Capitalist Mecca Falls

Ok, so I thought that since Justin T. decided to bring sexy back, I ought to at least TRY to contribute to his cause. Tonight is New Years Eve and as I am actually going out for once, I should at least wear something sparkly, show a little (or a fair amount of) cleavage, or find some sick looking stilettos to wear with my jeans and a great top. (Yes, friends, this is definitely a departure from tree climbing Ginger who never realized that she had a figure... until that day at the high school swim party when she wore her first bikini... then everyone knew that something might actually be possible in that area... so she immediately hid it away (but that's a different horror story.)) Anyway, my thought process was this: "I bet there are still tons of after-Christmas sales going on at the mall. - I have a Dillard's gift card that I need to use. - With a sale and a gift card, I might be able to afford something at Dillard's for once. - - - I'm going." And I went.

As I drove toward capitalist Mecca a.k.a. The Parks Mall, I noticed that the parking lot wasn't as crowded as I thought it might be.

Cool.

I parked near Dillard's, got out of the car, walked towards the glass double doors, mindfully paused to breathe, checked that I was donning my Buddhist half-smile, and entered the first level of Dante's Inferno.

I know I'm a smart girl. At least, I work really hard at being a smart girl. I study constantly and am a reading snob. I travel as much as I can to broaden my world view. I sip Merlot, eat "shtuff" that you spread on crackers, and participate at the Dallas Institute specifically to challenge my intellect. I tried being a vegetarian for a week (and hated it, but the point is I made an informed decision). I drink coffee because it smells intelligent. So what in the HELL was I thinking?

Here's what happened:

Immediately, I went to what I consider the "Euro Chic" section: trendy, sparkly clothes - New Year's clothes that I probably won't fit into (because apparently, American department stores think that size 2 is average even though we are all grossly and piggishly overweight according to the media). I did find some cute items, but 50% off of these is still $100.00. No can do. Still, I have my zen-worthy half-smile. I'm fat and zen. Everything is OK.

I thought that maybe I should just brush off the cute top idea and stick to shoes. I went directly to the shoe department where people were turning around into each other because it was so crowded, and employees were sighing in the back room loudly enough for all of us to hear over the Keane playing on the loud speaker (and for the record, I DO NOT begrudge them their sighs!). I tried on a couple of pairs of shoes, decided that I needed to figure out what I was wearing before I bought shoes.. so I went back to the EC section upstairs.

Oh yeah. I can't afford or fit into clothes in the EC section. Damn it! OK, breathe. Quarter-smile in place... Before I left the EC section, I did run into a delightful woman who was wearing one of those earpieces that was originally intended for the Secret Service but which everyone who's anyone has (except for me because I don't want to look like I'm talking to myself). This woman was extremely animated. I picked up on the fact that she wanted to return something without a receipt - something that was purchased six months ago - and the woman, "could remember (in a very loud voice), the exact day that this article of clothing was bought, specifically as a Christmas gift!!!" The poor clerk was pleading with the woman in the most polite way she could. She was sorry, but without a receipt, there was nothing she could do, especially since she didn't recognize that article of clothing. This received the overrated and overused, "I want to speak to your manager!" from the shopper. Worried for my own well being, I left, quarter-smile fading.

I decided, against my better judgement, to try Express. From a distance, I could see the 60% off sign. I did not have a gift certificate for Express, but surely 60% off was a beacon of light. The second I entered, I realized that I wasn't actually in a clothing store but at a feeding trough for very thin barnyard animals. Seriously, there were bins marked small and medium (because, again, real American women don't wear more than a size 6(!)) and I was pushed and bumped out of the way. (sigh)

Retreat!!! Raise the white flag!!! Flee! Flee! Flee!!!

To make a very long story short: I ran away from capitalist Mecca, hands empty and with any notion of a zen-smile deflated, fighting thoughts that, at size 8, I am NOT huge, and that I will find something in my closet other than sweats to wear to our New Years party...

Last thought: Don't be an ass. Be nice to store clerks and STOP (for Christ's sake) pushing folks out of the way. You'll want the new spring line (that stores will put out tomorrow) more than anything you bought today anyway.

Naomi Shihab-Nye

I love this poet and am extremely lucky in that she is coming to speak at our school next semester. Naomi Shihab-Nye is an Arab-American; her father is Palestinian and her mother is American. She is probably most known for her "Open Letter to Any Would-be Terrorists". Shihab-Nye is so gentle and lovely in her writing. I highly recommend her to anyone interested in peace and eloquence.

Making a Fist
For the first time, on the road north of Tampico,
I felt the life sliding out of me,
a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.
I was seven, I lay in the car
watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass.
My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin.

"How do you know if you are going to die?"
I begged my mother.
We had been traveling for days.
With strange confidence she answered,
"When you can no longer make a fist."

Years later I smile to think of that journey,
the borders we must cross separately,
stamped with our unanswerable woes.
I who did not die, who am still living,
still lying in the backseat behind all my questions,
clenching and opening one small hand.



Naomi Shihab Nye

Ladies and Gentlemen: A Monkey Washing a Cat.

This fits with the theme lately...

"Hey, do you like cats?"

So, I'm standing outside of the car which is parked in a much coveted parking spot right out in front of the QT or Racetrack or Love's or one of the other many truck stops/gas stations somewhere in the middle of nowhere (in one of the states between the lone star and an other) in the middle of the night, probably around 2:00 am. As I yawn, stretch, and think about how to make my nest in the back seat more sleep-friendly, a lady in the car next to me cracks her car window a smidge and whispers to me, "Hey, do you like cats?" As I am fumbling for a response, the lady gets out of the car (stranger danger!) and stands before me.

OK, I am by no means gorgeous, so when I say this, it is not meant to be anything other than an observation - but this is the type of woman one might see on a 60 Minutes segment, an exclusive called "Truck Stop Bambi: Working for Love." I can say that she definitely has impressive, abundant cleavage; it is such that even when I look away, it still leaves an impression. The corner of her mouth is home to a cigarette that needed to be ashed 5 minutes ago, the grey residue balancing precariously on the tip of the filter, and I want very desperately to call her Lurleen. I do notice (as time, in my mind, is standing still for this observation and I am not at all awkwardly displaying my thoughts through my poker faced countenance) that she is sincere in the question, and thus repeats it to me as if I were autistic.

I manage to squeak out "Yes, I do like cats, but I am a long way from home..."(Lurleen is already opening her backseat, driver's side car door.) She pulls out a tiny, grey, adorably smush-faced kitten and begins telling me a story - something about finding him on a shelf at Home Depot... he reminded her of Batman... name is Brucee.. and something about a make-shift litter box...

I am half-listening as she holds the cat out for me to pet, her cigarette ash flaking a little onto the cat's head (a little red-neck dandruff). I am thinking, "What sort of scam is this? Is someone stealing our car as she has me distracted? If I pet the cat, will I get a disease? Am I ready to work for love? or was it love for work? I still haven't finished the grading for last semester..."

About that time my mom and husband walk up, freshley powdered and coffeed. They get the same scoop, as if the spiel was rewound and replayed (like some sort of rip in space-time). In conjunction, Lurleen prepares a make-shift litter box for Brucee, right behind the wheel of our back tire. Relax - don't be gory -It just means that we knew we would be there a while.

Fortunately for us, Lurleen apparently does not receive the desired response from us about her Home Depot, surrogate mother, breast suffocating cat story. She decides she needs something from inside the convenient store and puts Brucee and the litter back into her car. As we finally back out of our parking space at 2:30 (!) am, we see Lurleen dragging two tired, befuddled people out of the convenient store (by the hands) to her backseat, driver's side car door.

I can't be certain, and I am not a lip reader, but I am pretty sure she was asking them, "Hey, do you like cats?"

What do you make of that? (There is a circus in my brain.)

The Scholastic Press Association at Columbia University just announced the Crown Award finalists for this year. I'm thrilled (and proud) to say that In The Margins made the final cut in the competition and we are guaranteed either a silver or a gold crown award. This is an amazing accomplishment for my staff! What a brilliant recognition! (And we are the only public school in Texas to receive this nod.)

Yay, you stealthy pirate ninjas, what with all of your amazing litmagination!!! Now. How do we get to NYC to pick up our award....(?) Suggestions?

Here's a glimpse of the winning mag :

cover design Patrick H. (design editor 2005-06)

design by Parker J. (design editor /co-editor-in-chief 2006-07)

design by Ian M.

design by Julia C. (editor-in-chief 2005-06)

design by (I can't remember, but I LOVE this spread!)

design by Neal M.

design by Patrick H.

(sorry about the poor picture quality... it doesn't do the mag justice!)

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Another instance that demonstrates the fact that incompetence gets the promotion

A response to Time Magazine for picking us, the American people, for person of the year:

"American people, you should be ashamed! The president went and bit off a big piece of the Middle East and, like an eagle, brought it back to the nest and he's regurgitating it back into your mouths! Why won’t you swallow?!!
When history looks back at the actions of this president and the decisions he made regarding this war, you will go down as the most incompetent American people of all time. Deal with it!" ---Stephen Colbert

Lifted from The Daily Kos

And also, go here for an interesting debate in the same thread.

Caulking a Habitat

So, I'm tired of constantly bitching about the state of the world, playing at philosophy, and fencing over politics ("No Dartanian. This is completely unacceptable. If you say one more thing about the bullies of the West, then I'll... Well, I'll just lightly slap your cheek with my glove,...you!" and something about an impotent epee).
(sigh)
I am constantly preaching about acting - actually getting my hands dirty-instead of talking, but that's it. I preach it and then beat the hell out of myself for not actually going out and doing. In Candide, Voltaire says that we, all mankind, should go and WORK in the garden -a metaphor for our world- in order to cure humanity's greatest vices and in order to live fruitful, fulfilling lives. (oops philosophy!)

I actually and finally(!) listened to myself and to Voltaire (or at least I found time during the holiday break to listen) and signed up for Habitat for Humanity with some of my co-workers/friends. Unbeknownst to me, my sister twin also signed-up, so we decided to bring our significant others and make an event of it.

Here's how it went down:

The morning arrived sooner than we anticipated (at exactly 5 freaking o'clock), but we got-up and got dressed in our clever, clever t-shirts:

(Believe me, this was the most PG idea we had for our slogan. You try using the word caulk in a clever way, and you'll quickly see the dilemma)

Then we went for a Burger King breakfast and headed to the habitat. There we met some sincerely genuine people - ones who make it their life goal to act instead of talk. I learned a lot of practical tidbits today: Sodding is harder than it looks (another slew of clever t- shirt slogans come to mind);

painting while balancing on a roof is not as difficult as painting with the back of your head, using your fine, baby soft hair as a paint brush; window cleaning when the wind is blowing can create a unique art medium, full wheelbarrows work better if you run with them in a chaotic, serpentine/zig -zag manner; machetes - well, you should just get out of the way of a person wielding one; etc.

Mostly, though, I was reminded about doing good deeds outside of my comfort zone. Also, people are good, people are good, people are good, and the world is made up of good people.

I have to do this more often. And so should you...


Bonus pics:

Here's Fougs working in the the garden, literally and figuratively

The cocky caulky bastards

Me, tired, but in a good way.

What's a cair paravel?

I totally stole this from this one girl's myspace... Fortunately, this girl is a 53 year old cair paravel from Norfolk Island who listens to Regina Spektor (...but it breaks my heart), so she'll forgive me for intruding (stealing), I'm sure. If not, I'll tell her friend - the 77 year old matron, "I got your who and whom," grammar shark from Uzbekistan! That'll set the island girl straight...or will at least correct her angry, exclamatory declarations, as the Uzbek does mine.

ok go

Ok Go is one of those bands that I think is hilarious and exceedingly entertaining, yet I don't have any of their stuff. I think this video alone (re-introduced to me by Happy Fun Pants) is worth buying the CD. Also check out the Dancing in the Backyard video. I couldn't have choreographed anything more beautiful...

The Grocery Store KOD

Has this ever happened to you?:

You go to the grocery store right after work. All you need is milk, stamps, cat food, hair mousse, and coffee (for the love of God!). You go in, you get a basket, you walk right past the fresh veggies, mentally bashing yourself for not eating more fresh veggies and fruit, and then without realizing it, you get the grocery store kod, or Kiss Of Death?

Having the kod in the grocery store is a condition that has the following symptoms:

* All of a sudden you realize that you've been staring at Saltines for 10 minutes.

* You're too lazy to go to the meat counter since there is one guy already at the counter. You think, "I don't need red meat anyway-I'll just buy frozen corn dogs instead."

* You look in your cart and all you have is chocolate and alcohol (beer, wine, or in my case, both).

* You've decided that you absolutely must have cubed cheese because cubing your own is hysterically funny to you. "No one cubes her own cheese anymore," you intelligently and amusingly quip to yourself in the form of a whisper.. that apparently is audible enough that the lady next to you puts down her cheese block.

* You hear over the PA system, "Attention: Ginger at the meat counter pick up line one. Ginger at the meat counter, line one," and you think that means you because your name is Ginger which is not a common name, even in Texas. Then you feel a little bit of relief when you realize that they don't mean you - you hate the phone - but then again, you're a high school English teacher. Maybe the meat counter is a step up? You hold your breath.

* You want to buy vitamins and you've heard that prenatal vitamins are excellent even when you are NOT pregnant (nor do you intend to be anytime soon), but you have a moral argument with yourself because, my god, your cart is full of chocolate and alcohol! What would the cashier think!?

* The bag boy inevitably says, "Hey, don't you teach 7th grade at ______ junior high?" and you search his face for recognition. Finding none, you say, "Yes, um.. actually, I teach high school now (at an opposing school - we beat you at football... HA!)... (shy glance)...What's your name?" and he says, "H____ - you taught me in 7th grade!" and you say, "Yes! I remember you (little shit-head - I remember you - you made my life hell for a year - I certainly have some things to say to you... wait until the day after I retire when I start making phone calls... ) So, hi! how are you? Wow! You're graduating this year? (please don't notice the alcohol and the tampons) Amazing! Yeah... so good luck! Fantastic. Right.." After all, he has grown-up a bit and he does seem respectable now. You chastise yourself for having negative thoughts towards this, a person who represents our future.

* You check-out and praise yourself for remembering to buy stamps, then you get to the car and realize that you forgot to buy everything else on your list. You've spent $100.00+ and you forgot the essentials on your list (MAJOR CURSE WORD!!!). Still, there is no way in hell that you are going back in. You make a mental note to send a thank you letter to all of those dear, dear people who voted to allow alcohol sales in your grocery store and you say to yourself, "I'll just have wine, chocolate, and Saltines for dinner - it's covered."


OK. Note to self: STOP going grocery shopping when you're tired! At least have a glass of wine first...

Getting the kod is only slightly different than the "line disease" that one is prone to in such mind numbing, soul slaying institutions such as Wal-Mart - but that is for another entry...

Jim the Sensitive Reindeer etc.

We did our Christmas decorating today which is always way fun! I realized, as I do every year, that there is such sentimentality associated with several of our decorations. For example:

This is Jim the Sensitive Reindeer. I think I got Jim in high school and I named him after Jen's dad, though I can't remember why exactly. I do remember someone making fun of Jim's scarf. "Reindeer do not wear scarves. How dumb!" To which I replied, "Shhh. Jim is very sensitive, especially about his scarf." Somehow, this reminds me of you, Jen, your family, and how vitally important you all are to me.

This is Christmas Kermit. A student gave him to me and Kermit always reminds me of you, Lisa! Then my mind wanders to sneaking in a former boyfriend during a sleepover, followed by something to do with Fred Savage...

Here is my Holzknoddl smoker from the Medieval German town, Rothenburg, which reminds me of the most beautiful German Christmas store I've ever seen. Also, though, it reminds me of this fantastic trip to Europe, meeting my good friend, Mark, who I miss terribly, and both of us petting Herr Cat there in the cobblestone street.

Also in this pic are the two elves. They have been in my house as long as I have. These are very dear to me and they remind me of El Paso, of my mom, her contagious enthusiasm surrounding EVERY holiday (fireplace decorations and sparklers!), and the piano room.

The Silent Night church is from Salzburg. This reminds me of my adorable, energetic Aunt Gagi and our summer adventures in Italy, Germany, and Austria. Other things that remind me of Aunt Gagi are the Momo ornaments, spicy wassail, decorative Christmas pillows, and light-up poinsettias.

This is the nativity Rich and I bought in a small town outside of Playa Car, Mexico. Everywhere we travel, we buy a Christmas something. I love this one because it reminds me of Rich and how much fun we always have, no matter where we end up or how absurd the adventure (the alien landing in Roswell, Mexico City, anything to do with Hobbs, San Francisco, or donkeys...). Our Christmas tree is full of our travel memories.

Here is gorgeous Rich...

and me and our red feathered tree - red for Mimi and feathered for Mom.

Here is a most interesting column from The New Yorker:

IT’S HIS BIPARTY

Issue of 2006-12-04Posted 2006-11-27

According to the “Backwards Bush” countdown clock, available on the Web and in key-chain and desk-accessory form at selected novelty and toy stores around the nation, the sitting Administration in Washington will, as of this writing, be in office for another seven hundred and eighty-nine days, five hours, twenty-three minutes, and 36.2 seconds. But, if present trends continue, it’s going to feel like forever. On November 8th, the day after the midterm election, President Bush vowed to “find common ground,” “work with the new Congress in a bipartisan way,” and “overcome the temptation to divide this country between red and blue.” By way of launching “a new era of coöperation,” he announced a personnel change: Donald Rumsfeld was out as Secretary of Defense, to be replaced by Robert Gates, widely viewed as a member of the reality-based community. A day later, on November 9th, Bush had Nancy Pelosi, the incoming Speaker of the House, over for a nice lunch and an Oval Office photo op. “We’ve had a—I would call it a very constructive and very friendly conversation,” the President said, graciously. “We both extended the hand of friendship,” the Speaker-designate replied, graciously. “Thank you all,” the President concluded. Graciously.
While they were having lunch, the White House Press Office dropped the news that the nomination of John R. Bolton “to be the Representative of the United States of America to the United Nations, with the rank and status of Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary,” had been resubmitted to the Senate. The new era of coöperation may or may not be definitively dead, but at the moment it appears to have been not so much an era as a news cycle.
The first time that John R. Bolton’s name was sent up to Capitol Hill, in March of last year, the nomination got nowhere, even though the Senate was in Republican hands. The Administration waited till Congress adjourned and then gave him a recess appointment, which will expire in January. Bolton is by all accounts a clever and energetic fellow, but cleverness is not competence, and energy can amplify vice as readily as virtue. At the U.N., Bolton has earned a reputation—in the not very diplomatic words of sixty-four former American Ambassadors and diplomats who recently signed a letter opposing him—for “egotistical intolerance,” “arrogant actions,” and a “hard-core, go-it-alone posture” that “has alienated the bulk of the diplomatic community and cost the United States its leadership role.” (“With so much at stake, our country cannot afford to permit John Bolton to continue his destructive course during the next two years,” the diplomats wrote.) “He has succeeded in putting almost everyone’s backs up, even among some of America’s closest allies,” last week’s issue of The Economist quotes a “senior Western diplomat” as saying. To put it another way, the man’s resemblance to Yosemite Sam does not end with the mustache.
There is little chance that the lame-duck Senate will confirm Bolton and no chance that the new one will. So the Administration is toying with the idea of giving him another recess appointment (which would enable him to keep the job without drawing the salary) or naming him to a deputy position without filling the top spot (which would enable him to stay on as “acting” Ambassador without the extraordinary and plenipotentiary title). Nor is the renomination of Bolton the only personnel-related sign that Bush’s commitment to comity may have already peaked. On November 14th, the President renominated Kenneth Y. Tomlinson, a former editor-in-chief of Reader’s Digest and a close friend of Karl Rove, to be chairman of the Broadcasting Board of Governors, which supervises the Voice of America and other government radio and television operations aimed at overseas audiences. Never mind that last summer the State Department’s inspector general found that, among other antics, Tomlinson used his office to support a “horse racing operation” (he owns thoroughbreds), or that a year ago he had to resign from the board of the Corporation for Public Broadcasting after that agency’s inspector general caught him violating rules meant to protect public broadcasting from political meddling. On November 15th, the President renominated four of his hardest-right candidates for the federal courts of appeals: a Defense Department lawyer who has been denounced by a score of retired generals and admirals for his role as an architect of the Administration’s infamous interrogation regime; a former Interior Department attorney and mining and ranching lobbyist who sees the Clean Water Act as “regulatory excess”; a district-court judge whose decisions have been reversed or vacated more than a hundred and fifty times, an astounding record that includes two reversals from the Supreme Court—one of them in a unanimous opinion written by Justice Clarence Thomas—in voting-rights cases; and a former aide to Senator Trent Lott who is the first federal-appeals-court nominee in a quarter of a century to be unanimously rated “not qualified” by the American Bar Association.
Finally (or maybe not so finally), on November 16th, Bush appointed one Eric Keroack to be the new chief of “population affairs” at the Department of Health and Human Services. In this post, Dr. Keroack, a gynecologist, will oversee what is called Title X, a Nixon-era program that distributes contraceptives to poor or uninsured women. Until recently, he was the medical director of a Christianist pregnancy-counselling organization that regards the distribution of contraceptives as “demeaning to women.” One of his odder theories makes him a sort of family-friendly version of General Jack D. Ripper. In Keroack’s case, the precious bodily fluid of concern is the hormone oxytocin, a.k.a. “God’s Super Glue.” Apparently, oxytocin is released during certain enjoyable activities, including hugging, massage, and, of course, sex. It is also, according to Keroack, the fluid that keeps married couples bound to each other. Therefore, if a young woman squanders her supply on too much fooling around, she can forget about ever becoming a committed wife. Keroack’s appointment, unlike the others, does not, alas, require Senate confirmation.
Perhaps what we are seeing is one last White House attempt to reënergize the legendary “base,” after which the new era of coöperation will resume. Or perhaps the President has simply reverted to type. Last week, he found himself in Vietnam, where the United States once fought a big, bloody, disastrous war of choice. In Hanoi, which under its nominally Communist rulers is more vibrantly capitalist than Ho Chi Minh City ever was when it was called Saigon, he was asked if the American experience in Vietnam offered any guidance about Iraq. “One lesson is that we tend to want there to be instant success in the world, and the task in Iraq is going to take a while,” he replied, and added, “We’ll succeed unless we quit.” What did he mean? That the peaceable, bustling, unthreatening (if unfree) Vietnam of today represents an American success, made possible by the fact that we didn’t quit until fifty-eight thousand Americans and three million Vietnamese were dead? Or that it represents an American failure, which would have been averted by another decade of war, another fifty-eight thousand, another three million? Who knows? And who knows, really, what this President has been taught by this month’s election? The present President Bush, after all, is a decider of decisions, not a learner of lessons. And he likes to decide that he was right all along.
— Hendrik Hertzberg

German Jose and Cultural Identity

Last night was the last salon of the year and the mood was very light and cordial. There was more mingling than usual and people were more familial with each other than ever during the wine and cheese time that happens before the formal discussion circle.

During this time, Rich and I chatted with a most interesting, dear German man named Jose (Jo-ZAY) and we were fortunate enough to get to hear his story in his gorgeously thick German accent. Jose told us that his father was an American soldier and his mother was a German. He said that according to German law, the paternal side determines the nationality of the child which means that though born in Germany, Jose was considered a US citizen. According to America, Jose was born in Germany and therefore was a German citizen. Jose talked about that it was interesting and somewhat uncomfortable growing up with a confused cultural identity, but that the benefit was that he grew up in a place where he felt comfortable around others who were culturally different than the majority. Later, his wife even pointed out to Jose that his mannerisms, tone, and posture changed according to the nationality of the person to whom Jose was speaking. If speaking to an American, Jose was more relaxed and less precise in his language. If speaking to a German, Jose was more stern in facial expression and tone. Very interesting.

Jose eventually moved to the US in 1952, applied and received (after a horribly rigorous process) his green card, and graduated from Columbia University. We talked about the importance of preserving cultural identities and what a loss it would be if we lost our differences (especially food-wise!), but we also talked about the persecution associated with the reactionary, unfortunate human belief that "different is bad". We touched on the fact that the West is a most forgetful region and that we do not learn from our mistakes, especially when it comes to engaging in losing battles. The US is the worst in this regard, as seen in our current conflicts.

This topic has certainly weighed heavily on my mind lately, but also, what solution is feasible, ideal, and right? How are we (people) so stupidly forgetful?

Also, is it a losing battle to work at preserving cultural identity, especially when our differences are what cause us to hate, ignore, and even kill each other? or Should we promote globalization, hoping for unification and peace, but losing, then, the beautiful qualities that make us unique?

Anyway, one thing Jose did say regarding his cultural education is that we are all connected at least in one area. No matter your religious affiliation, your socio-economic status, or the continent you call home, one thing remains the same for all: Your children will inevitably drive you nuts!

What a lovely, brilliant man!

...because there is more yet to come

This is absolutely GORGEOUS prose poetry:

"In Shadow's windowless little room, the clock is the only way to
tell day from night. It is always early morning. Shadow now prepares
to return to the shadows who gave birth to him and who sustains him.
He takes stock and recounts. His broken heart, covered in scars and
patches, repositions itself. He casts out anchors and unfurls the
sails. He carries another country stuck to his feet, his skin, his
ears and his gaze. He carries a pain and a rage that do not fit into
the words of every language. In the mountains of the Mexican
southwest, the collective brown heart who leads is waiting to receive
a response that it has known for centuries: it is time for dawn to
break, as it does naturally, meaning with pain and with rage. Shadow
knows what he will hear from the brown mountain who guides him.
Soothing the pain and giving hope to the rage, the mountain will say,
in an ancestral tongue: 'Do not worry too much, do not be afraid; the
heart of our Patria is not sad, because there is more yet to come.'"

The hour has arrived. We will be who we are, but also better.

It is time to wake up.


Subcomandante Insurgente Marcos
Sixth Commission of the EZLN, Delegate Zero
Mexico, December, 2006

Full article with picture at http://www.marxsite.com/Dzero1.html
(thanks to friend, Mark, for this)

The event is coming

Here's an interesting idea:
http://globalorgasm.org/
The event is coming...(Winter Solstice, December 22nd) :)

Fall Temp U 2006

Fall Temporary Utopia (or Temp U) was a blast! It was held at the Firehouse Gallery in Fort Worth. The evening consisted of food eating, poetry reading, art gazing, and magazine promoting. What a lovely evening! My staff rocks! Here's evidence of the frivolity:

Surreal Mile High Club

Right, so we had our IB conference in Denver last week-end. I had not previously been to Denver and had only been to Colorado for the occasional youth ski trip. I found Mile High City to be an interesting place, surreal even. The following is why my trip to Denver was oddly surrealistic:

1. We (11 of us from AHS) tried to travel on the one day a year that winter weather is an issue. There is only one day every year.We don't usually get snow; it's mostly sleet. Sleet was, in fact, what was happening on the day we flew. Our flight was delayed a couple of hours then we got to spend 3 hours sitting on the plane on the tarmac waiting to de-ice. The flight was 2 hours long, so added together and on a normal day, with the amount of flying and waiting, I should've landed in London, not Denver. (sigh...London...) All of our plans were hosed up because of the delays which meant that we had more delays when we landed. It took 1 hour (at least) to get a ride to the hotel. In the mean time, we saw:

-A man who looked like Kid Rock in 10 years

- A man with an extraordinary handlebar mustache. Here is a picture of Christine and me acknowledging this mustache. Well done, sir. Well done.

2. The airport (which is supposed to look like the Rocky Mountains) has this mural in it:

There was much discussion about what this mural represents. I can say that it is a bit unsettling to see a soldier in a gas-mask with a scimitar slaying a dove over children sleeping in rubble. Mr. A looked this up and found out that this mural is formally known as "The Weird Ass Mural in the Denver Airport."


3. Delirium set in after the long day of travel. Here is a picture of my professional colleagues pretending like the shuttle from the airport to the hotel is a roller coaster (and yes, this is a most unflattering pic of me, but in my defense I was also the photographer...):

4. Day 2: We were going to breakfast via the hotel elevator when we came upon this:

Again, unsettling. What you don't know is that prior to this photo, the fireman was looking down an empty elevator shaft. He told us that yes, people were stuck in the elevator; yes, they were out now; and yes, this does happen often with these particular elevators.

5. All was fairly normal the rest of the day: eat, conference, eat, conference. We got to go into the city and see the lights and that was fun. Mr. A and I bonded over beer and a conversation about the validity of war, what it truely means to be free, and whether or not Charro counts as an entertainer since all she does is wiggle and speak in broken English. (OK I made-up the last one, but the point is that it wasn't all serious.)

6. Food poisoning OR airborne virus? Christine is hit first, followed by Frau West, followed by Mandy, followed by 1/2 of the conference. The symptoms? vomiting, diarrhea, fever, and overall ickyness. I managed to get away unscathed, but that meant that I attended the rest of the conference without my partner in crime, Christine. It might have been BORING, but my boss, Mr. A was well and was stuck in my conference, so we were smart asses together. We did productive things like count how many times people got up to "go to the restroom" and we determined that the leader of English A1 IB from Wales looks like the mascot from Notre Dame University. (Secretly, though, I thought this man was nice to look at, and even nicer to hear.) At least it snowed this day. There was some redemption.

7. More conference, yadda yadda, we returned home with sick people. Blech! This time the flight back was smooth, though delayed an hour due to weather in the East. We did, however, see a person whom we deemed Charlie Manson's grandson.

8. Bonus pics: Here's me in long, long underwear. Sexy! (seriously, who makes this?)

Here's Natasha on how to be a proper spy (who likes Fullam):

***For more pics, visit the flicker.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY
CHRISTINE!!!

I am so lucky to have you for a friend!
Love you!

Under Pressure!

Here are the Dallas Institute for Humanities and Culture salon discussion topics for Friday:

1. Do the Liberal Arts still matter? If so, how?
2. What primarily shapes the individual self: the mind, the body, society and culture, or natural environment?
3. Is memory moral? Do we have an obligation to remember some things--and to forget others?

I will write more soon, especially about the surreal trip I took to Denver. As usual, however, I have a billion things to do this week: Temporary Utopia tonight, Medieval Feast on Thursday and Friday, Individual Oral Presentations for IB... Oh, and grades due since this is the end of the six weeks! This would be in addition to my normal responsibilities at my job. Why did I choose this again??? Stress!

We did it AND we rocked it!

more than kisses, letters mingle souls. For, thus friends absent speak. - John Donne in a letter "To Sir Henry Wotton"

I can't believe it is already November 30th and the end to NaBloPoMo! More than writing practice, to me blogging has been a catalyst through which I've been able to connect and reconnect with all of you. In my opinion, that's what life is all about. Also, everyday I get to know what's going on in your lives and I LOVE that familial transaction. It's home to me. So let's blog often (without the stress of having to) and keep these lines connected.

'And I draw a line
To your heart today
To your heart from mine
A line to keep us safe'

-PJ Harvey "One Line"

Not a bit worried

So, tomorrow I'm F_L_Y_I_N_G to Denver for an IB conference. The week-end will be really fun, I think, especially since I get to hang out with my favorite friend Fougs. Here's the thing: I HATE to fly! You know this, but I can't say it enough. What's the etiquette on drinking before noon? in front of your boss? on a school trip? To make matters worse, Denver just had a huge truck load of snow dumped on it, which is OK except that that exact weather system is supposed to bring sleet to my area around the time we are supposed to fly out tomorrow. Yay. Dangerous flight conditions. Super. Winter weather warning. Not stressed at all. Clearly.

On top of all of this, right now we are under a tornado watch, I have to pack, and make sure all is right for the sub tomorrow. So, I should probably go do those things... but which one first?

They keep getting better and better!

Cover design by Parker J.

The new LitMag is being printed as I type!!! The printer brought the proof to school today and it looks B-U-tiful! We only had a few minor adjustments. Overall I am extremely proud of my staff this year. They really work well together and our publication couldn't be more professional. I can't wait to see they do next semester for the spring extravaganza!! Congratulations you Litmagger Scalawags! Temp U will rock! And for the rest of you: Buy your fall 2006 edition of In The Margins ASAP! Here's a sneak peek...

Spread design by Amira A.


Spread design by Sean D.

Spread design by Catie L.

Spread design by Hannah H.

Spread design by Kathryn F.

Spread design by Hannah H.

Spread design by Catie L.

Potable Politic

Terry Blair is one of my favorite people on the planet. The second I met him I knew that we were creatures cut from the same cloth. He calls me "daughter" and he is one of the most kind, compassionate men I have ever met. He is a brilliant teacher and mentor, literally; he shines! The following are in a delicious quote journal filled with marvelous poetry, philosophy, quips, and aphorisms that Terry spent years compiling and then generously handed to me for no other reason than he wanted me to share it with him. His efforts have become the foundation for my own. Thank you Terry! I love you!


I'm feeling a bit political today, especially with all the goings on in the world. Here are some ingredients for those of you who like to mix politics and poetry (shaken, not stirred):

Remember, democracy never lasts long. It soon wastes, exhausts, and murders itself. There never was a democracy yet that did not commit suicide.
John Adams

Democracy is a device that ensures that we shall be governed no better than we deserve.
George Bernard Shaw

The death of democracy is not likely to be an assassination from ambush. It will be a slow extinction from apathy, indifference, and undernourishment.
Robert Hutchins

Many forms of Government have been tried, and will be tried in this world of sin and woe. No one pretends that democracy is perfect or all wise. Indeed, it has been said that democracy is the worst form of government except all those other forms that have been tried from time to time.
Winston Churchill

The best government is a benevolent tyranny tempered by an occasional assassination.
Voltaire

I predict future happiness for Americans if they can prevent the government from wasting the labors of the people under the pretense of taking care of them.
Thomas Jefferson

Once upon a time in Mexico...my version:

When I was in college and apparently invincible, Rich, our good friends Russell and Amanda, and I left the cozy comfort of the home-made house/chicken coop/migrant farmer shack in Wolfforth (another post,another day) with our sights set on Mexico City.

We drove 10 hours to Nuevo Laredo, parked the car, and crossed the border, toting backpacks, a very small amount of cash, and high hopes. We walked directly to the Laredo bus station where we bought 4 round trip tickets on the next bus to Mexico City. Four hours later, we began our 12 hour journey on a bus that's only amenity was the mounted TV screens for movies - 12 hours of Bruce Lee action films dubbed in French and subtitled in Spanish. Since the bathroom was um...not OK, we were happy when we stopped half-way to Mexico city but soon learned that the "rest stop" consisted of a toilet-less stall (more of a drain) and no tp. Note: a cultural difference - when at a rest stop on a 12 hour bus trip to Mexico, it is recommended that during the one rest stop you run ahead of the others to be first to the "toilet" before you get shoved out of the way. I learned this the hard way and had the bruises that proved it...
Anyway, once we got to Mexico City, we found a great hotel near The Zócalo and settled in. The rest is a blur of activities and thoughts. Here is what I remember:

*The pageantry, colors (including the red and green confetti falling from the roofs around the square when el presidente was returning to his office), and arm to arm street vendors in The Zócalo

* Drinking Corona at every meal, even with pastries at breakfast because the only alternative was hot Pepsi, which was too expensive, and water, which we learned was decidedly NOT purificado! (That is how you know who your friends are - if you can be "Mexico sick" while sharing space in a cubicle of a room and they still talk to you.)

* Visiting the Museo Nacional de Antropología and realizing that I would never be able to understand the word "ancient"

* Being completely afraid of, intimidated by, and in awe of the murals by Diego Rivera.

* Climbing the Pyramid of the Moon at Teotihuacan and realizing at the top that I was so small and insignificant in the grand scheme of the world, but also knowing that that was OK and comforting even

*Drinking coconut milk in Puebla outside of the most beautiful church I've ever seen

* Being completely humbled by the pilgrims crawling across the gravel on bleeding hands and knees to get to the Shroud of Our Lady of Guadalupe, and being confused when I got to the entrance of the church and found a moving sidewalk that swiftly conveyed the pilgrims by the holy relic and that ended at a gift shop where you could purchase bottles of holy water in the shape of the Blessed Virgin (twist -top head is all I'm saying)

* Being disgusted and a little intrigued (since it was my first experience in a situation like this) by the second hotel we accidentally happened upon outside of the city; this accommodation was obviously meant for secret, dubious liaisons: a garage in which one could hide his/her car; a sliding door within the door so that food could be passed from the staff to the occupant(s) without them ever having to be seen (or probably having to dress); the "hot tub" (dear god!, but the pictures of us in this over sized bathtub are funny); the bed with built in tissue dispensers; the TV...um you can guess what stations came in clearly... We can say that we all learned something new from this experience...and we will never mention it again...

* Loving the street tacos - some mystery barbacoa in a corn tortilla with cheese (sin cebollas y sin cilantro por favor!), but having the not quite rights after eating them for two weeks straight.

and more!
The last night we were in Mexico City, we were all completely exhausted and spiritually drained. All we wanted was one last night of rest before we got back on a 12 hour bus ride, followed by a 10 hour car trip back to college. Unfortunately, when we finally got settled in for the night, the disco across the street started thumping. I thought that at least the bass was rhythmic and I could probably sleep through it... until an hour later some construction started - we're talking jackhammers and table saws. Note 2: a cultural difference - construction happens at night in Mexico City because the streets are too crowded during the day. To add additional insult, an hour later a band of mariachis showed up outside of the disco (probably hoping to get a few pesos from the tourists at the club). No joke. This actually happened. Needless to say, the ride home was not a very pleasant one.

Mostly, after backpacking to Mexico City, I learned that even in the hard times, the experience of traveling and learnng is well worth it! Europe is a bit more forgiving...

Exit Post

When I knew that I would be participating in NaBloPoMo, I decided to poll my students- the blogging, texting, technologically adept experts- on what I should blog about. After the laughter subsided and they realized that I was serious, some of them offered lists or topics should I run out of things to say. This is one of those times. Actually like friend Michelle, I feel like I have a slight case of SARS, a touch of the bird flu, a smidge of West Nile, and possibly a little Ebola of the mucus membranes. I don't really mean to make fun, but I am actually sitting upright for the first time in three days and, other than the mountain of snot rags, a very, very sore abdomen (from incessant hacking), and the fact that I'm sort of snoring even though I'm awake; other than these, I'm feeling much better which means I get to be my normal self, sarcasm and all.
So this is my cheap, wimpy, "the exit is this way" post.

Here are 20 blogging topics from the brightest teens in the nation (I brag because they're mine and I get to):

1. Politics= poly (meaning many) + tics (meaning bloodsucking parasitic creatures)
2. Why U2 is the best band ever! (this student received extra credit, especially since he was sincere... Surely he wasn't prompted by the five U2 posters hanging on my classroom wall...)
3. Why Buddhism is (only slightly) crazy
4. Lawn gnomes (for 'em or again' 'em)
5. What the wombat war cry sounds like
6. Immigration in Texas
7. Racism: why it won't die!!!
8. What it's like to watch a person drink a gallon of milk in under an hour and what happens to him.
9. Awkward sex chats with dad
10. Trying to catch Sasquatch
11. Driving until you find some place to go.
12. How David Letterman is not dead (after eating Floam, lip gloss, Crisco, etc.)
13. Why criminals have more rights than the people they commit crimes against
14. Why driver's license pictures always turn out badly
15. Where pumpkins end up after Halloween
16. Murphy's Law
17. Why fire ants will take over the world
18. Creative alternatives to fossil fuels
19. The 50th anniversary of the alien landing at Roswell (I actually did attend this "event")
20. The over politicised topic of gay marriage and the fact that there are more important things to worry about

They're pretty cool, aren't they!

My family is decidedly pro-small town. You wouldn't know it by talking to me as I put on a pretty big front about being a city girl who enjoys the humanities, wine, and all things culture. (You can hardly catch my accent.) I mean, I do enjoy those things, but my roots stem from another place too. My mom and dad both grew up in the flat-lands of Texas. When I say flat, I mean that you can see twenty miles in all directions and if you stand on a tuna can, you can see thirty more miles. There are maybe three trees and a canyon in the panhandle of Texas. Tiny lakes sneak up on folks and are there, it seems, to add some thirst relief to the otherwise dusty landscape. The small towns surrounding the "hub" which is Lubbock are places where kids have to be on the basketball team, the cheerleading squad, and of course in 4H all at the same time because otherwise the teams wouldn't exist for lack of team attendance.

Mom describes her hometown like this: "The people get their entertainment from the land. They do things that other people wouldn't consider"fun." They hunt deer, quail, rattle snakes, and they fish. It's a place where your entertainment fund includes shot gun shells, bait, and beer money. These days, unless your a big-time farmer, it's hard to remain there." Like all small towns, Mom's is fading away. She realizes that it was a great place to grow up, but that that type of lifestyle is dwindling and people have to move to the cities in order to make it.

This is sad, especially since "they do grow good people there. It is a place where you learn to care for and support others and they care for and support you. You know everybody; you know their troubles and heart aches. As a result people care for each other and look-out for one another," says Mom. It's true and it makes me a little apprehensive about losing that sort of shepherding to the big city. We just have to be more intentional about loving one another and participating in each others lives: Bring over condolence caseroles and soup for the sick, attend the area sporting events and cheer for your friends' kids, participate in school functions and fund raisers, etc.

Don wranglin' a rattle snake

Me learning a lesson (probably on how to use my knuckles when throwin' a punch) from Just Don.



My Big Dutch! I absolutely ADORED this man. He was/is my hero. He lived through the Dust Bowl, he cooked outside like a real cowboy (dug a hole in the ground, filled it with coals (a sort of dutch oven) and made sourdough rolls, cobbler, etc. and he was ALWAYS on my side. Perhaps it was because I was the only granddaughter...



Mom and Don before the rattle snake days... I'm sorry I missed this picture before Don died. I would've given him hell about wearing high heels and carryin' a purse! What a city slicker!

Mimi (flat-land diva), Don, and My Big Dutch (fixin' a Seagram's VO and coke) at the lake

Happy Thanksgiving

I don't know these guys but I like them, and they remind me of Guffman for some reason.
I'll have to try the pie and jack!(?)
Happy Thanksgiving! I am sincerely thankful for you everyday and love you!


g

How I ended up like this

10 reasons why my mother is the coolest person in the world:

1. She loves people unconditionally and models such an amazing example of tolerance and temperance for me and the Putz. She has always helped us see that we need to put ourselves in other people's shoes. Of course there is sometimes the "Oh good gravy!" outburst (who says that?) when she is flustered, but she would rather feed people in a soup kitchen on Thanksgiving and visit people who are lonely or sad than participate in any of the other pomp and circumstance that life sometimes blinds us with. Please don't misunderstand; Mom is the first to lead an impromptu baton twirling march around the backyard (sorry about your ankle), but she knows what is most important.

2. She keeps a Ginger drawer at her house and fills it with articles from magazines, newspaper clippings, clothing and shoe catalogues, and other "treasures" that remind her of me or that she knows will be relevant to me. I look forward to pilfering through the Ginger drawer at each visit.

3. She has "Elvis church" on Sunday mornings. As soon as she wakes up, the Elvis gospel CD is on and Mom sings loudly enough that God AND the neighbors can hear it, and she has such a beautiful voice that no one minds. In fact it's contagious!

4. Music has always been a major part of our household, whether it was a holiday (we were usually startled out of our beds with blaring Sousa marches on the morning of the 4th of July, at Christmas time it was usually Jingle Bell Rock, and I've already mentioned Sundays), or just because. Each morning she would wake us with "You Are My Sunshine" and would respond to our cranky morning sour faces (since we woke up to that damn sunshine song) with "You're Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile." At the time, we felt that she was sick and twisted and singing just to torture us, but now I miss it. Every time I see her, she wants to introduce us to a new song she just heard. Hey Mom, remember when we were at Texas Roadhouse and you were telling us about "I Hope You'll Dance" and the song played three times back to back - probably because a management type really liked the song - but we pretended it was a personal message to Putz, Wratch and me? I loved that! Also since I was a budding musician (I was in every music class CHS offered), she tolerated a lot of music practice from me and my friends. Her favorite (and she still mentions this) is when my friend Neal would come over and play "Hey Jude" on the piano. So from Willie Nelson to Chopin, from show tunes to "Save a Horse and Ride a Cowboy," and from to AC/DC to "Do Lord," my mom influences (and sometimes berates us) through music.

5. She has a purse dog, but doesn't groom it like a typical purse dog. The dog's name is Sugar (short for Sugar Plum Fairy) and runs the household, but we love her. There is still much debate over whether she actually trained Sugar to sit on our heads or whether she simply encourages Sugar with her strict and bold discipline of "oh Sugar, no. It's bad manners to sit on people's heads. Rich and Ginger are our friends. Yeah. Come here to me. Who-zha-bebe?"

6. My mom thinks that ruby slippers, feathery fringe, and sparklers can save the world.

7. Mom welcomes all of my friends into her house, even the seriously silly ones.

One of my favorite trips was the one where Fougs and I went on a road trip to visit. Right before we left town, we went to the dollar store and bought fuzzy pink boas and glittering tiaras in Mom's honor and in order to get into the perfect mind set for the visit (which is completely ironic since Fougs and I are more the tree climbing, tomboy, we will verbally kick your ass but only if the other is there for back-up, philosopher types). We wore them the entire 5 1/2 hours it took to get to Lubbock and Mom loved it! She keeps the tiara on her kitchen cabinet. By the way, this was the first time Fougs went to visit Mom. Thanks for being a good sport, Fougs, and a total goofball to match my goofballery, and thanks Mom for welcoming us and for the homemade hot chocolate!

8. Mom makes a damn good margarita.

9. She is hilarious in movies. Mom generally interacts with the film, loudly. She claps during the redemption scenes; she yells "That can't happen!" during the unbelievable or ridiculous parts; she gasps loudly and puts her arm across the person next to her, stranger or no, (like a human seat belt) when something startling happens; and she cries at both the happy and sad moments. (A classic example from when I was a kid is when she cried during The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle movie because the Footclan (little boys) didn't have mothers to take care of them.) Going to the movies with Mom is quite the experience! (and thanks for always wearing long skirts to the movies so that when Putz or I got cold, you could spread the skirt over us like a blanket)

10. She thinks I can do anything, but she still lets me sit in her lap.

This short list does not do Mom justice, because she is so much more! I didn't even mention the Lady Raiders, The Nutcracker, Harley engines, the fireplace table, the fact that she worries I might be arrested someday (I'll leave you all guessing at that one), that her alias (just in case she needs one) is Monique, or pot roast!

I love you Mom! I'll see you soon!

Basketballs and Guinea Pigs

There are 5 or 6 little neighborhood boys (one might be a girl) who are constantly playing outside together. Everywhere they go, they carry a ball of some sort; today it was a basketball.
Anyway, they don't know my name but they know that I'm Mr. Haag's wife, and they know Mr. Haag because their big brothers were in his class last year, they think. They are nice enough to wave at me if they see me outside and they are happy to sell me cookie dough for their school fundraiser (and I'm happy to buy, though I've never actually received any cookie dough). It's a reciprocal relationship.

Today the doorbell rang and when I opened the door, there stood the lot of them, bouncing and bouncing and bouncing the basketball. They stood there for a second looking confusedly at me, like they didn't remember that they were the ones who initiated the contact. The one wearing the blue shirt pulls something out from behind his back and holds it up to me as he says, "Hey, do you want this?"
That something is squirming.
Because I've been teaching for 9 years and because I taught 7th graders for 5 of them, I didn't jump back or squeal or do anything girlie, but it did take me a second to recognize that the boy in the blue shirt was holding a guinea pig.
Me: Is that a guinea pig?
Boy in Blue: Uh. I think so.
(Boy in Blue passes the flailing, terrified rodent to me around the bouncing basketball. I take it and hold it close, petting its back because I feel sad for it.(Ok. So I am girlie))
Me: Is it yours?
All of the boys: yes!
Boy in Blue: But I don't want it anymore. Do you want it?
Me: Why don't you want it?
Boy Who Needs a Haircut: My dad and I really want it, but my mom said no.
Red Headed Freckled Boy: See, I told you it was a bad idea to go door to door to give it away!
Me: But look how sweet he is. Are you sure you don't want him?
Boy in Blue: Yes.
Me: How long have you had him?
All: (Say different numbers at the same time.)
Red Headed Freckled Boy: No. You've had him for 2 days.
Me: Does he have a name?
Boy in Blue: No.
Me: You didn't name him? Do you have a cage for him?
All: Yes.
Boy Who Might be a Girl: But you dug that cage out of the trash.
(All nod)
(Basketball continues bouncing and boys blink at me)
Me: I don't think I can keep him because I have two kitties who might eat him.
Red Headed Freckled Boy: Oh yeah!
Boy Who Might be a Girl: I have two dogs!
(All nod)
Me: I'll tell you what. Let's wait until Mr. Haag gets home and we'll see what he says, but I'm pretty sure he'll say no because of the cats (Rich is a good scapegoat). Look how calm your guinea pig is.
Boy Who Needs a Haircut: (to the Boy in Blue) He never acts like that when you hold him.
Me: All you have to do is make sure to hold him real close and hold his feet so that he knows you won't drop him. Also, don't make any loud noises because that makes him nervous.
(Basketball stops bouncing. Boy in Blue smirks and looks at his friends who are wide-eyed. I pass the guinea pig back to him. Boy in Blue is already heading towards the next house. Basketball resumes bouncing.)
Red Headed Freckled Boy calls after him: Hey! You forgot to say thank you.
All boys turn and yell: Thank you!
I close the door.

My thoughts:
1. Those kids are hysterical!
2. I wonder if their parents know they are giving away the family pet, or even worse, a little sister's pet.
3. I need to wash my hands

Already the boys have forgotten about the guinea pig. They are currently riding bikes, playing with a remote control car and yes, bouncing that basketball. I hope the guinea pig made it home.

Billie Holiday

Relax to this sultry, delicious sound while you read the following.

A Billie Holiday Evening

It's a Billie Holiday kind of evening. There's nothin' like coming home, relaxing to some bluesy jazz music, sipping on a sweet-ish red, and perusing the newest edition of The New Yorker. This is a Gatsby lifestyle, friends.

I love being completely immersed in and embraced by the glamorous sadness of the sound- the sexy confidence of the bass, the airy pulse and brush of the high-hat, the winking subtlety of the piano, the flirty trumpet, maybe a slip of the clarinet, and the melting whisper of Lady Day's voice or Ella Fitzgerald's or Diana Krall's or Lena Horne's, or any of the others, tragedy and all.

Yes, tonight I've got the world on a string... and whatever your dreams may be, dream a little dream of me...It's the nearness of you... You haunt me...Darling, save your love for me...I've got it bad and that ain't good.

The candle lit bubble bath is inevitable.

Wine with Emily

If Emily Dickinson were my friend, we'd have to have a long chat, preferably over a full bodied merlot and cigarettes. First off, I'd have to get her to come out of her shy, shackled seclusion and leave the security of her home and her generation. We could talk about lost loves, the delicacy of the spirit, and what it means, exactly, to have faith in...anything, really. I'd ask about why she allows diction and syntax to imprison her in such melancholy moments, and then I'd read some Dorothy Parker to her as an experiment to see if she would laugh or cry, or do both at the same time. Finally, I would address the Truth found in this poem and ask her how she knew:


202
by Emily Dickinson

This World is not Conclusion.
A Species stands beyond -
Invisible, as Music -
But positive, as Sound -
It beckons, and it baffles -
Philosophy - don't know -
And through a Riddle, at the last -
Sagacity, must go -
To guess it, puzzles scholars -
To gain it, Men have borne
Contempt of Generations
And Crucifixion, shown -
Faith slips - and laughs, and rallies -
Blushes, if any see -
Plucks at a twig of Evidence -
And asks a Vane, the way -
Much Gesture, from the Pulpit -
Strong Hallelujahs roll -
Narcotics cannot still the Tooth
That nibbles at the soul -

Pandora Pretty Much Rocks

If you have not been introduced to Pandora, please allow me.
Pandora is a music site that allows you to enjoy the music you already love, and it provides other artist suggestions in an effort to acquaint you with new music in a similar genre. It's all very easy and user friendly.

Step 1: You create a radio station. So, for example, I created a KT Tunstall station. Pandora plays a KT Tunstall song, and if you like that particular song, Pandora analyzes the sound. KT's looks like this:
basic rock song structures; a subtle use of vocal harmony; mixed acoustic and electric instrumentation; a vocal-centric aesthetic; major key tonality; electric pianos; subtle use of acoustic piano

Step 2: Pandora plays other songs by other artists who have a similar sound. So in the KT Tunstall genre, Pandora plays Liz Phair, The Cardigans, Sixpence None the Richer, etc.

Step 3: If you hate the song, you can give it a "Thumbs Down" and Pandora will skip it and move on. If you love the song, you can give it a thumbs up and even bookmark it for later.

Step 4: All of the songs provide album information if you want to know about a particular one. Also, you can buy the album directly from the site...or not.

Step 5: Enjoy your radio station!

You can create several radio stations and play them at any time, according to your mood. The best part about all of this is it is FREE!!
And it is!

Brian Haw and the Great Dictator


I have traveled to London many times in my life and I've never seen Parliament Square without Brian Haw's banners, placards, and rainbow peace flags. I've often wanted to meet him, though I didn't know his name until a year or so ago, just to talk to him about his life and his cause. I'm embarrassed to say that I have never been brave enough to cross the square and (still) am more than horrified, grossly intimidated, and frightened by the photos on some of the placards (This is, I think, part 1 of the intended reaction to this display. Part 2 would be to think about what it means). Also, I'm an American (a Texan, even!) so I wasn't sure about what kind of reception I would receive. It turns out that Brian Haw is a humanitarian above all. If the British government allows Brian Haw to keep his allotted protest space, I think I'll pay him a visit next time I'm in London.

It's kind of cool that through the PiCs I've learned about him and get to hear his voice. Thank you PiCs and thank you to Dan for this particular clip! It really is a small world.

Oh, and Big Ben chimes in the middle of this recording. Regardless of your thoughts on the state of democracy today, the chiming of Big Ben is still one of the coolest sounds in the world!

Nerdalicious Saturday

Finally, it's Friday! Tonight the weather even changed for us a little and it is at least cold enough that I can actually wear long sleeves and a scarf (not just for the fashion) without dying of heat stroke! I think I even smelled a fireplace fire in my neighborhood- a rarity for sure! As usual, the metroplex forgot Fall and we're moving straight into winter - then summer for two days- then sleet when you least expect it. You gotta love Texas weather! Anyway, I love Fridays because, more importantly, they are Saturday eves!

I seriously dig Saturday mornings during the winter: unlimited coffee, warm in my favorite snowman mug; newspaper/magazine/novel reading whilst nuzzled under a soft blanket beside my fuzzy, oatmeal scented kittens; and the delicious solitude of the early morning quiet...
Until Wratch wakes-up! Then it's Car Talk and Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me blaring on NPR. What- a -NERD! Geez! It's a good thing I'm head- over- heels attracted to the NPR listening, nerdalicious types! (Don't tell Wratch, but I do like to listen to the Car Talk fellas. They're wicked retarded!)

I love Saturdays. It is this anticipation of a lazy Saturday morning that gets me through the week!