What's a vegan mofo? and some self-defense

Other than a less-than-supportive invective? This is the wherein, at the suggestion of a fantastic and rather cute Portland vegan chef, all vegan blogger types blog about vegan things every weekday or with some similar frequency. It sounds pretty loose, but I can manage a few words a day about food specifically.

That said, I'm not a vegan. I come close fairly often, but am generally too enamored of/addicted to dairy cheese and yogurt to truly let go of them entirely. This choice doesn't trouble me too much. I'm a vegetarian who eats local (as local as my backyard when it comes to tomatoes, squash, blueberries and a few herbs this year), and am extremely scrupulous about the politics of my food dollars. Although the ecological footprint of my dinner is about 30% of that of the average American* when I eat in, and still less if this Jane Average is eating beef. Self-righteousness aside, I -do- see the hypocrisy of going vegetarian and citing ethics among my reasons while noshing on cheese, and I accept it. Feel free to correct my perhaps naive belief that dairy production at smallish, local farms is not cruel or not as cruel.

Then there's the can of metaphorical worms that is seafood. Many in vegan circles would likely view my occasional indulgence in these critters deplorable, or at least super gross. Again, I recognize this and the hypocrisy I carry with it. Clams may make a bomb chowder, but they're most certainly fauna, even when chowder-fied. Still, I don't believe that it's a cop-out to claim my Alaskan childhood, my whitey cultural heritage from an eclectic, proud, frigid postcolonial outpost where salmon and crab are king. Good seafood - which I can never afford anyway, and therefore only have in Alaska on someone else's dime (twice a year tops) - is a weakness of mine. Salmon farming politics are near and dear to my heart - let's not go there. I again recognize this as something some would call a moral failing, but salmon or dungeoness crab are still tastes too nostalgic. Self-denial, at least for me, becomes an act of martyrdom at that point. Crabs are cool critters! They're like underwater spiders. Don't think that I have no respect for their lives.

I guess I'm just not ready to dive into veganism whole hog-alternative because my reasons for eating the way I do are a confluence of the environmental, ethical, financial, and physical (that's what we'd call health reasons, right?) - were I to make this an entirely moral issue for myself, that would be one thing. But I see many facets to the politics of food, and I think vegan extremism is not for me at this point. Veganism is a brave and admirable thing, but as I've seen it, it is also a decision that often walks hand-in-hand with a certain level of privilege. Not everyone has access to Peter Singer, or the conditions to allow them to read it without judgment. Nor does everyone have a sweet food co-op or natural foods store in their area where flax seeds and hemp milk flow like... okay, bad comparison. But try finding a pair of dress shoes for an interview at a thrift store that aren't leather or some other animal derivative. Not everyone is going to be that dedicated because not everyone can. I'm not defending the cheapskates who buy $1/dozen eggs; I'm trying to gently remind the vegans in my sphere of influence that omnis and vegetarians (and vegetarian-buts like me - "I'm a vegetarian, but I do/don't eat...") aren't all ignorant or all wrong. Most folks I know are trying to live ethical, healthy lives, and all of us go about it in completely different ways.

Okay. Self-righteous novel over. Recipes and pictures and stuff start tomorrow.

*this is a guestimate and you should only check my math if you're really mean and/or like decimals. I'm pretty confident in this figure, so don't burst my bubble.

heads up

In a little bit, this little chunk of webspace will move. Not far, though. It'll be http://www.championofthesemicolon.blogspot.com and it will be far, far prettier than what you see here. Also, more content. Yay content! Perhaps even some kind of unified purpose or theme, but I won't get ahead of myself with the promises.

Let's hear it for the Cubs

The National League central division champions! Granted that this is no guarantee of anything - pennant, series... they're both still off in the ether. Still! Last week's no-hitter! The walk-offs! Wood's return! Who's stoked? This girl.

In other news, I've started the exercise in frustration known as Law School Applications. It took me altogether too much deliberation, but I have my list of five (in approximate order of preference - the first two are nearly tied): Lewis and Clark, UW, Temple, Northwestern and UO. Ideally, I won't leave the West Coast and can maintain much of my present bike-heavy, low-cost lifestyle.

Writing these essays has been pretty handily kicking my ass. Boxing class too, but less so.

If you read one campaign op-ed this week...

Make it this one.

White privilege is when you can claim that being mayor of a town smaller than most medium-size colleges, and then governor of a state with about the same number of people as the lower fifth of the island of Manhattan, makes you ready to potentially be president, and people don't all piss on themselves with laughter, while being a black U.S. senator, two-term state senator and constitutional law scholar means you're "untested."

The Palin Rant

As much as I hate to admit it at times, I love Alaska. My homeland is my homeland, even if I never live there again. Sarah Palin is part of the reason I left. Not she herself, per se; when I was looking to leave AK upon graduation from high school, she was still safely sequestered in Wasilla. (Yes, viewers of the SNL skit, it IS the meth capital of Alaska.) The rabid right-wingers like her - hockey moms and folks with retrograde ideas of gender roles and all of that - are the ones who make me grimace.

Sarah Palin herself, though, is a tremendously frightening possible president. Every woman in this country should be scared. Her record on taking care of rape victims is reprehensible. Should sexual assault victims pay their medical bills? Evidently Palin doesn't think so, and further, doesn't have the compassion to consider the health and well-being of her constituents. Look up the rape statistics for Alaska, and for the Mat-su valley (Wasilla and Palmer) specifically. It's a problem that she more or less ignored. Never mind the book banning atrocities.

An interesting effect is the fallout among Alaskans. A 1500-strong protest, an unheard-of phenomenon in the notoriously not-in-my-backyard-or-I'll-shoot-you type residents of my hometown, went down last week. AGAINST Palin. Our popular governor.

Another interesting piece of fallout: horrendous right-wing woman-who-hates-women Lyda Green denounced her former ally. In the blue state rag The New Yorker, no less. Green introduced and or supported the dismantling of women's and Native Alaskan rights as effectively as a wrecking ball in her tenure. The interesting part? Green and Palin are ideological allies in nearly all ways (they probably both root for the New Jersey Devils because Anchorage superstar Scotty Gomez plays for them), but Green hasn't been shy about unleashing some admittedly petty and personal screeds against Palin. Palin, it seems, is a politician through and through - she is not shy about burning bridges.

Speaking of bridges, it is a well-documented fact that Palin SUPPORTED THE BRIDGE TO NOWHERE INITIATIVE UNTIL CONGRESS SAID IT WAS A RIDICULOUS USE OF FEDERAL FUNDS. Apologies for the excessive caps, but everyone needs to know this about that be-lipsticked opportunist.

Gloria Steinem said it best: A woman in the White House is not good enough. She has to be the woman for the job. Palin is not pro-woman. Palin stands for the same doctrine as our present administration and will only further destroy our social services, our economy and our credibility with other nations.

Oh, and she's COMPLETELY UNQUALIFIED. btw.

ETA: I heart Katha Pollitt.

yikes

When Karl Rove says you're running a dirty campaign, you're definitely
running a dirty campaign. Link:
http://www.cnn.com/2008/POLITICS/09/14/campaign.wrap/

(email post)

what's a water bear and why are they stronger than us?

This is fascinating. A tiny critter can survive near absolute zero - something use spined creatures could never hope to do. Not that I'd switch my sentience for the ability to perma-hold my breath, but still. Neat!

NY times RSS special du jour

Welp, if it's not the Mayan doomsday, it's the newest particle collider. CERN goes online tomorrow, and while I rationally understand that the solar system and its immediate surrounds will likely NOT collapse as a results of kooky scientists playing God, the outside possibility is humbling and amusing. It's a very "find your higher power" moment - with or without my approval, someone will flip that switch in Switzerland, and we either will or will not continue to exist. I've been putting a lot of stock in Recovery lingo lately - accepting the status quo and focusing on personal development rather than what I cannot change, etc - and it's definitely a result of the new job. I'm the only person on staff (that I know of) who is not in recovery, and it's even more humbling than Higgs bosons or potential cataclysmic destruction. We are all works in progress, little personal construction zones who create ripples upon ripples overlapping other personal construction zones. That said, my ripples can't control whether or not we all get mooshed into a walnut-sized mass in a matter of hours, so I'm not going to sweat it too much.

Speaking of sweat, my boxing class hurts so good.

From another interesting NYT article:

For social-role psychologists, the bad news is that the variation is going in the wrong direction. It looks as if personality differences between men and women are smaller in traditional cultures like India’s or Zimbabwe’s than in the Netherlands or the United States. A husband and a stay-at-home wife in a patriarchal Botswanan clan seem to be more alike than a working couple in Denmark or France. The more Venus and Mars have equal rights and similar jobs, the more their personalities seem to diverge.

I can't help but speculate that gender is becoming a more visible, more acceptable place to hang one's identity. Does that make it ripe for codification? Must we all be something-boys and something-girls: party boys, sporty girls, butch ladies and bro-dawgs? The whole thing makes me wish we could all bypass gender in a sense. It's never been the hugest deal with me, and I now embrace a sort of genderqueerishness that I resisted for a while. Identity is not necessarily equal to gender in my head, but maybe that's just me.

Palin rant and Chi-town pictures coming soon. I promise. am housesitting, so it's hard to get my pictures up and running with this damn dial-up.

not sure about this.

I have business cards. Be sure to ask me for one. You'll be guaranteed to scare the crap out of me. Aren't business cards for responsible professionals? I still haven't quite mastered color coordinating my outfits. This is a sign of competence well beyond my comfort zone. It might not be okay to be inept at this job - that's new. Hmm.

Industry! Science! Technology!

Well, I had a constructive weekend. I was honored to be a part of a task force of four handywomen, bent on adding 100 square feet of garden space to an already charming North Portland home. A 6'x10' bed, two 2'x6' beds and a 20"x6' bed now await planting. The woodwork was only half the job, and I wish I could kipe pictures off of a myspace page to show a) how great the beds look and b) just how much dirt we moved up some pretty obnoxious stairs.

For the illustrated part of the show, I do have photographic evidence of the compost boxes that a proud member of the aforementioned team and I put together. They only took about and hour to an hour and a half apiece. Because of technical difficulties (poor planning in the power tool department) this entire compost bin project was done with hand tools. Old school saws. Hammers. Nails. It was intensely rewarding.



Pictures of Chicago forthcoming. Rant about Sarah Palin ongoing.

the morning peloton

Every day, I bike across the Hawthorne bridge - arguably the most iconic of Portland's 12 river spans. It's certainly the most crowded, as literally thousands pedal over it every day; the bulk of these riders, like me, travel east to west to get downtown, to the med school, or to the West Hills. As such, depending on when I get my start in the morning, I tend to be in a crush of about thirty other cyclists. This peloton contains casual commuters like myself, bespandexed muscle-cases, scrawny bike messenger-types, middle-aged power-riders with bikes far more expensive than necessary, cruisers on cruisers, and so on. There's a bit of reshuffling, cries of "on your left!", before we all drop into the chute, the downslope that raises Madison street above the Southeast industrial district. Once we're speeding down that course, it's single file for a quarter mile because of heavy foot traffic. The pedestrians merge onto the bridge and skitter like mice while biker after biker zips by. Only assholes try to pass on the bridge itself during morning rush hour.

I used to bike into the heart of downtown (which admittedly is not at all far from the Hawthorne bridge), but now I turn off earlier and cruise down Naito parkway. Most bikers opt for riding along the waterfront, but I can't stand all the traffic (foot, bike, recumbent and rent-a-cop) and there's no easy way to get to my turn from that path. Natio has a straight-shot bike lane and very few northbound cars. I'm going half a mile to a mile further everyday now, but it doesn't take me any longer than it did to wend and wind between cars in the thick of downtown's morning riots used to.

The peloton will thin out when the rains begin. Don't think that I'm sad about it, either. The camaraderie of dozens of speeding bikers wears thin, just like a pack of Toyotas caught in the 7:45 jam. The wet makes it harder to stop quickly, and less experienced bikers will often eat shit because their brakes aren't reacting "normally" in a downpour. The rain itself is an obvious deterrent, too. The familiar faces in the pack are the folks I've seen day after day for months, folks I've commiserated with during storms and heat alike. Still, the crowd becomes more of a trickle. For the here and now, though, my morning peloton gives me such a fucking rush. It's my own personal Tour, contracted into a fifteen minute bridge sprint.

lentil raviloli AKA super-yum wads

Note to vegans: Wonton wrappers without some kind of egg derivative or whey are EXTREMELY difficult to find. If you are lucky enough to have a fairly thorough Asian market near you, that's probably your best bet. My co-op did not have much to offer, despite their ordinarily thorough veganishness. So use whatever vegan pasta you can dredge up.

Filling:
2/3 c lentils
half a medium onion, diced
a couple cloves of garlic, minced
1 or 2 tbsp minced ginger root
cumin, curry powder and coriander to taste
small splash of oil
diced spinach

Sauce:
1 14oz can diced tomatoes
1/4 c rice vinegar
1/2 c brown sugar
2 tbsps minced ginger (I used more)
cinnamon stick

Saute onions, garlic and ginger. Throw in the spices until things start to get fragrant. Add the lentils with enough water to cover. If you want some spice, add hot sauce or cayenne here. Cook until the lentils are soft but still hold their shape. Add the spinach until just wilted. Remove lentil mass from heat and let cool a bit. Some heat is fine, but it shouldn't be hot.

Dissolve the sugar in the vinegar on medium-low heat. Add the tomatoes and cinnamon stick and simmer until you can smell the cinnamon. Remove the cinnamon stick and keep the sauce warm. Adding a few dried cranberries is pretty tasty, too.

Spoon a heaping teaspoon of the filling into a wonton wrapper, leaving a half inch of clearance on all sides. Seal the wonton, using a little water as glue. Boil the ravioli-wontons for about four minutes. Top with sauce and serve. Makes four modest portions. Goes well with beet salad.

ETA: Ginger in the sauce. Toss it in with the tomatoes. Trust me.

My kingdom for tickets...

"San Francisco non-profit City Arts & Lectures has enlisted good folks
from around the music world for a series of conversations and
performances it calls "Talking Music".

The list of music-makers taking part in the series over the next
several months includes John Darnielle (the Mountain Goats), Neko Case
(herself/the New Pornographers), Will Sheff (Okkervil River), Stephin
Merritt (the Magnetic Fields) and Laurie Anderson. Each of these
"Talking Music" events feature the musicians "in conversation and
song" alongside a literary light acting as host. Merritt has been
paired up with his Gothic Archies partner Daniel Handler (who also
writes the Lemony Snicket books), while Laurie Anderson is "in
conversation" only (no music) with Our Band Could Be Your Life scribe
Michael Azerrad.

All "Talking Music" events will take place at the Herbst Theatre in
San Francisco's Performing Arts Center."

(kiped from Pitchfork)

Meg, you'd best hit this up.

Welcome to the inaugural voyage of posting-by-email, which makes for slightly less conspicuous goofing off at work and (I hope) slightly more plentiful posting on el blogadero. If there's a confidentiality message at the bottom of the post, please disregard.

Getting mistaken (once again) for a dude was a small price to pay for free tea from Amanda'splace of employment. Damn clueless middle-aged white men. Anyway, the tea is delightful. Spearmint! So fresh!

Everyone should read The Canon by Natalie Angier. Yes, I am given to hyperbole from time to time, but this book, by a Pulitzer-winning science journalist for such esteemed venues as the New York Times and NPR, demystifies the hard sciences with depth and hilarity. I actually want to take a statistics class, and I am the slacker queen of math. (I had modest talent for it in high school, but no motivation. So I flunked out of calculus and never touched a math book again. This turn of events kept me away from majoring in a hard science, despite my love of all things biological. Admittedly, realizing this while reading Angier's introduction made for some sour grapes.) The Canon fully embodies the somewhat cheesy but heartfelt blurbs on the back jacket. It's rad.

filling in some gaps

First, and of minimal importance: the Cubs are doing quite well. Leading their division, donating several fiery arms and bats to the NL all stars, and only occasionally breaking my heart. I no illusions about the strong early and mid-seasons leading to inevitable heartbreak, but a girl can dream. That's what makes her a Cubs fan.

Anyway, I realized that this catch-as-catch-can blog doesn't really cover what I've been up to lately in any detail. So, an update. The new job - as an office manager in a 12-bed halfway house - treats me well. The clients (primarily homeless drug addicts, all men) are cordial, my coworkers are pretty interesting, and my hours are fairly flexible. That said, it's also pretty draining. Impulse control among the clients (and the occasional coworker) is lacking. Everything is URGENT. As the logistics gal, all of these demands fall to me. To say nothing of the lack of air conditioning in this sweat box. Damn August.

Family reunion number two commenced in Chicago, revolving around my grandfather's memorial service. My great-uncle, father, aunt, cousin and I all spoke, as well as some old friends and colleagues. I was surprised at the turn-out initially, but my grandpa was such a kind, intelligent, witty and generous man that I realized that he'd be remembered by many, many more. This was the first time I'd met some of these relatives. I met a very cool second cousin who seems to have a viable Broadway career, among other accomplished cousins and folks-once-removed.

I'm running. Boxing class starts in September, and (free!) yoga begins next week. I went vegetarian a few months ago and haven't looked back. The body is well on its way to detoxification after the abuse I put it through so far.

Presently reading The Red Tent. It's pretty disappointing. The time period fascinates me, but the writing is meh. I'm not wild about the biblical beget-fest or the aggrandizing of Earth Mama-ness beyond all reason. Still, I'll finish it. Ancient midwifery is kind of cool.

Law school may wait. There's a bit more youth to take advantage of before I consign my future to massive debt and a questionable career path. Still, it's in the cards.

fun fact

There are no Saints by the names of Eric or Erika (with any spelling). However, the Catholic saint whose feast day is my birthday is Saint Bibiana. She just so happens to the be the patron saint of hangovers, the mentally ill, the insane, and "single laywomen." I sort of wish that I were a lapsed Catholic so I could enjoy this trivia all the more.

I've been having some doubts about the Law School in 2009 plan. There seems to be an awful lot more to do while I'm young and my debt is minimal. Thoughts?

Also: Dark Knight? Easily the best Batman flick so far. Discussion of responsible use of power and law enforcement ethics aside, the writing was excellent and well buttressed by good-to-quite-good acting and editing worthy of The Bourne Ultimatum. Christian Bale, as I was saying to my movie-going companion last night, is easily my favorite Batman. He's as good of a bratty Bruce Wayne in public as he is a brooding Bruce Wayne as Batman. The performative elements of that character came across really, really well. Props, Chris Nolan. Mad props.

FYI

If you're telling me about Sen. Ted Stevens, it's pronounced in-dy-ted, not in-dick-ted. Also, to save you that first question, yes. I've heard about all of that.

the triumphant return

I'm back from Montana and the Sierras and definitely wish I were still lounging in, on and around beautiful mountain lakes. Not that being back in dear, sweet PDX is a shame. My workplace finally opened its doors for clients, and while I'm pretty limited in what I can report about that, I can surely say for now that it's going well. The only bumps (so far) have been administrative. So I continue to be the unofficial VOA Oregon bike messenger, but hey.

Lentil ravioli with ginger sauce tonight. I'll post the recipe if I don't screw it up too badly. Meantime, have some photos.

The elder generation of Whitaker cousins. Ad, me, Nick, Lisa.

Me and my cousin Patrick. Pato has three sisters, not pictured, who are amply documented on my flickr site. They're rad, but this was too cute to pass up.


Echo Lake in Montana. It's near Flathead in the Kalispell area.

In the Sierras, we hiked to this lake. I forget what it's called, but it's near Mt. Rose.


In other news, Ted Stevens was indicted. Not surprising, but I almost feel sorry for the doddering old fella.

VayCay.

Away for a week for some family time. I'll likely return with pictures and terse tales of tension. In the meantime, for those of you who haven't seen my pad, here's a summer summary.

check it, part deux

I can kind-of, sort-of swim. I'm not very good, but I don't freak out in the water anymore.

check it

http://portland.craigslist.org/mlt/npo/748478265.html

Things I've learned in the past week

Cops love to talk.

Saying, "I hope that's a coffee stain" in the world of inpatient drug treatment is apparently a pretty good line.

I can, given enough time, sew a hat. It can, given enough determination, be fairly cool-looking and durable.

Getting paid to chase a Jack Russell terrier around is perhaps the best part of this job. Especially if someone's playing Nick Drake at the time.

Petropolis by Anya Ulinich is damn good, and taking book recommendations from NPR is three for three. I really enjoy her word choice - it's playful and unusual. "...icy acne on the sidewalk..." still sticks out in my head. The characters have already broken my heart with their guilelessness and earnestness and I'm not yet halfway done.

Completely amazing.

I love librarians.

Veggie/vegan chili - attempt one

Chili Prototype

Four links Field Roast chorizo-style fake sausage
Two cans beans of choice (or a pre-soaked bulk equivalent) - half pinto and half black was tasty
One medium yellow onion
A bunch of garlic, chopped roughly
A green pepper, chopped into 1 inch pieces or so
A zucchini, chopped into thickish coins
A carrot, chopped into thickish coins
Whatever other veggies are sitting around the freezer needing to be used (frozen corn, chopped spinach, etc)
Dash cayenne
Dash cumin
Black pepper to taste
Avocado and sour cream/yogurt/substitute of choice for toppage

Put everything except the avocado and dairy/dairy substitute in a crock pot. Remember crock pots take forever and that you just got off work. Turn the crock pot on low. Mumble about how you don't want to eat dinner at 2:00 am and turn the crock pot on high. Leave it alone for a few hours, stirring occasionally. Realize that you should have drained the beans better since it's pretty soupy. Make a mental note to blog about it. Reproach self for overwhelming nerdiness. Come back to the pot eventually, checking to make sure the veggies haven't disintegrated. They haven't. Sweet. Serve with toppings and freeze the rest for subsequent dinners. Thank roommate profusely for use of crock pot. Have odd conversation about fish that can change their sex. Crack a 22 of Midnight Sun Sockeye Red IPA and hunker down for the night.

Ben Franklin's In-Grave Rotation Speed Hits All-time High

This just in: We're not quite done with the sacrifice of privacy for alleged security. The retool of FISA lets major mobile telecommunication companies off the hook for releasing consumer information to the government. My own carrier, Verizon, is among these lucky beneficiaries. Before I get too steamed, it's worth mentioning that the retool applies primarily (if not exclusively) to parties "reasonably believed" to be overseas. The blanket protections for the cell companies drives me crazy, but on the whole, Nancy Pelosi called it a "balanced bill" - not bad for a behind-closed-doors, bi-partisan effort. Nothing about this sits right with me.

Also, the Supreme Court ruled in favor of extending rights for employees who believe that they have been discriminated against based on age. Being young and green and new to the workplace, seeing the old hands with ample experience on the chopping block is troubling as is. I mean, that doesn't exactly give me much to look forward to.

Right. Legal affairs segment over. Let's talk about my body. My arm hurts from my first HPV vaccination (hooray for planned parenthood! hooray for Merck subsidizing shots for the uninsured! hooray for spongebob band-aids!), and plants are having sex in my face, to wit, i have mad hay fever. Isn't leaving Eugene and the Valley of Sickness supposed to fix that sort of thing?

I just discovered that Black Sheep Bakery has a bike-through coffee outpost on my way to work - hel-LO blueberry cornmeal muffins. I will replicate you in my kitchen and chow down appropriately. If only they carried better coffee...

I tried to pick up a comic book today (Tank Girl 2) and simply couldn't do it. What that means, I don't know, but it's troubling.

Get Smart - hell yeah. This kid watched the show on Nick at Nite like crazy and can't hardly wait for Steve Carrell to bring his amazing and Anne Hathaway to bring her not-quite-disconcerting doe eyes to one beloved waste of hours of my childhood.

The jury's still out on the new job. I mean, I can tell that it's going to be challenging in all the ways my previous gig was not, but I miss my AHMRT coworkers and the strange feeling of safety that was almost familial.

Speaking of family, my mother visited and my grandfather died in the same weekend. Not really coping, not really clear.

I want to write something quiet and profound about hope and failure, after an absolutely shattering and inspiring night at election central for an Oregon state legislature candidate who lost her bid. The journal entry I wrote in my head on the bike ride home was a paean to ambition, failure, and the toughness it takes to rebound from all of that. Some damn good turns of phrase in there. Shame I never wrote it down.

This journal entry turned blog post got sort of muddled with my more self-centered thoughts. It takes major league guts to pour yourself into something, not succeed, and navigate the fallout with dignity and courage. That's the sort of strength I aspire to because it's become extraordinarily evident that I will not ace every endeavor I undertake. Even though I'm growing accustomed to falling on my face, saddling up again has only become marginally easier. Still. I'll take that much.

So here's to courage in the face of (at least for my part) death of loved ones, grief of loved ones, friends coming and going, (new) employment anxiety, emotional instability, money troubles, impending law school admissions (or rejections), overwhelming generalized guilt, late fees, due dates, roommate shuffling, and, inevitably, women.

(Shit! My laundry!)

I'm the first to admit that the urge to blog/exhibit my life and thoughts/indulge myself in this medium comes and goes. Expect changes, though, and with those changes, content. Content of interest! More pictures! Less pseudo-profundity! Probably about the same amount of whining, navel-gazing, and wry commentary!

Cedar attacked another dog. She went berserk. I have to pay more than $700 in vet bills AND deal with my furry little maniac now. She's on a definite Strike One, but I don't know how many she gets until she's out.

It's very difficult to remind myself that this is not a failure on my part, that things like this happen, that I may well have to give her up and it won't entirely be my fault.

My grandfather's health continues to decline - I can't get ahold of my dad, who is in Chicago visiting him, for an update.

If bad things really do come in threes, then I'm going to hope for a disappointment along the lines of the Ducks losing the game on Sunday.

My dad flew to his hometown this afternoon because his father's health continues to deteriorate. The only person I've had a sensible, honest conversation with about all of this is my brother - for some reason, talking to my parents about it makes me check out. In fact, I keep checking out anyway. This may or may not be denial.

I have mosquito bites. Hooray for spring being on its way and all, but I thought I could get away with at least a few more months of not itching like crazy.

Meeting people in a new city is hard, but it's getting easier. I felt at home for a minute not too long ago. It was soothing.

Camera is still kaput. Not taking pictures is starting to have an effect. (In a weird way I'm grateful - I was starting to wonder if the creativity had drained from me entirely or if it had just been beaten back.)

to do

Overseas disaster relief.
Teaching English abroad.
Law school.
Find a damn date in this town.
Train Cedar into reasonable habits.
Train self into reasonable exercise/eating/caffeine/alcohol habits.
Laundry.
Learn Spanish.
Become comfortable and competent at work.
Visit grandparents in Chicago.
Road trip to family cabin in the Sierras.
Re-finish new table and add shelves to it.
Brew up a satisfactory red ale.
Live somewhere else for a spell.
Live in Portland for a spell.
Get over self enough to ask grandparents about family history.
Pick up the trumpet again and exceed prior level of proficiency.
Make that apron I keep talking about.
Use up the snap peas and spinach in the fridge (stir-fry?)
Read.
Write old friends.
Save dough for tattoos and vacations and emergencies.
Make dentist appointment.
Relax.
See Black Keys at the Crystal while NOT complaining about the Crystal.
Get over people and things I should have gotten over a while ago.
Hike Latourell Falls and Larch Mountain.

ETA: Send something to Grabman.
Find freelance work.
Chop wood.

snags

The pup bites occasionally - it's only been me and another dog (who was admittedly being a jerk) so far, but there's never a call for biting. I don't know what prompted her aggressive kick, and I don't know how to stop it. She's in doggie therapy (as much as I can afford, anyway, which isn't much), but I have to keep a fairly close eye on her, which is difficult and draining. Unpredictability around other dogs is not okay, but it's hard to figure a way to train her out of it. C agreed to take care of her for the weekend so I can get a break. I'm looking forward to friends, basketball, Bier Stein, VV&B, and perhaps a trip to the Reasonably Priced Comics Shop.

Work remains fast-paced and somewhat frustrating. I'm severely micro-managed and will be until I prove my mettle. The thing is, my immediate superior demands a standard of perfection on par with her 10+ years of experience. There's no way that's going to happen after a matter of months. Oy vey.

I had to dump my homebrew - it got infected. Need some better tubing and a sanitizer that doesn't give me chemical burns, which I plan to procure in Eugene.

We're over the winter hump - theoretically it will rain less soon. Hooray!

Grabman: I keep losing your address. Please to email?

music?

Anyone know of any good bluesy, folksy Americana type artists? (J, I'm looking your way...) I need recommendations.

More dog gush

I figured out why I kept missing my bus in the mornings - the morning belly rub hasn't been factored into my AM schedule since it became ritual.

(Yeah, yeah, I know. Total barf etc.)

Scotch-guard me, I'm clumsy

I should have been issued a poncho at my bedroom door today, Sea World-style. Spilled coffee on myself. Cedar drooled on my leg substantially while I ate breakfast. Someone else spilled coffee on me on the bus. Naturally, it's raining. And now, at work, I've upended my water onto my lap. Liquids are very enthusiastic about my person today.

in a staring at the snow sort of mood

Coming back to Alaska ceased to be "coming home" a while ago, but it still holds the comfort and nostalgia of any long-awaited return. My parents' house naturally hasn't changed much (nor have they - a few more grey hairs, a bit closer to retirement) and swallowed me up as it always had. I spent a night in a house on a mountain, walked along the Knik Arm alone and around the greenbelt with my dad, played cribbage, read. The mellow mood - interspersed with grandparental invasions - has been pleasant, and I'm surprising myself with how sad I am to leave. (The Alaska ACLU is looking for an executive director. Obviously, I'm massively underqualified, but the idea of making my home into a more humane place does carry some martyric appeal. Not so much food for thought as a snack to scrutinize.)

I'm such a daddy's girl, and I'm not sure my dad totally catches that. That's okay. We did a little birdwatching on our walk and from our kitchen. The suet attracts any number of fiesty little songbirds, the names of which I've evidently always known.

Saw a snowshoe hare in the woods behind the University - the first I've ever seen in the city. Also, a grazing moose, which, to most Alaskans, is hardly worth mentioning, but it was the first I'd seen since 2004, I think. That's a long time, really.

Natalie loaned me a book, The Delicacy and Strength of Lace, that has renewed my reverence for writing. It is the collected correspondence between Leslie Marmon Silko and James Wright - two phenomenal American writers who wrote each other with such affection and profundity that I had trouble breathing at times. New Year's Resolution: write letters again. Lots of them. Even if no one replies.

One thing James Wright said that resonated deeply: "For man must realize that his capacity for love gives him no right to demand that anyone love him in return. Not anyone. Not even God. I have found that a hard thing to face, but there is something in it that goes beyond pain." I've been turning this over in my mind since I read it. The most difficult thing to do is to simply love, I think, free of obligation or fear or guilt or expectation. Hope of love in return is one thing, but the assumption that it will be reciprocated is an abuse of this amazing capacity (and that's truly the best word, rich with imagery) to/for/of love that we have and share.

Happy New Year. Please write in the coming year knowing that I am doing my damnedest to write back.

wait...

Not getting a few weeks of vacation at the end of every quarter is going to hurt. I'm already depressed about this. (Some post-trip let-down and illness doesn't really make that any better, but still.)

Alaska in 2 days.

welcome to Seattle, where the sun don't shine

My camera has officially bitten it. Five years is a long stretch for a digital camera, so while I'm sad to see it go, I'm not exactly shocked. So long Dinosaur Battleship! (Named for its age and durability by Trish, myself and most likely a beer or two.) It couldn't have picked a worse weekend to croak. Ample dog and girl photo ops in a pretty, pretty city. Seattle intimidates me less every time I go there. It's still massive and the lay of the land is still kind of a mystery (where the hell is Ravenna and why can't I seem to find it again?) Hitting up the Sound sucker-punched me - I know I always miss the ocean, but I didn't know I missed it so constantly and with such a bottom-of-my-stomach urgency. For all of Portland's charms, the lack of ocean and mountains (no, MOUNTAINS) really does set me into a lull.

So yes. I had a marvelous weekend. Cedar did too - causing a ruckus is one of her favorite activities.

Pup pics

By and large, she's a good dog. Excitable, energetic and eager to please. I need to be more of a hard-ass to get her to take me seriously. That's not easy for me, particularly when I feel guilty about leaving her alone for stretches of time. Still, though, she's mostly housebroken and extremely loving. Her name is Cedar.

There are projects, side projects, ongoing projects and new projects. The evolution from complete boredom to complete bemusement ("where did the last two weeks go?") is nigh upon me, and I wonder how long my new rut will suit me.

Thoughts of leaving the country again arise. Thoughts of law school persist. On top of all of it is the knowledge that I will likely live out most of my days on the West Coast, but I'll surely disappoint myself if "most" turns out to mean "all."

That having been said, I'm starting the long, slow process of entrenching myself somewhere new. With the projects. With the responsibilities and obligations. This is not the life I imagined ten years ago, or even ten months ago. But ten days ago, today would have been believable, perhaps an improvement.

Adulthood may crash in my lap sooner than I thought. Ick.

In less purple prose: I'm volunteering, making my house a home, embarking on new kitchen and garden projects, wrangling furniture for our half-furnished house, learning to knit, and collecting the supplies and wits and funds necessary to get the dog I've been raving about for months. My baby brother visits for Thanksgiving. I go back to Alaska for Christmas for the first time in three years. In the back of my throat and the well of my stomach, something shifts every time I think about it all.

Realistically, pictures of the house will come when pictures of the dog do.

The house front is moving more slowly than I'd like -- it's looking like we won't move in until next weekend at the earliest. Frustrating. I'm sick of making excuses as to why I'm not moved in already and I'm growing weary of the long-term houseguest situation.

In less whiny news, I get to see the New Pornographers tonight! I've had my ticket for about three months now -- can we say mailing list? The full line-up will evidently be playing -- Neko and Dan inclusive. Needless to say, I'll be at the front of the crush, dancing and screaming.

Fixed up my bike a little today. New stem and seat post -- the thing actually fits me now. The operation took a lot longer than I'd have liked. To the tune of an hour and a half longer, but I'm not terribly patient. Or adept with a wrench apparently. At any rate, it's taller and road-ready, if a bit in need of some tweaking.

Cafes in SE Portland have been conspiring to play music that will maximize my moodiness. The sudden cloudy turn has made it even more clear that not only does everything in this town (and the world?) revolve around me, but the whole operation is trying to make me grumpy. Not possible when a sweet, long-awaited concert is on the horizon, I'm afraid.

Last tidbit: a photo of mine has been published. See!

various.

The mistranslations in some of these documents I review at work can be pretty thought-provoking. Usually, the intent is preserved, but the wording is at a strange nexus of clarity and cumbersome-ness. For example, a mechanical device won't be quieter or reduce noise, it will endeavor to "improve silence." The idea of silence as a sliding scale, something that can be optimized, appeals to me in a weird way.

In more exciting, less navel-gazerly news, my roomies and I found a house and we'll hopefully move in this weekend. It's in southeast, right around the corner (literally -- less than a block) from where I'm staying now. My commute to work remains 10-15 minutes. The bars I like (and the E-room) are still comfortably close. Ahhh. Damn, it feels good to be a resident.

It occurred to me today that this is the first September 11th that has fallen on a Tuesday since the towers fell. This is not insignificant, at least not to me. That Tuesday, I worked at the Anchorage Daily News after school and saw a frenzied newsroom that I can't forget. That Tuesday was one of many tuesdays of my junior year of high school -- Tuesday was my favorite day of my favorite year of an otherwise middling-to-shitty episode of life.

This Tuesday is one of what will be one of many like others. I'm working my way toward a schedule again, and Tuesdays herald staff meetings instead of the best block schedule of the week (periods 1,2,4 and 5 -- human anatomy, pottery, drawing and AP European history -- sad that the only reason I remember this is because of the attacks.) At any rate, watching the protesters in Pioneer Courthouse Square while munching my leftovers got me thinking about watching that terrifying footage over and over in school, until I asked my history teacher to let me leave.

The catering gig (50 people, most of them trashed by 9:00) went off well. I've never poached so many goddamn pears in my life.

My job is difficult to get the hang of, since there are so many nit-picky details involved in filing patent applications. Who knew? Coworkers are super-cool, though, and I love my daily bike commute. I made a friend on the path on friday; we talked about shoes.

I missed Musicfest NW largely out of my own flakiness. Rilo Kiley is coming back soon, though, and Mirah plays on Wednesday (I think) so I'm happy to save my dough. Also: NEW PORNOGRAPHERS! SEPTEMBER 16! Somebody had better join me on this one.

Today is a lovely sunny day.

Posting will continue to be light until the weather turns. It's not that nothing is going on, rather, my interest in this blogamadoo wanes for the moment. work email can be given on request. It gets checked every other moment from 8:30-4:30 Mon-Fri. Sadly. Mrrh.

erica, road warrior princess

Well, I logged 2,000 miles in five days. My ass has long since ceased its complaints and has settled into acceptance that it may never be the same following altogether too many hours in a Chevy Cobalt (perhaps the most uncomfortable economy car on the market.) Physical complaints aside, the trip was fantastic. Baby bro and I created a new game: whenever one of us does or says something that reminds the other of one of our parents, the other sibling doles out a point in either the "Dad" or the "Mom" column. Being overly polite or diplomatic in a situation that hardly calls for any kind of decorum? Point in the mom column. Cheapskatery of any kind? Dad column. That one goofy look? Mom. That other goofy look? Dad. There are no winners and losers, only the constant reminder of kin.

It seems that the bitchy older sister versus bratty younger brother dynamic gracefully retired in favor of a steady stream of dry banter, NPR and REI fandom and tentative airing of anxieties. The bro and I have plenty in common and enjoy each other's company -- in typing that, I'm struck simultaneously by "how did THAT happen?" and "fucking FINALLY." We even wear the same pants. Different colors, but 32x32, man. The size of sibling bonding.

Montana gave me tons of hiking opportunities, although I didn't have my camera for the prettiest two forays. A couple nice snaps to tide y'all over.

Near Butte




Skeptical Brotherface, west of Helena

HA! I win Portland!

Halfway, anyway. I now work as an office assistant in a patent and trademark law firm. Now all I need is a home, and the rest will fall into line. Plus, you guys don't have to endure my unemployed whining! The employed whining will be much more...financially solvent.

Leaving on monday to road trip the bro to Montana State. Pictures upon return.

Like most of the spiritually bereft, I take my occasional off-putting, mystic dreams rather seriously. This perhaps misguided approach to the intangible is neither consistent nor rewarding, but it is how I roll. Last night, my grandfather took my on a guided tour of my life at present. He was beatific, shrouded in a white glow that extended to everything he touched. This got a little bit irritating, but I was awfully intrigued by his demeanor – that him-but-not-quite-him thing that dream people do – so I didn’t mention it. He was not encouraging, not judgmental, not bossy; in fact, Papa eschewed the entire gamut of support and advice I’ve so far received from Baby Boomers and Greatest Generationals. That I’m very, very lost only heartened him. He got angry, though, which I’ve rarely (if ever) seen; when I turned inward to self-pity, he called me out. Not for the reasons I tend to scorn self-pity, either, but because in doing so I essentially disregarded the love and care that had brought me to the present moment. To feel sorry for Poor Me was to ignore all of the people I am so very, very lucky to have near me.

My family is more or less intact, functional and okay with the homo factor. Adam and I talk as much as our personalities and timetables will allow. Unforgettable people in every region of this country and in several far-flung lands drop lines to say hey. Sometimes it frustrates me when folks don’t call me back or when the blog appears for want of readers. That’s immaterial, though. Short term. I am incredibly lucky. One, even one as spiritually bereft as I, could say blessed. Thank y'all. It's a terribly impersonal forum, but I feel like writing is the most accurate and articulte way to get these thoughts out and the blog is, well, very convenient. Had I the will to subject you to it, I'd give an alphabetical run-down of why everyone in my life is awesome. (A is for Areli, whose love for Narbles and NPR is forever and inspiration... and so on.) I'll put it all in my will. Read it at the wake in an Erica Voice.

My mother sent me a book in the mail, saying it reminded her of me. For all the awkard nuances of our relationship, my mother and I can be on the same wavelength from time to time. My jury’s still out as to whether or not getting this book – Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert – in the mail with a maternal note constitutes a moment of communion or of awkwardness. So far, I could take or leave the book, but in places the tone of the thing sounds an awful lot like my Perfect World columns. It’s a syntax thing; it must be. The upshot: my mother may or may not think I’m having a spiritual crisis – not that I’m affirming or denying that, but still – and may or may not think that I should write a book about it and market it to the Oprah’s Book Club set. Does anybody else’s mother do this? Does anybody else over-analyze their parents and themselves like this? I need to get out more.

The Bicycle Thief is not the greatest movie to watch while unemployed, although I don’t have kids or any Italian whatsoever, so there’s still a remove. (Shit, I think my bike's unlocked, actually.) Reading Cormac McCarthy while pining for the dramatic landscapes of my own Heimat is likewise a bit of a downer, but in that artsy sort of way. Would that I could write like that, or even half as well.

Spent a good chunk of today with power tools and gardening materials. Making myself useful to my hostess today involved making breakfast (pancakes), using power tools (skill saw), breaking up garden brush (rosemary and an old Xmas tree), and sweeping. Windows are next.

Tomorrow: LSAT studying, waiting by the phone for news of houses and jobs, calling family in Helena so as not to totally gate-crash. Email both sets of grandparents, cousin. Take Multnomah country food handler’s test. Buy a day planner. This shit’s getting ridiculous.
Tuesday: Tri-met job fair and Q center volunteer meeting. Call parents? More LSAT. Buy a day planner for reals. Windows?

blogging is self-indulgent and that's why i do it.

-INTENSE WHINING ALERT-

Job searching sucks. House hunting sucks. I'm sick of being blown off.

On the plus side, the biking lifestyle is already making some changes to the shape of my calves.

Mother keeps hinting that I could go back to Anchorage. That feels like quitting, and be damned if I'm going to quit one more Big Thing because the going got tough.

Adam arrives on the 17th, and we leave for Montana early on the 20th. I'm looking forward to getting out of my pocket of SE for a little bit and spending some time with Boy.

Bad news from a good friend. Bought smokes, couldn't bring myself to finish a one.

House-sit ends today. I'm losing the beautiful garden and house I'd had all to myself.

Schmoozed with two Mercury writers and a couple of bloggers last night. Not especially fun, although I think I faked it well. Free drinks and food from L helped. Just seeing L helped.

And I am incredibly depressed. The days are long and full of nothing, and I'm too impatient to enjoy them. Wondering vaguely why I ever leave comfortable places.

Job searching and house hunting are tedious enough -- I'll spare you.

Fun things I've done lately have included making tons of salsa, entertaining various folks at the house-sit, readingreadingreading, hanging with my aunt (in town for a few), biking my calves into submission, frisbee, First Thursday (holy free champagne, Batman! Plus, floral camo manpris. I didn't know what to think), and the glory that is netflix.

M and I had an IKEA adventure today. My IKEA experience is limited, but I clearly recall a visit to the Phoenix location last Christmas wherein I lost my aunt and mother somewhere in the linens and felt very much like crying to an employee. Place is intimidating. For all that, it was fairly tame -- crowded, but tame. M introduced me to Bilar, which is an amazing marshmallow candy bit that tastes like condensed childhood. Not in a creepy way.

Off to transcribe interviews and wash windows. I want a real job.

SWL ISO job

I hope my present unemployment (no word from the temp agency, which is irritating beyond measure) doesn't start to reflect poorly on these applications for houses I'm trying to fill out. New Seasons is hiring. Hell, I could telemarket. Another damn tyranny of options situation over here.

The move was more or less smooth, the last nights in Eugene festive. I'm excited to settle into independence up here, but getting there is not exactly going to be a breeze. Unemployment and homelessness are still uncomfortable and unresolved.

Although I suppose I could be a little easier on myself considering I've been here for all of two days now.

Also: read the latest Harry Potter. My only comment until anti-spoiler fury dies down: favorite passage is on page 644. You'll know which one I mean. I giggled for about ten minutes picturing Maggie Smith in there.

To the left, to the left

Slowly moving my life into boxes, which is either a joyous or depressing project. There's so much to miss in Eugene. That felt strange to write, but I'm glad to get out of town before I've worked it dry of all possible affection. Eugene's not used up, and I know I'll be back.

spam, mole, ice cream...

Possibly the best spam sender/subject combination in a while.

From: "Mai Colon"
Subj: The former paints a more vivid picture of the tank top than the latterporn

Backing up to the weekend, the mole endeavor was a success. Jenaya and I concocted some bitchin' bread pudding as well, and Ryan taught me how to make tortillas. I haven't made too many dishes that complex and had them enjoyed by so much good company. Makes me ever more sad to leave Eugene.

As did the whiskey and ice cream evening. We made about half of the sundae menu sound dirty (Kathy's Pink Surprise and the Gold Nugget were favorites. The Pearl Street joint actually has something called a Fudge-ana, which I'm not sure can be pronounced with maturity.) Meg has a few pictures, including one of our birthday "twins," John and Trish. (They're not related and it wasn't anyone's birthday. I can't go in that place without a drink or three in me, though. Too much creepy wholesomeness. I expect evil ringmasters to start pushing over-sized lollipops at me.)

Getting my OLCC on tomorrow. Woo.

Compiling a list of things to do in Eugene before I leave has become daunting. I will miss days like today with amiable cooking, jokes over crummy pizza, biking in the cooler hours, Sweet Life goodies. Moving makes me sentimental -- moreso than usual, even. (Screw you, Firefox spellcheck. Moreso is too a word.)

If I'm less than tenacious in keeping in touch down the road, it's not for lack of love.

I've learned and re-learned a few things while getting back into biking with traffic these past few days.

If I...

-make flirty eyes at older dykes, they always let me in.
-give hippie-types a big grin and a thumbs up, they always let me in.
-take middle-aged men as seriously as they take their vehicles, they always let me in.
-am anything but the pinnacle of bike safety and road rules, hardcore bikers will glower and cut me off.
-bike with wet hair, hilarious 'dos result.
-adjust my saddle properly, I can avoid unpleasant bruising.

I'd forgotten a few things

Topping the list of late: why I stopped buying Tom's of Maine deodorant in the summer, what warm weather does to me (mania for the outdoors and consequent sunburn, desires for charred meat, that sort of thing) and the realization that I do, in fact, have muscles. Many of them are sore. I've had the new bike less than a week and I've logged something like 30 miles. Considering the (sad) shape I'm in, not bad.

Testing the waters on this one: Law school. Down the road a piece, natch. Civil rights and labor law specifically. Thoughts?

If I didn't mention it before, my days in Eugene are officially numbered. Moving Day: July 20. Sometimes that feels too soon, other times too late. Which probably means it's as good as any date.

Reading! So much reading. Chewed on some major Faulkner for a while, but I've since moved on to Ragtime. I think this is my fifth or sixth attempt on that one. Determination!

meet the new lady in my life!

I call her Amelia because DAMN! does she fly. The affair has only just begun. Prepare yourselves for imminent bike nerdiness. Cheap, too. Found the poor girl on Craigslist and biked out to the boondocks to save her. She's been approved by the Maarty himself.

Also: I leave for Portland July 20th. There will be some kind of (very cheap) departure festivities, possibly protracted over several days. Until then, I'm wilfully unemployed and living off of cheap starch and apples.

The job search continues, although the Tenuous Internship grows more solid. They're looking for an office manager as well, and ideally, I'd be filling both positions. I met the staff while in Portland. They seem like a generally cool bunch; definitely a computery crowd.

Met some queers and some politicos while in the PDX. I can't wait to move there. Not so much for the folks I met, but the atmosphere that engenders meeting people so easily.

And I went clothing shopping, finally. Thanks to the lovely love that is Katharine, I'm okay in the trousers department, and now tops are finally replenished. Thrift!

now what?

As of June 16, I'm an unemployed college graduate. Flitting off to a wedding that I don't especially want to go to this weekend, although it's in Portland which is some consolation -- the apartment and job searches begin in earnest now. (Actually, the wedding itself is in Hillsboro, which kills me. So far! No car! Drat, I say.)

I've got all this time now, and it's confusing me. What the hell do I do with myself now? The potential internship looks less promising day by day, and I can only hang in Eugene living off of savings for so long.

On the other hand, I can have hobbies again. Woo!

This was going to be more interesting, but the thought of Now What? is pretty tedious and all-consuming these days.

My last finals week begins today. Asses will be kicked, papers written, beers drunk. Until then, GOD DAMN IT.

question

culinary.

do y'all say kyew-linary or cull-inary? I've been teased for the former. It was said to be "provincial." (which I am totally NOT!)

inconvenient!

This final set of finals is seriously cutting into my leisure time. I'm trying to finish Absalom, Absalom! over here.

The Tofu Challenge

or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Soybean

These days, I'm tofu's bitch. I drain, I press, I cook separately, I use extra firm (we're talking curry and stir-fry material here,) but no dice. It's gloppy at worse, squidgy at best. All I want is to be able say with confidence, "Why yes! I can cook tofu!"

Not that I'm cutting meat -- never that. Tofu is simply another ingredient to add to my repertoire. Plus, many omnivores such as myself don't know how to treat the stuff. It's a point of culinary pride.

Plus, a huge percent of the dating pool I'm swimming in leans veggie. There. I said it.

Anyway, I'm having a fuck of a time with this curdmass problem of mine. Any tips from y'all?

Also: frozen edamame has sustained me for a week now. Soybeans, fun fact to know and share, are acceptably spelled both "soy bean" and "soybean."

This post brought to you by the National Beef Council.

only mildly badass, but still.

hand tattoos be hand tattoos.

hamsters is nice, but tattoo artists is nicer

Saturday. 3 pm. Mild badassery gonna go down.

Despite not actually having all that much spare time, thesis completion has certainly engendered a "whatever" sort of attitude toward other classwork. By all accounts, I should be flipping the hell out because of the backlog of tedious reading and projects to be done. Instead, I'ma post pictures of Alaska.



Edit: problems loading. Go here.

I passed! With honors! Thesis is over! Beer!

that was today.

one step closer to graduating and getting that dog.

tattoos are in the works. consultation tomorrow. I've been keeping this somewhat under my hat. but yes. tattoos.

I'm still upset about the bears -- refer to prior entry.

inappropriate use of second person

You know those days where you wake up two hours later than you intended? Then you avoid the real work you have to do (perhaps because you're debilitatingly anxious about a certain thesis defense the next day) by making ANGRY MIX 2007 and making breakfast out of tortillas and stolen peanut butter. Or maybe you try to take a shower with your socks still on. Myspace will probably tell you things you didn't want to know anyway, while insisting that beefcake-y match.com ads are your thing. (Seriously? market research? anyone?)

And do you remember that time you totally danced a kink into your back at Queer Prom? It was worth it, but now you feel about 30 years older than you actually are.

Check it: you've only been awake for 48 minutes. And they're going to dye the bears. BEARS ARE NOT HARD TO IDENTIFY. THEY ARE BEARS.

my first and last frontier

in Alaska. As ever, it's strange to be here, to be home. I'm always struck by how ugly this city is and how attached I am to it (despite common sense and unpleasant memories.) Phase one of cleaning out my room was a success -- a few old t-shirts and hats will come home with me. Phase two, the books, will take longer.

Spending time with my brother this trip has been so fucking cool. He's funny and awkward and pretty damn bright. I like him.

Pictures to come.

(notes to self: junk email, snoop dog, bikesbikesbikes, and the mountains.)

it's done.

The thesis, that is. I defend May 22, at 11:30am. If you're a Eugener and available, ask me where and attend! I'll be dressed nicely for a change and geeking out in front of a live audience.

FINALLY.

"Bad vomit."

...and that's how I spent my saturday. Trying not to dwell on the hike in the sunshine and DoublePlusGood action that I missed.

Also, I'm the second or third to last person on the planet to join myspace, but I did it after much cajoling. so there's that. puke and murdoch.

the week 5 shuffle

My brain is, in fact, melting. Burn-out manifests itself so forcefully these days, I occasionally smell smoke. Midterms have not treated me kindly, and I'm really, really ready to be made tired by something that's not an essay or some crap in German. Graduation is so close...

Thanks to M, I went to the Decemberists show gratis (hooray for elephant guest passes!) and saw quite the audience participation spectacle. Maybe it was the substances, but I didn't find the show terribly engaging even though Colin Meloy was inciting dance rebellion and working the crowd with something like desperation. Also: giant whale. Maybe it was the profusion of prog rock/jam band moments -- I'm into the D-rists and I'm into Emerson, Lake and Palmer,* but I didn't expect to see the two meet sonically at the Macdonald last night. It wasn't good or bad, just something I hadn't anticipated; I couldn't quite lose myself in the thing for some reason, and I'm trying to figure out why. Not having heard any of the new album (except the omnipresent Valencia song) couldn't have helped.

Breaking from thesis right now. For those of you in Eugene free at 11:30 on tuesdays, come to my defense. May 22.

And women are nothing but trouble.

*What? I don't believe in musical skeletons in playlist closets. Cribbing from M, the phrase "guilty pleasures" implies guilt. So there, music snobbery.

outta here again

Portland-bound. Maybe not the brightest idea, but it's got to happen. All things being equal, I'd like to look at the other Potential Home City.

got a few comments back from the thesis advisor, in other news. "This is MA level work." !!

MS 224 didn't hire me. Welcome back, doubts. Make yourselves at home.

Apparently, my lesson "showed [my] potential," but class management was lacking. I could have told them that. I'll likely have to teach demo lessons in all of my interviews -- if possible, I'm even more intimidated now than I was before. Damn it. I've never cried about a fucking JOB before.

EDIT: Not that the doubts haven't been a long time coming. They're starting to mount, not as a matter of self-doubt (although that's certainly an element,) but doubting whether or not I want to do this altogether. I'm hard-pressed to come up with a reason why Teach for America is a compelling option. Making a list of pros and cons has, over the course of a few hours, resulting in a staggering mountain of cons. What am I doing with myself? Why? THE FUTURE IS LAME.

FURTHER EDIT: considering I spent the first three years of university (to say nothing of the many cogent years prior) saying that I'd never be an educator, the sudden decision to teach perhaps ought to give me pause. It's hard to illustrate how beyond second thoughts I am, how doubts have rapidly galvanized into regrets, how I've made NYC into some kind of Saving the Children Fantasy Camp where I'll be totally happy no matter what. I didn't think about this much before. "hey! health insurance! awesome!" is kind of how it went down initially. Damn me for not knowing myself. And damn the Cubs and their losing streak.

but hooray for student loan checks! and sunshine! and new CDs/retail therapy!

also: a bird shat in my hair. C said it's good luck.

Kid E's first conference

This whole weekend has been a lesson in staying my own awkwardness. Never terribly adept at conversation when meeting new people (see also: my father), I've run the gamut of venues at which to "network" -- conference rooms, bars, hoity toity restaurants, beaches, fire pits. While my "network" has only minimally grown -- just as well -- I've made somewhat minor strides in chatting with strangers who intimidate me. Like Jonathan Lethem. Who sat at our table and was largely engaged with the musical obscurefest going on round that neck of the woods. I got some good shots in when conversation turned to Batman, but get a bunch of geeky and PUBLISHED academics together and set them loose... fangirls like me have trouble keeping up with the sheer force and quantity of the "when I met Tina Weymouth" variety. See M for a more comprehensive account of the nerve-wracking drive(mart) and other more eloquent bits.

That said, I'm having a blast. A mass geek-out? Hells yes. I'll even submit a paper once I get up the nerve. I mean hell, there was free beer at one point.

Likewise, hanging out with old friends and friends of old friends has lead to some escapades such as hanging out on a beach listening to a didgeridoo jam session on 4/20 and wandering about Discovery Park, trying to avoid childrens.

Moral of the story: the Experience Music Project is the ugliest building I've ever seen. The Science Fiction Museum's space croissant is bitchin', though.

now with less whining!

Despite the fact that I'm looking at spending three unplanned hours at Newark Liberty Airport and the night in Sea-Tac, I'm shockingly un-grumpy. This New York/New Jersey weekend has been something else. Early mornings and commutes (up by ugh:00, into the city and hour and change later, emerging from the fog on the subway, arriving at my South Bronx interview by 8:15, my Brooklyn test by 7:30) gave way to plodding around a city that I could get used to. Hit four of the five boroughs. Missed Queens, and Staten Island might not fully count since I only drove through it, but still not so bad. Overview: City - yes, Jersey, hell no.

The interview went reasonably well. Checking my email the night before, I found out that all of my frantic lesson planning for an elaborate classroom debate was for nought. They assigned me a lesson, and a math lesson at that. Parallel and perpendicular lines, to be precise, for a class of special ed 7th graders. They were pretty sweet -- shy and reluctant to answer at first, but they warmed up. As I was leaving, one kid asked me if I was going already. A good sign, I think. It wasn't a perfect lesson by any means; I made the rookie mistake of spending too much time conferring with each kid and some of them got restless. But no riots. I hope I get the job -- the school is small and well-run. It's a middle school of SCIENCE! apparently. MS 224. For the moment, I'm excited.

The exams petrified me, but they weren't as bad as I expected either. A lot of general knowedge sorts of questions.

Going back further, I haven't written anything about the awesomeness of late, such as Jenaya's phenomenal pig roast, my father's visit to Eugene or any of the miscellaneous tomfoolery I've been up to when not frantically studying. To round up: massive pig + good folks + my awkward father + SO MUCH PIE = best birthday party in a long, long time. That tenderloin chunk haunts my dreams, as does the chocolate bourbon pecan pie. It was dreamy. The parental visit was pleasant and laid back, much like my dad. We hit all the Eugene highlights: Bier Stein, Sweet Life, Hendricks park, aforementioned pig roast. I think it was strange for my dad to see me on my turf, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. Since then, I've been getting a lot of "you and your father are the same person" sorts of comments. In other news, L came down for a mermaid omlette and a photo op and 10 cent beers. John and I played a lot of N64. Lincoln House. you know.

Although I think New York will be pretty awesome, it's becoming eminently clear that I love Oregon. Portland owns my heart, but Eugene has endeared itself to me as well. This year has been fantastic, owing to the population of my world -- new and old members both -- and those incredible Oregon springs and those incredible Oregon beers. There's an unshakable atmosphere. I dig it. The biggest misgivings I have about TFA are related to leaving my friends and my new home. Big cities are fun, but I get intimidated and restless when the only trees around are requisite sickly roadside saplings. This is really just a roundabout way of saying to myself, "I'll come back."

NYC tomorrow - sunday. Seattle next weekend. Montana after that. Final thesis draft by April 30. My little bro's graduation in Anchorage May 15. Defense on May 21. Graduation in June. Moving to NYC eight days after. Eighteen academic credits.

"you seem tense."

yep. I just learned THIS MORNING that I need to concoct a 30-45 minute lesson for my interview on Friday (by the way, I apparently have an interview -- think of TFA as a placement service rather than an employer.) In South Bronx. Commuting from fucking jersey. between this and the certification exam, I'm pretty well freaked out.

okay, rant over. needed that.

heads up

This will be excellent. Tell your friends.

THANK GOD

Before:

(Courtesy of the Amazing Kelly)

After:


SPRING BREAK!

I take altogether too much pleasure in perusing the OED.

The Term That Wouldn't Die is almost dead. Just in time to watch the Oregon game on Friday, I might add.

Also, I found a small jar of raspberry-chocolate goo in the back of the fridge that is just as delicious now as it was last summer. Sugar and alcohol definitely battle it out for the title of Favorite Preservative.

no verbosity till brooklyn.

given how this year is shaking out, that my become quite literal. sadly.

Oregon is number 3 seed in their bracket. I need to write 3 pages per day in order to have a draft by spring break. If I finish on time, the Ducks will probably take the NCAA championship. That's logical, right?

trying not to flip my top over this draft. trying really hard.

UPDATE: Holy new distraction, Batman. This is one of those "why didn't anyone tell me about this sooner" cum "I'm glad I found this now, since it's already cutting madly into worktime" type situations.

Both the abbreviation madness and the leggings need to stop, ps.

grumble grumble thesis grumble

I might not see the light of day for a while, on account of these well-lit days I've been enjoying lately. Got yelled at by campus po-lice for climbing a tree. anyway. time to be boring.

housekeeping

It's been a rather big week. The biggest news is still pretty big news. Having resigned myself to TfA rejection, I was starting to get excited about a move to PDX, being a working stiff in my favorite US city. Still. Opportunity and all. Essentially, I'm disappointed that I must make this decision myself and that circumstances will not make it for me. (Sidenote: My procrastinatory activities of choice have been things like google-mapsing Bedford-Stuyvesant and looking at online sped pedagogy resources. My mind is made up, it seems.)

In totally unrelated news, I got a call from Insurance Dude about my settlement. I think they're lowballing me. Well, they're an insurance company. Of COURSE they're lowballing me. It will take some courage on my part to lob the offer (medical costs + lost wages + $1500, which seems awfully low for a month and a half where I described my condition as "made of pain" -- plus it's a major insurance company who can definitely afford to throw me a bone.) At least the ball is rolling on this, after all this damned waiting.

My baby brother got accepted to Montana State with a bitchin' scholarship! AND he's still seeing his girlfriend! I'm ever so proud of that kid. Although the fact that he's a looming, red-headed giant is still hard to get over. Over the past four years, he's grown 6 inches each winter and summer.

interesting conversation with my folks the other night. Neither of them (teachers both) are too wild about the TfA thing. My mother especially. I get the impression that she fell into teaching and never shook herself out once she realized that she wanted to do other things. It's a mom-ish "realize your potential" cum "don't take the first job that comes along because it's the first job that comes along" cum "don't get shot in the inner city" sort of schtick. Since I know her well enough to parse these things, I didn't really take it the wrong way. But naturally, the follow-up email I get that tells me she's unbelievably proud of me made me cry in the library.

Dad's just jazzed.

Just finished Tricked by Alex Robinson. Check it out. L, I mean you especially. The plot's a bit predictable, but the characterization and formal bits are used very judiciously, I think.

And because it's time for my yearly meme/daily procrastination (von Jenaya:

Five question interview, with personally tailored questions! I know y'all aren't meme-ers, but if you leave your name and number, I'll shoot you five questions of your own, etc. Thus, the circle of life continues.

1. Why did you choose to study at UO?
At the time, I was drawn to the journalism program. In high school, I co-edited the teen section of the Anchorage Daily News for just under two years, and really got the news bug bad. That all changed after I realized that I couldn't stomach corporate journalism and didn't have the faith in myself to stick with the indie press ideal. Incidentally, UO was the only university I applied to openly. Secretly, I sent off photo and creative writing portfolios to several art schools (didn't even tell my girlfriend, my best friend -- I've never kept a secret so well) and was soundly rejected across the board. Plus, UO's cheap(ish) and not in Alaska.
2. What's the most fun you've ever had?
That would be a toss-up between this beautiful autumn day I spent at the Vienna zoo last October or all the time I spent with Adam in Arizona last Christmas. Moving out and aging was the best thing ever for our siblinghood. If I think about it, I'll probably come up with a dozen other things, but those two really stand out. Perhaps because they're so wholesome.
3. Who are you more like - your father, or your mother? How so?
Though I've been finding myself using my mother's turns of phrase lately (which is startling), I'm definitely a lot more like my father. We physically resemble each other, for starters. We're both fairly spacey and goofy, we have a tendency to get very anal about planning-intensive ventures like travel, we're both adept with foreign languages, we've got the same sense of humor, we're "fairly chill sorts" as John puts it, we like the same music, we don't like to rush life, we're both extremely protective of my mother and Adam... the list goes on. Also: both NPR podcast fiends. And hiking ADDICTS.
4. What's your favorite thing to cook, and why?
Probably my blue burgers because they're a fantastic excuse to pull out all the stops, health-wise. They're so massive that sides are an impossibility. Although anything that involves a lot of chopping with a good knife works for me. and the old iPod, of course.
5. If you had to choose one alcoholic beverage to drink for the rest of your life, what would it be? Seeing as I probably can't get away with just saying "beer," I'll have to go with a Bombay Sapphire gin and tonic. I love beer, and life without it is not really a thought I relish, but I can enjoy a B-Saph G&T in any season. The flavors are complex enough to keep me interested, but it's not too froofy. Beer selection is a mood thing.

lastly, I'm sick too. I blame Eugene. According to my old boss, the Owyhee (I think) called the mid-valley "the Valley of Sickness." They don't exactly advertise THAT on the UO website.

I think I just won FutureQuest

I'm in. TFA will send me to New York City to teach special ed, if I so desire.

My hands won't stop shaking.

The question now truly is altruism or selfishness? Go to NYC and devote two years to saving the children or go to PDX and devote two years to my culinary/managerial education.

But SHIT! I got IN!

hot piece of spam

from Elwood 4:43 pm (1 hour ago)
to Coy Powell
date Feb 21, 2007 4:43 PM
subject How is life
Images are not displayed. Display images below

-- deliberately trouble Eh? flower How do? muscle How do?

[this is already a great follow-up to "how is life," but then it gets all Ulysses on me!]

Ben Dollard's vague bass anshiver -- soak Irish? ornament I saw don't know, faith. Is she, Simon?-- A beautiful kill slung shelter station air, said Bloom lost Leopold. I kno suppose Blazes Boylan's smart milk cloudy chain tan shoes creaked on the bar Tap. Ventriloquise. discover My lips light closed. Think knot close in my stom. W pled -- death You're pin looking rubicund, throw George Lidwell said.

[well, mangled Ulysses anyhow. Why am I "Coy Powell" in this spamdress book? That's my new detective/cowgirl name, I think. Some sort of alter ego, anyway.]

stunning conversationalist, you say? why THANK you!

Over the past few days, I've gotten to pull off these gems and have them totally rock their context.

"But napalm aside, I've got to run."

"String theory? You can't puke on string theory, therefore it's bad science. A flux capacitor is totally puke-on-able. Good science." (John and I had a long, hopelessly nerdy conversation on whether or not time travel in a De Lorean would be conducive to motion sickness -- in my case, sadly yes -- and what would happen to the attendant vomit. Physics is fun!)

"So Tajuan Porter is, in fact, the Toto to Brooks' Dorothy and Oguchi's Scarecrow? Does that make Ma-arty the cowardly Lion? ... Hairston's heart totally isn't in it. Totally Tinman." (pause) "The only candidate I'm coming up with for the wicked witch is Lady Kent, and that's not very nice."

"Well, Antarctica probably has bitchin' stargazing. Both constellations and pouring endlessly over the same Entertainment Weekly for days at a stretch."

This week is a laugh-in, I tell you what. Which works for me. I'm exhausted from bouldering and bowlderizing and altogether too much Deutsch. Happy Mardi Gras! Time for some SIN!

I say it all the time, and it never happens, but: this whole binge drinking thing needs to taper off.

Antarctica is looking attractive, oddly. Or BUNAC.

Too much thesis. Too many comic books.

GOD DAMN IT

Flubbed my sample lesson. Poor time management -- they had to cut me off, and I definitely wasn't close to finished. I'm on break - my personal interview is in a couple of hours, so I'm doing some homework and trying to calm down. I've never been so nervous.

Damn it, I could be a kick-ass teacher.

Right. Not counting chickens.

ARGH

----------
(Five or six hours later.)

The rest of the interview went well. I'll chalk my initial crummy performance (and it seriously was sub-par by my standards -- I'm not being modest) up to nerves and hope for the best. On the other hand, it's not the end of the world if I don't get this gig. There's always Antarctica! Although working for Raytheon might be a little TOO morally reprehensible. Still. I'm built for the cold. Or Portland. In any case, this chapter of FutureQuest can thankfully exit stage left.

On to the next ten pages of thesis-ing, for which I've had to turn down beer and movies. Grump.

PS. File under "Internets Needs Proofing." The banner on google.com says "Googe," although it's hard to tell with that ridiculous chocolate-covered strawberry standing in for the second g. (Any Achewood readers? Back me up on this...)

The worst of it is, I've barely been cooking lately. Midterms, this impending interview, parties of all stripes, concerts, the looming T-word, and the last few shifts at the dining hall -- little wonder I've not found the time to cook or exercise.

Must go write a lesson on semicolon use -- yep, I'm rocking the punctuation. for the children! The Dreaded Interview begins in less than 36 hours. My recent slow-burning, long-lasting nervousness strikes me as far inferior to the traditional flashes of anxiety. Have I mentioned that TfA may well be the first real challenge of this nature I have ever set myself. Getting into UO was a breeze, applying for the overseas nonsense was just a matter of showing up and fronting some cash, and the only other selection processes that spring to mind are auditions in junior high and choosing up sides for soccer games. This is by far the most rigorous and ambitious application-type deal I've ever endured, and I'm scared witless. Not that getting rejected (and subsequently packing up for Portland) would be a travesty. In fact, sometimes I hope I won't be accepted so I can slide into a low-key gig of some lucrative kind or another. For some neurotic reason, I consider myself a Quitter. Maybe getting rejected forestalls the possibility of giving up. God, that's depressing. In any case, I can't think about the interview without starting to sweat a little.

I think it's time to crank the jams.

über my dead body

German homework? What? Who? no. basketball.

I realized that over the past three months or so, the readership of this thing has altered somewhat. So this post will be less of the typical in-the-moment whining and more longterm whining. Isn't that kind of interesting? Bloggers/LJers/whatever-ers assume that their readers will catch on in medias res. Hence the brief recap after today's events. Today was bitchin', by the way.

Today:
-solved my interview clothing problems without resorting to a hellish bus ride to a hellisher mall. GodDAMN do I hate VRC and love the boutique-y shops in my 'hood. Ever increasingly, there's less I love about my 'hood. The constant drunken babble, the ever-present litter -- symptomatic of a the entitled attitude that drives me up the fucking wall, the redneck-y harassment (here? really? c'mon kids, I left alaska for a reason...), the slummy apartment, the NOISE. however, the bier stein, some decent mexican, some crummy and addictive coffee and said clothing shops are 'round about here. overall, no complaints. 'spose.
-had a very overwhelmingly positive ex encounter. having social skills makes me want to dance.
-had a falafel, which makes any day AWESOME.
-spilled the following upon myself in this order: runny egg, coffee, falafel juice. these poor pants.
-patched my favorite jeans. cleaned. made further progress on errand-y things.
-watched the ducks beat ASU. I considered calling Aaron to gloat, but figured he wouldn't be too into it. After all, he did finish his MA a while ago and isn't too much for the hoops. I've loved re-embracing my basketball fan self. More than a few pals have said it doesn't really jive with my personality, whatever the hell that means. This season is my coming-out season: My name is Erica, and I love college hoops. DEAL WITH IT.

In general:
-Western Culinary institute still wants me/my money. I'm not sure if I want to do this. Aren't culinary schools a little over the top for what I want to do? That is to say, I can whip up some better than decent bar food, which is all I need, really. Friend C and I have decided to try to open a bar when we have a little start-up dough. She's good with numbers and booze, I'm good with people and food and booze, and we're both dedicated enough to the idea to backburner it until it's do-able. hell with cook school.
-making stock tomorrow. haven't done it in a while. must buy whole cloves.
-TFA interview. AGRHGHHHHH. My lesson will be on semicolons. am I the lamest grammarian ever? survey saaaaays yes.
-really, REALLY enjoying my alone time these days. reading the new paul auster. dancing around my apartment in various states of undress.
-quit the dining hall job. my last day's V-day. love pirate party to ensue. not especially creative, but it should be appropriately boozy and light-hearted. all eugenian readers ARRR welcome. costumes required.
-I miss my Anchortown buddies especially much this time of year. that thought makes me think about how brief my remaining eugene time may well be. ripping up these newly shot roots doesn't appeal. but.
-to my ridiculous variety pack of really super friends in all locations: endless and sincere love.

insomnia now

Rather than a newsy post about a boozy weekend or bitching about my incessant iTunes problems (THIS PROGRAM IS ASININE AND MUST LEARN RESPECT), I'll tell y'all about a moment ago. I was - and still am - in some warmed-up flannel jammies, perusing bookslut and salon alternately, sipping some kryptonite ibarra hot cocoa, when I discovered that I was not at all anxious/perplexed/angry about The Future or My Stupid Problems With Women or the Classes About Which I Whine Too Much. Come July, I could be anywhere. It's neither freeing nor frightening, perhaps because I'm cozy and satiated and in a bit of a daze, but I'll take it. I think, shock of shocks, that the sudden spike in non-compulsory reading has something to do with this. Three cheers for appropriated leisure time!

I found a bright orange telephone today, complete with cords. Art forthcoming.

Cheese has been disappearing at an alarming rate around here. John and I do the separate food thing, so I have no one to blame but myself (and those DAMN DIRTY APES) - cheese can be a more expensive habit than either beer or smoking. It's a good thing I don't smoke. I'd be broke.

My little bro has a girlfriend. I'm over the moon about it because it's great ammo for my Sibling Teasing Cannons, but it does mean he's never around to answer the damn phone. so I can't let the volleys fly.

Making mixes and burning requests. Anyone want anything else while I'm at it?

on top of all that, I'm re-establishing my tenuous photoshop skills. don't expect results. found a bunch of difficult ones that I can't seem to delete.

did anyone see The Black Dahlia? M? L?

Skipping class, particularly a class in which I'm totally golden, to get other things done isn't a crime. So why do I feel guilty and anxious? Maybe because I'm also skipping class to go shopping. For interview clothes! I have none! That's still considered productive, right? Hmm.

Somewhere in the my-apartment vicinity is a wireless network called Swann's Wireless Way. A Prouster nearby gives me glee, but naming a wireless network after Dead Frenchie's Greatest Hit... well, I guess John and I aren't ones to talk. Ours is called Team Awesome.

Finished ten pages of my thesis rough draft a couple of days hence. Upon turning said pages into my advisors, I promptly rewarded myself with a falafel.

I'm in a very "no patience for Belle and Sebastian, the Cure, the Police or the Wallflowers, so I'd appreciate it if you'd cut that shit out, iPod" sort of mood. Frustrated, one might say. Been listening to this gent, who is also, I'm proud to say, an aquaintance of mine. GAH -- forgot to get BLOW/Of Montreal tickets AGAIN. Verdammt!

No more sauce! February 14 is my (rather appropriate) last day at the dining hall. I'm applying for a techie desk job at the law school -- here's hoping.

Lately, I've felt like I have the emotional spectrum of a fish. Or like I'm on lithium. Restraining emotions doesn't come easily to me, so why have I not been reacting at all to what should, by all accounts, be a very emotional time? I'm just tired. No wonder most posts have been so disjointed.

My grandpa sent me fudge and a candy thermometer.