I got downtown too late for the main event on the Diag today, the Hash Bash, but I did have brunch with P. and a stroll around the Madison Street Fair portion of the Bash. There P. wanted to sign a petition to legalize marijuana, but couldn’t because you had to be a registered MI voter to sign, and I picked up a little card from the libertarians entitled “World’s Smallest Political Quiz,” which confirms my position on the spectrum as a liberal (and a shade closer to the center than to the sharp, pointy corner of the left).
As we wandered vaguely in the general direction of my car, I filled him on the events of 28 March. At one point, we stepped aside to let a visibly upset woman and an inscrutable man trailing behind her pass by.
“Schizoaffective!” she spat at him. She started to walk faster. “My doctor told me about people like you!”
The man didn’t answer. No way to tell what was going on behind the sunglasses.
P. and I fell silent for a few strides. The students ahead of us laughed.
“There’s a mark against relationships,” he said.
“Maybe I won’t date for a while,” I said, at almost the same time.
“My cats never yell at me like that.”
“Schizoaffective?”
“At least the insults are good in this town.” He waved his hands dramatically. “You’re a Chagall on a Matisse canvas!”
A moment later, he said, “I’m not sure I know what that would mean,” in a confessional tone.
“Still, I like it,” I nodded.
Then he volunteered, if C. should come over to get his toothbrush, to answer my door stark naked.
“Think about it!” he called out from the crosswalk as we parted ways.
I am thinking about it. But maybe not quite the way he meant.
01 April 2006
30 March 2006
Night on Bald Mountain
In the dream, I have just washed my hair and am combing it out in front of the mirror. My hair looks as it does every day, except that a three- to four-inch swath above my eyebrows is totally bald.
This panics me.
The online dream dictionaries take this as a warning. “If [hair] was thin, falling out, or worrying you in any way, it forecasts difficulties ahead,” according to Swoon.com. People on message boards interpret balding as a signal that something that was concealed must now be revealed, or a symbol of emerging consciousness. Myjellybean.com has this to say: “If you dream of a bald-headed man, it is a warning to use your intelligence to reject a romantic or sexual offer you are going to get.” But I didn’t dream of a bald-headed man, I dreamed of a partially bald-headed me. Does that mean I can accept part of the romantic or sexual offer? Ooh - I do hope it’s the part where we take our clothes off.
I admit that I am vain about my hair. It is thick, naturally wavy, and hard to control, so I don’t mess too much with it. The more product I put in it, the worse it looks. It seems to have a mind of its own, and I’m usually satisfied with what it decides to do.
The dream affects me because, unfortunately, my hair has decided to start falling out, and I am not at all happy with that.
Looking in the mirror in real life, I can see white scalp showing through where I didn’t before. Running my fingers through it, the individual strands feel thinner. There is always a clump in the comb. My hairdresser says my hair is heatlhy, that this is all normal, that hair does tend to get finer in texture as we age, and that as long as I’m not getting up in the morning with half my head still on the pillow, the shedding is probably nothing to worry about. But I do.
Even though I know baldness is passed from mother to son on the X-chromosome, I’m thinking there must be more to it than that simple explanation - multiple alleles or something. There is a very strong pattern for baldness in my family. My father has been bald since the age of 25. My brother started to lose his hair in high school and began taking Rogaine around age eighteen to try to slow the exodus.
So what’s a slightly vain but otherwise naturalistic girl to do? I find Rogaine, like many drugs, kinda scary. Nothing like exchanging thinning hair for high blood pressure and hives. Besides, I’ve always done my best to accept the parts of myself I cannot change. I’ve already decided that when those few strands of my “blonde highlights” start spreading out, I’m just going to let it go gray (although I admit I do pluck the one that stands straight up in the middle of my part).
But bald...I dunno.
This panics me.
The online dream dictionaries take this as a warning. “If [hair] was thin, falling out, or worrying you in any way, it forecasts difficulties ahead,” according to Swoon.com. People on message boards interpret balding as a signal that something that was concealed must now be revealed, or a symbol of emerging consciousness. Myjellybean.com has this to say: “If you dream of a bald-headed man, it is a warning to use your intelligence to reject a romantic or sexual offer you are going to get.” But I didn’t dream of a bald-headed man, I dreamed of a partially bald-headed me. Does that mean I can accept part of the romantic or sexual offer? Ooh - I do hope it’s the part where we take our clothes off.
I admit that I am vain about my hair. It is thick, naturally wavy, and hard to control, so I don’t mess too much with it. The more product I put in it, the worse it looks. It seems to have a mind of its own, and I’m usually satisfied with what it decides to do.
The dream affects me because, unfortunately, my hair has decided to start falling out, and I am not at all happy with that.
Looking in the mirror in real life, I can see white scalp showing through where I didn’t before. Running my fingers through it, the individual strands feel thinner. There is always a clump in the comb. My hairdresser says my hair is heatlhy, that this is all normal, that hair does tend to get finer in texture as we age, and that as long as I’m not getting up in the morning with half my head still on the pillow, the shedding is probably nothing to worry about. But I do.
Even though I know baldness is passed from mother to son on the X-chromosome, I’m thinking there must be more to it than that simple explanation - multiple alleles or something. There is a very strong pattern for baldness in my family. My father has been bald since the age of 25. My brother started to lose his hair in high school and began taking Rogaine around age eighteen to try to slow the exodus.
So what’s a slightly vain but otherwise naturalistic girl to do? I find Rogaine, like many drugs, kinda scary. Nothing like exchanging thinning hair for high blood pressure and hives. Besides, I’ve always done my best to accept the parts of myself I cannot change. I’ve already decided that when those few strands of my “blonde highlights” start spreading out, I’m just going to let it go gray (although I admit I do pluck the one that stands straight up in the middle of my part).
But bald...I dunno.
29 March 2006
Quote of the Day
We are here on earth to fart around. Don't let anybody tell you any different.
-- Kurt Vonnegut
-- Kurt Vonnegut
28 March 2006
If He Hangs Up on Me
Does that mean we broke up?
The sloppy kissing was corrected. I was figuring out his quirks. I was having fun, making plans to introduce him to friends. But I guess I ask for too much (I want him to say something other than, "Oh well" when something bad happens with my work) and I'm demanding (I want to be asked about my work in the first place) and I'm unfair to him (I occassionally want him to drive, which he has done all of twice in the last four months) and I really get on his nerves.
Really? I did not know that. What have I been doing that's been getting on his nerves? Cooking him food that he's too cheap to buy for himself? Being the Ann Arbor-Chelsea shuttle for our sleep-overs? Attending his lectures? Listening to him yammer about baseball, which I do not give two shits about, but I'm listening to him because, you know, I like him?
The first time I heard that I get on his nerves was tonight, right before his words became a handful of marbles flung down a flight of stairs, a cascade of accusations, "Sorrys," "Can't do this," "Been here befores," tumbling over each other. Right before the *click*.
Now, I am not blind to my own failings. I can be moody, irrational, melodramatic, and judgmental. I am easily bored and tend to wander off. I get frustrated when I don't get my way. When I realize I have done one of these things, whether I have been called on it or come to my senses on my own, I apologize. I'm working on it.
We are all a work in progress.
Our personalities are such that I've been wondering how long a term this thing might be. But I never figured him for one to hang up and cut communication like that. I can understand him being upset. I can understand being gun-shy; I don't know what happened to him before. And I want to know. I want to know his stories, his experiences, what he's wanting from his life, from a relationship. It seems that expecting the same level of interest and regard from him in return is expecting too much. No matter what happens between us from here on out, that *click* will always be there.
The sloppy kissing was corrected. I was figuring out his quirks. I was having fun, making plans to introduce him to friends. But I guess I ask for too much (I want him to say something other than, "Oh well" when something bad happens with my work) and I'm demanding (I want to be asked about my work in the first place) and I'm unfair to him (I occassionally want him to drive, which he has done all of twice in the last four months) and I really get on his nerves.
Really? I did not know that. What have I been doing that's been getting on his nerves? Cooking him food that he's too cheap to buy for himself? Being the Ann Arbor-Chelsea shuttle for our sleep-overs? Attending his lectures? Listening to him yammer about baseball, which I do not give two shits about, but I'm listening to him because, you know, I like him?
The first time I heard that I get on his nerves was tonight, right before his words became a handful of marbles flung down a flight of stairs, a cascade of accusations, "Sorrys," "Can't do this," "Been here befores," tumbling over each other. Right before the *click*.
Now, I am not blind to my own failings. I can be moody, irrational, melodramatic, and judgmental. I am easily bored and tend to wander off. I get frustrated when I don't get my way. When I realize I have done one of these things, whether I have been called on it or come to my senses on my own, I apologize. I'm working on it.
We are all a work in progress.
Our personalities are such that I've been wondering how long a term this thing might be. But I never figured him for one to hang up and cut communication like that. I can understand him being upset. I can understand being gun-shy; I don't know what happened to him before. And I want to know. I want to know his stories, his experiences, what he's wanting from his life, from a relationship. It seems that expecting the same level of interest and regard from him in return is expecting too much. No matter what happens between us from here on out, that *click* will always be there.
27 March 2006
Scrimp the Obscure (and Well-Formatted)
Scrimp (skrimp) a. and adv. [This and the related SCRIMP v. first appear in the 18th c. The origin is obscure; cognate forms are Sw., Da. skrumpen shrivelled, MIIG, schrimpfen (Mid. Ger. schrimpen str. vb.) to contract, trans. to wrinkle up (the nose), G. schrumpfen to shrivel; also SHRIMP sb., in ME., a diminutive creature. More remotely allied are OE scrimman to be paralysed, SCRAM a]
A. adj. Scant, scanty, meagre.
†B. adv. Scarcely, barely. Obs.
Scrimp (skrimp), v. Also Sc. skrimp. [See SCRIMP a.]
1. trans. To keep on short allowance; esp. with regard to food.
2. To cut short in amount; to be sparing of.
3. intr. To economize, to be niggardly.
Hence, SCRI•MPING vbl., sb. and ppl.a.
Scrimped (skrimpt), ppl. a. Also 8 Sc. scrimpit, -et. [f. SCRIMP v. +ED¹.] Stinted, contracted, narrow.
Scrimpiness (skri•mpines). [f. SCRIMPY a. + -NESS] “Scrimpy” quality, meagreness.
Scrimple, v. Obs. rare. [Cf. CRIMPLE v; also SCRUMPLE v. and G. schrumpfeln, schrumpfen] trans. To shrivel with fierce heat, to scorch. Also to crumple, crinkle. Hence Scri•mpled ppl. a.
Scrimply (skri•mpli), adv. [f. SCRIMP a. +-LY²]
1. In a niggardly, parsimonious manner.
2. Barely, scarcely.
Scrimpy (skri•mpi), a. [f. SCRIMP a. + Y.] Of meagre dimensions, scanty.
A. adj. Scant, scanty, meagre.
†B. adv. Scarcely, barely. Obs.
Scrimp (skrimp), v. Also Sc. skrimp. [See SCRIMP a.]
1. trans. To keep on short allowance; esp. with regard to food.
2. To cut short in amount; to be sparing of.
3. intr. To economize, to be niggardly.
Hence, SCRI•MPING vbl., sb. and ppl.a.
Scrimped (skrimpt), ppl. a. Also 8 Sc. scrimpit, -et. [f. SCRIMP v. +ED¹.] Stinted, contracted, narrow.
Scrimpiness (skri•mpines). [f. SCRIMPY a. + -NESS] “Scrimpy” quality, meagreness.
Scrimple, v. Obs. rare. [Cf. CRIMPLE v; also SCRUMPLE v. and G. schrumpfeln, schrumpfen] trans. To shrivel with fierce heat, to scorch. Also to crumple, crinkle. Hence Scri•mpled ppl. a.
Scrimply (skri•mpli), adv. [f. SCRIMP a. +-LY²]
1. In a niggardly, parsimonious manner.
2. Barely, scarcely.
Scrimpy (skri•mpi), a. [f. SCRIMP a. + Y.] Of meagre dimensions, scanty.
22 March 2006
Author in Residence
Today I received notification that both of my submissions to the Huron River Review are accepted for publication in the April 2006 issue.
No autographs, please. Just throw money.
No autographs, please. Just throw money.
18 March 2006
Dancin' on the Ceiling
No, it's not an advert for Exxon, though the bounding tigers are reminiscent of that ad campaign. No, proxyconn's DSL tigers take it one step further and run in place upside down.
Due to the emphemeral nature of the Internet, I doubt the tigers will reach the legendary status of the upside-down plane stamp.
Due to the emphemeral nature of the Internet, I doubt the tigers will reach the legendary status of the upside-down plane stamp.
15 March 2006
Mmm...
How good is a regular ol' hot ham and swiss on a day when you feel you're really starving?
Sorry there hasn't been much lately. The second job is grindin' me down.
Sorry there hasn't been much lately. The second job is grindin' me down.
11 March 2006
06 March 2006
Success!
After a week of failed attempts - hiding behind the nightstand, snapping photos through sheer curtains, cursing as the coveted red bird flew off - I have, finally, captured an image of the cardinal.
A female sometimes perches in the lilacs while the male feeds, but she hasn't come to the windowsill yet. I am reminded of a family of cardinals I hosted when I lived in Columbus. In the late summer dusk, the parent birds would bring their two dark-billed fledglngs to the feeder for sunflower and safflower seeds. More often than not, the male attended the youngsters alone, cracking the shells open for them while they fluttered and peeped. I wondered if the feeder was like take-out to them; was it analogous to dad taking the kids to McDonald's when mom's working late?
A female sometimes perches in the lilacs while the male feeds, but she hasn't come to the windowsill yet. I am reminded of a family of cardinals I hosted when I lived in Columbus. In the late summer dusk, the parent birds would bring their two dark-billed fledglngs to the feeder for sunflower and safflower seeds. More often than not, the male attended the youngsters alone, cracking the shells open for them while they fluttered and peeped. I wondered if the feeder was like take-out to them; was it analogous to dad taking the kids to McDonald's when mom's working late?
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