Teeny Weenies

I laughed-out-loud listening to Baxter Black's commentary on small dogs this morning on NPR (Chihuahua owners, take note). In searching for it online, I found a wealth of downloadable goodies including the Engines of our Ingenuity archives with full-text articles. If you're not in the Houston area and don't get a daily radio dose of John Lienhard, he's definitely worth checking out. He mixes technology and the humanities in a very literary way. See, for example, Poetry and Airplanes.

Over coffee

It only took
a few words from you
(shattering and not unexpected)
to get me thinking again
in lines and stanzas.

(Bad poetry is better than
no poetry.)

***
Knit 1
(a freewrite, loosely edited)

When you stopped believing in me
I took up knitting,
hypnotic strokes on needles like knives
moving beneath my fingers
structured, organized
repeating patterns
forming something I could wear
wrapped around my neck,
a noose.
Yarn flowing from my fingers
spun water--
I wouldn't even answer the phone
if I was in a groove, mathematic meditation.
I knit you out of my head
and into the pattern:
knit, purl, purl,
a modern-day 50s housewife retro hip
rebuttal
yes--I enjoy this
yes--I am a feminist
I knit on park benches, coffee shops,
even in smokey bars
knitting, making conversation with other knitters:
I want to learn!
or My grandmother taught me
but I've forgotten
offering lessons like candy
sweet distractions
a lost art,
transforming a line
into flowing fabric
soft on the skin
You are
100 percent mohair/acrylic blend
the pattern of putting together
and dropping
knit two together
increasing and decreasing
I knit and I watch
The Bachelorette, a TV
fairy tale composed by ABC
producers manipulating
me, sometimes to tears
as I manipulate the yarn
in my fingers
endless combinations and patterns
cast on
bound off loosely.

"She has a single photograph of him"

The picture is of happiness, the story not. Happiness is a garden walled with glass: there's no way in or out. In Paradise there are no stories, because there are no journeys. It's loss and regret and misery and yearning that drive the story forward, along its twisted road.

-The Blind Assassin, Margaret Atwood

New Rules

1. Listen carefully
2. Work quietly
3. Be productive
4. Respect others
5. No food or gum.

1. DO NOT BURST THE HAPPY BUBBLE.

I am not the girl you think I am...

I got a traffic ticket.

I made an illegal left turn. Yes, I saw the sign. Yes, I saw the cop car pass by. No, I did not think he would make a U-turn in the middle of the road to hunt me down. (Isn't that illegal?)

However, under "make of car" he wrote "BMW."

My car f***ing ROCKS.

Elevator Antics

It started in this e-mail to Lana:

"...also, we are doing a dialogue project where i give them a magazine cut-out of a person, and they have to name their character, describe their age, ocupation, likes and dislikes, etc.... and i'm afraid i've fallen in love with "Ron" who is 28 and in graduate school studying comparative literature, but moves furniture on the weekends to help pay the rent. He likes museums and espresso, but does not like cats. I'm afraid this may be a minor detriment to our relationship, that and the fact that he's a magazine clipping. Le sigh."

Later that class period, I had a minor panic attack when I temporarily misplaced Ron. "Has anyone seen Ron?" I asked the class. "We've formed sort of a special bond and I'll be very sad to lose him..."

Ron was recovered and by the end of the day, my 8th period wanted to know why "Ron" had a heart around his head. I blushed a little. Yes, I let my girly crush run away with me during the off-period. "Well, you know," I stalled, "...you have to fall in love with your characters. That's what writers do."

There were various "but mine's a DUDE!" outcries from the football players and I explained (as if they were crazy) "..not necessarily ROMANTIC love. You have to care about them and want to know everything about them." This settled them ("I guess he could be my brother.") and we were able to proceed with characterization.

Dialogue was another story. They don't understand why President George W. Bush would not say "hey wuz up dude" to a stranger if he were stuck in an elevator. I guess he might.

I'd like to be stuck in an elevator with Ron.

working on...

Hi. Did you know that I knit? I do. I haven't been very good at taking pictures and documenting what I've done, because this isn't a knitting blog, (Nothing against knitting blogs, in fact I quite enjoy them, but this isn't one) but if you look closely in this picture, you can see that I made the two scarves we're wearing. So, see? I knit. Here's what I'm working on:

1. Tempting sweater. I have about seven inches done. I went with a medium and I'm not entirely convinced that it won't be too big (rumor has it that the end results are verrry stretchy), but I'm excited to be working on my first sweater.

2. Some flower pins. These knit up fast and they're easy. I haven't finished any yet because I need some pin backs, or something to attach them to, or something.

3. A blue fuzzy mock-cable scarf for me, because it was cold yesterday and I found the yarn on-sale (this is not my scarf, but I'm using the same pattern from the latest Stitch and Bitch book; credit and thanks to carrie for the picture loan). It knits up fast, and I'm about a fourth of the way done...

Today is Monday and right now I am blogging about something that makes me happy instead of going to lunch duty. Later tonight I will be knitting and terrorizing the cats and watching The Bachelorette in my pajamas, because I can. If you want to come over, you can join in any or all of these activities with me.

Let's just focus on creating things for awhile.

In the news today...

It turns out that I am fat and smelly.

I mean, JESEY-CRISEY, why didn't you people tell me this before?!?

But seriously. In the words of Lana:

"Do you really think she's going to sit and cry because an 'anonymous' blogger commenter called her a chunky monkey, or whatever it was that you said? No, she's going to ignore it, possibly take the commenting feature off, which is fine with me because I'm not a fan of that option anyway, and shake her classy little blonde head at what a sad world it is that some folks aren't creative enough to insult her with something with a little sting in it."

(I love that girl.)

my 37 cents

I found a mailbox near my new apartment. An actual, blue, standing mailbox that you can put mail in. I had not seen one in all of Houston since I moved here, although maybe I just wasn't paying attention.

Today when I was driving home from work I saw another mailbox that I've passed a hundred times and never noticed.

I briefly considered taking pictures of them and posting them here for the unbelievers among you ("a MAILBOX in Houston? they outlawed those years ago...")

And then I worried that in this day and age, someone would wonder why I was collecting pictures of mailboxes, and if I planned to put bombs in them.

So... no mailbox pictures here. Sorry.

Intervention

In which I get personal:

Bachelor #1 (the first person I've given my number to in months) calls me the next day... five times. I answer once, tricked by the "private number" that shows up on my caller ID. He just says "hi," as if we've been friends for months; not "hi, this is Bachelor #1" which forces me to ask, "who is this?" even though I already have some idea from the three previous (ignored) calls. Later, he calls again. I do not call back.

Bachelor #2 beeps me while I'm on the phone with my ex-boyfriend's voice mail, apologizing for not saying goodbye at the party I just left. Bachelor #2 was at the party, and informs me, should I have any doubt, that this is a "booty call." I do not call back.

Bachelor #3 is friends with Bachelor #2 and calls me on Sunday wanting to "hang out... or whatever." I do not call back.

Saturday night I take my cue from "The L Word" and drag Debi off the couch, away from the cat and the boyfriend sleeping peacefully on top of her. "Get dressed and put on lipstick," I say. "This is an intervention. You are at risk of becoming boring."

Alone and exhausted on a Sunday night, phone battery running low, I begin to wonder who really needs the intervention. Is it boring to only want to hear one familiar voice on the phone or at the door, movie in hand, ready to curl up and ignore the rest of the world until morning?

"everyone is a f------ napoleon..."

My copy of Eurorails is, as I type this, making tracks to my front door. I can't WAIT!!

Gettin' My Bob Dyl-ON

Buckets of rain
Buckets of tears
Got all them buckets comin' out of my ears.
Buckets of moonbeams in my hand,
I got all the love, honey baby,
You can stand.

I been meek
And hard like an oak
I seen pretty people disappear like smoke.
Friends will arrive, friends will disappear,
If you want me, honey baby,
I'll be here.

Like your smile
And your fingertips
Like the way that you move your lips.
I like the cool way you look at me,
Everything about you is bringing me
Misery.

Little red wagon
Little red bike
I ain't no monkey but I know what I like.
I like the way you love me strong and slow,
I'm takin' you with me, honey baby,
When I go.

Life is sad
Life is a bust
All ya can do is do what you must.
You do what you must do and ya do it well,
I'll do it for you, honey baby,
Can't you tell?

epilogue

Smelly cat, smelly cat, what are they feeding you?

Apparantly my little cat is SO stinky that her stink has managed to pervade an entire apartment despite the best efforts of my vacuum cleaner and Randall's carpet shampooer. And apparantly I am so accustomed to living in the stench of my smelly, smelly cat, that I don't even notice the smell. What can I say, sweetheart? Maybe kitty cologne is in order. I'll buy some for you with whatever measly scraps of the deposit my former landlord throws my way.

(I don't care I don't care I don't care I'm DONE.)

Dear former landlord,

EAT SH*T.

"The Apartment still has cat smell, paint color not match and Oven,Frig not quite clean."

I shampooed the carpets. I vacuumed, and wiped down everything with comet and bleach. Yes, I had a cat, for which I paid you $250. What exactly would you like me to do next, spray down the place with patchouli oil?

If you had let me leave my awesome personalized colored walls, it wouldn't be two different shades of white (because you didn't tell me what color to use, now did you?). But no! You come from a land of white walls and beige carpet. Good luck finding another (boring) tenant to take over. I bet you the first thing they do is to paint the walls.

Your oven sucks and so does your fridge. Plus you totally tore up my bathroom twice. Give me back my $400. That is all.

-Former tenant of apartment #7

Politics of Power Tools

Yesterday I must have called at least ten people in search of an elusive electric drill. My trusty IKEA desk, you see, had let me down--and in order to finish screwing in the legs to the desk, I was going to need the help of electricity. (Insert "screwing" joke here, if you like that sort of thing.)

What surprised me was the number of people who answered with "funny you should ask..." and then went on to tell about how the drill was being held hostage by a bitter ex, or vice versa. Often in these custody battles, the charger had been seperated from the drill itself, leaving both parts useless (and me with a half completed desk).

I'm guilty of it myself. The first person I thought to call was that one person I'm not allowed to call. Could it be that this is why people couple off? For home improvement purposes? If so, sign me up: "Nice girl ISO man with extensive power tool collection. You: good with cars, electronics, and interior design."

Or maybe this year I'll just buy my own damn drill.