Why I am Unfriending You

Dear Person Who is My Facebook Friend, But Whom I Don't Really Know and with Whom, it has now become painfully clear, I Have Nothing in Common,

I don't know why we're friends. It's not that I don't like you, because clearly I did like you, at one time, maybe more than 20 years ago. Or maybe I never really liked you and never really knew you, but somehow found you again after lo these many years, and then somehow felt guilty that I didn't know you or that I was judging the now-you based on the old-you and so I accepted your friend request, or I saw you on a friend's page and thought "Hey, that who's it. I should send a friend request." Because we all know that more friends are better, right? If I have a lot of friends that somehow makes me a good person, better, say, than those other people who have less friends.
But now, now it has become clear that not only do I not really know you, I don't think, actually, that I DO like you. In fact, I think I dislike you. Not, as you might suspect, because you leave snarky and judgmental comments on my supposedly humorous political posts. Not, as you might fear, because I am a censoring communist that wants to take away your guns and your right to talk about your guns. Not, as you might posit, because I don't want to hear the voice of dissent.
No, actually, it's because I'm tired. Tired of the political climate in which the only way people can disagree is to call each other names like Nazis or communists. Tired of a culture in which the President wanting to talk to schoolchildren is suspect. Tired of people who say they believe in the Constitution when they don't, actually, know what it says.
Yes, I have to say. Some of the people who disagree with me ARE stupid and racist. I just didn't know that you were one of them.
Now, I realize, Facebook really should just be a place where I update everyone on what I'm eating and my workout routine.
For all these reasons and more, oh so much more, I am unfriending you.

Go Clijsters!

I used to admire, and sometimes like, the Williams sisters. I was rooting for Kim Clijsters anyway, mostly because I love a comeback (especially by a mom). But, as one commenter at the New York Times said, this incident proves why Serena is an impossible person to root for. Venus has always been the classier sister, and I feel sad that Serena had to fall this way. I admire her tennis skills, but I have lost my respect for her.

A Little from Column A, A Little from Column B

The answer to yesterday's question is : Yes. It is both lack of sleep and reality that have caused me stress.
Today I ran, fast, and then I went to Crossfit. Then I worked with the grade school students and then I taught my students. Actually, I lectured, then I yelled (they hadn't done the reading).
Now I'm getting ready for bed.
But it seems Obama's speech was positive. Son's teacher taught his class the sign for "responsibility" and they had a talk about what that meant. I think I should ask her to have that talk with my students.
Yawn.

Lack of Sleep? Or Reality?

Now that two weeks of school are over and done, and the third about to begin, I must confess I feel a bit sick, sort of a nauseous-anxiety-dread. Also, I must confess that the last two nights I have slept very little, both nights because of, perhaps, too much food + red wine, and also, last night at least, because crazy Gus kept whining/coughing.
So what is causing my nausea-anxiety-dread? Is it simply a lack of sleep? Will I wake up tomorrow thinking that the world is peachy keen and that all one needs in life is a balance of waking and sleeping time?
Or...or, dear readers, is the confluence of lack of sleep mixing noxiously with Obama education-speeching hysteria & Glenn-Beck Day declaring insanity?
What I'm saying, beloved ones, is maybe it's NOT just a lack of sleep but a too large dose of reality? I mean, people are hysterical. Mayors are declaring Glenn Beck Day (maybe it's just the one, but that is one too many).
Oh, on this Labor Day, I am a downer.
I will get some rest and check back in with you tomorrow.

Teaching the Night/Novel Class

Good evening. I will now, in so many words, tell you all about the kinds of novels I hope you're NOT writing. That is, the novel about (of course!) vampires, the novel about a world that seems suspiciously like the world of Harry Potter/Stephen King/Shannon Hale/Twilight/The Lord of the Rings/all the science fiction books you've ever read.
You want to write witty banter? Hurrah! You like Kilgore Trout? Even better! Your favorite novel is Lolita? Huzzah! (Okay, yes, there are at least three readers in the class. Out of 28).
Yes, we all want to marry Mr. Darcy. But he doesn't exist. So now what?
No, that doesn't mean we move to Mars and write about unicorns. Absolutely not.
What? Your novel is about a teenage girl who kills with her mind? You are dismissed.
Please do not talk about Twilight. Or werewolves. Zombies are acceptable.
Yes, I like Luna Lovegood too.
What? You can't name a novel you like? Only a movie? I will close my eyes and make you disappear.
What? Does the novel have to be made up? You mean, fiction? Is a novel fiction? Is that really your question?
Excuse me. Class is now over.

Some Observations on the Recent Aquirement of the Cell Phone

1. The only person who calls me on it? Middlebrow.
2. Revise that: Middlebrow and Jane, my running partner. She texts to say, "Where are you? Why are you sleeping in?"
3. Is it really necessary? Middlebrow called me from the car to tell me he was on his way home. I imagined that he was, but then he called and so I knew for sure. Did I need to know?
4. Revise that: Verizon also sent me a text (or txt, I know!) to tell me I could manage my bill on line. Great!
5. Revise that: I also got a call from various friends of Son or their parents to arrange play dates.
6. The cell phone is a play date arranging device.
7. To wit: I arrange play dates for Son, and running engagements for myself, which are really just adult exercise versions of play dates.
8. Revise that: A colleague called to say she couldn't come over because her dog passed away.
9. Is the cell phone a bad news delivery system? Do I need it in case bad things happen? For the inevitable bad things that will happen?
   
10. Revise that: I also got a solicitation call. For Middlebrow.
11. The only thing wrong with having my cell phone number be our old land line number is that I still get those "Want to give us money?" calls. And all the calls that are for all of us. Middlebrow gets only calls for himself, and some guy named Lee who used to have the phone number and is/was apparently a deadbeat.
12. I think the idea is that my family will call me on it and I will call my family. So far, we've emailed each other to that effect, but no calls have taken place. I blame this on the beginning of the school year.
13. I forget to turn it on, I forget to turn it off, I forget to charge it. So far, it has not rung in class, while I'm teaching, so I consider that a bonus.
14. I don't ever want to get email on my cell phone.
    
15. Revise that: I think my mom called me. Once.
    

Am I The Only Sane One? Scary!

Sometimes, sometimes when I observe humanity, sometimes I think, "Am I the only sane one?"
To wit:
I like people. I like to hang out & laugh. That seems normal, right? Why do some people not like this?
I like to watch TV.
I like to waste time.
I love my husband. He's the only one I date/have sex with. Is this TMI? I apologize, but I'm afraid the world has gone crazy, with people having sex with not-their-partners or going on dates with same.
Really, crazy Avenues real estate people? Really? You're asking $730,000? Haven't you heard? We're having a recession. I'm sure you were invited.
I like tequila. Is that so wrong?
It seems like being extreme is in. Extreme diets (only one meal a day, only 500 calories, only blue food), extreme sports (run 100 miles in the dark, jump out of a helicopter, whatever), extreme positions (Glenn Beck is sane, we don't need universal health care). Why can't we just be moderate? Why can't we be like, I like to run just 5 miles and then eat. I like to have a beer too and then watch some TV on Hulu. This is my ideal life.
Sometimes, just to be crazy, I drink something with HFCS in it.
Wacky!!

Some Questions

1. If an administrator speaks in an empty gym, does it make a sound?
2. Isn't critical thinking a skill? Isn't it?
3. Does absolute tequila corrupt absolutely?
4. What is the exact weight, in tons, of the unreadable texts I will read this semester?
5. If exercise doesn't make you thin (thanks Time magazine!), then does eating not make you fat?
6. And, if so, how many cookies do I need to eat?
7. Aren't all vegetable calories good? Like all those beets and that metric ton of tomatoes I ate?
8. When's the next vacation?
9. What's my theme song?
   
10. How many days until the semester ends?
11. What? It hasn't actually started yet?
    
12. Shit.
    

How am I shallow? Let me count the ways: An end of summer catch all list

1. Can't be bothered to listen to NPR any more...too depressing! It's KRCL all the time, except when I'm flipping to the country station, just for a sec, or to classic rock, but only if it's Rick Springfield.
2. Can't be bothered to actually set up the on-line portion of my on-line class. Too busy....uh, something...
3. Can't be bothered to crack the text books for class I have never taught before. Yeah, I've already read it, like, two years ago.
4. Umm, is that coffee? Yum...coffee.
5. Have you heard about my knee? First, when I walked, it was mobster pain, two guys with baseball bats and part of me begging, would you please hit me in the head and put me out of my misery? Ouch.
6. My knee is 90% better. Maybe 99%.
7. I soooo hope that Juliette Lewis (opening for Cat Power opening for the Pretenders) is a train wreck. Train. Wreck. That would be soooo entertaining.
   
8. Do I need to wear mascara on the first day of class? Discuss.
9. I saw on a magazine cover that Bradley was dating Renee and not Jennifer and I actually cared for, like, ten seconds.
   
10. I haven't even started worrying about how my new syllabus increases my grading load.
11. You know those emails that students send saying "what books do I need for your class?" or "where does our class meet?" I've taken to responding to them with the same tone they have written them, except I edit out all the swear words that my brain tells me to type. For example, one response, unedited, would have looked like this: "Check the fucking bookstore, idjit!"
12. Oh, I feel much better now. I think I'll go get my eyebrows waxed.
    

Son, Sun, Sedona

In Which I Become a Local Food Facist

My problem, lately (hey, you know me, I has problems...), is that when I read a book, I become a convert to its perspective (exhibit 1: Born to Run; perspective: we were made to run, probably barefoot).
Now I am reading The Omnivore's Dilemma and I haven't cried while reading a book since Plainsong which, my friends, was years ago. But reading the description of steer 534's pathetic life at a corporate factory feedlot nearly brought me to tears. My first act: emailing my local beef connection and ordering many pounds of local, grass-fed beef to fill my freezer.
Today I went to the Farmer's Market and purchased more local veggies and fruit. My favorite: the Sheriff's Horticulture Program, with food grown by prisoners. Last year, I got some great peppers there.
My sister and I bought local pastries (Crumb Brothers), local breakfast burritos (Rico's), some beautiful golden beets, a delicious melon, and lots of other stuff. We could barely carry it all.
I am afraid I will become insufferable when discussing food, at least for the foreseeable future. Please forgive me in advance.

Flag-stuff

We arrived at the home of Otterbutt and The Photographer (I don't know what to call him...does he have a blog name?). They plied us with beer and delicious fish tacos (so yummy!). Let me just tell you, it is much cooler here than at home, and also where we are going next. We had to have blankets on the bed!
I'm drinking delicious french press coffee, then I need to eat something so I can go for a run. Later we'll go for a hike.
Aah, vacation.

Basking in New Patio-ness

Yesterday we finished the patio, so today we bask. This included running all kinds of heat-induced errands, such as swimsuit shopping (all the good ones are gone, just ask the Australian at Pool-N-Patio), water bottle acquirement, snacks-for-the-car shopping (chocolate silk, pretzels, salad, animal cookies, celery, eggs), then returning home to sit in front of the A/C and surf the internets.
That done, I took all the vegetables from the fridge and either threw them away or cooked them. Must be done. Now, Middlebrow just has to drink all the remaining beer, which means packing should be fun. We'll either end up with no underwear or all underwear or a weird mix of shorts and shirts that don't match. Oh well, it's only Sedona. No one will notice. They'll be too busy getting blissed out in the harmonic convergence.
I'm looking forward to seeing my family, Son having playmates for a week, practicing my pull ups and double unders, drinking some cocktails, swimming in cold water and relaxing.
The final vacation.

Read This!

My title refers (sort of) to this book I'm obsessed with: Born to Run. But it also refers to this blog post.
Sometimes I think I'm talking into a void. Also, I think, "why blog?" It seems self-indulgent and narcissistic.
But then my friend posts this: "I prefer blogs that read like a journal where every petty detail of their lives are revealed." But his blog is intellectual and insightful, a mash-up of a personal essay and poetic theory. His blog is not petty.
But his post made me feel like it's okay to just blog whatever, I don't need a theme or an insight I can just say, here's what happened today people.
So, we're nearly done with the patio project, and I will post pictures, eventually. We put some sand on the part that is finished and (thank god!) it hides our imperfections. I wish I could cover myself with sand.
I decided that my experimental, obsessive novel needs to be a mystery with a chronological plot. Back to the drawing board. But I already have an idea for the second novel in this series with my thirty-something female main character. If I can't be literary, at least I can sell out. Maybe. I'll let you know how that goes.
I'm obsessed with the running book and now feel like what I need to do is run more. Right. I'll let you know how that goes. But the book is awesome, and even if you don't like running, it actually has a great plot and the information in it is super fascinating. It's inspiring.

Thoughts I Had While Moving Rocks Today

Does this stone look like Maine?
Here's Massachusetts, but without Cape Cod. This one is Michigan. Wouldn't it be easier to make a patio if it was just a puzzle of the U.S. and then all we had to do was fit the stones back together?
This stone is shaped like Rhode Island and is the same size as Rhode Island.
Nebraska, Nebraska, Nebraska.
Why did we make a big pile of dirt there? It needs to be moved.
Why did I get a PhD in English instead of learning a trade?
If a Humanities degree was a tool, what kind of tool would it be? (my guess: rubber mallet)
I'm hot.
Is it snack time?
Am I pretty?
This stone looks like Maine.

I miss Cromwell News

When I was in London, I frequented a small shop called Cromwell News. It was right next door to our hostel. The water was cold, if over priced, and it was open late.
But that's not why I loved it or why I miss it now. I miss it because of the man who worked there. He always smiled and his eyes sparkled in the most cliched way possible. He always asked me questions about how I was and what I was doing. I never asked his name, but he made my time in London better, because I knew he would always smile at me. I wondered if it was just me, or if he smiled at everyone. He did smile at everyone, but sometimes when I walked past the shop, not going in, but on my way somewhere, he would see me and raise his eyebrows in greeting and smile.
On the day before my last day in London, I asked him why he was always so happy. I didn't fully understand his answer (he was from London, but he was Indian), but the upshot was: you have to make yourself happy. I think he said, "There's a war out there" and it was clear he wasn't specifically talking about Iraq or Afghanistan, but the world in general. "You can't let it get to you," he said.
Here was a guy with a fairly boring job (standing or sitting in a fairly small shop, selling postcards and water and souvenirs) and he just seemed to be blissful, in the true meaning of the word.
He said he wanted to go back to India, eventually, but he was content for now. No, not content, happy.
When we got up on Sunday to leave, Cromwell News was not yet open. I never told him good-bye, but I really, really liked him.
I hope I never forget the way his eyes smiled.

Contemplations for July

1. What is happiness?
2. Is happiness having only 39 days of summer vacation left? Or having a whole 39 days of vacation left!
3. Is happiness the difference between a question mark and an exclamation point?!
4. Is happiness a certain beverage?
5. Is happiness box wine?
6. What is suffering?
7. Is suffering the patio project?
8. Does suffering involve digging?
9. Can suffering be solved by certain beverages?
10. What is the relationship between happiness, suffering and box wine?

Discuss.

The complete album of digging photos

The Digging Project

Here's me, about to start digging. Why dig? I am asking myself. It is a deep philosophical question.

The beginnings of The Hole. The hose marks the edge of the space we need to clear. Oh woe is us.

Middlebrow working his magic with the shovel. Note how Gus is "helping" by smelling stuff and chasing butterfly shadows through The Hole.

The gorgeous radishes I got from Hightouch's CSA. The Mexican zucchinni and the yellow squash I bought. We roasted them and ate them. Delicious!

Things I am Doing Well this Summer

1. Exercising
2. Eating
3. Drinking various beverages including: water, coffee, wine, Pimms
4. Sitting around
5. Surfing the internets