Wednesday, October 01, 2008
"First Black First Lady"
At the Show: The Lady Tigra [Obama-rama in Spaceland] - "First Black, First Lady" from Spaceland Recordings on Vimeo.
Friday, September 26, 2008
end of the season
beach season is over and so is our vacation. this is the last day of waking up in a four-story condo, and trekking down to the sea whenever the mood strikes, and of heading down to the outlets to get good deals a la end of season sales (in the land of no sales tax).the encroaching chill in the air means fall. and while i am glad to pack up my things and head back to the city i love--the city in which i chronicle my life--i am a little wistful, too.
can i do all the things i have to do? will i be able to bear the cold?
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Nor'Easter
our small beach town is drenched. sarah's mom (her parents, as planned, came to join us yesterday) is preparing dinner while sarah does homework and i blog. we're past cocktail hour, so an ambient buzz and my fall 2008 mix are the muses behind this blog post.
today's big activity? soggy shopping (more outlets).
the Internet has been dicey for the last day and a half, so now i'm riding the coattails of some unsecured something or other that is worst than an inconsistent lover. you just can't get it when you want it.
i've been checking in with work e-mail here and there. no catastrophes, thankfully.
here's the truth i'm hugging tonight: getting what you want means you can't play it safe.
where's the line between what is true and what could be true?
today's big activity? soggy shopping (more outlets).
the Internet has been dicey for the last day and a half, so now i'm riding the coattails of some unsecured something or other that is worst than an inconsistent lover. you just can't get it when you want it.
i've been checking in with work e-mail here and there. no catastrophes, thankfully.
here's the truth i'm hugging tonight: getting what you want means you can't play it safe.
where's the line between what is true and what could be true?
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Shanty: Goin’ Downy Ocean
Like many Marylanders, I grew up going to Ocean City. We didn't "summer" there yearly, but I've been more times than I can count. That being said, when I think of beaches, I think of kitschy boardwalk attractions, bright pink t-shirts with airbrush designs, and white people sporting mullets who may also be wearing t-shirts that brag their love of the confederate flag/being a redneck. Throw in some seagulls and Thrashers fries and you have Ocean city. It informed my concept of "going to the beach."Sarah and I drove down there today because she had never been. Nothing has changed.
Rehoboth, where we are staying, is upscale by contrast. Still beachy, but clean. All the usual suspects—The Candy Kitchen, Kohr Bros., etc. are present and accounted for—but they've thrown in a legitimate British Fish & Chips spot, cafes, bookstores, and sushi, all while paying legitimate attention to the overall design of the store fronts. There are a variety of accessible, appealing sit-down restaurants; there are a good number of less casual dining options, and enticing beach hut establishments, too. There's also a boardwalk (not as long as OC's), so you do get the full beach experience. But I didn't expect to be charmed, to find it devoid of every less than desirable element I listed above. Hell, I haven't even seen those scavenger birds about…
I don't know if this has always been the vibe at Rehoboth—I've only been one other time in my life—but the town has stayed ahead of the money curve. Fresh, modern rental properties are going to draw better-heeled summer tenants, I suppose. Better-heeled renters and summer residents will mean the town has the means to pay better attention…
But, it's not like Ocean City is any less expensive. I'm sure those ramshackle motels built circa 1940 go for hundreds a night during high season, but may or may not be air conditioned and may or may not smell like mildew. Sure, I saw some newer looking places, but not enough. That strip of highway that leads "downy ocean" as Baltimoreans say, is stuck somewhere in 1970. The view from my car window looked just like it did when I was 10. And it already looked sad then.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Gambling & Outlets: Moneyletting
When Sarah and i originally conceived this vacation, we thought we'd take one of our days and ferry it to Atlantic City for a day at the Tropicana. Expensive boarding fares forced us to reconsider. We drove to Dover Downs instead. Our rule: Spend a total of a hundred dollars between us. If we won anything close to a thousdand dollars, we'd pocket 900 and keep rolling with the other hundred. If we approached 10,000 (i know. i know. you can stop laughing anytime now.), we'd be out of there, no questions asked.
Everything at Dover is electronic, so that was a bit of a bummer. Here's what was striking. It was Monday morning (obviously) and the place was packed. I know some people must have been on vacation (like us), but some were clearly just having a typical beginning of the week gamble fest. Like a "using my unemployment check to make a miracle" kind of thing.
Here's what I learned/confirmed: I'm better at games of chance than those that require strategy. I won 30 bucks on the Lotto Machine (and lost it at the Penny Slots). Sarah won all our money back (we were playing together) at Black Jack (then lost it). We made a comeback at the Roulette Machine, before we proceeded to suck.
all in all, we lost 110.00 (we made a last ditch effort with some slots).
So, after you lose your money to the devil, there's nothing better than retail therapy. no, in all seriousness, we planned to take in the outlets because you get so much more bang for your buck. i got some fun stuff, some necessary stuff (like frying pans from Le Gourmet Chef), and some literary stuff ( The Boy Detective Fails).
In other news, i began thinking through the concept for my Fall 2008 mix. It's trippy. It doesn't care what you think about it, which will make you want it.
We're opening a bottle of wine now. Perhaps, The Black Chook.
Everything at Dover is electronic, so that was a bit of a bummer. Here's what was striking. It was Monday morning (obviously) and the place was packed. I know some people must have been on vacation (like us), but some were clearly just having a typical beginning of the week gamble fest. Like a "using my unemployment check to make a miracle" kind of thing.
Here's what I learned/confirmed: I'm better at games of chance than those that require strategy. I won 30 bucks on the Lotto Machine (and lost it at the Penny Slots). Sarah won all our money back (we were playing together) at Black Jack (then lost it). We made a comeback at the Roulette Machine, before we proceeded to suck.
all in all, we lost 110.00 (we made a last ditch effort with some slots).
So, after you lose your money to the devil, there's nothing better than retail therapy. no, in all seriousness, we planned to take in the outlets because you get so much more bang for your buck. i got some fun stuff, some necessary stuff (like frying pans from Le Gourmet Chef), and some literary stuff ( The Boy Detective Fails).
In other news, i began thinking through the concept for my Fall 2008 mix. It's trippy. It doesn't care what you think about it, which will make you want it.
We're opening a bottle of wine now. Perhaps, The Black Chook.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Vacation, all i ever wanted
Vacation, for me, has never meant leaving behind my connection to home. in these days of encroachingly encroaching technology, it certainly doesn't mean putting my phone on mute or refusing to check my e-mail. the sweet spot is staying plugged in, yet totally disconnecting. Sarah and i are both grad students, so the laptops are out and powered up--but even if we weren't, we're both techies, so... and hey, now we've both got these phones that check any number of e-mail accounts you want, all day long.
this morning, while i made coffee, the sarah-one (as shown above) was hard at work keeping her blog updated so you'll know what she's (and I am) up to.
i relax more when i have the option of checking in with the world as i know it.
Vacation, for me, is about the comforts of home. It's about having home with me, wherever i am.
it's hazelnut creme coffee first thing; it's pictures of the people and the dog i love; it's my iPod faithfully streaming the playlists i've created for every mood.
that's why renting someone else's home in a strange place appeals. during the day, i go out and explore what i don't know while having the familiar niches of my own life. Vacation is a context in which to more fully experience what i know and to puzzle out what i don't.
Friday, September 19, 2008
the city, late september, at night
We saw him while we sat on the corner of St. Paul and Eager; he was headed to the City Café to meet us. He seemed to be looking at the car, but we couldn’t be sure. He seemed to recognize us, but again, I couldn’t be certain.
Crystal dropped me off in front of the restaurant and went to find parking. I was standing there in what is arguably the most flattering shirt and the most flattering black, flare-legged pair of pants I own (they create the illusion of a longer, more lithe look on me), cutting a striking figure.
Once it was established that sitting outside was not going to happen (who can resist sitting outside on these gorgeous, fading summer days?), we settled at our table and put in an order of Calamari and a bottle of Australian Shiraz. I noticed him admiring the shirt and that was it right there. All the payoff I’d ever need. For the rest of my life, whatever else happens, I’ll know that I made the right decision about that blouse.
Not having seen him since the last real day of August, I was just a bit nervous, and there were one or two moments of not having much to say, because the only thing to say, really, is: I want you. Do you want me?
And I wouldn’t have said that, because there are a few conversational footbridges between where we are and that declarative/interrogative.
Lovely buffer and all around charmer that she is, my sister breezed in and regaled us with tales of all the men that hit on her yesterday—all owing to the classic red scoop neck sweater of mine she borrowed. Once the Shiraz was uncapped, there were no more slight snags. I had to remember to keep my hands to myself, not touch his arm to punctuate too many sentences. At the same time, it was important to not be so over vigilant that I came across stony. The goal was to be real and keep it real, but to never let that make me sloppy with desperate energy.
So. When our legs touched briefly under the table, I didn’t fight it. And I allowed myself one unapologetic arm touch.
The appetizer and wine portion of the program was smashing. To keep our progressive dinner progressive, we made quick work of the check, and headed across the street to Sushi at Minato.
During this briefest of jaunts, he complimented me on the wine selection and touched my arm/back as he did. There was such a current.
I should mention here that C kept pointing out how lovely I looked, kept asking Mr. Close Encounters if he liked my hair cut, and didn’t he love my shirt. At one point, I said “She gave me this shirt for my birthday.” He smiled, understood her compliments of me in the context of her own self-perceived fashion genius. Actually, he didn't smile. He laughed generously.
I knew I wanted a Zentini (green tea martini), so I ordered one promptly. C and Mr. CE shared sake, but he thoughtfully asked our server to bring a third cup in case I decided to join them. I did, eventually, and it was so much sweeter than the last time I had some.
He seemed amused, happy to be there.
As we reached the car, the lingering hug I’ve come to anticipate from him began on cue. A friendly kiss on the mouth, then he folded C into our embrace. And we didn’t let go for a long time…
Crystal dropped me off in front of the restaurant and went to find parking. I was standing there in what is arguably the most flattering shirt and the most flattering black, flare-legged pair of pants I own (they create the illusion of a longer, more lithe look on me), cutting a striking figure.
Once it was established that sitting outside was not going to happen (who can resist sitting outside on these gorgeous, fading summer days?), we settled at our table and put in an order of Calamari and a bottle of Australian Shiraz. I noticed him admiring the shirt and that was it right there. All the payoff I’d ever need. For the rest of my life, whatever else happens, I’ll know that I made the right decision about that blouse.
Not having seen him since the last real day of August, I was just a bit nervous, and there were one or two moments of not having much to say, because the only thing to say, really, is: I want you. Do you want me?
And I wouldn’t have said that, because there are a few conversational footbridges between where we are and that declarative/interrogative.
Lovely buffer and all around charmer that she is, my sister breezed in and regaled us with tales of all the men that hit on her yesterday—all owing to the classic red scoop neck sweater of mine she borrowed. Once the Shiraz was uncapped, there were no more slight snags. I had to remember to keep my hands to myself, not touch his arm to punctuate too many sentences. At the same time, it was important to not be so over vigilant that I came across stony. The goal was to be real and keep it real, but to never let that make me sloppy with desperate energy.
So. When our legs touched briefly under the table, I didn’t fight it. And I allowed myself one unapologetic arm touch.
The appetizer and wine portion of the program was smashing. To keep our progressive dinner progressive, we made quick work of the check, and headed across the street to Sushi at Minato.
During this briefest of jaunts, he complimented me on the wine selection and touched my arm/back as he did. There was such a current.
I should mention here that C kept pointing out how lovely I looked, kept asking Mr. Close Encounters if he liked my hair cut, and didn’t he love my shirt. At one point, I said “She gave me this shirt for my birthday.” He smiled, understood her compliments of me in the context of her own self-perceived fashion genius. Actually, he didn't smile. He laughed generously.
I knew I wanted a Zentini (green tea martini), so I ordered one promptly. C and Mr. CE shared sake, but he thoughtfully asked our server to bring a third cup in case I decided to join them. I did, eventually, and it was so much sweeter than the last time I had some.
He seemed amused, happy to be there.
As we reached the car, the lingering hug I’ve come to anticipate from him began on cue. A friendly kiss on the mouth, then he folded C into our embrace. And we didn’t let go for a long time…
Friday, September 12, 2008
Oh, Mr. Bra and Panties, how you do go on!
i'm keeping this bastard around, i've decided, because he is literature fodder. More IMs today. More invitations to have sex with him (after a cultural outing to a museum, naturally). Poor slob. My favourite was the admission (after I'd asked him what his glitch is) "I dunno. I'm a mess."
Oh. He also wants me to edit his book pro bono. Apparently, there's a new trend in my life whre this kind of thing is concerned. I informed him that I'd be needing cash if he wants a copyedit, that fact-checking is extra, and that no, being "immortalized" in his book by way of some flimsy acknowledgment does not count. He then suggested that he might perform a... um... "service" for me on the regular as payment. I informed him that as I am not a whore, I have a different pay scale than that.
Wednesday night's outing was okay. I knew the conversation would be good, but as I suspected I would, I remain unmoved. If he'd be up for just being friends, I could do that, but that's just the kind of bait-and-switch maneuver I'd hate if someone tried to pull it on me.
I've decided to really buckle down this weekend and do my homework. i need to buy a sketchbook for my creativity class. and finish reading a couple of books and tweak this essay that's due next week.
this weekend the dog will be arriving and staying for the foreseeable future. next week, in addition to being the one before my vacation will be one of major adjustment.
Oh. He also wants me to edit his book pro bono. Apparently, there's a new trend in my life whre this kind of thing is concerned. I informed him that I'd be needing cash if he wants a copyedit, that fact-checking is extra, and that no, being "immortalized" in his book by way of some flimsy acknowledgment does not count. He then suggested that he might perform a... um... "service" for me on the regular as payment. I informed him that as I am not a whore, I have a different pay scale than that.
Wednesday night's outing was okay. I knew the conversation would be good, but as I suspected I would, I remain unmoved. If he'd be up for just being friends, I could do that, but that's just the kind of bait-and-switch maneuver I'd hate if someone tried to pull it on me.
I've decided to really buckle down this weekend and do my homework. i need to buy a sketchbook for my creativity class. and finish reading a couple of books and tweak this essay that's due next week.
this weekend the dog will be arriving and staying for the foreseeable future. next week, in addition to being the one before my vacation will be one of major adjustment.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
eating the last of my birthday cake
tomorrow is my middle sister's 25th birthday, which means that it is officially no longer my birthday. so, i have yet to wrap her presents or do some of my homework, even, because i am overcome with some weird lethargy. it is exacerbated by the fact that i have social plans that i feel ambivalent, at best, about.
a few weeks ago, i went speed dating, as all of you know. oh! before I forget, The Litigator from said speed dating outing IM'd me today with the following lead-in: Hi babe!
Que?
that's his thing now. IM'ing me sporadically and asking weird, one-off questions and then getting off line. My nonchalant reply to his brush off worked. Mental note: Try this on a boy I actually care about sometime.
anyway, i have plans tonight with the other attorney i met at this venture. i remember distinctly following up with both of them because i was trying to stay engaged. now i feel that the moment has kind of passed and whatever. perhaps i'll perk up when that martini hits my blood.
confidential to my cyberstalker: You are on here too much and should heed my warning. You know who you are and you know what I'm talking about.
a few weeks ago, i went speed dating, as all of you know. oh! before I forget, The Litigator from said speed dating outing IM'd me today with the following lead-in: Hi babe!
Que?
that's his thing now. IM'ing me sporadically and asking weird, one-off questions and then getting off line. My nonchalant reply to his brush off worked. Mental note: Try this on a boy I actually care about sometime.
anyway, i have plans tonight with the other attorney i met at this venture. i remember distinctly following up with both of them because i was trying to stay engaged. now i feel that the moment has kind of passed and whatever. perhaps i'll perk up when that martini hits my blood.
confidential to my cyberstalker: You are on here too much and should heed my warning. You know who you are and you know what I'm talking about.
Sunday, September 07, 2008
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
thirty five years
so, i write to you from what is almost the other side of 34 years of existence. the day i was born "Let's Get It On" was No. 1 on the Billboard charts. this fact confirms something fundamental about my life, though i can't exactly say what. all i can tell you is that i've come out on the other side of some stuff, am still wading through some other stuff, and am trying to embrace stuff other than that.here's what i know: i've found more strength when i've embraced my femininity than when i've tried to wear a cloak of masculine detachment; i'm happiest when i'm not hiding my light under a bushel; i like to take care of people i love; my right side is my good side; i still love words so much--they are still my doorway into the heart of things; and having a problematic relationship with my dad robbed me of some things. Forgiving him before he died healed some things.
i like being in that place between buzzed and drunk and more than anything, i want to collapse into the right man's arms...
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
In Progress
Mr. Close Encounters came to pick up his edited manuscript on Saturday afternoon. C and I spent the morning in Hampden after dropping by my office briefly so I could drop off my laptop (I worked from home on Friday), and then came back to the apartment to drink mimosas until Catchka's Johnny Depp Movie & Tacos night (affectionately referred to as "Depp and Tacos").
I'd e-mailed him on Friday evening to let him know I'd finally finished, but as we were on the cusp of the long weekend, I thought it entirely possible that I wouldn't get a response until today. I knew he was getting anxious, though, so when he called on Saturday after reading my note, it made sense.
The last time I saw him was at the then new Starbucks in Mt. Vernon. This was back in January and I was 30 pounds lighter than the last time he'd seen me. I hadn't yet gotten into the MFA program, the big, consuming project at work wasn't yet over, and I was so rigid during our interaction because it was about me feeling like I had some control, me letting him know that I'd be the one walking away this time. And for as much as I walked away with some semblance of my lost dignity back, I also knew he knew I couldn't sustain eye contact with him. And I knew he knew why.
This time, the distance of months and the process of having read his book smoothed my sharp edges and it was easier being caught up in his prolonged hug, easier to look at him.
I made him a mimosa, sat beside him on the couch, and we hung out with C, watching a movie for the better part of an hour. When time dictated an organic end, he stood up. So I stood up and handed him the box that contained the pages that dominated my life for nearly a month. I dreamed in its narrative; I weighed every word.
Just before he walked back out of the gate of my apartment building, I was caught up again in his embrace. I must have tried to pull away, knowing me (I always try to end things first), but he held on longer. Then he took my hand. He looked me right in the face.
This morning, he wrote to tell me he'd immediately read the more lengthy edits and grew "on the spot" because of them. He called my effort an "incredible tool"--one that he's already started to wield to the end of satisfactory revision results.
I told you once that you can't always guess who the hero of the story's going to be.
I'd e-mailed him on Friday evening to let him know I'd finally finished, but as we were on the cusp of the long weekend, I thought it entirely possible that I wouldn't get a response until today. I knew he was getting anxious, though, so when he called on Saturday after reading my note, it made sense.
The last time I saw him was at the then new Starbucks in Mt. Vernon. This was back in January and I was 30 pounds lighter than the last time he'd seen me. I hadn't yet gotten into the MFA program, the big, consuming project at work wasn't yet over, and I was so rigid during our interaction because it was about me feeling like I had some control, me letting him know that I'd be the one walking away this time. And for as much as I walked away with some semblance of my lost dignity back, I also knew he knew I couldn't sustain eye contact with him. And I knew he knew why.
This time, the distance of months and the process of having read his book smoothed my sharp edges and it was easier being caught up in his prolonged hug, easier to look at him.
I made him a mimosa, sat beside him on the couch, and we hung out with C, watching a movie for the better part of an hour. When time dictated an organic end, he stood up. So I stood up and handed him the box that contained the pages that dominated my life for nearly a month. I dreamed in its narrative; I weighed every word.
Just before he walked back out of the gate of my apartment building, I was caught up again in his embrace. I must have tried to pull away, knowing me (I always try to end things first), but he held on longer. Then he took my hand. He looked me right in the face.
This morning, he wrote to tell me he'd immediately read the more lengthy edits and grew "on the spot" because of them. He called my effort an "incredible tool"--one that he's already started to wield to the end of satisfactory revision results.
I told you once that you can't always guess who the hero of the story's going to be.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
The Best Weekend Ever!
As the photopost from Monday suggests, my sisters and I took in the annual Native American Pow-Wow in Patterson Park on Saturday. We'd never been able to go in previous years for one reason or another--usually because both of the girls would be heading back to school after their summers off by the third weekend in August. This event was the lynchpin of Caryl's birthday as it was the first of the weekend festivities to be planned.
Serendipitously, I found out about a concert on Friday the 22nd at the Recher Theatre in Towson. Rock/blues singer Danielia Cotton was headlining and Theresa Andersonn and Blue King Brown were opening. I'd recently shared some of Cotton's songs with Caryl because I think they have a similar vibe (Caryl's a singer), so it was a very happy stroke of luck. Little did we know that we'd all end up leaving wowed by Andersonn, Swedish-American singer from New Orleans who had more soul and the true spirit of Rhythm & Blues in her little finger than most people have in their whole bodies. I bought her CD and I don't buy CDs anymore...
Saturday night, because I wasn't sure I could find live bellydancing (another passion of my sister's), we took in Bare at the Baltimore Theatre project. A musical about some Catholic teens with various kinds of angst. The singing was pretty sub-par, but it was still entertaining.
Sunday was lunch at Mari Luna--the Best Mexican restaurant in Baltimore--in Sarah's neighborhood. I'd gotten Caryl a cheesecake the day before from Whole Foods, so we all came back to my place for an impromptu b-day party. May I recommend the game 'Apples to Apples'? It's so much fun! Rounding out our fete was Catchka, whom Caryl adores. There's a highly-embarrassing video of one of our activities, but I'll save that for a day when the blogging well runs dry.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Friday, August 22, 2008
big weekend!
For months, i've been planning a weekend-long birthday celebration for my youngest sister, who will be 23 on Monday. Crystal and i won't get to see Caryl on Monday, though, so we went to get her and the dog last night for two days of uninterrupted fun.
This morning will be leisurely, but Caryl and i will head to meet Crystal for lunch this afternoon--then we head to my nail appointment (i'm going to treat our birthday girl to a manicure). we'll also likely go shopping before coming home to walk the dog.
tonight's festivities are a surprise, but I can say that it will appeal to my sister's music sensibilities. because i don't want to chance her reading my blog on her Internet perusals. i'll provide more information after the fact.
This morning will be leisurely, but Caryl and i will head to meet Crystal for lunch this afternoon--then we head to my nail appointment (i'm going to treat our birthday girl to a manicure). we'll also likely go shopping before coming home to walk the dog.
tonight's festivities are a surprise, but I can say that it will appeal to my sister's music sensibilities. because i don't want to chance her reading my blog on her Internet perusals. i'll provide more information after the fact.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
OMG, Y'all!
so, i think i've learned a thing or two about being breezy with men. i've learned that i can only be casual when i don't give a rat's ass, and my feelings for the gentleman with whom i was supposed to eat sushi tonight are pretty much on par with my feelings for a rat's hindquarters. it's not personal, i just didn't know him enough to be invested.
on Monday, during an IM date planning session, he embedded a link to Victoria's Secret and asked if he could buy me "a new bra and panties" so he could imagine me in them during our date. I'd stepped away from my desk before he made the query, so there was a lapse in my reply. He took that to mean I was offended and "withdrew" the question. i was surprised, to say the least, but not really put off. He self-corrected, said it was inappropriate, that he was having a "dull day." i thought my e-mail was great. i basically told him that he could not buy me underwear "at this juncture," but that i would be happy to let him buy me sushi and cocktails.
he replied in this cold, flat way: "fair enough," he said.
i sent a confirming e-mail today and he was suddenly "not really over [his] divorce," and just looking "to have great sex on a regular basis."
i laughed out loud because as soon as this man said he wanted to buy me a bra, i knew that he was hoping for a very specific kind of affiliation. i'm not stupid. i'm also almost 35. i know that if a relationship progresses, sex is on the table for consideration, but Good Lord!
men are really just not making any bones about the fact that that's it for them. you're smart! you make me laugh! oh, you don't wanna have sex with me right away? sadly, this cannot go anywhere.
really, it's such stupidity and they're getting in their own way.
so, i laughed because i am breezy, and one look at this guy and i knew he wasn't my destiny. i did something that was socially evolved of me. i wrote him, let him know that dinners, movies, and sex (the only things he wants to do with a woman) were all on the table for discussion, without the parameters of a relationship construct, because like him, i didn't want anything deep. i stressed that i didn't hope he'd change his mind, and that i respected the honesty. i also let him know how transparent (how laughably transparent)he is, and that i regret nothing except the fact that i won't be getting any sushi tonight.
on Monday, during an IM date planning session, he embedded a link to Victoria's Secret and asked if he could buy me "a new bra and panties" so he could imagine me in them during our date. I'd stepped away from my desk before he made the query, so there was a lapse in my reply. He took that to mean I was offended and "withdrew" the question. i was surprised, to say the least, but not really put off. He self-corrected, said it was inappropriate, that he was having a "dull day." i thought my e-mail was great. i basically told him that he could not buy me underwear "at this juncture," but that i would be happy to let him buy me sushi and cocktails.
he replied in this cold, flat way: "fair enough," he said.
i sent a confirming e-mail today and he was suddenly "not really over [his] divorce," and just looking "to have great sex on a regular basis."
i laughed out loud because as soon as this man said he wanted to buy me a bra, i knew that he was hoping for a very specific kind of affiliation. i'm not stupid. i'm also almost 35. i know that if a relationship progresses, sex is on the table for consideration, but Good Lord!
men are really just not making any bones about the fact that that's it for them. you're smart! you make me laugh! oh, you don't wanna have sex with me right away? sadly, this cannot go anywhere.
really, it's such stupidity and they're getting in their own way.
so, i laughed because i am breezy, and one look at this guy and i knew he wasn't my destiny. i did something that was socially evolved of me. i wrote him, let him know that dinners, movies, and sex (the only things he wants to do with a woman) were all on the table for discussion, without the parameters of a relationship construct, because like him, i didn't want anything deep. i stressed that i didn't hope he'd change his mind, and that i respected the honesty. i also let him know how transparent (how laughably transparent)he is, and that i regret nothing except the fact that i won't be getting any sushi tonight.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
quick & DIRTY
i have two dates: one tomorrow and one next wednesday. my holistic health guru (hhg) cooked for me tonight.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Sunday, August 17, 2008
"It's time to switch..."
i had something of a meltdown yesterday. i can question everything sometimes, second guess what i want, and what i'm doing. yesterday morning was one of those times; i worried that it was, well, a sucky way to go into speed dating. if i was actually going to go through with something so outside the realm of my usual, i was going to need my game face and some accompanying lightheartedness. once my sister, C, and i worked out what we were going to wear and at what time E would be picking us up, my equilibrium returned.
Two men approached us while we stood outside our building waiting for E to pull up. One of them had just moved into our apartments and wondered when he might secure a tour. C, in mock flirtatious banter, said "well, maybe we'll bake you a pie as a welcome gift or something..." We told them we were going speed dating, to which one of them replied "I saw that in 'Hitch'," to which I replied "Yes, you did."
As soon as we were in E's SUV and pulled onto St. Paul Street, she pulled out a present. A bottle of Jamaican rum from her trip there a couple of weeks ago. I was all smiles already. Though I wouldn't be opening up this particular spirit, the plan was to have a couple of drinks before the proceedings began. i loathe small talk and can't always engage without the aid of a little something. That little something would be a vodka martini. up w/3 olives.
We all had these sheets on which to jot relevant details and names of the people with whom we talked, and on which to indicate inerest or the lack thereof.
The Firefighter, early 40s was a salt of the Earth type. Second generation Irish. We covered quite a bit of ground--mostly because we started talking before the official first 6-minute block.
We were off to a good start. When the little buzzer sounded we'd just explored the psycho-social, social psycho strata of something or other...
The House Painter, already drunk, told me (at extreme close range) about how much women care about these subtle differences in colour that men just cannot see. He also said to me before it was time for him to move on "I'm going to mark you down as very interesting..."
I should mention, for clarity's sake, that the women (who outnumbered the men) got the benefit of staying seated while the men bore the burden of rotating tables.
The Doctor in the Pink Shirt asked me what sports I like. "Football," I said. "The drama! The pathos!" He was all manner of intrigued after that. He said "So that's going into your next book" I, on my second martini by this point, replied "You know it..." The DPS kept alluding to some side business which I strongly suspect has something to with porn or some other illicit practice. He was being all vague about it.
(NB: The Doc was very appreciative of the intentionally consistent design elements of my outfit. I wore silver hoops in my ears and a loopy necklace that was meant to resonate with the swirly cirlces of my dress pattern. I believe he told me I had an elegant bearing. I was all ears. I mean, there's nothing happening with this guy, but it's not every day that someone pays such specific attention to my attire. Made me want to dress up every day. I need more clothes!)
There were two lawyers, both of whom gave me their cards, both of whom have promise. I can honestly say that I wouldn't mind if either of them got in touch. One of them, in particular, was unabashed. Before it was time to rotate, he looked down at his little recorder sheet, looked at me, then said "Fuck it! Here's my card."
I should explain here that C and I were at the same table. We played a little game with all the guys. I don't know if they were trying to flatter me, but every guy consistently guessed that I am the elder by only two or three years. I loved watching their jaws drop when I revealed that an entire decade and one week separates us.
Anyway, when Mr. Here's My Card was forced to rotate to my sister, he said to her (she shared with me later) "So, you're not here to meet guys are you, because I just want to talk about your sister." According to C, he pumped her for information about what I like, what I don't like, what to say to me on a date, etc., for the full 6 minutes of their allotted time.
There were a couple of guys from Long Island, NY. Fun fact of the night: Neither of these two can distinguish the accents from the other burroughs. Except for Brooklyn. One of them told me that people from Brooklyn talk like they have marbles in their mouths. I shared that it is my personal goal to learn to differentiate these by ear.
By night's end, I was on my third drink, and C and E and I all agreed that food was in order (none of us had really eaten all day), so we headed over to Sammy's for the best Italian in all of our humble city. E called ahead and put in an order of Calamari for us... The man himself was there, so we regaled him with our anecdotes. My oh so subtle sibling told the man no fewer than five times that he should take me out... He and the staff were all intrigued by the way we'd spent our evening. S and our server (also named Sam) thought they might like to join us next time. The jokes were flying.
OH. oh. To go back briefly to the cast of characters from the speed dating venue. A real estate mogul whose info C and I took because we already feel cramped in our new digs. In a year, we might want to acquire something roomier. The Mogul had a very defined sense of style that we both found suspicious. He was too fashionable to be straight. This was beyond metro, even.
Back home by 1 and ready for bed, I kicked off the masochistic heels I had on and called Sarah for a debrief. Sure as hell beat watching back to back episodes of Alias season 4.
Two men approached us while we stood outside our building waiting for E to pull up. One of them had just moved into our apartments and wondered when he might secure a tour. C, in mock flirtatious banter, said "well, maybe we'll bake you a pie as a welcome gift or something..." We told them we were going speed dating, to which one of them replied "I saw that in 'Hitch'," to which I replied "Yes, you did."
As soon as we were in E's SUV and pulled onto St. Paul Street, she pulled out a present. A bottle of Jamaican rum from her trip there a couple of weeks ago. I was all smiles already. Though I wouldn't be opening up this particular spirit, the plan was to have a couple of drinks before the proceedings began. i loathe small talk and can't always engage without the aid of a little something. That little something would be a vodka martini. up w/3 olives.
We all had these sheets on which to jot relevant details and names of the people with whom we talked, and on which to indicate inerest or the lack thereof.
The Firefighter, early 40s was a salt of the Earth type. Second generation Irish. We covered quite a bit of ground--mostly because we started talking before the official first 6-minute block.
We were off to a good start. When the little buzzer sounded we'd just explored the psycho-social, social psycho strata of something or other...
The House Painter, already drunk, told me (at extreme close range) about how much women care about these subtle differences in colour that men just cannot see. He also said to me before it was time for him to move on "I'm going to mark you down as very interesting..."
I should mention, for clarity's sake, that the women (who outnumbered the men) got the benefit of staying seated while the men bore the burden of rotating tables.
The Doctor in the Pink Shirt asked me what sports I like. "Football," I said. "The drama! The pathos!" He was all manner of intrigued after that. He said "So that's going into your next book" I, on my second martini by this point, replied "You know it..." The DPS kept alluding to some side business which I strongly suspect has something to with porn or some other illicit practice. He was being all vague about it.
(NB: The Doc was very appreciative of the intentionally consistent design elements of my outfit. I wore silver hoops in my ears and a loopy necklace that was meant to resonate with the swirly cirlces of my dress pattern. I believe he told me I had an elegant bearing. I was all ears. I mean, there's nothing happening with this guy, but it's not every day that someone pays such specific attention to my attire. Made me want to dress up every day. I need more clothes!)
There were two lawyers, both of whom gave me their cards, both of whom have promise. I can honestly say that I wouldn't mind if either of them got in touch. One of them, in particular, was unabashed. Before it was time to rotate, he looked down at his little recorder sheet, looked at me, then said "Fuck it! Here's my card."
I should explain here that C and I were at the same table. We played a little game with all the guys. I don't know if they were trying to flatter me, but every guy consistently guessed that I am the elder by only two or three years. I loved watching their jaws drop when I revealed that an entire decade and one week separates us.
Anyway, when Mr. Here's My Card was forced to rotate to my sister, he said to her (she shared with me later) "So, you're not here to meet guys are you, because I just want to talk about your sister." According to C, he pumped her for information about what I like, what I don't like, what to say to me on a date, etc., for the full 6 minutes of their allotted time.
There were a couple of guys from Long Island, NY. Fun fact of the night: Neither of these two can distinguish the accents from the other burroughs. Except for Brooklyn. One of them told me that people from Brooklyn talk like they have marbles in their mouths. I shared that it is my personal goal to learn to differentiate these by ear.
By night's end, I was on my third drink, and C and E and I all agreed that food was in order (none of us had really eaten all day), so we headed over to Sammy's for the best Italian in all of our humble city. E called ahead and put in an order of Calamari for us... The man himself was there, so we regaled him with our anecdotes. My oh so subtle sibling told the man no fewer than five times that he should take me out... He and the staff were all intrigued by the way we'd spent our evening. S and our server (also named Sam) thought they might like to join us next time. The jokes were flying.
OH. oh. To go back briefly to the cast of characters from the speed dating venue. A real estate mogul whose info C and I took because we already feel cramped in our new digs. In a year, we might want to acquire something roomier. The Mogul had a very defined sense of style that we both found suspicious. He was too fashionable to be straight. This was beyond metro, even.
Back home by 1 and ready for bed, I kicked off the masochistic heels I had on and called Sarah for a debrief. Sure as hell beat watching back to back episodes of Alias season 4.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
donning a pair of chunky mary jane heels and heading north
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Of Blueberry Cobbler Coffee and the Unexpected
During the course of my second, somewhat inorganic stint on an online personals site, I came across the profile of a man I'll call Jarvis St. Croix, and was intrigued. Intrigued enough, anyway. I wrote to him. Then I met the nudist-oh-i'm-also-into-soft-core-fetishes guy and my second go 'round on the "find a date" wheel ground to a halt. The nudist provided clarity. I was trying to force something that did not feel natural. What is more, I wasn't really over Mr. Close Encounters.
Fast forward to today: The day on which my dining room wall was rescheduled to be painted pumpkin (not pumpKING as I errantly typed a post or two back), and the day on which some computer issues at work made it infinitely easier for me to come home and work, the day on which Jarvis St. Croix instant messaged me.
Months ago after my "Who am I kidding, exactly?" moment, i wrote to Jarvis St. Croix and told him the truth. The truth being, that my overture toward him aside, I was begging off dating and perusing the personals for a series of practical reasons. The timing was off and didn't want him to think I'm simply dropped off the face of the Earth. He appreciated my candor, and let me know that if I ever found myself wanting to grab a coffee, he'd be up for it.
A door that was never fully closed, but that I, in any case, did not care to test by pushing, is now ajar. He said he'd call sometime. Could be fun.
Oh, and I'm drinking blueberry cobbler coffee while I write. Sarah is sitting across from me diligently attending to her homework.
Fast forward to today: The day on which my dining room wall was rescheduled to be painted pumpkin (not pumpKING as I errantly typed a post or two back), and the day on which some computer issues at work made it infinitely easier for me to come home and work, the day on which Jarvis St. Croix instant messaged me.
Months ago after my "Who am I kidding, exactly?" moment, i wrote to Jarvis St. Croix and told him the truth. The truth being, that my overture toward him aside, I was begging off dating and perusing the personals for a series of practical reasons. The timing was off and didn't want him to think I'm simply dropped off the face of the Earth. He appreciated my candor, and let me know that if I ever found myself wanting to grab a coffee, he'd be up for it.
A door that was never fully closed, but that I, in any case, did not care to test by pushing, is now ajar. He said he'd call sometime. Could be fun.
Oh, and I'm drinking blueberry cobbler coffee while I write. Sarah is sitting across from me diligently attending to her homework.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
what i've been doing
1. watching many, many episodes of the "Dog Whisperer"
2. trying desperately to believe that my dining room wall will actually be painted tomorrow
3. getting acquainted with my new laptop
4. reveling in the new flex time schedule at work (leaving an hour earlier has yet to get old!)
5. planning a jewelry party
6. mentally preparing for grad school
2. trying desperately to believe that my dining room wall will actually be painted tomorrow
3. getting acquainted with my new laptop
4. reveling in the new flex time schedule at work (leaving an hour earlier has yet to get old!)
5. planning a jewelry party
6. mentally preparing for grad school
Saturday, June 21, 2008
i'm a little confused about why some people can't seem to follow instructions
or perform services according to the schedule they give you. My dining room wall is still unpainted. I should have come home last night after my happy hour with a now-former coworker and friend to a pumpkin coloured dining room (to continue the scheme of the livingroom wall). i swear. i swear.
'tis the season for me to adjust to my expectations being, um, not met.
'tis the season for me to adjust to my expectations being, um, not met.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Real Neighborhly Like
After a dinner out with the girls, C,V, and I came back here so V could see our new place. Shortly after we arrived at the apartment, there was an insistent knock on my door. I opened it to find my next door neighbor. She was bearing a tray of pecan tarts and homemade vegetable pancakes. She implied with gestures and gifts (she spoke little english) that these were a welcome, of sorts. We thanked her, told her our names (which I don't think she understood), and she told us hers (which we did not understand, either).
For at least 10 minutes we sat pondering this overture. Do people still bring their neighbors gifts? Does the human spirit still have enough triumph in it that, a language barrier aside, some are still willing to knock on their neighbors' doors with openness of heart? We wondered. And were humbled. C and I have noticed that this sweet lady likes plants (if her balcony is anything to go by). We're going to pick out a lovely, summery one for her.
For at least 10 minutes we sat pondering this overture. Do people still bring their neighbors gifts? Does the human spirit still have enough triumph in it that, a language barrier aside, some are still willing to knock on their neighbors' doors with openness of heart? We wondered. And were humbled. C and I have noticed that this sweet lady likes plants (if her balcony is anything to go by). We're going to pick out a lovely, summery one for her.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Still settling in
Sunday was an impromptu move day, part 2. C and I headed to my mom's house to pick up more of her clothes and various and sundry other things--some weird mishmash of photographs, papers, and jewelry. Oh. And free weights. A carload, in any case.
As for me, I went spinning (to the gym, period) for the first time in a month yesterday. Well, it was just like riding a bike. The body, indeed, has a memory.
As for me, I went spinning (to the gym, period) for the first time in a month yesterday. Well, it was just like riding a bike. The body, indeed, has a memory.
Friday, June 06, 2008
Rediscovering the Internet (Chocolate in my Purse)
Due to some stalled projects at the office, and the drama of this election season, I've discovered (or rediscovered) a few sites.
The Root
Jack and Jill Politics
Slate
Salon.com
The New Yorker
In other news, work today took me away from the office to our Nation's Capitol for a summit. The highlight? Getting to hear Obama's and McCain's Education point people talk about the respective senators' ed policies. One panelist quoted someone else (he declined to say who) who likened No Child Left Behind (NCLB) to a Russian Novel: long, complicated, and in the end everybody dies.
McCain's person said something that gave me pause. Essentially, the idea that any teacher would be teaching purely to avoid the sanctions of NCLB is 'immoral,' but the fact that NCLB exists and the penalties that are associated with not hitting certain benchmarks means that some kids that were 'invisible' aren't anymore.
Obama's person was big on clearing up one thing: there are no 'silver bullets' and 'golden tickets' (i.e., magic programs) that are going to fix the education connundrum. Obama's team wants to empower teachers to use and leverage resources to figure out what works for them and their students.
I'll go everyone one better. Education reform, on the whole, without parental reform is doomed to failure.
I smuggled a handful of chocolate truffles home in my white leather purse. I want you to imagine this for a moment. Heat. white leather. chocolate. truffles.
The Root
Jack and Jill Politics
Slate
Salon.com
The New Yorker
In other news, work today took me away from the office to our Nation's Capitol for a summit. The highlight? Getting to hear Obama's and McCain's Education point people talk about the respective senators' ed policies. One panelist quoted someone else (he declined to say who) who likened No Child Left Behind (NCLB) to a Russian Novel: long, complicated, and in the end everybody dies.
McCain's person said something that gave me pause. Essentially, the idea that any teacher would be teaching purely to avoid the sanctions of NCLB is 'immoral,' but the fact that NCLB exists and the penalties that are associated with not hitting certain benchmarks means that some kids that were 'invisible' aren't anymore.
Obama's person was big on clearing up one thing: there are no 'silver bullets' and 'golden tickets' (i.e., magic programs) that are going to fix the education connundrum. Obama's team wants to empower teachers to use and leverage resources to figure out what works for them and their students.
I'll go everyone one better. Education reform, on the whole, without parental reform is doomed to failure.
I smuggled a handful of chocolate truffles home in my white leather purse. I want you to imagine this for a moment. Heat. white leather. chocolate. truffles.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Monday, June 02, 2008
cable, sort of...
my tech was supposed to arrive at my new place to set me up for service between 4 and 7 on Saturday (the day of my move). He showed up, per Comcast's call to say as much, by about 8:30. Once he arrived it became clear that it wasn't going to happen. The cable box/source for my apartment building is in the parking garage, which he could not gain access to.
after two or three phone calls Comcast agreed to get someone to my place this morning. another tech, two hours, and the tech's supervisor later, and I am somewhat connected... Obviously, the Internet situation is okay. But... the tv has had some issues. In addition to the rigamarole that was involved in getting me connected (new box, adjusting settings, blah, blah, blah), now there's just a general service problem in my area.
other inconveniences include the fact that the post office has, in all likelihood, screwed up my sister's mail. I put in a forwarding order for myself, as an individual (i didn't think to include her on the order), so technically her first pay check should have arrived at my old address by last Wednesday or Thursday (the first check is not directly deposited). I checked the mail at the old apartment one last time on late Saturday afternoon and it still hadn't arrived. So, my sister, who has been working her new job for about 3.5 weeks and has nothing to show for it.
Oh. And my central air seems to be having a problem.
Finally, the painting of my accent walls cannot happen until June 16th even though I did my damndest to make that happen before I moved in. I swear. I swear...
after two or three phone calls Comcast agreed to get someone to my place this morning. another tech, two hours, and the tech's supervisor later, and I am somewhat connected... Obviously, the Internet situation is okay. But... the tv has had some issues. In addition to the rigamarole that was involved in getting me connected (new box, adjusting settings, blah, blah, blah), now there's just a general service problem in my area.
other inconveniences include the fact that the post office has, in all likelihood, screwed up my sister's mail. I put in a forwarding order for myself, as an individual (i didn't think to include her on the order), so technically her first pay check should have arrived at my old address by last Wednesday or Thursday (the first check is not directly deposited). I checked the mail at the old apartment one last time on late Saturday afternoon and it still hadn't arrived. So, my sister, who has been working her new job for about 3.5 weeks and has nothing to show for it.
Oh. And my central air seems to be having a problem.
Finally, the painting of my accent walls cannot happen until June 16th even though I did my damndest to make that happen before I moved in. I swear. I swear...
Friday, May 30, 2008
So, Wish Me Luck...
This is my final, pre-move post. Tomorrow at 9 a.m. the games begin. I'm trying to arrange and organize the furniture and boxes so that the movers can move everything out with efficiency and swiftness. Then I go to this new place--this blank slate--this new chapter.
Here's what's left:
break down and box the desktop computer
remove legs from IKEA desk
break down bed frame
take down shower curtains
put last minute toiletries in luggage or boxes
light cleaning
turn in the keys
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Postal Amnesty?
I forgot about the 1 cent increase for regular mail. Earlier this week I posted four bills, all with 41 cent stamps on them. I wonder if they'll all be sent back to me, which will doubly compound the situation, since those items will then have to be forwarded to my new address (I have an order to forward in place as of Tuesday). I figure it like this, if the money is still in my bank account a week from now, I'll just resend or pay online.
I am working for half a day today and save for a late-morning work meeting tomorrow (it couldn't be avoided), am off. The situation here at Chez Krupnik is that 96.8% of our stuff is packed and ready to go. I've arranged the boxes in two strategic locations so the movers can get them out of here with relative ease.
After I go to check out the apartment this afternoon, I'll come back here and deal with awkward items and maybe do some cleaning. My leasing agent has already completed her walkthrough. I'm clear for a full return of my security deposit, but still I want to do due dilligence.
I'm a bit tired this morning (C and I went out for Midnight Maki), but ready to get on with it, as well.
I am working for half a day today and save for a late-morning work meeting tomorrow (it couldn't be avoided), am off. The situation here at Chez Krupnik is that 96.8% of our stuff is packed and ready to go. I've arranged the boxes in two strategic locations so the movers can get them out of here with relative ease.
After I go to check out the apartment this afternoon, I'll come back here and deal with awkward items and maybe do some cleaning. My leasing agent has already completed her walkthrough. I'm clear for a full return of my security deposit, but still I want to do due dilligence.
I'm a bit tired this morning (C and I went out for Midnight Maki), but ready to get on with it, as well.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Heading into a long weekend [of packing]
i'm trying to position myself, where food consumption and preparation are concerned, so that i can pack up the kitchen by Sunday night. C and I have already transitioned to paper cups, but we're still using flatware, dishes, and the full suite of pots and pans. by monday night--cold foods, easy microwave (pre-fab) options, and eating out will be the order of things. I think I'll do the prep for my Memorial Day Potato Salad on Sunday afternoon. After that, no more cooking!
Here's what's left: 3/4 of the kitchen has to be wrapped and boxed, our clothes and shoes and my desk stuff all need to be packed, lamps need to be broken down, my bed has to be dissembled for easy transport, and I need to finish/tape up some boxes that are mostly filled.
I'll pack up the computer the night before...
Catchka comes over tomorrow night to help--we'll get started on the kitchen :).
Here's what's left: 3/4 of the kitchen has to be wrapped and boxed, our clothes and shoes and my desk stuff all need to be packed, lamps need to be broken down, my bed has to be dissembled for easy transport, and I need to finish/tape up some boxes that are mostly filled.
I'll pack up the computer the night before...
Catchka comes over tomorrow night to help--we'll get started on the kitchen :).
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Exit Strategy
I'm constantly on the edge of my seat--hawking CNN and Salon.com--watching every banal pundit analysis and reading every Op Ed piece for some clues about the psycho-political scenario that set the stage for the current democratic nomination drama.
I've said it before. I'll say it again. This is not a political blog. Now then, with that truth firmly reiterated, I have to say that I have never. ever. been so caught up in any election before. This isn't even the election. It's the lead-up.
Anyway, it's all got me thinking about stuff like "exit strategies" (my move is on my brain constantly) and "weakening positions."
I've said it before. I'll say it again. This is not a political blog. Now then, with that truth firmly reiterated, I have to say that I have never. ever. been so caught up in any election before. This isn't even the election. It's the lead-up.
Anyway, it's all got me thinking about stuff like "exit strategies" (my move is on my brain constantly) and "weakening positions."
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
My sister's voice from Italy reaches me as I begin my work day
she landed safely. it's raining here. again. listening to Mary J. Blige. Wondering what's next. It was 2 in the afternoon there.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Here Comes The Sun
This is my recent grad school investment. my current desktop will soon belong to my sister (we'll get the hard drive scrubbed and amped a bit so it's actually uselful to her), so should I forget to transfer any files to my new system, it won't be too devastating. I went ahead and sprung for some software that will help me transfer my iTunes Library (a big concern of mine, since with few exceptions, I don't have the cds I ripped to my computer anymore).
Anyway, for the last year, I've seen myself with a yellow dell laptop. This colour is so optimistic--it's a real departure for me--and one I have warmed up to, only incrementally, somewhat reluctantly. In fact, when I went online to check out the specs I wanted, I nearly got caught up in the espresso brown model... I didn't know they had espresso brown and I suddenly didn't know what to do. In the end, I went for the bright and shiny factor. I mean, just looking at this colour makes me smile--I can't help it.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
Completion
My youngest sister graduated from my undergrad alma mater on Saturday. Days in early May in Southern Maryland are typically balmy, mild, and sunny. This, much like my middle sister's graduation from a school in Vermont, was a cold, rainy, soggy debacle. These small schools really need a rain contingency plan.
Yesterday, Mother's Day, wasn't much different weather-wise, but we managed to have a good time with our mother. We had thought we would take her mini golfing, but our parade was rained on. Instead, we managed to get into a restaurant (no reservations) with only a 45-minute wait. Afterward, we went back to my mom's place with a rented copy of the The Bee Movie, which I thoroughly enjoyed.
C and I made the tough decision to make our way back to baltimore last night in the driving rain. Not getting to sleep till past midnight meant that a 6:30 alarm felt unfair, to say the least, but awake we did. While she showered, I made myself busy in the kitchen with coffee and breakfast prep. And then a lovely thing happened. My boss called. No power in our building. Report once you've been contacted that things are back up and running. C still had to report to her place of business, but I've been watching Alias Season 1 on DVD, writing out checks for bills, washing up dishes, and just taking care of things you don't usually get to attend to on a Monday morning. I'll have to make up the hours at some point (there's no work I can do from home), but for now I'm glad I didn't have brace myself to enter yet another torrential downpour.
Yesterday, Mother's Day, wasn't much different weather-wise, but we managed to have a good time with our mother. We had thought we would take her mini golfing, but our parade was rained on. Instead, we managed to get into a restaurant (no reservations) with only a 45-minute wait. Afterward, we went back to my mom's place with a rented copy of the The Bee Movie, which I thoroughly enjoyed.
C and I made the tough decision to make our way back to baltimore last night in the driving rain. Not getting to sleep till past midnight meant that a 6:30 alarm felt unfair, to say the least, but awake we did. While she showered, I made myself busy in the kitchen with coffee and breakfast prep. And then a lovely thing happened. My boss called. No power in our building. Report once you've been contacted that things are back up and running. C still had to report to her place of business, but I've been watching Alias Season 1 on DVD, writing out checks for bills, washing up dishes, and just taking care of things you don't usually get to attend to on a Monday morning. I'll have to make up the hours at some point (there's no work I can do from home), but for now I'm glad I didn't have brace myself to enter yet another torrential downpour.
Monday, May 05, 2008
Possibility
These mild, even-handed days make so much seem possible. also, i'm bored with myself. everything seems like retread. i'm so cynical... that's the worst. i wish i could work up some more excitement!
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Yield
Catchka-bell and I spent the late morning and early afternoon in the valley (hunt valley, that is) yesterday. Ended up spending money, however wisely, on some sorely-needed things. It's so hard for me to part with cash anymore. I feel this constant tension between wanting to save and needing stuff. Anyway, my gym shoes have been dead for about two years. I finally bought some new, sweet New Balance all-terrain sneaks on clearance.
After I got home, one of my neighbors came up and bought 70.00 worth of my cds! That felt like an instant validation of my choices, because I'd been worried that I was basically living beyond my means and choosing between having something to wear and being true to my efforts toward fiscal responsibility.
Anyway, as soon as I got that cash in hand, I hoofed it to an atm and deposited it.
Today, I'm going to order my new furniture and arrange for delivery. gah!
Just checked out my sister's and my cell phone bill (family plan). Gah. again.
After I got home, one of my neighbors came up and bought 70.00 worth of my cds! That felt like an instant validation of my choices, because I'd been worried that I was basically living beyond my means and choosing between having something to wear and being true to my efforts toward fiscal responsibility.
Anyway, as soon as I got that cash in hand, I hoofed it to an atm and deposited it.
Today, I'm going to order my new furniture and arrange for delivery. gah!
Just checked out my sister's and my cell phone bill (family plan). Gah. again.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Moving Sale!
So, I put up signs throughout my building advertising things I do not intend to take with me into the next phase of my life. A couple of mugs, some glassware, bookshelves that are still functional but not aesthetically pleasing, a swiffer mop with a nearly-full box of swiffer pads. The list goes on. As I mentioned in the last post, I unloaded the couches (I've already picked out new furniture!) last week. I don't feel nearly as nostalgic about them as I thought I would.
They were the first pieces of brand new furniture I purchased for the first apartment I lived in completely alone. And there are a couple of other reasons those couches are memorable...
At this point, all my books, cds, china cabinet contents, and purses/totebags are packed. I've taken a lot of things off the walls and I've given a bag of stuff to Goodwill. I'm far from done throwing things out. I love moving for this reason: it brings stunning clarity to me about what possessions it's time to unload. It's amazing, really. Every time I'm packing up, I find things that I can't believe I didn't throw out the last time!
It's a relief to be the opposite of my mother in this way. I have never had a problem letting material things go. This is not to say that I'm not sentimental about a few items, but eventually I come to the conclusion that my time with stuff is done. I'm able to realize that what it represents can't ever be changed. That helps a lot.
I'm also giving myself permission to outgrow my possessions without guilt. I want to keep evolving.
On a separate, but related note: My new address means I will have lived on two of the most important streets in central Baltimore. Maybe in a couple of years, I'll go for number three!
They were the first pieces of brand new furniture I purchased for the first apartment I lived in completely alone. And there are a couple of other reasons those couches are memorable...
At this point, all my books, cds, china cabinet contents, and purses/totebags are packed. I've taken a lot of things off the walls and I've given a bag of stuff to Goodwill. I'm far from done throwing things out. I love moving for this reason: it brings stunning clarity to me about what possessions it's time to unload. It's amazing, really. Every time I'm packing up, I find things that I can't believe I didn't throw out the last time!
It's a relief to be the opposite of my mother in this way. I have never had a problem letting material things go. This is not to say that I'm not sentimental about a few items, but eventually I come to the conclusion that my time with stuff is done. I'm able to realize that what it represents can't ever be changed. That helps a lot.
I'm also giving myself permission to outgrow my possessions without guilt. I want to keep evolving.
On a separate, but related note: My new address means I will have lived on two of the most important streets in central Baltimore. Maybe in a couple of years, I'll go for number three!
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Lost in Electroland
Had a night out on the town with two coworker friends last night. We hit up XS for dinner then went to see "Lost In Electroland" at the Baltimore Theatre Project. Funny. The Scot was there--The Scot being the gentleman I had one very nice date with at this time last year. This play was produced, cooperatively, by the BTP and the Towson MFA in Experimental Theatre program. The Scot graduated from there as a playwright. This was not his play, but he helped out with production.
Quick wave. A smile. Nothing more. The fact that I didn't really feel the need to have a conversation with him, coupled with the fact that I started to feel like I was coming down with something halfway through the production, meant I left immediately after the lights came up.
Sometimes you have one really great date with someone and that's it. Because I met him after I met Mr. Close Encounters, I wasn't really invested anyway.
Sometimes I worry that I'm completely dried up. One of my friends mentioned last night how she sees couples do cute things and it's heart-melting (or something like that). I do not have this experience. I don't begrudge apparent affection between people. I simply don't notice it. And if I do, it certainly doesn't melt my heart. I just think "Wow, wonder what one or both of them is sacrificing to perpetuate that illusion."
I've heard enough conversations between married people and long-term daters to know that someone, one of them, at least, is not actually happy.
Anyway, things are moving along.
The couches? Out! Now I just need to score some packing tape and the games can begin.
Quick wave. A smile. Nothing more. The fact that I didn't really feel the need to have a conversation with him, coupled with the fact that I started to feel like I was coming down with something halfway through the production, meant I left immediately after the lights came up.
Sometimes you have one really great date with someone and that's it. Because I met him after I met Mr. Close Encounters, I wasn't really invested anyway.
Sometimes I worry that I'm completely dried up. One of my friends mentioned last night how she sees couples do cute things and it's heart-melting (or something like that). I do not have this experience. I don't begrudge apparent affection between people. I simply don't notice it. And if I do, it certainly doesn't melt my heart. I just think "Wow, wonder what one or both of them is sacrificing to perpetuate that illusion."
I've heard enough conversations between married people and long-term daters to know that someone, one of them, at least, is not actually happy.
Anyway, things are moving along.
The couches? Out! Now I just need to score some packing tape and the games can begin.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Transition
Haven't blogged much lately because I'm in limbo--my least favourite state. Waiting for my buyer to come get the couches, waiting for a financial aid award letter so I can accept the award, waiting to get paid so I can pay bills and buy moving tape. I'm waiting to be inspired. Everything seems largely contingent on something else that's not happening. blah.
I'm out of town at the beginning of next week. Meetings in the Lone Star State.
I'm out of town at the beginning of next week. Meetings in the Lone Star State.
Monday, March 31, 2008
The Best Kind of Morning
I woke up at 5:30 to ensure I got to 7 am spin on time, but because I have an academic advising appointment at 10 this morning, I came back to my apartment afterward to shower and follow up on all the quotes moving companies have sent to me.
I've also gotten a nibble on my craigslist posting. I've decided that after 4 years of the same couch and love seat, it's time to change things up. I'm selling those pieces and am going to put the yield toward a new couch (or set). I'm keeping the overstuffed chair that matches the couches, though. I'm thinking of putting that in my new bedroom, or if I only buy a couch (but not a couch and a loveseat), I'll put in the livingroom. I'm sure that whatever hue I choose will be complement the chair nicely. I have a decided colour palette. I'm sure the new furniture won't violate it too much.
Anyway, the best kind of morning is some combination of productive and leisurely. Oh, and on my terms.
I've also gotten a nibble on my craigslist posting. I've decided that after 4 years of the same couch and love seat, it's time to change things up. I'm selling those pieces and am going to put the yield toward a new couch (or set). I'm keeping the overstuffed chair that matches the couches, though. I'm thinking of putting that in my new bedroom, or if I only buy a couch (but not a couch and a loveseat), I'll put in the livingroom. I'm sure that whatever hue I choose will be complement the chair nicely. I have a decided colour palette. I'm sure the new furniture won't violate it too much.
Anyway, the best kind of morning is some combination of productive and leisurely. Oh, and on my terms.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Updates
C found a job--starts Tuesday. Her last day at her current place of employment is Monday. Also, on Saturday we scored an apartment. We move in June! Thank you, God :)
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Nancy Drew's Guide to Life
A sincere and straightforward demeanor will get most anyone to open up and volunteer information. it doesn't hurt to be an attractive young woman, either.--from The Clue in the Old Album
Monday, March 24, 2008
The Process of Elimination
Sometimes the perfect solution, the perfect prospect asserts itself right away. More often, though, it makes itself known after you exhaust a few dead ends and go on a few wild goose chases.
The second interview my sister went on last week yielded only clarity. Not the right opportunity. Another meeting today ended similarly. On the heels of these disappointments, new leads spring up. Case in point--she got a call today for something on Wednesday. It substantiates the fact that one must hustle even for the serendipitous event.
One of the apartment leads (the only real one I had to date) fell through. It came down to a technicality. I wasn't disappointed, though, because I'd started to feel just a day or so ago that this place was absolutely not going to be big enough no matter how I sliced it. Sarah commented based on the floor plan she saw weeks ago that it wouldn't work, but other features and ammenities made it hard to discount.
There's another long shot looming, but really what it amounts to is this: I have to keep searching.
Last Friday night, E spirited me to some far flung mall because I wanted to check out the chain that carries Sarah Jessica Parker's label, Bitten. SJP's philosophy, as I understand it, is that fashion should be accessible to women of a variety of sizes and shapes at affordable prices. For that reason, no single item is more than 20.00.
I have never seen such poor quality in all of my life. No wonder it's affordable. It's complete shite. My heart bleeds for the poor people who likely toiled to produce these articles. I don't recall ever feeling like I was looking at a blatant insult to clothing--not even when I've seen those tent-sized tweety bird & sylvester t-shirts some manufacturer seems to think that plus-sized women want to wear, or worse, that that's all they deserve.
I know I should should have been skeptical. The old adage about something for nothing and not being able to get it and all that... but because SJP's name is attached to it, I thought her label would be an exception to the conventional wisdom. Honestly, she should just insist on better quality and charge accordingly. It's still honourable that a line would cater to such a range in sizes, even if the clothes aren't cheap.
To be clear, Bitten is not sizist. The size 2 clothes are crap. The size 12s are crap. I mean like "fall apart if you wash it in the machine, crap." I ended up buying two pair of underwear--the only items I could sanction.
So now I know. Another possibility eliminated. On to the next!
The second interview my sister went on last week yielded only clarity. Not the right opportunity. Another meeting today ended similarly. On the heels of these disappointments, new leads spring up. Case in point--she got a call today for something on Wednesday. It substantiates the fact that one must hustle even for the serendipitous event.
One of the apartment leads (the only real one I had to date) fell through. It came down to a technicality. I wasn't disappointed, though, because I'd started to feel just a day or so ago that this place was absolutely not going to be big enough no matter how I sliced it. Sarah commented based on the floor plan she saw weeks ago that it wouldn't work, but other features and ammenities made it hard to discount.
There's another long shot looming, but really what it amounts to is this: I have to keep searching.
Last Friday night, E spirited me to some far flung mall because I wanted to check out the chain that carries Sarah Jessica Parker's label, Bitten. SJP's philosophy, as I understand it, is that fashion should be accessible to women of a variety of sizes and shapes at affordable prices. For that reason, no single item is more than 20.00.
I have never seen such poor quality in all of my life. No wonder it's affordable. It's complete shite. My heart bleeds for the poor people who likely toiled to produce these articles. I don't recall ever feeling like I was looking at a blatant insult to clothing--not even when I've seen those tent-sized tweety bird & sylvester t-shirts some manufacturer seems to think that plus-sized women want to wear, or worse, that that's all they deserve.
I know I should should have been skeptical. The old adage about something for nothing and not being able to get it and all that... but because SJP's name is attached to it, I thought her label would be an exception to the conventional wisdom. Honestly, she should just insist on better quality and charge accordingly. It's still honourable that a line would cater to such a range in sizes, even if the clothes aren't cheap.
To be clear, Bitten is not sizist. The size 2 clothes are crap. The size 12s are crap. I mean like "fall apart if you wash it in the machine, crap." I ended up buying two pair of underwear--the only items I could sanction.
So now I know. Another possibility eliminated. On to the next!
Monday, March 17, 2008
Sprung a Leak
the one overt blight on my by most other accounts lovely apartment is sustained water damage in the dining room. it made itself known (peeling paint revealed more of a structural, systemic problem than a cosmetic one) a few months after i moved in. the next 6 months were spent waiting for the property manager to do something about it. she was a procrastinator, to put it nicely. before my ceiling got fixed a new property manager took the first one's place and had to haggle with the management company, over a period of about two months, to get them to fix it. that is, paint it.
i believe the paint job lasted a month before the familiar cracks and creases began to show and the hunks of paint began to fall.
there is almost no chance of it getting fixed again any time soon.
the other night i heard what sounded like skittering in the kitchen. i immediately tensed my shoulders and braced myself to have to deal with some sort of rodent (i can say that i have never once had any mice in this place and i couldn't be more grateful).
Drip.
Drop.
Drip.
Drop.
Water coming in droplets from a crease in the kitchen ceiling.
This morning, at the unfortunate hour of wakefulness (10 before 6), I felt my threadbare sock come into contact with moisture on the floor. Oh, right. The occasional, small evidence of a leak in the bathroom that i also deal with periodically.
The idiots on the 7th floor are notorious for turning on water and walking away from it. But this building is actually splitting apart due to the tightfists of the management company (located more than an hour away). I can't believe how shortsighted the owners are--rehabbing this building would bring a mint! They could charge double or triple for my unit alone.
But that isn't the point of this post.
I'm thinking of these leaks as a providential nod. It's really time to go. I know this. I've known this. I just have these moments of nostalgia or a lazy drive to stay put. Then, without fail.
Another crack. Another drop of water.
I just hope the building holds up long enough for me to get out.
i believe the paint job lasted a month before the familiar cracks and creases began to show and the hunks of paint began to fall.
there is almost no chance of it getting fixed again any time soon.
the other night i heard what sounded like skittering in the kitchen. i immediately tensed my shoulders and braced myself to have to deal with some sort of rodent (i can say that i have never once had any mice in this place and i couldn't be more grateful).
Drip.
Drop.
Drip.
Drop.
Water coming in droplets from a crease in the kitchen ceiling.
This morning, at the unfortunate hour of wakefulness (10 before 6), I felt my threadbare sock come into contact with moisture on the floor. Oh, right. The occasional, small evidence of a leak in the bathroom that i also deal with periodically.
The idiots on the 7th floor are notorious for turning on water and walking away from it. But this building is actually splitting apart due to the tightfists of the management company (located more than an hour away). I can't believe how shortsighted the owners are--rehabbing this building would bring a mint! They could charge double or triple for my unit alone.
But that isn't the point of this post.
I'm thinking of these leaks as a providential nod. It's really time to go. I know this. I've known this. I just have these moments of nostalgia or a lazy drive to stay put. Then, without fail.
Another crack. Another drop of water.
I just hope the building holds up long enough for me to get out.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Industry
I'm proud of myself. Though I've been a real slacker assed lazybones of late, I took the time to return my library books after work tonight. I even did some stop-gap marketing (just need to be tided over till pay day) on my way home. The fact that the coming week is going to be busy forced my hand. C returns to town on Monday (she was here this past week for a day and a half) for three more interviews, I have a post-project happy hour with some coworkers on Tuesday night, and Thursday I shop for an outfit or two for a business trip the following week. I'm off on Friday, but it's going to be a day of errands related to school and to the aforementioned trip.
On other fronts, I've been assigned a new project at work. I've had the luxury of trying to wrap my mind around what it will mean for most of this week.
Tonight, I did some streamlining (removed programs I never use from my computer) and faced the music (got a free credit report online--it was as abysmal as I suspected, though probably better than it was before I got serious about fixing my financial problems).
Now I need to go to bed. Sculpt is tomorrow!
On other fronts, I've been assigned a new project at work. I've had the luxury of trying to wrap my mind around what it will mean for most of this week.
Tonight, I did some streamlining (removed programs I never use from my computer) and faced the music (got a free credit report online--it was as abysmal as I suspected, though probably better than it was before I got serious about fixing my financial problems).
Now I need to go to bed. Sculpt is tomorrow!
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Of Celebratory Meals and Tremendously Good Friends
I have the best friends in the world. I firmly believe that. I'm at the point in my life where my inner circle of confidantes is completely devoid of toxicity, smallness of spirit, backhanded, ironic "support," or any of that other junk. All of my girlfriends are the kind of people I've always wanted to know and be friends with.
Tonight E and I enjoyed a celebratory dinner at the City Cafe at her initiative, because "you deserve to be celebrated, honey..." As is pretty typical for us we caught up over fried calamari (to start) and covered everything from her family to the Spitzer Scandal, barely stopping to breathe.
I love breaking bread with the girls, no matter the reason, but it does feel wonderful when someone you care about wants to acknowledge the good things in your life by way of sharing delicious food. E, being self-possessed, on the move, career-wise, and knowing her own mind about some pretty important issues, was vibrant. That was so good to experience.
This all makes me reflect on Sarah, Catchka, Deb, V, R, and B--to name a few more--all of whom consistently demonstrate generous reactions to my good fortune and hearty support when I need it. I don't take it lightly. I'm so grateful for all of you...
Last night I had the good fortune to attend a panel discussion at the university. I guess it made the fact that I'll be going there more real (and broke up the usual monotony of a Monday night), gave me a sense of the "vibe," etc. It may be preliminary to say this, but I conjecture that I'll feel more connected to this campus and this program than I did to JHU. It's got more of a homegrown, grassroots feeling about it. At the same time, I think it will more closely fulfill my expectations of a graduate program,on the whole. Hopkins took up my time and I certainly, absolutely benefitted from invigorating literary discourse as part of that study, but I think this is going to get under my skin in a different way.
Before I figure all of that out, though, my sister and I need to find a place to live...
Tonight E and I enjoyed a celebratory dinner at the City Cafe at her initiative, because "you deserve to be celebrated, honey..." As is pretty typical for us we caught up over fried calamari (to start) and covered everything from her family to the Spitzer Scandal, barely stopping to breathe.
I love breaking bread with the girls, no matter the reason, but it does feel wonderful when someone you care about wants to acknowledge the good things in your life by way of sharing delicious food. E, being self-possessed, on the move, career-wise, and knowing her own mind about some pretty important issues, was vibrant. That was so good to experience.
This all makes me reflect on Sarah, Catchka, Deb, V, R, and B--to name a few more--all of whom consistently demonstrate generous reactions to my good fortune and hearty support when I need it. I don't take it lightly. I'm so grateful for all of you...
Last night I had the good fortune to attend a panel discussion at the university. I guess it made the fact that I'll be going there more real (and broke up the usual monotony of a Monday night), gave me a sense of the "vibe," etc. It may be preliminary to say this, but I conjecture that I'll feel more connected to this campus and this program than I did to JHU. It's got more of a homegrown, grassroots feeling about it. At the same time, I think it will more closely fulfill my expectations of a graduate program,on the whole. Hopkins took up my time and I certainly, absolutely benefitted from invigorating literary discourse as part of that study, but I think this is going to get under my skin in a different way.
Before I figure all of that out, though, my sister and I need to find a place to live...
Sunday, March 09, 2008
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Lining Up Ducks
I had Jury Duty today and owing to a number that was fairly high in the range of jurors who reported, I got no trial action. Fine with me. I watched most of two movies I've seen several times (The Devil Wears Prada and Last Holiday) and got 15 bucks for my trouble.
We were released at about 3:45 because no afternoon misdemeanors were being heard. I took advantage of those extra afternoon hours and went grocery shopping. I am hosting a brunch on Saturday morning, dinner with my family on Sunday, and tomorrow night I'm seeing A, so I pretty much had to deal with my marketing obligations tonight, one way or the other.
The cabbie who spirited me home was interested in my wares. Our banter was pretty good. I halfheartedly considered that perhaps I should have agreed to meet him for a Guinness (man after my own heart), but then I realized that I am wary of such things with good reason. I told him if he was meant to see me again, he would.
Cornball, I know.
On other fronts, things with my new university are shaping up well. I'm just where I need to be in terms of applying for aid and all that. I'm just waiting for the second of those two letters to arrive so I can take relevant next steps (advisor procurement, ID cards, all that). I've got some time. The first day of class is 9/2.
We were released at about 3:45 because no afternoon misdemeanors were being heard. I took advantage of those extra afternoon hours and went grocery shopping. I am hosting a brunch on Saturday morning, dinner with my family on Sunday, and tomorrow night I'm seeing A, so I pretty much had to deal with my marketing obligations tonight, one way or the other.
The cabbie who spirited me home was interested in my wares. Our banter was pretty good. I halfheartedly considered that perhaps I should have agreed to meet him for a Guinness (man after my own heart), but then I realized that I am wary of such things with good reason. I told him if he was meant to see me again, he would.
Cornball, I know.
On other fronts, things with my new university are shaping up well. I'm just where I need to be in terms of applying for aid and all that. I'm just waiting for the second of those two letters to arrive so I can take relevant next steps (advisor procurement, ID cards, all that). I've got some time. The first day of class is 9/2.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
The News Is Good
Even though official letters to this end are still en route, I received an e-mail communique from the Director of the Program yesterday letting me know that I am in! "The news is good..." she told me. I had a feeling that I would find out just as all those big projects moved off my plate. Looking forward to being a student again, to a new computer (months down the road), and to gearing up for the next chapter.
Of course I read through my portfolio submission this morning in a spirit of reflecting on my own genius (mostly kidding) and spotted a slight typo. Immediately humbled. I started to think about the fact that perhaps they let me in thinking I could benefit from some help.
I won't be defeatist. Categorically, the news is good.
Of course I read through my portfolio submission this morning in a spirit of reflecting on my own genius (mostly kidding) and spotted a slight typo. Immediately humbled. I started to think about the fact that perhaps they let me in thinking I could benefit from some help.
I won't be defeatist. Categorically, the news is good.
