route. And now, after all of my eye rolling, I secretly miss the silly feeling I got. I used to blame it on the infusion of caffeine, but the tea doesn't have the same effect without the milkman's niceties.

pumpkins, apples and jackets

2006-10-15T10:00:00.000-04:00

The arrival of autumn in the northeast can be marked in several ways. We are all free to be on the lookout for our own personal indicator. Yesterday I discovered the coming of three of my chosen markers: artificial pumpkin patches in church yards and farm yards, apples, cold morning air that absolutely requires a jacket.

heyy youu gaeeysss

2006-10-14T15:51:00.000-04:00

I think the internet is broken.

It's 3:45 (in the afternoon) and the last email I got was dated 10/13... as in yesterday.

consolation

2006-10-14T08:10:00.000-04:00

Did you ever need (see: want) some consoling, but you really didn't "want to talk about it?" You know, just a little comforting without having to explain yourself.

The same propensity that drives sales of Star magazine, seems to cause people to have an agenda when providing consolation: they want to know the gory details of the tragedy that has you in need of consoling.

Well, there are no gory details. It's just been a manic week. Now I'd like a hug, please.

e v. P to the pain

2006-10-13T09:36:00.000-04:00

Apparently I am dangerously ballsy when I am really hungry. I have been trying to limit my caloric intake a bit, which leaves me feeling hungry more often than I would like. I would like to have an uninterrupted, constant feeling of post-steak and cheesecake satiation, so being hungry ever is tragic as far as I am concerned, but I have been tolerating a bit of it in hopes of shrinking the waist (and poncho and lefty, for that matter) back to an acceptable size.

So, on Wednesday, when we had a lunchtime Community Meeting (i.e. open forum budget meeting) and I had not had anything to eat since the banana at breakfast, I was a little grumpy and fairly hungry. As the meeting progressed my stomach got that eating itself feeling.

A well spoken student got up and asked a question (the exact language of which I honestly can't remember because I was more interested in just catching the gist and then going back to worrying about whether it is possible for one's guts to actually implode from lack of sustenance), but the gist was: where are we spending money, and has anyone looked at administrative salaries. The President fielded the question by implying that "we" all got the same salary increases this year, and they were minimal, just as had been budgeted for...

Time for a little backstory: my beloved institute of higher education is in the throws of a very public budget crisis. As such, we are strapped in most every area. There is a hiring freeze in place, and staff and faculty salary increases were slashed. For a lot of us, it is the demoralization of having students under-served and frustrated that is more troublesome than the lack of a raise. Anyway, there is a rumor that the upper echelon of the Administration received substantial salary increases, while the rest of us were capped at 2.5% (for staff) and 4% (for faculty) Disclaimer: It is admittedly rumor! I claim to be absolutely certain about nothing other than my own salary increase and the cap for staff as reported in my annual letter.

So when the President implied that 'everyone got the same raise,' I just thought that to be far too misleading to go unchallenged. In the past, he has refused to answer any questions regarding his compensation, but his salary last year (which is a matter of public record) was large enough that even a meager a 2.5% increase would be more than half my salary and more than 16 times my salary increase. Even more to the point, the rumor is that he recieved a 17.72% increase. I could see the horror on the faces of my colleagues and students. These are people I see, enjoy and depend on every day. I like my job, a lot. Mostly because of the rocktastic people I get to work with.

I would like to claim that it was some premeditated defense of people I care about, but I suspect it was the grumpinees of being hungry that drove me to raise my hand. I got the microphone in my hand. I could here my voice being projected. I said something like this:

Students, I hear your frustrations and I would like to point out that there is a network of support staff here to help. We are here to support the University and you guys. That is what we do. Although, it has become increasingly difficult with hiring freezes and considering that, as is my understanding, our salary increases were capped at 2.5 percent which is at or more likely below the rate of inflation for this year. So we are making less this year than last. [looking to the President] So you say that we all got the same raises, I got 2.5%, I'm curious, what did you get? [pointing at the President]

Oh, the gasps, and squeals of delight, and jaws agape! The room erupted. It was magnificent. I was instantly mortified, but stood my ground. He responded with a non-answer, saying that all questions regarding his compensation be directed to the Board. But man-oh-man the fall out that has ensued!

Students are riled up, faculty have been congratulating me, staff members are singing my name. Its ridiculous. I had no intention of politicizing myself, I was just hungry and grumpy. But, I also felt that someone in a position of ultimate authority was misleading students and demoralizing my colleagues, and I am the sort to defend to the pain. Hopefully something good will come of this and students will get better services and faculty will be appreciated and staff will gain some dignity back. We deserve better.

Moral: I am dangerous when hungry

just plain giggly

2006-10-12T10:39:00.000-04:00

For no apparent reason.

I giggled all the way to work this morning. Grinning madly, driving along dancing in my seat, windows down, music up, I must have been ridiculous looking, but man, did I feel great! I love those days.

I blame it mostly on the music. When I started the car my latest favorite feel-good song (Fidelity, Regina Spektor off of her latest album Begin to Hope) was queued up. I have been prone to giddiness lately and hearing a great, great song just put me over the edge. I went from a little bit glowy to outright foolishness faster than my beloved SAAB could hit 60, which is pretty fast especially when I am driving.

When my brain is tending towards a particular affect, music can intensify that feeling and cause it to metastasize and materialize. When I am feeling gloomy, if left in quiet I might not show it. But play a rich, velvety, intense piece of music (e.g. Hayes Carll, Long Way Home) and I might cry. Inversely, if I am feeling good and I hear a light, fun, pop-y piece (e.g. Beirut, Scenic World) I get downright silly.

I have been spending Sunday evenings at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in Harlem. I go to the Evensong service, in which a friend (who is a professional opera singer) along with a handful of other professional singers, sings the majority of the service. I go and sit in the big, regal pews right behind the choir. I close my eyes and the music seems to fill me. My lungs feel expanded and my gut warmed, the back of my throat rounded and my scalp stretched and tingley. The music bouncing around in that massive and wonderful space reliably causes my eyes to well up. Each week I leave the cathedral warmed and calmed.

Music enriches my life. Very few things can affect me so simply, instantly, with such ease, and so very intensely. Horray for music!

sad sad day in baseball

2006-10-12T10:31:00.000-04:00

I heard about this when my dad IMed me in the middle of the day to let me know he was alright.

Cory Lidle, was by all accounts a great guy in addition to being a pretty respectable pitcher. I was a fan.

stellar timing on my part

2006-10-09T12:17:00.000-04:00

I have really super good timing; socially, academically, in all different kinds of planning, speaking doing, I am generally in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Some recent examples of my good timing: I decided to go to Boston for the first time(!) on the weekend of October 21st, which I picked for convenience for me and because the New England leaves ought to be beautiful then. As it turns out that is the weekend of the Head of The Charles regatta. Which might be interesting if 1. I was interested in boats 2. I didn't mind crowds.

Another example of my good timing: Modest Mouse plays NYC the 13th-18th. I will be in California from the 15th on. So the only show I could possibly go to is the 13th which is at Nokia. I don't do those kind of shows. (Additionally, Modest Mouse will be in California right before they come to NY.)

UPDATE: I just got an email regarding a musician friend of a friend. He is playing NYC on Sunday the 22nd at 8:30. I am away that weekend. Although I do get in on Sunday evening, at 9:45, just in time to miss the show. But if anyone with better timing than me is in NYC on the 22nd, go see Jeff Miller: 8:30 pm Googie's Lounge (upstairs at the Living Room) 154 Ludlow Street (between Staunton and Rivington) $5 suggested tip jar (212) 533-7235 --http://www.livingroomny.com -- 21+ show (unless accompanied by a guardian)

rejuvenated

2006-10-09T09:45:00.000-04:00

ohboy! (It seems that the more interesting stuff I have to blog about, the less time I have to blog.) I participated in the organization of a conference on the life and work of Harriet Jacobs over the weekend. What it meant for me was 13 hour work days, in a suit, on my feet, smiling at strangers. It wasn't so bad really. Partially thanks to this woman, Mende Nazer. She was a panelist and I was her attendant while she was in NYC. She is the embodiment of kindness, forgiveness and hope.

We went shopping. We went sight seeing. We laughed. We had fun hanging out in NYC.

My thoughts on Ms. Nazer have not sloshed around in my head long enough yet. They are still raw and unmixed. But I do know that meeting her has given me new fervor in my work to bring attention to the existence of slavery today. This wonderful woman is an escaped slave. She experienced horrors brought upon her by other human beings that should not be tolerated in the world today. It is unacceptable.

public radio rocks

2006-10-05T12:14:00.000-04:00

National Public Radio is very possibly almost the greatest source of neat information, second only to Wikipedia.

Yesterday All Things Considered reviewed the Decemberists' new album.

cheese nibbles

2006-10-04T16:13:00.000-04:00

I took the always stellar advice of joe (foodienyc guy) and stopped at Artisanal, which has a satellite store/restaurant right at the top of my subway stop on the way to my midtown school. How thoughtful of them! So I stopped and picked up some 4 year aged Gouda on Joe's recommendation.

I purchased a chunk of it. It came neatly wrapped in paper in a handled, miniature brown shopping bag. I walked to school, all the while thinking about the little gem of dairy product in the cute, little brown paper bag in my hand. When I got to class, I was the first one there so I busted out the cheese wrapped in paper.

It crumbled into large, creamy, butterscotch colored chunks. It was so stupidly good that I continued to knock bits off the block, lay them on my tongue and let the velvetiness melt in my mouth throughout class. The cheese was so heavenly that I shamelessly noshed on it right there in the classroom. I spoke between morsels. At one point I was so overcome by the deliciousness, that I excused myself "to the ladies room," and posted a comment on foodienyc about how delicious it was.

...so good that I was blog-commenting on its goodness while eating it, during class. Yeah, I'm an exemplary doctoral student.

remembering with pictures

2006-10-02T18:00:00.000-04:00

Just a few from the Alamo ...more to come.

They clearly need quite a bit of work, but I was so excited, I just threw these up straight off my camera.

a lot lot of Texas music

2006-10-02T10:22:00.000-04:00

Thursday: fly into San Antonio and drive to Gruene, near New Braunfels, TX
Thursday night: Roger Marin and Mark Junger at Gruene Hall
Friday: drive to Austin, spend the day playing in Austin (stop along I-35 at the outlet mall for a little shopping)
Friday night: Sonny Landreth and Cindy Cashdollar at the Cactus Cafe
Saturday: drive back to Helotes, outside of San Antonio
Saturday all day: 11-11 Real American Music Fest (RAM Fest) 4 at Floores Country Store, musical highlights: Hayes Carll, Ray Wylie Hubbard, The Dedringers
Sunday: tourist stuff in San Antonio, the Alamo being the highlight
Sunday evening: fly home

I'm tired.

not original thoughts

2006-09-27T20:14:00.000-04:00

writing on writing, something I haven't done in a while. I've been writing about the nonsense that is around me every day. I pay attention. I see things, some of it I notice. When I notice something peculiar it sets in motion a process that begins like that scene on the pirate ship in the Goonies, when the Fratellis grab the gold on the balance that Mikey wanted to leave for One Eyed Willie, remember that? And then the dusty, creaky, threads of the intricate booby trap start moving, slipping through the whining, old pulleys. Remember? Yeah, I do. And that's what my brain does when I see something interesting. Once it has started I can't stop it (hence the blog). So, here's the dilemma: sometimes the old pulleys and ropes fail to uncover anything worth dumping out of my head onto the page. But I have a solution.

I'm a thief. If I don't know how to say it, I go find someone who does, and *borrow*. If I read my archives I can point out the words, or phasing, or idioms that did not come straight from my own head. Sometimes I take a vague notion and sometimes I take entire phrases. I would feel really, really guilty about this (being an academic who is fanatical about proper referencing) but I had a writing teacher, well I've have a number of writing teachers, but one who told me explicitly that when I am writing creatively, steal! Take formats that I think work. Use words that resonate with me. Take phrasing I like and use it obsessively until it has my signature on it. I steal what I think I would say if I was more clever. I take the stolen bits, add them to my brain soup, shake, and pour into the chilled glass of this blog.

I have decided that it is a good thing. Stealing. It has made my writing infinitely better. It has also allowed me to try things out. It has allowed me to put my writing in front of other people. It has allowed me to write about things that would otherwise just race around inside my head kicking up dust. Stealing has been good for me and my writing.

more evidence of my awesomeness

2006-09-27T09:48:00.000-04:00

I was about to leave for work this morning when I saw something awful, I needed to document it.

That's my life.

If you would like a closer view of the embarrassing amount of books that seem to have taken up residence on my bed:

Just in case this wasn't enough evidence that I have totally lost my edge, I may have spent my 8:00 hour captivated by some season premier of some teen drama on the CW.

sports fan

2006-09-26T10:36:00.000-04:00

I do not attend enough sporting events.

I watch a fair amount of sports on television. If the t.v. is on it is tuned to either sports, the Food Network or Law and Order (although the Food Network has lost some of its standing in my house because, a. I don't need to be tempted to cook or eat, I do enough of that, and b. there are so many bad shows on the Food Network these days. The best shows are on PBS on the weekends: Ming, Mark Bittman, Rick Bayless, Lydia.) But I have not been to a single sporting event since the the end of last years baseball season.

I should note that, in agreement with many of my sports loving friends, I feel quite differently about the appeal of some sports on t.v. and their live appeal. College basketball is something that I kind of get interested in March, and the games on t.v. are entertaining enough, but a live NCAA game is fantastic. Ice Hockey on t.v. has the appeal of an ice cold spoon being held on my bare eyeball, but live hockey is pretty fun. I would be curious how boxing fares live. I like to watch boxing on t.v. (a bit unusual, I know), but given the amount of attention it demands I'm not sure if I could get into a match live. I might be too distracted.

I suppose I could go find out.

melting the ice

2006-09-24T14:48:00.000-04:00

I am exactly a week late in posting this, but here goes.

I went to see Kermit Ruffins play Joe's Pub with Megan, Bruno, and Tim (all of the infamous New Orleans ACORN crew). Kermit was great. Is anyone really surprised? According to our resident art/media expert, Bruno, it was his tightest set yet. And we have seen him play a lot.

In addition to the good music set, there was dancing. Megan and I would have been embarrassed if we were the type to get embarrassed. We danced like fools. Like people do in New Orleans.

It was nice to remember in a positive way. It was the first New Orleans remembering I have done that was not centered around the chaos and tragedy and pain. It was an evening of good friends and good music. Which leads me to my self indulgence for the day: I'm going to gave a little piece of advice on my silly blog. If you have had an experience like I did, an experience that is both really good and really bad, make an effort to do some remembering of the good. It was worth it for me. We had a great time and the evening listening to Kermit, dancing, hanging at Joe's with friends, assuaged a disproportionately large percentage of the pain that has been residing in my heart. It has waned slowly, a bit of the icy crust that hurts me every morning seems to chip off every evening. But at about the time Kermit played Eliza Jane, a huge piece melted away. So take the opportunity to remember the good stuff.

There's about $1.50 worth of advice.

grinning gets me everything

2006-09-22T12:43:00.000-04:00

I was able to avert an impending disaster yesterday, and it only cost $24.95.

The screen on my iPod had gone dark a while back. It was ultra faint, so if I tilted it just right and squinted, I could make out the shapes of the words on the screen, so between that and having used it so much that I have most of the menu committed to memory, I was able to navigate the menus just fine. Then yesterday morning, it went totally black and pressing the keys failed to make anything happen. Disaster! I was starting to feel the heat rising up my neck and my throat tighten in panic. I looked at the clock and realized that it would be lunchtime within an hour.

On my lunch break I drove way too fast to The Westchester (as the chic-chic mall here is called) and hustled up to the Apple Store (noticing how heavy I have gotten in every crystal clean glass window along the way). I clicked the "concierge" icon on the first display Macbook Pro I came to and made myself an appointment.

The appointment was for 1:45. They called my name, err they said "Elizabeth Am-em-arm-amer..." and I said "yeah, that's my name." The apple Genius took one look at it and said, "Well, the video card is crushed." I looked blankly/innocently at him and reverted to a technique that has the highest rate of return, I smiled, broadly. He looked at me sitting there smiling, with desperation in my eyes, and he said, "Ok, when I look at this, it is not like there is any major exterior damage, so I'm not even going to give you a hard time about it." The wave of relief pushed me back in my chair. I grinned stupidly. "Thank you. Thank you." "So just promise me one thing, ok... I'll give you a new replacement, but get a hard case for it." I nodded, I couldn't speak because that would have required I relax the corners of my mouth that were at the time pulled up into a huge toothy grin.

So I have a new iPod, and it only cost $24.95.

the new pedal toy

2006-09-20T20:10:00.000-04:00

I have a new athletic hobby. After my legs really gave way (serious shin splints) a few months ago, I started sitting around a lot. Huge chunks of the day were spent sitting, fidgeting, looking longingly out the window like the leopards at the Zoo. Some animals can just lay around in their pens casually, enjoying the sun, eyelids drooping, playing with the stupid red balls that, I guess, are supposed to resemble the red toy balls on the African plains. But the leopards walk. All day, every day, they walk. They stare out at the pedestrians between the bars. They move like their legs are a heart muscle, involuntarily beating. Well, that was me. But no more. Now I own a bicycle.

The Goal: to ride the 8.6 miles to work

The Plan: I did 8 miles today, so...
9/21 8 miles
9/23 10 miles
9/24 10 miles
9/26 8 miles
9/27 10 miles
9/28 or 29 ride to work

The Obstacle: the treacherous rode I take to work.

excuse me, can I sit there

2006-09-19T11:44:00.000-04:00

I had a mountain of reading to do, so put on my favorite terry pajama bottoms and my Wonder Woman t-shirt and shoved a ridiculous stack of ratty cornered articles into a binder and went to Starbucks. I would like to hate Starbucks enough to avoid them like the plague on artisanism that they are, but out here in the boonies, I have few choices. Besides, there may be crack in there Chai Tea Latte. The thought of it induces glassy eyes and funnels all thinking towards obtaining one. But I digress.

So, Starbucks on a Sunday morning. I shuffled in and headed past the small tables and silly, wooden, cafeteria-style chairs and the plush, velour, overstuffed chairs by the fake fireplace. I was eyeing the good, poofy chairs hoping to be able to snag one. I took a mental inventory: all guys occupying the good furniture. I was liking my odds. Then I eyed the best looking guy of the bunch while heading to the line. I thought, "I know that guy. Oh, no I don't. I mean I do, but not really." It was Alec Baldwin.

I got my tea, in that really tall cup, you know, the big one, the whatever they named that size (I don't care enough about Starbucks lingo to commit it to memory). I selected a small wooden chair with a small wooden table strategically located where I could make eye contact with all but one of the poofy chair guys (incidentally, I could make eye contact with ALEC BALDWIN). While firing up the iPod, I did the glancy thing that clever girls do. (Recall, I have on a very unusual t shirt that causes my boobs to read "Wonder," which either helps or makes me look like an ass, I'm not sure.) After several minutes, Alec Balwin starts to collect his stuff to leave. I stared a hole in him. I was not staring because he is a movie star, no I was staring to get his attention so that I could have his seat. I am out of control. It was as though I had no idea he is like a super famous, Hollywood movie, bazillionare, star. I had absolutely no regard for his celebrity.

I nabbed that chair like nobody's business. Mr. Baldwin was gracious and spoke pleasantly. The other men stayed. I totally just moved right in there and took Alec Baldwin's seat. I was slightly embarrassed but not until the cute Baldwin was long gone. For those of you who keep track of these things: Alec Baldwin is better looking in person. He is quite striking. Although he is a bit slighter than I had imagined, smaller in person, you know. But very attractive. And I totally stole his seat at Starbucks. I'm a winner.

olfactory filing cabinet

2006-09-15T11:35:00.000-04:00

The elusive and seemingly omniscient "They" say that your olfactory memory is stronger than any other kind of memory. In this case, I will bow to their not so infinite wisdom and agree.

I think about my sense of smell and it's relationship to memory every year at this time. Regardless of where I am physically or what my situation is, I will have a moment, or many, in the autumn when my nose tricks me. When the mornings get darker and the evenings briefer, when the chill that arrives on the afternoon breeze has the aftertaste of a campfire in a damp forest, when the tiny hairs on your arms stretch out frantically grasping at the warmth of the sun seeming to know they will soon be bedded in sweaters and wool coats, when the summer wanes, I will be walking across random parking lots or campuses or neighborhood streets and I can smell cinnamon. All it takes is one tiny molecule of spice scented air landing in my nose, and I am instantly nostalgic.

I went to boarding school across the street from a McCormick factory. I have to assume they produced cinnamon and perhaps cloves and nutmeg, although I was never able to confirm that. The air would at times be thick with the scents of apple and pumpkin pies. I have startlingly vivid memories of exact moments, snipits of those four years. In one, I am walking from my dorm down the hill on the McCormick factory side of campus, to the barn I'm sure, and I thought very deliberately about how pleasant the smell should be. How comforted I ought to feel. And how those comforting scents would likely never have the same meanings to me as they had before. The Yankee Candle store at the mall surely doesn't make money on "Mom's Apple Pie" and "Cinnamon Stick" scented candles because they evoke sensations of teenage angst and a lifetime of loneliness. No, I suspect that for most people "Mom's Apple Pie" candles are warm and homey and pleasingly peaceful.

Despite having cinnamon be most closely associated with a very lonely high school experience in my olfactory filing system, I find a certain peace in the autumn moments when spices tickle my nose. I remember that even at a painful sixteen years old, I was cognizant of my own being in a way which allowed me to comfort myself. I was strange and awkward and unknowing, and even as uncomfortable as I was, I was a pretty neat person. Besides, since then I have become someone I am pretty comfortable with.

blah blah sociological jargon blah blah

2006-09-13T16:32:00.000-04:00

I already picked a paper topic. I believe that the length of time it takes to pick a paper topic is inversely related to how much you will enjoy a class. So my prospects for class enjoyment are looking good.

Here it is:
The failed implementation of neoliberalism in Mexico and it's effect on migration, particularly from the central plateau region.

The first part (in which I will outline the socio-political climate in Mexico during the rise of neoliberal market models in Latin America) is due next week.

i make t-shirts

2006-09-12T22:21:00.000-04:00

Do you ever say things and then realize that you've come up with something super witty? Then you wish that you could do it on demand, like be witty when you actually want to be witty? Maybe not, but I do.

Here are a few examples:

"I am not an unemployed student, I'm a Freelance Academic Consultant."

"There is no one I'd rather drunk dial than you."

"I sleep with books not boys."

I should make t-shirt slogans.

silent all these years

2006-09-11T15:38:00.000-04:00

heppy beefday to this guy:

(another stunning photo by Christina O'Connor)

I love you like you were my own.

a review of world systems theory

2006-09-10T20:18:00.000-04:00

I figured if I gave it a fancy title I wouldn't feel so guilty about blogging instead of reading (not that Immanuel Wallerstein's World Systems theory is not wildly interesting, but everyone needs a break.)

So instead of reading, over the last twelve minutes I have composed a list.

Things about me that are rather distasteful:
-I have a woefully inadequate memory. So if you think I will remember your friend's name just because she is your best friend, I won't.
-I fall asleep with the t.v. on. Which I suppose is only a problem if you live in or around my room, but its an unattractive habit nonetheless.
-I do not like to hold babies. Additionally, I have varying degrees of patience for small children. It varies between a smidge and absolutely none.
-I have even less patience for parents. (yikes! people are going to yell at me about this one.) If your children continually disrupt the public, try something else. Random tantrums are one thing, but the kids I see at the local eatery every single week who's top of the lungs, full tilt, running and screaming goes completely unnoticed by their parents, and ONLY their parents, is cause for me to lose patience.
-I tend to tell people when they are irritating me. I'm super with the language/people skills that way.
-I drive too fast.
-I protect my kitchen like an angry lioness about to give birth. I am wildly territorial when it comes to my kitchen.
-I hate when strangers touch me. And I tell them.
-I am, as several of the above might indicate, lacking in subtlety.
-I take ridiculously long showers.
-I eat off of other people's plates.

Well, that was disastrously long. I'm kind of a jerk. But, I will say honestly, I'm working on it. Some of these things I have improved (the fast driving). Some of them have improved on their own (the long showers. Not having so much hair helps.) Some are "life stage" issues (the no babies and children) which I suspect I will grow out of. And others will be life long battles I'm afraid (lack of subtlety being the big one).

So, well, that was far more productive than studying development economics. I've started classes by the way.

mixing languages

2006-09-09T13:32:00.000-04:00

I had a monumentally disappointing day yesterday, so I went to Hallo Berlin. You see good knockwurst is perfect for balancing out the badness of the day with the goodness of delicious sausage. This is the second time I have been to Hallo Berlin. This time, I noticed something that I had not noticed the last time I was there: the awning in the front of the restaurant says, "HELLO BERLIN." While I understand that "hello" would be the translation of the German name, it still strikes me as amusing. Everything else inside and all advertising utilizes the German spelling. So why is the awning different? Was it a mistake?

Perhaps I am the only one fascinated by this. Much as I am the only one who cares that the Spanish channels (Univision, Telemundo, Galavision, TVAzteca, and others) refer to the "Medias Rojas y los Giants." Wait. If you are going to translate the names of sports teams then let's at least be consistent. The Red Socks and the Giants. Or las Medias Rojas and Los Gigantes. You can't mix translated and untranslated. Right...?

language of a bad day

2006-09-07T20:39:00.000-04:00

So excited was I: navigating the path, dodging benzes and trees, when my daily destiny revealed itself in the bubble laced stream of Diet Dr Pepper that left the bulbous opening in the can, still an inch away from my ready lips, and ran slowly down my chest pooling in the deep lap creases of my seated white pants.

Basically, I knew I was in for a whopper of a day when I dumped my soda on myself while driving to work this morning.

heppy beefday

2006-09-05T17:39:00.000-04:00

the best of all birthday wishes:

"if I could write a script to send you an email right at midnight, I would."

Don't we all feel that way? If we knew how to get it done, we would wish our loved ones a "happy birthday" at the moment the earth shifts and the day officially arrives. Or maybe that is just me. I always think things are a race.

Either way, it's a lovely thought!

things i never thought i would have reason to say

2006-09-05T12:46:00.000-04:00

1. "I've been snarted" (snart: to be inducted as an honorary member into the SNART motorcycle racing team through various, uhmm, "activities," see below)

2. "Aww man, I just got peach-slapped" (peach slapped: when the peaches in the bottom of the jar slip and hit you in the face while you are drinking, see below)

3. "Pass me that jar of moonshine"

woohoo! camping!

2006-09-01T11:42:00.000-04:00

I'm going camping for the long weekend. In the rain. Far away. With a bunch of old hill-billies. (So, if I have executed this properly, you are now asking yourself, "why?")

With my Dada. The coolest guy I know. Basically everywhere my Dad takes me is fun. So, I'm pretty excited.

how much is too much

2006-08-31T10:29:00.000-04:00

I am currently sporting way less hair and a little, okay a fair amount, more weight. Which is far too complicated a topic to cover in what I intend to be a light post.

Along with a few extra pounds in general, comes a few extra pounds in the "upstairs." So I was in need of a new mechanism of restraint for Lefty and Poncho. The old undergarments don't seem to be able to get a handle on them. So I went to unnamed Large Fancy Underwear Store to buy a new bra or two. This kind of shopping is perhaps the only fun kind of shopping when you are a little heavier than the last time you went shopping. It's strangely empowering to be able to ask for a bigger size than the cute girl next to you.

So there I am, bra shopping. I find one that I like: minimal crap sewn onto it, comes in a variety of normal colors (white, beige, black), simple and flattering. I'm about to be thoroughly pleased with myself and my very efficient, successful shopping outing, when, while deciding whether to get just one or spring for two, I glanced at the tag. In retrospect, I am sure that I must have been temporarily visually impaired because I would swear that just before I tucked the mechandise on the nearest rack and scurried out of the store empty handed the price tag had said forty nine dollars. Relying upon even my most primitive of math skills, with NY tax that would come to more than $100 for two bras.

I'm on a diet.

Lefty and Poncho have to go.

welcome to my livejournal: "The Haircut"

2006-08-29T22:28:00.000-04:00

I'm a little out of control today. (This is post number four.)

But you understand why...

eek!ness

2006-08-29T17:17:00.000-04:00

I am on my way to do something seriously brash. I am donating my hair to Locks of Love. Am I totally crazy? On second thought, don't tell me. I just can't seem to justify the hair anymore. I have tons of it and it grows out of my head wildly. The benefit of my hair to me is that it is attractive. Which basically means, I have long hair out of sheer vanity. As I said I just can't justify the vanity of it when I have enough of it to get a very expensive haircut, for free, and donate it to a child without any. If my extra hair can make a sick kid feel good, I'm all for that. Besides, I can grow it back. Right...?

a year for the history books

2006-08-29T10:18:00.000-04:00

Today is the one year anniversary of hurricane Katrina's arrival on the Gulf Coast. As such, I am going to try to write something about my experience in New Orleans and my feelings on the situation.

This morning when my alarm went off, I lay in the bed with my eyes closed, trying not to stir so as not to wake the dogs, who upon hearing me wake start racing around my bedroom like crazed chickens until I am forced by the need to quiet them to get out of bed and feed them. As I lay there, very still, listening to WNYC, as I do every morning, I felt the tide of anguish rising through me. It feels not unlike the urge to pee first thing in the morning. It is a nondescript urgency and discomfort emanating from my gut. I have felt it every morning since coming home from NOLA. This morning, it being the one year anniversary, the stories on WNYC were dedicated to "remembering." I don't need help remembering. I rather quickly gave up my stand of motionlessness in order to turn down the radio. I couldn't listen to it. I felt like my ears would surely either bleed or cry. Like the urgency of anguish would rise up and spill right out of my ears.

I am in pain every day. It is an unusual sort of pain. Allow me to explain some of the things I saw that seem to be the source of my pain.

The ACORN crew worked on one house for three days. And in those three days I did not lay eyes on a single person who was not either trolling the neighborhood for electronics or scrap metal or an MP Officer. We were in neighborhoods that reminded me of where I spent most of my childhood and the streets were abandoned. There was a eerie quality that caused me to feel more like I was in the midst of a war zone in a developing nation than a suburban, family neighborhood in the U.S. Everyday I would think, often out loud, "how did this happen," "how can we just stand by and allow this to continue," "why aren't people up in arms about this," "where is everybody?"

The point at which these questions became truly overwhelming for me was while carrying a rotting, waterlogged couch out of a house. When I looked down at the cushions while struggling to get it to the curb, I noticed the remains of a dog rotted into the fabric. (It is hard to even type that, even now.) For some, the sight would have made them wretch. Not me. It made my face go stone hard. My eyes glazed and I hurled my end of the couch up onto the pile with unusual force. I walked back to the house and dragged several more pieces of large furniture out to the growing pile with a hard face. When my jaw was sore from clenching my teeth I walked calmly and quietly to behind Bruno's parked car. I stripped myself of my mask and gloves and goggles. I unzipped my Tyvek suit, tied the arms around my waist. I sat down on the curb with my head between my knees and sobbed. I cried for a long time. I cried for the dog, I cried for the four other dead dogs found in the house next door. I cried for the empty streets. I cried for the people who died. I cried for the people who lived.

I have been crying ever since.

The situation, as I saw it, is dire. People are surviving in possibly the most hostile environment I have ever experienced. I fully expect that if the "Recovery Effort" continues down the same path, New Orleans will become a cesspool of poverty and crime. The military hum-Vs will become a permanent fixture in the urban landscape, rolling along between skeletons of buildings on empty streets dodging comically large potholes and random debris. It is that ugly right now and, it seems to me, it is up to the people of this country to exert an incredible force in order to disrupt the inertia of destruction that has taken hold in New Orleans.

I feel a sense of urgency several times a day, every day. I feel like I need to be doing something. I feel the urge to make loud noise and sob and run madly down the street. It is all I can muster to maintain my composure. I'm not sure exactly why I was struck so profoundly, but I wish more people would see what I saw. The city needs people to feel the kind of urgency that I am feeling, and, in fairness, we as a country need that city. Who can imagine the college years without Mardi gras stories? Even if you didn't go yourself (which is a damn shame), someone you know must have had a good "New Orleans" story: the people, the food, the drinking, the girls/guys, the music oh the music, Bourbon Street, St. Charles Street, Decatur, Frenchmen, the street cars, whatever may have been most striking or memorable. Those stories are about to become nothing but forgotten myths. And that possibility, the fear of what may become "New Orleans," makes my skin crawl and my guts cough up tears everyday.

farfalle with pesto and peas

2006-08-29T09:38:00.000-04:00

I made pasta last Friday. I never make pasta. I don't even own a box of regular pasta. But there was something specific that I wanted. I went to the sham of a grocery store in the soul-less village in which I am currently residing. I paid approximately $6 for a box of dried farfalle and with my overpriced pasta I made perhaps my favorite of all simple pasta dishes.

Farfalle with Pesto and Peas

-boil water
-salt water
-cook pasta
-add frozen peas to pasta for the last minute of cooking
-strain
-add pesto

possible additions: fresh grated Parmesan, toasted pine nuts or walnuts, pinch of lemon zest.
I add all three of these to build depth of flavor, but all are optional. Pasta, pesto and peas just by themselves are delicious: the sweetness of the peas and basil, the richness of the pasta, the salty, nutty pesto. It is a perfect example of simple balancing of ingredients. Delicious!

learning to love weekends

2006-08-26T14:03:00.000-04:00

Back when I trained horses to pay the bills, I worked the hardest on the weekends. That was when everyone wanted to ride and have lessons and watch me work with their horses. As I tired of the life, the demanding people and the inability to ever get ahead, I found that Saturday was a dirty word in my house. But now I have a 9-5.

It's 2:00 in the afternoon on a Saturday, and I have just now rolled my terry pajama bottom cloaked ass out of the bed and dragged it an entire three and a half feet to my desk so that I could post this.

Now I am going to finish reading the paper and watching old movies. Then I might go outside. I said I might. There is an equal or better chance that I will stay within a 3 meter circle of my bed, until I go back to sleep.

things I recommend

2006-08-23T22:34:00.000-04:00

I like to use my blog to recommend things. It makes me feel important. After yesterday's fiasco, I could use a little mid-week pickmeup, so I'm doing a few special recommendations.

First, I recommend making friends with your IT department. I have an IT tech friend, he builds firewalls, he subjected an ex to a series of embarrassing mishaps, e.g. 100 pounds of Omaha steaks delivered to her desk and charged to the company, all utilities being turned off and on randomly, a silly address listed in the DMV computers, but the prank that made me bake several batches of cookies in an effort to but some insurance: his ex mysteriously appeared on the sex-offender registry. This, folks, is why you should learn to bake, and then bake a lot of cookies for IT. It has worked so far for me.

Second, if you are going to get a brother-in-law, I recommend getting one as hip as mine. I have, hands down, the hippest brother-in-law ever. It is a good idea to get one that makes you laugh and does really neat stuff with computers and cameras. Look for one who gives you a warm fuzzy feeling both when you see him and he gives you a big hug, and when he is far away and doing nothing special at all. When just the thought of him being in your family makes you smile, that's the kind you want. I recommend getting a good one as it will make your life much better. It has worked for me. (Photo Credit: Christina O'Connor, photographer extraordinaire! Who provided us with an exceedingly beautiful set of wedding photos.)

confirmed evidence: I'm an idiot

2006-08-22T12:51:00.000-04:00

I have this really great story. I am dying to tell it. It is burning my lips and fingers. But in order for it to be funny, I have to admit to perhaps the most egregiously idiotic thing I will ever have admitted to on this blog. I mean, I am not shy about admitting to a lot of stupid things I do. It's part of who I am, and no matter what you say, doing stupid things is a part of your life too. But this is a fairly heinously stupid thing. (Don't worry, I will be telling the story, it's just more dramatic if I take a moment to set the stage.) Preface: I'm an idiot. I know that. If not before, I certainly know it now.

I write this blog because I sort of have to. I guess I don't really "have" to, but if I don't write here I write in a ratty old notebook, and that's not nearly as much fun. If I don't write at all, well, it's not pretty. So, as I have mentioned, I keep this blog. I post away on a fairly regular basis because I would be writing anyway. But I also hold onto the blindly optimistic hope that somewhere, someone is reading what I have written. The thought not infrequently scares me. But I don't have any comments so I figured, no one important was reading anyway. This was both comforting and, I'll admit it here, mildly disappointing.

When I set up this particular blog I had no idea what I was doing. However, I promised myself that I would make a concerted effort to learn about coding and web-design. I think I've done an admirable job, but I am still (as will become increasingly apparent) woefully behind the curve. I picked a template that was pre-coded and offered by Blogger. And let's face it, I chose Blogger to host my site, how cool could I possibly be? I can't host myself. But, nonetheless, I try to learn something and change the template about every month. And I have.

Apparently, along the way I modified something called "Comment Moderation." (You get where this is going?) I had assumed stopandgetrippedoff was set up like my other sites and I would get a comment via email and then could either erase or publish it. Well...

Not so my friends. Apparently, comments have been sitting in a file on Blogger waiting to be "moderated" for, oh, about, I'd say, it appears, the entire time I have had this blog. Yeah. I'm basically an idiot.

In recent months, now that I am feeling more confident about my posts, I was feeling a twinge of disappointment that no one ever comments. So this morning Adrian, of adrianisrad fame, IMs me that I have to approve his comment in order for it to be published. Comment? What comment? I thought, "hunh, maybe I spam-blocked mail from Blogger." Nope. So I signed in to my Blogger account and clicked on the "Comment" tab. Then the "Moderation" tab. (See the logic here.)

WHOA! There were dozens of backdated comments. They had been there, lonely and shivering, stuck in BloggerLand for months. I felt exceedingly guilty. And then it got better. I started to read some of them. They are REALLY nice. Several kind strangers were complimentary. A few sweet comments from friends. And then, I realized there are comments from blog-rock-stars ON MY BLOG. Holy crap! Andros, Meg, Joe DeSalazar, Adrian, JOE DeSALAZAR (I know I said him twice, that's because I have a massive blog-crush on him.)

So, now that I know that there are, surprisingly and god love them, readers, there are a few things I need to take care of publicly.
I am feeling:
-embarrassed for not knowing how to work my own site
-embarrassed that I did not acknowledge kind commenters
-embarrassed at the lack of quality writing
-embarrassed that people I respect and admire know what an utter mess my life is
-insanely smiley that fantastic people stop to visit me. ME!

Here is where I try to make up for not having thanked people at the time that they commented (remember, I didn't know that they had commented because I'm an idiot.) Andros, you may be singularly responsible for my sanity. Anyone wanting to know what is what in liberal politics, go see liberalcitizen, he's amazing. Meg, I have a friend-crush on you. If anyone wants to know how I wish my blog looked and how I witty I wish I were, go see megablog. Joe, I have a serious blog-crush on you. Serious. I will be trying to do a bit of food-blogging in your honor in the near future. Adrian, well, I know you. You know what I think. By the way, anyone who is not Adrian, Adrian is Rad. Good for a laugh at least six days a week. And happens to have the BEST online mixes, uhm, ever. (I can't believe these people actually read, or ever read my blog. Eek!)

Moral: Up the quality of writing, you never know who is out there.
Moral II: I am a confirmed idiot, and have been thoroughly humbled by this experience.

now I'm just mad

2006-08-21T10:14:00.000-04:00

so I finally agree to go see hipster music because, well, I like it. I pick a show that I am really excited about. And I'm talking super excited, not just a little excited. I go to buy tickets online and it's SOLD OUT! (See Beirut on Aug 25th at the Mercury Lounge.) DAMNIT!

I want to see Beirut and they don't appear to play nyc for a long time after this month's show. Now I'm just mad. If anyone can alleviate this, say if you have an extra ticket or whatever, please make my day and sell it to me.

the secret life of lizzy

2006-08-20T13:02:00.000-04:00

Before I was an academic and fancy-shmancy secretary, I had a completely unrelated, and totally unexpected, job. I was a professional equestrian. Yes, I did this. I am a life member of the USEF. People paid me bunches of money to ride and train their horses and teach them to ride and train their own horses. It is a strange, exclusive and elusive kind of business. But, I had a special niche in it. Basically, I was a horse whisperer. Which sounds pretty hokey. And thanks to Robert Redford, has been made into some kind of magic. But let me set the record straight. Horse whispering has nothing to do with talking quietly and is not magic. It's just about being able to interpret perfectly real signals. As it turns out, I'm pretty good at it.

The things we don't know about people, eh.

just for kicks

2006-08-20T11:14:00.000-04:00

I am still feeling completely traumatized by what I saw in New Orleans. So traumatized that I haven't even been able to write about it. Maybe soon though. Maybe not. It's hard to tell. (I am seriously considering counseling for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Yup. It's pretty bad. Which, if you know me and you know how hard-core/cold/heartless/unfeeling/callous I can be, speaks to the level of horror in NOLA.)

So, in the meantime, this is what I did yesterday:
-read cookbooks in bed until 11:30
-played on the computer in the office (iTunes cranking, windows open and feet up)
-IMed ab
-got a pedicure (now I have hot pink toenails, sweet!)
-played with the dogs in the backyard
-watched a sappy romantic comedy with a comically big bowl of popcorn
-toyed with putting a hit counter on this page (realized I am a complete idiot, and have no idea what I am doing)
-fell asleep watching the History channel

Today is shaping up much the same way.

good jazz and more evidence that I am a loser

2006-08-19T12:02:00.000-04:00

I went to see Christian Scott at Joe's Pub last night. He was great. The band was great. They are sophisticated musicians for being an average of 21 years old. They played several songs from the album, Rewind That, and a few new songs as well. The new stuff was interesting and the old stuff was reasonably well performed. Christian admitted that they are very straight up musicians, so they don't "mess around" a lot. But, since the compositions are solid they don't require much improv to sound good.

Additionally, the opening act, Eric Person and Meta-Four, were excellent. I would definitely see them again. Definite "date music" kind of show. Interesting but not overwhelming. You could hold a conversation or just as easily be entertained by the band. Good stuff all around.

Joe's Pub is officially my favorite place to see live music. It is the best venue I have ever been to: good sound, good seats, good service, good drinks, good food, perfect size. It's great.

Kermit Ruffins (of my trip to NOLA fame) will be playing Joe's Pub on September 17th. This is the best news I have heard since I've been home. NOLA Acorn Workers reunion night! I highly, highly recommend dishing out the 15 bucks to see him. His shows are so much fun! And I have seen many. You will not be disappointed. Also, Joe's is a great place to see anyone. I highly recommend this show! (Can I say that again, I HIGHLY recommend this show.)

Why I'm a loser: I had to go by myself last night.

hold onto your lunch

2006-08-17T15:46:00.000-04:00

these are some of the scarier pictures of houses we gutted. I finally got around to posting them on flickr. It was hard to do. Hard to look at them again. Get ready... Acorn House Gutting

fighting time

2006-08-17T13:56:00.000-04:00

I am not usually one to lament the natural changing of the sun and moon. I allow time to pass as it pleases and accept it's course. Of course there is the occasional morning when I'd like a few more hours of twilight. The occasional prayer for a slightly longer night has touched my lips, but only briefly, and not very often. I submit to the cycadian rhythms of the earth mother and schedule myself accordingly. But in New Orleans I found myself at increasing odds with time.

It started at work (yes, I know it was my vacation, but we all referred to our volunteer time with Acorn as "work," because it was. It was the hardest work many of us have ever and will ever do.) The job we were doing was so utterly traumatizing and the conditions were so miserable that every day I would wish a smidge more feverishly that our 2:30 quitting time would come sooner. I would make deals between myself and time that if I could just manage one more wheelbarrow full of rotting "stuff" then I would be five minutes closer to the end. I'm not sure how else I would have gotten through the days, particularly the bad ones.

But the dealing didn't stop there. After work I would beg the earth to turn just a little more slowly. I wanted to rest my body. But I also wanted to talk to my friends and explore the city and relax by the pool and visit the museums and get dinner and write about my day, but alas, I also had to sleep in order to survive. So I would wish for just a few more hours of daylight to burn every afternoon.

And then there were the New Orleans nights. Enjoying Kermit Ruffins at Vaughn's or Ray's Boom Boom Room or Rebirth Brass Band at the Maple Leaf on Oak Street or Leroy Jones at Donna's in the company of good friends I would swear away all other bargaining. I would pray to every higher power. I would beg and plead with the moon. I would promise anything in return if the moon would just promise to stay up a little longer. I pleaded with every power I could think of for just one more set, one more song and one more moment with friends.

I can't remember ever wishing more fervently for just one more hour as I did the last night/morning in NOLA. The recipe for the perfect night is as follows:
-one of each: Megan, Bruno, Molly, Tim, Dave, Me
add:
-walking around the French Quarter in the afternoon
-Chatting in our room at the Astor Crown Plaza
-great dinner at Angeli's
-Leroy Jones at Donna's, be sure to include free midnight red beans and rice
-hangin', drinking Mescal at Amanda's
-taking lots of silly pictures
-snuggling under the covers with good people
-misty eyed goodbyes

Who's better than us?

That, THAT is New Orleans!

riding on planes

2006-08-16T11:03:00.000-04:00

I was "specially selected by airport security for further screening" in the New Orleans airport on my way home. I contend here that I was only picked for being a grumpy New Yorker. When I tried to place my small carryon purse on the conveyer belt to pass through the security x-ray, I was instructed to use a plastic bin and place my belongings inside the bin. Interestingly, all of the plastic bins were strewn about on the OTHER SIDE of the metal detector. Apparently, in hiring of personnel the airport had forgotten to hire a "plastic bin mover and stacker." So my response to the angry security man was that he "would have to get me a bin, in order for me to use a bin." It was grumpy, I admit it. It was also laced with a bit of my usual, charming, sarcasm. The x-ray screen watching man then asked me if I had a laptop in the back of my bag. A laptop. Yeah in the back of my 7 by 4 by 2 inch purse (notice the "charming sarcasm" here) I had crammed a book in there so I looked at him and said, "Uh, a book?" "DO YOU HAVE A LAPTOP?" At which point I saw my small purse was already through the machine. I suggested that what the man was looking at on the stopped conveyer belt was not, in fact mine, but perhaps belonged to the man behind me in line, who incidentally, was bagless and shoeless. Again, I admit, there may have been a touch of irritation and a smidge of sarcasm in my comment. But, it was six in the morning, the coffee resides on the other side of security, and I'm a jaded nyc traveler. So after I flew through the metal detector with no problem, I was informed by a rapidly moving security officer who appeared from behind a large machine, that I had been selected for further screening. It was stupid. They took my chapstick. They did not, much to my surprise, find any "explosives residue" when they swabbed every part of my luggage. I'm guessing that's because I have never carried explosives, but, well, what do I know.

Kermit Ruffins Rocks

2006-08-13T11:14:00.000-04:00

I went with Megan, Bruno and Dave to see Kermit play at the Boom Boom Room on Frenchman Street in the Marigny last night. We got there at about 11:00 and Kermit played until 3:00. He is so good. We had such a good time.

We headed down there after perusing the galleries on Royal Street during Dirty Linen Night. (link to come, I am having a hard time finding any place online that explained "Dirty Linen Night" in NOLA. It's basically an opening of art galleries and a street fair for regular people.)

wedding toast

2006-08-12T12:20:00.000-04:00

In news not directly related to my NOLA trip, I wanted to write this down before I forget that I want to write it.

I was approached by gillian's friends at the wedding just before cake cutting time and reminded that, as the sister of the bride, I am supposed to give a toast. Hmm. Being a little rough around the edges as I am, I did not know this and had not come prepared at all. So I thought on it for a moment and knew immediately what to read (a passage on love from the Corinthians), but I could not think of what to say. I mean what do you say? So I decided to tell the truth. I am a mess and gillian, my baby sister, is amazing. She has done amazing things with her life, and I pale in comparison. She is beautiful and smart, and andrew is the luckiest man I know.

So, before I forget to write it: gillian, you are everything I aspire to be! (That was my toast.)

update on NOLA levees

2006-08-12T09:29:00.000-04:00

Of the New Orleans residents I have questioned, no one knows what exactly is being done to sure up the levees around New Orleans. They say that the Army Corp of Engineers is working on it, but they have not been informed what, exactly, is being done. But they do know that they are being instructed to expend large amounts of money (I am usually sited a number around $50,000), in order to flood-proof their houses. Seems reasonable...

But last night I had a native explain the situation like this: he must spend $60,000 to raise his house in order to be eligible for insurance. So he is spending money to insure the work of the Army. If they do their job properly, he shouldn't have to raise his house. I must admit, he has a point.

We finished another house the day before yesterday. It started out looking like this:

This is my favorite sign in NOLA so far:

finishing houses

2006-08-09T09:10:00.000-04:00

The finishing part is awesome.

House number two, finished yesterday.

I am uber tired, and have taken the day off. I was starting to wear thin, and this is my vacation after all. Overall: it is unbearably hot and the work is literally painful, but it has to be done and the gratitude that our crew receives from property owners makes the good-and-fuzzy-inside feelings bigger than the pain, heat and exhaustion. It's a good thing.

one down

2006-08-07T16:38:00.000-04:00

We finished the house today. It was great. Really great. We had a crew of ten, plus two Acorn crew chiefs. We ploughed through the rest of the house and got it totally cleaned out by 1:30. It was a great feeling. (I have pictures, but don't have time to post them now... I will soon. Promise.)

I have made an interesting, and apparently new, observation about New Orleans. There are no vegetables here. I usually eat rather (ok, exceedingly) healthy. I have enjoyed my po'boys and fried oysters, and raw oysters, and muffalettas, but it was time for some vegetables yesterday. Well, it seems that there are none to be found. I read all of my guidebooks, I checked out all of the menus posted in the windows, and finally settled on Cafe Maspero because they had a "Veggie Muffaletta" on the menu. Well, come to find out said "Veggie Muffaletta" consisted of delicious, melted Swiss cheese and the olive salad that makes it a muffaletta... no veggies to be had. It was tasty, but not what I had in mind. I asked the rest of the crew today if anyone knew where I could get vegetables in New Orleans. They all stared at me. No one had a response. The closest thing I got to an answer was, "maybe some of those 'upscale' places." Not what I had in mind either.

So if anyone knows where I can get vegetables to eat in NOLA, please email me.

day two: another day in the 7th ward

2006-08-06T14:06:00.000-04:00

Another day down. Today was fairly disappointing in that only half the crew showed up, so the two of us who were there, were busting it to try and keep up with plans (there were supposed to be five volunteers). But it was impressive how much we were able to get done. We emptied three rooms and dismantled a bathroom. The work is gruelling. Probably as gruelling as my hardest days on the farm. I have to force myself to stop and take breaks and drink enough water... I'm an overachiever.

We turned in early since both of us were completely beat by 11:00. But there was another massive pile of rubble out front as tangible proof of our progress.

While we were working a crew came by and one of the guys asked who I was working for. "Acorn," I responded through my P100. "Acorn, hmm, how much do they pay," he asked. I pressed my cheeks against the sides of my mask in an invisible smile, "nothing, my friend, we are volunteers." "Whoa, shit, the girl's laying' it out. Volunteers. Ha!" He was clearly surprised, possibly impressed. I am grossly out of place doing this work and attract the attention of all passing crews. If the attention is beneficial for Acorn then it is worth the awkwardness for me.

Some much anticipated photos:

This is the house we are working on

Some team members suited up.

Rotting "stuff" piled by the road for disposal.

This is what the inside of the house looked like today:

As you can see, it's a mess down here. But, so far, I'm really glad I came. I'm tired, like can't lift my arms to wash my hair tired, but it's a good tired.

the seventh ward

2006-08-05T16:10:00.000-04:00

I just finished my first day of work with Acorn. I'm feeling overwhelmed. When we arrived at the house in the seventh ward it didn't look tragic. We were in what appeared to have been a pleasant suburban neighborhood. This pleasant neighborhood today looks more like a war zone. There were no cars, no people, uncut grass, and red Xs on the houses. My crew included the property owner. When we entered the house, dressed, from head to toe, in goggles, P100 dust masks (which resemble gas masks), Tyvek suits, heavy gloves and work boots, I was overcome by the tragedy. There, before me, was a lifetime's collection of household items strewn about the house haphazardly. The waterline was clearly marked by the mildew stain about shoulder high. Furniture was overturned. Clothes were strewn across every part of the house. Moldy cereal boxes were rotted into the floorboards. Every room of the house was full of waterlogged "stuff."

I was particularly upset (I mean saddened upset) by the fact that the owner was with us when I would happen upon personal items. Some of the most upsetting included: a college application half filled in by his daughter, his son's brand new Fubu jersey, dirty tampons on the master bathroom floor, the dog bowl, a photo album. I find the experience both hard to write about and hard to explain. I think that at that first load of his youngest daughter's underwear, I shut off my empathy. If I allowed myself to feel the magnitude of the devastation, I would not be able to work.

The good news is that we will be able to finish the house tomorrow. It will be completely gutted and ready for rebuilding. The owner was grateful and gave thanks all around. His bravery and resolve gives me courage and hope that I can complete another day.

I would like to write more about the good stuff here, but I need to shower, which I plan on doing in my clothes, as they are drenched. In summary, New Orleans looks like a war zone to me. Bourbon street is still kicking, and I had a mean shrimp po'boy for dinner last night, but the work to be done here is beyond the scope of anything I can either physically do or mental comprehend. Hopefully the coming days will give me a better vocabulary to explain.

*In totally unrelated news: I am really, seriously, undoubtedly now famous. Check out the last link under "blogs". I have dreamt of this day for so long.

my luck is changing in the Big Easy

2006-08-04T14:50:00.000-04:00

holy crap, again! I just arrived in New Orleans. And *uhuhm* if you hadn't noticed, I am blogging. I have free, unlimited access to a computer with a super fast internet connection. Which is only icing at this point. I'm staying with cool people, I have a lovely private room, a bathroom with a claw foot tub, a seemingly very efficient window AC, access to a clean kitchen, uhm, does it get better? (I would say nice things and reveal my exact location, except that I noticed about 20 new profile views. I don't know who you people are, but thank you for visiting! But, since I don't know you, I'm not going to just give out my address. Thanks again for visiting!)

The city is in a strange state of disrepair. Some areas and buildings look fantastically shiny and then there are blocks and blocks of boarded up houses. The guy who gave me a ride from the airport said that there is a deadline in August for houses to either be gutted and boarded up or be demolished by the feds. I don't know how true this is but I will say it sounds plausible and I will do a little sleuthing and try to give you an update on the validity of this said deadline.

So anyway, I am super tired, I am going to nap and then go exploring. But the bottom line is: I can check my email! This fact alone is enough to put a smile on my face. So email away! I will receive them and I will respond!

the anti-hipster here

2006-08-03T00:25:00.000-04:00

holy crap! I can't blog fast enough to keep up with all of the cool stuff running through my head. The amount of stuff is in direct relation to the amount of cool stuff I've been doing. There are two things I need to talk about right now, and then more later.

I was kindly invited to go see yesterday's taping of Conan O'Brien. I arrived third, which incidentally was last, I'm a weener that way. We waited for not a completely ridiculous amount of time in a very hot hallway, penned in by the spring-coiled nylon version of velvet ropes with dozens of other Conan fans. We were instructed several times to turn off our cellular phones and NOT turn them on. We were then shuttled into elevators and taken to the studio. It was all quite orderly actually considering it was about 400 degrees and were were mostly New Yorkers. Watching the taping was a strange experience. I found myself watching the show on the monitors overhead because watching it live and in person was too strange. Eventually I forced myself to look down at the stage and I started to get into it. While the overall experience was fun, fun, fun, I have some critical observations. The show was totally canned. Everything was completely manufactured. I felt the drag that I feel during a forced class. When I am standing up there talking and having to pull the students along. Which was strange because clearly we all came for a good time and a good laugh. I'm not sure what it was. Perhaps it was just a particularly dry audience. But the feel in the studio was all too familiar to me as an instructor and not at all what it looks like on TV. Despite feeling strange about the discrepancy between taping and TV, I am so very glad I went, Conan was hysterical, and thank you (again) ab!

Later that evening we (me, ab, jon and mim) ventured across the east river to Williamsburg, home of the hipster, to see Jens Lekman. There were two very, unexpected, cool parts to this adventure. First, we split a pie in a place down the street from the record store where we sat at the booth opposite Jens and his "band" (I guess, I'm not sure, but he was with another Swedish guy and girl). We sat down and Mim looks casually across the table and says, "Uh, that's Jens over there." Adrian looks to one of the only two other booths and says, "Yup." He then snapped a few photos casually and we ate our pizza across from Jens Lekman. The next cool part, incidentally not the show which was so uncomfortably hot it was not at all enjoyable inside the store, was listening from outside the store. I loved the music. I mean I actually was thinking that I loved the music while inside, but it was so hot I thought I might just be delirious. But when we got outside, I decided that I did love the music. I have managed to completely avoid hipsterism up until this point. And I am dead set against ever being a hipster, acting hipster, talking hipster, dressing hipster, or worst of all thinking hipster, but I think I'm going to have to cave and check out some of the hipster music scene. I suppose allowing my distaste for hipsters to dissuade me from doing something that I would otherwise enjoy is anti-thetical to my life theory of independence. So I'm going to download some Jens and I'm going to love it and I am still not a hipster.

the dragon coaster

2006-08-02T09:32:00.000-04:00

I am about to tell a story that many of you will not believe. So allow me to preface this post with an assurance that it is not a joke, I am not being sarcastic, and it is all true.

I know my life is turning around. I know this because I spent about seven hours at an amusement park yesterday. (Again, not lying.) I went to Rye Playland with ab. I rode rollercoasters. I ate funnel cake. I ate hotdogs. I rode on the ferris wheel. I played skeeball. Okay that last one is pretty tame, but I know you're shocked by the previous four facts. If you are not impressed let me elaborate: I am a documented acrophobic and a health food nazi. Despite the blistering heat, the kind that makes you "feel like your skin is going to melt off," it was the best afternoon since Lake Minnewaska. Well, that's not entirely true. My sister's wedding was better, but a sister's wedding is kind of in it's own category. Besides, yesterday caused far less crying than the wedding. In fact, there were no tears. My favorite parts were the old skeeball machines with flip scoring, the swing ride (which I was even able to hold a conversation while riding, serious milestone people!), the artistic detail on the 1928 carousels, the "Mind Scrambler" which totally scrambled my mind, and the gondola wheel.

I am totally impressed with myself. I'm not entirely sure how to explain why I would have done something so brash as to ride rollercoasters. It was just time.

ab: You're welcome.
me: Thank you!!!

wurst with smartypants

2006-08-01T10:52:00.000-04:00

I went to Hallo Berlin last night for wurst. (note: I love sausage. A lot.) And while the wurst was the best, the even better part was the company. TEPs are the most entertaining dinner company I have dined with in recent memory. They even asked me about my research and responded with informed comments, developed questions and an appropriate amount of interest. I love people who pay attention. They also tell the best stories. My abs are still a bit sore from all of the belly laughing.

In related news, I am famous.

a different world

2006-07-31T09:43:00.000-04:00

"my sister's husband..." Eek! Sounds weird! But, alas, I have a brother-in-law. And he's a rockin' brother-in-law.

Other notable sights from this past weekend's festivities:
*Christine- sweet! Never needed to see anyone more in my life. Nub u!
*d&d in their girlfriends' underwear. The image of the one-piece is burned onto my retina. That one and the plaid shorts...
*the seemingly disproportionate level of excitement over the photobooth, which as it turned out was totally supported. note to all: rent a photo-booth for your wedding.
*the real, live, godhatesmath crew. Even better looking in person.
*all of my cousins, from both sides, in one place at one time (contrary to my usual sarcasm, I'm being serious, this one truly was the greatest. I am still fuzzy inside.)

So on to other news. I will post more about "/wedding" when I have had a chance to do a bit of real writing and editing.

I am running out of space for good links on my sidebar. This means that I must play like Cashman and cut the fat... Not really, I just have to get creative, spend inordinate amounts of money, sacrifice all hope of future generations of stars, and outright mortgage the dreams of links to come so that I can have everyone I want right now. (As you can see I am not at all bitter about trading away 4 quality minor leaguers for Abreu and Lidle)

I am a terrible editor. I hate cutting anything, so this is particularly difficult for me. So here are the links that I am thinking about adding:
craigslist
wikipedia
foodie nyc
shopgoodwill

And you will note that I have added one already. Ahh, running out of space. I'm going to have to learn to code some kind of categorization...

emailaholic

2006-07-25T13:50:00.000-04:00

doesn't anyone check their email as much as I do?

*anxiously awaiting responses*

forbidden questions for academics

2006-07-25T12:17:00.000-04:00

*still under construction
said cartoon

*"Will you go out with me in exchange for an A in my class" is not what this title is in reference to. That topic is relegated to "private," password protected posts.

*three credits due: vp! thanks for the cartoon, loki! kickass job cleaning it up for me, gp! "click on it to open it in a larger window"... you're just smarter than me, mg! yoda you are. Thanks to all! You guys rock!

great, great happenings

2006-07-19T12:42:00.001-04:00

so it had to go. I had a great cartoon about getting swatted for asking a PhD student "when it will be finished" or "what is your topic". But, alas, I don't have the appropriate facilities to make it legible on blogger, so it had to go.

I have been neglectful of my site recently. Perhaps it’s all the time I spend trolling Craigslist. No, no. That's not really true. I don't troll, I do stop by and peer into the water on occasion, but I'm not much of a fisherman.

So, yes folks, it seems to be true:
1. my sister is getting hitched
2. I'm going on vacation

Those two are not related, but together they constitute all big news in my life.

Loyal readers, *loving you*, you can probably guess where the "sister" link takes you. Why, jpoptosis of course. But I bet you were surprised by the "vacation" link. It is not a slip-up in my fantastical coding skills. No, it's true. (For all non-loyal readers, here's where you get a little extra insight into my true insanity *uhuhm*, I mean my true nature) I am going to gut houses in New Orleans with Acorn for my vacation. New Orleans, August, Tyvek suit. Yup. I am absolutely beside myself excited. I can't wait to get out of here and have a project to work on. I don't mind the heat or the back-breaking labor. And I will finally get to go back to New Orleans.

It's hard to explain my fascination with New Orleans. I have had a funny, special feeling for that city since the moment I stepped onto the tarmac when I first went until I was buckled into my seat on the plane home. And I have never felt it since, not anywhere else. It is a haunted place that bears its history as a faded tattoo. Out in the open where you can see it and experience it. New Orleans not only allows, but invites you to peer into it's past. While allowing the haunting history to be alive everyday, it is not a city bogged down in the pain and misery. Instead they flaunt their vibrance in spite; or perhaps simply in celebration. New Orleans takes pleasure in life. It is liberating to have permission to celebrate even while acknowledging the pain of the world. That is why I can't think of a better place to go on vacation. I would do service work wherever I went. So why not do it in a place that will let me enjoy myself and accept that even while kicking back, I am aware of the suffering in the world?

crashing down

2006-07-14T14:14:00.000-04:00

wow, the world is a mess! Makes my life look tame.

Israel is back in Beirut. Bombings in Mumbai. North Korea's firing missiles. Mexico has no president. It's a mess out there. The worst part is that it's a mess and we have a nincompoop for a president. I feel increasingly powerless as I watch our congress debate meaningless nonsense, e.g. a constitutional amendment defining marriage, and meanwhile the world is having real problems. This administration's priorities just are not in line with anything that I believe in: democracy, civility, you know, crazy stuff like that.

In personal news: old friends suck. New friends rock. You know what else rocks? Craigslist.

nibbles

2006-07-13T09:44:00.000-04:00

*this post is not even remotely sexual, so if you were misled by the title we here at stopandgetrippedoff do apologize.

I've got a plethora of writable material, but I'm just not prepared to organize a good piece on any of it. So instead... we nibble!

-So Hoboken, NJ is great (*gasp* did I just use Jersey and great together?) Yes, that's what I said. The views are magnificent, the food is good, it's walking friendly with wide sidewalks and few deranged bicycles, and on a weekday the bars are patronized but not loud. So, Hoboken, you get four stars!

-Speaking of great places, South Norwalk, CT: great. I need to spend a little more time there. The main drag has some great places to eat and at least two good bars, but I haven't explored beyond the one block (perhaps there is no more to explore... don't know yet) But, so here's the skinny: if you are in SoNo you must stop into the Loft and order an "oatmeal cookie martini." Now, as some of you know, I'm not one for fruity drinks. I like my scotch neat and my martini dry. But let me tell you, the oatmeal cookie martini was, hands down, the most delicious concoction I think... uhm, ... ever! I truly cannot remember having a tastier drink (which I suppose doesn't mean that I have never had anything tastier. I just don't remember it.) Seriously, it's like dessert, but better. Loft, you get five stars, but turn down the music!

-The best political joke I've heard in a while:
Rumsfeld is reporting to the President and the Cabinet.
He says, "Three Brazilian soldiers were killed today in Iraq."
The President says, "Oh, my God!" and he buries his head in his hands. The entire Cabinet is stunned. Usually Bush shows no reaction whatsoever to these reports.
Just then, Bush looks up and says, "Just how many is a brazilian?" (thanks jw, it's a good one!)

reeling

2006-07-10T08:32:00.000-04:00

"Nothing good will come of this," was my drowned plea to deter the continuation of my least favorite, adult, drinking game. It has neither song or dance involved, and always ends badly: Truth v. Truth. Participants must begin by consuming enough alcohol to lubricate the tongue and soften the brain. Then they take turns asking questions. There are two main principles that make for the most exciting game: the participants must feel that they have nothing to lose and questions that have the most dangerous answers must be chosen. The kind of question that has an answer so potentially damaging that the fear of knowing the answer has always left it un-asked. Think: how many people have you slept with to the power of 10. Those questions.

I begged. "I don't have any of those questions." "I don't want to know." "I don't need the answer." "It doesn't matter now."

But, no, he "wanted" to tell me. He wanted so desperately to be able to walk away with an "I told you so." "Besides, now we're just friends."

For one too many drinks, I got questionless answers. Assurances to doubts I had never had, and admissions to indiscretions I had never suspected.

"Nothing good will come of this." I repeated. Then, I repeated it again.

"Do you remember that night at the Deer Park Tavern?" Yes, I remembered, god save me, I remembered. Why was I blessed with a good memory? Why couldn't I have said: no, no, I don't remember at all, even once. But, no. The endless truths, all beginning with "oh, do you remember (insert time or place)... well, while you were in the bathroom (insert devious indiscretion)...," they burned my senses. My skin crawled around and around my body. It made my stomach dizzy. The poisonous answers just kept flowing, tainting every nice memory of every nice evening. Each time, yes, I remembered, I remembered fondly, and then he would shit all over my fond memory.

I am now blessed with the knowledge of dozens, literally dozens, of inappropriate things that took place in my absence. It was like repainting the inside of my brain with dog shit. He admitted his own digressions; confirming that he is an SOB, which I had not previously believed. I was under the mistaken impression that he had been, mostly, pretty darn good to me. Ha. He also implicated others. Hmm, the things we don't know about people...

So, do I feel
a) well informed
b) "closer, as friends"
c) relieved
d) an agonizing mix of anger, fear, embarrassment, abandonment, sadness, stupidity and pain

Discuss amongst yourselves. I need to go vomit again (not of over-indulgence. no, no it would have been a blessing to have been shit-faced drunk, but, no. No, I need to go purge myself of utter humiliation)

Moral: nothing good can come of Truth v. Truth. Don't EVER play it.

my religion

2006-07-08T10:27:00.000-04:00

(still no photos. Note to self: never allow the "photo experts" at Target to develop film containing eagerly awaited pictures.)

I require near constant entertainment. I engage in a plethora of various activities in order to avoid boredom. So last Friday I looked at my schedule, and it was blank. Additionally, my employers *loving them* had given me Monday and Tuesday off. I was staring down the barrel of a long weekend with nothing special to do. Well, that simply wasn't going to happen. I promptly did a bit of online sleuthing and googled directions to Lake Minnewaska. (sidenote: "google" is now in the Merriam Webster Dictionary with a small "g" as a verb) I found a local, free, campground, packed my car, dogs included, and hit the road.

As it turns out, Lake Minnewaska is less than two hours away and is in a very crunchy, cool, college town: New Paltz. The whole experience, indeed, provided near constant entertainment. I woke in the mornings and hiked over to the "Gunks". Then I came back and drove into New Paltz, where I found a fantastic, certified free trade coffee shop. Where the owner/manager/barrista (we can all thank Starbucks, those money grubbing whores, for the introduction of "barrista" to common usage in American English) was sweet and interesting. He made me the most delicious Chai tea and let me use the computer in the back to check my email. He also let me lounge on the overstuffed couches and gave me a glass bowl and real, metal spoon for my cereal. Then I would, with a full belly and light heart, go to Lake Minnewaska State Park, and head off into the woods seeking solace.

Standing below the rain swollen waterfalls around the lake, I not only found solace, but I found my god. Genderless, shapeless, and faceless, I know that there is power in the world that goes beyond what is usually exerted by humankind. That is what I believe. The force that we exert on this world is both tremendous and under-utilized. I am confident that I have in me boundless ability.

(Do I sound crazy yet?) Feeling restored, each evening, I headed back down the mountain and treated myself to a "Gunksburger" at Mountain Brauhaus, a charming German restaurant at the base of the hill. It was more delicious each night. And while chomping away I would write in the small spiral notebook I had stashed in my bag. Hopefully, I will be able to turn some of my ramblings into posts here.

In short: Lake Minnewaska is beautiful. New Paltz is a curious and friendly town. I highly recommend the trip to all. If you appreciate the outdoors at all, go!

i'm back

2006-07-06T15:16:00.000-04:00

I survived.

I went here, Lake Minnewaska State Park in New Paltz, NY. I highly recommend it. (more to come. I had a photo developing snafu, I'll explain later.)

i ran away

2006-07-02T08:03:00.000-04:00

shh, I ran away. Don't worry I'll come back... later. (I'm posting this from the back room of a certified fair trade coffee house with a really nice owner/manager.) There is coffee, there are mountains, there is water, camping is involved. There will be photos.

moondancer

2006-06-30T08:42:00.000-04:00

Have you ever re-discovered an album? You know the old scratchy cassette tape *gasp* that you listened too until the chords were burned into the synaptic pathways in your brain. That tape that you then tossed into a box while moving out of the dorms. And then into another box the next time you moved. That tape that has faithfully remained in the bottom of a box in your basement. Then, for whatever reason you come across it (like perhaps because you have OCD and thus experience sudden urges to organize things... or whatever) or maybe you just hear a snippet of one of the songs while flipping through the radio and you are reminded of that album. You either go find it, or maybe you go buy it in a more contemporary form, like, say, on compact disc. You listen. You are transported. You are younger, dumber, and far more optimistic.

Just such an experience involving The Best of Van Morrison, particularly Moondance, has made me want to get out of my own skin and be that optimistic person. I miss that me.

giada-withdrawal

2006-06-27T12:15:00.000-04:00

I have not seen a full episode of Everyday Italian for weeks. But I noticed that I am not the only nyc-food-blogger who has a thing for Giada DeLaurentiis. Joe loves her too, of course he does appear to be a heterosexual male... But even so, how could any sexualized human being resist, really? Forget the eggplant, have you seen this woman handle a knife? Cleavage and a sharp knife, who's not with me?

white lies and code

2006-06-27T11:00:00.000-04:00

I lied. When I was hired I said that I knew how to work on web pages. The truth is that I had no idea, but I was confident in my ability to learn before my fibbing was uncovered. And I was, so far, right.

Those letters at the end of the web address were a mystery to me. "HTML," what's that? But little by little I have been able to piece together the strips of letters and numbers and symbols that are available everywhere (if you know what you are looking for) and begin to make sense out of them. I took the class offered by my employers. I asked a thousand questions. I emailed our web specialist several times a day. I switched between wysiwyg and code about forty seven thousand times a minute

I'm sure I was irritating in those early weeks. But the up side is that now I am able to do enough with web pages that my employers don't know that I had never seen code before six months ago. (No small feat, considering I have no education in computers!) So I know enough to not be a total liar. That should be good enough. But, of course, as many of you know, I am never still, constantly seeking entertainment, and want to know how to do everything.

So now I have this blog. And now I know enough code to add links and photos. But I have to be greedy. I have to get bored. So now I want to make it fancy. Now I want to archive and categorize and privatize. I can never just be satisfied.

Moral: 1. I learn patterns with Rainman like speed, 2. This page may or may not get better

music bender

2006-06-23T11:19:00.000-04:00

I am officially on a good music bender. I went to the JVC Jazz Festival performance of Clarion Call last night. This is a group of four (fantastic) New Orleans jazz trumpeters. I was the youngest person in the room, again. (What is it with young people and jazz?) But what a show! I can't remember ever having that much fun at a show in NYC. It was a real New Orleans style, get up and dance, clap your hands, sing and holler, kind of show. The elderly man behind me grumbling at me to "sit down!" was the only not-fun part of the whole experience. Well, that and the fact that I am the tool who goes alone to a jazz show... wow, I'm a loser. But I am the loser who got to get up on stage and dance with the band! And the youngest of the four trumpeters, Christian Scott, is not only a wonderful, and highly acclaimed musician, he is one fine cat! Fabulous jazz, dancing, and eye candy! What a great night! I knew I would see good music: between Kermit Ruffins, James Andrews, Marlon Jordan, and Christian Scott I expected a night of good music. I had not expected it to be so much fun! Kermit is a character, James is a showman, Marlon can really play a trumpet, and Christian, well, I'm biased. They not only delivered on the music, but they provided an evening of non-stop entertainment. I had so much fun!

Fortunately, for me, Christian Scott has just moved to NYC and will be playing at only my favorite music venue, Joe's Pub, later this summer. August 18th to be exact. Anyone wanting to see a really, really good (looking) young jazz musician, I implore you, GO!

the apple in my heart

2006-06-21T15:36:00.000-04:00

Faded graffiti peels away from the patched brick of the building on the north east corner, reminding my eyes of the trashy side of this city I love. The stench of stale, baked in urine reminds my nose of the filth in this city. The roaring rumble of the N above rattles my glasses and reminds my ears of the deafening sound of this city. This city I love bombards my senses and crawls over my skin. It creeps through me and settles in my gut. A child on the platform smiles at me and I feel home.

Being away from New York is always an eagerly anticipated event, but when its over and I am back, I can never remember what made me want to leave.

(photo credit to gp... snap!)

a dang'rous place to be

2006-06-19T10:29:00.000-04:00

The opening line of my favorite Hayes Carll song is: "Highway 87 is a dang'rous place to be"

This picture was taken in Crystal Beach, Texas, which is on the Bolivar peninsula. We were headed back to the ferry to Galveston and we just couldn't resist.

Yes, I went to Texas and I didn't even get in one single bar fight! Now that's self control.

flowers and liquor

2006-06-19T09:57:00.000-04:00

Really great music may be hard to find, but it is worth the effort. My dad and I went to Galveston, Texas for the weekend to see a musician that we both feel strongly will be famous, household name famous. We have seen him in the New York area on several occasions, but since he doesn't travel with the band, we have only seen him play solo. So we wanted to see him with the band.

My dad, being as he is, decided to put together a little excursion. So feeling like groupies, we boarded a Texas bound plane on Friday. When we arrived in Galveston (which was surprisingly pretty and quaint) we went to check out the venue, The Old Quarter. As we walked up, there was a Hayes Carll song playing on the speaker outside. We thought how nice it was that Wrecks Bell (the manager of the Old Quarter) was advertising Hayes by playing his CD. We checked the door in hopes of finding Wrecks so that dad could pick up the tickets and so that I could request the use of a bathroom, it had been a long drive from Houston. The door was unlocked, Wrecks greeted us, and when we stepped in we realized the Hayes Carll music was coming from Hayes Carll. He and the band were doing a sound check. We hung out for a while and listened to the sound check, enjoying a private show. My cheeks are still sore from grinning.

This was indicative of what was to come. The shows were both unmatched. Each night was different, and both were excellent. At the opening chords of each and every song we would lean in and proclaim that this song was our "favorite Hayes Carll song." The truth is that they are all my favorite. The music was simply wonderful. Hayes is great live, and the band was fun. After the shows when we requested t-shirts and CDs, Hayes tried to give them to us for free in gratitude. We shook our heads, and gladly shoved bills into his hands. This weekend was a bargain, at any price!

don't mess

2006-06-16T07:50:00.000-04:00

just a little note to anyone concerned for my safety. I have, begrudgingly, removed the Che button from my bag, so hopefully I will not get shot in Texas.

"Texas, where even the liberals carry guns" (thnx cr for the quote!)

learning pains

2006-06-15T13:14:00.000-04:00

Here's the trouble with learning to revise my writing: it takes a long time. Creating a polished piece takes much longer than I am comfortable with. You know how cheap gum gets a pasty texture and tastes like rubber after too much chewing? That's how the ideas in my head feel. The brain hasn't yet learned to chew slowly.

Moral: it will be a few days, but hopefully it will be worth it. Feel free to wait anxiously and then after reading the little gem, gush over it to the author, pouring the praise and good wishes into the eager, and as of yet empty, email box. For all dissenters, go read someone else's blog!

In the meantime: I'm going to see Hayes Carll... AGAIN! Very exciting. If anyone is in Galveston, TX this weekend, go see Hayes at the Old Quarter. And look for this ugly mug, I'll be sporting my too long neglected cowboy boots and Wranglers. (Don't fret, I will pack them away before returning to the concrete prairie that is nyc)

more inhumanity by FEMA

2006-06-12T18:06:00.000-04:00

I want to confer my deepest, however belated, gratitude on all of those who made a call or sent an email in an effort to keep Camp Algiers open. Unfortunately, in a counter-effort to continue doing nothing sensible, humane or right, FEMA closed the camp. I have been surprised by how angry this made me. I think I have reached, or am getting close, to my saturation point where irresponsible behavior by the government is concerned. I just can't take the suffering that they cause. It is all too painful.

isn't that the definition of masochist

2006-06-12T15:29:00.000-04:00

I have decided. I will be running in a 5M later this month, a 5K the next week, and the NYRR Grand Prix Half Marathon on July 9th. I figure if I'm going to do it, I might as well see if I can kill myself, right? (Actually, it was so much fun I am really excited to see how much I can do!)

In political blog news, there are two places that you need to check out. The first regarding gay marriage. Andros makes a compelling argument that is definitely worth reading. Then, head over to megablog to see meg's reporting on the White House Project. Married gays and a woman in the white house... can I pull a Rip Van Winkle and take a little nap until that happens? I'd like to live in that world!

like a mountain goat

2006-06-10T19:51:00.000-04:00

I did it!

I not only started my race today, but despite all of my recent injuries, I finished and finished under my goal time.

My favorite part was passing people on the up-hills. It reminded me why I force myself to train on the mountainous roads around here. I was rockin' up the hills! It was very satisfying.

I feel surprisingly good. ...sore calves, a sore hamstring and a very tight hip-flexor, but really, pretty good!

I will report when I decide on my next race. (As long as I feel okay, I will be at the Randall's Island track meet on Tuesday... Yeah!)

hodge-podge

2006-06-09T09:38:00.000-04:00

whoa. I'm not sure what else to say. I am wading through some serious stuff.

I haven't had enough time to ruminate yet, but I needed to sit and write something. So here are some nibbles (which is a concept stolen from Amateur Gourmet):

*Blogger is having some problems lately. My page is so slow to load that I can go upstairs, pee and be back at my desk before it is finally up. Now I am a guy-fast pee-er, but still... Blogger's lack of speed has come at a decidedly bad time for me and is starting to really irk me. I need Blogger to get off it's ass and get back to work because I have shit to write and not a lot of time to do it!

*I went to see James McMurtry at the Bowery Ballroom. There were two acts on before him. One of the other performers blew me away (and apparently impressed the rest of the audience as he sold out of albums downstairs after the show). Tim Easton. Now I will admit I have never heard him before and only heard one live set, but I was impressed. He had a good catchy sound and an intriguing voice. But what stopped me in my tracks were his lyrics. A musician with a social conscious. I love it. My favorite was "J.P.M.F.Y.F." Jesus Protect Me From Your Followers, not all of them just the ones who turn love into fear and hatred. If you're interested go here.

*Since my shins started hurting I have changed my stride a bit in order to compensate. The problem with this: I am now nursing a sore hamstring. Damn body!

legs don't fail me now

2006-06-07T10:47:00.000-04:00

I have shin splints.

If they preclude my finishing this weekend's 10K I will chew my own legs off. In all my years of running, my body has never failed me. It has always been my will that gave in to the temptation of day-dreaming instead of training. Now my legs are hurting and all I want to do is run more.

Speaking of running more. How excited am I!?! Tuesday night track meets anyone? Y'all know where to find me on Tuesday nights!

why I subject myself

2006-06-03T09:27:00.000-04:00

While considering the personal nature of many of my recent posts, and after reading meg's manifesto, I have decided to revisit my feelings about keeping a web-log. For me, my reasons for writing are inextricably linked to my reasons for keeping this blog.

Writing is a life line. It is the spring shaped hose that pumps a continuous supply of oxygen to me while I am floating around in an oxygen free atmosphere. It is a technological umbilical cord connecting me to the womb of my life. When my lungs are tired from screaming at the inside of the soundproof astronaut helmet I chose to wear, which I call 'independence,' I can allow scraps of paper containing carefully crafted phrases to be sucked through my lifeline.

Writing is a valve. I have a preference for pens that write fast and cars that drive fast. Its not that I actually write fast, but I need to know that I can. I need to know that my implement is capable of moving at dizzying speeds. That it can move at the speed of my insides. When the little equine shaped ideas galloping around my brain kick up so much dust that it obscures my vision, writing is the air supply. It is the valve that allows the dust to escape my brain. It is also the valve that lets the water in the tank behind the toilet of my head escape into the sewers, flushing away the crap. Without that little trap door, the shit piles up filling my head. Writing prevents sepsis.

Writing is a talent. I have honed it every day of my short life. I have never before put it on such public display. I hoarded it away only sharing snippets of it as required for class assignments. I made it through college and two years of graduate school, without allowing a single piece of unsolicited writing to be read. Meanwhile each little sculpted morsel offered up to my professors elicited the same response: "well written..." Undoubtedly, my fascination with words is responsible for my writing talent. "Incognito" was part of my first grade vocabulary. The sound of it, the look of it on the page, the ways it could be used, I turned it over and over inside my crowed brain. Manipulating words became the task I assigned to my cognition each morning in order to assuage the need to scream every moment of every day.

Writing is raw. Polished, critiqued, revised, none of these describe my writing. They should, but they don't. I just pull it out of my brain after it has been churned a few million times and throw it at the page. How long I have let it spin determines what it looks like when it comes out. The best stuff I ever wrote was the product of painstaking revisions over a period of weeks. I work towards that every day when I write. On the good days I can sit on a piece for a few days and rework it several times. On the bad days I just slap it on the plate still bleeding and moo-ing. These days, I am working on refining the kitchen to turn out a perfectly rare product with Smith and Wollensky style consistency and accuracy. Slightly cool in the center, seared on the outside, well plated slabs of the animals trotting around my brain served up for the enjoyment of all.

the crush

2006-06-02T12:20:00.000-04:00

Alright, here I go with another confession. (It is not x-rated.)
I have harbored a mad crush on a wonderful boy since the day I met him, and now I am going to fess up. While I was waiting in line for him to take my order, the first time I had ever been into the Peach Lake Market, I tried to imagine what he was like. Was he a sports watcher? Did he sleep in pajama pants? How often did he talk to his mom? Did he swear a lot? Was he the type to stand very close to his girlfriend when they went out? What was his name? I was generally experiencing a school-girl crush.

Frank. He was funny and friendly. I was able to get past the crush part, and decided that I really just liked him. He was one of those people. I just liked him. I ate approximately one meal a day at the Peach Lake market for the next five years. Sometimes because I was hungry and sometimes just to exchange a few words with Frank. Nothing major. It was just comforting. Despite having only a server-customer relationship, he was my most loyal friend really. I worked all of the time. I moved to NY without knowing anyone. I lived alone. The Market was my family, even though they didn't know it.

I have since made a few friends and moved far enough away from Peach Lake that I don't eat there anymore. But I have carried around a secret affinity for Frank. There are a few others like him: my ninth grade roommate for example. They are just people, who won't know that I am writing about them, who touched my life in a special way. And now when I think of them I feel my heart smile a bit.

Part of my recent sadness has actually been related to all of the preceding about people I secretly love. Loyal readers will recall that I have had an unusual amount of death around me. And as my friends have passed away, I have become increasingly sensitive about illness and death. So I was devastated when I found out about Frank being sick. But, today, I am pleased to report Frank is so far successful in his fight against lymphoma. I saw him yesterday evening. I almost leaped into his arms I was so excited. Of course, he thinks that I am over-reacting a bit. But that's because he knows nothing about the little Frankie I have always carried around in my heart. Well, not until now I suppose.

And, Frank, keep your hair short, it's hot!

taking up a cause

2006-05-31T10:19:00.000-04:00

On this blog, I have, at times, mentioned that I work with really great people. I also work with people who do really great things. They are overall an admirable group. As such, I have the chance to assist in a meaningful cause that has been taken up by a colleague: the rebuilding of New Orleans. He is a native and a political activist, so its a natural pairing. Now, we need your help...

Because of time constraints, I am simply going to paste in his piece, it's better than anything I could come up with anyway. (I have a few too many things on my desk to do anything fancy. Just please read the following and make a quick call or send off an email to help us save this camp!)

Contact FEMA and tell them to Keep Camp Algiers Open!!
Main Number (available 24/7):Telephone: (202) 646-4600
Media Desk:E-mail: FEMA-News-Desk@dhs.gov
Kathy Cable, Media MonitorE-mail: kathryn.cable@dhs.govTelephone: (202) 646-7917
Barbara J. Ellis, News Desk/PreparednessE-mail: barbaraj.ellis@dhs.govTelephone: (202) 646-4021
___________________________________________________________
Don't Close Camp Algiers
by Christopher Malone, Ph.D.

June 1st marks the beginning of 2006 hurricane season. Still reeling from the effects of Katrina and a recovery effort that is moving at a snail's pace, the people of New Orleans are courageously bracing for what will come this summer.

Yet, June 1st is notable for another reason. At the very moment that hurricane season commences, the Bush Administration has decided to cut off funding for a facility that has been a lifeline for dozens of relief organizations and thousands of volunteers who have given their time and compassion to help New Orleans get back on its feet.

That is the day FEMA will discontinue funding for Camp Algiers, a temporary, full-service base camp located in the New Orleans neighborhood of Algiers, run by Deployed Resources.

Camp Algiers is one of the few things FEMA got right in the wake of Katrina. Situated just across the river from downtown New Orleans, the camp opened on September 27th, 2005 and received its first volunteers the next day.

Camp Algiers can house up to 1600 volunteers a day. It comes equipped with linens for the beds in air-conditioned tents, hot and cold personal showers, and laundry tent with washer/dryer units. There is a recreational tent with a large screen color TV. There is also a football field and running track on the premises. The dining hall serves three square meals a day, including a "to go" lunch for volunteers who are working in the city during the day. It also has bottled water, soft drink fountain, coffee, hot water for tea and hot chocolate and fresh fruit out at all times.

The camp is open 24 hours a day and the entire enterprise is funded by FEMA.

How important has Camp Algiers been to the recovery of New Orleans? Since it opened, Camp Algiers has housed over 11,000 volunteers. Nearly 40 relief organizations have used Camp Algiers to conduct their operations by housing staff, volunteers and contract workers there. Most of the nearly 4,000 college students that traveled to New Orleans for spring break stayed at Camp Algiers. In late March, I went home to New Orleans and brought fifty of my Pace University students with me who stayed at Camp Algiers for a week while we worked with ACORN to clean and gut homes.

Quite simply, my students would not have been able to make the trip if Camp Algiers was not available. The same could be said for thousands of others.

The cost to maintain Camp Algiers is but a drop in the bucket of funding already allocated in the wake of Katrina. Consider this: Congress has allocated some $80 billion for recovery and rebuilding along the Gulf Coast. FEMA pays $116 per person per day to keep Camp Algiers open. The average volunteer or contractor stays at Camp Algiers for 5 days. Thus, by even the most liberal of calculations, FEMA has subsidized the army of volunteers which has descended upon New Orleans these last 8 months all for less than $10 million. Talk about getting the most bang for your buck.

If FEMA discontinues funding for Camp Algiers, thousands more who may want to go to New Orleans to help out this summer will be faced with the unfortunate choice of either paying for housing for themselves or not going at all. Given this choice, we know the outcome: the river of volunteers will simply dry up.

I know this because I plan to go back to New Orleans this August with a group of my students. Many have said they simply could not afford staying in New Orleans for a week if they had to pay their own way for housing and food.

Gorge W. Bush came in to office in 2001 promising to unleash the power of the "armies of compassion" upon the country's social ills. In the wake of Katrina, an army of compassion materialized and descended upon New Orleans to help her people; for the past 8 months these loyal foot soldiers called Camp Algiers home base. Abandoned once, New Orleanians need not face this double humiliation.
_____________________________________
Christopher Malone is an Associate Professor of Political Science at Pace University in New York. He is a native of New Orleans.

side benefits

2006-05-30T09:56:00.000-04:00

madness. Last week was total madness.
What I did a lot of:
-work
-absorbing information
-networking
-walking in downtown Manhattan
-acting foolish late at night
-Dewars (related to the above)

What I should have done more of:
-work
-absorbing information
-behaving in a professional manner in and out of the conference

Clearly the academic stuff was great. I had a great time and learned a great deal. How could I not? I was immersed in a pool of smart people. But there were some great side benefits too.
One of the unexpected pleasures of being in the city was running. I was able to get up at 5:30 and simply walk out the door and hit the pavement. I ran the streets of lower Manhattan happily entertained by the people, vehicles and store windows for hours. Which was a pleasant change from the clock watching, foot dragging, laboriously boring running that I subject myself to at home. (BTW I am training for this, which explains the masochism)

Other things that I enjoyed outside of academics included, being able to walk everywhere, being close to my dad, having a neighborhood watering hole that is convenient for everyone, people on the subway, not being ridiculed for listening to jazz on my ipod.

Generally, I enjoyed the city, and am reminded that I miss it.

craziness and politics

2006-05-24T09:32:00.000-04:00

not actually crazy... I promise.

I'm headed into the city for some serious political schooling. I'll give an update when I get back. This is one of the conferences. Amazing people, all in one place, talking about meaningful immigration reform. I'm pretty excited!

it's over

2006-05-23T15:21:00.000-04:00

the deafening sound of shattering glass resonates from deep in my gut, drowning out all of my senses.
Who are you, and what do you want?
I'm not in today.

hello, my name is elizabeth and I am a groupie

2006-05-20T13:25:00.000-04:00

I went to see Hayes Carll, again, last night and I am going to see him, again, tonight. He is that good. He recognized me before the show and wanted to know what I had thought of the set at Joe's Pub. I told him I loved it. Later, during his set, he played a song for me. It was a quiet, sweet ballad about a friend of his who died of a heroin overdose. The rowdy crowd paid no attention and talked through the whole song. But he played it anyway because I had told him I wanted to hear that song again, live. I cried a little. After the set he thanked me for coming out, signed everything that I handed him and gave me a big, tight, full-body contact, hug and thanked me again for listening.

He is funny, witty, sweet, and thoughtful (I noticed this morning that he had made personalized notes on each of the albums and pieces of paper I asked him to sign). His lyrics evoke joy and pain. He is a masterful guitar player and fine vocalist. I just can't recommend his shows enough. And both of the albums are the kind that you put in, press play, and listen through from track one to the end... no skipping.

I'm getting ready for tonight's show... feeling like a groupie... and I don't even care. He is that good.

p.s. Here is a picture from him at Joe's Pub...

(Thanks Dad for the rockin' photo)

1 life? check.

2006-05-18T18:46:00.000-04:00

it's time to take an inventory of my life. I could do this privately, but then what fun would a weblog be? What would be the entertainment value of a blog that, after revealing most intimate details, reserved the juiciest stuff for inside my own brain?

I could organize this a few ways. I could list the good and then the bad. I could write an essay. I could assemble a list of things and write a witty description of each item. But I think, in keeping with the true structure of my thought pattern, I will patch together a hap-hazard compilation of thoughts.

It seems to me that anything of value in my life has a dual character. Things are good and bad. For example, let us start with my job, my job is a bottom rung, minimum wage, kind of job. Any fool on the street ought to be able to do it. And the pay SUCKS. This part is bad. However, I have my own office, and it has a window. This is good. I also work for salt of the earth people who care about me and (almost) always do right by me. This is good. Additionally, I work along side people who, quite simply, rock my world. (Hi guys! You rock!) So I give the job an overall rating of: 7.7
I'd say it's a keeper.

The education/future career paths: generally sucks. I've done so much fun school, and at the end of the day it is all worthless because I have not managed to finish any of it. This MUST be dealt with. It makes me feel bad about myself. We can't have that.

People, as in family and friends. Hmmm. This one is the hardest for me. Actually, I am going to have to slip into general, veiled talk now because I have no use for a blog that hurts people. Let's see, how shall I put this... I could be in the Adirondacks without human contact for years and be less lonely than I am now. Having the people closest to you be unable to see you is far worse than just being alone. Now, what prevents my people from seeing and knowing me can be complicated. For some it is because they are dealing with their own issues. Forgivable. Dying of cancer... you don't need to be worrying about me. For others it is because they are so consumed by what they want me to be that they can't see who I am. They cut and paste what little they do know of me into the mold that they have created for me. They love me the most and yet, make me feel the crappiest. Others just don't have an interest. They are just too busy with their own lives. End result: me, lonely.
But there is a bright spot in this category. Some new folks. They are like the water filling the ever widening crater between me and my fam. Some of you know who you are. Others should know.
I'm thinking about getting a new suit and going swimming...
So anyway..., people: out with the old, in with the new? (The "?" was a carefully selected mark of punctuation in order to convey my uncertainty about this. Any thoughts?)

Social endeavors: I am the loser that goes to the movies and eats dinner alone. And, actually, I am good at it and I enjoy it. I am having the greatest time going out alone! I have been able to meet up with lots of fun people while doing a plethora of new things. Games, shows, bars, music, movies, lectures, art, walking, running, singing, dancing... I had forgotten that I know how to do a lot of things, and have fun doing them! I am good company! Yeah social endeavors!

Wow, I am actually better off than I was thinking. I was very much prepared for a lengthy list of one sad fact after another. But really, it's not that bad. The loneliness is blinding, but otherwise, I just need to make some decisions about school and I will be fine. Huh. This has been quite helpful. Thank you blogger!

p.s. I am going to see Hayes Carll again tonight... alone. That's pretty sad. But he is that good!

more music

2006-05-18T10:04:00.000-04:00

O.k., really, I am not a music person. I like music, but as I said, I don't know anything about it. I just know what sounds good to me.

But here I am with yet another music post. I saw Hayes Carll last night with my dad. Yes, with my dad. At Joe's Pub. First: Joe's Pub is a fantastic venue. I'll just say that. Second (and on to the music part): Hayes Carll is worth seeing anywhere and worth paying a lot of money to see. At various points in the set, which was sadly cut short by a fire drill, I laughed out loud, I watched intently, I wiped tears from the corners of my eyes, and I smiled and applauded joyfully. Now, for me, that's what good music should do. Hayes Carll is good music.

history rules

2006-05-16T10:14:00.000-04:00

why do we need troops or a fence? Because people want to come here. Why do people want to come here? Because we have all of the opportunities (money and jobs). Why do we have the opportunities? Because we have a long history of exploiting peripheral regions of the world. What are peripheral regions? The poor regions of the world that have the highest sending rates for immigrants? So why do we need a fence? To stop a process that we started and continue to cause. Learn your history!

el gato

2006-05-13T11:06:00.000-04:00

I went to see Gato Barbieri last night. I will admit upfront that I know very little about music. I know what sounds good to me, but that is the extent of my technical knowledge of music. I do have an affinity for jazz, more specifically, anything "ethnic," i.e. latin, afro-cuban, creole, spanish, indian. A little Coltrane with a little latin beat and I am entertained for hours. That being said, everyone should see Gato Barbieri. He was great! Just great! The band was a collection of odd looking cats and Gato looks like a little elf on stage with his dark glasses, hat and bright red sock. He is in his 70s and looks it, but what a fun group of musicians to watch. The whole show felt like we, the audience, were sitting in on a jam session. There was a bit of everything, from his Oscar winning score to "Last Tango in Paris," to contemporary and progressive, to salsa. It was a great show!

The unfortunate part is that I was clearly the youngest audience member... by a quite a few years. I'm not sure how jazz and blues have fallen out of favor with twenty-somethingers, but I sure like it.

In related news, Ani Difranco (whose lyrics you will recognize if you are a loyal stop-and-get-ripped-off visitor), had been on a touring hiatus. But she kicked off a new tour schedule at the New Orleans Jazz festival. How excited am I?

oh hallowed day

2006-05-10T10:00:00.000-04:00

everyone sing with me: happy birthday to you, you live in the zoo, you look like a monkey, and you smell like one too!

This is the birthday song in my family... always has been.

Happy birthday to my seesta!

decisions, decisions

2006-05-09T16:05:00.000-04:00

What Advanced Degree Should You Get? (a blog quiz sent to me)

Blog quizzes are like the magic eight ball, once you agree to do what it tells you, you are: 1. crazy 2. stuck with the answer
Those of you who know I have been struggling with what my next academic step ought to be, the great blogger has decided for me. And I actually took the quiz answering honestly...

You Should Get a JD (Juris Doctor)

You're logical, driven, and ruthless. You'd make a mighty fine lawyer.

what the heck is a meme

2006-05-08T17:46:00.000-04:00

this is a meme: (taken from B*)

Accent: what accent? "You talk like you are from the country" that's what the New Yorkers say
Booze: yes please, bold red wine, single malt scotch, and of course, gin, it's a family thing
Chore I Hate: cleaning floors, any kind. Subsequently, I don't do it. Ever. I will do ANYTHING to get someone else to clean my floors, I mean anything!
Dog or Cat: hello...
Essential Electronics: iPod and anything that allows me to check my email
Favorite Cologne(s): I change regularly. When my current bottle of Allure runs out I will try something new. But I have to agree with B*, human skin is the best scent around
Gold or Silver: both. Whatever matches the outfit
Hometown: several, at what point in my life?
Insomnia: three times a year, and bad. Weeks of sleeplessness
Job Title: Administrator (don't ask me what that really means)
Kids: none
Living arrangements: too complicated to explain, let's just say suburban
Most admirable trait: approachability. Everyone wants to talk to me, everywhere I go
Number of sexual partners: seriously, who thought that they could ask this and get a response?
Overnight hospital stays: many. I have had one unlucky life
Phobias: heights
Quote: none at the moment. It's usually song lyrics. So for today I have: "you know, taken out of context i must seem so strange"
Religion: there is no name for it... Buddhism or Kabbalah is the closest
Siblings: sister, I can't even hold a candle to her
Time I wake up: 6am, all of the time, even when I don't want to
Unusual talent or skill: lots, I am a walking freak show
Vegetable I refuse to eat: none, I eat everything,... no I mean it. Fear Factor has got nothing on me
Worst habit: twirling my hair, it is mostly bad because it adds to the "dumb blonde" look
X-rays: way to many to count. Basically everything
Yummy foods I make: just about anything... you know me and food. My current specialties involve exotic cheeses
Zodiac sign: Virgo

reward offered

2006-05-06T08:10:00.000-04:00

Whether it was hiding in the blades of grass between my toes, or in the bottle of Pinot, or somewhere on the 127 city blocks I walked, or among the pages of the Borges short story, or on the morning rays of the early spring sun, my sanity has returned.

We'll have to see if she sticks around.

(tpc, gp, ap, om, cm, klp, db and others, thank you again for your company during a painful hickup in my life. Don't go away!)

browse all subjects

2006-05-04T14:17:00.000-04:00

a colleague recently wrote this: "The love affairs we share with cities are secret things." Since reading this opening line I have been ruminating. With my thoughts now in my mental abomasum, I would like to subject my web-log loyals to my reflections on this.

Let me start by offering a variation: the love affairs we share with writings are secret things.
One evening last week, after hearing someone on the news make a passing reference to "the sacred and profane," I pulled out my worn Marx and Engel's Reader (the red one) and set about searching for this passage: "All that is solid melts into air, all that is holy is profaned, and man is at last compelled to face with sober senses, his real conditions of life, and his relations with his kind." Which I distinctly remember from a theory class and I had a sudden need to swim in that language again. Although I have never expunged it from my short term memory, I wanted to see the print and experience reading it again. Each time I come across that passage from the Manifesto I can still hear the sounds and smell the scents that were around me when I first read it. I am plummeted back into that classroom momentarily. I shared a moment of my life with this line as if it were a secret lover.

I am attracted to language. When an author is able to put words together in a way that expresses an exact feeling I have in a way that I can not improve on, I remember it. I cherish those moments. A tiny piece of me, my fabric, my heart's memory, breaks loose and is bottled with the language that explains it. And I am then, forever free to visit that moment, that feeling, by re-reading the passage. And sometimes I am pleasantly surprised when I stumble upon language with which I have had an affair and get to have a secret moment like locking eyes in an extended glance with a former lover. A shared moment.

Today, upon seeing a copy of Candide in my hand another colleague launched into a short, quiet recitation, and I knew that he had shared a moment with Voltaire's writing somewhere at some previous time. I didn't have to understand his mutterings to know that he was confessing an affair.

I will forever have a secret that I couldn't share if I wanted to. The opening line of an article I happened to read, if only because I work with the author, is now bottled with a piece of me and filed away on one of the shelves of my memory. There are dozens of other passages and pieces of language that I have had secret affairs with, but this one is the most recent addition. I hope that each of you has something to store and memorize as though it were a secret lover. Whether it be cities or writings or music or trees, experience your affairs fully, enjoy them, and remember them. They are indeed priceless.

si se puede

2006-05-02T12:18:00.000-04:00

I was here. Where were you?