This week I have wished profoundly that I was a little less who I am. A little quieter, calmer, more thoughtful, less caffienated. I go to bed wishing I had more hours in the day and more control over my feelings. My effusiveness is out of control. I am a bit too madly in love with being alive right now, and after my summer, the feeling is terrifying.
So I dropped my fun percentage so I could be sure to track this stuff again. It was good to have that continuity.
1. Hornets vs. Nuggets was triumphant for Hornets, but I felt the fanfare was a bit lackluster, and the playing was all-around sloppy.
2. Los Campesinos! was cut short by my love for napping, propensity to talk to James for much too long, and inability to get from one place to another with any kind of expediacy.
3. But James is a really talented musician. The Internet needs to know.
4. And there were good moments with: Kim (she's coming!) and Ari (also coming!) and Alex and Leah and almost definitely others. Jessica.
5. BFF weekend was the BWE.
5. My Behavior Improvement Plans are getting publishable for their awesomeness.
6. I wrote "5" twice.
7. Rabouin Falcons beat the Jefferson Whatevers 108 to 32 on Tuesday. BLOWOUT! Fuck their high GEE scores!
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
the funnest people in new orleans
It's been since September that I gave an installment of the "The Most Important People In My Life." That's a LONG TIME. Eons. (Crosswords LOVE the "eons" clue. They LOVE it. I've noticed that since I started doing the crossword, I have also started speaking more frequently with words with a 90-percent-or-higher vowel composition. I digress).
And guess what? Ben Stevens, my best friend from home, IS VISITING! We are having a 100 percent FUN time. Except that I'm inexcusably sick. Why does sickness happen? It's such an inconvenience to everyone. The Common Cold should realize that it's not really all that powerful; it's not going to do much to help thin the human species; it's known far and wide (probably even among OTHER viruses) as a major annoyance; and it should just give up. Alas, alack.
Anyway, Ben is visiting (highlights so far: swamp walk, Bourbon Street, beignets, hipster coffee, hipster burritos, The Pixies on shuffle, relationship ranting, grocery adventure at Winn Dixie, Indian food, tourist hot spots, jazz jazz jazz jazz jazz, college parties, beer, more jazz, more beer, oldies singalongs, etcccccc.), and he said to me last night, "Wow Sophie, you really have a LOT of interesting and attractive friends in this here Greater New Orleans area." And I said, "You know Ben Stevens, I really do." And he said, "I think I shall move in with you and attempt to bone 8 out of 10 of your besties." And I said, "Okay Ben." (That whole transgression is true except for the last part).
So obviously: Important People in my New Orleans, Volume x+1:
The incomparable (clockwise from left) Nick, Jazzy, Avery, Lily, and Caitlin in the middle. These are the gentlemen and ladies whose numbers I obtained while drunk and at Penn. When I talk about the greatest people I have met in New Orleans, it doesn't seem like enough of a superlative for this group. They are more like the greatest people I have met in my LIFE. Avo is a freelance illustrator for a limited edition of "The Odyssey" to be released in the next year. Jazzy has some high-end government job and used to be Vince Levy's boss at that Penn paper. Nick works for the NOLA Green Project (which is about the most badass thing you could do here). Lily is right out of a comic book -- she knows everyone and everything and smokes her cigarettes from long ancient cigarette holders. And Caitlin... holy shit. Well, Caitlin works at Bennachin's, Caitlin works at the NOMA, Caitlin is thinking of opening a coffee shop. Caitlin got invited to go to The Eagles concert last night by the guitarist from The Eagles. Caitlin got offered 10 or 15 EVEN AWESOMER jobs while backstage at The Eagles concert. And for these reasons, among other reasons, I asked Caitlin to sign my boobs last night. And she did.
Leah Hope Fishbein. I will know Leah for the rest of my life. Here is how I met her: when I first got to New Orleans all those many moons ago, Teach for America gave us Teach for America LookBook pages with everyone's names and favorite this-and-thats, and Leah's favorite listed book was "Vegan Cupcakes Take Over The World." And that is how I knew that Leah would be my friend. We officially met in an elevator in Phoenix. I thought she was probably too cool for me. Then Leah started taking me to every cool vegan restaurant in Tempe in her Hybrid electric car. After that it was a downward spiral into utter infatuation. Leah organizes the Crunkical Mass; she has pages from children's books tattooed on her calves (actually, last Friday night some drunk guy cursed her out for having them, and called her a "fancy tattoo haver." That was funny. Drunk people are funny). What makes Leah the best is that for all her adventurousness and whimsy, she will ALSO stay at home with you and eat take-out and watch "Clueless." She is the only person in New Orleans who is currently in my speed dial. That's love. Also her cat is named Sal and is orange and is actually still a kitten (i.e. FREAKISHLY CUTE).
Hannahhhhhh. I have known and loved a lot of Hannahs. But never in my life have I been more completely in awe of a Hannah as I am of this Hannah. Hannah is the kind of person who is so unrealistically genuine and nice and kind-spirited that you are taken completely aback when you figure out that she's actually FUCKING EDGY AS FUCK. Like... if I were going to have an orgy, I would probably invite Hannah, and Hannah would probably say yes. If I were going to bike 100 miles in one day, I would probably invite Hannah, and Hannah would probably say yes. Hannah dreams about living in a real life tree house. She worked on a sustainable farm in Vermont for an enormous chunk of her life. This Christmas, she bought dozens and dozens of local Meyer lemons and invited us over to spend the entire afternoon canning jars upon jars upon jars of lemon curd. Hannah is what I would call the ideal Pocket Person: The kind of person who makes you so consistently happy -- indeed, the kind of person who MAKES YOU A BETTER VERSION OF YOURSELF -- that you wish you could pocket-size-ify her and carry her around in your purse so you would never ever ever have to be without her. In this picture she is eating her birthday brunch. That's because she's the kind of person who has a handful of wonderful friends who want nothing in the world but to bring incredible homemade foods over to her house to celebrate her birthday, brunchily.
Oh, Karaline. I think Karaline would make a very good wife. She is a wonderful cook and picks out the most beautiful foods when she goes food shopping; she wears really sexy around-the-house clothes; she has this amazing cooing voice for when you are miserable or surly. But Karaline would be wasted if she were only a wife. Beyond all these things, she's also up for any adventure, good at dancing late at night in sparkling outfits, and absolutely won Bananagrams today. I felt I was pretty close to winning. But Karaline won, fair and square. She is from Massachusetts, and she instantly makes everyone around her feel like they are her lifelong best friend. For this reason, she is possibly too popular for her own good. but I guess that's not really a problem. I should think of an ACTUAL Karaline problem. Hmm. Too good in bed?
James Hamilton (left). Obviously needs both names to identify him, right? It's just one of those names. We went out for dinner a couple of weeks ago and he told me that my name ("Sophie Johnson") was a strong name. I have never received a compliment on my name before -- at least, not the whole name -- and I didn't quite know what to do with it. But once the dust had settled, I recognized what was BEHIND that compliment: the fact that "James Hamilton" is FAR AND AWAY the strongest, most regal name that has ever been bestowed on any human being. This tells you nothing about James, except that he eats food and gives compliments. He does both those things (and the former he does as a vegetarian, which is a BFD here in New Orleans). James plays bookoo instruments. He can do that thing where you're talking to him and he's talking to you and AT THE SAME TIME he's making beautiful sounds come out of a ukelele. James is also a cat whisperer and can thus get cats to do tricks. It's becoming clear to me as I write this entry that a fondness for cats is listed as very important in my particular rating book. Last night James went with us to see "The Wrestler," then he drove us back to our car, and called to tell us interesting things we could do with our days tomorrow. He's CLASSY. That's the bottom line there. Also has GREAT taste in music. AND BASKETBALL!!! Well, I mean, his team in the Nuggets. But at least he HAS a team, and he loves them, and they are a really really good team. And we can have educated arguments about Western Conference. Blissful.
Ms. Ward and Ms. McGough. Jayda and Kristen are amazing, colorful people, and they have completely saved my life. They are some of the greatest teachers in the entire city, and they have really single-handedly transformed the entire Special Ed department at my school. Seriously, fellows: I don't know what I would do without them. I don't. I would probably have gouged out my eyes by now. With forks. Kristen has the BEST LAUGH OF ALL TIME. Whenever something is REALLY shitty at school, Kristen laughs at it and it all seems a little bit better. She's always pissed off at exactly the right times, and when I'm going through something, she's the one who drives all the way to my house to make sure I'm okay. Jayda, who is pregnant with twins, is sarcastic and funny in one of those ways you thought was plausible only in well-written Hollywood comedies. She also is AMAZING with her students, and somehow whips all the Sped. paperwork into place. These women are the main reason I wake up every morning and feel okay about what I'm doing.
End.
And guess what? Ben Stevens, my best friend from home, IS VISITING! We are having a 100 percent FUN time. Except that I'm inexcusably sick. Why does sickness happen? It's such an inconvenience to everyone. The Common Cold should realize that it's not really all that powerful; it's not going to do much to help thin the human species; it's known far and wide (probably even among OTHER viruses) as a major annoyance; and it should just give up. Alas, alack.
Anyway, Ben is visiting (highlights so far: swamp walk, Bourbon Street, beignets, hipster coffee, hipster burritos, The Pixies on shuffle, relationship ranting, grocery adventure at Winn Dixie, Indian food, tourist hot spots, jazz jazz jazz jazz jazz, college parties, beer, more jazz, more beer, oldies singalongs, etcccccc.), and he said to me last night, "Wow Sophie, you really have a LOT of interesting and attractive friends in this here Greater New Orleans area." And I said, "You know Ben Stevens, I really do." And he said, "I think I shall move in with you and attempt to bone 8 out of 10 of your besties." And I said, "Okay Ben." (That whole transgression is true except for the last part).
So obviously: Important People in my New Orleans, Volume x+1:
The incomparable (clockwise from left) Nick, Jazzy, Avery, Lily, and Caitlin in the middle. These are the gentlemen and ladies whose numbers I obtained while drunk and at Penn. When I talk about the greatest people I have met in New Orleans, it doesn't seem like enough of a superlative for this group. They are more like the greatest people I have met in my LIFE. Avo is a freelance illustrator for a limited edition of "The Odyssey" to be released in the next year. Jazzy has some high-end government job and used to be Vince Levy's boss at that Penn paper. Nick works for the NOLA Green Project (which is about the most badass thing you could do here). Lily is right out of a comic book -- she knows everyone and everything and smokes her cigarettes from long ancient cigarette holders. And Caitlin... holy shit. Well, Caitlin works at Bennachin's, Caitlin works at the NOMA, Caitlin is thinking of opening a coffee shop. Caitlin got invited to go to The Eagles concert last night by the guitarist from The Eagles. Caitlin got offered 10 or 15 EVEN AWESOMER jobs while backstage at The Eagles concert. And for these reasons, among other reasons, I asked Caitlin to sign my boobs last night. And she did.
Leah Hope Fishbein. I will know Leah for the rest of my life. Here is how I met her: when I first got to New Orleans all those many moons ago, Teach for America gave us Teach for America LookBook pages with everyone's names and favorite this-and-thats, and Leah's favorite listed book was "Vegan Cupcakes Take Over The World." And that is how I knew that Leah would be my friend. We officially met in an elevator in Phoenix. I thought she was probably too cool for me. Then Leah started taking me to every cool vegan restaurant in Tempe in her Hybrid electric car. After that it was a downward spiral into utter infatuation. Leah organizes the Crunkical Mass; she has pages from children's books tattooed on her calves (actually, last Friday night some drunk guy cursed her out for having them, and called her a "fancy tattoo haver." That was funny. Drunk people are funny). What makes Leah the best is that for all her adventurousness and whimsy, she will ALSO stay at home with you and eat take-out and watch "Clueless." She is the only person in New Orleans who is currently in my speed dial. That's love. Also her cat is named Sal and is orange and is actually still a kitten (i.e. FREAKISHLY CUTE).
Hannahhhhhh. I have known and loved a lot of Hannahs. But never in my life have I been more completely in awe of a Hannah as I am of this Hannah. Hannah is the kind of person who is so unrealistically genuine and nice and kind-spirited that you are taken completely aback when you figure out that she's actually FUCKING EDGY AS FUCK. Like... if I were going to have an orgy, I would probably invite Hannah, and Hannah would probably say yes. If I were going to bike 100 miles in one day, I would probably invite Hannah, and Hannah would probably say yes. Hannah dreams about living in a real life tree house. She worked on a sustainable farm in Vermont for an enormous chunk of her life. This Christmas, she bought dozens and dozens of local Meyer lemons and invited us over to spend the entire afternoon canning jars upon jars upon jars of lemon curd. Hannah is what I would call the ideal Pocket Person: The kind of person who makes you so consistently happy -- indeed, the kind of person who MAKES YOU A BETTER VERSION OF YOURSELF -- that you wish you could pocket-size-ify her and carry her around in your purse so you would never ever ever have to be without her. In this picture she is eating her birthday brunch. That's because she's the kind of person who has a handful of wonderful friends who want nothing in the world but to bring incredible homemade foods over to her house to celebrate her birthday, brunchily.
Oh, Karaline. I think Karaline would make a very good wife. She is a wonderful cook and picks out the most beautiful foods when she goes food shopping; she wears really sexy around-the-house clothes; she has this amazing cooing voice for when you are miserable or surly. But Karaline would be wasted if she were only a wife. Beyond all these things, she's also up for any adventure, good at dancing late at night in sparkling outfits, and absolutely won Bananagrams today. I felt I was pretty close to winning. But Karaline won, fair and square. She is from Massachusetts, and she instantly makes everyone around her feel like they are her lifelong best friend. For this reason, she is possibly too popular for her own good. but I guess that's not really a problem. I should think of an ACTUAL Karaline problem. Hmm. Too good in bed?
James Hamilton (left). Obviously needs both names to identify him, right? It's just one of those names. We went out for dinner a couple of weeks ago and he told me that my name ("Sophie Johnson") was a strong name. I have never received a compliment on my name before -- at least, not the whole name -- and I didn't quite know what to do with it. But once the dust had settled, I recognized what was BEHIND that compliment: the fact that "James Hamilton" is FAR AND AWAY the strongest, most regal name that has ever been bestowed on any human being. This tells you nothing about James, except that he eats food and gives compliments. He does both those things (and the former he does as a vegetarian, which is a BFD here in New Orleans). James plays bookoo instruments. He can do that thing where you're talking to him and he's talking to you and AT THE SAME TIME he's making beautiful sounds come out of a ukelele. James is also a cat whisperer and can thus get cats to do tricks. It's becoming clear to me as I write this entry that a fondness for cats is listed as very important in my particular rating book. Last night James went with us to see "The Wrestler," then he drove us back to our car, and called to tell us interesting things we could do with our days tomorrow. He's CLASSY. That's the bottom line there. Also has GREAT taste in music. AND BASKETBALL!!! Well, I mean, his team in the Nuggets. But at least he HAS a team, and he loves them, and they are a really really good team. And we can have educated arguments about Western Conference. Blissful.
Ms. Ward and Ms. McGough. Jayda and Kristen are amazing, colorful people, and they have completely saved my life. They are some of the greatest teachers in the entire city, and they have really single-handedly transformed the entire Special Ed department at my school. Seriously, fellows: I don't know what I would do without them. I don't. I would probably have gouged out my eyes by now. With forks. Kristen has the BEST LAUGH OF ALL TIME. Whenever something is REALLY shitty at school, Kristen laughs at it and it all seems a little bit better. She's always pissed off at exactly the right times, and when I'm going through something, she's the one who drives all the way to my house to make sure I'm okay. Jayda, who is pregnant with twins, is sarcastic and funny in one of those ways you thought was plausible only in well-written Hollywood comedies. She also is AMAZING with her students, and somehow whips all the Sped. paperwork into place. These women are the main reason I wake up every morning and feel okay about what I'm doing.End.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
fungi!
Ok, blog. I have to say: I am feeling uninspired. Not in a large, overarching sense. I mean, I DID watch the Inaugural Address today (AND solved the Inaugural New York Times crossword), so in that sense I am deeply inspired. I agree, the poet was kind of bad, and it was kind of really funny when Yo Yo Ma was playing at the moment that Barack Obama constitutionally became president (!??!!). But I shed a tear. I admit this fact now to the internet in a moment of true openness.
The weekend was unbelievably long, and for the first time in my New Orleanian history of long weekends, I did not leave town. I had a brilliant time riding my bike in the sublimely seventy-degree weather; cooking extravagent meals and eating them with glasses of expensive wine; lesson planning the long way (not the "holy-shit-I-have-class-in-four-hours-I'd-better-get-the-fuck-on-this" way I'm so used to); going to sleep laaaaate after DANCING or BAKING or just TALKING with people worth talking to. All in all, a perfect weekend.
We took the kids hiking again, which was a winning scenario. Except that I accidentally stepped
in a huge fire-ant nest (and when I say "accidentally," I mean I looked at the huge fire-ant nest and said, "That's way too big to be an anthill. Let me step in it and see if it is indeed an anthill." And then it was indeed an anthill and my pants filled up with fire-ants). But other than that, I got a lot of good bonding in with some really superior students. I have to give them credit: when I was in high school, no one would have done this on a weekend. Kids were way too busy playing with their Sega Dreamcasts to do school-related activities on weekends. But a lot of the Rabouin kids seem genuinely into the camping stuff, which never ceases to amaze and impress me.
Lots of time with James. Lots of time with Leah. Lots of time with Hannah. Lots of time with Karaline. These are among my favorite people I have ever met, so this was all time well-spent. On Hannah's birthday (!!!) we tried to go dancing, but because it was Sunday every club was terribly dull. So instead we went to Mother-In-Law's and we had the whole back lot all to ourselves. Picture this: A place with a huge wax statue of Ernie K-Doe, decorated with perennial Christmas flair, owned by a little old woman (who used to be married to Ernie and knows OPRAH and SPIKE LEE and had her bar personally rebuilt by USHER after the storm) who will open the door for you and welcome you in wearing pajamas, before plopping down on the sofa to watch "Friends" reruns on her jumbo-screen projector. And in the back, past the weird alters and church memorabilia, is a door to a back patio with a Tiki lounge and bathtubs full of flowers and bright pink and orange and purple chairs chained to tables and a jukebox that plays Kenny G and a big archway made of flowers. Honestly, that description doesn't do it justice. It's one of those places you have to see to believe.
And Hannah's birthday brunch was truly spectacular; I can only describe it as being indescribably warm (and not in terms of temperature -- in terms of, like... attitudes). Last night James made dinner for me and I racked my brain but couldn't think of another time anyone had ever truly made dinner JUST FOR ME and it was AWESOME. I am going to let that happen MORE. On Saturday night Leah and I stayed up until 1 in the morning making cupcakes. And on Sunday afternoon I got a squirrel at the feeder. Which you would think was a bad thing but I think squirrels are adorable, so I'm thrilled.
Prospect.1 died, and I participated in its jazz funeral. I put a light on my bike so I started to ride it at night, which is an unprecedented experience, and I strongly recommend it. I cooked a LOT of vegetables and decorated the guest room because GUESS WHAT: Ben is coming on Thursday. I KNOW, RIGHT!?????
My friends at Whitman are starting up again, and this time I am not there (last semester I was, for hurrication reasons). I'm okay with it. Time to move on. Seems very healthy.
My cat is cheating on me regularly with my Mario plush doll. But it's fine. I forgive him. I'm not around as much as I used to be.
So I guess I'm uninspired because I think all of that is a little boring to report on. My only advice to the wandering soul is this: Bike everywhere, talk to everyone you meet, and learn something new every day. And if you do that, I think you'll always feel accomplished no matter what, and go to bed wonderfully exhausted and happy.
The weekend was unbelievably long, and for the first time in my New Orleanian history of long weekends, I did not leave town. I had a brilliant time riding my bike in the sublimely seventy-degree weather; cooking extravagent meals and eating them with glasses of expensive wine; lesson planning the long way (not the "holy-shit-I-have-class-in-four-hours-I'd-better-get-the-fuck-on-this" way I'm so used to); going to sleep laaaaate after DANCING or BAKING or just TALKING with people worth talking to. All in all, a perfect weekend.
We took the kids hiking again, which was a winning scenario. Except that I accidentally stepped
in a huge fire-ant nest (and when I say "accidentally," I mean I looked at the huge fire-ant nest and said, "That's way too big to be an anthill. Let me step in it and see if it is indeed an anthill." And then it was indeed an anthill and my pants filled up with fire-ants). But other than that, I got a lot of good bonding in with some really superior students. I have to give them credit: when I was in high school, no one would have done this on a weekend. Kids were way too busy playing with their Sega Dreamcasts to do school-related activities on weekends. But a lot of the Rabouin kids seem genuinely into the camping stuff, which never ceases to amaze and impress me.Lots of time with James. Lots of time with Leah. Lots of time with Hannah. Lots of time with Karaline. These are among my favorite people I have ever met, so this was all time well-spent. On Hannah's birthday (!!!) we tried to go dancing, but because it was Sunday every club was terribly dull. So instead we went to Mother-In-Law's and we had the whole back lot all to ourselves. Picture this: A place with a huge wax statue of Ernie K-Doe, decorated with perennial Christmas flair, owned by a little old woman (who used to be married to Ernie and knows OPRAH and SPIKE LEE and had her bar personally rebuilt by USHER after the storm) who will open the door for you and welcome you in wearing pajamas, before plopping down on the sofa to watch "Friends" reruns on her jumbo-screen projector. And in the back, past the weird alters and church memorabilia, is a door to a back patio with a Tiki lounge and bathtubs full of flowers and bright pink and orange and purple chairs chained to tables and a jukebox that plays Kenny G and a big archway made of flowers. Honestly, that description doesn't do it justice. It's one of those places you have to see to believe.
And Hannah's birthday brunch was truly spectacular; I can only describe it as being indescribably warm (and not in terms of temperature -- in terms of, like... attitudes). Last night James made dinner for me and I racked my brain but couldn't think of another time anyone had ever truly made dinner JUST FOR ME and it was AWESOME. I am going to let that happen MORE. On Saturday night Leah and I stayed up until 1 in the morning making cupcakes. And on Sunday afternoon I got a squirrel at the feeder. Which you would think was a bad thing but I think squirrels are adorable, so I'm thrilled.
Prospect.1 died, and I participated in its jazz funeral. I put a light on my bike so I started to ride it at night, which is an unprecedented experience, and I strongly recommend it. I cooked a LOT of vegetables and decorated the guest room because GUESS WHAT: Ben is coming on Thursday. I KNOW, RIGHT!?????
My friends at Whitman are starting up again, and this time I am not there (last semester I was, for hurrication reasons). I'm okay with it. Time to move on. Seems very healthy.
My cat is cheating on me regularly with my Mario plush doll. But it's fine. I forgive him. I'm not around as much as I used to be.
So I guess I'm uninspired because I think all of that is a little boring to report on. My only advice to the wandering soul is this: Bike everywhere, talk to everyone you meet, and learn something new every day. And if you do that, I think you'll always feel accomplished no matter what, and go to bed wonderfully exhausted and happy.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
funally!
This morning the perfect metaphor for my life happened. I woke up at 6:30 a.m. because there were birds at my window.Let me back up. I bought a bird feeder at the beginning of my time here in New Orleans. I filled it up and hung it from my roof outside my window, hoping that I'd get some company that would help make me feel a little more at home. Of course, the birds never came. And that was six months ago. They never came and never came and never came and I figured the bird seed was going to start to rot pretty soon, but I wasn't about to do anything about it. I just let my bird feeder sit out there, and wished the birds would come.
And then this morning, for no reason at all, they came. Dozens, if not hundreds. Just like that, for no reason at all, except that time had passed.
That's exactly what life has been like lately. For some reason, everything seems to be falling into place, and I'm happier than I've been... for a long time.
So I've been very neglectful of my fun blog. Blogging about being happy and thinking life is great and enjoying one's job is kind of boring. No surprise element. No selling point. Just boring old sanity.
In the last week, some updates: CRUNKICAL MASS bike ride around Prospect.1 last Sunday, with some of the greatest people currently living in New Orleans, was beautiful, exhausting, cold and moving; someone is putting my a cappella cover of "Whatever You Like" in a film; we won a major battle for our students with disabilities at my school. I'm teaching my own class now, with a 25-page unit plan that follows the whole P.1, P.2, P.3 formula; we have a new student, Tracy (as always, not her real name), who I have gotten to know very well and who Avery's consistently tries to get to marry him; Avery has grown four years in reading in one semester, which is kind of unheard of in the world of teaching; I am co-heading Adventure Krew (you know... camping club, hiking club, whatever you want to call it) -- actually, we're going on an MLK hike in less than an hour -- and I feel like once I'm done with this I'm going to have to lead a Girl Scout troup. I'm proud of New Orleans, and I feel like I watch it change every day. I can now do the Wednesday New York Times crossword all by myself. I shampooed my cat (without using a toilet). I'm painting like crazy, my room smells like vanilla, I have read more wonderful books in the last six months than in the rest of my entire life. I keep meeting people I want to know forever, and the learning curve on relationships here is fast.This is an Avery video. I don't know where he heard the term "I'm strippin'," but he pulled it out during his resource period yesterday and it was ABOUT the funniest thing I'd ever seen. And of course he decided that him being naked was a good reason for girls to marry him. WIN.
The only thing is that now I am going to have to start buying birdseed. Oh well. There are worse things in the world.
Friday, January 9, 2009
96 percent fun!
Every day I fall a little more in love with New Orleans. It's probably obvious by now. You're probably getting a little tired of my infatuation with the Big Easy. Perhaps this is natural, to fall so in love with a place. I generally am happy in all environments. I am about the easiest human being to please. I love final exams. I enjoy all-nighters. I find doctors' waiting rooms fascinating and beautiful.
Which is why I think my growing love (it's definitely love -- not just infatuation) for New Orleans is so special to me. At first, I didn't love it. At first, I was miserable. I thought I had picked the wrong city; that I had chosen to live with people who didn't give a shit about politics (why else would their political system be so broken?) but who lived to get drunk and party. And certainly, those people live here. And they're probably very happy, because New Orleans accommodates that lifestyle.
But I went to an "Anti-Racism Working Group" potluck this week. My fear was that the potluck would look a lot like Whitman College Race Symposiums: 90 percent white, and for many people, 100 percent of the social "activism" they participate in for the entire year. It's great to talk about race, but what does it DO? Kind of masturbatory, I guess.
At first, the potluck looked very similar to a Whitman event. Yes, it was 100 percent white. And yes, there was organic food on the table (a lot of freaking organic food, I might add. Maybe New Orleans' entire supply of organic food). But when we went around the circle to tell who we were and what we do, I recognized the significant difference: every single person there was actively involved in the community in one way or another, stretching for change. They were law-fighters, picket-crossers, UU church workers, volunteers, homeless shelter starters, or workers, or renovators. They built houses, grew food, canvassed. Almost all of them were community organizers. None of them seemed to have day jobs -- they were activists, and that was all.
At dinner, we actually talked about race in a very real way. We talked about FBI informants and gentrification and the racial divide in the activist movement. I learned a lot. It was a difficult, uncomfortable, challenging, wonderful conversation. I left feeling larger.
I walked home with Leah in the dark along the potholes in the pavement, listening to kids playing basketball in the street and families chatting on their porches and drinking tea just like they do in the movies. It was warm at 10 p.m.; we didn't have to wear sweaters. I fell asleep listening to bullfrogs and feeling at home.
So this is all very poetic and good. You are reading this thinking, "Yes. That sounds very nice. I think New Orleans sounds lovely and activisty." And you are right. Except for one thing: THERE WAS NO VEGETARIAN RESTAURANT. Not one. There is an African restaurant called Bennichan's which has vegetarian food (Caitlin works there now, which means I can potentially bribe her for fried plantains). Sometimes if you are lucky there are such things are French Fried Po' Boys, which are like real Po' Boys, except with French fries and not meat. The only problem here is that they are gross and disgusting. It was just not a good city to be a vegetarian.
Did you note the "was?"
Past tense. As in, used to be.
Because YESTERDAY a man named Aji (I know his name because I met him after giving intense and creative compliments to the chef via my waitress -- but I'm getting ahead now) opened Bamboo Gardens. It's a totally vegetarian restaurant with fake chicken and fake ham and REAL FLAVORS (yeah, I said it). The chef (this is Aji, who as I said, I met) learned how to make his vegan chicken from the folks in New York who make vegan chicken (for New York is where he went to culinary school and met all the vegan bigwigs there, like the owner of Red Bamboo, with whom Aji is allegedly "tight"). THIS IS THE CHICKEN I CRAVE MORE THAN ANY OTHER FOOD IN THE WORLD. Guys, I have seriously considered buying a plane ticket to New York SOLELY to eat this chicken. That is how much I love this chicken. It's an unreal concoction. I would sell several body parts for the recipe.
Leah and Hannah and Karaline and I sat there for three hours and bought a $150 meal (plus wine), talking and eating and drinking and I was SO HAPPY. Completely.
So anyway, this is a very long way of saying to family and friends who are on the other coast, I'm sorry, but I think I am going to live in New Orleans forever.
Which is why I think my growing love (it's definitely love -- not just infatuation) for New Orleans is so special to me. At first, I didn't love it. At first, I was miserable. I thought I had picked the wrong city; that I had chosen to live with people who didn't give a shit about politics (why else would their political system be so broken?) but who lived to get drunk and party. And certainly, those people live here. And they're probably very happy, because New Orleans accommodates that lifestyle.
But I went to an "Anti-Racism Working Group" potluck this week. My fear was that the potluck would look a lot like Whitman College Race Symposiums: 90 percent white, and for many people, 100 percent of the social "activism" they participate in for the entire year. It's great to talk about race, but what does it DO? Kind of masturbatory, I guess.
At first, the potluck looked very similar to a Whitman event. Yes, it was 100 percent white. And yes, there was organic food on the table (a lot of freaking organic food, I might add. Maybe New Orleans' entire supply of organic food). But when we went around the circle to tell who we were and what we do, I recognized the significant difference: every single person there was actively involved in the community in one way or another, stretching for change. They were law-fighters, picket-crossers, UU church workers, volunteers, homeless shelter starters, or workers, or renovators. They built houses, grew food, canvassed. Almost all of them were community organizers. None of them seemed to have day jobs -- they were activists, and that was all.
At dinner, we actually talked about race in a very real way. We talked about FBI informants and gentrification and the racial divide in the activist movement. I learned a lot. It was a difficult, uncomfortable, challenging, wonderful conversation. I left feeling larger.
I walked home with Leah in the dark along the potholes in the pavement, listening to kids playing basketball in the street and families chatting on their porches and drinking tea just like they do in the movies. It was warm at 10 p.m.; we didn't have to wear sweaters. I fell asleep listening to bullfrogs and feeling at home.
So this is all very poetic and good. You are reading this thinking, "Yes. That sounds very nice. I think New Orleans sounds lovely and activisty." And you are right. Except for one thing: THERE WAS NO VEGETARIAN RESTAURANT. Not one. There is an African restaurant called Bennichan's which has vegetarian food (Caitlin works there now, which means I can potentially bribe her for fried plantains). Sometimes if you are lucky there are such things are French Fried Po' Boys, which are like real Po' Boys, except with French fries and not meat. The only problem here is that they are gross and disgusting. It was just not a good city to be a vegetarian.
Did you note the "was?"
Past tense. As in, used to be.
Because YESTERDAY a man named Aji (I know his name because I met him after giving intense and creative compliments to the chef via my waitress -- but I'm getting ahead now) opened Bamboo Gardens. It's a totally vegetarian restaurant with fake chicken and fake ham and REAL FLAVORS (yeah, I said it). The chef (this is Aji, who as I said, I met) learned how to make his vegan chicken from the folks in New York who make vegan chicken (for New York is where he went to culinary school and met all the vegan bigwigs there, like the owner of Red Bamboo, with whom Aji is allegedly "tight"). THIS IS THE CHICKEN I CRAVE MORE THAN ANY OTHER FOOD IN THE WORLD. Guys, I have seriously considered buying a plane ticket to New York SOLELY to eat this chicken. That is how much I love this chicken. It's an unreal concoction. I would sell several body parts for the recipe.
Leah and Hannah and Karaline and I sat there for three hours and bought a $150 meal (plus wine), talking and eating and drinking and I was SO HAPPY. Completely.
So anyway, this is a very long way of saying to family and friends who are on the other coast, I'm sorry, but I think I am going to live in New Orleans forever.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
another top 10
I just spent like five hours going through stacks of books I read this year and making a year-end list of the Best Books of 2008. It's the first time I have made a books list. It makes me feel very post-collegiate.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
a different kind of fun
New Orleans and Portland feel like they are at opposite ends of the universe, that's how different they are. I feel like a kid going back and forth between parents -- one quiet, reserved, sweet, subdued if not a bit sad, patient, calculating, lonely and poetic, reading Mary Oliver poems and making coriander-spiced tempeh after blogging about endangered birds and hybrid cars; the other eccentric, loud, unkempt and ravaged, salty, impolite, wearing no bra or underwear, not giving a flying fuck what anybody thinks, eating drippy meat things without napkins and making freeform, cheerful music. It kind of makes you wonder why they even got married in the first place. Then you realize that Portland and New Orleans never DID get married. I just call both of them "home."
Regardless, flinging myself back and forth between them for week-long stretches is incredibly emotionally straining. It's a cyclical series of motions: holding on and letting go perpetually, never feeling completely grounded. When I got home (New Orleans home) last night, the house smelled like hurricane. It smelled muggy and swampy because the heat and air conditioning had rested for two whole weeks. And it felt empty, because we have nothing on the walls and very high ceilings. We don't even have a couch. Just wood floors and stairs and the fireplace we haven't broken in yet.
But then I saw (or rather HEARD) Satchmo, with all his charm and annoyance and unconditional forgiveness (which I don't deserve because I DID leave him in this desperately uninteresting house with very little outside contact for ten full days, which I think legitimately deserves a grudge, but he's a bigger man than I am), and I felt comfortable again. And I discovered "Instant" NetFlix, which by the way is the BEST INVENTION EVER. So things were good.
And walking around my neighborhood this morning things started to come back -- which, considering I had only been gone for two weeks, I was surprised I had forgotten in the first place. Like the way people here ALL say hello to you, no matter what. "Hey! You look so pretty in purple." "Hi there! Did you have a nice New Year?" "Well hello. Think it's gonna rain." People just aren't like that in Portland. I think it's a "The South" thing.
And the way everything -- EVERYTHING -- smells like hot pepper sauce; Cajun cooking; fish or crab or seafood of some kind; deep frying fat. Even at 9 in the morning people seem to be barbecuing.
And you don't have to wear a sweater, or socks, and you don't get carded when you buy a bottle of wine, and you can get groceries for the whole week for less than $20. Dogs waltz around as if leash laws are not only obviously a joke, but embarrassingly unfashionable. Likewise, I jaywalked across a major street and almost got hit by a police officer without even thinking twice about it. And people are drunk by about 11 a.m.
There are two things that suck:
1. When you ask the barista if they have soymilk, the response is generally, "WHATmilk?"
2. It floods. Really bad. And the thunder is really scary.
I know I'm supposed to love thunder. It's some kind of unspoken rule that deep and intelligent people find thunder unspeakably beautiful, like the lonely cry of nature or some similar bullshit. I once dated a guy who would stand outside in a thunder storm for hours taking pictures of the swollen purple sky, muttering that it was the most spectacular thing he'd ever seen. Now that's all very well and good for people like him. But has anyone else noticed that it SOUNDS EXACTLY LIKE GUNFIRE? And is ACCOMPANIED BY UNPREDICTABLE AND OCCASIONALLY FATAL FLASHES OF ELECTRICAL CURRENT? THAT'S. SCARY. Especially when you're alone. And here, the thunder goes on forever. Every single thunder clap is like one of those really long, comical farts that goes on waaaay longer than a fart is supposed to go. Only scary and not funny. Luckily, Satchmo also thinks thunder is terrifying and he balls up against me wimpering like he has a flesh wound and that makes me feel like way less of a wimp.
So right now I'm a little scared on a Saturday night and my car is almost entirely underwater, so there is no going anywhere. That's probably okay because I've had a pretty eventful day.
1. I saw a jazz concert at the Historical Jazz Museum and participated in a Second Line.
2. I had beignets and chicory coffee at Cafe Du Monde. Which is reason enough to want to live in New Orleans FOREVER, by the way. I am reminded of that every time I pay the waitress $2 in exchange for PURE HEAVEN.
3. I visited the VooDoo Museum in the French Quarter, which was indescribably kitschy and wonderful. I will recount only the moment when I was making a monetary sacrifice to the god of snakes (I forget his name), and as if on cue, an old fat priest came out of the back room with a live albino python wrapped around his neck. (Leah's brother apparently heard this man later tell him, "I have a 39-foot one upstairs. But it hates women.")
4. Leah let me come over to make cashew-pineapple-fried quinoa and cabbage with peanut sauce. !!!. As a sidenote, cutting ginger is one of the most immediately gratifying physical activities I can imagine. It smells so good and sounds so good and tastes so good. It's really a win-win-win. We also watched "Enchanted." Actually, at that moment, I was grateful for the rain and the thunder and the flooding because it made me feel really not-guilty for cuddling up inside where it smelled like ginger and watching a movie. Which was all I wanted to do.
I feel I get full fun points for today. Now I'm lying with this wonderful cat pressed against me as if his life depends on it.
I should mention that I have quite a lot of New Years' Resolutions. Here are ten:
Ten of Sophie's New Years' Resolutions:
1. Get over my fear of fish. I secretly believe that I am already over my fear of fish. Well, I believe that SOME of the time. Rationally, I understand that my fear of fish is irrational. And I understand this in ways that I don't understand that my fear of the dark is irrational, or that my fear of zombies is irrational. So I'm going to do something symbolic like go SCUBA diving. I'm not really ALL-CAPS excited about that, it's just that SCUBA is an acronym and you're supposed to capitalize it.
2. Ride my bike to work, even when it rains. In Portland, I saw people riding around with plastic bags on their bike seats. This is doable. I don't have to drive just because it's raining a little bit. I WILL sacrifice the bike, however, if it floods. Which it is doing right now.
3. Go to all the museums in New Orleans. WOW, there are a lot of museums in New Orleans. They are all over the freaking place! And I have gone to probably about half of them. Knowing New Orleans, there are probably a lot of secret museums that I don't know about. I plan to find all of those.
4. Watch one movie per week. I know this does not seem like a very ambitious goal. But I watch a surprising amount of television on DVD, a surpringly tiny number of films. I just find it a lot easier; a much smaller commitment. With movies, you have to really sit down for two hours and you can't do much else. You can do mindless tasks, but you can't, say, browse Digg. You CAN do that while you are watching television. So it's a lesson in self-control and non-multi-tasking, really. I used to love going to the movies, too, and I want to go more often.
5. Take a class. There are a lot of classes I want to take. I am willing to settle on resolving to take only one. I would like to take a writing workshop (I know there are some good ones around town); or to take dance classes. I would love to take an art class, a cooking class, a yoga class, a language class, whatever. Just something that's not learn-to-be-a-teacher-class. I'm bored of that class. I want one that brings joy to my heart once a week.
6. Cook all the recipes in my cookbook that I've marked with a Post-It but have never tried because it's too easy just to make the ones that I already know are winners. This basically means I'm going to need to make a lot less Pad Thai. Which is okay. It's time for me to expand my horizons.
7. Perfect my stand-up comedy routine. I have been secretly working on this for about a year, and I just started trying it out at open mic nights. I want to do a show and walk away from it feeling like I OWNED it. This is difficult because I have a vagina, which usually is a hindrance to people who are trying to be comedians.
8. Finish my freaking novel. This is an annoying resolution. I hate people who write novels. They're usually annoying pricks who write novels just because they want to say that they have done it. Actually, that is basically why I am doing it, and I admit it completely. And yet, I have been poring over my "work" for two years now. I have 350 pages of mess, and all I want in the world is to tie a ribbon around it and put it to rest. Find me as annoying as you would like.
9. Go to an NBA Championship game. This will only be possible if the Hornets make the finals. So Chris Paul, if you're reading this right now, know that a lot more is hinging on you being awesome this season than you might think.
10. Never, ever, ever, ever, ever, EVER EVER EVER call anyone ever again in a fit of tears and desperation and sob into the phone like a fucking moron. Except for my mom, who will love me no matter what.
Weird, reflecting on 2008, it was a pretty superlative year. I think it was the best year of my life. That is partially offset by the fact that I think it was also the worst year of my life. And in a truly uncharacteristic turn, I think I will leave it at that.
Perhaps adding that I hope 2009 is just as exhausting, full, heartbreaking and life-changing.
Regardless, flinging myself back and forth between them for week-long stretches is incredibly emotionally straining. It's a cyclical series of motions: holding on and letting go perpetually, never feeling completely grounded. When I got home (New Orleans home) last night, the house smelled like hurricane. It smelled muggy and swampy because the heat and air conditioning had rested for two whole weeks. And it felt empty, because we have nothing on the walls and very high ceilings. We don't even have a couch. Just wood floors and stairs and the fireplace we haven't broken in yet.
But then I saw (or rather HEARD) Satchmo, with all his charm and annoyance and unconditional forgiveness (which I don't deserve because I DID leave him in this desperately uninteresting house with very little outside contact for ten full days, which I think legitimately deserves a grudge, but he's a bigger man than I am), and I felt comfortable again. And I discovered "Instant" NetFlix, which by the way is the BEST INVENTION EVER. So things were good.
And walking around my neighborhood this morning things started to come back -- which, considering I had only been gone for two weeks, I was surprised I had forgotten in the first place. Like the way people here ALL say hello to you, no matter what. "Hey! You look so pretty in purple." "Hi there! Did you have a nice New Year?" "Well hello. Think it's gonna rain." People just aren't like that in Portland. I think it's a "The South" thing.
And the way everything -- EVERYTHING -- smells like hot pepper sauce; Cajun cooking; fish or crab or seafood of some kind; deep frying fat. Even at 9 in the morning people seem to be barbecuing.
And you don't have to wear a sweater, or socks, and you don't get carded when you buy a bottle of wine, and you can get groceries for the whole week for less than $20. Dogs waltz around as if leash laws are not only obviously a joke, but embarrassingly unfashionable. Likewise, I jaywalked across a major street and almost got hit by a police officer without even thinking twice about it. And people are drunk by about 11 a.m.
There are two things that suck:
1. When you ask the barista if they have soymilk, the response is generally, "WHATmilk?"
2. It floods. Really bad. And the thunder is really scary.
I know I'm supposed to love thunder. It's some kind of unspoken rule that deep and intelligent people find thunder unspeakably beautiful, like the lonely cry of nature or some similar bullshit. I once dated a guy who would stand outside in a thunder storm for hours taking pictures of the swollen purple sky, muttering that it was the most spectacular thing he'd ever seen. Now that's all very well and good for people like him. But has anyone else noticed that it SOUNDS EXACTLY LIKE GUNFIRE? And is ACCOMPANIED BY UNPREDICTABLE AND OCCASIONALLY FATAL FLASHES OF ELECTRICAL CURRENT? THAT'S. SCARY. Especially when you're alone. And here, the thunder goes on forever. Every single thunder clap is like one of those really long, comical farts that goes on waaaay longer than a fart is supposed to go. Only scary and not funny. Luckily, Satchmo also thinks thunder is terrifying and he balls up against me wimpering like he has a flesh wound and that makes me feel like way less of a wimp.
So right now I'm a little scared on a Saturday night and my car is almost entirely underwater, so there is no going anywhere. That's probably okay because I've had a pretty eventful day.
1. I saw a jazz concert at the Historical Jazz Museum and participated in a Second Line.
2. I had beignets and chicory coffee at Cafe Du Monde. Which is reason enough to want to live in New Orleans FOREVER, by the way. I am reminded of that every time I pay the waitress $2 in exchange for PURE HEAVEN.
3. I visited the VooDoo Museum in the French Quarter, which was indescribably kitschy and wonderful. I will recount only the moment when I was making a monetary sacrifice to the god of snakes (I forget his name), and as if on cue, an old fat priest came out of the back room with a live albino python wrapped around his neck. (Leah's brother apparently heard this man later tell him, "I have a 39-foot one upstairs. But it hates women.")
4. Leah let me come over to make cashew-pineapple-fried quinoa and cabbage with peanut sauce. !!!. As a sidenote, cutting ginger is one of the most immediately gratifying physical activities I can imagine. It smells so good and sounds so good and tastes so good. It's really a win-win-win. We also watched "Enchanted." Actually, at that moment, I was grateful for the rain and the thunder and the flooding because it made me feel really not-guilty for cuddling up inside where it smelled like ginger and watching a movie. Which was all I wanted to do.
I feel I get full fun points for today. Now I'm lying with this wonderful cat pressed against me as if his life depends on it.
I should mention that I have quite a lot of New Years' Resolutions. Here are ten:
Ten of Sophie's New Years' Resolutions:
1. Get over my fear of fish. I secretly believe that I am already over my fear of fish. Well, I believe that SOME of the time. Rationally, I understand that my fear of fish is irrational. And I understand this in ways that I don't understand that my fear of the dark is irrational, or that my fear of zombies is irrational. So I'm going to do something symbolic like go SCUBA diving. I'm not really ALL-CAPS excited about that, it's just that SCUBA is an acronym and you're supposed to capitalize it.
2. Ride my bike to work, even when it rains. In Portland, I saw people riding around with plastic bags on their bike seats. This is doable. I don't have to drive just because it's raining a little bit. I WILL sacrifice the bike, however, if it floods. Which it is doing right now.
3. Go to all the museums in New Orleans. WOW, there are a lot of museums in New Orleans. They are all over the freaking place! And I have gone to probably about half of them. Knowing New Orleans, there are probably a lot of secret museums that I don't know about. I plan to find all of those.
4. Watch one movie per week. I know this does not seem like a very ambitious goal. But I watch a surprising amount of television on DVD, a surpringly tiny number of films. I just find it a lot easier; a much smaller commitment. With movies, you have to really sit down for two hours and you can't do much else. You can do mindless tasks, but you can't, say, browse Digg. You CAN do that while you are watching television. So it's a lesson in self-control and non-multi-tasking, really. I used to love going to the movies, too, and I want to go more often.
5. Take a class. There are a lot of classes I want to take. I am willing to settle on resolving to take only one. I would like to take a writing workshop (I know there are some good ones around town); or to take dance classes. I would love to take an art class, a cooking class, a yoga class, a language class, whatever. Just something that's not learn-to-be-a-teacher-class. I'm bored of that class. I want one that brings joy to my heart once a week.
6. Cook all the recipes in my cookbook that I've marked with a Post-It but have never tried because it's too easy just to make the ones that I already know are winners. This basically means I'm going to need to make a lot less Pad Thai. Which is okay. It's time for me to expand my horizons.
7. Perfect my stand-up comedy routine. I have been secretly working on this for about a year, and I just started trying it out at open mic nights. I want to do a show and walk away from it feeling like I OWNED it. This is difficult because I have a vagina, which usually is a hindrance to people who are trying to be comedians.
8. Finish my freaking novel. This is an annoying resolution. I hate people who write novels. They're usually annoying pricks who write novels just because they want to say that they have done it. Actually, that is basically why I am doing it, and I admit it completely. And yet, I have been poring over my "work" for two years now. I have 350 pages of mess, and all I want in the world is to tie a ribbon around it and put it to rest. Find me as annoying as you would like.
9. Go to an NBA Championship game. This will only be possible if the Hornets make the finals. So Chris Paul, if you're reading this right now, know that a lot more is hinging on you being awesome this season than you might think.
10. Never, ever, ever, ever, ever, EVER EVER EVER call anyone ever again in a fit of tears and desperation and sob into the phone like a fucking moron. Except for my mom, who will love me no matter what.
Weird, reflecting on 2008, it was a pretty superlative year. I think it was the best year of my life. That is partially offset by the fact that I think it was also the worst year of my life. And in a truly uncharacteristic turn, I think I will leave it at that.
Perhaps adding that I hope 2009 is just as exhausting, full, heartbreaking and life-changing.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
top ten albums...
Just finished my Top Ten Albums of 2008. It took me waaay too long to make this. I kind of let it make me crazy. So enjoy.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Oh, (ginger) snap!
I woke up in a start realizing that I totally forgot to put out milk and cookies for Santa! I hope he comes anyway...
Monday, December 22, 2008
I am never leaving Portland.
Look. I know I'm supposed to hate this snow. This snow is keeping people from leaving the airport, it's keeping people from going Christmas shopping, it's making it so none of my Amazon.com boxes are ever going to get here in time, it made it so my dad and I had to cart my 50+ pound suitcases half a mile uphill in the snow (and my sister is absolutely facing the same fate when her plane is scheduled to come in tomorrow). I get it.
BUT LOOK AT IT! IT'S BEAUTIFUL! I shoveled for an hour. And now I'm going to go outside and shovel some more. And I know I'm supposed to hate shoveling. But shoveling is like playing in the snow for grown-ups! You get to build SICK ESKIMO WALLS! Your dog thinks it is the funnest game EVER when snow is being tossed all around! I like shoveling, and I like snow, and I don't mind staying inside all day and reading novel after novel and listening to Best of '08 music lists and talking to Avery on the phone. Christmas break is THE BEST. I LOVE being trapped inside with my parents and my dog and my cats. The only thing I want in the world is for Allie to come home. But otherwise I'm pretty fucking happy. 100 PERCENT FUN!!!!
Sunday, December 21, 2008
76 percent fun!
I just need to tell you this one story. I mean, there is a lot to tell, honestly. There have been a lot of fun experiences had lately. On Friday night I stayed out until 2 a.m.! I am a PARTY ANIMAL. That SAME NIGHT I experienced for the first time in my entire life the wonder that is Baked Brie (also known as the greatest food man has yet invented). There were other triumphs of that night, involving lighting little plastic army men on fire and also involving Brazil, but that's not the story I want to tell you.
The story I want to tell you is ALSO not how I spent eight hours yesterday in Hannah's kitchen making and canning amazing, authentic lemon curd (from local Meyer lemons!). Lemon curd and butter cookies and mushroom tomato sauce and cauliflower curry and New Wave Dance Mix and "Harold and Maude." I know what you are thinking. You are thinking, "ALL IN ONE DAY!?" And I am here swearing on the legacy of Bud Cort that I am telling the truth. This may sound like the perfect day to you. That is because it was. But again, that's not the story I want to tell you.
I want to tell you a story (surprise!) about Avery.
Maybe I haven't told given you very much background on Avery. Here are some things about him: 1. He has
fetal alcohol syndrome. In Sped Speak, this translates to being one of those uncategorizable "OHI"s (other health impairments), because he is moderately retarded and severely physically impaired. Avery lives Uptown. Last summer, his mother died in front of him. He doesn't have a father, and he lives with his 8osomething grandmother, who broke her hip last month. Avery doesn't really have a lot, and he doesn't ask for a lot. And despite all of that, he is SUCH a good person. He loves people, he makes people laugh, he enjoys being alive. And all he wanted in the whole universe for Christmas was a cell phone.
So you know the punchline here: We got him a cell phone. We got him one of those WalMart ones with 500 minutes to put on it. All in all, it cost the three of us (me, Kristen, and Jayda) like $60. And SERIOUSLY YOU GUYS: No kid has EVER been happier in his LIFE, EVER, to receive ANYTHING. Avery started freaking out and spazzing around the room and shouting, and he peed all over himself because he was so happy. I can't put this into words. I should have committed it to film but I didn't have the foresight. Imagine the absolute best Christmas movie you've ever seen ever about a kid finally getting the present he has always dreamed of, and then magnify that climactic scene by a googleplex.
I kept thinking about how when I was a kid I never really cared all that much about my Christmas presents. I remember one year I got this really expensive keyboard (which I still have), but all I wanted was a Polaroid camera, so I just kind of sulked for most of the holiday. I don't think I even said thank you. I mean, that's typical of a kid like me, really. I don't feel all that bad about it. But you know, Avery has called me twelve times in the last two days. Just to say, "Hey Ms. Johnson, how you doin'?" "Hey Ms. Johnson, I'm just chillin' right now!" "Hey Ms. Johnson I'm watching Court TV are you watching Court TV?" Next year I'm gonna get that kid an iPhone.
The story I want to tell you is ALSO not how I spent eight hours yesterday in Hannah's kitchen making and canning amazing, authentic lemon curd (from local Meyer lemons!). Lemon curd and butter cookies and mushroom tomato sauce and cauliflower curry and New Wave Dance Mix and "Harold and Maude." I know what you are thinking. You are thinking, "ALL IN ONE DAY!?" And I am here swearing on the legacy of Bud Cort that I am telling the truth. This may sound like the perfect day to you. That is because it was. But again, that's not the story I want to tell you.
I want to tell you a story (surprise!) about Avery.
Maybe I haven't told given you very much background on Avery. Here are some things about him: 1. He has
fetal alcohol syndrome. In Sped Speak, this translates to being one of those uncategorizable "OHI"s (other health impairments), because he is moderately retarded and severely physically impaired. Avery lives Uptown. Last summer, his mother died in front of him. He doesn't have a father, and he lives with his 8osomething grandmother, who broke her hip last month. Avery doesn't really have a lot, and he doesn't ask for a lot. And despite all of that, he is SUCH a good person. He loves people, he makes people laugh, he enjoys being alive. And all he wanted in the whole universe for Christmas was a cell phone.So you know the punchline here: We got him a cell phone. We got him one of those WalMart ones with 500 minutes to put on it. All in all, it cost the three of us (me, Kristen, and Jayda) like $60. And SERIOUSLY YOU GUYS: No kid has EVER been happier in his LIFE, EVER, to receive ANYTHING. Avery started freaking out and spazzing around the room and shouting, and he peed all over himself because he was so happy. I can't put this into words. I should have committed it to film but I didn't have the foresight. Imagine the absolute best Christmas movie you've ever seen ever about a kid finally getting the present he has always dreamed of, and then magnify that climactic scene by a googleplex.
I kept thinking about how when I was a kid I never really cared all that much about my Christmas presents. I remember one year I got this really expensive keyboard (which I still have), but all I wanted was a Polaroid camera, so I just kind of sulked for most of the holiday. I don't think I even said thank you. I mean, that's typical of a kid like me, really. I don't feel all that bad about it. But you know, Avery has called me twelve times in the last two days. Just to say, "Hey Ms. Johnson, how you doin'?" "Hey Ms. Johnson, I'm just chillin' right now!" "Hey Ms. Johnson I'm watching Court TV are you watching Court TV?" Next year I'm gonna get that kid an iPhone.
Friday, December 19, 2008
75 percent fun!
Wow. So. Most successful Christmas party of all time. I mean, honestly, it was the perfect party. And now I feel completely prepared to tell you what you need to do to throw the perfect party, in ten easy steps:
- The perfect number of guests to invite is 9. This is particularly perfect if you have exactly 9 chairs on hand. This is the perfect sized group to allow for little break-offs and to accommodate all-group conversations at the same time.
- Martha Stewart has the best cut-out cookie recipe. I should have known that. Martha Stewart probably IS a cut-out cookie.
- White elephant gift exchanges are awesome.
- When making the invite list to your white elephant gift party, be sure to invite at least two artists who will take the "white elephant" thing literally and will bring a present that in some way actually incorporates a white elephant. Perhaps by transforming a pudding Snak Pak into an elephant by coiling wire around it. (You'd probably have to see this to understand what I mean.)
- Catchphrase is awesome.
- You don't put vodka in eggnog (or soynog). You put brandy or rum or whiskey. Makes all the difference in the world.
- As "good" as your homemade apple cider was at your Halloween party, the expensive apple cider they sell at Whole Foods is better. Like, way better. And you can definitely put a cinnamon stick in there and say you made it yourself.
- If you put chips and salsa out for your party because you think it's possible your guests will want to eat something besides cookies and frosting, know that the artists you invite to the party (see number 4) will use the chips to decorate their cookies. And this will be awesome.
- Putting a Star of David on your Christmas tree cookie is funny and ironic and also pretty inclusive.
- "All I Want for Christmas Is You" should be played often and loudly and preferably on repeat at any party you throw during any season regardless of theme or religious affiliation.
On Tuesday we took the kids on a field trip to the Contemporary Art Center (which is an unbelievably cool place in general, and has some of the best Prospect.1 exhibits in the whole city [I was especially in love with the Bob Marley video piece, and I notoriously HATE Bob Marley, so that's saying something]). The trip was horrible because of this one woman who was so incredibly rude and condescending to my wonderful students and actually quit her job in the middle of leading them in a workshop. She called them idiots and told one pregnant girl that she shouldn't have gotten pregnant in high school... I don't know. I can't communicate in words how hurtful she was. She broke Derren. Derren is this wonderful, 450-pound boy who I work really closely with. No matter what you do to him, or say to him, or try with him, he is always chatty and loud and playful, bouncing back from whatever comes his way. But after meeting this woman, he shut down for the rest of the day and refused to talk to anyone or do anything.
But the whole experience helped me realize how much I love these kids. I mean, I haven't cried in about three weeks, but seeing the kids beaten down like that, I had to step away and cry for a little while. I couldn't stand seeing the people I love more than anyone in the world hurt like that. After it was all over, I took my group aside and told them I was so impressed with them and proud of them, and that they were the reason I woke up every morning. As soon as I said that, I realized how true it was.
And then on Wednesday we dissected fetal pigs. FTW.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
A quick happy story
I met Chlora May at the post office a few weeks ago, and I gave her a ride back to her nursing home. I loved hearing her stories about her life and her children and the way New Orleans has changed over time, and at the end of the ride we exchanged phone numbers. At first, Chlora May called a lot and I visited her once a week. But then after Thanksgiving, the phone calls abruptly stopped, and I assumed the worst. But yesterday I called just for some kind of closure and found that she was not only alive and well, she had fallen in love. She apologized for not calling me in a while, but she said she was too busy going on hot dates with William!
I thought I should share that, as corny and cliche as it is. It kind of made my heart swell.
I thought I should share that, as corny and cliche as it is. It kind of made my heart swell.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
72 percent fun!
It was a really, really good weekend. When I woke up at 6 a.m. on Saturday morning, I had my doubts. I thought to myself, "I get myself up at the crack of dawn every single day. What the hell was I thinking volunteering to take eight kids into the wilderness where we inevitably won't sleep and we'll have to cook meat over a fire?" I was clearly grumpy, so I ate a Pop Tart. Then I felt better.But I felt even BETTER when we loaded the kids into the car and headed out for Mississippi cranking Lil Wayne like it was our job and identifying all the many brown pelicans along the swamp. Two hours later I started to realize that the students at Rabouin High School -- even a sample size like this one -- are far and away the most energizing and entertaining people I have ever met in my life. While we sat around making Pudgie Pies (these are basically glorified grilled cheese sandwiches, and they are also AWESOME) the students asked with genuine intrigue if it was true that I was really a "veterinarian" (vegetarian). Yes, I was. What did I eat? Vegetables,
bread, things like that. Did I eat fish? No. Didn't veterinarians eat fish? No. How was I still alive? I wasn't sure, but I usually didn't question it. Didn't I wonder what turkey tasted like on Thanksgiving? No, I had a Tofurkey. It was lucky I had brought some Tofurkey with me. All the kids decided they wanted to try "just a tiny bit." Only one boy liked it. Everyone else said it was disgusting (with complaints ranging from it tasting like baby food to it being made from mashed up lima beans).We also went "birding," but that became a problematic endeavor once I saw a tufted titmouse and "titmouse" proved to be too hilarious a word not to dwell on for approximately an hour. And we DID make meat in tinfoil, and it was AWESOME. I wish I could have video taped the whole weekend; I don't think I've ever laughed so hard. Definitely not while camping.
But in some ways it was hard. December 13 this year marks one of those personal anniversaries for me, and I didn't want to be alone. The wilderness is a place where it's difficult to not be alone, even when you're with exuberant teenagers. Probably good, though. I did get to see a really old cemetery, and you all know how deeply thrilled I become over really old cemeteries.There is one week of school left before I trek back to Portland. The traveling is growing a bit exhausting. But I'm getting that kind of excited feeling in my chest about Christmas. Who in their right mind doesn't love Christmas? Well, I guess a lot of people whose religions don't adhere to it. But the smell of it, and the sweaters, and the things you get to eat, and the music, and the red-and-green jigsaw puzzles. Apparently there is even snow in Portland right now. It's difficult to have an aversion to that stuff, I think. Maybe I'm wrong and I've just been spoiled with really wonderful parents who make Christmas this fabulous, familial time. And if that's the case, you can just come over to my house for Christmas this year. Because chances are, I miss you.
Friday, December 12, 2008
69 percent fun!
Okay, WHY do I not give myself food points!? I went to this guy Phillipe's house for dinner tonight and he's a chef at Houston's and he made these extraordinary zucchini fritters and cauliflower puree and I thought, "Heaven is currently in my mouth."Isn't this an extraordinary picture of Avery? I love that he finds joy in everything about being alive. This is basically his expression all the time. Except when he is making his "sexy face."
Speaking of "sexy face," my cat is being the best boyfriend EVER right now. He's making all these sexy breathy little gurgles and purring and resting his head on my shoulder. WIN.
What I have NOT been doing a good job of lately is exploring the city. This is partially because it gets dark so early, but partially because I've been lazy and I haven't been prioritizing having fun. Luckily, I HAVE been prioritizing staying sane and quitting smoking and eating well and teaching. Which are probably more important than having fun. Maybe.
But tomorrow I'm taking my students camping. Yep. I'm loading them into my car, along with sleeping bags and pillows and fleece blankets, and we're driving to Baton Rouge at 7 in the freaking morning. And for this I am giving myself one point in advance. Because that's pretty fun. And if we see an endangered species, it's going to be THROUGH THE FUCKING ROOF.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
68 percent fun..
I've spent a lot of time very involved with being a teacher lately. And that's good. Publishing adorable quotes from students seems kind of cliche and unnecessary, but that's just what I'm about to do.
Derren: Ms. Johnson, it's true that when you drink wine coolers and eat a lot of cabbage when you're pregnant then your baby gonna have pretty skin?
Sophie: Vince, do you know what a pelvis is?
Vince: Yeah, he's that dude from Memphis right? From, like, the '40s or some shit?
Derren: I want to be a nurse when I grow up. You know, 'cause I want to do something where I be helpin' people. (pause.) And you know, there ain't no men up in that job, ya heard me? So I get bookoo ladies.
It snowed in New Orleans today. People acted like it was both the apocalypse and also the most awesome thing that had ever happened. I wished we could let the kids run around in it like they wanted to, but we kept them inside and by the end of the day it was all gone. Such is the inevitable nature of snow in the deep south.
Also, Ben is coming to visit. Thank GOD.
On Tuesday I drove to Baton Rouge to visit John and June, who Alex and I stayed with during Hurricane Gustav. As the story goes, the storm hit much harder there than it did in New Orleans and we stayed around for like four days, trapped by fallen water oaks and smashed power lines. It was amazing to see the neighborhood cleaned up, and the house with all the lights on, and the tiny dogs who wore diapers. We ate peanut butter-pear salad and pasta with roasted pepper sauce and blackberry cobbler, and I wanted to give myself 50 food points, but then I realized I don't give myself food points (partially because I'm not in Weight Watchers). Anyway, Baton Rouge is automatically fun. Spontaneous hour-and-a-half nighttime solo road trips are bonus points.
Things are quiet; fine. I am continuing to get pretty hilarious Craigslist responses. Marianne is wearing bundle clothing (you know -- zillions of sweaters and wool scarves and skiing hats and shit like that). I am reading a great deal so I can buy people up-to-date novels for their Christmas presents. My cat is sleeping on my feet. Awesome.
Derren: Ms. Johnson, it's true that when you drink wine coolers and eat a lot of cabbage when you're pregnant then your baby gonna have pretty skin?
Sophie: Vince, do you know what a pelvis is?
Vince: Yeah, he's that dude from Memphis right? From, like, the '40s or some shit?
Derren: I want to be a nurse when I grow up. You know, 'cause I want to do something where I be helpin' people. (pause.) And you know, there ain't no men up in that job, ya heard me? So I get bookoo ladies.
It snowed in New Orleans today. People acted like it was both the apocalypse and also the most awesome thing that had ever happened. I wished we could let the kids run around in it like they wanted to, but we kept them inside and by the end of the day it was all gone. Such is the inevitable nature of snow in the deep south.
Also, Ben is coming to visit. Thank GOD.
On Tuesday I drove to Baton Rouge to visit John and June, who Alex and I stayed with during Hurricane Gustav. As the story goes, the storm hit much harder there than it did in New Orleans and we stayed around for like four days, trapped by fallen water oaks and smashed power lines. It was amazing to see the neighborhood cleaned up, and the house with all the lights on, and the tiny dogs who wore diapers. We ate peanut butter-pear salad and pasta with roasted pepper sauce and blackberry cobbler, and I wanted to give myself 50 food points, but then I realized I don't give myself food points (partially because I'm not in Weight Watchers). Anyway, Baton Rouge is automatically fun. Spontaneous hour-and-a-half nighttime solo road trips are bonus points.
Things are quiet; fine. I am continuing to get pretty hilarious Craigslist responses. Marianne is wearing bundle clothing (you know -- zillions of sweaters and wool scarves and skiing hats and shit like that). I am reading a great deal so I can buy people up-to-date novels for their Christmas presents. My cat is sleeping on my feet. Awesome.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
68 percent fun!
It was a really good weekend. If you're wondering if I bought you a Christmas present, my answer is this: YES. YES I DID. I have never had such a euphorically successful shopping day. I recognize how completely and totally girly that sounds. But cut me some slack, I spend a lot of my time liking Star Wars and the NBA and the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, so I think I'm allowed one stereotypically girly blog statement.
It was a beautiful day here, and my mom and I talked on the phone while simultaneously watching cat videos together over the internet for an entire hour. That's when I realized my mom was the perfect long distance boyfriend. Too bad we're related. And in that case, too bad I live in Louisiana and not Tennessee.
Last night I played Hoopla with Jayda, Drew, Kristen, and Jayda's cool friend whose name I can't spell but phonetically starts with a T. Did you know how AWESOME Hoopla was? ME. NEITHER. I am totally buying that for everyone who I didn't find New Orleans-themed Christmas presents for today. I think that game could actually stop most violent crime and several wars. I am now envisioning Al Quaida members playing Hooplah with George W. Bush. AND IT'S AWESOME.
Things are generally fun right now. There are just two short weeks of school until Christmas, and I realized (as I continually COULD NOT STOP TALKING ABOUT THEM ALL WEEKEND) that I'm totally crazy about my students. We had some really rough spots last week (total crying-over-events-that-happened-at-school tally: 4), but such I suppose that's just part of it. As you can see by the fun-o-meter, I'm feeling pretty fun. I have been staying out LATE and chillin' with people WAY more than normal. I have only made about fourteen emo statements TOTAL in the last week and a half. And that's kind of whoa-y because over Thanksgiving break I was essentially speaking Emo as if it was a language.
Lots of fun planned for next week. Stay tuned. I'll teach you how to make lemon curd (!) and a cool lampshade out of string (actually you can just click on that link to see how to do that. I read about that in the latest issue of ReadyMade. But I made one and that is a SICK CRAFT. Sick as in good. Not the bad kind of sick.)
It was a beautiful day here, and my mom and I talked on the phone while simultaneously watching cat videos together over the internet for an entire hour. That's when I realized my mom was the perfect long distance boyfriend. Too bad we're related. And in that case, too bad I live in Louisiana and not Tennessee.
Last night I played Hoopla with Jayda, Drew, Kristen, and Jayda's cool friend whose name I can't spell but phonetically starts with a T. Did you know how AWESOME Hoopla was? ME. NEITHER. I am totally buying that for everyone who I didn't find New Orleans-themed Christmas presents for today. I think that game could actually stop most violent crime and several wars. I am now envisioning Al Quaida members playing Hooplah with George W. Bush. AND IT'S AWESOME.
Things are generally fun right now. There are just two short weeks of school until Christmas, and I realized (as I continually COULD NOT STOP TALKING ABOUT THEM ALL WEEKEND) that I'm totally crazy about my students. We had some really rough spots last week (total crying-over-events-that-happened-at-school tally: 4), but such I suppose that's just part of it. As you can see by the fun-o-meter, I'm feeling pretty fun. I have been staying out LATE and chillin' with people WAY more than normal. I have only made about fourteen emo statements TOTAL in the last week and a half. And that's kind of whoa-y because over Thanksgiving break I was essentially speaking Emo as if it was a language.
Lots of fun planned for next week. Stay tuned. I'll teach you how to make lemon curd (!) and a cool lampshade out of string (actually you can just click on that link to see how to do that. I read about that in the latest issue of ReadyMade. But I made one and that is a SICK CRAFT. Sick as in good. Not the bad kind of sick.)
Friday, December 5, 2008
something real.
I felt really, really, genuinely happy tonight watching French films and drinking champagne with Karaline, Hannah and Leah. Easy, normal, college happy. Not excited happy or think-of-the-prospects happy. But happy. And safe. And it's been a long time since I've felt like that.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
assorted fun
I was not sure if I was going to be able to go to an NBA game for a while. This was a sad feeling, because nobody loves the NBA like me. Well, of course, some people do. These are the other people who (like me) have season tickets to their hometown games, who (like me) subscribe to "Slam" Magazine and who (like me) dream about three-ways with Brandon Roy and Chris Paul. Actually, I think it's just me and Chris Tognotti. Anyway, I was not sure if I was going to be able to embrace the NBA this season because it is just a little too attached to the past, and I am in a "moving forward" kind of place right now. This was all too bad because I DO have season tickets to the Hornets, and they're a pretty good team this season (PRETTY good. Not as good as I had hoped.)But I went last night to the Suns game with Caitlin and Avery (Penn friends!) after having dinner and lots and lots and lots of beer at their house (we walked the 2 miles to the Superdome down Bourbon Street, which is always an experience). And the game was awesome and I obviously can't give up the NBA. At long last, that's been decided for sure. Oh, what a game. Sad to miss Nash and Shaq, though. But on the other hand, without them, the Hornets obviously slaughtered.
We met up with 5+ others at the game and as we were leaving Avery started to sing the national anthem. It wasn't long before everyone was singing it, very loudly, very happily, to the amusement of the throngs of people leaving. That was COOL. I guess you had to be there.
See the picture up there? It came in a three-part letter from a boy I've never met who I sent an initial letter to earlier this month. What I love the most about it is this image -- birds on the wire, my favorite aesthetic in all of the universe. Now, this boy could not have possibly known this fact about me, but he included this sketch anyway. The world really does come together in nice ways.
Portland was good. Good not great, but it will be great next time. Mostly the "not great" part of it was that I got really, terribly, pneumoniaey sick on Wednesday night. Blame Ariana. But we got to cuddle and chill and watch ABC Family Christmas movies in wool socks and eat grand platters of slumber party foods for hours and hours and hours, and she can sleep with the television on, so she was a really good significant other to have for the week. We also embarked in lots of girly retail therapy and "Sex In The City"-y desserts and hour-long boy-related discussions. So that was all very plussy. And seeing Alex was very plussy, and seeing Alex's family as well (although I spent no more than 10 minutes with them and I wish it had been more). And of course MY family, who put up with me and put up with me and put up with me, even when I made putting up with me quite impossible.
Easing back into school. I had a bit of a backslide there, but I can feel myself approaching a certain point. It's like the point in a swimming race where you are crouched on the little diving board staring down at the water and you know the whistle is going to blow soon and you have this moment of experiencing how wet and sandpapery the diving block feels on your feet, and you poise yourself and decide you definitely, definitely want to be in the water.
Monday, December 1, 2008
cab
The most powerful Katrina stories I have heard have been from cab drivers.
Two precursors to this thought: 1. My students probably have very good Katrina stories. Most of them spent a very long time in Texas because of the storm. But it's one of those subjects that comes up on its own, and generally, my students don't let it come up. There have been times when I have asked, of course. Once a student told me about how he watched someone get raped in front of him at the Superdome. But see, it's too painful, even for me, and we change the subject; talk about math instead, or Biology, or Final Fantasy, and pretend like Katrina was a long time ago, and that everything is safe and okay now. For some, that's what school is for. So that's the first thing. And 2. I am very, very good with cab drivers. I would say that my way with cab drivers is among my greatest talents in life. Almost without fail, I can get a cab ride for half the asking price by being personable. Keys to this trick: Be female, be wearing something kind of tight and/or skanky, and be sitting in the front seat. Sometimes I can even get the ride for free if I'm lucky, but I always pay anyway. I am genuinely fascinated by cab driving.
I mean, it has to be a pretty amazing profession. First, you have to be a map. I don't like riding in cabs with GPS systems. What's the fun in that? Part of being a cab driver is that you're supposed to be able to hear "Mount Avenue on the South Side" and know exactly where that is. I like maps, so the idea of being a human map is very attractive to me. Second, I hear people have sex in the backs of cabs, so that would be interesting if you were a cab driver. Third, I imagine you meet a lot of terribly interesting people, see a lot of terribly interesting road blocks, and witness a lot of little punctuations in your usual scenery every day because you spend all your time staring at it. From the bottom of my heart, I love to talk to cab drivers.
In New Orleans, the conversation in the cab always starts about the weather. "Isn't it cold?" "Isn't it warm?" "It's been raining an awful lot, hasn't it?" This segues kind of naturally into the subject of hurricanes.
I'm amazed by this, but ten out of ten of the last cab drivers I've had in New Orleans came back after Katrina. I don't know if I would be able to come back. But people here regularly impress me with their strength. They wear it like a beard you know you can't grow: "Yeah, whatever, I'm emotionally strong and weathered, what're you going to do about it?"
Once a man told me about how he plucked his indignant mother off her lower 9th ward property days before the storm, but how her best friend stayed and drowned and they saw her on the front page of the Texas paper, facedown in the deluge. "That was the week I learned how to text message. Because sometimes your phone wouldn't work but you could somehow text message. All I wanted to do was text message."
And the driver who came back and didn't have electricity for a month but he and his wife started to write short plays for each other to perform and they'd stand behind the kitchen table and pretend they were the television.
And yesterday, coming home from Thanksgiving break in Oregon, the man who came from India, who had family in Mumbai. And I said, "That must be awful, you must have been terrified last week, is everything okay," and he said, "It was nothing next to Katrina. My daughter still cannot drive through a puddle."
Two precursors to this thought: 1. My students probably have very good Katrina stories. Most of them spent a very long time in Texas because of the storm. But it's one of those subjects that comes up on its own, and generally, my students don't let it come up. There have been times when I have asked, of course. Once a student told me about how he watched someone get raped in front of him at the Superdome. But see, it's too painful, even for me, and we change the subject; talk about math instead, or Biology, or Final Fantasy, and pretend like Katrina was a long time ago, and that everything is safe and okay now. For some, that's what school is for. So that's the first thing. And 2. I am very, very good with cab drivers. I would say that my way with cab drivers is among my greatest talents in life. Almost without fail, I can get a cab ride for half the asking price by being personable. Keys to this trick: Be female, be wearing something kind of tight and/or skanky, and be sitting in the front seat. Sometimes I can even get the ride for free if I'm lucky, but I always pay anyway. I am genuinely fascinated by cab driving.
I mean, it has to be a pretty amazing profession. First, you have to be a map. I don't like riding in cabs with GPS systems. What's the fun in that? Part of being a cab driver is that you're supposed to be able to hear "Mount Avenue on the South Side" and know exactly where that is. I like maps, so the idea of being a human map is very attractive to me. Second, I hear people have sex in the backs of cabs, so that would be interesting if you were a cab driver. Third, I imagine you meet a lot of terribly interesting people, see a lot of terribly interesting road blocks, and witness a lot of little punctuations in your usual scenery every day because you spend all your time staring at it. From the bottom of my heart, I love to talk to cab drivers.
In New Orleans, the conversation in the cab always starts about the weather. "Isn't it cold?" "Isn't it warm?" "It's been raining an awful lot, hasn't it?" This segues kind of naturally into the subject of hurricanes.
I'm amazed by this, but ten out of ten of the last cab drivers I've had in New Orleans came back after Katrina. I don't know if I would be able to come back. But people here regularly impress me with their strength. They wear it like a beard you know you can't grow: "Yeah, whatever, I'm emotionally strong and weathered, what're you going to do about it?"
Once a man told me about how he plucked his indignant mother off her lower 9th ward property days before the storm, but how her best friend stayed and drowned and they saw her on the front page of the Texas paper, facedown in the deluge. "That was the week I learned how to text message. Because sometimes your phone wouldn't work but you could somehow text message. All I wanted to do was text message."
And the driver who came back and didn't have electricity for a month but he and his wife started to write short plays for each other to perform and they'd stand behind the kitchen table and pretend they were the television.
And yesterday, coming home from Thanksgiving break in Oregon, the man who came from India, who had family in Mumbai. And I said, "That must be awful, you must have been terrified last week, is everything okay," and he said, "It was nothing next to Katrina. My daughter still cannot drive through a puddle."
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
