Lollygaggering

Today's Excitement

2008-10-09T10:58:00.001-07:00

I saw an albino squirrel today in Franklin Square. I had never seen one before.

Scrabble and Golf

2008-08-15T08:17:00.001-07:00

Why do I lose it when I play Scrabble and golf? Here's why:

Scrabble: I am a purported wordsmith. I got 800 on my verbal SATs. I can write okay. I am better than most of my friends and acquaintances at crossword puzzles. But I SUCK at Scrabble and I am thoroughly embarrassed by the fact. So when I try to play, my embarrassment turns into pettiness and poor sportsmanship and I get as mad as mad can be.

Golf: There are semifamous golfers who share my last name. When I took a golf class in college, my teacher was all excited because he thought I was going to be great by virtue of my last name. I did not do well. I SUCKED. I was so embarrassed that I could not live up to my name, and that embarrassment turned into the poorest of sportsmanship and the most childish of tantrums on the golf course. Since the worst of those tantrums, I took a solemn vow not to play golf ever again. This was in 1998, I believe, and I have stayed true to my oath.

So last night, Himself and I played Scrabble and I was so convinced I could keep my cool. I could not. It was a disaster.

So do I need to take an oath against Scrabble?

Something a friend did

2008-06-30T06:10:00.000-07:00

KT Buffy did this, so I thought I'd do it too.

She says:

The Big Read, an initiative by the National Endowment for the Arts, has estimated that the average adult has only read 6 of the top 100 books they’ve printed. How do you do?

1) Look at the list and bold those you have read.
2) Italicize those you intend to read.
3) Underline the books you LOVE.

I, Lollygagger, have decided just to do step one. I don't know what books I intend to read and I don't like to plan such things. It makes me anxious. And I can't underline on Blogger for some reason, so I'm skipping step three too.

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6 The Bible
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19 The Time Traveller’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot
21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25 The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34 Emma - Jane Austen
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen
36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding
69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce
76 The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80 Possession - AS Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte’s Web - EB White
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince- Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

Another Dumb Thing

2008-06-26T17:58:00.000-07:00

So two weeks ago today, I was walking fancy free down the sidewalk and stepped in some kind of shallow depression in the sidewalk, twisted my ankle, and fell. This was not a huge gaping hole, just a small little divot that should not have sent somebody to the hospital in an ambulance. Oh yes. An ambulance.

I don't think I wrote about the last time a dumb injury of mine was blown all out of proportion. Involved at that time were the following: hot turkey stock and several men of various uniformed professions milling around my apartment gazing upon my delicious burned thigh and surely wondering why on earth I had summoned them there. Which I of course had not meant to do. It was a 311 call gone bad.

At any rate, this most recent dumb experience had me stepping in a shallow hole, hearing a snap or crack or something and just knowing I could not get up. I sat in a daze, able to think only that my ankle must be broken and that I needed to let my boyfriend know I wouldn't be able to meet him in Silver Spring to buy socks for my walking half marathon two days hence and of course that I needed to tell my marathon-mate I was not going to be walking from Kentucky to West Virginia anytime soon. My mind was so taken up with letting these folks know what was going on that I just couldn't quite deal with the fact that the folks on the street around me were really and truly calling an ambulance for me. And then the fire truck came. Oh yes. A fire truck. Those firemen, they splinted me and iced me and then the ambulance guys came and put me on a stretcher and hoisted me up into a real live ambulance. I had never been in one before, so I was sort of excited. But mostly I was just wondering how much of this my insurance was going to cover.

Here is what happens when you go to the ER in an ambulance: you get seen really fast. You don't have to wait in the waiting room for 38 years. So I found out rather quickly that my ankle was not broken but rather sprained. And I couldn't help but wonder if I had had enough presence of mind to tell the people on the street NOT to call an ambulance, could I have just taken myself home and iced the thing? Could I have gotten up and walked on my ankle if I'd tried? And would that have been better?

The truth of the matter is, I don't think I could have gotten up and walked right then. My ankle really was all swoll up. But I don't think I got the best care at the ER (shocking). I ended up in a half cast and walking on crutches. The crutches caused me the most excruciating pain I've ever had to endure in my life. That's sounds totally wimpy, but it was just plain excruciating. My arms, my "good" leg, they were miserable. Miserable. I seriously broke down crying on the bus the next day when I for some loony reason decided it was a good idea for me to go to work.

And then a week later... I went to this orthopedist and he put me in the most miraculous air brace that has enabled me to just walk around and be a person again. That week of being on crutches was not me being a person. I just wish I'd been able to go to the orthopedist in the first place. I think I could have been walking in an air brace long ago (indeed the air brace instructions say it should be used as the first treatment). And all of that ambulance and crutches beeswax would never have happened. But hey, it's a good story. And my arms are exceeding buff now.

I guess we'll know if the story and the arms are worth it when I get my insurance statement. Yikes!

Indiana Jones

2008-05-23T06:22:00.001-07:00

When I was about 9 or 11 or whatever, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade came out. It was the first movie I ever went to without parents...just me and my sister and cousin and friend. A glorious feeling on the cusp of independence.

So here more than 15 years later, I wanted to see Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull on opening night. Himself and I went to see it at the Uptown Theater in Cleveland Park. The Uptown is one of those old one-theater movie palaces, the kind I wish still dotted our cities. Ah well.

The movie was what I wanted it to be: preposterous and politically incorrect and exciting.

But the best were all the extremely nerdy guys in Indy hats. And the best of the best was the nerdiest of the them all saying this to his friend on the phone: "It was like seeing an old friend after 20 years. He may be a bit long in the tooth, but he's still the same old guy."

Yes!

This is for Slub

2008-01-05T16:31:00.000-08:00

Slub is my nephew whose name is not really Slub. It's not a very nice nickname, but I came up with it when I was 14 or something.

Slub just sent me an email PLEADING for a new blog post and asserting that surely SOMETHING has happened in my life since October.

And indeed things have happened in my life since October.

The job I got is a job I have no more. I lasted about three weeks and then QUIT. I have never quit a job. I've always eased out of them or had to leave them because I was leaving the area or something.

I basically could not STAND dealing with the administrator of the school. Nothing I did was good enough for her and she was just a straight up lousy manager. And they weren't paying me enough.

So. Now I am back to being a secretary. It is a tiny bit demoralizing. What did I go to graduate school for if I was just going to wind up being an assistant again? Sure, I'm a better-paid assistant, and I'm working for a company that deals with a lot of international issues, so it's a good place to be.

Truly I like my job (and I'm not just saying this); it keeps me very busy, which is good for me right now. There are some super nice folks there; I feel like the company as a whole is really trying to do some good things and hopefully I'll find as I learn more that they are actually succeeding. I think my main thing is I need to get over my inferiority complex and let myself have a PERSONALITY at work. I tend to turn into a very meek automaton on the job.

I have another job too. It is just on Saturdays. It is at a dog kennel. Yes indeed. It is heaven on earth--so relaxing and stress-free. Just hang out, play with some dogs, clean up some, and head on home.

I just had my first holiday season with Himself. It was very difficult for both of us. I don't think we prepared enough. I had no idea how hard it would be for me to break with my traditions. I've never had to do that before. With both of my previous relationships, the fellow and I weren't in the same place over the holidays. And Himself and I both have the same hometown and thus much conflict. Poor Himself. Poor Lollygagger.

So is that good enough for you, Slub?

In Which I Get a Job

2007-10-18T17:19:00.000-07:00

I now have a job. At a preschool, of course. Where else would you expect a person who just finished her M.A. in international affairs to work?

I truly do work in a preschool. I teach 2 and 3 year olds. It is a Montessori school, so I am learning a lot myself.

Here is a hard thing about teaching 2 and 3 year olds: they are SO DANG CUTE and you can't do anything about it! You have to maintain a good teacherly distance and not do what you would get to do if the kid were your niece or nephew. There is this one kid who gallops nearly everywhere he goes. He says he is a horsey. And I have been told to not even smile at these kids until January!

At any rate, all I do is work. I get up in the morning, throw everything together, commute for frickin ever (1 hour 15 minutes), teach from 9 to 6, and clean and do curriculum planning whenever the kids are asleep or in special enrichment classes. Then I have to clean up until about 6:30. If I'm lucky, I get to hang out with Himself afterward for a little while. Or I just go home exhausted, play Solitaire to stop my brain from going a mile a minute, and go to sleep.

I basically think only about my job. It is stressful. I love it and am glad I'm doing it, but it is very hard.

And why am I doing it? Well, soon we are starting an afterschool program for elementary school students that I will be running. I will get to make it as internationally themed as I want. This is my dream job: teaching kids about international issues. So we shall see how it pans out. I wonder sometimes how I will fit everything in. I certainly hope I am not headed for a nervous collapse!

So I Like Fried Pork Cracklins...Wanna Make Something of It?

2007-09-09T17:38:00.000-07:00

Fried pork cracklins are, according to the package I procured somewhere along the road in the Deep South, fried out pork fat with attached skin. Never have you read anything more appetizing than this description. Never. I defy you to claim otherwise.

At any rate, I drove across the Deep South and ate cracklins. I also ate catfish, hushpuppies, grits, biscuits and gravy, and the best balogna sandwich I have ever et.

I have been long absent from this blog and wonder if anyone even still checks in at it or if you all have given up in bitter despair that I will ever regale you with my adventures again.

Here is a ray of hope: I am going to list here everywhere I stopped along the route from Salt Lake City to Washington, D.C. By the way, I live in Alexandria, VA, now. It is a big change and I miss my home (New York will always be my home), but I think it was a good decision in many ways. The main one being that my ldnmbf is now just my nmbf. No more long distance! Unless you count the distance between his apartment in the District and mine in Alexandria long.

Anyway, the list (which I kept dilligently along the way):

Green River, UT. Stopped at Ray's to have some burgers, which were excellent. Watched trashy dating shows on Ray's TV.

Dove Creek, CO. Stopped at the Sinclair to get some gas.

Chama, NM. Ate at the Chama Grill.

Espanola, NM. Stayed at the Comfort Inn room #216.

Santa Fe, NM. Went to Radio Shack to get a little cord so we could listen to my iPod in the car. Went to Big O Tires to get a tire leak repaired. We had a Dodge Durango rental that had all of these nifty warning lights. The low tire one went off the night before, we filled the tire with more air, but the light was back on the next morning. Turns out we drove over a nail. While we waited I traipsed over to the closest food establishment, Taco Bell. It was good. Was it because we were in Santa Fe?

Claude, TX. Got gas at the Shell and some kind of food at the Taylors store connected to it.

Vernon, TX. Got some dinner at Taco Casa.

Madill, OK. Stayed at the Return Motel, room 106. It was the foulest place I've ever stayed. And that includes, Christy, the sewage-smelling room in Marrakech. The Return Motel warns you from the get go "Stay here once and you will return." I am dreading the day. The place smelled like urine and had GREASY DOORS. There were huge bugs dead in the corners of the room. There was the most depressing ex-swimming pool I'd ever seen, with about three feet of filthy filthy water. Anyway, there in Madill I took a three-mile walk in accordance with my walking half-marathon training schedule (Philadelphia November 18th!). It was not a bad town, though maybe it had just a few too many loose poultry running around. There was a big group of stables where people bring their mares to get impregnated. There was a water tower. That morning, we ate at Joe's Hobo Cafe. A few days later when we were reading the Washington Post, we read about a young man killed in the war whose hometown was Madill, OK.

In case you think I've taken to using the royal we, I guess I should say who this other person in the we is. It's the boyfriend character.

Paris, TX. Stopped at the CVS to get Himself some allergy medication against my cats who made this grand trek with us.

Clarkesville, TX. Got some gas at the Shamrock.

Texarkana, AR. Got some food perhaps at the Fast 'n Low #2 (or something to that effect).

Shreveport, LA. Had dinner at Johnny's Cat Fish.

Vicksburg, MS. Wandered about at the Mississippi Welcome Center overlooking the mighty Mississip. We tried to get closer to the water by going to some casino, but it was a no go.

Jackson, MS. Got gas at Mac's Gas.

Forest, MS. Stayed at the Apple Tree Inn, America's Best Value Inn, room #119. I went for a little stroll down a slow highway and was in the South. It smelled like heaven (like Kansas, fellow Kansas girls), and was teeming with insect life.
We went to the Kwik Mart at some point.

Uniontown, AL. Stopped at the Raceway for to go the bathroom. It was the grodes.

Lounes County, AL. Stopped at Casey's. Don't quite remember what this is. Maybe it's where we got our cracklins.

Ladonia, AL. We tried to go to some steakhouse that was closed. Across the street was Buck's Cafe, which I thought seemed exciting. But himself thought it was way too smoky. It was very smoky. And fast types were hanging out drinking and playing pool. So we went to the Piggly Wiggly, which we had vowed to go to since it is very exciting that there really is a grocery store chain in this world called the Piggly Wiggly. We even got to go in the back room to use the bathroom. At any rate, we got hungry and had struck out so many times we went to Wendy's and Subway. This was the only time we ate at such places except once we ate at Dairy Queen sometime in the first couple of days (it is not on the list because I forgot to jot it down at the time and now I don't remember). But there were SO MANY DQs across the South that it could be considered local cuisine. There were also lots of Sonics, but we never ate at Sonic. Anyway, before leaving Ladonia, we went to Chevron for gas.

Knoxville, GA. Stopped at the Knoxville Store and Citgo.

Gray, GA. Stopped at Flash Foods

Augusta, GA. Tried out a couple of different motels, the Candlewood Suites and the Bay something or other. Struck out and moved on to Aiken, SC.

Aiken, SC. Stayed at the Day's Inn, room 110. Got gas at the Raceway.

Congaree National Park, SC. Wandered around the boardwalk for a couple of hours and saw huge striped spiders, a big hawk, several squirrels, many turtles, fascinating trees that have knees that act as snorkels when the place floods (it is a flood plain), and heard some woodpeckers.

Gaston, SC. I think that's what the guy said the name of the town was, anyway. Anyway, we stopped at Freemon's 3 in 1. This is where we got the bologna sandwiches of bologna sandwiches. The three from the stores name refers to the fact that Freemon's is a gas station, a deli, and a convenience store.

Cameron, NC. Here we tried our darndest to get some dewberry pie or cobbler, which we read about in the special local foods feature in our road atlas. But everything closes very early there in Cameron, NC. We have determined to return another day to get some. Instead we went to the Citgo.

Raleigh, NC. We tried to go to Danny's BBQ, but it was closed. So we went to the Mellow Mushroom right near the UNC campus. It was like a bigger, outdoor version of the Pie in Salt Lake. Lots of frattish looking folk and very nice pizza. Though I got some kind of salad.

South Hill, VA. Stayed at the America's Best Value Inn in room 124. We had tried a couple of roadside motels, but they did not want us and our filthy animules. Or they did not answer the bell they said to ring.

Richmond, VA. Finally got some BBQ at Hanks BBQ. I got chopped BBQ, Himself got sliced. I shoulda got sliced.

And then we arrived in Alexandria, dropped off my poor little cats, moved Himself into his place in the District, and went our separate ways for the first time in 6 days.

The cats are adjusting pretty well. I am taking my time to adjust to living in a parking lot after living in the architectural joy that is Harlem. Ah well. I have a nice view of the Washington Monument and the Capitol out my window. And Virginia is misty and sultry and also teeming with insect life. There are flowers on trees here in September.

This is about it. I hope I can soon report that I have found a job. We shall see.

Morocco

2007-06-05T07:37:00.000-07:00

Well, the news is that I'm in Morocco.

I've been here since May 23rd or something and I'm leaving on Thursday. I have been very bad about writing because I spend most of my computer time emailing the old ldnmbf, whom I may as well now refer to as Himself.

Here in Morocco I have done the following things:

Gone to my niece's 7th grade energy symposium.

Watched my niece's piano recital.

Attended my nephew's Eagle Scout Court of Honor. My sister and I sang "God Bless America" at said Court of Honor. Yes indeed we did.

Attended my sister's little church group.

Shopped in the medina in Rabat.

Visited some Roman and Moroccan ruins now inhabited by giant storks and diseased cats.

Gotten henna. Washed it off in the Atlantic Ocean.

Attempted to visit the casbah in Rabat but been thwarted by some grody, leery young men who led us instead to their balcony and showed my sister their chair. At least it was a lovely view.

Eaten some of the most delicious food of my life cooked by my sister's very talented maid. Yes, she has a maid. It has been hard for me to get used to. It makes me feel weird.

Visited an orphanage in Meknes and realized I could indeed adopt a baby and love it as much as my own child. Saw in the eyes of too many babies how desperately they need near-constant physical closeness.

Been treated with extraordinary hospitality by a family my sister knows who lives in Meknes. Eaten lots of delicous food there and made to dance a Berber dance in front of everyone.

Taken a train to Casablanca and visited the second or third largest mosque in the world (there seems to be some dispute) and eaten a delicious meal in a jewel of a restaurant and enjoyed conversation with some friends of my sister's with whom I was wrongly convinced I would never get along.

Attended my nephew's high school graduation, at which he very capably spoke (he was senior class president).

Climbed aboard a mini-bus with my parents, sister, brother-in-law, sister's friend and her her husband, other sister, niece, and nephew, and drove to Marrakech.

Ascended in said mini-bus the mountains above Marrakech and saw an old old man bent more than 90 degrees crossing the road with an enormous basket on his back.

Been accosted by unenthusiastic performers at Chez Ali, a touristy dinner spot with "entertainment" provided by dancers and singers from different regions in Morocco and with actual entertainment by tricky horsemen. Dubbed said dinner spot "Cheese Alley."

Wandered the square in Marrakech at midnight.

Slept in a dingy little hotel room with my niece and sister.

Driven to Essouira by the sea and eaten a bad lunch, swum deliciously in the cold cold Atlantic Ocean, shopped, fallen in love with the myriad cats on the streets, and eaten a mediocre dinner in a touristy restaurant that was a source of contention between certain factions in our group.

Climbed to the second floor of a greasy spoon after stint at aforementioned touristy restaurant and eaten delicious frieds and brouchettes and spoken in German to a Berber fellow named Said.

Driven through the back coastal roads between Essouira and Casablanca, observing how dependent country dwellers are on burros and donkeys (anyone who can explain the difference gets a prize).

Eaten an enormous meal at a roadside restaurant on one of said back roads. Fed many leftovers to the delectable kitties hanging about.

Given a mini-concert to my sister's friends along with my dad and other sister at which I sang "Can't Help Lovin' That Man" and "Just a Closer Walk with Thee."

Had tea with my lovely graduate school friend who had her birth here in Rabat and now calls Casablanca home.

And now we are all caught up. On the important things. No one wants to hear about my last couple of months in graduate school. They were stressful. But now I've written that, I remember they were also satisfying, and I got to know my four lovely project partners so well, which was an honor and privilege.

I graduated. Well, I still have a few little ends to tie up. But I wore my cap and gown and pomped and circumstanced. Sting was at my graduation. He didn't speak or anything. He was just there. Maybe he had a kid graduating. At any rate I was within about 2 feet of him and thought "That guy looks familiar. Oh, it's because he's Sting."

And now I'm really caught up.

Forebber

2007-03-14T14:16:00.000-07:00

So I hain't writ in forebber.

I moved to Harlem.

I have a job. But not a real job. I have to find a real job.

I am mere weeks away from graduating.

I stopped eating sugar and then started again.

I gave up Solitaire for Lent.

I am going home to visit my long-distance non-Mormon boyfriend next week.

I am not doing really well with any of my New Year's resolutions, which were: be a better friend, do more temple work, learn all about the Vietnam War, and stop eating sugar.

I started reading A.J. Languth's Our Vietnam, but school and other things have taken over my life. And then Harlem Snowflake came to get some socks from me and left me with some trash magazines and I keep reading them. The other thing I am trying to do is read the books people have lent to me. One of these is Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Instead of reading it on the subway, I read about Britney Spears and Anna Nicole Smith. But I'm actually less embarrassed to be seen reading these mags than Zen. Wasn't I supposed to have read it in high school?

My dad turned 67 yesterday.

Last night on the phone I bored my ldnmbf with a verbal listing of everyone in my family, full names and birthdates and years. He was very impressed. And bored.

I am still as in love as ever with Mr. Burkett. She totally freaked out for about a week after the move, which freaking out was not helped by Isis hissing and growling at her for no reason (because it really wasn't Mr. B's fault that we left our beautiful apartment on Cooper Street and ended up in this box-infested hole). Not that my apartment is a hole. Isis thinks it is because there are too many boxes. Some others may think it is too because I have to share the bathroom down the hall with some men. But my apartment has a (defunct) fireplace and is very charming.

Today I met my old college pals across the street from the MoMa and ate halal food. It was right jolly. We told each other about each other's love lives.

Night before last I took a nap from 7pm to 9pm. Then I went back to sleep at 11pm and woke up at 8:30. This sort of thing is ridiculous.

I have less than zero money. But I did get a paycheck and will get another paycheck and then my student loan refund check and then my deposit back from my last apartment. Then I will have closer to zero money. But still below zero. My sister as well as my ldnmbf think I should take up prostitution or exotic dancing. This might be a good idea. How else can I raise a quick mint?

I am doing a project about refugee youth education. It is very interesting and reminds me that I want to work with kids. I got to go to Staten Island and do algebra with a young man from Liberia. I LOVE algebra. I wanted to do all of his homework all by myself. But that would not have been the right thing.

I am very bad and have not completed my India project. I would not feel bad if it were just me and my professor involved. But there are children waiting for letters both here and in India because I am a nincompoop.

That is all for today. I think that is a sufficient update.

My apartment

2007-01-19T20:02:00.000-08:00

I have just found out that I will not be able to stay in my lovely apartment. It's a long story why I can't, but basically it's that the legal rent for my apartment is almost $300 more than I've been paying for it, and the landlord is sick of giving me (a good, honest tenant!) a discount.

I am sad because I will probably have to move out of the neighborhood where all of my friends are. I will likely not even be able to stay in Manhattan. Not that that is the end of the world, except that THIS IS WHERE ALL OF MY FRIENDS ARE! This is a lonely, lonely city! I've lived in this same basic area for over 5 years. That's more time than anywhere I've lived except Salt Lake.

I am very mad because my current apartment has a wonderful tree right outside the window that provides lots of squirrel and bird entertainment for my poor apartment-bound cats.

I am mad because I just started a Netflix-sharing group among my neighborhood friends, and now I'll have to disband it.

I am mad because I wanted to get to be friends with the opera singer woman across the hall from me who has lived in the building for 19 years.

I'm mad because I actually have sort of DECORATED this apartment. And it is such a cute apartment with a quaint built-in shelf and charming tiles in the kitchen. It's so sunny and spacious.

Maybe I'll be able to find a cheap apartment in my neighborhood. I'll have to live on a noisy street east of Broadway. Or I'll have to move to Marble Hill (just over the river in the Bronx).

Or maybe this will be good for me. Maybe I can move close to my dear cousin in Brooklyn. Maybe I can find a month-to-month so I don't have to break my lease if I find a job outside of the city. Maybe I'll be forced to get rid of some of my books. Maybe I'll break down and get a roommate and see if I'm now fit for frequent, proximate human interaction.

This is an official rant, and I apologize. But my friend C had to get on the subway, my sister C didn't answer her phone, and my new beau is having his D&D night. (Yes, I am dating a boy who plays D&D...what of it? I think it's pretty clear that I am quite a nerd myself. And pretty much everything else about him is grand.) There was no one to talk to about my apartment woes! And plus it's been too long since I wrote here. I have been bad. Mostly I've been talking on the phone to the aforementioned New Beau but have been hesitant to write about it because he does not, I think, approve of such divulgence in a possibly public forum. (Am I right, sir?)

I shall try to be better.

My Fortune

2006-12-12T08:40:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I babysat for an eleven-year-old boy and a seven-year-old girl. It was a very fun job because we got to jaunt all over the city to various music lessons and we went out to dinner, etc. The following is the gem of the night.

Me and the girl picked up the boy from his after-school play practice. For some reason, he decided he would predict my future (claiming that it was for God that he was speaking). He revealed the following very grim fortune:

I would have a love (yes, this is how he put it), and he would love me back. But then he would get run over by a car.

Then I would have another love. I think me and this love would even get married. But then it would turn out that he is a lesbian (here he paused): a man lesbian.

At some point I was going to end up robbing a bank and getting shot in each leg 50 times and then spending time in prison and then joining a band of hubbubs...er, hobos (yes, he said hubbubs first).

Later the boy thought better of it and decided I would have a good fortune that would find me a billionaire and owning Australia.

A Mysterious Blessing

2006-11-16T11:27:00.000-08:00

A couple of weeks ago I was babysitting at a hotel. (I babysit now. This is how I am staving off absolute poverty). This family who used to be a client of the babysitting agency I work through was in town and needed someone to watch their kids.

So I was there at the hotel with the two littlest kids. The hotel had this little play area (right outside a conference room, which I think is a very bad idea...but because the kids were so good and quiet, the Coca Cola Company reps who were meeting in the conference room rewarded me with a real live free Coke). So we were playing there. Once I noticed an old raggedy woman with a trash can right outside the archway. I thought nothing of it and wouldn't have remembered it if a few minutes later this same woman hadn't come into the room and the following hadn't taken place:

She comes in with some candy, gum, and a dog beanie baby and starts a-talking to us. I could kick myself for not writing about this as soon as I got home, because now I don't remember really what she said. But she proffered the dog to the boys, which I was a bit suspicious about because she wasn't exactly clean. That sounds kind of rude, I suppose, but she wasn't and I was the guardian of other people's kids so I was a little wary. I took a pack of gum (which I did not ever chew but rather threw away just today as I was cleaning getting ready for my sister to arrive from out of town).

At any rate, she starts talking about how she's a doctor and thus always gives toys to children, and she lives just "right there" (where!?) and then she asks if I'm a Christian. I tell her I am and she asks if she can pray for me. I say "sure" because why not. I assume she just means in general in her life, she will start praying for me. But she means right then. So she walks over and takes my hand and prays. She blesses me and my home and my family and husband and I just kept hoping against hope that my charges' dad wouldn't walk in (he hadn't left yet...I was just 'getting to know' the kids in the play room while he iced his post-NY marathon knees). What an awkward thing that would be. So luckily she wasn't a long-winded prayer, and I thanked her and she went on her crazy way. I guess I just assumed she was a hotel maid, but then I thought about it. Wait! This is a halfway decent hotel! Don't maids wear uniforms? And even if they don't, wouldn't they be a little bit cleaner and have shirts with all the buttons? And wouldn't they NOT tell people they were doctors? Of course she could have been a doctor in her homeland and then had to become a hotel maid in America. But the main thing I thought was "WHY did this have to happen when I was babysitting?!" Because then I had to tell the parents about it because they had to know where the beanie baby came from (it turned out to not smell bad or anything...I'm horrible!). And babysitting for people you don't know is already awkward enough. You don't need strange people coming up and talking to the kids you're babysitting for.

If it hadn't happened when I was trying to be a protector, I could have seen more clearly that this was a rather lovely experience. Who was this woman who saw fit to bestow gifts and blessings on strangers?

Tin Can Tyranny*

2006-10-05T06:58:00.000-07:00

Well. So some of you may not know about the routine. I had a routine and it went like this:

wake up
read the paper while eating breakfast
do the crossword puzzle
write 3 free-form pages (morning pages, for those of you acquainted with the Artist's Way)
read the Book of Mormon for 1/2 hour (and this involves a very intricate method that I could detail for you if you are interested)
listen to 3 songs on iPod
read a poem aloud
exercise
clean for 20 minutes (or for an hour, once a week)
shower
do errands/billpaying, etc. for 40 minutes (or two hours, once a week)
study, do whatever one does during a day, etc.
15 minutes of genealogy
27-item throw away

And at night:
Do the dishes
change cats' food and water
scoop litter
brush Isis and maybe Mr. Burkett if she'll let me
play ribbon with Isis and maybe Mr. Burkett if she's in the mood
brush my teeth
wash face
wash feet
learn some Hindi
read and sing a hymn in German
read 15 minutes of for-fun book
read three pages of the Old Testament out loud
go to bed

So this is how it would go on the best of days. The problem was that I would get bored with the routine and rebel against it (generally these rebellions taking the form of watching Dr. Phil). And the other problem was that all of these extra things take up WAY TOO MUCH TIME and a graduate student should not be allowed to live such a fancy leisurely life. I should wake up and study study study and not take time to sing German hymns and regale my poor cats with poetry. And another problem was that I thought I had to do all morning things before I could study. Obviously this is kind of crazy and OCD and would often keep me from studying at all.

But then I remembered my love of the random and came up with the tin can. I typed a list of all of the components of my various routines in 36-point Garamond, printed it out, and cut the list up into strips. Included on the list were such things as International Organizations: 2 hours; India: 1 hour; Incompletes: 2 hours; and PDPM: 1 hour. These are my my school duties.

So I put all these slips of paper into an old crushed tomatoes can and when I'd wake up in the morning I'd pick something out of the can and that's what I'd do. It was rather jolly and fun the first few days...who knew what I'd do next? I'd go from reading about Bilbo Baggins conversing with Smaug to reading about why neoliberal institutionalism really IS a separate theory from realism, from doing old-lady aerobics (chosen from a separate group of papers with different exercise routines written on them) to scanning in my India kids' lovely photos into my computer. And I really was getting more important school stuff done, because I didn't have to get all of my hobby stuff done beforehand.

But now I've become very disturbed by all of this. Why can't I just make decisions and prioritize?! Why must my day come out of a tin can! I may as well be measuring out my life in coffee spoons, right? Can we be in agreement that all of this is a tad absurd?

*This post is sort of inspired by FMH's Day in the Life series. Read my cousin's beautiful installment here.

Fritos and Wafers

2006-09-28T20:32:00.000-07:00

Tonight on the subway I smelled distinctly the smell of wafer cookies. You know those pink, beige, and brown cookies that are supposed to be strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate but that really taste very much the same (eat them blindfolded and you'll see what I mean)?

So anyway, this scent was there in the subway car. I look up at the guy across from me, and he's eating a bag of Fritos with gusto. I was jealous. And I realized the smell I'd been smelling was Fritos and not wafers.

2006-09-13T22:22:00.000-07:00

Tonight as I was doing the dishes, Winnie the Pooh came into my mind. I didn't know why until I realized that I was mindlessly staring at a piece of nectarine that had fallen into the sink earlier. It had yellow flesh and red skin. And looked like Winnie the Pooh.

A Month?! And still homesick.

2006-09-04T20:30:00.000-07:00

It has been a month since I wrote...many apologies.

Since last writing I have returned home from India and found myself to be quite homesick for it. I discovered upon returning to Bombay after my 10 days of traveling around India that it had been Bombay I'd been homesick for. Or at least Bombay counted as enough of a home that I was no longer homesick once I was there.

So now I'm back in the States wearing kurtas and bobbing my head (if you don't know what I mean, you've never been to India or had any Indian friends) and eating entirely too much Indian food for a person who ought to be sick of Indian food because she ate it nearly everyday for 2 + months. I feel a trifle ridiculous because afterall it was only 2 + months and I've lived outside of India for over 27 years.

At any rate. I don't have too much else to report except that I took a little excursion to West Virginia with my cousins and we saw a satellite dish completely painted over with the image of Jesus.

Homesick

2006-08-04T07:59:00.000-07:00

It is time to come home. Who knew I'd feel this way? But it's like before I came to India, I couldn't envision it at all. Now I can't imagine that in a mere 5 days I will be home in my apartment in New York. Right now I am in Rishikesh on the banks of the Ganges and then I will be in Inwood near the banks of the Hudson. Huh?

I am an exhausted girl. I want to go home even though I love India, especially Bombay and my kids. I have to say a real goodbye to them on Monday and I don't know how to do it. We already had our big farewell, and it seems a little odd for me to pop in and say it all again. I can't stand leaving them here.

I did not have a romance in India. This is very good. I'm always having entirely stupid meaningless romances and if I'd made any real effort I probably could have had one here. But I made a decision not to. Aren't you proud of me?

My mind is very scattered right now. I had to wake up at 4:00 to catch a bus to Rishikesh and slept for only about 45 minutes of the 9+ hour journey.

When I went to Switzerland for the summer of 1999, I felt overwhelmed and frustrated with how little German I seemed to be learning. And then I came home and that fall my German improved by leaps and bounds. It was like stuff was seeping into my brain all summer but I couldn't process it until I was out of the stressful situation. This surely will happen again this time. I have wandered through India sort of in a daze, totally unable to take it all in. I am excited to see what I've learned.

Oh I am a bit melancholy. I don't know why. I feel a bit forgotten. I am sure I will go home and my cats won't remember me. There is really no one whose life my absence disrupts.

Travels

2006-08-02T07:15:00.000-07:00

So now I am traveling.

Right now I am in the Himalayas. Oh yes.

Since Thursday I have done the following:

Taken an overnight train from Bombay to Jodhpur, otherwise known as the Blue City.

Eaten a secluded breakfast on a rooftop in Jodhpur and visted the town fort.

Taken a bus from Jodhpur to Jaisalmer, throwing up TWO TIMES on said bus.

Gotten better from mysterious nausea bout and eaten lovely Tibetan meal on rooftop restaurant in Jaisalmer.

Ridden a camel out into the desert, camped under the stars, and ridden a camel back out of the desert.

Swum in my hotel swimming pool in the rain while talking and talking and talking to my traveling companions.

Gotten the nappiest hair of my life from the desert/swimming pool combination.

Ridden an overnight train from Jaisalmer to Delhi.

Been miserable for a few hours in Delhi, which may be cleaner than Bombay but is decidedly less hospitable to women and has pretty much zero sense of humor.

Been even more miserable while sitting for over an hour in a vacant lot/dump for no apparent reason on an overnight bus to the Himalayas.

Arrived in Nainital and checked into hotel with magnificent view of the green lake that the town surrounds.

Been rowed around the beautiful lake by a man named Sagar.

It has been lovely for the most part, but I am decidedly homesick. Homesickness is kind of rare for me, so it's kind of nice to feel it. God willing, I will be back in my apartment a week from right now. And then a week after that back in my beloved Salt Lake for a couple weeks. It is Salt Lake I am homesick for, Rural Rosy in particular.

The Hideous Vulnerability of Slum-dwelling Children

2006-07-19T05:27:00.000-07:00

I had a very fitful night's sleep last night because my mind was taken up with thinking about a little girl from one of the other classes at my afternoon school. She died suddenly on Monday night after vomiting 60% of her blood.

We don't yet know exactly what caused her illness, which came upon her only on Friday or Saturday. But apparently she went to an unqualified doctor in her neighborhood and only when things became dire did they take her to the hospital.

I know children die everyday and that these freak illnesses happen even among privileged children. But I know the children I teach are just more vulnerable to such things. They are poor, live in rather unsanitary surroundings, don't have clean water to drink, don't seem to have a huge amount of adult supervision, live very close to a lot of people, etc., etc., etc. And I guess I couldn't sleep because I have come to absolutely adore so many of these children and the thought of some of them falling victim to illnesses that really ought to be curable is really too much to stand.

I didn't know the little girl who died. I'd probably met her on the school bus at some point, but she was in another class and there isn't a lot of interclass interaction here. Apparently she was very bright and responsible.

There are horrible things at work in this world. Yes, I'm going to start a diatribe. People are greedy; they think the invisible hand will somehow take care of everything while they live the high life. People condemn poor people without attempting to understand them. Too many traditions and societies circumscribe too heavily women's activities and then ridicule and devalue these "approved" activities. And it is imperative that women and their roles be valued. It should come as no surprise that infant and child mortality rates are almost always directly tied to female literacy rates. The higher the literacy rates, the lower the child mortality rates.

I am ending the diatribe because I don't like them. They always sound self-righteous.

I love the children I work with. I was just sitting in the corner watching my afternoon class work today and they were so dilligent and interested in what they were doing and working well together and not fighting and are just so over the top beautiful.

At any rate, I am uncomfortable with all of the public display of emotion. And I'm late to meet my friends for a dance concert. I shall leave you with my afternoon kids' vocabulary word list of the day:

rain
wind
wide
meek
poor
rich
oceans
clouds
deserts
sunshine
preachers
sinners
humble

A Home Visit

2006-07-13T23:24:00.000-07:00

So yesterday, the head teacher of the center I teach at in the morning took me to my kids' neighborhood. They live down in the very very south part of Bombay in a place called Cuffe Parade (Cuff'rade for those who are in the know). Where they live is definitely considered a slum, but the houses are made of actual concrete rather than some of the flimsier materials I've seen slum-and pavement-dwellers using for their homes. It seems that ten years ago the Cuff'raders did live in more makeshift houses but there was a huge fire that destroyed everything and they got these new houses.

Cuff'rade is a maze of very narrow paths flanked by houses and little shops. The fathers of all the children I interviewed yesterday work as what I guess is called ragpickers, though they do not actually collect rags. They collect used bottles and newspapers and sell them to people who then sell them to somebody else. I'm a little unclear on how it works. At any rate, they make around 50 rupees a day, which is slightly over a dollar. And most of them are the sole breadwinners for their households; the mothers' work is primarily in their homes. It is quite dizzying to me to think of raising a family on that little money. And it makes me so honored that even with such a paucity of worldly goods, they were so generous to me last night, so hospitable.

I went to the neighborhood to talk to some of the parents to tell them about my project with the kids. Basically I will be interviewing the kids about their lives and then giving them single-use cameras so they can document whatever they want to of their surroundings. So first I went to R's house. R is probably the best student in my class. He's very smart, he communicates well in English, and he's more well-behaved than almost any other child. And when I saw him in his natural habitat, I saw that he is definitely the ring-leader among his peers. He may have just been showing off for me...remember how weird you would get when you spent time with teachers after hours when you were a kid?

Anyway, I talked to R's mom, K's sister, G's aunt, and N's grandma about their lives. These women were so beautiful and the grandmother especially very eager to talk. They are the ones who told me about Cuff'rade's history. They told me about how little schooling they'd had in their childhoods...some had none and some made it only to about the 4th grade.

After I'd talked to the women, I interviewed five of the students from my class and two from the class that we share a classroom with. I will have to interview some of them again with an interpreter, but a few of my students speak English well enough that they could give me sufficient answers. I also took photographs of everybody, which they loved.

R's mom invited me to stay for dinner, which was so divine. It was just rice, chapati (bread), and some very spicy, flavorful pea dish. Oh, it was so good...almost too spicy even for me (I can take a lot of spice), but just bearable enough that it definitely ranks among the best meals I've ever had.

Anyway, after I'd eaten, everybody else's parents wanted me to come to their houses too. So I had to make the rounds and sit in everybody's house for a few minutes. At each place I went, they wanted to give me a Coke. So I drank I think four Cokes. I felt really bad when I found out they were going out and buying these Cokes especially for me, but I really couldn't refuse. The best part of this story of course is that I had already had to to go to the bathroom for three hours when I got to Cuff'rade, and I ended up staying there for more than 4 hours. For those of you acquainted with my bladder, you know what a feat this was. Four Cokes and 7 hours!

Anyway, enough about bodily functions. Actually, no... As you may have inferred from my having to hold it for ever and ever yesterday, there don't seem to be any real bathrooms around the neighborhood. When R's mother had to go to the bathroom, she sent all of the boy children out and she took care of business there in the house in the little tiled area that has a drain in the middle of it. That was also where she threw any waste water from cooking. There is no running water in the houses; she had to fetch water probably from a common tap.

The houses are all one room, all around the same size, which is very small. R's house seemed more spacious than most other houses I went to, mainly because I can tell his mother runs a very very tight ship. Everything was very organized and clean (and she didn't even know I'd be coming over). I can see where R gets his exactness and perfectionism. I don't want to diminish the difficulty of these people's lives, but I have a different perspective now of very small dwelling places. When we from America think of living in such a small area with so many in a family, we think it would be absolutely unbearable. But we in America are also very much fond of our private property and boundaries, and we spend a lot of time in our houses. These people live in such a tight community that though they may be proprietors of only one room, they seem to always be in and out of everybody else's houses, and the streets and other common areas really do act as extensions of the livingspace. They have access to much more than just their little room. Again, all this is based just on my experience of one day, so take it with a grain of salt. But if these people lived in their houses the way Americans do, I can imagine it would be unbearable. But they make it work by forming communities of trust with their neighbors.

Oh, not only was I showered in Coke, I was also given stickers, a headband, and nail polish. Such generous people! Man. I don't even know what to say about it. Except I guess that I wish I were more generous like that.

At any rate, it was a fabulous evening, and I'm sure I'll be going a few more times over the coming weeks. I will keep you posted.

Oh! Another interesting thing. I interacted almost exclusively with women while I was in Cuff'rade; the men were for the most part not home from work yet. But a couple of men did come by, and whenever they did, the women covered their heads with their saris. And whenever I took photos of them, they covered their heads too.

Okay. This is becoming a disjointed, jumpy post, so I shall end it now.

I Am Okay

2006-07-12T08:33:00.000-07:00

Most of you probably know by now that I am okay. In case you didn't, I am okay.

My group and I were outside of the city when the bombs went off, but only by the grace of God. We were on an overnighter that was supposed to have taken place the previous week, but it was postponed because we had flooding here last week. (I realize I didn't write about the floods. We were stuck inside for pretty much 2 1/2 days, but on the way home from work when the floods started, I had to wade in knee-deep water in the streets of Bombay, which are grody to the max. THEN these horrible boys SPLASHED me and then I fell TWICE.) Anyway if it hadn't been for the floods, we'd have had our overnight last week and would have thus been in the city this week. And a couple of my friends get on and off at some of the rail stations that were hit and would have been traveling around the time the bombs hit. Since I work in the south part of the city, I wouldn't really have been in harm's way; the trains don't run as far south as I work and all of the blasts were in stations in northern Bombay anyway.

I honestly don't know too much about the blasts because we couldn't get a lot of news where we were (a sort of socialist farming and manufacturing enterprise a couple hours outside the city) and we've been back only a couple of hours. We've just been calling our families and emailing and haven't had time to plant ourselves in front of the TV and get all the info. But I do know this: I am SICK of people bombing people. People just trying to go home from work on the train. For Pete's sake. I know that these issues are complicated. I know that life is not Star Wars and that there is much more to this than black and white, good and evil. I know that poverty and oppression and exploitation breed things that I can't fully understand. But heavens.

In the words of my lovely lovely late voice teacher Rachel, What CAN you do? I guess part of reason I'm studying international affairs is to try to answer such a question, but I feel like all my studies have done is make me feel that these problems are insurmountable because they are caused by so many variables, hidden or obvious. ACK.

More pictures!

2006-07-07T23:33:00.000-07:00

A sign that could be on an unfortunate number of buildings in Bombay.
Guys making bread.
A neat detail on a temple.
A doorway.
Some temple. Jain? Hindu? I'm sorry I don't remember?

These guys rent the hoodspace from businessmen's parked cars to hawk their wares.
Streets of Bombay.
Another view from the Y...more orange flowers.

The building across from my host institution.

The closeup of the building. Neat, eh?

An Epic and Dangerous Weekend

2006-07-06T00:41:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, some of the girls and I went to a town called Matheran. It is a hill station, which as far as I can gather just means it's a small town in the mountains.

Matheran is reached by taking about an hour-and-a-half long train ride from Bombay to Neral. If it is rush hour, you will get to be smashed and shoved during nearly this entire hour-and-a-half. At Neral, you catch a cab that takes you (much too quickly) up a windy mountain road. If you are really lucky, you will get a flat tire on the way up. We were so fortunate. At a certain point, no more automobiles are allowed on the mountain and you trek the rest of the way. If you happen to miss a couple of trains out of Bombay and are thus two hours later than you meant to be, chances are you will have the lovely experience of the path lights going out and being left in the pitchest of pitch darks you have ever been in. But it will be misty and windy and the epitome of everything you thought India was supposed to be when you were a little girl. You won't have felt anything like the air unless you've spent time in the tropical zone at the zoo. Or, obviously, if you've been to India or the tropics before.

Then you may recall that at a wedding last summer in the mountains of Utah, someone gave you a pocket flashlight to navigate up another pitch dark road. And the flashlight is still in your purse. So you and your traveling companions on the road to Matheran now have a little more light. In a spirit of good will, and because you got the flashlight in a similar way, you hand it off to a man on the path when you decide to stop at the very first hotel you see.

But at the first hotel, you might encounter some rather surly proprietors who refuse to give your group of five more than one towel and who, when you complain about paying 1500 rupees for a cabin with a lockless frosted glass door and no water (so what would the towel be for anyway?), KICK YOU OUT INTO THE DARKEST NIGHT. After some pleading on your part, they may give you a guide with a little blue penlight to take you to a different hotel.

You may find a new hotel that seems to be rather posh until you enter and see that it is definitely a faded glory with a dirty indoorish swimming pool overflowing with rain water coming through the roof. When you have finally settled down for the night, sharing a bed with two compadres while the other two snooze on a fold-out sofa, and drifted off to sleep, one of your friends may yell HEY!! And she will have yelled this because she saw a MAN ON YOUR BALCONY SHINING A BLUE FLASHLIGHT AT YOU ALL.

And at this point you may get very sick of writing in conditionals and suspect your readers may be very sick of reading them. So you stop writing in them and start writing like a normal person.

So S saw a MAN on our balcony! When she yelled, he ran off, so nothing happened. But we still informed the management and packed up and moved to another room. Poor S didn't sleep that night or for the next two nights. I for some reason was absolutely not affected by the incident, though the next night I guess I did dream about it. Hm. Subconscious blah blah blah.

The next day we decided to find a new hotel and found a very modest one in a more central location. We all stayed in one room again, with S, N and I in one bed and J and J in the foldout. I guess we felt safer that way.

It was very rainy and misty the whole time in Matheran, which was lovely but also unfortunate because apparently the town overlooks a breathtaking valley. Ah well. We went for a tromp around the lake nearby (Lake Charlotte). S, N and I (we have become quite the trio) climbed through the barbed wire fence down to the lake shore and nearly got blown off our feet. It was so windy by the water and so misty. We couldn't see more than 10 feet out over the water and we were convinced the Loch Ness monster would leap out of the fog at us. It was thrilling and sinister. I could have stood there forever.

We tromped and tromped and got very wet but it was lovely to feel cold since it's just been so boiling our whole time in India.

That night we played Uno in our hotel restaurant, which took forever to bring our food. The power kept coming on and off so we had to try to play in candlelight and it was very jolly.

The next day, S, N, and I decided to go horseback riding and visit the different valley lookout points. Of course it was raining like mad but we went anyway. The horses were nice and tame, but it was annoying because the horse guys, instead of leading us on their own horses, just walked along side us, calling to our horses and at times taking our horses by the reins and leading them. As if we'd never ridden horses before in our lives. Okay, S hadn't (or maybe she had once). But N is very experienced, and I took riding for one of my PE credits in college so I am not a complete dunce. At any rate, after I fell off my horse, I guess they thought I was the Queen Moron and stuck to me like glue. Yes, I fell off my horse. Here is what happened. We had to get off our horses to visit the lookout points (I guess so they wouldn't leap off any cliffs with us on their backs). I had been climbing onto things to get onto my horse because I did not trust my strength to hoist myself on without incident. But at one lookout point, I got bold and thought "I can certainly dismount a horse. Heavens." But I forgot that I was not wearing riding shoes but rather the only shoes I brought to India...sandals. So my top strap got hooked on the stirrup and down I went onto my arse and flush in front of my horse's front legs. He started to walk backwards, and if he had continued I may have been carried off the mountain with a broken ankle. But I had the presence of mind to tell the guide to "STOP HIM" and all was well. I laughed my head off and I think the guides were relieved I wasn't a) dead, b) maimed or c) angry. From then on, like I said, they stuck to me like glue.

By the way, the views, even though it was very rainy, cloudy, misty, and foggy, were quite spectacular. I took some pictures that I'll post one of these days.

But now here comes the real story of the trip that made it one of the most exhilarating, glorious weekends of my life. I do not exaggerate.

J and J wanted to leave earlier than S, N and I. So the three of us were left alone. We ate and shopped. (I got some of my nephews sling shots...bad idea?) N and I decided to take rickshaws down to the taxi stand. I'd always wanted to take one because I played a song on the piano when I was a kid called "In a Rickshaw" and there was an illustration in the book. At any rate, S did not want to take a rickshaw because she didn't like the idea of another human being pulling her in a cart. And she was right not to. It was horrible! It's horrible to have another person pulling you along. N and I vowed we would not ever take another rickshaw in our lives. But at least we did it once.

So then we took a cab down to the train station with a man and his two fabulous little girls. The older wanted to be a pediatrician and the younger a geologist. She showed us a beautiful geode she had found on the mountain. There were lovely vistas all the way down the mountain that I have pictures of too.

Anyway, so we bought second class tickets back to Bombay and got on the platform to wait for the train. On Indian trains, there are general seating cars and ladies' cars. It is very desirable to take a ladies car otherwise you might get stared at or "accidentally" touched. But we were standing in the wrong place for the 2nd class ladies car and ended up on the 1st clas ladies car. We felt bad and decided to get off at the next stop and run for the 2nd class car. N had a big rolling suitcase that made it hard for her to run for anything, but we gave it a good go.

S hopped onto the train and so did I just as it started going, but I turned around and N was still running for it with her big fat suitcase and I just knew she wouldn't make it. The only thought in my mind was that we shouldn't get separated so I LEAPED from the moving train and landed on my arse for the second time that day. I sat and laughed hysterically while men leaned out of the train doors, laughing and telling me to get up. N came to me but then looked up horrified and I thought she saw S whizzing away without us. But no. What she saw was S LEAPING from the train as well and landing on the slanted part of the platform right before it ends and grass, a ditch, and a big fat POLE begin. She landed and bounced onto HER arse and everybody gathered around her and SHE was laughing hysterically and N started laughing too and we just all laughed our heads off as the train sped out of sight. Then we sat on our bags and had a rainy repast of chocolate Indonesian cookies, some kind of delectable nutty cookie, and green olives. Every so often we would burst into laughter that S and I had LEAPED FROM A MOVING TRAIN. The surroundings were so idyllic...fields and cows and rain and colorfully-clad people. And we sat and ate sacramental chocolate and olives and had just LEAPED FROM A MOVING TRAIN. And I had a flash of the future of us being Important People, diplomats maybe, meeting up at a shindig and telling people about how back in graduate school when we were travelling in India, we leaped from a moving train together.

When we got onto the train, N and I ate samosas that a man was selling and talked about our future plans and talked about how glad we were to be friends. S had gone in another door and the train was crowded enough that she couldn't see us. After enough people shifted, there was room for her across from us and we stood up and shouted her name (for which we got laughed at) and she came and sat with us and we talked and listened to some teenage girls sing and played with two beautiful little boys who sat on their mother's and grandmother's laps and who got very messy eating the last of our Indonesian cookies that we gave to them (much to the grandmother's chagrin...luckily we had napkins to clean them up with).

S said that she felt she could do anything after leaping from a moving train, and I felt that way too. We shall see...

Still Not All the Pictures, but I'm Getting There...

2006-07-05T23:57:00.000-07:00

There really are cows on the streets. This cow is in the neighborhood that is roughly equivalent to Wall Street.

A Hindu temple at which there was some convention of Hari Krishnas.

The city from Chowpatty Beach

Near my hostel.
The view from the YMCA. See the orange flowers!

A sort of dumb picture. Ah well.

The beach.

Very annoyed

2006-06-27T07:00:00.000-07:00

I just spent 38 years uploading photos and I see that only some of them made it to the post for some reason. I am very cranky and refuse to redo them right now. You will all just have to wait.

Pictures, kids! The captions are all messed up and I have absolutely no patience to deal with them. Figure them out.

2006-06-25T00:38:00.000-07:00

A field in the middle of town called a maidan where people play cricket, which is all the rage.

I like doorways.

A blue mosque.

Grouch

2006-06-16T02:43:00.000-07:00

I am a grouch today. And here is why. Or part of why.

I have a pants problem. You know they sell all of these clothes on the street here in Bombay. They are very cheap.

I have bought the same basic pair of pants four times in different colors: deep plum, scrubs blue, khaki, and dusty blue. They are for the most part horrible (the scrubs are okay). They are tapered and bulky in the pockets and just in general the pits. But I've been going for something obviously that I was hoping at least one of these pairs of pants would achieve. Breezy cottony trousers that I could wear in casual situations and probably also while teaching (since I sit on the floor so much during teaching). But none of these pants really fit the bill. The scrubs pants would if I didn't just feel like I was in my pajamas while wearing them.

So today I ventured out in the scrubs pants for the first time. I'll usually just wear them around the room or down to dinner. But this morning I was just going out to this cyber cafe about 5 or 10 minutes from the Y so I could type out a response to my first couple of weeks here for my host organization to read.

I got there and all was in chaos; they seemed to be revamping their whole network. So they told me to come back in a half an hour. I decided it would be dumb to walk home again, so I thought I would just walk down the road for 15 minutes and then 15 minutes back. On this little jaunt, which I did not want to take because I've been sick, I discovered that these pants are exceedingly HOT. I was quite miserable. Plus I walked by one of the most horrible stenches I have ever encountered. I think people were cleaning out fish right next to poultry cages. It was horrible horrible horrible, but it lasted only about 20 yards.

I also came upon some very skinny, sad kittens with their mother surveying me menacingly from under a motor scooter; a few rather lovely cows; and many interesting little shops. That is one thing I've decided I love about Bombay: the visibility of the many professions. We in the U.S. don't get much chance to see the intricacies of key making or shoe repair, but here these businesses are out in plain view on the street. In fact, one of the things that has been frequently running through my head since I got here is a line from my favorite English poet, Gerard Manley Hopkins: "And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim..../He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change" (from "Pied Beauty"). And of course another pair of his lines, from "God's Grandeur" fit very well too: "And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil; / And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell."

At any rate, I got back to the place and they let me type out my response but then it turned out there was no way for me to get it off the computer: their printer was not hooked up and they didn't seem to want to hook it up for me; the internet was not working, so I couldn't email it to myself; and every time I tried to save my document to a disk, the computer froze. Meanwhile, I was growing later and later for my 11 o'clock meeting. When it became 10:45, I finally left. I had worn my horrid outfit in part to get myself out of the cyber cafe in a timely manner. I thought that the prospect of wearing it out in the city would be enough of a horror that I would get back to my room in time to change. Apparently I care that little for my physical appearance.

So I got to my meeting 15 minutes late without my response to turn in. All was fine though, except that I was still dreadfully hot because of these bad pants. But then we walked to this fabulous Irani restaurant and I got even hotter. I was so grumpy I could barely enjoy lunch. When we got back to the office, they announced we would have to stuff invitations into envelopes for their big event. This made me very grumpy because I just wanted to go home and take off these dreadful pants (which got very wet in a surprise downpour on the way back from lunch). So me and one of the other girls escaped to this other cyber cafe (the invites hadn't arrived from the printer quite yet) and I'm still here and am bad and don't want to go help. I'm so hot and grumpy and just want to be alone. This is my first truly grumpy day in Bombay and I'd much rather spend it alone (and for those of you who know me, it's for sure no one else wants to be around me on one of my grumpy days). I just want to go to a nice air conditioned movie theater and eat ice cream and watch Clive Owen rob a bank (this is what we did last night).

I guess I should be writing about my daily experiences with the fabulous children I teach. This sort of thing is I'm sure infinitely more interesting than rambling on and on about a bad-pants-induced bad day. Basically, the teachers here are very strict and unsmiling and whereas, again for those of you who know me, I am capable of strictness and unsmilingness, these are not qualities I admire in myself or anyone else. I would much rather let the beast sleep, but I worry that the other teachers will lable me ineffectual. I guess I shouldn't care so much about that.

Here is one thing: it is very difficult to teach 15 young children in half a very small classroom with another class going on in the room at the same time. I get a little freaked out by the chaos. Plus the room is really echoey and there are always other children running around and yelling in the halls outside so I can barely hear my extremely soft-spoken pupils. And I know they are still getting used to my accent, and they probably also think that since I smile a lot I am a pushover so they are not very obedient. Ah well. They are truly fabulous and they are just kids like kids anywhere. Some are very loud and bad (in an endearing way) and some are very conscientious and want to please.

In my afternoon class, I am not the main teacher, which is better in a lot of ways, and there is a boy I absolutely adore. He is really quiet and nerdy looking and he tends to sit by himself. I had tried talking to him before and he didn't really respond, so I assumed he just didn't know English as well as the other kids. But then I did a reading assessment with him, and he did a very good job. It must be my accent. There's another kid who is straight fabulous. He came bursting into the classroom the first day, full of bravado, and shook my hand and asked me how I was doing and what my name was. When I ask him to do something he doesn't want to do, he gets this very appealing look on his face and says, in the most irresistible little whine"No, didi(sister--that's what the kids call us)! No!" I love this kid.

Well. I guess that's about all. I like Bombay. I miss my cats. I dream of Salt Lake.

Moho in a Mumu

2006-06-08T22:56:00.000-07:00

Well, kids, I don't have the ability to post pictures quite yet. There's a really high-tech cyber cafe I may join where it will be pretty easy to upload pictures. We shall see.

Things are going really well. I found out I will be working as a teacher's aid for before-and-after school programs for six and seven year olds! Can you think of a better thing to spend you summer doing? I hope I get along with the teachers and everything. I'm usually much more afraid of adults than kids. Especially I'm afraid of other adults watching me interact with kids, because you're always at least moderately dorky with kids and it's EMBARRASSING. Ah well.

So. I've gotten more used to it here, I guess. I think I'm still a little bit too overwhelmed to write anything coherent. I think the air conditioning is affecting my brain. I was so happy my first two nights here with no AC. Ever since they moved us into the AC room, I've been groggy and snorky. And showers were so much more miraculous before the AC. I know pretty much no one would agree with me, but I kind of wish I were in one of the less deluxe rooms.

The girls I'm here with are really fun for the most part. There are all of these street markets that we've been frequenting and featured at many of these markets are tables of mumus. I desperately want one. Those of you who know me MUST know how cute I would look in a mumu. But my friends here will NOT hear of it. They have tried to explain to me that I have to be at least 55 to wear a mumu. But I WANT one. I'm going to sneak away one of these days and buy one and there is nothing that N and S can do about it (N is my roommate and S is the other girl I'm probably closest to here). N is a Nazarene and S is Hindu. I told them all about how my sister says I am a Moho since I am Mormon (Mo) and have kissed a lot of boys (Ho). So now N is a Nazho and S is a Hinho. I cracked up one day after one of N and S's mumu interventions because N said it might indeed be a little too sexy for me to have a mumu and that when I get one I will have to make one of THOSE movies called Moho in a Mumu.

Speaking of movies, I saw my first Bollywood movie yesterday. It was caled Fanaa (Crazy Love, the guys behind the YMCA desk told us) and was just about the cheesiest thing I've ever seen. But it was so fun and dramatic and beautiful. The tunes were very catchy. A lot of it took place up in the mountains of North India; I've got to get myself up there in August. Here is an interesting thing about the movies in India: they play the national anthem before hand with a movie of the Indian flag waving. So you stand up and watch the filmed flag and some people even sing along with the national anthem. It was lovely being at the movies with people dressed in saris and burkas. Especially concerning the burka-wearing women, it's a good reminder that they are people who enjoy things and go out. Things that should be obviously but unfortunately aren't. It's lovely to have communal things that bring such things to your attention. Long live the movies!

There are some beautiful things here in Mumbai. The architecture is for the most part astounding. I don't know enough about architecture to explain it, but it's a wild mix of British, Islamic, and Hindu, most of it in various stages of dilapidation. We went to a mosque, a Hindu temple, and a Jain temple yesterday. We had to take our shoes off in all of them, and the mosque and Jain temple both had marble floors with some carving in them. It is lovely to walk with bare feet across carved marble.

The most horrible things I've seen so far all involve babies. One day we were in Colaba, a really touristy area of South Bombay (I'm actually going to be working in Colaba), and there were some children sitting by the side of the road. The gutter at this particular part of the road was very wide with some cobbling that extended for a while until the road proper began. A baby was sitting with its back to the traffic right at the edge of this cobbling. A little girl was watching the baby, but it was so dangerously close. It made me queasy just looking at it.

Yesterday I took the train for the first time. Trains here are kind of fabulous because they have no doors and are thus very breezy. But there was this trio of children plus a baby and a little yellow chick sitting next to one of these open doorways. The oldest girl was sitting right next to the door holding the baby. If anything went wrong, it looked like they would just fall right out.

The worst thing happened when we were driving in a taxi on the highway. I think this is actually the worst thing I've seen in my entire life. The highway has a large shoulder where people live, and the shoulder is divided from the road by a picket fence. A baby was sitting halfway between the road side and the shoulder side of the fence holding onto the pickets. She was closer to the road than the shoulder. And a woman who must have been her mother was sleeping 15 or 20 feet away from her. The baby was seriously at most 2 feet away from the traffic. I wanted to jump out of the car and put her out of harm's way. The thing is I probably could have. Traffic was pretty bad and we weren't moving that fast. But how do you do such things? On the other hand, how do you not?

I Loves Me Some Mumbai

2006-06-03T04:37:00.000-07:00

So here I am in Mumbai.

And I love it. It is sultry and hot and the food is amazing and the textiles very colorful.

Can anyone else believe I'm here, because I barely can. On the other hand, the moment I stepped out of the airport I knew I would love this place and that it would be some sort of home for me.

Of course, I am being a little hasty in falling in love (me?), so ask me in a few weeks how I feel.

I realize I am not being my normal fluid self. I think jetlag is affecting me more than I think it is (nonsensical sentence, I know). Plus I have to go to the bathroom and it's hard to find places to go to the bathroom when you're out and about. I had Diet Coke at lunch though, so don't feel bad for me. I brought it on myself.

All of the dogs in Mumbai look to be of the same breed, or rather non-breed. They look like just a dog. Like a normal yeller dog. I've seen a couple that have deviated into more foxish territory. It's such a change from all the designer dogs in New York. And the cats! They are downright creepy (or would be if you weren't in love with cats)! Very muscular with big long ears.

We went shopping today, which was very necessary since I brought only two pants and 2 or 3 shirts. I bought a sharwa shemeez (however you spell it...those tunic-and-pants combos), a really pretty long shirt with poplar trees on it, a white skirt and blue shirt, some green linen pants and some flip flops for the shower. All for just about sixty bucks. For reals. And it was only that much because I went to a department store for the first two items.

Here was a lovely thing: when I was flying in the night on the way to Mumbai, I looked out the window and there were some mountains. Huge tall mountains that seemed so close to our plane at 39,000 feet. I think they were in Afghanistan or Iran or Pakistan...we flew over all these countries at some point. I know it doesn't seem like much to just fly over someplace, but it really gave me a thrill to think that just below me were these places that aren't really accessible.

Here and there in Mumbai there are some trees with bright orange flowers. Sort of the same shade as quince. I must find out what they are.

Mumbai is very difficult to navigate because there are very few street signs. I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to get to church tomorrow. It's a little out of the city in Navi Mumbai. I know the directions to get there by train, but I haven't been in a train yet and am a little nervous. We've taken cabs pretty much everywhere. They are SO CHEAP. Like the last cab we took was 30 rupees, which is about 75 cents. Split three ways!

I am so jet lagged. My head is sort of swimming. I must be really thirsty but I don't want to drink because I don't know how long it will be before I get back to the YMCA.

The YMCA is a strange place. We were informed we would have rooms with AC, but apparently we will only have rooms with AC when there aren't more important people than us staying there. We've been told we will likely shift several times in the next couple of months. For now we are in rooms with just ceiling fans and a bathroom down the hall. It's not so bad because it's mostly men on the hall so we get the bathroom pretty much to ourselves anyway.

The showers are strange. Mostly you just turn on the tap and use a little jug to pour water over yourself. It's actually very pleasant and writing about it makes me want to be there right now freshening up. You get very disgusting tromping around Mumbai. In a good way, of course. I love this extreme heat. It makes cooling off so much more exhilarting, too.

I think at this point I am just rambling. I hope that I get a little bit back to normal in the next few days.

Daddy Done Did It

2006-05-12T20:08:00.000-07:00

On the subway today, we had a very jazzy announcer. There have been some service changes lately on the A/C and B/D lines, which all four run the same route from 59th to 145th, with the A and D usually making express stops. Anyway, these days the C has been running express to 145th.

So I got on the uptown C train at 14th Street and the guy says over the speaker that if we want to go to 145th Street, we have to "GET ON THIS TRAIN! We'll discuss later what happens next." Or something to that effect.

So once we get going, he gives us the low-down: "This train is running express to 145th Street. If you want to make local stops, transfer at 59th Street to the Bad-Boy-Bobby-Brown B train or the Daddy-Done-Did-It D train! To make express stops, stay on Choo Choo Charley to 145th!"

He proffered this very memorable advice a few times on the way to 145th and even said he would take questions if we had any.

Out of Control

2006-05-10T14:42:00.000-07:00

SOMEBODY STOP ME

I am writing this paper that is a year late (don't ask) and it was supposed to be 20 pages and I just keep writing and writing and writing and it is now 26 pages and I know I'm not going to stop. It's just going to keep getting insanely longer.

Please. Help.

So in the Grocery Store Checkout Line, You Expect to See Gum, but not...

2006-05-05T19:41:00.000-07:00

BEEF BOULLION CUBES.

I was buying some toilet paper and nail polish remover just now (a 4 year old painted my fingernails and the toenails of one foot, all in different colors) and as I was waiting in line I considered buying some gum, but none of it was sugarfree. My eyes traveled right and there was the beef boullion. What? Is this some kind of accident, some kind of stopping place until the boullion can be stocked where it ought to be? No. I glanced down the rest of the checkout stands and each one featured a shelf of boullion cubes.

Somebody has to help Fine Fare with their marketing strategy.

Anyway, while I am here, I need to bring up two more things from yesterday that I can't believe I forgot:

I got my first chocolate milkshake of the year from a Mr. Softee truck:

(No I did not take this picture. I pilfered it from a here.)

I love Mr. Softee so much. He is so dapper and jolly:

I mean, look at that handsome swirly hair/hat/headress.

At any rate, Mr. Softee is 50 years old this year and I need to buy a T shirt.

The other thing that happened yesterday was the peephole man came by last night. No, he is not a pervert (at least not that I know of); he is a door-to-door salesman of the old style. He has come to my apartment before and done remarkable demonstrations on how much better the new peepholes are than the old ones. Last night he had some new tricks. He hid around the corner out in the hall and had me look in the demo peephole, which apparently can see around corners or something. I did not have the heart to tell him that the view through the peephole was the exact same as the naked eye view.

This man is ancient and I love him and that love is more special because over forty years ago he installed the peephole that is currently in my door. This is why he can tell me for certain that the new peephole is superior.

Of course, he could be lying, trying to make me feel all nostalgic and lovey and thus more likely to shell out $37. But I prefer to believe he has been a peephole man all this time and really did stand at my very door 40 years ago and install my little window into the hallway that doesn't shut anymore and so lets light in all night and used to give me sort of the creeps like it was some kind of all-seeing eye.

I hate that I don't have enough loose change lying around to buy a new peephole from this man. What if he's like Willy Loman and they've just got him working on commission? What if he has some demonic boss pitting him against everybody else like in Glengarry Glenross?

Anyway, I know there is something else splendid that happened yesterday that I forgot to write about, but it won't come to me. Hm.

A Play-by-Play of a Very Good Day

2006-05-04T17:07:00.000-07:00

This was a lovely day. It was one of those spring days in Manhattan when the temperature of the air outside does not differ from the temperature of your body and all is in perfect equilibrium.

I woke up at about 8:30, which I think was quite respectable given that I went to bed at 1.

I went down and got my paper (the thievery seems to have subsided somewhat, though I was robbed some day this week...Tuesday?) and came back and rustled up a breakfast of (what else?) peanut butter and honey and an apple. While I ate I watched some of Raging Bull. I cannot seem to watch too much of this movie in one sitting. It had been sitting on my desk for a long time, making my monthly Netflix fee not worth it (unless you consider that I can rack up late fees like nobody you've ever met), because I just have not been in the mood for a boxing movie. And because everytime I remember that I need to watch it, I find that I have to be somewhere in less than two hours. Now that I've discovered I can only watch it in short bursts, I think it will finally get finished and sent home to make way for Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore.

So then, with great pain, I worked on my paper for about an hour and a half, progressing from somewhere on page 13 to somewhere on page 17. I am very proud of myself, but I wish the whole process were not so utterly misb. Someday maybe I will not hate writing.

Then I must have made my bed, cleaned off the couch (which always manages to get bestrewn with various daily detritus), done the dishes, taken out the trash, and straightened up generally. Aren't I a good girl?

I must have then proceeded with paying bills and balancing my checkbook. Wow! Writing about how responsible I am is making me very pleased. I get things done! I am a productive member of the world!

Though I have some vague remembrances of "The Price Is Right." When did this happen? While I was cleaning? Or was it when I was going through papers, throwing away 27 items? I love the 27-item throwaway. Has anyone else heard of this? Is it from Flylady? I read about it somewhere and thought it might be just the thing for me. I am simply drowning in papers and am so overwhelmed at the prospect of going through them all. I just hope I am not accumulating at the same rate I am throwing away. You never know with me.

So then I hopped on the train to go to my Weight Watchers meeting, realizing that, such a hermit am I, I had not been on the subway since Saturday. I read the paper as I rode. The main thing I remember is a new book about the Mayflower (Mayflower: A Story of Courage, Community and War by Nathaniel Philbrick) that I think my mom would really like. Mother's Day: check.

When I finish a section of the paper on the train, I leave it there for someone else to read. Before I subscribed to the paper I was always so pleased to come across an abandoned section. This is how I pay the world back.

Weight Watchers was okay. I gained a pound because I did not write down anything I ate this week and I did not care what I ate this week because I was mad. C'est la guerre.

Then I hopped on the 14 bus over to school and handed in a form so I can get enough money to go to India.

Then it was back to the subway and back to my paper. I did most of the crossword puzzle, though I got stumped on 16 Across, Surfer wannabe, which is hodad; 19 Across, Mediterranean resort Island, which is Ibiza (I should have known that!), and a few others. I must admit I took to the internet to find these last few. Ack! I've just noticed that I left a space blank. 22 Down: Malodorous Malaysian fruit...P-U-R-blank-A-N. Probably an I.

Then I came home and maybe this is when I did the 27-item throwaway. Or maybe this is when I cleaned and paid bills. At any rate, I know I ate lunch and maybe I watched some Raging Bull while I ate.

I had to leave again to go to my therapy appointment, after which I was supposed to go to the post office on 23rd between Park and Lex. I have just now realized that I completely forgot to go to the post office. I was lulled into a forgetful state, I'm sure, by my walk past the cloistered, lovely, untouchable Gramercy Park (you have to live on its perimeter to have access to it) and was dazzled by the post office's neighbors, which include Housing Works and Shakespeare and Co. I decided when I saw these glories that I would make an artist's date of the afternoon (see The Artist's Way by Julie Cameron if you don't know what I'm talking about). First I went to Housing Works and poked around the clothes and remembered one reason I want to lose weight: thrift shopping is so much easier when you are a few sizes smaller than I am and thrift-type clothes are my style. Then I mosied over to the books but was quickly drawn to the records. I picked a Kurt Weil collection and a record of Auden, Eliot ("dime for you and dime for me"), Thomas, and Cummings reading their poetry. Two bucks each!

When I left Housing Works I walked west to Shakespeare and Co. (this is when I forgot the post office). They had a copy of A Passage to India, which is what I was after, but it was $14 and I thought "I bet the Strand has a used copy for less!" So I walked down to 12th Street, through the throngs sunning themselves in Union Square, and was disappointed in my Passage to India search. Howards End and Maurice and countless copies of Where Angels Fear to Tread. But no Passage to India. But I did stumble on a book I'd seen among the things of a girl I'm going to India with and which I think may be a book our professor told us to read: Maximum City: Bombay Lost and Found by Suketu Mehta. I decided to buy it even though I'm not sure it's the right book.

I also happened upon a book by Kay Boyle called Plagued by the Nightingale. Boyle's name is very very vaguely familiar to me and when I read the back blurb, I felt like the book must be in the same vein as those of Shirley Hazzard and Anita Brookner: slim, distilled books with actual human females as their protagonists. Marilynne Robinson and Margaret Laurence come to mind too. Excellent twentieth-century female writers who are too overlooked.

At any rate, Plagued by the Nightingale was only 4 bucks, so I bought it too.

Having been thwarted in my Forster foraging, I tromped back up to Shakespeare and bought the $14 copy.

I made my way home, finishing my scripture reading (remind me to tell you about my fancy Book of Mormon reading process) and listening to a few songs on my iPod ("Go to Sleep Little Baby," collected by Alan Lomax; "Stay Well," sung by Dawn Upshaw; and the first movement of Brahms's 4th Symphony). Then I read a silly cat poem ("The Cats Have Come to Tea" by Kate Greenaway) and decided to read the first chapter of each of my three new books. I think the first one I'll go further in is the Bombay book. Though I can't end up reading A Passage to India on the plane to Bombay. Way too embarrassing.

Anyway, I spent 15 minutes expanding my pedigree chart (I have a many-greats grandma named Abigail Hildreth!), talked to my sister on the phone, and now "ER" is starting and I have to go!

Gailism

2006-04-25T20:04:00.000-07:00

So Lily asked me why on earth I have the straw hat that I have. I have this straw hat because of Gail.

Back in fall 2001 I moved into a one-bedroom apartment up on Park Terrace West in Inwood. It had this really large kitchen but zero counterspace. There was just this huge expanse of wall with nothing betached to it. So I determined to find a suitable counter replacement.

I went onto Craig's List and there was a woman selling a utility table that I thought sounded like good news. She lived on the Upper East Side so I went down there and met with her to assess the table before I bought it.

Gail's building had an old-fashioned elevator, which practically every building in the city has so you don't think it's a big deal. But this elevator didn't just have the swinging-open door; it had an enormous lever on the inside that made it go and a man there to operate the enormous lever which was good because I don't think I could have done it myself.

Gail was a fiftyish (though I would not be shocked if she were older because I would soon find out that she was a convert to microdermabrasion and saw me, 22 though I was, as a potential proselyte) , personable, jittery little brunette who seemed overjoyed to have somebody in her apartment.

The table looked roughly like this (only I don't think it was adjustable):

At any rate, Gail really sold it. She told me it had worked great for her for a long time as a surface for her jewelry-making endeavors, but that she had come into a fabulous antique sewing table (these details are a little shady, but I know she made some weird thing on the table and had come across a fab replacement). And then Gail got onto the table and lay down on it to show how sturdy it was (though I should have been doubtful because Gail probably weighed 85 lbs).

I told Gail I would buy the table and would come back later to get it when I could get some help.

And then the advice. I told my friend B about all of Gail's advice, and he actually heard some of it straight from her because he was the help I came back with later, and he saw how convinced I was by her advice and proclaimed me a Gailist. Here is some advice from Gail:

-Get microdermabrasion (I actually haven't done this one yet)

-Freeze milk because it's cheaper to buy a gallon at a time but who drinks that much before it goes bad. (This is my favorite Gailist tenet...milk that has been frozen has a richness of flavor that I had never experienced before.)

-Go to Chinatown and buy a whole bunch of vegetables for really cheap, take them home and steam them for 30 seconds and then freeze them. It is much much cheaper than buying frozen vegetables from the freezer aisle. (I haven't actually done this either. Mainly because I have never lived close to Chinatown. But I DO make a whole bunch of food at once and freeze it. So I'm following the spirit of this Gailist law, if not the letter.)

-Always wear a big huge hat to the beach, especially if you have such pale pale skin as I have. (I acquired the featured hat soon after in none other than Chinatown.)

I regret that I have not kept in touch with Gail. I was supposed to call her up to get the recipe she made up for whole-grain muffins but I was too shy (I think such things should be done over email) and never did. And thus she drifted out of my life after only two meetings. But her legacy...oh, it lives on. Yes indeed.

Racy Nun

2006-04-25T19:48:00.000-07:00

Today I was on the subway and a fully nun-garbed nun came and sat perpendicular to me (if you ride the A or D or F or V trains you know the configuration). I noticed she was reading a normal-looking book, not scripture or anything. But I saw the title and it was Sacred Time.

I didn't pry anymore at that point (which is rare...everyone in New York is secretly nosy, myself included, and is always reading over your shoulder, listening in, etc.). But I know a thought flitted across my brain. I'm not sure what it was because the thing that I later noticed I think is coloring my remembrance of this thought. You know how that happens? Where you think you were all prophetic but maybe you really weren't? At any rate a thought about what this nun could be reading and...possibly...that it could be funny came in and out of my brain.

And then as I was getting ready to leave the train, I finally looked at the nun's book and my eyes fell on a passage, two words (both occuring more than once, I believe) leaping out at me: "sperm" and "snipped."

Naughty nun!

August Beleventh

2006-04-25T08:28:00.000-07:00

So I have this Tradition with ma cousine (whom you can find over at FeMoHos) in which we go to a new place every August 11th.

It all started in my astronomy class winter semester 1998 at BYU. My professor (an ancient man who proclaimed that women made very good astronomers except when it comes to developing new equipment and who wrote his final test in 1974 and didn't bother to hide the fact) made reference to a coming event: a total eclipse of the sun on August 11, 1999 that would be visible in parts of Europe. Immediately the wheels started spinning in me head. I knew I was planning on being in Europe that summer (I was a German minor and needed to go to the Vaterland to improve my skills--I ended up in Switzerland, but that's another story), and I knew that ma cousine and best friend both had European plans on the horizon. So I proposed to them that we make a concerted effort to meet in Germany on August 11th and watch the eclipse.

As a sort of precursor to the tradition, ma cousine and I were in Prince Edward Island together on August 11, 1998. I think we were aware of the fact that exactly a year from then we would be witnessing the eclipse and it may have been then that we made the decision to spend all subsequent August 11ths together. I'm not sure.

At any rate, very early in the morning of August 11, 1999, we boarded a crowded train at the Zurich Hauptbahnhof headed for Karlsruhe, Germany. The best view was supposed to be in Stuttgart, and everyone knew it so everyone took up all the trainspace and we had to settle for Karlsruhe. But it turned out that we were the Luckiest Girls in Europe because that day a huge cloud settled over most of Germany and all of the eclipse-gazers got gypped. But not in Karlsruhe! We sat there at the zoo next to the flamingos, and though it was cloudy, there was a break right where the sun was. So we saw the whole eclipse (which, at its peak, I thought looked like someone had stuck a thumbtack on the sun) and pretty much as soon as it was over, the clouds covered the sun and it began to rain. I think it was one of the few places in Germany where anybody saw anything, and we were sure that our ending up there had been divine intervention because how could God stand to see us disappointed after we'd waited and planned for a year and half?

At any rate, the next year the three of us were together again, but since then it's just been me and ma cuisine (it's easier because we live in the same city). We've had to make things a little less grandiose since at least ma cousine is a Real Live Adult with responsibilities, bills, blah, blah, blah. But here is a list of the places we have gone since Karlsruhe. Someday maybe I'll write about all of these...who knows?

2000: Bicknell, Utah/Capitol Reef National Park

2001: The Brooklyn Botanic Gardens

2002: Coney Island

2003: Le Cirque

2004: The Algonquin

2005: Flowell, Utah and Ely, Nevada/The Loneliest Road

Coming in 2006: West Virginia!

A Very Frightening Straw Hat

2006-04-20T07:54:00.000-07:00

Last night, I took down my enormous straw hat:

I put it on my head and Mr. Burkett was very disconcerted. At first she just looked at me with very wide eyes and bobbed her head up and down. And then I think she did not want want me to come near her, but also didn't want to be rude. She'd just kind of casually walk away when I would walk toward her.

Here's another picture of this delectable creature:

A Possible Conversion and a Dubious

2006-04-19T21:01:00.000-07:00

Well. So tonight I was watching Sex and the City and it was the episode where Carrie and Mr. Big decide to finally go out for a real "drink thing" after running into each other over and over and over again. And he keeps lousing it up and Carrie keeps not accepting the louse ups and actually, like, gets up and leaves when it turns out he has a friend along to their rendez-vous, declines an invitation to join him and this same friend for lunch when she randomly bumps into them, etc. Because what Carrie wants is to spend planned time alone with Mr. Big. She does not accept substitutes.

And I suddenly wanted to be just like Carrie. So cool and demanding. So brave and confident in her knowledge that her actions would not close the Mr. Big door for good.

I think I've wanted to be this way before, but it smacked so much of the Rules I couldn't bear it. But now I don't care. If this means I'm a Rules girl from here on out, so be it. Much better than being desperate and ingratiating. Heavens.

Here is the problem: I am so NOT like Carrie it's laughable. I have like 2 pairs of shoes, I wear clothes I've had since 1997, and I certainly don't have Sarah Jessica Parker's lovely hair and perfectly petite figure. How can I play hard to get when it's really very likely that no one is trying to get me?

This is why this possible conversion to a Rulesy way of doing things is dubious. I don't see how such an attitude is sustainable if you don't have the goods.

And oh dear, am I really looking to Carrie Bradshaw as a role model? Me?

Very Excited about My New Phone

2006-04-19T15:43:00.000-07:00

I got me a phone that takes pictures! I have had the same old Nokia phone for about 4 years, so when the Cingular folks called me up last week and said "Say, do you want us to send you a new camera phone for free?" I said "Sure!"

At any rate, I feel like I am a bit behind the times for being so excited about this. I hear they got phones these days what take videos and play music.

But it is because of the phone that you could finally see Mr. Burkett in the last post. And it's because of the phone that you get to see my beautiful Isis:

Mr. Burkett in a Word

2006-04-19T14:43:00.000-07:00

I found this over at Harlem Snowflake and thought "Why, that is Mr. Burkett!"

And here is a photo to prove it:

Seeking subletter/cat-lover

2006-04-19T13:48:00.000-07:00

Seeking subletter/cat-lover for a beautiful, large furnished studio in Inwood from late May to mid-August. The monthly rent would normally be $925.65. However, since the sublet involves caring for my two wonderful cats, I will knock the rent down to $800/month.

The apartment is on a quiet street around the corner from the final stop on the A train. The train ride to midtown is about 25–30 minutes. The building has laundry facilities, easy access to a fabulous park, and is close to a large grocery store. The studio has a separate kitchen and a large front entry way. The living space is large and sunny. There are three closets in the apartment; I will probably use one of them for storage. I have two window air conditioners and cable internet. Furniture includes a single bed, fold out couch, dresser, various chairs, kitchenware, and a large table that I use as a desk.

The cats (being cats) sleep a lot and are not a lot of work. They just need to be fed, watered, played with, and brushed everyday. They also need their litter scooped everyday. They are both black, short-haired, spayed females.

Isis

2006-04-14T14:31:00.000-07:00

So I promised a post on Isis.

Oh, Isis! She is a very sweet little lammy (yes that's what I call her...bug off).

Isis is 3 1/2 years old (she was born Sept 13th 2002, according to my niece whose cat she used to be).

Isis was given to my niece as a Christmas present and I was home in SLC at the time. I was the one who suggested Isis as a fitting name for her, so I think it's most happy that she ended up being mine.

Last summer when I was home in SLC, I was down at my sister's house. My niece had just found Isis, who had been gone for about a week (she was an outdoor cat), and the poor cat's left eye was covered in pus. We were all horrified. We took her into the bathroom and my mom washed her eye out (my mom has The Touch when it comes to creatures) and we put some Neosporin on her eye. But her iris was all cloudy, so by that time she was already blinded.

This all happened at about 10:30 at night, so they didn't take her to the vet till the next morning. She had a deep puncture wound in her eye that looked like it was made by a BB or something, but there was no BB to be found, so they thought it might just be an extra bad claw wound. The vet said she'd have to have her eye removed. Of course this was going to cost a pretty penny, but my sister loved Isis and didn't want to have her put down. Thus came about Isis's first surgery of the summer.

My sister and her family would be moving to Morocco in August and had wanted to take Isis with them. However, she was not spayed or anything so they took her in to get her globally transportable. When the powers that be were getting ready to spay her, they discovered that she was pregnant and only about a week away from delivery! My sister made the choice to have the litter aborted because of the whole Morocco thing. But it turns out you can't have an abortion and be sterilized at the same time, so a while later Isis had to go back and have yet another medical procedure.

Then my sister decided they were no longer going to take Isis with them. Since I had already said I'd take one of my parents' kittens, I volunteered to foster her for a couple of years. She and my new kitten could keep each other company.

So then my sister and her family left, and poor Isis had to come live at my parents' house, where we had to keep her away from their very protective mama cat (there were a couple of deafening and gravity-defying run-ins). And THEN she had to get put into a traveling crate and flown off to New York City. And THEN her demented owner (me) got really excited one day and picked her up and danced around the room to Paul Simon (she took a very long time to forgive me of this). And THEN, Mr. Burkett arrived with my parents and disrupted her quiet haven. Because of all this chaos she's had to endure and because I adore her, I have determined not to give Isis back to my sister when she returns from Morocco. She just deserves to have a predictable, stable life from now on. I think my sister has gotten wind of this, but I haven't actually told her yet.

My poor sweet Isis. She had such a rough time of it last year. She has just now in the last couple of weeks started to come out of her shell shock.

She is a very tentative, dignified little cat with all black fur and the most amazing green gem of an eye. She is Mr. Burkett's biological grandma, and I think because of this status I hold her in reverence and can't imagine that she isn't ages and ages older than me.

She reminds me every night that it is time for her to be brushed, and I know it is her favorite time of the day. It is fascinating to me that she never asks to be brushed at any other time. It's like she enjoys putting off and then savoring the brushing as a ritual.

She is so very different from Mr. Burkett, who is extremely affectionate and aggressive, that I am often in despair that she will ever love me. She sometimes seems to dread my coming near her. But then every so often she'll creep slowly up to me, crawl onto my lap or chest, and let me pet and massage her. And she'll reward me with her very rare, very quiet purr.

From the Mechanical* Archives, or Major Tired

2006-04-14T13:36:00.000-07:00

From this date in 1996, when I was a senior in high school:

Dear Naomi,

I'm major tired. I got home from CA today at approx 1:00 pm.

I had so much fun, but I'm so glad to be home. I got a total of about 17 hours of sleep the whole time!

The A'Cappella trip was quite different from how I expected it. I've got to tell you everything, but I'm major tired.

I don't want to go to school tomorrow, except that I want to see Dan. I'm so pathetic. Why can't I get over him?

We'll, I'll give you a run-down tomorrow.

Lolly

P.S. Some pretty awful stuff happened on the trip that makes me want to throw up. I can't wait to vent to you! School will help, too.

*Sorry, Edje, but meatspace gives me the total grodes.

Quick observation

2006-04-07T19:42:00.000-07:00

Every blog that I've linked to, with the exception of Lucy's Spleen and Celibate in the City, is pink.

This May Be a Little Too Graphic for Some

2006-04-07T19:11:00.000-07:00

Today I was on the toilet (as I'm sure most of us were at some point today).

My pants were down around my ankles and in walks Mr. Burkett (my youngest cat) and plops herself down in my pants. This is the sort of thing she does and I was not surprised at all. But I was overwhelmed by her exceeding cuteness. She is the cutest thing on the planet.

Since I'm talking about my cats, I may as well REALLY talk about my cats (the only thing I'm truly good at talking about):

Mr. Bob Burkett is 8 months old (today! Happy Birthday Mr. B!). She is all black with Dijon-mustard eyes. She was born in my closet last summer when I was staying with my parents. Her mother, Roxy, had taken a liking to me and insisted upon my being her midwife (i.e. she meowed like crazy whenever I would try to walk away when she was in labor, plus she bit me right before giving birth to the first kitty). So I've known Mr. B all her life. She got her name in the following ways:

When I was a child I loved the movie My Favorite Wife with Cary Grant and Irene Dunne. There's a scene in that movie where a pageboy is paging a character named Steven Burkett (played by Randolph Scott). He wanders the Pacific Club yelling "Paging Mr. Burkett," and even sometimes sounds like he's singing. So I started wandering the house singing "Paging Mr. Burkett," modulating up and down and up and down and driving my siblings crazy. Last summer I took to calling Roxy "Mistress Baby" (don't ask) and I would call to her in the tune of "Paging Mr. Burkett." So I decided I must name my kitten Mr. Burkett because it would be so jolly to have a reason to sing the Mr. Burkett tune on a regular basis.

Now for the Bob part. One day, also when I was in SLC last summer, my sister C and I were coming out of her apartment and there was a nice-looking short-tailed black and white cat hanging around. It was wearing a collar and tag, so I approached it and found out its name was Bob. This was obviously because of its short tail, but I thought it was very funny for a cat to be named Bob. So anyway, the address on the tag was a couple of blocks away, so C and I decided we might want to take the cat closer to its home. I picked up Bob (which I realize was not the best of ideas), and he turned around and boxed my ears (really he missed and hit my cheeks, but I don't think you can say "he boxed my cheeks") and leaped out of my arms. C and I nearly died laughing at this tricky cat and I then determined I must name my cat after him.

So that is how my little girl cat came to be named Mr. Bob Burkett. She is crazy. She likes to hop into the (empty) bathtub and scratch really fast on the sides of the tub. I think she can see her reflection in the porcelain or something. But she just goes absolutely crazy. When I play with her she likes to wrap her front paws around my arm and kick me with her hind legs and bite my fingers. Then she remembers that it hurts me when she bites my fingers and she switches to licking. She purrs at the drop of a hat and makes really creepy clicking noises when she sees a bird or squirrel in the outside tree. She likes to jump up and swipe things that are magneted to the fridge. She wakes me up with insistent meowing every morning very early even if she has food in her dish. She is VERY bad. She is currently sitting right on my mouse pad. She always finds the most inconvenient places to sit. It is among her most endearing traits.

Okay. I am tired! I think I will save the woeful tale of Isis (my older cat) for another post.

A Bad Neighbor

2006-04-05T10:00:00.000-07:00

So late last night, I saw a white envelope poking under my apartment door. It looked just like the envelopes that contain rent statements, and I was confused because I had just sent in my rent. Luckily, there is no confusion about my rent. Unluckily, this is what was in the envelope:

Apt. X-X Occupant

To: Apt X-X occupant

Hereby you are asked for your cooperation with the following requests:

-1. Try to avoid wearing noisy shoes on bare wood floors while walking around your apartment.

-2. Prevent door slamming - in particular the closets doors.

Those sounds are really bothersome and unfair to the other apartment tenants.

This is a multiple dwelling building, therefore private house conduct is not the way to go.

The other tentants above, below and beside you (as well as you), deserve respect and consideration.

A Tenant's Association is currently being formed and issues like this can be brought to their attention as well as to the "Building Management".

Please, be understanding of this request. It will be very much appreciated by all of us.

We Thank you for your cooperation and respect.

--------------------

Well, I was very saddened by this. I nearly never wear shoes in my apartment, and I certainly don't go around slamming my closets. The only thing I can think is that I scoop out the kitty litter usually pretty late at night and wear these little hard-soled mules when I do. I guess I will change to flip-flops. It is true one of my closets is pretty temperamental and gets difficult to close, but I rarely use this closet and when I do it's usually during the day.

I would think that the main complaint my neighbors have against me is that sometimes I play my music too loud or have the TV on too loud (I'm a trifle deef), though not generally late at night; I'm not that rude. But as you can see, there was no mention of this. For this reason, I wondered if this was some kind of form letter given to everyone. So I peeked into the hall to see if there were white envelopes poking under my two immediate neighbors' doors too, but there weren't. Of course, two doors is hardly a survey, but I feel that I have indeed been singled out.

Who wrote this? The people right below me? How many people live there (i.e., who is "all of us"?)? What should I do in the face of this veiled threat to be reported to the nascent Tenant's Association?!

Typhoid Lolly

2006-04-05T09:51:00.000-07:00

So last night I took my first typhoid vaccine pill. Which means, of course, that I am going to India.

I have to take these pills (four total) every other night on an empty stomach. This is very hard because my stomach isn't so often empty except when I wake up in the morgen. But if I can do this, I will be immune from typhoid for 5 years.

I also have to get a polio booster, a tetanus-dyptheria shot, hep A&B shots, and I have the option of getting the rabies vaccine and the Japanese encephalitis vaccine. Since the latter two would cost more than $600 combined, I have my reservations. On the other hand, what if I get bit by a monkey like my friend did in Malaysia (and yes she did get rabies)? The thing about the rabies vaccine, though, is that it does not keep you from getting rabies, it just extends the time you can wait to get treatment after you've been exposed to rabies. And since I'm going to be in Mumbai almost the whole time I'm in India, working very closely with a physician, I don't really see the point. And Japanese encephalitis is a rural disease, and I will be in rural areas for probably only about a week. Should I risk it?

Bobbing Along

2006-03-29T18:26:00.000-08:00

So today I was walking with my dear friend C down by the river (spring has finally returned to Manhatta!)

Along came one of those big ships that are red and look like they are sailing in from 100 years ago. I love these ships and I was transfixed. C, however, was more taken by a smaller glinting object that was coming down the river between the ship and us. What could it be? I stepped over the knee-high railing (the purpose of this railing being what?) and got as close to the riverbank as I could without falling into the surely freezing and hepatitis-filled river. I still couldn't make out what the object was. C stepped over and with her more discerning eyes saw that it was sort of boxy, sort of like a bird house, sort of like...Oh! It was a television set!

A big television set just bobbing jauntily down the Hudson.

From the Un-Electronic Archives

2006-03-28T09:40:00.000-08:00

A prize to the person who can tell me what the correct antonym is for electronic. Analogue? Stone-age?

At any rate, here is a journal entry from this date in 1998, when I was a sophomore at BYU (names changed except if the person is famous/famousish):

Afton [I used to address my journals to imaginary people],

Well, I saw another really good Mormon play tonight. It was by the same guy who wrote Gadianton, Eric Samuelson (I think I wrote about it back in Naomi or something). It's so encouraging to see good Mormon art! Like the other day, I went to the museum and saw the Minerva Teicherts. She was fabulous. So beautiful. So artistic.

I feel like something is about to happen. But it's probably just spring fever. But this guy in the play tonight--Bob Smith--everytime I see him in anything, I go slightly mad. He was in Gadianton, as well as "Just One of the Bunch" (a Mask Club from last year). And I'm wildly attracted to him. Well, not wildly--but--I dunno.

Then there's Lenny. I would kiss him in a heartbeat--I think. But I know he'd never go for me. He told me to contact Heath Rodney (this guy a year young than us in school), because we both like Gerard Manley Hopkins and Hilda Doolittle. And I think, initially, NO WAY! He doesn't even know who I am. How embarrassing would that be? But I also think--Why not? I could just write him a letter, and if he thought I was a weirdo, he could just ignore it and we'll never see each other anyway. But I keep thinking he might be MY NEXT HOPE. I mean, he doesn't have any preconceived notions of me. So who knows? WAIT! I KNOW! Nothing will happen! Nothing's ever happened! Why would it now?!

What a depressing thought. Gee whiz. But it's high time. I'm 19 years old! Man!

Lollygagger

P.S. Did I ever tell you that Jared (from Deutsch) is engaged! HA HA!
L.S.

Genealogy, I Am Doing It

2006-03-28T09:17:00.000-08:00

Mainly because it is more productive than Solitaire but not much less mindless.

When I was a Laurel (for you who are not Mormon, this is the oldest grouping of girls in the Young Women program of the Church), I did as my big capstone project one of those huge 15-generation pedigree charts. I did it in pencil so I could make changes to it but it is falling apart and getting close to illegible. Plus it's very outmoded here in the 90s (this is a joke about how I said once "This is the 90s" when it was really 2000 or 2001).

So I'm transferring it all to Personal Ancestral File (PAF), which is splendid and which you can download for free at familysearch.org, and updating the info I have with info from Ancestral File (AF), also found at FamilySearch.

I know a lot of the info is not accurate (AF is a seriously messy, unregulated database of family information that anyone can submit), but I'm going to get it in the computer and then start going through and trying to correct it with real sources. This will take me years, but that is the nature of genealogy.

The main thing I want to work on is this family line that terminates here in New York City. I don't know if I will ever be able to find anything, but while I'm living here I may as well give it a go. Sarah Rogers! I am looking for you!

For Reals?

2006-03-23T11:02:00.000-08:00

So I just got off the subway.

All the way uptown there was this old man sitting next to me, just a little too close. Just like three inches too close. By the time you get to my neighborhood, there are usually few enough people on the train that you can spread out a little, but there are always some people who retain the positions they held from when the train was crowded. A serious annoyance in this city of very limited personal space. So this old man was a Retainer.

And then. AND THEN.

We're pulling into the last stop and he shifts over onto his left hip and let's one. Just right over towards me. Just 8 inches away from me. For reals? For reals.

Foolish Thoughts

2006-03-22T23:22:00.000-08:00

One foolish thought I had when I was younger was "I think I would like to have 3 serious relationships before I get married." Okay, so it's not so foolish. It's a good idea to have experience, play the field a little, etc., I guess. The foolish part is that I did not recognize that if you have 3 serious relationships before The Relationship, you also have 3 serious breakups.

I remember my older sisters going through breakups when I was younger. Since I was so much younger, I wasn't any kind of confidante through these breakups. I was just a very detached observer. There always seemed to be lots of crying and despondence involved, but since that happened in the movies too it seemed like it wasn't quite real.

At any rate, if my younger thought is in any way prophetic, I have only 1 serious relationship and breakup to go. That's right. Me and the beau broke up.

I'm not going to go on and on about why and I'm not going to spout stuff like "breakups suck" blah blah blah.

But I will say that though I am exceedingly sad and wonder when I will ever find anyone so smart again, there is a twinge of...what? Joy? Joy in the thought that I am free again.

Bismarck and Yoga and the KOA

2006-03-10T18:26:00.000-08:00

Last night I was lying there in bed and remembered a trip I took to North Dakota 2 1/2 years ago. Specifically I recalled doing yoga outside my tent at the KOA in Bismarck. And suddenly I thought "Now THAT is funny!"

I love the KOA. I love the yellow. I love the email updates I get about specials at the KOA. I love thinking about the homely, tubby little girl I met at the Bismarck KOA who was RVing back to Spokane with her grandparents.

When I went to North Dakota, I was having some back problems. So whereas I usually go on exercise hiatus when I'm on vacation (I have some issues about other people knowing that I exercise), I had to do the yoga. I think my travel companion thought I was a bit of a weirdo and I can only imagine what my fellow denizens of the KOA thought.

Also, the day before I left for the Dakotas, I twisted my ankle in the kiddy-pool portion of my family's annual July 4th obstacle course. Usually when I twist my ankle, I ignore it. This is not the best of strategies, I suppose, but it has resulted in some neat crackling sounds when I move my foot in circles.

So anyway I left for the Dakotas with a bum ankle but this did not stop me from running the entire length of the very large front lawn of the Bismarck capitol building. Who knows what long term effects this will have on the ankle, but I don't care.

Another thing that I did on the lawn there was recline on the grass and have my friend take a picture of me in the same pose of my favorite picture of myself (taken somewhere in Montreal). Of the original, one's main impression would be "My, that girl has a nice rack." But in Bismarck I just looked frumpy.

Anyway, I liked Bismarck. Though there were some very grumpy people there and others who thought my friend and I were nuts for coming to North Dakota on purpose.

Not only did I go to North Dakota on purpose, it was a life-long dream. When I was 11 I was looking at a map of ND and my eyes fell on a town by the name of Rocklake. I got a shiver up my spine (I was sort of prone to these at that age, I think) and thought "I have to go there!" Who knows how many other towns I had similar reactions to? But Rocklake stuck in my mind through the years, so maybe there weren't any or many others. At any rate, when I was 24 I finally went.

Rocklake is very sparsely populated and if you drive around there during the day, you will see only females. And you wonder why and maybe even get the creeps. And then you will look around for miles and miles and see nothing but flaxen fields (flaxen fields bloom a deep blue for a couple of weeks in July, only in the morning and evening, and if you are driving through that area during that time, it is possible to get confused and think a flaxen field is a lake or a lake a flaxen field) and some kind of field with yellow flowers. And you will realize. Oh. Boys farm. Girls stay in town and run the community-owned cafe. Beautiful teenaged girls of Scandinavian descent who have no illusions about farming life--it is difficult and unlikely in this age of large corporate farms--and who know by the time they are 15 that they will some day have to leave where they grew up if they ever want to make a living.

Rocklake is beautiful. When you've wanted to see it for 13 years, you might be disappointed at first that it is a normal-looking midwestern town. You might wish it didn't have a water tower like every other town or that on the way into town there weren't a sign touting the winning girls basketball team from 1973. You might wish it were a bit more magical. But then of course you realize that it is. Because it is quiet and because you can see forever and because you can lie down in the middle of the road and not be disturbed and because it is thrilling to think of how cold it gets in the winter. And it makes you turn the car stereo up loud and dance in the rain in the parking lot of your bed and breakfast.

Audience Profile: Mrs. G.

2006-03-07T19:34:00.000-08:00

One thing you may not know about me is I have a sort of internal audience. I am sure we all have something like this...don't we? You know, people from your past or present (maybe even future...kids in the preexistence!) who can see what you are doing Right Now and have opinions about it.

One person that pops up in my audience sometimes is my sixth grade teacher, Mrs. G.

I was in one of those gifted classrooms. I thought it was because I was smart, but now I'm suspecting it was because my mom was PTA president. And I think Mrs. G. knew that and thus had low expectations for me. I remember once she was really surprised when my Future Problem Solving team did well; I think that's when I realized she thought I was subpar.

So in the SLC School District you can spend junior high at West High School if'n you're really smart. The top 60 students in the district are chosen for this accelerated track of study.

I applied for one of the spots, and Mrs. G. removed my application.

I mean, I didn't get very good grades then; I hadn't learned any discipline. So I get why she took the application out, but it rather smarted anyway.

So why am I thinking about this now? Because Mrs. G. can see me now and knows she was justified in having low expectations for me.

I am a very bad graduate student in a program I really don't understand how I ended up in, I don't have a job, I very rarely leave my apartment (I really should switch from an unlimited monthly Metrocard to a pay-per-ride), I have two black cats and wear a black sweat suit sometimes and think it's kind of fun to match my cats.

I really don't want this blog to be a Chronicle of Depression, but gee whiz.

Be a mensch, Lollygagger, be a mensch!

Forms of Postage

2006-03-03T18:29:00.000-08:00

I just got a card and gift in the mail from my oldest friend who lives out in California.

She and I lived next door to each other for years and years and years in Salt Lake City and one summer we hooked up a string pulley between my kitchen and her bedroom so we could send each other messages held to the string by clothespins.

I just wanted to pay tribute to the pulley string that stretches all the way from California to New York that brought me greetings from my old friend: that's right folks, the U.S. Postal Service.

Lent

2006-03-02T14:58:00.000-08:00

I am a Mormon girl, so I don't know why I feel beholden to give things up for Lent. You'd think there's already plenty I've given up!

But I usually give at least some thought to what I will give up for Lent. One year it was BYU Creamery chocolate milk and Twix bars. This actually lasted pretty long, but I surrendered a couple weeks into it when ma cousine and my best friend came down from Salt Lake to see something at the International Cinema. I had to share with them the delectability that is Creamery chocolate milk and there in the lounge next to the IC, I succumbed. I remember there was another person besides the three of us in the lounge, and I was talking loudly about how bad I was that I was breaking Lent and I wondered if this girl thought I was Catholic. I kind of liked the idea that someone would think I was one of the very very very few non-Mo's at the BY. Must be my Salt Lake City upbringing.

So anyway. This year I am giving up game shows. This seems kind of wimpy of me, because I am not nearly as addicted to game shows as I am to Days of Our Lives. But game shows take up more of my time. If I watch the Price is Right, both episodes of Family Feud, Jeopardy, and Wheel of Fortune, I'm out 3 hours! This sort of thing is ridiculous and must be nipped in the bud.

At any rate, I think I'll try to cut down on the DOOL as well, because a) it's dumb, b) it gives me unrealistic ideas and fears about Love, even as I realize that c) it's dumb.

A Day Last Week

2006-03-02T14:28:00.000-08:00

Well, I woke up around 8:30 and there was blessedly right outside my apartment door a most unexpected sight: my newspaper. Normally it is left down in the lobby and somebody steals it before I can get it. This was indeed a tender mercy today.
So I read the front section and the arts section, and then I did the crossword puzzle. 29 minutes, not bad for a Wednesday. I'm getting a little rusty since I had a month off at home and since my paper is nabbed so regularly.
I have an achy knee. I guess it's from doing the Firm workout with Sendhal Bergman. And it is exacerbated by the elevator in my building being out of order.
So whilst I read the paper, I ate an orange, cut the way my mother cut them and the way her mother cut them. I also drank some water. I did not eat a big breakfast because my beau was taking me out for brunch.
And I of course did not take my Zoloft because there was none left and I'm sick of it because it makes me sleep at least 1 1/2 hours during the day and I hate to sleep during the day. I must talk to Dr. W. and see what else can be done.
So then it was pretty late. I watched a woman win the Showcase Showdown. Or was that the day before. It's hard to tell.
I showered and shaved my legs, which I hadn't done in a while (and I do mean both, but it had been longer since I shaved than since I showered).
I made myself look rather nice for my beau.
I wrote 3/4 page of my morning pages and then the beau buzzed me and I went downstairs to meet him. I was overjoyed to see him (yesterday was the first day we didn't see each other after about three weeks of seeing each other everyday) and he was wearing my favorite hat. He is really a delectable man. I think he was a bit amused by how overjoyed I was to see him. He is not nearly so ebullient as I am and I feel that on some level he just tolerates me.
I did not know where we were going because he was surprising me. There was a How to Date night at our singles ward on Sunday, and I think he realized he needed to do some more formal and romantic things. I have also hinted that it might not be a bad idea. Not that I don't enjoy what we normally do. But I do want to be pursued just a little bit since I really have been throwing myself at him most of the time.
So we got onto the train and ended up in midtown. We went to Le Pain Quotidien and ate a basket of bread and had very good hot chocolate. We talked about our childhood reading habits. I could see the Petrossian from where we sat, and it reminded me of the old days of my bookclub. The leader of the club once asked me to get her a copy of The Last Days of Disco, With Cocktails at Petrossian Afterwards, which we represented at the literary agency I used to work at. And when we read Alain De Botton's How Proust Can Change Your Life, our leader got some madeleines at the Petrossian. I began to crave them and there was one of those days when I rode a bus line for a long long time when I stopped and got some.
I tried to make sure to ask the beau questions about himself because too often our conversation devolves into airing my insecurities.
After we ate, we started tromping across midtown to a Mysterious Location. When we got onto the very street of where we were going, I guessed that we were going to the Museum of Television and Radio, and I was right! We went and watched some Muppet specials and looked at Muppet pictures and then parted ways. I hate parting ways with my beau, and I always feel that he is so fine with it. Right maddening.
So then I came home, having very good subway luck, and thought I was going to be productive. I finished my morning pages, but then I tried to watch Dr. Phil (this was interrupted by the breaking news about anthrax). Then I watched the Feud, which I have aspirations to be on someday. Then I went and got my mail and saw that true to their promise, Netflix had delivered Finding Neverland. So I came upstairs and watched it. Then I watched Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune and then called my dearest friend. We met up at a birthday party later in the night and got partially caught up.

The upthrust of this day is that I watch too much TV and that I think too much about the beau. He is so lovely and creative and smart. What I really needed to be doing with my time that day last week was reading Civil Society by Michael Edwards. And millions of other exciting things. I am a student, am I not? I am a woman of brains, am I not? Oh dear.

A beginning

2006-02-21T21:23:00.000-08:00

So I guess I'm getting into this blogging thing. I'm not entirely sure why.

Perhaps this will be a reading response blog.

Perhaps it will document the things I don't do when I'm supposed to be doing school stuff.