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Something about multitasking spreads my focus. I can never seem to hold on to a thought for more than 30 seconds.
Sometimes when I cool down from a hot temper, I feel silly and embarrassed.
It's so much easier to read others' blogs than to come up with my own ideas for writing. An idea will flash before me then disappear just as quickly. Forgotten forever. Frustrating.
I really like the ring "Hey May" has.
I need to write instructions on how to subway surf successfully. Landing in the lap of a handsome man is integral to this process. Or at least have him catch you and smile as he gently helps you back on your feet. This hasn't happened to me yet, but I plan on perfecting the method.
I went on a date tonight. Ladd. I'll post a few photos and recap the evening later, when I'm not so tired. I will say I had a great time.
I've started keeping a notebook of thoughts again. I keep it on my desk at work, because I forget things so easily nowadays.
I wrote a haiku:
"In My Cubicle"
Chair filled with work piles
No one stops by for my help
Empty it: I drown.
It's June, people. I'm not quite sure how that happened.
This was at the farmer's market today. I can't believe I had to cross out and rethink my entire menu for the week, because they ran out of tongue. Seriously, who bought all the tongue? Maybe I should have gotten a couple of pounds of the kidney instead.
Also, take a look at that sidebar over there. Yeah? This is where I'm nudging you with my elbow and going, "What do you think, eh?" The page is A LOT longer than I intended, and I started getting a little restless by the end of it, so I might revise it later when I'm not so tired.
Today's run was fine. It was my slowest 10K yet, but I'm glad to have finished. Consider:
If you can do four miles, you can do five.
If you can do five miles, you can do six.
This does not necessarily translate to: If you can do four miles, you can do six.
The five in the middle is very important in terms of mental convincing.
Man alive, people. I's tired.
Did you know today's race was called the Healthy Kidney 10K? They sell for $6.99/pound.
Aww, man. I could make myself write about what I had planned on, but I'm just not in the mood. It was going to be a somewhat serious piece, full of good childhood memories and my crying like a blubbering idiot. It might have to wait until I've come down from this runner's high.
The park was beautiful this evening. I can't believe how out of shape I am. I did three sets of 10 pushups, and I know I won't be able to do so much as open a door in the morning. That's okay. Tonight's run has made me realize how much I need to clear my mind. Or at least focus my thoughts.
I saw two things on the subway today. This morning on my way to work from seminary, I saw what must have been the hairiest man I have ever seen. Probably of thousands of jokes exist about the missing link, but this man, he was no joke. I was standing right next to him on the 2 train. He was wearing a polo shirt. He had dark hair that was greying. I happened to look down at his arm, and then I was confused, because my mind went to a kitchen place where they keep steel wool under the sink, you know, in the case of those especially tough stains. That man's arm could scour my pots and pans. Oh man. He had little tufts sticking out from the vee at the front of his shirt, and even at the back of his collar. I did not even want to think about his back. Ew, people.
On my way to the park after work, I was just minding my own business on the train when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was a friend from all the way uptown. We talked for a couple minutes until she had to get off a couple stops later. I was glad to see her. If I still lived up in that neighborhood, it wouldn't be as big of a deal. But, when you've joined a couple million commuters at the end of the day, it really helps to see a familiar face.
72 degrees today. It's hard being cranky on a Monday when it's so, so beautiful outside.
The park was beautiful this evening. I can't believe how out of shape I am. I did three sets of 10 pushups, and I know I won't be able to do so much as open a door in the morning. That's okay. Tonight's run has made me realize how much I need to clear my mind. Or at least focus my thoughts.
I saw two things on the subway today. This morning on my way to work from seminary, I saw what must have been the hairiest man I have ever seen. Probably of thousands of jokes exist about the missing link, but this man, he was no joke. I was standing right next to him on the 2 train. He was wearing a polo shirt. He had dark hair that was greying. I happened to look down at his arm, and then I was confused, because my mind went to a kitchen place where they keep steel wool under the sink, you know, in the case of those especially tough stains. That man's arm could scour my pots and pans. Oh man. He had little tufts sticking out from the vee at the front of his shirt, and even at the back of his collar. I did not even want to think about his back. Ew, people.
On my way to the park after work, I was just minding my own business on the train when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was a friend from all the way uptown. We talked for a couple minutes until she had to get off a couple stops later. I was glad to see her. If I still lived up in that neighborhood, it wouldn't be as big of a deal. But, when you've joined a couple million commuters at the end of the day, it really helps to see a familiar face.
72 degrees today. It's hard being cranky on a Monday when it's so, so beautiful outside.
- Mood:
nervous
So, last Tuesday I took the final for that English class. It has been 9 days since it was mailed in, and if this were a regular assignment, it would have been graded by now. So, I sit around and log in to the Independent Study website every 22 seconds to see if they have posted my grade. For the past three days, the computer screen has looked like this:
The sub means "submitted." I wish it meant "subwoofer" or "submarine sandwich." Or subito, which is a musical dynamic marking that means "suddenly, abruptly." Because that's how my test needs to be graded. Today is the 24th. It wouldn't have taken them 2 days to grade it. Maybe the professor is out of town. For some reason this reminds me of when I applied to BYU my senior year of high school. Laura and Summer also applied, and they got their acceptances before I did, and I turned in my application around the same time they did. And people told me the reason they took so long with me is they were considering me for a scholarship. Well, no scholarship is at stake here, folks. It's just a final. Unless they give scholarships for taking more than a year to complete a correspondence course, then I'm out of luck. All this sitting around and waiting is very, very nervewracking. Hee, out of the three of us, Summer was the only one who went on to get her degree from BYU, then to pursue a Masters in Marriage and Family Therapy. Is that right? Then out of us three, Summer and Laura went on to get married and have babies. Oh, man, I feel myself being drawn in to a comparing place, and I know if I go there, I'll end up very mad and ready to start cussing. So, I just won't go there. Maybe my handwriting was too small, and they had to fashion a special lens out of rare glass that they had to travel to outer Mongolia for to read the answers. Maybe the professor decided to go harvest some edamame and got buried in a bunch of pods and it's taking a long time to dig him out so he hasn't had a chance to look at my test yet. Maybe they don't like me. I get that. Maybe some angry rabbits from a parallel universe ate my test. Yes, that's the most likely explanation. If I don't have a grade tomorrow, if nothing is under the F or G, I'm going to scream.
The sub means "submitted." I wish it meant "subwoofer" or "submarine sandwich." Or subito, which is a musical dynamic marking that means "suddenly, abruptly." Because that's how my test needs to be graded. Today is the 24th. It wouldn't have taken them 2 days to grade it. Maybe the professor is out of town. For some reason this reminds me of when I applied to BYU my senior year of high school. Laura and Summer also applied, and they got their acceptances before I did, and I turned in my application around the same time they did. And people told me the reason they took so long with me is they were considering me for a scholarship. Well, no scholarship is at stake here, folks. It's just a final. Unless they give scholarships for taking more than a year to complete a correspondence course, then I'm out of luck. All this sitting around and waiting is very, very nervewracking. Hee, out of the three of us, Summer was the only one who went on to get her degree from BYU, then to pursue a Masters in Marriage and Family Therapy. Is that right? Then out of us three, Summer and Laura went on to get married and have babies. Oh, man, I feel myself being drawn in to a comparing place, and I know if I go there, I'll end up very mad and ready to start cussing. So, I just won't go there. Maybe my handwriting was too small, and they had to fashion a special lens out of rare glass that they had to travel to outer Mongolia for to read the answers. Maybe the professor decided to go harvest some edamame and got buried in a bunch of pods and it's taking a long time to dig him out so he hasn't had a chance to look at my test yet. Maybe they don't like me. I get that. Maybe some angry rabbits from a parallel universe ate my test. Yes, that's the most likely explanation. If I don't have a grade tomorrow, if nothing is under the F or G, I'm going to scream.
- Mood: impatient
So I wrote the editor of that publication back on Sunday. Here's what I said:
Ms. [Editor],
I deeply appreciate your thoughtful response to my submission. I figured it would be somewhat of a long shot to publish my essay for [Publication], for exactly the reasons you expressed, but it was definitely worth trying. I've read and am familiar with the essays you accept, and I understand why To Remember, as it is, doesn't quite fit.
The issue I have is where I actually am in relation to the experience I have related. I'm not quite sure how far beyond the abuse I've come. All I know is that I'm still healing, but I've learned to forgive as the Atonement has worked through me. The essay in its current form is a work in progress, and in keeping with the memoir-type style I use, the part where I Come Out Okay Despite All I've Been Through is scenes away from where Mom calls me down for dinner. Where I sort through the confusion and dig deep in my own faith has yet to begin. The work is largely incomplete, yet I can't shake the feeling - responsibility, whatever - to connect with [Publication]'s audience with my experience. I know I'm not alone in this; other victims of abuse could use that support.
If I were to rework the essay, it would seem to end up a considerably different piece than what you currently have. If that's the case, could I keep what I have now to submit to other forums? I understand your right to keep the piece until I complete the rewrite, if that's what I agree to do. I'm just throwing around some ideas.
I guess I need some time to think about it some more, pray about it. Again, thank you so much for your response, and I truly appreciate the communication.
May Anderton
I received a response today:
May,
I received a response today:
May,
Any essay you submit is officially yours to keep, in any form, until you sign an agreement of publication. The idea for reworking and resubmitting would leave you under no obligation to [Publication] in regards to To Remember. Think of this more as a direct solicitation (which, for the record, we rarely do) for a similar essay that we would be able to publish under our stated guidelines and mandate.
Your description of To Remember as a scene from a larger work in progress is in large form the feeling we got reading through it. That you have very insightful things to say about the road you are traveling is the main reason we are interested in seeing if we can get hold of a scene we can use. We are not necessarily looking for the cleanly tied off "And Now Everything Is Just Lovely" story. We don't really publish many essays where everything easily wraps up in a pretty package -- especially not ones that deal with subjects like this which are simply not pretty in any packaging. But the piece would need to focus on you and your journey -- at whatever point in that journey you happen to be -- as much if not more than on the scene of abuse itself. When I say the essay needs to include an underlying faith in Christ, I do not mean you need to bear your testimony in paragraph six. I mean that there needs to be a sense that faith in Christ is somewhere; that you struggle with the premise that there is a reason life is worth struggling through.
Please take all the time you would like in consideration. We publish two non-contest issues a year, and so are consistently sorting through essays. Your submission would be welcome whenever you feel comfortable with resubmitting it.
Best,
[Editor]
So, I'm gonna do it. i'm going to rewrite it. Dude, they're soliciting me. I don't know how long it's going to take, but that's okay. It's going to take a ton of dissecting and piecing things together; it's going to be a lot of work, but that's okay. It might sting emotionally, but that's okay, because, hello? I already know the ending. I have to do it. It's what I want to do.
So, I'm gonna do it. i'm going to rewrite it. Dude, they're soliciting me. I don't know how long it's going to take, but that's okay. It's going to take a ton of dissecting and piecing things together; it's going to be a lot of work, but that's okay. It might sting emotionally, but that's okay, because, hello? I already know the ending. I have to do it. It's what I want to do.
You know that essay contest I entered back in December? Well, I received a response on it. I checked my email when I got home from the potluck dinner this evening and read the very thoughtful message from the editor. I didn't win, which is fine; I figured it would be a long shot, considering what I wrote about and how I wrote it. The editor told me as much. I'll include her message here:
Dear Ms. Anderton,
Dear Ms. Anderton,
Thank you for submitting your essay, "To Remember," to the [Essay Contest]. The entries this year were impressive, broad, and numerable, and we had a hard time narrowing our contest selections. Although we found your essay to be strikingly potent -- in subject matter, style, and honesty -- it was not selected as a winner. Normally in such cases you would receive a letter of explanation, as well as appreciation for your willingness to submit to the contest, but with this letter I am making a slight departure.
As you know from past submissions, our general policy is to accept pieces for publication, hold them for later consideration, or reject them. I don't think I can fully express how impressed we were, not only with your essay but with the courage required to write it. While we would like to hold the essay for future consideration, we find ourselves in something of a quandary regarding content. To Remember is honest about a subject that is often swept into the corner, but which demands a better understanding, not only within the [Publication] community but within the broader world. That you present this difficult subject well is the greatest strength of your essay. At the same time, this presentation creates a problem for publication in a journal such as [Publication], which seeks to explore sometimes difficult issues and questions, while maintaining a central focus on faith in Christ. In current form, To Remember is focused on portraying the abuse your suffered (and rightly so), rather than where this abuse has taken you on your life path. Please understand me: I am not suggesting you need to rosy-up or sidetrack your very painful experiences. In fact, in many forums this essay as presented would be precisely the essay an author would give their left arm to be able to produce. You've dug down to the bones, to astounding effect. However for publication in this forum, the focus of the essay would need to shift from portrayal to journey; to move not only through but also beyond your experiences. The subject of abuse requires that you take us into the bedroom with you, but for publication in [Publication] you also need to help us walk back out afterward.
You are obviously under no obligation to rework this essay. If you would rather remove it from consideration for submission to another forum, we understand, and wish you the best of luck. However if you are willing to consider working through and resubmitting To Remember, please email me directly at prose@[Publication].org. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
[Extremely Nice Person]
Prose Editor, [Publication]
So, I am in a similar quandary. I don't have any idea how I would rework this. I'd have to shift from memoir to something epiphanic; I'm not sure what they're expecting. Are they expecting all hugs and puppies and bursting rainbows at the end? To be completely honest, I don't know how far "beyond" the experience I am. To imply otherwise would be an untrue depiction. But, like she said, other forums would accept the essay as-is. I wonder if I did rework this, I could keep the current form to send somewhere else. It's not like I'm dying to published, but it would be good to connect with as many people as possible on this subject. I consider it a worthy enough cause.
I'm a little confused as well; it seems my presentation is more the issue than the content. This essay is part of a working project, and it's nowhere near complete. I don't think I can compromise the style, because that is part of its power.
There's no harm in communicating to her what I've expressed here. Looks like that's going to be the next step.
So, I am in a similar quandary. I don't have any idea how I would rework this. I'd have to shift from memoir to something epiphanic; I'm not sure what they're expecting. Are they expecting all hugs and puppies and bursting rainbows at the end? To be completely honest, I don't know how far "beyond" the experience I am. To imply otherwise would be an untrue depiction. But, like she said, other forums would accept the essay as-is. I wonder if I did rework this, I could keep the current form to send somewhere else. It's not like I'm dying to published, but it would be good to connect with as many people as possible on this subject. I consider it a worthy enough cause.
I'm a little confused as well; it seems my presentation is more the issue than the content. This essay is part of a working project, and it's nowhere near complete. I don't think I can compromise the style, because that is part of its power.
There's no harm in communicating to her what I've expressed here. Looks like that's going to be the next step.
- Mood:
contemplative
My inner thighs are talking, but I cannot hear what they are saying.
That's probably because they're close enough now to be able to tell each other secrets.
I still don't weigh as much as I did that summer I worked at a bagel shop.
Oh-so-close to qualify to give blood.
This is how much I weighed last month in Austin.
***
Writing every day has been good exercise. I've been flipping through my archives, and some entries aren't more than a line or two long. Which is fine, but I didn't realize how much I went to this site at work until 1) work cut off all "personal and storage sites" and 2) I looked at all the quippy posts written during work. I can definitely stand behind writing on my own time.
***
When I was in college, certain words would pop into my head on my walk up to campus. Words with a fun rhythm, words that were related. One set of these words was interpolate/extrapolate. Many a morning I marched to the cadence of "interpolate, extrapolate" to a religion class or calculus or a chemistry or genetics class. Or to take a nap in the women's bathroom of the 5th floor of the library. It had couches.
I've been thinking about the evolution of language and how readily we accept some connotations as denotations. I certainly appreciate how flexible and inclusive of social/education status language has become. It's great to have so many options. As I was enjoying my "interpolate, extrapolate" memory, I thought about how connected those words are; they have the same root but opposite-meaning prefixes, and they both can refer to mathematics or the mental handling of information.
So I wondered, what other sets of words are this way?
Then a dimension in my world bent. Oh my gosh, how in the world did increment/excrement happen? At what point did something go really, really wrong? I don't know about you, but my mind goes in completely different directions when I hear these two words. I tried looking up archaic meanings, but it seems excrement has always meant ... "excrement." Processes can increase or improve in increments, but it's hard not to associate a certain other process with excrement.
What about you?
***
Jenny and I are going to explore Brooklyn today. Then we'll hightail it up to Harlem. We stayed up until 2:30 this morning. And now? You can see what time it is now.
- Mood:
tiredly energetic
From the last batch of homework:
From Assignment 9 -"You write exquisitely! And analyze/observe equally well."
From four blog entries I turned in - "You write extremely well - even 'correctly.' And the writing is most engaging - and the ideas perceptive."
Well, the professor did a great job at inflating my ego. This is not what I need. Because all I'm doing now is rereading my assignments and the comments and memorizing every single word and red mark. So, that helps. The assignments aren't pristine. A few comma splices, a few omissions. The red ink is validating. Focus on the red ink, May. Keep the ego at bay. Do you hear what I say? Are you okay? No, you cannot play. Hey. Now, go your own way.
Today is the first day of spring. It was hella windy. It would have been a comfortable 48 degrees if it weren't for the gale whipping everything about. Including me. And I can't go around making Wizard of Oz references all the time. I've got a job to go to every day. I have a blog to maintain.
I found a compromise. About milk. I can drink cow milk just fine. I mean I'm slightly lactose intolerant, but I stand behind the fact that I weaned from mammal milk before I was two years old. I like soy milk just fine. And I think almond milk is good, but it gets quite pricy. So I was in the store the other day looking at the alternative milk options. And then I saw it: almond soy milk. And it didn't cost as much as almond milk. I picked up a quart on my way to work. I let it chill in the refrigerator. I had some raisin bran. Almond soy milk is delicious. Try it: you might like it, too.
For those of you visiting in the next couple of weeks, it looks like we'll see highs in the 50s. Dress however you deal with 50-degree weather. Also, plan on having a legitimate blast. We're gonna have so much fun. You're gonna wonder if it's legal to be having the amount of fun we'll be having. We'll be obeying the law though. You don't have to worry about that.
- Mood:
content
Assignment 11: A (the professor graciously sent me a copy to submit and study from)
Assignments 18 - 24: A The fun part about those last seven assignments is I got to turn in some of my writing. Maybe he slaughtered it, and that's fine. I need the feedback.
Professor's comment from Assignment 8: Amazingly accurate. You read my my mind, or you know your stuff.
Little does he know about the classes in mindreading I've taken.
I'm off to take the midterm, then I'm going to work. That is, my job.
I'll schedule my final today, too. I'll probably take it late next week.
Happy green Monday, everyone.
Yes, I got her a cocktail shaker. Whenever she's thrown parties, she'd make "mocktails" for the guests. I thought I'd bring it to the next level for her. For those of us non-drinkers, it's pretty funny. The appearance of evil is a fine line, but here, it's also a fun line. She enjoys the challenge of finding substitutes for liquor. The cocktail shaker is a "dial a drink," meaning the sides of the container will tell you what proportions of ingredients to use depending on what you want. It's pretty nifty.
Okay, Becky's a genius. The box in my right hand is a chemistry kit for BUBBLE BATHS. It has packets of fragrances and little pipettes, and it seems like so much fun! Taking a bath is a science project! I can customize my own baths! The book in my left hand is John Hodgman's The Areas of My Expertise. John Hodgman is the PC in the "I'm a Mac.... And I'm a PC" commercials. It's one of the funniest almanac-type books I've ever seen. If you get a chance, and if you're the least bit geeky, check it out.
***
Earlier that night I read out loud to my roommate part of an essay I wrote for a contest I was entering:
me: Hey, can I read something to you? It's for an essay contest.
her: sure.
me: I'm only going to read part of it, since part of it has some sensitive material
her: you mean adult-sensitive?
me: yeah
her: okay
me: [reading text]
her: wow
[pause]
[pause]
[pause]
me: so, can you be objective?
[pause]
her: I'm going to enumerate my points
me: okay
her: one, I had no idea, and I'm sorry
me: that's okay, it was a long time ago.
her: two, that's probably the best thing you've ever written; there was one part, [citing a sentence], the way that's worded is really beautiful
me: thanks
her: three, you should totally submit that to the Ensign
me: um, because the rest of that essay is particularly sensitive, I wouldn't feel comfortable submitting it to an official church publication. Also, the contest I'm entering is for a women's publication.
So, I'm not sure if Becky was entirely objective. I don't know if it's the best thing I've ever written. Even if it is, I'd feel like I was peaking too early. Ideally, though, I want everything I write to be the best thing I've ever written. Anyway, my roommate was very successful at making me feel good. So I gave the entire essay one last once-over, I copied and pasted it in the body of an e-mail addressed to the essay contest; I put the title of the essay in the subject line, and I put my name, address, phone number and email address in the body of the email preceding the essay. Then I clicked "send."
And now, I wait three months.
I've finished packing. Okay then.
First off, I want to say how much I love my friends. Their passions, their soapboxes, their good intentions sometimes ill-perceived. It's what makes the world, my world go round. I know I'm definitely not perfect, and sometimes my attempts are half-hearted and lame, so I can't fault anyone else for his/her shortcomings. .
I really thought about going for a run this evening. I planned it out in my mind the layers I'd be wearing. BECAUSE IT'S RAINING. When it was 30 degrees last Thursday, it was also relatively dry, with the snow that looked like fairy dust falling from the sky. But if I can feel the cold dampness right now? through two (2) pairs of socks and a pair of shoes? I don't know if an hour in the elements would be very fun. I considered wearing running tights under a pair of wind/water resistant and reflective running pants (that are also thermal!), a long-sleeved shirt with a water/wind resistant shell that has a hood over that. I'd wear a cap and ear warmers to make sure the rain stayed away from my face. I've run in worse weather than this. How'd I get so wimpy?
It'll be clearer tomorrow. I'll go for 2 miles then, and I have a 4-miler on Saturday. That'll put me at 13 for the week. For getting back on track, that's a decent start.
Good golly, Miss Molly. My feet are freezing.
The teacher I'm assisting in Union Square is heading out to BYU-Idaho for the winter semester. She's leaving December 29. Her replacement has been called, so I'm excited to be working with her.
Crazy transitions.
I'm procrastinating working on a project. Sometimes it's fun to just write without any direction. More importantly, it can be cathartic. So there. I'm nurturing my muse by decongesting creative channels.
I really thought about going for a run this evening. I planned it out in my mind the layers I'd be wearing. BECAUSE IT'S RAINING. When it was 30 degrees last Thursday, it was also relatively dry, with the snow that looked like fairy dust falling from the sky. But if I can feel the cold dampness right now? through two (2) pairs of socks and a pair of shoes? I don't know if an hour in the elements would be very fun. I considered wearing running tights under a pair of wind/water resistant and reflective running pants (that are also thermal!), a long-sleeved shirt with a water/wind resistant shell that has a hood over that. I'd wear a cap and ear warmers to make sure the rain stayed away from my face. I've run in worse weather than this. How'd I get so wimpy?
It'll be clearer tomorrow. I'll go for 2 miles then, and I have a 4-miler on Saturday. That'll put me at 13 for the week. For getting back on track, that's a decent start.
Good golly, Miss Molly. My feet are freezing.
The teacher I'm assisting in Union Square is heading out to BYU-Idaho for the winter semester. She's leaving December 29. Her replacement has been called, so I'm excited to be working with her.
Crazy transitions.
I'm procrastinating working on a project. Sometimes it's fun to just write without any direction. More importantly, it can be cathartic. So there. I'm nurturing my muse by decongesting creative channels.
If you eat a pound of cherries in a single afternoon, you will have painful gas.
That is a fact of life.
Speaking of, don't you think that one contestant from America's Next Top Model looks like Tootie Ramsey? I know you know who I mean.
"Whatever it is I think I see, becomes a Tootie Roll to me!" Not quite. Wouldn't it be funny if a Tootsie Roll went around in roller skates asking for Mrs. Garrett?
I was at Washington Square Park today. I didn't see anyone in roller skates. The person leading the rally said two cleverish things:
At the end, he said, "If any of you want to play chess or Scrabble, you can play the guys in the back, there. They're really bad."
Also, "It's so great so many creative people have gathered here in Washington Square Park. ... Not buying pot." To which, a guy standing near me replied, "Speak for yourself!" And, "Not good pot..."
I have pictures!
I know no one here. I was standing on a bench, near some directors, presumably, because they cheered when they were shouting out to different unions and acknowledged the directors. I think I stood right beside a famous midget, who knew these directors. I know that his name is Mike. I hope no one shot an amusing photograph of us.
Two famous people here. 1 - Me, of course. Notice that I'm wearing my strike-red turtleneck. 2 - The zoom on my camera is lousy, but that's really Danny Glover. Read up on that link on different names for a clam. I had no idea. Oh, I was walking up to the rally just in time to hear Gilbert Gottfried's speech. I did not see him, no. But I heard him. If you've heard him before, that's pretty much all you need to hear. That voice is hard to mistake.
The crowd was decent. It was nice for Tim Robbins to show up and say a few words, too. The best speaker of the day, though was a congressman whose last name is Weiner. Anthony Weiner. His thoughts flowed really well, almost naturally.
The leaves were nice, so I had to include a couple of those:
So, since I'm discussing the strike (sort of), I have to link to a story I discovered through the Strike Captain whose blog I've been reading. It's one of the funniest things I've read in a long, long time. The language isn't malicious, violent language; it's reaction cussing, and there's no f-bombs. It's quite funny; I couldn't stop laughing out loud in my cubicle today. I know that's rationalizing, but I trust that's how the story went down. I hope you enjoy it.
No, I didn't not eat a pound of cherries, this afternoon. But I've done it - of course when cherries are in season - and I strongly advise against it.
That is a fact of life.
Speaking of, don't you think that one contestant from America's Next Top Model looks like Tootie Ramsey? I know you know who I mean.
"Whatever it is I think I see, becomes a Tootie Roll to me!" Not quite. Wouldn't it be funny if a Tootsie Roll went around in roller skates asking for Mrs. Garrett?
I was at Washington Square Park today. I didn't see anyone in roller skates. The person leading the rally said two cleverish things:
At the end, he said, "If any of you want to play chess or Scrabble, you can play the guys in the back, there. They're really bad."
Also, "It's so great so many creative people have gathered here in Washington Square Park. ... Not buying pot." To which, a guy standing near me replied, "Speak for yourself!" And, "Not good pot..."
I have pictures!
I know no one here. I was standing on a bench, near some directors, presumably, because they cheered when they were shouting out to different unions and acknowledged the directors. I think I stood right beside a famous midget, who knew these directors. I know that his name is Mike. I hope no one shot an amusing photograph of us.
Two famous people here. 1 - Me, of course. Notice that I'm wearing my strike-red turtleneck. 2 - The zoom on my camera is lousy, but that's really Danny Glover. Read up on that link on different names for a clam. I had no idea. Oh, I was walking up to the rally just in time to hear Gilbert Gottfried's speech. I did not see him, no. But I heard him. If you've heard him before, that's pretty much all you need to hear. That voice is hard to mistake.
The crowd was decent. It was nice for Tim Robbins to show up and say a few words, too. The best speaker of the day, though was a congressman whose last name is Weiner. Anthony Weiner. His thoughts flowed really well, almost naturally.
The leaves were nice, so I had to include a couple of those:
So, since I'm discussing the strike (sort of), I have to link to a story I discovered through the Strike Captain whose blog I've been reading. It's one of the funniest things I've read in a long, long time. The language isn't malicious, violent language; it's reaction cussing, and there's no f-bombs. It's quite funny; I couldn't stop laughing out loud in my cubicle today. I know that's rationalizing, but I trust that's how the story went down. I hope you enjoy it.
No, I didn't not eat a pound of cherries, this afternoon. But I've done it - of course when cherries are in season - and I strongly advise against it.
So, I just got back from a run. I sprinted the last little bit home, and now my left, um, ... cheek is spasming.
Writing checklist:
Writers strike
Therapy
Boys and friends and how I have plenty of friends already
Movies I want to see
Patty Griffin obsession stuff
Thanksgiving
Christmas
Seminary
STAKE CONFERENCE
Farmers market
Game night and not being able to not win, except when I try really hard
Wrinkles and moisturizer
Running
Peeling back layers
November is National Blog Month?
and cetera
Writing checklist:
Writers strike
Therapy
Boys and friends and how I have plenty of friends already
Movies I want to see
Patty Griffin obsession stuff
Thanksgiving
Christmas
Seminary
STAKE CONFERENCE
Farmers market
Game night and not being able to not win, except when I try really hard
Wrinkles and moisturizer
Running
Peeling back layers
November is National Blog Month?
and cetera
- Mood:
sweaty, happy, cheek-crampy
I just have to say, today's the third day in a row I've gone running. I haven't done that in at least a year. And, on this third day, finally, I am sore. I like it. 2.5 on Tuesday, almost 6 last night, and 3.3 this evening. My legs haven't worked this hard in a while, and I'm also finding the exercise is helping me with sleep, which helps alertness, which helps productivity, and my mood. Yeah.
Plus, the weather! In the evenings it's in the 70s, and with a slight breeze, it's perfect.
I have gained 10 pounds in the past year and a half. I will concede part of that is cycling muscle weight, but most of it is cutting down on the consistent exercise and increasing the calories. Stop rolling your eyes. Seriously, I could be healthier.
I will be going on a canoe trip with the church youth on Saturday. Ask me how excited I am. Go ahead. I love that stuff. And to spend such a fun activity with the youth? It's going to be amazing.
Then, off to a going-away party for a friend that evening. Stop moving, please?
So much to write about. I'll just have to take one thing at a time.
Plus, the weather! In the evenings it's in the 70s, and with a slight breeze, it's perfect.
I have gained 10 pounds in the past year and a half. I will concede part of that is cycling muscle weight, but most of it is cutting down on the consistent exercise and increasing the calories. Stop rolling your eyes. Seriously, I could be healthier.
I will be going on a canoe trip with the church youth on Saturday. Ask me how excited I am. Go ahead. I love that stuff. And to spend such a fun activity with the youth? It's going to be amazing.
Then, off to a going-away party for a friend that evening. Stop moving, please?
So much to write about. I'll just have to take one thing at a time.
Ray is top notch and nothing he posts is unsubstantial. Funny, serious, thought-provoking. All of it is good. I love how much he loves his family, including his cute and loyal menagerie. I love his passion for his causes, and I love how he's a friend to everyone. I'll probably always be chasing after him, as far as volumes of writing is concerned. I'm okay with that.
I'm writing about my 1000th now, because I want number one-zero-zero-zero to be something not about my 1000th. Or maybe it'll be nothing special at all.
So, that averages to about 20 entries a month, with a couple month-long gaps from lapses in creativity or expression, or just needing a break. Who doesn't need a break?
I don't know how many people even read this thing. Every once in a while I'll come across a comment from a friend that I didn't know knew about my online journal. I'm glad people are finding out about it. While I'm still relatively discretionary about content, I don't mind anybody reading what I've put on here so far. Few exceptions, as you may know. Those who are privy to the friends-only view know what I mean.
I'll use names every once in a while, even when I'm not being gossipy. Sometimes it's more important for me to associate a name directly with an event or experience. I'm documenting history here. This is May's life. My kids will be reading this.
I have to admit I started this thing for the sake of my friends. It seems a bit less personal than a mass email, but I'm not sure what more you can expect, especially when I'm putting (almost) everything I have into these entries. Sometimes the subjects aren't emotional, but they're personal. They're all personal. If they weren't, I'd stop writing right now.
I'm eating half of that baby watermelon right now, from Thursday night's entry. I'm thinking of Shelley and Jeremy. Shelley's in sunny SD right now, because she flew with the baby, and I don't know if Jeremy's made it cross-country with their stuff yet.
Maybe it's the idea of milestones, and I'm ridiculously sentimental. My five-year mark in the city is this upcoming February. I'm also getting a bit stir-crazy, and I've done a bit more praying on Austin. If God wants me in Texas to marry a cowboy and become weirder by rubbing elbows with the Austinese, who am I to argue with that? The way the Lord answers my prayers, however, requires mega patience and faith. If doors open, I'd be a fool not to move.
Nine hundred, ninety-eight. And ... post.
I'm reading Dan Brown right after reading Alice Munro and Joan Didion. They don't compare. Sure, it's writing, but they're not the same. The ladies are slower and more contemplative, while Mr. Brown has a much faster pace and has no shame about contrivance. It's not horrible reading; I just find myself a bit skeptical how all the details are woven together. I've been able to predict my way through his book. Alice Munro's short stories are about women and their conflicts. They're raw and vulnerable and the endings aren't always happy; resolution isn't a rainbow, but an acceptance that it might keep on raining. And, Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking. One immediately gets the impression this was quite difficult to write. I sympathize, not because we've had similar experiences, but because writing about them resurfaces the hurt. But she's made some discoveries about herself and processes of grief and mourning that are worthwhile.
I'll have to post some quotes later on.
Happy Summer! Super Solstice! Let's see how late the sun sets this evening...
- Mood: thoughtful
I'm also glad to be inside.
More from The Writing Life:
A well-known writer got collared by a university student who asked, "Do you think I could be a writer?"
"We'll," the writer said, "I don't know. ... Do you like sentences?"
The writer could see the student's amazement. Sentences? Do I like sentences? I am twenty years old and do I like sentences? If he had liked sentences, of course, he could begin, like a joyful painter I knew. I asked him how he came to be a painter. He said, "I liked the smell of the paint."
***
The more I go through this life, the more I realize what I love I've seen naked. Barebones. Elemental. My dear Watson.
I DO love sentences. I like the diagramming. I like staring at one for days, wondering if it feels right, if I should leave it alone or mold it.
I love running. I love my need for mobility; one foot in front of the other, shifting coordinates, tweaking my body mechanics.
I love my friends and family. Of course I've seen them naked, all the way through them, to their very souls.
Brr.
- Mood: content
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