Posts (page 2)

It's been a long time since I heard it, but now the descending "Mayo-Mayo-Mayo-Mayonnaise" vocal warm-up I used to sing in 7th grade is stuck in my head.

Why the F is there an extended fireworks show popping a block from my house?  Fireworks are so dirty. 

Here are some tales of me in the real world:

Shirt Lobster, Hat Lobster, and Sea Lion Tourist, all similarly dismayed.

2 things that made me feel grown up

A) Barton Creek Mall, today: I'm in a dressing room, leaving empty handed, and a woman with pretty red hair stops me and asks me what I think of the sweater she is trying on, "except, I know, this area is a problem" [gesturing to her stomach]. 

I sort of don't understand the second part of that sentence, quickly trying to figure out if she means she thinks she's got a beer belly, or... there was a slight wrinkle, I think maybe she was wearing a tank top that made it the tiniest bit lumpy. 

But I am flattered because this never happens to me, this to me ranks ABOVE a salesgirl ever talking to me (which never happens because I have messy hair and no makeup, especially when I go to the mall and try things on)

So I tell her quickly that I the drape of the cowl is pretty and the color is great but I just wish the neckline were more open, not quite so high.  She nods and smiles like she's drawing a line through it on a mental checklist, and I leave. 

 This happened in Ann Taylor, so obviously I am a grown up.

B) Travis County Democratic County Convention, this morning: 

I'm in line to get my delegate placard and this bossy Filipino 50-something woman with HELL OF HILLARY FLAIR, who I had just explained the check-in process to, cuts in behind me with her friend.  This is kind of ok because the lines, like everything, are not quite linear, and everything's disorganized. It's like 2.75 hours since I left my house, and I'm not even in the door yet, so I can see why people are fed up, but then again, it's not like every newscast and city paper didn't tell us to anticipate a free-for-all.

So I'm standing there waiting and this woman is talking about how it is so confusing and how THEY REALLY NEED TO DO A BETTER JOB TRAINING THEIR PEOPLE and I don't usually tell people off but she was just being so ridiculous (I mean, she cut in line, man, is not this disorder paying off for her?)

So I turn around and I ask her who she means when she says "THEY."  I ask her if she knows that everyone here registering people and answering questions, (including myself when I told her this was the line she belonged in 2 minutes ago) is a volunteer and is not much more in charge than she is.  I ask her if she went to her alternate training this week, and point out that if she had, she might have had a better idea of what to expect and what she is supposed to be doing.  I think the black woman next to me, to whom I had struggled to make small talk with the other 40 minutes in line was very surprised to learn I could speak extemporaneously; she was like smirking a tiniest bit.

I don't usually upbraid people other than Stevan in public but come on lady, it's not like you're at freaking Disneyland.  Some people just expect to get served wherever they go.  I don't get it.

1 thing that made me feel like a noob

D) San Angelo, last week: I'm at my 8-year old first cousin once removed's Soccer/Easter birthday party, playing 3-on-3 basketball with 8 year old f.c.o.r., 6 year old f.c.o.r., 9 year old s.c.o.r., 29 year old first cousin, and his daughter, my 3 year old f.c.o.r.  She, being a girl, but mostly being 3, kind of sucks at basketball, but I am sinking a fair number of my shots.  When I pass her the ball, she runs to the end of the driveway, and throws the ball in the cul-de-sac.  I set it up so she has the ball, and then back off to try to work her passing skills. "Taylen, " I yell as she rolls the ball in my direction, "what do you want me to do?"  

"Throw it in the street!" She yells back.

We keep playing, one of the boys leaves, then another, and then it's just us.  We're shooting, and I'm thinking how I kept her from crying and am helping her to learn teamwork and crap.  I'm playing in, like flared jeans and some beat up boots and I guess my shirt was riding up because the next time we go to dig the ball from under a car, she's right behind me, and I hear her give this HUGE sigh, and then she's pulling my jeans up exasperatedly, because I guess this isn't the first time during the game that the top of my underwear was exposed for multiple seconds.  I turn around and she's walking away, shaking her head.  We keep playing but I don't feel so smart anymore.  It's not fair though, the skirt she was wearing comes with built-in shorts.   

1 that was just odd

E) Barton Creek Mall, today, again:  Walking past a cell phone kiosk on the way out, I'm rummaging in my purse to find my phone and check the time, and the cell phone girl calls to me "Is there a bookstore in here?"

I walk up to her, for a second time baffled by people talking to me, and realize in the search for my phone that my left hand's holding Chance's Junot Diaz book.  I say "No, actually, I brought this in with me" and she says "Oh, ok, that makes sense, I was just wondering where you got it because I'm pretty sure there's no bookstore close by."

And she is fucking right.  There is no bookstore in that mall. That's weird, right?

Southern Ohio Meat Goat Task Force

On Monday, my boss wore a long sleeve BODY GLOVE t-shirt to work.  This is how I know it is Spring Break.

Foreign Islands Headlights Best Friends Forever Ethan Master of the Hawaiian Ukelele DD/MM/YYYY Vivian Girls Hawnay Troof Karl Blau Destroyer Canopy Mittens On Strings Spoon Billy Bragg Yo La Tengo Jens Lekman Til We're Blue or Destroy Old Time Relijun Grand Ole Party Brazos Islands Zooey Deschanel + M. Ward Okkervil River

 The other thing I like about SXSW is that I ran into almost everyone I know at some point during the weekend.  Not even necessarily while watching music. I think if you are constantly out of the house in Austin, you are bound to run into familiar faces.  In the past, and in somewhat different contexts, this has freaked, or even grossed, me out, but in the context of a day sunny enough to bring my first sunburn of the year, I am delighted to see Leslie (not that one, the one from kickball) on her way to see Motorhead, Alex while walking up Brazos semi-stalking Tom Morello with John, Evan and Cara doing their taxes at Spiderhouse, and Parker driving to work. 

That's all.  One of my New Year's Resolutions was to start wearing earplugs to shows.  I'll try to do better (i.e. better than ZERO), but other than that and a little empty spot where free music and happy dancing were, I am pretty satisfied.

Stripes with stripes, riding the T.

It's good to know that if you're not dressed like a slut, and are wearing comfy shoes, you can walk from 6th street to my house, and be totally fine, and definitely better than if you stayed at that bar a minute longer.

I went to watch Michael Clayton last night. Is it ok to cry while watching Michael Clayton?  It made me decide that I am, after all, probably a Marxist.  (Also that I should go to the dollar theater more, but that is not as significant).  George Clooney finally brought a date to the Oscars this year; right on dude!

On the way home from church, I stopped for the flashing red railroad lights, just in time to see the mini-test-version of the Capitol Metro light rail pass.  It's still 8 months till the thing will actually be running but I got a very real thrill seeing the short little train go by.  GAAAAH Mass Transit DORK.

People, please, stop calling me Tina Fey.  I did recently watch all existing 30 Rock episodes in the space of 2 weeks, but I didn't think that was supposed to manifest itself physically in any way.  Is this the secret you-are-what-you-watch asparagus-pee of the television world?  People, please, find something else to talk to me about besides my glasses.  It is sort of flattering, but it is also somehow extremely annoying.

My brother may go to grad school!!  I met new recruits to our own graduate program this Fri/Sat, though I've come to the conclusion (come back to it, since this is how I felt on my own visits) that free snacks and campus tours are fine, but nothing one graduate student tells a prospective student means anything.  People have their own reasons for doing everything.  OF COURSE a complete stranger doesn't really care what the selection process was like for you---to some extent they want to see how long you'll go on talking about yourself, like an ass, before you stop. 

It was pretty amazing when the resident genius-jerk faculty member made a visitor cry, harrassed her enough in a 30-minute interview that she was still crying an hour and a half later, and was then totally like THOR-HAMMERED at dinner.  What the hell part of the word "recruiting" does this man not understand?  Please just go back to Harvard.

Although... I am 1% grateful because it made dinner super weird and cathartic, as Amanda was still slightly crying at dinner and amazingly asked all these questions about being a first-generation college graduate and then Rick asked me about what the hell I'm going to do once I get out of grad school (my non-researcher roots and shoots apparently quite evident to faculty members; was it just because I was the only one wearing heels, who could explain what SXSW was?) and that was a pretty alright conversation too.  But I don't think that Andy intended to unwonkify the dinner and make it practically enjoyable in a normal, human, non-grad school way, so he still gets the middle finger.

Data indicates they dry much faster this way

At the beginning of the month, in the midst an evening of errand-running, my backpack got jacked from my car.  This was a bummer because now I have to remember to lock my car (and not leave stuff in it) and I'm slightly less go-lucky than I've been in my life thus far.

I mean duh, it also sucks because I had to file a fraud report and be told that I can't replace my California ID or my California bank account (thanks to the security-enhancing miracles of the Patriot Act) and I'll eventually have to pay for those school library books.  But I'm pretty good at making lists, (such as one of items to replace) and ticking off the stuff on it.  So aside from having a much worse driver's license picture and still not possessing a debit card a month later, I mind the loss of peace of mind more than the loss of the things in my backpack. Well I kind of miss that backpack because it was polka-dotted!

It is totally weird to be working in the red all the time, buying things on credit.  It's not like I flinched at using my credit card before, but I'm one of those blessed people without student loans or car payments, so adding up debts rather than subtracting from what I've got makes me really uneasy!  Yeah... maybe never gonna be a homeowner.  But probably won't ever let myself go bankrupt either.

Speaking of accumulating unescapable debt, I went to the AAAS conference in Boston with Jackie and we lived it up attending three straight days of well-meaning but overweeningly dark scientific research. 

I mean, lately, even watching the Oscars gives me a sensation of doom and gloom; best picture nominee themes were basically Greed, Murder, Theft, boring-period-Ian-McEwan [Lust I guess?] and adolescent Pride/navel-gazing. Maybe that's par for the course but that coupled with no smiley Americans winning anything (Coen Brothers = NOT smiley) and my realization after the end of the writer's strike that I really think I'm done with television completely now made for a bittersweet 4 hour viewing.

Ok, but so the AAAS is a "general" scientific conference which means you can leap from sociology to particle physics to epidemiology to resume workshops all day long.  I still haven't been to a "real" conference as a "real" chemist, but I can say that going to this one as a member of the press was pretty great because you get called on somewhat preferentially and can ask whatever you want of the dude/lady at the podium, almost like you're in the corps at a white house press conference.  I asked A Belcher a semi-decent question about why it's harder to make virus particles into cathodes than it is to make them into anodes, groused with neighboring badge-wearers about the non appearance of N Chomsky to "The Mind of a Toolmaker" panel discussion, and smiled with Amber as Jackie asked a California-centric queston of I Flatow. But that's the fun celebrity-scientist part.  Brb.  

Too lazy to park and get out? That is me.

It's Super Post-SuperBowl Fat Shrove Tuesday!!!! I've never worn Mardi Gras beads before (due diligence keeps my breasts swaddled away the vast majority of the time) but Candance, proud Lousianan, made multiple rounds of necklace gifting around the 5th floor this morning so I took one. 

I'd been planning to write something about sin and guilt and regret and contrition for a while and BANG or rather whimper, I procrastinate long enough and Lent begins tomorrow and all of a sudden it's like, a holiday-themed blog.

I was talking to Adriana about some movie, and she mentioned that her boyfriend wouldn't see it because he only likes fun movies; serious movies make him feel guilty, and he already feels guilty about things a lot of the time, like not being poor and not saving the earth via every possible green consumer practice available.  I laughed because I thought I was the only one who worried about stuff like that.

The older I get, the weirder it is that I still go to church.  Right? 

I'm reading a book of Woody Allen interviews. About Match Point and Crimes and Misdemeanors, he says people should not assume that a person without religion is any less concerned with fairness, or kindness, or how one should live a good life.  He goes on to say that lacking paradise or other reward after death might make good atheistic people yet more honorable.  Religious people assumed since he's godless, that he "sides with" or "absolves" the murderous characters in these movies, but though the PLOT allows them to get away with it, the audience (taking God's place I guess, if he doesn't exist) condemns them, and so does he, that's why he made the damn movie for people to think about.  If someone made a movie about your daily life, would you live it differently? 

When Lent comes, I think of something to give up.  When I was little it was CANDY, but seriously... I do have a slight candy problem (ask Shagufta).  More recently it's been things like ANGER or, you know, SLOTH or something.  Which is hilarious because those particular things are maybe things that I don't do ENOUGH (seriously... try to get me to sit and do nothing, or call you something horrible to your face that I don't mean and will have to take back) 

So what I'm working up to is that I was thinking,about what to give up for Lent; about my New Year's Resolutions to not eat chain fast food, to carry a water bottle and avoid styrofoam, get to work early, etc. etc, and I was like wow, ok, things are going pretty good, really the only thing I can think of to give up is the mood-buffering illusion-of-intellectual-self-improvement opiate that is the INTERNET.  But I'm not quite ready for that (and aren't you glad!)

So instead, I'm giving up SECOND-GUESSING myself, because instincts are important things not to quash with pomo-liberal-turn-the-other-cheek-charitable-giving rationalization.  If there's one lesson I've learned from Woody Allen, that I will probably have to re-learn a few more times, it's that some people can say wild, intelligent, witty things no one else could ever say to you in quite the same way, things you'll remember forever and take as the truth, and they can still be a fucking creepazoid.   

Step 1: Try to Dry Your Socks on a Blanket in the Sun

One weeknight last week, I was walking home in the dark and met a dude who lives on my street.  He introduced himself since he said he had seen me many times before, but we'd never talked.  I was like ok, nice to meet you too, have a good night (it was pretty late-ish) and there was a pause for a couple beats and then he said, slightly quieter, "You don't get high, do you?" I said nope, sorry, haha!  And we started walking away from each other.  He said something as we walked farther apart to the effect that he hated getting high by himself, so it was too bad.

About a week before that, I was getting out of my car, carrying groceries and talking to my mom on the phone.  On the way from the street to my front door, this big guy who was walking down the sidewalk with a friend said Hey there, it's you, I see you all the time, what's your name?  I indicated that I was on the phone and not about to hang up, but he kept talking kind of creepily. It was dark so I wasn't sure he could see the phone so I let him get close-ish but then he put his hand on my shoulder and said something else creepy and at that point I slapped his hand away and walked faster to the door without worrying about being rude.

Although both of these interactions were a little odd, I felt gross about the second, and just a little sad after the first.  My mother was a big proponent of neighborliness - she made sure we saw her waving and greeting people when we walked or drove down our street, and made me answer the phone when I was 5 and entering my quiet period, so that I would have to be friendly, even when I didn't know the person (this was before telemarketers, she wouldn't have put me through that).  I've picked up from her a general trustfulness about the people you live around, and that's why I don't bother locking my car when it's parked at home (although that's partly laziness)(wait, bloggers, don't steal my car now!)  But she wouldn't advocate putting myself in harm's way just to appear friendly - when I was on the phone with her, she knew something was weird, and before I had reached the door, hung up to let me deal with it.   

In part of Slouching Towards Bethlehem, Didion says "If we do not respect ourselves, ...we are peculiarly in thrall to everyone we see...We flatter ourselves by thinking this compulsion to please others an attractive trait: a gist for imaginative empathy, evidence of our willingness to give." Although I think that my discrimination between two types of neighbors was apt, that one guy needed to be batted away and one would go by himself and didn't need to be belittled, paying attention to a stranger's feelings that much is maybe completely dumb.  Two things about my first response bother me.  One is that for a second, I was pleased that he recognized my radiant cleanliness, using a "You don't... do you?" syntax instead of a "You..., don't you?" that made me glad people can see me for who I am - a white girl in a prim skirt and glasses who doesn't take drugs. The second is that I considered what I would have said if I were, in fact, a sometime enjoyer of recreational smokietime.  Would I have lied to end the conversation?  Would I have felt apologetic that although I do get high, I won't get high with him? Why should I care whether a complete stranger can see how narco-straight-edge I am, or care about telling a white lie, or the truth, about it if I wasn't?

There's a part of "On Self-Respect" that I like even better, but I don't like long blogs so I'll work on this another time.