Reading this article called, and I kid you not, Is Pornography Driving Men Crazy?
What strikes me as bogus is that none of the studies cited compare men who watch porn versus men who don't. I can think of a lot of young men in my own circle of friends who would probably die of sheer embarrassment before watching something like that.
One of the things that I wonder if it is true is the claim that men are having more trouble with impotence and premature ejaculation because of porn. All those idealized images of men in porn would probably make any man feel less than, and I'm wondering if it's similar to the way models in fashion magazines encourage women to starve themselves in order to have the perfect body.
I also think it is really disturbing that hardcore porn is used to desensitize doctors and soldiers. There's something really awful about that, about the statement it makes on the kinds of people we're training.
Part of me really wants to poll my guy friends about this subject, though I think with friends like Jimmy and Nate, I'm not going to get very far.
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Poetry Slam
Went to a poetry slam. I went early because I was friends with some of the people I knew who were putting it on and I wanted to be helpful, but when I got there, I discovered there wasn't much for me to do. I fooled around with the music that was playing before the slam. Someone had made a mix CD years ago, but the intern couldn't get it to actually play on the laptop, and neither could I. We tried to get last.fm to play, and it was playing, but we couldn't get any sound to come out.
The poet they brought in was really nice. He walked in with Freddy, who I hadn't seen in a few weeks. Freddy said hi to me and then wandered off. I actually didn't realize this was the poet, because he looked so different from his pictures. He was shorter and his hair was neater. He was really skinny and totally dressed like a hipster. And he stuck out his hand and shook mine.
He had lived in New York City and Portland, and was currently in Austin. He talked to us about living there, and there was a part of me that was totally jealous.
I then realized as we were getting seats together that I had no idea if Mark was coming or not and hadn't even thought of him. Sacre bleu, I found myself thinking. How could I?
I texted him, asking if he was coming. A few minutes later he texted back, saying that he was coming, but was going to be two minutes late. I laughed, but was totally surprised to discover that we have an injoke.
Mark sat with me, but he talked to one of the other inters, who he was in a playwriting class with.
Stephanie introduced him, mentioning that slam poetry was often political and that was fine and good, but it was nice to have slam poets who saw the beauty in life.
He's like the Mary Oliver of slam poets, I thought. Stephanie loves Mary Oliver, for reasons that sometimes escape me. I think she's an okay poet, but she always writes about the same thing, nature, and I've never read anything of her's that struck me as extraordinary, just fine. Stephanie always talks about how Oliver is so interested in joy in her poetry. Maybe I'm a miserable person but her poetry never makes me joyful and it frequently bores me.
The performance was amazing. The poet had all this amazing imagery. I loved his voice, which sounded so ordinary but powerful. I'm still not sure how he managed to do this, because usually when poets read they have their "serious poet reading serious poetry that is going to change the world" voice, and he just sounded like a storyteller from a mythical place.
He told stories in between his poems. He talked about how his Mom use to run a bookshop, which might be the best Mom job ever. He would go there every day after school (again, so jealous.) And that he loves to find new independent bookshops because of that.
He talked about how he read one of his poems once, which had a mermaid tattoo coming to life, and was interpreted to be about crack. Which is really funny but kind of horrifying. It sounds like the unnecessary freaking out of my own mother.
He also talked about how much he worked and traveled and performed his poetry. He said that if he was a musician he wouldn't have a chance in terms of making it, but that people were willing to shell out money for poetry.
"Poetry," he said, imitating people. "Yeah okay?"
This gives me hope that maybe I could make it has a poet one day. I always worry that there isn't really a market for poetry, because I swear to God that is the number one article I always read concerning poetry. "No one reads poetry except poets, and not even them" type of headlines. But maybe it's not all doom and gloom. Maybe there are people out there who will listen and read.
I realized as he began his last poem that I had heard of this guy before. A while back, Austin showed me a video of this poem being performed, and I was totally stunned to hear it.
I don't remember how, but occasionally Austin and I would hang out and talk poetry. He showed me videos of slam poets. He was always into slam poetry more than I am. I think slam poets are amazing, but I have no talent for doing what they do. Austin, however, did.
Austin eventually left school, for reasons I'm still not sure of. I was sad to hear he left, because he didn't say goodbye. And it meant he didn't graduate.
After the last poem, the poet took questions, and the first person asked:
"What do you dream about?"
"Seriously?" I said. Mark laughed, but he was misinterpreting my words. As crazy as that question was, it wasn't really that I was having trouble with: it was the voice.
It was Austin's.
As the poet answered (which was not terribly impressive. I think he might have said something about fishermen), I scanned the crowd. Austin was on the other side of the room. It was too dark to see clearly, but I thought I could make him out. He seemed to be wearing the same long black coat that he had always favored in the time I knew him and a knit cap, again, that he had always favored.
No way, I thought.
There were other questions, mostly about what the poet read and symbolism. After he stopped answering questions, he sold and signed books and gave people hugs. He came over to the side of the room Mark and I were sitting at and we sat there and talked. Stephanie came over to tell us that she was taking all of us out for a late night snack.
"Why not drinks?" I asked.
"Not everyone can drink," she reminded me. Oh yeah. I forgot that she had interns to watch over, who were fairly young.
Mark and I sat there waiting, and eventually I saw Austin. One of us hailed the other, I don't remember.
Austin came out saying right away that he was getting along again with a particular professor I knew. I was sort of surprised because that was so not the first thing I was concerned about. I mean, not that I don't want Austin to be picking fights or anything, but what I wanted to know was what he had been doing.
The poet they brought in was really nice. He walked in with Freddy, who I hadn't seen in a few weeks. Freddy said hi to me and then wandered off. I actually didn't realize this was the poet, because he looked so different from his pictures. He was shorter and his hair was neater. He was really skinny and totally dressed like a hipster. And he stuck out his hand and shook mine.
He had lived in New York City and Portland, and was currently in Austin. He talked to us about living there, and there was a part of me that was totally jealous.
I then realized as we were getting seats together that I had no idea if Mark was coming or not and hadn't even thought of him. Sacre bleu, I found myself thinking. How could I?
I texted him, asking if he was coming. A few minutes later he texted back, saying that he was coming, but was going to be two minutes late. I laughed, but was totally surprised to discover that we have an injoke.
Mark sat with me, but he talked to one of the other inters, who he was in a playwriting class with.
Stephanie introduced him, mentioning that slam poetry was often political and that was fine and good, but it was nice to have slam poets who saw the beauty in life.
He's like the Mary Oliver of slam poets, I thought. Stephanie loves Mary Oliver, for reasons that sometimes escape me. I think she's an okay poet, but she always writes about the same thing, nature, and I've never read anything of her's that struck me as extraordinary, just fine. Stephanie always talks about how Oliver is so interested in joy in her poetry. Maybe I'm a miserable person but her poetry never makes me joyful and it frequently bores me.
The performance was amazing. The poet had all this amazing imagery. I loved his voice, which sounded so ordinary but powerful. I'm still not sure how he managed to do this, because usually when poets read they have their "serious poet reading serious poetry that is going to change the world" voice, and he just sounded like a storyteller from a mythical place.
He told stories in between his poems. He talked about how his Mom use to run a bookshop, which might be the best Mom job ever. He would go there every day after school (again, so jealous.) And that he loves to find new independent bookshops because of that.
He talked about how he read one of his poems once, which had a mermaid tattoo coming to life, and was interpreted to be about crack. Which is really funny but kind of horrifying. It sounds like the unnecessary freaking out of my own mother.
He also talked about how much he worked and traveled and performed his poetry. He said that if he was a musician he wouldn't have a chance in terms of making it, but that people were willing to shell out money for poetry.
"Poetry," he said, imitating people. "Yeah okay?"
This gives me hope that maybe I could make it has a poet one day. I always worry that there isn't really a market for poetry, because I swear to God that is the number one article I always read concerning poetry. "No one reads poetry except poets, and not even them" type of headlines. But maybe it's not all doom and gloom. Maybe there are people out there who will listen and read.
I realized as he began his last poem that I had heard of this guy before. A while back, Austin showed me a video of this poem being performed, and I was totally stunned to hear it.
I don't remember how, but occasionally Austin and I would hang out and talk poetry. He showed me videos of slam poets. He was always into slam poetry more than I am. I think slam poets are amazing, but I have no talent for doing what they do. Austin, however, did.
Austin eventually left school, for reasons I'm still not sure of. I was sad to hear he left, because he didn't say goodbye. And it meant he didn't graduate.
After the last poem, the poet took questions, and the first person asked:
"What do you dream about?"
"Seriously?" I said. Mark laughed, but he was misinterpreting my words. As crazy as that question was, it wasn't really that I was having trouble with: it was the voice.
It was Austin's.
As the poet answered (which was not terribly impressive. I think he might have said something about fishermen), I scanned the crowd. Austin was on the other side of the room. It was too dark to see clearly, but I thought I could make him out. He seemed to be wearing the same long black coat that he had always favored in the time I knew him and a knit cap, again, that he had always favored.
No way, I thought.
There were other questions, mostly about what the poet read and symbolism. After he stopped answering questions, he sold and signed books and gave people hugs. He came over to the side of the room Mark and I were sitting at and we sat there and talked. Stephanie came over to tell us that she was taking all of us out for a late night snack.
"Why not drinks?" I asked.
"Not everyone can drink," she reminded me. Oh yeah. I forgot that she had interns to watch over, who were fairly young.
Mark and I sat there waiting, and eventually I saw Austin. One of us hailed the other, I don't remember.
Austin came out saying right away that he was getting along again with a particular professor I knew. I was sort of surprised because that was so not the first thing I was concerned about. I mean, not that I don't want Austin to be picking fights or anything, but what I wanted to know was what he had been doing.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Awards Night
So, Erin was lucky enough to win an award, so I (with some of her other friends) went to support her.
There were all sorts of awards. Bobby, for example, won an award for an essay he wrote, though he wasn't there to receive any praise. Another young woman I occasionally talk to won an award for an essay she wrote on Pacific Islander fiction, which I know nothing about. I'm particularly proud of Bobby, because he once told me that I had a positive influence on him. When I first met him, I didn't think anything like I'm going to positively influence this boy, but I guess that's the way life worked out.
For prizes, in addition to money, they gave away seed packets, which I really liked. It's almost it's own metaphor: at school, teachers and books plant ideas in you; now you have seeds to literally plant.
I had classes in this particular building, and at one point, I heard the nearby bell tower chiming, and it reminded me of one class I had. It was in the morning, and I remember how much I enjoyed the quiet walk there, and how I was usually the first one there. It was so warm in this room, I would usually go over to the window and open it up, and somehow, this was unintentionally timed to correspond with just about the time that same bell tower would chime.
Erin got an award for creative writing, and she read a short piece about herself. It was about how she doesn't like to be touched. (I need to write on this same topic, now that I'm thinking about it.) She read really fast, and honestly, I don't think anyone in the audience really got all of it.
Erin tends to write longer pieces, which aren't really conducive to the format. (Other winners, including Lia, were reading poetry or performing small pieces from a longer play.) Erin needs to pick shorter pieces and she seriously needs to slow down.
I did get to see the professor in charge of screenwriting. Erin had complained, in passing, that he wasn't much of a creative writing teacher but more of a public relations/advertising kind of guy. The moment I saw him, I whispered to Erin "Seriously?" which made her choke and laugh.
After the ceremony, Erin revealed that her parents and uncle were in town. And she hadn't invited them to the awards night. This surprised me a little and then it made me sad. I would give anything to have my parents come to something like this, but they wouldn't. Not that I'm ever going to win an award, but I would never not tell my parents about something like this, especially given that they were here anyway.
They were at the coffee shop across the street, so a group of us walked over there. I had never met Erin's parents before, but some of the other friends in the group, like Liz and Jon, had.
Erin has told me a lot of stories about her parents over the years, so I thought I would know them better than some of my other friend's parents. And there wasn't anything about them that struck me as a lie on Erin's part, but I had always imagined them differently.
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For example, I had always imagined her Dad to be tall, almost entirely bald, and had little tuffs of white hair, which he wouldn't comb and would stick out all over the place. I imagined he'd wear glasses. And be overweight. Basically, I imagined George Bluth, the Grandpa, from Arrested Development.
Instead, he was shorter. And his hair was sandy, and possibly he had a comb-over, because it looked strangely similar to Donald Trump. His face was wider instead of longer. He didn't wear glasses. And there was something Hobbit like about him.
The other thing about him was that I imagined he would speak like Erin spoke, which is to say, like me. But he had a distinct accent, something I've heard people refer to as a Yooper accent. Erin hates that term, and I can understand why. I would describe his accent as sounding something similar to a Finnish American.
I imagined her Mom would look almost exactly like her, only older, but she was shorter and very slim and her face was longer than I had imagined. She actually looked similar in appearance to Erin's brother.
And her Uncle looked a lot like her Dad, except he had long hair. Come to think of it, he looked a lot like I imagined Erin's brother would look like, before I had met him.
This is a good example of why I want to meet people's families. I want to know everything I possibly can about my friends, and their families are an important part of their lives. And because my imagination is clearly off.
Erin introduced us, and her Dad clearly remembered Jon and Liz. We spoke briefly. There were some awkward pauses, which I guess I should of expected too, but there was something about having the quirkiness of Erin's family confirmed that made this funny to me. Erin was right, they were different, but in ways that I hadn't considered. They were looking for somewhere to eat, and someone suggested one of the local bar and restaurants, so we trooped over there.
It wasn't really that late yet, but the bar at this place was totally full. We had a big group so we got a long table for ourselves. I sat near Carrie, Erin's brother, and Erin's Mom. I ordered a burger and some drinks.
I tried to make conversation. Carrie and I talked about future plans. I tried to talk to Erin's brother about what he was studying and where he lived, since these were some of the few things I knew about him. He was sort of hard to talk to, not because he was mean, but because he didn't offer much. I was hoping maybe he would talk about his program, since I had friends who were part of the same thing. I asked him if he liked where he lived, but he didn't have much to say on the subject.
I racked my brain for other things to talk about, but I really couldn't come up with much. I remembered Erin complaining about the Bart Stupak controversy last year, and remembering something she had mentioned about him, I asked her Mom about it. This turned out to be a mistake because Erin's Mom did not have the same political views as Erin, which I thought she did, because of the way Erin talked about her family's politics.
There were all sorts of awards. Bobby, for example, won an award for an essay he wrote, though he wasn't there to receive any praise. Another young woman I occasionally talk to won an award for an essay she wrote on Pacific Islander fiction, which I know nothing about. I'm particularly proud of Bobby, because he once told me that I had a positive influence on him. When I first met him, I didn't think anything like I'm going to positively influence this boy, but I guess that's the way life worked out.
For prizes, in addition to money, they gave away seed packets, which I really liked. It's almost it's own metaphor: at school, teachers and books plant ideas in you; now you have seeds to literally plant.
I had classes in this particular building, and at one point, I heard the nearby bell tower chiming, and it reminded me of one class I had. It was in the morning, and I remember how much I enjoyed the quiet walk there, and how I was usually the first one there. It was so warm in this room, I would usually go over to the window and open it up, and somehow, this was unintentionally timed to correspond with just about the time that same bell tower would chime.
Erin got an award for creative writing, and she read a short piece about herself. It was about how she doesn't like to be touched. (I need to write on this same topic, now that I'm thinking about it.) She read really fast, and honestly, I don't think anyone in the audience really got all of it.
Erin tends to write longer pieces, which aren't really conducive to the format. (Other winners, including Lia, were reading poetry or performing small pieces from a longer play.) Erin needs to pick shorter pieces and she seriously needs to slow down.
I did get to see the professor in charge of screenwriting. Erin had complained, in passing, that he wasn't much of a creative writing teacher but more of a public relations/advertising kind of guy. The moment I saw him, I whispered to Erin "Seriously?" which made her choke and laugh.
After the ceremony, Erin revealed that her parents and uncle were in town. And she hadn't invited them to the awards night. This surprised me a little and then it made me sad. I would give anything to have my parents come to something like this, but they wouldn't. Not that I'm ever going to win an award, but I would never not tell my parents about something like this, especially given that they were here anyway.
They were at the coffee shop across the street, so a group of us walked over there. I had never met Erin's parents before, but some of the other friends in the group, like Liz and Jon, had.
Erin has told me a lot of stories about her parents over the years, so I thought I would know them better than some of my other friend's parents. And there wasn't anything about them that struck me as a lie on Erin's part, but I had always imagined them differently.
Instead, he was shorter. And his hair was sandy, and possibly he had a comb-over, because it looked strangely similar to Donald Trump. His face was wider instead of longer. He didn't wear glasses. And there was something Hobbit like about him.
The other thing about him was that I imagined he would speak like Erin spoke, which is to say, like me. But he had a distinct accent, something I've heard people refer to as a Yooper accent. Erin hates that term, and I can understand why. I would describe his accent as sounding something similar to a Finnish American.
I imagined her Mom would look almost exactly like her, only older, but she was shorter and very slim and her face was longer than I had imagined. She actually looked similar in appearance to Erin's brother.
And her Uncle looked a lot like her Dad, except he had long hair. Come to think of it, he looked a lot like I imagined Erin's brother would look like, before I had met him.
This is a good example of why I want to meet people's families. I want to know everything I possibly can about my friends, and their families are an important part of their lives. And because my imagination is clearly off.
Erin introduced us, and her Dad clearly remembered Jon and Liz. We spoke briefly. There were some awkward pauses, which I guess I should of expected too, but there was something about having the quirkiness of Erin's family confirmed that made this funny to me. Erin was right, they were different, but in ways that I hadn't considered. They were looking for somewhere to eat, and someone suggested one of the local bar and restaurants, so we trooped over there.
It wasn't really that late yet, but the bar at this place was totally full. We had a big group so we got a long table for ourselves. I sat near Carrie, Erin's brother, and Erin's Mom. I ordered a burger and some drinks.
I tried to make conversation. Carrie and I talked about future plans. I tried to talk to Erin's brother about what he was studying and where he lived, since these were some of the few things I knew about him. He was sort of hard to talk to, not because he was mean, but because he didn't offer much. I was hoping maybe he would talk about his program, since I had friends who were part of the same thing. I asked him if he liked where he lived, but he didn't have much to say on the subject.
I racked my brain for other things to talk about, but I really couldn't come up with much. I remembered Erin complaining about the Bart Stupak controversy last year, and remembering something she had mentioned about him, I asked her Mom about it. This turned out to be a mistake because Erin's Mom did not have the same political views as Erin, which I thought she did, because of the way Erin talked about her family's politics.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Hanging with Jon
Jon and I hung out. We went to this courtyard where we use to brainstorm ideas and talked about things going on in our lives.
Jon has recently gotten engaged, which was the big news. He told me about how he and his fiancee are planning their wedding.
He also showed me some art he's been working on. Apparently something he and his fiancee do. It actually looked like stuff similar to the stuff my Mom likes to make.
While we were sitting there, Nate and Sam walked by. Nate complained that I hadn't been by to spend time with him enough. It was a surprising thing to say, because I don't usually feel needed by anyone, and sometimes I get the distinct feeling people want me to go away.
Which is not to say I mind. Years ago, I complained about boys being too needy, but I don't feel that way about Nate. It might be because he's not a needy person, or it could be that I like the Nate's neediness. It makes me feel needed but not like I'm under emotional siege. (Which was the problem, back then. That and he was never very giving, in all senses of the word.)
Jon and I continued our talk, and I gave him a gift. Jon's been complaining about having writer's block, so I collected some cool quotes from writers and gave them to him. He thanked me.
I also saw one of my favorite conversational friends, but he was on the phone and just waved at me.
Jon and I went into one of the buildings nearby and dropped in on an art gallery party. Just because. They had these really bizarre mini rolls. They were like spring rolls, but smaller, and covered in this clear, kind of squishy film. It sort of made me imagine the larvae of some science fiction alien monster, which meant that I wasn't really into them. I felt like they should have been trying to move out of my hand as I ate them.
Afterward, the party ended and we dropped in on a poetry reading. I was mostly going because I had some friends who were going to be there and two who were reading, so I wanted to go to see what would happen.
Bobby and his girlfriend were there. I've actually never met his girlfriend before. Unfortunately, I didn't really get a chance to talk to her. But Bobby seemed good.
Bobby also formerly introduced me to his best friend, Cory. I actually met Cory last year, though I don't think he remembered me.
A couple of different teachers introduced the reading. Lia read first. She read poems mostly in the style of Mary Oliver, who, if I'm remembering correctly, she likes. She had one poem about shopping the grocery store late at night. There was something about it that was very calm, very dreamy. If I was writing that poem, it would be more scary or, at the least, fraught with a sense of how strange being under florescent lights late at night in a desolate place.
Then Cory read. Cory was more formal in delivery. He felt more like listening to a professor. He talked about his girlfriend, and how they didn't get along right away. The poem he read that sticks out the most in my mind was about a pistachio. No kidding. It made me brainstorm another poem for myself about a similar subject.
This is one of the many things I like about poetry readings: they always manage to make me want to write more.
There were more people reading, but Jon and I had to leave because we had to go to Virginia's concert.
(Like I've said I've been super busy. Three events in one night.)
Virginia plays harp. The night before, I had proofread her list of songs. I'm embarrassed to say that, since she was playing mostly classical songs, I didn't recognize much that was on there.
The concert had a lot of friends that I hadn't seen in a while: Dean, Jane, Marguerite, Erin, and Amanda were all there. Jon sat with his fiancee. I think I briefly shook her hand. Marguerite was reading a sample of poems I sent her and complained that I didn't need to send sixteen pages.
"Yeah, but there was only five poems," I said in reply, which made people laugh.
Virginia's parents and old teachers were there, which was nice to see. Virginia's Dad was older than I imagined and Virginia's Mom looked more like a typical Mom than I imagined. I sort of imagined that Virginia's Mom would look more like a hippie than she did. Her teacher there seemed like a sweet old lady.
Despite knowing Virginia for years now, I had never seen her play. It was really nice. I've always had a soft spot for harps. When I was little, my favorite instrument was a harp. I had a computer encyclopedia program and I would play their samples of harp music all the time. (I also played the violin, piano and guitar samples a lot, which I guess is pretty telling too, in terms of my musical tastes now. I love violin, especially when it's used in with a heavy beat, since that's uncommon.)
Harp is such an impressive instrument, partly because of its size but also because of the detailed finger work one has to use. Virginia also had a piano player accompany her and then later on, another harp player. Erin and Marguerite really wanted pictures of this.
During the intermission, I turned to everyone and said "I don't mean to brag guys, but I'm going home tonight with the musician." This got laughs from people. Obviously, since I was living with Virginia, I was literally going home with her, but the implication I was making about sleeping with her was false. Virginia luckily thought this was funny, and she laughed and put her arm around me.
Jon has recently gotten engaged, which was the big news. He told me about how he and his fiancee are planning their wedding.
He also showed me some art he's been working on. Apparently something he and his fiancee do. It actually looked like stuff similar to the stuff my Mom likes to make.
While we were sitting there, Nate and Sam walked by. Nate complained that I hadn't been by to spend time with him enough. It was a surprising thing to say, because I don't usually feel needed by anyone, and sometimes I get the distinct feeling people want me to go away.
Which is not to say I mind. Years ago, I complained about boys being too needy, but I don't feel that way about Nate. It might be because he's not a needy person, or it could be that I like the Nate's neediness. It makes me feel needed but not like I'm under emotional siege. (Which was the problem, back then. That and he was never very giving, in all senses of the word.)
Jon and I continued our talk, and I gave him a gift. Jon's been complaining about having writer's block, so I collected some cool quotes from writers and gave them to him. He thanked me.
I also saw one of my favorite conversational friends, but he was on the phone and just waved at me.
Jon and I went into one of the buildings nearby and dropped in on an art gallery party. Just because. They had these really bizarre mini rolls. They were like spring rolls, but smaller, and covered in this clear, kind of squishy film. It sort of made me imagine the larvae of some science fiction alien monster, which meant that I wasn't really into them. I felt like they should have been trying to move out of my hand as I ate them.
Afterward, the party ended and we dropped in on a poetry reading. I was mostly going because I had some friends who were going to be there and two who were reading, so I wanted to go to see what would happen.
Bobby and his girlfriend were there. I've actually never met his girlfriend before. Unfortunately, I didn't really get a chance to talk to her. But Bobby seemed good.
Bobby also formerly introduced me to his best friend, Cory. I actually met Cory last year, though I don't think he remembered me.
A couple of different teachers introduced the reading. Lia read first. She read poems mostly in the style of Mary Oliver, who, if I'm remembering correctly, she likes. She had one poem about shopping the grocery store late at night. There was something about it that was very calm, very dreamy. If I was writing that poem, it would be more scary or, at the least, fraught with a sense of how strange being under florescent lights late at night in a desolate place.
Then Cory read. Cory was more formal in delivery. He felt more like listening to a professor. He talked about his girlfriend, and how they didn't get along right away. The poem he read that sticks out the most in my mind was about a pistachio. No kidding. It made me brainstorm another poem for myself about a similar subject.
This is one of the many things I like about poetry readings: they always manage to make me want to write more.
There were more people reading, but Jon and I had to leave because we had to go to Virginia's concert.
(Like I've said I've been super busy. Three events in one night.)
Virginia plays harp. The night before, I had proofread her list of songs. I'm embarrassed to say that, since she was playing mostly classical songs, I didn't recognize much that was on there.
The concert had a lot of friends that I hadn't seen in a while: Dean, Jane, Marguerite, Erin, and Amanda were all there. Jon sat with his fiancee. I think I briefly shook her hand. Marguerite was reading a sample of poems I sent her and complained that I didn't need to send sixteen pages.
"Yeah, but there was only five poems," I said in reply, which made people laugh.
Virginia's parents and old teachers were there, which was nice to see. Virginia's Dad was older than I imagined and Virginia's Mom looked more like a typical Mom than I imagined. I sort of imagined that Virginia's Mom would look more like a hippie than she did. Her teacher there seemed like a sweet old lady.
Despite knowing Virginia for years now, I had never seen her play. It was really nice. I've always had a soft spot for harps. When I was little, my favorite instrument was a harp. I had a computer encyclopedia program and I would play their samples of harp music all the time. (I also played the violin, piano and guitar samples a lot, which I guess is pretty telling too, in terms of my musical tastes now. I love violin, especially when it's used in with a heavy beat, since that's uncommon.)
Harp is such an impressive instrument, partly because of its size but also because of the detailed finger work one has to use. Virginia also had a piano player accompany her and then later on, another harp player. Erin and Marguerite really wanted pictures of this.
During the intermission, I turned to everyone and said "I don't mean to brag guys, but I'm going home tonight with the musician." This got laughs from people. Obviously, since I was living with Virginia, I was literally going home with her, but the implication I was making about sleeping with her was false. Virginia luckily thought this was funny, and she laughed and put her arm around me.
Friday, April 8, 2011
It's Too Hot
I didn't sleep well last night. It's been so unseasonably warm, and I find myself waking up at night, sweating. At one point I told myself "If I wake up again tonight, I am going to jump in the shower to cool off and then go back to bed." It didn't come to that.
They're doing work on my building, so I had trouble sleeping past nine. I did some writing, I blogged here. Various nosies were made outside. It got quiet again, so I slept a little. Then there was noise in the hallway, and I remembered they were doing on that too, and I cursed my inability to sleep like a normal person.
Now I'm very tired and don't have time for a nap. And I am probably going to go out tonight to hang with friends. And I'm not sure I'll have the energy to enjoy it. Curses.
They're doing work on my building, so I had trouble sleeping past nine. I did some writing, I blogged here. Various nosies were made outside. It got quiet again, so I slept a little. Then there was noise in the hallway, and I remembered they were doing on that too, and I cursed my inability to sleep like a normal person.
Now I'm very tired and don't have time for a nap. And I am probably going to go out tonight to hang with friends. And I'm not sure I'll have the energy to enjoy it. Curses.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
A Red Card for the President
Certain friends of mine are totally obsessed with the Egyptian uprising, and I admit that I find myself occasionally perking up when I've heard anything about it. I'm loving this little article about how censored books are coming back now that the previous regime is gone.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Claire's Birthday Dinner
I was talking to one of Claire's friends, named Chris. He was telling me about his hometown, how everyone muttered and how he had taken up speaking fast but that he didn't really have an inbetween speaking speed.
"You don't have to perform for me," I said, referencing the fact that he was an actor.
"So just to be clear," I asked. "Are you gay or straight?"
The other people at our end of the table heard us, and they went up in fits of laughter. Both Vicki and Amanda admonished me for speaking to him like that.
"She doesn't have a filter," Amanda said.
I do too have a filter. There are all sorts of things I don't say, and I suspect that people would be deeply scarred if they heard the majority of my thoughts. In comparison with other people, who lack thoughts to say in the first place, sure, it looks like I am filterless.
I suspected that Chris wouldn't mind me asking, and he took it like it was totally normal. "I wake up everyday asking myself the same question," he said.
After a while, one of Claire's other friends came along. He sat down at the table next to Chris and in front of me. He was dressed as a hipster. We chatted about the neighborhood and made fun of hipsters and how expensive the whole thing was. As he was talking, his voice reminded me vaguely of someone's, and then it occurred to me that he sounded just like Kashif. And then as we continued talking, I realized he didn't just have Kashif's voice but that same particular sweetness that I've only previously encountered in Kashif. Too bad this young man was gay.
He talked to me about singing, which he was apparently into, and about how everyone can sing, and about the business aspect of getting a job in singing. He asked me what I did, and I said I was a poet.
(As an aside, can I just say how impossibly hard I find the question of who I am or what I do? I hate the idea of identifying myself as just one thing. But at the same time, if allowed to, I would babble on forever about who I am and I suspect people still wouldn't know.)
In any case, the young man was nice enough to be supportive, ask me who my favorite poets are (another question I dread and never seem to just have a good, truthful and concise answer to). He told me he liked Sylvia Plath, and since I like her too, that got us both off and running. We discussed the Bell Jar.
He also was nice enough to make some suggestions for where I should go read my poetry. He told me it was casual, and not to worry. I really don't like to read my poetry; part of the reason I write is because of my aversion to performance.
Maxwell had moved over to sit with us at that point, and he talked about his failed attempts at dating and how much he really wished he could be on Gossip Girl. A lot of people probably wish they were on television shows, myself included, though Gossip Girl isn't the first one that comes to mind.
Chris and I continued talking a bit. He told me about how much he loved Joss Whedon, and guessing correctly, I asked if he liked Firefly. (Shocker, he did. When boys say they like Whedon, none of them mean they like Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel, what they mean is that they like Firefly. Which would be fine but I wish they'd be more honest about it.) He also said he liked Dr. Horrible.
At this point, I mentioned to him that I wished someone would invite Whedon to work on Broadway, as I thought it would be interesting to see him work in a live audience setting, and this got the boy talking about a live production of Dr. Horrible he'd seen. He went through everything with me, the actors, the singing, how Bad Horse was managed, how the lighting worked; it was very detailed and very boring, as I hadn't seen this live production. (It was almost as bad as listening to Emily earlier that day rave about Darren Chris on Glee.)
And then Chris mentioned he had a girlfriend.
Oh Gods, why bother? I thought. And I was a tad annoyed Claire had sat me with him with no indication that Chris wasn't single.
Obviously, it was time to abandon ship.
We talked a little more. I asked him what it was like to work with Claire, and he said that she was his favorite person, and that of everyone he knew, he thought she was going to make it. We chatted about superheros, particularly Spider-Man. We ate our dinners, and Maxwell shared his chips with us. (Good man. There are few things I like better than food, and one of them happens to be free food.) Then I went to the bathroom. I made the move of leaving, but then was persuaded to stay, and sat at the other end of the table with Jenny, Tamara, and Ruth.
Ruth was complaining bitterly to Tamara about school, who, possibly more bitter than Ruth about the whole thing, was whole heartedly agreeing with her. We started talking about the waiter, who I've encountered a couple of times before at this place. He is very talk, and somewhat built, with a little fat on him. But what I find extraordinary about him is his face, particularly his hair. It's very dark and long, and in some guys, I find long hair very attractive, as with him. He had the whole dark eyes thing to complete the look. He looks very much like he should be playing in band, particularly bass or even maybe drums. When we asked him last night, he said that he use to play football and that's all.
That's all, I thought. Good Lord, you must be lying. I can't imagine that he is only a former football player. And, moreover, what the heck is he doing being a waiter at a restaurant? Surely he must have some other goal. I was hoping he would illuminate us as to that. (Jenny joked later that he was an Amnesty International lawyer, which I would find totally acceptable, vaguely intriguing, and a surprising choice.)
Then we decided to move on to our next place. We walked down several blocks to a pub I had passed by multiple times but had never been in before.
"You don't have to perform for me," I said, referencing the fact that he was an actor.
"So just to be clear," I asked. "Are you gay or straight?"
The other people at our end of the table heard us, and they went up in fits of laughter. Both Vicki and Amanda admonished me for speaking to him like that.
"She doesn't have a filter," Amanda said.
I do too have a filter. There are all sorts of things I don't say, and I suspect that people would be deeply scarred if they heard the majority of my thoughts. In comparison with other people, who lack thoughts to say in the first place, sure, it looks like I am filterless.
I suspected that Chris wouldn't mind me asking, and he took it like it was totally normal. "I wake up everyday asking myself the same question," he said.
After a while, one of Claire's other friends came along. He sat down at the table next to Chris and in front of me. He was dressed as a hipster. We chatted about the neighborhood and made fun of hipsters and how expensive the whole thing was. As he was talking, his voice reminded me vaguely of someone's, and then it occurred to me that he sounded just like Kashif. And then as we continued talking, I realized he didn't just have Kashif's voice but that same particular sweetness that I've only previously encountered in Kashif. Too bad this young man was gay.
He talked to me about singing, which he was apparently into, and about how everyone can sing, and about the business aspect of getting a job in singing. He asked me what I did, and I said I was a poet.
(As an aside, can I just say how impossibly hard I find the question of who I am or what I do? I hate the idea of identifying myself as just one thing. But at the same time, if allowed to, I would babble on forever about who I am and I suspect people still wouldn't know.)
He also was nice enough to make some suggestions for where I should go read my poetry. He told me it was casual, and not to worry. I really don't like to read my poetry; part of the reason I write is because of my aversion to performance.
Chris and I continued talking a bit. He told me about how much he loved Joss Whedon, and guessing correctly, I asked if he liked Firefly. (Shocker, he did. When boys say they like Whedon, none of them mean they like Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel, what they mean is that they like Firefly. Which would be fine but I wish they'd be more honest about it.) He also said he liked Dr. Horrible.
And then Chris mentioned he had a girlfriend.
Oh Gods, why bother? I thought. And I was a tad annoyed Claire had sat me with him with no indication that Chris wasn't single.
Obviously, it was time to abandon ship.
Ruth was complaining bitterly to Tamara about school, who, possibly more bitter than Ruth about the whole thing, was whole heartedly agreeing with her. We started talking about the waiter, who I've encountered a couple of times before at this place. He is very talk, and somewhat built, with a little fat on him. But what I find extraordinary about him is his face, particularly his hair. It's very dark and long, and in some guys, I find long hair very attractive, as with him. He had the whole dark eyes thing to complete the look. He looks very much like he should be playing in band, particularly bass or even maybe drums. When we asked him last night, he said that he use to play football and that's all.
That's all, I thought. Good Lord, you must be lying. I can't imagine that he is only a former football player. And, moreover, what the heck is he doing being a waiter at a restaurant? Surely he must have some other goal. I was hoping he would illuminate us as to that. (Jenny joked later that he was an Amnesty International lawyer, which I would find totally acceptable, vaguely intriguing, and a surprising choice.)
Then we decided to move on to our next place. We walked down several blocks to a pub I had passed by multiple times but had never been in before.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Cafeteria Crushes
Had lunch with a bunch of my friends today.
At another table there was some sort of debacle. We still haven't figured out what it is, but it involved making an hour of Lenny's life bad. This is what usually happens when certain people get unhappy: it doesn't matter who is actually at fault, if you've made the mistake of being nearby, you're the target for their anger.
Also sad is that my cafeteria crush was not in today. I haven't seen him around all weekend. Claire has finally relented that he is not, in fact, too young for me. Jenny thinks he's very much around twenty, which sounds just about perfect. It also appears that because he so much more polite than a bunch of the other cafeteria workers about that he is generally a favorite with everyone else. Though apparently no one else is as rapid for him as I am.
Lunch itself was sort of terrible. I thought they had set lime jello out, so I took a bunch. I was so happy to have jello. Turns out it was mint jelly, and that people put it on lamb. I don't eat lamb very much and I certainly don't know what to do with mint jelly. So I was very disappointed by it.
But the best news is this: Ruth is back! I saw her walk into the cafeteria and it was just like old times. We were back to having our little private conversations and giggles with one another. I have missed her so much. I love being around her; she is one of the few people who I feel I implicitly understand and vice versa.
I asked her what she did on her Christmas break, which was mostly traveling to see old friends. (Not doing her work, you'll notice.) She said her sister got to the family house just in the nick of time, Christmas eve.
She has a new roommate, who she described as a "belly dancer." Anything, really, would be better than her old one, who was so mean. If Ruth had come maybe two days earlier, she might have ended up with me.
At another table there was some sort of debacle. We still haven't figured out what it is, but it involved making an hour of Lenny's life bad. This is what usually happens when certain people get unhappy: it doesn't matter who is actually at fault, if you've made the mistake of being nearby, you're the target for their anger.
Also sad is that my cafeteria crush was not in today. I haven't seen him around all weekend. Claire has finally relented that he is not, in fact, too young for me. Jenny thinks he's very much around twenty, which sounds just about perfect. It also appears that because he so much more polite than a bunch of the other cafeteria workers about that he is generally a favorite with everyone else. Though apparently no one else is as rapid for him as I am.
Lunch itself was sort of terrible. I thought they had set lime jello out, so I took a bunch. I was so happy to have jello. Turns out it was mint jelly, and that people put it on lamb. I don't eat lamb very much and I certainly don't know what to do with mint jelly. So I was very disappointed by it.
But the best news is this: Ruth is back! I saw her walk into the cafeteria and it was just like old times. We were back to having our little private conversations and giggles with one another. I have missed her so much. I love being around her; she is one of the few people who I feel I implicitly understand and vice versa.
I asked her what she did on her Christmas break, which was mostly traveling to see old friends. (Not doing her work, you'll notice.) She said her sister got to the family house just in the nick of time, Christmas eve.
She has a new roommate, who she described as a "belly dancer." Anything, really, would be better than her old one, who was so mean. If Ruth had come maybe two days earlier, she might have ended up with me.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Dinner with Mikey
I was having one of those days were nothing much happens. After getting up from a nap, I started getting ready for my dinner with Mikey.
I haven't seen Mikey since May and I fell upon my old problem: should I wear makeup or not? I'm loathe to wear it, but I look so bad normally, and even though Mikey is so cool about stuff, what if he's had a personality job recently and isn't the same person?
Luckily, when I saw him, it was pretty clear he hadn't changed. I made fun of him for dressing like a hipster, and we were off, just like old times.
He told me all about what he was doing. He just got a job offer, and he thinks he's going to take it. He told me how much he likes his current job, and all the cool new friends he's made, and about his roommates Patrick (who's boyfriend is in South Africa) and Jennifer (who is "a hot mess.") He talked about how glad he was to see me, since he's been missing his old friends.
He said he wanted to hang out some more, just like Emily did. I guess now I'm going to have to come up with some cool stuff to do.
I love the hugs I've been getting lately. When I was younger, I wasn't into touching people, but now that I'm older, a hug from an old friend feels so good.
I haven't seen Mikey since May and I fell upon my old problem: should I wear makeup or not? I'm loathe to wear it, but I look so bad normally, and even though Mikey is so cool about stuff, what if he's had a personality job recently and isn't the same person?
Luckily, when I saw him, it was pretty clear he hadn't changed. I made fun of him for dressing like a hipster, and we were off, just like old times.
He told me all about what he was doing. He just got a job offer, and he thinks he's going to take it. He told me how much he likes his current job, and all the cool new friends he's made, and about his roommates Patrick (who's boyfriend is in South Africa) and Jennifer (who is "a hot mess.") He talked about how glad he was to see me, since he's been missing his old friends.
He said he wanted to hang out some more, just like Emily did. I guess now I'm going to have to come up with some cool stuff to do.
I love the hugs I've been getting lately. When I was younger, I wasn't into touching people, but now that I'm older, a hug from an old friend feels so good.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Lunch with Emily
Had lunch today with Emily. We talked about some mutual friends who she had spoken to more recently than I had. It's hard to believe that we have so many people in common.
She told me that Charlotte was in St. Louis, having recently had a baby girl. She had also gotten married.
I told her that Erin was trying to get into graduate schools, including Sarah Lawrence. Emily told me that she thought Erin was a great writer.
We also had a long chat about relationships. Neither of us is in a relationship right now, and happy to be. (Sort of. I would be glad to be with certain boys, but most of these boys aren't interested in me, and there's nothing that can be done about that.) Emily told me that she is having so much trouble getting her own life together she doesn't have time to consider the extra problems of someone else. This is sort of how I feel too.
We had some mutual friends who got married, and then the young woman just gave up all career hopes. Period. It was really something, because she was always carrying on about what a brilliant student she was (as someone also with a large ego, I didn't think she could even compare to me...) I almost told her to drop out of school midway through, since she was not apparently planning on using her degree and why bother paying for it otherwise? Emily agreed with me on my thoughts on that.
I had just been thinking about Ashley this morning. Ashley has never had a boyfriend, and I feel sorry for her, but I found myself thinking about her desire for a boyfriend isn't about her loving anyone in particular, it's about having someone make her feel whole. Ashley, in all the years of gripping about her single status, has never mentioned liking any one guy. This to me indicates that it is not that she is in love with someone but in love with the idea of "love." It's not even real love, it's an idealized version where love isn't hard work. Anyone who's ever been in a relationship knows it is hard work.
Times like these I wish I had a boyfriend who was flexible enough that he could just go anywhere. But I realize that's a pipe dream.
Maybe Emily and I will hang out some more soon. I'd really like that.
She told me that Charlotte was in St. Louis, having recently had a baby girl. She had also gotten married.
I told her that Erin was trying to get into graduate schools, including Sarah Lawrence. Emily told me that she thought Erin was a great writer.
We also had a long chat about relationships. Neither of us is in a relationship right now, and happy to be. (Sort of. I would be glad to be with certain boys, but most of these boys aren't interested in me, and there's nothing that can be done about that.) Emily told me that she is having so much trouble getting her own life together she doesn't have time to consider the extra problems of someone else. This is sort of how I feel too.
We had some mutual friends who got married, and then the young woman just gave up all career hopes. Period. It was really something, because she was always carrying on about what a brilliant student she was (as someone also with a large ego, I didn't think she could even compare to me...) I almost told her to drop out of school midway through, since she was not apparently planning on using her degree and why bother paying for it otherwise? Emily agreed with me on my thoughts on that.
I had just been thinking about Ashley this morning. Ashley has never had a boyfriend, and I feel sorry for her, but I found myself thinking about her desire for a boyfriend isn't about her loving anyone in particular, it's about having someone make her feel whole. Ashley, in all the years of gripping about her single status, has never mentioned liking any one guy. This to me indicates that it is not that she is in love with someone but in love with the idea of "love." It's not even real love, it's an idealized version where love isn't hard work. Anyone who's ever been in a relationship knows it is hard work.
Times like these I wish I had a boyfriend who was flexible enough that he could just go anywhere. But I realize that's a pipe dream.
Maybe Emily and I will hang out some more soon. I'd really like that.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Update on Grandma
I have some good news on my Grandma. She's got a new aide and she's one of my older friends, Alex. My Mom says that Alex is really good with her, and I'm glad. Alex is the kind of person who would find my Grandma's antics and attitude more funny than awful, and I suspect that no matter what happens now, Alex will understand intimately what my family has been going through.
My Mom did need confuse Alex with Kris, another old friend. Kris loved trees, and anytime she saw a tree she really liked (which was frequently) she would go up and hug it. About ten years ago we were walking along the river on campus, and she was hugging nearly every tree we passed. When I walk down that path, I think about her, remembering how excited she was for these trees.
My Mom did need confuse Alex with Kris, another old friend. Kris loved trees, and anytime she saw a tree she really liked (which was frequently) she would go up and hug it. About ten years ago we were walking along the river on campus, and she was hugging nearly every tree we passed. When I walk down that path, I think about her, remembering how excited she was for these trees.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Politics Over Dinner
After getting home from all the fun last night, my Mom made some popcorn and then I took a shower. I stayed up doing a bit of writing and then went to sleep.
I actually did alright last night sleeping-wise. It still took me awhile to sleep, but I don't think I woke up as fully as I usually do some nights.
When I got up this morning, I could tell there was some kind of tension. My Mom was clearly stressed out about something. She swore at her computer. She left soon after that.
One of the neighbors called. We did them a good deed in July, and they wanted to know if they could take us out to dinner. We've kept telling them that, really, no big deal, but they insist.
Us going to dinner depended on my Grandma, who is still in the hospital. My Mom called to say that they gave her some drug to make her sleep (she hasn't been sleeping either, only she'll go days without sleeping, even though she is too tired to eat most of the time.) My Mom said she was hoping she would stay in bed without incident, and that if so, we would go.
My Dad went out for some errands, and I decided to use this time to get myself some food. My Dad has this tendency to be in the kitchen whenever I am, and if he's not outright telling me what to eat, he's staring at me. It's annoying and creepy.
The problem with getting up with my computer is that it is so cold in our house I really don't want to get up. I'll be in two layers of pajamas and with two blankets on and still be cold. I really don't want to give up my blankets just to get food (even though I had been up for hours and hadn't had anything to eat.)
My sister and I complain about there not being enough food in the house. This is sort of true. There are lots of little snack things or things you could use to make a meal, if you had the other ingredients. It's one of the many things I hate about it here.
But today I was excited because someone got rice cakes, which I really love and haven't had in ages. They're delicious, though simple.
After my meal, I sat down again and did some more writing and reading. I put on some music and tried to sing. I'm not much of a singer. Then my sister came down. I felt bad because I probably woke her up. I didn't mean to, but I didn't think she was in the house.
Madison sent me a message saying her uncle died last night. I feel badly for her. It seems like a lot of people, her family included, have seen a lot of unexpected deaths lately.
Ashley is having a party tomorrow for New Year's, so I texted her asking if I could bring a date. I had a certain someone in mind, but I wasn't sure if he'd be interested anyway, since he already told me he made plans.
I didn't have to wait long for a reply from Ashley- it was almost instantaneous. She said sure and asked who the lucky guy was.
Er. If he came I guess he was lucky.
I made the call. I got his voicemail, which didn't surprise me, since he usually didn't keep his phone around him all the time. I left him a message.
I have a love/hate relationship with leaving messages. On one hand, it's nice sometimes to just do that, but I'm always so afraid of making a fool of myself on these messages and saying the wrong thing or just generally sounding stupid. No one has ever mentioned that I sound funny on these messages, but it would be just my luck that one day I do mess up and then someone has another bit of proof that I'm an idiot.
I sat down and worked on my writing. I had a bunch of editing to do on a piece I wrote last week. It's a short piece, but it clearly needs a lot of work. I worked on it for a while.
My Mom called and asked me to look up a phone number for her, which I did. Then she asks me to tell my Dad (whenever he gets home) to talk to her about this dinner we may or may not be going to. She said we would probably go. My Mom thinks that they are watching their budget since they offered pizza. I suspect she may be right too.
I was not really excited to go. Inevitably, there will be questions about what I am doing with my life. When I explain what I'm interested in, it'll be tough because they are from a very different set of political views. When I found out, I was vaguely disappointed with them. I was hoping to avoid certain specific questions.
It was actually not too bad. When we got there, they gave me hugs. We had salad and pizza. My Mom was late, as usual, coming from the hospital.
We had a mostly nice conversation. Gary is working a lot, which surprised my parents because they thought he would be out of a job. Rose has a sister who is really sick and in a nursing home, though not the same nursing home where her mom is.
They updated us on their family. Shannon just got married. Kelly is dating someone named Chris. Derek is working at a pizza place nearby. There was some stories about how we wanted to die. We didn't really have as much to update them on.
I mean, I guess I could tell them about what I was up to, since so many people don't have beyond a high school education when it comes to my field, most people don't really have the background to understand what I'm doing with my life. And it's been my experience people aren't always that interested.
Which was fine, but then my Mom had to open her mouth and tell them what I was doing. There was a quiet moment of disapproval, but it was brief. I'm a little ticked at my Mom because everything was going so well, and it was so unnecessary for her to open her mouth. My Mom just can't seem to help herself. This is why I am always so hesitant to tell her things because I absolutely hate that my life gets thrown out there like that, especially when I try to get along with people.
I guess that other thing that I really hate about this was the tone my Mom used. I get it; she disapproves of my political beliefs. Fine. I'm happy to quietly roll my eyes and not fight. She's always picking fights with me about it, and mocking it to her friends. I particularly hate that.
I actually did alright last night sleeping-wise. It still took me awhile to sleep, but I don't think I woke up as fully as I usually do some nights.
When I got up this morning, I could tell there was some kind of tension. My Mom was clearly stressed out about something. She swore at her computer. She left soon after that.
One of the neighbors called. We did them a good deed in July, and they wanted to know if they could take us out to dinner. We've kept telling them that, really, no big deal, but they insist.
Us going to dinner depended on my Grandma, who is still in the hospital. My Mom called to say that they gave her some drug to make her sleep (she hasn't been sleeping either, only she'll go days without sleeping, even though she is too tired to eat most of the time.) My Mom said she was hoping she would stay in bed without incident, and that if so, we would go.
My Dad went out for some errands, and I decided to use this time to get myself some food. My Dad has this tendency to be in the kitchen whenever I am, and if he's not outright telling me what to eat, he's staring at me. It's annoying and creepy.
The problem with getting up with my computer is that it is so cold in our house I really don't want to get up. I'll be in two layers of pajamas and with two blankets on and still be cold. I really don't want to give up my blankets just to get food (even though I had been up for hours and hadn't had anything to eat.)
My sister and I complain about there not being enough food in the house. This is sort of true. There are lots of little snack things or things you could use to make a meal, if you had the other ingredients. It's one of the many things I hate about it here.
But today I was excited because someone got rice cakes, which I really love and haven't had in ages. They're delicious, though simple.
After my meal, I sat down again and did some more writing and reading. I put on some music and tried to sing. I'm not much of a singer. Then my sister came down. I felt bad because I probably woke her up. I didn't mean to, but I didn't think she was in the house.
Madison sent me a message saying her uncle died last night. I feel badly for her. It seems like a lot of people, her family included, have seen a lot of unexpected deaths lately.
Ashley is having a party tomorrow for New Year's, so I texted her asking if I could bring a date. I had a certain someone in mind, but I wasn't sure if he'd be interested anyway, since he already told me he made plans.
I didn't have to wait long for a reply from Ashley- it was almost instantaneous. She said sure and asked who the lucky guy was.
Er. If he came I guess he was lucky.
I made the call. I got his voicemail, which didn't surprise me, since he usually didn't keep his phone around him all the time. I left him a message.
I have a love/hate relationship with leaving messages. On one hand, it's nice sometimes to just do that, but I'm always so afraid of making a fool of myself on these messages and saying the wrong thing or just generally sounding stupid. No one has ever mentioned that I sound funny on these messages, but it would be just my luck that one day I do mess up and then someone has another bit of proof that I'm an idiot.
I sat down and worked on my writing. I had a bunch of editing to do on a piece I wrote last week. It's a short piece, but it clearly needs a lot of work. I worked on it for a while.
My Mom called and asked me to look up a phone number for her, which I did. Then she asks me to tell my Dad (whenever he gets home) to talk to her about this dinner we may or may not be going to. She said we would probably go. My Mom thinks that they are watching their budget since they offered pizza. I suspect she may be right too.
I was not really excited to go. Inevitably, there will be questions about what I am doing with my life. When I explain what I'm interested in, it'll be tough because they are from a very different set of political views. When I found out, I was vaguely disappointed with them. I was hoping to avoid certain specific questions.
It was actually not too bad. When we got there, they gave me hugs. We had salad and pizza. My Mom was late, as usual, coming from the hospital.
We had a mostly nice conversation. Gary is working a lot, which surprised my parents because they thought he would be out of a job. Rose has a sister who is really sick and in a nursing home, though not the same nursing home where her mom is.
They updated us on their family. Shannon just got married. Kelly is dating someone named Chris. Derek is working at a pizza place nearby. There was some stories about how we wanted to die. We didn't really have as much to update them on.
I mean, I guess I could tell them about what I was up to, since so many people don't have beyond a high school education when it comes to my field, most people don't really have the background to understand what I'm doing with my life. And it's been my experience people aren't always that interested.
Which was fine, but then my Mom had to open her mouth and tell them what I was doing. There was a quiet moment of disapproval, but it was brief. I'm a little ticked at my Mom because everything was going so well, and it was so unnecessary for her to open her mouth. My Mom just can't seem to help herself. This is why I am always so hesitant to tell her things because I absolutely hate that my life gets thrown out there like that, especially when I try to get along with people.
I guess that other thing that I really hate about this was the tone my Mom used. I get it; she disapproves of my political beliefs. Fine. I'm happy to quietly roll my eyes and not fight. She's always picking fights with me about it, and mocking it to her friends. I particularly hate that.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Christmas Eve
I did go out with my friends last night, but I had trouble sleeping on Christmas Eve's Eve. I get up at eight every day, normally, and I think my brain is still trying to get me up at that time. In addition to that, the neighbor's got this really awful dog. My parents refer to these dogs as yippers, and I probably don't have to tell you what it is about this dog that was waking me up twice in the early morning.
I shouldn't make excuses as to why I was so grumpy. I was trying really hard not to be, but I get depressed at Christmas. Without fail. I can't remember a Christmas after my middle childhood that didn't get me sad somehow.
I tried to get some things done, and then my Mom and sister wanted to go to the hospital to visit my Grandma. I wanted to go too, so I came along.
My Mom and sister decided they needed to go to a craft store, so I got dragged along. While we were in the parking lot, I saw someone I went to school with years ago. I don't think he saw me, thankfully. I don't know what he's doing, and I luckily am not half the loser some of our fellow students have become, but I hate to rely on gloating. Even if we could argue I deserve it.
My Mom and sister spent a long time looking at frames and posters. I think they originally went in just to exchange something and turned into a redecorating of the bathroom. This happens a lot when they shop and I've learned over the year to keep myself entertained. This time I wandered around a bit, focusing on candles. Candles are one of those things I would use if someone else bought them for me. I am loathe to spend the money myself. I am even more loathe to spend my time sticking my nose in a bunch of dusty jars filled with colorful wax.
I realized as they were checking out that it was 1:30 in the afternoon and I still hadn't had anything to eat. I tried to remember my last meal. Madison and I had split a basket of sweet potato fries at the bar last night. That was it. That was my last "meal." I eyed the rootbeer-flavored candies. They were appealing.
We finally got to the hospital. My Grandma was in the room, trying to sleep. She was awake, but she refused to open her eyes, a normal tactic she likes to use. We tried to get her to at least talk to us.
A few weeks ago, Faith had given me one of those headbands with reindeer ears on it. I wore it at a Christmas party, and now I put it on in the hospital. Even though my mood was souring, I was trying not to get upset.
When my Grandma finally opened her eyes for more than a minute, she said "What the hell is that on your head?"
That's what she's like. On a good day.
She then decided she didn't want to open her eyes. Then she was moaning for us to give her water to drink. She's recently taken to ordering us to give her water, even though she can get it herself. She also started ordering me around to wipe her face. We're trying to get her out of the hospital and she won't do anything to help herself, since they try to determine if she can take of herself to place her in the appropriate kind of home.
I went to the cafeteria to try to find something to eat. I wandered around and saw nothing I wanted. I have had so much sugar lately just the thought made me sick.
I went back to my Grandma's room. They were trying again to wake her. She wasn't cooperating. I suggested maybe splashing a little water in her face, which my Mom did. My sister and I tickled her toes. This mostly didn't work.
She has a tv in her room, and I started looking around. I found Criminal Minds, and this cheered me up disproportionately. I squealed. The sound wasn't that loud, but it scared my Grandma enough that she kept her eyes open for five minutes.
I have recently taking to calling my love, Matthew Gray Gubler, the hottness. Obviously if you've seen him, you don't need me to explain why I call him this. My parents have started teasing me, because they think it's ridiculous.
I tried to watch my show. Nate texted me, saying Merry Christmas. I was a little surprised, since Nate is Jewish, but I considered that maybe his family did secular Christmas celebrations. We chatted a little via text messaging. He said that his family was having tacos for dinner, which made me laugh and made me realize they really weren't doing anything special. (Which is fine, because really, they don't have to.)
Because Nate is part of a particular group of friends, I started thinking about those people. I really wished I was celebrating Christmas with one (or more) of them instead of being stuck in this hospital, trying to bring Christmas cheer to my Grandma who not only was rudely ignoring us but not even trying to take care of herself enough to get out of the hospital.
I texted Paul. I almost called Paul to tell him that I missed him and explain this recent episode of my life. He puts up with a lot from me.
But I hesitated to call. Paul's got family too, probably lucky enough to have the unselfish kind, and interrupting their Christmas celebrations is unfair. I texted him "Merry Christmas." Maybe if I was lucky he'd call me? If not it meant he was probably busy.
In the meantime, my family was in and out of the room, taking care of things for my Grandma. I was left in there to watch her. A nurse came in and started measuring her vitals. My Grandma opened her eyes long enough to insult the woman's hair, which was tied back in a ponytail with a headband. It looked absolutely fine, but my Grandma does this all the time, and this is part of the reason we have a hard time getting her help: no one wants to do something extra for an old woman who showers abuse on people. I berated her for saying that.
Then someone else came in to change her diaper and she peed all over the bed while all the sheets were gone.
I shouldn't make excuses as to why I was so grumpy. I was trying really hard not to be, but I get depressed at Christmas. Without fail. I can't remember a Christmas after my middle childhood that didn't get me sad somehow.
I tried to get some things done, and then my Mom and sister wanted to go to the hospital to visit my Grandma. I wanted to go too, so I came along.
My Mom and sister decided they needed to go to a craft store, so I got dragged along. While we were in the parking lot, I saw someone I went to school with years ago. I don't think he saw me, thankfully. I don't know what he's doing, and I luckily am not half the loser some of our fellow students have become, but I hate to rely on gloating. Even if we could argue I deserve it.
My Mom and sister spent a long time looking at frames and posters. I think they originally went in just to exchange something and turned into a redecorating of the bathroom. This happens a lot when they shop and I've learned over the year to keep myself entertained. This time I wandered around a bit, focusing on candles. Candles are one of those things I would use if someone else bought them for me. I am loathe to spend the money myself. I am even more loathe to spend my time sticking my nose in a bunch of dusty jars filled with colorful wax.
I realized as they were checking out that it was 1:30 in the afternoon and I still hadn't had anything to eat. I tried to remember my last meal. Madison and I had split a basket of sweet potato fries at the bar last night. That was it. That was my last "meal." I eyed the rootbeer-flavored candies. They were appealing.
We finally got to the hospital. My Grandma was in the room, trying to sleep. She was awake, but she refused to open her eyes, a normal tactic she likes to use. We tried to get her to at least talk to us.
A few weeks ago, Faith had given me one of those headbands with reindeer ears on it. I wore it at a Christmas party, and now I put it on in the hospital. Even though my mood was souring, I was trying not to get upset.
When my Grandma finally opened her eyes for more than a minute, she said "What the hell is that on your head?"
That's what she's like. On a good day.
She then decided she didn't want to open her eyes. Then she was moaning for us to give her water to drink. She's recently taken to ordering us to give her water, even though she can get it herself. She also started ordering me around to wipe her face. We're trying to get her out of the hospital and she won't do anything to help herself, since they try to determine if she can take of herself to place her in the appropriate kind of home.
I went to the cafeteria to try to find something to eat. I wandered around and saw nothing I wanted. I have had so much sugar lately just the thought made me sick.
I went back to my Grandma's room. They were trying again to wake her. She wasn't cooperating. I suggested maybe splashing a little water in her face, which my Mom did. My sister and I tickled her toes. This mostly didn't work.
She has a tv in her room, and I started looking around. I found Criminal Minds, and this cheered me up disproportionately. I squealed. The sound wasn't that loud, but it scared my Grandma enough that she kept her eyes open for five minutes.
I tried to watch my show. Nate texted me, saying Merry Christmas. I was a little surprised, since Nate is Jewish, but I considered that maybe his family did secular Christmas celebrations. We chatted a little via text messaging. He said that his family was having tacos for dinner, which made me laugh and made me realize they really weren't doing anything special. (Which is fine, because really, they don't have to.)
Because Nate is part of a particular group of friends, I started thinking about those people. I really wished I was celebrating Christmas with one (or more) of them instead of being stuck in this hospital, trying to bring Christmas cheer to my Grandma who not only was rudely ignoring us but not even trying to take care of herself enough to get out of the hospital.
I texted Paul. I almost called Paul to tell him that I missed him and explain this recent episode of my life. He puts up with a lot from me.
But I hesitated to call. Paul's got family too, probably lucky enough to have the unselfish kind, and interrupting their Christmas celebrations is unfair. I texted him "Merry Christmas." Maybe if I was lucky he'd call me? If not it meant he was probably busy.
In the meantime, my family was in and out of the room, taking care of things for my Grandma. I was left in there to watch her. A nurse came in and started measuring her vitals. My Grandma opened her eyes long enough to insult the woman's hair, which was tied back in a ponytail with a headband. It looked absolutely fine, but my Grandma does this all the time, and this is part of the reason we have a hard time getting her help: no one wants to do something extra for an old woman who showers abuse on people. I berated her for saying that.
Then someone else came in to change her diaper and she peed all over the bed while all the sheets were gone.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Literary Bad Boys
Friday, December 3, 2010
Out Last Night
As Elena sat there on her computer, I was rushing about trying to get ready. I had ten minutes. I reapplied my makeup, lamenting how ugly I am. I put on a belt, which I've been meaning to do all week. I made sure I had money and my ID. And then I got going.
A group of friends and I were going out for the evening. Tamara knew this particular bar that she said she took all her friends to and was excellent. We were very disappointed to get there and discover that the bar had been overtaken by a party for some reporters. We spoke to the man right outside, who clearly worked there. The girls begged a bit to get in, except for Ruth and I, who mostly giggled at how silly they were being. We hadn't had anything to drink yet, but I suspect that this man wouldn't have believed us. He told us if we came back the next day he would give us free margaritas.
As we were walking away, Claire said that she had heard the bartender telling the party planner that he didn't want us coming in, even though the planner said it was okay. So we ended up at this burrito place down the street. It was tacky in a hilarious sort of way, and we sat down.
Our waiter took our IDs, and upon seeing mine, he got excited because he was from Ann Arbor. And then he got us drinks.
I have not been having much luck with drinks lately. I am trying new things and mostly have been disappointed by them. I've had vodka lemonades before, but neither one was very good. (The second one was strawberry flavored.) The other girls had margaritas of varying kinds. I worked on the chips and salsa.
Claire and I had a look around at the other men in the bar and were intrigued by several of them, but since they were often holding hands with other men, they were probably gay. Claire had to give a performance the next day, so Lavvy quizzed her on her lines. Claire, Tamara and Caroline all texted.
As usual, I ended up talking mostly with Ruth. I can't even remember most of what we talked about, but it was probably about work. Ruth likes her job, but I think it mostly is more work than she can stand.
"I calculated my hourly salary and it came out to 7.50," she was telling me. It's particularly sad, as she is always working. Tamara told her she needed to write more and read less, which is advice I should take.
I told Ruth that in less than the last two months, I'd written forty poems. I am really meant to be writing other things, but I find that I want to write poetry more.
Claire told me she wants to do a dramatic interpretation of one of my poems. So I guess I'll give her one of them. I really don't want to, especially since I don't have a printer and will have to write it out, but I still will anyway.
I was texting with Nate, which was going a little badly because I wasn't texting well.
Tamara and Caroline left early because both of them had things early in the morning. After we paid up, Claire, Ruth and I walked home. Claire has been learning to dance lately, and she showed us her entire routine with her fingers at the bar. Then she was Charlestoning out in the street.
"I feel a bit ill," Claire commented. I did too, which is unlike me, because drinks have never made me sick to my stomach before.
Right at the street corner closest to home someone was standing near us. They had on a dark coat, high heels and very blonde curly hair.
"I'm enjoying that," I commented. Clarie hit me in the stomach. "Don't be such a pervert!"
"Was that a man or a woman?" Ruth asked.
"I thought it was a man," I said. Claire disagreed.
When I got back, I checked my phone and saw there was a message from Nate to be careful. I told him I had walked home with friends and was safe. It's so nice to have someone like that care about you.
A group of friends and I were going out for the evening. Tamara knew this particular bar that she said she took all her friends to and was excellent. We were very disappointed to get there and discover that the bar had been overtaken by a party for some reporters. We spoke to the man right outside, who clearly worked there. The girls begged a bit to get in, except for Ruth and I, who mostly giggled at how silly they were being. We hadn't had anything to drink yet, but I suspect that this man wouldn't have believed us. He told us if we came back the next day he would give us free margaritas.
As we were walking away, Claire said that she had heard the bartender telling the party planner that he didn't want us coming in, even though the planner said it was okay. So we ended up at this burrito place down the street. It was tacky in a hilarious sort of way, and we sat down.
Our waiter took our IDs, and upon seeing mine, he got excited because he was from Ann Arbor. And then he got us drinks.
I have not been having much luck with drinks lately. I am trying new things and mostly have been disappointed by them. I've had vodka lemonades before, but neither one was very good. (The second one was strawberry flavored.) The other girls had margaritas of varying kinds. I worked on the chips and salsa.
Claire and I had a look around at the other men in the bar and were intrigued by several of them, but since they were often holding hands with other men, they were probably gay. Claire had to give a performance the next day, so Lavvy quizzed her on her lines. Claire, Tamara and Caroline all texted.
As usual, I ended up talking mostly with Ruth. I can't even remember most of what we talked about, but it was probably about work. Ruth likes her job, but I think it mostly is more work than she can stand.
"I calculated my hourly salary and it came out to 7.50," she was telling me. It's particularly sad, as she is always working. Tamara told her she needed to write more and read less, which is advice I should take.
I told Ruth that in less than the last two months, I'd written forty poems. I am really meant to be writing other things, but I find that I want to write poetry more.
Claire told me she wants to do a dramatic interpretation of one of my poems. So I guess I'll give her one of them. I really don't want to, especially since I don't have a printer and will have to write it out, but I still will anyway.
I was texting with Nate, which was going a little badly because I wasn't texting well.
Tamara and Caroline left early because both of them had things early in the morning. After we paid up, Claire, Ruth and I walked home. Claire has been learning to dance lately, and she showed us her entire routine with her fingers at the bar. Then she was Charlestoning out in the street.
"I feel a bit ill," Claire commented. I did too, which is unlike me, because drinks have never made me sick to my stomach before.
Right at the street corner closest to home someone was standing near us. They had on a dark coat, high heels and very blonde curly hair.
"I'm enjoying that," I commented. Clarie hit me in the stomach. "Don't be such a pervert!"
"Was that a man or a woman?" Ruth asked.
"I thought it was a man," I said. Claire disagreed.
When I got back, I checked my phone and saw there was a message from Nate to be careful. I told him I had walked home with friends and was safe. It's so nice to have someone like that care about you.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Happy Gobble Gobble
I almost said something to Elena about Thanksgiving having a traditional nap as well as a meal. It seems that she never studies except when I need to do something in the room.
So I attempted to sleep and faded in and out, but didn't really sleep the way I wanted to. Even though I was still tired, I gave up.
And then of course, twenty minutes after I got up, she left. I feel very much like I can't win.
Some of my friends invited me to come round and watch the Thanksgiving episode of Friends, which I was actually excited for. I haven't watched those episodes since last year, and I always enjoy them.
Right before I got there I passed the community table, which is basically where people drop off stuff they don't want anymore. I got this adorable SpongeBob humidifier. I don't really need a humidifier, but I just sort of like having this bright sunshine in my room. He's sitting on the window sill near my bed and it really makes me smile. I'm thinking if I get crafty with it, I can maybe repurpose to be a lamp. When Elizabeth and Jenny saw it, they thought it was really cute. An old lady saw me with it and gushed over it, which surprised me, because I've seen her be really nasty at other people. I don't think she was familiar with SpongeBob, because she didn't recognize him.
When I got there they were watching Varsity Blues, which is such a sexist, nasty movie. Lola really likes the film, though I haven't the faintest idea why, considering how it portrays women and generally stupid it is. I mostly texted people instead.
We watched the first three Thanksgiving episodes of Friends. I had a good laugh.
My parents called, and I spoke to them on the phone briefly. I was actually a little annoyed, since I got off the phone right as third episode was ending and everyone else wanted to go home. So then it was over.
I watched a bit of tv. Paul texted me that he was grateful that I listen to him when he needed to talk to someone. Earlier in the day I had texted him that I was thankful he put up with me. I had been thinking about Paul the day before, during a conversation about Thanksgiving and being grateful for things. The thing I find I am most consistently grateful for are me friends. And in the last year or so, Paul and I have become really close. So I found myself thinking about how particularly grateful I am for him, even when I get on his nerves sometimes.
Later on, Jimmy and I talked, and it was so nice to catch up with him. I told him about a writing project which I've been considering. Jimmy told me about how his family has a tradition of "complaining" that a particular dessert needs "more practice." It sounds like a fun little ritual. We had a lovely little chat about our lives and plans for the future. Jimmy is thinking of applying to the same graduate schools I am, which means maybe we'll end up at the same place. A girl can dream, right?
It might also be good because then they'll be someone around I can trust. And maybe it'll encourage Paul to come live there, and maybe together? (Paul and I've been chatting about being roommates for over a year now. I suspect we have to do it now.)
So it's been a really quiet, though very pleasant, sort of holiday.
So I attempted to sleep and faded in and out, but didn't really sleep the way I wanted to. Even though I was still tired, I gave up.
And then of course, twenty minutes after I got up, she left. I feel very much like I can't win.
Some of my friends invited me to come round and watch the Thanksgiving episode of Friends, which I was actually excited for. I haven't watched those episodes since last year, and I always enjoy them.
Right before I got there I passed the community table, which is basically where people drop off stuff they don't want anymore. I got this adorable SpongeBob humidifier. I don't really need a humidifier, but I just sort of like having this bright sunshine in my room. He's sitting on the window sill near my bed and it really makes me smile. I'm thinking if I get crafty with it, I can maybe repurpose to be a lamp. When Elizabeth and Jenny saw it, they thought it was really cute. An old lady saw me with it and gushed over it, which surprised me, because I've seen her be really nasty at other people. I don't think she was familiar with SpongeBob, because she didn't recognize him.
When I got there they were watching Varsity Blues, which is such a sexist, nasty movie. Lola really likes the film, though I haven't the faintest idea why, considering how it portrays women and generally stupid it is. I mostly texted people instead.
We watched the first three Thanksgiving episodes of Friends. I had a good laugh.
My parents called, and I spoke to them on the phone briefly. I was actually a little annoyed, since I got off the phone right as third episode was ending and everyone else wanted to go home. So then it was over.
I watched a bit of tv. Paul texted me that he was grateful that I listen to him when he needed to talk to someone. Earlier in the day I had texted him that I was thankful he put up with me. I had been thinking about Paul the day before, during a conversation about Thanksgiving and being grateful for things. The thing I find I am most consistently grateful for are me friends. And in the last year or so, Paul and I have become really close. So I found myself thinking about how particularly grateful I am for him, even when I get on his nerves sometimes.
Later on, Jimmy and I talked, and it was so nice to catch up with him. I told him about a writing project which I've been considering. Jimmy told me about how his family has a tradition of "complaining" that a particular dessert needs "more practice." It sounds like a fun little ritual. We had a lovely little chat about our lives and plans for the future. Jimmy is thinking of applying to the same graduate schools I am, which means maybe we'll end up at the same place. A girl can dream, right?
It might also be good because then they'll be someone around I can trust. And maybe it'll encourage Paul to come live there, and maybe together? (Paul and I've been chatting about being roommates for over a year now. I suspect we have to do it now.)
So it's been a really quiet, though very pleasant, sort of holiday.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Qudditch World Cup
Wednesday night I was informed that there was a Quidditch World Cup. I thought this was pretty brillant. What no one told me was that my school, Michigan State University, would be playing. So basically, in addition to the football games I usually think about on Saturday, tomorrow I'm going to be thinking about the Qudditch Game.
I love the above video. This was taken a few years ago, but it includes a couple of my friends, Virginia and Bailey. I'm so proud of them for participating.
I really want to go to this. I really want to cheer and say things like "Tonight we dine IN THE GREAT HALL!"
Go Spartans! Get the Snitch!
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Lefty Loosey
This actually happens a lot. Someone will come in asking for something, and it'll occur to me that "Oh, hey, we should sell that."
I also broke one of the rules about work and called Dan. Dan hates texting, which I really don't understand. I don't text people I know who can't get texts or have to pay for them, but neither of these is true with Dan.
"I didn't think you were going to call my bluff," he said on the phone.
"Yeah, well, I'm not suppose to be doing this. If I have to put this down for a moment, that's why."
Dan went into one of rants about why texting is a terrible medium for communication. He carried on for a bit, complaining about how you can't get the timber of someone's voice.
He brought up some good points, but the thing that hung in the back of my mind as he was talking was how much of my communication is written. I'm a writer, so, duh, of course my communication often takes place in written form. But even disregarding that, I spend a lot of time writing to people. Obviously, I write on this blog. I write emails and keep correspondences up with several friends (Ashley, Robert, Josie, Caryn and Jennifer as of right now.) I even use instant messaging to talk to people, particularly Christine. And then I texted about twenty-five people within the last week. If I could only use my voice to communicate, I'd be cut off from a lot more people. And I would miss them. (And in some cases, would have trouble getting things done, since some of those communications are work-related and not just making small chat about lip piercings, made-up words, and homework.) I didn't really get to making this argument back to him.
A couple of customers kept asking me questions (which I didn't mind, because that's what I'm there for, dur.) This ticked Dan off, and he hung up on me, which of course ticked me off.
I know that I explained where I was and how I was breaking the rules for him, I thought to myself. But then I decided to carry on. I can't let this kind of stuff bother me. I've clearly got a full plate of drama.
Later on in the evening, a woman was asking me about a particular model we had out for people to try out. It runs on batteries, and I noticed a small amount of liquid around that area. My breath sort of held. It looked like pop, but maybe I was wrong. I told her it just needed new batteries.
It took me a few minutes to take off the lid, just because it didn't adhere to the whole "righty tighty, lefty loosey" concept. But even as I was trying to work it off, more liquid was coming out and all I could think was "Eww."
Midway through my battery incident, I turned around, an older woman was standing there. I had one of those scare moments, but she just had a question.
I finally opened it up, and indeed, there was a nasty oil over everything. Great. Someone had left these batteries in here so long they leaked out. I picked them each out and discovered only one of them was spilling out, which I guess I should have been grateful for. I picked up the two good ones and threw them into the recycling batteries bin. I went to the back to get papertowel and lifted the bad, leaky battery. And then used more paper towel to clean the rest of the mess up.
Then I nearly face palmed over how stupid I was. I was treating this like what happened when batteries exploded with white Manganese. This wasn't that, and maybe I was doing something unsafe or unsanitary.
I wasn't sure what to do then. Who among my friends would possibly know what to do? And then I realized the only answer: Dan.
So I texted Dan, even though I know he hates texting. I asked him what to do. And then I waited. About a half and hour later he texted me back, recommending baking soda. Oh, bloody hell, I thought. We can't even get enough room for our stock. I sure as hell don't have baking soda, and of course, I'm working alone, so I can't even leave to try to find some nearby.
Maybe this is like one of those things where I can substitute something, like in baking. So I texted him back asking if there was something else I could use. He told me no. Frak.
So I ended up just doing what I had done and then leaving the model out for an extra half an hour to make sure it dried out. And then I put new batteries in it and it worked, no problem.
Speaking of batteries, this woman came in and demanded that I sell her batteries. We don't sell batteries, but we use them in our models. And we have gone weeks without them, because the boss hasn't purchased any. So I didn't sell her any, and boy, did she let me know how much she disapproved of that. A part of me felt like I should just sell her the batteries for an ungodly sum and pocket the money, but that would be dishonest.
I've been closing a lot at work lately. I think I would prefer to open, just because it involves less work. I also wonder if my brain's just too tired to make things work, because after a shift of six or seven hours, it feels like I'm moving really slowly and in that sluggish way that signifies nothing good.
It's also so cold where I work. We're suppose to have the door open, and I try to keep it open for as long as possible. Even after I put on a sweater I find myself shivering. The good and bad thing about shutting the door is I think it makes some people think we're closed even though the lights are clearly on.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Poles
My sister and I were in a store. She wanted a new baseball cap for when she went outside. She wanted an MSU one. We were looking at some particular MSU ones, and noticed that all the smaller sizes were gone. A young man helping us in the store noted that the opposite was true for the U of M hats; all the larger sizes were gone.
"That's because people at U of M have heads pumped up with hot air," I said jokingly.
It took him a moment, but he got it. He laughed.
Later on at the same store, I was holding one of those metal sticks that one uses for getting things down from high places while my sister was trying to decide on hats. One of the other young men working in the store came up to me and asked if I liked poles.
"I like all kinds of poles," I answered.
Like most people who have never encountered me before, both of the young men standing there were both totally shocked. What kind of girl says that?
My friends are used to my wit, but sometimes it takes other people by surprise. I am used to this.
"You should be a comedian," the second boy replied. I get that a lot. I told him I was a writer, and that some of the stuff I write is funny. Most of the stuff I'm writing right now isn't, but that's because I have only had time to write when I am upset about something and am using my writing for therapy. I use to write a lot of humorous short pieces and before that screenplays with the sense of humor you might see on Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
Tori is convinced I should be a comedian, and maybe one day I'll sit down and write a stand up piece and try it out on some poor, unsuspecting audience. For the time being, it is nice to be recognized as a wit and to make people smile. Making people smile and laugh is the most rewarding part, I can assure you.
"That's because people at U of M have heads pumped up with hot air," I said jokingly.
It took him a moment, but he got it. He laughed.
Later on at the same store, I was holding one of those metal sticks that one uses for getting things down from high places while my sister was trying to decide on hats. One of the other young men working in the store came up to me and asked if I liked poles.
"I like all kinds of poles," I answered.
Like most people who have never encountered me before, both of the young men standing there were both totally shocked. What kind of girl says that?
My friends are used to my wit, but sometimes it takes other people by surprise. I am used to this.
Tori is convinced I should be a comedian, and maybe one day I'll sit down and write a stand up piece and try it out on some poor, unsuspecting audience. For the time being, it is nice to be recognized as a wit and to make people smile. Making people smile and laugh is the most rewarding part, I can assure you.
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