Please please please tell me this is not true

Am I really surprised by this?

That link is to a Huffington Post article about VP nominee Sarah Palin, and a speech that she delivered to her church about three months ago. My favorite bit from the article: [Emphasis mine]

"Speaking before the Pentecostal church, Palin painted the current war in Iraq as a messianic affair in which the United States could act out the will of the Lord. 'Pray for our military men and women who are striving to do what is right. Also, for this country, that our leaders, our national leaders, are sending [U.S. soldiers] out on a task that is from God,' she exhorted the congregants. 'That's what we have to make sure that we're praying for, that there is a plan and that that plan is God's plan'."

There's a video embedded into the article too, and it makes me uncomfortable. Palin seems unsure at first on the fairly large stage, but that doesn't stop her from giving a speech - wait no, a well-practiced sermon. To be honest, I only watched seven minutes of the video, but in those seven minutes she did two things that the type of preachers that bother me the most also typically do:

1. She spoke like them. You know, intonating certain words and phrases that she thought were the most important to her speech. In fairness, all good orators have to do this. Barack Obama does this. Martin Luther King, Jr. did this. And I can't make an argument about why it bothers me more when Sarah Palin does it. Perhaps its because I trust her about as much as I trust Pat Robertson or his faith healing.

2.She attributed all responsibility of serious matters to her god. Not only did she claim that the Iraq war is god's will, she also tried to convince chuurchmembers to pray for completion of her $30 million pipeline by saying, "I think God's will has to be done in unifying people and companies to get that gas line built, so pray for that." Horrifying!

The article is called "Palin's Church May Have Shaped Controversial Worldview." No shit. Anyone who is that involved in and enthusiastic about her church is going to have a worldview that reflects that church. And that worldview is probably going to be at least a little insane. It scares me to think that governors are still using religion to convince people to support their agendas. I don't care if she was in a church. I don't care if she was in her own home. She mixed her politics with her religion, and that is totally uncool. What is more scary is the number of people who think this is acceptable practice.

Believe me, you really want to click on that last link. I mean, it's clearly anti-republican party propoganda, but I think it makes some really interesting points.

Here's to Lookin Out

failblog

Sing-Along with Dr. Horrible

Allow me to explain how incredibly awesome Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog is. Imagine that in the time it would take you to watch one episode of your favorite hour-long TV show (without commercials) you could watch a self-contained mini movie with singing, basic choreography, Neil Patrick Harris, Nathan Filion and an evil-ass horse, and it was all brought to you by super-genius Joss Whedon. OK, done imagining what an awesome and wonderful experience would be? Well rest assured that you can have all of these things. Right here, right now.

Seriously, I don't know why Hulu isn't more famous. You can watch lots of episodes of TV (House and Heroes for me) and some movies too, completely for free!

But back to Dr. Horrible. If you are still on this page, leave. Go watch it. And then come back because the following contains spoilers.

First, here are two reasons why I am in love with Neil Patrick Harris:

Laundry Day:



Brand New Day:


Of course one of the reasons that I love Joss Whedon is that his work always has a huge fan following. And lots of times, they have really smart things to say. There are some quite interesting discussions over at the Sing Along Blog Message Board. I think my favorite so far is the discussion of an alternate ending written by bellatrys over at LiveJournal. An ideal ending, but not one that Joss, or I, or any of the Whedonians I know actually, would ever support. Because ideal endings are not something that good art, or Joss Whedon, will ever give us.

What intrigued me most about this discussion, though, was not the talk about what should have happened to Penny or Doctor Horrible, but a small point that I almost passed over. User rudyhenkel said:

"Although I don't actually like the alternative proposed by the OP, why on earth should anyone *have* to accept the ending as is? If this was reality you'd be correct. Fortunately, this is fiction. So, while Sutures' alternative vision may lack the numbers, production value and artistry of the ending given to us, both endings are just as real. That is, not at all. People have to face and accept enough tragedy in real life. They shouldn't be forced to accept it in fiction as well, if they don't wish to."

I think that this is a valid argument for why fanfic exist, but I can't agree with what rudyhenkel says. When I find a writer as wonderful as Whedon, I get attached to the stories. His characters and plots are so well-crafted that to me, they are real. I relate to them as if they were my neighbors or enemies, and I am sad when their stories are over and I have to let go. Sure, fiction is fiction, but I think that the endings of really great fiction should absolutely, without a doubt, be regarded as truth.

What more can I say? Joss has delivered once again. I can't wait for the sequel!

[Internet] Radio Edit

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

To be honest, I'm surprised this hasn't happened sooner. I really hope that Pandora doesn't have to shit down (or shut down, but I rather like the typo I made there) because of the bullshit RIAA, because I don't know how I would get though my workday without this free internet radio. Ever since Ken Tompkins introduced us to it via our LittMajors ListServ, I have been grateful for it. It only plays songs that I like, and nothing inappropriate for the workplace ever comes up. I have been introduced to many new artists and sometimes it reminds me of a wonderful song that I haven't been appreciating lately. If it weren't for Pandora, I would have to listen to seven hours a day of SoJo 104.9, which is not at all something I want to do again. Even if Pandora does shut down, I will gladly switch to one of these other internet radio sites, and leave the Pussycat Dolls on the stereo of a coworker.

I'm naively hoping that Pandora by some miracle stays up, but here are some other internet radio channels, just in case:


www.slacker.com - There are many different categories to choose from, and I was pleasantly surprised when the first song that came up was "Damaged" by Danity Kane, but I would assume most people would not be as happy as I am about this. The UK Hits and UK Indies channels look promising, though.

free.napster.com - Happy that they have all of my favorite Regina songs, but it's taking forever to buffer. Hmmm.

nutsie - This has the most awesome feature of any, where you can listen to the Top 50 songs from any given year. Right now I'm listening to the most popular songs my senior year of High School. Rock out with your "Goodies" by Ciara out.

mp3tunes.com - You can make a Music Locker with this site and then stream all of the music from your home library from any computer. How rock is that? I'm sure it'll take a while to upload the mp3s, but it seems totally worth it. There's also a Playmix Player that seems to work the same as Pandora. I just don't have time to make an account right now, so we'll have to see later.

last.fm - Looks pretty awesome, even though it got some bad reviews on the comments of the Consumerist article. First thing it tells me on the homepage is that right now, 2,066 people are listening to Weezer's Buddy Holly. And that makes them all right in my book. And another thing, I just discovered Wilco on here, and I am totally in love.

For your viewing pleasure:

When my parents got their first computer, the sample disc with extra windows goodies had this video on it. And so it will always have a special place with me.

After an awesome night of body-accepting and comfort

I came into work and remembered what has been irritating me lately. I am secretary to a Health Sciences Educator for Rutgers University so most of my time on the internet is spent looking up information on Obesity and Overweight (real sad when the focus is on children), Diabetes, High Blood Pressure and Cholesterol levels, Diet and Exercise, and anything else that has to do with nutrition or family health.

One might say, "Hey that's great. You get the inside scoop. You get to learn new ways to be healthy now."

Except that I have struggled with weight since I was eight years old. Maybe longer. News flash: I already know. I have known the (quite simple) ways to lose weight for a very long time. We all know that more calories out than in equals less weight on the body. But, as most people who have a hard time keeping weight off will probably feel familiar with, the extra pounds that I carry on my frame have little to do with science. And another thing that far trumps all the tips and tricks I know about losing weight: These extra pounds and I are stating to get along. I am learning to be OK with them.

Let me clarify. I am just learning to be OK with them. After years of hiding them behind hairstyles and clothing and accessories, I am beginning to accept these pounds. I'm starting to realize that I have quite a sexy hourglass figure, one that could probably kick some roller-derby ass if I wanted it to. Sure I'm starting to see that this body is one that men can be attracted to. More importantly, I'm becoming aware that it's a body I can love, and feel secure in, and be proud about.

So what has inspired this ranty blog? Two things.

First, it seems that every single health website that I visit uses the BMI calculator as an indicator for wellness. And that really frustrates me. In addition to this being a skewed measure for health, it also makes me feel shitty. Really, I'm borderline obese? OK. Oh, and I'm at a much greater risk for diabetes and high blood pressure and death? That's funny, because I heard that women in the overweight group had the lowest mortality rate. Oh my god, AHA,are you telling me that if I don't make changes now I'm going to die someday? Fuck. Let me give you a trophy for opening my eyes. Truth is, it doesn't matter. Because I am going skydiving next year. Because I hitchhiked in a foreign country. Because I drive on a highway everyday. Yeah, I could make some wiser decisions about exercise and diet. But fuck it. I like chocolate chip cookies, and eating them is not going to put my life in any more danger than the next decision I make.

I'm frustrated that (because of all the searching I have to do at work) my google and scrabulous sidebars are always filled with ads for ridiculous get-thin-quick schemes. I'm tired of looking at "Are you Fat -----> Take this Quiz" ad banners on the top of my monitor. And I am at the end of my rope with people like Lissaana, who comment insensitive and cruel things on the bottom of sincere, well-written posts.

I don't understand why weight and body image are always ALWAYS on my mind. And I am terrified to take all of these issues to France with me. I'm planning on leaving them here, buried in 1725's back yard. And I hope I never EVER have to dig them up.

But perhaps what I am most cranky about is that I have still not found my USB cord, and all I want to do is show you the pretty pictures that I took. In July.

This just in

I just found out that Seth Green is in talks to join the third season of Heroes. This excites me more than you know, but it also disappoints me a little. Aside from the fact that the third season is set to air the day before I leave the States, another reason for my personal down is that I just haven't been able to commit to TV shows the way I used to. If I had it my way I would be caught up on all of my favorite primetime shows, especially Heroes and House. (Read on for the realization that made me change my mind midpost)

Since I moved to Ocean City, there hasn't been a single night when there isn't something better to do between the hours of 8 and 10 than watch a TV show. It's because I have the most awesome roommates, and it is infinitely more satisfying to socialize with them and enjoy their company while I still have it nightly. And since they (mostly) don't watch of the television, hour-long dramas are not something we are going to bond over. And you know what? I wouldn't want it any other way right now. Serialized network television is something that I was able to commit to when I was living at home and opening the airport store five days a week. I had to wake up too early to do anything at night and I was always alone so I would watch Prison Break House. And Heroes was something that I could watch with Kelly, or even better, with the folks at E-03.

So in the time it took me to write this post I have re-evaluated the reason for my disappointment. Since I will be in France, I will likely miss another season of some view-worthy TV. And if I am able to watch it on the interwebs while I'm in France, that will certainly mean I am missing out on some other way to absorb le French culture.

Sigh. I hope there are still good shows on when I settle into whatever life I choose.

WANT

ilikethese

Cause: Heroes for Andy

So Andy sent a note over facebook a while ago that prompted all of his friends to consider some questions about heroes and heroism. It took me a while to respond because I thought good and long about it. And I came up with some answers that I think are pretty solid, though they could use a little more analysis. At any rate, I think they're blogworthy, so here they are for your viewing pleasure (bolded bits are Andy's questions):

Who is your hero? Alexander Harris, the character from the show Buffy the Vampire Slayer, is my hero.

why? what about that person/s makes them your hero? Xander remains throughout the series the only character that does not have or develop some sort of supernatural power. Let’s look at the characters: Buffy is of course the slayer, Willow and Tara are witches, Anya is an ex-vengeance demon, Dawn starts out as a mystical key, Oz becomes a werewolf, Angel and Spike are two examples of an ever-expanding cast of vampires. Cordelia and Giles start out as simple mortals with no supernatural abilities, but in season six Giles hinders evil-Willow with some bad-ass magicks, and Cordelia goes on to become one of the Powers-that-be in the later seasons of Angel.

Xander is the only character who doesn’t get any supernatural play. But he is just as much an integral part of the Scooby gang as anyone else. The fact that he remains such a sacred part of the inner-circle even though he has no superpower is incredible to me. He’s the heart of their operation, and if you ask me, that is a much harder role to fill. Xander manages to keep up his role alongside all of these characters that have been blessed with powers outside nature while he remains an average joe. Sure, he gets frustrated every now and then, but never so much that he is willing to abandon his friends.

What traits in particular do you wish you had that he does? btw Andy, I did notice that you assume my hero is male;Xander accepts that he is “the zeppo” – the one person in the group who is un-special. He has accepted that he is never going to be supernaturally-endowed like his friends but he still acknowledges that he brings something unique to their friendset. The fact that he is OK with this, and does not compete to become the strongest fighter or the most bad-ass witch, is extraordinary. I guess that tells me that he is not jealous or competitive, which are both traits I feel I take on when I am surrounded by a set of friends who are way awesomer than I am.

what traits do you not want? I do not want to be the guy that has to be rescued all the time because he can not get himself out of the ropes he’s been tied in. And I do not want to lose an eyeball.

Who do you think an american hero is? I think an American hero is someone like a comic book superhero. Spiderman or Superman

why? I get the feeling that most United Statesians want someone to swing in on a web and rescue them from their lives and rising gas prices and terrorism. This is something that will never happen because the American hero, like Spiderman, is fictional.

who do you think a superhero is? To me, the best kind of superhero is someone like Batman or Iron Man. Someone who used to be an average citizen but was genius enough to develop ridiculous technology to make changes in the world.

why? Because it is hard for me to believe that a spaceship crash- landed into our planet and out popped a man who could save the world for us. It’s too easy. Show me a person (speaking of are there any female superheroes like I’m about to describe?) in a great mess of trouble who actually makes himself into a superhero using realistic technology and I’m a believer. I don’t care how likely it is that Iron Man could have made that suit in a day in a cave in the middle of the desert – if there’s even a small percentage of a chance that it’s possible, I’ll buy it. And I’ll like that type of hero better. Because he made a choice to do what he did.

what kind of hero do you think the US and, even bigger, the world needs? This is the hardest question. Not because I don’t know, but because the type of hero the world needs is impossible to find. The reason it’s impossible is because we need a hero that everyone can agree is a hero. And that will never happen with the massive political, cultural, and religious differences in this world. My idea of a hero, or a superhero, is not going to be the same as anyone else’s. In all of the answers that you get back from this, I doubt you will get any two that are exactly the same. And for the most part, I’m sure that the people you asked have a lot in common. Now extend your questions to the entire world, and your response is going to be an enormous clusterfuck.

And I’m not sold that we need a hero anyway. I think individual people need to start making some goddamn improvements and take the blame when they mess up. If we had a world where all people believed in the same set of morals/values and everyone lived by them, we wouldn’t need a hero to come in and fix things.

But expecting that world to exist is unhealthy and unrealistic, and so is believing in superheroes.

¿Quieres Comer Conmigo?

Yesterday as I was driving home from work I started thinking about how it has been a very long time since I have seen my first boyfriend. Or had dinner with his family. One of the best bonuses of dating a Puerto Rican is the food. Yumm to arroz con habichuelas, bistec encebollao, tostones, pernil, and of course anything con pollo.

I thought it might be a good idea to try cooking something. I mean, it couldn't go worse than my first attempt (when I was fifteen I made bistec for him and I misunderstood the whole season to taste thing - so I coated the beef with vinegar and adobo as if it were chicken I was dipping in egg yolks and bread crumbs. He graciously ate it, though it tasted like schmoo), right?

I didn't realize that bistec (my all-time favorite meal) should marinade for a couple days, so I decided to try the rice and kidney beans with pork chops instead. And I have to say, I am pretty damn impressed with myself. No burned rice, no overseasoned meat. It was pretty friggin good. And gluten-free! So the roommates who were home quite enjoyed it. OK, OK, I'm doing a little back-patting about it, but it's hard not to be proud. Sure, it didn't taste quite as good as his mom's always did, but I'm a second-time gringa. All things considered, how could I not be so enthused?

I'd already bought the ingredients for bistec, so as I write the beef is marinating with onions, vinegar, oil, garlic, adobo, and of course Sazon Azafran. It smells delicious every time I open the fridge.

Now I can't wait until tomorrow.

Social Networking Blocked

Ugh. Work blocked Facebook. Wanna know why? Because for some reason it is classified as a "Personals & Dating" website. So no more saving three square feet of rain forest and ocean every day.

At least they didn't block Blogger.

And I still have lolcats.

Français Friday Update

It's Friday, at the end of a very long, very stressful, very awesome week.

I've done a lot of prepping for France this week! Including:

-bought my plane ticket (Sept 23rd-May 5th round trip for a sweet sweet deal)

-contacted the schools I will be teaching at (Collége Michelet and Collége Pierre Simon De Laplace)

-Downloaded Google Earth so I could fly to Lisieux from New Jersey, then Paris from Lisieux, then Caen from Paris, then to the Great Wall of China, Times Square, and my houses in Ocean City and Mays Landing

-Got super active on the Teaching Assistants in France forums and had all my questions answered: Yes, it will work out better to buy a round-trip and change the return date than to buy two one-ways; No, I will not be treated any differently because I have a nose piercing and a big-ass tattoo on my back; dating in France is totally not the same as here; No, no one is flying out of Newark the same night as I am; I should bring stick deodarant with me because they fancy the roll-ball kind.

-Added my name to the Wikiversity page of assistants in Caen and thus met my twin in Australia. Yep - soon-to-be French Teaching Assistant who currently works in an office and is completely addicted to Scrabulous

-Accepted the fact that I may not have millions, or even thousands, of dollars, but I'm still going to have the most rock-ass time ever.

From Emily's photobooth software (a little marred but you get the idea):

no words (well OK a few)

Go look at this.

I know that if I wanted to, I could start some HR shit with the chauvanist who works at my office because he has made a few inappropriate comments and cupped my shoulder on occasion. I know it, he knows it, and any HR rep would know it. And for that I am thankful. Thank god I wouldn't have to hear, "If we had no sexual harassment, we would have no children."

True Life: I'm a sap

Last night I turned on my TV to watch some more of Buffy Season Five en Francais(which by the way is really bolstering my confidence - I can now say "He's not a little ball of sunshine"). But I never turned on the DVD because what was on MTV was so much better.

Whoa. Did I just say that? I mean, I can admit I am addicted to MTV and VH1, but I don't usually defend the programming as any more than sleaze TV that sometimes makes a commentary on the weaker points of our society. While I argue that it has its merits, I never thought a show on either channel would be so good that it would delay me from turning on BtVS. But then I saw True Life: I'm deaf.

The show profiled two people who were born deaf. Amanda, 21, was born deaf but uses a hearing aid to listen to people's voices. She doesn't use sign language because she prefers to read lips, and she speaks. When she was young her mom enrolled her in a dance class and she was able to listen to the vibration of the music to pick up rhythm.

Chris is a high-school student who was also born deaf. He, unlike Amanda, relies on sign language to communicate because he doesn't know how his voice sounds. His girlfriend is learning sign language but they mostly communicate with written notes.

The episode documents life-changing events for both people. Chris gets a cochlear implant in his head, which means that he is able to hear for the first time in his life. He can hear his mother's voice, his father play the guitar, the sound of leaves beneath his feet, all of the chaotic sounds of a day in high school, and the way it sounds when his girlfriend says his name. Although it will take a few years for Chris to fully understand spoken language, he is happy to be able to hear.

Amanda tries out for a dance squad in Baltimore with two of her close friends. She is an incredible dancer and she is beautiful, but she doesn't make the cut. The update at the end of the episode tells us that she makes the next squad she tries out for.

Of course it is amazing that medical technology can make a deaf person hear, and that Amanda is a fantastic dancer though she can't hear the music, and that Chris and his girlfriend sustain a healthy relationship without verbal communication, but what impressed me most was the candor that Chris and Amanda have. The episode was wraught with moments of extreme vulnerability that these people let cameras be privy to: when Chris stands in front of his bathroom mirror and tries to form words when he has no idea how he sounds; when Amanda brings a ringing cell phone to her ear and then talks about how much it sucks to not be able to talk on the telephone; how she is so nervous that no one will count 5,6,7,8... before the routine and she will miss her first step of the audition. During these moments, I couldn't help feeling like a voyeur in their lives.

It is rare that a program on the TV stations I watch inspires me to make the most out of my life, but this one certainly did.

Letter to Morgan Freeman

Dear Morgan Freeman,

I truly hope you recover soon from your accident on Sunday. You are one of my favorite actors, and I can't imagine a Hollywood without you. Speedy Recovery, please.

Deepest regards,
Ashley

The shirt I wore yesterday

smells like someone new. I like that.

This is why I love Preston and Steve

I suggest if you want to laugh, you go to Preston and Steve's site and search for "poop goes in the potty."

France, faire attention - je viens!

I bought my plane ticket yesterday.

YAAAAAAAAA!!

OK, now that I got that out, let's be honest. I am excited. This teach-abroad-for-seven-months contract is incredible. It's going to be an eye-opening, life-changing experience. As Emily reminds me, I am fulfilling my civic duty by experiencing a new culture and sharing my culture and language with people who want to learn them.

Now is it OK for me to want to shit my pants?

Kudos to Curvature

I just read the entirety of The Curvature's Day of Blogging, and it was phenomenal. In the span of 39 blog entries (which were written to raise money for RAINN - the nation's largest anti-sexual assault organization) I gained a ton of knowledge, and a whole lot of respect for Cara as well. She is a fantastic blogger who sheds light on serious feminist issues that I have realized do need to be addressed a hell of a lot more often.

She led me to some Lines that Rock by Julie Buffaloe-Yoder.

My favorite post highlighted a new series of posters from the Date Safe Project that challenge "consent" as it is commonly understood. I am really loving them. Here's my favorite one:



I've kissed a lot of guys. Not horribly too many, but still a lot. And two kisses stand out in my mind. The hands-down best kiss ever happened after I asked him if I could touch his lips with mine. The runner up happened after he asked "May I kiss you?"

Though I've never asked (or been asked) consent for anything more major than that, I'm going to start.

These posters rock.

Emo-nely

Every year my Aunt Cathy rents a house on the boardwalk in Ocean City for a week. And my cousin always comes down for the week with a bunch of her friends and I visit them a couple times. And inevitably, once during this week they get an Old Time Photo. You know, those cheesy photos where you can dress in some period garb, sit on a piano or a bar while a sixteen-year-old fixes your hat and boa, and then have your photo developed in sepia and placed in a paper frame. All for just ten dollars a person. Each photo. So that means that for five people to be in a photo (and for each person to get a photo) it would cost about $110 dollars. And since I could never afford a beach house in Ocean City (nor could my 'rents), I always sit out and play the chaperone.

So there I was last night, holding my cousin's handbag as she, her boyfriend, and two of her bests posed for a few shots. I'm feeling lame and lonely, mostly because all the other years I came to visit them at the beach house I had someone with me. For a lot of years it was Edwin, and though I don't miss him, I do miss the satisfaction of having someone to walk with who is closer than a friend.

So I walked across the boardwalk to sit on a bench facing the ocean. Figured there's no use in watching their group and being envious. Because (hate me for it all you want) I do want to be in one of these photos. I want to come out of that shady back room in a bright pink dress and have a photographer arrange me and make a dumb expression for the camera. But I can't justify doing it because I am spiteful as shit. And it's a ripoff.

A moment after I sit down, a boy who is no taller than my knee sits on the opposite side of the bench. He is licking an ice cream cone that is as big as his face. Then (presumably) his parents roll up to the bench with their stroller, and out comes a toddler girl with a head of hair my neice would be totally jealous of. And they are a perfect, beautiful family and they should take an Old Time Photo together.

I smile politely and walk over to the next available bench After a couple minutes there, another family stops behind me to collect itself. They also have ice cream, but this boy has dripped it all over himself and must be wiped clean by napkin. I always had to order ice cream in a cup so I wouldn't stain my clothes.

They leave and I'm still waiting for my group to finish their photo. I don't have my book with me (damn). I'm thinking about France when a college girl comes up to me and asks if I'd like to participate in a survey. Sure. Usually, the religious survey-giving types get really mad at me when I admit that I don't subscribe to any religion and they try to convert me. But this girl was awesome. We had a really great conversation. She picked my brain a bit about the stuff she didn't agree with me on, but it seemed to be out of genuine curiosity instead of from a desire to challenge. And I really respect her for that.

By the time the group was done with the photo, I was feeling pretty good again. I'd verbalized some things I'd often thought but never said. Talking religion with people whom I don't know well usually scares the shit out of me, but this was a tolerable experience. And now I just want to audit a religion course.

One more night in the beach house. Whoo.

Thank You Chris Moore

for introducing Christian the Lion into my life.

i lost my camera cord

i have so much to blog about. france. nummy island. foot-eating sandals. hair. snuff. and they all require photos. so what i must do is find that usb cord. oh, ashley.

On Mondays

Sometimes your life feels like this:

I feel it all I feel it all

I watched Where the Heart Is last night. It's been a favorite of mine since the first time I saw it in 2000 and had to immediately buy the book because I loved it so much. And as I was rewatching it last night, I learned something about myself.

I'm anti-pretentious. I am un-elitist. I am completely fine with that.

I enjoy media that is designed for the masses. Indeed I prefer it over media that is produced for the elitist crowd. Sure, I can enjoy indie music when my roommates listen to it at home, but when I am alone in my car I would much rather spin a CD that will make me dance or sing. Though I love The Books and Broken Social Scene, I would rather rock out to Danity Kane or Maroon 5 anyday.

I've been thinking about how I felt while I was watching Where the Heart is last night. I cried with Novalee when Americus was stolen and with Lexi when her boyfriend abused her and her children. I clutched my pillow when the tornado swept away Americus' bear and Sister Husband (and almost took Americus and Novalee too). I actually laughed out loud when Novalee told the baseball team to untuck their shirts. And when Novalee and Forney embraced at the end of the movie, I felt the way I imagine it would feel to be swept off my feet. All of this emotion in a two-hour movie seems excessive, I know, but I thrive on these types of feelings.

It's the reason I like gimmicky movies so much. When I laugh at a punchline in a movie, I feel a connection to all the other people who laughed at the same line. When the prey overcomes the hunter in a horror movie I feel a wave of satisfaction that I assume (at least some) other people feel when they watch it. This connection, this sense of fulfillment that I get from movies, TV, music, is something that I hope I never lose the ability to feel.

If I closed myself off to media that wasn't entirely intellectual, if I only let myself watch things that appeal to the most elite of viewers, I would lose a hell of a lot. I like feeling as connected to as many people as possible. Though it's fulfilling to have similar moments when watching an indie movie or listening to an incredibly talented, lesser-known vocalist, the group of people who can share these feelings with me is far smaller.

For a while I was embarassed about my love for trashy reality TV and B horror movies and Janet Evanovich, but why should I be? I can get down with Regina and The Science of Sleep and Aimee Bender too. I'm more cultured than any hipster (and by that I mean conforming non-conformist) could ever be.

And besides, I don't have enough money to be a hipster.

Office Nonsense

Every first Monday of the month, the mailman delivers a Levenger catalog to my boss. Every month, I look at the high-priced leather office goods and muse about what type of people actually pay money for them. These are usually passing thoughts that don't even merit discussion.

But in this month's catalog, the featured item is the Sea Lion Pen Stand:



bronze mini sea lion statue: 128 dollars
sleek fountain pen: 138 dollars
corporate douchedom: priceless

What would possess anyone to buy this bronze atrocity is beyond me. The description beneath the picture says, "It's individually handcrafted in the time-honored lost wax method for optimal detail and can hold any of our True Writer pens..."

Next step, what is a "True Writer" pen? Ask and you shall find a page on the Levenger website with a thorough history of the pen complete with a timeline of the changes it's gone through since 1999. And these richly historic pens are only 50 bucks a pop!

Grimace. Office people are crazy.

Ashley's Best Week Ever Part Two

Last week was so good that I'm still catching up. You thought nothing could beat Rushdie, right? Well-played. I thought so too, and then I went to Roller Derby!

I managed to get out of work early and head over to the Bunting-Huneke household, where the lovely ladies had arranged a fun-filled evening. It began with them taking me to my favorite restaurant ever - that's right. Taco Bell. And after some gordita wonder and much-needed venting, they whisked me away to my first roller derby ever.



Don't ask me why I expected a dark venue with sticky beer floors and metal music. Must have been some residual images from a movie or something. This place was, to my surprise, very family-friendly. We sat on the floor and watched the Sadistic Sweethearts triumph over the She Devils in a game that had it all - hot chicks on skates, penalties, a wipeout so ridiculous it took out a speaker system, and a cherry-on-top brawl in the last seconds. Definitely an awesome time.

An added bonus: during intermissions, I got to watch some Hell's Hooligans eye candy skate around the rink (let's face it - Chuck Grenades is completely crush-worthy).

And another added bonus: self esteem! I've never felt better about my body. The women who played in the game were all beautiful, and a lot of them were stocky. None of them seemed severely overweight; they just looked healthy. Like they had enough meat and muscle to be able to skate around the rink and straight brutalize other chicks. Those ladies made me feel really comfortable about my size. And they made me want to join roller derby and show everyone how bad-ass I am (OK that part is definitely all talk).

After the game we went to this local bar where the team would be meeting afterward, and had some beers and bar bites. True, I always have a great time with my lady friends, but I think that next time one of us should grow a pair and talk to the players. I came close to telling Sloppy Jo that she was awesome but she was stepping away from the bar and I missed my chance.

Once we left the bar (after a very awkward encounter with some stooge who made me feel bad about my breast size) we headed home and youtubed until we fell asleep. My new favorite video:



Best moment of the night, hands down: When Rachel introduced me to someone as her girlfriend's hetero life partner.

How to remove a tick safely

when i was young (7-9ish), my mother made fun of me a lot for being overweight. and though we didn't live in the woods, and i didn't do much outdoors, there were many instances that i found ticks on my body. ma doesn't know this (and she's computer illiterate so will probably never find out), but whenever i found a tick on my stomach, thigh or any other body part that wasn't typically visible, i would be much too ashamed of my fat to show her and ask for help removing the parasite. i would sit in the bathroom and try to remember how she removed ticks back when i would let her see my skin. i knew she used tweezers, but i couldn't just go get the tweezers and return to the bathroom - she would know something was up. so i would pull the tick as slowly as possible away from my flesh. and every single time, the body would detach from the head, and i would be left with a tick head embedded inside. and then i would remember. vaseline! she always used vaseline to smother the tick out. so i would open the medicine cabinet and slather vaseline all over whatever area was puffing up and reddening. of course it was too late - with no body, the head could never escape the petroleum jelly.

and this happened more than once. i'd say i've probably had 8-10 tick heads float around my body in the course of my life. and i'm sure (i truly hope) that my body has killed them all.

but today i found this tidbit of information and thought i would share it, in case there's any 6-9 year old reading this who is wondering how to go about removing a tick properly without ever having to show flesh to parent:

"To remove a tick, apply a glob of liquid soap to a cotton ball. Cover the tick with the soap-soaked cotton ball for a few seconds (15-20), after which the tick will come out on its own and be stuck to the cotton ball when you lift it away."

Or better yet, just get over your ridiclous fears of your mother's judgement. She's going to badger you about weight whether you show her your bare stomach or not, so grow a pair. Or get lyme disease.

smash's best week ever part one

Because Rachel is awesome and inspiring, i myself am starting a best week ever thread.

so last week was probably the most wonderful one i've had in quite a while. though it started out a little slow, by the end of the week i was happily surprised with the turnout.

so monday, tuesday and wednesday were average in terms of fun. monday i watched the most horrifying movie ever and it made me never want to have sex. ever.

tuesday and wednesday i got to hang out with my favorites, sharon and chris.

but the week really picked up on thursday, when i got to see Salman Rushdie deliver a powerful, inspiring reading at the philly free library.


there was a decent turonout for the man, but not as many fans as i would have expected were there. usually when the reader is popular, they sell tickets for the auditorium and they simulcast in the lobby, but he didn't sell enough tickets for all that, only enough for the auditorium. this is not to say that he wasn't hugely appreciated. he came out to a round of applause that was genuine, and long enough that he had to tell us to stop.

he began with a reading from his new book, The Enchantress of Florence, and i simply loved the section he chose. the title character was witty and endearing, and i was in love with her almost immediately. the excerpt had many of my favorite things: love, tattoos, toilet humor, a garden, and Dracula.

that's right. i did say Dracula. i knew from some of the elements in the reading (Wallachia, Janissaries) that his story probably took place during the time that Vlad Tepes III was in power, and i wondered if Rushdie would tie him into the novel somehow. and he did. in fact, one of my favorite parts of the night was during question and answer section, when someone asked what it was like to research history for this book. Rushdie responded that he knew a lot about the time, but that he still had to research the characters, who actually lived. he then quite excitedly added that when he realized that he was writing in the same period that Dracula lived, he was ecstatic that he could include him in his book. and that, my friends, is one of the many reasons that i love rushdie.

during question and answer segement, i was quite pleased with his responses. they were all humorous, especially his tale about writing a song for U2.

humor aside, i think my favorite part of the night was when Rushdie warned us to not forget that stories are fictitious. he reminded us that there are no such things as flying carpets and genies that grant wishes, and that we too often as readers forget this. he told us something that i never knew, and that i will try to remind myself as often as possible - that the introduction we use to fairy tales, "Once upon a time, in a land far far away," is a rough translation of the sanscrit, "It was so, it was not so, in a time long forgotten." much more fitting, if you ask me.

oh, and another highlight of the night? when i found out that Rushdie was a mud angel after the 1966 flood of the River Arno in Florence. since one of my favorite books ever is The Sixteen Pleasures, this tidbit made me a little melty inside.

for more of the best moments of the night , hop over to lines that rock.

rachel may be regretting the post she made for me

i just got a new pet!

his name is foofer.

you think i photoshopped this, don't you?

bwahaha photoshop is for the affluent.

i use paint.

smASHosophy

tell me why some people pronounce a male gender pronoun so strangely.

as in "let go of eem."

or "i gave eem a laxative."

i'm all for dialects and pronunciations different from my own, but this one really irks me.

end scene.

let's has a moments

if my life were a comic

there would be a joke about my addiction to least i could do.


i think the author loves joss whedon almost as much as i do.

happy weekend everyone

thanks, andy, for bringing this wonderful little chauvanist strip into my life. i'm definitely gonna grind it.

connectedness

June 17th, 2007 was my first day at sea. i was getting to know my roommate and about 200 other people rapid-fire. i was unpacking my clothes and preparing for my first day of classes. i was nervous and excited about our first day in the port of Acapulco. i knew that i could live at sea forever.

June 17th, 2008 i got a new bike. a candy apple red one with room on the back for a basket. i took a bike ride with chris moore, and then later he and andy and i took a walk down to the beach to check out the bright full moon. we were only slightly intoxicated from free red wine (which always tastes sweeter to me).

as we were walking home from the beach, someone passing yelled out to me, "What's SAS?" he had seen the letters embroidered on my blue sweatshirt. assuming he was some drunk, obnoxious tourist, i ignored him. he persisted, "no, seriously, what's SAS stand for?"

"Semester at Sea," i told him as politely as i could, expecting him to keep walking past with the rest of his stumbling friends.

but he stopped and talked to me. he had done Semester at Sea in 2006. and there we were: two people who didn't have much in common except for that we were on the Ocean City Boardwalk, slightly buzzed, with ripe memories of an experience we were lucky to have had.

i've been missing sea a lot. and of course i sometimes fear that i'll never see the friends i made there again. in fact, just the other day i saw through facebook that a bunch of my "friends" had a reunion in Atlantic City. sigh. i guess no one in that particular group remembered me.

but i am glad that i ran into that guy on the boardwalk. he helped me channel my bitterness about the reunion into gratitude. he reminded me that i will always be a part of a community that has contacts all over the states and abroad.

i think that's pretty damn awesome.

why i love my roommates

i
rachel, donna, andy and i had a board walk a couple weeks ago and i had the urge to ask andy a question. and this question was so important that it could not wait until i finished chewing the giant piece of funnel cake that was chilling in my mouth. so, through a mass of powdered sugar and deep-fried batter, i managed to produce a sound that i could not recreate if i wanted to. and maybe the reason i can't remember the question now is that in my memory of this i can only hear that noise - and it was far from English. but the point is that andy answered without needing a translation.

ii
me: my favorite bug was always the roley-poley-olie.
mike: ah, Armadillidium.

iii
at sushi, after popping the biggest roll i've ever attempted into my mouth, a bit of soy sauce dribbled down my chin, and i was sans napkin. so, in an attempt to not embarass myself again by speaking with a mouth full, i tapped my hand on the table. and lisa longo and mike looked at me like i was a gecko (i was going to say a chimp but then i thought they may have understood a chimp) and they had no idea what i wanted. but luckily, before the sauce found its way to my white shirt, chris moore handed me a napkin and all was right with the world. or at least in Ginza II.

so what's the point of this long-ish entry? i'm just celebrating the idea that i live with three guys who can understand me in ways that not many other people can.

♥

all i gotta say is

mmmm.

Tell me with the rapture and the reverent in the right - right?

you vitriolic, patriotic, slam, fight, bright light, feeling pretty psyched.




i was behind a car this morning that had this bumper sticker right next to the one that, not surprisingly, exclaimed the driver's love for his or her church.

and since i don't really know much about any religions, though i would like to, i was very very confused.

conversation with myself:

-is that some sort of jurassic park reference where raptor is misspelled?
-no, that doesn't make any sense.

-well, what does rapture actually mean?
-this is so embarassing. i am a litt nerd. i should know this.

-i think i've only heard it used to describe pure bliss and ecstasy.
-so in case of really amazing sex, this car will be unmanned?
-that makes sense.
-coming from someone who loves church?
-no i guess that's not right.

so as soon as i got to work i googled. and i found.

wow.

promise

i finished Ondaatje's newest book almost a week ago, and i promise i will put up the most awesome quotations from it as soon as i get home today. look for them on "lines that rock."

yesterday was scary

I
when i drove to work, i had no idea that the sky had made plans to rain. so when i saw the solitary bolt of lightning in the open field behind the employee parking lot, i pretty much wanted to wet my pants.see, lightning doesn't usually scare me. but this time it did because i had no idea why it happened. it was still warm outside and there were barely any clouds in the sky, and it hadn't started raining yet. so the lightning took me by surprise. luckily, i got into work before it started to downpour. and oh, did it rain. it was darker outside at 3:30 in the afternoon than it was when i left at 8 pm.

i've been hating storms recently. because let's face it: your favorite thing in the world to do when a storm happens is to lay (i hope that's right - i could never get the diff between lay and lie without my hacker, and i don't feel like looking) in bed with someone special. and since i don't have that option these days, thunder, lightning, rain, clouds - basically anything that is reminiscent of a storm - makes me feel incredibly lonely.

realizations:

1. i was going to get soaked when i left because i forgot my umbrella in the car
2. i wasn't going to get soaked when i left because the rain had stopped by 8
3. i left my passenger side window open, and now my car is going to smell like ass-rain for three weeks.


II
I also was terrified last night because first, a balloon fell off my wall and made a noise and i thought it was a monster or a ghost, and then someone came into the house at 3 am when everyone was already home and asleep and i convinced myself that it was a robber and if i went to check he was going to shoot me with a gun. but it was just meg.

III
despite all of these fears, one really great thing happened yesterday. i had great conversation with a boy who likes me. and we are going on a date.

so all in all, yesterday was awesome.

it is saturday

and i just wanted to mention that i couldn't be happier to not be opening the store today. my schedule changed to nights which means

a. i was able to stay up late last night playing wii/creating miis for everyone that contributed to the send-ashley-to-france fund and

b. i could sleep in today! of course because of my usual schedule, i was barely able to make it past 9 am, but that is way better than 3:45.

smiles.

because everyone's a little emo sometimes

i opened at Talk of the Walk in the aeropeurto on saturday morning. for anyone who didn't hear me complaining about it already, that means my shift started at 5 am. Not fun. no one even entered the store until 6, and even after that only one person would amble in every half hour, casually browse some overpriced merch, and then leave, sometimes without a salutation.

so i'm sitting in the chair reading Divisadero when an older man comes into the store. i say hello, half-expecting him to ignore me, but he asks me what i'm reading.

diversion: in my personal experience, i have found that there are two types of old men that will talk to a young woman:

1. the loathsome i-know-i'm-older-but-would-you-please-entertain-my-fantasies-and-not-smack-me-when-i-make-a-comment-about-your-breasts-or-ass

2. the grandfather.

(of course, another type of old man is the agist grump, but he doesn't make the list because he won't likely talk to a young woman in the first place.)

digressions aside, the man who asked me what i was reading was definitely the grandfather type. i told him what i was reading, which led us into a discussion about college, which inevitably led the conversation to my future. i told him about France and he was genuinely impressed (which is nice because my maternal grandfather is not the grandfatherly type of old man but the agist grump, and therefore not interested in talking, or congratulating me, about France).

this old man was so nice that when he felt it was time to leave the store, i shook his hand and told him it was my pleasure to meet him. and just so you know, that is a big deal. i work in an airport. i don't shake many hands.

after a few more minutes of reading Ondaatje, the old man re-entered the store to buy gum. when i stood to ring his sale, i noticed that he noticed my shape. it wasn't a creepy ogling, though. more of an acknowledgement of a pretty girl lifting her curves from the chair she was sitting in.

he said, "so you're gonna break your boyfriend's heart when you go to France, aren't you."

i was so flattered i could have cried. instead, i said, "oh, sir. i wish i could say i had someone's heart to break." when he didn't seem to believe i was single, i added, "it seems no one wants to date someone who is leaving in five months."

and here is where i get emo.

i've entered this new phase in my life where i say what i want to say. i've held feelings inside most of my life, and just a few months ago, i decided i wouldn't do that anymore. since then, i've told a few people exactly how i feel about them, and it hasn't changed a damn thing. there is still clearly something about me that halts the men in my life from coming after me, even when i make it clear how i feel. is it France? is it weight? is it intelligence?

i don't know. what i do know is that i have rolled my heart out red-carpet style before the men in my life, and they have all remained indifferent. sometimes i wish that someone would trample it, tell me why i'm not worth love. at least there would be action involved in that.

because everytime someone ignores what i've said, it gets harder to say it next time. and i know that eventually i'm going to shut down.

end emo rant.

Party Recap

so this birthday was one of those birthdays that lasted all week. actual birthday, then birthday dinner on friday with em and mike (at bonefish grill which was, despite my aversion to seafood, incredibly delicious), then most awesome party ever on saturday night! click here for the quick-and-dirty-recap(pun fully intended, rach), or read on for further details.

after a lot of preparation, including the setup of balloons, party food, two life-sized marilyn monroe cutouts, noisemakers, and confetti, my awesome party guests began to arrive.

and i do have the most amazing friends.

in addition to nostalgia bubbles, french kiss liquer that tastes so amazing it doesn't need a chaser, a pink elephant by amanda visell, and one rock ass card about prepositions, i got another very special gift: all of my friends pulled together and started a send-ashley-to-france fund.

and to think last week i had been rambling to donna about how i wasn't sure i was going to be able to make it there if i couldn't afford a plane ticket. well, thanks to some of the most amazing people in the world, i can now afford one-third of a round-trip ticket. and i have full faith that i will be able to come up with the rest of the money.

thanks again, awesome party buds. you don't know how much you are appreciated.

oh, yeah, and the midnight walk on the beach was pretty much one of the best times i've had.

Reason #56 why i love smart boys:
when i asked tim why the moon looked red, he was able to explain the reason to me using science talk. i can't repeat what he said because i was intoxicated. sorry.

Birfday Recap

i didn't really think 22 could be better than 21. i know, i'm prepared to have everyone even a day older than me get upset at this comment, but time is going by too fast and i feel old! i wish that i could have stayed 21 forever. well, not really, but maybe one more year?

anyway, what i was originally getting at is that, even though i was a tad apprehensive about 22, it was quite wonderful!

i got flowers delivered to me at the office for the first time ever,


i got to hang out with my family, including my supermodel neice (look at her pose!)




and my incredibly wired nephew (of whom I will post a pic later because my camera just died),

and when i got back to oc, there were balloons in my bedroom, champagne in the fridge, reubens about to be assembled, Wii to be played, and Paris, Je T'Aime ready to watch.

i don't think this birthday could have been any better.

oh yeah, i almost forgot, i started to learn "Samson" on the keyboard.

May 20th is a special day

not only did these important things happen, but it is also my birffffday!

today my mom told me that i could have anything i wanted for dinner, so i chose
1. shake-n-bake chicken
2. macaroni and cheese
3. corn on the cob

i think she might think i'm mocking her cooking skills.

Sometimes happy to not be in college anymore

No more presentations like this.

Read more hilarity.

i wanted to show everyone this

postsecret from the mother's day collection, but i can't save the picture of it because whenever i run the mouse over, it changes to this image (i assume the flipside of the card):



the side of the card that made me cry, though, reads "my mom found this secret and confronted me. A year later, I can say:" and then there is red marker scrawled over the original postsecret that says "NOT ANYMORE."

The original postcard said, "I wish I could just kill myself and no one would be hurt."

At the very bottom, the author wrote, "(Thanks mom, for saving my life)"

I never doubted my gratitude for postsecret, but some stand out more than others.

i have the best roommates in the whole world

last week, i was really depressed. and i wanted to cry. but i thought that that may not be the best idea, because - in my prior experience - boys are not the most comforting species. here and there, a boy really stands out in his ability to comfort a crying female, but most of the time, he fumbles, not sure where to place his hands or what to say, and if he remembers that tissues may be appreciated, he can't remember where he last put them.

so you can understand my hesitation to cry in front of my roommates - all three of whom are male.

but i was wrong.

mike is incredibly able to talk about things without passing judgement, at least until i am ready to handle it.

andy is always ready with a hug that will last as long as i need it to and a hilarious youtube video.

and chris moore - well, i hadn't ever really exhibited the sad emotion in front of chris moore and i wasn't sure what he would do. so i was happily surprised/relieved when the tears snuck into my eyeballs and he immediately jumped up to play a feel-better song on his itunes: "Bowl Of Oranges" by Bright Eyes.

and this gesture was uniquely chris moore and very comforting.

so last week i learned that i can let the tears flow whenever they want to, because my roomies are exceptional members of the opposite sex.

gotta keyboard

finally! so far i learned how to play such masterpeices as:
1. "strangers in the night"
2. a really scary sounding couple of notes - you know the ones you would hear in a horror movie
3. the sound that plays at the beginning of a baseball game
4. the percussion noise at the beginning of "cell block tango"
5. the bass line of "stand by me"
6. the opening of "lean on me"
7. a few notes of some christmas-y song that Donna knows on autopilot and

(synthesized drumroll please)

8. "consequence of sounds" by Regina in its entirety! please, feel free to applaud me for figurng out the notes by myself. that's right, all nine of them.

ok so i definitely need to learn more about this instrument. maybe i can begin by learning how to read sheet music and which keys are which on the board.

today: piano for dummies, tomorrow: carnegie hall!

public acknowledgements to Rach

for bringing Happiness into my life. Because Donna plagiarized. For shame.

nostalgia

makes
me
happy.

Happy Birthday Mike Mabes

i haven't seen you
in a lot of years,
and i don't know
what you are doing
since we lost touch.
sometimes i worry
because the last time
i talked to you we were
fifteen and you were using
and had just fallen
off a roof and broken
your leg. and you said
you would come to mays
landing and steal me from
my life, but you never did.
and then you disappeared
from AIM. i loved you
in a teen way, but the someone
else lived in jersey, and in high
school virginia seems a world
away. happy twenty second.
i hope you know i wanted you
to steal me.

It's not that I want to have babies

necessarily, but if I were going to have babies, I would want all 86 of them to be from this man:
Then perhaps my babies would be genui like him. And if I am going to have his babies, tonight is my opportunity, because he's reading at the Free Library in Philly. And I am unbelievably stoked because Ondaatje is the author of one of my favorite novels ever, In the Skin of a Lion. Oh please, that doll scene? Heaven. First Lucille, now Ondaatje. France accepted me. Can things get any better?

This weekend

I was in Philadelphia. I was bored and being me, so I decided to start rapping "Ice Ice Baby" to Jason because it was in my head. And I saw a man. He was very tall, very muscled, very tattoed, and he looked like he may have spent some time in prison. My first instinct was to distance myself a little but then I saw the shirt he was wearing:



Then I wanted to hug him.

Dear Lucille Clifton,

Thank you so much for not disappointing. Last night was the first time I saw you in person, and you were incredible. Of course your soft-spoken poetry was fantastic, especially the new ones you wrote about Aunt Jamima and Cream of Wheat.

And when you read "Fury", after you told the story of your mother, it was so beautiful and sad that I cried real tears on my cheeks and hoped Sharon and Chris wouldn't see.

But perhaps more wonderful than your reading was the question and answer section. Because most of the questions were not questions but praise or reminders of familiarity. Like, "Lucille, I wanted to thank you for reading. I didn't know who you were before tonight but my girlfriend made me come and... and...I love you."

Then there was the man a few seats to my left who was more eager to be called on than anyone:

Man: Lucille?
You: Yes.
Man: I baby sat your kids. All six of them. My wife and I (motions to his wife).
You (after a few beats): Beth? Steve- no not Steve. What is your name? I'm so sorry.
Man: Roger.
You: Oh my! Did you know that (insert oldest's name here) is forty-seven years old? And (two more children) have passed.
Man: I know. We were sorry to hear that.
You: How's your brother? (To audience) Oh, excuse us.

I wanted to ask you about the fox that appears in so many of your poems. You write so beautifully of her, and I wanted to know what her inspiration is, and what she means to you, but I didn't have the guts to raise my hand.

Oh, I thought about asking you at the book signing table, but I thought I would rather use my time to have you sign my favorite poem "Song at Midnight" instead. Remember when I told you that that poem speaks to me, and you gave me some very wise words about men? Well, you were so soft-spoken that I didn't hear everything you said, and I figured the fox answer would be lost the same way if I asked it.

I'm sad that I didn't hear all of your advice about men, but if I'd asked you about the foxes and missed your answer, well I don't know if I could handle that.

I hope she reads this one

Song at Midnight
by Lucille Clifton

…do not send me out
among strangers
Sonia Sanchez

brothers,
this big woman
carries much sweetness
in the folds of her flesh.
her hair
is white with wonderful.
she is
rounder than the moon
and far more faithful.
brothers,
who will hold her,
who will find her beautiful
if you do not?

Tonight

I'm going to see Lucille Clifton give a reading in Philly, and I absolutely cannot wait! When I first looked at today's date I was disappointed for two reasons:

1. May 1st means National Poetry Month is no more. I rocked it, though. Thirty poems in my file for the month. Some complete, some completely lacking and undone. I only cheated three times - one haiku, one found poem from Michel Faber's The Courage Consort (how could I not? all the lines were amazing), and one revision from last May. I don't know how I'm going to not write a poem every day.

2. May 1st means today is the anniversary of my brother's death. Which means that my parents are, probably as I write this, visiting his grave. Which also means that, although I wasn't yet a fetus when he died, I still feel mildly guilty for being excited about

a. Lucille Clifton tonight and

b. setting up an appointment to have Mike E Cheese finish my tattoo!

I also cannot wait to see Rachel and Donna tomorrow! It has been far too long and that makes me sad. I know they are small fluctuations but I hope these happy-disappointed-excited-sad mood swings subsist soon. If this turns into all of May, that will not be fun.

happiness

thank
you
donna.

barbiturates and bull

I know it was a long time ago, but when I was in high school I wrote a paper about capital punishment and I chose to argue against its use, and especially the use of lethal injection. My argument throughout the five pages (oh, the good old days) was that the paralytic element of the cocktail makes it impossible to gauge the amount of pain the injected feels, and therefore it is impossible to decide whether lethal injection falls under the category of cruel and unusual punishment.

I'll admit that since high school I have not been keeping incredibly up-to-date with the latest developments in the field. And of course, some of my opinions about capital punishment have changed, but I stick behind what I said, until someone provides me with really tight evidence that contradicts the previous argument.

So when I was reading the news today I stumbled upon this article and it brought me right back to that high school paper. And what I am left with upon reading this article is the feeling that I really have to get my act together. First, I need to conduct some current research about the controversy (since mine is from '04) and once I've done that I need to do some research on the Supreme Court. I was always sort of indifferent to the Supreme Court; for some reason, maybe because I've been trained that they are supremely genious prophets, I remained indifferent to them and their rulings.

But their decision to allow continuation of lethal injection, even after the argument that I summed up before was presented, shocked me. And what surprises me even more is this(from the New York Times article today):

"Lawyers for the prisoners contended that the barbiturate-only method is widely used by veterinarians, who are barred in many states from using the same paralyzing agent employed in executing people. But the court rejected that argument, stating that 'veterinary practice for animals is not an appropriate guide for humane practices for humans.'"

Since when are animal behaviors not indicators for human behavior? What of Pavlov? What of Watson? If the Supreme Court can deny these obvious counterpoints, my faith in them is definitely shaken.

Sundown Towns

So right now I am reading Lies my Teacher Told Me, an account of all the things that history books typically omit or misrepresent, by James Loewen. I'm only on chapter two, "1493," and I feel like I'm already sprouting constant information that I had been mistaught like so many others, like how Betsy Ross never created the American Flag, Woodrow Wilson did a whole lotta shady shit, and Helen Keller was one of the leading women in the socialist revolution.

I was so excited to get into the discussion of Columbus that I did some research on the internet about James Loewen, and what I found, though it had nothing to do with Columbus, intrigued me nonetheless. Most of what I explored on his weblog is dedicated to discussing his new book, Sundown Towns: A Hidden Dimension of American Racism. After 21 years I had never heard of these towns until now! They are areas where blacks were historically kept out with signs like, "Nigger, Don't Let The Sun Go Down On You In ___." And some of these towns still exist today! How is this still going on??

Of course one of the first things I did was check the possible sundown towns of New Jersey, and yup - my hometown is one of them. Although it is defined as "surely not" still a sundown town, it is highly possible that it was at one time. In fact, according to Loewen's preliminary research, a former mayor can remember a time when no African Americans were allowed in the city after sunset, except for the barber.

I no longer live in my hometown, but I think it would be incredibly interesting to conduct more research about this.

I frickin love Yahoo!

because they always put the best news stories on my homepage. I mean, yesterday they kept me up to date with what's going on in France, and today when I go to check my mail, I am affronted by a picture of my favorite animal in the world. If you don't feel like reading the whole article, let me just sum it up: Abu Dhabi has a camel beauty contest. Winner is female hottie camel. Prince of Dubai buys her (along with a couple other non-winner but sexy nonetheless camels) for 4.49 million dollars! he paid 2.72 mill for the female camel alone! imagine. also, i learned from this story that Abu Dhabi is the first emirate of the UAE federation to begin using robot riders instead of child jockeys. robots! well, i guess it helps out the children, huh?

waiting to hear from France

and my nerves are getting more strained with every day that passes. I thought I was going to find out about my acceptance (or non-acceptance) with the teaching program in France in March, but it turns out I have to wait until May. Professeur says that my chances are stellar, but I'm still super-nervous.

Anyway, my top choice was Nice, which is in South France on the border of Italy. The more I research the area the more I hope they station me there. I mean, anywhere in France will be great, but I'm hoping that this is my view for the six months I'm there.

OK, OK I'm probably being naive. It's not like I would be able to afford beachfront property and look at that picturesque view daily, but maybe I'll have something close :)

Enough about me and my dreams. I read in the news today that the Olympic relay in Paris was disrupted by protestors against the Chinese government. What would it be like to witness something like that? And if all this happened because of the torch relay, imagine the possibilities that could go down at the games themselves. It's gonna be quite an August.

A corpse revisited

Here is what my revision looks like. Hoo-rah day 4 NaPoMo.

The poet who kills the poem

stalks it first – hunches down into the drafts
on his desk like a feral cat in grass – waits
with pen in hand to pounce on the assembly
of lines that keep failing to be what he wants.
Then all at once he assails, immerses those frightened
stanzas into the nearby sink, and before they have
the chance to fully drown, he tears them
apart line by line and releases them from his
window. They flutter slowly down the side
of his building and land among other discarded
dreams in a gutter.

An exquisite corpse

is what the Wednesday night workshoppers quickly realized we'd be doing when the only person who had something to workshop was me. (BOOYAH!)

And my corpse turned out like this:

The poet who killed the poem

stalked it first – waited in the bushes
like a feral cat – hungry, cold, waited
until it crossed the line of sight, on instinct
falling amongst dreams into the gutter
like the fat from a George Foreman grill, it congeals into a dirty white pool
and like some distorted phoenix it rises from the puddle
before it had the chance to fully drown.

Thanks Andy Chris Sharon Tim Emari and Mike - I'm sure this one is gonna get me the book deal!

April is National Poetry Month

and I'm trucking away at the poem-a-day challenge. I figure it's go big or go home, so I'm going big with all 30! Which means I need to not blog and get to writing #3.

Poetry: thanks to Michelle Baldwin.