Pies Men Like

aw, puppies

2008-07-17T23:36:00.004-05:00

Really? Probably. (And why did I take the test? That kind of day + easily swayed by others [see below] + sheer desperadoes? Probably.) At least I'm secure.

Your result for The Attachment Style Test...

The Cuddleslut

40% Anxiety Over Abandonment and 17% Avoidance Of Intimacy

You're mostly secure, but sometimes you need a little extra reassurance to make it through the tough times. You are usually affectionate and sweet, and you find it easy to fall in love. An encouraging word from a crush or a loved one can motivate you for weeks.

Other Attachment Types:
Secure:	The Unicorn	\|	The Cuddleslut	\|	The Free Agent
Preoccupied:	The Cling Wrap	\|	The Squid	\|	The Insect
Fearful:	The Doormat	\|	The Leper	\|	The Exile
Dismissing:	The Hermit	\|	The Stone	\|	The Player
Confused:	The Waffler

Take The Attachment Style Test at HelloQuizzy

buh*

2007-09-22T12:04:00.000-05:00

*This is the sound you make when you try to hold in your excitement and mushiness at receiving a very touching email/phone call/note/whatever but then you can't quite hold it in because you are the type of person who, in the words of my friend Meadow, cries at puppies.

This is at leas the fourth Saturday in about six weeks that I'm going in to work and I'm so tired but I have so much to do and I'm so worried - and at the same time I can't figure out how to integrate the other things I want to do today, like going to the video store, getting a latte, and stopping by two different Indian cultural shindigs. Even as I write this out I realize that these are tiny problems and that I just need to calm down. But my brain...it's tired. I feel like this:

nataliedee.com

And then I get one of those "buh" thingies and everything is better - even if I don't schedule myself perfectly today, as long as I get my work done well and am careful with the people I care about, life is pretty good. But I still wish I could take my dog to work and didn't have to leave him on his own again (or just had disposable income that I could earmark for buying my own copy of InDesign for Mrs. Peel).

Schmap

2007-09-16T10:37:00.000-05:00

(That's fun to say!)

The Schmap guide to York includes three photos I took on my visit there last March (St. Mary's Abbey, St. Helen's, and St. Martin's Church). Neato!

In other news, the weather continues to be fabulous, and it's inspiring me to knit. Outside. Wearing a scarf. I found a pattern I like, Green Jeans from the current Knitty, to go with some yarn I've had for almost a year (instead of buying new yarn - what restraint) - and now I just have to figure out if I have circular needles that will work. Where are my circulars, anyway? I haven't done anything in the round in years, so fingers crossed. I haven't read the pattern all the way through yet, but it seems to avoid setting arms into arm holes, which is where my projects go most wrong

Fall!

2007-09-12T17:18:00.000-05:00

It's 73 and crisp and sunny. It's perfect. I wore a jacket and scarf when I walked Leroy this morning, and I could see my breath. Huzzah! And as my new favorite person whom I don't actually know Natalie Dee says, it's cardigan weather!

uh-oh...another tv show to watch

2007-07-16T19:41:00.001-05:00

I'm 40 minutes into Victoria Beckham's new tv show and I love it to pieces. In fact, I've had to coin a new term in order to describe it: ridiculicious. It is ridiculicious in all the right ways - painfully high shoes, big sunglasses, weird celebrity hair, heartfelt observations on life in LA (which, unexpectedly, seems almost as foreign to her as it would to me), trying to make new friends, hiring a personal assistant, house-hunting...you know, as you do.

And I got 13 of 15 on the Posh lingo quiz, yielding a rating along the lines of "almost ready to join the Beckham entourage." Score!

Update to post (July 18, 2007): apparently it's just one special episode, but at least you can see it online here.

eight random things

2007-06-28T23:06:00.000-05:00

I got the "eight random things about yourself" tag from T-Hype, which made me remember that almost two years ago I filled out a tag of sets of seven examples of various things about myself, and a few of these will come from there until I get rolling.

1. I'd really like to be in an all-girls Beatles cover band - not professionally or anything, just for fun - preferably with Rosalie, but the later in life it gets, the less picky I will be about bandmates.
2. I can name the Canadian provinces and territories and their capitals.
3. Instruments I have started to learn how to play and then relatively quickly abandoned: oboe, cello, harmonica, and guitar. My ten years of piano lessons should count for something, though.
4. Speaking of which, whenever I visit my friend Wendy, we delight in hauling out her books of piano duet sheet music and ripping through them at breakneck speed with devil-may-care inaccuracy. It is so fun.
5. The last book I finished was the latest in the fabbity-fab Georgia Nicolson YA series. On our recent trip to England, Melina went looking for foods mentioned in the books, Jammy Dodgers and Midget Gems (not "Jims," as many a shop employee thought she was saying), which is a step beyond our usual habit of just taking on the books' infectious slang. Some examples include "astonishingly dim ____ [insert name]," "dither-spaz" (noun), and "then we laughed like two loons on loon tablets."
6. David Bowie's "Modern Love" makes me laugh like a loon on loon tablets. The reasons for this do not need to be gone over here, because 1) the story is very long and 2) apparently I don't tell it very well - no matter how hard I try to explain to other people why the song makes me laugh hysterically, they just look at me blankly and say "okaaaay...."
7. One of my favorite childhood memories is going to a kindergarten classmate's family farm and holding a piglet. Despite growing up in rural west-central Illinois, I have visited maybe three or four actual working farms (not just houses out in the country) in my life.
8. In 1997 while in graduate school and living at a fancy-pants college (think Oxbridge), I accidentally ate breakfast with Pierre Trudeau. "Accidentally" in that I sat down at his table but didn't recognize him. We ended talking about Canadian history. How's that for pressure?

Damn you, British television!

2007-06-10T20:57:00.000-05:00

Bringing me hour after hour of giggles and/or fascination! Not to mention ridiculous new celebrity crushes: David Walliams (Little Britain)

and Nigel Havers from The Charmer (and A Passage to India and Chariots of Fire).

right on

2007-05-30T13:18:00.001-05:00

While researching Girl Scout programs for work (really!), I stumbled across their description of the "Our Rights, Our Responsibilities" patch, and from what I read, I think everyone should earn one of these and proudly show it off. To get it, you have to do something from each of these categories:

The right to be me
The right to learn
The right to be heard
The right to live in peace
The right to be happy
The right to work together

Sign me up.

2007-04-23T08:25:00.000-05:00

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

Oh, now, that's a good April Fool's joke!

2007-04-01T00:11:00.000-05:00

Genius.

sad sack

2007-02-12T15:47:00.000-06:00

I don't especially care about Valentine's Day. Being single on it is not a particular sore point for me - I figure it's just a holiday that doesn't pertain to me, like Yom Kippur or Easter. But until the last few weeks, I had thought this year was going to be different. Not that I was jazzed about Valentine's Day - but the 14th would have been the six-month anniversary of a relationship I was really, truly happy about.

And here's the "but": but it was long distance, and he has vanished, and I have no idea what happened. No communication from him, in any form, for three weeks; by no means am I a relationship expert, but I'm assuming this means that he's decided we're through. I'm not sure what else to do than take it very personally.

Okay. I can very easily understand not wanting to date me, or that the distance was just too hard, or any number of other situations - trapped under a bus, kidnapped by coyotes, hospitalized without cell phone - but what I don't understand is why I am apparently not worth even a perfunctory explanation. If he cared for me at all, why didn't he spend three minutes to write a text message saying something, anything, to let me know what's going on? And if I did something wrong - which I can hardly keep from assuming I did - surely telling me would be kinder, so at the very least I can work on it for next time? And if I am so awful that he had to flee, why did he take me on in the first place?

And here's a question: if someone seems to have changed their mind about you, does that undo, make false, all the lovely things they once said and felt about you? Does it mean the whole thing was imaginary? Does it mean you never mattered, were never loved, were never worth the thoughtful compliments and shared laughted and closeness? Because that's how it feels - it feels like everything is gone, not only the future but the past too, and while I know I shouldn't dwell on the past (even in the best of times), knowing that the past was real makes me know at least that there were some truly good things about us, about me, I guess, more selfishly, even if they aren't relevant any more. I can deal with that - but it's much harder to deal with the idea that it was all imaginary to begin with, that I was a fool for ever thinking it was otherwise.

This isn't the person I thought I knew. None of this seems like him. I never would have guessed this could happen, that he could be so hurtful, that I would hold so little significance to him that he could dismiss me with not a single word of explanation or anger or goodbye. The thing I liked about him most was his warmth and kidness. Very little about this adds up or makes any sense to me, which I think is what's hardest.

I often joke that I'm really a seventh-grader inside; maybe this silent treatment is a sign that I'm finally getting back what I've sewn (sown? no idea).

Vanishing without a trace is a lot more towards Bollywood than my life usually runs. And not in the good way.

That's why her hair is so big: it's full of secrets.

2007-02-07T09:08:00.000-06:00

(from Mean Girls, 2004)

This whole thing has gotten me thinking about what a secret actually is. It's not just something that nobody knows, or something that you're not supposed to tell. The term implies that somebody wants to know the information because it's interesting or dangerous - or at least intriguing. There are all sorts of things about myself that I don't talk about and that probably nobody knows - sometimes I brush my teeth in the shower, for example - but that doesn't really seem like an actual secret. Certainly not a good one. So the following are probably more under the category of "little-known facts" rather than actual secrets.

1. In high school, I once cheated on a PE test by looking at someone else's paper (I think it was on football, or maybe badminton). As class valedictorian, this is a pretty shameful tidbit; the only thing I can say is that had I done the test in question entirely on my own, I don't think the score would have lowered my class grade enough to affect my GPA so that I was no longer valedictorian. I remember in English class one year, I had completely forgotten to do the reading - very unlike me - and when the pop quiz came, I faced my problem with dignity and just did the best I could and then wrote the teacher a note on my answer sheet that said I had forgotten to read the short story. Ms. Haworth forgave me.

2. In a similar vein - and no, of course I don't have issues equating academic performance with self-worth, why do you ask? - in 8th grade art class I got a D on a project. Me. Beth Watkins. In art. A D. I don't remember if I cried in class - I don't think so - and I don't even remember what the project was. I do remember that I worked it off and by the end of the term I had gotten a big shiny A for my marker drawing of a pink Eiffel Tower, my take on an assignment to take a know object and trasnform it in an unexpected way. Seems pretty trite to me now, but I guess it was okay for a 14-year-old.

3. The live rock/pop concert I have most enjoyed was Journey at the grandstand of the Illinois State Fair...in 2002. Better late than never, I suppose. Other acts that year included Aaron Carter, the Gin Blossoms, and Engelbert Humperdinck.

4. Depending on the vehicle, I can get motion-sick at the drop of a hat. Ocean-going boats are iffy, sitting backwards in a train has proven complicated, and roller coasters are an absolute no-no.

5. I saved this one for last, because it's probably the most surprising of these if you know me well - it's just not the sort of thing you'd think I would ever do, especially because I was much more worried and timid when I was younger than I am now. In 9th grade, I got caught by a police officer making out with my boyfriend in his old VW beetle in a park after dark. That last bit of course was the actual offense - everything else was just tacky. The officer was actually very nice and just gave us a warning, and he asked multiple times if I was okay and if I wanted him to take me home. Said boyfriend turned out to be a short-term experiment and after I dumped him he started leaving pathetic notes in my locker, the combination to which he had furtively watched me enter and then stored in his calculator watch. I am so old. He was still annoying me two years later, so when he and I both got into all-state choir, as I was helping the choir teacher with the registration paperwork, I signed him up under a name that was not his actual name but one that he often got called by mistake and that he hated, as people who often get called the wrong name are prone to do. I knew this would drive him crazy, and the teacher laughed as I did it (who's the pet? yeah that's right). Sure enough, the boy was cranky about his "wrong" name tag and listing in the concert program for the whole festival.

tag: "Y'know, I just realized that..."

2006-12-27T19:11:00.000-06:00

Via Sharon, some structured thinking about stuff I learned this year. This will be tricky to get juuuuust right, seein' as how I'm trying not to get into a post-holiday, cloudy-day, far-away-from-someone-I'm-fond-of funk. 2006 has been a real doozy in a lot of ways, with way more embarassing drama than I care to admit (I have a low drama threshhold [for myself, that is; sometimes other people's dramas can be fun!]) and some truly heartfelt superwows and more jaw-dropping moments than I can count. This last group is mostly courtesy of my trip to India (thanks, US Department of Education!) - not to over-exoticize India, but it's gorgeous and complex and really, really interesting, and I'm so thankful I got to go there and have all those experiences...and, yeah, see, getting emotional already. Anyway, scenes like the following were constant and, as desperately as I sometimes wish I had more pictures, even more than that I feel grateful and happy that I even know of their existence at all.

huge coils of garlands of flowers in a market in Bangalore

orange and sky-blue boats bob in the smoke and flames of oil lamps along the Ganges during evening prayers

you-know-what in Mumbai

So I guess that's #1: that life is full of amazing things everywhere you turn. I already knew that, really, and it's one of the reasons I love museums so much, but it's always great to have your beliefs affirmed.

#2 Your friends can get married and it won't necessarily create negative changes or difficulties in your friendship. Lots of people know this already, though I also have good proof that it's not true for everyone. But I'm grateful that it seems to be true in my little neck of the woods.

#3 Something I should have learned a long time ago but, again courtesy of traveling in India, I finally figured it out this year: it is important - so important - to keep your definitions flexible. We all know this about expectations, that we should hold them loosely and make sure they can adjust with context. But underneath expectations are the simple little words we use to form them, and these too have to give.

Here's a stupid-tourist example: I've lived most of my life in the midwestern chunk of North America, so I thought I had a pretty good sense of hot and humid weather. And I did, for the midwestern chunk of North America. Some parts of India, in July, are hot and humid in a way I could not conceive of. The evening I spent at the Wagah Border crossing between India and Pakistan in Punjab, for example, was so muggy that my fingers were pruney from my own sweat.

Yes.

But the much more important instances of this me applying this willingness to re-think what things mean happened for ideas like food and marigold and generous and brilliant and welcome and home and friend. I hope to be able to keep being flexible at home, with situations that seem familiar, with things and people I think I already know.

#4 Unlike Sharon, I'm admittedly a full-fledged dog person, and my sweet Leroy

will be delighted to know that I have finally realized that a ten-minute walk around the block in -20 weather at 6:45 am is no sacrifice at all compared to how happy it makes him.

#5 Sometimes you have to spend $3000 to make sure your tree doesn't fall on somebody's house, and that is the price you pay for owning a house, and it's for the good of all concerned, so you should just stop fretting about that money and consider it an investment in Doing the Right Thing. Since you have to and all. So the lesson to extrapolate here is that you should take care of your responsibilities and try to be positive about it, because most of the time in life you can choose to try to have a good attitude even about stressful things.

#6 TV teen dramas are goooood, and if I want to spend an entire day watching DVDs of Degrassi Junior High, then that is okay, because, on the flip side of the version of being a grown-up that I grudgingly accept per #5, I am the boss of me and I'm allowed to do
that sometimes, especially if it is balanced out with some PBS (even if PBS is showing some kind of Masterpiece Theater adaptation that is in essence a gussied-up teen drama).

#7 As I write this it's dawning on me how it's all very well and good (the grammar of this particular phrase puzzles me - anyone else?) to think of these things but I had really better act on them, hadn't I? At least now they're all published, so any of you are welcome to hold me to them.

Tagees will have to self-select; you all know I'd love to read what you have to say any day. And now if you'll excuse me, I've got some Gilmore Girls to watch.

I like pumpkins, Cotton!

2006-10-11T20:42:00.000-05:00

It makes me so happy that my university has a website about pupmkins. There is something about pumpkins that I just love - I think it's the color, but their wobbly roundness is appealing too. And the word is fun to say. And the pie is great.

Prep

2006-08-09T16:57:00.000-05:00

Finally, a novel has grabbed me: Curtis Sittenfeld's Prep, and it's sooooo good. Here are two choice quotes:

"What kind of heart did [she] have if she could remorselessly block the crush of another girl? Only if she liked the boy herself could there be justification; otherwise blocking someone else's crush was always and absolutely wrong." This is true - I'd had a sense of its truth for a long time, even without the words to phrase it. It's true even at 32. And it's why I don't tell certain people about my crushes.

"Once they've decided to occur, will the bad coincidences of your life seek you out, their shape changing, their consequences staying the same? Or maybe their shape doesn't even change; maybe they hold form, waiting for you as patiently as turtles."

no idea of the theme of this tag, but the person who inspired it is usually right, so why not

2006-08-05T09:37:00.000-05:00

From Obi Wan, who didn't formally tag me, but I'm sure won't mind if I give it a whirl. "Tag tag ki baat hai!" as he says, whatever that means. Please keep in mind I just got back from a five-week trip to India yesterday morning, so some of these might be skewed.

I am thinking about
the circumstances under which I will next get to go to India, whether they'll be entirely self-directed or if they will involve something or somebody else, part of a bigger plan or project, or sight-seeing, or what...because all of these things seem possible

I said
whatever accurately expressed my enthusiasm level, and it may have involved squeaking, clapping, bouncing up and down, or other sound/sight effects

I want
to figure out how to keep my house a little cleaner without feeling like I spend all my time cleaning. My house seems so dingy to me today, although that could be because it is not a five-star hotel, which is where I've been sleeping lately.

I wish
it were already truly fall

I miss
India, the smell of wood smoke, laughing with Debbie on the bus, Rajan's mobile phone ring - and the people, the ones I knew and the ones I didn't

I hear
Car Talk on NPR (WILL 580 AM). I did really miss NPR while away.

I wonder
what it will be like to be back at work, what will be awaiting me, how long it will take to feel really back into things

I regret
nothing, really. I may be emotionally over-active, but I'm basically sensible and I don't think I've mad any truly bad decisions.

I am
um, duh, what I just said: "emotionally over-active." That's not a very elegant phrase, but you know what I mean.

I dance
seldom in public, all the time at home

I sing
anytime, anywhere

I cry
waaaay more often than I would like to admit; while I'm not exactly ashamed of it, it gives the impression that I am far more vulnerable and unstable than I really am.

I am not always
as smart as I would like to be (or as I would like others to think I am)

I write
all the time, at work, at home, and I'm thankful for that

I confuse
that which I want to say with what the listener needs/wants to hear

I need
to eat more sensibly

I should
at select occasions think a few more seconds before I write or speak

I finish
hmm...I have no idea...I finish...the things that I'm most excited about and the things I have to - so the things that are most important

six weird habits tag

2006-08-05T08:48:00.000-05:00

From Accidental Fame Junkie. I'm not sure what counts as "weird."
1. AFJ may talk to herself, but I sing to myself. All the time, not just in the shower. When inspired, I change the words to whatever's in my head to suit what I'm thinking about. My mom does this too; whether nature or nurture, I think I know its origin.
2. Related, I love to sing along to movies or CDs, and if I don't know the words, I will look them up online and sing with the computer in front of me. I also sing along to classical music with the score out, usually Handel's Messiah.
3. If I'm thinking about how to phrase something, I ghost type it - that is, if I'm not in front of a computer, my fingers still move as though I'm typing what I'm thinking. I attribute this to ten very formative years of piano lessons.
4. Dirty dishes have to go immediately into the dishwasher, not into the sink or on the counter. Right away. And they have to go in a certain way. And the silverware should be sorted as it goes in - one cubby for spoons, one for forks, etc. This last one is pragmatically inspired, since once the dishwasher is done I can just pull one group at a time and put it into the appropriate space in the drawer (because of course I have one of those silverware sorty things in the drawer, with a spoon-shaped area for spoons, etc.) Wow, now that I have written that out, it sounds even weirder.
5. Things that find their way into my car or on to my front porch often do not resurface for months, even years. Both of these areas are supposed to be temporary. In the car, something is in there only if it is needs to be taken from point A to point B, and once the car is back here, the item should go back in the house, but this rarely happens. The porch is similar; usually something goes there because I need to find a more permanent home for it elsewhere but the porch will have to do for now. "For now," she writes, laughing. I put my down comforter out there in April to air it out before folding it carefully and putting it in the closet for the summer. It's still there. I will say, though, that there were some chilly nights in early June when I was on my hammock on the phone and I was really happy to have that comforter in arm's length.
6. I have very strong feelings about when to use capital letters - the less often, the better. Whenever I am asked to edit somebody else's writing (which is often, since that's part of my job), I get really annoyed by things that I think don't need to be capitalized. Like "Internet." I hate that.

this isn't even my text but still I post it

2006-06-20T17:35:00.000-05:00

I am having a hard day, I think due to anxiety about the trip, which is making small, everyday concerns/worries seem much, much bigger than they really are. ANd a very kind friend sent me this when I was worried that I was expressing far too much of what was worrying me, that I was not, as I like to say, keeping my freak to myself.

"It's okay to be emotional! Believe me, it's quite all right. And the complete truth is that I've never once thought of you as crazy, unstable, unreasonable, or my responsibility. Your influence on my life has been nothing but positive. I'm being completely serious about this."

And ordinarily I wouldn't make a post out of a piece of private correspondene, but I need to know this is here, where I can get to it easily.

using its powers for good

2006-05-15T09:33:00.000-05:00

Lately the universe seems to have been agitating my little corner. Everyone I know seems to have NEWS or DRAMA or EVENTS. And every time I think "Okay, that must be the last shoe to drop," it isn't. And while not all of these things have been bad, the bulk of them are really quite sad or difficult or frustrating; and even the good ones have entailed exhaustion at best and big decisions at worst. But this morning, completely unexpectedly, I encountered a good one. A very good one. And I can't say what it is just yet, but it's a doozy. In a good way. Yay!

balle balle in the most sincere and superwow way

2006-03-29T23:06:00.000-06:00

cross-post from Beth Loves Bollywood, naturally

I'm going to India!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This summer! I have been selected to participate in a Fulbright-Hayes summer seminar for educators, and the program I'm in is called "Broadening the Knowledge Base on India." You can read about it here and also see a list of the places I'll be going. And that's about all I know so far - I am waiting a big formal packet from the US Department of Education ("Plenty of Children Left Behind, Thanks Very Much") with more information.

But in the meantime - YAY!!!!!!

Sex and the Single Girl response part 3

2006-03-24T23:28:00.000-06:00

No surprise that food and health is one of the topics that would send me ballisticimus. On the very first page alone of this chapter I have been informed that the food I make for "him" has no resemblance to what I should eat when he's not around and that single girls need "glossy hair, waxen skin, stalwart nails, shiny eyes, peachy cheeks, glassy tongue (sick tongues are furry), bouncy step, and racy blood." This from a woman who was mocked by Saturday Night Live as eating a lunch of a martini olive and a packet of Sweet 'n' Low and then proclaiming it "dehhhhcadent."

But the very next page reminds us that when you eat junk, you're wasting valuable room that should go to nutrition. Can't really argue with that. This chapter is going to be very hard for me. I have issues, but this stuff is warped.

And yet I find myself wanting to touch my tongue....

Beth Loves Seth?

2006-03-21T08:46:00.000-06:00

[cross-post from Beth Loves Bollywood]

I don't know what is going on in my head, but somehow over the last few days I am finding the wisdom and solace that I ususally rely on Bollywood for in...the OC. I am midway through season two and more addicted than ever. As a long-time 90210 junkie it is really no surprise this show has grabbed me, but it's got an extra little sarcastic edge that does me in. The bad kid loves Journey. The good kid requires a social-life strategy session before school each day. The girl we hate to love watches a show called the Valley that, when snippets are heard in the background, quotes her lines from previous episodes. Plus, you know, making fun of Peter Gallagher's eyebrows.

Quotable lines from this binge include "You're the bad boy. You're supposed to lead me into temptation, not to homeroom" and, about a deep and difficult problem that is different from others previously borne, "It's different.... Different as in not fixed by pancakes. And don't ask me how I feel about waffles." Ryan, my man, I can never be attracted to you because 1) you're fictional, 2) you're a bad boy, 3) you look eerily like one of my close friends, and 4) my heart belongs to Seth, but you are speaking my language here. Pass the syrup.

Sex and the Single Girl response part 2

2006-02-23T15:28:00.000-06:00

I know I promised a chapter-by-chapter account of this, but this book makes my head explode (and not in a good way, either). I get really worked up about something but by the time I'm calm enough to write, I realize my energy was spent being wound up. I can't tell if the book is or is not a guide on how to sink your claws into a man, is or is not feminist (I'm sure it depends on the definition), is or is not in favor of the status quo. It seems to purr cozily in the lap of these things one minute and then throw a martini in their faces the next.

Plus it's really hard to be objetive. It takes a lot of energy for me to accept that HGB might be right about something regarding women, men, and society. But I just now read a bit that I really agree with. She's talking about where you can meet men if you so desire, and she points out that the society that will raise its eyebrow at you, if not flat out shun you, for putting yourself in the parth of and otherwise flirting with men of varying eligibility is the very same one that will raise its eyebrow at you, if not flat out shun you, for being single. Amen sister. Forty-odd years later and it seems this is still very true for many women. (Not, thankfully, for me - no one gives me any crap about being single. At least not that I know of. And if they do, I would challenge them to find me a man I would go out with who is, to quote HGB, "apt to appreciate the charms of a plain but sensible girl like me.")

welcome, me

2006-02-13T22:30:00.000-06:00

I felt like myself at work today for the first time in so long I can't remember when the last time was. And I can't express how wonderful this is. I felt good. I felt useful. I felt engaged. I felt valued. I felt productive.

I felt happy.

tag!

2006-01-29T22:57:00.000-06:00

Rock and roll lifestyle has tagged me to do the nine quartets thingy, so I shall, because I love lists. I really do.

Four jobs I have had:
1. legal secretary at the law office of an auto insurance company - the nicest temp gig I could ever have imagined. The people were nice and fun, and the work was actually challenging much of the time. And I learned the truth about those "Have you been injured in an accident? Tell the insurance companies you mean business" lawyers: they're as dodgy as they look. Also I know how to subpoena someone. So look out.
2. organizer of math education resources at Western Illinois University (workplace of my professor parents)
3. cutterer at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign library. This is a term that means I assigned the very last digits to library call numbers.
4. piano accompanist

Four movies I could watch over and over (and by "could" I mean "do"):
1. Pillow Talk
2. Zoolander
3. Main Hoon Na
4. Mansfield Park

Four places I've lived:
1. Toronto
2. London (England) (but I was 5)
3. Nottingham (England) (but I was 10)
4. This is embarassing, but the only place I've really lived other than my hometown, where I lived from birth until going away to college, and here, where I went to college then returned to for round two of graduate school and have been living ever since, is the northwest Chicago suburbs. Sorry, suburbanites, but your area killed a little part of my soul. The only good thing I can say about it was that IKEA was nearby.

Four TV shows I love to watch (I'm limiting myself to things currently on the air):
1. The Simpsons
2. Masterpiece Theater
3. Malcolm in the Middle (when it's on after work, in syndication)
4. Sex and the City (when it's on when I should be going to bed)

Four places I've been on vacation:
1. Nova Scoita
2. Australia
3. Ravenna (it was only a day trip from Florence, but it rocked)
4. Normandy

Four of my favorite foods:
1. cinnamon almond french toast from the Original Pancake House (that's the OPH, not IHOP, you philistines)
2. the heel pieces of my grandmother's homemade bread
3. chocolate pot de creme from Radio Maria
4. pizza bianco from Jupiter

Four places I'd rather be right now:
1. Toronto, walking in Little Italy or Kensington Market
2. at Wendy's house
3. Mumbai, looking for movie stars and generally twirling about with delight at being, finally, in India
4. at work, oddly

Four sites I visit daily (this is hard, what with finally getting my Google RSS reader working and all - it's my meta-visit - so I'm going to say sites I visit really frequently):
1. gmail
2. the university library's online reference collection
3. NPR
4. BBC

Four bloggers I am tagging:
I never have anyone to tag. But if anyone who reads this wants to participate, I support you fully and will look forward to reading. Oh wait! I do have people!
1. Obi Wan
2. Accidental Fame Junkie

the 8 things tag

2006-01-18T22:08:00.000-06:00

I have been tagged by AFJ, who knows me from my other blog, Beth Loves Bollywood, but this seemed a better fit over here, so I'm moving it. You will forgive the Bolly-influenced tone.

The rules of the game are:
1. The tagged victim has to come up with 8 different points of their perfect lover.
2. Need to mention the sex of the target.
3. Tag 8 victims to join this game & leave a comment on their comments saying they've been tagged.
4. If tagged the 2nd time, there's no need to post again.

First of all, let me say the word "lover" gives me the heebie-jeebies. Except in Bollywood or old-fashioned things. Outside of those contexts it makes me think of skeezy men. (This is not the fault of the word or of people who use it.) So I'm going to water it down a bit for my own purposes.

Second, I am going to copy from the 7 things meme, as there is some overlap, but I'll update it, as that one is three months old and we know how these things can change. Also the 7 things meme is "things that attract me to another person" and the more I think about it the more they are basically the same things, with that little often indescribable difference that causes you to fall in love. Or rise in love, if you subscribe to the Taal theory.

Third, I don't know enough people with blogs who would enjoy the exercise to tag anyone. But I will tell my non-blog friends about it and try to get them to do it over email instead.

It would be great if my twitterpatee (oh, alright, twitterpate with an aigu over the final e, but no double e, if we are following French properly) had the following:
1. true warmth, kindness, and consideration for other people (and this really is number one) (and it is compulsory)
2. willingness to be goofy
3. interests and enthusiasms - these don't have to be the same as mine, but having some topic, some hobby, some subject that makes him go "oooh! that's interesting!" or "I want to learn more" is so important - no mental couch potatoes
4. fondness for the Simpsons
5. desire to make his home/living space look and/or feel like himself
6. my 7 things meme #6 says "good grammar" but that's just an initial attraction thing - for this list, I'm changing it to "enjoyment of words," because I love reading - and talking and writing
7. book smarts - this makes me a snob, I suspect, but it's been true my whole life, so I figure it's important to me for whatever reasons, noble or not
8. and, in keeping with this blog, an appreciation of Bollywood. He doesn't have to love it, but if he would watch with me from time to time and then listen while I ramble on, that would be really nice - and if he enjoyed it, that would be swell. Or maybe just an appreciation for what I appreciate about Bollywood would suffice. He gets why I like it and doesn't find it insurmountably weird that I like it as much as I do. Yes, that will do, I think.

Of course, some of these demand to be shared and/or reciprocal - I put #1 on there because that's how I try to be because I think it's pretty much the point of life in general. And if he'll watch Dil Chahta Hai for the umpteenth time with me, I'll do the equivalent.

They also are a remarkably Bollywood-free set of hopes, given my pop culture diet lately - no literal arm-flinging required. Figurative, though - that's a must, at some point. It doesn't have to be from across a crowded engagement party the very first time you meet, though.

The thing is, you can make lists until the cows come home, but in my experience they won't matter one teeny tiny jot when someone good comes along. And if you're lucky and brave, you'll give it a whirl anyway, and the ways he derivates from what you thought you wanted will just challenge you to figure out why you thought you wanted them.

Huh. I seemed to have veered off of the person and on to the relationship. Anyway, my point is that if someone really interesting and funny and kind enters your life, you don't drop the whole thing just because he doesn't like dogs. You just lend your dog to a friend for the afternoon and then pet him extra and give him a new chew toy when you pick him up later. ("Him" the dog, not the guy. Probably.)

a serial response to Sex and the Single Girl (1962) by Helen Gurley Brown

2006-01-12T21:40:00.000-06:00

A blog with the name "Pies Men Like" was bound to meet up wtih this book sooner or later. I have known about SSG for years - dating to surreptitious peeking at Cosmo in high school - and as a lover of early- and mid-twentieth-century advice manuals for girls and women, I'm glad I finally have my hands on one of the masterpieces. My interest was recently re-piqued by an old episode of This American Life in which they played part of an LP by Helen Gurley Brown. She said she had too much material to fit in SSG and so put out the record to continue the good work. The segment they played was advice for men on how to have an affair and included "don't drink all your girl's booze" and "don't let her spend her birthday alone, even if you have to lie like heck to get out of your house to do it." I mean, that's how you should treat any person in general - that's just being kind (except for the part with lying).

So far I am so enchanted with the book that I keep hopping from bit to bit, plucking pearls of wisdom as I go. But I need to settle down and do an organized, thought-out response. So I shall, a chapter at a time.

This SG is tired enough to be unable to go beyond a page or two tonight, so let's take a look at the table of contents.
1. WOMEN ALONE? OH COME NOW!
2. THE AVAILABLES: THE MEN IN YOUR LIFE
3. WHERE TO MEET THEM
4. HOW TO BE SEXY
5. NINE TO FIVE
6. MONEY MONEY MONEY
7. THE APARTMENT
8. THE CARE AND FEEDING OF EVERYBODY
9. THE SHAPE YOU'RE IN
10. THE WARDROBE
11. KISS AND MAKE-UP
12. THE AFFAIR: FROM BEGINNING TO END
13. THE RICH, FULL LIFE

We won't get there for awhile, so you should know now that chapter 8 does indeed have recipes in it. If it has a pie, I will flip out. That pie would have to be an absolutely foolproof man trap, if both food editors and HGB decree it attractive to men. [flips through book] There is! There is pie! It's in a set of recipes for a dinner "for him" and is called chocolate angel pie. This throws off the whole fruit filling theory, but still. Pie! Damn.

I certainly hope so

2006-01-10T08:07:00.000-06:00

Honest differences are often a healthy sign of progress.
- Mahatma Gandhi

mouse: 3 me: 1 Leroy:-1 (warning: contains a gory detail of pet ownership)

2005-12-21T18:25:00.000-06:00

Is it possible that my dog's recent spat of odd behavior could be his response to there having been a mouse (or mice? oook) in the house? The behavior lines up exactly with me first noticing the mouse - about 12 hours after I saw it scurry across the dining room, Leroy started eating tissues out of trash cans and pulling out other trash and strewing it across the floor (but never knocking over hte can or taking the whole trashbag out - just piece by piece). And just now, I finally caught a mouse - not 30 mintues after having baited the trap! yesssss! - and I ran outside to throw it away and came back in, and Leroy curled up in a spot on the floor I have never seen him choose before, looked over his shoulder at me, and then threw up.

This poor little mousie must be given due respect - hence the score of 3 above. This little one avoided one snappy trap and somehow got another one out of the drawer it was set in and dragged it behind the cabinet or somewhere else in the depths of my kitchen that I cannot see nosing around with a flashlight. And it got the food off of both. It also had the a hearty laugh at me when I realized that it had taken the peanut butter off the first trap without the trap going off, and in disgust I took it out of the drawer, and of course it went SNAP, just grazing my finger, causing me to yell loudly and uncreatively.

dream date

2005-12-09T23:44:00.000-06:00

Have just had the most amazing evening with the most wonderful man. He's younger than I am, shorter than I am, and has a lesser command of the English language. But his deep brown eyes are so expressive, and he did not hesitate to share his salad with me. He asked me tons of questions, all of them meaningful. No sarcasm, no pretense; all earnestness and joy. If he felt something, he expressed it. And he loves books.

On the down side, he eats yogurt with his hands, he has to go to bed at 8:30, and his idea of a date-night activity is a Wiggles video, in which he is so engrossed he forgets to speak.

All in all, though, not too shabby.

thumbs all opposed

2005-12-07T22:19:00.000-06:00

and nowhere to go

Make no mistake, am inexpressably grateful that ER trip seems to have more than cured what ailed me. But due to gentle ouchiness and bandage, cannot really do much. Typing a bit difficuilt, but on the bright side have learned how to use left hand for spacebar. Cannot hold certain things well - keys, pens, dog leash, knitting needle - or comfortably wear mittens or gloves, an actual problem given the cooooold snap we're in. Should be happy to have clear reason to do nothing but sit and read, but the moment I feel it, am immediately taken with notion that want to be writing Christmas cards, organizing files, cooking, etc. Feel almost, but not completely, useless and almost, but not completely, like might get bored since can't do the things want and need to do (other than read - reading v g). But only boring people are bored.

And am plumb out of half and half, so no freshly-brewed coffee to welcome me back inside from morning walk tomorrow morning. Really, why get up?

I tripped over the ottoman one too many times.

2005-11-22T18:24:00.000-06:00

Not really. But I love that song. What I did do was fall off of Abby's pilates ball and hit my head on the frame of her wicker sofa. It was one of those slow-motion moments, when you realize exactly what's going wrong and why but are completely unable to stop it. To add to the considerable pain was the regret at doing something I knew wasn't going to work. I was balancing, stretched out, and really enjoying the feeling of floating, thinking, "Wow, I'm floating but I'm not in the water. How cool is that! Wow, this is kinda hard. I wonder if people fall off these things. I sure hope I don't fall off of this thing, since I am precariously positioned between a large coffee table, tv shelf, sofa, and 8-foot-high wooden cat jungle gym." So then I sat up for a minute, enjoying that stretchy feeling, and decided to do it again, seeing as how nothing bad had happened the first time. Duh.

guilty pleasures, third week of November 2005 edition

2005-11-21T23:47:00.000-06:00

The XM Satellite Radio ad in which David Bowie is secretly pleased to have stolen Snoop's chain. David Bowie, arbiter of pop star fashion, enjoying illicit bling. Love it.

bad dog!

2005-11-14T18:44:00.000-06:00

Leroy has just grabbed my piece of leftover FPT pumpkin pie off of my plate on the coffee table and eaten it. Not only do I not get to eat it, he no doubt will be ill. Double goody.

revision

2005-11-12T16:08:00.000-06:00

Blog redesign coming your way in a bit. The polka dots have done their service but they make me a little woozy when I scroll too fast.

gratefulness

2005-11-10T22:39:00.000-06:00

My choir, Amasong, is singing a setting of "The Peace of Wild Things" by Wendell Berry. This is a lovely thought, but there's one line in particular that grabbed me - about the wild things, "who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief." Why do we do that? As a worrieuse extraordinaire, this has special resonance for me. I suspect most people have some sort of urge to try to think some things through - you know, preparation, planning, whether just for resource expenditure or for something more subtle and lovely like anticipation of something joyful - but then there are those of us who grieve unnecessarily. What's the evolutionary advantage of that? What do we get out of it? I know what I get out of it: sometimes, it spurs me to think through a problem, all the way through to some possible solutions, or some sense of resolution or peace. But the other times, I grieve. And life is too short for that.

Fake Pretend Thanksgiving is coming up on Sunday and I have been trying to figure out what I want to say when it is my turn to talk about what I'm thankful for. Nothing leapt to mind immediately, which is rare for me, so then I started thinking about what has been going on this year, waht most of my significant experiences or thoughts have had in common, and I think the theme is change. But the question is, of course, am I grateful for that? No, actually, I'm not. I don't hate it or dread it, but I can't look my fellow celebrators in the eye and say I am thankful (honesty is big at the FPT table - tears, hugs, reaffirming hand squeezes, you name it).

But I am thankful for a variety of new experiences and thoughts that have come my way in the last twelves months (or, technically, ten, since last year's FPT was actually in January), whether gleeful (yes, it is the nineteenth century here on Pies Men Like) ones or gut-wrenching ones or simply ones that made me think about something in a new way. So that's what I'm going for at FPT this year: I am thankful for all the things I haven't done before, the people I didn't know, the opportunities I hadn't tried - sweeping or small, for a moment or for months - and even things that maybe no one really knows I'm excited about, or would ever guess were so important to me, but that are truly engaging and meaningful and have become part of my life.

And to relate these two thoughts - appreciating new experiences helps me not to grive, not to worry, not to freak out. It helps me with my demon of wanting to know how everything will end up or what's going to happen. For example, if I had known in April that by this fall I would have forgotten most of what I learned in my Spanish class this summer, I might not have bothered to take it, or I might have laid awake at night worrying about how I could keep myself from forgetting or about whether I was wasting time by even trying if I wasn't going to stick with it enough to be able to use it a little bit. But that would have been the lesser decision. Even if I nunca remember how to conjugate anything other than the present tense, I still got to stretch my brain, make some connections bewteen French and Spanish, meet some cool people, learn about some of differences between European and everyone else's Spanishes. Those things were all worth it.

I don't mean that I have overthrown my tendency to read the end of books first for a completely centered, in-the-moment outlook. I can't imagine I could ever do that. But if I can enjoy and engage even the slightest bit more than I fret, if my overall balance in life is tipped more towards enjoy than towards worry, then that is thank-worthy thing indeed.

And on a far shallower note, Sex and the City is on and Carrie is tying Big's tie as he gets ready in the morning. I. Love. That. That is one of the very best moments you can have with another person.

sucker

2005-11-10T15:23:00.000-06:00

What you may not know about me is that I love American history, even though I was a Europeanist (tee hee) in college. Those of you who know how much of a romantic I can be may not be surprised by this, but believe me even I find it surprsing sometimes. On my trip to DC last spring I could hardly control the welling up of civic-minded happiness as I walked by the supreme court building, knowing that, in theory, our nation is really cool, and while in practice we are incredibly not, at least we have some important ideas written down that many of us try to stick to, even though it's hard to do and we interpret them so differently. Having those ideas is a big deal.

Anyway, the point is this: I miss President Clinton. I miss the way he talks. I miss having a leader who can put words together intelligently. I miss intelligence overall.

calling in frustrated

2005-11-09T10:58:00.000-06:00

You probably can't do that, even at a workplace as flexible as mine. But despite the stuff that needs to be done, and even how much I really do want to work on it (quite a lot), it's hard to sit here. No one seems to have any faith in me, in my ability to do things right (or at least not completely crap). But I can. It just takes awhile, and sometimes you have to go through the draft phase to realize what needs to be fixed, right? I want to block everyone out of my office, but I can't even do that, becuase it's not just my office anymore. I think my inner only child is having a hard time. And the inner Lisa Simpson that can't handle getting less than an A on anything. Lisa and her ponies. Maybe the inner ten-year-old can be satisfied with some crayons and cocoa, then. Might as well try. Nothing else is working this morning.

viva los shuttlecocks

2005-10-20T11:21:00.000-05:00

Really miss the Brunching Shuttlecocks, purveyors of the very finest humor around. Delighted to find some new projects in the works, such as my cyborg name

Voila!

2005-10-20T01:20:00.000-05:00

Mood lifted. Who knew it was that easy? A few good friends, both hither and yon, a silly movie, and there you have it!

ick

2005-10-19T18:09:00.000-05:00

A wave of ick has just hit me. Not fair. Objectively, nothing in my life is icky right now - apart from the general ickiness of the world and its weary headlines of floods and earthquakes and trials and corruption. I just don't feel happy. I feel scowly and as though I might possibly cry in the next fifteen minutes. I think it's only fair that if you have to feel bad, you should at least get to know why.

7 things meme

2005-10-16T18:28:00.000-05:00

I have been tagged to do this "lists of seven things of various kinds" meme by Rock and Roll Lifestyle, also known as Hooray for Bollywood. So here goes. And in return she said she'd list her five embarrassing crushes, so keep a lookout for that.

7 things I plan to do before I die (I hope these aren't supposed to be grand, important things, because mine really aren't)
1. spend more than a few weeks in a non-English-speaking country
2. perform in an all-girls Beatles cover band, preferably with Rosalie, but the later in life it gets, the less picky I will be about bandmates AND/OR be that woman in a slinky dress who sings with the grand piano in a nightclub. One evening will do.
3. learn to dance - not as in ballroom, because I can do that to an acceptable degree, but the kind of dancing people do in bars or at weddings. I always want to dance but am prevented by fear of looking stupid and stepping on people's toes.
4. walk up to the next gay man who hems and haws and yanks me around and say "Hey, knock it off. Or if you are actually attracted to women, then what are we waiting for?" But I want to do this without resorting to quoting "Johnny, Are You Queer?" no matter how humorous that may be.
5. purchase a car of my very own, not handed down from my parents.
6. get over my fear of and become good at teaching high school students, at least for 90 minutes at a time so that I can deal with them in a museum tour or program.
7. keep my emotional cheesiness in check without stifling my sense of who I am, letting it loose only in appropriate contexts (which also entails learning how to minimize being inappropriate in interpersonal situations, so I guess that's 7B).

7 things I can do
1. name the Canadian provinces and territories
2. have instructive and entertaining conversations with sixth graders
3. hit a pretty wicked backhand - certainly much better than anyone would expect of me
4. speak in public and be calm, concise, and/or amusing as needed. Lots of people can do this, but if you had asked me in eighth grade speech class if I thought I would ever be able to, I would have said no way and burst into tears. So good for me.
5. knit
6. sight-read
7. roll my R's - again, not that noteworthy, but something I used to struggle with that now gives me great joy

7 things I cannot do (apologies to Rock and Roll Lifestyle for borrowing some of these - apparently we have some similar issues)
1. consistently be mindful of the consequences of not keeping secrets
2. parallel park
3. consistently complete sentences without wanting to interrupt myself to give background, context, qualificaton, etc.
4. break my addiction to crappy fashion magazines
5. bother to be as educated as I feel I should about political issues
6. attend to my garden as it deserves - or needs, in order to flourish
7. stop wearing jeans to work

7 things that attract me to another person
1. true warmth, kindness, and consideration for other people (and this really is number one)
2. willingness to be goofy
3. having interests and enthusiasms
4. liking the Simpsons
5. making their home look and feel like themselves
6. good grammar
7. book smarts

7 things that I say most often (oh dear, this is embarrassing)
1. totally
2. like
3. but
4. I was watching this Indian movie where....
5. Yay!
6. This friend of mine....
7. Everything's coming up Milhouse!

7 people I want to do this
1. Melina, because she will be both really funny and insightful with it
2. Tamara, because I want her to be fully aware of her strengths (and not just tollbooth-change-flinging, either)
3. It would be interesting to hear results from this one author whose blog I read, although somehow my hunch is that he'll think it's stupid. (I'm not saying who, because then people who read this will ask me who it is, and I don't want to say becuase then I'll have to explain why. So of course I should just delete all this, but in the spirit of the meme, here it is.)
4. Ummm, I'm out. That's it.

Have cold; will travel.

2005-10-12T18:49:00.000-05:00

Being blocked by a cold into my own space, surrounded by a cascade of wadded-up kleenex and cough drop wrappers, has done wonders for my patience with this trip. My resources are all directed at not sneezing on people, so most of the zillion irksome things that I re-discover about my family each time I visit just slid by me, as I don't have the energy to care. I got off the plane completely bedraggled, so no one expected much of me and my mom was happy to cancel our immediate trip to grandma's house (phew). For my first two days of travel I could only say a few sentences without breaking into a coughing fit, so no one minded if I didn't have much to add to a conversation. I'm clearly exhausted, so sleeping in is encouraged. My ears are clogged up too, so I can hear little of whatever nonsense my mom and grandma are babbling on about. Sitting quietly with water bottle in one hand and box of kleenex in the other, smiling politely, and nodding when addressed is about all I can muster. This is the perfect way to visit my family. It was so nice to clamber out of the plane to find my parents waiting for me, ready to take care of me.

The Detroit airport reached a new level of suckiness on Sunday by making us wait in line to board the plane, but then delaying boarding time for 45 minutes but still making us stand in line. I guess you could sit on the floor, but since we were in a single-file line in the middle of the hall, between stantions, there was nothing to lean against. However, it is only fair to inform everyone that the Detroit airport is also the only place other than a grocery store I have ever seen bottles of diet ginger ale. That is my all-time favorite travel beverage! The little magazine stand where I found this also had the circus-wagon boxes of animal crackers. Double numma. That was all I had to eat from 8:15 CST and 4:45 EST on Sunday. But with aforementioned cold, it didn't really matter.

Why? Why, why, why?

2005-10-06T21:06:00.000-05:00

I just installed Tiger on my laptop. It has already frozen twice since then. What is going on? This is not a problem I anticipate from a Mac. Am going to have to take Mrs. Peel to the doctor after I get back from vacation.

Also, sometimes webpage fonts look puffy on Safari 2.0. Again, why?

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

2005-09-24T00:03:00.000-05:00

It is Friday. I'm so excited that it's Friday, and that I am home from work-related events, that I can hardly type coherently. Tomorrow shall be full of naps and reading on the porch and LOUNGING and maybe a movie and a nice long walk. Hurrah!

groooooooss

2005-09-22T23:28:00.000-05:00

If you eat a third of a pint of ice cream, specifically Edy's Fudge Tracks, for dinner, you will feel sick afterward. I know, it suprised me too!

the first sweater of the season

2005-09-15T22:04:00.000-05:00

I love fall. Today it was maybe 70, after about a week of 90, and it rained, and you didn't want to get out of bed in the morning because it was so gray and cool, perfect for snuggling in bed and reading. But you went to work anyway, but you didn't care, because there were puddles to splash in. I wore a cardigan all day, a fuzzy one, not just a light summery one. Hurrah!

but it can still take on any robot that's really foil-covered boxes and vacuum tubing

2005-09-13T19:43:00.000-05:00

Having just reinstalled OS X on my laptop, am feeling quite hopeful, in a concerned a slightly skeptical sort of way. Said laptop has been acting v suspicously, sending up scary unix-looking messages about kernel panics. On the first trip out, Safari refused to do tabbed browsing, which is causing even more concrn than there already was. Laptop, who is usually called Mrs. Peel for her sleek, fab, clever self and ability to kick ass, has recently been referrred to as Gabbar Singh, an extremely bad baddie from a 70s Indian western - so bad he has no motivation, no tragic background. He's just really awful with a strange chuckle that is a bit reminiscent of a CD drive grinding away.

And now, as it is almost 8 and I haven't had my din-din, it's time to depart the office and hope for the best.

cross-post from Beth Loves Bollywood: ...but Ranganathan he ain't.

2005-09-08T23:06:00.000-05:00

[originally written for my Bollywood blog, September 8, 2005]

[Dana, this is mainly for your interest.]

the king of Bollywood on what "India empowered" means to him.

Now, I'm not up on what Bono has been doing on the geopolitical front these days, but this might be a little wackier still. I am 100% with him on the importance of providing entertainment for people and that making people feel good is truly quite important. But:

Personally, I've a problem with the power of information. I'm not an authority on it but I think somewhere down the line, information has been a huge downside. We can access information anytime but we don't know what to do with it. So, information creates bottlenecks. We create a flyover to Nehru Place but forget to connect it to Surya Hotel. Likewise, information as a tool is good but its utility is still unclear. Give a person what he wants but don't bore him. Make avenues for him to use that information, give him the opportunity to make his life better with that information.

I could probably wrangle up a heap of librarians who would be perfectly happy to miscatalog your films, if that's what you're talking about.

I suspect access to information for millions of people in India (including government staff), as in other parts of the world, here included, is still a mighty big issue. Yes, one needs to know what to do with it, and context is a huge part of meaning and utility, but... well... I have no idea what he means by this. Bottlenecks of what? Of ideas? Of acting on information? I think organization, or lack thereof, is what creates bottlenecks. Creating opportunities depends on them being informed by something, by what will be needed by people, of what will be meaningful to them.

Plus, like, think about it in your own context: if your character had known that the mysterious new teacher was the bad guy in disguise, that would have been good. If your character's rival had known that you were in love with his fiancee and that she was in love with you, that would have been good. If you had known that your dead brother's kid's dead mother's sister [no wonder Hindi has terms for specific kinship ties!] wasn't really a gold-digging floozy, that would have been good.

Oh wait, now I get it! Having information destroys most movie plots, leaving you out of a job! Your secret is safe with me!

[pause]

What secret?

[wink]

new (school) year's resolutions

2005-09-01T22:37:00.000-05:00

Last year I decided that I was simply not going to be afraid of junior high student tours anymore. And you know what? I wasn't. I still don't like them - and let it be noted that I am glad some souls are hearty enough, big enough, to love junior high students, becuase I certainly don't - but they don't scare me anymore. High school students are a different story, so this year I am going to think about resolving not to be afraid of them either. And yes I know that thinking about resolving isn't much of a resolution, but have you dealt with high school students on a class field trip to a museum lately? They are evil. They don't care, and if they do care, they are afraid to show it. So they shuffle their feet, look anywhere but at you, don't answer questions, don't contribute to the "conversation," and giggle with each other, giving off the impression that they are indeed laughing at you. And the girls - you just want to tell them that it really doesn't matter so much what they look like, that there is a big world out there if they want to try it, that there are lots of options; and the boys - well, I mainly want to herd them back on the bus and lock them away until they're 37 and hope they learn something about respect for humanity and the natural world in the meantime.

My other resolution is not to be afraid of singing notes over the C above middle C in choir. Ha. I used to be a mezzo - I can totally do this. Why, just today, we warmed up at the G above that! When I was in high school and took voice lessons, I fainted upon hitting the C two octaves above middle C, my voice teacher bravely blocking the trajectory of my head into the piano, and that's the last I heard of that.

Hello, my name is Beth, and I have started wearing a scrunchie.

2005-08-25T08:06:00.000-05:00

I can't help it. Wendy gave me a package of scrunchies as part of a "things we enjoyed in college" basket for my birthday, and darn it if they aren't the most helpful things. At first I put one on to remind myself of how funny they are. But it was so handy! All my hair will stay back in a scrunchie, which is not true of the clippies, barettes, and regular ponytail holders. And your hair never gets stuck and pulled in a scrunchie. It's a soft, gentle friend. I haven't worn it to work or outside the house other than while gardening or walking the dog, but I fear the day will soon come in which I will forget I have it on.

another letter to Martha

2005-08-16T22:40:00.000-05:00

Dear Martha,

I have just received the September issue of Living and feel I must write to express my concern with the magazine's depiction of ... well, you.

Firstly, what in the name of good sense are you wearing on the cover? You are a grown woman who no doubt has a stylist and a lively checkbook and lives in close proximity to Manhattan (although I suppose you can't personally go shopping right now - apologies). You look like any one of several thousand undergraduates on my campus. Your jeans are whiskered, for goodness's sake, and your sweater is sheer with a strappy tank. You look about twenty years younger, but not in any way that could possibly be natural. You also appear to be standing in a pose based on Paris Hilton, with the joints on alternating sides of your body jutting out strangely. You're cradling a shrubbery. I know you like your plants but I'm not sure I've ever seen you hug even your pets. Put the plant down.

Furthermore, your column about paint color inspiration is deranged. Do you have a robot, attached to a thesaurus and the New York Times social pages, that writes those for you? We don't care where the antique fair was where you saw the exquisite lava jewelry cameoes. We don't care who your friends are or how many marathons they've run or what other virtuous things they do in their spare time. I'm sure your new house is lovely - I have never for an instant doubted your talents - but surely there was a better way to express your process of making it, as you say, a home.

You may remember me from a previous missive last February. Your publication generally brings me great joy and inspiration - and appreciation for your staff's love of life's little delights - so it is with a heavy heart that I have written the above. I just wish you the best - but don't your toes hurt in those little pointy shoes? Put on your gardening clogs and tell me what to do with my crop of tomatoes. Please. I miss you.

BW

PS Is the cover image the work of Trump or those other reality-show sleazebags? Just walk away, girl. Walk away.

Devon? Divine!

2005-08-12T21:03:00.000-05:00

Wendy and I went exploring for filmi yesterday on Devon and were not disappointed. She found two places to rent and I found a movie I have long wanted to own for $10. Also we got numma Pakistani takeaway and made mango sodas. With sari-esque hot pink and gold fabric and CDs purchased in Madison's hippier-than-thou shops (The Rough Guide to Bollywood and Mondo India: Featuring A. R. Rahman), it was like we were getting a signal from the mother ship to stop driving around all over the midwest and just go a few yards up the block from where we started.

PS Wendy if you are reading this, I try to write what I think about the Bollywood I've seen. Will just quickly update now.

This road trip brought to you by the letter M.

2005-08-12T18:35:00.000-05:00

I-57

Not necessarily the prettiest roadway, but when then summer evening is cool enough to leave the windows down for the whole trip, and you can see the sunset over the fields, and the air rushing in is soothing and velvety, it's wonderful.

Madison

State Street is a great street - Wendy and I both decreeded it cooler than Chambana. However, we did at least three round trips of its length and ended up a little weary from looking for things we thought we would find but didn't - not due to bad information, just expectations that needed a little tweaking. I had my first Afghani food and it was wonderful, except for when I dribbled mint sauce on my shirt. I really enjoyed all the Indian import stores, as my shopping will attest, but how come "alternative" seems so twinkified? If you can judge by the items in the stores, UW students look just as much like a parade of clones as those at UIUC - just trade in polos and baseball caps for boho skirts and giant stone jewelry.

Saw Short Cut to Nirvana, about the Kumbh Mela, at the Orpheum, an old theatre that had been smartly restored to have a sit-down restaurant in its lobby. The movie left me with more questions than answers, not only about what really goes on for the average visitor (pilgrim? participant?) at one of these but also what the filmmakers were really trying to document. I don't think they included the view of a single average Indian visitor - we followed around a few Americans (white and Latina) and an Indian fellow who was in training to a guru or something. I didn't really understand what he was doing - or why he felt such a magical "connection" (drink!) to the blonde, white woman from New York, and whether that was cool with the other American guy. This review in In Los Angeles says it all. Admittedly I am both skeptical and ignorant, but doesn't it seem unfair to say to a curious learner that only people pure in heart will understand true peace/wisdom/insight/whatever? That sounds to me like you just don't know how to explian it properly or get them to ponder the right questions. "If you have to ask the question, you won't understand the answer" is a cop-out if you're a figure of wisdom.

Minneapolis
I should preface this part by saying it was really hot and humid during our visit, and neither Wendy nor I do well in this kind of weather, so I think the minor frustrations of having an out-of-date guidebook and non-specified hunger at weird hours were blown out of proportion. To deal with this, we later developed a mantra: "Excpet nothing, and accept what the world offers." That helped a lot, but we only came up with it in sheer desperadoes, I think after sitting in a cafe for 15 minutes and no one came to take our order.

Eat Street - Vietnamese lunch at a place called Bubble Delite, featuring a menu of over 70 flavors of bubble tea. So good.

Fringe Festival - we saw a play written and performed by a childhood friend of Wendy.

Afterwards we rambled around Uptown for late shopping and dinner. It pains me to say that Uptown was a little bit of a disappointment. A friend from grad school lived in Minneapolis for a time and I remember her talking about how great this area was, so my head was filled with the notion of block after block of cute shops and yummy interesting restaurants. There were about three blocks, and other than some really spectacular bookshops - Magers and Quinn and Booksmart - I have little to say about this area that couldn't be said of any other slightly edgy neighborhood (but not edgy enough not to have a Gap and other big chain stores) in any other US city.

Thanks to Wendy's friend and his girlfriend, we had a heap of good suggestions of things to do in St. Paul, where we were staying. She clearly had an unspoken connection with us, as she asked us if we would like to have breakfast in a French cafe in a historic neighborhood. Oui! Bon Vie's french toast rivaled that of the Butler's Pantry in Toronto and was generally a very pleasant place to sit on a quiet Monday morning.

Summit Avenue, St. Paul - if you ever get millions of dollars and want to buy a house, do it here. Really beautiful and classy. We were told that the governor's mansion was F. Scott Fitzgerald's childhood home - although I had always thought that FSF came from a family wealthy enough that he had access to the kinds of people and privilege he writes about but wealthy enough to feel secure about it.

More aimless driving and walking, as we explored Grand Avenue and some random eastern parts of the city.

After a mini-meltdown on my part and a quiet rest in the hotel for a bit, we gathered our resources and found the Birchwood Cafe for a late lunch. So good, restoring both tummies and high spirits. Sometimes it is enough to drive through an interesting neighborhood with the windows down in the sunshine.

Met our friends for a personalized tour of downtown Minneapolis - Target HQ and the Mary Tyler Moore statue - and dinner at the Local, a humongous Irish pub. Then we drove somewhere north of where we were, crossed the river, and saw the oldest church in the city, a beautiful little French building, and the surrounding neighborhood, which is the oldest part of the city, called St. Anthony. Old mill buildings had been converted into apartments and restaurants, and you can stroll along the river.

Tried to have a drink in the campus area of the University of Minneapolis ( Dinkytown). (The next day, we heard a song on the radio about Dinkytown by Willie Wisley, whom I really like. Weird.) The bar we chose closed just as we stepped in the door. Poop. Went to Chino Latino in Uptown instead, where I was pleased to find that drinks come with little plastic animals hanging off the sides.

Tuesday breakfast at Coffee News near the Macalaster campus. I had the puffed pancake, which according to Wendy's friend and the man at the counter is famous. Do me a favor and close your eyes and picture a puffed pancake. Does it look like a yorkshire pudding, sort of dense but rippled and bubbly and golden bround? Good. Tell the folks at Coffee News that that is what a puffed pancake is. There was a plate-sized slab of cake. Ook. The sauteed apples and the crispy bits around the edges were good though.

On to the Museum of Russian Art, a lovely little place that has nothing but 20th-century Russian paintings. Their labels were a mess, with nothign but biographical information about the artist next to each painting. They had a few introductory-level texts that told a little about what was going on in Russia at different times throughout the century, but not nearly enough to provide the average American with an understanding of historical issues and subject content and context. I also must nitpick about the timeline label that said that Stalin "liquidated" over 10,000,000 people. My museum has recently been through the process of figuring out how to word uncomfortable topics and this is not the way. This one word made me feel I was under the sort of stereotypical Soviet-era noninformation the museum said it was trying to correct.

The Walker Art Center - we rambled through this, ignoring our maps in favor of a leisurely stroll. The maps didn't make much sense anyway, I discovered. There are something like eight half-stories here - an architectural approach I hate in houses but worked well here, because it minimized the feeling of huge rooms and giant stairs, maybe to prevent "museum fatigue"? Lots of what I'd imagined for a modern/contemporary art museum. Really amazing film by Shirin Neshat called Soliloquy that I want to see again. The sculpture garden, complete with the iconic cherry on a spoon (which is a fountain! who knew?), was pretty well ruined for me by the rush of the interstate next door. I don't know which one was there first, but it's an unfortunate site, to say the least. The highway cuts between the museum and garden and this big public park. The pedestrian bridge overhead, thoughtfully decorated with poems to read as you walk, was a little dizzying with all the cars zooming by a few feet below.

Lunch at the French Meadow Bakery. V g. And they have nanaimo bars! You don't understand. Nanaimo bars are my very most favorite Canadian treat and I have never before seen them in the US. I used to plan my route home from work to walk by the bakery with the best ones I found in Toronto. It's a wonder I only bought one. Soooooooooo goooooooooood. Nutty chocolatey creamy crunch-squish goodness. Mmmmmmmmmmmmm.

One more museum: the Weisman Art Museum on the UM campus. Josh went here a few years ago and liked it (I think) so I had big expectations. The Frank Gehry building is, of course, gorgeous, although again I think it is a bit hampered by an unfortunate site - it seems to have its back to a large chunk of campus, but I guess it makes sense to put the shiny metal towards the river. I wasn't on campus long enough to get a feel for it so maybe there's something about foot traffic patterns that I'm missing. The primary exhibit was on work by artists that inspired Frank Gehry and I didn't know enough about him to find that interesting in the slightest. Mostly I just couldn't believe that this is a peer museum to the one I work in. Felt like an entirely different world. Good labels. I thought the self-guided tour thingy was a little insulting. "Get it?!" might make your visitors feel stupid. I wonder what kind of audience testing went into that. Think will write the museum to ask. Fascinating.

After that I missed an important exit on the way home so that took a bit longer than expected. Then we rested a bit and had our final twin cities dinner at Cafe Latte (whose website seems to have frozen my browser so I'm not linking to it). Wine. Salad. Pizza. Cake. Coffee. Perfect. Dana recommendedt his place and Dana would certainly not lie about cake.

That's it. That's our trip. The best part was getting to spend so much time with Wendy and have a bit of an escape from work (although did catch self thinking/worrying about it here and there). Next time we're going to Montreal, airfare schmairfare.

Thanks to our co-pilot, Mr. Christmas, who is now lodging with me for awhile.

Even at summer camp, the smart, funny, nice ones are either married or gay.

2005-07-23T18:25:00.000-05:00

Making me think it's almost genetic or something, I have just been on an INXS Kick-inspired nostalgia rush and discovered that the first boy I had a really serious crush on, the first boy I ever slowed danced with, seems to be gay. (Evidence is that he is in the LGBT alliance and student support program at the university he works in. Evidence part 2 is that he is in the theater department.) (Thank you Google.) This brings my total to 4. I didn't even know what gay was then. Why, why? What exactly is my problem - for 18 years? Gah.

It is a sad day indeed when your South Park portrait is cuter than the actual you.

2005-07-21T11:06:00.000-05:00

This is me if I were a South Park character. The hat, scarf, and mittens are because I knit and becuase I like winter. The puppet is in tribute to Willa, my sock puppet.

You can make one too - at Planearium.

ring-a-ding-ding

2005-07-20T13:13:00.000-05:00

There was an ice cream man outside work today, with tinkling music and everything!!! We got slushies. Mmmm, slushy. Mine is now sitting happily in a travel mug, with hole in lid for straw, so as not to be spilled on white shirt. Safety first!

What's next: bratworse?

2005-07-19T14:24:00.000-05:00

Note to local Fox station: the Illinois state fair serves neither "elephant ears" nor "lemonade shake-ups," as your spokesmodel claims on your promotional spots for a chance to win admission tickets. 'Round these parts, they're called "funnel cakes" and "lemon shake-ups."

Thank you for your attention to this matter.

Milwauk-wheeeeee!

2005-07-15T21:11:00.000-05:00

Chris, distinguished from the other Chrises as "my Australian friend," was on the continent for a few days between conferences, and since he was flying in and out of O'Hare and we had already visited Chicago and Champaign-Urbana, we decided to hang in Wisconsin. A good time was had indeed, although it was strangely humid without being hot, while also being windy. I am a lame-o who forgets to bring her camera on trips so once Chris sends me his I will add them.

Before I get to a list of what we did, I need advice on an ethical dilemma. Chris has brought two packets of Tim Tams: one Tia Maria, specifically requested by Jenny, and one regular, for me. Am I under any ethical obligation to share them with my Australia-knowledgeable friends? It seems they have mythic power to Australians abroad or to others who have lived there long enough to buy cookies - so I would not want to deny anyone of this simple, pure pleasure. And do I need to share them among people who have never had them but who are curious, thus acting as an Tam-Tam-vangelist? As long as I have a few to do the slam with, I'm happy.

However, I am definitely not sharing my Cherry Ripes because they ROCK and I love them more than anyone else possibly could. Ha ha ha. Maybe one for Kevin since he likes foreign candy so much. Kevin, if you're reading this, do you want a candy bar that is cherry-flavored coconut (and pink, too) wrapped in chocolate? With a jaunty, shiny red wrapper?

In looking for images of said treat, I have discovered that "cherry ripe" is part of a line from a seventeenth-century poem. Well, gather ye rosebuds!

Anyway! More on thew way....

bad math

2005-07-15T20:21:00.000-05:00

Doooom! Doooooooooooom! Everyone is leaving! Champaign-Urbana is down four more - Mark, Frank and Anna, and Dana - all within less than a month of each other. So, the total since I started counting is -6. Down Jason, Josh, Mary, Mark, Frank, Anna, and Dana. Up Abby.

-6. I mean, really.

But on the up side, August always brings new people to a college town. Who knows what next month will bring!

It won't bring Jason, Josh, Mary, Mark, Frank, Anna, or Dana, though. Sniff.

Ioan can stretch any which way he wants

2005-07-10T10:20:00.000-05:00

Fantastic Four neither added to nor detracted from my love of Ioan Gruffud. On the down side, his accent was somewhat problematic, and he seemed to be thinking about it too hard to pay much attention to his timing, although to be fair none of them were given much to work with. On the up side, he was on the big screen and smiled at least as much as he does as Horatio. I am quite excited by the talk of him being - and wanting to be! - the next Bond.

subito piano

2005-07-07T12:26:00.000-05:00

The other day Melina told me about a beautiful piano she saw for sale - for only $100. So I made an appointment to go look at it - and try it out - but when I showed up at the scheduled time the woman said it had already been sold - their son had taken my appointment but not told them about it or given them my number so they could call me. I was really surprised how sad that made me. On the way to their house I had been fretting about whether I could handle making moving arrangements for it, or whether was ready to commit to such a big, complicated physical object. For me, you can't get a piano and then not play it - you have to play it becuase that's its purpose - that's how it knows it's loved. I'm no professional, but music has a significant role in my... my what, my life? my mind? - it's a mental joy, an emotional joy - and because piano was my first musical experience, an instrument is a tie to my childhood, to the house I grew up in, to my dad who encouraged me to play, to high school choir practice, to moments when my parents were out and I'd haul out my Beatles sheet music and just wail away at the top of my lungs, loudly, not playing well, but with feeling, as they say. I was never exceptionally good at the piano, but I loved it anyway.

It's weird to have sudden opportunities, and get all caught up in the swirl of a possibility, and then just as quickly have to let go and detach. Oh well. Someday, my piano will make itself known, even if I have to smuggle my dad's out of their basement and haul it across time zones.

top five embarassing crushes, inspired by the Trophy Wife

2005-06-30T13:04:00.000-05:00

Notes: Melina describes my taste as sandy-haired and sweater-wearing, meaning I like preppy boys. Totally. Similarly, Suzanne and I have described my "siren song" (e.g. type I require great resolve to resist) as "Ma cherie, will you please proofread my thesis on quantum physics while I go to the symphony with Jean-Luc?" - i.e. cultured, brainy, and gaaaaaaay.

In order of embarassment:

5. This isn't going to mean much to my non-Bollywood-watching friends, but leading the list is Shahrukh Khan.

(There are also several other Bollywood boys I find crush-worthy, but they're not embarassing.) This man is a mega-star with dozens of movies to his credit and, bearing in mind the bias of a viewer not raised on the methods and styles of Hindi cinema, let's just say that he tends towards the cheesy. In a review of one of his most popular films, a writer on salon.com said he came across as a mix of Jerry Lewis (manic mugging) and John Stamos (self-satisfied lady-killer with too much hair). Ouch. But he is an oddly effective actor - when his character cries for his long-lost girlfriend who killed herself in the face of her father's disapproval for their love, I cry too. When he looks at someone with puppy-dog eyes, the kind not often employed by people over seven years old, I know the target will melt helplessly. When he dances, I amazed - few people in our culture, and certainly no people I know in real life, dance like that. Part of his appeal for me is that his foreignness, encompassing far more than nationality, somehow gets meddled with metrosexualness, which given my tastes is a dream come true. Also, he can totally rock orange cargo pants.

I think in the above scene he is singing (really lip-synching to someone else singing) a Hindi version of "Pretty Woman."

Shahrukh is low on the emabarssment scale because a) most of you don't even know who he is, so my shame is sort of anonymous, and b) millions of people in other parts of the world routinely swoon in his presence, so at least I'm not alone.

4. Because being imaginary is a character flaw that cannot be overlooked, as Bridget Jones says, I give you Constable Benton Fraser from the defunct tv show Due South.

This is embarassing because this person is pretend. But he is all the good stereotypes about Canadians - calm, helpful, reliable, kind - without the bad - smug, reserved, jingoistic in their own Jan Brady way. Canadians are tired of people loving the red-coated Mounties, so as an honourary Canadian I really ought to know better. I can't help it - he's almost impossibily good, saved only by a few endearing flaws that make him all the more loveable.

Plus he loves dogs.

3. Francis (what is the family's last name, anyway?) from Malcom in the Middle

Not only is he imaginary, he's baaaaaaaaaaad. I have never understood people who are attracted to the bad-boy type, but even I came under the spell of Francis. Even when he's lying on the floor, nearly unconscious from trying to eat one hundred marshmallow peeps.

We could also file Hugh Grant under the bad boy category, but save for a few moments every now and then, when he charms away my memory, I am so over him. Yuck.

2. Rupert Everett

Objectively, from a purely aesthetic standpoint, there is nothing wrong with this crush. For example, if I were a gay man, Rupert Everett would be a perfectly reasonable crush. But I am not. Over the last few years I have worked very hard at not forming romantic attachments to gay men, but resolve flies out the window for Rupert. He's British. He's musically gifted. He looks fantastic in every stitch of clothing (and not), even shiny pants and a cowboy hat, but especially suits. Numma. I think he's the only person I've ever described with the word "hot." He's funny. He's witty. He gads about town with fabulous gal pals. He seems to skirt delightfully and charmingly just on this side of being an absurd stereotype.

It is with great shame that I admit how much I love him, even though it will come as no surprise to anyone. He is embarassing because he reminds me of my failure. He is a badge of my weakness, my scarlet letter.

1. Kevin Sorbo

I mean, really. I don't even like sci-fi/fantasy. I have neither explanation nor defense for this except that he has sandy hair. I'm not sure I could have invented a more ridiculous contender for this list.

This post is brought to you by a mug of those powdered "international" "coffee" mixes in "cafe francais" - received as a starring component in a gift basket of "things we enjoyed in college" that also included Bailey's and a package of scrunchies.

Thank you to all the sites to whose pictures I linked.

the return of The Trophy Wife

2005-06-29T15:36:00.000-05:00

Am thrilled beyond all good sense that Melina's blog has returned, and with it all the funny comments by her friends who live elsewhere.

In my defense, I must say that (get ready for easy but compulsory joke) I can fight this feeling - I have only seen REO Speedwagon because they were with Journey. No Journey, no voy. However, it is only just and right that the Illinois State Fair employ its native sons. So in that vein, how 'bout some Liz Phair? (Although only if she reversed time to a few albums back.) The state fair is worthy all on its own, so never fear, little dude, we will get our food on sticks and llama shows.

If you can't ask for what you want, just point.

2005-06-29T15:05:00.000-05:00

While walking my dog this morning, I strolled by a house that has recently sold and whose owners appear to be doing the grand pre-moving cleaning out. Among the items set out by the curb for trash or taking was a twin-size headboard. On the side facing the street, it looks like a relativey normal dark wood headboard. On the side facing the sidewalk, it is a different story. This side has been painted with what at first glance appears to be a landscape of some kind. On closer inspection, the painting depicts the upper back and head of a person with long, blonde hair whose hand is raised. The raised wrist is encircled with a black chain that leads to and is "tied" around the bedpost. On the lower portion of the bedpost is what looks like a phallic-shaped lamp (base and shade, as it were). Other decor was limited to trees and grass - at least I think it was - I stopped looking at that point.

Is the painting instructional? wishful? commemorative? And what was the age of its artist? Clearly I need to borrow a digital camera for tomorrow's walk and post a picture.

reality bites

2005-06-23T13:37:00.000-05:00

Advise, please: how to be supportive of friends when what they want/need for themselves is not what you want/need for yourself or for your view of the relationship, even if you know and understand perfectly well what they want/need is for the best, you empathize, sympathize, etc. with what they want/need.

E.g., "I know you hate your job and you are miserable, but don't leave - I'll miss you."

Also it forces me to admit my master plan of bringing all of my favorite poeple to Champaign-Urbana (well, my favorite Americans, anyway) is failing. By the end of this summer I'll be down, like, five. Unsatisfactory.

death trap

2005-06-23T08:20:00.000-05:00

Long ago my mother instilled in me a fear of flip-flops. Don't walk long distances in them - they have no arch support. Don't run in them - you could trip. Don't ride your bike in them - you could get tangled up and not be able to use the pedals or get your toes stuck in the spokes. She was right, of course. I see all the students trapsing around campus and wonder how they are not buckled over in pain, my mother's voice running in my head. And when I wore mine yesterday evening, becuase all my other summer shoes were rubbing, I was convinced I would not be able to make the 4-minute drive to John's house safely, my feet ensnared in hot pink foam and orange plastic, unable to reach the brakes.

Summer is bringing with it a host of other worries of varying significance, ranging from inconvenienced-by-heat to panicked-homeowner. If I turn on the a/c, will its draining system suddenly burst and flood my basement? If I keep the window open, will my dog be miserable in the midday heat while I'm at work? If I hire someone to diagnose my humongous maple tree, am I ready to do deal with the diagnosis? How can I take two short vacations withoug going broke? In an attempt to save money, can I actually sew a pair of capri pants that look normal? Are all the plants I bought in the spring going to make it through the summer, or have I just wasted over $100? Do I need to put out my remaining window boxes so the neighbors won't tsk-tsk?

The only sensible option is to get a lemon shake-up from Taste of Champaign and sit quietly in the shade with a book. Shade is free and books are delightful. Good deal.

little bowls of goodness

2005-06-16T16:33:00.000-05:00

At Radio Maria, one of our town's fanciest restaurants, they have my favorite non-cake dessert ever: dark chocolate pots de creme. Numma. I split one with a friend at a spur-of-the-moment decadent lunch today and it was heavenly.

Oddly enough, on today's menu was also bratwurst. What about Latin American/Asian/Caribbean fusion cuisine says "bratwurst"? But never you mind - it was delicious!

putting the "spring" in Springfield

2005-06-12T13:15:00.000-05:00

Despite having lived all but 3 of my years in Illinois, and most of those in the central bits, I have spent very little time in the state capital. This week we took a field trip for work - a definite perk of the job - to Springfield to visit three museums:

The Museum of Funeral Customs

This was not nearly as bad as I was anticipating. You can never tell with these weird little topic-based places. Although it only discussed the US from about 1835 or so, it was still really interesting. Death is complicated, and attending to it caring for it may be even more so. There's something itneresting about how we handle the great equalizing force in the world. Except, as these exhibits show, there really isn't much equal about it, as the differences that exist among us in life are clearly in death too. Also, I must add, as if we needed further proof: the Victorians were nutty. As a museum person, I am deeply grateful for their tendency to collect stuff and put it on display. And I like their domestic architecture. But yikes. What weird social rules they had. There were codes about how long women had to wear mourning clothing depending on their relationship with the deceased. Men, of course, didn't have to wear anything different.

The Dana-Thomas House designed by Frank Lloyd Wright

Beautiful, of course. Clean but rich, calming but engaging, quiet but full of detail, unobtrusive but glittering and utterly useful. Why don't we build more buildings like this? Think of all the big, flat shopping centers and office buildings that could so benefit from these principles and visual vocabulalry.

the brand-spankin' new Abraham Lincoln Presidential Museum

Oh. My. Gawd. Mannqeuins of the presidential family, ideally situated for posing and being photographed with - just like Mikey Mouse. Mannequins of young, idealistic, hard-working Abe! Mannequins of other 1860s celebs, including John Wilkes Booth, glaring at you as you enter the museum. Mannequins of the Cabinet pondering the Emancipation Proclamation. My colleagues and I diverged on this place. It gave me the heebie-jeebies and for the first time I can remember I found myself sitting on a bench making phone calls because I really didn't want to spend any further time in the galleries. This never happens to me - I can always spend more time in a musuem. But not here. Problem 1: there were a lot of holes. No museum can tell the "whole story," if there even is such a thing, of any topic, but the omissions here seemed large. I know very little about Lincoln and I would love to visit this place with someone who knows what isn't being said. Problem 2: halfway through I was struck by the anti-South bias. We can all agree slavery is bad but the picture is so much more complicated than that, and I don't think the museum explained enough about slavery, why it was used, why people objected, why it was such a hot topic for new states, etc. Clearly this is not a slavery museum but they talked about it too much with too little information. There were some cheap tactics too, like a diorama of slaves being sold that had bright red lights projected on the faces of the traders. Thanks, got it, they're demonic. Problem 3: there is a really good gallery with reproductions of contemporary political cartoons from all over the place, showing both how Lincoln was not much loved at the beginning of his presidency and how complicatedly troubled the US really was. Then a few rooms later, Lincoln is dead and is clearly already a hero of epic proportions. But there's no in between. They didn't describe much about what he did to inspire such a transformation in perception. Problem 4: mannequins. Problem 5: too few artifacts. The word on the street is that this insitution assumed that other museums and private collectors holding Lincoln items would donate them as this place opened, but it hasn't happened. They wouldn't need so many mannequins and shiny new replicas of tin candle sconces and crisp wooden crates in the "cabin" if they had more artifacts. I'm all for props and replicas - but in proportion, and not as filler. Problem 6: you have to use finger quotes a lot when describing this place. As one of my colleagues said, it's a theme park, not a museum. Weird. I did really like how they emphasized Lincoln sites in Springfield, using maps and integrating distances to the sites into the discussions in the text. Also they had bibliogrpahies in the labels for further reading. Both of these devices are really smart and thoughtful, and I hope they inspire people to see the real sites and to fill in the gaps. I'm going to take the easy way out and ask my mom and an Abe-o-phile friend, who between them should give me a much clearer picture. And maybe go to New Salem sometime this summer. But only if the costumed interpreters don't pretend it's 1835. That's worse than mannequins.

What's a "meme," anyway?

2005-06-09T15:40:00.000-05:00

The music meme, thanks to Melina! (PS I'm glad you're writing again - the fans were getting restless. But I am not glad you spilled the beans on SLSA. Shame.)

The last CD I bought was...

Oh crikey. I was given Pink Martini's new album, Hang on Little Tomato, for my birthday, and last one I downloaded for free was a collection of Bollywood music, Bollywood for the Skeptical. But I guess the last one I purchased was... um... Free Me by Emma. And if you don't know who that is, I'm not going to tell you. And listen to "Crickets Sing for Anamaria" before you judge too harshly.

Song (CD) playing now...

Sountrack to Kandukondain Kandukondain, a Tamil remake of Sense and Sensibility that has lush, joyful music that makes you want to run around in the fields like Marianne, frolicking with Willoughby. In a good way - you know, the fiesty, sharp-witted, big-hearted heroine way, not in the sad-sack moping in a cottage way.

Five songs I listen to a lot or that mean a lot to me.... This is hard for me because I tend to go through phases, supplemented by the really long-standing true loves. For example, I liked some moody crap back in college but I have no need for that now. At the start of grad school I would have listed Dean Martin on here somewhere because I was in a rat pack phase. It would be interesting to inventory the favorites from the phases and see what they have in common.

"I'm Looking through You" by the Beatles and "Brilliant Disguise" by Bruce Springsteen. The former is my favorite Beatles song ever, and the Beatles are my favorite artists ever, so there you go. I pair them because they're both about not seeing people as they really are, whether you are the looker or the lookee. This is a problem I have that has caused me major pain over the last fifteen years or so. Oddly though the songs don't make me sad. They're just resonantly descriptive.

"Instinct" by Crowded House. Another favorite band and another song that reminds me of how wrong I can be. But in a good way. It's hopeful.

"Mitwa" sung by a bunch of people on the Lagaan soundtrack and "Konjum Mainakkale" sung by Sadhana Sargam on the Kandukondain Kandukondain soundtrack (mentioned above). (And yes, I had to look up the names of the artists. I have a hard time remembering what I cannot pronounce.) I'm listening to these a lot lately. Re: "Mitwa": In structure I think it probably fits under the oft-employed and oft-mocked genre of "song accompanying compilation of footage of movie characters accomplishing a major challenge," such as cleaning up an old building, doing a makeover, etc. But, according to the subtitles on the version I saw, it's about getting your friends to join you in a task of importance. Looking at a translation of the lyrics, I will readily admit it's cheesy but I like it anyway. Re: "Konjum Mainakkale ": I just think this is very musically pretty. I don't know what it's about exactly - during the movie, Aishwarya Rai is running around in an beautiful field, and there are really interestingly-costumed backup dancers popping up in strange places. The subtitles suggest that she is singing to the minah bird, but I can't find a translation on line at the moment. Hindi movie music is in my head all the time these days because discovering Bollywood movies has been so purely enjoyable, so fun. It's so thoroughly entertaining and, like some of the items on Melina and Kelly's lists, it makes me want to dance. It inspires me to learn about so many things I never would have guessed I would find interesting and as a result I'm reading all these fascinating books on the social meanings of film, travel essays, architecture, history, novels, etc. India in general has always intrigued me, I think becuase as a little girl we lived in England for a bit, and the movies are turning out to the way in that I needed. In many different ways, they engage my brain and my heart. Voila.

"Song 2" by Blur. You know the one - 'Woo-OOH!" I likes me some Brit pop, but this one has extra oomph for me becuase it came out when I lived in Toronto, and every other Friday night our graduate college had big fancy dinners followed by nutty parties in our common room in which people got really silly, fuelled by alcohol, people having to have been on their best behavior with visiting scholars and government officials for the preceeding three hours, incredible amounts of school stress, etc. This one always got people bouncing around the room, kicking off shoes and academic gowns, yelling, having fun. Canada's best and brightest doing truly awful but genuinely-felt dancing.

I don't listen to "Under Pressure" by Queen and David Bowie all that often, but I do really love it becuase I believe it's true that turning away from life and from problems doesn't work, that giving love another chance is all we can really do, because at the most basic level it's love that inspires hope and creativity and bridge-building and all that. Plus we should be nicer to each other. Something in our complicated world needs to "dare [us] to care fore other people."

Side note: I am often struck by how many of my favorite songs are sung by men. I don't know why this is. I have sung in a variety of organized and unorganized ways most of my life and I feel strongly about making sure women from all walks get to raise their voices in whatever way is joyful and useful to them, but most of my favorite songs and artists are men. Go figure.

Another side note: this is hard to do, this list. It's hard to choose and explain. This list does not give you a full sense of the music I like. Waaaah! I feel pigeonholed and judged!

hit with the defeated stick

2005-06-06T16:25:00.000-05:00

It's one of those days that just makes you want to give up, go home, and go directly to bed. It's unseasonably hot and the gardening I simply must do when I get home is intimidating. I have no hot-weather clothes to wear to work, making me want to wear my pjs to work even more than I usually do (want to, that is - not actually wear them. Even my workplace is more formal than that). Work is alterntaing between light speed and snail's pace. Distracitng "do this now" projects keep coming up, preventing me from doing what I had planned to do - and wow, I actually had made a plan, so it's distressing not to be able to do it. "Plan your work and work your plan," as a friend's motivational wallpaper says (real wallpaper, not on a computer desktop). I've been drinking the same mug of coffee all day so probably I will get ill from the dairy that's been on my desk all day. My house needs to be vacuumed, as the dog fur tumbleweeds dance in the air conditioning. This morning I found ears of corn that had gone bad - towards liquid! - sitting on the counter.

I feel like I can't keep up with my life, can't handle myself, even though, from a reason-based standpoint, I am not particularly busy and there is little of importance to cause me stress. It's one thing when other people disappoint you. It's another when you disappoint yourself. What to do about that....

I want my mom.

Ellos se gustan mucho.

2005-06-03T20:26:00.000-05:00

There's a little romance a-brewin' in my Spanish class, I think. Lots of walking off after class together. He notes what she is wearing. She asks him questions about his high school band. It's cute. Too bad class is over - how will I know what happens?

Off to Chicago this weekend. Some kind of choreography concert. Some good food. Lots of giggles. What else could you need on a weekend?

el paraguas

2005-05-19T08:33:00.000-05:00

It's raining. A lot. Since I spent almost two hours planting my window boxes and wee vegetable garden last night, I'm glad. I'm also reminded of once of the downsides of being a student, which is that, technically, you have to go to class no matter the weather. So off I will trudge, balancing umbrella and coffee, and anticipating four hours of squeaky shoes, squishy socks, and clammy jeans.

Como te llamas?

2005-05-18T16:36:00.000-05:00

For the next three weeks, I am spending four hours a day in intensive beginning Spanish. It's really fun but I think that today, in some of my classmates' heads, the hampsters fell right off their wheels. Admittedly the class could use some more organization - and, oh, I don't know, a textbook, perhaps? - but come on. Just roll with it. Think for a second. Stop whining. Etc. Geeze. Four years of grad school have made me a much better student - I suppose if I were only 22 and had never done anything "intensive" before I might be crazed as well.

Today we learned how to spell our names. I am so going to pass kindergarten!

literary siren song

2005-05-16T08:30:00.000-05:00

I am a total sucker for books described, often in pink or jaunty font on the front cover, as "a wacky look at the life of a single gal - as if Bridget Jones found herself Minnesota" or "Bridget with an Australian accent!". With few exceptions, they are bad, and with no exceptions, they are not, I repeat not, like Bridget in any substantive, meaningful way. And so it is that I find myself reading For Matrimonial Purposes, a really awful book about a thirtysomething Indian woman, raised in Bombay but living in New York and working in the fashion world, under pressure from her family, and herself, to find a husband. The basic plot points are really interesting to me - the juxtaposition of traditions and family-centered thinking with an independent life halfway around the world. But it is just not handled well. The main character has no depth, which to the author's credit she admits about herself, and everyone else is just as bland. I feel sorry for the main character, not because of the pressure she's under, but because she's such a dimwit who even at 30 lacks understanding of who she is or what is truly important to her. And all of that would be palatable if it were well written. It's not. It's name-droppy, full of sentences like, "I'd trade this season's Fendi bag for a chance to meet a nice boy!" Barf.

Usually I live by the motto that life is too short to read books you don't want to read if you don't have to, but I am so wound up about how bad this is that I must finish it. I have a hunch the character will gain insight and learn about herself, her values, etc., and I look forward to it.

if so, hand over the crayons

2005-05-04T15:47:00.000-05:00

Was just described by co-worker as wearing my inner child on the outside. I have no idea what that means.

Too bad you can't get spelling/grammar checker installed in your brain.

2005-04-29T08:29:00.000-05:00

NPR interviewed Bill Gates this morning and he used the word "irregardless." All the Mac users, get out your red pens!

time to get your crayons and your pencils

2005-04-26T12:39:00.000-05:00

I love when small, silly things can make you happy. While at the National Building Museum a few weeks ago I bought an architecture coloring book. Yesterday all I wanted was to color for a few minutes before heading out for the evening but I could not find my colored pencils (or "pencil crayons," as they are so randomly called in Canada). And this coloring book was the kind in which the lines are way too close together to use crayons. After searching every conceivable location twice - living room, dining room, basement craft supply stash - I finally found them neatly stored in a plastic box with other coloring equipment. Note to self: when making clever and useful storage arrangements, remember them.

Ebertfest wrap-up

2005-04-25T16:51:00.000-05:00

The rest of Ebertfest was freakin' awesome. Highlights include:

watching the local newspaper photographer try for candids of John Sayles and Maggie Renzi

Saturday morning duty of guarding the door right behind Roger and Chaz Ebert's seats so that no one could come in during the movie and cause noise and light distractions. One of the Virginia Theater staff told a confused patron who had come out of that door to get popcorn but couldn't go back in the way he had come, "It's his festival, so we play by his rules."

Completely strange pod-person experience of being so generally positive about Roger Ebert that when he was given a basketball signed by the U of I coach, and he went to the middle of the stage and belted "I-L-L" into the microphone, I joined the crowd in yelling "I-N-I" back. I don't think I've ever been part of that cheer before. I don't believe in it. It goes against my cranky "collegiate sports are wasteful in every regard" creed. But Roger wanted me to, so I did.

Watching Taal with a theater full of other enthusiastic viewers who also laughed at the things that got at you despite your attempt to feel too cool for schmaltz. And then having the director and one of India's leading film experts congratulate the audience for getting it.

Half-price popcorn. Numma.

The moderator of appropraite Champaign-Urbana behavior would like to issue an apology

2005-04-22T08:50:00.000-05:00

...or at least a modification. After reading the Ebertfest blog I feel a little bad about being snarky about Jason Patric and flippant about his movie career. Apparently he is a thoughtful, dedicated thespian. All I can say is, I've seen parts of Speed 2 and it is bad, but that that doesn't make him a bad person.

But you are supposeod to wear your festival pass at all times. I'm just sayin'.

Encore une fois!

2005-04-21T11:49:00.000-05:00

Believe it or pas, I really don't want to be French. I just happen to like museums and coffee and pretty architecture. I must be too uptight to be Italian.

Your Inner European is French!

Smart and sophisticated.

You have the best of everything - at least, *you* think so.

Who's Your Inner European?

and he was all, "I'm too important for this"

2005-04-21T08:59:00.000-05:00

I volutneered at Ebertfest last night, the first of four shifts, and if the others are like this one, it will be a good weekend indeed. In addition to chatting with the festival-goers and watching Roger Ebert very kindly talk with children, their parents, and random college student volunteers about movies - and mind you these two things are the real highlights of the evening - I got a very snazzy gigantor baby blue t-shirt emblazoned with "Virginia Theater volunteer" (oh how I love to have a badge of belonging) and I had a minor celebrity run-in. Jason Patric, star of such fine films as Speed 2 and Your Friends and Neighbors (screw the reveiws, that was a hateful, horrible story that shouldn't ever have been told), was in town because he's the festival guest for After Dark, My Sweet. My volunteer duty last night was to make sure everyone coming in the door for passholders actually had a pass and was wearing it around their necks. He, of course, was not. He just brushed past the other volunteer working our door and pointed at the person ahead of him, who had a VIP pass, and said "I'm just going... I'm with her." She wheeled around and said, "Yes, yes, it's fine, he's with me."

This is the cloest I have ever come to a brush with Hollywood attitudes and even at its minor scale it amused me no end. All the other festival guests had their passes out and on, including the stars of the other movies who were present. Roger Ebert, who, while not an actor, has had and will continue to have a far greater influence on film than Jason Patric, was really nice to everyone, hugging volunteers, signing programs, and talking with audience members. This is Champaign, my friend - follow the rules and be pleasant just like everyone else. I don't think anyone cares who you are - especially when only one (me) of six door staff recognized you.

TTC / yeah you know me

2005-04-19T16:31:00.000-05:00

I always thought the T(oronto) T(ransit) C(ommission) (never "the subway," but definitely in contrast with "the streetcar" or "the bus") stations were beautiful - but also was afraid I was just being a small-town gawker who was overly excited about life in the big city. But not so! Thank you, Matthew Blackett and Spacing magazine, for this story on the colo(u)rful and even whimsical tilework in the stations.

On a related note, I heard on NPR this morning that Canada is trying to encourage more foreigners to come work in Canada. Pardon me a moment while I pack my bags.

thoughts on "Emma"

2005-04-19T09:15:00.000-05:00

With a bad, defeated mood fog having descended yesterday, I turn this morning to the power of the word "Emma." It means three things to me, all of which make me happy: the book by Jane Austen, the character of Mrs. Peel from the Avengers, and the new album from the singer formerly known as Baby Spice. The first reminds me of the importance of being clever but humble, involved but thoughtful, as well as the joy of romping around in empire-waist dresses in beautiful English country homes with well-spoken, twitterpated men. The second, of being whip-smart and brave, of busting heads and taking names, both literally and figuratively. The third, of being silly and light-hearted with a pleasing, out-of-the-blue bossa nova sound, and getting to make sparkly, spunky videos that deftly hide your inability to dance.

Really, isn't that what we all need?

Travelers' Tales: India

2005-04-18T10:46:00.000-05:00

Can't stop thinking about this book. Want to read it all the time. To me the very best kind of nonficiton is that that makes you feel you are sitting in a really thoughtful, well-illustrated lecture by an subject expert who takes great joy in sharing experiences and getting you excited about the subject too. This is one of those books. I especially like how it compiles different lengths of text on a much bigger array of subjects than would ever occur to me to look for. And I keep learning things and discovering bits of history and culture that I've never heard of. For example, the amazing ruins of Hampi, the capital of the Vijayanagar empire - which includes a temple whose columns are musical - slap them with your hand and they produce a pitch and are tuned to each other for sympathetic resonance. I was certain I couldn't handle a flat-out history of India without some kind of accompanying class, but the essays here definitely build up a sense of different times and peoples. My only complaint is about the maps: there are two maps but neither is clearly labeled or definied. The first one has regions marked out but I'm not sure if the areas are states or provinces or something else, or if they are historical or current. There is also another map, a few pages away, with cities. I wish these were combined. It takes me a few flips back and forth to really locate each of the essays.

He's Just Not That into You

2005-04-16T16:59:00.000-05:00

Within a few hours of realizing this was a whole book, I had read the whole thing and gone to sleep highly dissatisfied with absolutely everything about dating, both in theory and for myself. If this concept liberates you from an unsatisfying relationship, then great. If it helps you keep from making an utter fool of yourself, then great (and by "you" and "yourself" I mean "me" and "myself"). But it just seems too simple to account for all the interesting bits and bobs about actual people and their incredibly varied relationships. I know the authors would just tell me I've been brainwashed to say that, and that I'm just making excuses. They're probably right, but I also can't bear to give up on the idea that one statement cannot possibly capture all the possible contexts and combinations.

For the record, if I applied the authors' definitions to all of my past entanglements, there would be three whole guys who had been that into me. The ninth grade creep, who definitely came after me but then quickly scared me off by watching me open my locker and then stored my combination in his calculator watch (it was 1989, remember); the junior year real, true boyfriend, who broke my heart by dumping me when he started doing drugs; and the Canadian, who was gay and has just invited me to his wedding. Even though I'm not sure I wholly care, it never feels good to be left with only three examples of being loved.

They'll say I'm being naive, but I'll say my life is more complicated than that.

I also think the authors' statement that "you are exceptional, but you are not the exception [to the rule that 90% of the time a man's weird behavior just indicates HJNTIY]" - I mean, that doesn't even make sense gramatically. But by the very definition of the term, not everyone can be exceptional. And as the female author points out, the math debunks the idea that there is a "good man" out there for every woman who wants one. And that when you don't meet people very often, it's hard to give up one someone who seems good. So what does that leave these girls with? They don't answer that, which is okay, since it's outside the scope of their book. Their idea just raises a lot more problems than it clears up.

But then again, the book is probably meant mainly to be funny anyway. Are we so desperate for self-help that we can't take a joke? Probably.

Ms. Beth Goes to Washington, part 3

2005-04-16T15:08:00.000-05:00

Monday, April 11

Slept in. Ahhhh. Took the D2 bus, all by myself, from Melanie's house through Georgetown to DuPont Circle. Gerogetown is break-your-heart beautiful but also break-your-heart hetereogeneous and priveledged. I must admit I wouldn't mind living in a colonial townhouse with Pottery Barn interior, but I feel bad about admitting that. Perhaps I'd build an orangery onto the back of mine.

After an early lunch at the NGA Pavilion Cafe (no, I officially cannot get enough - but I did have a different sandwich each time), I made it an art day. Since the Smithsonian American Art Museum and the National Portrait Gallery are closed for renovation, I headed to the Hirschorn. Enh. I did have several entertaining conversations with a guard about the art, which was fun once I got past my initial fear that his approaching meant I had done something wrong. The only exhibit of real interest to me was on the pyrotechnical works of Cai Guo-Qiang. You'd think burned paper couldn't be so alive, but it was a fascinating combination of creation/descruction, long planning/short performance.

Everyone asks, so here you go: my favorite museum was the Sackler Gallery. Perfect in every way. Just the right amount of stuff in just the right amount of space. Lush colors. Dazzling yet personally-scaled artifacts. Interesting, engaging text. Reference books and comfy sofas in the exhibit spaces so you could answer questions while in the room! And while I would be the first to say that the museum-going experience should not necessarily involve or be enhanced by shopping, the shop really was great.

After that, even I was museumed out, so I wandered across the mall and up 8th Street to meet Melanie and her friend Keith for dinner at Teaism. Another fun people-watching building-browsing bus trip home and an evening with that movie reenacting the last day of Pompei. One of the things I love about Melanie is her geekiness.

Tuesday, April 12

Bus and Metro to Union Station for a decadent breakfast of two croissants with my coffee. I love old train stations. I wish we still traveled by train. There's absolutely nothing that planes have over trains except speed. Then across the street to the Postal Museum. From the professional angle, it's fun to see a museum that has such a tight, unique subject, and I'm always impressed by the range of ideas and topics people find to discuss. I'm still not sure what my final opinion on this place is. I did really like their reminder to us all that the postal service is really about spreading and sharing information, and that's the key to democracy. Won't argue with that. Pip pip.

Back to the National Building Museum to see the two exhibits I hadn't visited last week. I really do love that place but I want it to have more than four exhibits! I thought about going on to the Naitonal Museum of Women in the Arts but decided I was ready to stop and would just go back to Melanie's before rush hour got bad and tidy up my suitcase. She came home and cooked us a lovely dinner, then we watched a spoof of Dr. Who starring a clown car of British actors, The Curse of Fatal Death.

Wednesday, April 13

Speaking of clown cars, I've really had a variety of DC experiences, haven't I? Friends and family; crowds and solitude; art high and low; revolting and inspiring examples of what humans are capable of; regret and hope for my fellow citizens.

Lugged my suitcase back on to the bus. By the way, what is the proper etiquette for having a large-ish suitcase on a small bus during rush hour? Do you go as far to the back of the bus as you can, so your suitcase is as far out of the aisle as possible? Or do you just sit down as quickly as you can in the closest seat so that you minimize the number of toes you run over or elbows you whack into? A final trip on the Metro whisked me to National airport. Of all coincidences, sitting in the next row of chairs in the waiting area and in the same row with me on the plane was a person who looked really familiar, except for her blue cat's-eye rhinestone-bedazzled glasses, which surely I would remember. I convinced myself that I didn't know her - I always think I recognize people and I'm almost always wrong. But as I sat down next ot her on the plane, she said "Aren't you friends with Wendy Mathewson?" and all of a sudden it clicked. She's friends with my friend Wendy, and during one of my visits to Chicago a few years ago she was staying with Wendy for awhile, so we had tea or something. It's so nice to travel with a friend!

In usual fashion, the Detroit airport disappointed me, this time because there was something wrong with our plane, so after more than half an hour of sitting on the runway with the door open we had to get off thatp lane, walk down the concourse, and board another one. The seat I had originally was marked "do not sit" on the new plane, so I plopped down next to a chatty woman from Danville. Even though I had my book out - international language for "I want to read, and I'm trying to indicate politely that I wish to be left alone" - she nattered away. She was frustrated at how bouncy the plane was as we taxied and leaned towards me, hand to the side of her mouth as though she was about to impart a great secret, and said "I don't like being vibrated." I'm sorry, that's just funny. Arriving at Willard only one hour later than scheduled, I was met by a very generous Melina. I dropped my bags, hopped in the car, got a few groceries, and picked up Leroy, who thanks to a bath at "camp" smelled like fake-o flowers. Fluffy but stinky. All is now back to normal except for the mostly unpacked suitcase still in my bedroom.

Ms. Beth Goes to Washington, part 2

2005-04-14T16:09:00.000-05:00

Friday, April 8

Went to NMAI again with my parents. Mixed reviews as above. Tried to eat lunch at their cafe - which seemed really cool, with regionally themed foods - but the line had at least a hundred people in it. So we went to the National Gallery of Art's Pavilion Cafe, a delightful outdoor spot where you can sit under an umbrella, look at the sculpture garden, and feel the splash from the fountain. There's also an original art nouveau Paris Metro entrance next to the tables and Gershwin piped through the speakers, mixed in with those French accordian-based tunes that Edith Piaf sings. And the best coffee I had in DC. Cake too. Yum.

The National Museum of Natural History proved delightful. The gallery on the origins of western culture felt, like Air and Space, oddly out of date - kind of grimy and banged up, with a style of exhibition that just isn't what you see most new galleries doing. It looked like no one had taken care of it in a long time. (Side note: with my usual sureness of mind, I was convinced the replica of the Law Code of Hamurabai had been made incorrectly because, based on the five-minute lesson on reading cuneiform I was given by our Mesopotamian curator, the text on it was oriented backwards. But the image of it from its home in the Louvre is the same way, so obviously I am wrong.) Especially good was the new mammal gallery. It opens with "Welcome to your family reunion!" and has a crisp, lively presentation of the variety of furry life. Also I loved the big elephant in the entry rotunda.

Dinner at a local Italian place in Arlington, Virginia, which claimed a magazine review awarding them the best pizza in DC. While good, it was not that good. But tasty enough.

Saturday, April 9

Walked for what seemed like an eternity - in a good way - along the parks west of the Washington Monument and the tidal basin to enjoy the cherry blossoms.

I don't know if it was because I was tired, or if becuase the last time I was in DC was January 1993 and things seemed to be looking up, politically, but I burst into tears at the FDR memorial. There couldn't be a starker contrast to the president we have now. This man cared about everyone and did something to prove it. He was for peace. He was intelligent and compassionate. More than an end to the war we were in, he wanted an end to the beginnins of all wars. This is a moving, beautiful monument, a series of spaces for each of his four terms, combining narrative through his quotes, landscaping, and sculpture.

After lunch we went to the National Gallery. I spent most of my time in the East Building looking at I. M. Pei's triangles (everywhere! walls, ceiling, floor!), giant Mark Rothko canvases, and Alexander Calder mobiles. There is a room full of Calder pieces, two stories high, with lights casting shadows that seem to me more whimsical and alive than the actual pieces, the impression of vines and blossoms drifting by. The west building was less interesting to me - sorry, I have seen enough still lifes and madonnas/children. The one exception was the room of paintings from Sienna in the 1300s - to me there's always something a bit cheeky and funny about the medieval art that isn't exactly representational. They're telling stories, stories that most everyone who saw the picture would know, and they seem to have a bit of fun with perspective and color and impressions. Mostly, a painting of a bowl of fruit that looks exactly like the bowl of fruit is of no interest to me - show me something where somebody got inventive. Here endeth the opions of someone with not even one semester of art history under her belt.

Dinner in Arlington again, this time at a Mexican restaurant that was a complete hidden gem, tucked away in the corner of a shopping plaza. But once inside it exploded wtih orange stucco walls, mirrors, art, and a really interesting menu, including chocolate flan. I discovered my dad likes margaritas. Who knew?

Sunday, April 10

A quick morning jaunt to the National Museum of American History. I zoomed right into the First Ladies exhibit becuase I remember really liking it in college, but I was really disappointed. It needs to be cleaned up and filled in. Fewer dresses and tea service pieces. More on correspondence, activism, and philanthropy. It looked like they had taken half the labels out. But I did like the spotlight on some of the people I knew nothing about - for example, Lou Hoover, the first woman to earn a degree in geology from Stanford. I also really liked the letters to Eleanor Roosevelt from people whom she helped during the Depression. There was not as much discussion of Hillary as I would have liked - they stuck all of her stuff under politics and not under activism. Oh well. Can I also say how disappointed I am in Laura Bush? C'mon, librarian sistah, get your dolt of a husband to get rid of No Child Left Behind. You know it's a crock. Whatever it takes. I think a side exhibit on presidential mistresses would also be really fun - not just for the thrill of a scandal but to talk about the pressures that kind of a job puts on families and how hard it can be to be normal when you have such incredible responsibilities.

My parents packed up and drove back to Virginia while I Metroed to DuPont Circle to meet Melanie. We wrangled my suitecase on the bus to her house, winding through Georgetown. Melanie is the proud owner of a bright, airy co-op across the street from the Russian Embassy, which she has...I believe the phrase is "tastefully appointed"...with a huge range of interesting things to look at, stacks of books and magazines, and her two kitties.

We took a taxi - with a driver who was listening to some screeching, popping radio call-in show in an unidentifiable language - to Dumbarton Oaks to see the Byzantine collection, but to both of our surprise, it was closed for renovations. So on to the gardens instead. More beautiful cherry blossoms and happy people sprawled on the lawn. Really strange river pebble mosaic of a wheat sheaf. My favorite spot was the orangery, which smelled luscious and had great old windows and brick. I think this shows how much more I like architecture than landscaping. Then we strolled up Wisonsin Ave for dinner at Cafe Bonaparte, which everyone should visit. The entire menu looked delicious but I couldn't make it past the crepes: for dinner, filled with roma tomatoes and pesto; for dessert, mixed berries and vanilla ice cream. I was also taken with the momentary delusion that I could totally make that. But I could totally try.

Home again for episode five of Horatio Hornblower. Melanie is the original Horatio lover but amazingly she had not seen episodes five through eight. (So she hadn't even met Lt. Bush! I told her hands off - I saw him first.) I left them with her - she needs him more than I do right now.

Ms. Beth Goes to Washington, part 1

2005-04-13T16:05:00.000-05:00

I so wanted to write about this trip as it went but no internet cafe could tempt me away from the museums, so better late than never.

Not to start out on a sour note, but it must be said:
Dear Detroit airport:
What is wrong with you? No chairs in concourse C. And due to construction, very few chairs in the one nearby seating area. No bathrooms in the concourse either. I did get to visit the really swank concourse A but that moving walkway thing with the changing colored lights has got to go - you shouldn't give air travelers the impression that their vision is going double and their skin is green. Pull it together.

Monday, April 4

Bought Jason a frrappuccinno (I don't know how to spell that and am definitely not going to give Starbuck's the satisfaction of looking it up, so I'll just double everything for good measure) and sat in DuPont Circle watching the world go by on a lovely spring day.

Hopped the student-only bus to Georgetown University - and didn't even have to pretend to be a visiting PhD candidate because the driver wasn't looking - and sat in on Jason's class on international law something something. It was student presentation day and, no offense, I was totally underwhelmed by presentation style and content. These people are going to run the world some day but for now they won't string together a spoken sentence without several "ums" or reading directly from their notes. What up?

Spent the evening at J.R.'s, a bar Jason described as "like Murphy's, but gay." While snippets of musicals blared on the multiple tv screens, Jason made his friend use her cell to check the Illinois-UNC game and then howled loudly upon hearing the final score despite the fact that he doesn't usually care about such things. A bar, full of men, with at least 10 tvs, on NCAA championship night, and no basketball to be found anywhere. Delightful.

Tuesday, April 5

Got up late, slowly, and went through the Hirschorn sculpture garden and then to the National Museum of the American Indian. So many opinions to share about this, but let me summarize by saying that I really want to know more about why they're doing this the way they're doing it. The museum is lovely but so disjointed in topic. There's hardly any history. There's little mention of cultures east of the Mississippi. The emphasis on current issues and diversity is quite successful and duly noted, but I think, for most people, some more history and some more mention of more different groups would be helpful. No reasonable person expects any institution to chroncile everything but it's really poor to leave out a third of a continent in a "national" museum. I don't care if you don't have any Woodland or Mississippian pieces. You're the Smithsonian - get some.

Mosey to Chinatown (more of a block than a town, although it claims to have the largest single-span Chinese bridge in the country, which I don't believe) for Thai for lunch.

Fun at the International Spy Museum - and learnin' too. I enjoyed this more than I thought I would and probably more than I should admit. While they didn't do much to debunk the romanticized image of espionage we get from movies, they did have really good historical information on different famous and not-so-famous cases, cool Cold War-era equipment, James Bond's first car (although to be honest I wasn't sure from the label that it was authentic), codes to break, and very appropriate and useful use of interactives. Absurdly priced gift shop. But I walked out not being quite able to shake the feeling that there were spies everywhere. Cool.

Club Chaos for drag queen bingo. Based on the name, I was picturing bingo boards with pictures of drag queens on them - so you'd hear "B-ChiChi Bouvier" and "G-Hamburger Patty" - or some kind of giant communal bingo board like Hollywood Squares. It was just three people yelling out numbers - as well as all manner of mean things at anyone in the room, especially the boys who said they were straight but pretty clearly, even to strangers, weren't. My card got really close to winning the popcorn popper so I switched with Jason to avoid the limelight. He won, but they were basically nice to him, which was disappointing becuase I know Jason can dish it. Jason also won the trivia contest, a total waste of his wit with questions like "What is the addictive ingredient in cigarettes?". Sometimes the prizes were porn, and unfortunately they previewed the movies. Ew, ew, ew. Everyone in the bar, including me, got groped or grabbed by the various performers as they took interludes from calling bingo to parade around the room lip-syncing to J Lo. On the way out Jason forgot his credit card so I waited on the sidewalk with Jason's friend, who chatted up a pouting, loitering Swedish tourist who claimed he couldn't get into any bars becuase he had forgotten his ID. Whatever - everyone knows that if you just drop an accent, Americans will let you get away with anything, especially if you're tall, blonde, and Euro.

Wednesday, April 6

Late breakfast at Firehook in Cleveland Park, where we ate pastries under rickety arbors covered in grapevines. How v civilized!

After years of wishing, I finally go to the National Building Museum. Much squealing with joy as I came out of the Metro and saw it greeting me. Went on a guided tour with an adorable tottering volunteer, the principal perk of which was going up to the fourth floor and looking over the whole building, which throughout its 100+ years has hosted many inaugural balls, among other fancy events. Apparently in the last year or so, part of one of the capitals on the 75 foot-high interior columns fell off, so they had to rig up metal cages to hold those old plaster acanthus leaves in place before the most recent ball. Too bad it didn't wait until January and bonk W on the head. There. I said it. The exhibit on conrete was beautiful and the exploraiton of historical and current architects' tools was surprisingly compelling, divided into converations on topics like line weights, spirals, and erasing. And the shop, as described, was stellar.

Having sufficiently museumified myself for the day, I went on to NPR headquarters. Tours are only on Thursdays, but I did use the bank machine in the building and get a ginger ale from the vendor outside. Only after walking away did I realize I should have asked her for the dirt on why Bob Edwards really left and what Sylvia Poggioli gets on her hot dog when she's in town. Wandered to a bench on some plaza and enjoyed looking at a few old churches. One had a tower missing its roof and windows, providing an unexpected peek into a space I'd never get to go.

Metro'd with Jason to Hamburger Mary's. The bill came in a red patent leather open-toed pump. Choice. Something tells me this is a bit like going to Ed Debevick's - you know, kitchy, theme-ish burgers, etc. - except gay.

Thursday, April 7

In manner of visiting friend being the excuse to see your city, Jason and I explored Eastern Market and had breakfast at the much-touted Market Lunch. They didn't serve "blue bucks" (blueberry buckwheat pancakes) on weekdays, but the french toast and bacon were yummy. We strolled back along Pennsylvania Avenue and up along the Library of Congress and Supreme Court. Now, I am not the most flag-waving of people, but I will tell you happily that I found these buildings really inspiring. Our country is wonderful in theory. "Equal Justice under the Law" - what could be better, if it were true?

Said goodbye to Jason and took the Metro to Virginia to meet up with my parents. We headed back downtown to the Air and Space. On my previous trips to DC I had skipped this one and I certainly don't regret this - the museum is strangely outdated feeling, with a lot of text and images on those black, back-lit panels you see in older restaurants. I like ship and train museums, but this left me feeling...enh. I think my dad really liked seeing some of the space craft (space ships? space vehicles?) that figured so large in his childhood. My main impression upon leaving the museum was that I have no desire to go to space. Too disant. Too many deaths. But I did love seeing throngs of happy, excited children running around in a museum. Sigh. I love what I do.

More culinary advenutres in Chinatown, this time in a lot of rain.

Again, a quiz says I am France! What up?

2005-04-01T15:28:00.000-06:00

You are chevres! You are a cheese of different shapes, sizes, and textures. You are dependable, generous, and modest. You want to please everyone, but sometimes you have trouble remembering yourself.

These cheeses are made from goat's milk. They come in many sizes and shapes, such as round patties, log-shapes, drum-shapes, pyramids, round loaves, long loaves etc.; their textures vary from soft, but firm like cream cheese to extremely hard. Chevres are excellent dessert cheeses, often served as snacks or before dinner drinks. Goat cheese is often served as an ingredient in many fine dishes. [ Country: France || Milk: goat milk || Texture: semi-hard ]

Cheese Test: What type of cheese are you?

Born Confused

2005-04-01T12:45:00.000-06:00

by Tanuja Desai Hidier

Not quite sure what I think of this yet. It's very easy to empahtize with the heroine - except on the point of her maddening, narcissistic, selfish best friend. That character had better redeem herself pronto.

I also find myself wishing, as the best friend does, that I had a culture. Which is absurd, because everyone has a culture, but I know what she means - the peering into difference, lived meaningfully by someone you actually know, in their real life, that the child of WASPy professors in the midwest rarely got. The personal level of this story is its most compelling feature to me. That and the line by a side character who says that confusion is good becuase it encourages you to ask questions. And how.

First Generations: Women in Colonial America

2005-04-01T12:40:00.000-06:00

by Carol Berkin

It's a wonder anyone survived, isn't it? Work your whole life, give birth a heap of times, die before 40 (and your husband too), leaving your children orphans and crops in the field. I bought this after going on the "Women of Wiliamsburg" tour at Colonial Williamsburg last year, in which I discovered that it wouldn't have been too terribly bad to be a white woman in a Virginia town in 1774.

I have been on the same chapter of this book for months. I just can't finish it. It's really interesting but I guess I can't read nonfiction at bedtime - it requires a different kind of brainpower than I have at my disposal at that time of day. What I need is for someone else to read this with me so we can discuss - any takers?

why you should use your cubicle as a sock puppet theater

2005-04-01T09:40:00.000-06:00

I love, love, love that the NBC version of "The Office" has developed a slew of its own genius tiny details. Like in this picture the boss is wearing one of those cause/statement bracelets (which are worn by the armful by the sixth graders who visit my museum, this indicating with certainty that the trend must be stopped) and that his equally awful assistant is wearing an anime tshirt.

The series makes me so grateful I work where I do, that my colleagues are lovely, intelligent, fun people and that what we do is meaningful to us. It also makes me appreciate my approximately eight months in a cubicle for what it was. Such as learning how to write professionally worded "don't mess with me" letters. Or learning how to face dreaded tasks with the attitude of "it's only for this particular job, just do it and stop worrying, it doesn't imply anything about you or your skills." Or making the most of the urge to be creative within the boundaries of appropriateness which, in my case, included making a sock puppet to voice all the things I wanted to say but couldn't and the chance to use my cubicle as a performance space, giddily entertaining the paralegal in the next cubicle as my puppet, Willa, popper her head over the wall-let (they really aren't whole walls, so I figure they need a name that indicates so).

If you missed it, Willa's adventures at my current workplace are documented here.

Paul Hester

2005-03-28T08:00:00.000-06:00

I was completely surprsied to read on a blog this morning that Paul Hester, member of Split Enz and Crowded House, has been found dead in a park in Melbourne. ABC news (that's the Australian Broadcast Corp.) reports he went to walk his dogs and never came back. Very sad.

bumper sticker overload

2005-03-19T15:19:00.000-06:00

On Church Street yesterday I saw a van with several dozen bumper stickers, all expressing political or social views opposite my own. There were so many I just had to keep reading - and commit them to memory for re-telling. A sampling:

the NRA seal
"I'm NRA and I vote"
"Have you hugged your child today?"
"Sportsmen for Bush 2004"
various ads for sporting goods and hunting stores
"I heart Hooters"
"One nation under God"
various magnetic "ribbons" for supporting troops and general star-spangled patriotism
the chief: yesterday, today, forever
this is hard to explain, but imagine that there is a stencil of the trucker mudflap lady silhouette, and that stencil was placed over a US flag, bridging the stars and the stripes, and then someone traced her and cut her out and made her into a sticker

Do you have a favorite yet?

a very good color website

2005-03-19T09:52:00.000-06:00

I don't know who you are, Marianne, but your color website is fab-u-lous.

I spy

2005-03-17T08:09:00.000-06:00

I'm sure there's a word for those amazing moments in life when things converge and make sense, whether it be an important thing like an exam or interview or a trivial thing like catching episodes of an old tv show in consecutive order, rendering a mysterious plot comprehensible. I have seen a total of 2.5 Bollywood movies and, randomly, the heroine in one was the road block to the main couple's true love in the other. And in Bride and Prejudice I am pretty sure I saw a big billboard for Kuch Kuch Hota Hai in the background of a street scene - and in the pseudo blooper thing during the end credits they are dancing around with large heads from that same sign. And, thought it's silly, I felt like an insider, like I got at least a few of the in-jokes. And that feels good.

What makes you angry?

2005-03-14T13:19:00.000-06:00

In a sort of reverse experience than the one in which David Sedaris has to tell his French class and sadistic teacher what he likes and dislikes (in Me Talk Pretty One Day, my favorite), I participated in a survey created by a Japanese high school student who is living with one of my co-workers. Her English is on the rough side, but she expressed that Japanese people think Americans don't ever get mad, and she wanted to know what made me mad. How do you explain that in words she'd understand? Mostly I get peeved at things rather than full-out angry, but I wasn't sure that was a distinction I could explain. John suggested "When people cut you off in traffic," but that's problem. I came up with "when someone hurts someone else's feelings" and "waiting for people who are more than five minutes late." I could have said "co-workers who quit without giving notice" and "curators who refuse to do work assigned to them" but then realized that there is a line bewteen answering a survey and just plain venting.

She also wanted to know what time I go to bed, whether I like sports, and how often I use my credit card. On at least two of those, I'm really going to skew her results. I can only imagine my country's international reputation on sports and credit spending - but bedtime? Are we perceived as puritanically early to bed, or Cops and Letterman night owls?

at last

2005-03-13T12:35:00.000-06:00

Bride and Prejudice finally came to Champaign this weekend so we rushed right out to see it. Thoroughly charming and enjoyable. None of my clothing is appealing to me anymore - I want embroidered cottony tops and fun flipflops. In London. And an elephant.

Watching Taal will just have to do.

You must not have been looking very hard.

2005-03-12T12:22:00.000-06:00

Far be it from me to quibble with NPR, but in this story Scott Simon said something about how the story of one man's search for a stolen Vermeers indicates how the number of really marvellous things in the world is finite. Au contraire! My favorite thing about weekend NPR is the range of programs that cover such an amazing diversity of things, things that make me want to run to my computer and find out more, to write my senators, to make a mental note to tell my friends. That's the whole reason I listen to NPR - and, really, the reason I have love working in museums - the world has a limitless supply of wonderful things.