this post is lovingly dedicated to B, who told me that of all Jane Austen's heroines, i am Emma. in answer to your question, lovely B, yes. the nails have slowed down my typing, but it is my experience that once i get used to them, my speed will increase to the normal rate.
it's 5:48 a.m. and i am mostly ready to leave my house for the second of two business trips this week. thanks to a slight funk i entered at about 8 o'clock last night, i got plenty of sleep. i am now, as they say, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. save for the one meeting that is to bisect my day, i'll have plenty of time to think and edit the novel. i'm taking only a fraction of it with me because know i'm not going to make it through a mark up of nearly 400 pages no matter how relaxed i am.
i've got to find something to wear speed dating on Saturday.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Saturday, August 09, 2008
Possibly, Maybe
Yesterday afternoon, I went to visit my good friend, F, who's recently given birth. I held her little one and rocked him back and forth. And in that moment, I found myself thinking 'I can do this; someday I want to do this…'
In the interest of closing loops, I'll share that I took part of my afternoon off to get those augmented nails I mentioned wanting.
When I haven't been working, I've been lost in the newly-emerged narrative. I am editing a book Mr. Close Encounters wrote.
Friday, August 08, 2008
Steeple Chasing
In the fall of 2001, during the aftermath of September 11th, Sarah and I drove the New England Coast. I was terrified. The world felt precarious. Loving people that it seemed to me might die at any moment, felt precarious. The only thing that kept me grounded was looking for steeples—insisting upon themselves in the landscape—poking through amber-golden and scarlet foliage. Touch points. Counting them meant I was alive. This recollection precedes the beginning of this blog. A backward movement. For some reason, tonight I thought of those heavenward pointing domes and the smell of October—so sensuous and homey—reckless and pandering—full and simultaneously wan. I was 28.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
untethered
i had no moorings today. something wants desperately to be unearthed, but i use all my energy, always, to keep from flying apart. i swear, sometimes i feel like i'm still 6. all morning, i felt unsafe and afraid of deep places, of falling off edges. it takes me so long to recover from disappointments, to stop smarting from them.
so now there is a novel in real time. a novel within a novel. i hope the construct won't be my undoing.
so now there is a novel in real time. a novel within a novel. i hope the construct won't be my undoing.
Sunday, August 03, 2008
late summer, 2008
Poetry
The latest issue of Urbanite features a piece on the resurgance of Poetry in Baltimore. Or, perhaps more accurately, discusses its current iteration in Baltimore. Academic poets and slam poets unite! One of the faculty of my program states that she believes there's no more turf wars where poetry is concerned in our fair city. The language poets, the spoken word people, the formalists, and the free versers are all sat down at the table of images and metaphors. The article made me realize a couple of things: I don't know the Baltimore poetry scene at all (I think spoken word artists and poets of the academy are two very distinct camps), and that I'm not sure I'm a viable poet when all things are considered.
I submitted poetry to Urbanite quite recently and heard nothing from them. I submitted poetry to Smartish Pace (another local outfit) and was rejected. I submit to numerous online journals and print journals that would be appropriate venues for the kind of poem I write. I always hear something like this: "Interesting, but not right for our publication." Then I go back and reread the content of the periodical (whichever one it happens to be), and I really cannot discern any credible difference between my stuff and what they deem worthy of print. Or, I read the winners of their contests, and I don't see what it is about those prize-yielding poems that made them such.
People whose assessment of these matters I trust have told me that I'm a good poet, but at what point do I accept that my stuff just isn't publishable? Okay. I have been published. Three of my poems were picked up by the Little Patuxent Review a year ago. Until then, I'd only had a little nonfiction article published in an online men's forum. Still, I have to ask if I've been wrong all this time. I'm starting to feel like I have no place in this literary conversation. Should I be fighting for more visibility among my peers?
Wine
Sarah and I had a wine feast with our favourite couple--the former Baltimore Sun journalist who interviewed me about my blog back in '06 and his wife--at Wine Me Up! in Westminster. The effortless, fluid conversation lasted four hours before I even knew that a minute had passed. Two bottles, one Rock and Vine, the other The Black Chook, aided and abetted this communion. They are the kind of people that you just love fiercely and immediately. Halfway through the evening, I decided that I wanted the husband of the couple to walk me down the aisle someday. If there's ever an aisle to walk down, that is.
I Spy
Thanks to Catchka's generosity, I am more than halfway through the Alias series. I am nearly done with Season 3 and am ready to borrow her Season 4 disks. I have been dreaming in spy vernacular and I love it.
My Holistic Health Guru is in Costa Rica Surfing
and my eating has been out of control. But I spun twice last week. Gosh. I have to get a grip.
Other stuff
I want nails again. I mean like salon nails. Like augmented nails.
Stay tuned.
The latest issue of Urbanite features a piece on the resurgance of Poetry in Baltimore. Or, perhaps more accurately, discusses its current iteration in Baltimore. Academic poets and slam poets unite! One of the faculty of my program states that she believes there's no more turf wars where poetry is concerned in our fair city. The language poets, the spoken word people, the formalists, and the free versers are all sat down at the table of images and metaphors. The article made me realize a couple of things: I don't know the Baltimore poetry scene at all (I think spoken word artists and poets of the academy are two very distinct camps), and that I'm not sure I'm a viable poet when all things are considered.
I submitted poetry to Urbanite quite recently and heard nothing from them. I submitted poetry to Smartish Pace (another local outfit) and was rejected. I submit to numerous online journals and print journals that would be appropriate venues for the kind of poem I write. I always hear something like this: "Interesting, but not right for our publication." Then I go back and reread the content of the periodical (whichever one it happens to be), and I really cannot discern any credible difference between my stuff and what they deem worthy of print. Or, I read the winners of their contests, and I don't see what it is about those prize-yielding poems that made them such.
People whose assessment of these matters I trust have told me that I'm a good poet, but at what point do I accept that my stuff just isn't publishable? Okay. I have been published. Three of my poems were picked up by the Little Patuxent Review a year ago. Until then, I'd only had a little nonfiction article published in an online men's forum. Still, I have to ask if I've been wrong all this time. I'm starting to feel like I have no place in this literary conversation. Should I be fighting for more visibility among my peers?
Wine
Sarah and I had a wine feast with our favourite couple--the former Baltimore Sun journalist who interviewed me about my blog back in '06 and his wife--at Wine Me Up! in Westminster. The effortless, fluid conversation lasted four hours before I even knew that a minute had passed. Two bottles, one Rock and Vine, the other The Black Chook, aided and abetted this communion. They are the kind of people that you just love fiercely and immediately. Halfway through the evening, I decided that I wanted the husband of the couple to walk me down the aisle someday. If there's ever an aisle to walk down, that is.
I Spy
Thanks to Catchka's generosity, I am more than halfway through the Alias series. I am nearly done with Season 3 and am ready to borrow her Season 4 disks. I have been dreaming in spy vernacular and I love it.
My Holistic Health Guru is in Costa Rica Surfing
and my eating has been out of control. But I spun twice last week. Gosh. I have to get a grip.
Other stuff
I want nails again. I mean like salon nails. Like augmented nails.
Stay tuned.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Finally Feeling Better
after doing some work this afternoon (to the backdrop of Alias season 2) to compensate for my lack of productivity on Friday afternoon (started to feel really bad), I went to the market to buy myself a mess of drugs (and a few groceries, too). The coughing fits are tough to take; hopefully, they'll subside soon.
I'll be taking the equivalent of a drug store medicine aisle with me to work tomorrow, and I won't be working out (in spite of my expanding waistline). I can't risk a coughing fit mid-excersie routine.
I'll be taking the equivalent of a drug store medicine aisle with me to work tomorrow, and I won't be working out (in spite of my expanding waistline). I can't risk a coughing fit mid-excersie routine.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Industry
At the risk of obsessive blogging, I wanted to report that in response to my rejection from the Sow's Ear Chapbook Contest, I have submitted to another contest—just a few moments ago. Additionally, I circled two other contests to which I'll be submitting over the course of the next month. Beyond that, I will also be tossing my hat into the ring for another chapbook prize. I won't hear about the Maryland Individual Artist Grant for several months now, but I'm committed to figuring out a way to make my art lucrative.
As I'll be concentrating in Literary Nonfiction in the fall, I'm also going to start entering essay contests.
Homebound and Disappointed
I have some sort of low-grade bug. More than anything else, I feel run down; I have a cough, too, but for the most part, nothing very much is wrong. I'm trying to get a lot of rest (sleep is so often the cure for these things), but also to use the free time to accomplish something.
This bug is the reason I'm not getting together with friends this afternoon, and my sister is out of town as she had already planned to be. It's a good time, then, to finally finish watching Catchka's Alias season 2 dvds; it's a good time to catch up on laundry; to bake the yams I bought weeks ago, and to crack open The Woman In White by Wilkie Collins.
I checked the mail, too. I heard from one of the literary journals to which I submitted a poetry manuscript for chapbook publication consideration; I did not win the prize.
In happier news, an old friend has found me. When I was 12, this girl was my closest friend. Now she is happy and in love with one of my closest guy friends from high school. Life has a beautiful way of working out sometimes.
Oh, and speed dating is so on!
This bug is the reason I'm not getting together with friends this afternoon, and my sister is out of town as she had already planned to be. It's a good time, then, to finally finish watching Catchka's Alias season 2 dvds; it's a good time to catch up on laundry; to bake the yams I bought weeks ago, and to crack open The Woman In White by Wilkie Collins.
I checked the mail, too. I heard from one of the literary journals to which I submitted a poetry manuscript for chapbook publication consideration; I did not win the prize.
In happier news, an old friend has found me. When I was 12, this girl was my closest friend. Now she is happy and in love with one of my closest guy friends from high school. Life has a beautiful way of working out sometimes.
Oh, and speed dating is so on!
Friday, July 25, 2008
Black in America
Soledad O'Brien's two 2-hour "Black in America" documentaries proffered another serving of the obvious truths: Poverty and socio-economic disparity, education gaps, the lack of fathers/stable home lives, and a legacy of racism have all put black Americans at a disadvantage.
I had been looking forward to the profiles because I thought there would be some attempt to probe the way blacks are perceived by those who would consider themselves socially and politically evolved--or the way blacks perceive themselves. The first installment "Black Women and the Family," might have been less superficial if, in the context of the public's reaction to Michelle Obama, there had been some honest dialogue about the way educated, evolved, successful black women are critiqued for that success.
I have read numerous Op-Ed pieces about the Obamas. When these pieces are negative, they often focus on what the writers believe to be Barack's elitist bent and his wif'e's inaccessibility. If you're not sensitized to the issue, you probably cannot hear the subversive question: Who do those Uppity Niggers think they are? But I do.
A recent piece in the New York Times criticized Barack Obama for not providing enough fodder for comedians. Jimmy Kimmel called it "reverse racism" that white comedians have been made to feel that they cannot poke fun at the candidate without being accused of being racist. That issue aside, the complaints are that his bearing is so dignified, that he has no weird conversational or syntactical ticks, and that he simply does not invite, by way of stupidity, being aped. The writer of that piece suggested that this lack of humour (note: the fact that Maureen Dowd did not make a real distinction between Barack's having a sense of humour and not being one that is easily made fun of should have been caught by some editor at the NYT) could backfire come election time.
The Jack and Jill Politics blog entry written in reaction to this article addressed the "Mr. Bojangles-Step-N-Fetch-It" paradigm the article exposed. The writer said, in effect, "No, White America. It is not our job, as black people, to entertain you."
The criticism of Obama that he is too serious and an elitist seems to me to be the cry of discomfort with a black man who is not succuessful as a result of athletic prowess or some peddling of pedantic rap music. The public--blacks included--are only prepared to accept certain images of black men and women. If we're making you laugh, clowning and tomming, or bowing and scraping in some fashion, then white people can feel okay about their place in the world.
Sure. It's fine for Blacks to grasp the American Dream, as long as we remember who we are and what our place is. Oh, and another thing I would like to ask us all to consider: When you're black, you don't have the luxury of tomfoolery, being the class clown--not as part of your public image.
When, as a black woman, I see any action performed or hear any statment made by another black person that seems to confirm the worst of what people believe about African Americans, I feel the impact of it as deeply as if I had said it or done it. Every member of the race has to answer for that jack-assedness.
An inherent part of white privilege is that no matter what any member of the race does--the race, on the whole, does not have to bear the burden of the action.
While I would not presume to speak for Barack Obama, or his wife, I understand what I know they understand: if you are black, you must be above reproach. If you are going to pervert every preconceived notion and implode every stereotype, nothing can get by you. One instance of anything prejudice expects, and that is how you will be known.
One of the sisters of Having Our Say fame once commented "If Dan Quayle was black, he'd be somewhere washing dishes."
But when we, specifically black women, do what we must in order to be considered viable contributors to any enterprise, it does backfire. Consider this piece from the Washington Post. I've written about this before: strength in me so often gets misinterpreted as arrogance or anger.
So, yes. There are gaps in standardized test performance between blacks and whites; yep--economic disparity; absolutely, a lot of black men are in jail; and while we're at it, let's acknowledge that we don't keep our legs crossed often enough, and therefore create more economically, educationally, and socially depressed people.
But what about the other battles you face after you charge and clear those hurdles? What do you do when you get the distinct impression that all those rabid liberals who would be hard-pressed to consider themselves anything but socially and politically evolved, still want to know on what authority you dare to be--or even think--yourself worthy of being the President of the United States. And your wife? Well, someone should tell her how lucky she is.
I had been looking forward to the profiles because I thought there would be some attempt to probe the way blacks are perceived by those who would consider themselves socially and politically evolved--or the way blacks perceive themselves. The first installment "Black Women and the Family," might have been less superficial if, in the context of the public's reaction to Michelle Obama, there had been some honest dialogue about the way educated, evolved, successful black women are critiqued for that success.
I have read numerous Op-Ed pieces about the Obamas. When these pieces are negative, they often focus on what the writers believe to be Barack's elitist bent and his wif'e's inaccessibility. If you're not sensitized to the issue, you probably cannot hear the subversive question: Who do those Uppity Niggers think they are? But I do.
A recent piece in the New York Times criticized Barack Obama for not providing enough fodder for comedians. Jimmy Kimmel called it "reverse racism" that white comedians have been made to feel that they cannot poke fun at the candidate without being accused of being racist. That issue aside, the complaints are that his bearing is so dignified, that he has no weird conversational or syntactical ticks, and that he simply does not invite, by way of stupidity, being aped. The writer of that piece suggested that this lack of humour (note: the fact that Maureen Dowd did not make a real distinction between Barack's having a sense of humour and not being one that is easily made fun of should have been caught by some editor at the NYT) could backfire come election time.
The Jack and Jill Politics blog entry written in reaction to this article addressed the "Mr. Bojangles-Step-N-Fetch-It" paradigm the article exposed. The writer said, in effect, "No, White America. It is not our job, as black people, to entertain you."
The criticism of Obama that he is too serious and an elitist seems to me to be the cry of discomfort with a black man who is not succuessful as a result of athletic prowess or some peddling of pedantic rap music. The public--blacks included--are only prepared to accept certain images of black men and women. If we're making you laugh, clowning and tomming, or bowing and scraping in some fashion, then white people can feel okay about their place in the world.
Sure. It's fine for Blacks to grasp the American Dream, as long as we remember who we are and what our place is. Oh, and another thing I would like to ask us all to consider: When you're black, you don't have the luxury of tomfoolery, being the class clown--not as part of your public image.
When, as a black woman, I see any action performed or hear any statment made by another black person that seems to confirm the worst of what people believe about African Americans, I feel the impact of it as deeply as if I had said it or done it. Every member of the race has to answer for that jack-assedness.
An inherent part of white privilege is that no matter what any member of the race does--the race, on the whole, does not have to bear the burden of the action.
While I would not presume to speak for Barack Obama, or his wife, I understand what I know they understand: if you are black, you must be above reproach. If you are going to pervert every preconceived notion and implode every stereotype, nothing can get by you. One instance of anything prejudice expects, and that is how you will be known.
One of the sisters of Having Our Say fame once commented "If Dan Quayle was black, he'd be somewhere washing dishes."
But when we, specifically black women, do what we must in order to be considered viable contributors to any enterprise, it does backfire. Consider this piece from the Washington Post. I've written about this before: strength in me so often gets misinterpreted as arrogance or anger.
So, yes. There are gaps in standardized test performance between blacks and whites; yep--economic disparity; absolutely, a lot of black men are in jail; and while we're at it, let's acknowledge that we don't keep our legs crossed often enough, and therefore create more economically, educationally, and socially depressed people.
But what about the other battles you face after you charge and clear those hurdles? What do you do when you get the distinct impression that all those rabid liberals who would be hard-pressed to consider themselves anything but socially and politically evolved, still want to know on what authority you dare to be--or even think--yourself worthy of being the President of the United States. And your wife? Well, someone should tell her how lucky she is.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
hodge podge
thanks to Catchka, C and I are absolutely hooked on this. for the last two nights, we've watched all 12 episodes of season 1 and cannot wait for the season 2 premiere this sunday night.
we sisters have also been exercising in the morning every day for the last two weeks and eating brie and jam for snacks. these things might seem to be at cross purposes,but i assure you: they aren't.
yesterday was such a happy mail day--while i got my fair share of bills, i also finally received my 100-dollar Rent.com bonus (I found my apartment as a direct result of an e-mail they sent me). decisions, decisions. should i buy a vacuum? art for the pumpkin-coloured wall? groceries?
also on the planes of my life is the resurgance of the blowpop. oh. and i think i'm going speed dating in a few weeks. gawd.
we sisters have also been exercising in the morning every day for the last two weeks and eating brie and jam for snacks. these things might seem to be at cross purposes,but i assure you: they aren't.
yesterday was such a happy mail day--while i got my fair share of bills, i also finally received my 100-dollar Rent.com bonus (I found my apartment as a direct result of an e-mail they sent me). decisions, decisions. should i buy a vacuum? art for the pumpkin-coloured wall? groceries?
also on the planes of my life is the resurgance of the blowpop. oh. and i think i'm going speed dating in a few weeks. gawd.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
there's no use crying over spilt hazelnut coffee...
this week's big news is that C joined my gym. This means workout solidarity and a ride to the gym. i see plainly now that my lack of motivation of late had more to do with not wanting to cart all my gym stuff (and whatever else i might need for the day) to the light rail stop at an hour of the morning that is dicey at best. anyway, during our drive this morning, my coffee spilled. it tumbled right out of the cup holder and saturated C's car carpet. Well, at least she'll have the essence of hazelnut with her for years to come (or for the life of the car).
once at the gym, i discovered that while i had the requisite blouse; underwear; shower things; and shoes for work, that i did not have any pants. well, i was not going back home and missing the workout, so that meant that i was either going home afterward (and would be late for work) or that i would be wearing my workout pants with my work stuff. this idea was distasteful (to say the very least).
it didn't get to that, though. one of my gym friends is in the habit of carrying an extra pair of pants in her car in case of spills. problem solved.
after spin class this morning, several regulars hosted a shower for our instructor (she's getting married in September); I didn't know about it. I would have loved to participate. The month that I was M.I.A. from class, she e-mailed me just to make sure I was all right. And this morning during the missing pants debacle, she offered to drive me home after class to get some.
there's no use crying over hazelnut coffee when the people at your gym and your sister have your back.
speaking of sisters, we have a new motto: Size 8 Or Bust.
That is what is giving me the strength to say no to the Dunkin' D Munchkins one of my coworkers brought in.
once at the gym, i discovered that while i had the requisite blouse; underwear; shower things; and shoes for work, that i did not have any pants. well, i was not going back home and missing the workout, so that meant that i was either going home afterward (and would be late for work) or that i would be wearing my workout pants with my work stuff. this idea was distasteful (to say the very least).
it didn't get to that, though. one of my gym friends is in the habit of carrying an extra pair of pants in her car in case of spills. problem solved.
after spin class this morning, several regulars hosted a shower for our instructor (she's getting married in September); I didn't know about it. I would have loved to participate. The month that I was M.I.A. from class, she e-mailed me just to make sure I was all right. And this morning during the missing pants debacle, she offered to drive me home after class to get some.
there's no use crying over hazelnut coffee when the people at your gym and your sister have your back.
speaking of sisters, we have a new motto: Size 8 Or Bust.
That is what is giving me the strength to say no to the Dunkin' D Munchkins one of my coworkers brought in.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
It's a Family Affair (it's a family affair)...
So, we're 4 hours out from the Cookie Lee Jewelry party my sister and I are hosting at our place. Would you believe I've been to the grocery store three times for this event and still managed to forget something? My short-term memory sucks right now. Fortunately, Sarah agreed to pick up the two items and bring them with her when she comes...
Crystal is picking up my mom and the dog to bring them for the festivities. That should be interesting. My mom will bluster in like a hurricane with all her props and upset my apple cart. In any case, i'm alone in the apartment--something that's rarely ever the case--and it feels strange. I've realized something. I am motivated by sustained solitude. Being with another person for long periods of time is immobalizing. My sister couldn't be a better roommate, but I living with her (as would be the case with anyone) has crippled some basic part of the way I function.
I've got to get back into some sort of groove. Grad school is around the corner and this lethargy just won't do.
Am hoping the hhg can help; I've agreed to pay the fee to leverage his services to help me reach my goals. Remember how I said I thought I was developing a Middle Class (Bourgeoisie) paradigm? I think I've officially shifted. You know, the last thing I wanted was to be completely uninteresting. Here I am.
Crystal is picking up my mom and the dog to bring them for the festivities. That should be interesting. My mom will bluster in like a hurricane with all her props and upset my apple cart. In any case, i'm alone in the apartment--something that's rarely ever the case--and it feels strange. I've realized something. I am motivated by sustained solitude. Being with another person for long periods of time is immobalizing. My sister couldn't be a better roommate, but I living with her (as would be the case with anyone) has crippled some basic part of the way I function.
I've got to get back into some sort of groove. Grad school is around the corner and this lethargy just won't do.
Am hoping the hhg can help; I've agreed to pay the fee to leverage his services to help me reach my goals. Remember how I said I thought I was developing a Middle Class (Bourgeoisie) paradigm? I think I've officially shifted. You know, the last thing I wanted was to be completely uninteresting. Here I am.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
my meeting with a holistic health guru and a black cat who tried to show me the way
for about two months now (more?), i've been trying to meet with a licensed holistic health specialist for an initial consultation. he gave a talk at my gym some months ago now called "sugar blues," which i attended. i've had a remarkable lack of motivation for fitness and healthy eating for the last 4 or 5 months, so i decided that arming myself with more information (a stimulus for me), would give me the internal nudge i need.
one scheduling misstep and mishap after another (on both our parts) meant that hhg (holistic health guy) and I did not meet until today. i arranged to leave work a half hour early so I'd be on time. i didn't realize the meeting would be at a residence--his, to be exact. i knocked timidly when i arrived, about a half hour early. when i got no answer, i resigned myself to just waiting outside.
i should mention here that there was a rotund, pearl-black cat, sitting fatly on the porch. i'm not categorically superstitious (I walk on cracks, my mother's back is yet unbroken), but black cats give me pause. anyway, it saw me and went scurrying. that's when i initially knocked, got no answer, and then promptly left the porch area when the cat came back... intentionally, and sat at the front door and meowed (as if to say helloooo, company). no one came to the door. the cat looked at me as if to say hey, i tried, then unceremoniously shat in the yard.
at around the scheduled time, one of hhg's housemates came home and let me in. a few moments later, firmly ensconced in the guru's private lair, i told him what i'm hoping to gain (and lose) and what i'd like to work on. as i knew he would, he mostly listened, stressed balance as the antidote to dysfunction and unrest, and told me what all comes with the sessions (should i decide to put myself in league with him). it's actually quite exciting. there are cooking classes to attend, metabolic typing (the particular program i'm interested in), and support for 6 months.
i just have to decide if it's in my budget. okay, i know it's in my budget. i just need to eliminate some meals out and i'd have a windfall of resources. this seems like the logical next step, so i believe i'm going to take it.
will keep you posted.
one scheduling misstep and mishap after another (on both our parts) meant that hhg (holistic health guy) and I did not meet until today. i arranged to leave work a half hour early so I'd be on time. i didn't realize the meeting would be at a residence--his, to be exact. i knocked timidly when i arrived, about a half hour early. when i got no answer, i resigned myself to just waiting outside.
i should mention here that there was a rotund, pearl-black cat, sitting fatly on the porch. i'm not categorically superstitious (I walk on cracks, my mother's back is yet unbroken), but black cats give me pause. anyway, it saw me and went scurrying. that's when i initially knocked, got no answer, and then promptly left the porch area when the cat came back... intentionally, and sat at the front door and meowed (as if to say helloooo, company). no one came to the door. the cat looked at me as if to say hey, i tried, then unceremoniously shat in the yard.
at around the scheduled time, one of hhg's housemates came home and let me in. a few moments later, firmly ensconced in the guru's private lair, i told him what i'm hoping to gain (and lose) and what i'd like to work on. as i knew he would, he mostly listened, stressed balance as the antidote to dysfunction and unrest, and told me what all comes with the sessions (should i decide to put myself in league with him). it's actually quite exciting. there are cooking classes to attend, metabolic typing (the particular program i'm interested in), and support for 6 months.
i just have to decide if it's in my budget. okay, i know it's in my budget. i just need to eliminate some meals out and i'd have a windfall of resources. this seems like the logical next step, so i believe i'm going to take it.
will keep you posted.
Saturday, July 05, 2008
coffee & pie for breakfast
my cloudy day fourth of july plans with Sarah involved one of my favourite things--a carpet picnic. a carpet picnic is basically eating food that one might eat at a picnic, indoors. we enjoyed crab & artichoke dip on toasted sesame crackers, crispy wings, and leftover pizza. we got a wildberry pie (with a buttery, flaky crust) to enjoy for dessert. i was a little too stuffed to enjoy my slice last night, so this morning i indulged (with a moat of whipped cream on the side). mmm. a holiday week.
Friday, July 04, 2008
birthday week
i've been with the sarah-one for the last day and a half celebrating her 33rd (dinner out, a couple of movies we'd been meaning to see, and just generally cavorting). otherwise, holding it down at the office, and trying to get back into a reasonable exercise routine. next week, i meet with a holistic health guy to discuss what i should be eating for optimum metabolic performance. other than that, Sarah and i have been trying to nail down early fall vacation plans. i think i've officially become part of the bourgeoisie. i was totally surprised when i realized that i am, in fact, middle class. my parents never made into that tax bracket or mindset. this may be bad news. antithetical to artistic hunger.
