A youtube subscriber has posted four clips entitled "essence of life"--commentary by the creators of Koyaanisqatsi. This is Part 3. Its interesting to hear how the collaborators brought together their perspectives...I kind of wish they'd shown all of the clip of the guy with the icecream cone! He lifts it up, rather like a glass lifted as a toast, at the end.
I think its really fun to listen to the soundtrack to this when I'm driving through "mountains" (which look more like hills compared to the rockies but are still beautiful) in Pennsylvania and West Virginia.
Friday, December 29, 2006
mmmm.
Michigan--I am surprised and very excited because my aunt picked a really good place for to have dinner at tonight. Blue Nile I just realized that for some reason, haven’t tasted Ethiopian food in years, and I LOVED it when I lived in Seattle. My university was on the edge of a neighborhood with a large Ethiopian population. I used to tutor some ESL kids from Ethiopia once a week at a local school. One girl in particular, Halima, was quite strong-willed, mischievious, and preferred talking about other topics, playing with my hair, etc. But she was actually kind of sad when I left (graduated and took a trip to Peru) so I sent her a postcard from Peru. Was happy to hear that the teacher gave it to her; it arrived during summer vacation, so that didn’t happen until the following school year. She must be grown-up by now...But it was an all too infrequent treat for me to eat at one of those four (yes, four!) Ethiopian restaurants within a span of about three blocks proximity of the university. Well that was back in 1999—has it really been so long since I’ve eaten Ethiopian food? I think so! Until tonight...
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
The "Artist"
When I worked at a Barnes and Noble after college, the regular cashier in the music section greatly admired the musical artist Prince, who at the time was often referred to as “the artist formerly known as...” b/c he wanted to be represented by a symbol. The guy I knew who worked in the music section referred to him as simply “The Artist” (in a tone of reverence and awe). Perhaps, on some days, in certain doses, this one for me is “The Artist”:
Silent All These Years
I just found out about an organization called RAINN after I saw this clip of a benefit concert:
Leather
She really likes pianos! Obviously…
Piano Shopping Interview
Precious Things
Raspberry Swirl
Finally
Yes, Anastasia
is a rather long song which is based on a little piece of recent (or not so recent?)
history, but it is very interesting, (whether it is true or not…)
Silent All These Years
I just found out about an organization called RAINN after I saw this clip of a benefit concert:
Leather
She really likes pianos! Obviously…
Piano Shopping Interview
Precious Things
Raspberry Swirl
Finally
Yes, Anastasia
is a rather long song which is based on a little piece of recent (or not so recent?)
history, but it is very interesting, (whether it is true or not…)
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Ghost cat y musica...
Early this morning I woke up to the feeling of four little feet, on top of the comforter, padding softly over my legs, and then the being which owned these feet settled right at my side, as if laying down. I thought to myself, "I am convinced something is by my side right now, but if I put my hand out and don't feel anything, then I know that there's nothing." So I drew my hand out and patted the space and I felt nothing. Then I couldn't tell what I thought anymore. It was not even my sister's little dog, it was not anything. Was this an early morning delusion? Or could my cat of 19 years (deceased since July) have come to pay me a little visit? It didn't really bother me, I just went right back to sleep.
New Music
Today on the internet, I went to my friend's myspace page and with curiousity I clicked on one of her new "myspace friends" and listening to a techno beat and the lyrics where were you in 92 & discovered this is an artist known as M.I.A. and then watched her "Sun Showers" on video.aol.com where she "frolics in the jungle with animals and friends"!
Old Music
Also reading about M.I.A. lead me to reading about the Roxanne Wars and I found Roxanne's Revenge which for some reason, I never even heard of when I was a kid. Too bad! I remember Bust a Move as a kind of a constant Jr.High-era soundtrack...Also this not so remembered song Ponderous was always playing in gym class on the days when the P.E. teacher would let us listen to the radio. We'd all be doing sit ups or leg lifts and it seemed as if that stereo would always be playing...this is ponderous, man, really ponderous.
New Music
Today on the internet, I went to my friend's myspace page and with curiousity I clicked on one of her new "myspace friends" and listening to a techno beat and the lyrics where were you in 92 & discovered this is an artist known as M.I.A. and then watched her "Sun Showers" on video.aol.com where she "frolics in the jungle with animals and friends"!
Old Music
Also reading about M.I.A. lead me to reading about the Roxanne Wars and I found Roxanne's Revenge which for some reason, I never even heard of when I was a kid. Too bad! I remember Bust a Move as a kind of a constant Jr.High-era soundtrack...Also this not so remembered song Ponderous was always playing in gym class on the days when the P.E. teacher would let us listen to the radio. We'd all be doing sit ups or leg lifts and it seemed as if that stereo would always be playing...this is ponderous, man, really ponderous.
Friday, December 22, 2006
Sunday, December 17, 2006
car music...
sometimes I listen to the soundtrack from Koyannisqatsi on a long road trip.
(Here's a little Koyaanisqatsi clip I found)
A recent discovery: as an illustration of the inherently, intrinsically, poignantly sad qualities of FAKE CHEESE, there is:
Nachoqatsi
(Here's a little Koyaanisqatsi clip I found)
A recent discovery: as an illustration of the inherently, intrinsically, poignantly sad qualities of FAKE CHEESE, there is:
Nachoqatsi
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Oooo...video.
Ah…youtube! Recently, Time magazine reports that "the youtube guys" are second in nomination for "person of the year" (behind the prez of Iran and ahead of the prez of the US). I've been enjoying this during the past few days...I listened these PJ Harvey songs during the “pursuit of higher education” portion of my life:
C'mon Billy
Down By The Water
Send His Love To Me
The Dancer
Here are a couple that were popular, from my younger school days:
Ladies First
Sadeness
And later, in the pre-cell phone era, when one half of all teenagers were walking around with pagers:
Free Your Mind
Shoop
Return To Innocence
This one's more recent, but I swear it seems like it could be from...the 80s?
Hung Up
Maybe it's cheesy, even a little risqué. But a wise sage once told me:
“Hey. Leave Madonna ALONE.” So I really can’t make any apologies ;-)
Ray of Light
And here’s a girl’s thoughts on putting on make-up…
In the nude - ElloSara
Here’s a cute song that people seem to either love or find annoying:
Fidelity
Supongo que eso es todo para ahorita…I wanted to find a better version of
Feed the Tree and Celia Cruz's La Vida Es Un Carnival pero espero un ratito
Ok guess thats it. I hope those all work; if not I'll just have to fix them after another loooong road trip...
C'mon Billy
Down By The Water
Send His Love To Me
The Dancer
Here are a couple that were popular, from my younger school days:
Ladies First
Sadeness
And later, in the pre-cell phone era, when one half of all teenagers were walking around with pagers:
Free Your Mind
Shoop
Return To Innocence
This one's more recent, but I swear it seems like it could be from...the 80s?
Hung Up
Maybe it's cheesy, even a little risqué. But a wise sage once told me:
“Hey. Leave Madonna ALONE.” So I really can’t make any apologies ;-)
Ray of Light
And here’s a girl’s thoughts on putting on make-up…
In the nude - ElloSara
Here’s a cute song that people seem to either love or find annoying:
Fidelity
Supongo que eso es todo para ahorita…I wanted to find a better version of
Feed the Tree and Celia Cruz's La Vida Es Un Carnival pero espero un ratito
Ok guess thats it. I hope those all work; if not I'll just have to fix them after another loooong road trip...
The Blue Castle and Goody Hall
Some quotes from The Blue Castle by L.M. Montgomery and Goody Hall by Natalie Babbit can be found here.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
HAIR!!!
Once there was this new girl who just loved to go to art class and sing songs to her new friends; some of them happened to be from the musical Hair. Its really nice of the youtube people to provide us with endless hours of entertainment, such as this opening clip from...Hair the movie!
Age of Aquarius from lennalee
Hee hee hee hee...giddyup horsies ;-)
Age of Aquarius from lennalee
Hee hee hee hee...giddyup horsies ;-)
Friday, December 01, 2006
There was once a mixed tape...
passed between 2 highschool girls. One gave the other knowledge of different kinds of music which she had never listened to before. On this tape were many songs, like:
Waiting Room by Fugazi
Sheela Na Gig by PJ Harvey
And another one that went something like this:
I can remember dark corridors
And I can taste other peoples' grief
I want a split split second of peace
I want this candle lighted for the dear departed
Maybe it was Candle by Red Emma.
Waiting Room by Fugazi
Sheela Na Gig by PJ Harvey
And another one that went something like this:
I can remember dark corridors
And I can taste other peoples' grief
I want a split split second of peace
I want this candle lighted for the dear departed
Maybe it was Candle by Red Emma.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Recently re-read an old book and I keep imagining that it could make
a really beautiful film or play...
Tisha the story of Anne Hobbs Purdy as told to Robert Sprecht. I got a copy of this from my mother's boyfriend (in the Seattle area) when I was in gradeschool. His mother's name and address are still written in the front cover.
Other links:
Anne Hobbs Purdy
Chicken, Alaska
Somewhat switching topics/subject matter (geographically), here are some links to a very interesting journalist turned actress from the film Kandahar which I saw recently.
Tisha the story of Anne Hobbs Purdy as told to Robert Sprecht. I got a copy of this from my mother's boyfriend (in the Seattle area) when I was in gradeschool. His mother's name and address are still written in the front cover.
Other links:
Anne Hobbs Purdy
Chicken, Alaska
Somewhat switching topics/subject matter (geographically), here are some links to a very interesting journalist turned actress from the film Kandahar which I saw recently.
Monday, November 20, 2006
So, here are a few places that I've somewhat recently seen:
The Crooked Little House
Dime Box, Texas
I passed by, and next time I want to get a better look at:
Totem Pole Park
The Crooked Little House
Dime Box, Texas
I passed by, and next time I want to get a better look at:
Totem Pole Park
Sunday, November 19, 2006
arranging closets
by virtue of where all the clothes in them were made/sewn/manufactured. So far, I've discovered that my favorite gray sweatshirt (it seems to have magical undertones of other colors in it) is from Mexico, a pretty ocean blue undergarment which however is not practical on a long walk in the woods is from the Maldives, and many other items are from Turkey, Guatemala, El Salvador, Pakistan, China. One item of clothing is from Cambodia. (This closet arranging was inspired by a recent NPR broadcast with regard to the garment industry in Cambodia.)
Consumerist plug of the day: The Container Store Today, the saleswomen taught me how to make a gift wrap bow. Maybe in the future I will buy some of their hangers and all the items of clothing from Sri Lanka, etc. will fit on one hanger.
Consumerist plug of the day: The Container Store Today, the saleswomen taught me how to make a gift wrap bow. Maybe in the future I will buy some of their hangers and all the items of clothing from Sri Lanka, etc. will fit on one hanger.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Little House
I first read Little House on the Prairie when I was a second grader, sharing a room with my little sister in an apartment in Latham, NY. Later I read The Long Winter, and then most of the others, when I moved in 3rd grade to Renton, WA (a suburb of Seattle). Despite the fact that my new best friend on the playground (a blond girl named Cheryl) let me know that these books were, well, rather uncool, I read them all!
I read them in my own room, in the basement of "the old woman's house." That was our house in Renton. A shut-in had been the previous occupant. When she died, and when we moved in, a lot of her belongings were still in the garage. Even to this day, my sister and I have not forgotten the old black and white photographs pasted to black cardboard paper, which we found...such as one bodies lying in the streets of a foreign country (China?) with their heads cut off and neatly stacked alongside the bodies. Another one might have been of an emaciated man in some kind of large cardboard box? but I remember the image much less than the chilling white caption Victim of the Huns. Gruesome.
On a more pleasant note, we also found an old brown textbook from the teens or '20s, which was clearly intended for girls, and which interspersed lessons on history and penmanship with drawing, sewing, cooking, and "how to give a party."
Also on a more pleasant note, the backyard was filled with the great Northwest blackberry bushes.
On a less pleasant note, we lived next door to some really mean dogs.
On a more pleasant note, my mother taught us how to make "sun tea" in the backyard.
On a less pleasant note, the basement (where my sister and I slept) flooded anytime there was a hard rain. I will never forget swinging my legs over the bed and placing my feet on a perfectly dry-looking carpet, when...augh!!
(My sister's room, however, never flooded!)
On a more pleasant note, I got my first cat, a calico kitten I named "Cathy." Also, I read all the Little House books there. Inspired by Garth Williams illustrations, I decided it would be a good idea to draw in the white spaces of almost all of my other (non Little House) books, thus negating any future re-sale value of those items.
I never did find another friend who read them, those some had seen the T.V. show. The museum in Mansfield, Missouri is quite out-of-the way, so I expected it would not be crowded, but I was in for a surprise. No, you're not the only fan!!!
There was a large display case in the musuem in Mansfield, Missouri showing that her books have been published in many different languages here is just one example, including Arabic and Bengali.
Also many displays on her fascinating daughter, Rose Wilder Lane, the oldest American Vietnam war correspondent. For years she dreamed of a place which she later discovered in Albania, where she lived for a while, and also refused a marriage proposal from the King of Albania because she found out he could have multiple wives! (so say the tour guides)
I read them in my own room, in the basement of "the old woman's house." That was our house in Renton. A shut-in had been the previous occupant. When she died, and when we moved in, a lot of her belongings were still in the garage. Even to this day, my sister and I have not forgotten the old black and white photographs pasted to black cardboard paper, which we found...such as one bodies lying in the streets of a foreign country (China?) with their heads cut off and neatly stacked alongside the bodies. Another one might have been of an emaciated man in some kind of large cardboard box? but I remember the image much less than the chilling white caption Victim of the Huns. Gruesome.
On a more pleasant note, we also found an old brown textbook from the teens or '20s, which was clearly intended for girls, and which interspersed lessons on history and penmanship with drawing, sewing, cooking, and "how to give a party."
Also on a more pleasant note, the backyard was filled with the great Northwest blackberry bushes.
On a less pleasant note, we lived next door to some really mean dogs.
On a more pleasant note, my mother taught us how to make "sun tea" in the backyard.
On a less pleasant note, the basement (where my sister and I slept) flooded anytime there was a hard rain. I will never forget swinging my legs over the bed and placing my feet on a perfectly dry-looking carpet, when...augh!!
(My sister's room, however, never flooded!)
On a more pleasant note, I got my first cat, a calico kitten I named "Cathy." Also, I read all the Little House books there. Inspired by Garth Williams illustrations, I decided it would be a good idea to draw in the white spaces of almost all of my other (non Little House) books, thus negating any future re-sale value of those items.
I never did find another friend who read them, those some had seen the T.V. show. The museum in Mansfield, Missouri is quite out-of-the way, so I expected it would not be crowded, but I was in for a surprise. No, you're not the only fan!!!
There was a large display case in the musuem in Mansfield, Missouri showing that her books have been published in many different languages here is just one example, including Arabic and Bengali.
Also many displays on her fascinating daughter, Rose Wilder Lane, the oldest American Vietnam war correspondent. For years she dreamed of a place which she later discovered in Albania, where she lived for a while, and also refused a marriage proposal from the King of Albania because she found out he could have multiple wives! (so say the tour guides)
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
The Funniest Book...
I've read most recently is called Funny in Farsi. It was also funny to read it just before visiting Texas A & M, and walk by the Engineering Bldg and imagine things that had happened in the book happening on that campus.
I came across a review of it.
Next I think I would like to read Lipstick Jihad.
I came across a review of it.
Next I think I would like to read Lipstick Jihad.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
merry-go-rounds...
and old pictures from upstate NY:
Viva La Graduate!
Harry Potter Impersonation
Parking Lot
Parking lots near your residence are important. Or at least this one was. Here you can see my friend's trendy mini-cooper "Mini G" and a little further down my sad old dented gray Taurus with the dying transmission. Drunk people from the local dive bar used to mill around it at night, sketchy things were going on there sometimes. Looks pretty placid in the daytime though, doesn't it? And I really Loved this park That would be Recreation Park on Beethoven Street, with a restored carousel you could ride all day for free in the summer.
Link to Binghamton Carousels
Viva La Graduate!
Harry Potter Impersonation
Parking Lot
Parking lots near your residence are important. Or at least this one was. Here you can see my friend's trendy mini-cooper "Mini G" and a little further down my sad old dented gray Taurus with the dying transmission. Drunk people from the local dive bar used to mill around it at night, sketchy things were going on there sometimes. Looks pretty placid in the daytime though, doesn't it? And I really Loved this park That would be Recreation Park on Beethoven Street, with a restored carousel you could ride all day for free in the summer.
Link to Binghamton Carousels
Denver trip
I got to take a trip to Denver this past weekend, provided for me by my beautiful & generous friends :-)
Gorgeousness
Cowgirls!
Impromptu Airport Photo
Some links:
Sing Sing! Dueling Pianos
Rocky Mountain National Park
Gorgeousness
Cowgirls!
Impromptu Airport Photo
Some links:
Sing Sing! Dueling Pianos
Rocky Mountain National Park
Grrr, Mother Nature.
Eggs, cheese, an expensive container of clarified butter, salty/peppered mackerel (in a ziploc bag, gracias-a-dios!!), yogurt, frozen vegetables, frozen blackberries, various and sundry condiments, onions, carrots...these are the items which are currently at risk of spoiling in my fridge. At least I didn't buy any milk. Please. I am unemployed! A fridge full of spoiling food is not what I need. The electricity flickered (always with the lovely high pitched sound of the smoke detector punctuating the silence) seven times in one night throughout an electrical storm. And just when it had finally cut out for good, then the storm left! As if its mission had finally been accomplished.
A weird concoction I made of pinto beans, tomato paste, okra, onions and various spices might also spoil. Actually that is no great loss. (It was not one of my finer creations.) Maybe the two brands of salty plums which I extravagantly purchased several months ago at Mitsuwa will be okay.To put it in perspective, I suppose its nothing compared to, say, living on a claim and a giant storm comes sweeping through the prairies and ruins your whole crop of buckwheat.
It sure is irritating, though.
A weird concoction I made of pinto beans, tomato paste, okra, onions and various spices might also spoil. Actually that is no great loss. (It was not one of my finer creations.) Maybe the two brands of salty plums which I extravagantly purchased several months ago at Mitsuwa will be okay.To put it in perspective, I suppose its nothing compared to, say, living on a claim and a giant storm comes sweeping through the prairies and ruins your whole crop of buckwheat.
It sure is irritating, though.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Songs remembered
Art class
Girl
Yellow Submarine
Elementary school music class
Sixteen Tons (give or take a few lyrics)
Johnny Has Gone for a Soldier (pretty much as presented)
Blow Ye Winds (minus half of the lyrics!)
Haul Away Joe(substituting "pretty girl" for "German girl" and "Yankee girl" for "Irish girl")
Road trip: Illinois-Missouri-Arkansas-Texas-Oklahoma-Kansas-Missouri-Illinois
Does Fort Worth Ever Cross Your Mind
All My Ex's Live in Texas
Chickenman
Joking
Airplane
Three Hits and Rites of Passage
Girl
Yellow Submarine
Elementary school music class
Sixteen Tons (give or take a few lyrics)
Johnny Has Gone for a Soldier (pretty much as presented)
Blow Ye Winds (minus half of the lyrics!)
Haul Away Joe(substituting "pretty girl" for "German girl" and "Yankee girl" for "Irish girl")
Road trip: Illinois-Missouri-Arkansas-Texas-Oklahoma-Kansas-Missouri-Illinois
Does Fort Worth Ever Cross Your Mind
All My Ex's Live in Texas
Chickenman
Joking
Airplane
Three Hits and Rites of Passage
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Before the alloted internet use time is up...
I will note that a particular radio station in Chicago--I think it is 89.5--can't make up its mind whether its Southeast Asian hindi love songs or screaming white guy guitar music. This makes for an amusing situation when I am stopping at stoplights and trying to tune into the one I prefer (guess which one it is!)
BTW there is a cool woman whose name I can't remember...she runs a prison in Delhi, India and is feature in Adventure Divas videos and book...she reformed it by making everyone--prisoners, guards, everyone--practice meditation. They all R-E-S-P-E-C-T her. She has a great smile.
BTW there is a cool woman whose name I can't remember...she runs a prison in Delhi, India and is feature in Adventure Divas videos and book...she reformed it by making everyone--prisoners, guards, everyone--practice meditation. They all R-E-S-P-E-C-T her. She has a great smile.
Road Trip Tommorrow!
Maybe I'll visit Little House on the Prairie on my way back from visiting my sister in College Station, Texas in a few days. Look, this is what happens when girls(??I guess, mostly??) who loved those books grow up and have their own kids. All little Lauras! Shouldn't the boys be called little Almanzos, or something?
all my ex's live in Texas
and Texas is where I want to be
but all my ex's live in Texas
that is why I reside in Tennessee
--George Strait
Don't own that song. Maybe I'll see if the library has a CD version for the trip...
all my ex's live in Texas
and Texas is where I want to be
but all my ex's live in Texas
that is why I reside in Tennessee
--George Strait
Don't own that song. Maybe I'll see if the library has a CD version for the trip...
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Saturday, July 15, 2006
A papasan
with a blue cushion
is a very good chair
for relaxing on
an ordinary day.
Its also good place
for a sick cat
or
a short spell
of weeping
or
a dry-eyed spell
of watching the news.
is a very good chair
for relaxing on
an ordinary day.
Its also good place
for a sick cat
or
a short spell
of weeping
or
a dry-eyed spell
of watching the news.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Monday, July 10, 2006
Canciones
There was once this girl who used to sing songs and snippets of songs in art class. How many? More than a hundred? More than two hundred? She sang Scarborough Fair /Canticle and maybe I Am a Rock and Faking It (in which she accidentally sang "just mean old me" instead of "just lean on me.") And probably The Sounds of Silence, The Boxer, An American Tune, America, Slip Sliding Away, Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard, Kodachrome, Cecilia, the Simon and Garfunkel lyrics to El Condor Pasa, and others, mostly from their Best of...and Concert in Central Park albums.
Also...probably snippets and songs from the whole Paul Simon Graceland album.
Graceland
I Know What I Know
Gumboots
Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes
You Can Call Me Al
That Was Your Mother
The Myth of Fingerprints
Also...probably snippets and songs from the whole Paul Simon Graceland album.
Graceland
I Know What I Know
Gumboots
Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes
You Can Call Me Al
That Was Your Mother
The Myth of Fingerprints
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Russian Tea
The samovar is an object quite prominently displayed at The Russian Tea Time restaurant in Chicago, a cultural experience that my father could very much enjoy, as he liked all the food on the menu and also got a chance to practice his Russian on many a hapless waitstaffperson.
The samovar actually reminds me of a crock pot, which is what some American Southerners (such as my mother) use around the holidays when they serve a concoction made up of tea, orange and pineapple juices, cloves and sugar, which they call "Russian Tea."
The samovar actually reminds me of a crock pot, which is what some American Southerners (such as my mother) use around the holidays when they serve a concoction made up of tea, orange and pineapple juices, cloves and sugar, which they call "Russian Tea."
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
There was the older
brother that she met in gym class, and the following year, the younger one was in her typing class. And her neighbor friend was in her art class. She kind of got fascinated with the older brother in the gym class. She'd had a few conversations with him. She knew a few things about him. Then she'd go to into art class, sit across the table from her neighbor friend, and sing some of the songs from the the latest musical she had been listening to, which was, in this case, The Man of La Mancha.
Little Bird Little Bird
Little Bird Little Bird
Dulcinea
Once in the spare bedroom of an old house I found an old wedding photo of two hippies (or hippie-ish) looking people on a beach, except I think the man's hair might have been longer than the woman's (?) She wore a mini-dress and a shell around her neck. They both had bare feet. It looked so nice, so happy, so optimistic. I asked my mother about it, and she told me that this photo had been taken in the early 70s and that they were distant relatives. These two people were married and had a daughter. But the marriage didn't last. It broke up and the woman moved to Las Vegas, and unfortunately, she was murdered. But somewhere, I have a distant relative, presuming that the girl grew up all right, named Dulcinea.
To Each His Dulcinea
Dulcinea
To Each His Dulcinea
Dulcinea
Monday, June 26, 2006
Best way to pill a cat
If you've got 3 pills and one is too big for his little throat to gag down and you're administering these 2x a day...
(that's 6 pills total)
Don't cover them in butter (he'll just hide 'em in the corner of his mouth and spit them out somewhere in the corner)
Don't grind them up and put them into his catfood. (He's too wise for that).
The best way to administer the medicine is to pulverize these pills into a very fine white powder, and add just enough liquid vitamin C (flavored for kids) to cover the very bottom bowl of a spoon, mix with a few water droplets, stir until the powder is mostly dissolved, then suck it all up into a syringe/eyedropper thing. Squirt this as quickly as possible down the back of his throat.
The liquid Vitamin C has a fairly palatable aftertaste, so he'll only be mad at you for about five minutes. Even less if the medicine is administered before mealtime and in front of friends. (He loves the sympathetic comments!)
(that's 6 pills total)
Don't cover them in butter (he'll just hide 'em in the corner of his mouth and spit them out somewhere in the corner)
Don't grind them up and put them into his catfood. (He's too wise for that).
The best way to administer the medicine is to pulverize these pills into a very fine white powder, and add just enough liquid vitamin C (flavored for kids) to cover the very bottom bowl of a spoon, mix with a few water droplets, stir until the powder is mostly dissolved, then suck it all up into a syringe/eyedropper thing. Squirt this as quickly as possible down the back of his throat.
The liquid Vitamin C has a fairly palatable aftertaste, so he'll only be mad at you for about five minutes. Even less if the medicine is administered before mealtime and in front of friends. (He loves the sympathetic comments!)
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Monday, June 12, 2006
something else funny...
Once there were these 2 friends/neighbors in art class. Who were not at all stingy (in their affections). They could like each other and also like other people, too. (Exes, cute Jewish girls, these 2 fabulous Latino brothers...) She (the girl) liked to draw pictures of peoples' faces. Him...not so much.
There was this one day when she was on the bus talking to him. "So," she said, "theres this one girl at school and she's really tall and pretty and she has long black hair and she's really beautiful..." "Oh, really." "Yes. I'd really like to draw her...You know, I noticed that I like to draw pictures of girls a lot, for some reason, I don't know...maybe, I'm not that into male beauty..." she stopped because she sounded quite awkward. It was not such a nice highschool, it was easy to say something weird-sounding and get made fun of, and she had a feeling she'd just said something kind of weird, so would he make fun of her? But he did not. "Oh, yeah, I know what you mean, me too, I'm not into male beauty either, I'm into female beauty, all the way." And then they both laughed and she felt better.
But later, when she was in art class, she thought she might like to challenge herself. Why do I always just draw pictures of girls? She thought. Maybe I've just swallowed some kind of a societal standard. I think I will draw one of a guy. So she did. Maybe she at first was trying to make the guy look like one of the Latino brothers (who both cute, in different ways, the older one, she met first in P.E. class, she liked him. The younger one, in her typewriting class the next year, also seemed interesting, but it wasn't quite the sort of intense kind of like that she'd felt for the older one). Anyways, maybe at first she thought of him, but then the person she was drawing actually just became a figment of her imagination. She used her pencil and did all of this smudging, so the skin became darker and the eyes and the nose were a bit different, and she made it kind of look like it was nighttime in the sky behind the person and made this sort of vague, stormy landscape. She was quite please with the result. He was of uncertain ancestry, like maybe he was part Latin, part Arabic, part Indian or something.
Other people came over to look at it. Who knows, t first they might have said things like, "Well, thats very nice, but you know, smudging is so unprofessional for an artist, I don't recommend you do that." "Thats a very interesting drawing, you know, so and so's drawing is more technically accurate, but yours, well it really seems like it tells a kind of a story." And then, some people said, "Hey, do you know who we think that drawing looks like?"
And she looked at it and thought...Uh-oh...
There was this one day when she was on the bus talking to him. "So," she said, "theres this one girl at school and she's really tall and pretty and she has long black hair and she's really beautiful..." "Oh, really." "Yes. I'd really like to draw her...You know, I noticed that I like to draw pictures of girls a lot, for some reason, I don't know...maybe, I'm not that into male beauty..." she stopped because she sounded quite awkward. It was not such a nice highschool, it was easy to say something weird-sounding and get made fun of, and she had a feeling she'd just said something kind of weird, so would he make fun of her? But he did not. "Oh, yeah, I know what you mean, me too, I'm not into male beauty either, I'm into female beauty, all the way." And then they both laughed and she felt better.
But later, when she was in art class, she thought she might like to challenge herself. Why do I always just draw pictures of girls? She thought. Maybe I've just swallowed some kind of a societal standard. I think I will draw one of a guy. So she did. Maybe she at first was trying to make the guy look like one of the Latino brothers (who both cute, in different ways, the older one, she met first in P.E. class, she liked him. The younger one, in her typewriting class the next year, also seemed interesting, but it wasn't quite the sort of intense kind of like that she'd felt for the older one). Anyways, maybe at first she thought of him, but then the person she was drawing actually just became a figment of her imagination. She used her pencil and did all of this smudging, so the skin became darker and the eyes and the nose were a bit different, and she made it kind of look like it was nighttime in the sky behind the person and made this sort of vague, stormy landscape. She was quite please with the result. He was of uncertain ancestry, like maybe he was part Latin, part Arabic, part Indian or something.
Other people came over to look at it. Who knows, t first they might have said things like, "Well, thats very nice, but you know, smudging is so unprofessional for an artist, I don't recommend you do that." "Thats a very interesting drawing, you know, so and so's drawing is more technically accurate, but yours, well it really seems like it tells a kind of a story." And then, some people said, "Hey, do you know who we think that drawing looks like?"
And she looked at it and thought...Uh-oh...
something funny.
My mother once told me, when she was in college, she had a date, and the girls all told her "Omar Sharif is sitting in the lounge!" But actually, he was not Omar Sharif, he was just a guy from West Point.
So. I never found a picture of him before. I've never seen any of his movies. But I just googled him. Here's a picture of good ol' Omar Sharif!
So. I never found a picture of him before. I've never seen any of his movies. But I just googled him. Here's a picture of good ol' Omar Sharif!
Sunday, June 11, 2006
trying to remember...
what would be a Spanish word for "little comments?" I can't remember.
I have been distracted because my cat is sick, but...I see that I have gotten a few "little comments" some of which might have come from "little moments"
The Spanish word for that...is...I think..."ratitos!"
I have been distracted because my cat is sick, but...I see that I have gotten a few "little comments" some of which might have come from "little moments"
The Spanish word for that...is...I think..."ratitos!"
Saturday, June 10, 2006
stories, the order of things
My first trip to Peru was made possible via the May Term study abroad program during my sojourn at Mary Baldwin which was where I made up my mind to focus on literature. I remember reading a story called The Guest by Camus, and I was much affected by it. Though I also remember that the professor asked if/pointed out that some of the author's rendering of the facial features of the "Arab" character seemed racist. Also, this was where I first read Meatless Days by Sara Suleri, when I took a course on Asian American Women in Literature, during May Term. At the time I found the language in the book to be rather difficult, and I was not very focused on it. Actually I just started to appreciate that book about one year ago. I like stories about weird grandmothers; my mother's mother was a weird grandmother.
The next May Term I did not take a course on campus. I went to Peru instead, which was absolutely the best thing I did in college.
The next May Term I did not take a course on campus. I went to Peru instead, which was absolutely the best thing I did in college.
songs/lyrics
I am remembering back in the late '90s when I made all these trips to Peru. I sent mixed tapes to Peru, to Roland the Peruvian rainforest guide. I was just learning Spanish so I was grasping around for some references, and I thought of some songs by The Pixies. But maybe I didn't realize how tongue-in-cheek some of the lyrics were, or notice the sounds of jail bars slamming in the background on Vamos. Nicknames were big in Peru, and he had a lot of them, including "Chino." So in English, that roughly translates to "Chinese man." Fujimori was the president of that country and they used to call him "Chinito" (little Chinese man). But he was part Japanese, not Chinese. I thought, in English that probably wouldn't sound very good. "Why?" he (Roland the rainforest guide) said to me. "They are not insulting me. The Americans must not be really carinosa. When they call me 'Chino,' its because they like me."
Vamos
Isla de Encanta
Vamos
Isla de Encanta
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Oh, day's date...
Much is being made of the day's date being 6-6-06. I would just like to point out that according to Wikipedia's Philo of Alexandria entry that Philo thought 6 was merely "the product of the masculine and feminine numbers 3 × 2 and in its parts equal to 3+3, is the symbol of the movement of organic beings." Good old Wikipedia. Where would we be without it?
It is interesting to me, because some religious folk were quite alarmed when, in my very young years (I don't even remember this), I apparently ran around telling people "my favorite number is 6!" If only they had been familiar with Philo of Alexandria! Then they wouldn't have been so rattled.
It is interesting to me, because some religious folk were quite alarmed when, in my very young years (I don't even remember this), I apparently ran around telling people "my favorite number is 6!" If only they had been familiar with Philo of Alexandria! Then they wouldn't have been so rattled.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
meow meow meow
My old cat is not very happy with his mean old guardian, who shoves pills and antibiotics down his throat and takes him to the the vet to get operated on. In honor of his irascible yowl, I think I'm going to make a tiny list about military or militant types who become guardians.
Here is my short (limited to two-a-piece) list of dos and don'ts. The don'ts first.
Don't:
(1)Decide to utilize special pressure point technique you were taught to use on "the enemy" as a form of subduing a child that aggravates you.
(2)Make your child (esp. if she is a girl of a certain age) ride around in a car half naked in public for a long time, (very embarressing) because you are that mad she spilled a milkshake all over her shirt and the backseat or whatever.
So, those are two "Don'ts."
But...here are some "Do's!"
Do:
(1) Teach your kids to jump off the diving board like a paratrooper
(2) Teach them to sing:
I have a pretty girl
She is an army girl
And I'd buy her anything
to keep her in style
She has a pair of eyes
just like two mud pies
Soldier, that's where my money goes...
I have a pretty girl
She is an army girl, etc...
She has a long long nose
just like a garden hose
Soldier, that's where my money goes
She has a pair of hips
just like two battleships
Soldier, that's where my money goes.
Here is my short (limited to two-a-piece) list of dos and don'ts. The don'ts first.
Don't:
(1)Decide to utilize special pressure point technique you were taught to use on "the enemy" as a form of subduing a child that aggravates you.
(2)Make your child (esp. if she is a girl of a certain age) ride around in a car half naked in public for a long time, (very embarressing) because you are that mad she spilled a milkshake all over her shirt and the backseat or whatever.
So, those are two "Don'ts."
But...here are some "Do's!"
Do:
(1) Teach your kids to jump off the diving board like a paratrooper
(2) Teach them to sing:
I have a pretty girl
She is an army girl
And I'd buy her anything
to keep her in style
She has a pair of eyes
just like two mud pies
Soldier, that's where my money goes...
I have a pretty girl
She is an army girl, etc...
She has a long long nose
just like a garden hose
Soldier, that's where my money goes
She has a pair of hips
just like two battleships
Soldier, that's where my money goes.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
pobrecito gatito (dos)
This poor old cat of mine was not very happy with the medicating (or me) today. He just stares out the window and doesn't even want to drink water.
Maybe he will improve after the surgery....
Maybe he will improve after the surgery....
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
pobrecito gatito
Well, my almost 19 year old cat is sick. He has been behaving strangely lately. He does this thing after he eats where he puts both paws up and hits himself in the face. He did it a whole bunch after he got back in his carrier after he got examined by the vet. Its a very painful thing to watch. He's got ulcers and they think he has a tumor around his jaw. He's going in for a biopsy on Thursday if the bloodwork says its okay for a cat that old to go under anesthesia. So tonight, I fed him baby food. I coated a painkiller pill with butter, and I filled an eyedropper with fluid, that is the antibiotic, and I got both of those down his throat. He struggled but there is no biting or anything, he's being very good about taking his medicine, actually. I was pleased with myself I managed to do these things while seemingly inflicting a minimal amount of trauma.
afterschool talking
At first when these two friends talked to each other while walking home after school, it could be a little uncomfortable. In art class it was very relaxed and silly and they could say anything, but when they were walking home, she thought to herself, he can be a very nervous person. Once they were walking home from school and right before they got to his house she tripped over a curb. And if they'd been in art class maybe it would have been no big deal. But she started to get the feeling that he was going to try to make her feel better. He said, "Don't trip and fall. It would be very bad if you hurt yourself. I wouldn't want that." Which was a nice to say. For some reason she felt very embarressed. And she thought, "This world is so stupid." It was a nice thing for him to say, so why would she react that way (feel embarressed) and then think something angry (about the world)?
art class talking
So there were once these two friends (a guy and a girl) who used to have fun talking to each other in art class, amongst other people. She would talk about herself and her strange beliefs and about her friends on the far off island, including her old boyfriend who she still missed, even though he hadn't really written or called recently, or anything. Her art class friend said "I had a relationship with this girl once. We would see each other in the hallways, and be like 'Oh honey, I love you,' 'Oh honey, I love you too,' you know, like really great, right?" and he'd say it with a certain kind expression on his face. It was a kind of a sardonic smile, and the girl (friend from art class) would observe this smile with a kind of pleasure, because it seemed like there was something about it that was very familiar to her, because he just had to smile, of course, he was just warming up and getting ready to tell them all about the best part, that is, the part...where...it all just went so wrong....
Sunday, May 28, 2006
little notes
There was once this girl who moved from an island to a suburb outside of a powerful nation's capitol. She had a nice neighbor friend who she met in art class. But he was not actually, not actually the person she met on the very first day. She met another person on the very first day...a girl, who was very nice, and not shy, and she approached her right away. And wrote her a little note. We are both new, said the girl, so lets be friends and make each other feel better.
Monday, May 22, 2006
school connections (links)
Saturday, May 20, 2006
otro foto
On my friend's website, I found an old picture of me and my flaming haired tattooed little sister, who is off to Israel this summer and then Texas A & M in the fall to study archaeology, after she at some point visits me in Chicago to investigate the city for old bullet holes and otherwise indulge in her strange fascination with the (historical) Mafia.
Book!
I just read a book by woman who went to SUNY Binghamton as an undergraduate, (which is where I went for graduate school. The author is Alicia Erian. The book is called Towelhead.
(Its always fun to discover an author who also went to your same school.)
Here is one review of Towelhead.
Here is another perspective on the book.
(Its always fun to discover an author who also went to your same school.)
Here is one review of Towelhead.
Here is another perspective on the book.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Who knows, maybe after the girl stepped off the bus, she could have said something a little different (worse?) to this new friend of hers. Maybe after she went into her speech about religion, and he said "Well, I am Muslim," she might've said "You're Muslim? I thought you were Mexican." Maybe. Maybe if she'd gone home and told her parents, "I made this new friend and he's Mexican," they would have said "Oh, okay." Maybe they would have assumed he was Catholic.
Years later, in South America, she'd be walking with a rainforest guide, giving her views on patriarchical religions, "like, I could never be Catholic and maybe he'd say "I am Catholic!" But anyway. No one objected to that. Her (West Pointer) stepfather and mother went to Catholic church. Her (West Pointer) Protestant father said "Oh, thats okay if he is Catholic," because a Catholic was still a Christian. No one had any objection to him.
There was that white van that used to always be hanging around the house, for some reason, after her father was sent to Korea. La de da. She'd run outside and play in the sandbox. Her mother shut herself inside her room for hours. The house was very dark. Her father sent tapes of his voice, reading stories to her from Korea. He went away, he came back, he went away again. One evening while she was listening to these tapes, she listened to one about a puppy in a dog house. She wanted to be like that puppy, so she backed herself into the high chair, in such a way, that she was stuck. Then she screamed and cried. Her mother could not figure out the way to get her out. Why not? Maybe she needed someone to show her how to take apart the chair? She called a policeman. He took apart the chair and the girl was set free.
God Bless Them All. The policeman, the little girl, the high chair, the mother, the father, the army, the academy at West Point, and the driver and the white van.
Years later, in South America, she'd be walking with a rainforest guide, giving her views on patriarchical religions, "like, I could never be Catholic and maybe he'd say "I am Catholic!" But anyway. No one objected to that. Her (West Pointer) stepfather and mother went to Catholic church. Her (West Pointer) Protestant father said "Oh, thats okay if he is Catholic," because a Catholic was still a Christian. No one had any objection to him.
There was that white van that used to always be hanging around the house, for some reason, after her father was sent to Korea. La de da. She'd run outside and play in the sandbox. Her mother shut herself inside her room for hours. The house was very dark. Her father sent tapes of his voice, reading stories to her from Korea. He went away, he came back, he went away again. One evening while she was listening to these tapes, she listened to one about a puppy in a dog house. She wanted to be like that puppy, so she backed herself into the high chair, in such a way, that she was stuck. Then she screamed and cried. Her mother could not figure out the way to get her out. Why not? Maybe she needed someone to show her how to take apart the chair? She called a policeman. He took apart the chair and the girl was set free.
God Bless Them All. The policeman, the little girl, the high chair, the mother, the father, the army, the academy at West Point, and the driver and the white van.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Interesting
Yesterday while flipping through a book I made a discovery regarding a person I used to know when I lived in Washington state. When I was a freshman in highschool, there was this blond girl who was a litle older than I was, who lived nearby, and we occasionally caught the bus to school at the same location, but I otherwise did not know her very well. However, according to this book, Behind the Veil, this former neighbor of mine, Michaela Corning, converted to Islam when she was older, and she is now involved in selling "Muslimah couture," as well as some political things. And she knows several languages. She sounds like she's grown up to be quite an interesting person.
Monday, May 15, 2006
conversations
So, maybe there were once these two friends walking home from school together, and although they weren't that great of friends in the halls at school, they were more talkative after school. He'd say things like "I love the Discovery channel. The Discovery channel is the only one I want to watch." She'd say something like, "Well, I used to live on an island where people believe that fairies actually exist. So, I believe that fairies can exist too." And this is not necessarily what he believes, but he says, it is kind of interesting sounding, like maybe it was something that people once believed in long ago. She says, "where did you get that idea?" "Oh I don't know, it just kind of came to me," he says. (And the fairies benevolently smile at them.)
And, they talk about songs from the musical, Cats. She is surprised to find out that he likes the Mr. Mistoffolees song.
She says "Really?" And she maybe sounds just a bit scornful because sometimes she is a little bit callous, perhaps because there is a little bit of West Point in her background. And she says, "But that song is nothing at all compared to Macavity. I mean, Macavity just seems like a cat with all this experience in life, and he just sounds so much more interesting. Mr. Mistoffolees is alright and everything, but I think he's kind of...boring?"
(The fairies shake their heads at her young foolishness and sigh. Or, perhaps, a few wickedly grin.)
"Well," she says airily, "see you later." Then she goes off to her house, and he goes off to his. And he thinks, "Great. Thats just great. She likes Macavity better than the Magical Mr. Mistoffolees."
And, they talk about songs from the musical, Cats. She is surprised to find out that he likes the Mr. Mistoffolees song.
She says "Really?" And she maybe sounds just a bit scornful because sometimes she is a little bit callous, perhaps because there is a little bit of West Point in her background. And she says, "But that song is nothing at all compared to Macavity. I mean, Macavity just seems like a cat with all this experience in life, and he just sounds so much more interesting. Mr. Mistoffolees is alright and everything, but I think he's kind of...boring?"
(The fairies shake their heads at her young foolishness and sigh. Or, perhaps, a few wickedly grin.)
"Well," she says airily, "see you later." Then she goes off to her house, and he goes off to his. And he thinks, "Great. Thats just great. She likes Macavity better than the Magical Mr. Mistoffolees."
Word Salad, etc.
Recently, I found an interesting link. I have a friend who is quite a nice person and yet sometimes the strangest things come out when he writes. Even if one does not have a diagnosed "mental condition" per see, it would be interesting to consider this if you ever do encounter a person who seems to sort of say a thing which could be jarring.
The album I was semi-forced to buy over the weekend is good...I like the first song on it. Which I was going to post the lyrics to. However, its impossible, apparently. Because I can't remember the name of the song and the album seems too new to have the discography out...so...maybe later...
The album I was semi-forced to buy over the weekend is good...I like the first song on it. Which I was going to post the lyrics to. However, its impossible, apparently. Because I can't remember the name of the song and the album seems too new to have the discography out...so...maybe later...
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Bookstore girl
"You have to buy this album," the girl in the bookstore said to me. And an hour later, I ran into her again. "This song that is playing, its on the album. You have to buy this album. Here, here is a coupon, now just buy it." So I bought it, and I found this Funny Little Frog song.
Salem
Here is a link to a picture of Salem College, which is a very old, historical, all women's college which my mother attended/is currently attending classes (fitting because this is "Mother's Day.") Salem College is a part of Old Salem which was founded by Moravians. These were my ancestors on my mother's side. They lived in religious communities and had schools for men and women. They structured a society in which unmarried women could be economically self-sufficient, which was unusual at that time.
At the IRA, one of her professors gave a talk on ELL. These are some notes I took down in my notebook:
A Word of Caution:
Classrooms are—
1) complex social settings that can be guilty of “reproducing existing inequalities” (Bourdieu, 1977).
2) Replete with a “culture of power” with rules that reflect the rule of the culture of those who have the power. (Delpit, 1988).
Peer Status:
1)The most popular among his peers becomes the Event Captain.
2) Who the student saw as popular or not popular in the class only aligned with what the teacher said 30% of the time. Who she thought was friends with who was only accurate part of the time.
Identity:
--A constructive process that is fragmented, contradictory and context dependent
--A consequence of interaction between people; a process that is constructed in relation to the perceptions of others
At the IRA, one of her professors gave a talk on ELL. These are some notes I took down in my notebook:
A Word of Caution:
Classrooms are—
1) complex social settings that can be guilty of “reproducing existing inequalities” (Bourdieu, 1977).
2) Replete with a “culture of power” with rules that reflect the rule of the culture of those who have the power. (Delpit, 1988).
Peer Status:
1)The most popular among his peers becomes the Event Captain.
2) Who the student saw as popular or not popular in the class only aligned with what the teacher said 30% of the time. Who she thought was friends with who was only accurate part of the time.
Identity:
--A constructive process that is fragmented, contradictory and context dependent
--A consequence of interaction between people; a process that is constructed in relation to the perceptions of others
Thursday, May 11, 2006
singing
And one day, when they were all sitting in art class, this girl started to sing.
She said to him, "what is the matter, don't you know any songs, Why don't you sing?"
He says, "No, I can't sing."
She says, "Why can't you sing?"
He says, "Oh I can't sing, because I'm Muslim."
She says, "You can't sing, because you are Muslim? Are you serious? Well, I just love singing and...I mean...what kind of a rule is that? I mean...well..." all of a sudden she realizes that maybe she's going to start sounding closed minded again--"I guess I just didn't know that Muslims can't sing!"
He is smiling slightly and he gets up and walks away somewhere to do something, and then she notices that the other people at the table are kind of smirking and almost starting to snicker.
Then she's like, "Hey, are you playing with me?"
She said to him, "what is the matter, don't you know any songs, Why don't you sing?"
He says, "No, I can't sing."
She says, "Why can't you sing?"
He says, "Oh I can't sing, because I'm Muslim."
She says, "You can't sing, because you are Muslim? Are you serious? Well, I just love singing and...I mean...what kind of a rule is that? I mean...well..." all of a sudden she realizes that maybe she's going to start sounding closed minded again--"I guess I just didn't know that Muslims can't sing!"
He is smiling slightly and he gets up and walks away somewhere to do something, and then she notices that the other people at the table are kind of smirking and almost starting to snicker.
Then she's like, "Hey, are you playing with me?"
old story--day two
So the next day, this girl is walking home from school with her friend and she is talking about religion. And she is saying something like, she kind of doesn't really like organized religion, she thinks it makes people too closed minded, or something. And he seems to be listening very carefully. And for some reason, she feels as if they are almost of one mind, because maybe he seems very accepting, although perhaps she has not yet learned that accepting is not the same as agreeing.
So she feels like she can speak with him very freely about anything. And she says "I mean, there are some religions I think I could just never be part of. Like I don't think I could ever be Muslim." And he says "I am Muslim." And she's like, "What? Like practicing and everything?" "Yes," he says. And she's like, "I thought maybe you were Hindu or Buddhist or something." And he says, "No." And she's starting to feel very uncomfortable all of a sudden because she has a feeling that she's kind of implying that it would be better if he were one of those other religions, or anything except Muslim. And she thinks, well I have this new friend from my art class and he's my neighbor and I'm walking home with him and now I've offended him. And she feels a little defensive, but she really can't think of anything to say. But then, maybe its like a shaft of light kind of pierces through her brain, and she says something like, "I'm sorry, that was a very stupid thing to say." And he immediately says, "thats okay." And its like a huge weight lifts off her shoulders.
Then he also says something like "Some people just haven't been exposed to other cultures very much." And she thinks, hmmm, that seems to imply that I am a closed minded person. I most certainly am not a closed minded person!
So then she says, "Well, I don't know, I know I don't want to be one now. But who knows, maybe I could be Muslim one day. I mean, I never really thought about it. But," now she feels like she's kind of going off on a grand, soaring arc, "I guess anything is possible. Like, maybe if I married a Muslim, or something like that, what do you think?" And for some reason she just thinks he will say reply by saying something like, "Oh yes, that'd be great!" However, that is not what he says. What he says is more along the lines of, "Well, I definitely don't think that you should do anything for the wrong reason." And, in a way. this answer kind of disappoints her slightly because it wasn't quite in the vein of her spontaneity. But then they get to his house and they part and they both agree that they are glad that they are so young that this is not something they really have to worry about.
So she feels like she can speak with him very freely about anything. And she says "I mean, there are some religions I think I could just never be part of. Like I don't think I could ever be Muslim." And he says "I am Muslim." And she's like, "What? Like practicing and everything?" "Yes," he says. And she's like, "I thought maybe you were Hindu or Buddhist or something." And he says, "No." And she's starting to feel very uncomfortable all of a sudden because she has a feeling that she's kind of implying that it would be better if he were one of those other religions, or anything except Muslim. And she thinks, well I have this new friend from my art class and he's my neighbor and I'm walking home with him and now I've offended him. And she feels a little defensive, but she really can't think of anything to say. But then, maybe its like a shaft of light kind of pierces through her brain, and she says something like, "I'm sorry, that was a very stupid thing to say." And he immediately says, "thats okay." And its like a huge weight lifts off her shoulders.
Then he also says something like "Some people just haven't been exposed to other cultures very much." And she thinks, hmmm, that seems to imply that I am a closed minded person. I most certainly am not a closed minded person!
So then she says, "Well, I don't know, I know I don't want to be one now. But who knows, maybe I could be Muslim one day. I mean, I never really thought about it. But," now she feels like she's kind of going off on a grand, soaring arc, "I guess anything is possible. Like, maybe if I married a Muslim, or something like that, what do you think?" And for some reason she just thinks he will say reply by saying something like, "Oh yes, that'd be great!" However, that is not what he says. What he says is more along the lines of, "Well, I definitely don't think that you should do anything for the wrong reason." And, in a way. this answer kind of disappoints her slightly because it wasn't quite in the vein of her spontaneity. But then they get to his house and they part and they both agree that they are glad that they are so young that this is not something they really have to worry about.
old story--day one
There was once this young girl who had just moved to a new town, about 3,000 miles away from where she used to live. She began to make friends with a schoolmate, who was also her neighbor and he was in her art class. He was quite nice and maybe even a bit shy, although she could tell that liked to be social too. In class she drew his picture, in which he wore glasses and a backwards baseball cap. Some people came around to admire it because although it was not technically 100% accurate it was a good likeness. "I like the earring," one said (She'd given him one, just for fun. She thought that it kind of made him look like a pirate.)
One evening, she was talking about him to the people she lived with, who were kind of like family, and they were also kind of like her guardians. And these guardians said, "So you have made a new friend, that is very nice. What was his name?" And she said it and they said, "Oh, that name means he is Muslim. Well, we do think that it is very nice that you have a new friend. But, you seem to talk about him a lot. You were not thinking about dating him, were you?" And she said "I don't know, I haven't really thought about that yet, I'm just getting to know him." And they said "Well, those cultures do not treat women well, so we're just letting you know that we really don't think that you should." And she said "Well, you can't generalize about everybody." But they said, "No, we're serious. We do not think that men from those cultures treat women well and we really don't think that you should."
The girl had never been close friends with someone who was Muslim and most of what she knew about "the culture" came from a Social Studies class, which brought back images of things like a video of this guy getting run through with a sword in public and a large parade of men who had cut their heads and were marching down a street, bleeding and chanting. And, maybe there had been some discussions about the oppression of women, too. So, then she said, "Actually. I don't think that he is Muslim." Although a part of her felt wrong when she said it, as if it were some sort of a cop out. And the guardians were like, "No, no, he is Muslim, that name is definitely Muslim," and then she was like "You know what, forget it, I don't ever want to talk with you about this again." And she felt very oppressed and angry with them. And they were like, "What is wrong, we are not trying to control who you are friends with, we are only just trying to express that we are concerned..." and she was like "Just forget it. Don't ever talk to me about it again." And they were very amused with her for being so dramatic, but maybe they were also a bit distressed and could probably tell that she felt they were being wicked guardians.
One evening, she was talking about him to the people she lived with, who were kind of like family, and they were also kind of like her guardians. And these guardians said, "So you have made a new friend, that is very nice. What was his name?" And she said it and they said, "Oh, that name means he is Muslim. Well, we do think that it is very nice that you have a new friend. But, you seem to talk about him a lot. You were not thinking about dating him, were you?" And she said "I don't know, I haven't really thought about that yet, I'm just getting to know him." And they said "Well, those cultures do not treat women well, so we're just letting you know that we really don't think that you should." And she said "Well, you can't generalize about everybody." But they said, "No, we're serious. We do not think that men from those cultures treat women well and we really don't think that you should."
The girl had never been close friends with someone who was Muslim and most of what she knew about "the culture" came from a Social Studies class, which brought back images of things like a video of this guy getting run through with a sword in public and a large parade of men who had cut their heads and were marching down a street, bleeding and chanting. And, maybe there had been some discussions about the oppression of women, too. So, then she said, "Actually. I don't think that he is Muslim." Although a part of her felt wrong when she said it, as if it were some sort of a cop out. And the guardians were like, "No, no, he is Muslim, that name is definitely Muslim," and then she was like "You know what, forget it, I don't ever want to talk with you about this again." And she felt very oppressed and angry with them. And they were like, "What is wrong, we are not trying to control who you are friends with, we are only just trying to express that we are concerned..." and she was like "Just forget it. Don't ever talk to me about it again." And they were very amused with her for being so dramatic, but maybe they were also a bit distressed and could probably tell that she felt they were being wicked guardians.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Not as uplifting as Cats, but...
I'm remembering that The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien was a good (though painful) book that I read when I had to T.A. for Ol' Profesor Pobrecito Sexual Harrassment while I was in graduate school.
He (Profesor Pobrecito) did pick some good books, although I think he could have treated the "dumb coz" stuff a bit more sensitively. ("Why does he call the woman a 'dumb coz?'" he'd say, and the students wouldn't answer, so the air was heavy with silence, except that he kept saying the phrase over and over again, until I felt incredibly annoyed and stressed out and I thought, 'gee, maybe you're just focusing on this because you enjoy saying that phrase so much.'") I was tempted to write the author a letter about it.
He (Profesor Pobrecito) did pick some good books, although I think he could have treated the "dumb coz" stuff a bit more sensitively. ("Why does he call the woman a 'dumb coz?'" he'd say, and the students wouldn't answer, so the air was heavy with silence, except that he kept saying the phrase over and over again, until I felt incredibly annoyed and stressed out and I thought, 'gee, maybe you're just focusing on this because you enjoy saying that phrase so much.'") I was tempted to write the author a letter about it.
These are fun too!!!
The Naming of Cats
Grrr...the link is not working!!! Well here are the partial lyrics...
The Naming of Cats
The naming of cats is a difficult matter
It isn't just one of your holiday games
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
When I tell you a cat must have three different name
But I tell you a cat needs a name that's particular
A name that's peculiar, and more dignified
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
An Invitation to the Jellicle Ball
Partial lyrics...
Jellicle Cats meet once a year
At the Jellicle Ball where we all rejoice
And the Jellicle Leader will soon appear
And make what is known as the Jellicle Choice
When Old Deuteronomy, just before dawn
Through a silence you feel you could cut with a knife
Announces the cat who can now be reborn
And come back to a different Jellicle Life
For waiting up there is the Heaviside Layer
Full of wonders one Jellicle only will see
And Jellicles ask because Jellices dare:
Who will it be?
Grrr...the link is not working!!! Well here are the partial lyrics...
The Naming of Cats
The naming of cats is a difficult matter
It isn't just one of your holiday games
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
When I tell you a cat must have three different name
But I tell you a cat needs a name that's particular
A name that's peculiar, and more dignified
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
An Invitation to the Jellicle Ball
Partial lyrics...
Jellicle Cats meet once a year
At the Jellicle Ball where we all rejoice
And the Jellicle Leader will soon appear
And make what is known as the Jellicle Choice
When Old Deuteronomy, just before dawn
Through a silence you feel you could cut with a knife
Announces the cat who can now be reborn
And come back to a different Jellicle Life
For waiting up there is the Heaviside Layer
Full of wonders one Jellicle only will see
And Jellicles ask because Jellices dare:
Who will it be?
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
some very old pictures...
Monday, May 08, 2006
Cats songs lyrics
The Old Gumbie Cat
and
Old Deuteronomy were undoubtedly among the songs sung.
And what else did this girl sing to her dearest, almost-like-a-good-older-brother-neighbor friend?
She sang: Maria. (From West Side Story.)
She sang: Michelle. (by The Beatles.)
And from Cats, without question, she sang: Macavity!
and
Old Deuteronomy were undoubtedly among the songs sung.
And what else did this girl sing to her dearest, almost-like-a-good-older-brother-neighbor friend?
She sang: Maria. (From West Side Story.)
She sang: Michelle. (by The Beatles.)
And from Cats, without question, she sang: Macavity!
One day, this girl is sitting in art class across the table from her friend.
They do not have the same friends in the hallways at school. Nor do they have the same amount of friends.
Maybe this girl is like: The Callous Hippie.
Maybe her friend is like: The Conformist NonConformist.
However, for some reason, when she is around him, in art class, she always sings. She is quite silly. She is not like this in her other classes or with other people. She is quite subdued in school, otherwise. But Art class is her big escape. She sings the Beatles a lot. Today, she sings "Paperback Writer." She thinks he glances at her when she sings "And his clinging wife doesn't understand."
"Don't give me that," she thinks grouchily. "I'm not you're clinging anything, I am your friend, you know we could be better friends, and you could actually acknowledge me in the hallways when I try to say hello to you."
She sings, Help and
A Hard Day's Night and Hey, You've Got to Hide Your Love Away
But then a strange and unusual thing happens. She notices that he's not looking very well, and she hears him say "Will you please stop singing, I'm getting a headache."
She stops and she says, "Are you okay? You look like you're not feeling well. What's wrong?"
"Nothing, nothing."
"What is it?"
"Oh its nothing."
"Are you sure? Is anything wrong? You can tell me."
"No, I don't feel like talking about it."
"Are you sure???"
"Yes."
"Well...okay..."
And then it is quiet all the rest of the time until the bell rings, and maybe he says "That helped with my headache, when you quit singing, thanks," and he bolts for the glorious freedom and safety of...his hallway friends.
They do not have the same friends in the hallways at school. Nor do they have the same amount of friends.
Maybe this girl is like: The Callous Hippie.
Maybe her friend is like: The Conformist NonConformist.
However, for some reason, when she is around him, in art class, she always sings. She is quite silly. She is not like this in her other classes or with other people. She is quite subdued in school, otherwise. But Art class is her big escape. She sings the Beatles a lot. Today, she sings "Paperback Writer." She thinks he glances at her when she sings "And his clinging wife doesn't understand."
"Don't give me that," she thinks grouchily. "I'm not you're clinging anything, I am your friend, you know we could be better friends, and you could actually acknowledge me in the hallways when I try to say hello to you."
She sings, Help and
A Hard Day's Night and Hey, You've Got to Hide Your Love Away
But then a strange and unusual thing happens. She notices that he's not looking very well, and she hears him say "Will you please stop singing, I'm getting a headache."
She stops and she says, "Are you okay? You look like you're not feeling well. What's wrong?"
"Nothing, nothing."
"What is it?"
"Oh its nothing."
"Are you sure? Is anything wrong? You can tell me."
"No, I don't feel like talking about it."
"Are you sure???"
"Yes."
"Well...okay..."
And then it is quiet all the rest of the time until the bell rings, and maybe he says "That helped with my headache, when you quit singing, thanks," and he bolts for the glorious freedom and safety of...his hallway friends.
Train Station
One day, this girl (she is a lot older now) is alone, sitting outside of a train station. A man smelling of the liquor approaches her.
"Hi, how are you today?" he says, inches from her face.
She frowns (and maybe glares) behind her sunglasses.
"Excuse me," the man says more belligerently.
"May I sit here please?"
She says, "Go ahead."
"Thank you!" he sits beside of her.
"Would you like a drink?" he holds out the paper bag. It seems to have a tall can of beer in it.
She says, "No."
"Well, me neither!" he says to her.
She frowns.
He says "Hey, please tell me if I start acting like too much of an f-----g asshole, I mean," he looked pained, "not an f-----g asshole, but..."
She starts to gather her belongings.
"No, please don't leave. I'll leave," he says.
"No, thats okay." She gets up and walks towards the escalators, disappears down into the train station. She walks into the women's restroom and there are two young girls talking about whether or not they will be allowed into a bar.
"I mean, we're not f-----g sixteen anymore," they are saying. Its "f---" this and "f---" that. That is the language of the intoxicated and young, she thinks.
She is thinking of this memory/story she has of a time when she might've said something truly awful, and shocking. She wonders if it could be true, and if so, if what she said might have been like the straw that broke the camel's back.
"Hi, how are you today?" he says, inches from her face.
She frowns (and maybe glares) behind her sunglasses.
"Excuse me," the man says more belligerently.
"May I sit here please?"
She says, "Go ahead."
"Thank you!" he sits beside of her.
"Would you like a drink?" he holds out the paper bag. It seems to have a tall can of beer in it.
She says, "No."
"Well, me neither!" he says to her.
She frowns.
He says "Hey, please tell me if I start acting like too much of an f-----g asshole, I mean," he looked pained, "not an f-----g asshole, but..."
She starts to gather her belongings.
"No, please don't leave. I'll leave," he says.
"No, thats okay." She gets up and walks towards the escalators, disappears down into the train station. She walks into the women's restroom and there are two young girls talking about whether or not they will be allowed into a bar.
"I mean, we're not f-----g sixteen anymore," they are saying. Its "f---" this and "f---" that. That is the language of the intoxicated and young, she thinks.
She is thinking of this memory/story she has of a time when she might've said something truly awful, and shocking. She wonders if it could be true, and if so, if what she said might have been like the straw that broke the camel's back.
Friday, May 05, 2006
mucho song lyrics
There was once this girl who liked to sing incessantly in art class.
She'd be sitting at a table with several boys and a girl. On a West Side Story kind of day, she'd sing
I Feel Pretty or
Maria (making her voice sound very low and dramatic) and
America and maybe some sections from
Officer Krupke or Tonight.
Or, she might sing some songs from Cats. "I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jenny Any Dots" or "Jellicle Cats come out tonight, jellicle cats come one, come all..."
"That one sounds stupid," any of the boys might have commented.
She'd sing Growltiger's Last Stand.
"I like that one better," one of the boys said.
"How come?"
"I don't know, I just do."
She sang some of
Gus the Theatre Cat and said, "That one is interesting because at the end he says he used to play Growltiger."
And she'd probably sing Grizzabella the Glamour Cat and Memory. Grizzabella was her favorite and the other girl at the table really liked Memory.
She liked to sing some Beatles songs. Like Eleanor Rigby.
Also Norwegian Wood,
Michelle A Hard Days Night, And I Love Her, Back in the U.S.S.R. etcetra.
The other girl would sing some of those Beatles songs too.
The boys mostly listened.
She'd be sitting at a table with several boys and a girl. On a West Side Story kind of day, she'd sing
I Feel Pretty or
Maria (making her voice sound very low and dramatic) and
America and maybe some sections from
Officer Krupke or Tonight.
Or, she might sing some songs from Cats. "I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jenny Any Dots" or "Jellicle Cats come out tonight, jellicle cats come one, come all..."
"That one sounds stupid," any of the boys might have commented.
She'd sing Growltiger's Last Stand.
"I like that one better," one of the boys said.
"How come?"
"I don't know, I just do."
She sang some of
Gus the Theatre Cat and said, "That one is interesting because at the end he says he used to play Growltiger."
And she'd probably sing Grizzabella the Glamour Cat and Memory. Grizzabella was her favorite and the other girl at the table really liked Memory.
She liked to sing some Beatles songs. Like Eleanor Rigby.
Also Norwegian Wood,
Michelle A Hard Days Night, And I Love Her, Back in the U.S.S.R. etcetra.
The other girl would sing some of those Beatles songs too.
The boys mostly listened.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
whale things
While staying in a hotel in Chicago for the IRA conference, we discovered that it has a large mural of whales by an artist named Wyland. Here's a picture of it on someone else's blog...
Link to Chicago Wyland Whale Mural
However, the commenters on that particular blog are quite negative about it...well, whatever. We liked it!
Also met Jerry Spinelli (author of Night of the Whale) briefly. My friend snapped our picture and I purchased two other children's books by him. Stargirl and Milkweed.
For a little while, at my job, I was actually compelled to read a passage about a whale over and over again. Also I used to know of a website that had pictures of the four legged ancestor to a whale, a very strange-looking beast, but I've forgotten where it is.
Link to Chicago Wyland Whale Mural
However, the commenters on that particular blog are quite negative about it...well, whatever. We liked it!
Also met Jerry Spinelli (author of Night of the Whale) briefly. My friend snapped our picture and I purchased two other children's books by him. Stargirl and Milkweed.
For a little while, at my job, I was actually compelled to read a passage about a whale over and over again. Also I used to know of a website that had pictures of the four legged ancestor to a whale, a very strange-looking beast, but I've forgotten where it is.
Friday, April 28, 2006
Talking about face
There were once two young friends (a boy and a girl) sitting across from each other at a table, in a class. Although they were normally accompanied by others, today its just them. The girl thinks she would not mind for it to be this way more often. Although it would probably be too bad for him if he didn't share himself with everyone, since he is an outgoing person. But, for today, she enjoys it. Also, they were also very cultured individuals; they enjoyed discussing art.
She said: "Like, it was fun when I drew that one picture of your face."
"Oh," he said, "my face is not that remarkable. I mean, I'm not saying that theres anything wrong with it, but, I always thought that an artist would want to draw a face with more interesting features."
She said, "No, you really do have a remarkable face."
"Oh, its not that great."
"Yes, it is. Its a very remarkable face!"
"Oh, stop it."
"It is a remarkable face."
"You're making me feel like I was fishing for a compliment."
"But it really is a very remarkable face," she said. "It is."
His eyes communicated a look, like, "Thats enough," and he became very quiet.
Then she noticed that people all around them, who normally would be talking, have all grown quiet for some reason. The two who had been speaking at the table became quiet, also. She thinks, "Now we are listening to the sound of people listening."
She said: "Like, it was fun when I drew that one picture of your face."
"Oh," he said, "my face is not that remarkable. I mean, I'm not saying that theres anything wrong with it, but, I always thought that an artist would want to draw a face with more interesting features."
She said, "No, you really do have a remarkable face."
"Oh, its not that great."
"Yes, it is. Its a very remarkable face!"
"Oh, stop it."
"It is a remarkable face."
"You're making me feel like I was fishing for a compliment."
"But it really is a very remarkable face," she said. "It is."
His eyes communicated a look, like, "Thats enough," and he became very quiet.
Then she noticed that people all around them, who normally would be talking, have all grown quiet for some reason. The two who had been speaking at the table became quiet, also. She thinks, "Now we are listening to the sound of people listening."
singing
There was once 3 young friends of different faiths and they were also individuals with different talents. They could make each other laugh. And they could (possibly?) all sing. For their faiths, the initials are: J, C & M. J & C liked each other, but, perhaps, each one liked M just a little better. There were once two girls and one boy, all sitting at a table. The two girls liked music a lot and were fans of mixed tapes and etcetra. One especially always liked to sing, and sometimes both of them would sing. And the boy would rather make fun of the singing but he did it in a relatively good-natured way, and it was funny.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Stories, etc.
I'm going to be off and exploring more of the city of Chicago soon as a result of attending the IRA conference next week...that will be fun...
I have been thinking that maybe I will be writing some stories in this thing. I feel a bit inspired, recently. I have begun to contemplate: suppose you had a friend once, who did not have a remarkable face. (It was a just reasonably attractive face. But the person had, nonetheless, a remarkable soul. To you.) How could you recognize the face after a decade had passed? It would be so much easier, if the face had had something remarkable about it. A hooked nose, perhaps. But alas, there had been nothing of this in the old friend's face. But the soul had seemed remarkable. And because of this strange window of time in which you and the other person had met, there would be, less than any judgement, mostly a feeling of interest on your part, with regard to whatever had occured to this person on their path of life. It would be difficult to recognize the face but enjoyable to see it again after ten plus years. If it were ever possible.
Another children's book I have read recently: The Second Mrs. Giaconda by E. L. Konisburg. Its all about Leonardo da Vinci and Beatrice and Il Moro (Ludovico Sforza) as told through the eyes of a young assistant to Leonardo. I can't help but like the way Beatrice is portrayed, in that book. Its part of a Barnes and Noble endcap about Leonardo Da Vinci. Borders, for all their Da Vinci Code paraphenalia, posters and such, has no copies of it...
Also, maybe one of these days I will post some pictures in here. But I don't know if I can post any right now, because I still use the internet in the library and not at my apartment!
Now I feel like I should post some words of wisdom or a special quote, but none comes to me...so, perhaps another time...
I have been thinking that maybe I will be writing some stories in this thing. I feel a bit inspired, recently. I have begun to contemplate: suppose you had a friend once, who did not have a remarkable face. (It was a just reasonably attractive face. But the person had, nonetheless, a remarkable soul. To you.) How could you recognize the face after a decade had passed? It would be so much easier, if the face had had something remarkable about it. A hooked nose, perhaps. But alas, there had been nothing of this in the old friend's face. But the soul had seemed remarkable. And because of this strange window of time in which you and the other person had met, there would be, less than any judgement, mostly a feeling of interest on your part, with regard to whatever had occured to this person on their path of life. It would be difficult to recognize the face but enjoyable to see it again after ten plus years. If it were ever possible.
Another children's book I have read recently: The Second Mrs. Giaconda by E. L. Konisburg. Its all about Leonardo da Vinci and Beatrice and Il Moro (Ludovico Sforza) as told through the eyes of a young assistant to Leonardo. I can't help but like the way Beatrice is portrayed, in that book. Its part of a Barnes and Noble endcap about Leonardo Da Vinci. Borders, for all their Da Vinci Code paraphenalia, posters and such, has no copies of it...
Also, maybe one of these days I will post some pictures in here. But I don't know if I can post any right now, because I still use the internet in the library and not at my apartment!
Now I feel like I should post some words of wisdom or a special quote, but none comes to me...so, perhaps another time...
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
It is not impossible...
that a variety of circumstances could conspire to create a new and strange incidence of something else. And all the little unspoken rules that conspired to keep something as whatever it was could be forgotten and then come back to you and arrange themselves into new and strange forms. And this goes on daily. Under a multitude of roofs and skies and in the name of millions of varieties of religions.
Some "memories" come back and they could be stories and perhaps not provable facts, and yet these stories could be the fruits of a portion of reality that once was, which for some reason has come flooding back into your present, and has wormed itself strangely into your brain, is turning into something else in your heart or psyche, and is part of a remembering of what you once were and then you take that and another self is born out of that.
Some "memories" come back and they could be stories and perhaps not provable facts, and yet these stories could be the fruits of a portion of reality that once was, which for some reason has come flooding back into your present, and has wormed itself strangely into your brain, is turning into something else in your heart or psyche, and is part of a remembering of what you once were and then you take that and another self is born out of that.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
poems and old pictures
Yesterday I went to a poetry thing and actually read some poems. (They were from T.S. Eliot's Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats.)Some good poems (including one about having German heritage, and a satirical one about T.S. Eliot's Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock ) were also read. And a guy did a spoken word poem he'd written in Harrisburg, PA which was really good.
I remember that I used to listen to the Cats poems a lot in highschool. I listened to a lot of musicals. I used to go into art class and sing them and annoy people. Especially this one from West Side Story. "I am pretty, Oh so pretty..."B ut there was a friend I had who didn't seem to mind being annoyed ;-)
His name was Umar, and he was one of the first people I met. We lived in the same townhouse complex. In retrospect, I thought I was maybe meant to meet him, too. Before I'd left Vashon and moved to Virginia, I'd been told (by a certain source) "there will be one you will know immediately who will bring much laughter to ye, and this is a promise." And thats exactly what happened on many of those days in art class. He had a gift for making people laugh.
On the first day of art class, I sat across from him and drew his portrait by looking upside down into the mirror. First, the chin, next the nose, etc...it was pretty good, I must say. He drew one of me but he wasn't impressed with it. I looked like a "cave woman" or something, I think he said. But he looked at mine and said "its like I'm looking in the mirror!" Actually mine was not technically that great but for some reason it did end up looking a lot like him.
I think he was one for whom I felt agape...but there is not much of a language for that in highschool. I had not thought about him in quite a while but when I went home to Virginia, I found that old picture I'd drawn of him. I looked at it for a long while, and then I threw it out. But...perhaps I should've kept it.
I remember that I used to listen to the Cats poems a lot in highschool. I listened to a lot of musicals. I used to go into art class and sing them and annoy people. Especially this one from West Side Story. "I am pretty, Oh so pretty..."B ut there was a friend I had who didn't seem to mind being annoyed ;-)
His name was Umar, and he was one of the first people I met. We lived in the same townhouse complex. In retrospect, I thought I was maybe meant to meet him, too. Before I'd left Vashon and moved to Virginia, I'd been told (by a certain source) "there will be one you will know immediately who will bring much laughter to ye, and this is a promise." And thats exactly what happened on many of those days in art class. He had a gift for making people laugh.
On the first day of art class, I sat across from him and drew his portrait by looking upside down into the mirror. First, the chin, next the nose, etc...it was pretty good, I must say. He drew one of me but he wasn't impressed with it. I looked like a "cave woman" or something, I think he said. But he looked at mine and said "its like I'm looking in the mirror!" Actually mine was not technically that great but for some reason it did end up looking a lot like him.
I think he was one for whom I felt agape...but there is not much of a language for that in highschool. I had not thought about him in quite a while but when I went home to Virginia, I found that old picture I'd drawn of him. I looked at it for a long while, and then I threw it out. But...perhaps I should've kept it.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Walk. Book.
Its interesting to walk around this area. I can see the kids playing in the parks around small ponds and lakes. There are birds and big airplanes from O'Hare and small airplanes from Schaumburg and, well, the sky never sleeps, so thats what you get when you walk in the suburbs around Chicago.
In bookstores with many Da Vinci Code posters in the windows, I've been reading Scent of God: A Memoir by Beryl Bissell.
In bookstores with many Da Vinci Code posters in the windows, I've been reading Scent of God: A Memoir by Beryl Bissell.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
April Days
Sumer is i-cumen in, lhude sing cucu etectra.
Taxes done.
Visited Michigan and also the farm "up north" ("Isn't this an empire? I mean compared to the livingroom?" my grandfather asked us).
Weather was stormy on the way back on Sunday. Nothing was open. It was more like 6 hours from Ann Arbor (as opposed to the more usual 4 1/2). Changed cat carrier paper in electrical rainstorm at a Cracker Barrel in Indiana.
Maybe I should photos of my sister ripping apart an old fainting couch to get at a musty old 1925 newspaper stuffed inside of it.
And of her dog, whose fur matches the feather of red chickens.
Taxes done.
Visited Michigan and also the farm "up north" ("Isn't this an empire? I mean compared to the livingroom?" my grandfather asked us).
Weather was stormy on the way back on Sunday. Nothing was open. It was more like 6 hours from Ann Arbor (as opposed to the more usual 4 1/2). Changed cat carrier paper in electrical rainstorm at a Cracker Barrel in Indiana.
Maybe I should photos of my sister ripping apart an old fainting couch to get at a musty old 1925 newspaper stuffed inside of it.
And of her dog, whose fur matches the feather of red chickens.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Impossible
Some definitions, as given by children.
Impossible--Something-somebody is the same as you.
Impossible--You do something you are proud of.
Impossible--It's impossible.
Impossible--If somebody says their baby brother is psychic or can jump all the way to the sky.
Impossible--Something-somebody is the same as you.
Impossible--You do something you are proud of.
Impossible--It's impossible.
Impossible--If somebody says their baby brother is psychic or can jump all the way to the sky.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
She was Scottish, rather.
A book I liked very much at age 12 is: Shadow in Hawthorne Bay by Janet Lunn.
I tried to reread it. Was not the same. Oh well. I guess I'm no longer 12 or living on an island in a house surrounded by Scotch Broom. But it is still good. I might've been influenced by the book cover, too. The copy that the Schaumburg Public Library has a different version. I favor the cover on the copy I owned, which is at my mother's house in N.C., and it is also the one featured on the author's website.
I was always rather into the book's cover, actually. I was a visually oriented person. I always tried to be an artist. In all of my favorite books, I would draw many clumsy (but heart-soaring!!!) illustrations inside of them.
She's very interesting, this author (Janet Lunn). She sets her books around her own home. The Root Cellar was another good one.
Also really liked Emily Climbs by L.M. Montgomery, around this time. Here again, I think I was very interested in the book cover. The only version of the book cover that I can find on the web is athttp://skins.perildeity.net/lmm.php It looks all scrambled up.
It would be fun to collect various esoteric book covers and frame them. Well maybe.
Next, I want to figure out the author and title of another good book I read back when I was about 12. It was set in medieval times (in France maybe?) and the main character was a young woman whose uncle was an inventor of a new kind of clock. She goes to live with him for a time. There was kind of a lot of violence in this book. I think it opens up with her family getting killed, for example, and she does not escape unscathed. Oh yes...and she had a little brother who was different--like a mute or an albino or something, and she has to watch out for him.
I tried to reread it. Was not the same. Oh well. I guess I'm no longer 12 or living on an island in a house surrounded by Scotch Broom. But it is still good. I might've been influenced by the book cover, too. The copy that the Schaumburg Public Library has a different version. I favor the cover on the copy I owned, which is at my mother's house in N.C., and it is also the one featured on the author's website.
I was always rather into the book's cover, actually. I was a visually oriented person. I always tried to be an artist. In all of my favorite books, I would draw many clumsy (but heart-soaring!!!) illustrations inside of them.
She's very interesting, this author (Janet Lunn). She sets her books around her own home. The Root Cellar was another good one.
Also really liked Emily Climbs by L.M. Montgomery, around this time. Here again, I think I was very interested in the book cover. The only version of the book cover that I can find on the web is athttp://skins.perildeity.net/lmm.php It looks all scrambled up.
It would be fun to collect various esoteric book covers and frame them. Well maybe.
Next, I want to figure out the author and title of another good book I read back when I was about 12. It was set in medieval times (in France maybe?) and the main character was a young woman whose uncle was an inventor of a new kind of clock. She goes to live with him for a time. There was kind of a lot of violence in this book. I think it opens up with her family getting killed, for example, and she does not escape unscathed. Oh yes...and she had a little brother who was different--like a mute or an albino or something, and she has to watch out for him.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Cloze Procedure
"The word cloze is related to the concept of closure, the human tendency to complete a partly finished pattern, to pick out key words and rely on language repetition in English discourse. The theory originated in Gestalt psychology and assumes that in figuring out the missing word, the mind goes through a process of sampling, predicting, testing, and confirming the appropriate word choice."
("Assessment Report, Communications Discipline", by Roslyn Dixon, Communications Assessment Coordinator, Douglas College, June 1, 1989)
"There is controversy regarding the use of cloze procedure in determining the readability of written materials. This controversy is based on the fact that cloze is a subjective evaluation that mirrors the language ability and background of information of the person taking the test."
(Annette T. Rabin, "Determining Difficulty Levels of Text Written in Languages Other than English" in Zakaluk and Samuels, p.46-76)
From a section entitled "What is Cloze procedure?" at http://www.gopdg.com/plainlanguage/readability.html
("Assessment Report, Communications Discipline", by Roslyn Dixon, Communications Assessment Coordinator, Douglas College, June 1, 1989)
"There is controversy regarding the use of cloze procedure in determining the readability of written materials. This controversy is based on the fact that cloze is a subjective evaluation that mirrors the language ability and background of information of the person taking the test."
(Annette T. Rabin, "Determining Difficulty Levels of Text Written in Languages Other than English" in Zakaluk and Samuels, p.46-76)
From a section entitled "What is Cloze procedure?" at http://www.gopdg.com/plainlanguage/readability.html
"IN childhood I had a friend, -- not a house friend, domestic, stuffy in association; nor yet herdsman, or horseman, or farmer, or slave of bench, or shop, or office; nor of letters, nor art, nor society; but a free, friendly, youthful-seeming man, who wandered in from unknown woods or fields without knocking, --
'Between the night and day
When the fairy king has power,' --
as the ballad says, passed by the elders' doors, but straightway sought out the children, brightened up the wood-fire forthwith; and it seemed as if it were the effect of a wholesome brave north wind, more than of the armful of "cat-sticks" which he would bring in from the yard."
From Preface to Henry Thoreau as Remembered by a Young Friend by Edward Emerson.
http://www.vcu.edu/engweb/transcendentalism/authors/thoreau/youngfriend.html
'Between the night and day
When the fairy king has power,' --
as the ballad says, passed by the elders' doors, but straightway sought out the children, brightened up the wood-fire forthwith; and it seemed as if it were the effect of a wholesome brave north wind, more than of the armful of "cat-sticks" which he would bring in from the yard."
From Preface to Henry Thoreau as Remembered by a Young Friend by Edward Emerson.
http://www.vcu.edu/engweb/transcendentalism/authors/thoreau/youngfriend.html
Robert Herrick. 1591–1674
259. Upon Julia's Clothes
WHENAS in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows
The liquefaction of her clothes!
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave vibration each way free, 5
—O how that glittering taketh me!
http://www.bartleby.com/101/259.html
259. Upon Julia's Clothes
WHENAS in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows
The liquefaction of her clothes!
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave vibration each way free, 5
—O how that glittering taketh me!
http://www.bartleby.com/101/259.html
Mary Rowlandson
"I can remember the time, when I used to sleep quietly without workings in my thoughts, whole nights together, but now it is other wayes with me. When all are fast about me, and no eye open, but his who ever waketh', my thoughts are upon things past, upon the awfull dispensation of the Lord towards us; upon his wonderfull power and might, in carrying of us through so many difficulties, in returning us in safety and suffering none to hurt us. I remember in the night season, how the other day I was in the midst of thousands of enemies and nothing but death before me: It is then hard work to perswade my self, that ever I should be satisfied with bread again. But now we are fed with the finest of the Wheat, and as I may say, With honey out of the rock:"
Quote from Soveraignty and Goodness of God by Mary Rowlandson
http://narcissus.umd.edu/eada/html/display.jsp?docs=rowlandson_narrative.xml&action=show
Quote from Soveraignty and Goodness of God by Mary Rowlandson
http://narcissus.umd.edu/eada/html/display.jsp?docs=rowlandson_narrative.xml&action=show
Book
I just got an e-mail from an old friend in Virginia who says she has 4 different boyfriends right now. FOUR. Good lord.
Right now, I'm looking for a book I read when I was younger. I'd really like to find it. It was about an Irish girl named Mary (it was something like Mairie but it gets changed after she immigrates to Canada) who is haunted by the ghost of her deceased cousin, Duncan. She lives by a lake in a cabin. In Canada. She's about 16 in the story, I think. I was very in love with this book when I was about 12. Now I can't even remember the name of it. Or the author. I went on Amazon.com and was trying to find it. I didn't. I did find some old books by Mary Stoltz that I liked when I was about 12. Cat in the Mirror. Pangur Ban. There are no photos of the books' covers. Thats rather sad.
I and Pangur Ban my cat,
'Tis a like task we are at:
Hunting mice is his delight,
Hunting words I sit all night.
(Anonymous guy in medieval Ireland)
Okay. So, I am 12, I live in that house on the bluff on the South of End of Vashon, I am vegetarian, the wind howls by my room, which is next to a massive bunch of scotch broom, which gets all bent over (by the wind), I have the same cat that I have now, and in the morning, after I cook my oatmeal on the woodstove (instant oatmeal and water that is) I walk exactly a mile to the bus, but I miss it (oops) and stay home, and hang out in the woods, or read my book...WHAT IS THE NAME OF IT???
Right now, I'm looking for a book I read when I was younger. I'd really like to find it. It was about an Irish girl named Mary (it was something like Mairie but it gets changed after she immigrates to Canada) who is haunted by the ghost of her deceased cousin, Duncan. She lives by a lake in a cabin. In Canada. She's about 16 in the story, I think. I was very in love with this book when I was about 12. Now I can't even remember the name of it. Or the author. I went on Amazon.com and was trying to find it. I didn't. I did find some old books by Mary Stoltz that I liked when I was about 12. Cat in the Mirror. Pangur Ban. There are no photos of the books' covers. Thats rather sad.
I and Pangur Ban my cat,
'Tis a like task we are at:
Hunting mice is his delight,
Hunting words I sit all night.
(Anonymous guy in medieval Ireland)
Okay. So, I am 12, I live in that house on the bluff on the South of End of Vashon, I am vegetarian, the wind howls by my room, which is next to a massive bunch of scotch broom, which gets all bent over (by the wind), I have the same cat that I have now, and in the morning, after I cook my oatmeal on the woodstove (instant oatmeal and water that is) I walk exactly a mile to the bus, but I miss it (oops) and stay home, and hang out in the woods, or read my book...WHAT IS THE NAME OF IT???
Monday, April 03, 2006
A belief in transmigration is like thinking that...
Fathers have sons who become fathers who have daughters.
Some women have been fathers. Some sons became sisters.
Some women have been fathers. Some sons became sisters.
On a radio show, a man said, if you don't sit around the table with your family and thank God for them, then your children will grow up to seek "amor en la calle!" Amor en la calle. Isn't it what writers have celebrated for centuries? Oh, I grew weary listening to him. "Hay caminos, hay piedras en los caminos" he was saying, to the woman, who barely spoke. "La vida no es facil." His voice was powerful, strong, and chastising. Oh he is just playing God! I was frustrated. I switched it off. I had to remove a heaviness from myself. I said "Ah..." It came out sounding like "Abba."
I also thought today, I could imagine a man mournfully paddling away his existence in the face of denied paternity. I don't know if I like how that sounds though. I mean the latter part. I mean, its not the same as the whole, I'm just a human being on a lake. When you throw words like "denied paternity" into it. Then it becomes all one thing. To the mind...
I also thought today, I could imagine a man mournfully paddling away his existence in the face of denied paternity. I don't know if I like how that sounds though. I mean the latter part. I mean, its not the same as the whole, I'm just a human being on a lake. When you throw words like "denied paternity" into it. Then it becomes all one thing. To the mind...
Friday, March 31, 2006
Firecrack Rock
Is one of the few things that its hard to find anything about on the internet. I was just looking for links about it. Some archaeologists don’t’ respect it. Maybe its because its more about women? (Women tending the hearth, making tools at the hearth and whatnot).
My sister’s going to be studying that in grad school.
My sister’s going to be studying that in grad school.
Old Work Memory
Once I went on a business trip to San Antonio, I spoke with a waiter who asked me about myself. Do you speak Spanish? I said “mas o menos.”
“You should learn it. Its going to be a very important language in this country.” He told me.
I said “I know.”
We talked about literature He said he liked Walt Whitman. “Because he was against slavery. He was a very advanced thinker of the time. He helped a lot of people change their minds.”
It would seem to me that literature is at least a little worthwhile if it addresses some social issues. It could be slavery, war, “women’s issues” (broad topic, I know) etc.
Not that I don’t enjoy a little bit of marzipan now and then.
I do! In fact, I had a bar of it, covered in chocolate, last night.
“You should learn it. Its going to be a very important language in this country.” He told me.
I said “I know.”
We talked about literature He said he liked Walt Whitman. “Because he was against slavery. He was a very advanced thinker of the time. He helped a lot of people change their minds.”
It would seem to me that literature is at least a little worthwhile if it addresses some social issues. It could be slavery, war, “women’s issues” (broad topic, I know) etc.
Not that I don’t enjoy a little bit of marzipan now and then.
I do! In fact, I had a bar of it, covered in chocolate, last night.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Ah, weather.
The weather tonight kind of makes me think of other times.
Like maybe, the times of the Danes and the Saxons and Jutes or something.
It's all drizzle-y.
Like maybe, the times of the Danes and the Saxons and Jutes or something.
It's all drizzle-y.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Prescriptions
My friend and her friend made a trip to New York City from Virginia recently, to Sotheby's to bid on some plaster casts being auctioned off by the Met. They stayed with my friend's aunt, who is Chinese, and she and gave them these little radios which played the Buddhist prayers. They were very helpful, my friend says, because the truck they rented kept breaking down (she had to remove the front of the dashboard to turn on the lights). Her friend was recently diagnosed with MS and it was a difficult trip for her. But the radios playing the Buddhist prayers helped them to de-stress.
In some books I have read recently, a Buddhist monk prompts a student to find Buddhism in Christianity in Vows: The Story of A Priest, A Nun, and Their Son. Another Buddhist monk speaks of a time he realized the effects of his "loose and ill-considered advice" (on himself) in "Caught in Indra's Net" by Hwansoo Kim. Blue Jean Buddha. Ed. Sumi Loundon.
Not everyone's poison is the same, so not everyone requires the same remedy. How could there be one blanket prescription for all? That makes no sense. I might know that I can enjoy visiting wineries, and be able to buy one bottle of wine and consume it slowly, moderately over the span of one week. But maybe, at this point in life, a pint of icecream is what really slays me. Last night, I read The Virgin of Bennington by Kathleen Norris with one glass of wine. I will likely do the same thing tonight.
Norris is interesting. She left New York and writes about Christianity in her grandmother's house South Dakota.
Also, the late priest Henri Nouwen, I find, has some rather nice things to communicate.
In some books I have read recently, a Buddhist monk prompts a student to find Buddhism in Christianity in Vows: The Story of A Priest, A Nun, and Their Son. Another Buddhist monk speaks of a time he realized the effects of his "loose and ill-considered advice" (on himself) in "Caught in Indra's Net" by Hwansoo Kim. Blue Jean Buddha. Ed. Sumi Loundon.
Not everyone's poison is the same, so not everyone requires the same remedy. How could there be one blanket prescription for all? That makes no sense. I might know that I can enjoy visiting wineries, and be able to buy one bottle of wine and consume it slowly, moderately over the span of one week. But maybe, at this point in life, a pint of icecream is what really slays me. Last night, I read The Virgin of Bennington by Kathleen Norris with one glass of wine. I will likely do the same thing tonight.
Norris is interesting. She left New York and writes about Christianity in her grandmother's house South Dakota.
Also, the late priest Henri Nouwen, I find, has some rather nice things to communicate.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Poems Post
Today's my mother's birthday. She is a sort of petite, southern, auburn haired woman. Currently living in North Carolina. She's going out for Mexican food tonight with her sister.
Here's a poem she used to read to me (I loved it) when I was little:
Little Orphant Annie
Here's a poem my ex-boyfriend in Peru liked a lot. He had it memorized in school. The translation is by my friend Chris's mother:
Los Heraldos Negros
My Chicagoland friend says April is National Poetry month. She's going to try to have a "Poetry Potluck" and display a poem a day outside of her cube.
Here's a poem she used to read to me (I loved it) when I was little:
Little Orphant Annie
Here's a poem my ex-boyfriend in Peru liked a lot. He had it memorized in school. The translation is by my friend Chris's mother:
Los Heraldos Negros
My Chicagoland friend says April is National Poetry month. She's going to try to have a "Poetry Potluck" and display a poem a day outside of her cube.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Item: When I went home (whereever that is this weekend...pick a state, Virginia, Michigan, North Carolina, New York...) and took a shower at some point, when I stepped out and looked at the mirror someone had drawn a heart, with a finger, in the steam, of a lopsided heart, with a big scribble inside of it. Freaky.
Item: I do not understand people who have lived in one state their whole life. Therefore, such people probably do not understand me. So I think today. Tomorrow all could change.
Item: Some memories might strike one as old excuses, much like a flabby stack of tortillas, all sitting in a stomach, my stomach, and there they lie, a soggy stack. Mil gracias. Hmmm. I don't know if those italics will work.
Item: I'm getting reacquainted with Spanish. Those working on Spanish tests, or at the Roselle International Market who speak Spanish, deserve many thanks.
Item: I do not understand people who have lived in one state their whole life. Therefore, such people probably do not understand me. So I think today. Tomorrow all could change.
Item: Some memories might strike one as old excuses, much like a flabby stack of tortillas, all sitting in a stomach, my stomach, and there they lie, a soggy stack. Mil gracias. Hmmm. I don't know if those italics will work.
Item: I'm getting reacquainted with Spanish. Those working on Spanish tests, or at the Roselle International Market who speak Spanish, deserve many thanks.
Monday, March 20, 2006
HOLA JAIME, gracias por tu mensaje, y felicitaciones en tu nuevo trabajo, espero que tu compras tu motorcycle muy pronto! Check this out, mi gato se llama Max tambien but he's not quite got the health problems of this cat, fortunately.Cat Antics He's got a lion cut like my cat had last summer, though... (My mom gave it to him).
Friday, March 17, 2006
Night Walks With Cat
Supposedly my new apt. complex doesn’t allow you to let your pets out. (I discovered this only the day I moved in). But last night, I went for a night walk with my cat around part of the little lake. No leash, just me and the cat walking around. It was fun. And it seemed to cure him of the adorable habit of batting at the blinds (very noisy) to wake me up in the middle of the night. I shall be taking more of these.
Ahora me voy a la casa de mi amiga para comer corned beef cabbage y varios platos stereotypicos por Dia de Santo Patricio.
Ahora me voy a la casa de mi amiga para comer corned beef cabbage y varios platos stereotypicos por Dia de Santo Patricio.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
I’ve relocated.
Missed the river being dyed for St. Patrick’s Day.
Still no internet in the apt.
An author of a now rather obscure book I really liked, Night of the Whale, is going to be at the IRA conference in Chicago. This book was about a bunch of kids on a newspaper staff who go to the beach after their highschool graduation. While there, they are confronted with the problem of beached whales. I wish I still had this book. It was very good in terms of describing realistic relationships. In retrospect, it seemed to almost foreshadow some of the types of people I would meet when I was older. And it did not treat the beached whale issue too lightly.
Night of the Whale
Missed the river being dyed for St. Patrick’s Day.
Still no internet in the apt.
An author of a now rather obscure book I really liked, Night of the Whale, is going to be at the IRA conference in Chicago. This book was about a bunch of kids on a newspaper staff who go to the beach after their highschool graduation. While there, they are confronted with the problem of beached whales. I wish I still had this book. It was very good in terms of describing realistic relationships. In retrospect, it seemed to almost foreshadow some of the types of people I would meet when I was older. And it did not treat the beached whale issue too lightly.
Night of the Whale
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Gosh, I am fond of not packing. NOT PACKING, NOT MOVING BOXES OF STUFF, YES!!!
Rejuvenating.
Also I still like watching old clips from the Olympics on nbc.com. Like the ones from Salt Lake City about the Canadians Jamie Sale and David Pelltier. And the ones with David Chapelle kind of put me in another frame of mind too. So maybe I'll have to get some kind of internet hook up soon. I go off to-morrow to Roselle, IL, a town with a winery.
Here's my Chicagoland friend's website with old pics from last year of a statue of Thoreau wearing my coat. Ta-da!
Razumihin
Rejuvenating.
Also I still like watching old clips from the Olympics on nbc.com. Like the ones from Salt Lake City about the Canadians Jamie Sale and David Pelltier. And the ones with David Chapelle kind of put me in another frame of mind too. So maybe I'll have to get some kind of internet hook up soon. I go off to-morrow to Roselle, IL, a town with a winery.
Here's my Chicagoland friend's website with old pics from last year of a statue of Thoreau wearing my coat. Ta-da!
Razumihin
Packing and traveling long distance can be a chore.
Overall moving is probably good.
Better job, better place.
Not having to deal with certain things I have to deal with in current living situation.
But oh...new place in chicagoland with landscaping and dishwasher and a pool in the apartment complex....
do not let me forget how happy I could be in my little studio in upstate NY in a sketchy neighborhood and thin walls next to the local bar...
or in other words....do not whitewash me of artistic integrity
this I humbly pray.
Overall moving is probably good.
Better job, better place.
Not having to deal with certain things I have to deal with in current living situation.
But oh...new place in chicagoland with landscaping and dishwasher and a pool in the apartment complex....
do not let me forget how happy I could be in my little studio in upstate NY in a sketchy neighborhood and thin walls next to the local bar...
or in other words....do not whitewash me of artistic integrity
this I humbly pray.
Yawn
I'm so bored with stuff, and, I'm so bored with myself hauling around boxes of stuff. Bored. Bored. Bored of bored.
Write a short story about boredom, Kuan Yin, and ravioli in 5 minutes. Ready, set, go!!!
Write a short story about boredom, Kuan Yin, and ravioli in 5 minutes. Ready, set, go!!!
Moving
forces you to recognize clutter
(of thoughts, things, etc.)
Not everything has to be a double entendre.
I have no idea why
human beings accumulate
so...much...stuff!!!
(of thoughts, things, etc.)
Not everything has to be a double entendre.
I have no idea why
human beings accumulate
so...much...stuff!!!
I'm packing a few more things, taking trips down the long ha-ha of memory.
Once, there was a really big rain storm at one of the lodges in Peru. I was sure that I had never seen or experienced such a monsoon in the states. My 19-20 something self decided, lets go for a walk in the rain! My boyfriend at the time really didn't want to--it wasn't that special to him--but I insisted, and so we did. All the other guides (mostly Australians) looked at us as though we were nuts. And thats what it was...A FORCED WALK IN THE RAIN. Maybe it wasn't that terrible. *cringe* I guess that was my 2nd time in Peru. (I went 4 times, the last being in 1999, after I graduated).
"Are you a student of Biology/Ecology/Environmentalism?" the Australians would ask.
"No, English."
"But you speak English."
"I mean Literature."
"Oh."
(Their tones implying "Whats the point of that?")
On my 2nd trip to Peru, I read "Arcadia" by Tom Stoppard for an English class at school. It was very strange to look up from the well manicured lawn on the book's cover and see what looked quite wild, tangled, unkempt, and full of gigantic flying insects. I didn't know very much Spanish yet. It was a lot more fun after I learned more Spanish. Although there was the time in 1999 when I went along as an interpreter with a guide who didn't speak any English, and he told me that we were lost in the jungle, and we were frantically trying to communicate back in forth in Spanish without alarming the turistas, and still get the group back to the lodge before sundown, as we had no tents or torches, but in the end it worked out alright.
Once, there was a really big rain storm at one of the lodges in Peru. I was sure that I had never seen or experienced such a monsoon in the states. My 19-20 something self decided, lets go for a walk in the rain! My boyfriend at the time really didn't want to--it wasn't that special to him--but I insisted, and so we did. All the other guides (mostly Australians) looked at us as though we were nuts. And thats what it was...A FORCED WALK IN THE RAIN. Maybe it wasn't that terrible. *cringe* I guess that was my 2nd time in Peru. (I went 4 times, the last being in 1999, after I graduated).
"Are you a student of Biology/Ecology/Environmentalism?" the Australians would ask.
"No, English."
"But you speak English."
"I mean Literature."
"Oh."
(Their tones implying "Whats the point of that?")
On my 2nd trip to Peru, I read "Arcadia" by Tom Stoppard for an English class at school. It was very strange to look up from the well manicured lawn on the book's cover and see what looked quite wild, tangled, unkempt, and full of gigantic flying insects. I didn't know very much Spanish yet. It was a lot more fun after I learned more Spanish. Although there was the time in 1999 when I went along as an interpreter with a guide who didn't speak any English, and he told me that we were lost in the jungle, and we were frantically trying to communicate back in forth in Spanish without alarming the turistas, and still get the group back to the lodge before sundown, as we had no tents or torches, but in the end it worked out alright.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Now this is timing to die for. Brought to you by
VHI.com
"On the third day, I thought, “I’m not good enough to be in the music industry!” and threw my guitar - it wasn’t even my guitar, actually - and it bounced off the radiator. I forgot I was trying to write songs because I was so concerned about nearly having cracked my friend’s guitar. I picked it up and my fingers just landed on it. That was the first chord of “Eskimo.” The song literally fell out. From then on in I never tried to write ever again. Stuff that’s special just pops out. It’s not me; it’s the moment. It’s like vomiting! [Watch Clip]"
After watching it, I almost thought this guy has some similarities to my 1st boyfriend. Not so much in the photos, but in the clip, with regard to gestures, mannerisms and such. Except my 1st boyfriend had a New Zealand accent. Well, what do I know. Maybe there aren't really any similarities. 10 years ago, Utah was the last time I saw him. But, possibly, kinda/sorta. Funny.
Funny, too, to have found an old photograph of my Peruvian boyfriend with soap or shaving cream on his face. He was smiling and surrounded by his little cousins.
Also, found some photographs of gigantic trees. (Kapok trees?) He used to climb up a vine on one which was on a nearby farm, where they also grew lemons the size of grapefruits on a different kind of tree. We (the people who lived/worked at the tourist lodge across the river) were always allowed to take some. We peeled them and ate them with salt.
VHI.com
"On the third day, I thought, “I’m not good enough to be in the music industry!” and threw my guitar - it wasn’t even my guitar, actually - and it bounced off the radiator. I forgot I was trying to write songs because I was so concerned about nearly having cracked my friend’s guitar. I picked it up and my fingers just landed on it. That was the first chord of “Eskimo.” The song literally fell out. From then on in I never tried to write ever again. Stuff that’s special just pops out. It’s not me; it’s the moment. It’s like vomiting! [Watch Clip]"
After watching it, I almost thought this guy has some similarities to my 1st boyfriend. Not so much in the photos, but in the clip, with regard to gestures, mannerisms and such. Except my 1st boyfriend had a New Zealand accent. Well, what do I know. Maybe there aren't really any similarities. 10 years ago, Utah was the last time I saw him. But, possibly, kinda/sorta. Funny.
Funny, too, to have found an old photograph of my Peruvian boyfriend with soap or shaving cream on his face. He was smiling and surrounded by his little cousins.
Also, found some photographs of gigantic trees. (Kapok trees?) He used to climb up a vine on one which was on a nearby farm, where they also grew lemons the size of grapefruits on a different kind of tree. We (the people who lived/worked at the tourist lodge across the river) were always allowed to take some. We peeled them and ate them with salt.
too much
driving
thinking
packing
sugar free red bull
old music (god! no more! please!)
NPR
my day tomorrow will include NONE OF THESE THINGS!!!!!
I wish.
thinking
packing
sugar free red bull
old music (god! no more! please!)
NPR
my day tomorrow will include NONE OF THESE THINGS!!!!!
I wish.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Wilkommen Bienvenue Welcome...
Guess I really am moving. Got a job and everything. One of my friends sent me the lyrics to a Frank Sinatra song "Chicago is my kind of town..." and ended her e-mail with *turning cartwheels*
Tonight I went to the Barnes & Noble in Ann Arbor (suburbs) and I got completely engrossed in the music section . I was remembering more about the people I worked with at the one in Virginia. All this music, especially The Pixies, Beth Orton, and Moby (which used to play in the store constantly) came back to me.
Eventually, Music Section Guy came up to me. "Can I help you?" he said.
"No thats okay, I'm just kind of wandering around looking at different things."
"I just wanted to make sure you weren't getting lost."
"No, I was just listening to all this music I used to listen to when I was younger and I was kind of getting lost." (contradicting myself)
"Yeah I know what you mean. I haven't listened to Pop music in years actually. I mostly listen to classical and music from shows. But sometimes I'll go back to something I listened to in 7th grade and it takes you back to that time."
I wanted to say ,"Actually I'm listening to music I listened to when I was 22 and working in a Barnes and Noble it takes me back to NOW!" But I just said "Yeah, exactly," and left. I could feel my face getting hot for some reason. Then I thought, "Wait, I used to listen to Cabaret alot too!" Oh well I was already in the parking lot starting up my car.
When I came home, and put on the Pixies, I couldn't seem to reproduce the same feeling/effect it had on me. Por quoi??
I think when I went skating, it was more like 5 years ago.
Tonight I went to the Barnes & Noble in Ann Arbor (suburbs) and I got completely engrossed in the music section . I was remembering more about the people I worked with at the one in Virginia. All this music, especially The Pixies, Beth Orton, and Moby (which used to play in the store constantly) came back to me.
Eventually, Music Section Guy came up to me. "Can I help you?" he said.
"No thats okay, I'm just kind of wandering around looking at different things."
"I just wanted to make sure you weren't getting lost."
"No, I was just listening to all this music I used to listen to when I was younger and I was kind of getting lost." (contradicting myself)
"Yeah I know what you mean. I haven't listened to Pop music in years actually. I mostly listen to classical and music from shows. But sometimes I'll go back to something I listened to in 7th grade and it takes you back to that time."
I wanted to say ,"Actually I'm listening to music I listened to when I was 22 and working in a Barnes and Noble it takes me back to NOW!" But I just said "Yeah, exactly," and left. I could feel my face getting hot for some reason. Then I thought, "Wait, I used to listen to Cabaret alot too!" Oh well I was already in the parking lot starting up my car.
When I came home, and put on the Pixies, I couldn't seem to reproduce the same feeling/effect it had on me. Por quoi??
I think when I went skating, it was more like 5 years ago.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Wo ist my old ice pal??
Recently I attempted to e-mail my old friend/ B & N coworker from Virginia, Brian Kahn, to tell him I might be relocating to Chicago. He had some family there. I wonder if he's been watching any of the Olympics.
Brian loved writing and poetry, martial arts, standing on his head, and playing hockey (among other things.) He worked at an ice rink and drove a zamboni.
He also taught me how to ice skate! Once in my life, I flew around an icerink. It was probably about 4 years ago and I have not skated since. I should. Its long overdue. But...arrgh! His old e-mail address no longer works! California has swallowed him up somewhere.
So, here is a song for the guy who taught me how to skate on ice.
Brian loved writing and poetry, martial arts, standing on his head, and playing hockey (among other things.) He worked at an ice rink and drove a zamboni.
He also taught me how to ice skate! Once in my life, I flew around an icerink. It was probably about 4 years ago and I have not skated since. I should. Its long overdue. But...arrgh! His old e-mail address no longer works! California has swallowed him up somewhere.
So, here is a song for the guy who taught me how to skate on ice.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Vashon
Onct upon a time when I lived on Vashon isle...
there was a tetherball in the backyard by a creek with skunk cabbage in it.
Skunk cabbage. Native to the Northwest. My mother's boyfriend's mother, who lived in Des Moines (WA) had immigrated to America, from Norway, at an early age. When she came to Washington someone played a trick on her "see those pretty flowers? go smell them." But I think she just laughed when she told us that story.
The first house on Vashon had several acres of land and a beautiful view of the water. After we moved in I went out into the backyard and screamed at night but I knew my screams would be muffled by woods and blackberries and salmon berries and no one would hear or care and I thought it was fun and funny. I was finishing fourth grade.
Down the hill, a guy who had retired from Boeing had a farm which had Siamese cats and drafthorses. We often saw (or heard) them clop clop clopping by. The horses I mean.
It was different from the apartments we'd lived in in upstate New York (in Latham and Watervliet)or the old woman's house we first lived in when we moved to Washington State in 1986. The old woman's house was in Renton. She was a recluse and she'd died in that house before we moved in. We found old black and white photographs and some old books of hers in the garage (the door between it and the house would often mysteriously open). Some of the photos were from the wars over in Europe and were quite scary. In Renton, we lived by some mean dogs. There were also blackberries in the back yard. I learned to play tetherball at school and read all the Little House on the Prairie books by Laura Ingalls Wilder.
Shortly after we moved to the island, I got up early one morning and went for a walk. I walked several miles, until I got a bit scared, and then I turned around and walked back. Mostly I remember flowers and grass and trees. That was really great.
In the early 90s my mom and sister and I were a part of the Vashon Cohousing group, but we pulled out before they started building, and then we moved to Northern Virginia. When I was looking at the Vashon Cohousing group website and I noticed that a lot of people in it were from New York. Both upstate and NYC.
I think that one day I want to be able to have a place in NY state and a place on Vashon Island. Even if its just a piece of land with a tent!
there was a tetherball in the backyard by a creek with skunk cabbage in it.
Skunk cabbage. Native to the Northwest. My mother's boyfriend's mother, who lived in Des Moines (WA) had immigrated to America, from Norway, at an early age. When she came to Washington someone played a trick on her "see those pretty flowers? go smell them." But I think she just laughed when she told us that story.
The first house on Vashon had several acres of land and a beautiful view of the water. After we moved in I went out into the backyard and screamed at night but I knew my screams would be muffled by woods and blackberries and salmon berries and no one would hear or care and I thought it was fun and funny. I was finishing fourth grade.
Down the hill, a guy who had retired from Boeing had a farm which had Siamese cats and drafthorses. We often saw (or heard) them clop clop clopping by. The horses I mean.
It was different from the apartments we'd lived in in upstate New York (in Latham and Watervliet)or the old woman's house we first lived in when we moved to Washington State in 1986. The old woman's house was in Renton. She was a recluse and she'd died in that house before we moved in. We found old black and white photographs and some old books of hers in the garage (the door between it and the house would often mysteriously open). Some of the photos were from the wars over in Europe and were quite scary. In Renton, we lived by some mean dogs. There were also blackberries in the back yard. I learned to play tetherball at school and read all the Little House on the Prairie books by Laura Ingalls Wilder.
Shortly after we moved to the island, I got up early one morning and went for a walk. I walked several miles, until I got a bit scared, and then I turned around and walked back. Mostly I remember flowers and grass and trees. That was really great.
In the early 90s my mom and sister and I were a part of the Vashon Cohousing group, but we pulled out before they started building, and then we moved to Northern Virginia. When I was looking at the Vashon Cohousing group website and I noticed that a lot of people in it were from New York. Both upstate and NYC.
I think that one day I want to be able to have a place in NY state and a place on Vashon Island. Even if its just a piece of land with a tent!
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