One hard thing about writing work is that there is scant evidence of that work. Egg will go to his job at 9, and, if I were to write all day, when he came home at 6, nothing would have changed. Even the kilobyte count of my harddrive would be more impacted by downloading a song than the filespace of eight hours worth of writing.
Also, when there's more obvious work to be done, it's hard to make writing the number one priority.
So, instead of writing much this week I mowed the lawn, packed the living room and front room, moved the furniture out of said rooms, swept the driveway, weeded and mulched the flower beds, swept the porch, cleaned the garage (to make room for moved furniture) and repacked a bunch of book boxes.
Impactful and somewhat satisfying (plus, such heavy lifting alleviates the non-running guilt). I also cooked twice and cleaned the kitchen at least twice. This work can be seen immediately, if someone were to look.
But, no one's really watching. I suppose, like writing, the joy of it is in the doing rather than in the recognition for having done it. I look around and I admit that I want the credit, that I want someone to notice--wow, what a great system--the to go boxes on a platform, the thrift-store boxes to the side--or, wow, you started that beastly lawn mower yourself?
Unlike Dorthothy Parker, I love writing; I am happy to have mown the lawn.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Monday, May 15, 2006
Success!
I ran very slow. So slow I was practically running backward. So slow, Cleo the dog could actually keep up. But I ran the whole thirty minutes stopping only to pick up dog poop. I even ran in place while Cleo sniffed flowers, ate crab grass and pointed (she is not a pointer) at a squirrel. Usually, when I run, I run so hard that my lungs clutch at air by the time I get halfway. This time, I ran so slowly it actually hurt my muscles--strange, stoppy muscles-- to go so slow. The iPod shuffled John Prine, Spoon, Mazzy Star, Cowboy Junkies, Jimi Hendrix--much goodness for Slow Running. Perhaps Slow Running can be like Slow Food. Me and my local produce and my mile an hour running speed.
The good news: Erik's going to get me proper running shoes for mother's day. He said he needed to go shopping for Mother's Day on Saturday but I said all I want for Mother's Day is the hallway painted. I also said all I want for Mother's Day is the glass taken to the recycling bins. I also said all I want for Mother's Day is breakfast. But for the fact I made the breakfast I got all that. And, when Erik asked if there's anything else i wanted, I said running shoes. He said sure, that's what he wanted to get me but he didn't want me to think that I thought that he thought that I needed to run.
His mother also got me running shorts and shirt. She said she didn't think I needed to run either. Sweet.
Other good news. Did the Ask Marilyn puzzle in the Parade for the first time ever. Easiest thing ever, a lot like running slow, but did it nonetheless.
The good news: Erik's going to get me proper running shoes for mother's day. He said he needed to go shopping for Mother's Day on Saturday but I said all I want for Mother's Day is the hallway painted. I also said all I want for Mother's Day is the glass taken to the recycling bins. I also said all I want for Mother's Day is breakfast. But for the fact I made the breakfast I got all that. And, when Erik asked if there's anything else i wanted, I said running shoes. He said sure, that's what he wanted to get me but he didn't want me to think that I thought that he thought that I needed to run.
His mother also got me running shorts and shirt. She said she didn't think I needed to run either. Sweet.
Other good news. Did the Ask Marilyn puzzle in the Parade for the first time ever. Easiest thing ever, a lot like running slow, but did it nonetheless.
Friday, May 12, 2006
First attempt
Thanks to Doctor Mama's Blog I tried today a new way of running. I tend to "run" (scare quotation marks seriously meant) about once or twice a week, but I always hate it, never want to go longer, dread doing the next day, etc. But Doctor Mama says to go slow, so slow that people will laugh. I like to make people laugh so I figure that I will give this a try.
So I woke up, a bit worse for wear because of the two glasses of wine too many and the dog vomit interruptions of REM sleep. It's OK, I think. There's nothing like a good sweat to get rid of a tiny hang over.
I have three cups of coffee, feed Zoe some applesauce and read the paper. I really read the paper. Stalling? I'd say so. But it's ten and it's getting hot and Cleo the dog hates running almost as much as I do, especially in the hot, so I get going.
I put on a pair of yoga pants, a bra and then one of those tank tops with a built-in bra thinking this is what Doctor Mama meant when she said "double bra."
I put Zoe in her stroller, let Cleo follow behind off-leash, and walk up the hill to warm up.
Once on flat-land, I put the iPod on the stroller because the yoga pants have no pockets. I turn the Pod ot shuffle and hear The Melvins, the Stooges, Fugazi, and Nirvana all in the first five minutes of "running." You'd think the hard core would make me lift those knees, but not so much. Instead, I keep stopping to skip the song. Then I stop to yell for Cleo who is now a whole block behind. Then I stop to pull up my pants which are riding down, down, down. So with one hand on the stroller and one on my pants, I tell Cleo to hurry and begin to run so slow. So slowly in fact that it turns out I am walking. I've been walking for some time. Perhaps even ambling.
We get to the park. Cleo thinks she wants to say hi to this cute (so not cute) Bloodhound so I wait for about half and hour for her to play. She approaches and runs away, approaches and runs away. She's a huge malumute/shepherd but she thinks she's a Chihuahua. Now that whatever elevated heart-rate I once had slips away, she finally sniffs the dog and we're off again. There had been a slight incline on the way to the park, but the way back slants down and I'm hopeful I can keep the bounce in my step to qualify as a "run."
I put Cleo on her leash this time to force her to keep up though this means half the time I'm pulled to a deadstop so she can smell the daffodils.
But foor one whole block, I'm running and bouncing all the way to the next street when Cleo darts for a squirrel, the leash is torn out of my hands, the iPod falls, I bend to pick up the iPod, the stroller rolls on its own, threatening to careen down the very steep L Street, I dive for the stroller, the pants lose whatever hold they once had and, as I push the stroller to safety, pick up the now-scratched iPod, scream for Cleo, and finally, finally pull up my pants, an jerk in a truck drives by to whistle, "Nice crack."
I drag Cleo the rest of the way--hand on leash, hand on stroller--my pants staying up thanks to the slow, slow walking of my feet.
I'm going shopping for proper shoes, bra, and, most importantly, pants or shorts with a string, tie, or other cinching devices. Plus, pockets for the iPod and a long, long leash for the very ass-dragging (though not ass-crackin') dog. I'd give up the dog, but she could stand a little heart-elevating exercise as much as I could.
I'll try again on Sunday & let you know how it goes.
So I woke up, a bit worse for wear because of the two glasses of wine too many and the dog vomit interruptions of REM sleep. It's OK, I think. There's nothing like a good sweat to get rid of a tiny hang over.
I have three cups of coffee, feed Zoe some applesauce and read the paper. I really read the paper. Stalling? I'd say so. But it's ten and it's getting hot and Cleo the dog hates running almost as much as I do, especially in the hot, so I get going.
I put on a pair of yoga pants, a bra and then one of those tank tops with a built-in bra thinking this is what Doctor Mama meant when she said "double bra."
I put Zoe in her stroller, let Cleo follow behind off-leash, and walk up the hill to warm up.
Once on flat-land, I put the iPod on the stroller because the yoga pants have no pockets. I turn the Pod ot shuffle and hear The Melvins, the Stooges, Fugazi, and Nirvana all in the first five minutes of "running." You'd think the hard core would make me lift those knees, but not so much. Instead, I keep stopping to skip the song. Then I stop to yell for Cleo who is now a whole block behind. Then I stop to pull up my pants which are riding down, down, down. So with one hand on the stroller and one on my pants, I tell Cleo to hurry and begin to run so slow. So slowly in fact that it turns out I am walking. I've been walking for some time. Perhaps even ambling.
We get to the park. Cleo thinks she wants to say hi to this cute (so not cute) Bloodhound so I wait for about half and hour for her to play. She approaches and runs away, approaches and runs away. She's a huge malumute/shepherd but she thinks she's a Chihuahua. Now that whatever elevated heart-rate I once had slips away, she finally sniffs the dog and we're off again. There had been a slight incline on the way to the park, but the way back slants down and I'm hopeful I can keep the bounce in my step to qualify as a "run."
I put Cleo on her leash this time to force her to keep up though this means half the time I'm pulled to a deadstop so she can smell the daffodils.
But foor one whole block, I'm running and bouncing all the way to the next street when Cleo darts for a squirrel, the leash is torn out of my hands, the iPod falls, I bend to pick up the iPod, the stroller rolls on its own, threatening to careen down the very steep L Street, I dive for the stroller, the pants lose whatever hold they once had and, as I push the stroller to safety, pick up the now-scratched iPod, scream for Cleo, and finally, finally pull up my pants, an jerk in a truck drives by to whistle, "Nice crack."
I drag Cleo the rest of the way--hand on leash, hand on stroller--my pants staying up thanks to the slow, slow walking of my feet.
I'm going shopping for proper shoes, bra, and, most importantly, pants or shorts with a string, tie, or other cinching devices. Plus, pockets for the iPod and a long, long leash for the very ass-dragging (though not ass-crackin') dog. I'd give up the dog, but she could stand a little heart-elevating exercise as much as I could.
I'll try again on Sunday & let you know how it goes.
Monday, May 08, 2006
Graduation
I thought it would be majestic. I thought it would be full of ceremony. I thought that the ritual and commraderie would be transformative. What it really was all my graduate school anxities piling up. I spent most of the two hour ceremony sitting on an aisle, separated from the rest of the English PhD's because of my last name being, well, last, trying to get my mortarboard to stay on my head. I think my hair is slippery. I don't think my head is particularly small, (you can't get a PhD with a SMALL head). My mom said that the band was overstretched. Thanks mom.
My name was not in the program which made me think I wasn't actually graduating. I kept looking up at my family but I couldn't see them very well and they couldn't see me and I was sure they were freaking out more than I was that my name wasn't listed. It was all very grim with speeches and honorary degrees until the hooding of the PhD's--then, three of my professors came up to hood me--which entailed not the K*K*K-like hooding I'd imagined. In fact, it's more of a draping, or perhaps a shawling. But regardless of the dumb name, I felt summoned and enveloped and invited. And photographed. Badly. I'm very very worried about these pictures. I'm pretty sure I look like a frog with a square on her head, set off in squareness by my square face.
Then, the 982,217 undergrads were given their diplomas. I about had an anxiety attack waiting for the names to be called. I kept watching the rows, thinking now we're 1/3 done, now a half, wait a minute, I said half over 789,212 people ago.
Apparently, my mother, whose chair was being kicked by a thirteen year-old who was playing his gameboy, was also made anxious. She turned around and stared at the kid for 7 entire minutes and then asked why in the hell did he bother to come. My mom loves crowds even more than I do, let me tell you.
Afterward, we had the lovely Batts and families over for drinks. Then, to the Metropolitan, sans husband who couldn't get off work, but all six of us (mom & SO, mom & dad in law & Thirty one, in one car, The Chrysler Pacifier, to support eco driving.
4 of the 6 of us ordered the prix fixe.
Amuse bouche of Porcini Fritter with Truffle anglaise.
Then the 7 courses:
1. white gazpacho with celery leeks & parsnips (Mom & MIL had spring vegetable consomme where the tiniest veggies in the world came in a tiny bowl and the servers brought out a teapot full of broth and poured it on top of the veggies on site.)
2. Chilled seasonal vegetables--baby squash, radish gelee, micro basil (pretty good but the radish jello didn't dissolve as I hoped it would)
3. seared foie gras with black truffle ice cream, balsmic vinegar, & microgreens. (much discussion about animal cruelty and the foie gras ban in Chicago. Ate it all anyway. Not eco-eating. Loved it though the truffle ice cream tasted a lot like vanilla. I do love those tiny veggies)
4. Butter poached giant prawn with shrimp crisps, cilantro (micro, what else) & savory bisque. (One of the best courses, though the shrimp was about 2 seconds overcooked).
5. tangerine sorbet (you call this a course? OK, whatever.)
6. tenderloin surf & turn with wild ramps (like baby onions), dungeness crab, horseradish hollandaise (pretty good though the tenderloin was a bit mushy. I stole thirty-one's bigger portion then ended up giving it back).
7. dessert sushi (Metaphorical sushi-the ginger was candied, the nori was granache, a sliced strawberry was ahi, a sliced mango was hamachi, the pistashio creme was wasabi.
Did I mention we drank some wine? About 18 bottles? Maybe not quite that many.....
The whole day I was reminded of my college graduation. where I had been invited after to Emeritus Professor Kaspar Locher's house. I was one of 8 students invited, plus a guest. I took my ex-boyfriend. We sat on the back deck, drank champagne and ate cocktail shrimp as spring blossoms fell into our glasses.
Ah, maybe Spring is the ritual I was looking for. That or being invited to play with the big kids.
My name was not in the program which made me think I wasn't actually graduating. I kept looking up at my family but I couldn't see them very well and they couldn't see me and I was sure they were freaking out more than I was that my name wasn't listed. It was all very grim with speeches and honorary degrees until the hooding of the PhD's--then, three of my professors came up to hood me--which entailed not the K*K*K-like hooding I'd imagined. In fact, it's more of a draping, or perhaps a shawling. But regardless of the dumb name, I felt summoned and enveloped and invited. And photographed. Badly. I'm very very worried about these pictures. I'm pretty sure I look like a frog with a square on her head, set off in squareness by my square face.
Then, the 982,217 undergrads were given their diplomas. I about had an anxiety attack waiting for the names to be called. I kept watching the rows, thinking now we're 1/3 done, now a half, wait a minute, I said half over 789,212 people ago.
Apparently, my mother, whose chair was being kicked by a thirteen year-old who was playing his gameboy, was also made anxious. She turned around and stared at the kid for 7 entire minutes and then asked why in the hell did he bother to come. My mom loves crowds even more than I do, let me tell you.
Afterward, we had the lovely Batts and families over for drinks. Then, to the Metropolitan, sans husband who couldn't get off work, but all six of us (mom & SO, mom & dad in law & Thirty one, in one car, The Chrysler Pacifier, to support eco driving.
4 of the 6 of us ordered the prix fixe.
Amuse bouche of Porcini Fritter with Truffle anglaise.
Then the 7 courses:
1. white gazpacho with celery leeks & parsnips (Mom & MIL had spring vegetable consomme where the tiniest veggies in the world came in a tiny bowl and the servers brought out a teapot full of broth and poured it on top of the veggies on site.)
2. Chilled seasonal vegetables--baby squash, radish gelee, micro basil (pretty good but the radish jello didn't dissolve as I hoped it would)
3. seared foie gras with black truffle ice cream, balsmic vinegar, & microgreens. (much discussion about animal cruelty and the foie gras ban in Chicago. Ate it all anyway. Not eco-eating. Loved it though the truffle ice cream tasted a lot like vanilla. I do love those tiny veggies)
4. Butter poached giant prawn with shrimp crisps, cilantro (micro, what else) & savory bisque. (One of the best courses, though the shrimp was about 2 seconds overcooked).
5. tangerine sorbet (you call this a course? OK, whatever.)
6. tenderloin surf & turn with wild ramps (like baby onions), dungeness crab, horseradish hollandaise (pretty good though the tenderloin was a bit mushy. I stole thirty-one's bigger portion then ended up giving it back).
7. dessert sushi (Metaphorical sushi-the ginger was candied, the nori was granache, a sliced strawberry was ahi, a sliced mango was hamachi, the pistashio creme was wasabi.
Did I mention we drank some wine? About 18 bottles? Maybe not quite that many.....
The whole day I was reminded of my college graduation. where I had been invited after to Emeritus Professor Kaspar Locher's house. I was one of 8 students invited, plus a guest. I took my ex-boyfriend. We sat on the back deck, drank champagne and ate cocktail shrimp as spring blossoms fell into our glasses.
Ah, maybe Spring is the ritual I was looking for. That or being invited to play with the big kids.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Colbair Repair
So exciting, all these politics. Immigration protests all over the country thrilled. It gives me hope that enough people can agree and plan and get it together to get out, all on the same May Day. I particularly like that it's International Labor Day (not the US's we-have-to-have-our-own labor day.)
I, however, screwed up and sent Erik to pick up Barbacoa for lunch today. I was staying home, not buying anything to support, if nothing else, the day-laborers who get hosed on home-improvement projects such as my kitchen and landscaping projects, but I blindly said, I'd love my favorite Mexican food for lunch. Duh.
Turns out something like 49% of day-laborers are hired by home-owners.
Mostly though, I'm happy about Stephen Colbert and the White House Correspondent's Dinner. A White Bear has a smart post about satire. Colbert is one of the most subversive because he talks the funniest Conservative talk, undermining every word that comes out of this administration's mouth. Not for everyone, apparently, but I'm not sure why. The video of his talk IS uncomfortable. No one laughs. But I laughed. He's my hero.
In less politicky news: I painted the bathroom entirely by myself. I'm not usually allowed to paint because I a)tend to flick paint b)have a hard time "staying within the lines" c) not stepping in, walking through, or running my butt into the newly wet paint. But time restraints and Erik's painting threshold pretty much crossed, I sanded, cut in, rolled, re-sanded and second coated the whole damn bathroom. I did cheat on the medicine cabinet and the closet--if you come over, you'll see my sloppy work there, but, for the most part, it looks pretty good. All white though. Maybe, if I promise to be good, I can do two-tone in the future. Though now my "they won't let me paint" excuse not to paint is kaputt.
I, however, screwed up and sent Erik to pick up Barbacoa for lunch today. I was staying home, not buying anything to support, if nothing else, the day-laborers who get hosed on home-improvement projects such as my kitchen and landscaping projects, but I blindly said, I'd love my favorite Mexican food for lunch. Duh.
Turns out something like 49% of day-laborers are hired by home-owners.
Mostly though, I'm happy about Stephen Colbert and the White House Correspondent's Dinner. A White Bear has a smart post about satire. Colbert is one of the most subversive because he talks the funniest Conservative talk, undermining every word that comes out of this administration's mouth. Not for everyone, apparently, but I'm not sure why. The video of his talk IS uncomfortable. No one laughs. But I laughed. He's my hero.
In less politicky news: I painted the bathroom entirely by myself. I'm not usually allowed to paint because I a)tend to flick paint b)have a hard time "staying within the lines" c) not stepping in, walking through, or running my butt into the newly wet paint. But time restraints and Erik's painting threshold pretty much crossed, I sanded, cut in, rolled, re-sanded and second coated the whole damn bathroom. I did cheat on the medicine cabinet and the closet--if you come over, you'll see my sloppy work there, but, for the most part, it looks pretty good. All white though. Maybe, if I promise to be good, I can do two-tone in the future. Though now my "they won't let me paint" excuse not to paint is kaputt.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Balanced
Erik is not one to exaggerate. So, when we ate New York Strip Steaks at Ruth's Chris(choosing them over filets or ribeyes for a balance of flavor/fat) and he said, that was the best steak I ever had, it was true. It confirmed my sometimes hyperbolic belief that there is no point in eating steak if it's not a Ruth's Chris steak.
Tonight, we went over to thirty one's for dinner. From her own memory, like a pianist with a good ear, she recreated the Cafe Rio salad. White rice with cilantro, beans with southwest spice, avocado, tomatillo-ranch dressing and a pork butt/shoulder that she cooked all day in her slow cooker with cumin and chile powder and other love spices. Better than Cafe Rio.
Erik, on the way home, said. "That was good." He does not exaggerate.
What's the point in eating tomorrow?
Tonight, we went over to thirty one's for dinner. From her own memory, like a pianist with a good ear, she recreated the Cafe Rio salad. White rice with cilantro, beans with southwest spice, avocado, tomatillo-ranch dressing and a pork butt/shoulder that she cooked all day in her slow cooker with cumin and chile powder and other love spices. Better than Cafe Rio.
Erik, on the way home, said. "That was good." He does not exaggerate.
What's the point in eating tomorrow?
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Whither art thou?
The kitchen is doneish. It looks very nice. So nice I think it's too nice for us. We had better move before we ruin it. We've already stained the granite. I'm sure the internets will provide a stain-removal system that doesn't remove the entire igneous rock.
I have also successfully entertained while in town: sister P and boyfriend Charlie, Friend Misty and boyfried John (who we once called John Crack. He's stayed at my house often enough that I can call him a friend too) and my mom and dad's old friend Lori Friedman who has three boys--Chason, Asher & Daden. Her husband, who I met at dinner, ran the show. He'd say, tell me what you want, I'll go order it and yell, how many more pitchers of beer. Sometimes, especially in groups of 16, I like that sort of take-charge guy.
I missed K.C.'s birthday party, many many deadlines and sleep.
I also neglected to list my Friday Stupids list. Twice!
The capper was getting a phone call from my nonfiction editor asking me if I was coming to the lunch I had organized. I had said when I arranged the meeting, oh, I like to be places early. I'll be there at 11:55. I showed up at quarter to one (edited from my earlier mistype that said "noon").
Brilliant. On so many levels.
I've also lost my debit card, my car keys, my school keys, my cap & gown receipt and Zoe's favorite toys.
And yet, barring any unforeseen slights and misgivings, they still might give me my PhD.
So, decisions.
At this juncture--and the road must be chosen quickly--I still have to decide if we're renting or selling our house, having movers move us or stuffing our own stuff into a truck, taking these hideous hutches, buying a house in East or downtown G.R. and whether Egg will work or stay home with Zo.
And, to be done in the next few weeks: grade 25 proposals, contract for, receive files from author and layout Issue 62 of QW, write rountable review with E Burger and Paul K and submit book(s) to last of the season contests.
Speaking of contests, my poetry manuscript/dissertation "Comeuppance" was one of 6 finalists, along with my friend Mike White's book "Vegetable Love" for a pretty big poetry contest. Another decision: Change my title? Vegetable Love, now that's a good title.
I have also successfully entertained while in town: sister P and boyfriend Charlie, Friend Misty and boyfried John (who we once called John Crack. He's stayed at my house often enough that I can call him a friend too) and my mom and dad's old friend Lori Friedman who has three boys--Chason, Asher & Daden. Her husband, who I met at dinner, ran the show. He'd say, tell me what you want, I'll go order it and yell, how many more pitchers of beer. Sometimes, especially in groups of 16, I like that sort of take-charge guy.
I missed K.C.'s birthday party, many many deadlines and sleep.
I also neglected to list my Friday Stupids list. Twice!
The capper was getting a phone call from my nonfiction editor asking me if I was coming to the lunch I had organized. I had said when I arranged the meeting, oh, I like to be places early. I'll be there at 11:55. I showed up at quarter to one (edited from my earlier mistype that said "noon").
Brilliant. On so many levels.
I've also lost my debit card, my car keys, my school keys, my cap & gown receipt and Zoe's favorite toys.
And yet, barring any unforeseen slights and misgivings, they still might give me my PhD.
So, decisions.
At this juncture--and the road must be chosen quickly--I still have to decide if we're renting or selling our house, having movers move us or stuffing our own stuff into a truck, taking these hideous hutches, buying a house in East or downtown G.R. and whether Egg will work or stay home with Zo.
And, to be done in the next few weeks: grade 25 proposals, contract for, receive files from author and layout Issue 62 of QW, write rountable review with E Burger and Paul K and submit book(s) to last of the season contests.
Speaking of contests, my poetry manuscript/dissertation "Comeuppance" was one of 6 finalists, along with my friend Mike White's book "Vegetable Love" for a pretty big poetry contest. Another decision: Change my title? Vegetable Love, now that's a good title.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Referents
I took Zo to my Writer*s@Work board meeting. She was OK. She called alot of attention to herself with her squawking and her squirming and her occasional LOL. She did one jog of crying, which I hate because she isn't real mamacentric unless she's hungry or tired. She was both, but I didn't know. The time change confuses me but apparently, she still likes to go to bed around 8:30.
Anyway, this is one of the meetings that was held at the Pres's house. I stayed after because I like to stay after. I convinced Zo to go to sleep in her baby bucket and I stayed and drank wine and chatted with members of the erstwhile science community as well as Dr Write. A biologist/mathematician from Panama was staying at said Pres's house. He was very funny and told long stories about his son who wrote SF. He said, I respect my son very much in all things, it's just his writing that I respect the least. I think my mom could get in on that rationale.
Anyway, as they spoke, they kept referring to this guy as DH or BH or something and we non sciency types had to keep asking who or what they were talking about. Or rather, we nodded, as if we knew.
This reminded me of Reed College days when I would go to my friends who lived 4 or 5 strong in a Reed House (the equivalent of a fraternity but the hazing often involved a raucous game of "Dictionary) and they would swap terms and I would nod as if I had the slightest idea what the hell they were talking about--NEXT computers (from a guy who's now buco(Valley Spelling) rich investing in Amazon) and John Cage and Benzene circles. Now, I'm much less shy about my stupidity (more on that on Friday) and am willing to ask, what?, when I don't know what, but then, I really wanted to know it all. I still want to know it all but I'm much more likely to actually know it all if I ask what the it is first.
Anyway, this is one of the meetings that was held at the Pres's house. I stayed after because I like to stay after. I convinced Zo to go to sleep in her baby bucket and I stayed and drank wine and chatted with members of the erstwhile science community as well as Dr Write. A biologist/mathematician from Panama was staying at said Pres's house. He was very funny and told long stories about his son who wrote SF. He said, I respect my son very much in all things, it's just his writing that I respect the least. I think my mom could get in on that rationale.
Anyway, as they spoke, they kept referring to this guy as DH or BH or something and we non sciency types had to keep asking who or what they were talking about. Or rather, we nodded, as if we knew.
This reminded me of Reed College days when I would go to my friends who lived 4 or 5 strong in a Reed House (the equivalent of a fraternity but the hazing often involved a raucous game of "Dictionary) and they would swap terms and I would nod as if I had the slightest idea what the hell they were talking about--NEXT computers (from a guy who's now buco(Valley Spelling) rich investing in Amazon) and John Cage and Benzene circles. Now, I'm much less shy about my stupidity (more on that on Friday) and am willing to ask, what?, when I don't know what, but then, I really wanted to know it all. I still want to know it all but I'm much more likely to actually know it all if I ask what the it is first.
Monday, April 03, 2006
The beginning of the end
I found a home for one of my cats--fluffy black cat Bagiera. See 31 for one reason I accumulated so many. I'm terrified he's lonely and confused but I think he'll be happy being an only cat and not being pushed off my lap every five seconds because of the baby and the dog and the 3 other cats. My mom is going to take my other fluffy one. And friend J says she'll take the sweet tiny one.
We're really moving.
Here's a link thanks to Trista for this test.
Warrior? Hm. I am picky. Especially about buggers. Good thing Egg is an Old Soul.
However, if I change my answers to reflect the softer side of Sears, I get:
Perhaps Schizoid Soul is an option?
We're really moving.
Here's a link thanks to Trista for this test.
Warrior? Hm. I am picky. Especially about buggers. Good thing Egg is an Old Soul.
| You Are a Warrior Soul |
 You're a strong person and sometimes seen as intimidating. You don't give up. You're committed and brave. Truly adventuresome, you are not afraid of going to battle. Extremely protective of loved ones, you root for the underdog. You are picky about details and rigorous in your methods. You also value honesty and fairness a great deal. You can be outspoken, intimidating, headstrong, and demanding. You're a hardliner who demands the best from themselves and others. Souls you are most compatible with: Old Soul and Peacemaker Soul |
However, if I change my answers to reflect the softer side of Sears, I get:
| You Are a Peacemaker Soul |
 You strive to please others and compromise anyway you can. War or conflict bothers you, and you would do anything to keep the peace. You are a good mediator and a true negotiator. Sometimes you do too much, trying so hard to make people happy. While you keep the peace, you tend to be secretly judgmental. You lose respect for people who don't like to both give and take. On the flip side, you've got a graet sense of humor and wit. You're always dimplomatic and able to give good advice. Souls you are most compatible with: Warrior Soul, Hunter Soul and Visionary Soul |
Perhaps Schizoid Soul is an option?
Friday, March 31, 2006
Not so bright
I spend a lot of time thinking about how retarded I am. Retarded acts today: using the word retarded, paying $24 for lunch yesterday because I was at Mama's Southern Plantation and the owners were black and I wanted to be cool and helpful so I just paid whatever instead of asking, how might lunch possibly cost this much? though I did order ala carte and strangley. Of course, now I'm sure they think I'm the biggest idiot in the world. Which I may well be. So I'm not only retarded but racist. I also convinced myself that the lunch wasn't very fattening because I didn't have any sides with my two pieces of fried chicken and 3 ribs. I also put my coffee cup within Zo's reach and she spilled it all over herself (it wasn't very hot, but still). I made two separate lunch appointments for the same day. I went to Ace Hardward to buy stem-to-faucet caps and a 1/2 inch to 5/8th transducer and came home with neither. I tossed Zo's carrot babyfood spoon in the sink and it splashed carrot juice all over the bathroom walls. And, unlike Bitch PhD,I neglected to hide my identity well enough from my future school so now they know, if they read my blog, I'm not the genius they might have hoped for.
On a bright note: I did figure out how to reprogram a new garage door opener. Our old one was but a circuit-board, some binary switches and a battery. Now our door goes up. And it goes down.
This could be a weekly post--like a column. Dumb things I did this week. Look forward to Fridays to hear how I managed to hemorrhage another $700 in car repairs or neglected to ask the countertop guys why they left behind four pounds of granite in the form of dust on my new cabinets.
Updated to include biggest boner of all: Remodeling kitchen 5 months before you're moving out of state. It has been the 3rd circle of hell having it redone. And it will be the 5th circle leaving it--so beautiful it is, I might even post pictures.
On a bright note: I did figure out how to reprogram a new garage door opener. Our old one was but a circuit-board, some binary switches and a battery. Now our door goes up. And it goes down.
This could be a weekly post--like a column. Dumb things I did this week. Look forward to Fridays to hear how I managed to hemorrhage another $700 in car repairs or neglected to ask the countertop guys why they left behind four pounds of granite in the form of dust on my new cabinets.
Updated to include biggest boner of all: Remodeling kitchen 5 months before you're moving out of state. It has been the 3rd circle of hell having it redone. And it will be the 5th circle leaving it--so beautiful it is, I might even post pictures.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Updated blog list
Dr. Write very kindly took me to dinner at Martine last week for successfully getting the hell out of graduate school. We had lovely tapas--lamb with pomegranate sauce, almost cajun scallops and the beef tenderloin tips with a lovely crouton and a basil aioli. And wine of course.
While we were eating, I annoyed myself by talking about blogs. And Thirty-One had me over to dinner for delicious Wahoo (Ono) with a cherry, wine sauce, spinach with prosciutto, broiled zucchini with parmesan and we further discussed with her DH what's different about blogs and webpages and essays and blog posts.
It's amazing how much time I've wasted reading them the past few weeks. I forgive myself for these reasons: 1-it's one thing I can do while feeding/playing with/watching Zoe. It only requires one hand. Even reading needs two and though I love every minute I get to spend with the Zoster, I need a tad more mental stimulation than peek-a-boo. 2-with the kitchen upended and my bathroom doubling as service station and bath house, I can't cook and I'm trying to avoid any other household duties while dust spirals and 3-I feel like when I move, I can take my blogfriends with me. It's amazing how quickly invested I can get and how immediately intimate blogs seem. I know it's a false intimacy to some degree, but I like the idea that if, when I'm in Michigan, I run into Barely Tenured and can ask how her classes are going. It may be a wispy connection, but it's better than just googling about.
I'm off to write something less wispy right now, assuming Baby Z stays asleep until 4. I'm writing an essay right now but I miss the novel blog though. Sleepy-E finished his but maybe Lis is ready to start again? Dr Write, you ready to write?
And, last question--is there such a thing as blogger shoulder?
While we were eating, I annoyed myself by talking about blogs. And Thirty-One had me over to dinner for delicious Wahoo (Ono) with a cherry, wine sauce, spinach with prosciutto, broiled zucchini with parmesan and we further discussed with her DH what's different about blogs and webpages and essays and blog posts.
It's amazing how much time I've wasted reading them the past few weeks. I forgive myself for these reasons: 1-it's one thing I can do while feeding/playing with/watching Zoe. It only requires one hand. Even reading needs two and though I love every minute I get to spend with the Zoster, I need a tad more mental stimulation than peek-a-boo. 2-with the kitchen upended and my bathroom doubling as service station and bath house, I can't cook and I'm trying to avoid any other household duties while dust spirals and 3-I feel like when I move, I can take my blogfriends with me. It's amazing how quickly invested I can get and how immediately intimate blogs seem. I know it's a false intimacy to some degree, but I like the idea that if, when I'm in Michigan, I run into Barely Tenured and can ask how her classes are going. It may be a wispy connection, but it's better than just googling about.
I'm off to write something less wispy right now, assuming Baby Z stays asleep until 4. I'm writing an essay right now but I miss the novel blog though. Sleepy-E finished his but maybe Lis is ready to start again? Dr Write, you ready to write?
And, last question--is there such a thing as blogger shoulder?
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
quotidian
Thirty-one (ha! I just got the 2nd meaning of her blog title--she IS 31.) said that I should post the essay I was writing and see how it differs from sending it out and publishing it in a magazine. I do wonder how my pontifications change depending on the medium it's presented in. A blog post is not an essay yet I see a lot of long blogs that are full of good writing and are topic-specific enough that they verge on becoming art. I wonder, as I traipse through the blogs of some many people, if they're all actually writers too, publishing in the land of lit mags, commercial mags, and in books that I would read if I wasn't reading blogs.
Hm. Perhaps Dr. Write and I can have a panel at AWP.
Other trouble: Still kitchening. I'm sitting here hoping that Zoe will sleep through the airgun that's stapling the trim to the walls. Why are we home? Because there's no where else to go. My mom is sick and Erik's parents live so far in the mountains that it takes a week of grocery shopping to go up there. Where else can a mom and her baby go for ALL day? 31's? No, the nanny drives me mad. Though 31 does have wireless DSL.....
Also: Too much wine this March. With AWP, job offers, birthdays, PhD defenses, and going out to dinner every single night, there's been a few mornings of deep headache and metal jaw. I'm hoping April is less celebratory.
Cats. Too many of them. Is it too late to donate them to science? I'm afraid, after Zoe's RSV, that she may be prone to asthma. 4 cats, a dog, and a house under construction (please don't spew lead paint, please), will not be good.
And this is how my blog differs ever so slightly from my essays: On the blog, I stick to one topic never. On my essays, I at least try one topic. For at least a page.
Hm. Perhaps Dr. Write and I can have a panel at AWP.
Other trouble: Still kitchening. I'm sitting here hoping that Zoe will sleep through the airgun that's stapling the trim to the walls. Why are we home? Because there's no where else to go. My mom is sick and Erik's parents live so far in the mountains that it takes a week of grocery shopping to go up there. Where else can a mom and her baby go for ALL day? 31's? No, the nanny drives me mad. Though 31 does have wireless DSL.....
Also: Too much wine this March. With AWP, job offers, birthdays, PhD defenses, and going out to dinner every single night, there's been a few mornings of deep headache and metal jaw. I'm hoping April is less celebratory.
Cats. Too many of them. Is it too late to donate them to science? I'm afraid, after Zoe's RSV, that she may be prone to asthma. 4 cats, a dog, and a house under construction (please don't spew lead paint, please), will not be good.
And this is how my blog differs ever so slightly from my essays: On the blog, I stick to one topic never. On my essays, I at least try one topic. For at least a page.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Premature Write-elation
You know when you haven't had sex for a long time and then you do and everything seems weird--like the pores of your partner seem a little gigantic and their genitalia a bit too pink? That's how it feels trying to write after a 4 month haitus. I'm trying to get to it--the job market, Zoe's hospitalization, the kitchen remodel, AWP--each worked to steal whatever writing mojo or motivation I had.
Now, when I sit down to write, my words seem pimply and my sentences awfully raw. I wonder if I can write while Zoe bounces or while I stuff QW envelopes or perhaps on the way to pick up tile????
On another note, or, speaking of genitalia, the lot they want to build on nextdoor has asked for a height and size variance. I want to go tonight to protest but I've gone to enough political meetings in Utah to know that I'll leave dejected and sad. And Zoe won't have that much fun either. But I think we'll go anyway. How can I complain about the 3 car garage I'm staring at if I didn't complain?
Now, when I sit down to write, my words seem pimply and my sentences awfully raw. I wonder if I can write while Zoe bounces or while I stuff QW envelopes or perhaps on the way to pick up tile????
On another note, or, speaking of genitalia, the lot they want to build on nextdoor has asked for a height and size variance. I want to go tonight to protest but I've gone to enough political meetings in Utah to know that I'll leave dejected and sad. And Zoe won't have that much fun either. But I think we'll go anyway. How can I complain about the 3 car garage I'm staring at if I didn't complain?
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Back to back vacation
Except it never is. Before we left for AWP in Austin, Erik and I had to completely empty out our kitchen so that while we were gone, the new kitchen cabinets could be installed. Our garbage can(and a number of neighbors' garbage cans were) filled to the brim. Packing for the trip and for Zoe's trip up to her grandparents, asking the neighbor to not only feed the cats but change the litter box, and check in with my webct students was work. AWP itself, although I was there for work, was not actually work. It was great fun. I saw my friends from SLC and friends who now live afar and my new colleagues. I made some new friends and connected with Dinty Moore who has been so kind to me. Erik was so cool and sat at the table in the Bookfair and sold magazines for me and Dave.
I'm thinking now of compiling some essays to teach next semester. I'll try to post some stuff at http://teach-essay.blogspot.com/
I'm really looking forward to working on syllabi for GVSU.
Which is part of the now work: more kitchen stuff-shop for cabinets, pay two tickets for my expired plates, send out Quarterly West, taxes. Another vacation masquerading as work.
Glad to be back.
I'm thinking now of compiling some essays to teach next semester. I'll try to post some stuff at http://teach-essay.blogspot.com/
I'm really looking forward to working on syllabi for GVSU.
Which is part of the now work: more kitchen stuff-shop for cabinets, pay two tickets for my expired plates, send out Quarterly West, taxes. Another vacation masquerading as work.
Glad to be back.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
AWP
Off to Austin where I hope to see Lisa B. and Dr. Write. After the whirlwind of December & January travel, I'm not too excited to go, but at least I won't be interviewed. Instead, I'll be hawking the magazine and eating too much.
The new cabinets came today. They are too beautiful. We'll never be able to leave now.
What kind of dumbasses redo their kitchen while they're on the job market?
Don't answer that.
The new cabinets came today. They are too beautiful. We'll never be able to leave now.
What kind of dumbasses redo their kitchen while they're on the job market?
Don't answer that.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Did it
Took the job. The one at Grand Valley State University. 3/3 teaching load. Good salary. GREAT benefits. It's in Grand Rapids, Michigan. I'm excited, I think. The folks there are so kind. They sent Zoe and me flowers when she was in the hospital. I went from total exhiliration--especially when they told me they voted for me unanimously. And it's hard to become a professor. They don't just dole those jobs out. But then I got depressed about moving and about other peoples' jobs. Some folks got an interview at Portland State. But I know I wanted that too much to actually get it. I wrote a special letter for them. I had KB send an extra letter of recommendation to them. That was the worst day--realizing that GVSU is as good as it's going to get this year. But that good IS good--it's just hard to leave the west. But Erik's completely into going and it's time for an adventure. The nice thing is my blogging life will come with me!
Sunday, February 19, 2006
To Blog
One of my sister's has finally started her own blog--Thirty-One Flavors http://thirtyandone.blogspot.com/(tribute to Ani over Baskin Robbins? I think so). In so doing, she said she blogged me about it, which seemed like a better way to say "I posted a comment to your blog." So in my lexicon/grammar text, I will suggest that "to blog" as an intransitive verb means that I wrote in my blog today. Example: I blogged. As a transitive verb, it will mean that I sent you a note in your blog. Example: I blogged you. See. And now I'll teach grammar with a 21st century foxiness. Now blog me. Blog me hard. (Imperative form of to blog).
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Mess
I feel mentally unstable. I just proofread an essay of mine that's coming up in a journal and it's much too personal, especially if it's read without the essay that explains why I have no modesty whatsoever. Ugh, the whole nonfiction book project is a rubbernecking, gossip fest. Which is how I'll market it, but still. There's something a little striptease about it.
Which makes me think I'm unstable. Which makes me wonder how can I take a job when I know some of the reasons I'm doing it are bad ones--for money, for esteem, for natural career progression. Good reasons would be: I want a change, I like the school, I like the city, I love to teach. And I'll go for those reasons too, but the bad reasons are the ones that make me wonder what choices I would make differently if I wasn't so, well, conventional. But even my most unconventional friends have begun to make the responsible choices: Misty became a lawyer (and goes by Renae), Joy join the HotShots in New Mexico so she could make enough money to live in Idaho next year, John got a full time job for the forest service.....
And, I'm so lucky to have been offered this great job. But I don't want to use up all my good luck on jobs. I was looking at some wineglasses sitting on the counter and one of them was tipped, held up by another glass and I thought I don't want to waste all my good luck on keeping wineglasses whole. But it's true. I have substantial good luck in wineglasses. I still have 5 of the 8 Erik and I got for our wedding. On the other hand, I have bad luck with cars. Just yesterday, with TWO cars of mine in the driveway, neither would start. Erik's ignition was frozen (or the key is dull) and my battery is dead. On the same day! I guess I should take my good luck where it comes. But sometimes bad luck masquerades as good. What if I'd missed an accident because my car wouldn't start???? I know, thoughts like these are paralyzing. The truth of the matter, it will probably all come out in the wash. Or, in other words, it will all end in cliche. One way or another.
Which makes me think I'm unstable. Which makes me wonder how can I take a job when I know some of the reasons I'm doing it are bad ones--for money, for esteem, for natural career progression. Good reasons would be: I want a change, I like the school, I like the city, I love to teach. And I'll go for those reasons too, but the bad reasons are the ones that make me wonder what choices I would make differently if I wasn't so, well, conventional. But even my most unconventional friends have begun to make the responsible choices: Misty became a lawyer (and goes by Renae), Joy join the HotShots in New Mexico so she could make enough money to live in Idaho next year, John got a full time job for the forest service.....
And, I'm so lucky to have been offered this great job. But I don't want to use up all my good luck on jobs. I was looking at some wineglasses sitting on the counter and one of them was tipped, held up by another glass and I thought I don't want to waste all my good luck on keeping wineglasses whole. But it's true. I have substantial good luck in wineglasses. I still have 5 of the 8 Erik and I got for our wedding. On the other hand, I have bad luck with cars. Just yesterday, with TWO cars of mine in the driveway, neither would start. Erik's ignition was frozen (or the key is dull) and my battery is dead. On the same day! I guess I should take my good luck where it comes. But sometimes bad luck masquerades as good. What if I'd missed an accident because my car wouldn't start???? I know, thoughts like these are paralyzing. The truth of the matter, it will probably all come out in the wash. Or, in other words, it will all end in cliche. One way or another.
Friday, February 10, 2006
Other Worlds
When I got back from my 11 days of campus interviewing, I said "I feel like I've been in a hospital for a month." Then, 4 days later. I moved into the hospital for a month. Zoe is sick from the world's dumbest virus. RSV. Respiratory Scintilla Virus (Scintilla rhymes with Chincilla). I'm going mad being here. I came in and blamed the doctors and nurses that we were stuck here. Then I realized she was pretty sick and I was glad that she had some help and I should stop being such a selfish bum. Then she got an ear infection, croup, and pneumonia and now I blame the hospital for its germy, stress-filled environment.
We've been here too long and I'm having a hard time being rationale. But the system is designed to make me feel irrational. I can't make any decisions, nor do I have any idea when this will be over. I keep guessing. I'm an optimist. I always say tomorrow, but I'm always wrong. Being an optimist is very depressing work.
I make a lot of jokes about how air travel and hospital styas are comprably unbearable (subtracting of course the fact that my baby was so sick I cried). Unbearable defines 2006 so far.
But I did get a job offer at the GVSU job in Michigan. I'll probably take it. They are great folks and the program's great and the money's great and Dr. Write reminds me I can always come back (by "back" I hope she means back to SLC, not the hospital). I'm actually kind of touched that I made it to this point. In a lot of ways, that's enough.
Although Dr. Write SHOULD remind me to graduate and call myself Dr. and check myself out of this hotel.
We've been here too long and I'm having a hard time being rationale. But the system is designed to make me feel irrational. I can't make any decisions, nor do I have any idea when this will be over. I keep guessing. I'm an optimist. I always say tomorrow, but I'm always wrong. Being an optimist is very depressing work.
I make a lot of jokes about how air travel and hospital styas are comprably unbearable (subtracting of course the fact that my baby was so sick I cried). Unbearable defines 2006 so far.
But I did get a job offer at the GVSU job in Michigan. I'll probably take it. They are great folks and the program's great and the money's great and Dr. Write reminds me I can always come back (by "back" I hope she means back to SLC, not the hospital). I'm actually kind of touched that I made it to this point. In a lot of ways, that's enough.
Although Dr. Write SHOULD remind me to graduate and call myself Dr. and check myself out of this hotel.
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