accidental astronaut

psssst!

2010-10-14T12:47:00.000-07:00

I made some art.

You can see it here.

That is all.

gack

2010-09-30T07:20:00.000-07:00

Gack. I've turned into one of those people with a blog who has barely posted anything IN AN ENTIRE YEAR. This inspires both panic and double-panic. WTF. But seriously, don't give up on me. I'll be back soon-ish. I'm working on art these days and it turns out that I'm not a great multi-tasker (but is anyone REALLY a good multi-tasker?).

over and out,
e.

just breathe.

2010-08-26T10:31:00.000-07:00

Breathe in, breathe out.

If I could just breathe.

If I could just get my feet on solid ground, everything would be fine.

If I could turn my mind off and turn the world down, today would be easier and tomorrow would come faster.

This is a cave and a rock slide and everything's gray. Again.
Each breathe is a chance.

If I could just breathe.

when I was a little boy

2009-09-13T20:40:00.000-07:00

This post is probably not what most people think of when they think of celebrating Grandparents' Day. However, my grandparent experience wasn't the typical grandparent situation. I only had two grandparents, but not the kind that came in a pair. My grandparents consisted of my father's father and my mother's mother. My mother's mother, Sue, is the only one still living. To say that my grandmother is unusual is a little bit of an understatement. To say that she's crazy is perhaps more medically accurate. My grandmother is a diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic and for as long as I can remember, she lived in a different reality than the rest of us. Our realities were mashed together when she lived with my family during my high school years. Her schizophrenia took the form of extreme suspicion and no shortage of hallucinations. I could probably write an entire book about the various shenanigans prompted by my grandmother, but I'll settle for a list of the highlights.

My grandmother asked me, in all seriousness, "Remember when you were a little boy?"
My grandmother demanded, "Why aren't you married?" (when I was about 20).
My grandmother claimed that my father had stolen and worn all of her undergarments and kept a harem of ladies in the upstairs back room of the house. My mother told her she was okay with it.
My grandmother greeted unrecognized guests at the door with "Oh you! With the hair and the teeth..."
One day after swim practice (ie. think winter weather with wet hair) my grandmother locked me out of the house for two hours while she stood on the other side of the door. I rang the doorbell so hard it fell off the door, but Sue stood strong. I think she may have been a guard at Buckingham palace in another life.
My grandmother revealed at Thanksgiving dinner one year that Elvis was indeed alive and a good friend of hers; she had just hung out with him the other day.
My grandmother hallucinated that my father had been killed in a car crash and told all of his friends who called the house that day that he was dead. It too days to clear up all the confusion and distraught feelings. After that day, my grandmother ceased to recognize or acknowledge my father. He was officially off her radar.
My grandmother lays down on the ground at her assisted living home and spends time arranging herself to look like she's fallen. When the nurses find her and attempt to help her, she attacks. There is copious video evidence to back this up. Stay sassy, Sue!

As you can see, there was no shortage of adventures to be had growing up with Sue, the only grandmother I've ever had. I've sometimes wondered what it would have been like to have a grandmother that spoiled you rotten or was there for you in some kind of removed but supportive capacity. But luckily, since I've never had that, I'm don't know what it feels like to miss it. Thinking about it now, I realize that although it was hard to live so closely to someone that had a mental illness such as my grandmother's, I wish I'd been more patient and understanding. I understand things now that my fifteen year old self didn't. Expectations, schmecpectations. We all just have to bump along in the best way we can.

So here's to Grandparents' Day and my crazy but never boring grandmother. I can only hope that I have that much fire when I'm 90 years old. Team Sue!

hut hut hut

2009-09-10T18:52:00.000-07:00

Subject group = decided.

I'm definitely going with the unknown world of high school football. My nerdcore high school* didn't have sports teams (we had drama and academic decathalon...does that count?). So I've never been to a high school football game. Awesome. And since my fantastic photographer friend is shooting a h.s. football game tomorrow night, I plan on tagging along and dorking it out with a notebook to record my observations. Get it!

* My high school had about 160 people total. My graduating class had 34 people. We were housed in the unused wing of another high school - Pinkston High School. This was good and bad. Good because I got to swim for their swim team and make it to regionals. Bad because kids from my school sometimes got beat up by the less nerdy Pinkston kids. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?

*****Update*****

Did it rain like the sky was falling and I totally flaked on going to the football game? Yes. Assignment FAIL but thunderstorm WIN!

9 lbs.

2009-09-09T20:44:00.000-07:00

She gained nine pounds last month but she hadn't eaten anything; she felt sick all the time. A doctor explained things in a quiet voice. Ovarian cancer is tricky, he said, it grows fast and hides. After the surgery, she felt lighter. The doctor said he couldn't be sure it was gone; she would have to wait and see. You are lucky, he said, your chances are fifty/fifty.

serial killer.

2009-09-08T19:50:00.000-07:00

I'm lame. I had high hopes for writing an awesome piece of fanfiction but that has mostly - let's be honest - entirely deteriorated into curling up on the couch and watching episodes of Dexter. I'm going to return to blogging on topic with a vengeance after I get some serial-killer-who-kills-serial-killers induced rest. Good night world.

Ps. If you haven't seen the intro to Dexter, you should watch it and keep in mind that the show is about serial killers. It's a pretty cool piece of video/art.

rat pack

2009-09-07T21:12:00.000-07:00

Dear 30DoW,

I'm just not feeling you tonight. But the science nerd in me is feeling this. Say hello to a new species that happens to be an gi-normous rat. Just to give you some idea of scale, this rat is a little longer than half my height (5'1'' on a good day). I find that to be both exciting and discouraging. I mean, seriously, there are giant rats that are more than half my height. Clearly I need to check into those self-defense classes down the street. Or maybe I just need to pick a fight with a feral dog pack. Either way, I'm glad that at a time when the human race is doing everything in its power to eradicate all non-human species, we're still finding new ones. Get up on it, giant rat!

cap-shuns

2009-09-07T14:26:00.000-07:00

I hope you guys don't mind but I modified yesterday's topic to be "Do a google image search for [three] [of your own] pictures and write captions for them [as if you were writing an article for the Onion]." Tah-da!

Poll Finds Most Texans Believe That Recent Rains Are A Result of God Crying Upon George W. Bush's Return To The State

Confused Tourist Asks Ninth Ward Residents, "But Where Are the Jello Shots?"

New Orleans Hotel Inadvertently Pays Homage to Michael Jackson with Creepy Portrait

Ps. The pictures are from my recent trip to New Orleans. It was awesomely, amazingly, taste-bud stimulatingly fun.

quote/unquote

2009-09-05T22:46:00.000-07:00

It's "not" that I hate you, it's just "that" you're "so" misunderstood.

http://www.unnecessaryquotes.com/

"Thanks" Johnny!

guarding tess.

2009-09-04T21:48:00.000-07:00

I'm taking it back - all the way to March of 1994. Gas cost $1.09/gallon, O.J. Simpson was running from the cops, Tonya Harding was bashing Nancy Kerrigan in the knee, and the Whitewater investigation was in full swing. We needed a hero and we found one in the most unlikely of places. General public, meet Guarding Tess.

If you've never seen Guarding Tess, then you should probably take your expectations and halve them. This movie won't change your life or re-invent your perspective about anything. What it will do is make you cry and then cheer you up with a heavy-handed dose of glory*. There's a lot of movies that I love and most of them are incredibly sad in some way or another (Life is Beautiful, I'm looking at you). But Guarding Tess is sweet and everytime I see it, it makes me happy. Judge and scoff if you feel like it, but Guarding Tess has never let me down.

The weirdest thing about liking this movie is that the two main characters are played by Nicholas Cage and Shirley MacLaine, two actors to whom I have zero attachment. In fact, I pretty much have a negative attachment to the both of them. For starters, it took me years to figure out that Shirley MacLaine was not the lady that does that crazy-ass Lamb Chop puppet (it turns out that lady's name is Shari Lewis). Second, I cannot take Nicholas Cage seriously in any other movie but this one. Maybe the cheesiness of Guarding Tess eclipses Cage's own astronomical cheese factor.

Anyway, all I'm saying is that Guarding Tess has no shortage of faults. But despite all of them, you should watch it anyway. The end.

*I love movies + glory. Give me a sports movie, any sports movie, and I'll watch it from start to finish. Give me an underdog that's struggling to overcome some kind of enormous social/physical/emotional obstacle and I'm in it to win it. The glory of the sports movie is seriously magical. My number one glory maker is Miracle (the movie based on the 1980 US Olympic hockey team's efforts to win a gold against the seasoned Russian team). That movie will rule your world and everyone needs to see it. Right now.

better than I am

2009-09-03T19:28:00.000-07:00

The hot smell of grass is gone. [And God knows he was lucky, so many ways,] It is all cold air mornings [and God knows he was thankful.] and early light slipping through [Everything was good and better than he could have hoped for,] the window to cross my face. [better than he ever deserved;] I hear her voice low through the door, [only, whatever it was and however good it was, it wasn’t what you once had been,] slow – like pulling a pail through water, [and had lost,] measuring each careful word [and could never have again,] and finding a way to say it. [and once in awhile, once in a long time,] I am concentrating on the details [you remembered,] of forgetting. [and knew how far you were away,] I take one deep breath [and it hit you hard enough, that while it lasted,] and rise to start the coffee. [to break your heart.]*

*I have James Agee to thank for the heartbreaking but equally beautiful words in the brackets. They comprise one of my most favorite quotes in the whole world.

make war.

2009-09-02T22:12:00.000-07:00

Iraq needs our help.

We, the United States, have a role to play on the global stage. We are needed to serve as protectors and defenders for those who are not strong enough to speak up and cast off the corruption and brutality created by Saddam Hussein and his administration.

We, the United States, are shouldering the burden of a nearly impossible war because it's our duty, as one of the most powerful countries in the world, to do everything in our power to protect the principles of democracy.

We, the United States, are willing to sacrifice our young in the process of rebuilding Iraq so that it can rise from the ashes, buoyed by the reality of a free society and a democratic government.

everything and nothing.

2009-09-01T20:02:00.000-07:00

XXX Days of Write [September edition]

I. Intents

renaissance art [I need to flesh out my stories.]

circus trapeze [I want to use words as tools to make an ordinary scenario more interesting.]

microscope [I'm going to try to write mostly micro entries.]

II. Bio

I've got a heart and a keyboard.

run.

2009-08-27T20:44:00.000-07:00

As the arm of the storm reaches across the sky, I put one foot in front of the other.

As lightening makes angry flashes in the distance, I move forward, step by step.

As a wall of clouds cover the moon's brightness, I feel the air move in front of me.

As the heavy drops fall on the track, I run.

mightier than.

2009-08-24T20:07:00.000-07:00

I pull thin ink ribbon words from the tip of my pen. Each one resembles a shiny mass of curves and points, made neat into thoughts I didn’t know slept in my mind. The pen makes a smooth scratching sound as it moves from left to right, forming the wet letters. There on the paper, I pin thoughts like butterflies and wait for the spring.

i will tell you a story.

2009-08-21T22:28:00.000-07:00

I will tell you a story. The sun rises every day and sets every night. It’s seven thirty in the morning and I don’t own an umbrella.

I will tell you a story. The rain doesn’t come from anywhere. It just falls and falls, and waiting at a bus stop can drive you crazy.

I will tell you a story. As I take my seat on the bus, there are bright lights and bustle. I watch the rain pouring down outside and I love this city a little more.

punctuated.

2009-08-19T21:16:00.000-07:00

One space is all you need, he said, or so I’ve been told.

She replied, I’ve always liked two. I thought about it for a long time, but I’ve made up my mind.

Suit yourself, he shrugged, and turned to leave.

But wait, she spoke suddenly, how do you feel about exclamation points?

and so the morning comes.

2009-08-18T20:16:00.002-07:00

The morning is here with sunlight at my window. And so it comes.

What does it mean that waking up brings a clean slate? Is newness so fleeting that it must be appreciated quickly like a snowflake, or is it born within ourselves to trudge steadily through the calendar, remaking the familiar with each step?

The day is knocking at my door but it won’t wait. It will come and go like the tide.

I am saying this slowly so that you will hear each sound.

It is morning and that makes things new. This day is a chance.

all this time.

2009-08-17T20:28:00.000-07:00

With alarm, she realized the car was losing speed. The broken highway lines came slower, growing longer as they disappeared under the edge of the hood. She pressed down on the accelerator but there was no response. Suddenly, the motor went silent. The woman tightened her grip on the steering wheel until her knuckles stood out white against her pale skin. She pressed down hard on the brake pedal and steered the car to the shoulder. The car moved with a strange lightness. It’s heavy body glided nearly silent onto the dusty strip of asphalt. The car stopped. Questions like moths beat against one another in the tangle of the woman’s thoughts. She covered her face with her hands and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through her mouth. Then she placed her hands back on the wheel. She didn’t move. Instead, she sat very still and stared straight ahead. The interstate stretched on.

I just love you, so much.

2009-08-11T22:10:00.000-07:00

[Preface: I'm leaving on a road trip to Atlanta in the morning, so this will be my last post until I get back. This post consists of a letter that I found several years ago on the McSweeney's website. It's part of a memorial they started for Amanda Davis, who was a young writer that died too soon. I would encourage everyone (or anyone) to go to the memorial page and read some of the other letters because there's something incredibly touching about the whole thing. This one in particular really did it for me and I've remembered it ever since I came across it seven years ago. So in the best way possible, I hope you enjoy this post.]

Dear readers,

On the afternoon of Friday, March 14, 2003 a plane carrying Amanda Davis and her parents crashed into a mountain in North Carolina. There were no survivors.

-McSweeney's

As a baby, a red-ringleted toddler, you were fierce and clever and brave. And so cute.

Your uncle didn't like children. Then you came back from Sweden, and suddenly he was carrying you on his back and playing games for hours.

When your little sister Joanna was a baby, you counted her smiles.

You and your brother had to say a blessing at Jo's bat mitzvah, and you and Adam made each other laugh and stood there cracking up in the middle of the temple, even as your mother kicked you.

Your sister ran away from home in high school. You brought her back.

It took a while for you to pick up the pen, but you were a writer — the real thing. Your writing is exuberant, ecstatic, honest. Like you.

Kate's mother thought we were a lovely couple and invited us to stay with her. That was the day we met.

On our first date, I was cold and you gave me your coat, your red corduroy coat. And a photographer took a black and white Polaroid of us for which he charged us a dollar. Never before or since that day have I ever seen someone taking photographs and selling them on Hudson Street.

I was never one for public displays of affection, for kissing in front of others. Except with you.

You had a gigantic heart and a huge, fast mind buzzing with wit and wisdom.

You only laughed when things were really funny. And then you really laughed. And man could you make me laugh.

You were Uncle Amanda to my nephew Jack and one of his best friends. For his sixth birthday you sent him a box of keys tied with a long purple ribbon, and no gift made him happier.

I lit up when I saw you, or heard your voice.

Sometimes, when we were sitting around talking, or eating dinner, or in the middle of a party, or just walking down the street, you would pull me toward you, out of the blue, and say, with great urgency: I just love you, so much.

You had the softest skin and the sweetest smell of any person ever, and lying with you, wherever we were, felt like home.

You made the world a better place and me a better person.

You touched and loved and encouraged and listened and chided and cared.

There is a hole in my heart as big as the universe. And you are painted on it.

I just love you, so much.

— Anthony Schneider

leaving/arriving

2009-08-09T20:14:00.000-07:00

I'm about to fly fifteen hundred miles through ice and lightening in an otherwise dark night. The plane inches forward into the storm as the other passengers sleep and the captain’s voice hums behind the engines. Through the scarred plexiglass window, the lights on the wing blink orange against the thick snowflakes falling on the runway. Soon, I'll leave the concrete jungle of New York and make my way south, leaving the snow alone to tell it's cold story to this beautiful wreck of a city.

...

2009-08-09T00:10:00.000-07:00

. . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . ?

? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?

! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

@!#%@!

!!@%@#!!

! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

??!??!??!??!??!??!??!??

? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?

. . . . . . . . . .

xoxoxoxoxo

maude's story.

2009-08-07T20:44:00.000-07:00

I can remember our family sitting together at the greasy booth. “Is the food good?” my mother asked, her voice too loud for the question. My brother and I stared at the table, looking at each other in quick sideways glances. In between bites of cold pancakes, I studied the slick surface of the table, shiny with years of bad coffee and fried potatoes.

I wondered again why we left Michigan. Perhaps it was the cold, or the murders, or maybe the sound of the snowmobile grinding down the street every morning at five-thirty. Nobody liked those old monsters, with their great crunching wheels. It must have been the snowmobiles.

to come.

2009-08-06T22:06:00.000-07:00

It was cold and the streets were frozen solid. We shoveled until our fingers grew numb and swelled stiff inside our thrift store gloves. But we laughed. The snowballs that we threw exploded into icy clouds that felt like gunshots.

We should have paid attention to what we would become.

missouri.

2009-08-05T21:02:00.000-07:00

It's been a long drive, with two stops for gas and one for snacks. There are candy wrappers crushed under the seat and sound sleep is an elusive dream. The heaters are blowing and outside ice and slush are pushing up against the muddy side of the interstate. It's eight in the morning and there's no traffic. Factory smoke drifts upwards from the dirty red brick buildings that line the streets. I've never been to St. Louis before.

As I drive into the city limits, the grace of the arch greets the sky; its curve visible against the gray clouds. I hadn't expected to find this here, or for it to be so breathtaking. I pull over to the side of the road and look. I read somewhere that you can take an elevator to the top; I’d like to try that some day. Some day when I come back up I-44, the gray clouds will part as I rise above the city to stop and stare, instead of hurrying north to a love that will pass.

how to forget.

2009-08-04T20:54:00.000-07:00

The grave yards at Dachau were clean. I wandered among new plywood structures surrounded by fresh gravel and forgot everything. The empty wooden frames gave an impression of summer camp, as long rows of bunks stood unobtrusively in the soft breeze. As if it had never existed, I stood there and knew it was real. The dust from the rocks left a fine powder on the tips of my fingers and made a memory behind my eyes. The land forgets because it has to. We forget because we can.

more one than two.

2009-08-03T20:44:00.000-07:00

I was thinking it was as if someone had taken my skin, turned it inside out, and filled it up with you. That we were more one than two. I thought these things as I drove and it was cold outside. And in my car too, because the heater doesn't work so good. I thought that I hadn't seen you in longer than awhile. I reached to turn the radio on and my hand was steady because I wasn't worried about the time.

the map is only the beginning.

2009-08-01T18:52:00.000-07:00

It's impossible to travel in a straight line.

We climbed to the top of a burned out volcano in New Mexico and saw the Rocky Mountains rise up out of the earth.

We huddled on cold Colorado bleachers to watch little kids play baseball. It was snowing and we wrapped ourselves in a blanket from the trunk.

We stood on a bridge in Utah and kissed in the sun with the car running, while a man in a truck drove by and honked.

The map is only the beginning.

hello august.

2009-08-01T15:44:00.000-07:00

Dear August,

You're just beginning and already I'm drowning in numbers.

- I have 31 chances to tell a story.

- I have 200 words (give or take) to tell it.

- There are a million stories waiting to be told.

With great affection,

yours truly.

2009-07-27T21:02:00.000-07:00

Dear True Blood,

You own me and I'm okay with that.

love,

ding ding...

2009-07-23T20:16:00.000-07:00

If you found this entertaining (or maybe you forgot to breathe because you were laughing so hard) then you can find more of these charming critiques of children's art work here. On a scale of 1 to 10, the necessary-ness of you checking this website is a 500. Get at it.

you can call me mrs. harmon.

2009-07-18T17:44:00.000-07:00

Can we talk about Mark Harmon a little bit? I just really need to say that Mark Harmon is one hot-ass/handsome older man. For real. And not only am I *in love* with Mark Harmon, but I also love the show that he stars in, better known as NCIS. My sister claims that it's a show for old people but I like to remind her that I wasn't the one diagnosed with diverticulitis (aka old-person affliction). Anyway, here's a short run-down of the show's premise.

"...NCIS is a drama about a team from the Naval Criminal Investigative Service of the United States Navy, headquartered at the Washington Navy Yard in Washington, D.C. NCIS is a federal agency so their jurisdiction extends to crimes involving anything associated with the U.S. Navy and the U.S. Marine Corps. For example some of the episodes have dealt with: the mysterious death of one of the U.S. government's nuclear missile aides, a bomb threat on a U.S. Navy warship, terrorist threats, and kidnappings...." I just got chills thinking about it. Sounds absolutely captivating, right?

Right. But I'm a little biased. Give me a crime drama and I'm hooked. I'll watch CSI (Las Vegas and New York only...Miami can suck it b/c they insist on keeping David Caruso, who I think is the most overrated and melodramatic actor ever), Law and Order (bum BUM!), The Mentalist, Criminal Minds, Numbers, Monk, The Closer, etc. There's something about the crime drama that speaks to me and it says don't ever stop watching. But here's the good/bad news. Jeremy and I've been without tv for over a month now and I really like it that way. But the downside is that I haven't been watching any of my shows. Until today.

All this time I've been thinking that summer in Texas is totally useless for anything but swimming, but it was in front of me all along. The sweltering heat is a perfect reason to stay inside and watch free online tv until my brain rots. So welcome to Saturday, July 18, which is now officially Mark Harmon/NCIS/Hulu Appreciation day. I've already watched 3 action-packed episodes and I'm hunkering down to cram in as many more as I can before I pass out from sleep depravation.

In fact, I think I might be shaking with joy at the blissful thought of five more uninterrupted, air-conditioned hours of Mr. Harmon and the gang. So if you're into crime dramas or Mark Harmon, write this down. NCIS = CBS = Tuesday = 7-8 (the Season Premiere is 9/22/09).

See you in the fall.

northern pike

2009-07-13T21:02:00.000-07:00

When I was in high school, I was obsessed with collecting words. I spent hours inscribing little scraps of quotes, poems, letters, etc., into a 4'' x 5'' spiral. This later resulted in a broken heart (mine) when someone stole my tattered little quote book out of my bag in U.S. History. It still makes me sad to think about. However, that period marked the beginning of my love affair with words and I wouldn't trade that for anything. Speaking of words, the poem below is one of my favorite things written. Ever. To me, this poem perfectly reflects the combination of sadness and somber exaltation that embodies what it means to be alive. Enjoy.

Northern Pike

by James Wright

All right. Try this,
Then. Every body
I know and care for,
And every body
Else is going
To die in a loneliness
I can't imagine and a pain
I don't know. We had
To go on living. We
Untangled the net, we slit
The body of this fish
Open from the hinge of the tail
To a place beneath the chin
I wish I could sing of.
I would just as soon we let
The living go on living.
An old poet whom we believe in
Said the same thing, and so
We paused among the dark cattails and prayed
For the muskrats,
For the ripples below their tails,
For the little movements that we knew the crawdads were making
under water,
For the right-hand wrist of my cousin who is a policeman.
We prayed for the game warden's blindness.
We prayed for the road home.
We ate the fish.
There must be something very beautiful in my body,
I am so happy.

TFLN.

2009-07-11T18:24:00.000-07:00

(512) I just spent several hours reading texts from last night. Best time waster/laugh out loud website. Ever.

My favorites:

(870): These people need to leave so I can have rum and Doritos at work like every other American.

(650): in jail i did the beyonce ass shake for the police officers & called Sally from my collect phone in my cell & started singing "im in JAAAIL IM IN JAAAIL"

(859): MY DAD AND I ARE ON OUR WAY OUT OF FLORENCE AND I JUST SAW A MAN AT A BUS STOP WITH A GIMP HAND SLAP HIS DAUGHTER ACROSS THE FACE WITH IT.

(914): last night you decided it was time to "get organized" and "straighten out your life." You pulled out a bag of troll dolls, sorted through them and got nostalgic. You demanded both andy and i take one and keep it forever.

(810): Everyone just saw your hickey on TV and on the jumbotron at the hockey game.
(1-810): Thanks dad.

(337): I had a bacon mcgriddle for the first time today. It was like eating a baby angel.
(720): I tried to pay my bar tab with my gym membership card. Twice.

(828): just won a stolen shopping cart in a dance off in a parking lot.

(404): What part of "waking up in the crawl space of my house with a raccoon" sounds like a good night to you?

(617): i would really appreciate it if you would stop texting my girlfriend.
(508): i would really appreciate it if you would stop cock blocking me.

(717): You flung your panties at that guy you liked with an accuracy that I have never seen before.

(773): smoked weed with Joakim Noah last night....if he was half as fast to the basket as he is to grab a joint from me we'd have another championship on our hands

(240): Banned from zoo.
(301): Again?

(402): apparently went to arby's at 2:30am banging on the windows for someone to make me a "beefy"

(973): i just saw my boxers from 2 days ago stuck in a tree 4 miles from my house

(401): This is a mass text. Does anyone know where I am?

(802): He’s a liberal pot smoker and perfect for me. He invented a game where we have to smoke a joint every time you hear a Middle Eastern accent on NPR.

(860): I just changed her number in my phone to "You Wouldn't If You were Sober"

(612): i want tt clbm rinabw nd ride uncrn
(952): what?
(612): i wnt tto climb a rainboww and ride a unicornnnnnnnnn

(612): Hey I found your number in my phone i dont remember how we met this is richard btw
(1-612): strange i dont have your number must have been a drunk thing
(612): could be more
(1-612): absolutely not

[pas-iv] [uh-gres-iv]

2009-07-08T19:34:00.000-07:00

Wikipedia defines passive-aggressive behavior as passive, sometimes obstructionist resistance to following through with expectations in interpersonal or occupational situations. It can manifest itself as learned helplessness, procrastination, stubbornness, resentment, sullenness, or deliberate/repeated failure to accomplish requested tasks for which one is (often explicitly) responsible. It is a defense mechanism, and (more often than not) only partly conscious.

If you haven't experienced the joy of having a passive aggressive person in your life, passiveaggressivenotes.com will fill you in with humor and crazy, righteous anger. Pretty awesome.

My suggestion is to set aside an hour or so (at least) for viewing. F*cking hilarious. Here's a note from the site that shows what happens when ph.d.s get frustrated (and passive aggressive!)...

you can also see the original post

here

fail.

2009-07-06T20:30:00.000-07:00

No seriously, have you checked out the fail blog? Don't drink any liquids a couple hours before you do because you might pee your pants. For real, failblog.org is spit-milk-out-your-nose funny (or so I've heard). Here's some of my favorites to get you warmed up:

see more Fail Blog

see more Fail Blog

(This video makes me laugh every time. Every. Time. Watch it.)

sunday edition.

2009-07-05T16:26:00.000-07:00

Dear The New York Times Magazine,

You're smart, funny, and to be completely honest, pretty good looking. Your provocative feature articles, stunning photography, and fascinating columns leave me weak in the knees and wanting more. You've single-handedly made Sunday my favorite day of the week.

With great affection and obsession,

Emily

PS. If you've never read Randy Cohen's NY Times Magazine column, The Ethicist, it's great. It's like an applied ethics version of Dear Abby. Sounds awesome, right? If you end up enjoying The Ethicist column, here's a link to the The Ethicist archives (because one column at a time is just not enough).

PPS. I also love the Diagnosis column, but it doesn't run every week. Medical mysteries? Sign me up.

dracula's lament.

2009-07-03T19:52:00.000-07:00

Have you seen the movie Forgetting Sarah Marshall (F.S.M.)? If not, I recommend it. I laughed out loud a lot while watching it, which usually kicks a movie up to at least a 4-star rating for me. However, even if the whole movie had totally sucked, it wouldn't matter. There is one thing this film has to offer that eclipses everything else.

During the course of F.S.M., Jason Segel (from How I Met Your Mother*, and Freak and Geeks) performs a song from a Dracula puppet rock opera that his character is supposed to be writing. What?! What makes it even better is that before this movie came along, Segel was already writing the puppet rock opera as a real project. Um, awesome. For real, this song is pure genius. Something about the Jason Segel+concept+lyrics+melody combo makes me want to play it on repeat for hours. So give this song at least one open-minded listen but you might want to leave a little space in your heart just in case you fall in love with it.

Drum roll please....

* My future husband, Neil Patrick Harris (I choose to ignore the fact that he does not play for my team), is also on this show. *sigh* I just needed to share that.

born again.

2009-07-02T11:54:00.000-07:00

Get your seat belts on because the awesome train is pulling out of the station and it's destination is the Austin Public Library.

Here's the deal. My family is full of readers. So it makes sense that we were really into the library when I was growing up. We went each week and got a big stack of books and then went back the next week to do it all over again. However, once I moved away from Dallas, I forgot to get a new library card. Then, when I moved back, I got a job at a used bookstore. Working at Half Price books was almost like going to the library, but without any control over the inventory. I didn't get books anywhere else for a long time. I really kind of forgot about the library until last year. And now I'm stalking the A.P.L. with a vengeance.

I know everyone in the world is probably already on the library train, but I can't stop talking about it. The library is the best idea since...ever and it's free. I mean seriously, you can check out whatever you want and it won't cost you a dime.* Books, books-on-cd, dvds, cds. It's all there. Just sitting on a shelf waiting for you to take it home.

But the part about the library that really made me realize we're soulmates is the online action. That's right, the library is on the interweb and it makes me so happy. Is there a new book you want to read and it costs $40, but you don't mind waiting a little while to read it? Get on the Austin Public Library website and put it on hold. Think of a book you want to read at two in the morning? Put it on hold. And here's the part that will blow your mind. You can have your books delivered to whichever library is closest to you. I'm serious when I say that this particular feature changed my life.

There's a library about two blocks from my house and it might as well have a cross and a choir out front because that is my version of church. I accept books and the Austin Public Library into my heart as my own personal savior.

Amen.

*Even the late fees (for books) are something like $0.25 a day.

kitsune noir.

2009-07-01T13:36:00.000-07:00

If we lived in Bulgaria, then today we would be observing July Morning, which is where people celebrate, as Wikipedia so elegantly puts it, "the feeling of elation from the first morning sun rays as a symbol of a new beginning in life." The best part of the whole deal is that people usually do this on a beach somewhere. Remind me why we're not in Bulgaria again?

However, the sad truth is that we are not in Bulgaria and instead are firmly ensconsed here in the US. All we're celebrating today is the fact that North Korea hasn't figured out how to blow up the world with nuclear weapons. *weak cheer* In honor of North Korea's nuclear incompetency, here's a little something to brighten the day.

If you haven't checked out Kitsune Noir (introduced to me by my fantastic ladyfriend Andrea Couch) then you should. +KN is a "visual collection of random bits and bobs related to art, design, fashion, films, & music, all filtered through the head of Bobby Solomon." My favorite part of the +KN blog is The Desktop Wallpaper Project, which is an "exhibition in which artists can give away their art for your personal enjoyment" (ie. free digital art that you can download and put on your desktop so your computer screen looks fancy and pretty). The best part of the July DWP is that there's going to be a new wallpaper !every! weekday. So get over there and spread some art around.

Just to give you an idea of why you should be checking the +KN blog as of yesterday, here are some of my favorite wallpapers:

Over and out.

goodnight june.

2009-06-30T20:54:00.000-07:00

Today is the last day of June, which means that 30 Days of Write is limping to a close. Although the group kind of fell apart in the middle of the month, this ended up being a pretty good month for writing. What I really mean to say is that I came close to meeting my goals for the month and I enjoyed doing it.

Sure, I have a sinking suspicion that most of my blog posts are of minimal interest to anyone else, and yes, I suspect that many of these posts could be polished and improved beyond the point of mediocrity. But all in all, I feel satisfied about writing+June. I wrote every day and I'm not too embarrassed about what materialized. As for working on a style/voice, I'm not sure I ventured too far in that direction. There's always next month, right?

Speaking of July, which is a non-30 Days of Write month, I'm aiming to post often but not every day (I'm giving myself a little leeway). Mostly I plan to share random stuff that I like* on a platform of wit and charm (but probably without the wit and charm). The prospect is exhilarating, I know. So stay tuned.

Over and out.

* Random stuff that I like = blogs you should know about, useful things, compelling pictures, good music, frog legs (why not?), book reviews, assorted tips, and anything not already mentioned in this list

dear abby.

2009-06-29T20:46:00.000-07:00

It was the fall semester of my junior year at UT and I was taking a class called Electromagnetism and Waves (Calculus based).* Dr. Oakes was the professor. As it turned out, that waves class was really effing hard. In order to stay afloat, three other girls (the only other girls in our class of fifty) and I started a study group. We'd go to Dr. Oakes's office hours every week and review the problem sets with him. Needless to say, my study ladies and I spent a lot of time with Dr. Oakes, which was always a little awkward because he was very smart and very demanding and very reserved. He did not mess around.

One day, Colleen and I went to Dr. Oakes's office hours because we'd been having a particularly hard time with the homework. Maybe it had to do with electric potential or phase shift, who knows. What I do know is that we'd tried everything and we could not solve this one problem. Dr. Oakes listened to us patiently as we explained what we'd tried and where we were stuck.

And then, out of nowhere, he asked if either of us had read Dear Abby in the paper that day. Colleen and I were a little confused at the random segue, but we both said we hadn't. The column, Dr. Oakes told us, had an anecdote that was especially pertinent to our struggle with the problem set. He sat back in his chair and began telling this story (I found a copy of it online almost exactly as I remember it. I *heart* you internet.):

Ben invited his mother over for dinner. During the meal, his mother couldn’t help noticing how beautiful Ben’s roommate was. She had long been suspicious of a relationship between Ben and his roommate and this only made her more curious. Over the course of the evening, while watching the two interact, she started to wonder if there was more between Ben and the roommate than met the eye. Reading his mom’s thoughts, Ben volunteered, “I know what you must be thinking, but I assure you, Allison and I are just roommates.” About a week later, Allison came to Ben and said, “Ever since your mother came to dinner, I’ve been unable to find the beautiful silver gravy ladle. “You don’t suppose she took it, do you?” Ben said, “Well, I doubt it, but I’ll write her a letter just to be sure.” So he sat down and wrote: “Dear Mother, I’m not saying you ‘did’ take a gravy ladle from my house, and I’m not saying you ‘did not’ take a gravy ladle. But the fact remains that one has been missing ever since you were here for dinner.” Several days later, Ben received a letter from his mother which read: “Dear Son, I’m not saying that you ‘do’ sleep with Allison, and I’m not saying that you ‘do not’ sleep with Allison. But the fact remains that if she was sleeping in her own bed, she would have found the gravy ladle by now. Love, Mom”

And when Dr. Oakes was done telling the story, he laughed and laughed and laughed. He laughed so hard that his eyes teared up. Colleen and I just sat there. I seriously thought the he'd lost his mind and I didn't have a clue as to why he'd told us that joke. Finally, he looked at us and said, "Do you get it? If you ladies had read the chapter, you'd already know how to solve the problem."

And he was right. I never again went to Dr. Oakes's office hours unprepared. It turns out that Dear Abby = physics success.

* The first time I attended college, I majored in Physics. Then I dropped out the summer before my senior year and didn't return for three years. Later, I went back and got a degree in English Lit./creative writing. Go figure.

type.writer.

2009-06-28T21:34:00.000-07:00

I might be dating myself here, but at my nerd-core middle school there was only a handful of electives. One of them was typing. And I don't mean making Power Point presentations or web pages. I'm talking about correction tape, backspacing, and the comforting chunk-chunk-chunk of an IBM electric.

I don't know how it went down in your typing class (or more likely in your grandma's typing class), but in Ms. Hicks's classroom we sat at long skinny tables that faced the front of the room. Our typewriters were lined up in front of us. There was only one rule to remember and that rule was non-negotiable. You could not, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, look at your hands.

Almost immediately I learned that Ms. Hicks was totally serious about The Rule. So serious that she taught class from the back of the room. With a foot long piece of a 2'' x 4''. As we typed, she would pace behind us watching the backs of heads. If we looked at our hands, Ms. Hicks could tell. She would walk up behind you, stealthy as a ninja, and slam that piece of wood down right beside your typewriter. It was like a gunshot and it scared the shit out of me every time.

Now my experience was that when you are first learning how to type, it's pretty hard to refrain from looking at your hands. I mean, if it was easy, you probably wouldn't need to take a typing class. But Ms. Hicks took no prisoners. It didn't matter if you'd never typed a day in your life. One look at your hands and here comes the wood.

I've taught middle schoolers and I'm serious when I say that it takes an act of god to get a group of 7th graders to do what you want. But walk into Ms. Hicks's classroom any day of the week and you'd find a silent group of students huddled behind their IBMs, typing as furiously as possible. That block of wood was all that stood between chaos and 80 wpm. But I have to admit, I can hit the keys with the best of them and it's all thanks to Ms. Hicks. And that piece of 2'' x 4''.

what's for dinner.

2009-06-27T23:53:00.000-07:00

When Erin and I were younger (about three or four), we thought our dad was a mind reader. He had a special ability, or so we believed, to feel our stomachs and discern exactly what we'd eaten for dinner. I remember being amazed as he would pass his hand over my stomach, stopping to say, "I feel some mashed potatoes here...and some green beans over there." Erin and I were stupefied. Every. single. time. It was straight up grown-up magic.

It didn't occur to me until much later that my father had eaten the very same dinner as Erin and me. I guess the mysteries of childhood aren't so mysterious after all.

bake sale.

2009-06-26T23:59:00.000-07:00

This is a short random entry because I just got home and my brain is counting down to sleep. 10, 9, 8, 7...

Sweet 'n Low, Equal, and Splenda, etc. are all big fat liars. What I really mean is that sugar substitutes are misleading. Yes, it's true that sugar substitutes are sweet (and by sweet I really mean cloying, concentrated cancer-causing sweet) but you can't straight switch that shit out for real sugar. One cup of sugar does NOT equal one cup of Sweet 'n Low. For example, if you try to make a cake using one cup of sugar substitute instead of one cup of real sugar, that cake is going to taste like old birthday cake garbage. In fact, it will probably be so gross that you'll throw up a little in your mouth.* So just to clear up any possible confusion on the matter, I think the fake sugar industry should man up and make sure their packages reference this difference. They should try something like Almost Sugar Substitute (But Not Really Sugar (And Don't Try To Use It Instead Of Sugar!)) - because friends don't let friends ruin cakes.*

* Erin and I actually tried this one time when we were 12 and trying to make a cake from scratch. Words cannot describe how bad that cake tasted. It was a sad day for cakes and cake eaters everywhere. Lesson learned.

* Speaking of ruined cakes, this website is absolutely awesome. It's called Cake Wrecks and it showcases various examples of professional-cakes-gone-wrong. Awesome.

forever's gonna start tonight.

2009-06-25T22:34:00.000-07:00

So I'm exhausted. This week's been the busiest week in the history of being alive. Not really, but there's been something going on every night this week. Every night. I'm just not made for that. Whenever I take any of those stunningly accurate online personality quizzes, I always come up as an introvert, which surprises me. But maybe it shouldn't because I love being around people, but I need a lot of alone time to recharge. Anyway, all I know is that I'm jumping on the Sunday-as-a-day-of-rest ASAP. This week's activities have involved/will involve: band practice, tennis playing, work deadlines, walking-and-talking, grilling, Ladies-of-the-80s sing-a-long, family dinner, game night, girls' night, and grocery shopping. I'm having anxiety just thinking about all of it. I'm ready to power down and hibernate through the heat and social interaction.

I'll leave you with my favorite 80's song quote of the evening:

The Weather Girls - It's Raining Men: "God bless Mother Nature, She's a single woman too." Seriously, that song kind of made my evening.

Over and out.

summer (part II)

2009-06-24T22:59:00.000-07:00

Streetlights make sharp shadows on the cooling asphalt while insects tap against their luminescent glass. Crickets sing their songs in the warm air just recently arrived. This is a night on the verge of a breath, helpless to turn back, and waiting to discover what is to come.

right hand, left hand.

2009-06-23T21:38:00.000-07:00

Dang. I'm tired. Tuesdays are work+band practice and that makes for a long day. We've had a million rounds of lay-offs at my work, which ends up being good and bad. Good because I have a job but bad because now there's half as many people doing the same amount of work. So tonight I thought I'd post something a little brighter than my day:

Lately I’ve had thoughts behind my eyes. Like shutters-in-a-storm-knocking around – knocking and banging. And in the middle of the storm, there are berries. Yes berries. Ripe and shining in their plastic basket- juice – yes juicy as I eat them. With juice running down my chin and onto my hands – sticky hands and purple fingers. Full mouth laughing – to be eating berries on a blanket. In the middle of it all I take your face. In my purple sticky fingers – sticky face. And kiss you – yes kiss you. Hard on the lips that taste like berries. In the end of it - there’s only right hand and left hand. Good and bad. But happiness is graceful – and I could use a little grace today.

injurious.

2009-06-22T20:54:00.000-07:00

So tonight's post is based on an incident earlier in the evening where I slammed my finger in the cabinet door. It felt as awesome as it sounds. But it got me thinking about how most of the time when you injure yourself, it's pretty funny. My rule of thumb is to make sure the other person is okay and then let out the laughter. I can't help it, I find that injuries are generally pretty funny, just not for the injured.

So here's a list of ridiculous injuries that I've sustained:

1. While playing detective, I tried (and failed) to jump a chain link fence. I ended up sliding on the metal edge of the chain link. It dug a caterpillar-sized chunk of flesh out of my knee that is still visible today. Gross/cool.

2. When I was in pre-school, my friends and I wanted to move the jungle gym. I have no idea why. What I do know is that when we put the jungle gym back down, my right hand pointer finger got caught underneath while all the rest of the kids swarmed on top. It's still a little crooked.

3. Another time in pre-school, I fell down the stairs. The metal stairs. Apparently one of my asshole 3-year old classmates stepped on my untied shoelace. All I remember was waking up in the car on the way to the hospital, where I got three stitches in my forehead. To this day I'm a pretty big fan of the double knot.

4. When Erin and I lived in Portland, our friend Taylor came to visit. We were playing imaginary karate showdown and Erin and I kicked each other at the same time. [Insert broken toe here.] In fact, Taylor later re-enacted the toe-breaking move and hurt her foot so badly she had to hobble for the rest of the night. Then Erin mocked us both and karma swooped in and smote her too (I think she ended up with an ankle sprain.). How many feet does it take to change a light bulb?

5. While riding the El in Chicago on the way to a wedding, Erin and I got into an argument. Simultaneously, the train started moving. I broke a rib that took about two months to heal (and you might as well kiss breathing goodbye because that rib pain is not messing around). This later led to an embarrassing incident in a kiddie pool in Mexico.

6. Pretend you're 13 again and enraged for no good reason. Then lean a mattress against a wall in the garage. Picture yourself kicking the mattress and the mattress slipping up to reveal the sharp edge of a wooden stool. This is how I ended up breaking all of the blood vessels on the top of my foot. For real, it looked like I was wearing a swollen purple sock.

7. I have two scars on my left hand from cutting hair, which was a hobby of mine from the age of 15-25. The aforementioned scars occurred on two separate (but eerily similar) occasions when I got carried away with some kitchen scissors and cut off the skin on the top of my index and middle finger knuckles. Let me tell you, no band aid can truly protect the knuckle. That's what duct tape is for.

8. There's a piece of pencil lead stuck in the inside of my right hand middle finger that's leftover from the second grade. Who knew?

9. There is a beautiful set of marble stairs in front of the UT tower that get really slick when it rains. I figured this out when I fell down them once in a spectacularly awkward way. This didn't actually leave a physical scar, but my pride was pretty bruised.

10. I swam competitively for years and I loved it. I mean, what's not to love? Smelling like chlorine, wearing dorkbot swim caps in front of your teenage peers, and ending up with a shoulder that slides out of joint from swimming the backstroke. At the time, I felt lucky because I didn't have internal bleeding like the girl who swam the breast stroke.

What kind of injury stories do you have to tell?

one room.

2009-06-21T20:45:00.000-07:00

My father is really into genealogy.* As a result, he keeps in contact with different strands of the Hurt family. One summer, my father's third cousin or uncle twice removed or second something or other invited us to a family reunion in Mississippi. Erin and I were about ten. We piled into a rented minivan with my father, my uncle, and my grandfather, and we hit the road.

As you can imagine, two kids and three adults crammed into a vehicle for 8 hours meant that everyone was ready to stop for the night. We pulled into the parking lot of the first Motel 6 in town. The grown-ups left us in the car and went inside to get a room. Erin and I watched them walk up to the desk through the huge lobby window.

From our backseat perch, we could see them talking to the clerk. Then we see my grandfather gesturing angrily. And when I say gesture, I really mean that my grandfather was leaning across the reception desk and giving the clerk the finger.* I should note that my grandfather was a tall man, which is strange if you know me, because I'm close to 5'. He was also the youngest of five brothers, an ex-Navy medic, and an all around brawler. When he got angry, you didn't mess around. And I guess that motel clerk didn't because they came right back out to the car, key in hand.

Erin and I shouted over each other when they got back in the car trying to find out what had happened. We may have been young, but we knew something rowdy had just gone down. Tell us, tell us, tell us, we chanted. And without missing a beat, my grandfather turned around and said, "All I told him was that we only wanted *holding up his middle finger* one room." And that was that.

* I'm not exaggerating. My father is so into genealogy that he wrote a book about our family history called Tidewater to Texas. If it's not required reading yet, it should be.

* Wikipedia defines "giving the finger" as: The origin of this gesture is speculative, and quite possibly thousands of years old. It is identified as the digitus impudicus ("impudent finger") in Ancient Roman writings[1] and reference is made to using the finger in the ancient Greek comedy to insult another person. The widespread usage of the finger in many cultures is likely due to the geographical influence of the Roman Empire and Greco-Roman civilization. Another possible origin of this gesture can be found in the first-century Mediterranean world, where extending the digitus impudicus was one of many methods used to divert the ever present threat of the evil eye.[2]

this magic moment.

2009-06-20T19:05:00.000-07:00

So I just found out that tonight is Midsummer Night's Eve, when magic is supposed to be the strongest. And if by "magic" you mean speed, then my front lawn is feeling pretty magical right now. Let me explain.

A couple weeks back our community lawn mower* bit the dust. It gave up the ghost and I think our lawn knew it. When I say lawn, you might be picturing something lush and green. This would be incorrect. What we really have is a lawn-shaped grouping of weeds and ground cover. Needless to say, when the weeds kick it into high gear, they turn into a wall of awesomeness.

At present, our lawn is so in need of mowing that we've had several cards and a few flyers left in our mailbox by local entrepreneurs. But fate had other ideas. Tonight as we were getting ready to go out, someone knocked on the door. I opened the door and there's this scruffy guy standing on the stoop. He asks if he can mow the front and the back for $20. Yes sir. If we had been on the Price is Right there would be a buzzer going off. Sold.

However, once this man and his business associate begin mowing, there's a lot of yelling. I was fairly alarmed and thinking, what the hell is going on? By the time they get to the backyard, where Jeremy was smoking a cigarette, we figure it out. In fact, the man doing the mowing had left no room for doubt. Our lawn money was clearly financing some future chemical re-ups for these gentlemen. The "supervisor" that I talked to looked rough, but the other guy, the man mowing the lawn, was totally tweaked out. He is wound up so tight that all he can do is yell. Loudly. And he's yelling things like "HOW AM I TODAY? I'M JUST FINE. I WOKE UP THIS MORNING AND MY NAME WASN'T ON THE OBITUARY PAGE SO I KNEW THINGS WERE GOING TO BE GREAT." He also volunteered to mow the lawn across the street, which we declined.

Anyway, the lawn gets mowed (very intensely and very quickly), they collect their cash, and take off. I'd like to think that some kind of equal exchange took place between the four of us. We got our lawn shaved back down to a decent visibility and some guys that needed it made some money. Not that I'm condoning using speed as a path to happiness.

Bring on the magic!

* Since we each really only mow about once a month, (my friend) Kelly, (my sister) Erin and I went in on a joint lawn mower. I would highly recommend it. Everyone's lawn got mowed and no one needed it at the same time. It really worked out. Except for the breaking down part.

safe and sound.

2009-06-20T01:55:00.000-07:00

I love nights like this when Jeremy and I get to hang out at home and relax (and by relax, I really mean watch back-to-back episodes of Firefly). This leads me to tonight's post.

Things I'm glad I'm NOT doing at 2am:

- Fixing a flat tire in a bad neighborhood and finding out that the spare is flat too.

- Waiting in an emergency room. Margaritas + stepping off of a deck + my friend Blanca = broken ankle.

- Missing the last bus of the night in Portland and deciding that it's not too far to walk home when it really is too far. Like a two hour walk too far.

- Watching a middle aged woman get arrested in an Albuquerque Walgreens for shoplifting a Twix bar and two cans of Aquanet.

- Breaking down outside of Waco and riding all the way back to Dallas in the cab of the tow truck while listening to the nice ladies on the CB. Very nice ladies.

AA, bA, cA, dA, eA

2009-06-18T21:21:00.000-07:00

The stars behind your eyes glow bright for her,

strung crooked and haphazard, they shine for her.

Lost to the place where ocean binds to sky,

loose your silver tongue and fly to her.

In the depths of the water the darkness enfolds

the stories of the wreckage that confine her.

Advancing slowly against the heave of the surf,

the waves encircled and did bind her.

As she sunk below the tearing surface,

only seaweed lingered to enshrine her.

Ps. Note to the reader: Some rhymes may be the verbal equivalent of an estimation.

Pps. Just so this post has some non-fiction content, let me tell you a very short story. My family used to go to the beach every year. My mother is born of the sand and the sun and the waves. No really, she is a serious fan of the beach. So when Erin and I were about 3 or 4, Mom took us to the beach for the first time. Picture delighted toddler's running to the ocean's edge, enthralled by the rhythm of the waves. The only problem was that Erin was so hypnotized by the waves that she got dizzy and fell face first into the water. Cue lots of crying and grouchiness followed by my mother's probable resentment at having children. Unfortunately, I'm sure this wasn't the first or last time she would have this feeling. I suspect that frequently my sister and I had a hand in destroying my parents' enjoyment of any attempted hobbies and/or vacations. The fact that my parents didn't drown the both of us during our childhood is certainly a testament to their fortitude.

Ppps. Over and out.

knit one.

2009-06-17T23:20:00.000-07:00

(Ps. I'm a huge fan of the knitting and the crocheting. It's amazing to me that something I use to occupy my nervous energy can result in enjoyable byproducts. Yes! to making things.)

Hold the needles lightly. If you’re

tense it will show up

in the knots, resulting

in an uneven row.

You want to stay loose

but consistent; it will come

with time.

To start, you must first

cast on. Pay attention. If

it’s too tight, you will need

to redo it.

Drape the yarn over

your left thumb

and forefinger, hold it lightly

in your fist; it is almost nothing.

Dance the needle in and out,

there is a rhyme for this

about a rabbit: in over under

around, then pull.

This makes the knot. It waits

to be joined by the others,

to grow a scarf or a hat.

Now slide the other

needle, rounded tip,

up between the knot

and the smooth metal.

Then wrap the yarn around it, above

the mass of needle-yarn-needle,

and duck it under the knot.

Knit one.

rising.

2009-06-16T21:27:00.000-07:00

I tried and tried to write my tongue twister but then I had to go to band practice. This is what I ended up with instead. Forgive me/enjoy?

We rise from warmth to shed sleep

Like a skin

To begin again.

There is a need to tell it

To make words

That hold the meaning.

There is an answer in the story

Hidden in the sounds

Waiting to be told.

I ran away to the circus

Lost my watch and

Forgot about time.

We are the children of the lost

Trying on voices

To see if they fit.

We are breathing underwater

And forgetting

That it is impossible.

mercy/grace

2009-06-15T15:03:00.000-07:00

(Ps. My poem starts with ten syllables and works its way down. And in keeping with my non-fiction theme, this poem is based on actual events.)

Rain beats on stained glass as a head bows. Dim

light fills a church already full of

flowers and best clothes. Later, a

heart breaks at a graveside - its

owner stands with hand out-

stretched, trying to hold

a lifetime in

the words that

mean good-

bye.

lights out.

2009-06-14T21:03:00.000-07:00

So Jeremy and I came home from the beach today to a quiet house. And not just the regular kind of quiet. This was more of a no-more-tv-because-everything's-gone digital-quiet. That's right, we are without tv. No channels, no programs, no noise.

When deciding what we wanted to do about the Big Switch, we meandered our way through various options. It went something like this:

1. Get digital conversion box.

2. Scrub that. Buy a new digital tv.

3. Digital tvs cost money. Back to #1.

4. No conversion box or new tv. No tv at all!

5. What were we thinking?! Back to #1.

6. A brief flirtation with #2 again when Best Buy had a huge sale.

7. Sheer laziness brings us back to #4.

So technically, through lack of action, we made our decision. And now the day is here. Sans tv. But the truth of the matter is that I'm pretty excited. In the past, I've always written more, made more, and done more when I didn't have access to a tv.* It's freeing.

But I also expect some withdrawal symptoms in the coming weeks, so wish me luck. If you find me stalking your living room window around 7pm, just close your blinds and I'll make my way home. It's all about one day at a time, right?

Over and out.

* When I do have access to a tv, especially cable trash reality shows, I go absolutely overboard. Once, when I house-sat for my parents, I lost an entire afternoon (four hours!) watching The Two Coreys. *Sigh*

bloom.

2009-06-13T20:44:00.000-07:00

I am inside of a small post office. It is standing room only and this is a generous allowance. The crowd has been shepherded into a rough semblance of a line. Around me there are couples, strangers, and volunteers waiting their turn. The slips of conversation that emerge from the excited voices around me all center around the same thing - we are part of Something Big.

I start a conversation with the woman standing to my right. She is about twenty-five years older than me and comes from a different place in life. But we talk easily about the chance that we have today and the possibilities it represents. I marvel at the way my youthful exuberance blends with her long-waiting hope. We may have two different perspectives but we share the same goal. We agree that whichever outcome occurs, things will be different.

As the line shuffles us forward, I feel my enthusiasm and excitement build until I am consumed. I cannot wait to take a step on the other side of history. I think of the words of Anais Nin as I step behind the curtain, "And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

It is time and we are blooming. I cast my vote.

how to (beach edition).

2009-06-12T22:15:00.000-07:00

Here's my line-up for a good vacation:

1. Drive with fun people and take lots of pictures. This is essential. Every moment must be documented.

2. Take a 5 lb. bag of carrots. This will come in handy when you are hungry and really want to eat a 5 lb. bag of salt and vinegar chips.

3. If you stop at a Burger King en route, get the Burger Shots. They are small and cute and delicious (mustard + cheese only!).

4. Stay in a beach house that looks like an easter egg. It will be bright and cheerful with an amazing view of the ocean.

5. Eat delicious food for every meal.

6. Avoid injury. This includes being stung by scorpions that may wander into your kitchen.

7. Swim in an ocean. The water will be refreshing and the sound of the waves will be soothing. Hello happiness.

Ps. Here are some vacation quotes that I thought everyone would appreciate:

"If we could grow food underwater, I'd grow a million sea burgers."

"Why does your face look like a burger butt?"

"It's like a baby's foot, but on an adult."

"I wish scorpions would sting you in the balls. Then we could call you scorpion balls."

"Not if I take twelve in my sixes!"

sneeze vs. hiccup

2009-06-11T22:26:00.000-07:00

Just for the record, I'd rather be stuck with the hiccups than stuck sneezing. As my allergy doctor put it, I should be living in a bubble. But since I'm not, cedar season usually brings several sneezing fits that last all day. I do not love this. My nose emerges from these fits raw and red and my eyes are watery and squinting. I feel like I've suffered through the respiratory version of food poisoning. The only way I know how to stop one of these episodes is to take enough benadryl to tranquilize a small elephant. And although I do love the coma-like nature of antihistamine induced sleep, I do not love the medicated haze that remains well into the next day.

Hiccuping - 1 Sneezing - 0

Ps. And that's all I got for today because I'm on vacation. Get it! But I am going to try to post tomorrow...maybe a trip post?

growing up gaslight.

2009-06-10T18:21:00.000-07:00

Wikipedia defines gaslighting as a form of intimidation or psychological abuse in which false information is presented to the victim, making them doubt their own memory and perception.

Now, I'm not really sure it was on purpose, but I am pretty sure that my parents have been "gaslighting" my sister and me for the last 20 years. And by gaslighting, I really mean that our parents were feeding us loads of false information. My childhood will never be whole again.

For instance, my father told us that one of his co-workers had been in a car wreck and she'd rolled out of the car because she hadn't locked her door. When I asked him about it years later, he claimed he had never told us that. Right. Because two kids will totally make up the same story independently of each other and develop phobias about door locks. Do you hear the hiss of the gaslight?

When Erin and I started to doubt that Santa was real, my mother told us that she saw a real elf peeking in the window. Seriously. I believed in Santa for so long that it got weird and all because I was sure my mother wouldn't lie. My mistake was not knowing the meaning of the word gaslight yet.

My parents also told us that the Doobie Brothers were really brothers. How did I find out this wasn't true? By mentioning it at school only to be laughed at by the other kids. The other high school kids. Clearly their parents were on the up and up. No gaslighting for them.

We were also told that gum would never digest and that watermelon seeds will grow in your stomach. I kind of still believe the gum thing. Kind of. Who knows the truth anymore? Damn you gaslight.

This last one is really an example of Erin and I "gaslighting" ourselves. Our parents' wedding anniversary is March 25 and our birthday is March 20. Erin and I thought this meant we were five days illegitimate. We told everyone at school, including the teachers. Then we realized, much to our parents' chagrin, that our parents' anniversary is March 25, 1971 and our birthday is March 20, 1979. Devil's in the details.

Over and out.

take it or leave it.

2009-06-09T21:49:00.000-07:00

Every year I set an intention. The idea is that this mindset that will carry through the entire year and will affect all of my actions and decisions. For example, the year of Why Not took me to New Zealand for a month. The year of Rub Some Dirt On It saw me finish out a painful year of teaching 7th grade math and start a new job editing math textbooks. The year of Less Thinking, More Doing brought new songs, new art, and a new garden. You get the picture.

So this year's intention is Take It or Leave It. It means that in every situation, I have a choice. I can accept a situation as it is or do what I can to change it. But there's no doing both. And there's no staying stuck in the middle. It's like that cable show, Clean Sweep. After you process everything, it either ends up in the yes pile or the no pile. Take it or leave it. Probably this whole deal sounds like a really black and white way of dealing with things, but it's more about trying to create some boundaries out of the massive gray areas that make up my life. And not that gray areas are bad, it's just that I can't deal with everything being a gray area.

And there you have it, my intention for the year. It may also be the most boring blog entry I've ever written. I'm owning it and moving on to tomorrow.

fly like an eagle

2009-06-08T21:24:00.000-07:00

Speaking of flying, here are some tips for a first-time flyer:

- Airlines have lots of rules about what you are allowed to take on a plane. If you argue with a flight attendant about taking a guitar as a carry-on, you will lose.

- Airlines have lots of rules about what you are allowed to wear on a plane. If you are nineteen and happen to be wearing a spiked metal bracelet, this is not allowed. Your bracelet may be put into an enormous cardboard box and checked underneath the plane.

- Do not check a bag that contains a jar of pickles. The sealing mechanism on the jar will most likely fail in a spectacular way that results in your clothes and many of your fellow travelers' clothes smelling like pickle juice. No matter how much you like pickles, this will not be pleasant.

- When the seat belt light goes on, you are supposed to be in your seat. If, however, you have food poisoning and need to use the bathroom facilities IMMEDIATELY, the flight attendants will allow this. They will caution you to "hold on tight."

- Flight attendants are very nice people, but it is helpful to remember that there are exceptions to every rule. If you have a fever and chills and your in-flight blanket is missing when you board the plane, do not be surprised if the response you receive when you request another one is "Are you sure you didn't take the one that was already there?"

- Alert the flight attendants if you need anything by pressing the correct button overhead. Do not accidentally press the alert button when you mean to press the fan button. This can result in a strained relationship with your attendant.

- On international flights, it may be helpful to take some kind of sleep aid so that you arrive at your destination well rested. However, it is not helpful if your sleep aid takes effect in the middle of dinner and you spill your soup on your neighbor. (Ps. Tomato soup will stain.)

- Many people celebrate their honeymoons by flying to an exotic locale. This can be very enjoyable. Do not, however, take acid for the first time and create a disturbance on the plane by yelling at your new wife "I will kill you now." This can be disturbing to your fellow passengers, especially if your bare, dirty feet are draped over the top of their seat.

- Feel free to talk to your neighbor. For example, if you are a 50 year old woman who has been in a relationship via the internet for the last 6 months and is now flying to meet the other woman for the very first time, please do tell this story to your neighbor. If, however, you have just returned from a lackluster vacation and have many negative things to vent to a person who is trying very hard to read their book, please keep these things to yourself.

Thanks for flying.

mix tape.

2009-06-07T21:32:00.000-07:00

There's A Reason (AA Bondy) - And it's love that's tearing them down/and it's love that will turn them around/say it is so. Pure love song with some amazing lyrics thrown in.

Headlights Look Like Diamonds (The Arcade Fire) - Oh Arcade Fire, let's get married and run away together forever. I don't have enough words to describe how good this song is.

Blood Bank (Bon Iver) - This song is muted and poignant.

I See A Darkness (Bonnie Prince Billy) - I love the way this song starts simple and builds into a crescendo of sound.

I Found A Reason (Cat Power) - The lazy beauty of this song just feels good to listen to right now.

Seeds of Night (The Cave Singers) - And oh crystal thing inside of me sing/Oh bright light sing me a song. This song is my new anthem.

Discoball World (David Garza) - I can't help but dance it out whenever I hear this chorus. It feels alive.

How It Ends (Devotchka) - I feel like I'm in church when I listen to this song.

Resurrection Fern (Iron and Wine) - This song is all slow summer to me. It feels like swimming in a river and getting out and laying in the sun until you're dry.

Everybody But Me (Lykke Li) - Who hasn't felt like this way?

Closest (Matt Pond PA) - Tell me/tell me/there's going to be time left.

Skipping Stones (Mom) - There's no singing in this song but the music says it all. It's warm weather and sunlight and water running over stones.

Sweet Sweetheart Killer (Say Hi to Your Mom) - I love the sweetness of this love song.

Je Veux Te Voir (Yelle) - This song is fierce and dance-y. The whole thing is in french so I'm not sure what they're saying but you don't need to know. Just move to the dance floor.

Fake Empire (The National) - Turn out the light/say goodnight/no thinking for a little while/let's not try to figure out everything at once. Sigh. This song is perfect.

Lost to the Lonesome (Pela) - It's all about the attitude. We can leave the lonely and lost to their lonesome hearts.

Thinking About You (Radiohead) - I can't get enough of this song - especially when T. Yorke sings What do you care?/When other men are far far better.

Even Born Again (Sarah Jaffe) - Pink orange and blue and white/I remember what the sky looked like/ I remember how your face looked too/that was perfection. Her voice is gorgeous.

Tonight Will Be Fine (Teddy Thompson) - God. Teddy Thompson's version of this Leonard Cohen song just slays me.

blue light special.

2009-06-07T06:39:00.000-07:00

I love stuff just like everyone else.* I surround myself with art and plants and books and shoes. I totally love stuff. But I do not love the mall.

In general, I'm not much of a shopper* because it feels like a lot of work for a small payoff. After about an hour I feel worn out and grouchy. But at the mall, I go from 0 to hateful immediately. It is too much. I feel overwhelmed by the club music, the perfume smells, the bright lights, and the identical displays.

Maybe it's just that the mall is a symbol for the things that I really dislike about American culture, namely the idea that everyone should be alike and that everyone needs more stuff.* To me malls are not about creating - they are about selling. And what they're selling shouts "same, same, same!" and "more, more, more!" In the end, it just depresses me. Malls are nothing more than huge engines of consumerism driven by the desire to profit. Vomit.

So two thumbs down for malls and profit. They can burn up in a huge bonfire of empty materialism for all I care. I want to be part of a culture that values re-using, re-making, and individuality over profit. Let's make art, handmade clothes, and music the new medium of exchange. It can happen.*

* Except for presents. Call me a grinch, but I'm not big on presents. This includes birthday presents, Christmas presents, or anything that is wrapped and I have to unwrap it. I do make an exception for anything handmade. When we were young, my sister and I would regularly have meltdowns at Christmas because we had to integrate the new presents into our obsessively organized rooms. My mother later confided to me that she "worried" about us.

* I will waive this statement only when shopping with my friend Jessie, aka "Shoptime Jessie." Her super power is the ability to direct your shopping experience so that you spend the least time possible and come home with everything you need. I'm not joking - she carries a stopwatch and a game plan. Jessie is the Michael Phelps of shoppers.

* For real. Consumers don't even have a choice about whether we need more stuff because the stuff we buy is designed to wear out faster so that we have to buy more to replace it. Check out this 20 minute video called the story of stuff to see the whole life cycle of production and consumption. Do it.

* I feel like at this point in the post, there should have been some kind of soaring inspirational music playing. Kind of like at the end of sports movies (which I love!) when the underdog is going for the decisive, final play, and the music totally swells behind them. The glory of the sports movies gets me every time. Every. time.

these five things.

2009-06-05T22:55:00.000-07:00

Caution: Contents may be metaphorical.

-a bundle of dried lavender

-a piece of canvas with the word susciter* stenciled on it

-the A-string from my guitar

-my library card

-a diagram of a heart

* /su-see-tay/ Verb, transitive to arouse, provoke; to create

the road less travelled.

2009-06-04T22:43:00.000-07:00

(Note to the reader: This is another lateral interpretation of the daily topic.)

If the city is Dallas and the bar is the Xpo Lounge, then I'll tell you exactly what happens next. Suddenly it's four in the morning and you're wondering how you got stuck in this Charlie-and-the-Chocolate Factory meets Clockwork Orange freak-fest. But first, let's rewind.

Blanca* and I were out one night and before you know it, 2 a.m. had rolled around. Here's where, as Robert Frost would say, we took the "road less travelled."

A friend of a friend had invited a bunch of people to go back to his loft and we thought it sounded fun.* When we arrived, it was obvious that although people were definitely living in that building, it was not in a legal way. There were missing pieces of sheetrock, exposed wires, and dripping pipes everywhere. I was excited to discover that there was no bathroom in the loft, but there was one down the hallway. With no lock. But we forged ahead.

So there we were, hanging out and talking. And out of nowhere, this guy (the host) started passing out plastic children's musical instruments.* WTF?? He also produced a kid's portable microphone. He explained that he wanted everyone to play a song and and take a turn singing. Seriously? No really, seriously? And that wasn't even the end of it. After the singing died down, he passed out big pieces of butcher paper that we drew on. Then we all switched and drew on someone else's paper. I guess Blanca and I weren't doing a good job because at some point our piece of paper got taken away. I was both offended and relieved.

After the arts and crafts, I was ready to go. I remember thinking, how did we get from the bar to a place where the soundtrack was plastic toy music and the floor was strewn with paper and markers and maybe even a feather boa. It was like the olympics - amazing to watch but you feel tired afterwards. Blanca and I left.

The moral of this story is that you never know what's going to happen next.

The end.

* I've known Blanca since the 4th grade when supposedly one of us wanted to beat up the other one. But neither of us can remember who started it. If you're wondering, this is how to build a really solid foundation for a friendship. Definitely start with a beatdown.

* Kind of like how tubing the greenbelt after a torrential downpour sounds fun but then you and your three friends almost drown and everyone loses an item of clothing. This goes into the category of things we didn't know that at the time.

* We're talking accordions, harmonicas, flutes, shakers, tambourines, and even a very small plastic guitar. Very little and very plastic.

detective.

2009-06-03T18:39:00.000-07:00

Since I'm trying to concentrate on writing non-fiction this month, this post is kind of a cousin to today's topic. Maybe a 2nd cousin. Consider this a family reunion.

(Sidebar: I'm introducing the idea of footnotes tonight. Look for the asterisks and thanks for bearing with me.)

When Erin* and I were younger, we would spend hours making up games. One of our favorites was this game we called Detective. Detective was like the reverse of Hide and Seek. One person was the detective and one person was on the run. You weren't allowed to stay anywhere for more than 30 seconds, which meant that you had to constantly change hiding places. Or run. And we ran our asses off.

Detective pretty much rocked my game-nerd world because you could play it anywhere and with anyone. But there was a dark side to Detective. If the "detective" was feeling like an asshole, they could just go inside without telling anyone. And since Erin and I mostly played by ourselves*, that meant that the runner was on the run. By themselves. Think about how long it might take to figure out that someone you're trying to hide from isn't looking for you. It's pretty much a losing situation.* But it also raises the question, if the game is still just as fun, does it matter if the other person is looking for you? Huh. I'm going to file that away with the rest of the questions I hope to answer some day.

So Detective was mind blowingly fun. But it was also exhausting. Constant running/hiding? It killed your nerves. Sometimes the detective would come out of nowhere and everyone would scream because that's how it was.* You were constantly on edge. Every second was a chance you might get caught.

And this, wait for it, is exactly what I imagine it would be like to be in the W.P.P (Witness Protection Program). Except you're playing the game for the rest of you life.

* Erin is my twin and only sister. We were born two minutes apart. We can't do ESP, no one's ever gotten hurt and the other person knew about it two thousand miles away, and we never tricked anyone by dressing alike (unless you count my grandmother - but that's a whole other story).

* We didn't just to ourselves, we were awkward. Erin and I actually avoided other children because we were so incredibly awkward. Take awkward and put it in a unitard (I actually owned a shiny purple one) and put some glasses with no lenses on it. That's what we were working with.

* Another losing situation is when you play a game where you take turns locking each other in a steamer trunk. I tried to remember why we thought this was fun and I think it had something to do with Houdini. What I remember clearly is that is was not fun and I still have a hard time being in very small, enclosed spaces.

* Speaking of screaming, Erin and I also played a "game" when we were fighting that involved chasing each other with knives and/or fireplace pokers. The object of the game was to kill the other person. What made this game so exhilarating/terrifying was that all the rooms in our house connected to each other. All you had to do to gain the upper hand was to switch directions, hide behind a door, and jump out with your weapon of choice. Speaking from experience, this will most likely elicit a crazy person scream and scare the living shit out of you. Even when you know it's going to happen.

and the winner is...

2009-06-02T21:37:00.000-07:00

If today is any indication of how this 30 Days of Write is going to go then I'm totally screwed. My lower back is trying to disengage itself from the rest of my body, work was so busy that I forgot to eat lunch (and I don't miss a meal even if my food is literally on fire), I just got home from a long band practice, and (more than anything) I want to stuff my face with Jack-in-the-Box's mini-sirloin burgers (for real people - those are some delicious mini-burgers). But instead I'm doing my yoga breathing and writing my 30 DOW post. Seriously, I can't miss the first post. So here it is in all of its tattered glory.

The problem with replacing the zombie is that the new zombie has a lot to live up to. First, it needs to be scary but also cliche. Second, it needs to make a fantastic costume and a better movie. And last, it needs to do something. Zombies are out for blood, pirates are after treasure, and ninjas are the golden glove masters of kicking ass. The more I think about it, I'm really not sure that there's anything else out there that satisfies all of the above requirements. A few considerations:

Clowns - Scary and cliche but no one wants to dress up as a clown. Wearing a rainbow afro wig will never cool. Period. Unless you're my friend Patchen and I randomly see you on the street wearing said wig while you bike-courier people to their cars. For some reason that's allowed.

Republicans (I said it!) - Definitely scary AND cliche, but I'm not interested in going anywhere near a costume with Cheney or Bush's face on it.

Abominable snowmen - I think Chewy and Star Wars already stole your thunder.

Alligators w/laser eyes - I'm totally down for a movie about this but I think I'll pass on the costume. Although, I did make a life size paper mache alligator in 4th grade and was absolutely devastated when my uncle's dog ripped it apart in tennis ball induced frenzy. I think we may have had a funeral for the "carcass."

So I guess it looks like it may be zombies forever because I'm out of ideas. Unless...

Battle Kittens. That's right - I said kittens. Sweet, deadly battle kittens. They're cute until you're missing a finger or an eye. And it's a good look in the costume department - funny for guys, sexy for girls, and tough enough for everyone. Don't pretend you wouldn't wait in line to see the movie on opening day. But what do they do? What else. Battle kittens only live for one thing - world domination.

for all intents and purposes.

2009-06-01T19:09:00.000-07:00

Dear 30 Days of Write,

I'm back for more. And this time I'm going to need a stopwatch, a blindfold, and a sewing machine. In other words, I intend to write more often (I really want to make it a daily habit), edit less (I'd like my writing to be more spontaneous), and concentrate on my writing style (ie. exploring/experimenting/defining).

As for my history with writing, I've always been a journal-er. I also majored in creative writing (poetry concentration) at UT. Right now I'm really into writing non-fiction, which I'd like to focus on this month.

So that's it on my end of things and I look forward to reading everyone's blogs.

over and out,

s-u-m-m-e-r.

2009-05-19T08:19:00.000-07:00

So I'm sitting in my office and it's all I can do to stay awake. It's warm, I just ate breakfast, and I'm ready to crawl under my desk and go back to sleep. I should be revising some FL test prep booklets, but my brain is refusing to focus. It's summer and I'd rather be outside.

In fact I would rather be:

1. tubing

2. swimming

3. grilling

4. hiking

5. camping

6. traveling

7. working from home (as opposed to working at work)

8. reading in my hammock

9. relaxing at the beach and/or river

It can't hurt to put it out there, right? So here's my wish list. If any or all of these happen soon I will be totally psyched.

Over and out.

two or three things.

2009-05-10T15:14:00.000-07:00

1. It is hot - like crazy Africa hot. I feel like I'm wilting. There is absolutely nothing cool about the breezes now. Hello summer.

2. I'm ready to be the poster girl for allergy shots. I would say something like "Thanks to allergy shots, I've gotten my life back. No longer do I use three different medicines every day plus my rescue inhaler for my asthma. I can enjoy being outside again." I would say that and they wouldn't even have to pay me. Yay for shots.

3. Fire ants suck. I planted a bunch of purple heart cuttings in the ground today and one of the pots had been converted into a full-on fire-ant city. I found this discovery to be both painful and inconvenient. Go make your home in the neighbor's pots. Just saying.

last post.

2009-05-04T18:03:00.001-07:00

So my first 30 Days of Write has come and gone. And overall it's been a good experience. Sometimes it was hard to write when I had other things going on or when I was too tired and lacking creativity. But it did feel good to be writing more regularly (even though some of it was bad). I think I ended up with about an 80% completion rate. Yay-with room to grow.

But I definitely feel like my writing can be better. Part of that comes from writing more often. But I also think that part of it comes from figuring out where I'd like to go with my writing - as in what do I want to accomplish when I write something? I feel like there's a voice in there but sometimes it gets overshadowed by the style/subject of what I'm writing about. My favorite thing to write about is still non-fiction and that may not change. However, reading everyone else's entries has really inspired me. There are some fantastic writers in our group.

So that's all I got. 30 Days of Write has been good and I hope that my writing gets better.

Over and out.

dark, darker, darkest

2009-04-29T21:41:00.000-07:00

I have just gotten home from work and the air in my apartment is warm from the humid evening. The answering machine is flashing, revealing a terse message from my mother. My grandfather is sick. We have to get to the hospital. The doctors say that he will probably not make it through the night. I gather my things, throw them into a small duffel bag, and drive to my parents' house. There are sounds of doors shutting and the motor starting. We head north on the interstate, picking up my sister on the way. My father, who is visiting friends in another state, will meet us there. The sky is dark. I stare at the halos of the highway lights as we drive further north, pulled by an invisible string towards the depths of Oklahoma in the middle of the night.

dialogue

2009-04-27T19:40:00.000-07:00

Dialogue

The intrusion of

the outside world

casts a gaze across

the lawn, the sound reverberating

spare but

ethereal.

A rising action

armed with assurance

as the innocent

seek sanctuary in

the vow of martyrdom,

anchoring the luminous

last moments of life,

the blossoms

gathered from sorrow

that I won’t forget.

the window show.

2009-04-26T08:29:00.000-07:00

It's Sunday morning and I'm looking out the window in my living room. The sky can't decide if it wants to be gray and cloudy. I can't decide if I want to be gray and cloudy. Really, I think I'd rather be underwater. Smooth, slow, and quiet. Maybe that's my way of saying I want it to rain fat storming droplets that block any escape into the real world. My only recourse would be to settle in with a good book. Here's to hoping.

But back to the window. I feel like an 80-year-old-neighborhood-watch-captain when I'm hanging out with the window. Part curiosity and part needed distraction. See, Jeremy and I decided that we didn't want cable b/c we were afraid that we'd never escape the magnetic pull of the all-tv-all-the-time beam. So, we only get about 4 stations and pretty much they're all worthless. Enter the window. It's my version of reality tv, the nature channel, and Degrassi Jr. High (see story below) all rolled into one. We even had a SWAT standoff last year that was really exciting.

Anyway, this morning the window was showing a special feature that involved the neighbor kid (I say kid but he's probably eighteen or nineteen) and his girl-visitor. I caught the program just as neighbor kid was walking girl-visitor out to her car. At first, they stood around awkwardly for a little bit. He gestured a lot and she hugged him (twice). They seemed reluctant to part but no one was crying. I can't help but speculate about what's going on. Maybe she's leaving the state. Or maybe she just needs to run over to Hot Topic and pick up about fifty identical pairs of jeans. Who knows?

I feel like it's important to note that during this entire interaction, neighbor kid was sporting some brightly patterned MC Hammer sleep pants. Interesting. Mostly the kids (it seems like there's an endless indistinguishable stream) coming in and out of the neighbor house wear a uniform of skinny pants and side-bangs. So I'm a little surprised and impressed with these pants and neighbor kid for wearing them. Girl-visitor is, of course, wearing tight-tight black jeans and a black tank top.

Anyway, girl-visitor and neighbor kid finish their goodbyes with one last hug and she gets in the car to leave. Girl-visitor backs out of the driveway, nearly hits a car coming in the opposite direction, and is gone. Neighbor kid retreats back inside the house and everything returns to normal. Except that now I have the added bonus of knowing that those MC Hammer pants are kicking around in the mix.

Thanks again window show. (Picture included below.)

Ps. An added bonus is that my cats chose this morning to grace the window with their presence, showing off what looked like a synchronized sleep routine designed to win them the title of cutest-cats-in-the-world.

the distant future.

2009-04-22T21:11:00.000-07:00

I would like to imagine a future of purple skies and double moons, populated with airsuits, flying cars and robotic, omniscient government drones. People receive their nutrients through a patch and drink water recaptured a hundred years ago when "nature" still existed. There is a population restriction, so someone must be "decommissioned" in order for a new human to be born. Of course, the birthing process no longer has anything to do with people and instead it takes place in a lab filled wall-to-wall with centrifuges and GSR (Genetic Synthesis and Replication) machines. Popular culture is mind-numbingly manic and fashion sense is guided by unnatural colors and materials. (I suspect that this view of the future is heavily influenced by Blade Runner and the Fifth Element - I'm not sure what that says about me.)

However, the truth of the matter is that my future view of our planet is actually incredibly boring. I suspect that the future will be almost identical to our present reality. There will be more technology and less hard copies (news, music, film, pictures, etc.). We'll still be balancing on the seesaw of global warming and waiting in line at the grocery store. People will continue to be selfish and generous, creative and stifling, accepting and combative. That's the thing. However much the future physical environment changes, I think that human emotions will stay the course and provide some kind on cultural continuity.

Or maybe we'll just be invaded by enormous green aliens with tentacles for arms and glass jars as head gear (Simpsons represent!). All of mankind will be obliterated and the future will belong to someone else.

break it down.

2009-04-21T20:42:00.000-07:00

beats pumping

elbows locking

smooth steps grow twisted postures

lights dim

heat throbbing

voices urging

steps popping

push it push it

crowd wild

eyes fixed

circle tight

music bumping

hips tossing

legs swinging

legs frozen

give it over

shape and sound

hard breathing

break it down

summer.

2009-04-20T19:36:00.000-07:00

So, I totally fell off the blog wagon this weekend, but what can you do? Anyway, I'm back on it and ready to write. But instead of writing about today's topic (or any of the last four that I missed), here's a something else:

Delia came up laughing, her tangled hair streaming down her back. She dove back under the water with a quick, noisy breath, her bathing suit a green tinged vision slipping down through the murky lake water. Dicey watched and treaded water, feeling its resistance against her legs each time she kicked.

The sun was bright in her eyes. Her mother had refused to let her out of the car until she had smeared sunblock over her shoulders and face. Now the it mixed with sweat and lake water and ran down her hairline in tiny rivers. Dicey wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and sighed. Delia, seventeen and three years older than her, was no longer subjected to arguments involving sunscreen. Dicey looked back to the spot where her sister had gone under. She hadn't surfaced yet. Dicey glanced over her shoulder towards the dock, where her parents sat under the shade of an ancient live oak tree. Then she returned her glance to the water. It danced and peaked, bright flashes of sunlight slipping in and out of the gentle waves.

Dicey moved closer to the spot where Delia had been and took a deep breath. She dove down, pulling strong with her hands cupped, and her legs scissoring behind her. She opened her eyes and stared into the cloudy lake water; her ears filled with a rushing sound. A little further down, Dicey saw a shape in the shadow of the darker water and swam towards it. She could make out the outline of a rusted car and through the passenger window she could see her sister’s motionless legs. They glowed pale against the old metal. Dicey felt cold and slow. She grabbed Delia’s ankles and pulled but they didn’t move. Panicked, she swam to the window and looked inside. Delia was waiting, grinning, her teeth bright in the dim light. Dicey did not return the smile. Instead, she turned back and swam fast for the surface.

Dicey burst from the water, splitting open the surface with a crashing of hands and head, and she yelled, “I can’t believe you! Don’t ever do that again! I thought you were dead!”

Delia surfaced a few feet away and was bobbing in the water. “Hey, Dice, I’m sorry. I thought it'd be funny. Dicey don’t be mad. It was a joke, okay? You want to race? Practice diving? Dicey?”

Dicey ignored Delia’s pleas and swam back to the dock.

banana boat.

2009-04-16T20:30:00.000-07:00

I feel completely lackluster this evening. You know how doorknobs get all worn down where they're not even shiny anymore? That's how I feel today. T-i-r-e-d. This weekend, which will hopefully be gray and rainy, is all about catching up on my sleep and Dexter dvds. But until then, I'm imagining $10,000,000.00. Sitting in my bank account. What's a girl to do? I only need one word to answer that question.

Travel.

I would take a small-ship cruise to Alaska and lose myself in the wilderness. With a big-ass coat and a knowledgeable captain. I'm not talking about Into-the-Wild lose myself.

I would go to Costa Rica and feed monkeys, hike in rain forests, and take every beginning surf lesson known to man. (I have tried surfing before and it is hard. For serious. I'd be happy to just stand up on a surfboard.)

Then I'd go to Ireland, Europe (western + eastern), South America, Iceland, Russia, Japan, Australia, New Zealand (again), and everywhere else reachable by wing or paddle.

I think I'm salivating just thinking about all of it. But I guess I have to play the lottery to win the lottery. Number 1 item on my to do list: buy lottery ticket.

rub some dirt on it.

2009-04-15T23:12:00.000-07:00

Rather than writing about today's topic, I'm writing about dirt. And the things that grow there. The truth is that I have a secret obsession with my garden. I love everything about it: warm dirt under my fingernails, new fragile green shoots pushing their way up towards the light, and watching my tiny plants metamorphosis into sprawling green bushes bearing edible fruits and veggies. I am in love.

But the garden's been a while in coming. When J. and I bought our house a couple of years ago, there wasn't a lot that needed doing inside the house - just painting, which was fun. But the outside was pretty barren. So first we built a fence. Then we built a deck. And finally, we built a garden (I'm a fan of the above ground garden - don't even get me started). To some, this may be the year of the beard. Or the year of change. But to me, this is the year to get dirt-y (did you see what I did there? pretty awesome, I know).

There's just something about sticking a living thing into the ground and helping it turn into something both useful and beautiful that is incredibly appealing to me. And even better than that, gardening is mindless (in a good way). It's straight up dirty, hot, physical labor. But it works for me. Maybe it's my personal version of meditation/religion. Don't get me started on the zen of watering. For serious, I can really get into the zone when I'm watering. And since I have an entire yard full of shrubs, potted plants, herbs and a (newly added!) mandarin tree, there is plenty of watering to be had.

So anyway, I'm rambling. But I worked in the garden this evening, and it got me thinking about how much I like it. Which, it turns out, is a lot. I think my gardening gene was hibernating until I finally had the space to do it. And now it's taking over my life. I surrender. Take me to the dirt.

Ps. The bonus of the whole gardening deal is that you get to eat the things you grow. It's pretty much a win-win. Here's some of my edibles:

Hello carrots. Look at you with your orange skin. You're so flashy and dainty. Don't let the small size fool you, these carrots pack a punch of flavor.

Hello chard, with your stark red stems and big green leaves. You're the marathon runner of the garden. You just keep growing and growing. For real, I could eat chard every single day and still have some leftover. Yum.

wait...what?

2009-04-13T21:16:00.001-07:00

*sigh* I should be in bed reading. No. Scratch that. I should be going to sleep. But Jeremy's awake and the cats are awake and so I'm awake. Now, I'm running through my list of things-I-should-have-done-today, and I might as well throw this blog on there.

I thought that since this blog was an any-kind-of-topic blog, it'd be easy and I'd have it done early. Obviously, this is not what happened. Instead, I messed around in the yard (I'm obsessed with my summer garden and my new fruit tree), did some dishes, made a cd for a friend, played with the cats (I just discovered that they'll play with a laser pointer and it's awesomely entertaining), read, and so on. In other words, I did all sorts of things except for writing this blog post.

Now it's 11:30 and here we are. I'm propped up on some pillows with my laptop in my lap and Major is sprawled across my stomach purring. There are a million other topics that I could be writing about, but this is what's happening instead (I feel like this post is the local news version of a CNN broadcast).

Over and out.

judge judy.

2009-04-12T19:51:00.000-07:00

Judge Judy is one of my top 5 guilty pleasures. I even wrote an entire post extolling the virtues of Judge J. (as my sister and I affectionately call her), but my computer chose that time to shut down and erase all unpublished blog posts. Boo. So I'll keep it short and sweet. There are three reasons I love Judge J. and they are:

1. format - There are usually four cases per episode at 15 minutes apiece. That means that by the time your attention starts to wane, it's on to the next set of litigants (the vocabulary is a bonus!).

2. legal knowledge - I have learned several important legal lessons (mostly having to do with money) from my frequent watching of Judge Judy. Most important among these is this - don't ever loan anyone money unless you're okay with never getting it back. But if you do loan someone money (even if it's your gf, bf, mom or dad), put it in writing, get specific about exactly how much is being loaned and how it's going to be paid back, date it, and all parties involved should sign it. According to Judge J., a verbal contract doesn't mean anything. Also, never co-sign for a loan. Never. But if you do, see the above instructions. The last important thing to remember is that if you're ever paying anyone back after having borrowed money, always get a receipt.

3. Judge Judy - I must admit, Judge Judy can be irritatingly biased and belligerently irrational, but I just can't stop watching the show. It's like a train wreck. However, you have to consider the whole picture. Outside of the show, Judge J. comes off as really intelligent and funny. I especially love this interview with her on Larry King Live.

http://perezhilton.com/2009-03-19-judge-judy-stands-up-for-gay-marriage (this link is from another one of my guilty pleasures - PerezHilton.com).

That is all.

bed-ness.

2009-04-12T19:38:00.000-07:00

p.m.

I love sleeping. I love getting into bed, curling up under the covers, and reading until I get so sleepy that all the words on the page blur into a big mess. My favorite kind of sleeping is when it's cold outside and I have to put lots of soft, thick layers on the bed. There's something comforting and luxurious about being underneath the weight of all those blankets.

a.m.

I love waking up too. I do not love when my alarm clock goes off, but I do like being up when the sun is soft outside and the world is still quiet. The hardest part for me is leaving the warmth of the bed for the cold of the tile floor. Once I'm up, I make the bed. This is a crucial/necessary part to my morning routine because if the bed doesn't get made, I don't feel like the day has really started. Compulsive? Totally. But that's how I roll.

frak you imagination.

2009-04-09T18:50:00.001-07:00

Frak it. So I'm sitting here with my laptop out and a cat in my lap trying to write and my imagination is shot. Even more than that, my brain is blank. A gray wall of blankness. I've been sick all week and I think a combination of mucinex/benedryl/sudafed/advil has pretty much wiped out anything that I might have to say. So instead of doing today's topic, I'm going to talk about what sci-fi means to me.

To start off, I'm a book whore. Straight up. I'll read almost anything. Heavy-duty literature, paperback mysteries, trashy chick-lit, and sci-fi. Sign me up. What can I say? If there's a story, I'll read it. In fact, I've never really understood why general fiction is supposed to be better than genre fiction (can you tell I used to work at a bookstore?). It's all about a good read. And that can be anything. Sometimes a kid's book is a good read. And sometimes a hundred year old Russian author is a good read.

Anyway, my point is that sci-fi is just as good as anything else. And here are some of my favorite sci-fi reads (I'm leaving out Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter b/c I feel like everyone knows those):

Ender's Game (Orson Scott Card) - I've read this book several times, and ladies and gentlemen, I'm not a big re-reader. This book is underdog-vs.-insurmountable-odds at its very best. If you don't love Ender Wiggins by the end, I'll buy you dinner at Red Lobster.

A Wrinkle In Time (Madeleine L'Engle) - This book was subversive and psychedelic before I even knew what those words meant. Also, the heroine was nerd-core awesome and I totally identified with her.

Fahrenheit 451 (Ray Bradbury) - This book was subversive when I was trying to figure out what subversive meant. I felt like this book gave life to the ideas I was forming about the world. I knew it was bad for people to control and limit what other people could experience, but this book showed me why.

Dune (Frank Herbert) - I'm totally a sucker for complex, imaginary worlds (see Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter above). This book (and the rest of the series) is totally worth reading b/c the story is compelling and the writing is good.

Stranger in A Strange Land (Robert Heinlein) - This isn't actually one of my favorite books. In fact, I hated this book. I guess I expected it to be about a lone hero trying to make his way in a foreign environment, etc. What I did not expect is a full-on sex romp thinly disguised as a philosophy of enlightenment. Anyway.

Regular Girl is Shunned by Creepy English Major After Misusing Word.

2009-04-08T19:00:00.000-07:00

A pretty average college student was shunned yesterday morning after misusing the word "literally" in a conversation at a local coffee shop. Witnesses reported that the second semester junior was describing how she felt after eating a half of a muffin when she stated that "she was stuffed - literally." According to the cashier, "that creepy guy in the black coat totally started staring at her." The English major, wearing a long, black coat and a matching beret, complained loudly that he had to leave because "the atmosphere has been completely ruined. This is a complete disaster for the English language." He added, "I can't work around ignorant people," and stormed out of the coffee shop carrying a leather messenger bag that sported a vegan-for-life pin. When asked about the incident, a student who was studying at a table nearby admitted that he knew nothing about it but was looking to score some pot if anyone knew where to get some.

the whole yard.

2009-04-07T18:09:00.000-07:00

Dear Callie,

You were such a fat cat that my mom wouldn't let you sleep on me when I was three. She thought I might suffocate. But despite these indignities, you were still patient when I tied a pie tin to your head to protect you from the rain - in the middle of the Texas summer. When you died, my sister and I held a funeral.

Dear Liza,

You were the sweetest dog ever. A small german-shepherd mix from the pound, you were loving and patient. You played with my sister and I until we were all exhausted (including going up and sliding down our plastic play slide) and then laid down with us to sleep. We had to let you go before your time when your kidneys failed unexpectedly and I still miss you.

Dear Rascal,

You were the first cat that was mine and you were always independent. I can remember how tiny you were when you crawled out from under the Christmas tree and I can remember how gaunt you were the third time your cancer came back. When the vet told us your cancer had metastasized, I knew you only had a little time left. But it didn't make it any easier to say goodbye.

Dear Rosie,

You were always my mom's baby and the sweetest cat I've ever known. I remember how you would fall in love with anyone and everyone. Even when age confused you and your eyesight was failing, you could still make it up onto the counter to lick the tuna can clean. You kept going for twenty years until your body was worn out.

Dear Puyo,

You moved with me to Austin after I heard you meowing in the alley behind my parent's house. We traded meows for an hour as you inched closer and closer, finally allowing me to pick you up and feed you. You were so tiny. But you grew into an amazing cat who liked to fetch and fearlessly explore your surroundings. You died of natural causes in the backyard where you loved to be.

Dear Mister and Major,

As much as I thought I chose you at the shelter, it was really you two who chose me. When I held you for the first time, you purred and clung to my shirt. Now, instead of meow-ing, you chirp. Mister, I love that you wake up in the morning with me and wait in the bathroom while I shower. Major, I love that you follow me to bed at night and lay on my stomach while I'm reading. The two of you make my life so full.

17 syllables (give or take)

2009-04-06T19:33:00.000-07:00

green my eyes he sees

deeper than that we are two

sides of the same coin

all this time

the bird in the tree was singing

she touched the glass softly

a crooked smile

means hello at the same time

it means goodbye

without (technology)

2009-04-05T08:21:00.000-07:00

Several times during the last eight or nine years, I went to the Kerrville Folk Festival and camped for the entire duration, which is about a month. There was no internet, no cell phone service, no tv, no hot water, no electricity, and no plumbing.* Just me and a tent. And lots and lots of other people in tents. For a month. Did I miss technology? Yes. But in the end, it was really refreshing to be reminded of how little I really needed to get on with my life.

Here's my theory: Technology allows us to be in control. For instance, the internet allows us to stretch ourselves digitally as far as the world wide web will let us. We can know everything and find anything. Electricity, plumbing, and phones allow us to manipulate our environment so that we're comfortable. And don't get me wrong - this is a good thing. I like to be comfortable. But living without technology and convenience means letting go of control. When my tent got flooded, I had to let it go. When the shower water was freezing, I had to let it go. When the temperature rose to some ungodly high on the thermometer, I had to let it go. You get the picture. I think that living without is not so much about missing the things you've lost, but a reset of our expectations.

So while I love technology, sometimes it's good to be without the things that make us comfortable.

*In case you're wondering, the K.F.F. is no longer off the grid like it used to be. There's internet access, hot water, and most cell phones get service out there. There's even an ATM. Go figure.

love's the only engine of survival.

2009-04-03T14:52:00.000-07:00

Instead of writing about today's topic, I'm writing about Leonard Cohen and his total and complete awesome-ness. Thinking about his show last night has hijacked all my other thought processes. Times 200%.

So, Leonard Cohen was amazing. No, make that life-changing. And throw in heart-rending, mind-blowing, and euphoria-inducing. I think I sat through all three hours of the show with the biggest, stupidest, happiest smile on my face. I tried to be as still as possible just so I could soak it all in. Does that even make sense? The music was everywhere and inside of everything. And more than that, it was so incredible because it felt like the entire crowd was all in the moment together. The people in that auditorium could not love L.C. enough. When he thanked everyone for giving him such a warm welcome, the crowd gave him a standing ovation. I think we all would have stood there clapping the whole night if we hadn't wanted to see Leonard Cohen sing more.

And that was only the beginning. When he sang Bird on a Wire with his perfect-imperfect voice, I thought my heart would explode.

Here's to Leonard Cohen for being an amazing human.

tastes like burning.

2009-04-02T14:32:00.000-07:00

Over the course of my life, I've been bruised, broken, sprained, etc. Growing up, my sister and I played hard and suffered the consequences. Even now, my lack of grace results in all kinds of surprises that are not at all like winning the lottery. These surprises are more along the lines of yay! you win a trip to the ice pack store and all the ibuprofen you can fit in your mouth. However, all those injuries put together are lightweights compared to the pain that can happen when tonsils get angry. The only thing that gets close to dampening tonsil pain comes with a co-pay, a prescription, and an opiate base. You do not want to mess with the tonsils because they will fuck you up.

I learned this firsthand sometime about four or five years ago. At that point, my tonsils were done. They were all, we're done and you're going to know about it. I was getting strep throat as soon as I finished the antiobiotics for my previous cases of strep. And let me tell you, there is nothing like strep throat. It should be called "your throat is dying and will take you down with it." It feels like a combination of the flu and a disaster involving sandpaper and burning oil in your throat. Both of my tonsils were swollen so huge that they were mashed together at the back of my throat and teeming with infection. It was charming.

When I got sick for the last time, my throat started hurting on a Thursday night. By Friday morning, I couldn't swallow and I had gotten zero sleep. I felt like someone had beaten me and injected me with the Hanta virus. The ENT (ear, nose, throat) doctor that I saw described my tonsils as "monsters" and told me they needed to be taken out. I'm not one to jump on the surgery train, but when those words came out of that man's mouth, I think I heard triumphant music begin to play in the background. No more strep, no more tonsils, and no more 11 on a scale of 1 to 10.

And I've never looked back. F-you tonsils. Getting them out was a whole other incredibly painful deal, but liquid vicodin was there every step of the way. The moral of this story is don't mess around with a sore throat. Also, if the doctor tells you that you need to take off three weeks of work to recover from surgery, you should believe him.

Over and out.

let me tell you a story.

2009-04-01T18:39:00.000-07:00

Dear 30 Days of Write,

Let's be friends. Let's get it on. Let's be clear about this.

I feel better when I write and the more I write, the easier it gets to keep writing. My loose plan is to write every day, or at least as often as is realistically possible.

My goal is to figure out the secret to telling a good story. I'll settle for getting the words onto the screen in some kind of coherent structure. I figure this sets the bar high, but leaves a lot of room to grow.

Like most beginnings, this is probably the high point. Tomorrow won't be as exciting and new, and I probably won't have anything to write about. But I'm going to try and that's better than not writing at all. Or at least that's what I'm telling myself to eek out a paragraph every day.

So bring it on. 30 days of words.

Over and out.