Letter to an old friend

Dear,
One thing I appreciate about us:
we understand the importance of validating
not the completion of an aspiration but
the aspiration itself.
Just thinking about doing something
takes so much effort, after all.
I miss that,
Me
p.s. I thought about iambic pentameter and all that real poetry writing stuff even if I didn't employ any of it. And so, that's enough, right?

Dear Portland,

Mostly what I hate [love] about you lately is the way you preserve people and memories long after they've left you [me]. Fine maybe it's not you, maybe it's my goddamn sappy heart. No, let's blame you. You change so quickly, you're addicted to change: change or construction, which is it?
Anyhow, as I was saying...
Portland you are haunted.
Everything new is old. We drive around and point at what things "used to be." This is how we mark our Portland-ness [authenticity].
Yet, everything old is still there. A man named Maddox who sells hot dogs, I can't believe I have a picture of this man I've never seen before today and he's still there.
And everything has a story. We've all got our shit, right?
Ah, Portland.
Love [hate],
Me

No I.D? No Sale?

Murphy's Law. I never get carded when I buy beer, wine, whathaveyou. The one time I go to the grocery store without my I.D. and try to pick up a bottle of wine? Yep. I'm not pissed. But, c'mon, there's no way in hell anyone thinks I'm under 21: this isn't a question of taking it as a compliment. I looked "older" when I was 21. Pretty sure I'm older than the girl who wouldn't sell me the wine. Now I'm sure the OLC has some sneaky kids with rapid aging diseases working for them. But they'd have to be pretty persistent to imbed me in the neighborhood to do all my shopping at the same store for over a year before I worked up to the sale.
Mrrr. Now I have to go back tomorrow to pick up wine. It's all too much. I have to go get one of the beers I bought without getting carded out of the fridge now and drink it to convince myself of absolutely nothing.

luck

Walking Dylan home today approaching the corner of Lynn and 15th I looked down and saw it. I wasn't looking, for once, actually I was looking in particular at the trees - the cherry, the ones overtaken by moss, the indeterminate fruit - today. Yet somehow from the mass it's four leaves stopped motion and caught my eye. I crouched down, verified and plucked it in awe. Yes, an actual four leaf clover. Carrying it back home extended a bit from my body sort of delighted at this mythical thing. Thinking how less mythical the mutation but the happening upon it, the way you can comb your fingers through hundreds of clover masses and then one day, "oh look, a four leaf clover!" And also how even something so perfectly imperfect in reality turns out so perfectly imperfect; the four little leaves marred by bugs and asymmetrical of course.
And then the risk of preserving this thing which is a sort of story. I decided to press the clover to dry between the pages of my dictionary. Not because I know how to do this sort of thing but because my mother used to and because I always liked the romance, the surprise of things found in books. And besides, what's the alternative? I didn't know of a better way to save this thing. And so I pressed the clover in tissue knowing one of the four leaves might break off the stem. Which pages did I press it between? Well, there with the entry for "luck," of course.

Things to blog about when I've fallen out of the blogging habit...

Things to blog about when I’ve fallen out of the blogging habit:
(1) Other people’s blogs, e.g. check out Kenji’s new blog.
(2) Who I’m thinking about voting for and whether I might vote for Bloomberg just to show my contempt for the two-party system. Ya know, if I still had the idealism to vote that way.
(3) How much better beer tastes in the summer.
(4) Realizing I tend to blog, mostly, when irritated but don’t feel too bad because I can’t stand people who write b.s. blogs about how great their lives are in an attempt to impress ex-lovers and friends when, really, they’re the most antagonistic depressed saps I know.
(5) Recipes. I’ve been wanting to exchange recipes with people.
(6) Summer things and events.
(7) Forgiveness.
(8) How, maybe, friends just aren’t like family. Maybe you can be closer to your friends than your family. But, maybe friends are friends and family’s family and the two are just two different animals and they should be. I don’t know.
(9) Oh, I’ve been meaning to post Learning to Love Ourselves More forever. They’re this awesome family doing ALL of the Learning to Love You More assignments, tracking their progress on their blog and presenting their work at Bumpershoot! How cool is that? Uh, ice cold?
(10) Other than that, wow. Suddenly my life is pretty f’ing cool. I don’t want to jinx anything so I’m just going to wait until I get annoyed enough to blog and then we’ll have a go at it.

Uh??!

A friendster message:

Good morning my angel!

­ How are you, hope you are feeling ok. My name is martin 44 male single from Paola KS. I over crossed your profile and I like you, so I decided to talk to you because you are so beautiful. So I am searching for my real woman because I am single and looking. I am serious and decent man with good sense of humor, so I want a serious person who I can trust and count on but I don't want a liar or chatter person because I have cheated before so I don't want that to happen to me a again . So I want a truthful and trustworthy and serious person; now because some women are full round telling lies, and I don't want that ok. If you wish you can reply me now I am ok.

Have a nice day

It's Official

I'm getting nothing done today. This weather has turned me into a pessimistic, self-indulgent, neurotic brat. I mean, more so than usual. Christ, is it just me or does it feel like fall? It's June: where's my sun damnit?!

I'm spending the summer researching the right of family members in criminal homicide cases to wear buttons to trial with images of the deceased. Nifty, eh? Only there's this thing called the "internet" I use for my research and I have a tendency to get a tad bit distracted by the powers of this "internet."

On the plus side, it rained on the parade! And, I'd like to kiss everyone who went out last night and tore up the tape all the nerd-tards laid down weeks ago so their fat asses could set out lawn-chairs to watch a parade instead of standing shoulder to shoulder with everyone else who wakes up early and walks to see the damn thing.

Word

Every once in awhile I learn how to use the goddamn computer in a way that actually helps me. For example, I just figured out that, yes, I can make Word alphabetize shit for me. And this makes me obscenely happy.
Next, I really want software which will do all my legal citations for me. If you find this software for me I'll, I don't know, write an ode-a-licious blog about you. MLA made sense to me. Legal writing and citation confounds me.
Oh, and I'd really like Gore to run.
Alright, back to my sort function glee.

Amor and Armor

Driving home today I began to wonder whether amor and armor have a common root. Amor, easy enough: latin, love.

Armor? From the Middle English 'arumure,' from the Old French 'armeure,' from the Latin 'armatura' from 'armatus' past participle of 'armare': "to arm.”

Ah, 'armare', but one letter away from 'amare': “to love.”

Not good enough.

Amor? What is Amor? I am looking too hard. Amor is a Greek God. Amor is the Latin name for Eros. Amor: God of Love, armed with his bow and arrow, proto-IE 'ares': "to be angry."

OK, I get it. It's just like Pat Benatar said, "Love is a Battlefield." Love is war.

It's much clearer now. No, not really at all.

The Unthinkable has Happened

I have gotten into a summer law class I am actually excited about. Yes, I admit it: I am actually fucking giddy about a law class. So giddy in fact I wrote two ridiculously excited emails, one to my mother, one to my grandfather, saying "guess what! i'm so excited! i got into a class i really wanted! it's so neat! isn't that cool!"
Welcome to the Dark Side.

Where's Home?

Watching the advice of the dearly departed on “Things To Do In Denver When You’re Dead” Andy the Saint says “make a list.” A list, he says, of ten things you want to do in your life and if you cross off five or six you’re doing good.

Someone I know posted a picture of a house in the middle of the woods and ferns. A red house like the red house we lived in the first house they bought. Small but enough. This is the house you want to live in. This is the house you want to die in. This is the house that feels like a life-long afternoon nap.

I am thinking number one and number ten on the list are “find home.” Home, I think, is not a locus. Maybe for some people home is a locus.

“Where are you from?”

If you have a ready answer to this question perhaps your home has a locus.

I have a collage. Floating as a child on an inflated mattress in the Pacific Ocean off the coast of Maui. Riding horses in the 4-H parade and sleeping outside in the summer on the farm playing cowgirl for a day. Rowing the dinghy wherever we anchored the boat and checking crab pots. Sleeping on the couch in Oakland and waking to the sound of my cousins as toddlers. Sun Valley in the Spring. The Puget Sound after midnight.

I am thinking lately, the answer to numbers one and ten is a live-on boat.

Where is home? Is it a feeling? Is it the place you want to be buried? Is it a person or a group of people? Is it the place you came into the world? The place you’ve remained the longest? How is anyone from one place? How? Is it simply the place you want to return to when you’re somewhere else? Is it the place you think of for comfort falling asleep?

This is turning into that Abbott and Costello skit, “Who’s on first?” only who’s home, what’s home, why’s it home, today’s home, tomorrow’s home and oh, I don’t know.

Throwing Money Away

I just went through my trash for the second time in 2 weeks to find cash I'd literally thrown away. I got lucky this time and found the two twenties in my kitchen can. Last time around I had to root through a week's worth of trash out back before I came up with the missing twenty.
How does a person manage to throw out money, you ask? Easy, at least for someone who knows to look for her glasses in the freezer.
When I run errands I don't take a purse, just shove my card and I.D. in my pocket and go. If I get cash back, that goes in the other pocket with the receipt. And when I get home, cards go back into the purse, receipt goes in the trash.
Whoops.
I feel so bad for the guy who just got paid for a movie rental with a moist twenty I found under rotting spinach and last night's curry.

Getting back a graded law exam

is one of the least satisfying experiences. You spend 13 weeks trying to generate the energy to drive to campus just so you can hike through the woods in the rain to get to a class (because you go to an ever-loving environmental law school and evidently a parking structure would be unsightly or kill two trees) when attendance doesn't even matter because your entire grade is the fucking exam. Then the only feedback you get on said exam is a couple of red marks on some misplaced apostrophes? Fuck you very much! Nice working for you!

Another thing, is any one else really sick and tired of pretending to give honest exam answers to "how we failed to prevent 9/11 and how we can detect and prevent the next attack?" Jesus Christ. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to parrot the journal article you authored and assigned us just to get brownie points. I had a hard enough time not writing "war is an inevitable facet of human existence, go read WAR IS A FORCE THAT GIVES US MEANING by Chris Hedges."

In another news, I got exactly the grade I thought I would and I deserved. So, I will now quit my bitchin'.

One of the most manipulative uses of the First Amendment I've ever seen.

Get this: God Hates Fags, a.k.a. The Westbro Baptist Church, now lists funerals for soldiers taking place at my family's cemetery as a location for their twisted excuses for publicity, or what they like to call Love Crusades.

You just can't make this shit up.

Let me say without a shiver of doubt I fucking hate war protests at funerals.

Don't like the war, fine by me. I don't care for war, or death, myself. Been around death my whole fucking life. Walked my grandpa's dog around the sections for soldiers since I was about 7. Trimmed their graves by age 15.

And I really, really don't like funerals. Kind of funny, huh? I've seen soldiers' funerals too. They freeze your heart full of anger then the sadness bursts the ice quicker than your breath can catch up.

I've fantasized about ways to accommodate war protesters for funerals. I have.

But bullshit Baptist publicity seeking "protesters"? Would someone tell me why the "stay the fuck off our cemetery" fantasy accompanied by dobermans and shotguns isn't legal? I'd like to show these people a Love Crusade.

Deauthorization of the War in Iraq

Hillary Clinton has introduced a resolution with Senator Robert Byrd that calls for a deauthorization of the war in Iraq. Join me in signing on as a cosponsor of the resolution.

Craigslist Missed Connections

Solve everything. Next time you get a tinge of loneliness go to Craigslist Missed Connections. Not because anyone may have seen you; they probably haven't and even if they had they'd likely write something so ambiguous you'd never have a clue...

"I saw you today: two eyes, arms, feet: me, male: you female"...

But because of all the aching bleeding beautiful hearts...

"I just want someone to write me a missed connection" or "All I want is to sit on my porch and remember what it's like to enjoy the smell of spring and the simple things. simple. simple."

The secret hopes...

"Last night while you were sleeping I said I love you" or "We are not together yet but I know we will be."

The things that remind you being single ain't so bad...

"You're a cheating merciless whore. I hope maggots eat your heart and you die." "All of your friends see you for the shallow, duplicitous, manipulative bitch you are. You convinced me I was the problem but now I'm with someone else and I realize you were the problem and there was nothing wrong with me at all."

Viva la Craigslist. Viva los lonely hearts.

Nothing makes me happier than a couple of gibbons.

"Times" Article on Gun Rights

The "Times" has a really interesting article on the liberal case for gun rights today including how Laurence H. Tribe came to embrace the right from a "rights" perspective.
Good stuff.

This pretty much sums it up

What does Amazon recommend to me?
(1) Flannery O'Connor
(2) Laura Mercier
(3) AC/DC

Um, where do I sign up for the job

where I sit and watch cable news all day? You know, one of those people who keeps a tally of how many times they say words like "terror" or "liberal" in one show?
I could totally do that. Give me the fucking standardized test for that. I would rock that exam.
Jesus Christ fucking Mary and Joseph. How did I get into law school?

Sometimes I think,

nothing is lonelier than someone looking right at you and not really seeing you at all.

blah. blah. la-blah.

I just finished re-writing the outline my computer ate at about 1:30 this afternoon. Evidently my computer got rather hungry. Too hungry to back up the goddamn outline before swallowing it. Instead of crying I played a fun game where I pretended having to re-write an outline I spent however many days on was a jolly good idea and would help my studying. I will now pretend this sense of tiredness signifies not a total depletion of brain cells but the emptying of unnecessary brain cells such that I will vomit pertinent and pithy answers on demand tomorrow when I take my exam. Let's hope I mange to pull as many bullshit theories over my professor as I pull over myself.

Tibet Protest

In case you haven't seen it a billion times on the news. Subsequently arrested by the Chinese Gov and interrogated w/o food or water for 24 hours, still got the vid out. Very cool.

I only just realized...

my Rothko is hanging upside down.

Virginia Tech: This is Not Mental Illness

Since the Virginia Tech shooting the media and numerous politicians have speculated that we should ban mentally ill persons from purchasing guns or require States to engage in a higher level of reporting of the medical records of mentally ill persons.

I find this hypothesis incredibly ignorant and offensive. Further, before you vote on legislation imposing a per se restriction on the rights of the mentally ill, even the 2d amendment right to bare arms, I suggest you take a good hard look at the legislation and ask yourself whether the legislation is based in science or pure political opportunism.

The reality is that mentally ill persons are no more violent towards others than the general population: violence towards others occurs at approximately equal rates among the mentally ill and non-mentally ill population. In fact, persons with schizophrenia, perhaps the most feared and misunderstood serious mental illness, are about 2,000 times more likely to harm themselves than others. Yet, a year-long study of media portrayals of persons with mental illness found that persons with mental illness were depicted as violent -usually homicidal - 90% of the time. No wonder the general population has such a grossly inaccurate perception of persons with mental illness: stories about a schizophrenic mother killing all her children sell, stories about life time survivors of bipolar or schizophrenia attending college and graduate school, working and leading perfectly ordinary, if not unusually challenging and expensive, lives do not.

We do need more Mental Health legislation. But if the concern is Mental Illness, let’s look at the statistics. The truth is, a person with severe mental illness is ridiculously more likely to blow their own head off than anyone else’s. Why not legislation protecting the real victims of Mental Illness, persons with mental illness and their families? Health Care Parity. Legislation requiring colleges who accept federal funding to provide adequate mental health care to students during the age when the first episodes of serious mental illness are most likely to occur? Legislation making it easier for families and law enforcement to commit persons with mental illness who are unable to care for themselves, often homeless or self-medicating with alcohol and drugs, but don’t legally pose a danger to themselves or others? You know, legislation that might have kept Cho in a hospital or working towards a diagnosis and medication rather than just barred from buying a gun rather than making a bomb?

Legislation restricting the rights of all mentally ill persons is terribly overbroad. There is a critical distinction between a person – with or without mental illness - who has been determined to be a threat to others and a person who simply has a mental illness or has been hospitalized because they pose a danger to themselves. I have no problem with governmental regulation in the name of safety in the former category: when people threaten public safety, public safety outweighs certain individual rights (especially rights that might abet threatening behavior). But without any legitimate threat the government has no business eroding the rights of an entire class of Americans who are no more violent than the general population.

Congrats!

To everyone attending their last day of law school (or enjoying the first day of many days they'll never step foot in a law school class again).
I started with most of you but will finish next fall, so, if you need a sucker to try to unload all your BarBri materials on after July get in touch!
As for finals, remember, sixth time's the charm, right?

Sun?

Yes? Please! I can't wait for...
Rose Parade, Rides on the Waterfront, Saturday Market, the Rose Garden, Baseball, Outdoor movies, Street Fairs, Drinking al fresco, Fourth of July, Soap Box Derby,
sun. Sun. SUN.

to the hospital

Up to the hospital on the hill today to meet doctor number three who referred me to doctors numbered four and five. The second the needle pierces the vein I feel the burn and know the bitch will leave me with a little trace, the junkie mark, on my forearm. I used to watch to prove my toughness. Now I don’t care how tough I look. I just wonder, how much tissue do we all leave in hospital labs in the course of our lives? How many ounces of blood, piss, shit, tissue does the average human sacrifice in the name of health? I think of my old dog, Stella, what they called a fatal white. Some breeders, they kill albino puppies: too many health problems. Not any single, costly blow. Just a series of chronic annoyances. I think of "Gattica". I think of the number of pills I take a day, how long I’ll have to take them, the number of procedures I’ve had this year, the probable course of treatment and how much money I can save the collective insurance pool and family if I kill myself with cigarettes sooner than later. But, knowing me, I’ll wind up with chronic emphysema. Which I will fight like a pit-bull until age 80. I pretend that the day they tell me I am actually dying I will laugh and say, “no shit.” We are all dying. Every fucking day. That’s the trick. I pretend I know this trick. Not scared. No, not me. This is part of the cost-benefit analysis. Back to Jimmy Carter’s deceased child-prophet-poet co-author on peace: those who self-actualize die. If that’s the trick I don’t want to figure it out for a long time.

Happy 28th

See, I still remember.

New Rule

If you assign me more than 50 pages of reading for your class I will stop reading at the 50 page mark, especially if said reading is needlessly cumulative. I might be inclined to think I am only fucking myself by adhering to this rule. But, no. You're fucking us all, yourself included, because, face it, no professor ever gets through 50 pages of reading, never mind over 100, in one class. Besides, we all know that that one person who would fuck you for your job will do all the reading and talk for us all class anyway.

Rainy Day

Rain again today and somehow the day just ran into six'o'something'clock. The sort of day if, later, someone asks me, “so, what did you do today?” I will get that vacant expression on my face and answer honestly, “I don’t know.” Because somehow what should have filled an hour – poorly pecking out Rach 32 no 8 then finding a recording and wondering what happened between age 17 and now, watching my neighbor’s toddler dwarfed by a yellow rain suit stare at the puddle in front of my house, outlining a few classes of notes annoyed I’ve learned more about Word formatting than the law, pondering whether "Anne of the Thousand Days" is an awesomely bad or just terrible movie and whether I find Richard Burton attractive in anything – filled an entire day.

Babel

I liked it. Yes, it was no "des tours de babel." But face it, any one bright enough to divine a title like Babel evokes more than a tower in the Bible will find this one all too didactic or simple for their highly evolved intellect. And that's fine, they can go pretend to understand and enjoy "π". I will stick to the purdy ones, thank you very much. Plus Brad Pitt actually has wrinkles in this one, good god!

Sensory overload

Blissful sensory overload. Overgrown nails clicking stretched chords on faux-ivory. Warm sun and cool dirt planting a new poppy in the afternoon light. Tahiti in the form of manoi and little soaps. A glass of slippery sweet acai mixing with the neighbor’s grass cuttings at dusk. The salty steam of noodles and simmer of Puttanesca. A slight scent of dryer burn on freshly laundered sheets. Think I’ll just keep my eyes closed today.

How Disturbing Is This?

Two emails from Lewis and Clark this morning:

Email #1:URGENT MESSAGE TO THE LEWIS AND CLARK COMMUNITY
Members of the Lewis & Clark community,

At about 9:15 this morning, a white male wearing an ammunition belt was
seen by a staff member headed to the academic area on the Fir Acres
campus. Description: White male, 20-22 years old, 5'10", thin build,
medium brown hair just over the ears, wearing a light and dark colored
stocking cap, loose-fitting clothing, possibly sagging dark-colored
pants. The belt appears to hold approximately 50 rounds of live
ammunition. May also be carrying a small book bag. If you see this
person, immediately contact Campus Safety at 7777 and report the
location Do not confront this individual. Portland police have been
notified.

Please stay in your current location until further notified via this
listserv. Thank you.

Email #2: EMERGENCY UPDATE. SITUATION RESOLVED. PLEASE GO ABOUT YOUR BUSINESS
Members of the Lewis & Clark community,

The Lewis & Clark student carrying an ammunition belt has been
apprehended and the belt and ammunition confiscated by Campus Safety.
The student is with Campus Safety officers at this time.

Please go about your business. Thank you for your cooperation.

What the fuck?!

4/19 UPDATE:

it was just a freakin' belt?!

My Favorite Tort

loss of consortium
n. the inability of one's spouse to have normal marital relations, which is a euphemism for sexual intercourse. Such loss arises as a claim for damages when a spouse has been injured and cannot participate in sexual relations for a period of time or permanently due to the injury, or suffers from mental distress, due to a defendant's wrongdoing, which interferes with usual sexual activity. Thus, the uninjured spouse can join in the injured mate's lawsuit on a claim of loss of consortium, the value of which is speculative, but can be awarded if the jury (or judge sitting as trier of fact) is sufficiently impressed by the deprivation.

Names of Places

Ever think about names of places? You know, like Oregon? Kind of sounds like "Or a gun." Or, Portland; now, how original is that? "We will name this city Port-Land." As in, the land with ports where boats can come. Or, Sellwood, the neighborhood where people will, presumably, sell wood.
I have come to the conclusion that there was a decided lack of originality when they generated names for this region.
My mom, for example, lives in a town called Steilacoom. That, my friends, is the name of a town. That is a name you don't fuck around with, much less spell or pronounce. A good town name should separate outsiders from locals, producing embarrassing gaffs by national newscasters like "a 10 year old child was raped by an escaped inmate today in the small western town of Still-I-Cum."
Even California knew to mask any lack of ingenuity with the names of Saints or the heritage of the people they stole the land from. San Francisco, Sacramento, Los Gatos; those are names that pay homage to the land.
But Oregon? We've got one town named Boring and another called Weed. I think that says it all.

Why you should never ask to borrow my notes

My notes, word for word, from a class last tuesday when I was in a particularly pissy mood:

"DECISION MAKING

Core disability issue. Core “American” issue. “The Values of Being an American.” Jesus fucking Christ kill me now. Can think about whether it’s a “pro-choice” movement and who gets to decide: this is all about who gets to decide. For people with disabilities this is no small issue.
Next week. Civil Commitment. Great. Let’s have me talk. Yee-haw. I can’t sit through this shit anymore. How criminal law effects mental illness. Cause none of you understand mental illness. No-siree. Not me.

Slide 1: Decisions: the 4 catogories are slightly arbitrary…
Validity: question of whether their actions will be held valid
Ability: many questions about the capacity of certain people to practice certain professions, oh, like law?
Assignment: like a power of attorney
Substitution: person has never had capacity and third person substitutes judgment (I presume)..."

Copper Steeples

Some days feel like funerals for memories. Ordinary things become drenched in heartbreaking poignancy; the way copper steeples oxidize leaving the most perfect turquoise patina, how the wind flutters a line of flags lining your neighborhood streets like rippling jib sails, two trees on opposite sides of a street so large their branches merge connecting my old sidewalk to the one I used to look out onto.
I try to go back but everything’s changed. Things change. But the change offends the ache and makes me angry. Even the landscape of my memory changes; entire urban neighborhoods erected upon vacant lots and flirtatious construction boys dancing to my music. Even the most immutable elements of my memories change; buying new t-shirts, growing up, how dare they?
They say the more things change the more they stay the same. Sometimes it just feels like the longer you stay the more they change.

RICO

Revelations from this week's study of Racketeering:
(1) There is no racquet in racketeering. Damnit. There could, actually, be a case of racketeering that involved a racquet. I would like to read that case. Must consistently teach self to spell r-a-c-k-e-teer-ing.
(2) All expectations of titillatling reading on Racketeering terribly misplaced. What's the deal? You go into law classes on shit like murder, rape and racketeering thinking you're going to get all the gory details. Instead you get case after case explaining the meaning of stuff like "malignant heart malice" and "enterprise."
(3) Yet, you then inwardly laugh at the people who ask questions about whether the government could bring a racketeering charge against Carmela. And then realize you're a hypocrite when the professor says, "I don't find shows about the mafia entertaining."

More Saudade

Sometimes I feel so stained by the past I think nothing new will ever occur again. I speak of the romance of saudade but lately wonder if saudade, really, is a fate worse than nostalgia. Nostalgia’s intoxicating spell carries you firmly to the past yet saudade cruelly promises the return of yesterday. Worse, the older I grow the more the people around me and I seem to view each other through the lens of our memories. I wonder if we can ever see each other as anything other than persons relative to our past.
Sometimes I want to leave this city, this coast, this Pacific, specific feeling all tied up with the mountains, the beaches, my mother’s family and 'five generations of caring'. I think perhaps I’ll find my father’s family and switch; live the rest of my life with my other family. I’ll go from the West Coast to the East Coast, from WASP to working class Irish-American, three aunts and uncles to six, Protestant to Catholic, Helens to Patricks. But then I realize it would all still be relative. Relative to the West. Relative to my Mother. Relative to Helens and country clubs and 'five generations of caring'.
And so I stay. And I return to saudade. Hoping, at least, what I miss may someday return.

The Sound of Music

Such a great movie. If you haven't seen it since you were a kid, you should! I always remember watching this at my friend Alita's house, singing "Do-re-mi" and wanting to be "Sixteen Going on Seventeen" like Liesl.

Then I watched it again, heard,

"Perhaps I had a wicked childhood
Perhaps I had a miserable youth
But somwhere in my wicked, miserable past
There must have been a moment of truth
For here you are, standing there, loving me
Whether or not you should
So somewhere in my youth or childhood
I must have done something good"

and realized the movie has really wonderful adult content as well. A 'G'-rated musical about a fallen nun and a conscientious objector? Pretty cool. And it will make you want to go to Austria.

Sun!

Isn't it nice?
The most wonderful snapshot out my window as I write this. I'm wondering if I could sneak a picture but don't feel quite brave enough.
The neighbor kitty-corner to my house swings in a rainbow knit hammock strung up between two still barren fruit trees. A ring of red tulips circles the tree holding up the right side and a ring of royal purplish-blue irises the tree holding up the left. There's a stop sign in the foreground mirroring the tulips and the red stripe of the hammock. Western sun splashes his face and the yellow house in the background.
Sun!

No one belongs here more than you.

Fans of Miranda July (ME AND YOU AND EVERYONE WE KNOW) should check out the adorable web site she made for her new book of stories NO ONE BELONGS HERE MORE THAN YOU. It's not just a website, or a book announcement, but of course, a little piece of art and quite delightful!

Oh, and I'm a day older

Beef medallions in fig and port wine glaze, recipes of stuff I liked when I was younger, vacation soap, a new dress, an elmo at the beach sheet cake, barn bird-feeder, Washington-ness, roses are red violets are blue Thompson poem, flowers and perennial seeds, photo-exchange package and - my favorite food in the world (excepting the pâté, which reminds me of Fancy Feast) - a damn good charcuterie and cheese plate.

Thanks to every one who said nice stuff to me yesterday and made me feel ridiculously spoiled this week.

Oh shit. I have to go, there's a Jeffrey Dahmer special on! Sweet! It's like my birthday all over again!

Pictures I meant to take this week

Welcome to Washington sign, Uncle Sam billboard in Centralia, Mormon Tabernacle spirals, Jesus Saves billboard in black and white old english, Fort Steilacoom, We the People drive through attorney services, Olympics, beef medallions in fig and port wine glaze, Elmo goes to the beach sheet cake, glass museum esplanade, the ferry leaving for Vashon Island, Ruston Way crashing into the Cascades, tulip trees, a soldier’s funeral last Thursday, my piano, black and white pictures of my grandparents, my old cat Olivier, Portland bridges leaving town, the welcome to Oregon sign, dirty bright ceramic planters, a neighborhood cycling parade, a perfect vintage mint colored truck, other people’s travel pictures on my bedroom wall, a friend’s favorite t.v. show, bird houses and hummingbirds.

りぼん

I recently discovered "Ribon" during a quest to verify the merits of an ex's claim that I look like a white japanimation doll. During said noble quest I discovered the best site ever. I love children's japanimation stationary imports for the plethora of stickers, colors and strange translations (think: "a beautiful friendship, do you like cherries?"). I had no idea that the websites were so interactive. Just beware if you're prone to seizures or allergic to japanimation kitsch.

New Bird Feeder

I got this silly bird feeder in WA as an early birthday present. It looks like a little bird-barn and it makes me happy. Yay for silly bird feeders and houses!

Rebecca

I watched Hitchcock's "Rebecca" last night; comically, classically, magnificently dramatic. Everyone, save Joan Fontaine, acts with a route woodenness that evokes the comic antics of Will Ferrell. The most dramatic scenes rival a good spanish soap. Yet, melodrama aside, it's so refreshing: Hitchcock could captivate the audience for 130 plus minutes sans gratuitous violence, sex and without the distraction of highly choreographed action scenes. Classic, suspenseful and fun eye-candy!

Why I Love Mom

She saw Cirque du Soleil "LOVE" this week in Vegas and thought I could be the person who decides what color everyones' shoes should be.

Blonde on Blonde

Spring break day two.

Evidently all hairdressers think I need to be Bitchin' Blonde Beach Barbie.

So. I am back to my Bitchin' Blonde roots. I feel very pink and a little plastic but not quite like Barbie. Which is OK, really.

I think it will take the rest of the break to adjust to the blondness.

Think I will stay home tonight and watch LEGALLY BLOND.

In Defense of a City

Note to Women Over the Age of, like, 18

When you, like, use, like, the word "like", like, more than 5 times a sentence you sound, you know, sort of, like, childish and ridiculous. I mean, like, it just seems, sort of, like, i don't know, like, hilarious that you've made it as far as, uh, like, law school and you can't, like, speak without sounding like a 12 year old girl.
I mean, like, I'm sorry to sound, uh, harsh, but, like, I just sort of, like, find listening to you speak like this when I know damn well you're intelligent enough to know better sort of, like, irritating as shit.

Leprechauns Exist.

Side Yard Ideas

Today I lined my raised garden bed with some purdy bricks. We will pretend said bricks are "purdy" because my landlords left them in a pile on the side of the house and they were FREE.

Next, I am thinking about digging a swimming hole in an attempt to find the best possible way to use the total lack of privacy I have with this unfenced side yard to disgust my neighbors while enjoying next summer. Anyone with stone-washed cut-offs and beer cozies is more than welcome to bring over a lawn chair and stereo if they need a place to sun-bathe once the sun arrives.

Strange "Missed Connection" posting

Following is a "Missed Connections" posting from Craigslist that was also some form of chain mail. I don't know if any of the male half is true but the female half isn't half bad..

When a guy calls you,
he wants to be with you.

When a guy is quiet,
He's listening to you.

When a guy is not arguing,
he realizes he's wrong.

When a guy says, "I'm fine, " after a few
minutes,
he means it.

When a guy stares at you,
he wishes you would care about him and
wonders if you do.

When you're laying your head on a guy's
chest,
he has the world.

When a guy calls you everyday,
he is in love.

When a good guy tells you he loves you,
he means it.

When a guy says he can't live without you,
he's with you till you're done.

When a guy says, "I miss you, "
he misses you more than you could have
ever missed him or anything else.


Girl facts:

When she wants a hug
she will just stand there.

When you break a girls heart,
she still feels it when
you run into each other 3 years later.

When a girl is quiet,
millions of things are running through her
mind.

When a girl is not arguing,
she is thinking deeply.

When a girl looks at you with eyes full of
questions,
she is wondering how long you will be
around.

When a girl answers, "I'm fine, " after a
few seconds,
she is not fine at all.

When a girl stares at you,
she is wondering why you are so
wonderful.

When a girl lays her head on your chest,
she is wishing for you to be hers forever.

When a girl says that she can't live
without you,
she has made up her mind that you are
her future.

When a girl says, "I miss you, "
no one in this world can miss you more
than that.

When a girl is mean to you after a breakup
she wants you back, but she's
scared she'll get hurt and knows
you're gone forever.

Spring Break

I love, love, love that I'm just about to turn 27, have been in college for 10 years and still get a Spring Break a couple weeks from now.
This will be my last Spring Break. What should I do? What should I do?
So far, I'm planning on doing some gardening (huge dork). What should I plant, what should I plant?
Happy almost spring break.

What's creepier than creepy?

The Dell service team has been reading this blog.

Kicked in the Nuts!

A friend at a party showed us all this Channel 101 show Kicked in the Nuts! last night. It's regodamndiculous but just sort of doesn't get old. So, if you need an easy laugh, check it out.

Ground Kontrol

Finally made it to Ground Kontrol last night and admittedly fell in love with the place. Beer and video games and pinball? Super-sweet! If I didn't have to cross the river to get there I'd be all over that place. Having NES at home just doesn't compare to the thrill of fisting a bottle in one hand while commanding a joystick with the other to songs like "TNT"...oh yee-ah!
Great Fun.

Why I Hate Dell

Following is the transcript of my on-line chat w/Dell about my old laptop last night. Notice how long it takes them answer my question about how I can send in my laptop...

08:17:36PM System: "Thank you for choosing Chat support. The next representative will be available to assist you shortly. While waiting, check some of our self support options above. No fear, you won't lose your place in line!"

08:17:43PM Session Started with Agent (RTS Gerry H)

08:17:47PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "Thank you for patiently waiting. You have reached Dell Hardware Warranty Chat Support. My name is Alan and I will be assisting you today. Will you provide details about the issue you’re having?"

08:18:32PM Me: "My laptop sustained damage to the screen and subsequently would not start up. Can I send it in?"

08:18:58PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "Christine is this a new issue, or have you contacted dell on this about the cracked LCD issue before? (If you have contacted us before on this issue, please provide the case number)."

08:19:41PM Me: "I contacted you in January but was disconnected. I do not have a case number."

08:19:57PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "Christine, I understand about the cracked LCD issue, and will do my best to assist."
08:20:28PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "Christine, to ensure we are working with the correct system, are you chatting about the LATD600 listed on your account?"

08:20:43PM Me: "yes."

08:22:11PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "Are you using the computer with the issue to chat with me?"

08:22:42PM Me: "No. When that laptop is started the screen is black."

08:23:32PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "Ok."

08:23:47PM Me: "I would like to send the laptop into you. I have heard that you can send me the proper envelope?"

08:23:50PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "So is the actual LCD cracked or just the plasic around the LCD?"
08:23:52PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "?"

08:25:02PM Me: "The LCD is not visibly cracked. The laptop seems to have gotten a hard knock, there's a visible ding on the outer shell."

08:25:18PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "Ok."
08:25:45PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "Well I can either send an onsite tech to your place to replace the LCD, or you can send it to the depot for repair."
08:25:49PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "The choice is yours."

08:26:00PM Me: "I would like to send it to the depot please."
08:26:21PM Me: "How can I do that?"

08:26:52PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "Ok."
08:27:00PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "I will set the dispatch up."

08:27:28PM Me: "The dispatch?"

08:28:25PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "The dispatch is an order for the depot service."

08:28:49PM Me: "OK. What do I do with the laptop? How do I send it to you? Are you sending me something?"

08:29:08PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "What is the exact address that you want the computer sent back to once the repair facility is finished with it? (It will probably ship by DHL and cannot be a P.O. Box.)"

08:29:39PM Me: "XXXX SE XXXX Street Portland, OR 97202"

08:33:22PM Me: "where and how do i send my laptop to the facility?"

08:34:15PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "I am making the order."
08:34:22PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "Please allow 2-3 minutes for this."

08:34:49PM Me: "I have. And I would really appreciate it if you would answer my question."

08:37:14PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "Thanks for waiting."
08:37:23PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "Christine, it has been a great pleasure working with you today. I'm going to send you some important information for your records. I apologize for its lengthiness. Let me know if you have any questions about it."
08:37:30PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "Please use these numbers for future questions on this issue: Case #xxxxxx Dispatch Reference #xxxxxxx"
08:37:37PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "I have setup a return to depot service for your system."
08:37:41PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "The estimated return time after shipping the system to the depot is 5-8 business days from when it is shipped. Please remove your hard drive and any other hardware you have installed prior to shipping."
08:37:43PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "When you are ready to ship the system, just call DHL at 1-877-335-5782 to schedule the pickup and location. They will ask for the dispatch number I provided above. DHL will schedule a pickup with you and provide you with an airbill number at that time."
08:37:45PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "A courier will be dispatched to pick up your system and supply any necessary packing materials and deliver the system to our repair depot."
08:37:48PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "Our repair depot will diagnose, repair and return your system to the address on record with Dell. If any further actions are required they will include a letter of explanation with the system."
03/06/2007 08:37:58PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "If you need further assistance with this case, you may contact us via [Chat]: www.dell.com/chatsupport or [Email]: us_acs_team_1@dell.com (include your Case# and Service Tag) [Subject]: Team 317 Email Dell Inc."
8:38:01PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "I am constantly striving to improve my service. If there is anything I can do to help improve your experience, please don't hesitate to let me know by contacting my manager via email at us_acs_team_1@dell.com."
08:38:03PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "For service status, please go to http://support.dell.com 1. Log in. 2. Click on “My Order Status.” 3. Click on “My Support” and select “Service Call Status.” 4. Enter your Dispatch Reference# (Service Call Number) and Region or Service Tag."
08:38:05PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "For future reference, a copy of this chat will be sent to the email you provided as you entered the chat."
03/06/2007 08:38:12PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "Well, I apologize for any inconvenience, but hopefully we have resolved the issue today. Is there anything else, on your system I can help you with today?"

08:38:27PM Christine Buckley: "no."

08:38:45PM Agent (RTS Gerry H): "Thank you for using Dell Hardware Warranty Chat Support. Have a great week!"

The Icing on the Cake? I then got a confirmation e-mail. The email was addressed to ANOTHER CUSTOMER and included the OTHER CUSTOMER'S order information!!!

Sedum Sunday

The sun came out today! I visited the nursery and picked up some sedums for the porch (they're so cool looking, they reproduce and the nursery's still a little sad this time of year flower wise).

Love, love, loving the sunshine!

I think I need this.

I'm ordinarily not a fan of message T's but I think I may need to buy this one as my new Environmental Law School Uniform.

Personal Space

Note to world: it's called personal space. And, if you're within 18" of me, you're invading mine. And, if you're invading mine, I will presume you're a self-centered, thoughtless, pushy person.
Usually this happens at Starbucks, so I will also assume that you have some issue with taking your place in lines.
But it also happens a hell of a lot at New Seasons, so I will also assume that you are so caught up in your allergies to blueberries, wheat and the color red that you have forgotten other people might be allergic to you. If I can feel the energy vibrating from your carefully tended motherfucking aura you are too close. And you know, evidently I have a lot of negative energy, so why would you even want to take the risk of getting so close that my aura might corrupt yours?
Just a thought.

The Good Old Days

Up in Washington, last weekend, somehow I’m back on my rant against helmets and having another bit of nostalgia for the days of Lawn Darts and Slip and Slide (or, as I tell Mom, population control) and we start talking about the stories Papa tells about his childhood. Stuff like clearing fields on the farm with a little T’N’T or that time he took a chainless bike up to the barn as a kid and ended up propelled ‘bout half a mile down the hill off into the lagoon knocked unconscious and woulda died if they hadn’t found him before the tide came in.
You know, the good old days!
Then Mom tells me about some stories that came out last summer at her Cousin John’s wedding. Somehow, all the grandkids started exchanging stories of what a, well, bastard Papa’s dad was. How when the boys would visit him at the farm he’d send them out alone with a gun at night into the woods so they’d learn how to be men.
“Oh yeah,” Papa says. And he tells them about the time he and his dad came across a bear in the woods. His dad threw a hatchet and hit the bear between the eyes. Bear went crazy and ran off. Then his Dad gave Papa a gun and left him there in the woods, said not to come back ‘till he’d found the bear and finished the job.
You know, the good old days.

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the WalMart

Just went to the pharmacy to fill Miracle Drug X and pick up a refill. Now, let me preface this by saying I’m switching to Miracle Drug X because researchers have only just begun to discover the profoundly fucked up long term side effects Miracle Drugs Y and Z had on little lab rats like me. Side effects not so bad as the like of the ovarian cysts produced by Miracle Drug A – which I took on and off when I was younger – but none the less stupendous enough to make the gallows humor of a songs like “The Thorazine Shuffle” long stale.
So, the pharmacy fills my prescription and rings me up. Need I even say it? My insurance company doesn’t want to cover Miracle Drug X. Which means I paid $242 for Miracle Drug X instead of my $20 co-pay.
Usually, if an insurance company declines payment on a new medication they want you to try another medication first (read: a medication they’ve bargained for a cheaper price on). I’m a little bewildered though because I’ve been on these Miracle Drugs for the last 15 years and I’m pretty sure I’ve taken damn near everything.
So here we are again. Welcome to America. Where the highly insured can still pay $1,042 a month in out-of-pocket medical costs.
And so you heard it here first: fuck the workers, unions be damned, God bless WalMart.

I suck at Lent.

Dude, I managed to blow my Lent Sacrifice on day #1. This has affirmed my conviction that thou shalt not choose a self-serving sacrifice for Lent. Better to pledge charity for the homeless or neighborly justice (I'm a little unclear on what the latter entails but I'm guessing it means I finally agree to babysit for the next-doors).
I've been craving lentil soup since the start of Lent. I would sacrifice lentils but I just ordered some Dal.
Maybe tomorrow I'll get back on the Lent Wagon and give up cigarettes.

Because being named Child of Christ on the Prong of a Fork St Francis Wasn't Enough

Yes I'm giving up something for Lent and no I won't tell you what.
Who gives a shit?
(evidently, I'm not giving up swearing, think I burned that bridge when I said "Fuck Father Jerry" to Father Jerry).
Did you know you're not supposed to sing the "Gloria in Excelsis Deo" again 'til Easter? I must say, that prohibition brings me ever so closer to Christ's Suffering.

Serenity Garden

Had a great trip home this weekend. Love my wacky family.

Among the more notable developments, my mother has purchased our graves. Given we own the cemetery maybe this shouldn't seem so strange, or maybe it's strange this didn't happen a lot sooner. That said; going to see the place you might be buried is REALLY WEIRD. And funny. It's a new development called "Serenity Garden" on the lower half of the cemetery grounds. A pretty fountain lined with niches for ashes. Evidently my mom likes the view. So, there you go. Not sure I want to be buried there but evidently I have the option. And after the creepiness wore off it was pretty funny to take pictures of my Mom in front of her future grave.

Just another day in the life of an undertaker's daughter/grandaughter/great-grandaughter.

Check out these flicks!

Some of you have already heard me wax poetic about these two documentaries so, indulge me.

BASTARDS OF THE PARTY is a great HBO documentary by Cle Shaheed Sloan, a former member of the LA Bloods. Sloan traces the origins of the modern Crips and Bloods back to the Reconstruction. A great flick for anyone interested in LA, Civil Rights, History, Federal Law Enforcement.

THE DEVIL AND DANIEL JOHNSTON looks at the life of artist and musician Daniel Johnston through his old movies, stories of friends, family, managers and Daniel. Johnston is crazy talented and also, well, pretty... Also just a great look back at the Austin music scene in the mid-80's and early 90's as well as a really cool look at Sonic Youth freaking out trying to deal with Johnston.

By the way, if you've seen movies - documentary or other - you recommend, let me know!

V-day

Happy Valentine's Day!

This morning I heard a delivery truck stop outside my house and footsteps on my porch. I opened my door to find a Flowers.com box. A dozen long stemmed roses from...Mom. Made my eyes water for many reasons. Wanting roses of a more romantic variety. Having such a wonderful mother and always reliably yet surprisingly getting flowers on important and even unimportant days from her. Still not having anyone who knows my favorite colored flower.

Then again, I know my favorite colored flower and I've got two whole rose bushes of them!

I also have a cousin who officially became a teenager today!

So, hope you're all having an OK Valentine's Day. If you didn't get a Valentine this year, check out PostSecret in my sidebar for some AMAZING valentines that will make everything better.

And remember, the thing about true love is most people are lucky to find it once in life, most people do find it more than once in life and you have your whole life to find it!

Resolution #3

I remember seeing televisions in the cafeteria of Bellarmine Preparatory School only once during my 3-year, 5-day attendance. Mother Theresa had died. All around me those carefully groomed girls with their Gap jeans, their lightly glossed lips and their barely budding breasts (some naturally, some magically inflated over the Summer months) forced tears from their vacant eyes. I don’t know if they truly cried, or, if they truly cried, what they truly cried for. But the seed of the saintly selfless archetype loomed large.

I grew up in a home where you apologized without thinking. And it wasn’t that you weren’t sorry. It’s just that you were truly sorry for everything. For breathing, for moving, for thinking, for any motion that interfered with another’s existence.

Selflessness always seemed like the ultimate goal. To need was selfish. To want was selfish. To resent was selfish. Practice compassion. Practice patience. Practice empathy. Everything you feel is selfish, you’re thinking of yourself, think how others must feel!

The thing is, I’ve never met a truly selfless person. Mostly the people I meet who talk about selflessness are terribly selfish messes really just labeling other people as selfish. The most selfless people I know have needs and boundaries. They need something to build all that strength on.

What were we crying for, Mother Theresa? What did she really think, that Mother Theresa? What did she feel? Was she sorry?

Oh, and why aren't there more oral exams?

Sometimes I hate being an auditory learner.

I get distracted way too easily.

I do all my reading at home because the library is too loud. But, at home, I can’t read if the dog snores too loud. Or, for example, like right now, my neighbor David is outside pacing and talking on his cell-phone.

Somebody needs to get some goddamn earplugs, right? I mean, Mom’s only been telling me this since I was about 5.

OK, anyone who has met Dylan can vouch for the fact that he’s ridiculously loud though, right?

The S-Season

A welcome Sun flirts with Portland these last few weeks (the South Sound too, according to Mom). I’m reluctant to call it the S-season or anything close to the S-season. The Sun might punish me.
Nonetheless, I find myself cleaning, whether I’ll call it S-season cleaning or not. And I find myself watching the dirt for growth, whether I’ll call it S-season growth or not.
Yesterday, I made my first trip of the year to the nursery, the earliest I’ve visited any S-season. I picked up three-each of Daffodils, Tulips and Narcissus. I spent a little piece of the afternoon cleaning up my container garden. Saying a long goodbye to the giant geraniums I didn’t manage to save. And planting these lovely little plants.
Planting is an act of hope. I find myself gauging whether I could withstand the loss should another frost come and take my premature hope away. Brave comes in small pieces. Maybe this is all the Brave I can take at the moment.
The wind blew the Sun away today, at least for today. But there are my little plants. Slowly telling me the S-season will come.

Occurred to me today that any number of decisions I make can be solved by simply asking, "what would Joan Didion do?"

This photo's pretty good but the one that really haunts is the one used on both "The White Album" and "Play it As it Lays." That picture is singularly responsible for the creation of my obsession with the perfect fitting black t-shirt paired with jeans and a modernity that's more feminine stoicism and steely reserve than shiny pretty open clean lines.

Having a nervous breakdown? "What would Joan Didion do?" Fly to Hawaii and work it out by watching the decline of an upper class sanctuary.

Can't face the world? "What would Joan Didion do?" Put on a giant pair of sunglasses and let her hair hide the rest of her face lips sufficiently pursed you wonder why women ever began injecting silicone.

Good god, just look at her. Ratty grey sweatshirt. Lank hair. Smoking that cigarette. And she's untouchable.

What would Joan Didion do?

Hey, it's fixed, OK?

Today I finally replaced my toilet handle.

I think the thing’s been broken for about three months and here’s why…

I’m very proud of my ability to fix things about the house. But I’m just guessing not very many people end up using their electric drill to get the plastic washer off the tank. As in literally screwing through an inch of plastic washer to break it apart because I couldn’t unscrew the damn thing. Hey, I had to sacrifice a drill bit, but it totally worked. The jury’s still out on water contact and the drill, thankfully.

Bright.

Lovely, bright, quiet, unexpected day.

I found the elusive black and white Kodak disposable camera this morning. Long and hard, I have searched. And all along, neatly stocked, sits the black and white, right down 39th. And I can’t believe how accessible technology has become. Now they sell digital keychain cameras and the like all under $30. So many cheap cameras to catch up with.

And last night, the joy of watching Madame Speaker’s face, to the right, well the left, but the right in TV land, of Mr. President’s face. And thank you, Madame Speaker, for your every carefully constrained smirk, lip-bite and glinting eye.

Today the sun shined again. I have this black and white disposable camera and I actually can’t get over all this color but I guess the point’s to see the light and there’s a lot of that for once.

And I think how funny George lassoed the moon. George, I think, must not have lived in Portland, OR or George would’ve lassoed the sun to win her heart.

Honk for Peace.

Sunday, driving back from our hike, Mark, Caitlin and I saw a small group of protesters at the corner of 39th and Hawthorne as we approached the red light. Their gathering appeared informal and very much of the neighborhood meet-up variety; fleece wearing moms and middle aged dads with strollers and young children in tow. Their last minute signs spoke firmly of peace but moderation, “we love our troops, bring them home” and the like.

At the front of the pack a woman held a sign with the simple plea, “Honk for Peace!”

2pm at a busy intersection in a country supposedly overwhelmingly in favor of some sort of withdrawal and not a single horn sounds.

Mark sums it all up, saying more or less, “America’s never going to accomplish anything if people can’t even honk for peace.”

So we just sit there honking away, the lone honking car, angrily honking, at 2pm, corner of 39th and Hawthorne, honking for Peace, honking at indifference, honking, honking, honking.

Because, yeah, there’s something seriously wrong with this country if those people can make their signs and walk around and you can’t even be bothered to honk- not for democrats, not for republicans, not for withdrawal, not for funding or not funding – just for peace.

What it's really like to meet Dylan for the first time...

You and me and the bottle makes three

Snow day two, verdict: cold. I’m beginning to think all vacations should be either one day or at least a week. A day’s just short enough not to feel guilty about whatever you’re relieved from. Anything longer than that and you need at least a week to leave the guilt behind.
Strange how all the Spring catalogues show up the first week of January. The fashion industry seemingly skips Winter rushing straight from an over-insulated Fall to prematurely bare Resort season. Taunting you, daring you, to count the months until the sun returns. If you start working out now, that bikini might actually look good by the time you can wear it. Of course, they’ll be selling scarves by then, July and all.
My how I would love a trip to a sunny beach somewhere south of the equator about now. You and me and the bottle makes three…nice dream.

Snow day!

Snow, real snow, more than we’ve gotten in Portland since 2004! The newscasters said we might get an inch. This morning in bed I felt sure none had fallen. When I looked outside I couldn’t believe not just a scatter, not just a few flakes from the sky but an entire blanket of white covered everything and a steady shower still fell down.
No school, no work, nada nada! It’s so deep little Dylan looks like an absurd snow dog trotting through fluffy white surf up to his armpits. All down the street couples walk arm and arm relieved from work by a surprise holiday. My neighbors talk and laugh watching their children and recounting the miscalculated weather report. Children lay on their backs staring at the sky they can’t remember the last snow so wonder at the white and the weightlessness of it.
And the best part, my favorite part, the hoped for part…the news telling you, “do not drive unless you have to, the mayor is telling everyone to stay home”….yipee!

Freezing to death.

Yesterday I watched a police car, ambulance and fire truck rush to a man lying wrapped in a red fuzzy blanket on the sidewalk two blocks from my house just before the Bins. The policeman sort of just stood over him waiting, I guess, for the rescue team. I couldn’t tell, of course, if the man had died, was in hypothermic shock or who knows, just being picked up under some vagrancy law (but then why the ambulance and fire truck).
The sort of thing you try to tell yourself “this isn’t TV.” But, then you see how your brain can’t process the magnitude of it. First block; your eyes water. Second block; you tell yourself that by the third block you’ll forget but you’ll remind yourself because it’s so real. Third block; you remind yourself it’s so real and feel guilty for needing the reminding. Fourth block; you’re back to thinking how lovely the cold sun makes the sky.
And then, of course, I can only process the emotion through pop culture references. Like how that kid in American Beauty filmed a homeless person freezing to death and talked about how beautiful it was and it reminds me of the guy who made a documentary of all the jumpers off the Golden Gate Bridge for one year and did nothing to stop them and is that beautiful? Oh, it’s art? No thank you, I think. I don’t think this is really like the movies at all.
And then last night I find myself playing the “would you rather?” game, the game like that book of questions with the one about saving yourself or all the endangered whales. And I’m thinking about cold weather, I’m thinking “would we rather it be so cold everyone got to see that spectacular comet the other night or this man not die?” Would you rather, would you rather? As if there’s a trade off.
And then of course I write a blog about it. So we can care so much. Be aware that these things happen. Extend our useless empathy. Maybe even make a donation to a soup kitchen that will feed people but give them nowhere to sleep. Because really, we care so much. I mean, I do. Don’t you?

Upon pain of death!

OK, I don’t know if reading early US Colonial Law is actually entertaining or just making me feel better about the ridiculously overwrought style that’s been creeping into my A-paper (“ridiculously overwrought?” who, me)? But, uh, I actually found the following excerpts hilarious:

#1: Sodomy, Adultery and Rape bad. Fornication just kinda bad.
“No man shall commit the horrible, and detestable sins of Sodomie upon pain of death; & he or she that can be lawfully convict of Adultery shall be punished with death. No man shall ravish or force any woman, maid or Indian, or other, upon pain of death, and know ye that he or shee, that shall commit fornication, and evident proofe made thereof, for their first fault shall be whipt, for their second they shall be whipt, and for their third shall be whipt three times a day a weeke for one month, and aske publique forgivenesse” (Dale's Laws of 1611).

#2: Don’t like your teenager? Kill ‘em.
“If a man have a stubborn or rebellious son, of sufficient years & understanding (viz) sixteen years of age, which will not obey the voice of his Father, or the voice of his Mother, and that when they have chastened him will not harken unto them: then shal his Father & Mother being his natural parets, lay hold on him, & …testifie unto them that their Son is stubborn & rebellious & will not obey their voice and chastisement, but lives in sundry notorious crimes, such a son shal be put to death. Deut. 21. 20.21." (Laws and Liberties of Mass of 1648).

#3: Shuffleboard is evil.
“Upon complaint of great disorder by the use of the game called Shuffle-board, in houses of common entertainment, wherby much pretious time is spent unfruitfully and much wast of wine and beer occasioned, it is therefore ordered and enacted by the Authoritie of this Court;
That no person shall henceforth use the said game of Shuffle-board in any such house, nor in any other house used as common for such purpose, upon payn for every Keeper of such house to forfeit for every such offence twenty shillings…And any Magistrate may hear and determin any offence against this Law" (Laws and Liberties of Mass of 1648).

Super-fantastic mini-snow day

Greetings from my super-fantastic, slightly busy, brightly sunny with a coating of snow day!
So, Portland finally got the snow the newscasters have been yapping about, albeit all of an inch. But, it’s really bright and sunny and just cold and white enough to bring some of that white light through the window shades; quite a nice change.
School starts next Monday so I drove up to campus today and spent a boatload of money on books. At this point in my law school career none of the classes interest me so I pretty much choose whatever seems easiest or least likely to make my head explode. This term it’s Disability, Election, and Criminal Law, a Seminar on End of Life Ethics and American Legal History. Yee-haw. But really, I don’t mind being back in school. The reading sucks but most the time all I have to do is show up and play solitaire on my laptop.
Spent the rest of the afternoon running errands. OK, so hitting thrift-stores doesn’t exactly count as an errand but the hunt for good denim takes true dedication and I feel like I worked my ass off. Totally worth it: I managed to find both a pair of Diesels and AGs in my size AND hemmed for a short girl. Sweet.
Home now and back to working on the paper and bills that can’t be bargained for.
High hopes that all the moisture will start to freeze by the time I take Dylan for a walk tonight though and we can have a fun little adventure.
Hope everyone’s enjoying the mini-snow day!

Adorable fat cat

I don't know why I find this ridiculously fat cat so funny but I do. He's adorable and I wish he lived with me. The world needs more dog-sized cats. And giant pugs.

Resolution 2

Today I got to try on my second resolution, to be less apologetically and more authentically me.
It happened at the perfect moment. I’d just pulled out of my drycleaner’s parking lot after figuring out my passenger headlight is out and I sat at the corner trying to turn back onto ever-congested Macadam. As I craned my neck looking for an opening to turn somewhere in the next five minutes a glimmery taupe glorified mini-van on bigger wheels pulled up behind me or rather just off-center of me but 3” off my bumper.
So I’m sitting at the corner looking, looking, and looking for any goddamn possibility to turn. And the driver of the taupe monstrosity – I can’t see her, but I know it’s a her, and I know she’s got brown layered jaw length hair, her nails probably match her car and she’s wearing sunglasses even though it’s 4 pm and drizzling – keeps rocking her car forward and back impatiently like a subtle hint.
And the nano-second she beeps her horn at me my favorite finger slices 90 degrees into the air like a backhand slap.
I turn and she screeches past me in the other lane gesturing wildly.
Damn. That felt good.
And yes, slicing the air with my favorite finger makes me feel more authentically me. As does calling other drivers developmentally disabled, or shouting at bad drivers “it takes a village!” And I prefer to do just about anything in my car with a cigarette in my left hand. So, if you have a problem with any of this, you probably shouldn’t get a ride with me.

Resolution 1

So, one of my resolutions this year was to kick the Delivered Dish habit. I can’t say the pure laziness of ordering all my meals motivated me to evaluate the practice. And while health certainly concerns me that didn’t really motivate me either. I think mainly the economy of the local food banks inspired me.
See, over Thanksgiving I discovered that $20.30 could feed one senior through Loaves and Fishes for one week. Then, looking into Oregon Food Bank over the holidays I discovered that, using their resources, they can convert a dollar donation into six pounds of food. And if you want to buy one meal for the homeless at the grocery store? $1.80.
It’s pretty amazing that I could buy Delivered Dish for myself for a week, or I could feed myself and a couple of homeless people.
I’m not giving up the denim addiction though. We all have our greed. If you don’t, you can be a Saint for both of us.
By the way, if you’re looking for an AWESOME soup cookbook covering many regions, check out Twelve Months of Monastery Soups by Victor D’avila-Latourette.