1. When a four-way stop is fully utilized and everything works out just swell! When everyone knows exactly when it's his/her turn to go and there are no false starts and stops or unneccesary delays, I always drive away feeling sort of smug, like, "Gosh, we are good drivers!"
2. PINK lemonade. What makes it pink? Nobody really cares.
3. Eating each piece of the sandwich/salad individually. Avacados--yum! Tomato--yum! Bread--yum! Cheese--yum!
4. Pinkisthenewblog. Hellooooo celebrity dirt!
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Monday, April 24, 2006
In which I totally slander Meg Cabot
I was thinking, this morning in the shower, about human response to artistic endeavors. Specifically, artist response to artistic endeavors.
For example--I fancy myself a writer. Let's narrow this definition to exclude talent and include personal identification only. It is not important if you think I am a writer; if I think I'm a writer (or if I don't), it will affect the way I react to writing.
I am fairly certain crafters categorize their craft into four distinct boxes:
1. I like it, and I could have done it (possibly better).
2. I like it, and I could never have done it.
3. I could have done it, but I don't like it.
4. I couldn't (wouldn't?) have done it, and I don't like it.
TRUE LIFE (PERSONAL) EXAMPLES:
1. Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life: Brilliant! I love the choppy style, the lists, and the cross-referencing. I would like to try this style with my own life. The author reminds me of all the things I like about ME! I want to buy her a Starbucks latte and take her roller skating. I feel self-affirmed by this book, but I'm kicking myself that I didn't try it first. See also: Elizabeth Bishop; Love That Dog; Stiff; most memoirs.
2. The People of Paper: Holy crap! Just read the book jacket. I couldn't have dreamed this whack story up in a million years. Against all odds, I identify with it and love it. (And you will, too.) I admire the author and I would like to engage in a torrid love affair with him, but I'd probably be too shy to get out more than "will you please sign my book?"--if that. See also: the Blind Assassin, Maus, Life of Pi, Alain De Botton's On Love; most fiction.
3. Every Boy's Got One: Sure, I could write this. I could also watch American Idol and dine at Denny's, but I wouldn't feel much satisfaction from that, either. The author reminds me of one of those girls from my high school who wrote rhyming poems back when. What? Don't feel sorry for her. She got to have tea with Julie Andrews. This type of writing makes me feel CATTY. See also: poems by Jewel, books available via Microsoft reader only, most Houston Press articles.
4. (This is the only category where books don't come immediately to mind. Maybe because I subconsciously avoid them in the first place. I could say Ulysses, but that feels like cheating because it's the only non-contemporary book on the list; that and I don't like it but I definitely admire it. Ok, I like parts.) Recently published: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Yes, ok, you win Mr. Safron Foer (if that IS your real name)--no I couldn't have thought of all those crazy chapters or played volleyball with the English language the way you have in your novel. But that doesn't mean I have to LIKE it. See also: technical books, non-creative non-fiction.
But Mary, you say. This is just personal preference. There's nothing new or original about that.
Ok, let's apply it to art:
1.
2.
3.
4.
Ok, maybe this idea is overly simplistic and definitely not as rewarding as it felt in the shower this morning. (Speaking of drains...) And there's plenty of art that falls into category 3 that works as art simply because someone thought to do it, whereas my book category 3s don't work because everyone has done them already--and better than you, JEWEL.
Requires future thought: personal perceptions of to what extent natural talent + training = ability. (Do we all truly believe that with enough practice, training, time, and reaching for the stars we can actually GET to the stars; or are we accepting of natural barriers/talents separating ourselves from "the greats"?)
For example--I fancy myself a writer. Let's narrow this definition to exclude talent and include personal identification only. It is not important if you think I am a writer; if I think I'm a writer (or if I don't), it will affect the way I react to writing.
I am fairly certain crafters categorize their craft into four distinct boxes:
1. I like it, and I could have done it (possibly better).
2. I like it, and I could never have done it.
3. I could have done it, but I don't like it.
4. I couldn't (wouldn't?) have done it, and I don't like it.
TRUE LIFE (PERSONAL) EXAMPLES:
1. Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life: Brilliant! I love the choppy style, the lists, and the cross-referencing. I would like to try this style with my own life. The author reminds me of all the things I like about ME! I want to buy her a Starbucks latte and take her roller skating. I feel self-affirmed by this book, but I'm kicking myself that I didn't try it first. See also: Elizabeth Bishop; Love That Dog; Stiff; most memoirs.
2. The People of Paper: Holy crap! Just read the book jacket. I couldn't have dreamed this whack story up in a million years. Against all odds, I identify with it and love it. (And you will, too.) I admire the author and I would like to engage in a torrid love affair with him, but I'd probably be too shy to get out more than "will you please sign my book?"--if that. See also: the Blind Assassin, Maus, Life of Pi, Alain De Botton's On Love; most fiction.
3. Every Boy's Got One: Sure, I could write this. I could also watch American Idol and dine at Denny's, but I wouldn't feel much satisfaction from that, either. The author reminds me of one of those girls from my high school who wrote rhyming poems back when. What? Don't feel sorry for her. She got to have tea with Julie Andrews. This type of writing makes me feel CATTY. See also: poems by Jewel, books available via Microsoft reader only, most Houston Press articles.
4. (This is the only category where books don't come immediately to mind. Maybe because I subconsciously avoid them in the first place. I could say Ulysses, but that feels like cheating because it's the only non-contemporary book on the list; that and I don't like it but I definitely admire it. Ok, I like parts.) Recently published: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Yes, ok, you win Mr. Safron Foer (if that IS your real name)--no I couldn't have thought of all those crazy chapters or played volleyball with the English language the way you have in your novel. But that doesn't mean I have to LIKE it. See also: technical books, non-creative non-fiction.
But Mary, you say. This is just personal preference. There's nothing new or original about that.
Ok, let's apply it to art:
1.
2.
3.
4.
Ok, maybe this idea is overly simplistic and definitely not as rewarding as it felt in the shower this morning. (Speaking of drains...) And there's plenty of art that falls into category 3 that works as art simply because someone thought to do it, whereas my book category 3s don't work because everyone has done them already--and better than you, JEWEL.
Requires future thought: personal perceptions of to what extent natural talent + training = ability. (Do we all truly believe that with enough practice, training, time, and reaching for the stars we can actually GET to the stars; or are we accepting of natural barriers/talents separating ourselves from "the greats"?)
Friday, April 21, 2006
The Trouble With Emoticons
From a messenger conversation earlier re: work benefits:
Ka'rin says:
retirement is 403
Ka'rin says:
lol
Mary says:
403 BEER?
Ka'rin says:
that was supposed to be ( b )
Ka'rin says:
Ka'rin says:
403 ( b )
Mary says:
i wish we got 403 beers
Ka'rin says:
lol
Ka'rin says:
that would be nice
Mary says:
that would be awesome
Ka'rin says:
retirement is 403
Ka'rin says:
lol
Mary says:
403 BEER?
Ka'rin says:
that was supposed to be ( b )
Ka'rin says:
Ka'rin says:
403 ( b )
Mary says:
i wish we got 403 beers
Ka'rin says:
lol
Ka'rin says:
that would be nice
Mary says:
that would be awesome
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Lost and Found
In searching through documents from my old laptop, I found an assignment that Azi and Andrea had been working on for an ESL certification class. It looks like they didn't get very far. I dunno anything about sentence trees, but I thought I'd answer the questions.
2. Draw Surface Structure trees for the following:
A. Yes/No Questions
1. Has the rain finally stopped?
The rain comes in odd intervals and drowns the city in a moment's notice. Yes, it will stop. But the mess it leaves behind will last for hours.
2. Do you like cream in your coffee?
Cream and no sugar in very strong brew.
3. Were the police not notified about the theft?
The police were notified about the theft. They proved wholly useless.
4. Could he have locked the keys in his car?
He's fairly good with car keys. She, on the other hand...
B. Wh-Questions
1. Who always arrives late?
"On second thought..."
2. Why didn't you tell me immediately?
I thought you already knew.
3. What could Mary have been thinking about?
Actually, Mary was thinking about how to answer the question about what could Mary have been thinking about the question of what could--AHHHH!
4. Did Sue ever say when she was leaving?
She might have. I was busy with question 3.
2. Draw Surface Structure trees for the following:
A. Yes/No Questions
1. Has the rain finally stopped?
The rain comes in odd intervals and drowns the city in a moment's notice. Yes, it will stop. But the mess it leaves behind will last for hours.
2. Do you like cream in your coffee?
Cream and no sugar in very strong brew.
3. Were the police not notified about the theft?
The police were notified about the theft. They proved wholly useless.
4. Could he have locked the keys in his car?
He's fairly good with car keys. She, on the other hand...
B. Wh-Questions
1. Who always arrives late?
"On second thought..."
2. Why didn't you tell me immediately?
I thought you already knew.
3. What could Mary have been thinking about?
Actually, Mary was thinking about how to answer the question about what could Mary have been thinking about the question of what could--AHHHH!
4. Did Sue ever say when she was leaving?
She might have. I was busy with question 3.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
For the Record... (resp. req.)
You know, at work, I answer every e-mail requesting a response. Sometimes it's easy, like "what is your new address" or "do we have contact information for Mr. X?"; and sometimes it's more complex.
Nevertheless--some kind of response. Within 48 hours. Even the whack e-mails.
(Ok, not always within 48 hours, but that is the goal turn-around time.)
And sometimes, when I'm answering the most whack of all e-mails, or when I'm staring at whack e-mail trying to imagine what inspired someone to write it in the first place, and why they chose to send it to me, I think about all the e-mails I've sent from a professional standpoint that have received absolutely. no. response.
Like the e-mail I sent to the guy who wrote about Houston's top public high schools--Yes College Prep was #3, and I wrote to him to let him know that Yes! was founded by a TFA alum, and KIPP too, and additionally here's what we're doing in Houston in case he was interested for future education spotlights or wanted to chat with our executive director.
No. response. Maybe he thought it was a little whack, but I thought I was providing him with a good lead. Or maybe he got some REALLY whack emails as a result of the article and decided to just ignore them all.
There are other examples. You don't really need details.
In short: I respond to your whack e-mail; why won't people respond to mine?
And, more importantly: When (if ever), and under what circumstances, do I get to just hit delete? At what level of professional prestige does it become acceptable to not answer every e-mail?
Just curious.
Nevertheless--some kind of response. Within 48 hours. Even the whack e-mails.
(Ok, not always within 48 hours, but that is the goal turn-around time.)
And sometimes, when I'm answering the most whack of all e-mails, or when I'm staring at whack e-mail trying to imagine what inspired someone to write it in the first place, and why they chose to send it to me, I think about all the e-mails I've sent from a professional standpoint that have received absolutely. no. response.
Like the e-mail I sent to the guy who wrote about Houston's top public high schools--Yes College Prep was #3, and I wrote to him to let him know that Yes! was founded by a TFA alum, and KIPP too, and additionally here's what we're doing in Houston in case he was interested for future education spotlights or wanted to chat with our executive director.
No. response. Maybe he thought it was a little whack, but I thought I was providing him with a good lead. Or maybe he got some REALLY whack emails as a result of the article and decided to just ignore them all.
There are other examples. You don't really need details.
In short: I respond to your whack e-mail; why won't people respond to mine?
And, more importantly: When (if ever), and under what circumstances, do I get to just hit delete? At what level of professional prestige does it become acceptable to not answer every e-mail?
Just curious.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Voyage Along the Whatever
From Voyage Along the Horizon; an interview with the author:
"What would you tell readers who don't know what to make of the ending?"
JM: "That the end of a novel isn't usually very important. In fact, people never seem to remember the endings of novels... conclusions and final explanations are often the most irrelevent--and disapointing--parts of a novel. What counts the most--and what we remember the most--is the atmosphere, the style, the path, the journey, and the world in which we have immersed ourselves for a few hours or days."
FUCK YOU, JAVIER MARIAS.
WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO THAT DUDE IN SCOTLAND? AND HOW IS THE WOMAN RELATED TO THE SHIP? I MUST KNOW!!!
I get that you're making a literary statement, but DAMMIT!!!
"What would you tell readers who don't know what to make of the ending?"
JM: "That the end of a novel isn't usually very important. In fact, people never seem to remember the endings of novels... conclusions and final explanations are often the most irrelevent--and disapointing--parts of a novel. What counts the most--and what we remember the most--is the atmosphere, the style, the path, the journey, and the world in which we have immersed ourselves for a few hours or days."
FUCK YOU, JAVIER MARIAS.
WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO THAT DUDE IN SCOTLAND? AND HOW IS THE WOMAN RELATED TO THE SHIP? I MUST KNOW!!!
I get that you're making a literary statement, but DAMMIT!!!
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Full Circle
1. On Thursday night, I received the list of people invited to join next year's "teefa" corps; of particular interest were the seven I interviewed who met the acceptance rubric. This is the first time that I've personally played a role in the inception of new corps members. I cursed selection the entire time I was doing it, but now I understand--it lends ownership to the product I sell everyday. These aren't just random corps members; they are MY corps members, and they are friggin' awesome.
2. On Friday evening we held a baby shower/going away party for Debi, who moves to a secret city in Tennessee this weekend with her husband and not-yet-birthed baby Olive. We all started crying as soon as Debi and Harley left the driveway, which led to a reminiscent "Who met who through whom?" conversation.
3. Later, in the car, R.J. asked if I was going to cry any more. "The thing is," I answered through tight throat, "I'm sad that Debi's leaving, but it's not just Debi. Last year when Lana and Andrea and Jen all left, I had just started a new job--I was busy, I had sh-t to do--I didn't have time to be sad or cry. Now I have time, and I'm sad about all of it."
4. The inner dialogue strikes back: And let's not try to portray ourselves as saints. Anytime we're sad because x person left, our emotions are wholly engrossed in self-pity as well. How could she leave me? I feel abandoned. He managed to leave here, and I have not been able to do, which means I must be a loser. I talk grad school, and she's actually doing it. I talk marriage and kids, and he's actually doing it. In short, in this light of leaving, our own accomplishments and worth seem irrationally pale and indistinguishable.
5. Q: When is it hard to keep in touch with those who have left/you have left?
A: When you're not sure they'd approve of your life in their absence.
2. On Friday evening we held a baby shower/going away party for Debi, who moves to a secret city in Tennessee this weekend with her husband and not-yet-birthed baby Olive. We all started crying as soon as Debi and Harley left the driveway, which led to a reminiscent "Who met who through whom?" conversation.
3. Later, in the car, R.J. asked if I was going to cry any more. "The thing is," I answered through tight throat, "I'm sad that Debi's leaving, but it's not just Debi. Last year when Lana and Andrea and Jen all left, I had just started a new job--I was busy, I had sh-t to do--I didn't have time to be sad or cry. Now I have time, and I'm sad about all of it."
4. The inner dialogue strikes back: And let's not try to portray ourselves as saints. Anytime we're sad because x person left, our emotions are wholly engrossed in self-pity as well. How could she leave me? I feel abandoned. He managed to leave here, and I have not been able to do, which means I must be a loser. I talk grad school, and she's actually doing it. I talk marriage and kids, and he's actually doing it. In short, in this light of leaving, our own accomplishments and worth seem irrationally pale and indistinguishable.
5. Q: When is it hard to keep in touch with those who have left/you have left?
A: When you're not sure they'd approve of your life in their absence.
Monday, April 10, 2006
One day, all children in this nation will have the opportunity to work a minimum wage job?
Houston News 11 just reported that students at Lee High School (where a number of my favorite people teach/taught) demonstrated today as part of a city-wide protest against the proposed immigration law.
You know the one I'm talking about.
I'm not going to go off on Bush because you've all heard it before--it's a stupid idea by a stupid man elected by a stupid "majority," but whatever. I'm not even going to go off on immigration policy in general because that, dear readers, is a far more complicated issue leading to a wide range of valid opinions.
(I'm not even sure where I fall on the "send them all back to Mexico" vs. "mi casa es su casa" continuum, although I have to say I'm not all that impressed with most English-only speakers.)
I do, however, have strong feelings about the signs being displayed by the students of Lee High School. "We're not Terrorists; We're Workers!" one sign says. This alongside the arguments I've been hearing of, "Well, immigrants take jobs that no one else wants to do. You didn't get a college degree to clean toilets, after all."
True enough. I got a college degree because my teachers and parents and I and everyone expected me to go to college.
Are we honestly taking the mindset that Mexican immigrants can and should be granted citizenship in order to work our minimum wage paying labor jobs? Is that the best pro-immigration argument we can come up with? Lee High School students! You've been taught better than that! You are going to go to college and be writers and journalists and CEOs and small business owners. AMERICA SHOULD EXPECT IT OF YOU, or I should quit my job immediately.
We need scientists, technicians, and engineers, and we're turning out highly skilled jobs faster than my or your generation can fill them up (that includes the suburban kids, and you're already behind). You kids!--you Nike-wearing, pledge-saying, R.L.Stein-reading, Napoleon-Dynamite-watching, American immigrants and children of immigrants!--go back to class tomorrow and show these nimrods you mean business.
I mean GOSH.
#@$#@$!($*@(#*!@(#*!@(#$*!@.
Ok, done.
You know the one I'm talking about.
I'm not going to go off on Bush because you've all heard it before--it's a stupid idea by a stupid man elected by a stupid "majority," but whatever. I'm not even going to go off on immigration policy in general because that, dear readers, is a far more complicated issue leading to a wide range of valid opinions.
(I'm not even sure where I fall on the "send them all back to Mexico" vs. "mi casa es su casa" continuum, although I have to say I'm not all that impressed with most English-only speakers.)
I do, however, have strong feelings about the signs being displayed by the students of Lee High School. "We're not Terrorists; We're Workers!" one sign says. This alongside the arguments I've been hearing of, "Well, immigrants take jobs that no one else wants to do. You didn't get a college degree to clean toilets, after all."
True enough. I got a college degree because my teachers and parents and I and everyone expected me to go to college.
Are we honestly taking the mindset that Mexican immigrants can and should be granted citizenship in order to work our minimum wage paying labor jobs? Is that the best pro-immigration argument we can come up with? Lee High School students! You've been taught better than that! You are going to go to college and be writers and journalists and CEOs and small business owners. AMERICA SHOULD EXPECT IT OF YOU, or I should quit my job immediately.
We need scientists, technicians, and engineers, and we're turning out highly skilled jobs faster than my or your generation can fill them up (that includes the suburban kids, and you're already behind). You kids!--you Nike-wearing, pledge-saying, R.L.Stein-reading, Napoleon-Dynamite-watching, American immigrants and children of immigrants!--go back to class tomorrow and show these nimrods you mean business.
I mean GOSH.
#@$#@$!($*@(#*!@(#*!@(#$*!@.
Ok, done.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Narrowly-averted 15 minutes of fame
The Washington Post online just posted a not-terribly-in-depth look at the rise of teacher blogs (a subject I know a little bit about--why do you think this blog is "tippy top secret"?).
They link to First Year Teacher, who is actually a third year teacher in North Carolina. Something about the tone, title and location led me to think, "hmmmm..." and a quick trip to the archives confirmed her involvement with a certain acroynm we all know and love.
I'm a little bit jealous and ultimately relieved that mine wasn't singled out this way.
Not to mention that "Today in class..." generally begins a more interesting story than "Today I was writing this grant..."
They link to First Year Teacher, who is actually a third year teacher in North Carolina. Something about the tone, title and location led me to think, "hmmmm..." and a quick trip to the archives confirmed her involvement with a certain acroynm we all know and love.
I'm a little bit jealous and ultimately relieved that mine wasn't singled out this way.
Not to mention that "Today in class..." generally begins a more interesting story than "Today I was writing this grant..."
Monday, April 03, 2006
Mary Converses with Utah
M: It's cold and I want to go home.
Mountains: Look at us! We're all snowcapped and majestic!
M: Stupid snooty mountains.
Apple Beer: Come on, you love us.
M: I do love you, apple beer. What's with all the Pepsi products, anyway?
Visitor Parking: I have placed impenetrable orange cones in all my spots. You cannot possibly park here. Go home, agnostic.
BYU: We saw you move that cone. You owe us $20 or else we will withhold your non-existent student records and/or impound your rental car. Please take this complementary pen to write us a check immediately.
M: Thanks! Could I take home some sacred underwear instead?
Utah: We don't think you're very funny.
M: Likewise.
Mountains: Look at us! We're all snowcapped and majestic!
M: Stupid snooty mountains.
Apple Beer: Come on, you love us.
M: I do love you, apple beer. What's with all the Pepsi products, anyway?
Visitor Parking: I have placed impenetrable orange cones in all my spots. You cannot possibly park here. Go home, agnostic.
BYU: We saw you move that cone. You owe us $20 or else we will withhold your non-existent student records and/or impound your rental car. Please take this complementary pen to write us a check immediately.
M: Thanks! Could I take home some sacred underwear instead?
Utah: We don't think you're very funny.
M: Likewise.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)