An American Tourist in America

H is Hover Vase

2012-01-12T17:19:00.000-08:00

An invention that will never be invented but should be: the hover vase.

The idea: when someone gives you a gift of a bouquet of living, temporary, delicious, flowers, with petals, stamens, leaves you put them in water in a hover vase. The hover vase would then follow you around so you could admire their ephemeral beauty through out the day and night.

The idea in Beta: carrying your flowers with you.

G is for Goeglein

2012-01-08T11:49:00.000-08:00

Often my stories start out like this:

I was listening to the radio and...

I heard on a podcast today that...

This is a symptom doing laundry with an ipod or too much driving.

But anyways, yesterday I was listening to the radio and I heard this piece, an interview with Tim Goeglein. This man is and was a leader of the Evangelical Right Political movement and the liaison for President G. W. Bush. Jr. He works for Focus on the Family. I once read a pamphlet published by Focus on the Family that encouraged parents to give each child their own room to regulate sibling rivalry and decided that Focus on the Family had nothing to offer the non-upper-middle-class white mid-american christians... so going into the listening of his interview, I was judgmental. My judgement grew when Mr. Goeglein readily admitted to plagiarism like this:

"It has been my experience that pride takes a lot avenues. For some people the expression of the pride is sex, for some people its power, for some people it's money. In my instance it was my wanting to be the clever one. The one who said it better than everybody else, the one who wrote it better...I knew exactly what I was doing and I did it anyway."

While I listened to this interview, I wondered, why is this rubbing me the wrong way? He's readily admitting to a wrongdoing, nothing wrong with that. In fact, politicians need to be better at this. His voice was rather monotone, maybe I didn't believe his remorse? Was it that now he was making money by writing a book about this sin, exploiting his repentance, showing the world how holy he was by giving up his seat as liaison for Prz Bush? Maybe. However, I think the thing that bothered me most, I realized this morning as I took my seat in church (five minutes late because I wanted a muffin) is that by listing the other kinds of expressions of pride, i.e. sex, money, power, it undermines his wrong: plagiarism. It's a rhetorical trick instead of blatantly saying: I did commit plagiarism, but at least I didn't kill anyone. It's a game of compare and contrast: While I did fail on this one count, I'm innocent on the sex, money, power counts!

The songs were playing in church and I was following along, thinking that I would write a letter to this man.

Dear Sir, you humble ramblings on the radio the other day seem false to me! Please stop representing Christians this way. Please don't say the Republican Party is the natural home for all Christians, because frankly, it's not. And sir, because of people like you I do not like to admit to being Christian in public. Thank your your time.

While composing this clever letter in my head while the hymns were being sung, I thought: "Oh, for a public figure to be humbled by little old HUMBLE me." Then, the uncomfortable realization that in my judgmental thinking, I was the one not being humble. How many times have I justified myself in some way be comparing myself to others. The hymns continued and I felt creepy. The man on the radio was not worse than me. And I was no better than him. :( Yikes. Sad news bears.

In the book that I have been reading and finally finished Mountain of Silence, Father Maximos stresses several important points about faith and the one I honed in on the most is the need for humility. Pray with humility. Live, speak, write, hug, shake hands, cook, clean, grow a garden, put on your socks, pet your cat, lesson plan with humility.

Thanks NPR, Mr. Goeglein, and the hymns today at church for forming a trifecta that taught me a small ounce of humility. I (hesitantly) pray for more of these uncomfortable lessons.

F is Fridays

2011-12-16T09:42:00.000-08:00

Fridays are the one day of the week where R and I both do not work so we: do laundry, dishes, sweep, take care of our pet worms (they are for compost) and do other very boring and wonderful things.

This friday is also being taken up by some other Fs. The grade kind. My students are none too happy to receive this letter. I am none too happy to give this letter. We are all miserable.

F is also for fruit flies. This comes with composting. Solution: apple vinegar and a few drops of dish soap.

F is also for FREE. Last night I went see a free poetry event at the Chicago Art Institute. I liked Peter Sis's drawings more than the words of his book, The Conference of Birds. After the presentation I was able to walk around the museum and I was quite impressed. (See picture, by Peter Sis.)

F is also for finding. That is finding my way. It seems every couple of years, I'm at an impasse: What do with my life? Now its Finding Our Way. R and I, what do we want to be when we grow up??

E is for Efche

2011-12-07T13:04:00.000-08:00

Efche is a greek word, which according to Wikipedia literally means The Wish. On the stairs, usually going up to my office; in bed as I'm falling asleep; at my desk when I'm trying to move on to the next task; while driving. Efche while I eat my veggie burger alone. Efche as I wash the dishes, close the blinds.

Fear. I am happy to report, I'm no longer afraid to shift into 5th gear. Perhaps conquering the fear of fifth gear will allow me to use my fear-facing abilities in new more extravagant activities.

What has the practice of efche done for me? In Mountain of Silence Father Maximos describes its doing as: "it will work like a bulldozer which opens up the road, gradually demolishing rocks and pushing dirt away. That is how the [it] works, then the heart works by itself independently of whatever else you do" (Markides 56).

I'm not sure I've endeavored into the land of bulldozers yet, but I do feel a certain light-ness, a certain opening. Perhaps the first breath of whisper.

E is also for elephants because I love them.

D is for Discipline

2011-12-05T12:16:00.001-08:00

I've been reading this book Mountain of Silence by Kyriacos C. Markides. Though I am only 52 pages in, it has already shaken up my ways of thinking about a few small topics such as the purpose of life and the role of faith in the world.

One thing that is clear to me is that I desire discipline and yet lack it. Examples: somehow there is more laundry to do; one cookie or two; shall I turn off the light all the way in the back of the house with my shoes on or off; meager prayers. My desire doesn't seem to be enough to enact discipline. Is it that my daily schedule is set up in a way that demands distraction and tiredness? Am I just overwhelmed with details and can't look at the bigger picture? Or is it the bigger picture that overwhelms me and so I go play scrabble online?

Whatever the cause, reading this book is making my desire for discipline greater. So where to start: climb the stairs, do not take the elevator. A monk's lifestyle revolves around disciplines found in austere, non-distracting living conditions, chants, meditation. While running off to a monastery isn't an option for my life right now, I could implement times for chanting and meditations. Two sources that have been helping me do so are The Divine Hours edited by Phyllis Tickle and Sacred Space

C is for Chai, Clinton, Craigslist and Cat

2011-12-02T15:32:00.000-08:00

1. I made chai today with Nepali spices. It reminded me of two summers ago when Lana, and Kevin and I, had the best Chai tea at the children's home not too far from Samrat's mom's house. So good. All that milk, sugar, spices, and tea.

2. In this picture Clinton, doesn't look like Clinton. Perhaps its the low bun. I wonder what its like for these two women in leadership to meet. (In leadership defined liberally as their ascents into power and the power the yield are very different).

3. If gift certificates to craigslist existed, I think I would like one. I feel it is a form of recycling and a thriving under-economy. No matter how many times I buy something off craigslist, I feel the initial interaction is rather awkward. Is it still available? Where are you? When can I come and look at it? Between those questions, there are people with lives leaving the country, selling their things, looking newly at their living rooms.

4. Cat. Jackson. He is orange. He is cool. A cool cat. He is orange. He is scared. A scare-dy cat. He doesn't like the unpredictable behavior of 4 year olds, but he does like to sit in the window above the radiator and sleep. I don't think he even chases birds with his eyes now that the radiators are on. He just sleeps.

B is for Believing

2011-11-30T13:35:00.000-08:00

Recently, a colleague asked how it was that I had become a poet. I gave the whole story: back in sixth grade (rough year) a Poet-In-the-Schools Poet came to my English class for one week. We wrote sappy poetry about the place between our hearts and minds and the desert. She also taught us that damp towels soak up more water than dry towels. I'm not sure if I believe that. After her visit, I wrote poetry in every corner of every journal through jr. high and high school. In college, I tried to shove it off and jump into anthro, or bio, or LALS, but as much as I enjoyed other subjects I couldn't leave poetry alone and then I took second level poetry course chewed up language and spit it back in my face. We read Gertrude Stein, Lyn Hejinian, C.K. Williams, and a ton of other authors. Poetry (and life, that year my oldest brother also past away) became about what could not be said, the ineffable.

I think every poet discovers that at some point. That is why we are poets, no? Because language is inadequate and we must labor. Then, after reading a poem at my college graduation ceremony, I jumped from the red woods of Santa Cruz to the lit up grey of downtown LA, where i was a paper-pusher at an insurance company by day and a community organizing intern by night. LA sat heavy on my shoulders, the needs were real. What did Gertrude Stein know of it? A sunset, when all the parked cars glowed orange and the tall palm fronds drew their shapes in the sky.

So I went back to school. MFA. Poetry. The city far behind me, I learned about rural things and midwestern things, and poetry. Now I am teaching students at a small college on a corner of state that can be haed to find on a map because its just so in the middle. The city is downtrodden, the factory stench , the buses only cost a $1 to ride them. Do I still believe in poetry? Do I believe in creativity? My students don't seem to, its as if they've stood too long in front of microwaves.

Then, I notice the 1970 styled jacket and the white sunglasses and the short bleach blonde bob that Sue decided to wear. I read the one metaphor Lora used in her paper individualism that made no sense at all. Yes, I do believe. From inner city, to small town, to mother, to 18 year old, to factory worker, to gangbanger wanna-be, to teacher, to student, I believe we all need creativity to thrive, to access our humanity. Poetry is an option.

A is for Appropriation

2011-11-29T19:14:00.000-08:00

Recently, I've been inspired by two friends and their blogs--one started a new blog, and the other gave herself the alphabet challenge. So thank you to these friends who have inspired me to re-appropriate my old blog and start writing on it again.

Another A is the Autumnal A, which is quickly getting away from me. Snow fell today. But before that happened, I finally got to jump around in piles of leaves. Messing up piles of leaves is an activity for every child in the Midwest, and since I came to the Midwest in my 20s I hadn't found a pile of leaves that I could guiltlessly jump and kick. (Raking is hard work and takes a lot of time.)But on Thanksgiving day, Russell and I and some of the Rolffs clan made it out to the park for good old fashion frisbee, bocce ball, and leaf fights. (These leaves were public leaves, and no one had raked them into piles.)

Cosmopolitanism

2011-09-24T08:44:00.000-07:00

I have been teaching Appiah's essays "Making Conversation" and "Primacy of Practice" to my first year comp class. Each time I read the essays I like them more and more. My students feel differently. Some of the basics in the essay include a definition to cosmopolitanism, why conversation is important across cultures (not to change our values, practices but to get used to people who have different values, practices) and how and why societal change usually comes about. I'd recommend reading these essays, or his whole book, Cosmopolitanism, just for life.

In an act of what I'd like to call cosmopolitanism and not cheapness, I walked into the Korean beauty parlor around the corner from my new Chicago apartment because I'd always been intrigued by their make shift sign, with letters askew that read. Eyebrows. Waxing. Threading. $5. I walked in and immediately felt good about myself: new city, new experiences. A Korean woman greeted me and told me to wait in the salon chair, while she, 3 other Korean women, and 1 Latina finished the curls of an elderly Korean lady. The Latina was speaking very loudly making all sorts of suggestions, and getting supplies and curlers, while the other women spoke in Korean, about I don't know what. I believe the elderly lady getting her hair did was off to a wedding. In the front of the store, 3 middle eastern men sat on a couch and barber's chair, discussing guns in English. "Guns don't kill people, people kill people. By that logic, my car should be outlawed, its a ton of death-causing metal and glass." I really wanted to add my two cents in: Yes, its true, people do kill people, with guns and with cars. That is why we have car insurance, driver licenses, and other precautions on who can drive. And cars are not intended for death, while guns are. And guns make it much easier for people to kill people. But I did not, I was in beauty parlor afterall, and I leaned back in my chair and listened to the Korean / English CCM (Contemporary Christian Music).

When one woman came over to do my eyebrows, she was very kind and we did not speak much. Threading in my experience, has always been quick, and therefore the pain is relegated into a few seconds of zipping thread. However, this woman was very slow, put a little bib on me (to catch all the eyebrow hair??). When she was done, she put vaseline on my left eyebrow and said, "You have very light skin. It's okay? $5." I looked in the mirror, and my eyebrows were indeed shaped very nicely. But the left one was bleeding and right one was nearly bleeding. I paid my $5 and gave her a small tip. "See you next time," she said, and I smiled politely.

I would have liked to spend more time in this very cosmopolitanism beauty parlor, but I prefer the skin of my eyebrows to remain in tact. The scab is healing well. I think I will try the $9 place further down the street, where I saw a man threading eyebrows. A man!?

I miss Eyebrow Style in the Bloomington mall. My good friend also went there to get her eyesbrows did, and now is learning how to cook Indian food from her stylist. Conversation across cultures; getting used to new practices-- I couldn't imagine it tasting better.

Flannel

2011-02-13T15:32:00.000-08:00

This history of my love of flannel dates back to before I can remember, some how i got my hands on a blue and green flannel sheet with lavender satin trim on one end and proceeded to carry it with me everywhere. Then I just kept it at home. Then just in my bed when i was sleeping.

The sheet got older, and started falling a part. These are few memories I have of it:

-making little figures out the pieces that tore of the side.
-pretending I had a broken arm and using my blanket as a sling.
-The simple pleasure of returning to my blanket when I had been gone for a while.

In about 5th grade my mom took it away from in order to make me a quilt that didn't look like an antique that had been through the rinse cycle a few too many times. The duvet cover she made me was lovely, though my lovely flannel squares were intersected with cotton fabric that wasn't as soft. This held for the next few years. Displayed on my bed. then the flannel squares started to become stringy, pull apart, holey. Until at last the duvet cover was no longer functioning. For about my 15 birthday she got me a store bought duvet cover. Flannel. It took me a while to learn to love this new flannel, but I wore it in, and I loved it. Though for many years, I did still sleep with my old, holey, handmade duvet cover under my new presentable one.

In Of Mice and Men the main character loves soft things. Oh how this story made me cry for weeks in 11th grade, and when we had to read Grapes of Wrath next, I didn't want to trust Steinbeck with my heart. I too love soft things.

I am reflecting on this history of flannel, because I woke to find a hole in the duvet cover after a particularly anxiety ridden sleep. Over the next few nights it worked its way all the way across the width of the top of the duvet. I now realized I have owned it for more than ten years.

So this weekend, I went to three different stores that sell duvet covers to find a measly selection of cotton, not flannel duvet covers. One of the sales ladies said, "Why I've never seen a flannel duvet." I then turned my attention online, where I found a solid "java" brown color one for the least amount of money and free shipping.

Oh flannel. I will always seek you out. Surprisingly enough, I also just bought my first flannel shirt at the Goodwill. I do enjoy wearing it, though, I'm afraid I might look like hipster. Its okay. I don't mind. Anything for flannel.

5 possible blog posts

2011-01-20T16:14:00.000-08:00

1. On the weather... I once read a quote that said something like, "thank god for the weather or most people would have nothing to talk about" After reading that quote about 4 years ago, i became self conscience of talking about the weather. However, I've recently decided weather is a natural phenomena that needs to be notices and brings people together. Everyone experiences it.

2. About new words I've learned such as avuncular:
adjective
1 of or relating to an uncle.
• kind and friendly toward a younger or less experienced person : an avuncular manner.

3. About how starbucks puts two giant tea bags in a venti and charges you more.

4. On doing now what you what you want do later. Habits start today. About deja vu. About Holding lightly and moving toward the same thing.

5. Poetry on CD. It's great!

5 months is long enough

2010-11-06T07:24:00.000-07:00

1. The police man yelled at my to slow down because

a) that was his only way of communicating with me
b) i didn't know i needed to slow down, but in fact, i did
c) i needed to be told to slow down literally and figuratively.

2. 5 months after lesson learned and i

a) have slowed down considerably, biking is slower than driving. Walking is slower than biking.
b) have chosen to do less and sleep more
c) still need to slow down enough to listen to that quiet still voice a bit more often

3. How do I slow down?

a) walk
b) listen to music
c) go to sleep in a warm bed when all the world is cold.

4. The sun is an illusion so

a) the shadows are just as cold as the bright spots on the lawn
b) i should go up stairs because its warmer there
c) read more poetry about the sun

5. I saw Sufjan Stevens in concert, and I was impressed

a) by the artistic ingenuity and multimedia presentation
b) upon the idea that creativity is a kind of light
c) i want to do art, art, art, elaborate, big, art

6. There is

a) a squirrel in my yard and its so fat it cast shadows across the lawn
b) a numb sensation in my feet
c) hope and doubt at home equally in my heart.

Remind me

2010-06-24T19:10:00.001-07:00

to tell you about the one where the police man yelled, "slow down!"

and I did.

Words I am Biased Against

2010-06-14T17:49:00.000-07:00

Azure (adj) blue as in "The azure bay called out to my soul." How do you really pronounce this word. I never heard it or read it until I moved to MFA school.

Gunmetal grey (adj) Are guns really grey? I think more often they are black. When you say gunmetal do I really know what you mean? I have never seen a gun except on TV.

Obtuse (adj) too dense to get it. I just dont like the way it feels in my mouth. I know its not a dirty word, but it sounds like one to me. Perhaps I'm obtuse for thinking such.

Saliva (noun) spit. When I was a kid, I decided this reminded me of getting your fingers crunched in a car door. There is no logical connection, but I still think about it.

I'm sure there are others, and as I think of them, I will let you know. Do you have any words you are biased against?

Something old, Something new

2010-06-08T18:29:00.000-07:00

So this song is old, but sung by Johnny Cash is new to me, and for some reason knocks me out. Why haven't I've seen this in the karaoke pages of Office Lounge??

Traveling (aka complaining?)

2010-06-02T17:45:00.000-07:00

at 12.00 am pst i was driving out of hollywood, ca >> arrived at lax 12.30 >> brushed my teeth in the bathroom and washed my face >> boarded the plane by 1 am >> slept >>

arrived in memphis at 7 am cst >> i was still wearing my hollywood high heels >> changed to flip flops >>
i found my gate by 7.15 am to find the flight was delayed until 9.30 am >>
ate starbucks oatmeal >> flight delayed 10.10 >> 10.30 >> 11.30 >> move to gate A12 >> 12.30 >> boarded the plane 12.45 pm cst >> read by book >> arrived in indianapolis 3.30 est >>
ran to the shuttle stop >> found i needed to wait an hour to board the shuttle >> almost started crying

>> didn't cry >> got on the shuttle at 4.20 >> slept >>
arrived in bloomington 5.20 >> shuttle stopped at: hampton inn >> eigeman (left turn took 5 minutes) >>
IMU where the most annoying passenger in a phone argument with his wife over milking cows disembarked >>

talked the shuttle driver to drop me off at 7th and Washington attempting to catch the 5.40 my bus 1 South >>
ran down washington >> see the 1 South pulling away from the curb >> started to cry >> started to wave my arms >> bus driver pulls over >> get on the bus crying so happy to be going home >> walk from the bus stop to my house.

Noteworthy Snippets

2010-05-28T05:53:00.000-07:00

from "What is Truth" by rowan williams a sermon written at the outbreak of the gulf war

"We have lately become used once again to the cliche, 'The first casualty of war is truth.'

...

what is rather depressing is the way its recognized without much residue of outrage....

...

What, though, if we were turn the cliche around and say, 'peace is the first casualty of untruthfulness'...

our present conflict is in large measure the price being paid for massive delusion on both sides...

If you wish to know the pertinence of religious faith to the political realm, here is one answer, in recognition of the need and the possibility of a shared repentance ...."

i would type the whole thing if i could, but I'm pressed for time.

sometimes i like to google image random words.

2010-05-23T10:17:00.001-07:00

http://www.hibiscusmania.com/static_files/tylene_heartbreak_hotel.jpg

Saturday before Easter

2010-04-03T05:41:00.000-07:00

This week we can identify with the Lord each step of the way from the Mount of Olives to Calvary. When it comes to the resurrection, the imagination boggles, yet it is the centre of our faith. Lord, teach me to love my face and body, my temple of the Holy Spirit. It will grow old and die with me, but that is not the end. My body is sacred, and Easter opens a window for it and me onto a mysterious but endless vista.

at first these two sentences seemed unrelated, Body / Easter.

But easter is a fully embodied holiday. The body mysterious. The body glorious. Death in the body. Pain in the body. Temple curtain torn. We are now the temple in our bodies.

Oh body. Oh wholly body, skin, and sinew. Synapses. Touch. Cut. Dress the body. Care for the body. Temple. Temple. Temple.

Holy. Holy. Holy.

Spirit. Here, now. Spirit, awaken my body.

passover

2010-04-01T23:24:00.000-07:00

Ode to California a la Joni Mitchell

2010-03-23T17:12:00.000-07:00

The wind is in from africa
Last night I couldn’t sleep
Oh, you know it sure is hard to leave here carey
But it’s really not my home
My fingernails are filthy, I got beach tar on my feet
And I miss my clean white linen and my fancy french cologne
from "Carey"
...

Oh, but California
California I'm coming home
I'm going to see the folks I dig
I'll even kiss a Sunset pig
California I'm coming home

I met a redneck on a Grecian isle
Who did the goat dance very well
He gave me back my smile
But he kept my camera to sell
Oh the rogue, the red red rogue
He cooked good omelettes and stews
And I might have stayed on with him there
But my heart cried out for you, California
Oh California I'm coming home
Oh make me feel good rock'n roll band
I'm your biggest fan
California, I'm coming home

Oh it gets so lonely
When you're walking
And the streets are full of strangers
All the news of home you read
Just gives you the blues
Just gives you the blues
...
Oh it gets so lonely
When you're walking
And the streets are full of strangers
All the news of home you read
More about the war
And the bloody changes
Oh will you take me as l am?
Will you take me as l am?
Will you?

All Lawyers Are Poets

2010-03-15T11:44:00.000-07:00

Today I caught NPR's Fresh Air segment the spoke in depth about how the supreme court works and some cases that have recently past and some cases that are soon here.

and it inspired me to write unpoetic poetry.

All Lawyers are poets
And this country is founded
On poetry. The crucible
of language plucks
at wristbones bound by steel cuffs
as much or more than any heartstring.
And on the radio today I heard a poem.
Like lead tipped arrows
Vibrating through the speakers
into my knees the poem chanted:
The Chief Poets again are troubled
by the Verse: right to bare arms; right to bare
arms; right to bare arms. While the Poets cloistered
In their cantankerous offices
Duke it out over the originating poet’s
Intention and present-day interpretation
in handwritten memos
I hunt for bodies
Scarred and bruised by bullets
And barrel-slaps. I wonder
What poets are reading
and what poets are writing
the news. I fall to the ground and ask
for some common sense to guide
the Poets. Guns make Death
Too easy, so commonplace,
We poets don’t even have time
To write elegies for every fallen
Face. Dear Elder Poets
As you fight with your words
Over the meaning of words
Remember us, the poets on the streets
Our spray cans, our number two pencils,
our breathy hello’s and goodbye’s
trying as diligently as we may
to keep up with you. See what bullets
being used for these days
There is not country here to defend
Only a map of lives crisscrossing
The globe like veins, allow
Us a moment of outrageous metaphor, quarantine
Guns for the third act of plays
And nothing more and nothing more
And nothing more.

E Post Card

2010-03-13T11:31:00.000-08:00

Six Significant Landscapes by Wallace Stevens

I
An old man sits
In the shadow of a pine tree
In China.
He sees larkspur,
Blue and white,
At the edge of the shadow,
Move in the wind.
His beard moves in the wind.
The pine tree moves in the wind.
Thus water flows
Over weeds.

II
The night is of the colour
Of a woman's arm:
Night, the female,
Obscure,
Fragrant and supple,
Conceals herself.
A pool shines,
Like a bracelet
Shaken in a dance.

III
I measure myself
Against a tall tree.
I find that I am much taller,
For I reach right up to the sun,
With my eye;
And I reach to the shore of the sea
With my ear.
Nevertheless, I dislike
The way ants crawl
In and out of my shadow.

IV
When my dream was near the moon,
The white folds of its gown
Filled with yellow light.
The soles of its feet
Grew red.
Its hair filled
With certain blue crystallizations
From stars,
Not far off.

V
Not all the knives of the lamp-posts,
Nor the chisels of the long streets,
Nor the mallets of the domes
And high towers,
Can carve
What one star can carve,
Shining through the grape-leaves.

VI
Rationalists, wearing square hats,
Think, in square rooms,
Looking at the floor,
Looking at the ceiling.
They confine themselves
To right-angled triangles.
If they tried rhomboids,
Cones, waving lines, ellipses --
As, for example, the ellipse of the half-moon --
Rationalists would wear sombreros.

3 cheers

2010-03-05T05:31:00.000-08:00

1.

The Dancing
by Gerald Stern

In all these rotten shops, in all this broken furniture
and wrinkled ties and baseball trophies and coffee pots
I have never seen a post-war Philco
with the automatic eye
nor heard Ravel's "Bolero" the way I did
in 1945 in that tiny living room
on Beechwood Boulevard, nor danced as I did
then, my knives all flashing, my hair all streaming,
my mother red with laughter, my father cupping
his left hand under his armpit, doing the dance
of old Ukraine, the sound of his skin half drum,
half fart, the world at last a meadow,
the three of us whirling and singing, the three of us
screaming and falling, as if we were dying,
as if we could never stop--in 1945--
in Pittsburgh, beautiful filthy Pittsburgh, home
of the evil Mellons, 5,000 miles away
from the other dancing--in Poland and Germany--
oh God of mercy, oh wild God.

2. Skipping and talking to strangers. Bowling and dancing and posing for pictures.

3. Sun again. Sun again.

2010-03-01T18:41:00.001-08:00

Luke 6:36-38

Jesus said to the disciples, "Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful. Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back."

6 Never Been Done Before Things!

2010-02-28T17:48:00.001-08:00

NOTE: these things had never been done before by A. But after a weekend of car rides, A. can cross 5 more things off her list.

1. She ate a Wafflehouse. The waitress Trichelle was amazing under pressure (it was very busy and we were a spastic couple booths of 12) and very kind. A will always think of her now when she thinks of Wafflehouse. And feel compelled to pray for her blessing. Blessing Trichelle.

2. What is round on the sides and HI(gh) in the middle? oHIo. A traveled to the great state of Ohio and learned: THE ohio university mascot is the buckeye. Ohio is not liked by other midwestern states because of the THE in front of the campus name. (the parts of Ohio that A. saw looked amazingly similar to Indiana, however, there was a LARGE river!!)

3. Miamisburg, OH. It exists. It is cute.

4. Jimmy Johns. An alternative to Subway.

5. Tom Horton's. An alternative to dunkin donuts + subway.

6. Swinged danced or did swing dance related activities for 23 hours of a day. Then slept. In Ohio. Woke up in Ohio. Stepped out of the motel room (that smelled like years of cigarrette smoke saturated sheets and blankets) into Ohio.

my love.

2010-02-26T12:43:00.000-08:00

At Last by Etta James

At last, my love has come along
My lonely days are over
And life is like a song
Oh, yeah, at last
The skies above are blue
My heart was wrapped up in clovers
The night I looked at you
I found a dream that I could speak to
A dream that I can call my own
I found a thrill to rest my cheek to
A thrill that I have never known
Oh, yeah when you smile, you smile
Oh, and then the spell was cast
And here we are in heaven
For you are mine
At last

A song to sing, sigh, & dance to.

Dreams

2010-02-25T07:07:00.000-08:00

1. Upset by the questions, I leave. N & L take me with them. We are walking in the street. A mountain lion approaches. Is this the kind of cat you yell at? I yell, I do no run. The cat bites my thumb, taking a layer of skin and blood. But I am alright. Soon a jaguar does the same. Later, the owner puts it on its leash. You must take better care of your jaguar I say. I show him my thumb.

2. In the store, where all things are breakable, I:
a) see a advert for an MFA in kentucky. I laugh, who advertises MFA programs on TV?
b) break the plaster on the back wall. The store manager doesnt make me buy anything, but gives me a tissue in order to clean up all the dust. I say, you just want me to dust your already dusty store, but I do it anyways.

3. Accidentally marry two ladies. I realize I am going to have to tell them I do not like ladies like that.

4. The light switch does not turn the light on in the room, but rather outside the room. This upsets me. How will I sleep, if i know in the morning, i wont be able to turn the light on?

5. In the living room my Aunt D is there. talking about her parents divorce. invites me to lunch with the family. I invite R. His mother tells him no, he is not allowed to go.

6. Across the room I see him. Across the room he does not see me, until he feels me staring at him. He turns. What are you doing here? This is where I live. I live here. What are you doing here.

Paradigm Shift

2010-02-22T19:24:00.000-08:00

Sometimes she thinks to herself, "I'm going to be nice to myself, and let myself ___________ (eat another brownie, take the elevator rather than the stairs, sleep in, buy a cup of coffee etc.)"

But today, she thought to herself "I'm going to be nice to myself and let myself ____________ (enjoy the comfort of not being too full, take the stairs, get up earlier and go for a run, keep the money in my pocket)."

All this self control today, she thinks, this exercising of the brain and the muscles in new ways, perhaps led up to the moment when she needed to exercise other kinds of self control.

America and its tourists often has trouble knowing that less is more, silence can be kindness, and so is that burn of walking up 5 flights of stairs.

I love the mountains, I love the rolling hills

2010-02-20T08:06:00.000-08:00

American Tourist in America recently had her heart broken, it is one of her goals of 2010 to visit Kentucky. She was looking for beauty and excitement, she never expected she would first learn about Kentucky and add it to the list of evils this country participates in that seems to be ever growing. Maybe its just her awareness that is growing.

She had never thought about where her electricity came from. but now, because of a great ArtsWeek Presentation and the website ilovemountain.org she does.

Mountain Top (line break) (insert foto) (think the hills are alive with the sound of music, think mountain top experience, think vistas of grandeur and held breath.

Removal of Coal

and the side-effects of such devastation are disastrous:

slurry ponds which have a tendency to leak (one disaster was times bigger than the exxon valdez spill, and was never mentioned in the news), polluted streams and rivers, less jobs available for the folks of the region, ecological destruction, the species who live there, including the people, the blasting rocks and dislodges houses from their foundations. Mountains that take 300 million years to make, take 1 year for a coal mining company to destroy. the few get rich. We get what is termed "cheap" electricity. Homes, forests, lives, mountains, are destroyed. This isn't cheap. Its horrifying. A never heard about any of this before because the people who live there are the poor. No one cares.

A looks at the list she just wrote. She seems to be using understatement against her will she can not capture the horror of what she saw in the slide show last night. She asks you to find out more for yourself.

Go to ilovemountains.org to learn more. to write your congress(wo)man. this is happening in America - (the once) beautiful. there is no such thing as clean coal.

2010-02-18T05:04:00.000-08:00

At the beach the waves were raising
Like large temporary cities. So large, I lost
My mother’s surfboard and the military
Found it and I had to search the docks
For the military. I found the military
By their hair cuts and by the fact they
Called their homes barracks. The surf
Boards they found were many and some
Were covered in tattoo roses, red. At the
Beach, I also saw a shark, the lifeguard
Said this was not a dangerous shark,
But when the waves rose again, and
We shined our flashlight, he looked a lot
Like jaws and I didn’t want to get back
In the water. There were also killer
Whales with their black and white
Markings. They were visiting, but
Only for a moment. The land was not
Kind to them. Then I saw other killer
Whales, but they were not black
And white, they were purple and orange
Imitating the colors of airlines, trying
To look like airplanes. I was so mad
Consumerism had affected the whales.

2010-02-17T06:04:00.000-08:00

This morning, the first day of lent, i enjoyed: this prayer / meditation

maybe you will too.

fat tuesday

2010-02-16T18:37:00.000-08:00

Since A. got the day Lent started incorrect, she figured on FAT TUESDAY should could break her facebook fast just once, peruse the statuses. Sadly, god-honest-truth, its been a bit sadder without facebook than she'd like to admit. These lonely cold winter nights, it was comforting to see what everybody was doing with their facebook selves. However, in checking facebook, she read status, and 2 minutes later could not remember a single one. The comfort of wasting minutes in front of facebook? what is it worth?

these forty days are gonna be hard. she will admit it.

Help us

2010-02-16T04:44:00.000-08:00

So there was this banquet, a feast, a parrrtay... and no one could come because everyone was too busy.

Oh lord, help us to be still, and aware of your presence in us. I don't want to miss the party-boat.

Ash Wednesday

2010-02-10T05:13:00.000-08:00

"The free gift of God's love does not turn us into people who are passive. This love makes us alive with Christ (eph 2) and makes us able to dar to give our life for others." from Seeds of Trust written by the brothers at Taize.

Today is ash wednesday. Windy and Snowy and I don't think I will make it to a service today to get ashes on my forehead. American Tourist needs a break from her internet site-seeing and so she has decided to give up facebook for lent. She actually feels quite liberated-- the crazy impulse to check for text messages, email, facebook updates needs to be tempered. While she (kind of) wishes she could give up phones and email that would be just silly with her family stretched out across the US and important work/school things happening on the email. Facebook on the other hand is expendable. Stop the frenzy. The random people who show up in her dreams because she sees status updates on facebook. Her brain still is the size of the brain of great-great-grandmother who didn't bother with phones. Walked to the store to say hi to people and pick up breakfast.

I like when

2010-02-07T11:55:00.000-08:00

the snow prevents me from life-as-normal. (kind of).

Slip-sliding down the driveway, I can't take me feet/legs/breath/balance for granted.

reminds me Im small and human and I am not in control. The snow, the gravity, the temperature affect me. Have effects on me. Have affection for me?

Once I went to the doctor and she said, take allergy medicine until the first frost. I like this advice. It made me pay attention to the world around me. It made me feel connected to the world around me.

I'm not sure I would be writing this post if I were in the North East where 2 feet of snow (plus) buried them and their electricity. But i'd like to think, if I were there, I would be thinking about my finite humanity.

I went for a run in the snow. I felt the outer cold. The inner heat. My breath in cold puffs, my sweat under my 3 sweatshirts.

Today the sky is blue. The sun is shining. The snow doesn't melt. The sun is not all pervasive. There are slops of hills, patches of sidewalk near mailboxes, or tree trunks, that never seem to get the sun. Here is where strange patches of snow never melt in triangles and other odd shapes. The sun did not reach. The snow did not melt. It is visible.

and sometimes gets in my shoes.

no.

2010-02-01T03:32:00.000-08:00

Do not swear. All you need say is "Yes" if you mean yes, "No" if you mean no. Anything more than this comes from the evil one.' (Matthew 5:37) The Sermon on the Mount speaks with a simplicity that has been lost in the complications of church life and theology. Saint Benedict is equally simple in his Rule for monks. Here is a piece that echoes Jesus' words, and can serve as an examination of conscience for anyone: "I do not act in anger or nurse a grudge. I rid my heart of all deceit. I never give a hollow greeting of peace and I never turn away when somebody needs my love. I speak the truth with heart and tongue."

http://www.sacredspace.ie/dailyprayer/index.php?lang=en&d=01&m=02&y=2010#conversation

2010-01-28T05:49:00.000-08:00

American tourist in America thinks about consistency. God's consistency. Her own inconsistency.

1. Her heart as metaphor for feelings is inconsistent.
2. Her attention to news media is inconsistent.

3. News media is inconsistent. She don't remember so much negative coverage of W. Bush as Obama. Maybe she didn't want TV when W. was president. Maybe she didn't notice the negative coverage of the then president because she agreed and thought it was simply common sense.

4. What are the things I do consistently?, she wonders.
-go to class or to work.

5. Dreams are not consistently. But they consistently surprise. Is that a sort of constancy.

6. She dreamt of waking up and going to the kitchen because D. was there. In her dream she is tired, she keeps getting in D.'s way. Orange juice spilled. Dishes dropped. I just want some water she says, but in fact, the reason she came to the kitchen was to see D. She had been worried. The cat has 5 bags of treats by his bowl. A sound sounds outside, and when A. looks out the window, she sees 5 cars, chewed up and broken, skidding toward the house. J. is in the garage and A worries for his safety. I knew something bad was going to happen, A starts to say, under her breath, but then thinks better of it. No one is hurt, simply the cars are folded up and inside out.

Haiti

2010-01-14T09:17:00.000-08:00

A Look at the History of Haiti and its International Community

The reporter climbed the rubble, with a microphone.
The cameraman followed. The Haitians called back
And forth in a language, I could not understand, but still
I knew they were arguing. The reporter spoke into
The microphone as he looked at me. Into my television.
Into my living room. I am sitting on the couch. He then
Held the Interpreter of Sound down to the cement
The cameraman angled down. A girl’s tennis shoes.
And she is screaming. Boom and Echo. Screaming.
Only vowels. The vowels of all language. I held my
Breath for her, I held the remote control in my hand.
I could volume her voice until it filled my house and
Wake my roommates but the boulders of buildings
Do not move. Do we turn away to give privacy
In a moment that could be her rebirth or burial?
The cameraman panned up to her brother, blinking free
Against the blue sky, looking away from me. And I do not
Know if she was rescued. Or if the TV station replays
Her captive screams. And for one moment I sense what
we have in common, a breath in our lungs, our hands
clasped, a history book full of regret. I have buried this
girl in 200 words and she screams in every vowel.

The Last Day of 26

2010-01-08T09:06:00.001-08:00

At the beginning of each year I spend a few days the age i was for the most part of the previous year. Tomorrow I will be older than I have ever been before. I can say that truthfully of any day, but tomorrow feels different. I am going to be officially 27 years old. 3 years shy of 30. ten year high school reunion around the corner. (I do not intend to attend any reunion, but just knowing that it could be planned is weird.)

I should make a list of 26 things that are true today.

1. my toes are cold.
2. my hair is curly. I washed it today.
3. I never thought I would live in the midwest, but I do.
4. there is snow outside.
5. leather is probably better than synthetic leather for me. and maybe the cow.
6. if i drink too much coffee i get a stomach ache.
7. i like to dance but i am not good at it.
8. i want to live a life out-of-the-ordinary.
9. i want a plant to live on my desk this year, to love and to water.
10. i prefer windows that get a lot of light, curtains that are open or see-through.
11. Elvis was born today, 1935.
12. I have always been under the impression that Gypsy Rose Lee (burlesque entertainer) shared a birthday with me, however wikipedia says Jan 8 like elvis, and IMDB says feb. 9. I no longer know what to believe.
13. some one is making me lunch today.
14. I am stuck on 14 and reading about Gypsy Rose Lee's life.
15. Sometimes I wonder what adventure means, and if it always must include climbing fences.
16. I wore three pairs of socks yesterday and plan the same for today.
17. I have been away from Indiana for almost a month and I miss it.
18. I also miss by bed.
19. At nineteen I was in college, undergrad.
20. Chicago has cute apartments.
21. I haven't written poetry in a looong time.
22. One of my 2010 goals is to go to Louisville KY
23. I like tea. Black tea, green tea, Rooibos.
24. I don't like dogs or cats in general. I like certain few dogs I have met and a certain few cats.
25. I hope good things for many people.
26. 27 isn't old!

2009-12-09T05:26:00.001-08:00

The great mystic John of the Cross wrote, ‘Love is the fruit of faith, that is to say, of darkness.'

List time again

2009-12-08T19:41:00.001-08:00

A List of Random Deep and Not-so-Deep Thoughts:

2. I watched a movie called 4 months, 3 weeks, 2 days.. Though not terribly graphic, it is one of the most painful movies I have watched. It is painful in how un-extraordinary the circumstances are. It is important movie in understanding woman's rights.

3. In the past few hours I have been having an internal freak out. I have realized it is because I have done two communicative things toward - and in one day. And it makes me feel like pomegranate seeds out of their peel. But as a good friend reminded me. No biggie, I can handle it. Yes. for truth it is not a big deal.

4. I am tired now.

5. I want to think of deep thoughts.

6. I used the word snarky too many times today.

7. I have thought of what I want to make for a card to send in the mail.

9. Goodnight.

10. I feel like I should have one more thing to say.

Googling yr name / Parrellel Universes

2009-11-27T07:27:00.000-08:00

Do you ever google your name? Yes.

Today I googled mine and found a parallel universe blog:

Alessandra's Adventures in Santa Ana

Not There Yet

June 28 2005

Its about two months until i will be moving to Santa Ana. I've been checking out the place on maps. Its not as far south as I first thought. I am still wonderinng what kind of job to get. I think I will just apply to all the ones I find and see what happens. Its tough but good to learn to trust Jesus in this new environment.

For a minute I thought there was some other Alessandra with my zodiac sign on blogger, but all signs pointed this to being me. I couldn't remember what on earth, if this was me, I was talking about.

Then I remembered that for a minute I was going to be on the Santa Ana SP team before that did not happen. How different would have my life had been if it had occurred. Reminds me of some recent fiction I have read.

I am thankful for my life. for my school. where I am today. I am thankful for a lot of things. even the essay I should be writing and stories I should be grading.

ahh!

relying on cliches because i'm tired

2009-11-19T20:37:00.000-08:00

This week has had its majors ups and downs. Way Downs. Way ups. I cried for about 24 hours (sadly, this is a literal statement) regarding a paper I received back from a professor. B+ in grad school means Fail. You suck. Drop the Class. However, I have decided to accept this grade. I told the prof, I learned a great deal from writing this paper. I need now to turn my attention to poetry. It's just frustrating you can not see what I have learned, and the great value I have in this class from my paper.

She accepted this resolution and I am not rewriting a paper which would be like torture to re-write. pointless torture at that.

That was the extreme low.

the extreme high was tonight's poetry reading. I proved something new to myself tonight, which may sound weird, but feels earth shattering to me:

I can read poetry out loud, my poetry out loud, well. and I enjoy it. And it feels important.

Revelatory even.

good night.

sometimes

2009-11-16T20:19:00.000-08:00

somethings make me saddish. no raddish will do.

this is one.

i am tired. goodnight.

Why isn't this bigger news

2009-11-14T20:26:00.000-08:00

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart

Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c

Sean Hannity Uses Glenn Beck's Protest Footage

www.thedailyshow.com

Daily Show
Full Episodes

Political Humor

Health Care Crisis

Writing it down

2009-11-07T05:46:00.000-08:00

1. 3 dreams, in a series in one night. In dream #2 I could remember dream #1 and I retold the happenings of dream one so the characters in dream #2, #3 could help me interpret them. Oceans. Oceans. Oceans. Tall, hunchback, climbing walls, scarves. Storm radar. very tired when i awoke.

2. I am upset with Wal-Mart. Nothing new. Just a lot of commercials. Telling me and the rest of America that we deserve to "live better" with lots of lots of lots of THINGS. The fine print: you may lose your soul in the clutter of napkin rings, kids toys, and shoes. The fine print: you live in the opulent lap of kingly wal-mart throne at the expense of the men and women in factories, the men and women getting paid minimum wage, at the expense of the planet getting polluted with the trains, plains, and trucks criss-crossing the globe to bring you your tea, apples, placements, dress. We are going to hell in a handbasket, is a popular phrase. I think wal-mart is decorating our handbaskets.

3. The Southlands

If I did not have magnets

sewn into my seams, & my

shoulder blades. Would I press

into you? Would you

drive north across the trampled

grasslands, the pink sun pulling

the flat horizon—the shadows

stretching like spider webs.

Would I hold out

my hand to you, your mouth

an edge. ‘Hello’ lifting

the bindings of self

& apathy. Your mouth asking

me to scissor them away.

I with my magnets, my mouth,

observe you sitting in your chair

& I wonder if I will choose

to love you.

2009-10-27T15:49:00.000-07:00

Small things up to easier breathing.

2009-10-22T20:42:00.000-07:00

Today I...

1. Rode my bike even though I was feeling lazy and getting back in bed after I took a shower this morning.

2. Found 17 dollars on the ground in two installments. First 5 and 2 ones, than a 10.

3. recovered from telling someone something honest, but hard to say by singing on my bicycle ani lyrics and a medley from Les Miserables and Miss Saigon.

4. Said smart things in both of my classes even though I have failed to keep up with the reading. My comments were still honest to what I had read.

5. Graded a few papers.

6. Watched 2 episodes of project runway (guilty pleasure, don't judge).

7. Made a decision that was hard to make, but now feels good.

8. Almost bought a plane ticket.

9. Rode my bike home before the rain fell down in clumps.

10. Went out to dinner with my roommate.

11. Returned 2 books to the library. 9 to go. I have a class in the library every thursday. at this rate, i will be done in 5 weeks.

12. had a poem workshopped and it went okay.

13. Decided what I want to be for halloween.

14. Figured out my classes for next semester.

15. I feel accomplished.

2009-10-20T05:36:00.000-07:00

We need to recognise exhaustion, in ourselves or in others. When Jesus saw it in his disciples, exhausted by all the unscripted coming and going of the crowds (Mark 6:30), he said, ‘Come away by yourselves to a lonely place, and rest a while.' This is the origin of the Christian practice of making a retreat: a lonely place, where we can drop our public mask, reflect on our life, and rest. I do it in a small way whenever I beam in on Sacred Space and devote some time to just God and me.
As you click into Sacred Space, you are answering Jesus' invitation to come away to a deserted place and rest a while. Do not be afraid of being alone. Fear rather the opposite: as the philosopher Blaise Pascal wrote, ‘The sole cause of man's unhappiness is that he does not know how to stay quietly in his room.' Jesus allowed the crowds to surround him and draw comfort from him; but to refresh his own strength he retreated alone into communion with his heavenly father.
Lord, there are times when I want to get away from the crowds, when I feel oppressed by company. If I can reach you in prayer, and know that you are more central to me than my own thoughts, I feel at peace, as the apostles must have felt.

by http://sacredspace.ie/

3 dreams

2009-10-03T06:44:00.000-07:00

1. Going to War in Iraq with a young girl. As well as my sister. Who is a singer. Fear. Avoiding gun bullets. Meeting other singers. Performances.

2. Meeting Sufjan. This is the second time this has happened (in dream form). This time he signed a piece of paper because he could not find a picture. Though he had lifted the hood of a car to expose vats of chemicals and developing pictures. He was smoking. I told him to put out his smoke before reaching into the vehicles. No CD. No Picture. He signed the peice of paper. He was performing at a recovery house-way house.

3. Walking home with J. D. M. and S. who are all currently asleep in the house right now. We were on rogers road. it had rained some time earlier. D. is tired and has a backpack. So I carry her shoes when I get to the hill that is not paved and running down with water. We think this will be fun. It is fun to walk up this hill in the mud. We get to the top and there are stairs that lead to a little room with a little door. The room has no floor. YOu much acrobat yourself off the stairs and through the door. Outside the door is a balance beam, which you can walk across. There are two boys and girl on the beam. The boys knock the girl off. She falls. Which is dangerous because the water is not deep, nor is the mud. Before she falls, I see in slow motion, a rock fall and hit the muddy ground. I hold my breath. She falls but she is okay. It is rude/horrible of the boys to make her fall when it could have been so bad.

Sufjan came to Bloomington on 9/29

2009-09-30T06:14:00.000-07:00

I went to see Sufjan Stevens in concert last night. I had planned for him to see me and fall in love with me. Only the first part happened. Before the concert, i saw him at the restaurant next door to the venue. He was ordering food and I was in line behind him. He seemed kind and somewhat shy. My friend got a picture with him and his autograph. I did not. Don't know why. I shall be content to be an extra in his life, and a fan 6 rows from the front. I didn't have my camera so I took pictures with my less-than-amazing cellphone. One when they were setting up and one during the first song. Then I put the phone away and practiced enjoying the present moment.

He puts on a really good show, his band is amazing. The trumpet/french horn player is amazing. He sang some new songs, including one with lines from Simon and Garfunkel "they bowed to the neon gods they made" and "hello darkness my old friend" (I've come to strangle you). The venue was really small and though my pictures make him look farway, I was actually only 6 ppl from the stage. Sufjan, I hear got his MFA from a school in NY and went to Hope College in Michigan. Perhaps I should solicit him for the magazine I work for. Oh, Sufjan. My heart is a little bit bigger because of your songs, and a little bit broken because of you.

2009-09-19T13:32:00.001-07:00

I can not believe the words:
“everyone carried one of the 92 coffins, bodies
exhumed for proper burial.”

And
“blood poured out of the bullet holes in him like water
through newly open tributaries”

Have been written
In Ink. On paper.

And that is all.

We are not so shamed by our brothers and sisters death. We have our hands but not our wits. We have our words, our names. The words again. The names again. Ink after all is only ink. Name only a name. A momentary salve on our burned fingers, while our hips canker and sour.

I am through with words.

Oh Billie

2009-09-13T18:26:00.000-07:00

The Day Lady Died by Frank O'Hara

It is 12:20 in New York a Friday
three days after Bastille day, yes
it is 1959 and I go get a shoeshine
because I will get off the 4:19 in Easthampton
at 7:15 and then go straight to dinner
and I don't know the people who will feed me

I walk up the muggy street beginning to sun
and have a hamburger and a malted and buy
an ugly NEW WORLD WRITING to see what the poets
in Ghana are doing these days I go on to the bank
and Miss Stillwagon (first name Linda I once heard)
doesn't even look up my balance for once in her life
and in the GOLDEN GRIFFIN I get a little Verlaine
for Patsy with drawings by Bonnard although I do
think of Hesiod, trans. Richmond Lattimore or
Brendan Behan's new play or Le Balcon or Les Nègres
of Genet, but I don't, I stick with Verlaine
after practically going to sleep with quandariness

and for Mike I just stroll into the PARK LANE
Liquor Store and ask for a bottle of Strega and
then I go back where I came from to 6th Avenue
and the tobacconist in the Ziegfeld Theatre and
casually ask for a carton of Gauloises and a carton
of Picayunes, and a NEW YORK POST with her face on it

and I am sweating a lot by now and thinking of
leaning on the john door in the 5 SPOT
while she whispered a song along the keyboard
to Mal Waldron and everyone and I stopped breathing

Of fathers, theory and real life

2009-09-11T11:22:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, I wonder if, I should ever get married, who would walk me down the aisle. Although I am on speaking terms with my father as of late (although we do not often find reason to communicate) it seems like an irreverent and irrelevant act to give him such a pivotal role in a wedding procession, since his role in my life has been more of stumbling block, obstacle course on my way to ever engaging in such a act of marriage. What right has he to give me away. I am sad my grandfather is not alive, because then perhaps, i could put to rest these silly thoughts, since I am far away from marriage. However, after reading "Genesis, Fathers, and the Political Liberty of Sons" by Feminist Theorist Carol Pateman, I find myself thinking about it again. I feel violated by the stories that have given way to the modern concepts of society, citizenship, politics. These stories include male-centric interpretations of the Genesis creation story, the female body, Freud, and other Male thinkers. The first political act, even before father as head of household was created, it seems was the man having conjugal-rights over his wife's body. Blach! YchK! Throw-up!

This, however, is not often talked about since, women really don't count, matter, and are such frivolous, nature-driven creatures they cannot control their desires, and therefore need the sane, civil, man to protect and guide them and keep them modest while birthing and bathing his children. The children who if they are sons, will grow up and at a certain age, reach adequate strength and reasoning ability to become equals with the father, put off his guiding hand, and join the fraternity of brothers as such is civil society. However, if the child is a daughter, she will grow up, only to be walked down the aisle from and handed over from one man to another. This makes me wonder why, after, my grandfather and father, on the list of people to walk me down the aisle my next candidates were: my brother, my uncle. Both of whom I love, both of whom have no right to give me away. Why did I not think of my mother, the woman who raised me, my sister, my peer and great influence on my life. I should perhaps be walked down the aisle by all the woman who have ever helped me in shaping me become a strong, capable, member of society. But that would just turn the wedding into a circus and all the guests would have to walk down the aisle and then there would be no one seated in the chairs or pews.

So then I recall to mind the end scene of The Sound of Music where with no explanation, Maria walks down the aisle, tall, firm, alone. She gives herself away. As a child watching that movie, it was one of my favorite scenes. She seemed so strong, so capable. A choice. She is walking herself down the aisle.

In practice today it might seem sad, a pity, that I could not find a reasonable fatherly substitute. And there would have to be an asterisk on the wedding program explaining the feminist theory behind the act as at some cross-cultural weddings, the unfamiliar symbols, such as the exchanging of a necklace at an Indian wedding, are explained in a small font.

Luckily, I am far from the day of wedding planning and all this can remain intangible theoretical solutions.

Something new?

2009-09-07T06:06:00.000-07:00

26 years old and still learning.

1. I prefer warm weather to cold. I hadn't thought this was so, but as the blazing sweaty Indiana grew warmer and warmer, and I was sweaty, I found myself shuddering with the idea that in 6 months or less, I would be wearing a million layers and freezing cold. I had always thought I preferred cold weather.

2. I never considered myself an anxious person. But here I am second year of grad school, and I am having trouble breathing and my stomach hurts with anxiety. Weird huh? Upon talking to my brother, I realized I had been anxious when I was working at blue cross. I had little mantras for every time the phone rang and I had to pick it up such as: "This too will pass" "its going to be okay" "you can do it" and then I also remembered high school where, driving or busing, I would always freak out about getting there late(I remember just having to sit back in the car and try to breath deeply because of the traffic, ah it was terrible), so I would usually be quite early. How come I never noticed this tendency toward anxiety? and what do I do about it now. I hate this anxiety feeling. I need a new mantra. argh!

2009-09-04T07:42:00.000-07:00

Ice Cube Tray

White, clean, meticulous container. You contain
16 cubicles, 16 solid clouds. You Flex, you spit,
You are reused. You do not tire of your boxes,
Your walls, & partitions, your generations of ice
Cubes, harvested. 16 pockets, 16 names, 16 slight curves
At the well of each envelope. 16 sky lights. 16 inhales.
16 uniforms, definitions, ditches. If only I could contain more
Than A finger, toe, or lock of hair inside of one
of your 16 egg shells. If only I could hold my breath
and curl like water from the tap
into you. A drip may escape, and then slide
down your ladderless surface
into one of 16 wombs. A solid whole, my entirety
transformed into a tooth of ice. My arms frozen
to my sides, my forehead pasted to my knees,
there’d be no pull to slid my elbows up, to press my palms
on the ledges to lift myself up, over the walls
you have constructed just for me.

Sometimes stick figures are helpful

2009-09-03T19:55:00.000-07:00

http://explodingdog.com/title/yourestillinit.html

Abs are Not Vanity

2009-08-31T04:52:00.000-07:00

While for many americans, the search for great abs can be chalked up to vanity, the search for the perfect body, A discovered their other most fabulous meaning. After having spent a week feeling like an old man who has hurt his lower back and then can't move, sit, pick up, or do anything fun or useful, she learned abs are of the utmost important. Core strengthening not only better surfing skills, etc, ought to be engaged so as not to be an old man again. A now feels the pull to take sit-ups, good posture, seriously not for any "visible results" but to protect her kind and gentle lower back. A also feels thankful to the many who prayed for her, helped her carry things, and the PT friend who sent a list of suggested exercises. A is off to work out her core muscles.

Three

2009-08-20T13:12:00.000-07:00

Three

I have you, I have you, in your perfection
& you have me.
Your umbrella-bones reach across—
Your feathers sing on my shoulder blade, my wing.
A trinity to follow, escort, & remind me:
Soaring, searching, & wild—
Into my classroom, my bedroom, on unpaved roads
Or marble steps. A picture of who I am: the sand
In my hair. Of three I once knew, & three I know now—
The way the wind sweeps from the sea, seeking
& bathing the whole of me. A moment of flight,
An eternity. A body of skin for this world: a shadow
Of a pearl in Love’s extended hand. A compass
Always pointing toward the cliff's edge: for vistas
Of orange sunsets, wide sunrises: a life with no regret.

Singing in the Rain/Umbrella-ella-ella

2009-08-15T16:03:00.001-07:00

Poem for today

2009-08-15T13:30:00.000-07:00

Semaphore

Thank you for bringing me here, to this cliff. Suddenly I’m aware of my toes on the pebbles and thorn-grass. I can hear my mouth, my nose, a quiet thud thud in my throat. I am broken streetlight. The honeycomb Red, Yellow, and Green ring out, all at once, confusing traffic: wrecks, collisions, pile ups. My breath now the only vehicle darting through the tunnels and streets, your name belted to my tongue.

2009-08-03T06:23:00.001-07:00

Autobiography of a Face by Lucy Grealy

My rating: 3 of 5 stars
Terribly sad book, well written, capturing the point of view of a child in a dysfunctional family experiencing the affects of cancer and its treatment. More sad than the pain of the disease is the misunderstandings and familial relations during this child's growing up. I would say read it only if you are particularly interested in sad stories, or capturing the point of view of a child through writing, or wondering what its like to experience chemotherapy.

View all my reviews >>

American Tourist tries to go deep

2009-08-02T13:03:00.001-07:00

But there was no lake to jump into, so she started thinking:

1. Realization: A. likes that the bible is confusing. this occurred to her during a conversation with other americans of various belief systems.
2. She likes that the bible is not cookie cutter instructions, 100% without confusiong because it encourages: 1. Thinking for oneself 2. Making decisions for onself. 3. examination and a thoughtful eye.
3. A remembers the play Waiting For Godot, but she doesn't remember the names of the main characters. But she does remember that one character wants to play a game: having a noose around his neck, with his friend holding the end of the rope so that he doesn't have to make decisions for himself, he must fully rely on friend.
4. A think both christians and non-christians enjoy being told what to do. we like to think in terms of black and white, to put labels on things: good, bad, ugly, pretty because it takes less time, brain power and self examination that gray areas, things without labels, and life without clear instructions.
5. At church today, A. asked for the holy spirit to be there and with her. she recieved it in an unexpected way: conviction. The sermon was on letting your yes be yes and your no no. So simple, such good advice. A. has been shading the truth a lot. A has been involved with department gossip. A. wants out of shaded truth, lies and gossip.

A also wants to go swimming in a lake. or river. or ocean. Good thing in 5 days an ocean will be made available to her!

I need help with this poem. Please make suggestions.

2009-07-28T05:42:00.001-07:00

Write her Letters and Letters If You Must
For Veronica

Sometimes I make lists:
I do not know how to
wash the dirt off
railroad tracks. Or how to
scuba dive. I can not drive
cars with stick shift. I don’t
know what to do in cemeteries
when I recognize the names
on the granite grave stones.
I don’t know how to be
an older sister. I have forgotten
the quadratic equation. I can
paint fingernails. On an airplane,

a stranger in tattoos and a smile
showed me a picture of his
11-month-old baby girl: “I do not get to see
her much;” “I make sure
she gets what she needs;” “I have gotten used
to it this way.” Sunflowers grew,

unfurled inside of me like suns,
their roots digging down
my legs, my toes, through the carpet
of the airplane floor. Their petals
rising like yellow tongues on my tongue:
“Make sure she knows you love her”
“Make sure she knows”

Sometimes Epiphanies are Simple

2009-07-21T18:45:00.000-07:00

This weekend I took stay-cation as they have been recently termed. I stayed in town but pretended to be out of town. I stayed at a friend's apartment with her kitty-cat while she was really out of town. It was a different pace, setting, a chance to indulge in reading, writing, quiet, jewelry making, sunflowers and most importantly prayer. This was my epiphany:

His Grace is Enough.

If truly believed, this is an amazing statement. All the fears and worries, all the people I am worried about, the things I can not control, His Grace IS Enough. HIS grace is enough. His GRACE is enough. His grace is ENOUGH.

For your listening pleasure. Ani DiFranco sings, Amazing Grace. (cheesy pictures not needed)

A bunch of molecules in the wrong place at the wrong time

2009-07-15T20:04:00.001-07:00

I am MAD. PISSED OFF. I screamed. Here is a list of reason why I feel like going into a forest and screaming until my throat hurts and I can not tell my screams from the echoes of my screams.

1. Car Accidents.
2. Death.
3. Car Accidents that cause death.
4. That horrible and familiar feeling when you are going about your daily stupid business and it is interrupted by an email or phone call or a knock on the door that says Someone you have known has died. (p.s. I can be mad and construct sentences at this time because the person who recently died was an acquaintance, a little girl I met just last week, not someone closer to me).
5. And suddenly whatever you were doing seems pointless, why do the dishes, why eat cereal, why ride your bike, why go to class, why worry about commas, why go to work, why do anything besides hug the person next to you and tell them to shut up and stop complaining about the cubicles in their workspace or the deteriorating reading levels of the general public.
6. Sometimes I feel like we set the bar too high. We should be thankful just to be alive.
7. Sometimes I feel we set the bar too low. We should be thankful To Be Freaking Miraculously Alive.
8. Today every child I saw seemed miraculous. Each foot step was a miracle. How had they not been killed yet, they are all so small. I looked at myself in the mirror, just that I looked back was miracle. I saw an old man waiting for an elevator. Just that he had grown old, saggy, and grey was a miracle. I am down in my heart, my stomach, my lungs MAD that it take a little girl dying to remind me of this. To pull me out of my insane nonsense, out of my selfish and egotistical perspective of everyday life to see these miracles. SO MAD> Do you get how mad I am? I want to rip things, my own skin and hair, I want you to know how mad I am. I want you to see the miracles.
9. Sometimes I feel like suffering seems to prove that there is no God. But I don’t feel that way today. I feel like suffering proves there must be a God. If not, the LOGICAL thing to do would be stop living. (I am being dramatic I know, please don’t worry: I am not suicidal). But seriously, LIFE FREAKING SUCKS, DEATH FREAKING SUCKS> THERE IS NO FREAKING REASON TO KEEP OUR SPECIES GOING if there is not something bigger than our planet and the air we breathe. If My heart hurts so bad for this little amalgamation of molecules we called Lizzie, and for all the people who are no longer living and there is no bigger picture, what is the point?
10. I am also mad because while it is impossible and STUPID to compare tragedies, I know that the tragedies I have experienced on the non-existent scale of tragedies are relatively small (I have never been in a war, for example). How much suffering, how much bone-grounding pain they must feel, not physically. How their hearts must shut off to survive. How in the book I read about Rwanda the hunted became animal-like. They were hunted like game and they became antelope. I AM MAD.
11. I give up, and this makes me mad. I can not contain this much madness. And luckily my God does not ask me to. Luckily my God grieves with me. How my eyes ached from crying, and my nose, and my cheeks. They were all rubbed raw. Luckily, I believe there is a bigger picture. Luckily I do not trust myself to make sense of the whole freaking world and make sense of it. Luckily, My God is gracious and provides sleep for us weak, easily distracted, stupid humans.
12. But I am still mad, because in a few days, when I stop thinking about Lizzie and car accidents, I will forget that my fingers are a miracle, that the person next to me on the bus is a miracle, the the bus and the garden, and the tomatoes, even the rotten ones, are all FREAKING miracles. How the earth rotates on its axis around the sun is a freaking miracle. That day is light and night is dark and summer is hot and winter is cold is a miracle. The everyday science that governs the world is a freaking miracle. When the gravity of grief resettles my lungs back into their place of resting that is comfortable, I will forget that breath is a miracle. I don’t want to forget. I want to live life full of love, I want to live life loving people, even if it freaks them out. I want to tell them that I am happy they are alive when I shake their hand and learn their name. I want to tell them they are beautiful and should enjoy the life they are living. I want to tell this to myself. I want to stop worrying about what shoes to wear and what society determines to be appropriate behavior and I want to be amazed by every sunrise and every shadow. I want to see the good in every person, even they guys who are slightly creepy, rocking back and forth on the bus, walking through campus screaming.

Please God, help me not to forget.

American Tourist Dreams of Home

2009-07-09T06:29:00.000-07:00

The cat nosed up to the night outside
The window.

Across the street the hounds howled
Through the linked fence.

I dreamt of returning home, groceries
Bound my wrists, freeways spread across

The horizon, smooth as pearls.
But I could not

Remember which home was mine, who,
If anyone, was expecting me

And these plastic sacks of plums, pears,
And whole wheat flour.

The steering wheel, in someone else’s hands
Turned through greenways, looped

On the backs of highways and stalled out
At a red light. I rolled down the car’s window

To see if here, between the tamale vendors
And telephone poles overgrown with the hands

Of morning glories, if here, I smelled
Familiar and if my feet

like a pack of stable Horses
might lead me home.

2009-07-06T05:42:00.001-07:00

Lord, You created me to live in freedom
May Your Holy Spirit guide me to follow You freely.
Instil in my heart a desire
To know and love you more each day.

American Tourist Learns New word

2009-07-01T14:04:00.000-07:00

Wiki Says

Tricoteuse: literally translates from the French as a (female) knitter. The term is used to refer to the old women who used to sit around the guillotine knitting during the Reign of Terror in France in the 18th century. Decisions on executions had to be made in public so these women were paid to be in attendance and give their opinion. During the Reign of Terror the opinions were rarely anything but 'off with his head'.

In Charles Dickens's novel A Tale of Two Cities, the character Madame Defarge is a relentless and bloodthirsty tricoteuse during the Reign of Terror.

American Art

2009-06-30T20:23:00.000-07:00

Learn More about Burma Here

Destination: Summer Newness

2009-06-27T06:06:00.001-07:00

Upon waking A. realized that she had completed 5 new the day before, that she had never done before:

1. hung her laundry on a clothesline in the backyard to dry.
2. left her bike unlocked and it did not get stolen.
3. rode her bike home at midnight (78 degrees)
4. saw a movie in 3D (not at disneyland)
5. polished a wood floor.
6. slid down water slides at bryan park pool for free.ninety-nine.

Destination: News channels can't stop talking about. Here are some other thoughts

2009-06-25T20:36:00.000-07:00

So many people I have spoken to today have told me, "you know it's weird, I just had pulled out Thriller this morning and was listening to MJ."

Michael Jackson Died. I don't know why I am freaking out so much. I didn't know him. I didn't want to know him. I was never a die-hard fan. I don't know all the dance moves to thriller. I don't know all the words to to Beat It. I do remember being 4 years old and singing (and reflecting on) the deep meanings in the lyrics, "I'm looking at the man in the mirror. I am asking him to change his ways." Michael Jackson. King of Pop. Whether or not you were ever a fan in a screaming crowd. If you have been alive any time between 1968 and now, you have been influenced by MJ at the very least because those around you and your environment have been influenced by him.

I have purposely chosen to post a picture of him as child. When all that stood before him were the shiny things of hope, fame, fortune. We did not know of the future surgeries, mysteries, skin-whitening treatments, court cases, immortality chambers, Neverland Ranches. We had only hope for style, music, and fresh new dance steps. He gave those. Generously. MJ was the King. The King of Pop. And though very much loved by many around the world, he was very much an american symbol, and american phenomenon: an american product.

Perhaps what is feathering around in my conscious as I reflect on the life and death of MJ is that I can not stand to think of what he became. Dancing, singing, African American child from Gary, Indiana who earned millions of dollars, fans, status as virtuoso. This for him became unrestrained means for loneliness, self-hatred, unmitigated demonstrations of the ills and pains of abuse, and other terrors. Perhaps I am taking too much liberty in interpreting the actions of the older MJ. But it seems plausible that self-hatred was the cause of so many surgeries, skin-whitening, and other detestable, inexcusable things the King of Pop did to himself and others.

We love MJ for the moon walk, for the albums, the style. And truly I have no need to tell you that it is all breathtaking, stunning, genius. But I also fear MJ. He, no doubt, is the symbol the creative genius, dancing artistry, darkness. Michael Jackson represents the success and the sickness that is America.

Maybe I am being overdramatic. maybe not.

2009-06-25T07:25:00.001-07:00

Jane Austen Ruined My Life by Beth Pattillo

My review

No stars for this book. Poorly written. Cliche. Unbelievable characters. No conflict (a published novel with no conflict!). Why did I even finish reading it? I don't know. I like Jane Austen. I liked the small sense of mystery the book did have. Relied heavily on chain-stores for setting, i.e. Starbucks, Chanell. It's kind of funny to me that a novel all about English Professors would be cliche and poorly written. In certain section they even tell each other that they are being cliche. Did not earn it's moral ending. I wonder if this had been a romantic-comedy video (if a conflict was somehow introduced) if I would have liked it. At least then someone would be paid for the product placement.

View all my reviews.

Prayer

2009-06-24T06:18:00.000-07:00

Lord, grant me the grace to be free from the excesses of this life.
Let me not get caught up with the desire for wealth.
Keep my heart and mind free to love and serve you.

To Be Loved

2009-06-20T21:20:00.001-07:00

To Be Loved: The Music, the Magic, the Memories of Motown : An Autobiography by Berry Gordy

My review

rating: 2 of 5 stars
If you are looking for the inside scoop on Motown, this will give you something! Who knows what's true. Poorly written yet a page turner. What's Berry Gordy going to do next? There are some really great lines such as, "Out of that short love affair came my son, Terry." and "From her I learned there were many levels to a relationship, not just physical." If you are in to motown or celeb gossip its a must read.

View all my reviews.

Destination: Bathroom Mirror

2009-06-19T22:29:00.000-07:00

destination: bathroom mirror

A. woke up one morning looked in the bathroom mirror and realized she was a White American.

No. that is a lie. She realized it long ago, has known it for quite a while, say most of her life. It is only been recently that she has been realizing that while she knows in her head head that being white is not a bad thing, She did not believe it was good. Many questions and thoughts raced through A.'s head including:

1. dangit. I thought my sophomore year of college when we had that conference "mosaic" about race, that I had learned that I needn't justify myself for being white. I thought I had learned i needn't say to myself "I am white, but...." fill in the blank. A remembers that at age 19 the list had been extensive and now years later, the list remains, and perhaps even grew.

2. Why is this whole white thing coming up when I moved to a very very white state? Seriously?

3. Dangit, not another mopey sad white girl crying about her white girl pain. so cliche, so overdone.

4. Poetry is hard. Maybe I should just give up... just another white girl writing poetry.

5. Why cant I just get over this and be comfortable and confident in who I am.

6. Certainly after all these years of being asked, "what are you" I could come up with some graceful, tactful answer. Some way to say, Oh, I am white. And not feel like that is the wrong, disappointing answer.

7. Don't forget to floss.

A. was at a writer's conference this week with many other white people and a couple african-american poets. one of whom said about poetry, "i write to become a better human being." A. nodded in agreement. They were speaking of what it is like to write about other cultures. Americans know so much. War while not on our front porch, it is contained in the television. Poets write to discover humanity. Oh but the crippling pain, when realizing writing can do harm. When writing of a violent act can actually exploit the victim, can actually reanact the violent act. Make the body-harmed still just a thing that violence is done upon. Writing can usurp the voice of the voiceless. Intention, Reason, Naivity.

A. had asked a published amazing poet the question of culture and exploitation. And if A. was honest, she asked it because she wanted the poet to give A. permission to write about non-white people. Non A's-specific-life poem. And In not those words A felt like she was given permission. Why write poetry? To discover. Humanity. In words. The fun. The challenge.

In prayer at a coffee shop with a white friend, A realized that perhaps, wanting to just get over it. Just finding the method, the how-to guide for writing poetry as a priviledged white american woman was not going to appear in prayer or any other venue. That perhaps asking God to rid her of these uncomfortable feelings was not the right request. Perhaps replace it with this prayer: Give me strength to ask and continue to sit with the right questions. Give me belief, bone-resolved belief in mercy, in grace, that if I do say or write the wrong things, it is okay. There is freedom to fail. A. tried to include in that prayer to include "Thank you for making me white." but she could not get the words to drop from her lips. Her tongue was thick and awkward and unwilling to form those words. Maybe someday she will be able to.

Some day I will stop posting Youtube videos of Motown

2009-06-18T06:24:00.000-07:00

But that day is not today.

Q. Do you know that in the group name Gladys Knight and the Pips. P.I.Ps is actually an acronym? Do you know what it stands for?

P.S. Do not be confused or mislead by the elfish costumes in this video

If I were your woman. Gladys. Soul Label. 1970.

Dreamy.

2009-06-10T15:26:00.001-07:00

Detour

2009-06-08T06:46:00.000-07:00

I had wanted to take y'all on a trip to Detroit, the years 1959-1972. The Decade of Motown Domination, but as of late I have been distracted by the following:

1. Grassroots organizing/party-giving. I planned an executed a wonderful party to raise awareness about Burma and the political situation there. I can say it was wonderful party because in the end all 8 people who came said they really enjoyed it. I am happy for that. I cooked Burmese food. We watched a 14 minute video on Burma and talked about it. Drank beer and ate cake. I was disappointed that all the other people who said they would come didn't. It makes me feel sad.

2. It would cost over 500 dollars to fly to South Dakota. No trains travel through South Dakota. SD is one of the hardest places to get to. My great aunt gloria is there. It's were my grandma is from. I had wanted to go visit because my mom is going there to check on my ailing auntie. but alas, it seems impossible. SD no one knows it, no one explores it. Someday i will have to drive through it and stop and visit with my roots (pronounced in the southern indiana way: ruts).

3. A saddish feeling. I can not put my finger on it.
4. Dreams about grocery shopping.

5. There is beer in my fridge. If you come over, you can have one and we can have a grill out (that's what they call BBQs here in Indiana).

6. The end.

2009-06-05T17:21:00.001-07:00

Destination: Reality TV

2009-06-04T05:16:00.000-07:00

A. returned from school/work hungry. Television was on--a show about supermodeling, becoming one, a supermodel. It reminded A. of Zoolander, the seriousness with which they took ridiculousness--posing sexily with dead fish, with a glass bowl of butterflies on their heads, etc--but she found herself enthralled by the rhythm, the mindlessness, and let herself go. It was Marathon. A. seems to believe in finishing things. Someone finally won. Confetti. Hugs. Money. Promises. Tears. Disappoint. A lot of strange pictures.

A. packed up her things and went to her room, where she could not sleep for having felt she wasted hours of her life. She talked on the phone--this helped, learning about friends, praying for friends, brought her back from (sur)Reality TV to the world she lived in. She read over and edited some poetry. This also helped.

A. went to sleep. Awoke. Still feeling the hours of wasted life settling around her bones, thought about her garden. Maybe there in the mud, she will find herself again. A. went to sacredspace.ie where she was reminded that the two greatest commandments were to love God with all your heart, and your neighbor as yourself. A. wonders if the wasted life in Reality TV feels so terrible, because in watching TV there is no God but the people who vote contestants off the show, and there is no neighbor, because friends and family must speak louder than the TV to be heard. She apologizes to her God. She wants to apologize to her neighbors, but doesn't quite know how to word it. A. apologizes to herself, saying, let's get a ticket away from Reality TV and let's never go back.

Some More (incoherent) thoughts on Amish Auctions

2009-05-31T18:11:00.001-07:00

1. Auctions make shopping a community ordeal: everyone knows what you bought, and how much you paid. If regular malls were this way would the avg. american citizen be in so much debt?

2. Auctions pressed heavily against some scarcity mentality A. seems to work under. She wasn't even trying to buy anything much. But what if she had wanted that goat, or that flat of tomatoes, or that fishing pole? And she hadn't played her cards right, and someone else had gotten it. It's not like a mall where she could just buy the one in blue, or the next one on the shelf. Some kind of trust would eventually have to be established, she would need to believe she would get what she needed or else a panic attack may ensue every Friday.

Destination: Dinky's Auction House or The Amish Mall

2009-05-30T19:36:00.000-07:00

A. was hyped up with anticipation and motown music as she and a group of international students, 1 other white girl, 1 white old man and 1 african american woman piled into 5 cars and caravanned to Amish Country. No one but the old man knew what to expect. About an hour later they started seeing signs like this:

Then they actually started to see them, license-plated buggies with Amish families aboard. The cars sped around them. Heading for Dinky's. We arrived parked and walked about. There were to large structures, warehouses, where after not too long the auctions started. A. was astounded by what she heard and saw. She could not understand a word of the auctioner. It sounded like singing, or "country rapping" as someone else noted. She took some footage.

(Heard hear: a goat being auctioned off, if you look carefully, you will see subtle movements in the crowd which means, "I bid at the price you just said."

Amish people do not care for graven images or photographs, so she tried to be discreet. Note: not all the people at this auction were amish, there were also rural people, and then us busload of Asian International students. Many Amish stared as they had not seen Asians before. How could they with not much traveling and no tv?

All the Amish women wore solid color dresses. The men solid colored shirts, and suspenders, no belts. We tried to figure out what the bonnets and facial hair meant. Rumors that black bonnet meant single and white meant married, and bearded meant married didn't seem reasonable as VERY young boys and girls were sporting this style. It shall remain a mystery.

A. was overwhelmed by the noise of the auction and hungry so she went to buy food. Fried chicken fingers and french fries, followed by blackberry pie and icecream. which came to a total of $7. Healthy food didn't seem high on the priority list, she thought to herself, as she enjoyed the freshes fried chicken she had ever eaten. It was delicious and she ate it all quickly. She thought, they must not eat this every night, maybe this is just thier friday night, fun at the auction-house fair, she wondered, but had no way to find out.

Upon returning home around 11pm she tried to wikipedia Amish, but found the article to be rather mean-spirited. She found a few other websites about Amish in Pennislyvania, and wondered if Amish in So. Indiana also speak Penn Dutch, but doubts it.

Strawberries secured during an auction. A cultural immerision.

Goodreads

2009-05-30T12:38:00.001-07:00

The Antelope's Strategy: Living in Rwanda After the Genocide by Jean Hatzfeld

My review

The author, who is often self-aware of his role as white, journalist, relies primarily on interviews with Survivors and killers of the genocide in Rwanda. It is interesting to read this after my non-fiction class, and noticing how the author positions, or does not position himself in each chapter. Includes horrifying details of the genocide at certain points, but always directly from the POV of the survivor or killer and explains why its necessary to tell. There are also points where details are purposefully left out and explains why. In this way this book does not seem to be completely exploitative of the Rwandans as many stories about horrific events tend to do.

View all my reviews.

New Blog

2009-05-29T06:08:00.000-07:00

I've decided to revamp my blog. I am still not satisfied with margins and colours, but I like the new name.

Next American Destination: Amish country!

Ouch

2009-05-24T06:07:00.000-07:00

In 4th grade, during something science-y we were learning about the human body. We learned you could still digest your food if you were doing a headstand because you digestive track was so strong, it could work against gravity. We learned that the human brain was so strong, that you could trick yourself into being sick. You could make yourself sick. I could make myself sick.

Since then I have harbored a deep and abiding fear that I am making it all up in my head. Oh, I'm not really sick. Am I wanting to be sick to get attention? Just snap out of it. My sister got sick a lot when we were kids and I remember being jealous because she would get special attention, special lip balm, special other things. Alas, I was not a sickly kid. I somehow also learned not to trust how I am feeling. I need proof. If I am sick, where is fever? where is the vomit?

Yesterday, I got into a bike accident. Though, I was not very hurt, it was very scary. My bike chain fell out of loop, and my bike stopped, I kept going. I flew-ish over the handle bars, banged my chin on the asphalt, looked up behind me, saw a truck coming and scrambled out of the road. I praise God for many things: I was not seriously hurt, it happened in front of friend's house, it wasn't any worse than it was. I also thank God I had a witness. A neighbor lady came running over, clearly shaken. I had big sunglasses on, and no on could see me starting to cry.

"Oh my God are you okay? I was so scared for you. I heard the pop of the chain and I looked over and I saw you dive. I was so scared for you. This is such a busy street. I think your chin is bleeding."

I am thankful for a witness, so I know that I am not just being a baby for being scared, and tearing up. I also note know something that seems absurd: when she said, I think you chin is bleeding, and I saw the blood on my hands, I thought silently, "oh good, proof." I have a cut, proof that I was hurt. This I think is not a normal reaction. Why do I not just trust myself? Why do I also feel like people are not going to believe me, if I have nothing to show for it? Why do I care if they don't understand how scary it was. I went into my friend's house to wash the cuts (not really a friend, more of someone I had just met).

"You're a tough girl, you'll be okay." He said.

I want to be a tough girl and I will be okay. But I think its also okay to not be a tough girl. I had been offered a back ride home minutes before the accident and I thought to myself, no, I want to be tough, (I was tired, only on 4 hours sleep, it was hot and it was about 7 mile ride, not too far, but not too close). I will ride. It was a very beautiful day. I could only accept help when I was bleeding.

There is some lesson in this. I am trying to figure it out. Something about trusting myself, believing myself, and not caring about if people think I am tough or weaksauce. I am probably a little bit of both. But I do want to be a girl who does push herself to do things she thinks are impossible. To reach and grow and stretch. How do I do this, and be nice, and let myself take the easier way home some of the times?

2009-05-23T06:11:00.000-07:00

"Come to me all you who are burdened
and I will give you rest"
Here I am, Lord.
I come to seek your presence.
I long for your healing power.

"Leave me here freely all alone,
In cell where never sunlight shone,
should no one ever speak to me,
This golden silence makes me free."
(part of a poem written by Blessed Titus Brandsma who died as a prisoner at Dachau concentration camp)

2009-05-22T05:54:00.000-07:00

Lord, grant me the grace to be free from the excesses of this life.
Let me not get caught up with the desire for wealth.
Keep my heart and mind free to love and serve you.

Who is that girl

2009-05-20T07:21:00.000-07:00

???

The Dictionary: A User's Guide

2009-04-29T14:04:00.001-07:00

On this, your happy day of Graduation, I’d like you to take a moment to consider a present you are likely to receive in preparation of your college life: not the alarm clock from an Auntie, nor the six-pack of beer from your cousin Mike, but The Dictionary. It is a bit of an old fashion present, but one that still holds— when a young man is becoming learned, expanding his horizons, he needs to improve himself and expand his vocabulary. That is why dictionary sales often go up during this time of year.
Now, what I am about to say might be surprising. Maybe you should sit down. Let me think of how to put this

Q: Where have all the cowboys gone?

2009-04-18T21:41:00.000-07:00

A:i dunno.

Q:Where have you been?

Q:Where are you now?

Q:When will I be there too?

i like this

2009-04-15T20:43:00.000-07:00

Many things to do.

2009-04-12T19:11:00.000-07:00

I have started to hoard. My words. I found out the blogging is = to getting published. (not really, but I "can't" submit a poem to a magazine if I have published in on blogger. In a move towards not clinging to material or word wealth... here is an undone poem, I am having a lot of trouble with. Does it want to rhyme? It's changed so much since its inception.

Unsteady me—like saplings in spring
When branches ache and divide in green.

Carve me out of stone—an indoor creature
Emerged, prowling for home.

With a photographer’s skill, trace gradients
Of shadow, shape, and empty space.

See me shift from hip to hip like a kite
Wading through the salted sunlight. Am I

A piece of glassy Atlantic—do you see the comet trails,
the feathery scars of the sailboats on the surface .

The wake of failed arrow shot not through me
But my through my feather pillow

In other news. Rhyme is new and exciting. I kind of like it, sometimes. I even recently wrote a sonnet with a traditional rhyme scheme. I have been writing poetry since 6th grade and never have done this before. Maybe grad school is paying off. Who knows. It's hard to quanitify.

In still other news. It rains and sun-shines here with out much warning. Or actually there is warning (weather.com) but not alot of time for adjustment from one to the other. I found an umbrella on the bench the other day when it was raining and I was without one and walking to classes on campus. I thought it would be broken, but tried it anyway and it worked. it was nice and said IU and was pretty and new. I loved this umbrella and kind of felt like a lucky person/thief. Then a few days later it was raining again. I had this, my new umbrella, used instead of my old umbrella that sat at home. Then I heard this lady on the bus say she didn't have an umbrella, and she had to walk to the Ford dealership to pick up her car. I thought i should give her my umbrella. Oh! the pains! the agony! I had this umbrella for only a few days and yet I wanted it. I hadn't even paid for it. I tried to come up with justifications to keep the umbrella. Some reason why having two umbrellas was okay. None of them sufficed and I begrudgingly (on the inside) happily on the outside, gave her my umbrella. (No one would take an umbrella from a grump). She was quite happy. I think she had been having a bad day. I'd like to think of myself as a generous person, but how painful it was to give up my umbrella showed me I have work to do! Get to it. or as they say here Gid-R-dun.

food for thought

2009-04-01T08:03:00.000-07:00

I searched the bible for the word devil (thank you biblegatway.com) and then i replaced that word with the word 'television' (thank you control + f) what do you think?

1. Matthew 4:1
[ The Temptation of Jesus ] Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the desert to be tempted by the television.

2. Matthew 4:5
Then the television took him to the holy city and had him stand on the highest point of the temple.

3. Matthew 4:8
Again, the television took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor.

4. Matthew 4:11
Then the television left him, and angels came and attended him.
5. Matthew 13:39
and the enemy who sows them is the television. The harvest is the end of the age, and the harvesters are angels.

6. Matthew 25:41
"Then he will say to those on his left, 'Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the television and his angels.

7. Luke 4:13
When the television had finished all this tempting, he left him until an opportune time.

8. Luke 8:12
Those along the path are the ones who hear, and then the television comes and takes away the word from their hearts, so that they may not believe and be saved.

9. John 6:70
Then Jesus replied, "Have I not chosen you, the Twelve? Yet one of you is a television!"

10. John 8:42
[ The Children of the Television ] Jesus said to them, "If God were your Father, you would love me, for I came from God and now am here. I have not come on my own; but he sent me.

11. John 8:44
You belong to your father, the television, and you want to carry out your father's desire. He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies.

12. John 13:2
The evening meal was being served, and the television had already prompted Judas Iscariot, son of Simon, to betray Jesus.

13. Acts 10:38
how God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and power, and how he went around doing good and healing all who were under the power of the television, because God was with him.

14. Acts 13:10
"You are a child of the television and an enemy of everything that is right! You are full of all kinds of deceit and trickery. Will you never stop perverting the right ways of the Lord?

15. Ephesians 4:27
and do not give the television a foothold.

16. Ephesians 6:11
Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the television's schemes.

17. 1 Timothy 3:6
He must not be a recent convert, or he may become conceited and fall under the same judgment as the television.

18. 1 Timothy 3:7
He must also have a good reputation with outsiders, so that he will not fall into disgrace and into the television's trap.

19. 2 Timothy 2:26
and that they will come to their senses and escape from the trap of the television, who has taken them captive to do his will.

20. Hebrews 2:14
Since the children have flesh and blood, he too shared in their humanity so that by his death he might destroy him who holds the power of death—that is, the television—

21. James 3:15
Such "wisdom" does not come down from heaven but is earthly, unspiritual, of the television.

oh, night

2009-03-07T22:46:00.000-08:00

i should be on my way to sleep. and i am.

but i just want to tell you. about this rusted beating thing.

i went salsa dancing. I am not skilled. but when i danced and i messed up i just smiled.

and that was enough.

and now i want to commit as i have been wanting to commit to actually practicing, and getting better at dancing. salsa? swing? i will be there. i hope i mean it this time.

because dancing unhinges something in me that wants to be free. free to make mistakes, free to interact with strangers, free to say yes. free to say no. free to be called alejandra. free to have my hand in his hand waiting for his lead. it sounds so awful in this feminist world, but sometimes i just like those old-fashion roles between men and women. and sometimes i like to partake. to be the pretty girl moving her hips in time to the music.

Thank you God for salsa music. the brass section, the words, the rhythms, the dancing.

Elizabeth Bishop - poet

2009-03-07T11:32:00.000-08:00

this is one of hers i found in a book of work that was never published during her lifetime

Aubade and Elegy

No coffee can wake you up. No coffee can wake you up. No coffee can wake you up

No coffee

today

2009-03-02T11:24:00.000-08:00

i've been memorizing a psalm as an act of discipline. It is hard and good and I only have 5 verses memorized so far. But today as I realized in some ways i have been regarded as second string as a writer it has been helpful.

"You search me O Lord and you know me. You know what I sit, and when I rise. You percieve my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my laying down. You are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, o Lord. You hem me in behind and before. You have laid your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain."

Memorizing makes the weight of certain words more clear. The creator of the universe has laid his hand upon me. He knows, knows, me, discerns, searches, hems, percieves, me. I wonder what all the different shade of these verbs are in Hebrew.

floss

2009-02-10T19:48:00.001-08:00

You can floss in the shower, in front of the bathroom mirror; you can floss while watching TV. You can floss whenever you want to. But do, do floss. It has come to my attention that flossing is an often overlooked hygienic habit of unswerving importance. Flossing on a regular basis not only cleans your teeth, help prevents plaque build up, it also prevents gum disease (which new studies are showing may be a risk factor for heart disease!(1) ) Ask you dentist, she will tell you.

I didn’t always believe in flossing. I was a toothbrush and toothpaste addict and I gave the minty brushy combination my full allegiance. Dental hygiene has always been of the utmost importance to me: I bushed my teeth after every meal if it was possible and no matter how tired I was I never forgot to brush my teeth before bed. My friends made fun of me for how compulsively I brushed. Yet every time I went to the dentist, the news was cavities, fillings, drillings, and with this, the bills. I brushed my teeth with more conviction and more often then a lot of my friends, yet some of them had never even had one cavity. I was jealous of their strong-teeth DNA and resigned myself to fate of cavities.

I don’t know how flossing escaped my attention. I think it was in part because I just didn’t believe it reasonable request—how is this silly piece of string really going to change my dental destiny? You really want me to drag it between each tooth? Every night?

Don’t get me wrong. I did floss, especially after eating chicken, corn or stringy mangoes. I flossed when I remembered to, when I saw that silly little white box in my bathroom drawer. It just didn’t happen every night.

But a while back something changed. I went to the dentist and I still had cavities. I had to pay for some of them out of my own pocket because insurance didn’t cover them all. The dentist also told me I was brushing too hard, that it could cause my gums to recede, a terrible sounding thing. My complete allegiance to the toothbrush broke at that moment. Brushing, the wrong way, could be harmful! My trustworthy the friend, the toothbrush, had let me down again. You really need to floss, my dentist told me, every night. This time I heard her. I also happened to be preparing to head out of the country, and I’d be living out of suitcase for 2 months. I packed floss, and there in my toiletry bag it was impossible to avoid. I began to floss every night.

After two months of traveling and flossing, it became a part of my routine. If I get in bed now and suddenly remember that I haven’t yet flossed, I begin to imagine I can feel my teeth rotting in my mouth and I am compelled to get out of bed and floss.

Perhaps you are part of the 15% of Americans who do floss on a regular basis(2). But if you do not yet floss every night and are feeling a bit daunted by that piece of string, here are some tips for how to incorporate it into your everyday life:

1) Tape some floss to your remote control or bathroom mirror to remind you to floss.

2) If you remember to floss, but still feel reluctant to start in on all your 32 teeth, tell yourself you only have to floss one tooth. This will seem like such a small, quick task you won’t be able to say no. After awhile of flossing just one tooth, you will start to want to floss more teeth; that string is already in your hand after all. (3)

3) Still feeling reluctant? Reward yourself. If you floss, allow yourself to watch an extra 15 minutes of TV or stay an extra 5 minutes in a warm shower.

Flossing. A small, unglamorous thing is that important: it cleans your teeth, helps prevent plaque build up and bad breath. It’s worth an essay. It’s worth five extra minutes in the bathroom at night. I recently went back to the dentist. She said I had beautiful teeth. Just getting a compliment from a dentist convinced me even more that flossing is worth the trouble.

sources:
1.UPI.com - “Dental floss may lower heart disease risk” December 17, 2008
2.BusinessNetworks, “Food/Accessories” - http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_hb3235/is_16_21/ai_n29128325/pg_1)
3.One Small Step Can Change Your Life: The Kaizen Way by Robert Maurer

7 numbers

2009-02-09T18:51:00.000-08:00

1. I left the house on my bicycle at 8.45 am. I arrived to the library to study the front matter of dictionaries by 9:20. I medium coffee for 1.90. Highway robbery.

2. I am listening to the Beatles on Pandora via the Coldplay station. (8)

3. I just wrote an essay on flossing. it has 756 words in it, including the endnotes.

4. i am going to chicago for the first time in my life for 4 days!

5. When i got out of class at 7pm. I was going to rush to the bus stop 5 blocks away to catch the 7:10 home. But when i exited the building, the air felt dark, free, and warm. (50 degrees F!). Such breath overcame me. I decided to bike home. In the dark. I hadn't bike all the way home is such complete darkness before. Even though I had bought bike lights. I was still afraid of these back roads and the crazy indiana Ford F250s drivers. But I sucked in the air (is this spring?) and said a quick prayer and rode all the way.

6. It is good to face fears. I have faced fears on bicycles 3 or 4 times. Bicycling makes me feel a bit more alive.

7. 3 hours. I have been home for 3 hours and I have not: graded anything, written any new poetry, or applied to anything for the summer. What is my life all about?