Expanding

sodium light circles

2009-11-14T16:57:00.005-07:00

It's snowing again and I've just removed freshly cleaned, warm flannel sheets from the dryer and put them on the bed. Been inside all day, waking up slowly and reconnecting. Music, laughter, my heart still beating fast every time he enters the room.

The sun was gone by 5pm and now the leftover skyglow mixed with electric park lights show round shadows below the trees across the street, their barren branches blue and yellow in reflection. I can just barely see the corner of one pond and its sodium light circles. Tonight is packed with a variety of fun and activities- old friends in town, new friends filling bars, snow falling to coat it all in magic. But in this moment of incense filled peace I am trying to remember, again, to breathe and make it deep, pulling out all the old junk and waking up the cool restful spirit hidden somewhere down below.

what is love?

2009-11-13T19:58:00.002-07:00

I don't usually do email forwards but I got this one from my mom today and just had to help it keep existing somewhere in the world... because it's right.

A set of kid responses to the above question.

'When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore.
So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That's love.'
Rebecca- age 8

'When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different.
You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.'
Billy - age 4

'Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.'
Karl - age 5

'Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs.'
Chrissy - age 6

'Love is what makes you smile when you're tired.'
Terri - age 4

'Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK.'
Danny - age 7

'Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more.
My Mommy and Daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss'
Emily - age 8

'Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen.'
Bobby - age 7

'If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate,'
Nikka - age 6

'Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday.'
Noelle - age 7

'Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well.'
Tommy - age 6

what comes next

2009-11-12T10:20:00.004-07:00

I'm ready for it. This liminal space is so itchy. Every time I realize I am in transition, I am grateful at first. Transition is the reality of our existence. Our moments of solid existence are only short-term illusions we use for security. Ah, so many nice things to learn in this rich space. That lasts a couple of days.

Then it becomes what it now, standing on tip-toes and trying to see into the next world, the what-comes-next and turning my back on what's going on now. My motivation drops, daydreaming skyrockets. Facebook usage reaches obsessive levels. And all other escapes.

So where are the daydreams rocketing to now?

1) Getting into Teach for America. Using creativity towards teaching and starting at the back of the race with a huge learning curve. I am so motivated when I feel behind but capable...not that I know I am capable of this but am hopeful, anyway.
a) the summer institute training session and the hope that it'll be in Chicago this year so I can at least enjoy not traveling those months
b) coming back and having a classroom in which to try- try to make sense, try to explain material, but most of all, try to inspire kids to step beyond what they once thought possible for themselves. I'd be so happy if just one student decided to go to college when he/she thought it wasn't in their future.
c) admittedly, making some money with which to budget, pay off credit cards and maybe even save a bit of
2) Some spring trip. Probably to Mexico and I hear Oaxaca calling. I part because I really want to go and could use some warm sunshine by then. And partly so I am not terribly jealous of my partner running free this summer. Petty, I know.
3) A "semester" without school, just a job (hopefully!!) And all the freedom in that. An improve comedy class. Roller derby. Volunteer at a soup kitchen. Guitar. Book club. Writing here once a day. Art. I bought two old windows and am itching to pour out onto them.
4) Not feeling so itchy but inside a whole new chapter instead.

Okay, well, glad to see I got a lot of work on my thesis done, graded the tests from Wednesday and studied for my exam on Monday instead of writing here and uploading new photos. Are we there yet?

trip to the dentist

2009-11-12T10:15:00.000-07:00

I just had my first procedure at the dentist in over 4 years. Was motivated to go back after working on Nubian mummies in our biological anthropology department. They had lots of sand in their diet and it wore their teeth down fast. There’s no way to explain the horror of looking at an abscess- all discolored and deep, sometimes spreading infection to the face where you see holes that were eaten away by infection. Nasty, it’s so nasty. So decided to think more about my own dental health and start with this recommended procedure. It was a type of cleaning called “scaling” where they go under your gums and clear out the tarter etc that has accumulated. It’s as charming as it sounds.

The dental assistant was Russian and a lovely woman, Ulga. She was very gentle and very sweet, apologetic for all the times she hurt me. After the first polishing, she tried to wipe off the spray of sand-like chemicals that they use on your teeth and distribute around your face with pressurized water. The sweep of her hand was so soft and caring as she called me Frosty the Snowman. Then the dentist joined us. He too was very nice. Seemed a bit dopey but not unintelligent. They renumbed my gums and set to work on the scaling, his tool making the high-pitched noise that one associates with dentist nightmares. It hurt, I won’t lie. The bottom, especially was sensitive and I kept my hands clasped at my chest. Twice the pressure tube shot off the instrument, sounding like a gun and hitting me in the chest. I screamed the first time, but just jumped the second- like an old war hero. He laughed and said it happens all the time. Hehehe. Ha. The whole scaling took maybe 10 minutes, which is apparently a new thing. Used to, before this nice loud tool, that they’d spend 3 hours on the whole mouth. They sure still charge like it’s a 3 hour procedure- $460. Ouch.

At the end, he set my chair upright again and asked if I had any questions. He said I had to start flossing deeper, as Ulga had showed me (yes it hurts) and to wash with salt water for the next couple of days. I pressed the Kleenex Ulga gave me to my mouth to wipe off the spittle and it came back all bloody. Nice. Washed my face and spit repeatedly in their bathroom then headed home. The rearview mirror in the car showed pockets of blood between my teeth- charming, indeed. The numbing is wearing off and the taste of blood is lessening. Going to get soft cheese enchiladas with a friend and stop frowning. New flossing technique and a water pic it is. Don’t care to do this again any time soon.

Lesson learned, and what I am passing onto you. Go to the dentist. Get your teeth cleaned. Regularly. It’s worth it.

a walk spent pondering

2009-10-21T13:55:00.006-06:00

Walking across campus, I had my nose stuck in my current fun book Shantaram. It's an incredible true story of an escaped Australian convict who broke out of a high security prison during the day between two gun runners, exiled himself to India, ends up living a slum, is imprisoned again, fights in Afghanistan, writes the book three times because prison guards keep taking it... wow, anyway. The writing is deeply engaging and I excuse myself to read it because I think it makes my thesis work better. So I am bopping along, reading about this huge cholera outbreak in his slum and how he has to help the people fight it without doctors, and hear a girl behind me on the phone with her dad. It went something like this,

"Daaaad, it's not that bad. I mean, besides the pass, it's not too much."
(It was about money, clearly. The pass, I had to guess, was a ski pass- somewhere between $250 and $490, depending on the mountains included)

"Dad, that was the pass! I didn't spend THAT much in the last month."

"No! It's not that much. And I took back $130 worth of stuff yesterday too."

"What?! That's ridiculous! That's what you give Lisa and she's in grad school."

"A thousand dollars?! A thousand dollars. No, that's what you give her. Don't even tell me that. That's ridiculous. Oh, I'm SURE that's her budget. Don't EVEN try to get away with that."

And she faded into the crowd in front of me. I had let the book drop to my side and started eavesdropping on this amazing conversation. Instead of feeling grateful for whatever financial aide her father gave her (and I assume it's more than $1000 a month) she felt fully entitled to it, angry and indignant that he'd cut anything out. And juxtaposed to this book (and the reality of life in a great deal of the world) where one bucket of clean water is a treat for most families, I was struck by the depths of disparity on our earth. I had thought of it this morning, too, when I turned on my clean running facet to rinse my toothbrush and eyed the tub, thinking about a bath tonight. How LUCKY I am, how blessed.

And yet, anyone and everyone amidst whatever is given to them, has the ability, and oftentimes the propensity, to feel sad, angry or as though they got the short end of the stick. Myself included. And inside this realization is a tightly packed ball of questions about the nature of humanity, the role of the spiritual and the quality of happiness. Every time I pull out one string of that knot, further complexities are revealed... I won't bother to bore with the process. But it gave me some sense of clarity to see this mess and my shoulders relaxed some on the way back to the lab. Good stuff, this chaos we have here. Good stuff.

American Chop Suey- a family recipe

2009-09-22T22:07:00.003-06:00

My mom is scheduled for another surgery tomorrow to remove a patch of cancer in her lung. I don't like being here and she and my father being so many hours away. Wanted some way to bring them close for a moment or two.

I asked my mom last week for a recipe of a dish she used to make a lot when I was child. I'm eating some beef now and had a nice pound of ground grass-fed local stuff from the farmer's market. The recipe is simple- just the beef, onions, celery, elbow pasta, spices and canned tomatoes. Made a special trip to the store today just for the elbow pasta; my current shells wouldn't work. I took down all of her advice, including not using salt or going crazy with the pasta. The ratio of elbows to the rest of the dish is very important. And like a good daughter, I didn't heed the last warning well enough. The dish was perfect, including my mistake. Had to mix the plates separately to get the balance correct. Just like she used to make, but with gluten free pasta and fire roasted tomatoes for half the bulk. Paired it with a salad and toasted bread, served rice milk on the side and it almost felt like home.

I know tomorrow will go fine and the following chemo will too. It's just so much more difficult not to be there to hold she or my father's hand. I hate to think of him sitting alone in that waiting room, the way he bends over, hands clasped in front of him, rubbing them together from time to time- the only time I truly see him worry. I'll call but it's nothing like putting my hand on his back, looking for any excuse to make a corny joke. I had to be here for school but sometimes I don't understand why I follow this society's prescribed priorities.

So here is to taking a big breath and sitting down in all of this, giving them my greatest love from all the way over here and knowing it's the best I can do. Here's to a good day tomorrow and ever increasing returns...

American Chop Suey

1/2 lb ground beef
2 small cans of stewed tomatoes
one onion
garlic
celery
one cup cooked elbow pasta
cumin or other spice of choice

1) Brown the meat and set it aside
2) Saute the onion, garlic and celery. When at desired softness, add tomatoes. Season and taste repeatedly until you like it.
3) Add drained, cooked pasta and browned meat.
4) Serve with salad and bread. (If you are our family, make sure to precede the meal with at least 15 vitamins and plenty of calcium rich milk to wash them down).
5) Keep up good conversation and focused listening throughout the meal. You'll digest it better and leave the table feeling loved.

cleanse

2009-09-22T13:00:00.002-06:00

Started by cleaning the apartment. One of those deep cleans that involves moving the table out of the kitchen, washing the walls, and using chlorine-free bleach in the bathtub. The stuff that's barely noticeable but seems to wash out a film.

Fall cleaning feels so different from its spring counterpart. No opening of the windows and letting the wild world wind sweep out stagnation. It's more lighting the boiler for the first time and prepping for more potential time inside. A Bob Dylan day not The Flaming Lips. Nice parallel to the internal world.

Skipped coffee too. Made a full pot of potent green tea and enjoyed thinking about all its armies of antioxidants rounding up the radicals and sending them out to sea. I notice that I've been worried more about health lately, hoping that if I take care of myself it'll reflect onto those close to me. Chiropractic, physical therapy, yoga; but what I know to be true for others, I have to hold close for this body too. That means taking care of the mind as well- breathing, calming, taking a little time with the crayons. Actions that lead to relaxation but can be so difficult. I always want to put it off until tomorrow. No more waiting.

I've sat for 5 minutes trying to say more, but that's it. Writing again is quite difficult. There's no internal daily dialog to lead the way, just short clips that belong on the fast facebook update. As I head to the store to buy healthy fuel for the bodies that reside here, I will take a moment to describe an apple in detail to myself, to listen for the hum of lights and the soft turning of grocery cart wheels; if I'm lucky, I might even hear my own breath...

the first day of fall

2009-09-21T19:36:00.004-06:00

The first of these is usually just a stream of consciousness. No need to fight it...

Been so long since I have written in this thing. Life hasn't given much room for it lately... or I've given my stretches of internet time to facecrack. Let's be honest here.

But it's the first day of fall, when the short bursts of time that rocket summer stretch with the shadows under changing color trees- at least that's how it feels to me. So, maybe, with some forethought and determination, it'll be possible to set aside a breath or two and a little room to write.

I was rushing out of Hale today, skipping part of my office hours to grab a cheap burrito. My lunch bread was moldy and I felt like spending money. I was beelining for the crosswalk and run into one of our senior professors, standing in the street, eating an apple and looking at the trees. In our seminar with him, he always told us when to go to the mountains to see the aspens peaking. After my weekend in Telluride where yellow crept up the mountains, setting green trees on fire, I had been thinking of him a lot. We chatted about the best times, places and mood of the day to view the changing leaves. He said he was only eating an apple for lunch because he had an appointment in 20 minutes. As I ran across the street, dodging cars through an unchanged light, I realized he had put the first day of fall before a hurried meal. I barely heard this voice yelling from a faraway, nearly forgotten place in my head, "=======SLOW DOWN========!"

Looking back on this time two years ago (http://itsastretch.blogspot.com/2007/09/ground.html) I was trying to do the same- slow down. Breathe. Close the mouth, open the eyes and pay better attention to the fillings of life. I was recovering and starting anew. Why not again? Now is always a good time for that.

something's changed

2009-05-24T22:36:00.002-06:00

Felt like writing a little update about what’s going on here, to put it in perspective, to help me understand why I just now realized that I leave on Friday and haven’t really done much to prepare… and why that doesn’t bug me. I have a feeling this will be a rambling piece.

I’m staying with my parents in a Dallas high-rise apartment; a one bedroom apartment. I sleep on a Princess and the Pea blow up mattress in the dining room area, sweetly privatized by a bamboo screen my mom bought. Or I sleep there sometimes. Other times I sleep on my mat in the living room, loving how the floor straightens my back, while a long time girlfriend sleeps in the bed.

I’ve had two so far, long-time girlfriends, visit for overnights. First LeeAnn, on my second night here. We’ve been friends for 23 years and are closer now than we’ve ever been… except for maybe when we lived next to each other and spent every summer day playing Barbie and tag. While she was here we talked. A lot. And it was beautiful, raw, honest and wise. The other was my friend Rachel, Rachie. We’ve known each other since 3rd grade, but have been close friends since freshman year high school. Again, we are closer now than we’ve ever been. I love that my parents know them and take them into their apartment like daughters. I love that four people can exist in this place and not feel cramped… perhaps it is the 31 floor view of the city that keeps the space open. Maybe it’s just how I’ve changed.

Because I have felt this incredible calm as of late. Maybe since March. I don’t know what it is and I don’t know where it came from. Really started to notice it around Take Back the Night- this event that spiraled large into my life and required (or at least I chose to give it) a lot of energy and time and passion and patience. On the night itself, I was barely nervous, and not at all upset that it was cold and rainy. We met anyway. We marched anyway. And even though the crowd was relatively small, it happened, I enjoyed it and the world felt perfect as it was. Since then, there’s been an easiness about things, even when they are really hard. Even when I’m really angry or sad or not in control like I’d like. It’s as though there’s an extra level of foundation under it all, holding me up and helping me feel secure. My friend Tim said he’s noticed a change from my pictures. I’m guessing this is it, but I don’t know what that means.

And here, at home, I feel it as a presence in the moment. Times when, in the past, I might have been distracted or distant or impatient with the situation, thinking of the next adventure or someone I should call or see or some chore I should be doing, I am here. Totally here. With my nephew, I treasure all the little moments we get to spend together, and he shows he notices in his hugs. With my parents, I listen more carefully and feel a closer partnership. With my friends, I suck up every moment and feel a profound gratefulness for the depth they give my life. I haven’t felt annoyed or anxious or any of that stuff. Did someone slip a valium into my water bottle?

So rambling indeed and I’ll leave out the details of my new Netbook, the rooftop pool, long runs around the city, people I haven’t seen in 11 years. And just settle on a new, wonderful stage in my life prompted by this peace. It’ll change. Everything does. And heading to Thailand with my greatest curly-haired adventure on Friday will prompt something new, I’m sure. In the meantime, I feel like savoring, rolling it around my tongue like a good wine, hoping the aftertaste lingers.

Denver International Airport

2009-05-15T23:50:00.002-06:00

Thought since I was here, I’d try to ask Lost and Found directly about a bag I left last month. They never seemed to check very thoroughly when I was on the phone. I set my mind to “open” trying to feel the good vibes I felt in Cancun when I recovered an iPod that had been missing for a week. I just knew walking into that airport office that it was in there. They first handed me a pink 8 gig, nicer than my own.

“No, I’m sorry. That one’s not mine.”

“I think it’s the only one back there. I’ll look again.”

I felt so calm and sure, and after 5 minutes of her looking, there it was, wrapped in duct tape, holding the earphones tight to the body. Perfect timing.

This time, the feeling was different- positive but not sure. Walking up to the airport information desk, there were three women gathered around, chatting and giggling. The one up front turned around and yelled, “Ukulele!”

She sauntered towards me and took it from my hands.

“Do you play?”

I thought she seems very excited not to.

“Yes, from my childhood!” eyes lit up, teeth showing.

She checked the tuning, singing “My Dog Has Fleas” then began strumming it confidently, loudly, fingers moving without looking, her hips swaying side to side as she hummed to herself. I didn’t know the song but I loved watching her play. Her eyes opened and she looked at me directly-

“What about you? Do you play?”

“Not very well- I could never quite get the strumming like you do. I’m bringing it home for my mom.”

“Oh! Is she an old lady like me?”

“Ha! Um, well, she wants to learn how to play too.”

“Great!”

Her friends started to request songs, but she said she could only remember “Isn’t she lovely?” She played for a few more seconds and handed it back to me. I couldn’t help but notice some of the dust had been knocked free from under the strings. Her friend chastised her for stealing it from me, said I was lucky to get it back, and asked,

“What was your original question?”

“I don’t remember! You just totally made my morning.”

The bag wasn’t in Lost and Found- if it had ever been, they would have gotten rid of it two weeks ago. It was okay though. I was able to let go of that material hope and hold instead to that spicy moment, some foreshadowing of all the adventure and new people and experiences, not two weeks away, but starting now.

screen play- rough draft

2009-05-10T18:15:00.007-06:00

Because one often writes about what one knows...

Scene opens:

(girl pulls up to gas pump in beat up Cavalier. she's on a road trip for thinking and is in a distracted state. the car had been chugging on the mountain and she figured it needed gas. she had just driven over 200 miles through the Rocky Mountains and doesn't know how big the tank is. goes into the gas station, buys Octane Boost and puts $15 towards the tank. begins to pump. at 4.7 gallons, it stops).

girl: damn pump! it's nowhere near full. I'm not losing $15 on 5 gallons

(starts handle again and it stops a few 10ths later)

girl: son of a monkey

(keeps pumping the handle- 4, 5, 6 times. starts to smell gas, then notice that there's some spilling out of the top. the gas attendant runs out of his shop right as she hears a water fountain-type noise. he's holding out a dollar and some change)

attendant: it's okay! you could get back whatever you don't use!

girl: oh! thank you! I was wondering...

(she looks under the car. gas is spilling out everywhere onto the ground)

girl: um, there seems to be a problem. i thought I was out of gas so I stopped to fill up, but it only took 5 gallons. now gas is spilling everywhere on the ground. um, do you think that's because i overfilled the tank or from a mechanical problem?

(attendant gets on his knees and lets out a low whistle as he watches gasoline shooting out everywhere. girl starts ringing her hands and pulls them to her chin)

girl: I think maybe there's a problem with the fuel pump

attendant: does it run rough?

girl: yes, sometimes and I have to gun it. do you think this spillage could be caused by that?

(attendant looks under the car again. the flow's slowing to a trickle. girl's hands take a sort of prayer position and her face flushes)

girl: I kind of kept pumping it after it stopped too. maybe it's overflowing

attendant: yeah, it's really slowing down. I don't think a fuel pump would do that. you know, when the pump stops, usually that means the tank is full.

girl: I know... I'm not just not, um, very familiar with this car. I'm so sorry. is there anything I can do to help? can you remove the gasoline from the driveway?

attendant: yeah, I'll just wash it off with water

(gives girl a strange look)

girl: I really am sorry. I'm distracted today and I... thank you for giving my change back. I'm sorry.

(she crawls in the passenger side of the car to the drivers seat and puts the key in the ignition. it starts up right away, the needle moving over way past full. she doesn't look in the rearview mirror for the attendant's face, just lowers her head and drives off)

girl: wow, Fugs, we got 40 miles to the gallon in the mountains! way to go buddy! man, I feel like an idiot...

coffee shop music

2009-05-03T19:42:00.002-06:00

I've only asked a coffee shop to change their music once. It was the holidays and they were playing Christmas music... for like three hours. I am not the biggest fan and finally caved, begging the barista to change it. I think I offended him. Decided that was no longer an okay thing to do. Part of the pleasure of being behind that counter is listening to whatever you please.

But, wow, these last three hours of my life have been a bit claustrophobic. In this "edgy" coffee shop (this *is* Boulder), they have been playing painful, painful music. At least to my ears. The Doors mostly. On and on and on, The Doors. I never knew they wrote so many songs! Mostly because I don't listen to them. There's something about his voice that blooms dark, kinda nasty ego-centrism. And I rather hate the harpsichord- even Bach. It's like horseradish for the ears. I feel so wrong posting this, but also feel so trapped in this sonic prison, too loud to block with ear phones, although I'm trying with pop music of the loudest variety I can find, lots of treble to cancel out noise. MGMT "Kids" * Not proud of the choice, but such measures should be forgiven in times like these.

* not sure what they are saying and don't want to know. rather pleased with guessing that it's about a child, coming up in the world, and him giving the warning to take only what you need from it. one of the few lines I tune into it "family of trees falling." i like the concept of that warning. sticking to it.

osteology project

2009-04-25T17:47:00.004-06:00

I like bones, for the most part. I just like living people better. Trying to combine the two in our final project entitled: Who are these guys? But now since I and my female research partner have entered the picture, it's Who are these people?

Here's part of the intro...

1 INTRODUCTION

We all tell stories of our lives, of our journeys and they bind us. They bind us to our experiences and, as we share them with others, they bind us together across time. In our project, we encountered three stories: two we learned from others, and one we lived through ourselves. And here we will retell pieces of each of them to you: the story of the ancient Nubians at Kulubnarti, the story of those who excavated them, and our story of discoveries through investigation as we sought to understand the title of our quest: Who Are These People?

1.1 Kulubnarti

He scrambled over deep tan boulders, eyes shielded from the sun with his right hand. His long-sleeved woolen gown flapped about his ankles as a brisk wind swept over the dry wadis and quiet alluvial plains, kicking sand into his face. Headed to one of the few plots of farmable land, irrigated most years by flowing river waters that made his home into a temporary island, he thought of the lentils and other legumes his family hoped to plant this year, perhaps even fodder for their cow. They needed enough to eat and enough to pay taxes to the king in Dongola at the end of the season. Last year, there was barely enough food for both…

Kulubnarti is located in the extremely arid region of modern day Sudan called the Batn el-Hajar (“Belly of Rock”). The area has poor soils and is marked by intermittent wadis, or hardened valleys, large granite boulders and a few fertile flood planes. The area of Kulubnarti is located along the banks of the Nile between the second and Dal cataracts, a portion of the river that was, at the time of these populations, relatively un-navigateable due to rapids. Even so, the Batn el-Hajar has been home to many scattered populations living off its scattered but relatively fertile flood planes (Van Gerven et al. 1995; Adams et al. 1999; Turner et al. 2007).

Kulubnarti is one of these.

Okay, okay, okay... back to the real stuff... evidence of rickets in skeletal material for example...

tiny footprints

2009-04-22T10:15:00.002-06:00

It's Earth Day. I love it. How brilliant to set up a day to celebrate something we continuously take for granted. It's a great way to wake up!

Today is the perfect string of moments in which to try out those good ideas we seldom leave time for. Myself included. What follows is not an attack; it's a note to self, and to anyone else who cares to read it. Some simple suggestions for how to carry today into our permanent routines:

1) Stop using useless bags. Do we really need a bag to carry out that one greeting card bought at Walgreens? How about those two gallons of milk? They come with handles! How about the stuff you managed to hold in your hands through the grocery store- can you get it out to your car in the same way? And if you're ready to step it up a notch: bring your own. Reusable bags are easy to find nowadays. Or, shoot, just reuse the ones you got from the grocery store last week. Difficult to remember? Make yourself buy one every time you forget- they are usually $0.99. That's just a $1 more on your bill.

Think about how a white plastic bag looks trapped against a barbed wire fence or up in a tree- torn, nasty, around for a long time. Then think about how one Walmart turns out THOUSANDS of those an hour. Yes, we are just saving one bag when we bring our own, but that's how it starts and that's what makes a difference. And people around us see it and we can start a trend! There is one grocery store here in Boulder that won't even give you a bag anymore- plastic OR paper. You either bring your own or use a recycled box they keep near the register. I love that store.

2) Stop drinking bottled water. It's usually not better than tap water, at least in this country. It's not regulated; it's not tested. Many times it's just tap water in plastic bottles; sometimes it's worse. One source for three bottled water companies in the US: a well sunk in an industrial area near a SUPERFUND site. That's nasty.
http://www.allaboutwater.org/bottled-water.html

And the bottles are nasty too. Ever wonder why there's an expiration date on your water? It's water! It's been around since Earth has been around- why would it expire? Chemical leaching from the bottles. Remember that Nalgene scare a couple of years ago, people worried about the plastics leaching BPA into the water? The same thing applies to the cheap plastics our bottled water is sold in. Some even think the phytoestrogens from these bottles are part of the cause for rising obesity rates. And after you're done drinking it, that bottle ends up in a landfill somewhere, or requires lots of energy to recycle. Or, as is increasingly the case, it ends up floating out in the ocean somewhere in a huge island of trash. Yuck.

http://www.physorg.com/news112248742.html
(about an 10 million TON island of trash in the Pacific TWICE the size of Texas; made of, you guessed it, 80% plastic)

If we want to make sure our water is purified, we can do it ourselves- it's cheaper and guaranteed. Filters for the sink are ever more affordable and put out hundreds of gallons. Even Walmart promotes them as a way to cut down on plastic use; you can get one there and skip the bag on the way out the door!

3) Drive less. I know not everyone lives in a place where biking is feasible or even safe. But I do think everyone, again myself included, can think twice about moving the car across the parking lot to go to the next store. Just use it less, in any way you can. And, unless you own a hybrid like Prius, that includes idling. It makes a difference!

4) Use less electricity in your house. Those energy saving bulbs last over 5 years! And now they come in all sorts of brightness levels and colors, including the softer yellow we are more used to. Use your blankets instead of the heat at night. Open the windows instead of running the AC. (I know, in Texas that's not always a comfortable thing to do- but how about when you're not home?) It'll save you money too! And a lot, a LOT of electricity nationwide.

5) Pay attention to your product buying. It's hard. I know it's hard and I don't do it enough. So many angles, things to pay attention to: the amount of packing, type of packing, chemicals and dangerous toxins inside of the products (especially electronics). In many ways, we just aren't given the options to make better choices. But in some ways we are. If we tune in just a little more, do a little more research (yay internet!) and even start writing companies to tell them what we really want (recyclable packing and less of it, safer electronic technology), we could really start a change. Everything we buy goes somewhere after we are done with it and all too often, that is the backyards of the poor: China, Africa, or in the case of nuclear waste, Slavic countries. The more we pay attention, speak up and vote with our wallets, the better this will get.

Okay, I will stop my treatise here. There's a lot more we could do: composting in our kitchens and backyards, buying local, recycling even and especially if it's not available door-to-door in our area. I am sure you can think of a lot too. Let's make today like New Years, but for resolutions having to do with Mother Earth. Every day is the chance to begin again.

Ready... set... go!

doodling in the margins

2009-04-21T16:22:00.007-06:00

I'm supposed to be writing an introduction to a team-effort paper on Nubian mummies and all their maladies; actual human beings, bones in the ground for over a thousand years on which I've had my hands, bits of their skin floating up my nose while I work. Instead I'm eating Pho inside on a sunny day- all the wrong things. I feel like it's been so long since I've written.

I have posts saved up- written on slick natural paper in a new journal, word documents titled "blog" typed hurriedly before class starts. But it doesn't quite feel like writing.

Take Back the Night has ended. It was a strange affair. Not the affair itself but how I felt inside of it, like someone had given me a valium. All that work- so much work! And it was immediately transformed from this community event that was supposed to be a loud march through town, have a rally in the middle of Boulder with hundreds of people... to a small event, mostly students, gathered under a covered space from the rain. But we marched in the wet and we yelled into the street and up onto the buildings that sexual violence is wrong and that we were angry. It was, in some ways, more powerful with the rain; one girl called it tears. The unintentional force of the weather. And although I guess I should have felt nervous or let down by the change of events, the total-on-the-fly-you've-'wasted'-so-much-time-for-the-unexpected situation, I was calm. Happy. Engaged. I enjoyed every minute of the preparation, even the unused parts, even the personalities that tested my abilities to be a human relations specialist's daughter. In some ways, even the fall out and processing its ending and its subject matter, especially in personal ways.

It wasn't the result that mattered- the night itself was the punctuation at the end of a very long phrase. I actually enjoyed the process, writing the sentence itself. Like a good afternoon spent on a mountainside, creating nothing that will be hung as art. What a strange thing to enjoy the journey.

It's important for me to see this now, as I stand looking at the end of my grad career, completely unsure of my next step. I am *never* unsure of my next step. I, at least at this moment, do not enjoy academia. I don't want to continue. I want to do something else. Something I enjoy the process of. I'm not writing any sentences about it; just doodling in the margins.

ideas for post graduation:
1) perhaps a position working on the UNESCO project in Bali
2) work on teaching certificate and teach in public schools
a) try for secondary education
b) take opportunity to continue my own education- creative writing classes?
c) get to be in the classroom, open young minds and enjoy travel/vacation
d) use the experience to apply for international schools
3) wait tables until I realize why I want to do other things right now
4) explore more jobs abroad
a) could include Antarctica
b) New Zealand work visa?

and then we found $86

2009-03-17T16:15:00.004-06:00

I get a kick out of those stories that ramble and pitter out, and to save it, the narrator adds off-handedly, "Then I found $5." It fixes the story right away. Have you ever heard this? Cracks me up every time.

Yesterday, we, three troopers of the bravest order, tried to go roller skating. Well, we succeeded in that, so I guess I should say we tried to get to the rink in a timely manner. We didn't succeed in that.

Exited 287 and went left into suburbia hell. Stretches of wide, empty streets with glaring lights overhead, flat, browned grass stretching out between the concrete of car dealerships and bland office complexes. Nothing looked familiar. Tried to hang in a left hand turn lane while we called for directions. There might have been a flask in the front seat and a couple of empty beer bottles recently finished. A cop pulled a raging u-turn in front of us and scared the living daylights out of me. Headed back to the highway.

Next exit up, left again. Stretches of stop lights and strip malls, gas stations and pull offs into new housing developments filled with two story, four bedroom, brick homes, lined with the same wallpaper. We kept calling for directions but our informant couldn't remember and every proposed left was supposed to be a right. Deeper into the blandness. The night's theme was disco, 80's or whatever. I had on a somewhat tie-dyed tank top, retro shorts, the sleeves of a striped long-sleeved shirt on my calves like leg warmers or long socks, hair in pig tails. I wanted to play, but it was getting late and we figured the rink might close. The music was loud in the car, which I don't usually mind, but everything little thing was grating on my nerves. More stop lights, left, right, brown.

At one point J exclaimed:

"I will never live here! I won't do it! You can't make me!"

"No one is asking you to."

"Well, I won't!"

Twenty miles into suburbia hell and we stopped at a "Special K". Were told to get back on the highway and exit Church Something.

"No f*ucking way are we getting back on the highway. I don't even know where it is!"

"Maybe we should just go back to Boulder."

"We've been in the car for an hour. I am going skating."

Deeper into the suburbs and we hit another highway. Another U-turn, then, there, back, where? over, around. A red sign. Got out of the car- 30 minutes left in the party.

And then we found $86.

No, really, we did.

I looked down and there it was. A wad of cash. $20 bill on the outside. And 3 more under, followed by a $5 and a $1. We cleared karma- asked at the front desk if anyone had inquired about lost cash, then left a note on the car it was found next to, asking if they had lost anything. J's number to respond to. The front desk said no one had asked. The car people texted J the next day and weren't missing a thing. Wahoo! Split three ways and cash for the week!

Rushed into the skating rink and met Lisa, whose going-away party it was, and we started jamming right away. Photos. Bootie shaking. She had killer homemade pants with strips of sequins that lit up my life- even had a patch in the crotch. They let us waive the entry fee and rent skates for free. It was a blast for that 1/2 hour- laughing, dancing, racing. The beats of the music were bouncing off the walls and it was only adults, most of us inept and wonky, running into each other, arms waving. At one point Laura, a little off balance from the whiskey, pushed Christian, skating awkwardly with his hands in his pants, into the wall so as to, as she explained, make her not feel like the klutiest one out there. Christian's face was of such shock, I almost fell over laughing. To the bar for the afterparty- met a great friend and his friends and brought noise to the tame Boulder scene. Pool, darts, someone's birthday, a physics dance and really loud celebration of everything that can be gathered up about life. Out of repetitious lost brown. The night radiated and the bland faded away. Amazing how a mood can shift.

It all turned on a dime... or rather, a wad of cash.

ethnographic writing workshop

2009-03-17T11:55:00.010-06:00

We had the chance to do a hands-on writers workshop for ethnographic style. There was a lot said about personal voice, and also about character and story and context. We had free writes. They were timed so we usually had to stop in mid sentence; I will add what I wish I had finished here because... the unfinished drives me nuts.

Free write- List of things that matter to me- memories, place, people etc (I misinterpreted and put it in the context of fieldwork/travel)
- how a morning market smells, the amount of moisture in the air, anticipation- mine and another's, knowing when I'm lost and the moment I think I'm sure but am proven wrong, hands clasped, head down, unoffending, questions at the right time, the proper way to cook rice, the sound of ducks at twilight, the light glancing off the eye of someone opening, fading into the background to watch hands lifting food, a small child on my lap to feel part of a circle, the crunch of red gravel replaced by the padding of soaked earth, remember the color and angle of reflection and how that reverberates in the body, catching my breath suddenly as a bike curves around the bend. surprise!

List- research and why it's important (to me)
- protein and the connection to ingestion from birth to death, hands in flooded fields searching for something that matters today, tomorrow, for oneself, one's family, one's friend, pruned fingers, tired backs, effort to haul manure and its stench, differing attitudes?, desires the same, motivations, automative vs. innovative, rebellion, new regime, outsider influence or knowledge from a grandmother with deep brown skin and wrinkles at her wrists who never stopped calculating, calibrating, innovating, thinking of her children and grandchildren and mother's bother who comes over for strong tea

Scene From Fieldwork, context: Dignity village
- brown, thin, sticky smell coating down to your fingertips, your fingernails, blowing over the fence from the compost yard, socks always damp, at least at the toes, from ever falling misting Portland rain and how you are always looking down when you walk to balance between the pallet slats, swollen with fat splinters, dark at the edges from things that grow in rain, a red beacon windmill storing energy for a cool night spent around the cast-iron-wood-burning stove where we made soup and shared exaggerated stories of why we're here

Write about yourself: fieldwork experience- a time when something was revealed to you about yourself or a meaningful encounter: Dignity Village
- Disappointment in myself: the toughest moment. New Years and a resident, NAME HERE, had snuck in a bottle of whiskey or went out to drink it with the day job pay from that week. Late 50's and his wife lived with him in the camp. The whiskey had set him off, made him angry and he was screaming, but what I don't know. I was huddled in a borrowed sleeping bag in my tent, both flaps shut to the misting rain, holding in the white gas heater's fumes, propped 4 inches above the tent pallet, on another pallet, covered in blankets they found for me so I'd be warm and comfortable. I could hear the scuffling and the fighting, imagined fists punching through the air, his grey dirty overshirt flailing as he fought as men tried to hold him down, shove him into his van, lock him up for the night. No drugs or alcohol in the camp! At least not in public. Violence. A broken life, it seems, at that age. (but he was easily forgiven in the morning, accepted for who he was, thought of as a friend who made a NYE blunder). I'd go home in four days to a hot shower and a dry bed. Mewing outside the tent and a wet, filthy little cat let himself in. Black, very fuzzy. He didn't hesitate but climbed right into that $200 sleeping bag with me, sloppy paws and all and I curled myself around him, both of us purring. His wet back had a dry fuzz underneath that I could sink my fingers into and feel his heartbeat, warmth at my chest. Took in animal comfort over human strife. He stayed until I was calm, quit crying. Left as directly as he entered. Aren't I supposed to be an anthropologist? (definition: anthro: study of man)

Character: an individual from research: a scene when you saw something more in them (this is way shorter than I'd like- want more contrast in the beginning from the end)
- I have forgotten her name, or his. I think she decided to be female. She was very large, deep toned skin, loud booming voice that carried and intimidated. She wore a flannel like I did in the camp. There was a sweetness about her, a desire to take care of others. She made me fried chicken one night, swore it'd be the best I ever ate. But she'd threaten to kick the ass of anyone who got near her propane tanks. During the day, she sat in the old trailers filled with office- computer and disorganized paper- searching for money: a job, a training program, a get-rich-quick scheme. Believing anything to have a taste of hope. I thought gullible.

She had a job mentor. One day in the trailer-office, she turned to me, her eyes filled with happy tears. A compliment. He'd given her one. I don't remember it now- how soon I forget my own. I expect them, I guess. They should be the norm.

"My mother always told me I was a pile of shit. I'd never amount to a hill of beans."

Our worlds are different. So different. I realized I didn't know hers at all.

spring forward

2009-03-11T19:09:00.001-06:00

Man, a lot happens in spring. People are breaking up, getting engaged, married, getting back together, refusing to speak to each other again. Riding ferris wheels.

Today was very naik dan turun. Up and down, like a wave. Not so much in the mood, but waves of events and news. My parents are moving back to Dallas. Very soon. My dad got rehired at FDIC for a heckova lot of money and with times as they are, it was hard to deny. It's only a short term gig. One year, maybe two. They'd have to live in an apartment and find some way to take care of the (read: my) animals and rent out their house. Know any responsible folks who want to pay just utilities and watch two cats and a charming dog in Alpine? Anyway, it was pretty amazing news. The last time they made a big move (from my childhood home in Garland to Big Bend National Park), I "rebelled" - smoked pot, tried sex, drank under age, flipped a truck and was care-flighted a few hundred miles. The usual. This time the impact is much smaller, but I still feel it. It feels like adventure in a way.

Then research stuff took a weird turn today. For one to get a research visa in Indonesia it takes: a year, connections with a university, sponsorship by a professor and hiring an Indonesian student to work under you. Dissertation type stuff. Initially, I understood this was not necessary. But now, looking at what I want to do and sharing it with others who know Indo government, I learn... it's very necessary. More so, if I want to do any research that requires talking to another human being... it's probably necessary. If I want to *take notes* while I talk to people or walk around, it could be... yes, necessary. Or I could get kicked out of the country and prohibited to ever return. Um... hehe. Oops. My tickets are pretty well bought as of 3pm today. I still want to go. I still want to do something. I'd kinda like to graduate. I'm just a little confused.

And, best of all, something broke free inside of me. I don't know what it was, but it was the wrong color- a nasty brownish grey, maybe. And I'm glad it's gone. It was attached to anger reactions and fear and obsession. I don't know how or why it left, but I feel some sort of space for something else. Something bigger. Less restrictive. More of the edge of a cliff, hoping your tiny rigged wings will do what you think they'll do. And I'm writing. Just for a moment. I hope for many more. That says something too.

last night

2009-02-12T13:05:00.007-07:00

It was just a little rebellion, not much. Enough to release some steam and feel a smile pulling at the mouth's corners.

It started with this sad song I watched on YouTube. One of those pleasantly sad songs that retells part of your life and asks the hard questions (to which the answers were... no, not really). A girl is recording it and my favorite part is when you hear her small voice sing a few words, despite herself, "with a tear in her eye." I must have watched it 5 times. Then knew it was time to get out.

He and I had talked about breaking into the hot tub of Boulder's finest hotel several times. I was ready- he had other inclinations, so I got advice on how to sneak in, slid on my bathing suit and a fancier outfit so I'd fit in with the decor. Their lobby had a beautiful older man playing piano, singing just like John Prine. I sat down hard on their plush chairs and just breathed in his notes, the way he leaned into the microphone with his eyes shut, unaware and uncaring who was listening and who was clinking wine glasses. Almost didn't get into the spa because the inside door required a key. But on the way back to my car, noticed a balcony, its gate swung open, its door leading to the pool. Unlocked. An older woman popped her head out of the changing room when I entered but apparently no one was alerted. The hot tub was huge, lined in tiles that shimmered in the spotlights. The jets were powerful and turned on a fountain that shot from the wall. I stayed in for over a half hour, sometimes wading, sometimes just dipping my head back onto the side, arms outstretched, buoyed up by the jets. Thought about how, in foreign countries, it's easier for me to sneak in and do this because I'm white and look like I belong. How it was so wrong to have that freedom when others didn't, but I'd act on it anyway. The shower was strong and hot and they had great body wash. I pretended not to know where I was going, but it had been decided before I left the house.

There's one good radio station in Boulder, 9.73 and it was pumping out some song I used to know, every word, but couldn't remember from where. Fugs and I zipped past the street home and on to the next small town, where there's a western bar that reminded me of what the song reminded me of. I knew they had wine and a wide menu, some of it fried just right. I had my information of the geological time scale and some catch up to do. The moon! The moon, was rising over Denver- huge, deep yellow. I had to pull over and stare at its obscene beauty. There were only locals at the bar and only seats in the middle open. The bartender was gruff and her boyfriend was on the side, calling her baby and asking for kisses. I spent most of the time studying, some of the time talking and left before it got too late. All on my own time.

I am so grateful for this new-found freedom in wheels. I want to respect and use it rightly, responsibly, for those moments that lift up the next several days. Got a sticker from Oskar Blues, this bar in Lyons, and pasted it to the back as a momento of our first rebellion together. And in hopes for many, many more...

facebook and the primate mind

2009-02-05T14:31:00.003-07:00

Is Facebook really so bad? Really like crack- foreign to the body and unnatural? I'd like to argue in most ways, no. Granted it's via computer, a technology outside our being (for now) but in all other ways, it's organic. I'd dare to say ancestral and an answer to human drives.

What's the nature of Facebook? Key elements:
1) Social
2) Everyone is in (or can be in) everyone's business
3) Opportunities for fame or at least feedback in status updates
4) Some control over one's image

It's like an upgrade over the way we lived for most of our existence, since primate ancestors, really- in social groups. It's even theorized that's how we became such complex creatures- expanding neuron connections to deal with complicated social structures. Our deepest brains are at home being surrounded by others, constantly interacting, receiving feedback, being a part of something bigger than ourselves. And I think that's something we are missing in our day-to-day modern world. Most of us work in cubicles, or study at desks, in our own space and our own heads. We live alone or with just one other person, in cities where little deep or continuous interaction takes place. The social side of our brain is craving connection and complex relations to others.

The upgrade is, of course, our ability to filter, to go off-line, to ignore. That's much harder in person. In a tribe or even a small town, a bad day is difficult to hide from the group as is our dislike for someone. There's no opportunity to put up our best picture as we muddle through bad hair or a bad mood. We speak a lot more and say really uninteresting, occasionally socially awkward things, instead of being able to reduce interactions to well thought-out quips and responses. Facebook offers the sweet filter to cut that stuff out and try to just put a best foot forward. And that's natural too. We want to be liked, be thought of as always witty, and socially brilliant. There's nothing wrong with that. Where else, really, do we get that chance? And I'd go so far as to say that our influx of media, where lines are scripted and hair/makeup is prepared before the lights go up, we somehow see this as a little more normal.

So why keep beating ourselves up over Facebook love? Interaction can be fun. It feels good. Not because it's a drug but because it's what we need as humans. I say embrace your addiction and know it's feeding you! Just so long as it doesn't get in the way of what we really need- awkward, real-time, face-to-face connection- the scary stuff that wakes us up and make us grow. Cheers Facebook and all those who love her.
_______________
Improvements to make before posting on Facebook-
1) Can more be done with "Facebook" and "face-to-face" interaction. Something to do with book? Play on words?
2) Add something about controlling who is your circle and how they are usually not strangers
3) Something about people from all over your life, who knew different parts of you and the different stages you went through. Like a small town where you grew up or a tribe that's seen your whole life. Comfort in that.

meditation commitment

2009-02-05T10:57:00.002-07:00

I am committing to 4.5 hours of meditation a week today. I am searching for a paradigm shift.

Internal life has been on hyper-speed since... I dunno. Last semester maybe. Even when I'm not running around physically, my quiet moments feel rushed and on high vibration. Something has to change. It's bringing everything up a notch and not in a good way, especially emotions. Been trying to read The Power of Now. I can see what he's saying, but feel like these realities exist in a universe far, far away from here.

So class starts today at 3pm. 3-5pm, then 30 minutes a day 5 days a week. I am not expecting peace actually, especially at first. Meditation has a way of making you look at your own mind- not always a lovely experience. As the mediator pointed out, it does "interesting" things, like writing your grocery list 100 times, reliving old hurts, projecting future problems, creating fears, talking yourself up, talking yourself down. It's like a 3 year old child, always wanting attention, uncomfortable just sitting still and being. My hope is that with practice, it'll behave a little better and let me exist in small places of peace, even for just a few moments at a time. That sounds really, really nice right now...

tortured

2009-02-03T13:16:00.004-07:00

I'm feeling a bit guilty. There's an older British man speaking on the screen in our Evolutionary Biology class. He keeps saying "Austro-LOW-pa-THEEE-kus!" I can't pay attention for the life of me, even though this information might be on the test. It's not just that I can't pay attention, it's that I have to do something, ANYthing other than listen. Facebook can't move fast enough. I've run out of bill pay, catch up emails, Zen thoughts. I am dying to get out of here, to get away from talk of Homo habilis, and this man's sweet blinking face.

Apparently my love for biological anthropology only goes so far.

25 Random Things

2009-01-28T20:08:00.002-07:00

This is a facebook thing. It's the only non-academic, non-interpersonal thing I've written in a few days so I am cheating and posting it here:

Rules: Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

(To do this, go to “notes” under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish.)

1) I have three main fears in life: tornados, love and myself. I think they might be related.
2) I am overly enthusiastic. I've been trying to cover this up my whole life but find it's like sticking a plug in the hole of a poorly built dam.
3) Main decisions in my life are marked by putting myself into situations I know nothing about for no particular reason other than a vague sense of intuition. My current pursuit of a masters in biological anthropology can stand as an example.
4) I have a self-diagnosed case of IMDS (inner monologue deficiency syndrome) which leads me to say things before I've thought about them at all. I think it's incurable.
5) I can run my tongue behind my tonsils.
6) I've never seen Pulp Fiction.
7) The secret, most precious moment in my day is to wake up in the middle of the night and find that he and I are holding hands.
8) I totter on the edge of extremes constantly. I thought this was normal, but as I get older realize that maybe it's not.
9) My greatest dream is to bounce around the world sporadically for a year... or five.
10) I no longer own a car and although I love Ol' Blue the Bike and his dairy basket more than I can say, I miss being able to tear off into the night whenever I damn well please.
11) This is the first time in my life when I truly enjoy working out.
12) I've been injuring myself a lot lately.
13) I think my mom and I are connected in ways I'll never be able to describe scientifically. It's thrilling and amazing and sometimes frightening.
14) I am a solar panel and feel a distinct recharge after sitting in the sun.
15) I daydream about sitting in the sun almost every day.
16) I feel more in my body when I have long hair.
17) I get stuck on media pieces and will listen/watch them repeatedly- songs, movies especially- so that it's hard for me to find time to branch out and experience more.
18) In my other computer window I am watching the "Bang Bang" music video by Nancy Sinatra.
19) The greatest lesson I am learning in life, that grows like a snowball, is that people make the journey.
20) I have the best friends I could ever ask for and can hardly believe there are more to be had.
21) My favorite type of beer is a well rounded porter. Tequila: Don Julio Blanco. Whiskey: always open.
22) I can't drink rum because I get emotional. Vodka because I get too extreme. And gin because it smells like rubbing alcohol.
23) Although I haven't had a TV in 6 years, I spend more time on the internet than I care to admit.
24) Being tired is my kryptonite. If don't get enough rest, I'm pretty sure my brain sleeps hemispherically during the day like a whale.
25) When I die, I want all my usable parts donated, my body cremated and thrown into the ocean, somewhere dolphins live. Maybe a few flowers on top. I know dolphins are cliche, but definitely want my next life to be spent as one.
25a) I have to post this twice because there are too many people I am curious about and can't fit them all into one "tag"

status update

2009-01-26T11:37:00.004-07:00

Remember when talking about yourself in third person was weird- a kind of throwback to the King's English? The royal We or some such thing. Thanks now to Spacebook/myface updates, it's normal for the common man. People I barely knew before are becoming clearer to me through these updates, particularly those who post clever wordings that stick in my head all day. It seems as though I am granted a precious glance into their internal world; I'm amused by how inspirational a briefly published sentence can be.

Ashamed to say but I spent a good deal of my workout running through potential updates in my head. It's a fun way to organize your moment-to-moment, but is also a little creepy and self-centered. Here's some that came up:

1) Margaret wishes her left knee would quit bitching and get it together.
2) Margaret ran backwards today. That's not a metaphor. Okay, maybe it is.
3) Margaret can't get the words "lacrimal fossae" out of her head.
4) Margaret has a spring in her step and a crick in her neck.
5) Margaret would like to thank the city of Bangkok for sipping on her dreams last night.
6) Margaret has never craved peanut butter so much as in this moment.
7) Margaret will never complete her to-do list.
8) Margaret is getting into Animal Collective.
9) Margaret has the best friends a person could ever ask for and is feeling deeply grateful for the bright side of humanity.
10) Margaret would like to straighten some things out before she goes snowboarding again. Namely, her back.

It feels weird writing them out.

Margaret thinks Facebook is the new and interesting interface for the internal thoughts of humanity.

at the top of A-basin

2009-01-18T17:38:00.001-07:00

Ice rocks, the size of peas, pelted us from behind. 100 mph winds shot snow up from the mountain in huge clouds. We sat at the edge, wowing and fighting to see, a drop so steep, only the ground a 1/4 mile out was visible. Heather stood and spread out her arms. The wind pushed her over the precipice and down the face, screaming in delight. I whooped and hollered to gather my courage, but quietly: "Make it down alive. That's all you have to do." Up, all is white, and the floor drops out from underneath.

*whoosh*

Another good scare. Another good day on the mountain.