When I came home today, this was on the lawn. I looked around, saw several giant angular footprints in the wet lawns of my neighbors, and realized what had happened: a giant robot stormed through the neighborhood and stopped to poop on my lawn. I don't want the men in black anywhere near my house, so I quickly hid the evidence in the garage, where you see it now.
A giant turd has the potential to be quite repulsive, I understand, but this robot turd was practically sterile. My only concern while carrying it was that I might be caught. Luckily, I was home at 4pm, earlier than most of my neighbors, and we live on a secluded street (although obviously now I can't tell you where).
What I want to know is -- do you think I should put it on eBay?
Okay, of course this is just the ductwork from the old heater and air conditioner. Judging by my darling husband's reaction to all this, though, the event will nevertheless go down in family history, being retold forever as The Night There Was No Heat. Grandchildren beware.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Shhh & Cash
Shhh... Don't tell. *I got a master key.* It's not that big a deal -- almost every teacher I know has a master key, but everyone has to pretend like no one has one. Anyway, it's going to make the next month of getting in to the auditorium a lot more convenient. But I feel a little like I have a magic wand right now -- like, does it open this door? It does!
I am kind of bummed out today, but sweetie bought me a book (thanks, sweetie!) and I listened to Johnny Cash, which is more of a wallow-in-it kind of thing than an upper, but whatever works. Anyway, what I was listening to was American V, which was his last album. It doesn't have the cool covers that American IV has, and it sounds a lot more like "goodbye." I like it all right, but I love one song on it, "God's Gonna Cut You Down." It's actually a traditional arrangement, and I first heard it when Moby did a version, but there's something about it I just love. It's got an interesting pattern of handclaps and stomps, a kind of mesmerizing repetition, and Johnny Cash's voice above it all... Great song. I listened to it twice today.
I am kind of bummed out today, but sweetie bought me a book (thanks, sweetie!) and I listened to Johnny Cash, which is more of a wallow-in-it kind of thing than an upper, but whatever works. Anyway, what I was listening to was American V, which was his last album. It doesn't have the cool covers that American IV has, and it sounds a lot more like "goodbye." I like it all right, but I love one song on it, "God's Gonna Cut You Down." It's actually a traditional arrangement, and I first heard it when Moby did a version, but there's something about it I just love. It's got an interesting pattern of handclaps and stomps, a kind of mesmerizing repetition, and Johnny Cash's voice above it all... Great song. I listened to it twice today.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Dang rain. I mean, Yay, rain!
So, I know we need rain, and need it badly. But tomorrow I have to go to a stupid thing at the Coloma Community center, which is hecka close to my house, so the high point of my day was that I was going to ride my bike. But alas, there's an 80% chance of rain. Could I ride anyway? Yes, but I'm a whiner, and I hate the muddy ass-and-back trail the bike kicks up.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Silent Sarcasm and the American Dream
First, instead of cussing people out while driving, I sometimes get really sarcastic. Just now I found myself following a car driving really funny and I said out loud cheerfully, "Oh, no, that's cool. That's a, you know, different approach to this whole driving thing. Think outside the box, you know?"
Then, last night I was at the gym on the stationary bike. I was reading a book, but sometimes I need to look up and focus out further to rest my eyes. Well, there are TVs right in front of the bikes, and I got a little sucked in to "Deal or No Deal." I'm not proud. Anyway, it's a game show, and Howie Mandel is the host. It's basically a guessing game, and you have a chance to win up to a million dollars. Well, last night the contestant was a Korean guy whose last name was Kong. Anyway, apparently this guy's parents emigrated here with $750 in their pockets and made a life for themselves. I know this because every time I looked up, Howie Mandel was repeating it. And what bugged me was that he kept saying "This is the American Dream, isn't it? You have the chance to win X dollars right now! Isn't that the American Dream?" He was very excited. The anonymous "banker" who offers money on the show kept making the contestant do humiliating things like sing karaoke and clog dance (although, to be fair, the contestant didn't seem to think this was embarrasing, but rather exhilirating). Anyway, I was thinking "No! I don't believe making an ass out of yourself on national TV in the hopes of making a million dollars for doing nothing." I asked my students today what they thought the American dream was and why people came to America. Their answers? To work. To raise their kids. To give their kids a better life, education, a home... It may be trite and cliche, and it may not be a million dollars, but I like their answers better.
Then, last night I was at the gym on the stationary bike. I was reading a book, but sometimes I need to look up and focus out further to rest my eyes. Well, there are TVs right in front of the bikes, and I got a little sucked in to "Deal or No Deal." I'm not proud. Anyway, it's a game show, and Howie Mandel is the host. It's basically a guessing game, and you have a chance to win up to a million dollars. Well, last night the contestant was a Korean guy whose last name was Kong. Anyway, apparently this guy's parents emigrated here with $750 in their pockets and made a life for themselves. I know this because every time I looked up, Howie Mandel was repeating it. And what bugged me was that he kept saying "This is the American Dream, isn't it? You have the chance to win X dollars right now! Isn't that the American Dream?" He was very excited. The anonymous "banker" who offers money on the show kept making the contestant do humiliating things like sing karaoke and clog dance (although, to be fair, the contestant didn't seem to think this was embarrasing, but rather exhilirating). Anyway, I was thinking "No! I don't believe making an ass out of yourself on national TV in the hopes of making a million dollars for doing nothing." I asked my students today what they thought the American dream was and why people came to America. Their answers? To work. To raise their kids. To give their kids a better life, education, a home... It may be trite and cliche, and it may not be a million dollars, but I like their answers better.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Saddest. Dental appointment. Ever.
Well, I know most people don't have a good relationship with their dentists, but I've had the same one my entire life. Before I even had teeth, he used to ride me up and down in the chair and give me a toy. And for the last 20 years, he's had an RDA named Bernadette. With rare exception, Bernadette is the one who has seen me first, done my cleaning, my flouride... I spend more time with her than with my dentist. I have been hearing about her son since he was tiny and he graduated from high school last year. Well, she's leaving!! She's going to work for the state! It's a good move for her, since my dentist will someday retire (although my mind is totally having a temper tantrum in trying to ignore this eventuality) and he owns the practice, so it'll close then. Anyway, she'll have good pay and benefits, and she isn't planning to retire for another 20 years or so. So I'm happy for her, but seriously! I'll have to get to know a new assistant? That's just crazy. I want Bernadette.
On a totally unrelated note, I was watching the Style network, and there was a woman getting a makeover who was a tall, pale, freckly, geeky redhead. She totally reminded me of a girl I knew from junior high and then reconnected with briefly in college. She was an unrepentant nerd. I mean, came to school dressed as a unicorn (in a white unitard) on Halloween. Pretty "Welcome to the Dollhouse." Anyway, having been reminded of her, I decided to Google her, and it's ALL about her graduate studies in math, work at NASA, fuel cell technology stuff... How fucking cool is that? Yay nerds.
On a totally unrelated note, I was watching the Style network, and there was a woman getting a makeover who was a tall, pale, freckly, geeky redhead. She totally reminded me of a girl I knew from junior high and then reconnected with briefly in college. She was an unrepentant nerd. I mean, came to school dressed as a unicorn (in a white unitard) on Halloween. Pretty "Welcome to the Dollhouse." Anyway, having been reminded of her, I decided to Google her, and it's ALL about her graduate studies in math, work at NASA, fuel cell technology stuff... How fucking cool is that? Yay nerds.
Why I don't ride the bus.
Okay, I realize that my carbon footprint is smaller than many people's. I recycle, use canvas bags, conserve energy and water, buy locally grown organic foods, do as little driving as I can... But I was reading Uneasy Rhetoric, and I always feel guilty for not riding the bus. Because I am basically one of those people who could practically get on a bus outside my front door and have it drop me off at work. So why don't I ride?
1: First, it's not exactly by my front door -- I would have to walk about 7 blocks to the light rail station and then 7 blocks home. Not awful, but it does add to the time involved in my commute.
2: Speaking of time, it takes just over 15 minutes for me to get to work right now in the car. The shortest time that light rail would take is 25 minutes, and that doesn't include the walk.
3: It would cost $4 per day to ride. That's $80 a month, or $85 for the convenience of the monthly pass, which means not having to carry around a wad of dollar bills every day. (Incidentally, aren't monthy passes supposed to save you money?) Compare this to the car: it's about 340 miles of driving each month, which is just over a tank of gas for me (approximately $30). Even if you add in the insurance, that's still only equivalent to the amount I'd be paying for mass transit. And I'd STILL have to pay the insurance, because I drive other places besides work. No matter how you figure it, mass transit costs more than driving.
4: Mass transit eliminates my ability to carry stuff to work, which I do a lot. Hey, I teach drama -- it's not unusual for me to be lugging a crate of fabric, a couple gallons of paint, and some lumber.
5: Mass transit severely restricts my ability to go other places after work, which in recent months have included the grocery store, places to pick up dinner, the post office, doctor's appointments, etc. Say I needed to go to the ultrasound I had recently -- it would have added about half an hour of travel time (which would have made me miss the appointment).
Are these surmountable? Sure. I could suck it up and pay more. I could plan ahead for appointments and hauling stuff and drive on those days. I could get up earlier and leave the house earlier. I could get home later and prepare dinner later (although Sweetie would probably object, since he's usually starving by the time I get dinner on the table as it is). But with all these things added together, it just doesn't really make sense to me. There's no appeal. Extra time to read on the train? Sure, but offset by the fact that I'd be surrounded by strangers, and let's be honest -- the second half of my commute would be on the Meadowview bound train through the worst part of South Sac. Not exactly a conducive atmosphere for quiet reading time. Anyway, I just wanted to throw in my two cents on why, inveterate hippie tree-hugger that I am, I will not be giving up my car and utilizing our public transit system.
1: First, it's not exactly by my front door -- I would have to walk about 7 blocks to the light rail station and then 7 blocks home. Not awful, but it does add to the time involved in my commute.
2: Speaking of time, it takes just over 15 minutes for me to get to work right now in the car. The shortest time that light rail would take is 25 minutes, and that doesn't include the walk.
3: It would cost $4 per day to ride. That's $80 a month, or $85 for the convenience of the monthly pass, which means not having to carry around a wad of dollar bills every day. (Incidentally, aren't monthy passes supposed to save you money?) Compare this to the car: it's about 340 miles of driving each month, which is just over a tank of gas for me (approximately $30). Even if you add in the insurance, that's still only equivalent to the amount I'd be paying for mass transit. And I'd STILL have to pay the insurance, because I drive other places besides work. No matter how you figure it, mass transit costs more than driving.
4: Mass transit eliminates my ability to carry stuff to work, which I do a lot. Hey, I teach drama -- it's not unusual for me to be lugging a crate of fabric, a couple gallons of paint, and some lumber.
5: Mass transit severely restricts my ability to go other places after work, which in recent months have included the grocery store, places to pick up dinner, the post office, doctor's appointments, etc. Say I needed to go to the ultrasound I had recently -- it would have added about half an hour of travel time (which would have made me miss the appointment).
Are these surmountable? Sure. I could suck it up and pay more. I could plan ahead for appointments and hauling stuff and drive on those days. I could get up earlier and leave the house earlier. I could get home later and prepare dinner later (although Sweetie would probably object, since he's usually starving by the time I get dinner on the table as it is). But with all these things added together, it just doesn't really make sense to me. There's no appeal. Extra time to read on the train? Sure, but offset by the fact that I'd be surrounded by strangers, and let's be honest -- the second half of my commute would be on the Meadowview bound train through the worst part of South Sac. Not exactly a conducive atmosphere for quiet reading time. Anyway, I just wanted to throw in my two cents on why, inveterate hippie tree-hugger that I am, I will not be giving up my car and utilizing our public transit system.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Here's the asterisk from the last post
This is my funny shirt. Just in case you can't read it, the bunny on the left has a bite mark out of his bootie, and he's saying "My butt hurts." The other bunny has a bite out of his ears, and he replies "What?"
I would take a more flattering photo, but I am far too lazy.
I would take a more flattering photo, but I am far too lazy.
Sunday
I had breakfast with Monkeygirl, which is always fun. Then I went to yoga. I came home and enjoyed the sunshine by sitting in the hammock to read the newspaper. Then I went to a movie with Mom.
We saw "Music and Lyrics," and I enjoyed it. Now listen, I realize I'm not as discriminating as most of my classay friends; I genuinely enjoy most of the movies I watch intentionally. And I realize that I'm predisposed to like movies with Drew Barrymore, movies with Hugh Grant, and romantic comedies that seem sincere and have chemistry. (I do not, however, like Meg Ryan movies, or almost any romantic comedies that seem contrived, so I don't go see them.) Anyway, I thought it was fun -- at first I was ooked out that Hugh Grant was so much older than Drew Barrymore, but their chemistry and charm on screen sort of mitigated that. Also, there was a great parody of 80s videos, a couple good parodies of modern videos and pop music, and some very funny lines ("Although she thought the Dalai Lama was, improbably, an actual llama..."). And although the movie itself was kind of predictable, individual scenes and characters rarely were. Mom and I both agreed in one scene that Hugh Grant was going to punch a guy, but it didn't go like that.
Then we had a nice dinner at Paesano's, then stopped by Tres Hermanas hoping for albondigas for Sweetie, but alas, it was chicken rice. I then went to Trader Joe's to get a few things. Sigh. I know I should not go there on Sunday nights. I walk up to the store and notice a really beautiful woman in line. Then I go in, pick up half and half, cream cheese, a couple frozen lunches, some fizzy water, then head to the checkout area, where I throw in some gum and several bags of dried fruit thingies. I pick the line that has one cart in front of me, most of which is already unloaded. All I can see that's left is a young girl in a tutu and furry pink jacket holding a balloon (by the way, if I could get away with this outfit, I TOTALLY would). But apparently there were a few more things in there, because the checker was still ringing the mom up. I look around and notice someone is staring at me -- it's the beautiful woman. She's reading my shirt (which is freaking hilarious, by the way*), and I laugh with her. I figure she must have been in line, but left to get something else and came back. Well, it's taking a very long time in my line, and now everything in the beautiful woman's basket is out, so I think, "hey, I'll go in that line." I go over there. But although the basket is unloaded, apparently she is opening her OWN store, because they have five-thousand things to bag, and the checker there isn't in any hurry. I go BACK to the first line, where the woman and the kid have left to go to the bathroom, but the checker is STILL bagging their stuff. Eventually, I finally get rung up. I should just know better than to go grocery shopping on Sunday evening.
We saw "Music and Lyrics," and I enjoyed it. Now listen, I realize I'm not as discriminating as most of my classay friends; I genuinely enjoy most of the movies I watch intentionally. And I realize that I'm predisposed to like movies with Drew Barrymore, movies with Hugh Grant, and romantic comedies that seem sincere and have chemistry. (I do not, however, like Meg Ryan movies, or almost any romantic comedies that seem contrived, so I don't go see them.) Anyway, I thought it was fun -- at first I was ooked out that Hugh Grant was so much older than Drew Barrymore, but their chemistry and charm on screen sort of mitigated that. Also, there was a great parody of 80s videos, a couple good parodies of modern videos and pop music, and some very funny lines ("Although she thought the Dalai Lama was, improbably, an actual llama..."). And although the movie itself was kind of predictable, individual scenes and characters rarely were. Mom and I both agreed in one scene that Hugh Grant was going to punch a guy, but it didn't go like that.
Then we had a nice dinner at Paesano's, then stopped by Tres Hermanas hoping for albondigas for Sweetie, but alas, it was chicken rice. I then went to Trader Joe's to get a few things. Sigh. I know I should not go there on Sunday nights. I walk up to the store and notice a really beautiful woman in line. Then I go in, pick up half and half, cream cheese, a couple frozen lunches, some fizzy water, then head to the checkout area, where I throw in some gum and several bags of dried fruit thingies. I pick the line that has one cart in front of me, most of which is already unloaded. All I can see that's left is a young girl in a tutu and furry pink jacket holding a balloon (by the way, if I could get away with this outfit, I TOTALLY would). But apparently there were a few more things in there, because the checker was still ringing the mom up. I look around and notice someone is staring at me -- it's the beautiful woman. She's reading my shirt (which is freaking hilarious, by the way*), and I laugh with her. I figure she must have been in line, but left to get something else and came back. Well, it's taking a very long time in my line, and now everything in the beautiful woman's basket is out, so I think, "hey, I'll go in that line." I go over there. But although the basket is unloaded, apparently she is opening her OWN store, because they have five-thousand things to bag, and the checker there isn't in any hurry. I go BACK to the first line, where the woman and the kid have left to go to the bathroom, but the checker is STILL bagging their stuff. Eventually, I finally get rung up. I should just know better than to go grocery shopping on Sunday evening.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Lucky me
Hey all! I was cleaning this morning and my dad drove up. He was feeling lame that he had forgotten to give me a birthday present (although, to be totally honest, I never even noticed), so he gave me $200!!
I was going to go to school to pick up my book, then to ballet, then fax some stuff to the refinancing guy, then maybe go to the garden store if I had time. Well, everything this morning took longer than I thought, so I was going to be late to ballet, so I went to the garden store first. I needed a pot for my orchid. But lo and behold, what did I find there? The coolest-ass piece of garden statuary I have ever seen. There was also a Mad Hatter, and he was cheaper, but he was also pretty banged up. I got my pot and I just couldn't resist -- the caterpillar is mine!! I don't know if that little corner by the hammock will be his permanent home, but it is for now -- that thing is HEAVY!
Now I have to go to the gym.
Bye!
I was going to go to school to pick up my book, then to ballet, then fax some stuff to the refinancing guy, then maybe go to the garden store if I had time. Well, everything this morning took longer than I thought, so I was going to be late to ballet, so I went to the garden store first. I needed a pot for my orchid. But lo and behold, what did I find there? The coolest-ass piece of garden statuary I have ever seen. There was also a Mad Hatter, and he was cheaper, but he was also pretty banged up. I got my pot and I just couldn't resist -- the caterpillar is mine!! I don't know if that little corner by the hammock will be his permanent home, but it is for now -- that thing is HEAVY!
Now I have to go to the gym.
Bye!
Friday, February 16, 2007
Uh, just BSing
Well, I haven't posted much lately, so I'm just filling in space. Thursday was a sucky day at work. We had our Poetry Out Loud finals, and last year the whole PoL thing went great! There were about 20 people that competed, we ran overtime, the people from the Arts Council brought a computer, judging forms, etc. This year we had three people compete. Three. It was kind of sad. I told sweetie "I feel like I busted my ass for nothing" and he said "you did."
Today was better, although I've kind of been enjoying not teaching 2nd period and the student teacher had to go to the Bay area because her brother is very sick.
We had a nice dinner tonight and now I'm just relaxing and catching up on the reading I've missed. I should go to the gym, but I'm lazy. I plan to go to ballet tomorrow.
The weather here has been gorgeous, although we need rain. Sweetie has to work this weekend, so I'll clean and listen to the Beatles loud.
Oh, by the way, I've figured out how to become a huge wealthy pop star. I'm going to take an old pop song (I'm thinking "Cars that go boom"), keep everything but the lyrics, and add my own insipid lyrics. There will be a catchy part where I spell something out, and if I can get my hands on a washed-up rapper, I'm in like Flynn. I can sing about nearly anything -- this one came to me as I got dressed this morning:
I like them panties panties,
I like them off of you
I like them panties panties
I like them red and blue
P to the A to the N T I E ESSSSSS
(backup singers) P to the A to the N T I E ESSSSS
P to the A to the N T I E ESSSSSS
Hey, it works for Fergie from the Black-Eyed Peas.
Today was better, although I've kind of been enjoying not teaching 2nd period and the student teacher had to go to the Bay area because her brother is very sick.
We had a nice dinner tonight and now I'm just relaxing and catching up on the reading I've missed. I should go to the gym, but I'm lazy. I plan to go to ballet tomorrow.
The weather here has been gorgeous, although we need rain. Sweetie has to work this weekend, so I'll clean and listen to the Beatles loud.
Oh, by the way, I've figured out how to become a huge wealthy pop star. I'm going to take an old pop song (I'm thinking "Cars that go boom"), keep everything but the lyrics, and add my own insipid lyrics. There will be a catchy part where I spell something out, and if I can get my hands on a washed-up rapper, I'm in like Flynn. I can sing about nearly anything -- this one came to me as I got dressed this morning:
I like them panties panties,
I like them off of you
I like them panties panties
I like them red and blue
P to the A to the N T I E ESSSSSS
(backup singers) P to the A to the N T I E ESSSSS
P to the A to the N T I E ESSSSSS
Hey, it works for Fergie from the Black-Eyed Peas.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Valentine's day ups and downs
Well, I'll start with the good -- I had a scone for breakfast (mmm), got to spend some time with my sweetie, made waffles for dinner, went to ballet, got a very sweet handmade card and two books (!) for V-day from sweetie and a nice card and two pairs of purple socks (I wear a LOT of purple) from Mom and Boompah.
The bad was that I'm crazy busy at work, I had to report my first apparent homicidal plot (for reals), forgot my lunch and had to eat vending machine trail mix, had to give out the (very bad) grades in 6th period for the honors kids, got a new student who had a "personality conflict" with his last English teacher, discovered that there's a rumor that the honors kids only have to do ONE big paper instead of two (which is patently wrong), was confronted by a student trying to convince me he deserved a better grade (we went back and forth for about 20 minutes, but I wasn't budging), and was confronted by two students who wanted to know who had ratted out the alleged murder-plotter.
Yeah, so pretty sucky, despite my festive red heart socks. I'm chilling out now with a glass of port. I'm glad that my home life, which is pretty much always happy, is the last half of the day so I can recover from the first.
The bad was that I'm crazy busy at work, I had to report my first apparent homicidal plot (for reals), forgot my lunch and had to eat vending machine trail mix, had to give out the (very bad) grades in 6th period for the honors kids, got a new student who had a "personality conflict" with his last English teacher, discovered that there's a rumor that the honors kids only have to do ONE big paper instead of two (which is patently wrong), was confronted by a student trying to convince me he deserved a better grade (we went back and forth for about 20 minutes, but I wasn't budging), and was confronted by two students who wanted to know who had ratted out the alleged murder-plotter.
Yeah, so pretty sucky, despite my festive red heart socks. I'm chilling out now with a glass of port. I'm glad that my home life, which is pretty much always happy, is the last half of the day so I can recover from the first.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Synchronicity
This weekend was filled with synchronicity. I mean, little things, like that Roxanne's and my husband both eat the same thing for breakfast every day (lots of people do that) to us both having parents with multiple prisms hanging in their windows to both reaching into our purses to pull out the exact same pen to sign a receipt (and not a Bic, either, a Cross pen -- the very same one).
Today I spoke with Chris on the phone and apologized for missing him for the rest of the conference. I said we'd waited for him before the dinner Saturday night. He had waited for us, too -- in the same spot! Somehow we just missed each other. I said "well, we didn't end up eating there anyway; we went to Thai." So did he. At a place a block away from where we ate (we went to Million Elephants and he went to Thaiphoon, which we passed. He said he went home early on Sunday, and I said we had, too, that we had gone to Starbucks, but finding it closed, went back to the Radisson. He said "Wait, the international cafe thing in the Radisson?" "Yeah." "I ate there, too." I have no idea how we kept missing each other.
Today I spoke with Chris on the phone and apologized for missing him for the rest of the conference. I said we'd waited for him before the dinner Saturday night. He had waited for us, too -- in the same spot! Somehow we just missed each other. I said "well, we didn't end up eating there anyway; we went to Thai." So did he. At a place a block away from where we ate (we went to Million Elephants and he went to Thaiphoon, which we passed. He said he went home early on Sunday, and I said we had, too, that we had gone to Starbucks, but finding it closed, went back to the Radisson. He said "Wait, the international cafe thing in the Radisson?" "Yeah." "I ate there, too." I have no idea how we kept missing each other.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Long weekend
Hi all,
I'll try to sum up and only put in the interesting bits. Thursday night I went and met ballet friend for a glass of wine. She had said 58 degrees, right by Aioili Bodega Espanol. Okay, I said, then went home and thought "oh crap, 55 degrees is not anywhere near Aioili!" So I drove around and saw the tiny wine bar that Monkeygirl and I had spotted last weekend that didn't have a sign, but was clearly a wine bar and about 2 blocks away from Aioili. I parked (got a good spot and did a great parallel parking job) and walked in. I said "I'm sorry, but can you tell me the name of this establishment?" He said it's called The Grand (which is purposely ironic, as its original purpose was as a parking garage ticket payment area, and it has exactly four little tables). I tell him the 55 degrees/Aioili story, and he says he knows what place she means, but he's not going to tell me, because I should stay there. I say that I have to at least check the other place, so he tells me where it is, and it's fifty-EIGHT degrees (did you already catch that?). I walk over, and it's really crowded, so I call LisaAnne and walk back, telling her to meet me at the Grand. We have a nice time, laugh our asses off, and she tells me she's been doing a very complicated and Catholic series of prayers for me for my baby-makin' issues, which I think is very touching and couldn't hurt. A guy walks in and sits next to us -- he clearly knows the manager, and as we're laughing and talking, he introduces himself. I think he says "Hamid" or "Habib," but I can't tell, so I ask him to clarify, and somehow he gleans that I have a connection to one of those names. He says "Oh, you know a Hamid? Tell him GHstosch hscekocken." "Well," I reply, "that won't really do any good, because I won't be able to repeat it, and if I could, he wouldn't be able to understand it. But what's it mean?" He says "It means, it means... Um, steer, ram, sheep, GOAT! Goat!" "Oh!" I nod, "goat!" He continues "um, posite, pozit, opo, paralyze." Hmm, I think. "Goat paralyze." I'm not sure I've got it. He continues for a while, and finally LisaAnne gets that he's saying "The opposite of paradise." Which is hell. So I've now been told to tell my husband "Goat hell." Which I'm not sure is very nice. I smile, and go back to my conversation. When the bill comes, it arrives with a uniball pen with red electrical tape wrapped around it. Abi (for that is his name) gets very excited, saying that it is HIS pen; he left it here the other day. It's exciting, but they can keep it of course, they can keep it. It doesn't matter. So I dig in my purse for a decent pen (I have about 20 in there) and get one out, then take Abi's pen and put it in my purse and put my pen on the table. This cracks LisaAnne and Abi up, and then LisaAnne digs a huge felt-tipped permanent marker out of her purse, steals mine, and puts the marker on the table. Then we leave, still laughing.
In the morning, I picked up Roxanne. (I usually try to disguise names, but how fucking cool is that?) We make the long drive to Fresno and arrive at about 10:40. We both thought the first "session" started at 10:45, so we're just in time. But no, there was a breakfast (where author Firoozeh Dumas, whose book I just read and enjoyed, spoke), then the first session started at ten, so we were quite late. We decided to go to a poetry reading that started at 10:50, and enjoyed that. Then there was a lunch with really atrocious pasta (how do you make pasta taste like fish?), several awards given out (and they seemed peevish that we were all eating during the awards, but they had scheduled it that way), then a poet read for a rather long time. I liked her pretty well, but my companions didn't so much.
That afternoon, there were two more sessions, then a wee break (which I spent trying to get on the internet via CityofFresnoFreeWiFIProject), then the Armenian dinner. We checked into the Super8 (the lobby smelled like curry and Lysol) and put our stuff in our room (which smelled only slightly of rancid oil and had a cool pleather back-of-a-Chevy-van-style bench). We got cleaned up a bit and went to the meeting place for the Armenian dinner. Well. First of all, I've had better food. There was no veggie option, so I gave my big-ass kabob to my pal Chris and ate the rice and green beans. There were a few snacky raw veggies and cheese and pita kind of things, and I ate those. The description of the event said "Traditional Armenian dinner, then dancing." It said something about teaching us the steps, and I thought that would be fun. What they left out (wisely), was that between dinner and dancing was a LONG-ASS lecture about Saroyan. Saroyan is a writer from Fresno, but when I say it, I always think of Star Trek. "Bones, Saroyan has already beamed to the surface." "Number one, we must find out what the Saroyan people's culture was like before the war." Saroyan. Saroyan. There's a big bronze bust of him outside the convention center, and he has the haunted, sunken eyes of Einstein, the hair of Ben Franklin, and the moustache of Sam Elliot. Well, this fucking Saroyan lecture was the most boring thing I've sat through in a LONG time. Other tables are quietly chatting, we're all pantomiming various methods of suicide -- Roxanne gets up to go to the bathroom and comes back and says "Gawd, I thought when I came back maybe he'd be done, but when I walked in he was saying 'Fast forward to 1973.'" I shift in my chair and notice a little noise. I decide to milk it. I get Chris and Roxanne's attention and I go "wait for it," then move my leg to make a fart noise. Now, I thought it was obvious that it was fake, but apparently it wasn't, because there was this very real mixture of shock, disbelief, and laughter kind of all mixed up on their faces. I thought that was so hilarious that I did it again, bigger. They soon figured the chair trick out, but not before our entire table was dying of laughter and getting dirty looks. I don't care -- people all over the room were getting up and walking out in droves. We got up and left, too. We sat in the Radisson lobby and talked for a while, then all went to our various hotels. Roxanne and I stayed up REALLY late talking. While she was in the shower, I attempted to get on the internet via the CityofFresnoFreeWiFiProject.
In the morning, we went walking to get breakfast. I had read in my complimentary copy of "Destination Fresno" that there were several coffee shops around the corner on Tulare. Well, one was vacant and two others were closed. We walked back and had breakfast in the Radisson. I had been trying to only go to sessions that I really thought I might use or could share the information with others, but this morning there was a session on dance, and how to incorporate teaching dance into English and history, getting kids to learn the Charleston at the same time you taught Gatsby... well, I was really up for a fun session, so I went to that. I'd have liked to get a little more interactive (although I did swing with the instructor) and I feel a little pissy that to get the lesson plans, I had to pay $10, but I had fun. Then one more session, then another crappy lunch -- stuffed tomatoes, and it is NOT tomato season. I tried to eat the custard tart thing that was dessert, and I seriously thought it had sat out so long it had gone bad -- it was strangely bubbly and tasted of alcohol. NASTY. Then Roxanne and I and a girl that was seated at my table skipped out early (before the long reading started again) and went to Starbucks. I got my first decent coffee and we got some chill time. The place was crawling with teachers! I was able to briefly get on the internet via the CityofFresnoFreeWiFiProject, but couldn't seem to use email, although I could use my webmail.
After lunch I went to two really worthwhile sessions. I find that the ones that try to teach you how to motivate high school students are really gimmicky and not worthwhile, so I went to two university level ones. Not only did I get stuff I can actually use in my classroom, I had a really good time. It may sound stupid, but you know when you're really good at something, how it feels good to do it? Well, in both classes, we were asked to analyze literature, discuss it, and provide evidence. And that's the kind of thing I'm REALLY good at. I had forgotten how much I liked it, and in a way, how much I miss grad school. Not that I'm thinking about going back, just that I had a lot of fun.
There was another dinner, and this time, we just couldn't bear to go. The food is bad, the speakers are long-winded, there's no educational purpose to it, the room is loud... We hung around the area hoping Chris would show up so we could all go to dinner, but we never saw him, so we asked at the Radisson desk where we could go for dinner (since in our walking, we had not seen a single restaurant), and she recommended a different area of town and told us how to get there.
Before we left, we stopped in the Radisson gift shop. I like to look at tacky souvenirs, and I was hoping for a pressed penny (maybe of Saroyan!) for a special someone here at home. Well, this was, by far, the strangest gift shop I have ever set foot in. They have postcards, thimbles, and spoons, plus a couple magnets (some of which are Garfield Christmas magnets). They have sundries and junk food. I see shot glasses, but they're not Fresno shot glasses, they're just plain. I see beer steins, but one of them is a Texas one, another is German. At this point I kind of expand my gaze to take it all in and realize that most of the Radisson gift shop is a thrift store with used dishes and figurines (including porcelain clowns), and it is run by the sweet old couple watching TV behind the counter. We have no evidence of this, but when we leave, Roxanne and I discuss that we BOTH had the distinct impression that they lived there behind the store. The best thing was this handwritten sign in Sharpie that said "gourmet food." It was indicating three shelves which held (no, I'm not kidding) a can of potted meat, a can of fruit cocktail, three foil bags of tuna, a Twinkie, and a few other items. I really wish I'd had a camera.
We ate that night at Million Elephants Thai, and had a very adequate dinner. Getting back was kind of funny -- there are a number of one-way streets, and much like downtown Sacramento, sometimes they will dead end and force you onto another street going the wrong direction. We never got lost, but we did keep getting turned around and having to get back going the right direction. We stayed up late again and I tried to get on the internet via the CityofFresnoFreeWiFiProject.
This morning we walked to the Starbucks again to get a pastry and coffee, but it was closed on Sunday. Have you EVER heard of a Starbucks being closed on Sunday? I think it was just indicative of how dead Fresno is. You wouldn't believe how many vacant buildings we saw. So we had breakfast at the Radisson again (I should have had the pancakes, like I did yesterday), then got up to go to our first session and realized it had started 30 minutes before. We could have waited around for another hour for the brunch with Billy Collins or just come home. Can you guess what we did?
I know it's kind of funny that I was excited about going because I'd get to hear Firoozeh Dumas, Anchee Min, David Mas Masumoto, and Billy Collins, and then I ended up hearing none of them, but you can see how it happened, right? If I had to eat one more culinary experiment from the Fresno Radisson, I was going to barf.
Ultimately, the best parts were getting to hang out with my co-workers, getting good information from the worthwhile sessions, getting to exercise my brain on some literature, and talking at long length with Roxanne (it was one of those things where, the longer we talked, the more we went "Oh my god, me TOO!"). I'm glad we came home this afternoon, and I'm glad I have tomorrow off.
Oh, one last thing. I was a little giddy with celebrity-spotting when I first got there, and immediately spotted Firoozeh Dumas and David Mas Masumoto, plus my old professor Angus Dunstan (who I love). But there was someone my co-workers kept spotting "oh, there's Jim Burke! He's got a session later and I'm totally going!" "Really, me too! I saw Jim Burke earlier today." I have NO idea who this dude is. But in one of those sessions where we got to analyze some literature, the presenter said "read the poem, then write a paragraph about it -- what you think it means, and what led you to believe that." So I do. Then he makes us get into groups. I had written on my laptop, but didn't know we were going to have to read our paragraph to the group, so I left it on a table and went to a group. Well, I was having this brain fade when I got there, and the presenter had asked us to get into diverse groups in terms of gender, age, ethnicity, etc. He also said "no more than two men in a group." Which somehow in my brain meant "no two men in a group." So I got to the only group remaining that still needed a member and there were two men in it. I went "Oh, no more than two men in a group. We should trade with one of them or something." They all stare at me and say "we DON'T have more than two men. Unless there's something you'd like to tell us." I do the math again, realize what I've done, shake it off, and sit down. So they already think I'm a nutball. Then the presenter says "don't TELL your group what you wrote -- read it to them." So I jump up to get my laptop and I hear the other woman say "Is she coming back?" I'm feeling like a dumbass, I know I'm twenty years younger than any of them, and I have a hot pink streak in the front of my hair. Now that I have set the scene: I go first reading my paragraph, and they all look at me with their jaws dropped. "What did you do?" they asked, "start yesterday?" They all proceed to read their SENTENCE to me. Then I look at their name tags, and I'm sitting with this Jim Burke dude. I don't know whether that means anything, but I analyzed Jim Burke under the table!
I'll try to sum up and only put in the interesting bits. Thursday night I went and met ballet friend for a glass of wine. She had said 58 degrees, right by Aioili Bodega Espanol. Okay, I said, then went home and thought "oh crap, 55 degrees is not anywhere near Aioili!" So I drove around and saw the tiny wine bar that Monkeygirl and I had spotted last weekend that didn't have a sign, but was clearly a wine bar and about 2 blocks away from Aioili. I parked (got a good spot and did a great parallel parking job) and walked in. I said "I'm sorry, but can you tell me the name of this establishment?" He said it's called The Grand (which is purposely ironic, as its original purpose was as a parking garage ticket payment area, and it has exactly four little tables). I tell him the 55 degrees/Aioili story, and he says he knows what place she means, but he's not going to tell me, because I should stay there. I say that I have to at least check the other place, so he tells me where it is, and it's fifty-EIGHT degrees (did you already catch that?). I walk over, and it's really crowded, so I call LisaAnne and walk back, telling her to meet me at the Grand. We have a nice time, laugh our asses off, and she tells me she's been doing a very complicated and Catholic series of prayers for me for my baby-makin' issues, which I think is very touching and couldn't hurt. A guy walks in and sits next to us -- he clearly knows the manager, and as we're laughing and talking, he introduces himself. I think he says "Hamid" or "Habib," but I can't tell, so I ask him to clarify, and somehow he gleans that I have a connection to one of those names. He says "Oh, you know a Hamid? Tell him GHstosch hscekocken." "Well," I reply, "that won't really do any good, because I won't be able to repeat it, and if I could, he wouldn't be able to understand it. But what's it mean?" He says "It means, it means... Um, steer, ram, sheep, GOAT! Goat!" "Oh!" I nod, "goat!" He continues "um, posite, pozit, opo, paralyze." Hmm, I think. "Goat paralyze." I'm not sure I've got it. He continues for a while, and finally LisaAnne gets that he's saying "The opposite of paradise." Which is hell. So I've now been told to tell my husband "Goat hell." Which I'm not sure is very nice. I smile, and go back to my conversation. When the bill comes, it arrives with a uniball pen with red electrical tape wrapped around it. Abi (for that is his name) gets very excited, saying that it is HIS pen; he left it here the other day. It's exciting, but they can keep it of course, they can keep it. It doesn't matter. So I dig in my purse for a decent pen (I have about 20 in there) and get one out, then take Abi's pen and put it in my purse and put my pen on the table. This cracks LisaAnne and Abi up, and then LisaAnne digs a huge felt-tipped permanent marker out of her purse, steals mine, and puts the marker on the table. Then we leave, still laughing.
In the morning, I picked up Roxanne. (I usually try to disguise names, but how fucking cool is that?) We make the long drive to Fresno and arrive at about 10:40. We both thought the first "session" started at 10:45, so we're just in time. But no, there was a breakfast (where author Firoozeh Dumas, whose book I just read and enjoyed, spoke), then the first session started at ten, so we were quite late. We decided to go to a poetry reading that started at 10:50, and enjoyed that. Then there was a lunch with really atrocious pasta (how do you make pasta taste like fish?), several awards given out (and they seemed peevish that we were all eating during the awards, but they had scheduled it that way), then a poet read for a rather long time. I liked her pretty well, but my companions didn't so much.
That afternoon, there were two more sessions, then a wee break (which I spent trying to get on the internet via CityofFresnoFreeWiFIProject), then the Armenian dinner. We checked into the Super8 (the lobby smelled like curry and Lysol) and put our stuff in our room (which smelled only slightly of rancid oil and had a cool pleather back-of-a-Chevy-van-style bench). We got cleaned up a bit and went to the meeting place for the Armenian dinner. Well. First of all, I've had better food. There was no veggie option, so I gave my big-ass kabob to my pal Chris and ate the rice and green beans. There were a few snacky raw veggies and cheese and pita kind of things, and I ate those. The description of the event said "Traditional Armenian dinner, then dancing." It said something about teaching us the steps, and I thought that would be fun. What they left out (wisely), was that between dinner and dancing was a LONG-ASS lecture about Saroyan. Saroyan is a writer from Fresno, but when I say it, I always think of Star Trek. "Bones, Saroyan has already beamed to the surface." "Number one, we must find out what the Saroyan people's culture was like before the war." Saroyan. Saroyan. There's a big bronze bust of him outside the convention center, and he has the haunted, sunken eyes of Einstein, the hair of Ben Franklin, and the moustache of Sam Elliot. Well, this fucking Saroyan lecture was the most boring thing I've sat through in a LONG time. Other tables are quietly chatting, we're all pantomiming various methods of suicide -- Roxanne gets up to go to the bathroom and comes back and says "Gawd, I thought when I came back maybe he'd be done, but when I walked in he was saying 'Fast forward to 1973.'" I shift in my chair and notice a little noise. I decide to milk it. I get Chris and Roxanne's attention and I go "wait for it," then move my leg to make a fart noise. Now, I thought it was obvious that it was fake, but apparently it wasn't, because there was this very real mixture of shock, disbelief, and laughter kind of all mixed up on their faces. I thought that was so hilarious that I did it again, bigger. They soon figured the chair trick out, but not before our entire table was dying of laughter and getting dirty looks. I don't care -- people all over the room were getting up and walking out in droves. We got up and left, too. We sat in the Radisson lobby and talked for a while, then all went to our various hotels. Roxanne and I stayed up REALLY late talking. While she was in the shower, I attempted to get on the internet via the CityofFresnoFreeWiFiProject.
In the morning, we went walking to get breakfast. I had read in my complimentary copy of "Destination Fresno" that there were several coffee shops around the corner on Tulare. Well, one was vacant and two others were closed. We walked back and had breakfast in the Radisson. I had been trying to only go to sessions that I really thought I might use or could share the information with others, but this morning there was a session on dance, and how to incorporate teaching dance into English and history, getting kids to learn the Charleston at the same time you taught Gatsby... well, I was really up for a fun session, so I went to that. I'd have liked to get a little more interactive (although I did swing with the instructor) and I feel a little pissy that to get the lesson plans, I had to pay $10, but I had fun. Then one more session, then another crappy lunch -- stuffed tomatoes, and it is NOT tomato season. I tried to eat the custard tart thing that was dessert, and I seriously thought it had sat out so long it had gone bad -- it was strangely bubbly and tasted of alcohol. NASTY. Then Roxanne and I and a girl that was seated at my table skipped out early (before the long reading started again) and went to Starbucks. I got my first decent coffee and we got some chill time. The place was crawling with teachers! I was able to briefly get on the internet via the CityofFresnoFreeWiFiProject, but couldn't seem to use email, although I could use my webmail.
After lunch I went to two really worthwhile sessions. I find that the ones that try to teach you how to motivate high school students are really gimmicky and not worthwhile, so I went to two university level ones. Not only did I get stuff I can actually use in my classroom, I had a really good time. It may sound stupid, but you know when you're really good at something, how it feels good to do it? Well, in both classes, we were asked to analyze literature, discuss it, and provide evidence. And that's the kind of thing I'm REALLY good at. I had forgotten how much I liked it, and in a way, how much I miss grad school. Not that I'm thinking about going back, just that I had a lot of fun.
There was another dinner, and this time, we just couldn't bear to go. The food is bad, the speakers are long-winded, there's no educational purpose to it, the room is loud... We hung around the area hoping Chris would show up so we could all go to dinner, but we never saw him, so we asked at the Radisson desk where we could go for dinner (since in our walking, we had not seen a single restaurant), and she recommended a different area of town and told us how to get there.
Before we left, we stopped in the Radisson gift shop. I like to look at tacky souvenirs, and I was hoping for a pressed penny (maybe of Saroyan!) for a special someone here at home. Well, this was, by far, the strangest gift shop I have ever set foot in. They have postcards, thimbles, and spoons, plus a couple magnets (some of which are Garfield Christmas magnets). They have sundries and junk food. I see shot glasses, but they're not Fresno shot glasses, they're just plain. I see beer steins, but one of them is a Texas one, another is German. At this point I kind of expand my gaze to take it all in and realize that most of the Radisson gift shop is a thrift store with used dishes and figurines (including porcelain clowns), and it is run by the sweet old couple watching TV behind the counter. We have no evidence of this, but when we leave, Roxanne and I discuss that we BOTH had the distinct impression that they lived there behind the store. The best thing was this handwritten sign in Sharpie that said "gourmet food." It was indicating three shelves which held (no, I'm not kidding) a can of potted meat, a can of fruit cocktail, three foil bags of tuna, a Twinkie, and a few other items. I really wish I'd had a camera.
We ate that night at Million Elephants Thai, and had a very adequate dinner. Getting back was kind of funny -- there are a number of one-way streets, and much like downtown Sacramento, sometimes they will dead end and force you onto another street going the wrong direction. We never got lost, but we did keep getting turned around and having to get back going the right direction. We stayed up late again and I tried to get on the internet via the CityofFresnoFreeWiFiProject.
This morning we walked to the Starbucks again to get a pastry and coffee, but it was closed on Sunday. Have you EVER heard of a Starbucks being closed on Sunday? I think it was just indicative of how dead Fresno is. You wouldn't believe how many vacant buildings we saw. So we had breakfast at the Radisson again (I should have had the pancakes, like I did yesterday), then got up to go to our first session and realized it had started 30 minutes before. We could have waited around for another hour for the brunch with Billy Collins or just come home. Can you guess what we did?
I know it's kind of funny that I was excited about going because I'd get to hear Firoozeh Dumas, Anchee Min, David Mas Masumoto, and Billy Collins, and then I ended up hearing none of them, but you can see how it happened, right? If I had to eat one more culinary experiment from the Fresno Radisson, I was going to barf.
Ultimately, the best parts were getting to hang out with my co-workers, getting good information from the worthwhile sessions, getting to exercise my brain on some literature, and talking at long length with Roxanne (it was one of those things where, the longer we talked, the more we went "Oh my god, me TOO!"). I'm glad we came home this afternoon, and I'm glad I have tomorrow off.
Oh, one last thing. I was a little giddy with celebrity-spotting when I first got there, and immediately spotted Firoozeh Dumas and David Mas Masumoto, plus my old professor Angus Dunstan (who I love). But there was someone my co-workers kept spotting "oh, there's Jim Burke! He's got a session later and I'm totally going!" "Really, me too! I saw Jim Burke earlier today." I have NO idea who this dude is. But in one of those sessions where we got to analyze some literature, the presenter said "read the poem, then write a paragraph about it -- what you think it means, and what led you to believe that." So I do. Then he makes us get into groups. I had written on my laptop, but didn't know we were going to have to read our paragraph to the group, so I left it on a table and went to a group. Well, I was having this brain fade when I got there, and the presenter had asked us to get into diverse groups in terms of gender, age, ethnicity, etc. He also said "no more than two men in a group." Which somehow in my brain meant "no two men in a group." So I got to the only group remaining that still needed a member and there were two men in it. I went "Oh, no more than two men in a group. We should trade with one of them or something." They all stare at me and say "we DON'T have more than two men. Unless there's something you'd like to tell us." I do the math again, realize what I've done, shake it off, and sit down. So they already think I'm a nutball. Then the presenter says "don't TELL your group what you wrote -- read it to them." So I jump up to get my laptop and I hear the other woman say "Is she coming back?" I'm feeling like a dumbass, I know I'm twenty years younger than any of them, and I have a hot pink streak in the front of my hair. Now that I have set the scene: I go first reading my paragraph, and they all look at me with their jaws dropped. "What did you do?" they asked, "start yesterday?" They all proceed to read their SENTENCE to me. Then I look at their name tags, and I'm sitting with this Jim Burke dude. I don't know whether that means anything, but I analyzed Jim Burke under the table!
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Not counting my chickens, but...
It looks like good news. We got the money from the old house and decided to refinance the new house so that we could have lower payments. One major potential obstacle was the appraisal -- your house has to be worth a certain amount of money for them to loan you money. Anyway, I wasn't super-concerned, but the market has dropped off significantly in the six months since we bought the place. Luckily, it appraised for more than we bought it for. Which is good.
So now we will be getting a lower rate on our first mortgage (6.375, if you're interested), and the second mortgage is going to be way smaller. Our payments on each will be smaller. Sweetie's student loans will be consolidated into the second, so he won't have student loan payments anymore. We'll get about $5k out for an HVAC system (new heat and air, and we DESPERATELY need it*), and finally, we won't have a payment for March. So we'll have some free money for our pre-Easter trip to Eugene to visit the family!!
Long story short, unless something terribly wrong happens, we'll be in a much better** financial situation in about three weeks. Yay!!
*Witness: In the summer, the kitchen (the rest of the house is okay) is approximately three degrees cooler than the outdoors. And this summer, Sacramento spent a LOT of time in the hundreds. In the winter, our heater is finicky and turns off completely and is really difficult to turn back on if we put it below 72. Which means that our heating bill is through the roof, and we spend about one weekend a month in the freezing cold. So we really need a new system.
**We're not dying now, but we'll be a lot more comfortable and a lot less worried about how many groceries we can buy on the 29th of the month.
So now we will be getting a lower rate on our first mortgage (6.375, if you're interested), and the second mortgage is going to be way smaller. Our payments on each will be smaller. Sweetie's student loans will be consolidated into the second, so he won't have student loan payments anymore. We'll get about $5k out for an HVAC system (new heat and air, and we DESPERATELY need it*), and finally, we won't have a payment for March. So we'll have some free money for our pre-Easter trip to Eugene to visit the family!!
Long story short, unless something terribly wrong happens, we'll be in a much better** financial situation in about three weeks. Yay!!
*Witness: In the summer, the kitchen (the rest of the house is okay) is approximately three degrees cooler than the outdoors. And this summer, Sacramento spent a LOT of time in the hundreds. In the winter, our heater is finicky and turns off completely and is really difficult to turn back on if we put it below 72. Which means that our heating bill is through the roof, and we spend about one weekend a month in the freezing cold. So we really need a new system.
**We're not dying now, but we'll be a lot more comfortable and a lot less worried about how many groceries we can buy on the 29th of the month.
Monday, February 05, 2007
The subtle racism of "facial brighteners."
I saw this in the paper yesterday and it just made me livid. Here's the thing -- if "brighteners," formerly known as bleach, were just being advertised as something to make your skin luminous, I'd probably pass it off as just another snake oil ad. Yes, bleaches are bad and have their own racist connotations*, but this ad goes so far beyond that. I know you can't see the photo well, but allow me to describe it.
On the left, the before pic, there is an olive-skinned woman with curly brown hair, distinctly brown eyelashes and eyebrows, and mocha-colored lips. She also has blue eyes, which is a fairly unusual combination, but not unheard of. The right side, the after, has porcelain skin (which is what the product is supposed to do) but also blond hair, eyebrows, eyelashes,, and rosy lips. The after, in short, could not possibly match the before without the application of other, probably dangerous, products (I don't even know if eyelash bleaching is a cosmetic option, but let's assume it is).
Those traits, including the improbable blue eyes, are generally considered the "preferable" traits. Why? Because they're rare. Most normal women don't look like this. But okay, most normal women don't have 22 inch waists and double-E breasts, either. Our society has flipped out. But if it were just this, this constant pressure for women to fit an ideal that barely exists, I probably would have thrown the newspaper into the recycling bin with the briefest thought: "Piece of shit."
But what really bothered me is that the half a woman on the left looks ethnic, perhaps Hispanic. And on the right, there's no question -- she's white. Within African-American culture, there's a distinction between skin colors, and generally, the lighter the better. Asian women regularly use bleaching products like this because again, lighter is better. There was a study recently that immigrants with lighter skin tones make more money than those with darker skin. Do we really want to continue to perpetuate this sort of discriminiation? Wasn't it FORTY years ago that MLK hoped his children were not judged by the color of their skin? I mean, why do we still do this to each other and to ourselves? I just don't understand.
On the left, the before pic, there is an olive-skinned woman with curly brown hair, distinctly brown eyelashes and eyebrows, and mocha-colored lips. She also has blue eyes, which is a fairly unusual combination, but not unheard of. The right side, the after, has porcelain skin (which is what the product is supposed to do) but also blond hair, eyebrows, eyelashes,, and rosy lips. The after, in short, could not possibly match the before without the application of other, probably dangerous, products (I don't even know if eyelash bleaching is a cosmetic option, but let's assume it is).
Those traits, including the improbable blue eyes, are generally considered the "preferable" traits. Why? Because they're rare. Most normal women don't look like this. But okay, most normal women don't have 22 inch waists and double-E breasts, either. Our society has flipped out. But if it were just this, this constant pressure for women to fit an ideal that barely exists, I probably would have thrown the newspaper into the recycling bin with the briefest thought: "Piece of shit."
But what really bothered me is that the half a woman on the left looks ethnic, perhaps Hispanic. And on the right, there's no question -- she's white. Within African-American culture, there's a distinction between skin colors, and generally, the lighter the better. Asian women regularly use bleaching products like this because again, lighter is better. There was a study recently that immigrants with lighter skin tones make more money than those with darker skin. Do we really want to continue to perpetuate this sort of discriminiation? Wasn't it FORTY years ago that MLK hoped his children were not judged by the color of their skin? I mean, why do we still do this to each other and to ourselves? I just don't understand.
We have a weiner!
I mean, winner! Congratulations, Maria, and thanks for reading. I'll make something cool for you and probably post pictures of it.
By the way, having an ultrasound is an incredibly freaky experience. Darkened room, warm lube, freaky abstract video, a Phillipina in a nurse's uniform -- if they'd been playing Einsturzende Neubauten, it would have been 1995 at Club Dekonstrukt.
By the way, having an ultrasound is an incredibly freaky experience. Darkened room, warm lube, freaky abstract video, a Phillipina in a nurse's uniform -- if they'd been playing Einsturzende Neubauten, it would have been 1995 at Club Dekonstrukt.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
The people
All right, so yesterday was a people-watching day extraordinaire!! I was in the post office mailing a few things and I heard a voice say "There's a whole line of them out there panhandling. You should do something about it. It makes me very uncomfortable." I glance over, and it is the tallest and ugliest transvestite I have ever seen. He is about 7 feet tall in his white platform wedges (white before Memorial Day? The horror!). His feet hang a few inches off the back of said wedges. He has made no attempt to have fake boobies, but does have a large flabby gut. He's wearing a broomstick skirt and small eyelet tank top. His hair is his own (which I always think shows special dedication, but in this case is a bad choice), and is grown out to nearly shoulder length and dyed that bad old lady orangey-red that's quite faded and brassy. It's also wavy but in no particular style. Worst, he's balding, so the whole front of his scalp (up to about the, uh, prime meridian) is very thin. I was really trying not to stare, so the only reason I have this clear a description of him is that when I went outside to leave, he walked in front of my car as I was starting it.
Incidentally, the guy that was helping me at the post office is a man with a mullet superior to most. Almost all of his head is shaved with about a #2 guard on a pair of clippers, but for the almost waist-length flowing jet-black straight back. He also has little John Lennon glasses, except that they're a little more Ben Franklin than Lennon, since neither lens is bigger than about a quarter.
Later, after MG and I had left the theater and were getting into her car, we saw two girls getting out of theirs. They were presumably going to a nightclub, because there is NOWHERE else their outfits would have been considered VAGUELY appropriate, save perhaps the runway of the Victoria's Secret fashion show. One girl's outfit consisted of a trapezoid of fabric that started just over her breasts and ended just under. The rest of the "garment" was a sheer panel that hung over her belly and two straps across the back. We were about ten feet from these girls, and I was laughing on the inside at the ridiculousness of this outfit, thinking that I would go ahead and let my laughter out once we were safely soundproofed in the car or they were in the elevator. But like when you really, really have to pass gas and you're squeezing, but a little gets out anyway, my laughter suddenly became outside laughter! I really didn't mean to, but I just shrieked with laughter as I got into the car (they were about 15 feet away by this point). I just couldn't hold it! Where do you go in an outfit like that with no jacket when it's about 40 degrees out? For real?!?!?! Even to get to the very nearest club or restaurant they'd have had to walk a block. Why freeze your ass off so someone can appreciate your skanky body? Wouldn't a silky chemise and an overcoat have been as tantalizing and yet still classy? You can always check the coat, people!
* The difference between a transvestite and a drag queen is best explained by the character "Lola" in the film Kinky Boots:
"I'm not merely a transvestite,
sweetheart. I'm also a drag queen.
It's a simple equation. A drag queen puts on a frock,
looks like Kylie. A transvestite puts on a frock,
looks like... Boris Yeltsin in lipstick.
There, I said it."
Incidentally, the guy that was helping me at the post office is a man with a mullet superior to most. Almost all of his head is shaved with about a #2 guard on a pair of clippers, but for the almost waist-length flowing jet-black straight back. He also has little John Lennon glasses, except that they're a little more Ben Franklin than Lennon, since neither lens is bigger than about a quarter.
Later, after MG and I had left the theater and were getting into her car, we saw two girls getting out of theirs. They were presumably going to a nightclub, because there is NOWHERE else their outfits would have been considered VAGUELY appropriate, save perhaps the runway of the Victoria's Secret fashion show. One girl's outfit consisted of a trapezoid of fabric that started just over her breasts and ended just under. The rest of the "garment" was a sheer panel that hung over her belly and two straps across the back. We were about ten feet from these girls, and I was laughing on the inside at the ridiculousness of this outfit, thinking that I would go ahead and let my laughter out once we were safely soundproofed in the car or they were in the elevator. But like when you really, really have to pass gas and you're squeezing, but a little gets out anyway, my laughter suddenly became outside laughter! I really didn't mean to, but I just shrieked with laughter as I got into the car (they were about 15 feet away by this point). I just couldn't hold it! Where do you go in an outfit like that with no jacket when it's about 40 degrees out? For real?!?!?! Even to get to the very nearest club or restaurant they'd have had to walk a block. Why freeze your ass off so someone can appreciate your skanky body? Wouldn't a silky chemise and an overcoat have been as tantalizing and yet still classy? You can always check the coat, people!
* The difference between a transvestite and a drag queen is best explained by the character "Lola" in the film Kinky Boots:
"I'm not merely a transvestite,
sweetheart. I'm also a drag queen.
It's a simple equation. A drag queen puts on a frock,
looks like Kylie. A transvestite puts on a frock,
looks like... Boris Yeltsin in lipstick.
There, I said it."
Win a prize!!
If you read the post about Your Mama below, then you know I was sort of thinking of doing some sort of prize thing. I notice that my counter rolls around more than I suspect Monkeygirl, Mom, Sweetie, Suzanne, and Des are checking the page, so I think I have a lurker or two. (If so, welcome! Hi there!)
Anyway, if you happen to be looking at the page, scroll down and look at the counter. Is it on 10,000 views or just over? Comment on this post (or hell, on another one, I don't care) and say something to the effect of "Me! I am the ten thousandth (or something like that) visitor, and I want you to mail me something cool!"
I will do it, because I need to maintain my cred. You will do it because you like getting mail that isn't bills or junk.
Let's do it.
We will work out mailing addresses and suchlike later, since I suspect you won't want to post your home address on the world wide web.
Anyway, if you happen to be looking at the page, scroll down and look at the counter. Is it on 10,000 views or just over? Comment on this post (or hell, on another one, I don't care) and say something to the effect of "Me! I am the ten thousandth (or something like that) visitor, and I want you to mail me something cool!"
I will do it, because I need to maintain my cred. You will do it because you like getting mail that isn't bills or junk.
Let's do it.
We will work out mailing addresses and suchlike later, since I suspect you won't want to post your home address on the world wide web.
Two people who momentarily scared the shit our of me
for no good reason.
And later I'll do the people-watching.
The other day, I stayed a little late at work, and a 50ish guy in an army jacket came into my room and started approaching my desk. "Is this the ROTC room?" he asked. "No, they're the next building over." I replied. He continued approaching me and said "I guess I got by them, then."
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Then he took out my garbage and came back and swept. But can you see how it made my heart stop for a second?
Also, last night Monkeygirl and I went to a movie downtown. Now, I love downtown and have always felt comfortable there, but there ARE some sketchy characters. So as we approach the Crest theater, there's a tall bearded guy standing in the shadows off to the side who says "Are you going to a movie?" We say yes. He says "Are you paying cash?" We say yes. He says "You'll need to come around to the courtyard, then." The darkened courtyard with poor visibility off to the side of the theater! Monkeygirl says okay, and starts to go to the courtyard. I go "Hell no!" and start walking towards the better-lit part of the entrance.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Then she points out that he's wearing a "Crest" shirt, and I say "Oh! I'm sorry, I thought you were creepy!"
And later I'll do the people-watching.
The other day, I stayed a little late at work, and a 50ish guy in an army jacket came into my room and started approaching my desk. "Is this the ROTC room?" he asked. "No, they're the next building over." I replied. He continued approaching me and said "I guess I got by them, then."
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Then he took out my garbage and came back and swept. But can you see how it made my heart stop for a second?
Also, last night Monkeygirl and I went to a movie downtown. Now, I love downtown and have always felt comfortable there, but there ARE some sketchy characters. So as we approach the Crest theater, there's a tall bearded guy standing in the shadows off to the side who says "Are you going to a movie?" We say yes. He says "Are you paying cash?" We say yes. He says "You'll need to come around to the courtyard, then." The darkened courtyard with poor visibility off to the side of the theater! Monkeygirl says okay, and starts to go to the courtyard. I go "Hell no!" and start walking towards the better-lit part of the entrance.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Then she points out that he's wearing a "Crest" shirt, and I say "Oh! I'm sorry, I thought you were creepy!"
Saturday, February 03, 2007
People-watching
I am tired. But I am posting this to remind myself to tell you all about Sacramento's ugliest transvestite, the half-naked girl in the parking garage and the postal worker with the tiny glasses. Then perhaps I will tell you about Pan's Labyrinth (which I saw tonight with Monkeygirl) and the section of our local paper this morning that was interesting (in short, it was the entire paper from this date in 1857).
Then I will go to People Under the Stairmasters and tell you about the aerobic girl and the substitiute teacher.
Then I will go to People Under the Stairmasters and tell you about the aerobic girl and the substitiute teacher.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Nostalgic for your mama
That's why that is still a funny joke. No, back when the internets* were new, you could get any e-mail you wanted. And so mine was yourmama@earthlink.net. I also had a web site like so: http://home.earthlink.net/~yourmama I called it "Your Mama's Scene," and I updated the page about once or twice a week. It wasn't a blog, because blogs weren't invented. It was a web site that I updated with personal thoughts on a semi-weekly basis. (I even learned some HTML, and still know what FTP stands for.) With rare exception, the topic was music. I wrote almost entirely about local live shows I attended, and I attended up to five a week**. A few times, I wrote about other things, but they were mostly music-related, like the time I threw away all my jewel cases so that I could get rid of the enormous piece of furniture I was keeping my CDs on and replace it with a couple leather binders. Sounds boring, but I think it was one of the better pieces of writing I've done. All that writing is gone, now, off in the stratosphere and memory. I might have a floppy disk with some of the writings, but I might not, and my current laptop doesn't even take floppies. So for all intents and purposes, they're as gone as the burning man gets gone every year. A personal creation that has disappeared. And that's okay. But for various reasons I have been feeling a little nostalgic for the damnable thing lately.
It started with Drummergirl. She complimented my purse. She asked where I got it. I said "Oh, you know Frannie? The DJ? You'd have seen her if you ever went to any, like, Troublemakers shows. Anyway, it was her garage sale." Drummergirl says "You have so much knowledge about the local music scene. You should write something about it." Well, it was a mostly undeserved compliment -- I do know some stuff, but when I was really involved was during two distinct periods; when I was Your Mama, and when I was a Gyna. And to be honest, although I met a lot of people as a Gyna and saw a lot of bands that we played with, I didn't go out to as many other shows. So most of my knowledge is from about seven years ago. Which, in terms of local music, is hopelessly out of date. Bands I follow have moved away, broken up, gotten big... the music scene as it was then doesn't exist, and all I know is a tiny brief portion of that history. But it was fun to know that bit, and I feel a little nostalgic for the time when I knew.
I've been a little nostalgic for Your Mama also because I looked at my hit counter and saw that it was nearing 1,000. On Your Mama's Scene, I ran a little contest -- the fiftieth person (I think that was it) to look at the web site won "a bag of plastic crap." I presented one to local music writer and musician Cary Rodda and another to guitarist (and coincidentally, my co-worker now) Phil Brann. I think Phil won it, but Cary wrote the next comment expressing his disappointment that he hadn't one. I gave them both pirate eye patches and silly noses and things. Anyway, I was thinking of running a little hit counter/comment contest on here, and it just took me backc to that.***
Also, I've been playing music again lately -- bass with my uncle and singing with the staff band -- and I enjoy playing a LOT, but it does feel different. Different than the Gynas, different than being a fanboy extraordinaire...
I love music. I was making a mix for a "New Wave" themed CD swap, and I was carefully plucking one song from each artist in my iTunes library, and I ended up with 4 and a quarter hours of music. My whole library is more like ten days fo music, but I've never put all my CDs on there because I got to the Es and realized I was running quickly out of room. I decided that I could listen to Erasure and most of everything else on CDs until such time as I get an external hard drive or something to store the rest of it on. Hmm... it's getting late. My nostalgia time is up for the evening.
*I am so addicted to saying "the internets" and "the interweb" ironically and have been using them for so long now that people are going to start thinking I don't know they're wrong.
** Thursday, Friday, Saturday, a Sunday matinee and Sunday evening, or with a Tuesday show or Monday Anton Barbeau at Cafe Milazzo gig, I could skip a Sunday gig. I did it all the time.
*** I'm sure my actual hits are much higher than 1,000, since I didn't add the hit counter for oh, about two years after I started the blog. But whatever; a number's a number.
It started with Drummergirl. She complimented my purse. She asked where I got it. I said "Oh, you know Frannie? The DJ? You'd have seen her if you ever went to any, like, Troublemakers shows. Anyway, it was her garage sale." Drummergirl says "You have so much knowledge about the local music scene. You should write something about it." Well, it was a mostly undeserved compliment -- I do know some stuff, but when I was really involved was during two distinct periods; when I was Your Mama, and when I was a Gyna. And to be honest, although I met a lot of people as a Gyna and saw a lot of bands that we played with, I didn't go out to as many other shows. So most of my knowledge is from about seven years ago. Which, in terms of local music, is hopelessly out of date. Bands I follow have moved away, broken up, gotten big... the music scene as it was then doesn't exist, and all I know is a tiny brief portion of that history. But it was fun to know that bit, and I feel a little nostalgic for the time when I knew.
I've been a little nostalgic for Your Mama also because I looked at my hit counter and saw that it was nearing 1,000. On Your Mama's Scene, I ran a little contest -- the fiftieth person (I think that was it) to look at the web site won "a bag of plastic crap." I presented one to local music writer and musician Cary Rodda and another to guitarist (and coincidentally, my co-worker now) Phil Brann. I think Phil won it, but Cary wrote the next comment expressing his disappointment that he hadn't one. I gave them both pirate eye patches and silly noses and things. Anyway, I was thinking of running a little hit counter/comment contest on here, and it just took me backc to that.***
Also, I've been playing music again lately -- bass with my uncle and singing with the staff band -- and I enjoy playing a LOT, but it does feel different. Different than the Gynas, different than being a fanboy extraordinaire...
I love music. I was making a mix for a "New Wave" themed CD swap, and I was carefully plucking one song from each artist in my iTunes library, and I ended up with 4 and a quarter hours of music. My whole library is more like ten days fo music, but I've never put all my CDs on there because I got to the Es and realized I was running quickly out of room. I decided that I could listen to Erasure and most of everything else on CDs until such time as I get an external hard drive or something to store the rest of it on. Hmm... it's getting late. My nostalgia time is up for the evening.
*I am so addicted to saying "the internets" and "the interweb" ironically and have been using them for so long now that people are going to start thinking I don't know they're wrong.
** Thursday, Friday, Saturday, a Sunday matinee and Sunday evening, or with a Tuesday show or Monday Anton Barbeau at Cafe Milazzo gig, I could skip a Sunday gig. I did it all the time.
*** I'm sure my actual hits are much higher than 1,000, since I didn't add the hit counter for oh, about two years after I started the blog. But whatever; a number's a number.
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