clock kill

2006-10-08T17:31:00.000-07:00

I blog most of the time over here, now. I don't know how long I'll be doing that, but anyhow. Just to let you know.

2006-09-17T20:49:00.000-07:00

What with this and that, I'm moving to Portland earlier than I even planned, when I was moving earlier than planned. I am leaving this Wednesday. I should be there around 11 pm local time. Wowzee.

I have seen my mouse twice so far today, in my own personal rooms, rather than just knowing it was around in the kitchen. Disturbing, I tell you. I have more in common with the eeek stand on a table types than I would have assumed. In broad daylight it was out! Who is to say what it will attempt when I try to sleep? This is not why I am moving earlier, but it helps.

When I worked in New York

2006-09-12T19:52:00.000-07:00

I held 4 students back from physical altercations---all students under the age of 10 I believe.
I was looked up and down with contempt by a 3rd grade girl. She seemed to be trying to intimidate me.
I tried reading to pre-K classes for 30-40 minutes; you try, see how long till you want to strangle them.
I learned that kids aren't into the book Magic Beach.
I introduced myself over and over, my last name misunderstood consistently the first several times I said it, whether by teacher or student.
I grew to hate another human being over a disagreement on the logic of mailbox placement.
A small wooden block was thrown at me, and there was no consequence, because it was then the least of my problems.
I was in three of the worst classrooms I have ever been in. The top 3 worst.
I was in a couple of the quietest classrooms I've ever been in.
None of the classes had more than 16 students, most around 10.
I racked up another instance of my gender being a point of confusion for someone mentally disabled.
I was asked if I was from England.
Or Scotland.
Because I sure talk like I am. (?)
I was asked if I was from Puerto Rico.
I yelled at students.
I asked an entire classroom, at the top of my voice, What was wrong with them. I am not sorry. I still want to know.
I saw a teacher pull one of her hefty 6th grade students out of his chair and out of the room, while he held onto the metal and wood chair with one hand. This was after he threw books, pencils, and a plastic box at the girl sitting across from him.
I saw a first year teacher endure a week of constant yelling at his students, unable to ever get control. I tried to not yell, in that classroom, and could not get control alone, but instead needed the presence of 2 males. The teacher was reassigned, and another first year teacher was made to take his place. This one has air force experience.
A student got suspended for not minding me, for threatening to leave the classroom and go home, but mostly for saying "white people." That is what the principal thought I was quitting over, until I corrected her. This incident doesn't bother me nearly as much as others. My quitting was more about the overall ridiculousness of my professional situation here, and the oddity of me being at this end of the country at all.
I turned down students' offers to help me with vehemence. I don't know what it was, but they made me feel like it was an attempt to take control from me.
I roughly pried a student's arms from around me, saying, "Do not hug me." He hugged me right after having another student in a headlock, and when I objected, said "I'm sorry" and hugged.
An experienced teacher told me, "I can't believe this. I did not get into teaching to be a correctional officer."
I saw teachers talk to their students in ways I hope to never. But does it work?
The teacher of the best-behaved class has a poster in her room listing the things "mean teachers" do, such as expecting the best of students, demanding work be completed on time, etc. She never smiled once, even when I said, "Such a nice class. So mature."
The coworkers nicest to me were first-year teachers. All but one was male. There was definitely a better ratio of male:female teachers than in most elementary schools. I don't know what conclusion I'm drawing from this.
I had a cold, and often, I think, looked like I needed to sleep or cry. I probably wouldn't have minded either.
I ate alone in a park a block away, overlooking another elementary school's play yard, if you can call concrete a yard, watching children play roughly and insanely, wondering if I forgot other kids being rough and insane when I was growing up.
I was fascinated with the staff room, so long as no one else was there.
I can't think of anything else. It was hard, I didn't like it, I could never have had a class here on my own with no preparation and a fucked-up system. I also would never have stopped feeling condescending for being white in a school with no white students that I recall seeing.

Life's weird.

2006-09-12T17:15:00.000-07:00

I have some photos on flickr showing a bit of Queens, and some of the school I was at briefly. I forget what else is up there. Bushwick stuff maybe.

2006-09-10T17:31:00.000-07:00

A few more posts over here.

THINGS I WANT VERY BADLY TO BUY

2006-09-09T09:20:00.000-07:00

WHICH IS TOO BAD SEEING AS HOW I HAVE NO SPENDING MONEY WHAT WITH DECIDING TO MOVE ACROSS COUNTRY AGAIN

SWEATER

(ONLY QUESTION: THE BURGUNDY OR THE BLACK?)

T-SHIRT

OTHER T-SHIRT

BOOTSES

TOTE

sigh, the avarice.

plans

2006-09-08T18:32:00.000-07:00

I'm gonna move to Portland soon. By October.

Counterintuitively maybe, I feel things are working out. I think this is going to be good.

I am not the person who made the plans to move to New York anymore. So the hell with those plans.

Of course I'm a little afraid. I don't know how anyone keeps from being at least a little afraid all the time. But I also feel like space is opening up around me. I feel like there's more air.

2006-09-04T11:13:00.000-07:00

another post on the vox blog. you know, if you wanted to try one out for a spin, you don't even have to make a post. and then you could comment on that pretty page. aaaand you could maybe join the blogging fun once again.......

i should start making private posts over there thus making you sign up. though, probably, then you would just stop reading me, Readership.

!

2006-08-30T18:57:00.000-07:00

New post over here.

2006-08-18T11:51:00.000-07:00

Les' screenname: what ya doin today
Mine: uh, being a crazy person, but in a subdued way
Mine: i took a shower, so there's accomplishment
Mine: i am halfway dressed, just missing the pants
Mine: i might wash some bras
Les' screenname: woo hooo
Mine: isn't that exciting
Les' screenname: that's fun
Mine: that reads way more exciting
Mine: way more
Mine: ha
Les' screenname: waay

2006-08-18T07:55:00.000-07:00

I have been watching a lot of movies since coming here. Last night, I saw Half Nelson. I don't know if it's in wide release yet or if it never will be, but if it's out where you are, see it! It's not super cheery, but not super uncheery. You can handle it. And it's got such good performances. Especially especially Mr. Ryan Gosling. I'd heard he was good, for years, but I never got around to seeing anything he's been in. I think I lost some interest when he was in The Notebook (though I much prefer "Bad Love of Old People Movie," Cam's alternate title when she couldn't recall the real one). But yeah, he's a great actor to watch, very charismatic, just awesome. And, I looked him up on imdb today---he is going to be in a movie with Tom Waits! So that does it. New celebrity crush.

I don't feel like I have much to say, lately. I am a little in disarray. Maybe I will try harder to fix that, today. I find out what region I teach in today, so then I will probably take the new apartment in Park Slope, for October through January. That will mean staying here awhile. At least 6 months. Unless I absolutely have to freak out, in which case anything goes. But yeah, that's something to get used to, the idea of staying here. Yikesaroo.

2006-08-15T18:11:00.000-07:00

There is a post here.

2006-08-10T11:54:00.000-07:00

On my way out to get lunch today, feeling weird in my neighborhood as I routinely do, some young girl said to her companions, "Oh, I seriously thought that was Frodo! No really!"
Sigh.

2006-08-08T14:39:00.000-07:00

I find it pretty difficult to find things near me, and finding things near enough to me is hard too. Google Maps doesn't take into account one's inability to drive, and thus its estimation of relative proximity is for shit, and my own knowledge of subway stops etc is not what it could be, and so I end up just picking whatever place google maps shows me first, and saying to myself OK FINE LET'S GO THERE. So I ended up in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, this afternoon. I have never been that south in Brooklyn, so I was a little nervous what I'd find when surfacing from the subway pit at 86th Street. It was actually not too bad at all, though. Not where I'd want to live, but not scary. And I even had a nice little milkshake, at a place Zagat's deigned to notice, where the old lady at the cash register had some kind of funny accent (British? a long-standing faux British accent?) and called everyone, even me, darling. Then I went to find a Staples to buy a print cartridge, out where I thought it would be nice, because it seemed relatively close to Prospect Park on the map. Ohhhh, it was not nice. I saw a dead cat. And there were other ways it was not nice.

And now I am in my apartment, my printer cartridge refuses to work and I can't figure out why, my back is killing me from I don't know what, apparently I tense every muscle I have in my neck/shoulders. I still very badly want to go home.
I have this plan now to move by September to some nice brownstone, but that sounds like a hard plan. Tomorrow seems hard, too, because I have to leave early to find a fax and copy place, and I have to go to a placement fair in the afternoon where I will try to talk to a lot of people but not get hired. It all has gotten to be such a mess. And it doesn't straighten out at all. I was thinking mornings here are pretty bad, but afternoons and evenings are too.

I try to figure out what is so wrong about here, but I suppose the real question to me is how do people like it here? There's money, yes, that helps, you can get a lot of things here with that but then also...I don't know. There's the idea that this is the most important, or one of the most important, places in the world. People want to be in the middle of that. People are determined to stick it out here, to "make it" whatever that means. To show they're important and have a place? They have a place because they fought really hard for it? I am babbling now probably, and really I hate reading any of my blog entries anymore, but there's nothing else in me to write right now.
Anyway, I don't feel like I need to get my sense of self-worth from where I am. Except that that's ridiculous, because that's what we do. But I just want where I live to not stink as much, and to not be as difficult. New York is so difficult. I struggle and struggle and I don't even know what I'm aiming at here. I guess what I'd wanted was to feel like a woman who can take care of herself wherever, and make the most of things...and the idea of city life, with the nice places to go and the culture, that's a neat idea, but I guess I don't think there's any center to the idea...you can find that city life here because people believe in it and fight hard to maintain/achieve it, but culture? You can find that anywhere and make it anywhere. There is a lot here, I know, but not all of everything and so I feel I've been oversold.
I don't think New York sucks, but every time I'm here I'm really disturbed about its...ego or something, really disturbed by everyone's insistence on the realness of the New York myth, the greatness, because that widespread insistence seems like all that makes it at all real....but then, it is real, right? Not if you aren't one of the people insisting on it, maybe? So, that's good and babbley. I really ought to quit now.

I saw Bebe Neuwirth (sp?) I am pretty sure, at the R stop somewhere in Manhattan today. Yes, I was in Bay Ridge, AND Manhattan. I saw Bebe Neuwirth AND a dead cat. Quite a time. She looked very pale, stylish, but kind of old. She looked uncomfortable. To be fair, subway stations are uncomfortable.

This blog is over a year old.

2006-08-07T18:45:00.000-07:00

It doesn't really matter to me, except that it makes me think about time going fast.

2006-08-07T16:42:00.000-07:00

There is this ad on some subways, I forget which, from the MTA themselves, inquiring if you have lost something? And there are all these terrible drawings, of the things one might lose on the subway. What first caught my eye was the prosthetic limb; I tell you, if you are losing your prosthetic limb, you have more than one serious problem. How would this even happen? "It was there a minute ago..."

Envisioning that scenario was enough to amuse me the first few times I saw the ad, but then I started noticing the other items. Did you lose your boomerang? it wants to know. Maybe you lost your giant cupcake? I say, you lose your giant cupcake, you had best leave it lost. Maybe you have lost your giant swimmy toy? Your inflatable serpent? We might have it! Oh, I remember the other thing I thought was funny: dentures. Again, much like the giant cupcake: don't look back, I say.

Subway ads are stupid.

this and that. i'll try to not be boring some other time.

2006-08-07T08:20:00.000-07:00

I gave myself permission, the other day, to leave New York in November if I was stuck in reserve and still felt even half as miserable as I do now. But, after doing that, November seemed like as long as I could possibly stand. I started wondering, what if I did get a classroom? If I did, would I then be trapped into not being able to leave until June? Could I even handle a first year of real teaching, when I'm having such a hard time simply living here?

So now I'm avoiding setting up interviews; I'm telling myself: going to the next placement fair and filling out the form there, saying who all I talk to, that will be their only evidence of my effort. If I look like I'm trying there, that's good enough.

I am telling myself, let's just sub. reserve all the way. And home to Portland in November.
I've never even really lived in Portland.

I can't tell what I'm doing anymore, what decisions I'm making are at all ok.

I've been wearing this ring a lot lately, I've had it for years. It's what they call Black Hills Gold, which often is tinted pink and green, often shaped into a rose or several, and yeah what I've got is a little rose, with two little leaves. I like it on my hand because the colors kind of blend with my skin, or something. I was wearing it in Portland, my last few days there, and I guess when I wore it to the Rose Garden that permanently affixed Portland to it for me. So I keep wearing it, here. I think one day I did not wear it. I don't know if it's stupid or what that I cling to Oregon and everything there. I don't know if it's right for me there and now I know it, or if I am just a wimp. I'm kind of thinking, both.

this entry is dumb

2006-08-02T22:28:00.000-07:00

I have a terrible headache, it's very late, and I really ought to change the time stamp on these entries now but I don't want to deal with that. I thought I would just do a little update. I don't know why, because I talk to most of you other ways more frequently than I blog anymore, but WHATEVER. I guess I feel like I'm in danger of falling off the blogging edge completely, never to be heard from again.

ANYWAY. I am in New York; this is the conclusion of Day 2. First day: got in from a 12:30 am flight; on the 2 flights I took total, there were AT LEAST 3 vomiters. Perhaps 4. I did not investigate this suspicion. Some of you already know about the vomiters. You lucky kids, to hear that tale. Then there was the weird lack of water, turns out it was due to hydrants being opened everywhere because of the heat, then there was my phone blacking out BUT OH MY GOD WHAT IF IT IS BROKEN INSTEAD I thought, weeping over my lost contact with the world because my roommate hadn't come back yet to help me set up internet. THIS IS SO BORING. Anyhow, there were annoyances, also my carpet smells like dog pee, and there's the weirdness with my job, and I don't know what I'm doing here.

I went to a concert tonight, one of Sleater-Kinney's last, the last I will see unless they reunite sometime....and what if I never see those women again? Why would I? UNLESS I LIVED IN PORTLAND AND SAW THEM EVERY NOW AND THEN AT THE COOL PLACES. I don't need to stalk them, to be their best friend, but jeez. To never see Carrie again? As if it wasn't hard enough leaving this pretty thing behind. I mean, shoot. Portland's got everything.

So ok, I miss Portland, I miss my pretty boyfriend, I miss Carrie Brownstein even though I just saw her tonight (oh she is the awesomest), I hate not being able to find anything, like cheese, and I wish I lived somewhere gentrified with nice cafes and stupid ritzy grocery stores and maybe even a real drug store and oh, maybe some boutiques or a boutique thrift store! I don't feel comfortable in my neighborhood because it's very un-white and I feel like I am annoying for being white. Isn't that white of me? So lame and white. But there you have it; Kristi in a nutshell. HA

I need to stock my shelves. I need to do a lot of things. I am trying to think of this time in New York, now, as a sort of year abroad. Like, I'll just absorb the culture here, and it will be weird, and I will probably want to leave as soon as it's over, this year, but I will make it through. I will make it through and then I'll know just how wrong for me the place is or isn't. AND I WILL HAVE GROWN. OH, like the flowers.
For the next few months, at the least, it is going to be very very wrong for me here. It is just how I am I guess. I am not a person who should move a lot; yet I keep doing it. And why did I think I could do city living? Because I like Woody Allen? Because I enjoy museums and movies and...parks? That is not city living. Actually, I am pretty sure I would like rich person's city living. I would not feel too bad at all in a nice brownstone with furniture I like and no dog pee and not having to use a key to go the bathroom at night. And cafes and boutiques, and maybe groceries SENT TO ME. That is what rich people can have. Bastards. Yeah, that would not be too bad.

I am nearly always lonely here, so feel free to distract me when you're in the mood.

2006-07-30T11:04:00.000-07:00

Anyone want a Vox invite? I've got 2.

Why I Haven't Been Blogging Much Lately

2006-07-26T21:10:00.000-07:00

New York is scary and I didn't want to write about scary things; the other important things that weren't scary felt too personal, and I like to pretend I can remember all those on my own.

Unrelated:
It is a serious sign of Jason Bateman withdrawal that, with the tv somehow on the George Lopez (? right?) Show, and me not watching, I heard George and MISTOOK HIM FOR BATEMAN. What the hell. How it made my heart leap.

I am under a lot of stress.

2006-07-26T11:29:00.000-07:00

I got email notification today that I AM OFFICIALLY A CERTIFIED TEACHER WOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Now I am very unlikely to be cheated of a job by my district! Hooray!

my phone can take video, too!

2006-07-13T17:02:00.000-07:00

I enjoy this out of all proportion.

2006-07-07T23:25:00.000-07:00

I saw Carrie Brownstein tonight! She had just come out of Strangers With Candy! I was waiting to go in for the next showing! I could first tell it was her because of the arm tattoo! Eeeeee! I thought I was excited when I saw Corin at a bookstore with her boy, but oh my. I saw Carrie, and I made eye contact several times while blushing and fidgeting wildly! You guys, she is one of my top heartthrobs of ever. All I could do was say, "Oh Les, oh man. No, I can't tell you now. Oh man. No, it's no big deal. Oh my gosh," getting all hot and bothered.

I'm boring!

2006-07-05T22:05:00.000-07:00

I'm getting really excited about buying a smoothie tomorrow.

even the backward vocals

2006-06-29T21:47:00.000-07:00

I got the album Bitter Tea by The Fiery Furnaces last week. I'd had most of the songs on my computer and thought a few of them sounded amazing, but now that I have the album I adore the whole thing. I have to share one song with you particularly. It is called Benton Harbor Blues.

I will tell you why I like it:
I love the weird, clackety beginning, that also reminds me of one of my other favorite summer songs from 3 years ago;
I love how it just stops;
then starts
stops
then I
oh my.
I love the strong thwacks, and whatever they're thwacking against;
I love the
whatever is happening underneath, groove;
Then it gets insane, which is almost not ok until the happy weird clunky carnival music comes in;
then it gets all doozy and weirder
then quits, goes back to...

I can't do this the whole song, obviously.

Though I can say that I have never been more in love with a woman's voice than with Eleanor's. Yes, even counting PJ Harvey; even counting young Liz Phair; even counting Fiona Apple hitting an emotional low; what about Billie Holliday and Nina Simone and other amazing people I am now slighting I DON'T KNOW OK BUT ELEANOR IS AWESOME.

What I am saying, is that this song is so weird, there's a non-weird short version that you all could like easier, and the only reason maybe I didn't like it easier is because I'm weird? and also this one came first on the album, so discovering the beautiful base melody, that easygoing thing, while driving along the beautiful tree-lined High Street here in Salem, on a sunny day, knowing I'm leaving it soon...that all helped.

What I am saying, take two: I love every weird thing this song does, and every non-weird thing. I savor every part I can hear. And there is so, so much to hear!

This song makes me so happy. I hope you like it, at least a bit!

trying to find a decent place to live in new york is making me want to cry

2006-06-29T13:50:00.000-07:00

helllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllpppppppp

Nothing

2006-06-26T17:31:00.000-07:00

This afternoon I drove home to Salem after having spent several days in Portland, doing things, or not doing things but not feeling bad about that because I was Not Doing Things, with my boyfriend rather than the kind of Not Doing Things that happens alone.

When I came home, there was a fire truck and ambulance in my apartment parking lot, and though no one seemed frantic or intense I had the brief thought that I somehow burned down my apartment, in perhaps a uniquely slow-burning fire taking 4 days to actually blaze, but no, my landlord explained it was just a man with recurrent health problems who does not seem to be near death.
Anyway, it all felt very quiet somehow. It's weird, a fire truck and ambulance at your apartment complex making you feel more like nothing will happen today than you felt before, but that's what it was like.

I was feeling bad about how I've spent my day, ashamed of my laziness or whatever, because I want to be a person who gets things done, who feels proactive and in-control.
But, then, I thought maybe in life it's better to be happy with your decisions once in awhile. So:
For hours now I have been fooling around on the internet, listening to music, drinking beer and reading a new book; sitting on my ass, in my dark cave of an apartment!
Soon I will watch a television show.
I might have to leave the house to get some ice cream or a smoothie, but outside of that I do not see myself going out there. I detest warmth.

please, please please, use the phrase "something about llamas in the Pyranees" whenever you possibly can

2006-06-26T10:47:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I read the Salon advice column, and I can't really pinpoint why. Advice column reading feels like...like horoscope reading, or soap opera viewing, there's something unsavory about it, something gossipy and voyeuristic and cheesy, OH IT IS LIKE REALITY TELEVISION, a little. Yeah: my interest in both comes from pretty much the same place, a curiosity about other people and how they live, and what other people think is the right way to live in the world...the responses, see, fascinate me as much/no, more than the advisee's letters.

This is a lot of preamble for what I actually want to share with you. But I've still got a ways to go...ok, so this one letter, at the salon site, is insane, very dramatic, very obviously fake or anyhow altered from the base reality of whatever letterwriter's life story is. Then the advice guy answered, and his answer was kind of ok, though not so awesome that I am coming here to share THAT with you, and wow, it's pretty retarded that I am writing this entry for the purpose I do have anyway...
But ok! To come to the point!: (<---a new feat of punctuation magic!) People who read the salon advice column also write in, themselves, to talk about what they thought of the letter and advice! Twerps! But, I read that too sometimes, because it's the same thing---people talking about how they think people should live in the world, basically.

This entry is so fucking pointless, and I keep wanting to tell you that, every other sentence, yet I cannot stifle the compulsion to write it.
ok! so! If you will, read the original letter, and now read this.

I cannot tell if that person is serious or not. If serious, yikesaroo and my mind is blown; if not, oh, anon has won my heart forevermore.

now I am official

2006-06-19T16:58:00.000-07:00

TADA

last thoughts on student teaching (on this blog)

2006-06-15T19:02:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd gotten tough, but man I am missing some children right now real hard. They're kind of ok, the kids.

I had a really hard time not editing that to make it a Who quote.
Every day, in every way, I'm getting less annoying?

I didn't get much of a chance to say bye to my practicum kids, just the main student-teaching ones. I hugged all those, multiple times, and one cried. I nearly cried, there, hugging the small children goodbye forever. Soooo not tough.

I wasn't that professional today, feels like. First there was the talent show (second in a week). Dearie jesus, those talent shows. Huh, I never wrote here about the horrifying talent shows. Too late now, old news for me, no blogging thrill. But yeah, I tried to be teacherly, but kept feeling how not-teacher I am, rolling my eyes at god songs and sharing "oh my god this is terrible" smiles of complicity with seven year olds. Then, I wrote something in trouble kid's autograph book about how I hope he turns into as wonderful a person as I think he will, which, I mean, a) it implies I have doubts about this eventuality, and b) implies he's not a wonderful person now, and c) what the fuck, he's a first grader, how can he understand this?
At least I am free and clear of parent wrath at this point.
THEN I wrote in angry practicum adorable boy's autograph book, when I happened to go outside right when they had to come back in the building and he ran up to me (awwwww!), ok I wrote to him that he was one of my favorites. I wrote that, in his book. I thought about saying "the favorite" and man, what kind of teacher pulls that?

A student teacher! So it's ok. Just, you know. Not next year.

2006-06-15T16:49:00.000-07:00

I would like to share with you an amazing book. It is called Who Needs Donuts?
Now, a lot of children's books, they have sort of allegories going, parables. Don't lie. Be kind to others. Tolerate and appreciate differences. Go to the dentist.

So Who Needs Donuts, it's interesting though in the children's book field, because it is pretty clearly a parable about drugs and/or addiction.

I am going to scan pictures for you. Ok wait here.

So, like, here is the hero of our story, little Sam:

He really likes donuts.

He leaves his home at the beginning, not because he has problems there, no he has a cushy life, but he wants donuts. He's got a hole in his heart you guys, the size of a donut, his eyes are donuts. Donut is so, so clearly his crack.

I was going to give this book to my supervising teacher as a goodbye, along with another I knew she'd like. I love this book so much. But then I'm all, huh the drug thing is really obvious. Now, the moral (SPOILER) of the story seems to be that, like, donuts are great and all, they have their place, but love is better, and being a donut crack fiend is a lonely road, kids. Still, even with that, the parents in Dallas...I don't know. Risky.
Oh also, in the book little Sam runs off with an insane-eyed donut pusherman (literally, he pushes [and/or pulls] a wagon filled with donuts, he's all, "little boy, come enjoy donuts with me"), and this is not a bad thing for Sam. He runs off with donut pusherman, and the bummer thing is that eventually the pusherman falls in love with a pusherwoman and LEAVES, not that like they lose their clothes and arms to the donut habit and commit horrific crimes. No no.
So, that's a problem. Except for being great.

So, there's the not entirely negative drug allusions, the talking with strangers is ok message, and then also the book's illustrations are crazy detailed. It's great for close reading, but not for read alouds, and not for first graders so much.

Look at the radicalness of these illustrations. Ok, first scan, the whole page:

Now, a detail, from the upper left area:

MOW, you guys! So many superb, dorky details THAT I HAVEN'T EVEN FOUND YET. eeeeeee

2006-06-10T15:11:00.000-07:00

I was going to write a couple things in here over the past week and didn't get around. One was about how I was in a supermarket, talking to a friend over the phone about sex and death among other things, and it felt really jarring, that I was there, but also pretty much right. The supermarket is kind of the perfect environment in which to talk about death making you nervous, because of the demented ordinariness of the supermarket. And, right, that's the crazy thing about death?

So I didn't know how to make that an entry, and it still sounds weird in the not cool way, huh?

Then the other thing, it's easy, alls it was was:
Incredibly, sometimes I forget that a peacock lives at a house on my way to work. Then some morning he'll come out to the street to watch the cars go by.

I have 4 more days at that place, that school.

Every now and then, I have been wanting to yell out CALL THE POLICE, as a catchphrase, only I knew I had no idea how to explain.

2006-06-04T21:38:00.000-07:00

I just spent far too long searching for this blog entry, which has haunted me for over a year now:

I had nothing more to go on than "CALL THE POLICE" "bear" and "birthday". Yes, this blog also has posts concerning bears, and birthdays.

That I finally found that post proves the internet is magic.

evidence #807p that newspapers will/should die

2006-06-03T16:48:00.000-07:00

"It's a bit dangerous, camp," Mr. Wainwright said recently in a Dutch gay magazine whose title cannot be printed in these pages.

PRINT THE SWEAR WORDS, YOU GODDAMN FUCKING PRINCESS.
Few things annoy me more than coy traditionalism. I think a lot of what's wrong with our society has to do with squemishness about swear words.

2006-05-26T17:17:00.000-07:00

Today at school there was a lockdown, a "code red," which I'd never experienced before, and I guess I could write about that but it turned out to be a false alarm, and I don't feel like saying much else about it.

Instead, I've got another anecdote:
The kids were in line, waiting outside the music room for their music class, when one girl turned to me and asked, "Are you really an elf?"

She was referring to a conversation we'd had, let's see, maybe before Christmas? When she had also asked me out of the blue if I were an elf.
"No," I told her.

"Then why did you say you were?"

She has been thinking, for months and months, that maybe I was, and maybe I was not, an elf. This might be one of the most enjoyable things to happen to me.
"I thought it was funny."
"Oh. Then why do you have that pointy thing on your ear?"
"Because my dad has it. We all look different, we have different things about us. Like, you've got blue eyes. And freckles."
"Ahhh, I hate freckles!"
"No, they're cute."
etc.

2006-05-23T20:35:00.000-07:00

I am a stagehand for a play at Willamette. Aladdin. I do the lights, and MAYBE the fog machine. It is on the other side of the stage though, so probably I can only plug it in and unplug it. The sheep will likely have to run the thing.

It is really, really weird that I am involved with this.

Why am I? Had something to do with the time I told my supervising professor I was disappointed in the program's intellectual rigor. The, uh, lack thereof. That, along with several other things I've said and done, getting in trouble for eye-rolling, uh, other things, made me kind of worried about my letter of reference. I needed a way to seem nicer.

Here is a picture I took:

Here is one showing their idea of "Arabia":

There's the minarets, there, and also the giant dragon fans. And, lighted palm trees.
You should see the costumes. Festive.

teaching story!

2006-05-18T19:29:00.000-07:00

We're doing a unit on the rainforest. For the writing prompt today, the kids were supposed to pretend they were going to go on safari. Many, many, many of them went prepared for bloodshed. My supervising teacher thought one was too much, though, so handed me his paper, asking that I help the kid "come up with a different way to treat an endangered species." He....hah, ok. He was bringing, among other items, a knife, with which to stab a three-toed sloth. Stab.
After some discussion, I got him to reluctantly change "knife" to "camera", "stab" to "take a picture of" (not that I'm spelling like he did, but you know).....but since we ran out of time, the last part of his sentence, "so I could take his toes," doesn't quite make sense.

teaching story!

2006-05-16T19:40:00.000-07:00

This afternoon during math centers, one of the boys came up to me all distressed and tattley, and weirdly protective, telling me, "Ernesto and Will said Emily's hot!"

I could see, on the one hand, how this could be a disturbing situation. You sort of want to say, "Children, none of you are hot. You are children." Also, it's a personal remark...it certainly seems somehow inappropriate....

but, on the other hand, they didn't say this to the little girl, to bother her, they were just talking amongst themselves. She's pretty much everyone's favorite person in the class. And, it's not like they're 40 year old men saying a 7 year old girl is hot....they're 7 year old boys, hardly knowing what hot is, calling a 7 year old girl hot.

But...inappropriate for school, right? The little girl's mother was volunteering that day, mere feet away.

But....
So what I did was: shrug my shoulders, throw my hands up in the air, and say, "Well, what're ya gonna do." Yes, a reaction that hardly makes sense.

The boy wandered away, confused.

2006-05-11T20:06:00.001-07:00

I've been stifling my urge to tell you about my amazing snot. But no more!

In the mornings, when I blow real hard: it's like a partially digested grape!! It has happened twice now! The first time, I had to test myself, say a few words, make sure they didn't come out "feeble zorp," that I hadn't blown out part of my brain!

Ok.

Nothing else to tell you of particularly, except that when I came back on Wednesday, the kids gave me birthday/congratulations on New York cards, that they'd made while I was gone. They sang to me. It was so cheesy, and nice. Some of them will miss me, they say, in the cards. They won't exactly, because they are 7, but it is ok. Also, since I was out in the reading specialist room last week, they were all on me-withdrawal anyway, and so were very happy to see me. Wednesday mostly, but even today a bit. Yet I am feeling particularly lame as a teacher lately. It is probably cold feet since I have a job, or also just something I'm going to keep having to deal with because of teaching being a weird profession for me. Not that I won't be ok at it, just it's not...it doesn't come naturally to me? Something like that.

This entry really lost momentum after the snot, I think. I should have saved that as the grand finale maybe.

2006-05-08T19:39:00.000-07:00

I said to myself or someone yesterday that I am never so insane as when trying to do academic writing, but oh man, scratch that: I am never so insane as when I have the flu and am trying to do academic writing. Listening to this Brian Eno song on repeat that I just heard today, "Spider and I," over and over, my hands over my eyes, because it is not only nice for the burning eyes, but comfy for the sore neck, rocking back and forth, atonally humming, stopping to laugh at how this must sound to the neighbors on the other side of the paperthin walls, whose tv seems louder than usual, looking at my computer screen briefly, my body says, "oh kristi, let's curl up in a ball and listen again," i resume atonal humming......
I have listened to the song approx 50 times, I kid you not. It's got this great sadness and hopefulness, and this line that sounds really good in context, "we dream of a ship that sails away. a thousand miles away".
I would give it to you, but that involves more effort than I can muster.

2006-05-07T18:46:00.000-07:00

[18:42] Admiral Fancy: i'm just so slow
[18:42] Admiral Fancy: so insanely slow
[18:42] pookie: only cause the assignment is lame
[18:42] Admiral Fancy: no
[18:42] Admiral Fancy: because i'm insane
[18:42] pookie: oh. ok. then

yeah, this is how much I suck at doing work

2006-05-06T19:42:00.000-07:00

For some reason today I was thinking back about the first real story I ever wrote. It was kind of late in life, considering I'd always been good at and liked writing and wanted to be "A Writer".

It was my...second year of college? I think so. I was taking my first writing class, Fiction, one of the big 3 of lower division writing (the others: Non-fiction, and....I would swear there were 3. Personal Narrative? Isn't that Non-fiction? Whatevers, UCSD. OH SHIT. I suck: Poetry. Poetry. Well, of course that's the one I forgot. That might even have been my first. But it was fake. You hardly even had to write poetry.). Ok, so....
my first grown-up story. I'd done some things that I guess could have been called stories, but they were...I don't know. Most anything I had any real aspirations for I never finished. In fact, everything. Me and self-doubt, long-term relationship.

So I was freaked the hell out by this fiction class, for which we had to write a piece, like for reals. I worked hard, and all these tiny things I'd collected in my head for whenever I would write a real story, they all came together, and the story came out, pages and pages, and it had a flow, it had a heft I guess, there's this thing Bob Dylan said about songs, that a song is anything that can walk by itself.

We had review groups for our rough drafts, and the day we were going to go over mine, before we were even like officially all gathered together some of the people were telling me good things. I don't remember what. All I remember are the looks on their faces, which were like, "Oh. You're a writer writer." Respect. And it wasn't just a one-time thing; several times I've impressed people with my writing.

My teaching studies are slowing, and I'm remembering the promise I made to myself during one of my more stressful times this year, that I wouldn't forget the writing. That I'd never think of myself as not a writer, that I'd treat it properly, as one of the things that saves me over and over, maybe not my living but something I do to live. And, though it's not the best reason to write, I really want to get that look again.

MAYBE WITH MY ACTION RESEARCH PAPER, I WILL ILLICIT THE LOOK.
ha ha
Oh I kill me. But no more distraction, no sir. Totally doing the homework, now.

2006-05-06T16:47:00.000-07:00

To procrastinate further on my work, I thought I'd go ahead and make a thank you call to the aunt who sent me a gift card for my birthday. I used the number my mom gave me, the person on the other end was all, "Kristi!" like they knew who I was, but something was...odd. "This kinda sounds like the other aunt," I thought. Well, I know me my aunt voices, because oh my. So, I thanked her for a gift card, got awkward silence, then a reference to some house that this other aunt had owned, and wow, oh you guys, so embarrassing. She was really warm and nice, talking with me about New York a lot, because that news has made the family rounds, but ohhhh man. So then I called my mom, all "YOU MADE ME CALL THE WRONG AUNT. DO YOU NOT KNOW THE DIFFERENCE. HINT: ONE SENT ME A GIFT AND ONE DIDN'T. ONE HAS ONE NAME; THE OTHER HAS ANOTHER. OH MY GOD, MOTHER. ARGH. ARGH TO THE NTH."
So what happened was, in my mom's new cell phone she had the number of the aunt I called under "D M"--D for her first name, M for her husband's first name. COINCIDENTALLY, these are the exact initials of the other sister and her husband. Oh my god, mother.

This might set me back about 7 steps in my phone phobia program, pretending I have one.

Moral: Do your homework. Don't look up. No stopping. To do otherwise leads to terrible things.

2006-05-04T06:16:00.000-07:00

It is my birthday today.
I usually keep it all quiet, because I don't like them, the birthdays. But for some reason today I feel like notifying.
Tada! I am 25.

2006-04-30T17:53:00.000-07:00

2006-04-30T07:10:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-30T06:17:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-29T21:31:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-29T12:44:00.000-07:00

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.

2006-04-24T17:12:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-21T18:03:00.000-07:00

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.

2006-04-21T16:38:00.000-07:00

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.

2006-04-20T18:32:00.000-07:00

HIRED, you guys.

That is all.

-

2006-04-19T05:36:00.000-07:00

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!

2006-04-17T19:21:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-17T16:20:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-15T17:18:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-14T21:14:00.000-07:00

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.

2006-04-13T15:44:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-11T17:26:00.000-07:00

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:

2006-04-09T19:58:00.000-07:00

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.

2006-04-09T14:31:00.000-07:00

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.

2006-04-08T19:10:00.000-07:00

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.

2006-04-06T19:39:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-03T06:07:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-02T22:19:00.000-07:00

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."

2006-04-02T20:32:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-01T17:03:00.000-08:00

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

2006-04-01T12:31:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-31T21:23:00.000-08:00

Writing any blog entry on a Friday night invites the world (or, the 3 people who comprise your reading audience) to weep for you. What I'm about to write will only make you pity me more, because truly, it is some kind of pathetic, but at the same time as I feel this shame I also feel a triumph.

Ok, so I am watching tv, and something on there made me ask myself, "wait, who was the professor I had a huge crush on in college?" It was in some way relevant. At first, oh it is sad, I could not think of the name! But then "Maximillian" popped to the fore, and is it any wonder, who has that kind of name, and the rest shortly followed: "Ryan Maximillian Moore."

Oh my, was he endearing. I was in his very first class he ever professored. Full of the vim and vigor he was, it was a sociology class, about youth and music and so it was fun, and he wore this corduroy blazer with elbow patches, and I can't say it's the elbow patches alone that did it, but they sure helped. Someone I used to be friends with had him for another class and had the boldness to make the man a mix cd, which of course he properly appreciated. Why didn't I think to make him a mix cd? Or, you know, to go see him during office hours?
Same answer, really: I was a shy little doofus. But oh, the regret.

Oh, I had a story to tell. The story: I've been drinking a little. And, of course, I am one you weep for in pity etc etc. So I thought, HEY, I am going to look Ryan Maximillian Moore up, on the internet!

Google wasn't into the Maximillian part, so I tried just the initial. Look!

At first I wasn't sure it was him, because he was in Florida (ick) but then he commented on a book called The Professors and mentioned that he has students, and mentioned WHERE he has students, and so I looked the place up and looked him up and BAM, first thing says "sociology of youth" and DUDE that is what I TOOK from him! He is teaching it NOW! How nice.

So I've successfully google-stalked. That seems to be my triumph.

Demand for viewer participation: Did you have any crushes on professors?

my morning so far

2006-03-31T09:33:00.000-08:00

An allergy test for a new hair color, on my inner left elbow;

Checkbook found; bills in their envelopes; "Days of Being Wild" netflixed away for "Be Here To Love Me";

Nutty cereal with banana slices; a mug of unmilked coffee;

This;

This;

This.

One's a story that is good and sometimes funny. One is a podcast interview of David Berman, who at this point I'd be frightened of liking more ("Welllll...I was gonna play this Walt Whitman poem"--so perfect). The other is an article with accompanying video, about an exhibition in Switzerland on Patricia Highsmith. I have said if before, but I will say it again, this is a very good book.

2006-03-29T21:06:00.000-08:00

I was way, way too excited to see Michael Cera on Veronica Mars this evening. I don't usually watch that show anymore, but oh boy. George-Michael! Sweetheart! Darling! I mean that completely platonically, of course, you young, young man.

OMG Alia Shawkat! Shakwat? I will look it up: Shawkat!

ACK
GEORGE-MICHAEL AGAIN
OH they have to be on that show all the time. Or, you know, Mitch Hurwitz could make another show and have the exact same cast. That would blow my mind, with joy.

This doesn't seem like a week off at all. I feel the constant pressure of things to do, and I had homework. And very little fun happened. Oh, but let us speak no more of it.

ACK
GEORGE-MICHAEL
oh, cruel television show, I can hear him, but where is he?
Let's talk to him, Veronica! Talk to the dorky, witty young man!
Television can be so disappointing.

2006-03-29T16:40:00.000-08:00

I haven't sent lit mixes/mix cds yet, but will in the next day or so I believe--I want to know, does anyone not in the, uh, club want one?

Also, lit mixers out there, I'm still planning on sending one to everyone originally in the rotation (and then also Natasha) since this is only my 2nd one and I've received 2 from them...that sound right? I don't want to send them stuff they don't want and all, I just figured fair's fair in the lit mix exchange, 2 for 2.
Of course that sounds right. Ok.

So yeah, anyone else out there, want one? Let me know, soonish. There will be excerpts of stuff from Ander Monson, Donald Barthelme, Richard Brautigan, maybe Calvin Trillin, and there will even be some Magic Pudding. The mix cd has, you know, the kind of stuff I listen to. I cannot tell how much anyone will like either mix, so you take a risk. But it could be something fun to get in the mail.

the streets of bakersfield

2006-03-29T11:38:00.000-08:00

I always kind of hated Buck Owens.

See, I'm from Bakersfield, but wasn't always from Bakersfield; I was born in Colorado, near Denver, amidst greenery and winter snow, springtime showers and fresh air. When I was 9, my father got transferred, and we then moved to what can charitably be called a different clime.

Less charitably, we can say a dusty, smog-filled dirthole that culturally was a little bit of the conservative South blown with the Dust Bowl into one of the most godforsaken bits of central California you could find. Before I was even a teenager, I developed a bitter, reactionary prejudice against all things cowboy, all things "country". And then of course we've got some mild father issues entwined here, the father who always had a pair of cowboy boots but never before moving to Bakersfield had stretched out his, what was this, Maryland drawl? Do Marylanders have a drawl, or was he a total Zelig product of his environment? My father was turning hick, was the sad truth, except not entirely, because he himself scoffed at country music, at the very thing he was becoming
oh the complexity of it all.

To me, country was the fakest thing I knew, because I had no knowledge of nor respect for its origins, and the modern stuff was so wrapped up in the growing neo-conservatism that gags one to think of, and so when, during my high school years, Buck Owens in his old age began embracing once more his chosen home of Bakersfield, opening his goddamn Crystal Palace restaurant/club, THAT PEOPLE WERE EXCITED ABOUT AND WENT TO, people I talked to, and then getting a street renamed in his honor---what was wrong with Pierce Road? "Buck Owens Boulevard," it was called. Seriously.
It was like a joke, is the thing, how Bakersfield it all was. All I detested most, embodied in this man, this rhinestone cowboy, with his homey name, his Crystal Palace

Yeah, I really didn't like him.

As I got older, I softened toward country music, and in the aftermath of the Bush re-election I've worked hard at seeing the non-evil in people who don't share my views.

This is to say, when I heard Buck Owens had died, I wasn't indifferent. Not, to be honest, sad, but, well, I started to read about the man. To look and see if there were things I'd missed in my prior wholehearted distaste. I by habit read a lot of music blogs, some by people who enjoy country music to an extent, and so they had some Buck Owens songs. I felt like an entirely other person downloading the tune "Streets of Bakersfield," I will tell you that. I was a bit afraid what I'd hear in the song, thinking surely it would make me hate Buck forever, and is that a kind thing, when the poor man's dead?

It starts out pretty good--reassuringly pretty little guitar intro, and the lines, "I came here lookin' for somethin'--"
I am a big fan of talking about looking for something.
"--somethin' I couldn't find anywhere else."
Unsatisfied searching is even better.
"I don't wanna be nobody, just want a chance to be myself"
Self-identity struggles! Now, that's the stuff!
"I've done a thousand miles a' thumbin'"
Ooo, world-weary.
"Yes, I've worn blisters on my heels. Tryin to find something better"
Aren't we all
"--on the streets of Bakersfield."
Ok, now this is ambiguous. He is looking to the streets of Bakersfield as a likely provider of what he has not found everywhere else he's been? OR, the interpretation I prefer, it's not like he's saying the streets of Bakersfield are great and definitely where he will find better things, but rather the streets of Bakersfield are where he currently is, and maybe has been before, and it's where he is currently trying to find something better, and it's like, Bakersfield is the base setting for his weary, lonely searching. The streets of Bako are where he's trying to find something better, but since he has to try at all, it implies that it's an effort, see, maybe a repeated, ongoing effort, to find something better there.

I am identifying with Buck Owens at this point, is what I'm saying.
The first two years after college, I was right there with you, Buck-o.

"You don't know me but you don't like me"
Well, you know, maybe I was hasty, Buck.
"You say you care less how I feel. How many of you that sit and judge me/ever walk the streets of Bakersfield?"
Not sure this is how Buck meant it, but what I am taking away is, "You don't know what I've been through--STREETS OF BAKERSFIELD, man."
Then there follows a humorous bit about being in jail and stealing money from a drunkard cellmate, then
against all sense
heading back to Bakersfield.

It does tend to pull one back, Bakersfield; like a riptide, quicksand, substance dependency, etc.

So ok, Buck's view of Bakersfield was rosier than mine, but I know what he meant by just wanting a place to be himself; I can say, as he could: "You won't ever really understand me until you go to Bakersfield." And because of that commonality, I can easily continue interpreting this song my way, and I know, I know, soon will come a time for me to try my new motto: How many of you that sit and judge me ever walk the streets of Bakersfield? And I'll have a kicky little tune in my head.

Amends, Buck.
*

2006-03-27T14:41:00.000-08:00

I went for a WALK today. I always sort of hope to relive the feel of the best walk I ever took, with my dad outside the hospital my mother's father was dying in. I didn't know that grandfather well, almost thought something was wrong with how unaffected I felt, but mainly just felt the air was so cool, and my legs, it was like I had never walked right before but was sure doing it then. It felt great. I felt very living. I could have walked for hours. I wondered what I'd been doing wrong before, with walking. Stumbling, bumbling, awkward, self-anxious. It was so easy, my muscles stretched and flexed and there was a natural rhythm to the motion, comforting, mindless. I saw myself becoming a great walker, a walk every night, a walk every morning, in afternoons when I could, maybe I'd start bringing a dog.

Never had a walk so good since. I do like walking, though, but I'm not smooth and assured, usually. Just, sort of, making my way along.

It is really hard to get my life in order. That was pretty much my expectation, this break. I pictured it taking place in about a day or two. Instead I've been depressively sabotaging most of my productive actions, being anxious and nutty and etc. Haven't even got my apartment tidy.
Oh, well.
Tomorrow will be only the 5th out of 10 days off, so all is not yet wasted. I'll, you know, make my way along.

oh P.S.:
I feel I should give a movie recommendation, before I forget. I have seen this movie one and a half times now, and I heartily suggest it for your viewing pleasure, when you are in the mood for an old romantic British movie that will make you cry a little. The leading lady, Celia Johnson, is adorable. She giggles great. Seems very kind and matter-of-fact, rather than being flighty and emotional during her love affair. That makes her despair, when it comes around, way more powerful. Not that it's a depressing movie, and not that it entirely isn't. It's one of those good mixes. Try it, you'll see!

2006-03-26T18:21:00.000-08:00

Ok, so my friend Brendan is off touring the world and occasionally posting photos on flickr, and though this is perhaps one of his least exciting photos, considering all that he is doing and seeing, well.

It haunts me.

It is in a bank in Romania.
Ok, so now tell me what the slogan COULD POSSIBLY BE.
Am I missing something? A squirrel, on a bike, with a nut maybe as his basket....

In unrelated news, today I checked out three books from the library, two of which have amazing covers, and what the hell, I am doing nothing else:

Shocking!

I like this style of '60s drawing a lot. I think this cover, though, is giving me false hope of interracial romance.

I also went to Borders, in my continuing quest to find a decent newsstand. Sadly, kids, the Borders newsstand IS the best I've seen here. Still, no Virginia Quarterly Review, no Zembla, no American Scholar (saw one of those at an otherwise more pathetic newsstand though), no other stuff that looked super cool that I just had to look into...
I bought a New Yorker because of the hooha on certain websites about the Calvin Trillin article, and I got these in the "buff" color, because, sure.
I don't know why I'm telling you any of this, it suddenly seems extremely boring. Maybe tomorrow I'll be more suited to communication with others.

2006-03-25T14:59:00.000-08:00

I'm unexpectedly totally depressive this break so far. What is up with that? I do not know. Anyway, today I went shopping a little, got the Destroyer album finally, the doofuses there still had hardly heard of it, psh, and I got 2 old vinyl records: Frank Sinatra's In the Wee Small Hours and The Button-Down Mind of Bob Newhart. Also I got two used books, which was difficult because most of the stuff, this woman was trying to sell for $6 and up. Filthy thief. Wow, that is a fun phrase. Say it! Spray it!

Anyhow. I got Winesburg, Ohio, which feels like something I already bought but I think I just always thought of buying it, and I got The Abortion: An Historical Romance 1966 by Richard Brautigan of catfish friend acclaim. If you click the amazon link: the picture on the cover of that book is the picture on the cover of my book. Just so you know. That is Richard, and a hot girl. At the bottom of my cover it says "This novel is about the romantic possibilities of a public library in California".
Sometimes I forget that I don't still live in California, that the world is not in fact California, and really what difference does it make, where I am, because it will in part, I bet, feel to me like California, which itself never felt much like "California" anyway.

My hands are tired. It's peculiar.

I wanted to take a walk today, but it is too rainy.

I cut my hair badly this morning. I need to stop it, just get a hairstylist.

Poor, weird-looking, hand-tired me.

I feel like I've already frittered away my entire break. What a negative nelly, eh? Maybe it will get better tonight and tomorrow.

and so my spring break begins

2006-03-23T22:10:00.000-08:00

Middle of voicemail message I left for someone tonight, out of boredom, loneliness and retardedness:
"I'm, uh, about to see the directorial debut of Tommy Lee Jones.
I don't know why."

It was pretty good actually. Very corpsey, though.
Death is sure a bummer.

2006-03-22T21:15:00.000-08:00

There are daffodils blooming friggin' everywhere around here.

"Friggin'!" What a douche!

Yes, I did call myself a douche. Gross! Is it not one of the worst words ever?

I should have pictorial evidence of the daffodils a-blooming, because I mean it. I had to ask my supervising teacher today, "What is up with all the daffodils? They just grow here, or they're insanely popular springtime garden buys?" and she had to say, "They have naturalized!"
I keep typing @ for ! and I just then typed # for @ and when I went to type # just THEN, I typed @, so clearly I should leave all punctuation alone now

It took some will power to leave off the period there and oh my gosh to not use commas

I can't take it. I cannot live with the punctuation, and cannot live without.

Why am I even typing to you, I so obviously have nothing to say. Except: I think I have heartburn, right now.

The charm of Neko's album is already wearing off, even though I still think it's lovely in parts. I think she does not write songs all that well, and I have little else to say to back up this cutting assertion except that in the song Margaret and Pauline, it's like, the point of the song is that rich people get it easy? Poor people's lives suck? And how is this valid as a songwriting point in the year 2006? It's like, yeah, and? The twist? The purpose of your song? I don't know why this bothers me so much, but somehow it's gotten me all turned against Neko's lyrics. I am capricious.

It is Wednesday, I was supposed to be really happy, for you to see how happy I am now it's Wednesday. Well, I was at the school site from 7:30 to 7pmish, minus the time from 11:40 to 1 that I was out to lunch. So, how happy can I be?
I got to sit around and listen to a lot of personal things about a lot of children and their families, and it makes me a) try to recall what, if any, conferences I or my parents ever attended, b) wonder what would have been said if we had ever had such a conference, c) realize what a bizarre kid I was, all quiet and...weird, and d) long for contact with people I, paradoxically, don't have to talk with. Not strangers, the opposite.

Did you ever have conferences? We just had Open Houses, in my day. Did you have days off, given over to student/parent/teacher conferences? If so, fuck you.
ha ha

One last thought. First graders are much cuter one at a time. You kind of want to cuddle them, or play board games with them. You get sort of, Hey, you're small.

not that i think it's 100% true

2006-03-21T06:02:00.000-08:00

ha ha

2006-03-19T10:10:00.000-08:00

Hi. I thought I would share that last night I finally watched 2046, a movie I talked about wanting to watch for maybe half a year now, a dvd I've had for over a month, maybe 2? (thanks, netflix!)

My goodness, is it a handsome movie. That is my main point, if I were to write a review. One of the best-looking movies you could see. It's pretty good, otherwise, too---great performances, an ok story I guess. Well, there are problems with it, but I can't bring myself to care enough to try explaining them. So overall, pretty awesome film.

I wish the dvd-makers hadn't been so crafty, I would have liked to show you screen captures of how jaw-dropping gorgeous the movie is, I mean just stating it doesn't give you any idea. Pretty pretty pretty. And I have been looking a little for an internet image of the supremely foxy leading man, but strangely, NOTHING does him justice. His face has to be in motion I guess for it to work its wonders, and a mustache helps, because looking at him all fresh-faced at premieres he's like some kind of goofy nice-guy everyman, which he is NOT, he is FUCKING FOXY. Oh my gosh, Tony Leung. I am having heart palpitations just thinking of you.
Sigh.
And, Zhang Ziyi is in it too--you might remember her in Crouching Tiger as the one who looks exquisitely beautiful.
So, the people are gorgeous, the cinematography is gorgeous, it almost hurts your head, the beauty of it all.
RECOMMENDED.

Even though I only have to teach for two days next week, I am deeply cranky I even have that. Plaster of paris, I have to buy plaster of paris and use it tomorrow. God, it makes me resentful. Just wait how happy I will sound this Wednesday.

2006-03-17T19:30:00.000-08:00

I don't know if you'll care about this, but I'm going to want to look at it again and again so I'll stick it here.

one of Wim Wenders' Picture Haikus:

25.
Wall In Paris, Texas

If I had had a hammer,
I would have tried
to chip off more from that stucco
and uncover the entire precious fresco
underneath.
But I only had a camera.

2006-03-17T19:00:00.000-08:00

Neko

Crap; I am resigned

2006-03-17T17:41:00.000-08:00

Greetings!

I feel I should be out drinking, that I am missing the national go-out-drinking holiday. However, it's how it's got to be--I have class tomorrow, and really I am pretty excited to just sit in my apartment without having to do anything. I might make cookies! I might finally watch 2046!

After work today I went and bought the Neko Case album, which I haven't listened to yet but have unwrapped and let me tell you, the cd is very pretty. Bright light blue with an orangey foxy fox. The album, you see, is called Fox Confessor somethingblahablah. Only bad thing to say about packaging: no Neko picture.
The guy at the music store was telling me about good reviews he's heard it got, and dude, for one I know more about this album than you do, it is why I have come here to purchase it, and for another, he then followed that up with his personal opinion of Neko, which is that he sometimes likes her songs, but he mainly just thinks she's cute, except all the recent reviews apparently have pictures of her looking pissy. He said that: pissy. He didn't seem at all confident in the value of my purchase, based on the pissy pictures. It must be really annoying being a woman in the music world.

They didn't have Destroyer's album or Stephin Merritt's, and like had just heard of the Destroyer one. Ok, none of you care because you're not nerds about this kind of thing like I am, I forget. But, you knew too, because you read my blog, so yeah, see---for weeks we've known about Destroyer's album.

I got Deerhoof's The Runners Four instead.

My missing package is going to be delivered to me tonight! By some man in this complex who received it instead of me. It has been several days, though. Actually, 7.
7 days. So this man is a little bit an asshole. But oh well, soon I will have new work clothes! Hurray!

I was going to talk about the Neko thing and then mention this chat I had at lunch today, but I got distracted by my snob annoyance and the package. I should have stuck the snob annoyance in toward the beginning of the music paragraph. This blog entry is sequenced all wrong. Also, it feels boring. But it is too late! There is nothing for it, now. All it can ever be is crap. I am resigned.

Ok, so today at lunch with student teacher colleagues, we were talking about how people in our program are all cliquey, at least in the elementary section, and maybe it's only the elementary section, in which case why? But what I was going to tell you, was that I was told I was in the "political activist" clique. I find that funny, and also kind of maddening. Granted, looking only at this afternoon: I find music world misogyny at the record store, right after going on and on in the car to one of those student teachers about the anti-feminism of one of our professors, so maybe it's appropriate. Another group got called "beer-drinking hippies," so I guess it could have been worse.

Hippies. Hah.

bored; apparently decided to spread the boredom

2006-03-16T20:39:00.002-08:00

I want to buy three new albums:
1
2
3

Even though I am poor.

I might do it tomorrow.

I have been the strangest mix of happy and unhappy for several weeks. There is nothing in particular making me happy, nothing going particularly right with my life, but small things are pleasing me. How some songs sound, how it feels to lay down and rest, how something tastes, I don't know. And then also I am exhausted, and cranky about specific things, and of course as always bleak-viewed. I don't know. How I feel and how I am doing, how things are going, seems truly uncategorizable at this time.

And don't get me wrong, this isn't an interesting time. I don't see anything new or exciting happening anytime soon. But then, I'm not really expecting the opposite so much. I am not expecting at all? That can't be true.
I should stop writing, since I am so tired and incoherent. I was just bored is all, and don't know what else to share with you now.

2006-03-13T19:31:00.000-08:00

Someone seems to have stolen a package my mother sent me, filled with expensive clothes and other things. Either they stole it, or it was delivered to the wrong place and is taking a little while to get back to me.
It is sad.

I have a lot of work to do tonight. I am so tired.
I bought some cookies, but I don't know if those will cheer me so much as put me closer to sleep.
What a bummer of a day.

2006-03-12T12:06:00.000-08:00

I've had a somewhat enterprising morning. I went to Michael's for lame stuff, Borders for a book for a lesson Monday, and happenstancedly found a super excellent book I'd never heard of but is TRIPPY and REALITY-BENDING and META and FOR KIDS.
Then! I went around some vacant office parks near a stream, to pilfer landscaping rocks. The kids need them to paint and make their pet rocks. I was not about to buy them, and though I started by trying to steal some around my apartment complex, it just got to feeling weird. So: vacant office parks, near the duck pond and stream. Many ducks were sleeping:

Even though stealing landscaping rocks is among the pettiest of petty thefts, the whole thing felt pleasingly like I was in one of those washed-out, tense 70s crime dramas/heist movies. It was the setting, the dreary sky, and with my cameraphone especially I felt very Conversation.

Yes, yes, I am a dork.

2006-03-11T15:06:00.000-08:00

My third post in the same day, and it still won't be very interesting: clearly, I am procrastinating like the dickens. ANYWAY, so my subject for this post is that I am watching that Lisa Loeb show, #1 Single. Anyone seen that? I don't know how I get this channel, the style network. So yeah, I'm supposed to be doing many things, powerpointy, drawing and measuring and mocking up worksheets, and I'm instead watching Lisa Loeb's show because I guess I love to be annoyed.
How do you feel about Lisa Loeb? She really really bugs me, and I always feel it's unwarranted, like she's actually a very agreeable person but...wow, I so much dislike her. Maybe I watch this show to help discover the reasons for my distaste.

I don't like her music, there's that; I don't like her eyebrows, and for some reason that seems like a big deal. They're thin, and she has them like sculpted into an arch! She's put on a sassiness costume, with her eyebrows! And, she walked around in a thong without anyone asking her to, but only because she wanted to be kooky. And her sister and friend, these bleached blond like slut-voiced women---where is my hatred coming from? I have no idea. Something is so wrong with me, because she went on this date with a homely writer and was still so nice about him, and interested in him as a person, but she likes Hello Kitty! She's like 40! And will she never get new glasses? And her eyebrows! I cannot get over them! On her face all quirky! And her voiceovers! So...so ...

I have to get back to powerpoint.

2006-03-11T11:51:00.000-08:00

For months now, I've been a little obsessed with this ring.
This kind of thing doesn't usually happen to me. Jewelry, it's nice, but I can usually take or leave it--and I would never have thought I'd ever HAVE TO HAVE a ring from Tiffany's.

See it's almost affordable, that's what gets me. I have spent that much stocking up on groceries. If I cancelled cable, after a couple months I'd have that much to spend. But, I should be saving, to pay off loans, to support myself while looking for a job, to have money to move....

Look again, at how pretty:

unrelated ps:

Do any of you know how to mess with mp3 files? I have recordings of classes singing songs with an electric violin, but they're rough, and I can't figure how to bring up the voices, how to take away the "hot" parts where the amp interacted weirdly with the microphone...I am stupid about recording, and stupid about editing recording, so yeah---anyone able to help? Jack? Other people with a surprising hidden talent?

two lame stories for you this morning

2006-03-11T08:41:00.000-08:00

I don't believe I was thinking about anything but sleeping before I went to bed last night, at 8, and when I woke up at 11 and thought about staying up for Conan and Duck Soup, then started reading a book and fell back asleep, that did not seem to affect things either. My dream had no Conan, no Finland, no Marx brothers, and my book was about writing and no writing took place in the dream. Dream posts are lame, so I'll try to make it one sentence:
I was hanging out with people from work/school, feeling nervous about the one who's insane and once had a murderous rage burning inside for me, but who now smiles in the halls and laughs at my jokes, when suddenly they all vanished, and I was at some concert, and it was looking lame.

Ok, I had to end that sentence. Next, last:
Then Stephen Malkmus was on, with his Jicks, and he looked so fucking bizarre, long hair, like in the bad way long hair, weird amulet necklaces, and he was doing some silly but actually really pretty much insane kind of presentation of his songs, and his audience was filled with really good-looking people, good-looking young people, who made me feel old, and I got to talking with a couple girls, who it turns out were seriously Jicks groupies, and then there was some like cover of a song played by some pop culture icon of people a few years younger than me, that the Jicks only knew of through avid irony, and all the people around me knew about it, and I felt all weird, and I had to tell them, "Actually, I much preferred Pavement," and they were all, "Haven't really gotten into them," but they were really nice and good-looking, and couldn't tell how old I really am, in my brittle soul, and somehow I didn't hate them, and then I was dating one of the girls. The end.

I thought it was weird. Maybe it's more boring than anything else, retold.

Yesterday I dropped one of the lunch room benches on my foot. At first, naturally, I assumed I had broken my foot. But then it didn't feel too bad, and then it didn't really hurt at all. Oh, I thought, I have a foot of steel! Or perhaps the bench did not mainly fall on my foot, but on the ground and my foot was incidental!
But then it started hurting again, and when I came home and looked at it, it looked bruisey. I thought of foot casts once more. But then this morning, well I will check it again now

it's not even that tender, and doesn't look bruisey! Maybe I need to walk on it for more than 2 minutes and then it will be sad again. Anyway, what a strange injury.
The end.

It was a snow delay today!

2006-03-10T08:01:00.000-08:00

I complain a lot still, I still hate student teaching, and I've had a lost/semi-lost voice for....this'll be the 4th day. But today was a snow delay, I am listening to one of my two vinyl records (Another Side of Bob Dylan---the first song, All I Really Wanna Do, is adorable if you want to check it out) and I am thinking of taking snow pictures and/or going to get coffee before work, and yeah today will be another mess of a day, and probably I'll screw up in at least 20 ways, but you know I am feeling not bad. I have been feeling not bad, considering, all this exhausting, stupid week.

I've got the idea I'm entering a long patch of not bad. I might be figuring out how to cope with life or something.

ps: any lit-mixers who read my blog, I have no idea how late I am with my mix (though I haven't received any for several months, so maybe I am not the only one who's late? this doesn't count Amar, who was sadly foiled by the postal service) but yeah I wanted to let you know, look for it in....April? Beginning of April; I should be mailing it out last week this month. Maybe also with mix cds, in apology for lateness.

short, needless bulleted list

2006-03-06T20:05:00.000-08:00

*I'm getting the whole cough/sore throat/losing voice thing again. Where have you been, bronchial tube disturbance? I was almost forgetting my life with you--the sudden uncharacteristic desire for tea, the attraction to menthol.

*Some kid threw up in class today, and at first I couldn't figure out that was happening, because the lights were off and it was clear and I'm stupid. I was all, you need a tissue? What's going on? Where did this water come from? Poor kid.

*If I get stomach flu again, someone's getting kicked. Maybe all children I see, afterward.

*I am trying really hard to not be unhappy, or as unhappy. It's some kind of trick. I'm not doing it right, yet. I'm closer to figuring it out than I have been many times in the past though. Possibly.

happy jon stewart day!

2006-03-05T09:55:00.000-08:00

There's going to be some kind of movie show on later today, hosted by Jon Stewart, a man I have in past referred to as "my personal Betty Grable". [Reason]

I have been a poor excuse of an obsessed fan for several months now, missing the Daily Show on a regular basis, and now I see missing him being interviewed by Larry King. Well. I guess it's understandable me not keeping up on the Larry King schedule. But anyway, in honor of our Jonny's big day, here's where you can find some video of him on the Larry King show this past week.

What a delightful man.

2006-03-04T17:39:00.000-08:00

I was looking through some older photos on flickr, and this one looks so nice to me right now.

2006-03-04T15:40:00.000-08:00

I just got back from my school site. IT IS SATURDAY. How retarded. I cut a lot of paper. I did reading group plans, and got stressed, and stole a quarter from the interactive money chart.

I hope I remember to replace it. I really needed some caffeine right then though. It was all I could do to keep myself from rooting around in the pockets of the lost-and-found coats. Yes, looting small children's misplaced coats.

But then I got hungry, and I couldn't leave the building and come back because I would have been locked out, and I couldn't take a chair to the vending machine glass because I think they would have figured out it was me. Also it started to get really cold in there. I don't believe the heater works on weekends. So yeah, it was fucking retarded. And, ok listen to how lameass this is: I brought home yarn, and a hole punch, because I am not through with this dumb shit, I have bucketloads more of it yet to do!
ARGH

I missed Rebecca this week. See, I had retarded shit to do then too. How ridiculous is that? I could have seen this

on the big screen!

Well, I now make this vow, before you all:

NOTHING WILL STOP ME FROM SEEING BUSTER.

Nothing.
Barring death or serious injury.

more in children's literature

2006-03-03T22:54:00.000-08:00

I've just started The Magic Pudding; Being the Adventures of Bunyip Bluegum and his friends Bill Barnacle and Sam Sawnoff. So far, there is this koala, who has an uncle whose whiskers really annoy him (the koala--Bunyip). So Bunyip goes and talks to a poet koala, about what he should do with himself because he can't stand living with his whiskery uncle anymore, whose whiskers get in the soup, which makes Bunyip have to eat outside the house so he doesn't eat whiskers and---let me get this right--

Bunyip Bluegum was a tidy bear, and he objected to whisker soup, so he was forced to eat his meals outside, which was awkward, and besides, lizards came and borrowed his soup.

And in the picture, there are these two little lizards, like the size of small dogs compared to Bunyip, standing on their hind legs and holding bowls--they are holding bowls. They are standing up in Bunyip's tree, on hind legs, tiny lizards holding bowls and begging. Bunyip is sitting on a stool in this tree, kind of a small stool, and it does indeed look awkward.
So the uncle won't get rid of his whiskers, Bunyip can't decide if he should be a traveller or swagman, I'm not Australian so I have no idea, and the poet koala says, what you should do is get a cane. A fancy cane, and go around being fancy.
Wait. Shit. I forgot to tell you. The poet koala is Egbert Rumpus Bumpus. I don't know if he's important later in the story too, but there you have it.
So Bunyip takes his uncle's walking stick and he assumes an air of pleasure, the book says, and goes around walking, looking at stuff like dandelions and traction engines, the book says, being conversational with people and very polite. But he starts to get hungry.

"I had no idea that one's stomach was so important,"

he says to himself.
So then he finds Bill Barnacle, a sailor, and Sam Sawnoff, a "penguin bold" who also seems to wear gigantic red trousers up to his wings, like some kind of Fred Mertz of penguins. They are eating a pudding that smells good. Like, a meaty oniony pudding. Not like that you eat with a spoon. It's Australia, I don't know. Bunyip wants some but he's so polite, and Bill and Sam aren't, but the pudding, the pudding then pipes up--it speaks--and asks Bill where his manners are, to give Bunyip a slice. Of himself.

"There you are," said Bill. "There's nothing this Puddin' enjoys more than offering slices of himself to strangers."

And the pudding is not being polite, no. The pudding then recites a poem or song to that effect, that he's not into politeness. Politeness be hanged.
"Always anxious to be eaten....that's this Puddin's mania," Bill says.

Let's get that again:

"Always anxious to be eaten....that's this Puddin's mania"

Well, I just had a class tonight where I spent a good several minutes giggling about this, so.
Anyway, I'm feeling good about this book. I'm not sure I can read it to the class though because the vocabulary is so bizarre. Maybe I'll just read it myself.

2006-03-01T21:20:00.000-08:00

First graders get very handsy when I wear patterned stockings. I don't really know how to respond, without being mean or something. "Stop rubbing my legs, kid: it's just not right."?
Sounds a little mean.

I am going to waste time I can't afford to waste by talking to you about the book Sylvester and the Magic Pebble by William Steig. I think it might be one of my favorite books, period. If you are not familiar, it is about this donkey named Sylvester, who at the start of the story is a happy little donkey with a nice rock collection and a tidy mother and a pipe-smoking father. They are all very happy.

Then Sylvester is outside and he finds this pretty pebble, but it's all rainy and cold

and he's thinking, man, I wish it weren't raining.

Then

So Sylvester's like, I've got a magic pebble here. Then WHOA there's a LION on the HILL.

And he's all flustered, as one would be, so he doesn't think too clearly, and what he does is go, "I wish I were a ROCK" because lions don't eat rocks.
So the lion thinks he's crazy.

But alas.
What have you done, Sylvester?

His parents look all over for him.
I like how Steig writes things like this
in his children's book.
The parents also ask the neighborhood "children".

I love this touch.
Life goes on amidst tragedy. Jumproping, even, goes on.

Ok, now here is where it gets so amazing.

Steig just SLAMS it on us--so they're kids, so what? THEY HAVE TO LEARN ABOUT DESPAIR SOMETIME. They may, in fact, already be familiar with it. How can a story have any emotional power if strong emotions are not portrayed? IT CAN'T, PUSSY.
Ok, so then follows this beauteous page, that I have even talked about in another blog before I think, but hey, it deserves all the talk I can give it:

It is perfect.
But does not stop there.

I read this story in class today. Tomorrow morning the kids will do a kind of activity based on it, which is why I have these things scanned in my computer really. Anyway, yeah, I read this today. I made some children almost cry. I could see it, their little eyes glistening, faces somber. And I'm all, YES. They are hearing the melancholy! Awesome!
So, saddest of all pages, would be this one of the poor father.
They cannot find Sylvester, for months. They, clearly, believe he is dead.
Look at this.

"Life had no meaning for them."
Jesus.
Look at his face! And his neglected, despairing pipe!

But then the parents go on a picnic, in spring, AFTER A FALL AND WINTER OF NO SYLVESTER. Here is some of the text on the page when they decide to go on the picnic: " 'Let's cheer up....Let us try to live again and be happy even though Sylvester, our angel, is no longer with us.' "
I mean, god. This book. Ok, so they happen to use Sylvester as their picnic table

and find the pebble, and put it on the table because it reminds them of Sylvester.

And Sylvester thinks, I wish I were me again, right as they say, I wish Sylvester were here, and then TADA!

And could this look happier?

I mean I could cry. The sun! The sun is so beautiful, echoing Sylvester's tear of joy, and they are all so happy. The father is, like, dancing!
And if that were not heartwarming enough for you, after the depths of despair to which Steig brought us, oh my gosh you guys:

Yeah, this book is amazing.

2006-02-27T19:03:00.000-08:00

[19:03] Admiral Fancy: i am trying to not sound like a jackass when telling them "i am your child's student teacher! hi! make them bring a rock to school soon"
[19:03] Admiral Fancy: i can't write like a normal person
[19:03] Admiral Fancy: i put too much me in there
[19:04] chachanthemiddle: I don't know what to tell you
[19:04] Admiral Fancy: fair enough

2006-02-27T17:23:00.000-08:00

When I go to school/work, or when I do things for that work, I do not feel better about myself. I do not always feel worse, but I never feel better. I feel mediocre. I feel lackluster, slow, drab, fumbling, scattered. I don't feel intelligent or funny or charming or lovable. I don't feel clear-headed or insightful or quick. I have in the past felt these things to some extent in other venues, and value the attributes. Especially the quickness, the intelligence: I value that in me very much, and to not be able to feel it all day long is shit.

I try to tell myself that my student-teacher experience is not indicative of my future as a teacher. That is probably true. Yet it does not help all that much because I do not actually know. I feel bad most of the time these days; I am many thousands in debt in the effort to become this thing I do not like being, though we are not our work, but
It is very difficult for me to get myself in well-enough order to have time for doing the things that make me feel ok about myself and life. Writing is kind of the main thing there. So this is it, for me and writing, and I feel guilty and self-defeating even taking the time for this.
I don't like how my life is right now.
What I want to say is, I am fighting something and/or myself, constantly, in the effort to not lead a miserable, stupid life, and it is tiring lately. Sometimes, I am happy, and that is a victory. Sometimes, I can see how nothing my supervising teacher thinks of me, nothing that happens in that classroom, fucking matters to my life. That is a victory. I just don't have a lot else outside of my dreadful parts of the day, and with all the work, the dreadful parts are mixed with the pulling-self-out-of-misery time, and it gets too hard to not be upset about these things that shouldn't fucking matter. I am not writing well about this, so that's starting to make me feel worse. Well, anyway.

Today, I started this entry to mention it and maybe it's no big deal, but today I got approved to lead a writing workshop in April at a young writer's conference in Portland, for 4th-12th graders. I will do it twice in the one day, I think just for 4th/5th graders; I will hopefully not suck at doing this, because it sounds like a thing I could do and like myself doing. It sounds about right. So, see, there's a victory.
Times like this it feels like I don't really have that great a sense of humor. I'm just all bitter and cranky, and write things like this which can't be fun or even very coherent reads. Fucking lameness, man. It is hard to get out from under it.

2006-02-25T20:44:00.000-08:00

I said I would give you those songs, the other day, so here:
1
2
3