<3

Hey, non-parent-related once again:
I had this bizarre dream last night, in which I was me but a little girl, and one of the boys in my actual student-teaching classroom was chasing me. In an annoying, kind of sinister way? Which is weird, because he's a nice little boy in non-dreamland. I was all, "stop being freaky," but he wouldn't, so I ran over and found this other boy from my classroom, the troublemaker who is also smart and likable sometimes, and he was all, "hey! look at my knife," and he had a switchblade, dudes. And I was all, "thank god," and held his hand for protection.

That is one of my favorite things I've ever dreamed: a small child pulling a knife; me feeling extreme relief and holding his hand for protection.
Yeah, I have no idea.

Ok

Some things I like about my parents:

• When my mom insisted on taking a picture of me far away under large trees in the park, saying, "I want the bigness with the smallness."
• When we all, including him, laughed at my father's driving--the way he likes to forget he's driving, turning around in his seat to look at scenery, inspecting his camera to figure out what cord it needs, holding a map in front of his face with his glasses off so he can see the details. Apparently he's crossed the center divider once, on this trip. Oh, we laughed and laughed.
• During dinner, when I was feeling the vise-like panic in my chest and mumbling something about all I have to do this month, and the next, and after that....and my dad, the anti-New York cheerleader, stopped me and said, "I know you've worked so hard this year, to get what you want. I'm really proud of you."
  

parent visit update that you don't need, but we all know this blog is really about me talking to myself anyway

Thus far nothing severely traumatic nor secret-revealing has happened. I did say, within an hour, "There is no security" and "Let's stop talking about this; I really don't want to have an argument with you about my future right now". The usual sort of conflict. Nothing Carrie Nation, nothing about lung cancer grandpas. No cries of WE DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU ANYMORE. Just stuff like when my dad recommended me this thing, I don't know if you've heard of it, a day planner? Apparently one can...plan one's day with it....it's like a schedule, see, and you write in it...so crazy! So crazy, yet so potentially life-changing.
I feel very Charlie Brown, with my parents. Very Charlie Brown going AUGH.

Tomorrow we are going to the coast, and to dinner, and they will give me presents they shouldn't because they actually are about to give me a ton of money in the next few months that I will never stop feeling tense about.

They keep asking me weird stuff that makes me anxious, like What do I want them to do with my stuff at their house? Yes all of it and Do I want them to mail anything special to New York (because if I mail it myself, from here, rather than mailing it to them in Bakersfield and having them mail it to New York, then something bad could happen)? Do I want to drive down to the family reunion right before moving to New York, so I can bring my mom back to Salem and she can help me move and then drive my car back to Bakersfield? OH PLEASE STOP TALKING TO ME, is the song my heart sings.

I think I will say AUGH one more time and go to bed.

family

My parents come in a little less than an hour. I told them my morning class would last till 1 or 2, because I thought it would--at first, anyway, and then later I was just lying--and so they were waiting for my call in parts undisclosed but an hourish away.

I have no idea why I am dreading their visit so very much.

I've cleared out most of the objectionables, though my place still isn't clean and I give up. I'm writing this entry kind of to figure out a dilemma. See, I've hidden my Jim Beam, but I have three smirnoffs in my fridge. What's wrong with alcohol in the house, you're over 21, some of you might wonder. Even given the fact that my dad's a recovering alcoholic, it really shouldn't be a problem that I have three little smirnoffs. Alcoholism isn't like kleptomania. But, I dunno. I feel like I'm expected to be all Carrie Nation or something. Whenever my mom sees or hears of me drinking, she gets weird. My dad also has depression, which he did pass down to me if that's how it even works, and passed on to my brother too. And then a few years ago my brother decided he was an alcoholic, then a few months later was all "just kidding" which didn't help things probably. They're just funny about it, is all, my family.

So, the idea I had, was to drink two of them before they got here. One little smirnoff looks much less alcoholic than three, is what I thought. Though this might be counterintuitive, because it would then mean I'd had 5, rather than 3, but....but all that alcohol.

And there's no way I can put away 3 before they're here. Besides, I'm a grown woman, what is wrong with alcohol?

What I see happening, which isn't even a big deal I guess, is that my mom will notice the bottles or bottle (depending how I resolve this dilemma), say something with the gist being, "oh, there is some alcohol. (my daughter is a drunk)." and I will be all, "YES, THERE IS ALCOHOL. I LIKE ME A BOTTLE EVERY BREAKFAST." and then she'll be upset at my tone, and I'll reciprocate by going "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP," because I will in fact then be drunk, from the two bottles, and "MAYBE I AM AN ALCOHOLIC," I'll say...
I'll leave the bottles, then. Ok.

"Beautiful, tall mountains everywhere! And they're not volcanic!"---my mom, really wowed by the latest Oregon property prospect

I wish I had a hoop, through which to shoot hoops after work, in solitude. Just seems like it would be nice. Outdoors, though. Fresh air.


Chlorine is bad for ducks, right? There's a duck couple that has taken to my apartment's pool, they sometimes leave but then they are back next I look, trying to sleep with their heads all tucked, trying to float about in their unnatural pond. Should I be scaring them away? I'm ok with running at ducks. Or is chlorine not that bad for them?



These are the kinds of things I'd be saying to you, if you were sitting right here with me. Don't you miss out.
There should be a punctuation symbol for rhetorical/joke questions, that sort of flat note at the end.

where i chastise myself about my interactions with children, this week.

I seem to have taken to asking children the question, "What is wrong with you?"

The tone saves it?

Also, this was picture day and the adorable ADD girl who comes to school in dirty clothes and always talks to you with this look like she's coming out of thick fog, I was gonna say valium haze, but that's an inappropriate comparison huh, anyway, she was all worried, in her vague way, about her unwashed hair, and though I reassured her about that, I then said, "Have you been...sticking a pen in your ear?"

She gave me the peering-through-haze look. "Yeah." Then rubbed at her ear, poor kid.

Seriously, I asked children what is wrong with them about 6 times today.

HIRED, you guys.

That is all.

-

I woke up with the phrase "plausible deniability" in my head.
Not sure why that is, but I do feel shifty.

because it's been almost a whole 3 days without one!

want a song? have another song!
right here, you'll adore it.
i am positive.

The kids have been learning a new song lately, which I hated on first note, called "Each Of Us Is a Flower". The lyrics continue, "growing in life's gaaaa aaar den/ Each of us is a flower/ something retarded about the sun"
and then it goes "suuuuuuuuuuuun
shine your warmth on meeeeeeeeee"
and fuck, it goes on
with moooooooooooon, wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiind, raiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin, eaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrth.
Anytime they sing it, I feel so uncomfortable and ironic and out-of-place. I feel I should never have thought of being an elementary school teacher, and dear god, never a primary grade teacher.
But, today, oh my gosh. I have had the song in my head. Without provocation. And then I think, "I hate either myself, or my life," and try to figure which, as I, I don't know, pick up pencils from the floor.

Just kidding!
Things are totally cool!
Hahh. Hooo.

lady shoes

I got me some grown-up lady shoes today. With the pointy toes, and everything. I have to wear pads in them though because no one likes to sell size 5 shoes. Bitches, all.

I got the shoes for my interview later this week that I would like to now thoroughly jinx by revealing to THE WORLD AT LARGE, all the legions of clock kill readers. Yes, it is with New York, and ideally I get a letter of intent at the end of the shebang. If I don't, then it kind of means sucky things.

I am nervous about this.


I have a lot of other stuff going on this week, too, including that writing workshop on Saturday. I hope fun things happen, and that not everything turns out disastrous. Maybe nothing at all will turn out disastrous. I am so giddy with optimism these days! Today I skipped down the street, twice, in my head.

seuss tree, toys, serge, dead flowers

So, thanks guys for making me feel all repressed about bat sex. Once more: IF YOU WERE THERE.....
Ok.
Here is a picture of the dr seuss tree that none of you care about but that I care about deeply:





And here are some things I saw tonight that I think are fun!

Devices of Wonder (beware of the scary loud intro--seriously, mute now)



"He was desperate for love, and when, ageing and debauched, he appeared on a French TV show surrounded by 60 adoring children dressed as mini-Serges in jeans and white shoes and with little Gitanes in their mouths, he was said never to have been happier."



I made a mix for myself the other day of just things I was listening to, slanting toward country. It's not that great, but there's a stretch of maybe 4 to 5 songs I adore, two of them being versions of "Dead Flowers". It is a new song, to me--and at first I was all, "eh," but now,

well, now it's constantly in my head, and I feel strongly compelled to send you Dead Flowers. So, don't forget about the roses.

Bonus: here is some Serge, if you are unfamiliar.

worst thing of today:
tie between finding one of my tires completely flat when i went out to my car this morning
AND
being witness to bat urination, then bat sex followed by bat urination


best thing of today:
maybe i will get back to you

i'm weird

On my drive home from work I usually pass these couple of trees on some government building lawn, that are leaveless but have bright blue plastic ties knotted around all the branches. At first I thought it was conceptual art, but psh, I live in Salem--it's probably a fundraiser or something. I will take a picture for you tomorrow, today I have too much homework to get there before it's dark.

Ok, so I pass these trees often, the ties have been up for weeks, and every time I start to approach them my first thought is, "Oh, hey! Blue leaves!" As if that wouldn't be crazy, but just sort of nice. Like, as if Dr. Seuss was all about the natural history. Also, as if I have no memory.

agenda for the week:

I have no idea, other than Fury.


Ooooo, Amended:

I also am going to get up early tomorrow, get out of my apartment, and write.


This will be a good idea.

i think i put something else at the beginning of this entry and lost it; i have no idea what it would be.

I never review things in here anymore. Days of Being Wild, that was fine, not as good as 2046 or the other, what was it, In the Mood For Love. In fact, really not. But it was ok. Then, I saw Be Here To Love Me, Friday night, when I was already depressed. Oh, Townes. Townes Van Zandt, as you should by now well know, endlessly fascinates me. He was so bleak and funny and weird and incomprehensible and yet I feel such affinity. But yeah, kind of depressing movie. What else have I seen? I can't think of anything. As far as reading, I did finish that Muriel Spark book, the one with the false hope of interracial romance on the cover. That is the second time Muriel has struck out with me, and I tell you, Muriel, it is the last. YOUR BOOKS ARE BORING. Fuck that you were a spy, and that Evelyn Waugh was all aflutter, in fact those details only raised my hopes, ENSURING that your books would be disappointments! No more, Muriel.

Then my other book was Sleepless Nights by Elizabeth Hardwick. I haven't finished it--it's sitting in my bed right now, funnily enough--it's not horrible but not so great. Not recommended.

But don't think my last library visit was a complete washout, because the Nelson Algren book is pretty good I'm thinking. I've only read a page or two, but twice, because I was all, "whoa! HERE'S good writing! what a relief!" because sometimes I feel I've lost the capacity to be wowed by things, when I am repeatedly non-wowed.
Let me tell you some of it: "Six-foot-one of slack-muscled shambler, he came of a shambling race. That gander-necked clan from which Calhoun and Jackson sprang." Just a tidbit, but beeeeyoooootiful, yeah?

Oh, I know what I was going to blog about. I was going to tell you how for the past week about I had a statcounter, to see who comes to my blog. It was weird! It felt invasive! I was hoping for secret admirers from Russia or something, or to find out that many more people read me than I thought, but that didn't happen. And then I started getting confused about small things, like, wait, who is this in New York who reads me? I thought it was this person but maybe it isn't? And this person never listens to anything I say so it's not him. Maybe it's this person who works there? And so this was like spying, a little, and also it was inconclusive. Highly disatisfying. And Sacramento! I have no idea what is going on in Sacramento.
But I digress. All I am saying, is, don't try statcounters. They will only confuse you and make you feel shifty. So, I have given mine up. Much as I kick Muriel Spark to the curb; some things are not all you hope.

I'm feeling kind of guilty for not going to a kid's baseball game this morning. One of my practicum students (the class I'm no longer in) asked me to come, and I was all, "oh, gee, 10....kind of early on a saturday morning.....where is it? hmmmmm......i dunno..." but I never said no. I said, in fact, that I'd "try."
Confession: I did not at all try.


While we're on the subject of why I should not be allowed around children, here's a chat I had during reading group Friday:

kid, trying to read "hour": h..hower.
me: hour.
[pause]
kid: i know whore is a bad word
me: what?
kid: i know whore is a bad word.
me: yeah. [seizing the teachable moment] well, that word has a w.

• I just got an A++ on my last work sample. Not kidding: "A++," as if that is a real grade.
• I just got a reference letter from my supervising professor (the university person who observes me teaching and has taught many of my courses). Yeah, her. I don't know how I was surprised to see two glaring typos. One in the first sentence. I've got to say something, right? I've got to not create more awkwardness than what already exists between us, but I've got to make her fix it--I just cannot believe employers would be impressed by her stating that "children work well with Kristi style of teaching".
  

It's otherwise a nice letter, I guess.

today's word of the day

is, "somnambulent."

Here
(The Plague) is a song for you, from this pretty man.



You can find out more here, if you are not opposed to video and/or the British.

I still am not that into his stuff, but this song: hooooooeeee, who doesn't love a good plague song?

blog nostalgia

I wish I hadn't deleted all my old blogs. So I was too personal, and even named the name of the friend who broke my heart and theorized on his personal psychology, pshh. I could have deleted those entries.
I am very glad I saved the blogs at least on my computer, though it's sure much harder to find the entries I want.

I have lost my mind, see; I am reading old blog entries at 10 pm even though I have not finished my work sample due tomorrow after work. It's just, I remembered something I wrote, and had to find it. And of course I will finish my work, somehow. So I gave into my urge, I've got no self control, and then I had a real hard time stopping reading the old old entries. I was way better, then. Lots of things, I'd forgotten about. Here is one of those things I had zero memory of, till I read it again tonight:

My favorite S-bucks customer ever: this older (50s?) man named Gomez who I have only seen the once, who told me I have dreamy eyes. He said there are three kinds of eyes: sad ones, happy ones, and dreamy ones. He said he had sad droopy ones, but that mine were definitely dreamy. One of the sweetest things I've ever been told by a stranger.

I even remember his face again. It's a nice memory.
Huh, "nice" seems to be my word of the weekend. That and "doofus."

I still haven't shown this blog to anyone I know in Oregon. Isn't that weird?

Ok, that was all. I should go, since I have five thousand things to write for my FUCKING WORK SAMPLE OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH IT MAKES ME SO MAD
and everything I eat makes me tired, and I can't be tired, because this thing is going to take me approx FOREVER
i haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate it aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllllllll

god, I should really get on showing people I know here this blog. They are so missing out.

random recommendation, because i happen to be on the computer while this movie is about to come on

Duck Soup is going to be playing in a couple minutes. It is a great movie for when you feel not great. It is also a great movie for when you do feel good, actually. I still get choked up when I think of the part in Hannah and Her Sisters when Woody Allen's character walks into a showing of Duck Soup after almost committing suicide, and it's like he's found the secret of life. What a nice, nice movie.

gallery for march 2006

Not an especially prolific month, but here are the best I've got. Some you might have seen before if you go to my flickr page, some I just uploaded today:
















attempt to capture hail












IT IS PRETTY TO CLICK ON THIS ONE