Uhm...

I don't want to read a book with moldy pages.

I don't even want to touch it!

Won't I die from inhaling the spores or something? I think I saw that on the Discovery Channel.

My Weekend:

This needs to be recorded somewhere so that I can look back years from now and, with help, piece together where my sanity went.

So, this weekend? I went to a conference. Perhaps better said, I decided not to go to a conference because I had pressing deadlines that I may not meet, so I decided to stay. Then was told that the demands on my time would be reduced to accommodate my needs, so with an hour's notice I came home packed up my shit (by "shit" I mean most, but certainly not all of what I needed for weekend. Small things like a change of clothes escaped me... I had two pairs of pants though!) and hoped in a car to ride out for 5 hours.

Now, riding in a car for five hours isn't really a big deal, because you can just read the whole way there, so no time lost, right? Guess who suddenly developed reading-specific car sickness? WTF?!? Now? Really? Now? -sigh-

So, then I went to the conference, learned that there were still some expectations on my time that I didn't realize, including a "quick" dinner that stretched into 4 hours...

So, I managed to read and review 6 articles, write 15 pages of a paper, and I still have the energy to scan the 200 pages that we're discussing in seminar tomorrow morning (I managed to leave that book at home!)

Oh, and that book, the one on the chair next to me. I thought I would save money by checking it out from the library rather than buying it. Apparently, it has seen so little circulation over the last 50 years that it has mold growing up its pages.

Sometimes, all you can do is laugh.

Life is good.

Things I Learned in College (or at the University?)

1.) Women in the sciences have small breasts. I don't know why it is, I just know that it is. Women in the sciences that require them to do math and work with equations all day long- small breasts. I think it's a developmental capacity problem. During during pubescent stages, our pituitary gland can either funnel breast fat production, or the complex neural networks required for higher order math computations. I do not fully understand the causal relationship, I just know that women in the sciences have small breasts. Every now and again you may see an undergrad with large breasts. She won't last.

2.) If you go to a college on a hill, all of the women on campus will have enormous and well defined thighs. I thought I was a badass by riding a bike up a hill. Nope. The requirements of having to walk up and down hills to get across campus makes these women all look like the 4x1 alternates for the Olympics.

3.) Women who wear Tevas have low self-esteem. Again, I don't know the causal link here; can't tell you why. But, in 2008, any woman walking around with Teva sandals on is telling you that she feels bad about herself on the inside, especially if they are so worn along the heels that the shoe leans. The lesby-savvy woman may have moved on to some variant of Keen or Merrel, but a woman walking around today in Tevas. Low self-esteem. All of them.

Now that that's settled, hopefully I can get something done on this fucking paper!!

Thanks Amazon, I Think.

I just got an e-mail from Amazon. I didn't realize that they did that.

They had some recommendations for me.

and a book on economics.

OMG! You're worse than my dad, Amazon! I'll dress better and figure out how to make money. Christ!

Black Republicans

I'm not one. But, I was amused by how many I saw during Palin's speech. Well, I saw one. But, I saw him over and over again! Then at the end I saw the other one in the dome. I was most amused by the Black man who was all geeked up over the country music entertainment that followed her speech.

More could be said, but it's the same old same old.

(I think that she looks a little like Tina Fey.)

7 Glorious Days!

I'm no fan of alternate side parking. No fan! As a student living on 5 figures (it's in the teens, but it's a solid 5), I prefer to drive as little as possible. For now, I like to ride my bike; later it will have to be public trans.

What that means though is that I'm tied to my car, as though it's a weight around my neck. Every day at 6pm I need to move my car from one side of the street to the other. Even days of the week you park on the east side of the street, and odd days you park on the west side. You certainly don't have to move your car, you can just pay the tickets and pick your car up from the impound lot.

But, for seven days, seven glorious days, I don't have to dance this dance. Seven days during the year; those months with 31 days I don't have to rush home and move my car!! As the 31st becomes the 1st we have an odd day becoming another odd day. Thank you, Ashref!

Southern

You can't be serious. Are you serious? Are you using "Southern" pejoratively, as though it were a slur? Are you serious? You have disdain for Southerners? REALLY?

That is so absurd. Why? Why do people think Southerners are... whatever the hell they think we are? No one yet has said what it is; the source and nature of the frustration is implied through the sardonic tone. I mean "Southern" is dripping with disdain as it rolls off the lips of folks up here. It's quite curious. There is no need to elaborate, or to specify what the nature of your frustration is; your listener simply infers exactly what you mean by saying Southern.

"I'm so frustrated with my insurance company. I called in about a claim, and I had to deal with this Southern woman!"

"Ugh!"

What the fuck are you people talking about? I'm serious, not indignant. What the fuck are you talking about? Are you thinking that Southerners are dumb? Do we speak with an accent that is hard to understand? Do we appear uninterested in moving with the efficiency that you want when you want your problems resolved the way you want them resolved, particularly when you're frustrated?

So, was this call center worker unable to solve your complex problem, and only capable of giving you scripted responses? What does being Southern have to do with anything? I'm not being pedantic, I really don't get it.

I mean, that may be because I'm a Southerner, but not because Southerners are dumb, but because this is a new experience to live somewhere that disdain for the South permeates the culture. It's brand new to live with this. It's a real oddity. And, when I tell people that I'm Southern, perhaps with my nondescript atypical "Southern" accent, they expect me to accept an invitation to disparage the South.

It's the craziest shit!

So, being reasonable, and "fair" with their prejudice:

What is there to dislike about the South? Racial prejudice? Oooh, honeychile! Folks above the Mason-Dixon line have NOT figured out racism. They are just as constrained by white guilt, blackaphobia, and a willingness to economically and legislatively segregate people of color. White folks in America are comfortable with some really heinous racist shit. The South has no monopoly on the absurdities of interpersonal and institutional racism. So, that's kinda dumb.

I don't think that Southerners are dumb. But, moreover, I don't think that Northerners are impressively intelligent. We're all about the same; kinda average. So, that's not it.

My best guess is that the disdain stems from the cultural distinctions that arise from an agrarian-based society versus and industry-based society, accumulated over generations of time and progress. We are culturally distinct. I think the agrarian basis of Southern life, as well as the oppressive heat that meant a pace of life that enabled you to slow down enough to notice and connect with other human beings- simply because it's good to slow down and connect with other human beings, has meant that Southerners have been able to hold onto our humanity in a way that industrialization and efficiency/productivity have droned out of Northerners.

We have porches!! We sit on them and expect other people to pass time with us. We say "hello" to people, even as we drive by in our cars. They may be people that we've never seen in our neighborhood before. The response is the same, slow down the car slightly and wave hello.

What is there to dislike about Southerners? Oh! Also, I've learned that many folks up here have never been to the South. Are you serious!?! Yeah- never been there.

So, what you know of the South is from the rehearsal of prejudice, and what you see on TV? It's like living in Germany and asking young people why they had prejudices against African-Americans.

"They're violent."

"What makes you think we are violent?"

"Boyz in the Hood."

"This is not a conversation worth having..."

Am I Adopted?

I have just decided that I am addicted to banana peppers and feta cheese. Banana peppers I've snacked on for a long time, but feta? I haven't had need to have it in my house until this week. I NEED feta! I think it goes well with anything:

• Boca Burger
• Chicken Patty
• Omelet
• Sausage & Peppers
• Chicken Salads
• Soups

The list goes on ad infinitum! No one in my family likes either banana peppers or feta cheese. Makes me wonder if I'm adopted. I know that when we are fetuses en utero (in utero?) that we can taste the spices and seasonings of the foods that our mothers eat. One of the postulated benefits to this is that we develop a preference for the foods that our mother's eat (or those in the environment in which we will most likely live) before we are even born.

No one even in my extended family likes these staples of good eatery. I think I may be adopted.

Now, I possess the capacity to go on and build the strength of this argument, and move it into something that may even be plausible. However, I realize that at it's heart arguing that I may be adopted because of my addiction to foods that the rest of my family doesn't eat is just about as plausible as, "Nobody else in my family seems to be a crack fiend... Hmm... You think I'm adopted?"

Mostly though, I'm just procrastinating, and taking a break from the grueling rigors of shit I don't want to read.

Back at it!!

I'm Insured!!!!

I got health insurance today!!!

Ooo yeah! ooOH yeah!

Now I can finally go to the doctor to make sure that I'm not dying of cancer. I don't think I am. i mean, I don't feel at all cancery, but I've got a "rapid proliferation of cells" that's got me nervous. I learned that phrase in Freshman biology; it makes cancer so much more discussable.

"We'll ma'am, you have some fast-growing cells... well, also, they may kill you."

I really hope that once I go to the doctor and find out that I'm not dying in 6-8 months that I'll be able to sleep better at night. Cuz uhm- these school demands are already kinda kicking my ass.

Wondering if you're dying must certainly take its toll on your energy and attention reserves, no?

Well, back to learning about the limitations inherent in public education systems...

Sometimes I Think I Feel Lonely

And, I may in fact be lonely from time to time. But, this loneliness is new. I woke up this morning and felt utterly alone, as though I hadn't seen people in weeks; holed up in some office reading papers and writing my responses to them for class discussions.

But, the reality is that I have seen people. And, not just in my classes either. In the last two weeks, I've gone out dancing 4 times (with different groups of people each time). I've gone to three different BBQ's. I had dinner with a couple of people. In fact, I missed a dinner because i was studying and forgot about the time, so without my phone- I no showed. And, I've turned down several coffee invitations, a couple of offers for meals, and I've met a ton of people that I like. I even went to a street festival and met a woman that I thought was attractive.

So, I'm not devoid of human contact, not even purely social contact. I'm surprised by just how easy it has been to meet and connect with people; even "important" people. But, sometimes I get this abyss of loneliness that engulfs my heart; it's a desperation to be with and around people.

I realized just now that it's not actually loneliness, it's the expectation of loneliness. I have a TON of reading to do, and the one word that I have heard more than "the" is "isolation" in characterizing the graduate experience. Ph.D. students are isolated!!!

So, when I'm faced with a mound of reading that I don't want to tear into, like someone's thinking about someone else's perspectives, on some other guy's criticism, of an interpretation of a philosophy from 1652, as that impacts some social construction in 1852- uhm YAWN!

So, a pit of despair surfaces as though it actually characterizes my existence. It doesn't. But when it surfaces, I take on the expectation that this is what graduate school is like, and from this moment forward I will be totally and utterly alone. The reality is that I just met 5 or 6 people today that I'm excited about getting to know better, including a pretentious med student who is gonna be my roller blading buddy. The fact is that I'm not lonely. I just don't want to read this shit.

Well, back to it...

Satisficing not Optimizing

I like it.

I have one more class to select for this term. I've been agonizing over this decision; I suppose in the same way I agonized over ...


Wait a minute! Joe Biden???

He selected Joe Biden!!!

What the fuck?

Hmmm... I've got a few things to think about.

Blogette VIII

Let's say you go to church, and they're giving out ice cream and fudgesicles:

You're still lactose intolerant.

When am I gonna learn?

My stomach...

I Used To Want To Be A Lawyer.

In fact, it's the earliest career that I recall having my heart fixed upon. For years I wanted to be a lawyer. From second or third grade I was fairly committed to being a lawyer. Then, all of a sudden one day I came home as a fifth grader and told my parents that I didn't want to be a lawyer anymore.

My dad took it kinda hard. In fact, from time to time he still reminds me of the days when I wanted to be a lawyer, and asks me what happened.

"Remember the good old days when you would have been done with school by now, and most assuredly would have been gainfully employed and out of my pocket? Remember those days? What happened to those days back in 1984?"

He doesn't actually say that, but that's what I hear. He says, with a light and wistful tone, almost as if he were prompting a flash-back sequence on a made-for-tv-movie, "Remember when you wanted to be a lawyer... [eyes glaze]...What ever happened to that?"

I've stopped telling him, and I just say "I don't know" these days. But, the truth of the matter is that I finally got to talk to an honest to goodness lawyer, and ask him questions about what his workday really was like. And, he answered me honestly when I asked him questions about scruples and ethics when they came into conflict with client obligations, and how that impacted job security/job satisfaction.

I didn't want a job where I would have to argue in support of things I didn't agree with, even if it was only from time to time; just felt like too high of a price to pay. And, the more I talked to him the more it became clear to me that there didn't seem to be a way to structure my career to circumvent these moral crises. The pay didn't seem worth it. I didn't want to be a lawyer anymore.

Oddly, from that day to this, I've always had people in my life who have been convinced that I would make a great lawyer, and have attempted to persuade me to "at least consider" law. I'm old enough to be jaded at this point, and I'm far from an idealist, but today I don't want to be a lawyer because I don't like conflict, I don't like breaking down other people, I don't like calling upon my abilities to be a disruptive and dominating force in order to conquer my opponent.

I think I ascribe to practices of intellectual non-violence. Huh. I guess that's where non-violence landed...

Anyway, it's been years since I've made the decision to dominate and conquer someone else's thinking in order to create room for myself. I don't like how it feels to "defeat" someone.

But, from time to time I think about law school; typically after someone has fucked me over, and I wish I were better positioned to defend myself.

Yesterday I got a call from my new dentist's office manager. She informed me that the $40 I paid to have a tooth fixed was charged incorrectly, and I now am responsible for an additional $279. At the end of a very heated discussion, she left me with the options to pay it or have it sit on my credit.

You BITCH!!

In that moment I wished to God that I was a lawyer. But, then I found a lawyer who would represent on this menial bullshit. At the end of our meeting I realized that I have absolutely NO interest in the practice of law. The shit is so unappealing across a spectrum of absurdities (Uhm... ACLU!)

I don't want to be a lawyer. I want to have a lawyer, especially when people run bullshit on me.

It was a wonderful revelation to finally understand that I don't actually want to take care of the shit myself when I'm mistreated, and learn all aspects of the law in order to protect myself and my loved ones; hawkishly protect us. Nah! I just want enough money to pay someone who specializes in that shit so that I can live the life I want to live, and not be disrupted because of someone else's stupidity.

The downside to this liberative realization, however, is that I know way down deep in the recesses of my memory that I never wanted to go to school. I never wanted to go to college; at least not when I went. Graduate school? Not really. Meh.

All of this shit is because I'm convinced that the world needs to be better for me and people like me. So, where can I contribute to creating the resources and support that I would have needed? It's not how I think about it, but my actions are thoroughly rooted in "being the change I want to see in the world". "We are the ones we've been waiting for." Inside my mind it sounds far more pessimistic, like "If I don't do it, no one will," or, "No one else gives a shit," or, "No one else can (wants to) do it, so I guess I have to." You know, shit like that.

I don't actually want to be an academic with 30 years of schooling under my belt. (I SO wish that number were a hyperbole!) If the world were safe for and supportive of little black girls, I don't know that I ever would have applied to anyone's graduate program.

I would have been a professional soccer player. I would travel around the country on a bus with 30 other women who love sport and athleticism, and give each other shit, and revel in camaraderie and the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. And at least once in my life, at least once, I would score a goal with a bicycle kick! At the end of the day you go to sleep and you start over again.

Why am I getting a Ph.D? Because the world is too fucked up for me to be a professional soccer player. Any questions?

Would I have made it? Yeah, I was damn good!!

Food

I need to change my relationship to food.

That's not new information. It's not even new to me. But, it certainly is frustrating in new and endless ways. I haven't had food in my fridge that didn't come out of a styrofoam container for a few weeks. Last night, around 8, I had a craving for some of my own cooking.

So, I hopped in my car and drove down to the super-cool/everyone's favorite grocery store to check out the goods and buy some different kinds of sausage. (It's an oddity that I'm an American, and my mom cooked regular American fare, but when I'm hungry and I want a good meal, it consists of sausage, noodles, and gravy. It's very German. I don't know where that shit comes from, but if I'm grocery shopping while hungry, pretty much all I feel like I need is sausage>)

So, only buying "a few things" yesterday, I ended up with a grocery bill that was nearly $100. Now, I had one of those mini carts that split into a top and bottom section. I only had groceries in the top section. (Well, I bought a sonicare replacement and a baking dish now that I think about it- but still $55!)

I was very intentional- since I was starving hungry and know my inclinations. I only bought healthy food, no junk, no sugar.

I made some turkey, and baked it with broccoli, potatoes, bell peppers, and fresh basil. I added a cream sauce, and blah, blah, blah. It was good, not great, but good. (All I wanted was sausage and pasta, maybe some asparagus.)

So, now here I sit. I warmed up some of the leftovers. Not great. So, I ate a bowel of cereal- the healthy shit that I forced myself to buy. Not great- so I didn't finish it.

Yesterday I went to the grocery store and spent $100. Tonight, I'm starving hungry and there's absolutely nothing in the house that I want to eat.

I need to stop buying the food that I "should" eat, and start buying the food that I will eat.

What's the point of going to bed hungry with these superfoods in my cabinets?

PhDs are Dumb!

The nouns I mean; persons, places, and things.

I spent a lot of time thinking about what it means to call someone or something "dumb" a few years ago. I say that things are dumb a lot. (I can't remember if I've written about this already. I feel like I have. Hmmm...)

So, when people call something "dumb" or "stupid", all they are actually saying is that they would have preferred that you'd done it differently. Further, they believe that you should have known anticipated that preference, and would like you to feel shame and/or embarrassment over it. That's all that it means to call something dumb; my preferences were not met. It takes the sting out of it when I look at it that way. I didn't act in accordance with someone's preferences. (That's gonna keep happening.)

Also, it's a nice check when I'm frustrated with someone else's "stupidity". They just aren't acting in keeping with my preferences. Uhm... that's gonna keep happening.

So, PhD programs... They're dumb.

They're dumb mostly because I want them to be something that I took care of in my twenties. They're dumb because it took me a long and meandering road to figure out what/how I wanted to plug into my career as an academic. They're dumb because they don't have an expedited path for folks like me when we feel like we need to learn as much as possible as quickly as possible and get on with our lives!!!!!

PhDs are dumb because I feel old.

PhDs are dumb because I have fewer and fewer opportunities to be "the youngest..." to accomplish something, so maybe I'm left with trying to pull off blazing speed. "No one has ever completed a PhD in 11 months before!"

Also, PhDs are dumb because they isolate you, bash your brains about, and then spit you out into a pool of socially awkward academics who are used to being able to have other people feel bad about themselves, assuming that they must be the awkward ones since Dr. Suchandso is just so intelligent. Smart? yup. Socially awkward too.

I'm remembering that I started a PhD about 4 years ago. It was the least challenging degree of my academic career, so it felt like a waste of time. I walked away after a year.

So, I don't think I actually want a fast-track PhD, or I would have just snatched up that one. I guess I just feel old, and I'm used to being on the other side of the learning curve.

Maybe I'll go date an older woman and feel better about myself.

1 Pair of Shoes

I feel compelled to buy shoes, like a crack addict feels compelled to sell AA batteries. I can't help myself, it's as if a power beyond my comprehension is guiding my actions. When you count them up my shoes usually number somewhere in the 50's. I remember where I was when I bought each pair, the time that it took to make the decision, the factors that I considered, and what I hoped that having the shoes would add to my fashion expression.

It's not uncommon for me to go on a two-day trip and bring 3 or more pairs of shoes. But, when I moved, I had A LOT less closet space, actually a lot less space period, so I started giving away my things.

(When I was in 3rd grade, the A-Team was the hotness, and as a spin-off Mr. T had a Saturday morning cartoon. The premise was absurd, it was Mr. T and a couple of white kids (who were gymnasts) traveling the nation fighting crime with their dog. What the fuck was that?!? Couldn't do that show any other way, even in the 80's it HAD to be a cartoon.

In any case, during the breaks Mr. T would insert his own "One To Grow On" moments. (They were part of the show, rather than during the commercial breaks.) One show was on giving, and Mr. T took the break to explain that it's not giving if you just get rid of a bunch of stuff you don't want. Who the hell wants all your shit that you don't want? So, when you give away clothes, or toys, or whatever you give, be sure to include some things that you still want, because that's what it means to give.)

Okay- so for a third grader, that really hit home, and I could think of all of the times that people gave me shitty, or broken, or old used up stuff that they thought I would/should be happy to get. So, when I would give away my clothes, or toys, or whatever I made sure that I gave away things that were still in good condition; things that I would want. From that day to this, evert time I give away my stuff, I make sure that I include things that I still want.

So, clothes...

Because of my move, I've been giving away my clothes, and my shoes (maybe 20 pairs of shoes- it burns, it burns!!!) But, the funny thing is that for the past 3 weeks, maybe longer, I've worn only 1 pair of shoes. Every day.

They're brown.

Sometimes they don't even match what I'm wearing, like today when I'm wearing a black shirt. Don't care much. It's Friday. I'm going to hook up with some queers later today. I need then to think that I'm cute and introduce me to their sexy friends. Plus! There's bound to be some sexy, "I just moved here too ladies, and it's helpful to be seen as a lesbian with some fashion sense about her.

Still don't too much give a shit.


Hmmm... I hope I'm not becoming granola!

That's So Random!

So, for most of my life I've thought that I have all of these random and absurd thoughts that just "come from nowhere!"

One of the cool things I've learned by blogging is that my thoughts aren't random at all. In fact, there are reflective of what I've thought before, what's going on around me, and are by in large extensions of previous thinking.

Soup nazi- seems like something totally random, but actually if you look at what I was thinking about before then, it's a logical association to make.

It's happened a couple of other places too. These thoughts aren't at all random. It's like being an output for subliminal messages. But, they aren't subliminal, I've simply forgotten where the association came from.

Guerrilla marketing runs off of the same principles. Expose you to a stimulus in a way that isn't as overt as mainstream advertising, and in the end, you're left with a desire for a particular product or item, but since you don't recall where the pairing with the idea came from, you assume that it must be internal and it's just yours.

I expose myself to lots of stimuli each and every day, so there is plenty of fodder for thinking and reacting. But, the biggest influence on my future thoughts is my current and previous thinking.

In fact, if you want to know what tomorrow's obscure reference will be, just listen to today's conversation.

Okay- Let's Say You're Lactose Intolerant.

Let's also say that you just started your period, and you're all bloated all feeling like shit.

Bad time to try a peppermint mocha. I don't care how good it looks in the picture- Bad idea!

Stupid body!

Why do I have a dinner date tonight?

Jumpin' Jesus on a pogo stick! I gotta learn to take better care of myself. (Either that, or get a girlfriend who's overly maternal 3 days a month, AND knows when to back off!!)

Where Academic Resources Go To Die...

So, I have a paper to work on and now that I'm all hooked up (I've got my ID babay!!), I figured that I would get some work done on campus.

So, I got my hot drugs from Starbucks, and got directions down to the computer lab. And, as soon as I open the door I realized, "Oh! This is where all of the outdated and donated resources go on campus."

School of Education!

Go check it out at your local university. The SOE will be clearly underfunded, the computers will be decrepit, and the rest of the equipment inside will look like it's the left overs from the B-school 3-5 cycles ago.

So much to say, so little time...

Uhm, HELLO, Can I Get Some Handholding Over Here!?!

Let's not mince words.

I don't pay attention. A lot of the time it looks like I'm listening, very much like I'm listening. I'm not. I have fairly slow auditory memory decay, so I can pull up the last point that was made and infer like nobody's business, but I'm often not listening.

My best friend from high school once pointed out that when I look most pensive and contemplative is when I'm replaying songs in my head.

"What are you thinking right now?"

"Honey, by Mariah Carey."


So, when you don't listen well, you often don't know what's going on. Luckily, there are usually people around who do pay attention so that I can ask questions like, "So, where are we going next?"

That's all I really need to know in life. "What happens after this?" I'm golden.

As an aside, I'm just now realizing that for people who, like me, often aren't listening to your rules and justifications, we often just think about what makes sense and works best for us. How in this system can I best get my needs met. Non-listeners like me are SO frustrated by bureaucracies, SO frustrated! Because, we haven't even heard your bullshit justifications, all we know is that what's going on makes absolutely NO sense. Non-listeners, we're silly.

So, my cattle-herding, one-size-fits-all, orientation started yesterday and today we were suppose to have breakfast provided for us.

Where would a non-listener go for breakfast? Well the same place that we met all damn day yesterday, of course!

Wrong!

Went to meet with my peeps, and unbeknownst to me, I crashed the food service workers appreciation breakfast. So there I was, sitting at a table eating yogurt and slowly realizing that I was in the wrong space. No one said a word to me, and after I realized that this was the wrong crowd, I decided to shovel that yogurt down my throat as fast as I could and get out of there. But, a few things occurred to me:

1.) What the fuck!?!? Do I look like a food service worker??? How come no one said anything to me? Are they just that kind and welcoming? Are they just that broken and intimidated that no one would dare say anything in their appreciation breakfast with only 30 people in the room? I can think of plenty of other campus groups that would have gladly tapped me on the shoulder and started asking me questions!

2.) Yeah, I guess mostly just that.

So, as I left the appreciation breakfast (oh! Uhm, can we do better for the fucking cafeteria workers than some bagels, yogurt, and fruit for Christ's Sake? Jeesus Christ! These fucking people slave away and deal with shitty attitudes and snobbery every fucking day; it's a thankless job for real. and to appreciate them they get a breakfast that could be confused for a grad student free continental ... What the fuck people? What's the problem, no one to cook?

So, as I was leaving, I realized that I had absolutely No idea where I was going and what I was suppose to be doing when I got there.

I don't need you to give me lots of information verbally; I'm just gonna tune you out and give you a cavalcade of "uh-huhs" that process through your words as though I'm engaged, but I'm not. That doesn't help anyone.

What I need from you organizer people of the world is a note of some sort when I show up in the logical place that says, "Hey! We thought you may come here. Today you need to go to room 345. Oh! And when you get there, be prepared to teach a brief lecture. We told everyone else about it yesterday when they were listening."

Lady! You Can't Be Serious!

I refuse to believe that you take yourself that seriously. It's ridiculous! It's so ridiculous that I have to pronounce the word differently, and expect Snape to come out of a closet wearing Neville's grandmother's dress. (I found Alan Rickman curiously sexy after that movie. Note to self: get some counseling.)

So, here I am on campus, in the Student Identification issuing office attempting to pick up my ID, and all I can get from this lady is a scrap of paper with a date and time to pick up my ID from the Civic Center, or some other such large dome space.

Really? I mean I'm on campus, and there are things that I'm suppose to be able to access but I can't, and other people already have their IDs. Why can't I just pick it up now?

"Grumble grumble...piece of paper."

Riiiiiiiight, but if I wait until next week and then go stand in line for three hours, I'll see you, and then you'll give me my ID?

"Yes!"

"Is my ID ready now?"

"Hold on."

She walks over, goes through a catalogue of ID cards, and then walks over with mine and shows it to me to prove that it's ready.

"Sooooo... then can I just get it now?"

"Grumble-grumble-grumble, piece of paper."

So, what am I suppose to do about the stuff on campus that I can't access?

"Grumble-grumble-grumble piece of paper!"

So, you're going to stand there, with my ID, and refuse to give it to me until I wait in line next week, even though it's the exact same badge and nothing else needs to be done? C'mon, that's ridiculous!

Words, words, words...

"The only way for you to get your ID is to get a form that demonstrates that you are a very important person; otherwise see you next week at the Civic Center."

So, I walked across the hall. Got a piece of paper that showed I was an important person, and 5 minutes later I got my ID from the same women. Oh! Not before she had to print out a new one that said I was a very important person.

Who trained administrative services around here, the Soup Nazi???.

I'm Body Imagist.

Weight oppressive? I'm so ____ist that I don't even know the word for it!

So, my metabolism is all screwy, and my medication has changed recently; leaving me exhausted. Certainly, there is enough going on in my life to leave any healthy black lesbian exhausted, but my fatigue is exacerbated by these changes as well.

So, as my energy diminishes, I have been craving raw sugar. HARD!

I couldn't figure out what was going on until last night. I have been to two different bakeries in the last week to get pastries. I got in my car at 9pm last night to run down some baklava; honey drenched baklava. I've even eaten those sugar cinnamon pretzels at the mall and in the airport. I never eat those things, never.

So, my energy is going down and my body is craving sugar to compensate. Here's how I know that I've got some body image issues: every time I have one of those pastries in my hot little hands, suddenly I'm surrounded by obese women. I don't know where they were before I bought it, but as soon as I have it, that's ALL I can see. Obese women surrounding me.

It's my fate if I eat these almond paste cookies.

Who knows where all of this crap comes from? A big chunk of it got in there being socialized as a girl and all of the body consciousness that gets slung at us from a very young age. But, what's up with thinking that I will become morbidly obese if I eat sugar? And, why are obese women all that I can see when I have a pastry in my hand?

Where do they go before and after? And what happens to all the other people walking around?

It reminds me of psychology classes, and learning that memory is not a record of events, but rather an interpretation. Our current perceptions are not actual records of what is going on either, but highly subjective interpretations themselves. And, as conditions shift (we become scared, or hopeful, or enraged, or develop empathy for someone) our interpretations of our surroundings shift as well.

And, when this shift happens we can see "what's really going on". Nope, although that's what we think. Actually, it's just another layer in our interpretation of events.

I'm exhausted. I'm too tired to exercise (for which I blame myself for being lazy). And, as my metabolism is exogenously diminished, my body is craving sugar like its survival is dependant upon it.

Probably. Probably, I have a lot going on right now, and I'm beating myself up over it. I don't hate on overweight folks, I just don't want to become obese. (Being overweight is really uncomfortable; Really uncomfortable to me.)

So, I think I'll take it a little easier on myself, AND I just may have that piece of baklava in my fridge for breakfast.

Perfection is NOT the Goal!

I have really high standards, but I've been working on that. I have unattainable standards, but I've been trying to cut myself some slack.

heading into this degree program i have made a commitment to myself that i will not seek perfection. i almost made a banner to put on my wall: "Perfection is NOT the goal!!" it was going to go right above my desk.

perfection-seeking means that i'm not actually making progress, but spending inordinate amounts of time just spinning my wheels; significant amounts of time invested in making changes that are reflective of differences of opinion, not improvements.

so, i have made a commitment that everything i produce will be a work in progress. every paper i turn in, every presentation that i do, every article that i publish, each of them will be a work in progress when i submit them.

getting this monkey of perfection off my back frees me up not to be so self-critical, and scathingly so, but also to be happier, more engaged in my life, and to actually get more done with the time that i have in a day.

"hello, i'm a first-year graduate student, and perfection is not my goal."

Beautiful Eyes?

I just went to go grab some diner. I saw one of the cooks while I was paying, and he said that I have beautiful eyes. It turned into a few compliments, and I didn't take a single one personally; assuming that he said the same thing to virtually every customer that he sees.

Right? Flatter a woman, make her feel good, and she's more likely to patronize your establishmement.

Okay, yeah sure, thanks.

I guess my dismissiveness must have come through in my tone, because another woman nearby told me that the cook had just told her that she had "crazy eyes".

I guess he's into eyes?

Pretense

I don't do well with pretense. I've been working really hard to rid myself of pretense for abut 10 years. Really hard at first, now- I just kinda act habitually. But, I notice when it tries to rear its ugly head.

Pretense reminds me of Tim'm poetry. There was one that talked about passing. I don't recall the lead, but most likely some allusion to racial passing and the costs paid by those who try and "succeed"; being thought to be someone that they are not, denied connection to who they are and where they come from. Secondarily, there would have been some exploration of gender constructs and "passing" within queer communities; both of transgender folks who pass as biologically sexed members of the communities into which they have transitioned, and queer folks who aren't gender nonconforming enough to signal their queerness in the broader culture.

Passing. (He may not have said all of these things, but as I listened to his reading, that was the conversation that I had with myself.)

And then, then, he said something that reshaped my perspective on myself. "Can I pass for the person you want me to be?" And in that moment, I suddenly realized what was at the heart of pretense. It's just trying to pass for the person that I think I should be. Could be the person I think I should be based on the context in which I find myself, could be the other people who are around me, could be based on the person I want to be but am not. Maybe I want to believe that I'm the person you think I should be. Whatever the condition that give rise to these contortions of self, pretense is the result.

It takes on many forms, but all of them can be reduced to our attempts to cover that divide between who we are and how we want to be perceived. MMmmm... pretense!!

It fucking nauseates me.

Well, I can have some compassion for pretense when I remember that that's all that's going on, but most times I can't remember and it gets on my fucking nerves.

I'm a new student (a graduate student!) which must mean I'm smart, and when meeting other graduate students from my cohort, they seem to have a need for me to think that they're smart. BUT!! They can't look like they're trying to be smart, so they have to try to look smart without looking like they're trying; you know, pretentious. Ugh, it was SO icky. Pretense oozing all over the table... gross.

So, there I was wondering if it would be rude to "remember" a conflict and leave. And, that's when I saw it, a Hemingway quote that will help me to get through the next several years of my life.

"An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with his fools."

Excuse me ma'am, may I have a beer?

Quote of the Day

"One of the biggest problems is judging policies and programs by their intentions, rather than their results."
- Milton Friedman

I was watching a video of Phil Donahue interviewing Milton Friedman (hmm... note to self: start finding "cool shit" to do with my time.), and in the middle, Friedman drops this gem of a quote. It was one of those instances where a person asks a question, and rather than answering the question directly, the response attempts to cut through and address the ideological basis supporting the question.

Now, Friedman is a Chicago school economist, and his thinking is seminal in the evolution of neo-Conservative thought (globalization of free market trade, World Bank, destablizing and exploiting foreign economies, "capitalism is a necessary condition for freedom," you know- shit like that.). In the 1970's Friedman was proclaiming the perils that poor people in the US would suffer if the minimum wage was raised. (Right? Raising the wage rate increases the number of people willing to apply to and compete for a particular job. Employers will choose more skilled workers; leaving those who are the most poor (i.e. the least skilled) unemployable, and therefore worse off because of the wage increase.) Lot's of challenges with this argument structure, but in a nutshell that's the claim.

When I think about the application of Friedman's economic arguments, I'm stuck in the 1980's and the fucked up lot of poor Black people during the reign of Reaganomics. (VooDoo, no?)

But, Friedman is a very interesting figure to me. Nobel Prize aside, I think he has some interesting things to say. In the interviews I've seen of him where he interacts with the public, there seem to be moments where he isn't propagandizing or spinning his ideas, but putting forward what he thinks is "Truth".

It's strange to catch those moments from a neo-con paragon, but Friedman has them.

He offers insights and criticisms that appear to be fair-handed and valid from both sides of the table. It makes me wonder if this is a quality of what we define as "Truth;" the ability to critique and evaluate my claims just as well as yours. An even-handed and balanced "fairness" within a critique or argument that can used as a tool or weapon just as readily by all sides; is that "true"? Is that desirous?

Friedman's quote made me think of the Welfare to Work programs, the shift from AFDC to TANF, and other similar programs designed to "purge the rolls" of public resource recipients; programs that Friedman's thinking is used to support. These programs are framed as assistance to these families, and to the American public as well. And, most of the discussion from supporters comes in the form of elucidating the program's intentions.

Is it possible to have a conversation about a program or policy's results absent the contextualization that comes from its intentions? It's the intentions that determine whether the outcomes are a success or a failure. So, an attempt to divorce intent from outcome, or even to focus on outcomes absent intent, may be as farcical as "maintaining objectivity".

Ultimately, what I think I'm learning from Friedman's quote is that our social conditioning leaves us prey to manipulation in this space. Therefore, when supporting an idea, program, or policy and confronting opposition, argue your idea on the basis of it's intent.

"When defending an innocent client, argue the letter of the law. When defending a guilty client, argue the spirit of the law."

Whats The Sound of Middle-Class?

OMG! Really!?!

Really, lady? Really?

I'm on the plane. I just boarded, and I'm on my way home. It's late. I'm tired. And, I have all of my sleeping supplies in place.

Travel pillow? -check-
Hoodie? -check-
Skull cap that covers my eyes? -check-
Window seat with a wall to sleep on? -And...check!-

Just as I start to slip off into the world of regenerative sleep I hear it, the sound of middle class.

What does middle-class sound like?

I suppose that it could sound like lots of things, but right now there is a little white boy sitting next to me, maybe 3 years old. No big whoop. I can sleep next to little white boys.

But! Who's that on the other side of him? Oh! It's his mother!
And, what's in her hand rousing me from my slumber? Awwww... It's a Clifford the Big Red Dog book! How cute is that? Honestly, not very.

It's late I'm tired, and she's got the reading light on with a fucking children's book in her hands.

She's reading books to her son, and I swear to Christ that she sounds just like that curly-haired white lady who used be the voice for Lamb Chop on Saturday mornings!

All of the light and "fun" intonations and inflections of a mother reading to her child are sitting next to me. Now she's reading a Dora the Explorer book with full-on Anglo accents for all of the Spanish words. AND!!! Pausing for her son to answer the questions.

She's got a great voice for reading to kids or a Saturday morning cartoon character. She would be phenomenal! At 9:00 at night, however, when I all I want is to go to sleep... I just want to roll over on my side, kick her in the throat, and then roll back to go to sleep.

It's not Saturday morning. I'm not watching cartoons. Lady, kindly shut the fuck up. Please and thank you.

I've never thought about the sound of middle-class before. But, there it is, being emitted from her larynx.

It's that white woman high-pitched sing-songy shit. Why do they talk like that to their kids? Really.

Lots of high-pitched exaggerated tone whispers. I don't give a shit what you do in the privacy of your own home; honestly, I don't. Hell, I don't care what you do at the park, or the zoo, or the bring your mom to school so she can tell us what she does for a living day. Couldn't give a shit.

But, sitting next to me on a flight when I'm all decked out to go to sleep (I even brought sleeping supplies!) Kindly shut the fuck up. I mean he's 3! Shouldn't he be reading to himself by now!?!?!? Give him a coloring book, a PSP, teach him to make shadow puppets, play sign-language games, killer wink... Just shut the fuck up!

Next time- ear plugs.

I Like to Drink Water.

I was talking on the phone last night. So, phone in one hand. Phone in my dominant, right hand to be precise, leaving my non-dominant, nearly feeble, dexterity of a 3-year old left hand as my primary tool to negotiate any problems/needs that should arise.

Trusty Lefty. Sometimes she takes on more than she can manage though...

So, there in the hotel room, chatting on the phone, chugging water, and relying on my left hand.

Looks like a bathroom story coming, huh?

So, I finish my bottle of water, and I'm still thirsty. No worries, just grab another bottle and chug away. But soft! What hand do we have free to stabilize and open that bottle? Trusty Lefty!

So, trusty grabs the bottle, and tries to stabilize it between my knees. No haps.

Thighs it is.

Bottle between the thighs, left hand applying pressure, water on the way!

I open the bottle, and somewhere between all of these calculations that Trusty has to make which Reliable (Righty) makes on autopilot, the water comes out the top of the bottle. Where? Right into my lap.

Looks like I peed on myself. Ha Ha Ha!

Hey! Where's my toothbrush? Really, where's my toothbrush? The only pants I have are dirty, or dress slacks wrinkled beyond belief! And, I have to go buy a toothbrush!

Ha ha, hell!

So, looking like "an accident" in my heather gray sweats, I hopped in my car and drove to the nearest gas station, and bought a tooth brush.

Oddly, it didn't feel wet at all. I guess pee pee is wet in your pants because it comes from the inside? Water doesn't actually have to soak all the way through.

What's the upside to spilling a pee-stain of water in your crotch? If you catch it fast enough, you can be dry as flour on the inside.

Tight work, Lefty!

It's Just Regular Sushi!!

So, here I am back home and among the list of things to make sure I get done is have sushi. Yeung's sushi! The best sushi in the known world!!

since I have moved, I have pined for this sushi like the pretty woman who broke up with me. Unabashed, unashamed, I long for Yeung's sushi!!

So, I went back and ordered the spicy tuna and a Godzilla roll.

"Hey! This is just regular old sushi!" It's good, but it's not magical. It's certainly not worth pining over. It's regular sushi. Rice, fish, seaweed, roe, a couple of sauces mixed in from time to time; you know, regular fucking sushi.

His spicy tuna does have a unique character, but it suddenly hit me from nowhere just now: I think he mixes in soy sauce when he mixes the tuna with the spicy sauce. He mixes everything, so it's not just raw tuna with the spicy mayo oozing out of the roll.

Soy sauce. I think that's his secret ingredient. No more impressive than 1000 Island dressing on a Big Mac. Just regular sushi.

It left me wondering about the other places that have been elevated to magical once I no longer had regular access to them. What are my other ideations surrounding mundane aspects of life that prevent me from fully appreciating whatever is right in front of me? I haven't been able to enjoy sushi since I moved, because "no one's sushi is as good as Yeung's"

Well, actually, it is. Plenty are. None of my friends are as good as my friends when I was growing up. No one will ever be as good as my first love. No place will ever feel as much like home as Germany did. No _____ will ever be as ____ as _____.

Some sushi I had yesterday taught me that these things aren't true. And, worse than being misconceptions, they diminish my ability to engage, enjoy, and encounter life on its own terms. Always holding things up to a nonexistent standard obfuscates the beauty and allure of what is right in front of me.

I'm hoping to develop the capacity to just encounter life on its own terms, and not contort it into a caricature of what I want it to be.

After all these years... It's just regular old sushi.

I Have Brain Damage

Cerebral cortex.

Frontal Lobes.

Seat of cognition.

Responsible for higher order, and abstract thinking.

I have brain damage.

It came from a car accident several years ago. Initially the neuropsychologist thought it may be just bruising from a severe concussion. Nope. Lasting damage.

When he closed out my file, or perhaps more appropriately, the last time I went to see him, he told me, "You're smart. You're very smart. You will always be smart. But, if you were a musician, before you would have been a virtuoso; now you'll just be 'very good'. Most folks won't be able to tell. Most folks will never know unless you tell them, but you will. Things that come very easily for you now will take work. Some things that you can do now, you won't be able to do anymore. You'll have to learn to think differently."

I'm still blazingly intelligent. For real, I'm really smart. But, I do have to work now in places that I didn't before. And, sometimes, for no apparent reason, my brain just decides that it's done. Jams up. No more thinking for awhile. No matter how hard I try to force it, nothing will happen until my brain has "rested".

One place that I cannot think well, no matter what I try is airline travel. I don't know what time to leave for the airport. I know, it sounds like an assisted living conversation, but I honestly have no idea when to leave for the airport.

I've had too many close calls (including having the airline open the doors for me so that I could board because the plane hadn't pulled away from the gate yet), and I'm tired of OJ Simpsoning my way through the airport. So, I plan for 2 hours before my flight. Better safe than sorry.

But, I still don't know what time to leave for the airport.

I just can't think there.

I have to write it down, think backwards, factor in transportation time, getting dressed time, looking for things that I've forgotten time, I always get it wrong. Luckily, you don't actually need two hours, so even when I fuck up, I still make my flights.

Yesterday, I had an 8am flight; absolutely had to make it, next flight was not an option.. For days I tried to figure out what time to leave for the airport.

Finally, the night before, I set my alarm for 6:30 am, so that I could leave the house by 7. (Uhm, bad idea!!) I didn't realize until 7:02 that I should be at the airport already. But, I just moved, and I don't remember how to get to the airport!

So, I speed around town lost; going in the wrong direction. Words... words...words...
Get to the airport and it's time for my flight to board. Of course there's a line to the ticket counter. Just as I'm preparing to ask for special treatment, I spot an automated agent!!!

Print out my boarding pass, and sprint to the security checkpoint. 3 people in line ahead of me. 3!!!!

HELLLZZZZ YEAH!!!!!

So, I get through the to the other side, run to my terminal, and I have 5 minutes to sit down and catch my breath before they start boarding.

Thank you Baby Jesus!

Riding in the Rain Sucks

Moving is Easier When I Move

I bought a bike yesterday!!

I feel like I'm in third grade again, riding like the wind! I've had a rough time with this move. Some parts are great, and some parts are kicking my ass. I went for a bike ride with a friend the other day, and it was hard for us to ride together. He was scared to ride in the street, and my roadie isn't built for sidewalks.

Plus, when I think about commuting, I don't know that I want to ride my thin tires through the sleet and snow... Mountain bike it is!

I picked it up last night, and took it out for a test ride to make sure all the gears worked, and it felt right. (It did!) I threw it in my car, and sped home (not really sped, because I don't need any more run-ins with the law!). I had an important call at 9pm, but I rode that bike up and down the streets around my house until 9:01!

It felt great!

I'm remembering that I feel better when I exercise. Life is easier when I exercise. (My knees hurt when I exercise.)

I'm gonna go for a bike ride!

DWB

I have been in NY 5 days, count them, 5, and I have been pulled over twice by police officers. Never a ticket, never an explanation, I don't even drive a nice car.

I do like to play my music loud though.

You know who the police don't like? KRS-1. Those fuckers LOVE to pull you over and a shine bright ass lights in your face, call for back-up to surround your car and make you wait while they run your plates and check your license, only to tell you, "okay, you can go now" because they didn't find shit, when you listen to KRS-1.

What was blasting out of my speakers when they pulled me over just now?

Check out the message in a rough stylee
The real criminals are the C-O-P
You check for undercover and the one PD
But just a mere Black man, them want check me

Them check out me car for it shine like the sun
But them jealous or them vexed cause them can't afford one
Black people still slaves up til today But the Black police officer nah see it that way
Him want a salary Him want it So he put on a badge and kill people for it

My grandfather had to deal with the cops
My great-grandfather dealt with the cops
My GREAT grandfather had to deal with the cops
And then my great, great, great, great... when it's gonna stop?!


God Damn! This is some bullshit!!

I'm Feeling Good From My Head To My Shoes...

I went for a run today. "Uhm ouch!" said my knees.

"It's been a long time, I shouldn't have left you..." said my cartilage.

So, I went for a run, I came home and cooked for the first time in my new apartment. You learn lots of little things when you cook for the first time in a new place. Things like, "how the fuck did I move and not pack my plates? Where the fuck are my plates? Gladware? Do I have any fucking Gladware? Where am I suppose to put these leftovers?" Shit like that.

But, I just lazed around today, and felt like myself. I streamed bullshit TV on my computer. I took a LONG hot shower after my run. I cooked one of my many variants of pasta, vegetables, and sausage; this time I used spices like garam masala and coriander. (Tasty!)

I spent a good chunk of time thinking about my relationships with people, both the real ones that last through transitions, and the situationally constructed ones that don't make it, even with the best of intentions running on both sides.

Sometimes you can't tell which is which. Sometimes you can, but you just hope that you're wrong.

I Have A Crush On My Neighbor.

She lives beneath me. I think that she's kinda cute, and she has really good energy (whatever that means. I think it's what you say when you don't actually know enough about a person to list their attributes that you find attractive, so you have a conversation about "energy"; who could argue with "energy"?). I once had a friend tell me that I had "very clean energy" or maybe it was a "very clean aura". Not quite sure why, but it makes me walk a little taller when I remember that. What does it mean? Not much more than he likes me.

So, I have a crush on my downstairs neighbor. I've chatted with her for all of 2.7 minutes. She reminds me of someone I went to college with.

Problem: Not sure if she's a lesbyterian. Could be, could be not. Who's this guy who's always hanging around? Lesbyterians often have male friends. I have 2! So, I'm gonna have to feel the situation out.

Here's my plan: Bake some cookies, and take them downstairs as an apology for the noise that I've made while moving all my stuff. She invites me in, and I chat her up to see if there is anything compelling beyond her "energy".

Problem with the plan: she was outside yesterday with her man friend blasting some old school funk. People who listen to old school funk don't eat cookies. It's just a fact. Also, I don't bake.

Maybe I should take her some beer instead.

Problem with beer instead: Beer costs $12. Cookie dough costs $3.

Plus I didn't make THAT much noise.

IKEA, I HATE YOU!!!!!!

FUCK YOU IKEA!

FUCK YOU!

Yes, you, with your no word picture diagrams that make you think that the fucking holes on your furniture line up, but you don't know until you're done that they don't and you have no idea why shit isn't working so the only thing to do is grab a hammer and smack the fuck out of it.

Ikea, fuck you.

Fuck your little associates and their yellow shirts who tell you things like, "Oh you should be able to put this bookshelf together in 15 minutes." Really? Really Ikea associate!?! You make me think of words that I never say, like "fucktard" for instance! No, it will not take you 15 minutes, you will want to drink, you will decide that you are giving it away more than once during the building phase, you will do your best to bend solid wood to your will, and once it's done you will still notice all of the places that it doesn't completely line up.

Ikea, FUCK YOU!!

Fuck you like Larry David in Curb Your Enthusiasm, "FUCK HUGH, IKEA!"

Fuck you for not being honest and saying, "listen, really listen. Just pay the extra $300, this isn't worth the hassle. Now if you still want to risk it, then don't say we didn't warn you." Fuck you, Ikea for not making that your slogan!

My shelf looks nice though.

A Penske Truck, an Overhang, and Some Tarp!

Rented my moving truck the other day. Okay, first off, who's the fucking genius that designed a truck that only gets 5 mpg? Thanks for that piece of mechanical engineering Ford! (I was thinking that calling someone Ford would be the mechanical engineering equivalent of calling someone Einstein, but then I remembered that the truck was indeed produced by Ford Motor Company. I guess that makes it a pun. Pun may be a stretch. It certainly makes me clever though. Not budging on that one.)

So, a few suggestions.

Suggestion 1: Hows about you make the cab in your truck the same height as the top of the cargo box? That way I won't rent your truck and think that I have clearance through an overhang, when I CLEARLY don't. Hows about that for starters?

Suggestion 2: Hows about some steel reinforced corners, so that when I hit concrete at 7 miles per hour I don't bust a hole in the top of the truck?

Suggestion 3: Hows about youse guys construct of a material other than fiberglass so that when I bust a hole in the roof, and God gets his giggles by opening up the sky with a torrential downpour 15 minutes later, I have something that I can nail a tarp to in order to hold it in place and protect my things?

Suggestion 4: Hows about youse guys develop a lever that doesn't get jammed open, and then jammed closed every time you move it from one position to the next? Howsabout that? Big up on the not automatically locking when the door falls! I thought we were locked in the truck when we put the tarp up!

Suggestion 5: Would it be too much to ask for you to put some extra space in the cab behind the seats? You could put a bed back there and a mini fridge, and satellite cable, a broadband wireless router for internet. You know, just the basics. At a minimum, how about enough room for the seats to recline, seriously. I looked like a quadriplegic falling asleep sitting bolt upright. Not cool.

Suggestion 6: Why don't you just install a lock on the truck? It has a lever and all that other stuff. Why not just add a lock to this whole contraption, OR construct your lever so that any reasonable lock would fit, and I wouldn't have to go back to Target to get a second lock. (Also, it would be helpful if one of the mechanical engineers spoke to the Penske folks and instructed them to carry locks!! Then I wouldn't even have to go to Target!)

My poor mom! She decided to ride with me for my move and hang out for a few days to help me transition. Who knew that fateful day when a little tiny egg dropped down her fallopian tube that she would be sprinting through parking lots in the rain, carrying heavy-ass boxes up stairs, holding a tarp while someone tried to hammer into fiberglass, cleaning out a toilet on her hands and knees, washing windows, cleaning out cabinets, assembling IKEA furniture, and dealing with the crankiness of a 33 year old adolescent? That poor woman! That's big love.

Loose Associations

I ate expired meat just now.

I don't mean, "Oh... well, it expired yesterday, so it should be okay" expired meat. Oh no!! I'm talking, "Wait a minute! What's today's date? This expired on the 5th" expired meat. WELL past the expiration date.

Yeah, it is pretty fucking gross to eat expired meat, and I honestly don't think that I've done it before.

Here's my logic:

"Ah shit! This is expired!?! But, my pasta won't be good without canadian bacon... I need canadian bacon! Hmm... well, it has been refrigerated. It doesn't look bad; I mean, if it were going bad it would look bad, right? And, plus! During the war people ate expired meat all the time, and they were fine. In fact, people who live in Guernsey, who survived the war, eat expired meat regularly to this day.* They eat anything, and they don't even get sick from it. I'm cooking this canadian bacon!"

So, I ate expired meat. Now, here's the problem: Honestly, what does a war survivor's eating habits in the Channel Islands have to do with me eating expired meat in my fridge? Not a damn thang! Nothing. But, I ate it.

I'm still on the mend from this virus, so my immune system is already taxed. So, if ever I were going to eat expired meat, and admittedly there isn't really a "good" time to do it, while I'm fighting off the flu certainly is a bad time to give it a try.

It was tasty with my pasta though. We'll see how I feel in the morning.

CB that expired last week probably won't kill me, but it feels very dramatic to think of it like that. Ooooh! I just caught a stomach cramp!

* Citation needed

I Habe A Code.

Let's call it a 24-hour virus. You know, because I saw The Secret. From nowhere! Fucking nowhere, I came down with something today. I had lunch with a friend, went to a coffee shop to read a book. Felt a tickle in my throat. Two hours later, had a sore throat and achy muscles.

At this point my whole body is achy, I'm exhausted, and my throat is so scratchy that it hurts to talk.

Doubled up on nighttime Theraflu several hours ago- still going strong, but I'm exhausted. The sweetest moment came when my friend told me that I needed to get rest, and stop running in the street. All of my goodbye lunches, dinners, coffees, cocktails, and clubbing has caught up with me.

She came over to help me pick up some furniture that I bought, and then told me that this cold or whatever, is probably because I'm not resting and eating well, so she invited me over for dinner this week, and offered to make me some baked goods (fish or chicken). It feels like love when someone says you aren't taking care of yourself, why don't you come over for a home cooked meal.

It's a really sweet gesture when a friend notices a place that you aren't taking care of yourself, especially when it's somewhere that you hadn't yet realized.

Well back to The Wire. I really hope that I can get some rest soon.

What's Up Doc?

I have student health insurance. The RN at the clinic told me that it was the most useless insurance that she has ever seen in her life, and the strangle-hold that the insurance company has on students kept bringing up mafia references for her.


1.) The only place that your insurance covers you is the student health clinic (which is free even if you don't have the insurance), other than that you're on your way to paying down your deductible.

2.) Your deductible is $500 per semester, so essentially everything is out of pocket. (ha ha ha!!)

3.) The clinic is only good for "colds, STDs, labwork, and referrals," so if you actually need healthcare, expect a referral to a provider where you will pay 100% out of pocket.

4.) If you have the insurance, then you only have to pay a percentage for any lab work, and your prescriptions are free if they fill them at the clinic.

5.) The clinic only stocks over the counter drugs.

6.) Because it's free, the doctors and nurses love to just give you shit.

7.) At the end of the semester, it is entirely possible to get a bill for all of the "free" over the counter shit that you didn't actually want, because your "insurance" has some fine print that says it's at their discretion to cover drugs. (WTF!?)

8.) The clinic will not accept any other insurance plans.

9.) If you are a graduate student or you receive a scholarship, it is mandatory that you carry the school's insurance.

10.) The front counter staff appear to be trained to "not understand" or "forget" that you have the school's insurance plan and attempt to charge you full price for any visit. This includes calling other staff over to explain your charges to you.

"$78!?!?!? I just got blood drawn to see if I'm anemic!"

- words, words, words...

"Oh! Sorry. You do have the insurance; I didn't see that. That will be $5."


The point of all of this is that I like my doctor over there. It's a bullshit clinic, with bullshit insurance, and the whole insurance racket conjures up prison rape scene analogies, but my doctor is pretty cool. She's really brass tacks and impatient, straight to the point, type A personality, but each time I go in I ask her how she's doing today, and different questions about what she likes about her job, and why she likes working here as opposed to a hospital or other practice with more continuity of care. Her whole demeanor softens and she transforms into a person right in front of my eyes; a person with a sense of humor and a really interesting perspective on life.

She's what I like about the clinic. Actually, there are quite a few good folks over there. I ask them questions about themselves and how their days are going since they spend so much time listening to people complain and grouse (you know, cuz if you feel bad enough to go to the anal rape insurance student clinic, you must be feeling kinda bad. and when people are feeling kinda bad, they aren't usually in a great mood.) it takes its toll on a person, so i decided to ask them about them and listen.

turns out most folks don't do that, and they REALLY appreciate it. turns out your quality of care drastically improves when your provider feels re-humanized and remembers that you are a human too, rather than a problem awaiting a diagnosis. turns out, you can unearth some really great folks that you would have easily, and then intentionally, overlooked if you only stop for a second to take the time to find out about them.

my insurance is for shit though!

He's Got Game

I've listened to this call three or four times.



I had a strange encounter with a guy in a coffee shop a few months ago, and it made me think about Neil Strauss' book on pick up artists, so a few weeks later I saw the book in a bookstore, picked it up and read it.

Turns out to be a fairly good read. What I found most interesting, and there was a lot that was intriguing in the book, was that there wasn't actually anything that was magic or secret. It was like a well-kept weight loss program that actually got you to exercise and eat healthy well portioned meals.

The "secret" of The Game is that you need to figure out what it takes for you to accept that you are someone that other people would be interested in, and that other people are neither doing you a favor, nor acting out of pity, when they are engaging you; even when fear and insecurities scream to the contrary inside your head. And, once you are convinced of this, you actually teach people how to treat you and they follow your lead. Strauss offeres that a person's idealized self eats well, exercizes, is well groomed, is confident, and has interesting things to say, but none of these things are necessary for romantic success; it's just easier to believe in yourself when you do them. If you believe in yourself, truly, by being condescending, dominating, arrogant, and kindof a prick, these are all options that have worked for folks too.

The book frames it as, once you learn these techniques, other people will be drawn to and desire you, and you can have as much sex as you want, but I think that the insights of the book extend beyond sexual access.

It's a book that chronicles the experiences of men who are so beat down by their expectations that no one would find them worthy of interest that they are willing to spend thousands of dollars just to learn how to approach, talk to, and maybe one day kiss a woman. And waaaaayyy far off in the distant realm of possibility, they may be, just maybe, able to have sex with a beautiful woman. And, these men are transformed into hyper-confident, hyper-sexed, surprisingly successful pick-up artists. And, for some it spills over into success in other arenas of their lives.

Now, the book doesn't say this explicitly, but the recurrent theme seems to be, "What's it going to take to get you to believe in yourself?" And, until you get there, here are some tricks and a few gimmicks to get you over the hump. But, it's like those after school specials where someone gives a kid a "magic rock" to help them deal with some life struggle that they can't fathom being able to overcome, only to learn that it was just a regular rock the whole time, and all they needed to do was believe in themselves. Same shit.

Here are some tricks and gimmicks to help posture you as someone who believes in themselves. Try it out, find out that they work, and build up your self-confidence to the point that it is your expectation that of course people would be interested in you; talking with you, kissing you, sexing you, dating you, whatever.

Now, there were lots of strange things that the book explored and highlighted, and one of the most curious to me was the person midway through the "transformation", who would rely on the magic of the rock, but was still filled with ire and bitterness or just a self-deprecating awkwardness and insecurity that repelled people; a gangly adolescent hybrid that just looked awkward and uncomfortable, maybe even pained. That's what this call reminded me of. It sounds like this guy is trying to appropriate some of the tools of a pick up artist, but all of it is filtered through his bitterness and rage, and he just comes across as aggressive and desperate.

Today, he sounds rather pathetic, and you kinda want to run away and warn your daughters about what to look for and what to avoid when she meets men. But, with just a little work, Dimitri could be rather smooth and successful with the ladies. And that is a sobering thought that can make your spine tingle after you're done laughing at him and his flailing social skills.

Oh! I almost forgot. My favorite part of the call is when he passive-aggressively suggests that she look up "passive-aggressive personality disorder", particularly since his whole message is a big passive-aggressive stunt. It sounds like he wants to say, "Bitch! Why didn't you call me!?!" But, really, he wants to say, "It hurts that you didn't call me."

It's fine to have feelings, it's the shit that he's doing because of them that fucking inappropriate. And, in all seriousness, he's not that far off from being able to have good game. Not very far off at all, and that's what really disturbs me.

Pity Dates

Yup. I do them. I need to learn to stop, and CLEARLY I have some shit to work out on my end, but I will go out on a date with you, knowing that I don't like you simply because it's rude to say no, and I don't want you to feel bad about yourself.

Pity dates. Who wins with this dumb shit?

I blame my mom. (She takes the blame for so much bullshit. ...probably because so much of what's wrong in my life is her fault. Huh. I guess it makes sense then.) So, I blame my mom for all of those years of "be nice!" training which came with dire consequences for me if I wasn't nice. It seems kinda absurd now that I think about it. How do you terrorize little kinds into being nice? Isn't that what you're doing when you threaten to punish kids if they aren't "nice"?

Sounds kinda ironical.

Why was I suppose to be nice? Because people will feel bad about themselves if I'm not. Uhm. Horseshit! But, it's all entrenched in there, from way back when I was three years old.

So, because of my mom, from time to time I go on pity dates, which feel like an obligation, but to whom am I obliged? My mom in 1973? These women who get to endure an evening of me "being nice" and then not understanding why I am not at all interested in them? Who wins with this shit I ask you, really? It's dumb.

I say, be genuine. Let people know where you stand, and where they stand with you. You don't have to say, "uhm, I would except that you have yellow teeth." You can just say, "I'm flattered, but no thank you." And, if they press the issue then they are asking to be told it's because of their yellow teeth.

So, I had a date recently. I wasn't digging on her like I expected, but she kept asking me things about where I lived, and if I had housemates, etc. So, at the end of our drinks I walked down to pay, and I don't think I realized it at the time, but I must have walked way out in front of her, because I forgot that she was with me until the server handed me back my credit card, and SUDDENLY she was right there in my face! It was a little jarring.

So, we walked out, and she did that slight lingering thing. It was jarring, so I gave her a hug, said goodnight, and walked to my car.

We were in the middle of an interesting conversation when we got up to leave. I just didn't want to bring her back to my place.

So, I got home, and remembered that she told me she may not be doing anything at all tonight, and she kept asking me where I lived, and if I had roommates, and that she knew that part of town, and that I'm leaving soon, and... and my terror-enforced niceness kicked into gear.

I called her and told her that I just realized that things ended rather abruptly, so I wanted to say that I hope she has a good night and maybe we can see each other before I leave town.

Why did I call her? Because I thought it would probably be easier on her if she got to be the one who didn't call me before I left town, rather than being on the abrupt end and no call side of the stick. There may have in fact been some mutuality by the end of the night. But, pity won the day: "You don't want to hurt her feelings. Let her be the one who doesn't call you, rather than you not calling her. Be nice."

This shit is fucking dumb.

Do I Believe in God?

Short Answer: Yes.

Longer Answer: What the fuck is God?

I had a date last night, and over mojitos, which are proof that God exists (mmm!), she asked me about my educational history. It's strange, but you can trace my developmental path and the unfolding of who I am today by tracking my accumulation of degrees. The way that I assume some people reflect back and think about relationships or maybe jobs perhaps, as markers of who they were at distinct points along the course of their lives, I track myself based on who I was and what I was during different degree programs.

To be certain, I am a consumer of education. In fact, student loans are my only source of debt. Oh! Well, a hospital bill too, but I don't have consumer debt. I believed the lie that education was the route to overcoming the horrors of oppression. Education is how you obviate racism, right? Uh- no, but people like to tell you that lie when you're a smart little black girl.

So, I tried a path, didn't work, retrained through education. Didn't produce the results that I wanted, so I retrained through education. Decided that I'd like to be upwardly mobile, and decided to professionalize through education. Decided that I was tired of working for (sometimes with, but mostly frustrated by the for) dumbfucks who were grossly incompetent, so I sought advancement through education. This shit is starting to look like a hamster wheel. Dizzying, nauseating, disorienting, and it requires a lot of work without actually moving you anywhere.

Get a degree little black girl. Then your life would be what you dream of. More education little black girl, then you can be an astronaut. Graduate school little black girl, then people won't mistreat you. Have you tried a PhD little black girl? People who have a doctorate are never maligned. Little black girl. Yeah you, the one who's crying. Do you realize that the only reason life is so hard is because you just aren't really all that smart? So, go get a degree little black girl and stop making things so hard on yourself.

That's the dumb shit that oppression will teach you. It is your fault little black girl, so why don't you go somewhere and learn how to act right!