Thursday began with a phone call from UPMC's surgical center verifying that J would be on time for his appointment. UPMC also insisted that J come in for crutch training and subtly implied that the procedure would be postponed until he had the training.
For those wondering how UPMC made three-quarters of a billion dollars in profit last year – this is how. By blackmailing patients into lessons on how to use crutches and sending them home with a glorified ice pack (more on that in a moment).
We left the house early to give us enough time to locate the surgical center and make crutch training. With an hour to spare and the South Hills Village mall mere minutes from UPMC, we stopped at Barnes & Noble to browse through the books. I discovered and recorded new titles from some favorite authors and looked over some of the Portugal guidebooks for a trip next August.
The one thing I did not do was stop and get something to eat. Convinced that I would be able to slip out when J was in crutch training or surgery I made the fatal mistake of passing up the only opportunity I would have all day to get something resembling a meal.
We returned to the center, checked in and headed to the physical therapy unit so J could learn how to use his crutches. In order to save some money I dug up the pair my brother used in high school. After spending almost twenty years in attics the rubber tips were cracked and the padding smelled inexplicably of peanut butter. But they were functional and the correct size. After twenty minutes J had his crutch technique mastered and was ready to be cut open.
And I waited for an opening to slip away and get something to eat. First for the nurses to finish prepping J and take him into surgery, Then for the the surgery to be complete. Then for him to wake up in the recovery room. The opportunity never came. By the time I realized that no meal was forthcoming it was too late to buy a sandwich from the snack bar, as it was closing. My first meal of the day was at 1:30 in the afternoon and consisted of water, a bag or pretzels and a candy bar.
The rest of the day was spent exhausted and half starved. I drove J home and got him settled into bed. I hooked up the glorified ice pack, consisting of a cooler filled with ice water, a filter and a small motor that circulates the iced water through a pad wrapped around his knee. The cooler must be emptied and refilled before the ice melts, every four to six hours. After the third refill and second trip to get ice I realized that several giant bags of frozen vegetables would be less expensive (the contraption cost upwards 150 dollars) and a lot easier, as a thawed bag could be replaced with a frozen one on a rotating basis.
After getting J settled I ran errands. First to the state store for a bottle of rum and bottle of Irish creme. Next was Radio Shack to purchase a power strip so J could plug in his computer and the glorified ice pack without unplugging the clock and the lamp on the nightstand. Finally the grocery store to fill his prescriptions and buy some groceries, including the first of many bags of ice.
I returned home to clean out the cat boxes, fold the laundry, wash the dishes and mop the kitchen floor. I finally got a chance to eat around six, grocery store sushi. The rest of the evening was spent ferrying food, beverages, towels and ice water up and down the stairs and making multiple runs to the gas station for ice. I finally collapsed around one AM, only to wake at four to turn off the cooler before the ice melted away.
Today was more of the same, with a break this afternoon to buy some new towels and t-shirts at the Waterfront. I am dying to try out my new bike, but the heat has been unbearable. It is supposed to break tomorrow, but I will not get an opportunity as J's parents are coming to check on him in the early afternoon and probably will not leave until dark. And Sunday is out since we agreed to watch the first Steeler game of the season at a friend's home.
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Friday, September 07, 2007
Madeleine L'Engle (1918-2007)
One of my all time favorite writers, Madeleine L'Engle, died on Thursday, September 7, 2007.
From A Circle of Quiet:
Then there's a third way: to live as though you believe that the power behind the universe is a power of love, a love so great that all of us really do matter to him. He loves us so much that every single one of our lives has meaning; he really does know about the fall of the sparrow, and the hairs on our head are really counted. That's the only way I can live.
Edited at 10:43 PM to add some links.
Metafilter
New York Times Obituary
From A Circle of Quiet:
Then there's a third way: to live as though you believe that the power behind the universe is a power of love, a love so great that all of us really do matter to him. He loves us so much that every single one of our lives has meaning; he really does know about the fall of the sparrow, and the hairs on our head are really counted. That's the only way I can live.
Edited at 10:43 PM to add some links.
Metafilter
New York Times Obituary
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
A Little from Column A, A Little from Column B, C and D...
J's surgery is in two days and I am grasping at the humor straws to stay calm as his parents continue in their assault to come to Pittsburgh and make a nuisance of themselves on Thursday.
J's parents fall into the category of world's worst hospital visitors. I submit as evidence the incident in which J's older brother shattered his elbow while snowboarding. When J and I arrived at the hospital it was very late and we were told his brother was sleeping after several hours of surgery and a massive dose of painkillers. When we informed his parents that we would come back the next day at an earlier time, they insisted we go in and wake him up.
After some discussion, it was decided that J would respectfully decline his parents offer to be there during his surgery and ask them to come the day after. I was upfront in my objections - they are not very well behaved in hospitals, the surgical center is an outpatient only clinic and not very large and it would create additional stress for me to run interference with the hospital staff while preventing his parents from taking over entirely.
I offered to go to work and let his parents take him instead, which J refused, saying “I want you there with me”. He called and gave them a detailed verbal description of what would happen and followed it up with a detailed email restating the same things he said verbally.
His parents have now come up with a different strategy, calling and offering to help me, which is really J's parent-speak for trying to find a polite way around our prior request to come the day after. I am very aware that they want to be at the surgical center to make themselves feel better, as they have an inherent mistrust of hospitals and become very stressed whenever a family member must be admitted for any reason. But those are precisely the times when they need to put their trust in the spouse of their child, which they are loathe to do.
This all leads me back to frantically trying to find humor in the most awful of things.
Exhibit A: was a brief news report on the discovery of a body split in half and left in multiple garbage bags. The report, in full:
A passer-by made a gruesome discovery in Point Breeze this morning -- a body split into two and left inside plastic bags at Fifth Avenue and Simonton Street.
Police believe the bags had been there for a few days.
Right now, even the gender of the victim is unknown.
The edge of hysteria in the last sentence had me gasping for air for several minutes.
Exhibit B: comes from my parents, on a two week vacation in Branson, MO. They are very excited to have scored tickets to the comedic stylings of Yakov Smirnof. At 9:30 in the morning.
My parents have officially jumped the shark and are no longer cool. Period. And I am a very bad child for making fun of them, but Yakov Smirnof at 9:30 in the morning is too precious to pass up.
Exhibit C: There is no exhibit C. I purchased a bicycle this afternoon, a red Cannondale Comfort Féminine to take on the rails to trails around Pittsburgh, since the rentals were far too heavy for me to continue using.
J's parents fall into the category of world's worst hospital visitors. I submit as evidence the incident in which J's older brother shattered his elbow while snowboarding. When J and I arrived at the hospital it was very late and we were told his brother was sleeping after several hours of surgery and a massive dose of painkillers. When we informed his parents that we would come back the next day at an earlier time, they insisted we go in and wake him up.
After some discussion, it was decided that J would respectfully decline his parents offer to be there during his surgery and ask them to come the day after. I was upfront in my objections - they are not very well behaved in hospitals, the surgical center is an outpatient only clinic and not very large and it would create additional stress for me to run interference with the hospital staff while preventing his parents from taking over entirely.
I offered to go to work and let his parents take him instead, which J refused, saying “I want you there with me”. He called and gave them a detailed verbal description of what would happen and followed it up with a detailed email restating the same things he said verbally.
His parents have now come up with a different strategy, calling and offering to help me, which is really J's parent-speak for trying to find a polite way around our prior request to come the day after. I am very aware that they want to be at the surgical center to make themselves feel better, as they have an inherent mistrust of hospitals and become very stressed whenever a family member must be admitted for any reason. But those are precisely the times when they need to put their trust in the spouse of their child, which they are loathe to do.
This all leads me back to frantically trying to find humor in the most awful of things.
Exhibit A: was a brief news report on the discovery of a body split in half and left in multiple garbage bags. The report, in full:
A passer-by made a gruesome discovery in Point Breeze this morning -- a body split into two and left inside plastic bags at Fifth Avenue and Simonton Street.
Police believe the bags had been there for a few days.
Right now, even the gender of the victim is unknown.
The edge of hysteria in the last sentence had me gasping for air for several minutes.
Exhibit B: comes from my parents, on a two week vacation in Branson, MO. They are very excited to have scored tickets to the comedic stylings of Yakov Smirnof. At 9:30 in the morning.
My parents have officially jumped the shark and are no longer cool. Period. And I am a very bad child for making fun of them, but Yakov Smirnof at 9:30 in the morning is too precious to pass up.
Exhibit C: There is no exhibit C. I purchased a bicycle this afternoon, a red Cannondale Comfort Féminine to take on the rails to trails around Pittsburgh, since the rentals were far too heavy for me to continue using.
Monday, August 27, 2007
What are You Doing New Year's Day?
I will be in Buffalo, New York watching the Penguins/Sabres game.
At Ralph Wilson Stadium.
Outside.
In Buffalo.
On New Year's Day.
Which means instead of our annual New Year's Eve dinner, a group of us will be piling into a car to drive to Buffalo. One of our friends already booked two rooms at a nearby hotel.
At Ralph Wilson Stadium.
Outside.
In Buffalo.
On New Year's Day.
Which means instead of our annual New Year's Eve dinner, a group of us will be piling into a car to drive to Buffalo. One of our friends already booked two rooms at a nearby hotel.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Little League
With summer winding down, J and I headed to Williamsport, PA to visit my brother and sister-in-law and watch the International and USA finals of the Little League World Series.
I honestly can not remember the last time I had that much fun at a baseball game. Since tickets to the stands are difficult to obtain, we staked out a shady spot above the field and watched four teams of twelve year old boys play in 93 degree heat with amazing poise and discipline. At one point it felt as if I had entered a time warp, listening to to the crack of ball upon bat while watching young children slide down the hill on cardboard and adults try to create a breeze with old-fashioned paper fans.
We were also initiated into some of the LLWS traditions, such as the tradition of very grown men* buying and swapping dozens of Little League baseball pins from all over the world. Such men carry their bounty in cloth books.
*In his fifties, at least. He had statistics on all the teams and was predicting where some of the players would go to play college ball. Did I mention that these players were twelve year old boys?
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
On the Lighter Side
J has been having trouble with his knee for the past several weeks and saw the doctor yesterday to get the results of his MRI. The news was not very good, a compound tear of the meniscus requiring surgery to cut out the damaged cartilage. I sigh and wave the hopes of a fall weekend get-away goodbye.
The surgery is being performed through UPMC Sports Medicine and the center is sending J a packet of information. Along with an order for a blood draw and standard release forms is contact information for crutch training.
Hee.
The surgery is being performed through UPMC Sports Medicine and the center is sending J a packet of information. Along with an order for a blood draw and standard release forms is contact information for crutch training.
Hee.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Still have nothing...
There is a lot happening. Just not to me, personally.
So have another photograph.
So have another photograph.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
I've...
got nothing right now. Really. There is not a whole lot going on in my corner of the universe since I purged myself of ill will towards my fellow co-workers.
So have a photograph...
Did you know that there are people who give tango lessons on the Quai Saint Bernard?
So have a photograph...
Did you know that there are people who give tango lessons on the Quai Saint Bernard?
Monday, August 06, 2007
Someone Stop Me...
... from wrapping my weak, crooked little fingers around a co-worker's neck and marshaling supernatural strength to throttle my victim into submission.
I am not the most patient person in the universe, but over the years I have managed to develop a touch of self control whilst earning the paycheck that keeps the three felines in kibble and the two humans of the household in fun money. Since my return from vacation, the absolute insanity and sheer incompetence of some of my co-workers has sent me into a silent, sulking fury.
Where to begin? With the aforementioned co-worker who failed to lock up prototypes over the weekend? This same employee, who can not be bothered to spend 10 minutes looking up whether the lab possesses a piece of software and wastes half a day downloading it? Who, when asked to remove the battery from a laptop to verify the model, also unplugs the power supply, thus losing several hours of work? That lunch occasionally includes a stop in one of the nearby bars?
Or should I move onto the two co-workers who are having a close friendship and have somehow managed to convince themselves that no one notices how friendly they are to each other. No, no one notices when they arrive and leave at the same time, every day. No one notices when I ask worker A if vacation includes visiting relatives in a distance place and worker B (whose vacation overlaps worker A's time off) mentions that a few days was spent in that same place. No one notices that worker B has repeatedly slipped and and said “we” in reference to various extracurricular and life activities. Some days, after watching them, I have to slip off to the restroom and make sure that invisible gremlins did not tattoo S.T.U.P.I.D on my forehead.
So far the 1000+ meters I have been swimming after work has done very little to reduce my impatience with the very small numbers of humanity I have to interact with every day. And drowning my sorrows in tequila is not the most constructive use of my time.
Some days I think I have been transported into Peyton Place.
I am not the most patient person in the universe, but over the years I have managed to develop a touch of self control whilst earning the paycheck that keeps the three felines in kibble and the two humans of the household in fun money. Since my return from vacation, the absolute insanity and sheer incompetence of some of my co-workers has sent me into a silent, sulking fury.
Where to begin? With the aforementioned co-worker who failed to lock up prototypes over the weekend? This same employee, who can not be bothered to spend 10 minutes looking up whether the lab possesses a piece of software and wastes half a day downloading it? Who, when asked to remove the battery from a laptop to verify the model, also unplugs the power supply, thus losing several hours of work? That lunch occasionally includes a stop in one of the nearby bars?
Or should I move onto the two co-workers who are having a close friendship and have somehow managed to convince themselves that no one notices how friendly they are to each other. No, no one notices when they arrive and leave at the same time, every day. No one notices when I ask worker A if vacation includes visiting relatives in a distance place and worker B (whose vacation overlaps worker A's time off) mentions that a few days was spent in that same place. No one notices that worker B has repeatedly slipped and and said “we” in reference to various extracurricular and life activities. Some days, after watching them, I have to slip off to the restroom and make sure that invisible gremlins did not tattoo S.T.U.P.I.D on my forehead.
So far the 1000+ meters I have been swimming after work has done very little to reduce my impatience with the very small numbers of humanity I have to interact with every day. And drowning my sorrows in tequila is not the most constructive use of my time.
Some days I think I have been transported into Peyton Place.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Paris When It Drizzles - Part III
The Soul of a City
I am a true believer in public art, of paintings and funky installations. A city that does not encourage art is a city without a soul. In the city of Pittsburgh, public art is found in installations on empty* city lots, the Sprout Fund murals and in the inspiration of local residents. They are beautiful displays that attempt to capture the essence of a neighborhood and reflect the soul the city.
To see this kind of art in Paris, one must look up and past the grand buildings, magnificent fountains and venerated statues. One must wander the side streets of seedy and shady neighborhoods, peer into fountains and look down at the sidewalk once in a while. The payoff is discovering that this staid city has an incredible sense of whimsy. You only have to take a moment to look for it.
*Select "Magnolias for Pittsburgh" from the drop down menu.
Bastille - Bird Graffiti
Bastille - Cat
Bastille - Face
Bastille - Fish
Bastille - Runner
Bastille - Village Mural
Latin Quarter - Dancers
Latin Quarter - Zebras
Les Halles - Man & Zebra
Les Halles - Giraffe
Les Halles - Funky Mural
Saint Germain des Pres - Mural
Marais - Mosaic Cow
Gare de Lyon (Bastille) - Boats
I am a true believer in public art, of paintings and funky installations. A city that does not encourage art is a city without a soul. In the city of Pittsburgh, public art is found in installations on empty* city lots, the Sprout Fund murals and in the inspiration of local residents. They are beautiful displays that attempt to capture the essence of a neighborhood and reflect the soul the city.
To see this kind of art in Paris, one must look up and past the grand buildings, magnificent fountains and venerated statues. One must wander the side streets of seedy and shady neighborhoods, peer into fountains and look down at the sidewalk once in a while. The payoff is discovering that this staid city has an incredible sense of whimsy. You only have to take a moment to look for it.
*Select "Magnolias for Pittsburgh" from the drop down menu.
Bastille - Bird Graffiti
Bastille - Cat
Bastille - Face
Bastille - Fish
Bastille - Runner
Bastille - Village Mural
Latin Quarter - Dancers
Latin Quarter - Zebras
Les Halles - Man & Zebra
Les Halles - Giraffe
Les Halles - Funky Mural
Saint Germain des Pres - Mural
Marais - Mosaic Cow
Gare de Lyon (Bastille) - Boats
Monday, July 30, 2007
Paris When It Drizzles - Part II
One of the advantages to the apartment I rented was it's close proximity to Père Lachaise Cemetery. Since I missed the cemetery on my first two visits to the city, I thought it only appropriate to take a walk through the grounds on this visit.
On the way I spotted the most interesting totems.
In Père Lachaise I stopped to say hello to a favorite author.
I skipped the museums to explore some of the remaining covered arcades, with their glass roofs, tiled floors and old wooden storefronts. I was stunned to discover one between Saint Germain des Prés, so much so that I forgot to take photographs.
On the way I spotted the most interesting totems.
In Père Lachaise I stopped to say hello to a favorite author.
I skipped the museums to explore some of the remaining covered arcades, with their glass roofs, tiled floors and old wooden storefronts. I was stunned to discover one between Saint Germain des Prés, so much so that I forgot to take photographs.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Paris When It Drizzles - Part I
In contrast to last year's heat wave was this year's cold front. It rained. Almost every day. For twelve straight days. I had two days of complete sun and temperate warmth. I spent the rest of the time trekking around the city in one of three increasingly dirty, long sleeved t-shirts, combing through the sales at the various Gap locations searching for clean long sleeved t-shirts to keep me warm.
Even in the rain Paris is lovely beautiful for walking, bare of head and sans umbrella. I once again skipped visiting the packed museums for the Seine, the parks and the city streets. I missed out on visiting Giverny (again) due to the weather and discovered that two weeks is a week too long to be away from J.
The first round of photographs.
Flowers in the Place de la Nation.
The steps in front of Sacré Cœur.
A memento in Montmartre Cemetery.
Bicycles in a covered arcade.
Even in the rain Paris is lovely beautiful for walking, bare of head and sans umbrella. I once again skipped visiting the packed museums for the Seine, the parks and the city streets. I missed out on visiting Giverny (again) due to the weather and discovered that two weeks is a week too long to be away from J.
The first round of photographs.
Flowers in the Place de la Nation.
The steps in front of Sacré Cœur.
A memento in Montmartre Cemetery.
Bicycles in a covered arcade.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Hockey News - With Lots of Wikipedia Links
The rest of my Paris trip will be updated this weekend.
Former Penguin's player Tomas Surovy returns to the United States and signs with the Phoenix Coyotes.
Jordan Staal gets arrested while attending older brother Eric's bachelor party. Please read it, as it involved no less than three branches of law enforcement, threats of deportation and two of the prettiest mug shots ever. The comments are also priceless.
Yes, he did break the law. And like hundreds of other underage kids (18 years old, remember) he got caught. Drinking. Not rape, murder, drugs, doping, fixing NBA games or participating in dog fighting. Drinking while underage.
Mike Lange signs for another year of Penguins radio broadcasts. Phil Bourque also returns. Let us hope that over the summer Bourque learned how to add while intoxicated.
The 2007/2008 Penguins giveaway schedule includes four bobbleheads (Crosby, Malkin, Staal and Recchi), a Commemorative Captain's C and other miscellaneous items, including a Penguins Mr. Potato Head.
I want the Penguins Mr. Potato Head. Alas, it is only for fans 14 and younger so I am soliciting suggestions on how to scam one out of the organization.
Former Penguin's player Tomas Surovy returns to the United States and signs with the Phoenix Coyotes.
Jordan Staal gets arrested while attending older brother Eric's bachelor party. Please read it, as it involved no less than three branches of law enforcement, threats of deportation and two of the prettiest mug shots ever. The comments are also priceless.
Yes, he did break the law. And like hundreds of other underage kids (18 years old, remember) he got caught. Drinking. Not rape, murder, drugs, doping, fixing NBA games or participating in dog fighting. Drinking while underage.
Mike Lange signs for another year of Penguins radio broadcasts. Phil Bourque also returns. Let us hope that over the summer Bourque learned how to add while intoxicated.
The 2007/2008 Penguins giveaway schedule includes four bobbleheads (Crosby, Malkin, Staal and Recchi), a Commemorative Captain's C and other miscellaneous items, including a Penguins Mr. Potato Head.
I want the Penguins Mr. Potato Head. Alas, it is only for fans 14 and younger so I am soliciting suggestions on how to scam one out of the organization.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
And I'm Back...
... have finished the final Harry Potter (Jay - your thoughts?) and fully caught up on my sleep.
This entry will be brief as the first episode of the Spike Television series Kill Point is airing at 9pm tonight. Stop laughing. It was filmed in Pittsburgh. For three weeks I had to do battle with camera crews who set up filming in front of and around my office building.
I want to say that the travel gods were unkind (surprise!) as my July 1, 6:10pm flight from Newark did not leave until well after midnight of July 2.
However, since the reason my flight did not take off until after midnight was because the auxiliary cabin engine, the one that runs the lights, circulates the air and allows passengers to flush the toilets, died as the plane was leaving the gate. After 45 long minutes of sitting in the dark as the pilot struggled to coax the engine back to life, the plane was towed back to the gate.
Because of the nature of modern air travel, a spare engine was not readily available and had to be flown into Newark. We were allowed off the plane and I indulged myself by buying a burger and fries from McDonald's. I wandered the halls. I loaned my pen to a fellow passenger so she could take some notes. I called J to update him on my latest travel obstacle. I wandered the halls some more. I considered calling around to nearby hotels for reservations.
Sometime after 11pm, long after the other two Continental flights to Paris took off, we were loaded back onto the plane. For once we did not have to wait an obscene length of time in line to take off. The crew served drinks, dinner and more drinks. By the time the plane landed everyone was exhausted.
And it was raining. Which it continued to do for 12 out of 14 days.
A view from my apartment window:
A neighbor's cats:
Place de la Nation:
This entry will be brief as the first episode of the Spike Television series Kill Point is airing at 9pm tonight. Stop laughing. It was filmed in Pittsburgh. For three weeks I had to do battle with camera crews who set up filming in front of and around my office building.
I want to say that the travel gods were unkind (surprise!) as my July 1, 6:10pm flight from Newark did not leave until well after midnight of July 2.
However, since the reason my flight did not take off until after midnight was because the auxiliary cabin engine, the one that runs the lights, circulates the air and allows passengers to flush the toilets, died as the plane was leaving the gate. After 45 long minutes of sitting in the dark as the pilot struggled to coax the engine back to life, the plane was towed back to the gate.
Because of the nature of modern air travel, a spare engine was not readily available and had to be flown into Newark. We were allowed off the plane and I indulged myself by buying a burger and fries from McDonald's. I wandered the halls. I loaned my pen to a fellow passenger so she could take some notes. I called J to update him on my latest travel obstacle. I wandered the halls some more. I considered calling around to nearby hotels for reservations.
Sometime after 11pm, long after the other two Continental flights to Paris took off, we were loaded back onto the plane. For once we did not have to wait an obscene length of time in line to take off. The crew served drinks, dinner and more drinks. By the time the plane landed everyone was exhausted.
And it was raining. Which it continued to do for 12 out of 14 days.
A view from my apartment window:
A neighbor's cats:
Place de la Nation:
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Jet Lagged
I have returned and I will be writing about my most recent adventures once my entire being (physical and mental) is back in the same time zone. Right now I'm here by my internal clock is still six hours ahead.
For now, a photo for you...
Yes, I know the photo is sideways. I don't care.
Now that I am fully awake, I've fixed the photo.
For now, a photo for you...
Yes, I know the photo is sideways. I don't care.Now that I am fully awake, I've fixed the photo.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Off...
To Paris in a few hours. Packed and ready to go. Have spent a portion of last evening and this morning playing the odds on "what will get through security" game, since I wear contacts and it is necessary to carry both saline and lens cleaner in my carry-on bag.
I'm looking forward to trying out my new camera lens and macro filters in-between raindrops this week. Purchasing the lens was entertainment in and of itself, as there is only 1 camera store in Pittsburgh that will 1. Stock the merchandise and 2. Allow you to experiment with said merchandise before buying. The owner and I got into a game of one-upmanship when I told him where I was traveling. I won when I mentioned that Jonathan Demme remade Charade and used most of settings from the original movie. He promised to add the film to his Netflix queue.
Back on July 15. Safe journeys to everyone.
I'm looking forward to trying out my new camera lens and macro filters in-between raindrops this week. Purchasing the lens was entertainment in and of itself, as there is only 1 camera store in Pittsburgh that will 1. Stock the merchandise and 2. Allow you to experiment with said merchandise before buying. The owner and I got into a game of one-upmanship when I told him where I was traveling. I won when I mentioned that Jonathan Demme remade Charade and used most of settings from the original movie. He promised to add the film to his Netflix queue.
Back on July 15. Safe journeys to everyone.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Tagged Again - Seven Things
Warning! Entries to continue to be spotty throughout the summer months as J and I attended to summer.
My new (to me) favorite band right now has to be Moxy Fruvous. How can one not love a band who sings a song called "My Baby Loves a Bunch of Authors"?
I'm also curious as to how I missed them before, as they are most distinctly Canadian.
Foilwoman tagged me with a Seven Things About me That Might Surprise You / Miscellaneous Meme. I'm not tagging anyone. Everyone should be out enjoying this glorious summer.
Seven Things About Me That Might Surprise You.
Velverse (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia)
LB (San Giovanni in Marignano, Italy)
Selba (Jakarta, Indonesia)
Olivia(London, England)
ML (Utah, USA)
Lotus (Toronto, Canada)
Tanabata (Saitama, Japan)
Andi (Dallas [ish], Texas, United States)
Todd (Louisville, Kentucky, United States)
Miss Kendra (los angeles, california, u.s.a)
Jiggs Casey (Berkeley, CA, USA! USA! USA!)
Tits McGee (New England, USA)
Kat (Ontario, Canada)
Badgerdaddy (Ludlow, Shropshire, England)
Dandelion (England, Great Britain)
All Cobblers (The Sticks, England)
Foilwoman's Diary (Somewhere near Washington, DC, USA) -- your resident sort-of-superheroine.
Belletristic Cat (Pittsburgh, PA)
My new (to me) favorite band right now has to be Moxy Fruvous. How can one not love a band who sings a song called "My Baby Loves a Bunch of Authors"?
I'm also curious as to how I missed them before, as they are most distinctly Canadian.
Foilwoman tagged me with a Seven Things About me That Might Surprise You / Miscellaneous Meme. I'm not tagging anyone. Everyone should be out enjoying this glorious summer.
Seven Things About Me That Might Surprise You.
- Although I get up quite early, but I am absolutely the furthest from a morning person you will ever meet.
- My favorite food is day-old cold fried chicken, straight from the refrigerator.
- It took me almost ten years to learn how to cook rice properly.
- Up until the age of 22, I hated cats.
- I have a fraternal twin brother.
- I'm afraid of heights when I have to cross over very tall bridges. But only if I am in a car.
- I like Mad Magazine.
- Mallorca.
- Morton's.
- Pamela's.
- Fatheads
- Crazy Mocha
Velverse (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia)
LB (San Giovanni in Marignano, Italy)
Selba (Jakarta, Indonesia)
Olivia(London, England)
ML (Utah, USA)
Lotus (Toronto, Canada)
Tanabata (Saitama, Japan)
Andi (Dallas [ish], Texas, United States)
Todd (Louisville, Kentucky, United States)
Miss Kendra (los angeles, california, u.s.a)
Jiggs Casey (Berkeley, CA, USA! USA! USA!)
Tits McGee (New England, USA)
Kat (Ontario, Canada)
Badgerdaddy (Ludlow, Shropshire, England)
Dandelion (England, Great Britain)
All Cobblers (The Sticks, England)
Foilwoman's Diary (Somewhere near Washington, DC, USA) -- your resident sort-of-superheroine.
Belletristic Cat (Pittsburgh, PA)
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Updates
Wigford (the Afraid) has fallen asleep on his back in the middle of the upstairs hall. Even though I am only a husband away from turning into a crazy cat lady, it is pretty damn cute to see him snoozing with his paws in the air.
J and I spent most of last weekend in dress clothes. We kicked it off with a night game at PNC Park, with drinks beforehand at a nearby bar. I was NOT happy with the uniforms of the staff, as the women were required to wear tight, strappy tank tops and short skirts or shorts while the men were dressed in blue oxford button-down shirts, ties and khaki shorts or pants. What if one of the male employees wanted to wear a tight strappy tank top?
Saturday J and I drove to DuBois for the wedding of a close friend's younger brother. Our invitation was extended via telephone a week before the ceremony, when the couple learned they had space on the guest list. Both of us were delighted by the last minute invite, but a little disappointed that we were not going to be able to execute our original plan to attend the ceremony* and crash the reception after the meal had been served.
Sunday I dressed up again to attend a most proper bridal shower, at the proper time of 1:00 pm with iced tea and a perfectly proper meal. All of which was enough to make the K, the honoree, silently gag. K's preferred venue (and mine) was someplace that served wings and beer.
One guess where J was while I was trying keep the red sauce from the bow-tie pasta off my shirt...
At the conclusion of the shower the guests, bridesmaids and parents scattered, leaving K with scant assistance in carrying the gifts down JW's car. The four of us loaded JW's car with most of the gifts. While K went to the bar to order each of us a shot of tequila, I dashed to the car to put my order of Dino's wings in the backseat.
And K made me an honorary bridesmaid. Which is the best kind to be as I don't have to wear a special dress, am not required to be in any photographs and can help or not help in any way I so choose.
This weekend includes the Three Rivers Arts Festival, the Cowboy Junkies (if the predicted thunderstorms hold off) and my younger brother's birthday dinner in State College.
Betty and JD, I am working on your questions. Please be patient.
*Traditionally, Catholic weddings are open ceremonies and the public can not be barred from attending.
J and I spent most of last weekend in dress clothes. We kicked it off with a night game at PNC Park, with drinks beforehand at a nearby bar. I was NOT happy with the uniforms of the staff, as the women were required to wear tight, strappy tank tops and short skirts or shorts while the men were dressed in blue oxford button-down shirts, ties and khaki shorts or pants. What if one of the male employees wanted to wear a tight strappy tank top?
Saturday J and I drove to DuBois for the wedding of a close friend's younger brother. Our invitation was extended via telephone a week before the ceremony, when the couple learned they had space on the guest list. Both of us were delighted by the last minute invite, but a little disappointed that we were not going to be able to execute our original plan to attend the ceremony* and crash the reception after the meal had been served.
Sunday I dressed up again to attend a most proper bridal shower, at the proper time of 1:00 pm with iced tea and a perfectly proper meal. All of which was enough to make the K, the honoree, silently gag. K's preferred venue (and mine) was someplace that served wings and beer.
One guess where J was while I was trying keep the red sauce from the bow-tie pasta off my shirt...
At the conclusion of the shower the guests, bridesmaids and parents scattered, leaving K with scant assistance in carrying the gifts down JW's car. The four of us loaded JW's car with most of the gifts. While K went to the bar to order each of us a shot of tequila, I dashed to the car to put my order of Dino's wings in the backseat.
And K made me an honorary bridesmaid. Which is the best kind to be as I don't have to wear a special dress, am not required to be in any photographs and can help or not help in any way I so choose.
This weekend includes the Three Rivers Arts Festival, the Cowboy Junkies (if the predicted thunderstorms hold off) and my younger brother's birthday dinner in State College.
Betty and JD, I am working on your questions. Please be patient.
*Traditionally, Catholic weddings are open ceremonies and the public can not be barred from attending.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Lisa's Five Questionstions
Lisa at A Clear View to a New Life offered to ask anyone five questions after answering five of her own, and was gracious enough to ask me five well crafted, crafty questions.
1. You mentioned you are on the verge of converting to being a Cubs fan. What will it take to push you over the edge? Just kidding! J Here is my actual question: Jenn, you are nothing if not a lover of books. What do you see as the qualities necessary for a truly great book and what book is, in your view, the greatest you have ever read?
A. To push me into being a Cubs fan? A day game at Wrigley Field. If you have an “in” on tickets I would love to hear about it because I have exhausted my (frankly
limited) resources.
B. You would think that seven years of studying literature and hundreds of books would give me an answer to your question. I've read so many really great books that it is difficult to choose just one as the greatest.
In my opinion, truly great books have an extraordinary narrative voice. A voice that holds a reader enthralled, and pushes him/her to keep reading, even if the subject matter is difficult, the phrasing dense, the emotional impact more then a person can normally bear. A truly great book stays with a person for days, weeks, months, even years after finishing it and it only needs to be read once.
The greatest book I ever read to date was Gabriel García Márquez's novella Chronicle of a Death Foretold. For the skill of the author to depict multiple and conflicting voices and versions of an event through a single narrator, for its ability to hold my attention long enough to finish it in one sitting and for the fact that I still remember the plot twelve years after reading it.
2. Turning to your actual life, if I had never met you before and knew nothing about you, what one story from your life would you tell me to give me an idea of the kind of person you are and the life you have lived?
I am going to cheat a little bit and retell a story that no one read the first time around. However, I will not link back to the original post.
My sophomore year of college I had to file an assault complaint against one of my professors, a teacher who was absolutely brilliant in the classroom and a social retard outside of it.
Winter semester I was broke and buying books for my elective classes on a “as need” basis. When I discovered that the bookstore had sent back the final book, I walked over to Professor's X's office to tell him, as I knew no one in the class had the book.
When I told Professor X the book had been sent back, he began raising his voice. I backed up to put some space between the two of us and found myself against a wall, with his hands grabbing the sides of my unzipped jacket, his face looming into mine. I was petrified.
He let go of me when a colleague stepped out of a nearby office to see what was happening. I collected my wits and left the building as soon as I was able and returned to my apartment, where I recounted the incident for my roommates and asked them what they thought I should do about it.
My roommates proceeded to tell me that I should just let it go, it was not a big deal. Everyone knew that professor was a little bit eccentric.
Frustrated, I left the apartment again to take a walk around the campus. I was visibly upset when I ran into a friend who was an RA on campus. He noticed how agitated I was and convinced me to to report the incident.
The next week was a nightmare as I was sent up the chain of command. First to the RD, who was sympathetic and reassuring. Next came the Director of Housing, a sleazy, mean man who implied that I was lying to get attention and tried to twist my words. Third was the Dean of Students who asked if I had been sexually harassed and refused to let it go. Finally the Academic Dean, who was also under the impression that I had been sexually harassed.
I found this to be the most baffling part of the entire ordeal, the school administration's attempt to label the incident as sexual harassment. There was nothing sexual about what happened in the hallway. It was stupid and inappropriate, but not all sexual. Professor X would have acted the same way if it had been a male student. Because he was socially retarded.
What the administration found baffling was my refusal to drop his class. When offered the option of taking my current grade and not returning to his classroom, I refused under the grounds I had not done anything wrong. I had to finish out the class. I had to show him that I was not afraid. I had to hold him responsible for his actions.
In the end I got what I wanted, which was the opportunity to finish the class and a written apology. I also got an A. In case you think that my grade was inflated, think again. This incident took place three weeks before the end of the semester, when I still had one paper and one exam left. At my request, Professor X was not informed of my complaint until after the final grades were turned into the registrar's office.
3. Your musical favorites, as listed in your “about me” page of your blog, are quite interesting. Please give a brief narrative of your life in terms of which artist and/or song represents each phase.
The first thing you need to understand is that my musical tastes are about 10 years of out of sync with the rest of the universe. Because that is what happens when you grow up in a very small town removed from anything resembling a decent radio station.
The second thing you need to know that the biggest influence on my musical taste is my dad. Because of him I am drawn to the folk/rock/country fusion that defines most of the artists in my list.
Childhood: is full of Willie Nelson, with a sampling of show tunes thrown in for a little variety. My father was (and is) a big fan of both. One of my clearest memories of my childhood is listening to Topol sing while my dad whistled and cooked his favorite southwestern foods – chili and tacos. Willie Nelson was the music of long car rides and lazy afternoons. He was my first introduction to folk music and my first exposure to the idea that a musician could be an activist for change. It also left me with an excellent recall of show tuns, to J's annoyance when we went to a community theater performance of the King and I and I knew the words to most of the songs and sang along.
Adolescence: is a combination of Bob Dylan and Chris Whitley. As I have alluded to before, my middle and high school years were incredibly difficult. Both musicians reflected the extreme isolation and angst I felt during that period of time. Listening to Dylan and Whitley (“Poison Girl” got a lot of play during this time) made me feel like I was rebelling against something. That something being my classmates.
College / Graduate School: I bypass grunge and listen to Blue Rodeo and the Indigo Girls instead. One of the really great things about the college I attended was its proximity to the Canadian border and access to music other than the big hair heavy metal. The Indigo Girls are the first concert I attend by myself.
Loss of first love before starting graduate school and lots of Sarah McLachlan and the Indigo Girls “Mystery” to ease the pain of the breakup and dating again. Joan Osborne makes into the CD player and one boyfriend from a mercifully brief relationship takes the lyrics to “Right Hand Man” a little too personally. More Sarah McLachlan with the loss of a second love, especially “Fumbling Towards Ecstasy” (for the irony) and “I Will Remember You”.
Post Graduate into Marriage: We dance to McLachlan's cover of “Song for a Winter's Night” at our wedding. Years pass, I don't really listen to anything new, I stay with my favorite singers and songs. Edwin McCain sneaks in. I fall in lust with his “Ghosts of Jackson Square”.
Then I become sick. Debilitating headaches, job in jeopardy, have to be tested for cancer. During this time the Bee Gees, Abba and Counting Crows make into into heavy rotation. Mostly happy music, listening to it keeps me sane when the whole world feels like it is falling apart around me.
These days I listen to a lot of Cardigans, Talking Heads, the Pogues and Kristy MacColl. I'm not sure yet what these musicians say about this stage of my life. Ask me again in ten years.
4. About writing: have you made any progress on the novel that involves a sport about which you do not (did not) know much? Tell me about your writing process—how does it work? Do you have to be in the mood to write? In what setting do you write most prolifically? When are you most pleased by your writing?
To answer your first question, no. I put the novel aside when my father became ill and never picked it back up.
My writing process begins with reading, sometimes something relevant to what I want to write about, sometimes just something fun. Reading is actually my preferred form of procrastination, a device I used from high school through college and graduate school to avoid reading and writing about the assigned material. As I was an English major, my roommates and some classmates always found it puzzling that I could have several books going at once and only half of them were about the assigned material. I think I was a better student for using that method, as I was always stumbling across ideas or concepts that I could apply to what I was learning in my classes.
The next step in my process is thinking. A lot of what ends up on paper has been worked over in my head as I go about my daily life, sometimes for a few hours, sometimes for several days. If you ever wondered why I seemed a little out of touch with current events the answer is... I'm not. I am (usually) as up-to-date as the next person, but if it is something I want to write about I need time to process the information. The upside is that when I do sit down to write, I usually have a fair amount of the work done already. The downside is that I sometimes forget to write down key sentences or thoughts and can find myself staring into space for inspiration.
Sometimes I do have to be in the mood to write, but I think the more important thing is to identify the tools that put one in the mood and use them to push thoughts onto paper. I am most prolific and in the mood when I feel comfortable. For me this means easy access to tea and snacks, a comfortable chair and something to offer a distraction when I need to stop for a moment. My current favorite places to write are my study, Crazy Mocha (my favorite Pittsburgh coffee shop) and the main branch of the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh.
I am most pleased by my writing when I am able to walk away for several days, come back to it and be able to say to myself “This is still good”.
5. I just saw this story on your blog:
My Christmas Memory
Christmas of 1996 I was a poor graduate student with a full time job, living in Greensboro NC. I was also very alone, as my family was in PA and most of my friends were heading back to their own families for the holiday.
It was my first Christmas away from home. I could not afford a plane ticket and did not have the time, because of my work schedule, to drive.
Until my ex-boyfriend, who I followed to North Carolina, called to ask if I wanted a ride as far as Latrobe. And one of my co-workers offered to switch vacation days so I could take the ride.
So Christmas Eve found me wrapped in a blanket, sitting in the passenger seat of the ex's Miata with the top down, driving through the mountains of West Virginia. The sky was clear, the stars bright and the radio was playing Elvis' Blue Christmas. It was a perfect moment.
My brother picked me up in Latrobe and drove me home, where I surprised my parents by walking through their bedroom door at 2 am.
Four years later, on a clear, cold, starry, January evening, I married the ex-boyfriend.
Could you please bridge the gap and let us know what exactly transpired between hitching a Christmas ride with the ex-boyfriend and marrying the ex-boyfriend?
The short answer: I fell in love with someone else, it did not work out and I still loved the ex-boyfriend (now husband). But the short answer makes J sound like a consolation prize, which he is not.
J and I were good friends from the moment we met, at a post Thanksgiving party almost 13 years ago. J was the roommate of a childhood friend. Shortly before the arrival of “the girls” (including myself) my twin brother offered me up as bait to keep J from approaching one of the other women my brother had expressed an interest in. My brother, ever loyal, reassured J that I was cute, a comment J echoed back to my brother when we met for the first time. Shortly after meeting him I fell in love for the first time.
Forward six months as we graduate and prepare to move to North Carolina, J to Charlotte for work, myself to Greensboro for graduate school. I come down for a week to search for an apartment and (maybe) see J for a little while and return home with an apartment and part-time job and without a boyfriend. J, concerned that our relationship is moving too fast, breaks up with me.
In most relationships, this would be the end. But while the breakup was painful, it was not ugly or mean. (OK, not completely mean. I did yell a few choice words. You will have to trust that he deserved them.) A few months after the breakup I call him with a computer problem. He helps me and we talk briefly.
First there are brief, infrequent phone calls. After a while we become the friends we always were and begin talking more often and spending time together. After he takes me home at Christmas we take other trips together – to the Outer Banks, to the mountains, to visit his friends in Tennessee. All that time both of us are dating other people.
Then I fall in love again, with someone else. We spend less time together, but still talk on a regular basis. During one phone call J comments on how happy I sound. He tells me that he is happy for me. He tells me that he is a little bit jealous.
The relationship does not work out. The ending is sad because the timing is wrong, the guy does not love me, or love me enough or know that I love him. None of the reasons matter, as it would not have changed the ending. I spend some time alone and I think.
J and I continue hanging out. One day he says he loves me, but he is still not sure. And I still love him, but I want a commitment. Not necessarily marriage, just the knowledge that he is in it for the long term. One night I go out with my brother and the childhood friend, get drunk and spill my thoughts. That I love him but I can't be in it halfway anymore. He has to commit or I am letting him go and moving on with my life. I even have a deadline. I don't tell J any of this because I don't want to pressure him. I want him to decide on his own.
However, one or both of them tells J about the conversation. Since I am not a witness to that part of the story, I cannot tell you if it was a “quit jerking her around” a “dude, she is totally trying to manipulate you” or a “you know, she really does love you, but she will not wait for ever” type of conversation.
J decides to commit. My gift that Christmas are two rings to wear on the ring finger of my left hand. He says he is not quite ready for marriage, but he does want to marry me. The rings are too large, so I wear them on the middle finger of my right hand and tell him that when he is ready, I'll have them resized and move them to the left.
He proposes almost a year later on Thanksgiving day, with a different ring. One that we designed together, with a purple sapphire – my favorite stone in his favorite color.
It is not completely happily ever after, but we are working on it :-).
If you want to play along and now be interviewed by me, please leave me a saying: "Interview me."
1. You mentioned you are on the verge of converting to being a Cubs fan. What will it take to push you over the edge? Just kidding! J Here is my actual question: Jenn, you are nothing if not a lover of books. What do you see as the qualities necessary for a truly great book and what book is, in your view, the greatest you have ever read?
A. To push me into being a Cubs fan? A day game at Wrigley Field. If you have an “in” on tickets I would love to hear about it because I have exhausted my (frankly
limited) resources.
B. You would think that seven years of studying literature and hundreds of books would give me an answer to your question. I've read so many really great books that it is difficult to choose just one as the greatest.
In my opinion, truly great books have an extraordinary narrative voice. A voice that holds a reader enthralled, and pushes him/her to keep reading, even if the subject matter is difficult, the phrasing dense, the emotional impact more then a person can normally bear. A truly great book stays with a person for days, weeks, months, even years after finishing it and it only needs to be read once.
The greatest book I ever read to date was Gabriel García Márquez's novella Chronicle of a Death Foretold. For the skill of the author to depict multiple and conflicting voices and versions of an event through a single narrator, for its ability to hold my attention long enough to finish it in one sitting and for the fact that I still remember the plot twelve years after reading it.
2. Turning to your actual life, if I had never met you before and knew nothing about you, what one story from your life would you tell me to give me an idea of the kind of person you are and the life you have lived?
I am going to cheat a little bit and retell a story that no one read the first time around. However, I will not link back to the original post.
My sophomore year of college I had to file an assault complaint against one of my professors, a teacher who was absolutely brilliant in the classroom and a social retard outside of it.
Winter semester I was broke and buying books for my elective classes on a “as need” basis. When I discovered that the bookstore had sent back the final book, I walked over to Professor's X's office to tell him, as I knew no one in the class had the book.
When I told Professor X the book had been sent back, he began raising his voice. I backed up to put some space between the two of us and found myself against a wall, with his hands grabbing the sides of my unzipped jacket, his face looming into mine. I was petrified.
He let go of me when a colleague stepped out of a nearby office to see what was happening. I collected my wits and left the building as soon as I was able and returned to my apartment, where I recounted the incident for my roommates and asked them what they thought I should do about it.
My roommates proceeded to tell me that I should just let it go, it was not a big deal. Everyone knew that professor was a little bit eccentric.
Frustrated, I left the apartment again to take a walk around the campus. I was visibly upset when I ran into a friend who was an RA on campus. He noticed how agitated I was and convinced me to to report the incident.
The next week was a nightmare as I was sent up the chain of command. First to the RD, who was sympathetic and reassuring. Next came the Director of Housing, a sleazy, mean man who implied that I was lying to get attention and tried to twist my words. Third was the Dean of Students who asked if I had been sexually harassed and refused to let it go. Finally the Academic Dean, who was also under the impression that I had been sexually harassed.
I found this to be the most baffling part of the entire ordeal, the school administration's attempt to label the incident as sexual harassment. There was nothing sexual about what happened in the hallway. It was stupid and inappropriate, but not all sexual. Professor X would have acted the same way if it had been a male student. Because he was socially retarded.
What the administration found baffling was my refusal to drop his class. When offered the option of taking my current grade and not returning to his classroom, I refused under the grounds I had not done anything wrong. I had to finish out the class. I had to show him that I was not afraid. I had to hold him responsible for his actions.
In the end I got what I wanted, which was the opportunity to finish the class and a written apology. I also got an A. In case you think that my grade was inflated, think again. This incident took place three weeks before the end of the semester, when I still had one paper and one exam left. At my request, Professor X was not informed of my complaint until after the final grades were turned into the registrar's office.
3. Your musical favorites, as listed in your “about me” page of your blog, are quite interesting. Please give a brief narrative of your life in terms of which artist and/or song represents each phase.
The first thing you need to understand is that my musical tastes are about 10 years of out of sync with the rest of the universe. Because that is what happens when you grow up in a very small town removed from anything resembling a decent radio station.
The second thing you need to know that the biggest influence on my musical taste is my dad. Because of him I am drawn to the folk/rock/country fusion that defines most of the artists in my list.
Childhood: is full of Willie Nelson, with a sampling of show tunes thrown in for a little variety. My father was (and is) a big fan of both. One of my clearest memories of my childhood is listening to Topol sing while my dad whistled and cooked his favorite southwestern foods – chili and tacos. Willie Nelson was the music of long car rides and lazy afternoons. He was my first introduction to folk music and my first exposure to the idea that a musician could be an activist for change. It also left me with an excellent recall of show tuns, to J's annoyance when we went to a community theater performance of the King and I and I knew the words to most of the songs and sang along.
Adolescence: is a combination of Bob Dylan and Chris Whitley. As I have alluded to before, my middle and high school years were incredibly difficult. Both musicians reflected the extreme isolation and angst I felt during that period of time. Listening to Dylan and Whitley (“Poison Girl” got a lot of play during this time) made me feel like I was rebelling against something. That something being my classmates.
College / Graduate School: I bypass grunge and listen to Blue Rodeo and the Indigo Girls instead. One of the really great things about the college I attended was its proximity to the Canadian border and access to music other than the big hair heavy metal. The Indigo Girls are the first concert I attend by myself.
Loss of first love before starting graduate school and lots of Sarah McLachlan and the Indigo Girls “Mystery” to ease the pain of the breakup and dating again. Joan Osborne makes into the CD player and one boyfriend from a mercifully brief relationship takes the lyrics to “Right Hand Man” a little too personally. More Sarah McLachlan with the loss of a second love, especially “Fumbling Towards Ecstasy” (for the irony) and “I Will Remember You”.
Post Graduate into Marriage: We dance to McLachlan's cover of “Song for a Winter's Night” at our wedding. Years pass, I don't really listen to anything new, I stay with my favorite singers and songs. Edwin McCain sneaks in. I fall in lust with his “Ghosts of Jackson Square”.
Then I become sick. Debilitating headaches, job in jeopardy, have to be tested for cancer. During this time the Bee Gees, Abba and Counting Crows make into into heavy rotation. Mostly happy music, listening to it keeps me sane when the whole world feels like it is falling apart around me.
These days I listen to a lot of Cardigans, Talking Heads, the Pogues and Kristy MacColl. I'm not sure yet what these musicians say about this stage of my life. Ask me again in ten years.
4. About writing: have you made any progress on the novel that involves a sport about which you do not (did not) know much? Tell me about your writing process—how does it work? Do you have to be in the mood to write? In what setting do you write most prolifically? When are you most pleased by your writing?
To answer your first question, no. I put the novel aside when my father became ill and never picked it back up.
My writing process begins with reading, sometimes something relevant to what I want to write about, sometimes just something fun. Reading is actually my preferred form of procrastination, a device I used from high school through college and graduate school to avoid reading and writing about the assigned material. As I was an English major, my roommates and some classmates always found it puzzling that I could have several books going at once and only half of them were about the assigned material. I think I was a better student for using that method, as I was always stumbling across ideas or concepts that I could apply to what I was learning in my classes.
The next step in my process is thinking. A lot of what ends up on paper has been worked over in my head as I go about my daily life, sometimes for a few hours, sometimes for several days. If you ever wondered why I seemed a little out of touch with current events the answer is... I'm not. I am (usually) as up-to-date as the next person, but if it is something I want to write about I need time to process the information. The upside is that when I do sit down to write, I usually have a fair amount of the work done already. The downside is that I sometimes forget to write down key sentences or thoughts and can find myself staring into space for inspiration.
Sometimes I do have to be in the mood to write, but I think the more important thing is to identify the tools that put one in the mood and use them to push thoughts onto paper. I am most prolific and in the mood when I feel comfortable. For me this means easy access to tea and snacks, a comfortable chair and something to offer a distraction when I need to stop for a moment. My current favorite places to write are my study, Crazy Mocha (my favorite Pittsburgh coffee shop) and the main branch of the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh.
I am most pleased by my writing when I am able to walk away for several days, come back to it and be able to say to myself “This is still good”.
5. I just saw this story on your blog:
My Christmas Memory
Christmas of 1996 I was a poor graduate student with a full time job, living in Greensboro NC. I was also very alone, as my family was in PA and most of my friends were heading back to their own families for the holiday.
It was my first Christmas away from home. I could not afford a plane ticket and did not have the time, because of my work schedule, to drive.
Until my ex-boyfriend, who I followed to North Carolina, called to ask if I wanted a ride as far as Latrobe. And one of my co-workers offered to switch vacation days so I could take the ride.
So Christmas Eve found me wrapped in a blanket, sitting in the passenger seat of the ex's Miata with the top down, driving through the mountains of West Virginia. The sky was clear, the stars bright and the radio was playing Elvis' Blue Christmas. It was a perfect moment.
My brother picked me up in Latrobe and drove me home, where I surprised my parents by walking through their bedroom door at 2 am.
Four years later, on a clear, cold, starry, January evening, I married the ex-boyfriend.
Could you please bridge the gap and let us know what exactly transpired between hitching a Christmas ride with the ex-boyfriend and marrying the ex-boyfriend?
The short answer: I fell in love with someone else, it did not work out and I still loved the ex-boyfriend (now husband). But the short answer makes J sound like a consolation prize, which he is not.
J and I were good friends from the moment we met, at a post Thanksgiving party almost 13 years ago. J was the roommate of a childhood friend. Shortly before the arrival of “the girls” (including myself) my twin brother offered me up as bait to keep J from approaching one of the other women my brother had expressed an interest in. My brother, ever loyal, reassured J that I was cute, a comment J echoed back to my brother when we met for the first time. Shortly after meeting him I fell in love for the first time.
Forward six months as we graduate and prepare to move to North Carolina, J to Charlotte for work, myself to Greensboro for graduate school. I come down for a week to search for an apartment and (maybe) see J for a little while and return home with an apartment and part-time job and without a boyfriend. J, concerned that our relationship is moving too fast, breaks up with me.
In most relationships, this would be the end. But while the breakup was painful, it was not ugly or mean. (OK, not completely mean. I did yell a few choice words. You will have to trust that he deserved them.) A few months after the breakup I call him with a computer problem. He helps me and we talk briefly.
First there are brief, infrequent phone calls. After a while we become the friends we always were and begin talking more often and spending time together. After he takes me home at Christmas we take other trips together – to the Outer Banks, to the mountains, to visit his friends in Tennessee. All that time both of us are dating other people.
Then I fall in love again, with someone else. We spend less time together, but still talk on a regular basis. During one phone call J comments on how happy I sound. He tells me that he is happy for me. He tells me that he is a little bit jealous.
The relationship does not work out. The ending is sad because the timing is wrong, the guy does not love me, or love me enough or know that I love him. None of the reasons matter, as it would not have changed the ending. I spend some time alone and I think.
J and I continue hanging out. One day he says he loves me, but he is still not sure. And I still love him, but I want a commitment. Not necessarily marriage, just the knowledge that he is in it for the long term. One night I go out with my brother and the childhood friend, get drunk and spill my thoughts. That I love him but I can't be in it halfway anymore. He has to commit or I am letting him go and moving on with my life. I even have a deadline. I don't tell J any of this because I don't want to pressure him. I want him to decide on his own.
However, one or both of them tells J about the conversation. Since I am not a witness to that part of the story, I cannot tell you if it was a “quit jerking her around” a “dude, she is totally trying to manipulate you” or a “you know, she really does love you, but she will not wait for ever” type of conversation.
J decides to commit. My gift that Christmas are two rings to wear on the ring finger of my left hand. He says he is not quite ready for marriage, but he does want to marry me. The rings are too large, so I wear them on the middle finger of my right hand and tell him that when he is ready, I'll have them resized and move them to the left.
He proposes almost a year later on Thanksgiving day, with a different ring. One that we designed together, with a purple sapphire – my favorite stone in his favorite color.
It is not completely happily ever after, but we are working on it :-).
If you want to play along and now be interviewed by me, please leave me a saying: "Interview me."
- I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
- You will update your weblog with the answers to the questions.
- You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
- Then others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions and so on.
Bonus Points If You
Can you tell me how this...
"Mallory argued in part that witchcraft is a religion practiced by some people and, therefore, the books should be banned because reading them in school violates the constitutional separation of church and state."
meshes with this:
"Mallory argued in part that witchcraft is a religion practiced by some people and, therefore, the books should be banned because reading them in school violates the constitutional separation of church and state."
meshes with this:
"I have a dream that God will be welcomed back in our schools again," Mallory said. "I think we need him."
I continue to be amazed at how some people can hold and espouse equally opposing ideas and maintain a straight face.Sunday, May 27, 2007
Bite Me, Don2
Lisa, I am working on your questions and will be posting answers soon!
I am searching for a wider angle zoom lens for my Nikon D50. After some research, I have resigned myself to the fact that I will be paying a considerable amount of money* for a good lens and have narrowed the field down to two choices, expensive and more expensive.
While browsing reviews on option more expensive at this website I came across this, "gem":
Problems I encountered with this item:
Quite heavy, sometimes my wrist get tired. I wont recommend this lens for female photographers especially with D200.
Because if his big, strong, manly wrists hurt after using the lens with a D200, then of course my delicate appendages would not be able to stand the weight.
Did you know, Don2, that there exercises you can do to strengthen your wrists? All you need is a 1lb weight and five minutes every day. You don't even need to buy the weights, just pull a 16oz can of something-or-other out of your pantry, curl the first digits of your fingers around the can and pull it towards you using the muscles in your wrist. I know it might be a little bit difficult at first, your wrists being weak and all, but eventually you'll get the hang of it! After a few weeks, you will be rewarded with the pleasant surprise of being able to hold your Nikon D 200 with the attached Nikon 17-55mm f/2.8G ED-IF AF-S DX Zoom lens without your wrists getting tired.
If dedicating five minutes of your day a few times a week is too much to ask, you might what to invest in a pair of these instead. Or this pair, which is a touch more expensive, but might not get in the way of your grip.
So bite me Don2. Seriously. Have you ever met a professional female photographer? I have. Her camera was two times the size of the D200, without the lens, and she handled it and the rest of her equipment with enviable ease.
And, in the interest of full disclosure, while the primary reason I purchased my much beloved (now discontinued) Nikon D50 was that I could afford it, the size was a secondary consideration. I wanted something that felt comfortable in my hands, since I occasionally have trouble maintaining my grip on objects. The D200 referenced his review is a spectacular camera, but it is expensive, large and can be very heavy. Excluding the cost, I still would trade down to a lesser model that I will use more, then a better model I will not use at all.
*Technically J will be paying the considerable amount, since he is considering giving the lens to me as a birthday gift.
I am searching for a wider angle zoom lens for my Nikon D50. After some research, I have resigned myself to the fact that I will be paying a considerable amount of money* for a good lens and have narrowed the field down to two choices, expensive and more expensive.
While browsing reviews on option more expensive at this website I came across this, "gem":
Problems I encountered with this item:
Quite heavy, sometimes my wrist get tired. I wont recommend this lens for female photographers especially with D200.
Because if his big, strong, manly wrists hurt after using the lens with a D200, then of course my delicate appendages would not be able to stand the weight.
Did you know, Don2, that there exercises you can do to strengthen your wrists? All you need is a 1lb weight and five minutes every day. You don't even need to buy the weights, just pull a 16oz can of something-or-other out of your pantry, curl the first digits of your fingers around the can and pull it towards you using the muscles in your wrist. I know it might be a little bit difficult at first, your wrists being weak and all, but eventually you'll get the hang of it! After a few weeks, you will be rewarded with the pleasant surprise of being able to hold your Nikon D 200 with the attached Nikon 17-55mm f/2.8G ED-IF AF-S DX Zoom lens without your wrists getting tired.
If dedicating five minutes of your day a few times a week is too much to ask, you might what to invest in a pair of these instead. Or this pair, which is a touch more expensive, but might not get in the way of your grip.
So bite me Don2. Seriously. Have you ever met a professional female photographer? I have. Her camera was two times the size of the D200, without the lens, and she handled it and the rest of her equipment with enviable ease.
And, in the interest of full disclosure, while the primary reason I purchased my much beloved (now discontinued) Nikon D50 was that I could afford it, the size was a secondary consideration. I wanted something that felt comfortable in my hands, since I occasionally have trouble maintaining my grip on objects. The D200 referenced his review is a spectacular camera, but it is expensive, large and can be very heavy. Excluding the cost, I still would trade down to a lesser model that I will use more, then a better model I will not use at all.
*Technically J will be paying the considerable amount, since he is considering giving the lens to me as a birthday gift.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Thou Shalt Not Anger JoPa
I normally don't follow college football. I don't find it terribly interesting and can think of 100 things I prefer to do then sit down and watch a game. Given the choice between Penn State football and Penguins hockey, I will choose hockey every time.
However, it is very difficult to grow up on the edge of central Pennsylvania and not know about Joe Paterno, affection ally known as “JoPa”. Eighty-year old JoPa has been head coach at Penn State University for forty years and has been voted most-likely-to-die & be-buried-at-halftime in the middle of field. This is the man who had to be physically removed from the field during a 2006 game after a collision with a Wisconsin player, in which he broke his leg and tore ligaments in his knee.
In early April of 2007 approximately fifteen members of Penn State's football team were involved in an off-campus brawl. Two of the players will have to stand trial for various charges, including burglary, criminal trespass, simple assault and harassment.
And JoPa is not happy about the kind of negative media attention the team is receiving. He is unhappy enough that the team, as a whole, is being disciplined for demonstrating a severe lack of leadership.
So this summer instead of enjoying the time off, all of the members of the Penn State football team will be assisting Habitat for Humanity in building a home and working the Summer Special Olympics. When the 2007/2008 football season comes around, the team will be suiting up the day after each home game to help clean Beaver Stadium. The money earned will be donated to support club sport teams.
And just in case you are curious, Beaver Stadium is the sixth largest stadium in the world, with a capacity of 107,282 bodies.
The moral of the story? It really does not pay to tick off the old man.
However, it is very difficult to grow up on the edge of central Pennsylvania and not know about Joe Paterno, affection ally known as “JoPa”. Eighty-year old JoPa has been head coach at Penn State University for forty years and has been voted most-likely-to-die & be-buried-at-halftime in the middle of field. This is the man who had to be physically removed from the field during a 2006 game after a collision with a Wisconsin player, in which he broke his leg and tore ligaments in his knee.
In early April of 2007 approximately fifteen members of Penn State's football team were involved in an off-campus brawl. Two of the players will have to stand trial for various charges, including burglary, criminal trespass, simple assault and harassment.
And JoPa is not happy about the kind of negative media attention the team is receiving. He is unhappy enough that the team, as a whole, is being disciplined for demonstrating a severe lack of leadership.
So this summer instead of enjoying the time off, all of the members of the Penn State football team will be assisting Habitat for Humanity in building a home and working the Summer Special Olympics. When the 2007/2008 football season comes around, the team will be suiting up the day after each home game to help clean Beaver Stadium. The money earned will be donated to support club sport teams.
And just in case you are curious, Beaver Stadium is the sixth largest stadium in the world, with a capacity of 107,282 bodies.
The moral of the story? It really does not pay to tick off the old man.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Notes From the Trail
J and I went for a 24 mile bike ride* last Saturday along the a trail maintained by the Allegheny Trail Alliance. We followed a section that runs next to the Youghiogheny River.
We rented two Schwinns (Cruisers, I think. I know they were NOT mountain bikes), from a private house right off the trail. Across the street was a bar and the Boston Shoppes, a house filled with three stories of eclectic gifts and a tea room.
I had my obligatory encounter with Weirdness in the form of a slightly inebriated DOM** in search of a hot dog at 11:30 in the morning. As I waited for J to return from the car so we could set off, DOM turned to me and said "My wife and I used to take one thing with us whenever we went fishing or biking. Do you know what that one thing was?"
I raised an eyebrow from behind my sunglasses and waited for the inevitable punchline...
"It was a blanket."
He cackled loudly, climbed into his truck, hot dog in hand, and drove away.
We saw lots of springs, the spring that is the season and the spring that is the mineral kind. We biked past front and back yards, peeking into private lives. A little boy, stark naked, running around on a driveway. A little girl on training wheels, happily honking her horn to passerbys, her mother laughing with equal parts pleasure and embarassment.
*Shortly after I put my left hand in the ceiling fan. Gripping a handlebar with a swollen and bruised hand was not a pleasant experience.
**Dirty Old Man. I seem to attract more than my fair share of them.
We rented two Schwinns (Cruisers, I think. I know they were NOT mountain bikes), from a private house right off the trail. Across the street was a bar and the Boston Shoppes, a house filled with three stories of eclectic gifts and a tea room.
I had my obligatory encounter with Weirdness in the form of a slightly inebriated DOM** in search of a hot dog at 11:30 in the morning. As I waited for J to return from the car so we could set off, DOM turned to me and said "My wife and I used to take one thing with us whenever we went fishing or biking. Do you know what that one thing was?"
I raised an eyebrow from behind my sunglasses and waited for the inevitable punchline...
"It was a blanket."
He cackled loudly, climbed into his truck, hot dog in hand, and drove away.
We saw lots of springs, the spring that is the season and the spring that is the mineral kind. We biked past front and back yards, peeking into private lives. A little boy, stark naked, running around on a driveway. A little girl on training wheels, happily honking her horn to passerbys, her mother laughing with equal parts pleasure and embarassment.
*Shortly after I put my left hand in the ceiling fan. Gripping a handlebar with a swollen and bruised hand was not a pleasant experience.
**Dirty Old Man. I seem to attract more than my fair share of them.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Things I've Learned in the Past Two Weeks
- Work sucks, sometimes.
- Friends, good conversation, mojitios and a well cooked steak on the deck of the Coal Hill Steakhouse, with its view of the city, can make up for item #1.
- So can hanging out at the Lava Lounge during 80's night.
- So can watching They Might be Giants play.
- Changing my shirt underneath a moving ceiling fan is a very bad idea.
- Why? It can lead to a cut, swollen, black, blue and red left hand. A hand so sore that I cannot make a proper fist.
- Apparently the medium speed on the ceiling fan is not fast enough to break any bones.
- I think I'll pass on finding out if this is possible at the highest speed.
- J's fake reason for how I injured my hand, while a good idea, would probably get me arrested if told to the wrong person. (“Tell them you tried to backhand me and got caught on my facial stubble” was his suggestion).
- The Great Allegheny Passage trail is beautiful and very dusty.
- I can bike 24 miles.
What have you learned in the past two weeks?
Monday, April 30, 2007
Thinking Bloggers
Jay at Cynical Bastard has graciously nominated me for a Thinking Blogger Award. Please go read Jay's blog. He is consistently one of the funniest bloggers out there and should be earning money for his writing. I am really honored that he would consider me and am nominating him right back (again) because he really is that good.
Other Blogs that make me think:
Lisa - A Clear View to a New Life
I can't come up with a description of Lisa that would adequately do her justice. She is smart, passionate and well on her way to turning me into a Cubs fan.
JD Stein - Global Wandering
I dream about seeing the world. JD actually does it. And brings back pictures.
David Byrne - David Byrne Journal
I know it is trite to nominate someone as famous as Byrne, but to read his journal entries on art, music, politics and the forces of the marketplace is to walk away a wiser person.
Foilwoman - Foilwoman's Diary
I want to be this woman when I finally grow up. Wise, courageous and absolute grace.
Other Blogs that make me think:
Lisa - A Clear View to a New Life
I can't come up with a description of Lisa that would adequately do her justice. She is smart, passionate and well on her way to turning me into a Cubs fan.
JD Stein - Global Wandering
I dream about seeing the world. JD actually does it. And brings back pictures.
David Byrne - David Byrne Journal
I know it is trite to nominate someone as famous as Byrne, but to read his journal entries on art, music, politics and the forces of the marketplace is to walk away a wiser person.
Foilwoman - Foilwoman's Diary
I want to be this woman when I finally grow up. Wise, courageous and absolute grace.
The Exercise gods Taketh...
my lock. Thus forcing me to pack all my stuff into my backpack and skip my workout this afternoon, as storing my jewlery and other sundries in an unlocked locker fall under the category of very bad idea.
*Sigh*
*Sigh*
Sunday, April 29, 2007
More on Language (& Other Things...)
More on Language
In which I tie a letter from Saturday's Pittsburgh-Post Gazette with Harry Potter. Stay with me now. Rowling really does have some great points to make to her young and not-so-young audience.
Reader's of the book know that Voldemort is frequently referred to (in whispers, no less) by other characters as “He Who Must Not be Named” or “You Know Who”, thus giving Voldemort power. “Fear of the name increase fear of the thing” Hermione says in one book, and Rowling emphasizes this fear by having her characters gasp, whimper, wince and chastise anyone brave enough to call “You Know Who” by his name.
Contrast this with Harry, who always calls the villain by his name and Dumbledore who actually addresses Voldemort by his birth name, Tom. By naming him, they take away some of his power. Dumbledore's insistence on calling Voldemort by his birth name is especially powerful because it recognizes Voldemort's abandoned humanity. Perhaps Voldemort's destruction lies in acknowledging the remaining shadows of his human self?
Anyway...
How does this tie in with the letter writer? The recent comments by Don Imus and sidekick, in which they referred to the Rutgers women's basketball as “nappy haired ho's” and subsequent whining over the African-American community's nerve to call the two men out on their behavior when the same words are used with astonishing frequency in rap music*, set off a series of letters in the paper. Now that the media is gorging itself at the trough of Virginia Tech shootings and willfully ignoring the President's continuing march forward to strip prisoners of their civil liberties, women of the right to make medical decisions without the interference of government, and the continuing slaughter of ill-equipped soldiers and innocent Iraqi's, the volume of letters has returned to normal.
Returning to topic...
It is an enormous pet peeve on mine, when reading or discussing language, to have to listen to other people refer to taboo words as “the B-word”, “the N-word” or “the F-word”. If we, as people, are ever to get the point in which such words are not used in a hurtful or hateful manner, then we must begin by actually naming the word we are discussing.
To wit, bitch, nigger and fuck. One I use never (except in the context of this type of conversation), one I use rarely and one I use with enough frequency to have earned the reputation of having a slightly foul mouth.
To read a letter to the editor in which the writer comes our for eliminating the negative usage of such words without actually bringing herself to name the words makes me crazy. How are we to have civility in discourse if we cannot have maturity? How are we ever going to acknowledge the power of context in the usage of such words? Have we really become so illiterate of a society that we assume others are going to be offended by using such language in an editorial? And when are people going to understand that language is a living organism?
*Setting aside the false notion that 100% of modern rap music is performed exclusively by young, African-American men.
& Other Things...
Thing 1:
I think I am going to give up on the New York Times travel section. I don't know what audience they are writing for, but it is certainly not for my little middle-class self. This Sunday has an article on the best steak frites in Paris. Since I am returning to the city this July, I have a vested interest in knowing where one might find such a meal. The writer, Mark Bitteman, lists five places, three of which start at 50 Euros for a full meal, two of the which don't include drinks. Since when did 50-60 Euro per person with moderate alcohol consumption become “not outrageously expensive”? Eighty-one dollars for a three course meal with one glass of wine? Is he serious?
I've noticed this trend in a lot of the travel articles recently. The writers attempt to show readers how they too, can have a great time on a smaller budget, then proceed to recommend hotels that start at $150.00 a night and restaurants in which the only meal you can get for under $20.00 is an appetizer. I question what reality these writers are living in, because it is certainly NOT MINE.
Thing 2:
I'm alone this weekend. J has scampered off to Niagara Falls NY/ONT to attend a bachelor party, the first of two such trips he will be taking during the wedding season.
I took full advantage of this fact by taking myself to the movies yesterday to see “Fauteuils d'orchestre” (Avenue Montaigne), a sweet, fluffy little French film. I loved it. The movie was completely pointless, its only purpose was to entertain an audience for two hours. An audience made up of senior citizen couples and me, the lone single and youngest person in the theater. And I am almost thirty-four years old.
Thing 3:
I shall never ignore the exercise gods again. I tried to after the several weeks of insomina I suffered over the winter after I injured my shoulder and had to cut back on my workouts. I almost suceeded. Until yesterday, when I tried on some clothes and discovered that I could fit comfortably into a pair of shorts a size smaller then I usually wear.
In which I tie a letter from Saturday's Pittsburgh-Post Gazette with Harry Potter. Stay with me now. Rowling really does have some great points to make to her young and not-so-young audience.
Reader's of the book know that Voldemort is frequently referred to (in whispers, no less) by other characters as “He Who Must Not be Named” or “You Know Who”, thus giving Voldemort power. “Fear of the name increase fear of the thing” Hermione says in one book, and Rowling emphasizes this fear by having her characters gasp, whimper, wince and chastise anyone brave enough to call “You Know Who” by his name.
Contrast this with Harry, who always calls the villain by his name and Dumbledore who actually addresses Voldemort by his birth name, Tom. By naming him, they take away some of his power. Dumbledore's insistence on calling Voldemort by his birth name is especially powerful because it recognizes Voldemort's abandoned humanity. Perhaps Voldemort's destruction lies in acknowledging the remaining shadows of his human self?
Anyway...
How does this tie in with the letter writer? The recent comments by Don Imus and sidekick, in which they referred to the Rutgers women's basketball as “nappy haired ho's” and subsequent whining over the African-American community's nerve to call the two men out on their behavior when the same words are used with astonishing frequency in rap music*, set off a series of letters in the paper. Now that the media is gorging itself at the trough of Virginia Tech shootings and willfully ignoring the President's continuing march forward to strip prisoners of their civil liberties, women of the right to make medical decisions without the interference of government, and the continuing slaughter of ill-equipped soldiers and innocent Iraqi's, the volume of letters has returned to normal.
Returning to topic...
It is an enormous pet peeve on mine, when reading or discussing language, to have to listen to other people refer to taboo words as “the B-word”, “the N-word” or “the F-word”. If we, as people, are ever to get the point in which such words are not used in a hurtful or hateful manner, then we must begin by actually naming the word we are discussing.
To wit, bitch, nigger and fuck. One I use never (except in the context of this type of conversation), one I use rarely and one I use with enough frequency to have earned the reputation of having a slightly foul mouth.
To read a letter to the editor in which the writer comes our for eliminating the negative usage of such words without actually bringing herself to name the words makes me crazy. How are we to have civility in discourse if we cannot have maturity? How are we ever going to acknowledge the power of context in the usage of such words? Have we really become so illiterate of a society that we assume others are going to be offended by using such language in an editorial? And when are people going to understand that language is a living organism?
*Setting aside the false notion that 100% of modern rap music is performed exclusively by young, African-American men.
& Other Things...
Thing 1:
I think I am going to give up on the New York Times travel section. I don't know what audience they are writing for, but it is certainly not for my little middle-class self. This Sunday has an article on the best steak frites in Paris. Since I am returning to the city this July, I have a vested interest in knowing where one might find such a meal. The writer, Mark Bitteman, lists five places, three of which start at 50 Euros for a full meal, two of the which don't include drinks. Since when did 50-60 Euro per person with moderate alcohol consumption become “not outrageously expensive”? Eighty-one dollars for a three course meal with one glass of wine? Is he serious?
I've noticed this trend in a lot of the travel articles recently. The writers attempt to show readers how they too, can have a great time on a smaller budget, then proceed to recommend hotels that start at $150.00 a night and restaurants in which the only meal you can get for under $20.00 is an appetizer. I question what reality these writers are living in, because it is certainly NOT MINE.
Thing 2:
I'm alone this weekend. J has scampered off to Niagara Falls NY/ONT to attend a bachelor party, the first of two such trips he will be taking during the wedding season.
I took full advantage of this fact by taking myself to the movies yesterday to see “Fauteuils d'orchestre” (Avenue Montaigne), a sweet, fluffy little French film. I loved it. The movie was completely pointless, its only purpose was to entertain an audience for two hours. An audience made up of senior citizen couples and me, the lone single and youngest person in the theater. And I am almost thirty-four years old.
Thing 3:
I shall never ignore the exercise gods again. I tried to after the several weeks of insomina I suffered over the winter after I injured my shoulder and had to cut back on my workouts. I almost suceeded. Until yesterday, when I tried on some clothes and discovered that I could fit comfortably into a pair of shorts a size smaller then I usually wear.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
Blue Skies
In spite of the Penguins failure to make it out of the first round of the playoffs, life is good in Pittsburgh these days. Three straight days of sun, blue skies and warmth will do that to a person.
Naturally I spent one of those three days inside.
I am not a very tidy person. I'll do dishes and scrub the toilet and my things are put away because otherwise I would never remember where I put anything down. Other household chores such as vacuuming and dusting I allow to slide until the dust bunnies are the size of actual bunnies and the cats are chasing them down for their own amusement. Such was the condition of my study when I decided to clean yesterday.
It took five hours. In five hours I sent the colony of giant dust bunnies to a dignified death, cleared and dusted all my bookshelves, wiped the books down and managed to create a pile of discarded volumes for Goodwill. There is an actual space at my first-apartment-kitchen-table for my laptop and ample room to set up my easel if I feel like painting. There is even a placeholder for the final Harry Potter novel on the shelves.
Unfortunately, as part of the project I also shelved all the books I have not read yet, so I had to go back through and mark them so I would not forget. And the printer is sitting in the bedroom until I can find a place for it elsewhere.
And my ever increasing collection of funky little guidebooks of Paris is living on the table I just managed to clear off. The latest addition to the collection is the Moleskin City Notebook Paris, which I picked up in Barnes and Noble on Friday night before attending the late showing of Hot Fuzz.
Naturally I spent one of those three days inside.
I am not a very tidy person. I'll do dishes and scrub the toilet and my things are put away because otherwise I would never remember where I put anything down. Other household chores such as vacuuming and dusting I allow to slide until the dust bunnies are the size of actual bunnies and the cats are chasing them down for their own amusement. Such was the condition of my study when I decided to clean yesterday.
It took five hours. In five hours I sent the colony of giant dust bunnies to a dignified death, cleared and dusted all my bookshelves, wiped the books down and managed to create a pile of discarded volumes for Goodwill. There is an actual space at my first-apartment-kitchen-table for my laptop and ample room to set up my easel if I feel like painting. There is even a placeholder for the final Harry Potter novel on the shelves.
Unfortunately, as part of the project I also shelved all the books I have not read yet, so I had to go back through and mark them so I would not forget. And the printer is sitting in the bedroom until I can find a place for it elsewhere.
And my ever increasing collection of funky little guidebooks of Paris is living on the table I just managed to clear off. The latest addition to the collection is the Moleskin City Notebook Paris, which I picked up in Barnes and Noble on Friday night before attending the late showing of Hot Fuzz.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Dear Ryan Malone
While your playing improved significantly this year, I still think your attitude could use some adjustment and that it is a little bit sad that Sidney Crosby is a better representative of this city then you, a "hometown boy".
That being said, OH MY GOD, you are the cutest man in street clothes.
So, did you enjoy checking out all the college girls walking through Market Square this afternoon?
That being said, OH MY GOD, you are the cutest man in street clothes.
So, did you enjoy checking out all the college girls walking through Market Square this afternoon?
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Post Season Play – Part II
Penguins 1 2 – Senators 4 (at the end of Period 2)
Series: 1 - 2( I think)
First Period
Second Period
*Kaspar played for the Penguins from 1996 – 2002.
**Bryan Murray is the Senators head coach and known for sniping at and about Penguins players. Earlier this season he exchanged words with Crosby about his foul mouth, provoking an exchange between himself and Therrien.
Third Period
I can't watch period three. Here is the official score sheet. How I went this long as a fan without knowing that they publish the score sheets online, I'll never know.
Series: 1 - 2
First Period
- I never noticed how really old Mellon Arena is on television until tonight. It seems so small and dinky. The fan noise is unbelievable. I can't imagine how loud it is going to be on Tuesday night, especially if the Penguins take a lead in the series.
- Jeff Jimerson sang both anthems. Jimerson's claim to fame, aside from being the go-to singer for Penguins, Pirates and Steelers games, is his role as “Anthem Singer” in the 1995 film Sudden Death. I have heard him sing many times and have never heard him as flat as he was tonight. It sounded like a combination of bad sound and a bad cold.
- Gary Roberts scores less than a minute into the first period, off a missed shot on the post. Ray Emery is getting pounded by shots, but not enough of them are coming off of rebounds. The team is putting a lot of pressure by collapsing around Emery whenever they get the puck near the Senators net, but I'm not sure that is the most effective way to get Emery off his game. Two of the Penguins goals last night came by distracting Emery, having one of our more high-profile players basically camp right next to the net.
- Is is a good sign or a bad one when the opposing team pulls their goalie with eight and half minutes remaining in the first period? Senators are only down by 1 and a lot can happen in the 2.5 periods remaining.
- Have the Penguins noticed that the referees are not going to call anything against the Senators yet? A two minutes cross-checking penalty on Dany Heatley is nice, but the Penguins are definitely being held to a higher standard.
- Crap, the phone is ringing. Do people not know that there is a playoff game on tonight? Whoever it was did not leave a message.
- Another penalty on the Senators. Penalty count now even, each team with 2 called. Senators penalty killing is very tight. The Penguins are not going getting to much out of them unless they increase the intensity, which does not seem possible.
- Senators score. Marc-Andre caught the puck in his pads, but did not freeze it. Since the play was not whistled dead, the Senators scored by jamming it through. They also knocked the net loose.
Second Period
- Why do I find Dan Potash so annoying? Possibly because I find any sport analyst sent to interview players in between periods annoying. The only interview I ever enjoyed was last year's with Darius Kasparaitis, in which Kaspar walked back into the shot at the completion of the interview, yelled “Go Steelers” and walked back out towards the locker room.*
- Therrien scratched Georges Laraque again and is playing Ronald Petrovicky. A friend joked during yesterday's game that Therrien must be hoping that Petrovicky will take out a Senator by accident. Petrovicky has sat out the majority of games and gave an opposing player a concussion during one of his rare regular season appearances.
- Both teams a bit sluggish at the beginning of the second period. Arena a bit quieter also.
- Senators score at 17:47 due to a defensive breakdown. Penguins left Mike Comrie wide open to score on a deflection.
- Gary Roberts gets into a punching match with Jason Spezza. Jarrko Rutuu helps it along by opening the door and pushing Spezza back towards the ice.
- Penguins get called for another penalty, hooking on Malkin. Current count Penguins 4 – Senators 3.
- Daniel Alfredsson scores the Senators third goal on the subsequent Power Play. The Penguins have to get back into this game. Defense is incredibly weak and the Senators are getting off far too many shots on goal.
- Colby Armstrong legally hits Patrick Eaves and almost knocks him out. A fight ensues between Maxime Talbot and Dean McAmmond when members of the Senators attempt to jump Colby from behind. Unfortunately, Talbot loses the fight. Patrick Eaves is escorted from the ice on a stretcher. Bryan Murray** will be apoplectic tomorrow morning.
- Mario Lemieux in the arena tonight.
- Therrien needs to explain to the boys the concept of rebound – not just for basketball any more.
- Mike Comrie called for Holding. Current count Penguins 5 – Senators 5. I'm not sure which penalties I missed.
- Dan Potash announces that Patrick Eaves has a concussion.
- Daniel Alfredsson scores again. The crowd goes quiet.
*Kaspar played for the Penguins from 1996 – 2002.
**Bryan Murray is the Senators head coach and known for sniping at and about Penguins players. Earlier this season he exchanged words with Crosby about his foul mouth, provoking an exchange between himself and Therrien.
Third Period
I can't watch period three. Here is the official score sheet. How I went this long as a fan without knowing that they publish the score sheets online, I'll never know.
Post Season Play, Part I
Series Tied 1-1
Recap:
Game 1: Penguins 3 – Senators 6
I did not watch most of Game 1. Three minutes into the first period the Senators scored twice, a telling indication that the rest of the evening was going to be an unmitigated disaster for the Penguins. Which, from all news accounts, is what happened as defense, offense and goal tending fell apart. I spent the evening reading instead, with J bringing me occasional updates.
Game 2: Penguins 4 – Senators 3
I did not plan on watching Game 2 either. Friends called and asked us to join them at the Carson Street Saloon for a collective playoff viewing experience. It turned out to be enormous fun and I won a t-shirt from one of the local radio stations.
Senators fans take on our fine tradition of booing players (well, one specific player) and “respectfully” boo Sidney Crosby every time he touches the puck. Minor whining ensues, but most admit that we bought it on ourselves and that booing is inevitable during a playoff run.
Emerick and Edzo interpret Armstrong's collision with Ray Emery as “accidental” and “unavoidable”. Penguins fans everywhere laugh as the collision was neither. It was classic Armstrong, repeatedly tweak on a more “sensitive” opponent until he snaps. This is not the first time he has knocked Emery around and will not be the last in this series or either player's career.
Not that I condone crashing a goalie, I don't. But Ray Emery is not above throwing down when he feels violated and Colby is well known, at least in Pittsburgh, for exploiting any kind of vulnerability that will push the player and his team off balance mentally. This, coupled with his willingness to actually throw a punch instead of hiding behind referees, is the reason why he is a popular player in Pittsburgh. He may not always win the fight, but he is always 100% in the game.
It was a completely different team on the ice last night. Although the Senators out shot the Penguins by a a significant margin, a tight defense and premier goal tending carried the team from behind into a win.
There is something magical about being a Penguins fan right now. Since I never expected the team to make it into the playoffs so soon, every additional game is a gift. I still think Ottawa will take the series in seven games, but I am excited nonetheless to have the opportunity to see such a high level of play from my team and expect them to do some damage to the Senators.
Recap:
Game 1: Penguins 3 – Senators 6
I did not watch most of Game 1. Three minutes into the first period the Senators scored twice, a telling indication that the rest of the evening was going to be an unmitigated disaster for the Penguins. Which, from all news accounts, is what happened as defense, offense and goal tending fell apart. I spent the evening reading instead, with J bringing me occasional updates.
Game 2: Penguins 4 – Senators 3
I did not plan on watching Game 2 either. Friends called and asked us to join them at the Carson Street Saloon for a collective playoff viewing experience. It turned out to be enormous fun and I won a t-shirt from one of the local radio stations.
Senators fans take on our fine tradition of booing players (well, one specific player) and “respectfully” boo Sidney Crosby every time he touches the puck. Minor whining ensues, but most admit that we bought it on ourselves and that booing is inevitable during a playoff run.
Emerick and Edzo interpret Armstrong's collision with Ray Emery as “accidental” and “unavoidable”. Penguins fans everywhere laugh as the collision was neither. It was classic Armstrong, repeatedly tweak on a more “sensitive” opponent until he snaps. This is not the first time he has knocked Emery around and will not be the last in this series or either player's career.
Not that I condone crashing a goalie, I don't. But Ray Emery is not above throwing down when he feels violated and Colby is well known, at least in Pittsburgh, for exploiting any kind of vulnerability that will push the player and his team off balance mentally. This, coupled with his willingness to actually throw a punch instead of hiding behind referees, is the reason why he is a popular player in Pittsburgh. He may not always win the fight, but he is always 100% in the game.
It was a completely different team on the ice last night. Although the Senators out shot the Penguins by a a significant margin, a tight defense and premier goal tending carried the team from behind into a win.
There is something magical about being a Penguins fan right now. Since I never expected the team to make it into the playoffs so soon, every additional game is a gift. I still think Ottawa will take the series in seven games, but I am excited nonetheless to have the opportunity to see such a high level of play from my team and expect them to do some damage to the Senators.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
God Help Us (Especially Penguins Fans)
Because the deranged leprechaun, Don Cherry, will be commenting for NBC during the Stanley Cup finals
And Maggie the Monkey has chosen the Penguins to make it into Round 2.
And Maggie the Monkey has chosen the Penguins to make it into Round 2.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Ugh
I have resisted writing about Don Imus as it would be breaking my rule of not giving attention to such media figures. Additionally, he is right up there on the list of “pundits”-I-would-only-listen-to-in-hell with other “personalities” that I shall not name and it is inconsistent of me to criticize him based on news reports, rather then personal, first-hand knowledge.
But his comments about the Rutgers women's basketball team have been eating at me for almost a week. Until today, when I skimmed through Pittsburgh's Rants and Raves section of Craigslist and Salon's letters on the subject, I was unable to determine the “what” that was disturbing me. Additionally, I am conscious of the fact that anything I have to say is colored by the fact that I do occupy a more privileged position in society then the targets of Imus' comments.
The Craigslist postings were unsurprisingly unsympathetic towards the Rutgers team and their defenders and very pro Don Imus. The general tone seemed to be that Imus had said nothing wrong and those who called him out on his racist, sexist and degrading statements were trying to censor him. Many of the letters to Salon were the same, albeit in a more coherent, highbrow vein. One letter writer called it a “petty issue”, another whined that it was simply a joke that got out of hand.
But in the middle of that was some sanity (Thank You Salon!) Letter writers who pointed out that Imus and McGuirk's comments devalued the hard work and athletic talent of eight women who weren't even public figures.
Which leads me to what bothered me the most about the exchange between Imus and McGuirk. They did not target public figures*. They targeted a group of college-aged women playing in a basketball tournament. They critiqued those women, not on their ability to play ball, but on their physical appearance and presumed sexual activity. And they thought it was funny.
Coach C. Vivian Stringer responds.
*While equally reprehensible, I'm assuming that those in the public sphere are equipped to respond to such comments.
But his comments about the Rutgers women's basketball team have been eating at me for almost a week. Until today, when I skimmed through Pittsburgh's Rants and Raves section of Craigslist and Salon's letters on the subject, I was unable to determine the “what” that was disturbing me. Additionally, I am conscious of the fact that anything I have to say is colored by the fact that I do occupy a more privileged position in society then the targets of Imus' comments.
The Craigslist postings were unsurprisingly unsympathetic towards the Rutgers team and their defenders and very pro Don Imus. The general tone seemed to be that Imus had said nothing wrong and those who called him out on his racist, sexist and degrading statements were trying to censor him. Many of the letters to Salon were the same, albeit in a more coherent, highbrow vein. One letter writer called it a “petty issue”, another whined that it was simply a joke that got out of hand.
But in the middle of that was some sanity (Thank You Salon!) Letter writers who pointed out that Imus and McGuirk's comments devalued the hard work and athletic talent of eight women who weren't even public figures.
Which leads me to what bothered me the most about the exchange between Imus and McGuirk. They did not target public figures*. They targeted a group of college-aged women playing in a basketball tournament. They critiqued those women, not on their ability to play ball, but on their physical appearance and presumed sexual activity. And they thought it was funny.
Coach C. Vivian Stringer responds.
*While equally reprehensible, I'm assuming that those in the public sphere are equipped to respond to such comments.
Monday, April 09, 2007
FYI
David Byrne has an interesting post up about the Copyright Royalty Board's attempt to increase rates for “non-interactive streaming services”, i.e. web, cable and satellite radio.
Apparently he is also a fellow fugitive from the law of averages.
Apparently he is also a fellow fugitive from the law of averages.
I Have Nothing
To contribute, except that I developed a case of food poisioning from Easter dinner yesterday. I'm not quite sure what I ate to make me sick, but I'm pretty certain the "mashed" potatoes contributed. I say "mashed" as they were made with potato flakes. A fact that I was unaware of until after I had taken the first bite. Good citizen that I am, I ate them anyway.
Alas, the food posioning was too mild to keep me home from work.
In lieu of actual writing, I present:
Wigford, the Clown
Axel with Attitude
Alas, the food posioning was too mild to keep me home from work.
In lieu of actual writing, I present:
Wigford, the Clown
Axel with Attitude
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