Thursday, December 07, 2006

Things I saw last weekend in San Fran and San Jose

This was at my company Holoiday party ...it was insane...I don't konw if you can see it ...but there's a man floating in the air ...
And this is me shooting a cork gun... I should point out that I didn't hit one target...and that was after five tries
This is my mom's cat, rolling around in the mulch. not sure why, but she was having fun.
And my Mom's Dogs..looking pretty after coming back from the Dog Laundry



This poor horse was giving a ride to a cop.

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

on the road again


(This ones for you JW.)

Why, although I do it ALL the time, I hate traveling:

stocking feet with the inevitable hole in the big toe or at the heel, on slick linoleum airport floors

people who put their shoes back on right at the point on the security conveyor belt where your stuff comes out, causing blockage from the line of people behind them, and forcing me to stand in my stocking feet just that much longer.

scratchy announcements about which rows are boarding that are illegible.

anyone pushing to be the one to enter the plane before me (come on people, we have "assigned" seats)

coach.

if you order a soda, the flight attendant gives the can. if you order a water, you get a dixie cup of water. give me the damn bottle!

baggage claim. children climbing on the baggage carousel and parents not stopping them. people who push me to stand on the edge of the carousel, blocking as many as possible from both viewing access of the baggage on the carousel as well as actual physical access.

Shuttle drivers who drop me off on the wrong side for the street, forcing me to roll my suitcase across 3rd ave while I'm are carrying a laptop, purse and my coat.

not having my cat sleeping at my feet.

showering in someone else's shower- trying to figure out how to turn the water on, how much hot is needed and how much cold, trying to find the spot on the tub edge for my shampoo, trying to figure out how to turn the water off.

not having the intuitive experience of the best way to walk to the subway, which stairs at the exit are the most efficient, which subway stop is the closest.

not having a badge for the office building and having to have a black and white digital photo taken of me that looks like I just smelled a fart.

carrying my laptop all over Manhattan.


why I love traveling:

seeing my friends

being in new york again

seeing my friends

seeing my friends.

Monday, October 23, 2006

where'd he go? where'd who go?


not sure why i haven't been blogging ... still dealing with 'block'age. but i have great advisors who encourage me and give me assignment (reading and writing) to try and make writing fun for me again.


.. in the past month ... i had a birthday ... threw myself a party...had a friend visit... adopted a cat (pictured left) ...said cat then went into heat (which is really quite a sight to see)... and am now attempting to blog again ...

Thursday, September 21, 2006

and now back to our regularly scheduled programming

So ... back to school.

and once again ... a word from our sponsors:

I'm taking a class with Sarah Levine, one of the more popular professors at the art institute. Her classes fill up fast and are hard to come by, it was luck that there was an opening and I slid in. It's hard to tell this early, but I think she's worth the hype:


I'm also taking a class titiled "Travel Writing" The professor is Anne Calcagno. She is quite enthusiastic, which is good because this is an evening class, and regardless of how exciting the material, it's hard to pay attention when you are sitting in a classroom at 8pm.


And this semester I have two graduate advisors. The first is Mary Cross, who I took a class with last semester. She's a poet, essayist, fiction writer and also an enthusiastic professor. Plus, she digs my work. So that helps.

And I am doing advising with Beth Nugent. She's another professor that is extremely popular and I'd heard great things about her. She seems to really dive into your work and is really invested in advising her students. When I left our advising session I almost felt like I just left a therapy session and I was feeling motivated to get some writing done.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Remembering an old friend and co-worker


Patrick Sean Murphy


Sometimes, you learn the most about someone from the silence. From what people who knew them best do not say. With Patrick Sean Murphy, they don"t talk about his job much, as successful as he was.

No, those closest to him emphasize other pieces of his life. Because he did. They all say he had three loves: his family, basketball and fishing.

Summer weekends at the family cottage in Beach Haven, N.J., would find Mr. Murphy, 36, fishing on the 20-footer named Nothin" But Net. Because, though only 5- foot-9, he could drop a basketball into a net without hitting the rim.

Mr. Murphy, a vice president at Marsh & McLennan, formed basketball leagues. He was a regular at Knicks games. He even taught his daughter, Maggie, only 2 years old, to dribble (with both hands).

But he wasn"t dogmatic. His son, Sean, 4, somehow wasn"t charmed by basketball, so father and son would find projects. They"d fix things around the house in Millburn, N.J. They"d search Internet sites for information about trucks, Sean"s passion, and Mr. Murphy would bookmark them.

"He enjoyed his success," said his wife, Vera. "But Patrick had a motto. He"d say he worked to live. He didn"t live to work."

(Copyright (c) 2001 by The New York Times Co. Reprinted by permission.)

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

irish blogging to come...

i will soon post:

the dogs of Ballyvaughn

collaborating ... otherwise known as ... the making of tron 4

realworld- county clare :when writers stop being nice and start being real

all the things i love about ireland

all the passive aggressive ways the irish tell you to Feck off

aran islands...falling in love with ireland again

the cows of county clare, the cows of innis mor and innis main

synge'ing on a soft day...



...or something of the like... the burren is wild country ...and for this city girl it's been an adventure not having things like the internet, a tv, a working ipod, or even a hot shower.

still and all ... i love the craic in ireland.

where's she been?


and here: in Ballyvaughan

What she be saying?





Where have I been?

the burren college of art ....

(not my pics btw ...)




















i am having issues with the internet connection in county clare ...and with blogger ...so bare with me... will post more later

Monday, July 17, 2006

11:20 PM on a Thursday night in Dublin



Yes, that's 11:20pm. Still some light in the sky... this was taken at the top of my street

Posted by Picasa

A few things to note

I've met only one Patrick.

Seen only a couple redheads.

Gaelic is not "Irish". There is a separate Irish language; it's one of THE most ancient languages.

The Irish call soccer soccer, rugby rugby and football, well they have their own sport that they call football.

Policemen/cops are referred to as guards.

Your home is your "gaff"

If you are drunk, you are "locked" (let's just say that the Dubliners, the ones from my office in particular, have gotten me quite locked)

After a night of being "locked" you will be knackered the next day (tired).

The guide books were not kidding about the buying of "rounds", get in there early as soon as possible to do your duty.

Apparently I’m a “bird.”

Neighbors know neighbors, even in Dublin.

Again, can’t say it enough, Dubliners are lovely.

* I promise PROMISE that I will start posting photographs...next post.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Craic

Definitions of craic on the Web:

a Craic'ing good time ...otherwise known as my first irish week

Ireland so far …

My challenges have been:

  • dialing the phone. (sometimes you add an 01, sometimes a 0 in front of a number)
  • placement of the shift key on the keyboard
  • I keep saying dollars instead of euros
  • Standing on the correct side of the street when attempting to hail a cab
  • Crossing the street (knowing which way to look to check for oncoming traffic)
  • Pronouncing things in a way that the Irish understand me (for instance my apartment is on a street called Fitzwilliam Quay - I keep wanting to pronounce it Kwaay…the Irish pronounce it Key)

What I've done ….

When I arrived on Wednesday …It was beautiful weather outside, sunny and in the 70's. But when I got to my apartment, I fell asleep. My plan was to get the lay of the land in my neighborhood, work out the walk to the office, and do a minimum amount of grocery shopping. Instead, I got to the apartment, and then feel asleep. So of course, didn't sleep much(if any) on Wednesday night. I did, through a serious of flipping through the local phone book and all my guide books realize that my apartment is "off the map" at least in terms of tourist maps. But I managed to figure out where I was off the map and found in the phone book a Chinese restaurant around the corner from my apartment and I ordered dinner.

Thursday, I went to the office, as I suspected there were both expecting me and not prepared for me. Everyone was charming in the office, and when explaining that I would be here for a few weeks and then taking a course out west, the frequent response was "brilliant." The Irish have proven to be quite lovely so far. An SAIC friend (cc) was in town for the night. We had a tasty Italian meal in a charming restaurant off of Merrion Square and then went to a pub, which is apparently frequented by more Dubliners than tourists (according to the cab driver- Dubliners go there for "a wee bit of drink and a wee bit of music"). We anticipated lively Irish jig type of music, instead it was rather melancholy and slow. On my ride home that evening, my cab driver shared with me his love life whoas and gave me instructions on what areas I shouldn't walk though at night…he also pointd out that his "mad exgirlfriend" kept calling his mobile on the cab ride, in a 7 minute ride, she called 10 times. I gave him love advice, and a big tip as he dropped me off. And when I came home, I actually did sleep a bit, but not as much as I needed.

Friday, went to the office. Struggled again with the shift key, and dialing out … but getting the hang of it. Then came home, took a nap, discovered a web site that you can order delivery from (yeah the internet) …ordered Indian food, watched Irish TV (which from what I can tell is a lot of BBC shows, dramas of various sorts (as in the soap opera family), American shows (a season late), and there is even a channel that from time to time has shows that are all Gaelic, and more than once it's taken me several minutes to realize that it isn't just the heavy Irish brogue that I can't understand, it's another language) I then fell asleep for the night sometime around 1am, and slept til 12:45 the next afternoon.

Saturday, hadn't expected to sleep away the morning, and I woke up to the type of weather I had been expecting, wet and grey. I walked around and found a spot to buy some coffee and yogurt and dish detergent and all that stuff. And then I ventured out into the city. I read, in more than one guidebook, about a literary pub crawl, and according to the website, it was a good activity for women traveling alone. So I took a deep breath, walked into the pub that was the starting point, and solo, bought a ticket and joined the pub crawl.

It was fun. The crawlers were a mix of americans, candadians, dubliners, aussies, even a norweigan (who used to live in new zealand) the Norwegian (or Viking as our guide referred to her) was a charming woman in her fifties, recently divorced, traveling ireland on her own because she has always wanted to visit ireland and had no friends who were interested in coming. She and I pal'd around on the crawl, and at the end of the crawl ended up in a pub with the dubliners from the crawl who kept buying us round after round of guinness and not letting us return the favor and buy them drinks. They were lovely and entertaining and we were in the pub past last call when finally we declared a cease fire …it was time to head home.

Sunday, I wasn't as hungover as I worried I would be, although I was a tad rough…. and CC was back in the city for the day/night. We ventured out for lunch, of course not before I took us in the wrong direction (and forget to bring the map with me) as we walked the Ballsbridge nieghborhood. After lunch I took her to one of the pubs we hit on the crawl, one that Osar Wilde and Samuel Beckett frequented while students at Trinity. Watching the World Cup, outside the US, is an experience. Everywhere people were draped with either french or italian flags. I'm not one for watching "football" but even I got caught up in the exitement of the game. We had sort of arbitrarily decided to route for France. Which seemed like a good idea, up until the end …and in particular up till the controversial head butt, and were genuinely disapponted when they lost. Although we both agreed the Italians had more hotties on their team.

CC left me this monday morning to fly back to the states …and here I am … back at the office, mastering the shift key, and struggling to make calls outside the office….

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

leaving on jet plane


It's finally here...the day I leave for Ireland.
My new passport didn't arrive until Monday.
I didn't pack until this afternoon.
But ... here I am at Ohare, waiting patiently for my bargained priced back of the plane window seat.

Thursday, June 29, 2006

Little Black Curly Hair

Sometimes I think of something that I want to write about and I make a note in a journal.
I imagine it's kind of like m.lady's post its and notes that she has stuffed in pockets.
Some are phrases that came to me or just a word to remind me of something or possible titles to stories.

Here's some notes I've written recently:

Life on an Ant Farm

Touch

The night I was rejected

Journey songs at Happy Hour

He waves like he is gesturing "Come here"

Breaking up and ex-friends

Midgets on the train.

And my most recent jotted down phrase…. Little black curly hair.

I laughed when I read that. I was on the el and looked like a lunatic. But of course it reminded me of what I was going to write about.

Last Thursday night I spent five hours sitting on the runway at LaGuardia. That does not include taxing time or flight time, that's the time that the plane pulled over and waited…and waited…and waited. There were storms in Ohio and Pennsylvania so all traffic headed west was blocked.

When I first sat in my tightly compact window seat, I noticed, lovingly resting just under the window, a little black curly hair. I recoiled in horror. But there is no room to recoil in a couch-budget-airline sit with a larger than average business man sitting next you.

I'm a fidgeter. In my defense, it's not because I can't just sit still. It's because I have arthritic joints (I've always had them - since I was a toddler). So when I am sitting in an airplane seat, I cross my right leg over my left, then ten minutes later, my left over my right, I try sitting crosslegged, I try sitting with my legs not crossed, I shift and move every five to ten minutes.

I read a great book and for a short time was engrossed in it and almost oblivious to the sitting still in an airless can for hours. Then, being attention span challenged, I lost interest in the great book. And my hips had locked into an arthritically painful position. I closed my book and tried to strectch out my legs straight and raise myself off the seat. Then dropped quickly once I remembered the little black curly hair. The larger than average sized business man next me turned his head slightly, trying discreetly to look at me as he wondered what the hell kind of spasm I was having.

I was relieved, and repulsed to see that the little black curly hair was still in tact, waiting patiently in it's spot just below the window.

I flipped through a magazine.

I called my stepmom, whispering in to my cell phone, trying as hard as possible to have the semblance of a private conversation. While on the phone, I curled towards the window, watching other planes roll down the runway, while we continued to stand still.

When I got off the phone, I checked again, it was still there, the little black curly hair.

The two men in my row stood up and went to the bathroom. I decided it was probably best that I go then as well. Plus my stomach was crying out since I hadn't eaten since lunch time. The bathrooms exhibited the strain of being used frequently over the several hours we sat on the runway. I asked the flight attendant if there was ANY food to eat. Between bites of her peanuts she said No. I eyed her, and then the bag of peanuts and said, There's NOTHING to eat? With her mouthful she said Nothing.

I crawled back into my window seat. There it was, the little black curly hair, hanging on for dear life just below the window.

Finally, finally the plane took off.

I was able to get back into my book. I distractedly read for the rest of the flight. Until right before we landed. I turned off the readers light, plugged into my Ipod and listened to Wilco while we landed. The lights came up, the people sprang off their feet only to stand still, cramped into place until finally we could deplane. As I pulled my bag out from under the seat, I looked again, and there it still was. The little black curly hair. It silently bid me farewell.

I was finally home.

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Like an old friend.


I first read Sandra Cisernos (Woman Hollering Creek) two years ago. I couldn't believe I'd never read her before, or that I hadn't even heard of her writing. She's pretty amazing. This week I picked up a copy of House on Mango Street, and wow. Now I remember how incredible her writing is …

Her's an example of what she can do:
My Name

In English my name means hope. In Spanish it means too many letters. It means sadness, it means waiting. It is like the number nine. A muddy color. It is the Mexican records my father plays on Sunday mornings when he is shaving, songs like sobbing.

It was my great-grandmother's name and now it is mine. She was a horse woman too, born like me in the Chinese year of the horse--which is supposed to be bad luck if you're born female-but I think this is a Chinese lie because the Chinese, like the Mexicans, don't like their women strong.

My great-grandmother. I would've liked to have known her, a wild, horse of a woman, so wild she wouldn't marry. Until my great-grandfather threw a sack over her head and carried her off. Just like that, as if she were a fancy chandelier. That's the way he did it.

And the story goes she never forgave him. She looked out the window her whole life, the way so many women sit their sadness on an elbow. I wonder if she made the best with what she got or was she sorry because she couldn't be all the things she wanted to be. Esperanza. I have inherited her name, but I don't want to inherit her place by the window.

At school they say my name funny as if the syllables were made out of tin and hurt the roof of your mouth. But in Spanish my name is made out of a softer something, like silver, not quite as thick as sister's name Magdalena--which is uglier than mine. Magdalena who at least- -can come home and become Nenny. But I am always Esperanza. would like to baptize myself under a new name, a name more like the real me, the one nobody sees. Esperanza as Lisandra or Maritza or Zeze the X. Yes. Something like Zeze the X will do.

----
"as if the syllables were made out of tin and hurt the roof of your mouth." I love that phrase …

Go read her today …read her now!!!

Monday, June 26, 2006

There's no place like home

New York will always be New York and will always feel like home.

But being back in Chicago …well it's good to be home. The Second City is now my home, and New York will always be my second home.

Went sailing on Saturday with my Aunt, two uncles, a family friend and my cousin. Sunday, had brunch with friends, and then cleaned my apartment listening to the music and cheers of the pride parade … I knew I lived in Boystown but didn't realize the parade went right down my corner.

Still and all … there's no place like home.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

commintment phobia?


Last night, I walked from 40th and b'way to 30th and 3rd.

Ten blocks south and 4 avenues east.

I realized that for me, New York is crammed with memories.

Old jobs, bad dates, drunken happy hours.

I realized … from 2000 till 2005 ...I worked for three different companies, in four different offices.

Went on three blind dates and one (gasp) match.com date.

Had two "relationships."

Had numerous undefined quasi-dating somethings.

Collected unemployment two different summers.

Lived in two apartments.

Drank in thousands of bars, ate in hundreds (thousands?) of restaurants.

Kissed …how many boys?

Made a priceless number of friends

The only consistent thing in my life has been my cell phone number.

Is that circumstance? Or my commitment phobia that the only thing consistent in my life is something that is wireless and mobile?

More on the 6: Mole people (otherwise known as anyone who rides the subway)

When a good friend moved to New York (two years before I did) she said she was amazed by how New Yorkers would exit the subways and just know what direction they were going in…they were mole people.

Riding my old commute … I've noticed …I'm a mole person …even after having moved ten months ago … I know how many cars from the front of the train I need to be so that when I get off at Grand Central … I'm in front of the stairs to go down to the 7 train ..and when I get on the 7 train…I get on two cars from the front …so that when I exit, I'm at the right exit that puts me on the corner of my office building.

I didn't even realize that I was methodically choosing which subway car to ride.

Of course, upon reflection, I do it on the el also … if I get on the last car on the brown line … I'm at the exit at the Merchandise Mart stop that puts me on the corner of Kinzie …and therefore down the block from my office.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

on the 6











i lived on the upper east side from August 2000 until August 2005. And before that, i still spent a substianial amount of time on the east side (upper and and especially lower).

there were days (weeks) i felt like i was on the 6 train more than anywhere else in the city.

it's been a bit of a trip down memory lane this week, riding the 4/5/6 into grand central.

I LOVE New York ... but the El makes for a more pleasant view...

The best kind of conference calls...

I'm in New York this week ... working from my old stomping grounds in our new york office. I just had the best conference call..the kind when you call in and your co-worker/friend in California is on the call, and your manager who is sits right next to you is on the call and you spend ten minutes goofing off and gossiping waiting for everyone else that needs to be on the call ... only to be stood up.

It's like going to class and seeing a note that class has been cancelled.

Proud to be an Episcopalian this week:

ABC News: Episcopalians Reject Ban on Gay Bishops

NYTIMES: Woman is named Episcopalian Leader


Monday, June 19, 2006

Dictionary.com/Word of the Day Archive/transmogrify

This sounds like a made up word:

Dictionary.com/Word of the Day Archive/transmogrify

transmogrify \trans-MOG-ruh-fy\, transitive verb:
To change into a different shape or to transform, often with bizarre or humorous effect.

A washing machine transmogrified into a guitar.
-- Adrian Searle, "Come, friendly pigeons", The Guardian, March 16, 2000

For the impulsive sin of turning to look back at the funereal pyre of Sodom and Gomorrah, Lot's wife is transmogrified into a pillar of salt as she flees the inferno.
-- Elizabeth Wurtzel, Bitch: In Praise of Difficult Women

Roast chicken is still roast chicken whether you label it haute cuisine, bourgeois cuisine or country cooking; even calling it "poulet roti" will not transmogrify this simple bird.
-- Jacques Pepin, "The Chicken Dinner, Both Humble and Noble", New York Times, January 4, 1989

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Advice on being interviewed

Answer the question that your interviewer asks you.

If they say, what was your major in college, don't talk about every class you liked and didn't like, and all the dreams you had as a child. Tell the interviewer the major you studied.

get to the point.

and when the interviewer asks again, after your rambling, wandering response that doesn't answer the direct question ... answer the question, do not carry on with meandering comments on the education system.

answer the question.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Summer musings and remembrances

Fish in the water, jumping. The ping, splish sound.

Lawn mowers.

Sprinklers

Honeysuckles flowers

Crickets

Warm tar on bare feet.

Water logged ears, goose bumps … hugging my towel after swim team practice.

Chlorine in my eyes, water in my ears.

Fireflies.

Riding my bike from the cul-de-sac down the hill to the end of the block.

Oolie goolie land.

Playing kick the can at night.

Tents in the backyard.

Lying on the grass, looking at the moon.

Steamed crabs and block parties.

Sparklers.

Rolling in waves, sand stuck in my bathing suit.

Peeling the skin from my sunburnt nose.

Digging my toe into sand looking for the slick grey slimy discs of sandollars.

Frogs.

Flav-o-ice popsicles.

Ice cream truck tunes.

Evenings eating dinner on the deck, citronella candles lighting everything.

Paper Moon


Last night the moon was perfect round confetti. It was larger than the lake and sat on the sears tower, then hid behind the el and chased us home.



Monday, June 12, 2006

Admiral Bear - My Other Love

Mackey is not the only love in my life. Mackey has a big brother named Bear.

Bear is the great protector. While Mackey is goofy and fun, Bear is regal and dignified.

Bear used to be a firehouse dog in Minnesota. But his owner passed away, and eventually he was 'rescued' by my friends boyfriend.

The friends boyfriend has a boat. Bear on the boat is quite a sight to see. He raises his nose into the wind, letting his ears flap back. He watches the Lakes shoreline, taking in Navy Pier and the skyscrapers, and he shakes his head at Mackey, who unsure of what the whole boating thing is all about, hides behinds his dads legs, or hides behind Bear.

Admiral Bear ... the strong silent dependable type. He also holds a dear place in my heart as Mackey does.

Monday, June 05, 2006

My new boyfriend (Sorry Murray)

Yes, it’s true. I have a new love. He’s tall and gangly, very eager, and has an oral fixation. He chews on flips flops, cameras and twigs. He’s afraid of trucks, motorcycles and buses. He loves long walks on the beach and playing catch.

His name is Mackey.



I used to have a boyfriend named Murray. Murray was also tall and lanky. (this isn't actually Murray - but he looks like him) Murray is rambunctious and sweet like Mackey, but Murray lives in New York and Mackey lives in Chicago. Plus, my love for Mackey is strong. And he loves to nap with his nose on my feet.

It’s true love.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

the L ...again

the horses on Orleans St ... haven't been there this week. too hot? I miss catching the glimpse of them as I ride by on the brown line.

Speaking of hair cuts

I like my hair cut ...and the girl/woman who cut it ... I recommend her. Go to Casey ...and if you do ... let me know ...they have a refferal program ...we can both benefit.

http://www.salon1800.com/

Wednesday, May 31, 2006

the beauty salon


Do you close your eyes when you are at a salon getting your hair washed?

What are you supposed to look at as you sit in the chair, facing a mirror, having your bangs snipped?

Do you have to make small talk?

Does everyone feel guilty when they tell their hairdresser that yes, in fact, I do buy my shampoo at the grocery store, and no, I don't use products on my hair?

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

hortative

hortative \HOR-tuh-tiv\ adjective

: giving exhortation : advisory

Example sentence:
Amy suspected that her hortative letter to her son about the values of hard work and education would be ignored in the swirl of freshman partying, but she sent it anyway.

Monday, May 22, 2006

What I learned in the month of May:

Missing someone physically hurts. It’s in the background of every thought, it’s the on the tip of your tongue thought, it’s always there and when you do forget it for the briefest moment, it’s a surprise when it comes back.

Watching your best friend mourn hurts. It's palpable pain. And yet, you know that what you feel is only the vaguest hint of how she hurts.

People can surprise you.

Love and compassion shows up from the people you don’t suspect, and is sometimes absent from the ones you counted on.

Friendship, real friendship, the kind that grew over years, is rare and strong and amazing.

The people in your lives connect, interconnect, and web together for a support that may not be visible but is constant and durable.

Life can be pretty shitty at times.

I am thankful, grateful, blessed, luckier than I knew for the friends in my life (and for my family)

Thursday, May 18, 2006

entropy



One of the advantages of being disorderly is that one is constantly making exciting discoveries.
- AA Milne

Turgid

I mean really ... what a word:


Dictionary.com/Word of the Day Archive/turgid: "Word of the Day for Wednesday May 10, 2006

turgid \TUR-jid\, adjective:
1. Swollen, bloated, puffed up; as, 'a turgid limb.'
2. Swelling in style or language; bombastic, pompous; as, 'a turgid style of speaking.'"

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

maybe they can find my sanity, keys and my innocence

FBI: Tip on Jimmy Hoffa prompts search

Teamster boss last seen July 1975 at a Michigan restaurant

(CNN) -- FBI agents and local police were searching a Michigan horse farm Wednesday for the remains of former Teamsters union leader Jimmy Hoffa after receiving a tip about his disappearance, the agency said.

The search was being conducted in Milford Township, 30 miles west of Detroit. Police from nearby Bloomfield Township were assisting the FBI agents.

A federal law enforcement official speaking on condition of anonymity said the search is for Hoffa's body.

Aerial footage from the scene showed at least 15 people outside a barn, most of whom were digging a rectangular hole.

The agents and local police were looking for "evidence of criminal activity that may have occurred when the properties were under previous ownership," FBI agent Daniel Roberts said in a news release.

"The search warrant is based on a lead which is one of numerous leads received through the years following the disappearance of Mr. Hoffa on July 30, 1975," he said.

John and Deb Koskovich have lived on a neighboring property since 1985. When they saw the men digging next door, John Koskovich asked them what they were doing.

"They just said they were executing a search warrant," Deb Koskovich said.

John Koskovich said there have been reports over the years that Hoffa may be buried in the area, but "we just thought it was just another one of those crazy rumors," he said.

Hoffa was last seen at Machus Red Fox restaurant in Bloomfield Township. He was reportedly there to meet Detroit mob street enforcer Anthony Giacalone and New Jersey Teamsters official Anthony Provenzano.

Hoffa believed Giacalone had set up the meeting to help settle a feud between Hoffa and Provenzano, but Hoffa was the only one who showed up for the meeting, according to the FBI.

Giacalone and Provenzano later told the FBI that no meeting had been scheduled.

The FBI said Hoffa's disappearance could have been linked to the union boss's efforts to regain power in the Teamsters after he was released from prison.

After serving time for jury tampering and fraud at a federal penitentiary in Lewisburg, Pennsylvania, Hoffa was pardoned by President Richard Nixon on December 23, 1971.

Nixon included in the pardon a condition that Hoffa "not engage in direct or indirect management of any labor organization" until at least March 1980.

Hoffa was 62 at the time of his disappearance.

In May 2004, authorities in Oakland County, Michigan, removed floorboards from a Detroit home and found blood that they thought might be linked to Hoffa's disappearance. Milford Township is in Oakland County.

Authorities went to the Detroit home in 2004 after a biography of former Teamsters official Frank Sheehan stated that Sheehan shot Hoffa in the home, just beyond the front door.

Investigators ruled blood found in the house was not Hoffa's. The FBI has a sample of his DNA.

Sheehan, who was considered a confidant of Hoffa's, died in December 2003. Provenzano died in 1988 after being convicted in another murder case and Giacalone died of kidney failure in 2002 at age 82.

Hoffa's son, James P. Hoffa, is the current president of the Teamsters.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

My Talented Friend


My friend Sage is ubertalented. Visit her website, be amazed by her art. I know I am.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

The L (Brown line: Wellington to Adams/Wabash) vs The Subway (N/R/W 8th St to Times Square)

Sun. Windows, a view.

looking for the horses on Orleans St.

Crossing the river.

Things I miss when riding the subway.

Monday, May 08, 2006

Stop all the clocks

The kindest person I will ever meet and a dear friend passed away last week. The W. H. Auden poem has been on my mind all week...


Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone.
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead,
Put crépe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song,
I thought that love would last forever: 'I was wrong'

The stars are not wanted now, put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

My Alma Mater

I graduated from the the prettiest college ever. Really. The campus has won awards and stuff for being pretty. When I went there it was a college. Elon College. The town was Elon College. There was one bar in town, the Lighthouse Tavern. I was a bartender there for two years.

Now it's a university. Even the town changed it's name from Elon College to plain old Elon. And the Lighthouse Tavern is no longer the only bar in town. A Kappa Sig that was at Elon the same time I was, opened up a bar called...I think the Westside grill? or something like that. Now when the kids say, "I'm going to the bar tonight." They don't mean the Lighthouse.

I had a great time. I had such a great time it took me five years and one summer session to graduate. It was all those nights at the Lighthouse.

Many people find this following information amusing, and obvious...but I was a sorority girl. I was a Sigma Sigma Sigma. Our colors were purple, our flower the violet, our reputation ... drunk and slightly slutty. We were the party girls.

I had some great professors at Elon. It was a great little safe little bubble of a place to spend my late teens.

My college friends are the dearest people in my life. We stayed in touch and connected before this fandagled modern thing called email was all the rage. We went to everyone's weddings, kept coming back for homecoming, and visited each other often. And even now, eleven (yes eleven) years later, I miss them all.

some information about elon...

* a book title Harvard Schmarvard listed Elon as the number one alternative to an ivy league school

*US New & World Report ranked #5 among southern master's-level universities

* The Fiske Guide to Colleges ranks Elon one of 28 "best buy" private universities

* The Education Trust recognizes Elon for excellence in freshman retention and outstanding graduation rates.

* Princeton Review has recognized Elon for having one of the nation's most beautiful campuses. The wooded grounds have been designated a botanical garden.

* Newsweek-Kaplan named Elon the hottest college in the nation for student engagement in its 2006 guide

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Google.cn

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/04/23/magazine/23google.html?_r=1&oref=slogin&pagewanted=all

There has been much discussion about this lately. I think it's an interesting article - it's a long one - but for me, obviously, I found it worth reading.

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

leaving on a happy note

when was the last time you chose to have a drink at Bennigan's?

For me it was Friday. Our class ended early, it was a clear sunny day that begged for drinking outside, so two other mfaw'ers and me cheesed up at Bennigan's ...

what a nice way to end the week ...and start the weekend.

We were only there for two drinks and large salads, but it was perfect.

Sun almost setting, cripsy breezeless weather, and tourists tourists everywhere.

supporting my brother no matter what

this is a sketch my baby brother did with fellow syracuse graduates and friends. My brother is the terrorist. Seriously, don't know what I think of it. But you know, he is a funny kid, very talented, and will go places. http://www.northpalmwrestling.com/Flight11.html

Easter dinner with my family

"Is there an elephant in the room?" My aunt turning to me.

"Oh yeah," me, sarcasm, bitterness, frustration.

This was easter with MY family.


other than that Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?

watched my neice and nephew hunt for eggs, at first they didn't notice that I was holding a piece of paper with a list of where all the eggs were hidden. then, being precocious and all, they caught on and I had to swere to GOD that I didn't hide the eggs. Which was true. The "easter bunny" gave me the list so that none were forgotten.

had tasty polish saugages and ham and a rather nifty and delicious dish that was spinach, mushrooms and palenta.

listened to my grandparents tease each other and tell stories about the old days.

oh and fought with the pink elephant... and currently I'm not speaking to her

but otherwise had a nice easter with my family

Thursday, April 13, 2006

And from my religious practices:

Maundy Thursday: eat up for the last time and wash your dirty feet.

growing up it meant i got out of school early and had to go mass at night.

For my friends who are the choosen ones

Happy Passover ...

seder

One entry found for seder.

Main Entry: se·der
Pronunciation: 'sA-d&r
Function: noun
Usage: often capitalized
Etymology: Hebrew sEdher order
: a Jewish home or community service including a ceremonial dinner held on the first or first and second evenings of the Passover in commemoration of the exodus from Egypt

~~~~~

and to link to the blog of friend's friend... a charming and hilarious description of what passover means http://kittenloss.blogspot.com/2006/04/does-bread-count-as-leavened-bread-its.html

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Allergy

On top of my wb (which according to the reading for my class is not really writers block, but novice nerves, and the article gave the sage practical advice to pull the rip cord on my insecurities and ignore the self doubt in me and just write ...well DUH...easy to say, hard to do) I am allergic to something in Chicago, it must be something that is not in DC or New York because my usual remedies of Claritin or Benedryl is not helping. My brain is now clogged with mucus and my throat is sore from nasal drip.

Did I mention that I'm cranky??

At least we have beautiful weather. The sun helps. And wearing sandals.

Word of the day

panoply \PAN-uh-plee\, noun:
1. A splendid or impressive array.
2. Ceremonial attire.
3. A full suit of armor; a complete defense or covering.

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Writers Block

I have it. I can only write about a sentence at a time.

Luckily tomorrow in my situation of the writer class we are talking about writers block.

Except as part of my writers block, I have readers block. I can't read anything. So I'm having a hard time doing the reading on how to be unblocked.

I'm kinda cranky right now.

Sunday, April 02, 2006

Jam and Toast

My bestest friend got married this weekend. It was great. She never hit bridezilla status and nothing disastrous happened. I'm friends with all her friends and my parents were at the wedding. It was nice to be able to drink dirty martinis with my friends, boogie on down to "I Will Survive" and dance a dance with my father, and of course see my best friend look beautiful and beam beautiful happiness and see the same love and happiness in her groom’s eyes. As Maid of Honor, I gave a toast ... below is a version of it:

I met K in ninth grade in Ms. Jaffe’s drama class. We’ve been through it all, our friendship even survived being roommates for three years. She’s been more than a friend to me, she’s been more a sister and she’s my family.

I remember the night that K met B. She turned to me and said, “I wanna kiss him.” And as we all know, tonight she finally did.

In the first few months of their relationship, B and I had a conversation one night when he shared with me how amazed he was with K, with how independent and together she was, he was impressed and smitten.

I came across a poem the other day that reminded me of the night K and B met and that conversation I had with him.

I caught sight of a splendid Misses. She had handkerchiefs and kisses. She had eyes and yellow shoes she had everything to choose and she chose me

Life and love is about choices. K and B, you have chosen each other. Every day, remember that, cherish that, and celebrate that. Salute!


*the poem is a Gertrude Stein poem

Monday, March 27, 2006

The Word of the Day for March 27 is:

What a crazy word ....

Götterdämmerung \gher-ter-DEM-uh-roong\ noun

: a collapse (as of a society or regime) marked by catastrophic violence and disorder; broadly : downfall

Example sentence:
Although we all hoped for a peaceful transfer of power, we feared the conflict would instead end in a chaotic Götterdämmerung.

Did you know?
Norse mythology specified that the destruction of the world would be preceded by a cataclysmic final battle between the good and evil gods, resulting in the heroic deaths of all the "good guys." The German word for this earth-shattering last battle was "Götterdämmerung." Literally, "Götterdämmerung" means "twilight of the gods." ("Götter" is the plural of "Gott," meaning "god," and "Dämmerung" means "twilight.") Figuratively, the term is extended to situations of world-altering destruction marked by extreme chaos and violence. In the 19th century, the German composer Richard Wagner brought attention to the word "Götterdämmerung" when he chose it as the title of the last opera of his cycle Der Ring des Nibelungen, and by the early 20th century, the word had entered English.

Friday, March 24, 2006

I Heart New York


Disclaimer ... this is in no way a reflection of my love for Chicago, I love Chicago. BUT...

I LOVE NEW YORK.

What is it about this city? Is it the city or my friends or is it that I loved the time in my life here? It still feels like home. I still get a rush. I still love it as much as I ever did.

I'm here for a few days and it's home again.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

No guarantee of comprehension

As mentioned previously, in my day job I recruit for the international offices of a fantabulous company. Being an ever expanding corporation and with my flexibility of scheduling and my tenure with the company, I am frequently tossed new requisitions to fill and new continents to tackle. At one time this summer I had a candidate on every continent, well except for Africa, and North and South pole...anyway...lately I've been doing less recruiting for China and more recruiting for Brazil. Below is the read receipt from an email I sent to a candidate for a role in our office in Sao Paulo:


From: email from brazilian candidate
Sent: Wednesday, March 22, 2006 6:31 PM
To: me
Subject: Notificação de leitura

(email address) with subject "FW: It was a pleasure speaking with you today" was displayed this is no guarantee that the message has been read or understood

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Ides of March

What a bizarrely unhappy thing for such a hopeful time of year - when it's almost the end of winter and almost the beginning of spring...

Definitions of ides on the Web:

Definitions of ides of march on the Web:

  • The fifteenth day of March and the day that famous assination of Julius Caesar by the conspirators ,Brutus and Cassius, took place.
    library.thinkquest.org/26907/glossary.htm
  • March 15. A prophet told Julius Caesar to "Beware the Ides of March." Julius Caesar was too arrogant to take this threat seriously. He was also too arrogant to respect the Senate properly, and a number of Senators were rather upset with him, to put it lightly. On March 15, BC 44, Caesar went to the Senate to make an announcement, but was assassinated by 60 Senators, lead by Brutus. Caesar died at the foot of the statue of Pompey the Great.
    www.people.fas.harvard.edu/~frankwu/lac61vocab.html
  • In the Roman calendar the ides of March falls on March 15. The ides was an auspicious day in the Roman calendar, falling on the 15th of March, May, July and October and on the 13th of the other months.
    en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ides_of_March
  • Ides of March was an American rock band.
    en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ides_of_March_(band)

Sunday, March 12, 2006

Cheese Glorious Cheese

Friday afternoon started like most of my Fridays, with drinks after class with classmates at Exchequer. What was different than other Fridays is that instead of going home and either resting (read napping) and then going out again, or just coming home and enjoying a quiet Friday night at home still feeling slightly buzzed from drinking beers at 4 in the afternoon … well this Friday instead, we went straight on to other bars (and I continued to drink, trading up beers for stoli and sodas).

Casey Moran’s. It made me feel quite old, being in a bar with all those early twenty-somethings, drunk and horny and on the prowl. But I spent my time at Casey Moran’s on the dance floor. I am not a dancer. I have no graceful movements. I am notorious clutzy and uncoordinated. For the most part I just sort of jump. CC and I for the whole time, and part of the time LM and PJ joined, danced with complete abandon. I felt like I was thirteen again and was jumping on the couches in Alison Gubser’s living room, and air guitaring to Brian Adams. It was the combination of the eighties music that they were playing, and that, in my pigtails, t-shirt and sneakers, I could care less what I looked like, surrounded by the overpainted and hormonal kids around us (most of which were macking down with determination all around the dance floor)

It was embracing the cheese and giving in to it.

I should add though that I am no longer twenty-three, so when most of my early twenties friends called it a night, I should have done the same. In stead, I went on to another bar with a smaller concentration of our group (two people to be exact) and drank more until after 4am.

I had a meeting with my grad projects advisor at noon at Ann Sather (good eggs benedict there). The first thing she said to me was “Are you just waking up?”

I painfully croaked, “Yes.”

I danced (and drank) like I was twenty-three but man o man, I woke up feeling every one of my thirty-three years of age.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Linking

See my Links... Look to your Left... I finally got it figured out ...Thank You to ya'll that I sat on the floor with this afternoon on the 16th floor... Happy Linking..

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

the mood today

Earlier I was thinking I would blog how to have a good morning...which would be,

wake up before your alarm goes off, naturally, slowly, easily, not in that, dammit I have five more minutes of sleep, but in that slept all I needed ready to start my day...make yourself some great scrambled eggs on a whole wheat muffin with some havarti cheese...watch good morning america and write the lesson plan that you should have written the day before...walk to the coffee shop on your corner and treat yourself to a non-fat large latte..walk to the el listening to ella fitzgerald on your ipod.... enjoy sunshine on the el platform... get a window seat on the el and watch this wacky city spin underneath you...drop off copies of your latest draft of a story to your advisor, and everyone in your workshop class, smile as you walk north toward the river because it's 10 am and you've already gotten so much done ... enjoy the spring window displays at Marshall Fields...it's sunny and in the 40's outside...spring is coming... notice the rhythm of the city as you trot up Dearborn listening to Louie Armstrong.... get to the office early enough to not feel guilty that you only wrote the training session you are doing that day that morning ... and then ...

clunk...

call your 21 yr old nephew (such a baby still - at least in your imagination) to say "please don't be a hero" because he is shipping out to Iraq for his 2nd tour at 0300... promise that THIS time you'll actually do more than send him one or two emails...

proceed to have an exhausting day ... do two days of work between 10:30 am and 8:30 pm... speak to people in both Brazil and China trying to keep track of different currencies and different slang when asking they same ol same ol recruiting questions ... between EIGHT phone interviews some three in row (and never having more than a 30 minute break between anything …which between interviews running over and submitting feedback and responding to emails becomes less than 10) ... answer emails from your mother about a family situation that is DRAINING...and some how you have been nominated to have a conversation with someone that no one wants to confront ...

and still you are in the office at 8:30 at night...

How to start your day in a great mood and end it exhausted…

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

In the end it IS about words

In a previous post, I incorrectly described my friend as talking through a moment of anguish. That was writer's embellishment. It was the word that I liked in the sentence, but she pointed out to me last night that Anguish was a little too intense a word. She's right. That was lazy writing. So below are some better word choices:

Disappointment n.


    1. The act of disappointing.
    2. The condition or feeling of being disappointed.
  1. One that disappoints.

Frustration n.


    1. The act of frustrating or an instance of being frustrated.
    2. The state of being frustrated.
  1. Something that serves to frustrate.

Vexation n.

  1. The act of annoying, irritating, or vexing.
  2. The quality or condition of being vexed; annoyance.
  3. A source of irritation or annoyance.

Exasperation n.

  1. The act or an instance of exasperating.
  2. The state of being exasperated; frustrated annoyance.

Aggravation n.

  1. The act of aggravating or the state of being aggravated.
  2. A source of continuing, increasing irritation or trouble.
  3. Exasperation.

Monday, March 06, 2006

And now a word from our sponsors...

These are some of my professors...

Carol is my grad projects advisor this semester. We meet every other week. It feels like we only talk about my work for ten minutes of the hour and gossip the rest, but when I sit down to write I realize she's given me a lot to think about, and to write about... she's a groovy chick.

I had Janet for workshop last semester and this semester I am taking her class "Situation of the Writer." It's all about making a living as a writer...everything from getting an agent, applying for grants, doing your taxes, and how not to become suicidal. Janet's another groovy chick and I love her classes. She is the ultimate story teller, and so excited and supportive about all the work that my fellow classmates are doing...


I am taking a class this semester in Narrative Prose from Jim McManus. He's a character. In class he refers to himself as Jim Bo Sweetness.


Saturday, March 04, 2006

Simulacrum

Word of the Day for Saturday March 4, 2006

simulacrum \sim-yuh-LAY-kruhm; -LAK-ruhm\, noun;
plural simulacra \sim-yuh-LAY-kruh; -LAK-ruh\:
1. An image; a representation.
2. An insubstantial, superficial, or vague likeness or
semblance.


***
Something has happened. I started writing today. And something came to me. I don't know where it is going. But I am either titling it Simulacrum or The Allegory of the Cave on Wall Street. It's something new. And it might be horrible. But finally my fingers are moving across my keyboard instead of staying pearched at f and j waiting for inspiration.

a fraternity of quirkiness

The other day a dear friend who I have known for many years and someone with whom I’ve blurred the platonic/romantic friendship lines many times, called me quirky. He used other words, but quirky was what stayed with me. Because he meant it with affection, and he knows me quite well and knows that I’m weird, and that I think I’m weird.

One of the greatest things for me about being a writing student, is meeting other writers. We are different. Each of us our own bizarre collection of idiosyncrasies. Kind of like the table of food at a church pot luck dinner. But I’ve found that some of my weirdness is not uniquely mine, but actually part of a shared fraternity.

I own books. I have a hard time walking out of a bookstore without spending a lot of $. “Ma Belle Mere” keeps lecturing me to use a library card. But I like to own my books. I like to keep them long after I’ve read them, even if I never open them up again and re-read them. I loan them to friends, always asking that they return them to me. My non-writer friends, many of whom are also avid readers, find this unnerving. They are afraid of losing my book, or forgetting to return it to me. They don’t quite understand why I need to keep them.


My fellow writing students, own books, keep them, loan them out but ask for them back.

I edit my thoughts. I have an inner dialogue, sometimes it’s the characters in my stories. I imagine what they would be thinking if they were standing on the L platform with me. Sometimes it’s a replaying of my day and how I would describe it in an email (or a blog). And sometimes it’s my own fragmented prose word play. Just me on the bus trying to describe how the Lake looks to me at night. But even in my own thoughts, I edit. I catch myself using cliché’s or obvious word choices, and I struggle to find new ways, my own way, to say something. No one will hear my thoughts but still I have to write them the best way that I can.

The other night I was on the phone with a writing friend, she was tipsy, smoking cigarettes and talking through a moment of anguish. As she was re-telling the nights events, she used a phrase, one that I can’t remember now, something clichéd like maybe “stars in my eyes”, some phrase that we use in every day speech, and she stopped herself, saying, “Well, if we were in workshop someone would scratch that out.” It made me smile.

I am among other quirky people who are also in constant play with words.

a few of my favorite things

things i love about chicago:

  • foamy soap ... in most public restrooms. it's foamy, it's fun, i feel like a kid in a bathtub with rubber toys...when cleaning yourself was still playtime.
  • the lake...walking by it, driving by it, seeing from the 12th floor of the michigan building. it has a tropical aqua color and an arctic layer of ice. it is always, at all times of day, night and season magnificent.
  • the L ... above the city, weaving through apartment buildings, looking down on starbucks and traffic lights, i feel like a fisher price toy in a lego village.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

etymology

I do have a love affair with words. I wonder if I played with the dictionary some if I might get unblocked and see the end of my writing ennui … in the meantime, I came across this website. http://www.wordorigins.org/

I find it rather fun, and slightly less geeky than my dream of owning a real Oxford English Dictionary (how can you not love a dictionary that gives pages of definitions for one word including the etymology?). Unfortunately, since I don't even own a bookcase to house all the books (as you can sort of see in the attached picture, my books are in stacks around the walls of my apartment), I don't have the space, nor the finances for the OED, but yes, geekily enough, I do dream.

I am both a word geek as well as a book geek.

Short Hand:

In the past several weeks I have visited or been visited by the following people that have been in my life for many years (even decades):

  • A college friend, she was a sorority sister, and an old housemate, a partner in crimes, and in our college days we even shared some of the same crushes (and kissed many of the same boys). She was in Chicago for a few days for business. We met first for brunch on a Sunday and then for drinks on a Tuesday night. She introduced to me her colleagues as one of her dearest friends. I thought that was a lovely phrase.

  • My Little Brother, sometimes referred to as my Baby Brother. This is an endearment that he accepts with a grain of salt and a bit of humor. We are eleven years a part in age but we are very close and actually enjoy spending time together. Although, we have discovered (on many occasions) that there is a limit to the amount of intense time we can spend together. Seven to eight days seems to be the magic number. Like milk, we turn around the 8th day. My calling him my baby brother causes a great deal of amusement to people. He is 6'2" and while he is twenty-two years old, he looks more like he is in his mid to late twenties. There's nothing baby about him. I do however like to tell people that I used to have to change his diapers. I'm not sure if he finds this amusing or annoying, but what the hell, I am the older sibling.
  • My best friend and all of the friends she considers to be close enough that she would invite them to her bachlorette party. With a friend I threw her a bridal shower and a bachlorette party. I've known KW for twenties years now. We met in our ninth grade drama class. We didn't get to be close friends until our senior year in high school and then proceeded to become best friends. We were roommates in the DC area for three years after college, and then she moved to New York, and I followed a year later. I truly enjoyed the parties for her because I am in a unique situation in that her friends are my friends and I know the people in all areas of her life. I had the joy of throwing her a party with some of my best friends and favorite people.

What I noticed in these recent encounters with old friends and family is that there is a short hand that is unique to old friendships. With just one word you can have an entire conversation. When you've shared a bathroom with a person, had to fight with them over who's turn it was to wash the dishes, or when someone was there when you were drunk making a true ass of yourself, when someone knew you when you were nineteen as well as when you were twenty-nine, even if you have not seen them in three years, in the first three seconds of seeing each other, it's like they've always been sitting next to you.

It's the short hand conversations that I miss. I love my new Chicago friends. And finally the new-ness is wearing off. It's nice when a friendship stops being about getting to know a person to being what the friendship is and will always be.

Where Have I been?

Where Have I been?

Receding into my writer's blocked mind. Like most writers, I believe, I possess a ludicrous amount of self doubt and loathing. I hate my writing. However, I've managed to write, to somehow enjoy writing and understand the compelling force that sends my fingers clicking across a keyboard and stringing together letters and words. Now that I am in my second semester as a writing student, I have fallen into a pit of ennui. I hate my characters, I have no new ideas, I can't read what I've written. Is it some sort of seasonal affected depression? Is it the six weeks of fighting a knarly and inhumane cold? Is it second semester jitters? Or have I reached the end of my writing career before it even started?

I am chatty cathy, loquacious, as I've stated earlier. I once commented (in reply to someone calling me chatty) that I have a LOT to say. And yet, as of late, I have nothing to say.

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Brilliant

The above was created by a fellow writer MFA'er and Wine Nighter ( and Blogger)
She is a talented writer, a sassy dancer, and apparently an accomplished etch-a-sketcher. She's also one of my few writing school friends that is close to my age.

I have said many times that what I believe is wrong with my generation is that we grew up with the sit and spin and the etch a sketch as toys. Spin around till you get dizzy and vomit, or make stairs. No wonder we spent more time in front of the TV watching Sesame Street and Land of the Lost. It was more entertaining than our toys.

I can make stairs. and modern art looking square designs.

Another Writing MFA'er/Wine Nighter draws robots as well as writes kick ass prose on her blog.

what can I do?

I can not draw.
I can not sing.
I can not cook - not really.

I can throw good parties.
I can make people laugh (although sometimes unintentionally)
I can wrap gifts pretty.
I can write out invitations/envelopes/cards pretty.
I give good gift.

I write stories that people have claimed to like reading.

I can interview someone for a job. (since that IS my job)
I've recently discovered that I can make same pretty tasty Hot Wassail.

I can not spell.
I had to double check the spelling of brilliant.
I spelled it wrong the first time.

I can laugh at myself.

Do I have nothing to say?

Now that my classes have started again, and I am reading volumes of stuff, and I have write and be creative every day, I find I have nothing blog about.

Curious, right?

~~~~

Word of the Day:

For your further education, I'd like share a word that I came across that I love. I don't know why I love this word. But it feels good on my lips and in my sentences. It has sass and eloquence, all at once. Kinda like me and most of my friends ;-)

Definitions of audacious on the Web:

  • invulnerable to fear or intimidation; "audacious explorers"; "fearless reporters and photographers"; "intrepid pioneers"
  • unrestrained by convention or propriety; "an audacious trick to pull"; "a barefaced hypocrite"; "the most bodacious display of tourism this side of Anaheim"- Los Angeles Times; "bald-faced lies"; "brazen arrogance"; "the modern world with its quick material successes and insolent belief in the boundless possibilities of progress"- Bertrand Russell
  • disposed to venture or take risks; "audacious visions of the total conquest of space"; "an audacious interpretation of two Jacobean dramas"; "the most daring of contemporary fiction writers"; "a venturesome investor"; "a venturous spirit"
  • unrestrained by prevailing standards of propriety

It's all about the books

If you know me, you know why this post is personal.
http://googleblog.blogspot.com/2006/02/defending-future-of-books.html