Statements

I'm clutzy

Yes, you knew that already. I am a typical INTJ in my low body awareness. Today alone I have:

1) Injured my hand on the weight machine.
2) Dropped a pan of lasagna in the bottom of my stove (I then scraped the lasagna up and ate it).
3) Dropped the lid to my deodorant in the toilet.

Tiberius is . . . AMAZING

Tibers is a well-behaved kitten -- I don't think I will even have to declaw him. Now that all the nastiness from being at the cattery is clearing up, he's also quite handsome and playful. I realized that I've inadvertently named both of my cats after Roman emperors. Tiberius Caesar, naturally, and Julio's name is derived from Julius. Now I just need Augustus, Nero, and Caligula ("Little Boots" -- isn't that a perfect name for a cat?!!). A dynasty of cats. I think most of the American presidential candidates are dog-like. I can see McCain peeing on a fire hydrant. And Giuliani...well, never mind. Hillary is maybe a really evil Siamese.

People are confusing

Who buys Vera Bradley bags? Evidently the sorority girls here do. Why would anyone join a sorority? Why would you pay money for what looks like something your blind grandmother cobbled together from bedroom curtain material she bought in 1991?

I am currently obsessed with the Myers-Briggs Personality Test

You should all take it on Facebook (My Personality). I think it's accurate. I've always been an INTJ -- or the scientist/mastermind/arrogant bastard personality type. My brother is too. Mother is also an NT, or a rational. Finding traditional pursuits dull, we used to sit in a circle and bend spoons with the force of our wills. I think I don't get along with Guardians, so if you're a Guardian, sorry, our friendship will have to end.

Odds and Ends

Driving

You must think driving's a big part of my life and, well, it is. I spend approximately 1/24 of my day in the car. This could be reduced to 1/48 and made much more pleasant for me if there were more zippy drivers on the road. I don't consider myself an aggressive driver. Well, verbally maybe. But that doesn't count. Boston and Chicago frighten me. Everyone here, though, drives like they're in their 80s, even if they're not. When they come up to a turn lane, they begin slowing down half a mile before they need to stop. When they get to the turn lane, they proceed to stop 20 feet behind the car in front of them and gradually inch forward to 10 feet, where they stop. Does everyone in Cape have a depth perception problem??

And you know what this is?? It's not being laid back. It's being SELFISH. It is EGOCENTRIC to take up 30 feet of a turn lane when there are 20 cars behind you trying to crowd in and stopping traffic in the straight lanes. I am morally ambivalent about a lot of things, but there is a RIGHT and a WRONG way to drive, and driving BELOW THE SPEED LIMIT, TAKING A LONG TIME TO TURN, and most especially TAKING UP A LOT OF ROOM IN A TURN LANE are IMMORAL. I am starting my own organization: Michaela Against Dumb Driving.

Christmas

And something else. CHRISTMAS. I used to like Christmas when I was a child. It was a greatly-anticipated season in Puerto Rico because it heralded the arrival of cooler weather. But what sort of internal dialog prompts us celebrate the winter solstice up here?

"Hooray! Our autumn crops are rotting!"

"Look! We humans are too asinine to hibernate! Ha ha ha ha ha."

"Let's make our winter energy bills HIGHER with millions of unnecessary lights. We might inadvertently melt the ice under Santa's workshop while we're at it."

"Everyone's upset because there are only 8 hours of sunlight. Let's all go shopping AT ONCE to increase our debts and spread disease."

"I'm not getting much exercise this month. Maybe I should triple my empty calorie intake and wear shiny clothes."

Don't worry. I'm still giving presents. Just no blow-up plastic biker Santas, no matter where they are on your list.

Tiberius

I've got a new kitty named Tiberius. I think he's going to be long and lean and slinky. Julio's still the family beauty, and he knows it. But the boys are getting along better today; Julio's ceased his histrionics. Tiberius has decided he likes Julio's food, and Julio likes Tiber's. This will have the unfortunate effect of making Julio fatter and Tibers skinnier. So I've made a box with a hole in it that only Tibers can fit through and put his food bowl in it. He refuses to go inside when the lid is closed. Julio keeps getting his head stuck in the opening. Oh well, if they weren't contrary, I might suspect they were dogs.

It's Me Again, or, a Lament for the City

Hello again, blogosphere. I know; you nearly gave me up for dead. You think I've been lured away by Facebook, and that's partly true. But life is just different for a working woman.

Suddenly, I can't say whatever leaps to mind about work, which is where I spend eight or more hours of my day. I have to be *gasp* discrete. If you know me, you will find that impossibly funny.

I'm enjoying certain things about Missouri. Like renting my own house where no one can bother me unless I want them to. I can close the shades and belt out Gilbert and Sullivan stark naked...as a purely hypothetical example. I'm in a serious relationship with a meltingly handsome, if slightly overweight, gentleman with a soft gray coat and long white whiskers. He doesn't like traveling much, but we share the same principles of domestic happiness.

Other things are more difficult. You would think that one part of the Midwest is much like another, and that I should adapt from Michigan to Missouri with relative ease. I thought I was immune to culture shock. I grew up in Puerto Rico. I summered in the northern wilderness. And then there was my college experience. Still, I've never lived two hours away from the Gap. In Puerto Rico, I may have mothered a flock of geese, worn a loin cloth, and subsisted on bananas, but San Juan was only an hour away. This summer, I was in a community with a bunch of other city people. And that's the shocker -- not the lack of the Gap, but the lack of an urban mindset.

I am repulsed by the mindless, mediocre traditionalism that dominates rural areas. I have affinity to both progressive liberals and ultra-conservatives. With anyone who is strange, basically, I can find some common ground. You want to legalize drugs? Great! You think daycare is not that far from Dachau? Me too! But people who have not rethought their political positions since the Kennedy administration? People who view the Christian Church in much the same way they view the Elks Lodge? We're going to have a hard time being buddies.

But I will stop griping now and go play Mozart. Because I have a piano now. And I play it at whatever hour I want. And I can burn incense and eat lentils and generally feel cosmopolitan and multicultural in my own house. And tomorrow I will get up and go to work and smile politely when someone says they need to find evidence to disprove global warming. Because that, at least, I've heard before.

Coincidence? You Decide.

The Slate article I posted on Facebook earlier today, about Barack Obama's patriotism, got me thinking about the pledge of allegiance. Which got me thinking about AWANA. Because I never had to say the pledge of allegiance anywhere else (except for about two days when I was seven and my mom got this deranged notion that we should salute a little flag before we started studying. We immediately sensed how silly this, like any traditional school ritual, looked in underwear. If you ever suspect something might be empty posturing, try doing it in your underwear. C.S. Lewis held up fine).

It has long struck me that AWANA shares certain uncanny similarities with communist youth movements. Compare this picture of the Young Pioneers with this picture of the uniform for elementary-age boys in AWANA. Red neckerchief? Check. Bland button-up shirt? Check. Actually, the Y.P.'s almost look elegant in comparison. For a really high-achieving AWANA-er with lots of medals and patches, we're almost talking Mussolinian levels of ridiculousness. The kicker? The 5 - 6 grade AWANA boys club is CALLED PIONEERS, TOO!!! It's like looking at the dollar bill and realizing -- OH MY GOSH! OUR COUNTRY WAS FOUNDED BY FREE MASONS WHO WERE DESCENDANTS OF THE NEPHALIM.

Now, I must say there were some fun things about AWANA. Like performing the pants off all the kids who went to school, and hence did not have several hours a day to memorize Bible verses. In addition to awards, we'd get "AWANA bucks" to spend on cheap Chinese toys. A lot of good all those Bible verses did me, you're thinking. Well, actually, you've got a point. I'm not sure competitive, rote memorization is the best way to inculcate religion. In addition to Bible verses -- and really, who can be against Bible verses? -- we had to memorize various AWANA-specific pledges and creeds. The only one I still remember is "I pledge allegiance to the AWANA flag, which stands for the AWANA clubs..." and this also disturbs me

One aspect I did NOT find particularly fun was "game time," meant to be the "bait" into the program, and also meant to inspire "good sportsmanship." I oppose all organized games. I think children develop important diplomatic, managerial, and creative skills by making up their own games, without adult intrusion. Little League baseball is cruel and my mother loved me too much to do that to me. Also we were hiding from the school system.

Join us against next time for...deconstructing your evangelical heritage.

Pictures of New House

My new piano -- the lighting was bright, but my camera doesn't seem to want to take good pictures except in daylight anymore.

My tiny house...



Another picture of the house

First Month

First purchase with first paycheck: Wurlitzer piano coming Monday.

Julio's calmed down, and continues to enjoy a small, soft world. My neighbor saw him for the first time today and told him "you MUST give me your diet."


I've been cooking, with mixed results. My first pizza was beautiful, but I think the spinach gave me samonella.


First things first -- excursion to Crown Valley winery.



Being head of household entails some unpleasant duties, like weed eating (or, more accurately, making uneven swaths of brown in the grass). Next time perhaps I'll wear long pants and forgo the grass leggings look (it was dark by the time I took a picture, so it's not really showing up). My sun glasses/safety glasses were also not working given the time of day.


Pictures of the house coming someday.

Trabajar y Jugar

It has been a long week -- my classes started all at once, and I've been teaching at least one a day. Yesterday I was on the reference desk at both 8:00 in the morning and 9:00 at night. I'm trying very hard to understand the distinction between tenured and non-tenured faculty, comp time vs. vacation time, and option A health insurance vs. option B. My main problem is convincing myself that it is important. My mental filters convert it into "blah, blah, blah, bzz, bzz, bzz." I also still find myself waiting for a grade. There are definite advantages to remembering very clearly what it was like to be a student, though. I don't have to feign sympathy with my clientèle.

But tomorrow is Friday, and all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. Last weekend I went to some of the area wineries. There are about a dozen within an hour's drive, and some of them, like Crown Valley, are quite large. I like the smaller ones better because they are more hidden from the St. Louis vulgus, and one actually gets to taste and discuss the entire spectrum of wines in relative calm. Even Crown Valley had its benefits, though -- like the enormously long wine list and seven tokens for seven glasses. The roads were windy, and it was a very good thing I wasn't driving myself home (thanks, mom). Oh -- and the Ozarks are very pretty -- I think -- although that may be the wine talking.

In other words, YOU PEOPLE NOT JUST BRIANNA NEED TO COME VISIT ME SO WE CAN GET RIP-ROARING DRUNK ON WINE EXCEPT FOR ME OF COURSE BECAUSE I WILL DRIVE.

Happy Birthday Sarah!

Sarah intimidated me the first time I met her. We had been corresponding over email before college began, but when I met her she seemed so self-assured among the huddle of frightened rabbits. Nevertheless, she was the first person I knew at THC, and I was happy when we got the same kitchen shift. I soon learned that Sarah had a dry wit and mischievous sense of fun, which put me at ease. I also respected and understood her diligence and dedication to goals.


It would have been easy for us to drift apart sophomore year -- I began pursuing classical liberal arts and she government -- but Sarah is not one to let friendships go. She invited me to her house in PA sophomore year, and often gave patient ear to my moanings and groanings.

Junior year the stress in my life increased to nearly fatal levels, but I was lucky enough to have Sarah as an RA. Although we had a probable nymphomaniac in our wing, she maintained a quiet refuge of tea, chocolate, and deep philosophical conversations without being overbearing or moralistic. Ann and I would stop by her room on the way up to every meal, and we often startled others in the dining hall because of our peals of hysterical laughter.

The next year we all moved off campus. Sarah lived half an hour away from Ann and me, but we often braved the dirt road to go out to see her. To my great surprise, she once brought contraband booze to our house -- I think it was for my birthday -- which made us feel less guilty about the bottles of wine under our own beds. Although we only had a beer apiece, we shared the delicious rebellion of a Prohibition speakeasy.

Our last semester, Sarah moved to D.C. with Allis and Leeann. We drove out to see them every weekend we could. Very gracious people often make me feel nervous and indebted, but the Alexandria girls were so obviously happy to be with us that I never felt uncomfortable at their house.

Sarah still intimidates me sometimes -- as she expertly navigates the beltway in rush-hour while talking into her headset about things I don't even understand (and would be killed if I did). Someday, one of her lackeys may come knocking at my library door and demand my circulation records (which they won't get). But the fun Sarah complements the frighteningly-competent Sarah so that her friends both fear AND love her -- a Machiavellian anomaly.

Addendum: On the Parade

I was talking to one of the technical services ladies as I left work today. Evidently, they choose to have the parade on the main thoroughfare because "they've always done it that way."

This is incomprehensible to me.

I've heard there are three main kinds of cultures in the United States: traditional (south), moralistic (north-east), and individualistic (west).

Believe it or not, I CAN get on my moral high horse about some things . . . can't think of any examples right now, but it happens. Oh! Right. Medical marijuana. Don't think human suffering is nice, so am outraged by laws against. But I mainly relate to the individualistic strand -- hence owning my own weedeater, supporting Ron Paul, hating unions, etc. Dead set against traditionalism. Weird for a historian, I know. I guess I just don't glorify the past, and I don't like to see it idolized. Hence I don't own a table, and prefer to eat standing or sitting on the floor. Somehow or other I feel like I'm dealing a blow to traditional values at every meal.

I mean, some traditions are fun and harmless -- like trick-or-treating. But let's not cause traffic jams about them!

Parades, Meth Labs, and Gender Identity

Today, on my way home from work, I was sent on a detour because of a parade. Traffic was bad through the detour, and I was hungry, so I stopped and bought a Little Caesar's (cheese) pizza to tide me over. As I sat in the car glutonizing, I began to reflect: Why did they decide to have the parade on the main stretch of road that linked the primary businesses of the community with the primary residential areas? Why did they do this during rush hour? Why couldn't they have had the parade on the fair grounds? What is the primary purpose of roads? How did I manage to get lost? Which direction am I going?

I often seem to be confused. Example: The other day I saw a teenage boy sniffing shampoos at the store and immediately jumped to the conclusion that he was running a meth lab. Upon further reflection, I determined that shampoo is not an ingredient in meth (it's cough syrup, right?), and since he was bothering to smell it, he may just have been simply buying it . . . to wash his hair.

But evidently redneckery IS a real danger here. One doesn't walk off the trail into the woods, I am told, or one is likely to either get shot by a deer hunter or come upon a meth lab. While I was sitting in a waiting room the other day, I heard one office assistant tell another that her husband was in the hospital because a copperhead bit him in the garage. I keep my electric weedeater (which I bought, assembled, and operated yesterday all by myself) in the garage. Now I'm afraid to go get it.

Further questions: Am I now culturally male since I have my own weedeater? Does my fear of snakes negate this? Have you ever seriously considered the concept of male concubinage?

Do Women Read More Than Men?

NPR reports on an AP survey, which indicates that American women read little on average, but American men read less, particularly fiction.

I can believe the part about Americans (have you noticed how many times the "person on the street" will admit that the Da Vinci Code is the last book s/he's read?), but I don't see this gap among my friends. My brother reads nearly as much as I do, and probably a higher percentage of what he reads is fiction. I'm the history/philosophy reader. On Facebook, my guy-friends are not i-reading at a noticeably slower rate than the girls. Most men I know have read much more deeply in sci-fi and fantasy than I have. In my experience, literature degrees are fairly evenly divided between the sexes. It would be interesting to see statistics for that.

Of course, I'm not really friends with people who don't read. And while I'm accepting of sci-fi/fantasy-reading men (Geeks Are Hot), I'm less likely to be friends with women who read popular romance novels or religious fiction (Boo Establishment Thinkers). I also wonder if older men tend not to read fiction as much (unless they are literature professors like Dr. H). Maybe it's the American male's fear of being thought queer -- evidenced by their reluctance to wear pants that actually fit them or admit that they don't really like sports. This sort of machismo is declining as the last generations of absolutist patriarchs die off in the U.S. (Woohoo Women's Suffrage).

But are women really to be commended for reading bodice-rippers? We need to do a new, weighted survey based on complexity and uniqueness of what is being read. I suspect men wouldn't come out badly.

And THAT is my once-in-a-decade defense of men.

(p.s. -- I did notice the noun-verb disagreement in paragraph 6 of the article).

I'm a Broken Buckle in the Bible Belt; A Left Foot in the Heartland

It's hard to describe differences because there are so many surface similarities. We've got Subway and BP and Aldi, thank heavens.

But there are differences. Statistically, this part of Missouri is more married, MUCH less educated (69.3% of A2 citizens have a bachelor's or higher vs. 29.3% here), and slightly whiter and poorer than my part of Michigan. Unofficially, people also appear to be more patriotic, more enthusiastic about eating pig, and less enthusiastic about sprouted bread and veggie burgers.

Sure, it's hard not to wish occasionally that I were somewhere a little more single-feminist-vegetarian-snob-friendly, like New York, but realistically I think I'm better off here. Traffic, pollution, and close neighbors do not appeal to me. I've got a house where there is NO noise at night (apart from my own damn cat), an easy 20 minute drive to work, a free parking space at work, a state park nearby, and access to an academic library. The students are mostly smart and eager and, heh, if I can help them learn a thing or two about library catalogs and Google, I guess I've got a mission in life.

One More Week :-(

Today, in a frantic effort to see what I can of upper Michigan, I drove to Wilderness State Park, which is just to the left of the "tip of the mitt" -- on Lake Michigan (geographically challenged readers: see map).

I was surprised: one side of the bay was sandy in places and the water clear -- almost like an ocean. There were sand bars meters out into the ocean that were only a couple inches deep.


The other side was rockier, and there were many seagulls. Supposedly the endangered Piping Plover inhabits the area, but of course I didn't see any.


Besides seagulls, I saw a crayfish (?).

On the way back I stopped in Cheboygan to see the matinee showing of Stardust, which was fun, if simplistic like all fairy tales. Speaking of stars, a meteor shower is supposed to peak tonight. There's no moon, and I can see the milky way here on normal days. Anyway, while I was walking in the residential area killing time until the movie, I came across this deserted Carnagie Library. They always make me a little bit sad.


Bonus: here's a picture from Petoskey (see map again).

The Empire Strikes Back?

Russian planes flying near Guam on Wednesday were heralded as harbingers of a new Cold War. But I wonder if that's not wishful thinking. Wouldn't we all rather have another 40-year stand-off with a known enemy than face, say, China? The C.W. made for great spy novels and space ships, and at least we didn't have to deal, as in the current situation, with religious rhetoric (at least not on the Russians' part) or curtailed civil rights (except for the wee McCarthy episode in the 50s). I'm all for it, unless it accelerates the whole 80s trend in fashion and shoulder pads come back. I'm NOT wearing shoulder pads no matter what the state of global diplomacy. Although, shoulder pads were really in vogue during glasnost and all that -- during the waning years. Maybe I should be more concerned about the poodle skirt . . . Now THAT is a scary thought.

Sad :-(

Chinese river dolphin feared extinct. First extinction of large vertebrate in over 50 years. Anyone who isn't sad that a dolphin species goes extinct is a HORRIBLE PERSON, and I hope you have BAD DREAMS in which Flipper grabs your ankle and drowns you.

PersonalDNA

Yes, yes, yes, I should be doing other things. But it is hot and I have an ear infection and I can't really make myself get up.

It's STILL hot!

Whine. And tomorrow is forecast to be yet hotter. WHIIINE whinewhinewhine.

They are having volleyball play-offs today. I say "they" because I am not on a team, and today I am especially glad. I swam again at noon, and got more sunburnt. I'm still reading food blogs. I honestly had no interest in cooking and saw it as a great inconvenience until I was somewhere without a kitchen. And THAT is a deep insight into my personality, actually.

I called Ann tonight, and we talked about how we used to giggle in, and usually AT, chapel, and about our landlady with the cotton in her ears, and the bottles of wine we kept under our bed, and how we didn't have any heat in our house all winter.

Drat the Heat!

It's warm here -- not warm compared to other places, but warm for Pellston, and it's making me ill. I spent two hours in the lake this afternoon, which was wonderfully cooling at the time, but not so nice now with the resultant sunburn. Indeed, I am very attached to the lake. I spend a great deal of time sitting in my hammock and looking at it when I should be reading. I'm reading Anna Karenina, which has very short chapters, and so makes me feel accomplished even though I've only read a couple pages. So I read a "chapter," set the book down, and stare listlessly at the lake for awhile. While staring listlessly is generally to be discouraged, staring at a lake is somehow more wholesome than staring at a parking lot. I had to buy dryer sheets today. They keep mice away, and I heard a mouse in my wall for the first time last night. It is quite loud for a small creature.

Hungry, hungry in my tummy.

At the beginning of the summer, I was elated about not cooking. I'm still not complaining . . . much. Some days are good -- like pizza day, or quiche and soup day, or curried chickpeas over rice day. Others leave my tummy growling, like when the vegetarian option contains eggplant, which is slimy and disgusting.

I have found myself reading recipes and lusting after certain foods like

lasagna

falafel

tabouli

but most of all...

dense, chewy, multi-grain BREAD, preferably with a big hunk of cheese.

I may have to betake myself to Petoskey on Sunday to go food-hunting. There IS a good middle-eastern restaurant halfway there called "Mim's." I like the name, too. It reminds me of the wicked witch who has a magic competition with Merlin in the Disney version of The Sword in the Stone.

Frustraries of librations

Non-librarians often accuse book slaves of organizing things in an abstruse manner, and subtly hint that we're hording information so that we are not rendered obsolete by Google Scholar. In response, some libraries are trying to "simplify" things by getting rid of traditional classification systems, where each book has a unique number or alphanumeric code, and instead grouping them by broad subject area. Do I really have to explain why this is a bad idea, and how frustrating it would be to weed through hundreds to hundreds of thousands of biographies (depending on the size of the collection) to find one on the Bronte sisters, when previously one could head straight to 828 B87O?

Sometimes it works the other way, though. Patrons, too, can be puzzling. When scholars in a certain field become accustomed to using a few specific journals, they begin to abbreviate them in citations. This causes problems for librarians, which can be addressed only by wild guesses or an immense tome of a reference book: The Periodical Title Abbreviations, now in its 13th edition. So when we are given "NLCK" as a journal abbreviation, we can go somewhere to find out that OF COURSE it stands for the New Library of Catholic Knowledge. Sometimes it's not that simple, though. "NM" can stand for 14 different serials, ranging from the Naval Magazine, through Northern Miscellany and Nautical Magazine, to the Numismatiska Meddelanden. Wild guesses, at this point, become practically unavoidable. Some abbreviations are understandable. Who in their right mind would want to write out "Neue Jahrbuecher fuer das Klassische Altertum, Geschichte, und Deutsche Literatur" when they could simply jot down "NJKAGDL" -- which can also be abbreviated "NJKA" or "NJKIA," or simply truncated to "Neue Jahrbuecher fuer das Klassische Altertum""

A president for paranoids like me

For those of you who don't read the NY Times, here's a positive article about Ron Paul, the only Republican candidate who I would bother to vote for. I fit in pretty well with the rest of his constituency -- my first fear after 9/11 was that the military-industrial complex would expand, I think George W. Bush has a lot in common with Darth Vader (bumper sticker I saw in parking lot: "Republicans for Voldemort"), and I'm not entirely sure that the neocons don't secretly worship an owl god.

Of course, my other, only slightly less-favored, candidate is Dennis Kucinich. As the article says, there is a "seldom-avowed common ground between the hard right and the hard left," and that's where my political views rest. My first poli sci professor -- a communist who gave me an automatic "A" for knowing who drafted the Constitution -- always said political views were like a circle -- the left-leaning and right-leaning anarchists have more common ground with each other than with the moderates of either side.

Oscar the Gauche

Matthew says I'm not a very socially intuitive person. Maybe my intelligence in other areas leeches all my social intelligence. Or maybe I'm just ornery.

Generally, I mind my p's and q's. The community here is fairly progressive. I've learned not to assume things about relationships. For example, don't assume that, just because a man and a woman have lived together for 20 years and have children, they're MARRIED. Don't assume that two guys dancing together would rather be dancing with girls (I think they were joking about that, but I'm not positive). The best way to not disturb the animals is to maintain a pleasant, non-insinuating smile at all times.

But sometimes I can't help but put my foot in it.

The other day at dinner, I realized that I can be shockingly progressive, too. I was talking to a group from S.C. about men holding doors. A guy from Michigan, whose mother happens to be a women's studies professor, said very diplomatically,

"I think it's just polite for people in general to hold doors for each other, regardless of sex."

Everyone nodded and smiled, and one of the southerners tried to bring consensus by summarizing, "So holding doors isn't offensive?"

I should have left it at that, but my dark side kicked in and said,

"Actually, I DO get offended if a man GOES OUT OF HIS WAY to hold a door for me. I'm not some delicate little southern belle, and I'm probably more capable of opening the damn door than most men."

Conversation stopped. I saw a little caption pop above my head that said "second-wave feminist."

Harry Potter-mania has also been tempting my dark side. It is deeply disturbing to me that 3 out of 20 headlines on the BBC and the NY Times are about a rather unremarkable children's fantasy series. Have we indeed reached the end of history? Norman Mailer never created this much hullabaloo. I went to see the most recent Potter movie, and frankly it was dumb. People popped in and out of the plot to save Potter, and there was much waving of wands. I don't object to teenagers reading the books, but, come on people, let's at least move on to Anne Rice if we're over 20. I actually thought the first few books were fun, but if I wanted a dark, depressing, doomed bildungsroman, I'd read something with a little more stylistic "oomph" -- by Dickens -- or maybe even Hardy or Dostoevsky.

Anyway, Potter is quite popular here (scientists -- not necessarily literary afficianados), so there was probably no excuse for my snide comment at breakfast:

"Yes, the Potter books came out a bit after my time. I had already moved on to more complex literature . . ."

The prudent part of my brain preserved me from saying ". . . by the time I was ten."

Incidentally Green

(Do you like my new template?)

More and more I like it here. Some of the best parts are:

1) Being VERY close to nature
2) Living in a one-room cabin that takes little work to maintain
3) Driving once a week or less (my car is parked 1/2 mile away, uphill)
4) Being queen of a cool and airy domain filled with books, computers, and earnestly-studying students. I frequently feel that lowest of pleasurable emotions, schadenfreude, when I see them hunkered over their lab reports at 2 a.m.

I've also been trying to make plans for my new life in Missouri. The culture, of course, will be strange, but it will also be a change to go back to a normal American lifestyle after this summer. And I'm not entirely sure I want to go back.

Some things can't be helped. I chose to rent a house 20 minutes away from the University, since those nearby tended towards the palatial or the slum-like. There is no public transportation, and so I will have to drive, which I tend to avoid simply because I don't enjoy it. I will also not be as close to long forested trails. The neighborhood will be safe to walk in, and there are parks, but I will also probably join a gym to avoid the extremes of temperature.

Other things are up in the air. Currently, I am a vegetarian. On an emotional level, I find killing animals distasteful, though not unethical. The manner in which animals are raised and slaughtered, however, may actually be unethical, and possibly dangerous to the humans who eat them. I do think that humans are naturally omnivorous, and since soy doesn't agree with me, I may go back to eating some meat if I can find a local provider. Many of my neighbors are elderly and have gardens, so I am hoping to be able to trade for fresh produce.

I will maintain some lifestyle changes. The house I rented, for example, is one bedroom, and there is very little storage space. This will limit my accumulation of things (though, I hope, not impede the visitation of friends). I have a small yard where I can hang clothes out to dry.

Dana is a source of inspiration in intentional living -- not letting a society of consumption back one into a default lifestyle. I'm not very crafty, I'm not really a cook, and I've never tried gardening, but reducing still gives me more time to enjoy reading, music, writing, camping, and hiking.

I do think we are ruining our world, although perhaps not at the rate predicted by Al Gore and other environmental prophets of doom, but that is not why I am making these changes. I don't believe I can save the world anymore than I can "rock the vote" in a national election. Kant's universal law has always seemed like hooey to me. But while participating in the national government reduces my pleasure, living a simpler life does, I think, increase it.

I enjoy hanging laundry, walking to do errands, having less house to clean, and paying smaller utility bills. I don't eat Bic Macs because they make my stomach hurt, and I don't have cable TV because it gives me a headache. There are certain aspects of modern life that I would never relinquish, even if they were going to cause the world to end in 50 years: my internet connection and air travel (which is, in fact, an environmental ill), for example. So please don't accuse me of trying to be a good person.

Then and now...

Pictures from here...




And from there...

More pictures from now in this Facebook album.

Hemingway in Michigan

I'd been meaning for awhile to see precisely where in northern Michigan Hemingway spent his childhood summers. Turns out Walloon Lake is not terribly far from Douglas Lake. Perhaps I will track Ernest's footsteps some Sunday.

Diary of a Field Librarian

I started this post about a week ago and I've had a hard time finishing it...so I am going to break it down into days...

Monday

The library doesn't tend to be busy in the morning. Those who are awake are in the field, and those who aren't are asleep. I have discovered that I am mildly allergic to book dust, which is unfortunate. I sit at my desk and "hachoo" all day.

Wednesday

We had a picnic on the Fourth of July. I must admit that the tofu ribs and gardenburgers were not particularly appetizing. But the nastiest kinds of meats tempt me -- hot dogs, pepperoni, sandwich meat -- so it is probably best that I remain steadfast in my vegetarianism and avoid the nitrates. I was sitting with the invertrebrate zoologist, who told me that diatoms were "beautiful -- like Glinda's bubble in the Wizard of Oz."

Thursday

I love the quiet here. A chipmunk cheeping at nothing is an actual disturbance. Although the Bio Station is a pedestrian and cycling area ("Mackinac Island without the horse poop"), there are occasional disturbances. Guests are allowed to drive their vehicles down to their cabins (slowly, so as not to kick up dust), and unload. The sound of an SUV engine is deafening when it passes not three feet from my cabin door.

What I despise, however, are motorized pleasure boats. The station has a variety of canoes, row boats, motorized dingies, and two pontoon boats for field trips. None are driven at high speeds, and the water is usually quiet and undisturbed. The holiday, however, has brought weekenders -- and their boats. Shunning simple, elegant craft that use man- or wind-power, they must purchase the loudest, most powerful engines they can, together with towering plastic monstrosities of boats. Furthermore, it is their American prerogative to sweep by not 30 feet off our isolated shore -- right beyond the "swim zone" buoy. It is the American consumer's birthright to kick up algae, rock canoes with waves, frighten swimmers, dump human waste, import invasive species, leave a rainbow patina of oil on the water, and silence the birds with the roar of their engines and the louder roar of their music. As I speak, an alien jet ski dodges the buoys like a cowboy at a gymkhana. Evidently playing roulette with human lives is also part of the fun. At such high speeds, of course, a large inland lake is too small, and the entire shore must be sped by to create the marine version of the Indy Speedway or Cedar Point.

Friday

Got accidentally lost in the woods after dusk. More afraid of Indian ghosts than black bears, I'm afraid. Finally made my way back.

Saturday

Did laundry in the AM and hung it out to dry. Dryers are one of mankind's sillier inventions, like the dishwasher. Hanging clothes in the sun is both gentler on the clothes and more energy efficient. There were three loons out on the lake flapping their wings and ducking, but not making their eerie call. Probably two males and a female. Went "owling" today with Ted Anderson, the ornithologist. About dusk, we whipped up some Whippoorwills with our caller, but didn't actually see them. In another location, we did call two Barred Owls right down on top of us.

Sunday

The air is oppressive and still. The hottest day since I've been here. It rained this morning. The thunder woke me up about 9:00 as the storm started, and I dashed over to the library, pulling clothes over my pajamas, to close all the windows. In the afternoon I helped pull zebra mussels, which are an invasive species, off of the native clams. As I finish the post, two jet skies roared into the north fishtail, chasing a loon for sport. They nearly hit it several times, but it seems to have escaped and recovered with miraculous amnesia.

Another great subject heading

As you all know, I love subject headings. I hope they never go away. They make me laugh. I came across a great one today -- Appetitive Behavior. In this case, it was referring to "The ethology of predators" -- a book about non-human animals. But it COULD be applied to feminist books about men, or environmentalist books about first world countries. But why stop at entire genders or cultures? Really, it could be applied to just about anything -- the universal subject heading.

Blogging the Biostation

I'm EXHAUSTED. I've been at work basically since 8:30, and now it's 6. Normally, I would take a break between 11:30 and 3:00, but I had to proctor an exam at 1:00 today. I am making an executive decision to cancel my evening hour from 8 - 9. I think I need to go canoeing or swimming...or something not involving books, computers, and copiers.

I think once the anxiety of a new job wears off, I'll enjoy working here more than most of my previous jobs. Since I'm running everything, I have a variety of tasks to do. I can push the monotonous stuff -- like shelving and looking for duplicates -- on my assistant. But right now there is a certain amount of feeling incompetent because I don't know everything. The previous librarian was here for many summers, and I keep hearing "Theresa did this" and "Theresa did that." There are many simple questions I don't know how to answer yet. But I AM throwing stuff away and organizing! Which apparently hasn't been done for a very, very long time.

I also need to sleep. Noise travels around here, and the eerie loon calls, raccoons scratching at my doors, and mice nibbling in the walls of my cabin were keping me awake last night. Not to mention the human conversations.

Welcome to Pellston!

I've been communing with nature. It's nice, actually. I've found no occasion to use the bug spray I brought, since the weather is still pleasantly cool and I've seen mostly spiders. The day we arrived it was also quite windy, making white caps on Lake Douglas and causing the waves to lap on the sandy shore like a tide.

Last night the temperature dropped to 45 degrees. I didn't turn on my space heater, and I think the cold caused me to have nightmares. I had my recurring dream about the crazy woman of Naguabo. I woke myself up just before 7:00 AM saying "Boo!". Evidently, I had been dreaming that she kept coming towards my car and would go away every time I said "Boo." If anyone had been in bed with me, they might have been disconcerted. I guess that's a good reason to sleep alone. The breakfast triangle rang soon after I awoke, since we eat at ungodly hours of the morning.

There is a plethora of chipmunks here. They are brazen, and one came right up and placed his paws on my finger and looked at me with large, liquid eyes. His hand was cool and tiny, like a lizard's. (Sidetrack: Thinking of lizards reminds me of my brother. He used to make them mad, and then they'd bite on to his ear like jewelry. There was a student from the Bahamas at lunch, and he'd studied in the rain forest at Puerto Rico, so we were reminiscing.) There are also many, many varieties of squirrels, including black ones. I've seen several very small ones. I'm not sure if they are juvenile or if they are a certain species. My supervisor's wife saw a fox out on a dune. I'd like to see a bear and a mink. Complete list of mammals at this lat/long available here.

I still need to do some investigating about reptiles. If there are snakes that swim, I won't, no matter how sandy-bottomed and clear Lake Douglas is.

The library has a new PDA with National Geographic birding software. You can search taxonomically, alphabetically, or by characteristics (color, size, etc.). The information includes an audio sample of the call. If we load software on a computer as well, we can synch the birds we record on the PDA with a national list of sightings online. Very nifty. I'm going to keep a close eye on that piece of equipment. Anyone who makes off with it will lose their head. Or at least their library privileges.

Follow-up: My Athleticism

You know, I'm starting to feel really good about my muscle tone. Today I walked into the little Asian grocery store on the ground floor of my apartment (for the last time, sadly), and the owner's daughter (or granddaughter?) was with him.

"Do you play volleyball?", she asked.

"No -- sometimes I play basketball for fun," I replied.

"Do you play for the University of Michigan?"

I guffawed.

"I always wanted to be a gymanist or a dancer, but I was too tall," I confided.

"Maybe you could play hockey!" she suggest brightly.

"I would fall."

Yes, I would indeed fall. Plus I value my teeth. Plus I don't like hitting other girls. But I must at least look like I could be mildly athletic. OK -- stop laughing -- I know it's the height thing.

Adios Ann Arbor

I'm moving tomorrow. When I left Virginia, I was sad about the friends I had to leave, but I was glad to be out of the general atmosphere -- the stifling watchfulness, the inescapable melodrama, the unfounded moral imperatives. Now, I know I will miss the place more than any specific people.

It's not the people's fault. The past two years have been a sabbatical, and I haven't wanted to be close.

In fact, I like the population of Ann Arbor. I like that you can ask what someone's favorite book is, and they don't say The DaVinci Code; that women are respected in the north - and if that means the men are colder, then I like cold men; that I haven't been whistled at in two years, and that boys don't ostentatiously usher me through a door, but unobtrusively hold it open after they've gone through; that there are graduate students who are much, much smarter than I am; that, even though the undergraduates may dress the same, they think of interesting topics for their papers, and don't all write about the gay marriage amendment; that people are interested in different things, and that they come from different countries; that crazy people are allowed to wander the town freely, and that we pay them and call them "professors."

I like being part of a large university town. I like walking by the carillon tower and the nuclear reactor; the opportunities to hear Lessig and Zizek lecture, and Joshua Bell and the Vienna Philharmonic play; being within walking distance of a Botanical Gardens, the original Borders, and three Indian restaurants; taking a break between classes to examine the first extant Pauline manuscript (under glass, of course), and an Egyptian mummy.

I like the freedom of Ann Arbor: that there are sidewalks everywhere, and that people walk on them, and restaurants put chairs on them and serve meals on them; that I feel safe walking on them late at night; that people can do modern dance or smoke pot in the middle of the lawn and no one cares; that sidewalks are built where people walk, and people don't have to walk where the sidewalks are built; that sometimes funny graffiti doesn't get painted over and that we can drink champagne on the last day of class.

There are a lot of other things I like about Ann Arbor, but this is getting dull. Anyway, I'll be sad to go. Somehow it seems like I've lived under glass for the past two years -- well, under glass in a different way than I was under glass in THC. Not under a microscope slide for everyone to inspect. Under glass in the sense that I haven't had even a bad cold, let alone a chronic disease. In a funny way, I've felt safer here. It's been good, but I guess it couldn't really last.

Am I Built?

I was going to write a newsy post about house-hunting in Cape G., but I decided I probably wouldn't be interested if someone else wrote it. Not vapid enough. So here is something more vapid: my physique.

I've never thought of myself as built. But, as I walked out of a bookstore today, the owner made a comment. I thought he said "do you want a job?", but mother distinctly heard "you should join the rowing club." This is a strange deviation from the usual "you should play basketball and/or volleyball." What do we think?

Should I join the rowing club?
	No! Are you kidding? You'd tip over the boat!
	No! You lack any capacity for teamwork.
	Yes! Your arms are Stallone-esque.
	Yes! Your tan is very nautical.
	No! Your arms are like limp sausages.
pollcode.com free polls

The summer always makes me lazy(er). It's a shame, really. I create grandiose plans for my free time during the frigid months, and they languish in the heat come June.

I enjoyed my trip, although I've begun to like flying less and less. I feel violated by the security precautions -- being forced to stand in a line, take my shoes off, and unpack my luggage. One machine in Detroit even allows the guards to see through one's clothes! On my way back (my flight was in the morning), the security guard told me to bring a smaller bottle of saline solution next time. I looked at him wearily, "I thought that was a medical supply and that I wasn't limited to size for medical supplies" (I had checked the website). I don't understand why, if it's prohibited, he let me bring it through and, if it's not prohibited, why he gave me a hard time.

So, yeah, my actual visit. I spent time with the people I like, and stayed far away from the Place That Shall Not Be Mentioned. The trip was short, but we had some quality discussions about prenuptials (THAT nearly came to blows, actually), wolf packs (hilarity ensued), future plans, and people we used to know. Emily insulted my capitalism when I said something positive about Starbuck's health plan.

Emma made me eggs with herbes de provence that nearly persuaded me to become a vegetarian (if it weren't for Arby's roast beef sandwiches...). We got tickets for Love's Labors Lost in an outdoor amphitheater. Shakespeare is always funny, but the play was actually enhanced by the addition of rock music to the choruses. Em and I went berry picking with Brooks and Dana -- 50 lbs in less than an hour! We could hire ourselves out as migrant laborers. We spent Sunday with the always-hospitable Alexandria girls, and had fun introducing Emma to Cranium. Sarah and I would have won if she'd only known who Justin Timberlake is!

Sadly, I don't think I could ever move back. Given my views on the federal government, I find the National Mall repulsive. The Washington Monument rapes the sky, and the Lincoln Memorial houses the carcass of the United States before martial law was ever declared, and habeas corpus suspended. Even in the less offensive enclaves of College Park and Alexandria, traffic is ridiculous. Cheap housing is often unsafe, and there is greater socio-economic disparity than in the Midwest. The general atmosphere is, forgive the pun, ungoverned. If I want to live in a city, it'll be somewhere that is a city for a reason -- somewhere temperate and civilized -- like San Francisco, or somewhere unusual, like Cairo.

Tagged

Alright, Emily, since I haven't posted for awhile I will play your game. I'm not tagging other people; I'm feeling non-aggressive.

Random Facts about Asparagus

1. When I had my Criollo horse, I first rode him bareback, and then got a Colombian saddle (see below). I fell off a lot less after that!


2. Stray dogs were a problem in PR. We once were feeding 6 dogs -- 3 were pets and 3 were strays that adopted us. One intelligent mutt kept coming back even after we dropped him off 20 miles away. Some missionary friends owned a gas chamber for stray animals that could be hooked up to a car exhaust. I don't have a dog now, and never intend to get another one.

3. I don't speak Spanish fluently, but I am enough of a Puerto Rican snob that Mexican accents still bother me.

4. Ann and I kept bottles of wine under our beds senior year at PHU. We didn't want it in the kitchen in case conscientious friends came over.

5. I've been to one football game at the Big House. We sat behind drunk dentists. UM lost.

6. I hate asparagus.

7. I've been through the eye of two major (category 3 - 4) hurricanes. The house never blew down, but the water and power were off for weeks. We took rain showers at night under the eaves. In one smaller hurricane, we had to drive to the hospital to get medical supplies. In the last hurricane (Georges), we brought the horse inside so he wouldn't get hit by debris.

I Heart Capitalism

It's hard being a capitalist in Ann Arbor. Most people here have socialist assumptions. I share their lifestyle preference for shopping locally, walking when I can, and avoiding mega-stores like Walmart. Yet I was pleased as punch to find a Belle Tire in the Arborland strip mall last week. They replaced the valve on my flat, re-inflated it, and put it back on my car within half an hour. The coolest part is that they charged me NOTHING. In the meantime, I was able to walk over to my bank, where they happily notarized an immigration form for me (n.b. guess who was making me go through the meaningless ritual of having a form notarized? The FEDERAL GOVERNMENT -- bah).

Do some businesses "exploit" their customers? Define exploitation (exploiting workers is another topic). Do they want to make a profit? Of course. Considering that there are at least four tire stores in Ann Arbor, though, Belle Tire would probably not make a profit by taking advantage of their customers. Their business strategy is more complex. By taking care of a quick repair for me, they count on the fact that I will return for larger repairs, and that I will recommend them to friends -- which I certainly will. My bank, on the other hand, will do what it can to keep me happy and my money in their account. If I don't like the service they provide, I can go next door. What's not to like about that?

Sorry for the Inconvenience...

But I decided it was time to change my URL. I'm a grown-up now, and that means drawing a distinction between me and my professional persona. My professional persona is also named "M------ W---," which is confusing. Professionally, I make small talk, don't put my feet on the table, and smile more. Personally, I sit on countertops, grimace at people I don't like, and borrow unattributed images from other websites.

Etymologically, Emily began calling me Asparagus back in our sophomore year. I am evidently a vegetable of limited appeal.

Feel free to update links, bookmarks, etc., but please don't use my full name.


Here's to the uninhibited proliferation of multiple personalities!

Copyright Primer Using Disney Cartoons

Disney has been kinda evil about exploiting government force to protect its "original" creations.

Back from the Wild

I'm back from bug camp. It was fairly nippy up there. I didn't see too many noxious insects, but there were rather a lot of animal bones and skulls lying around the classrooms and outside the cabins. In my spare time, I sat and watched the chartered hydroplane land and take off, bringing in faculty members wearing gaiters (we mortals have to drive). There are bikes with baskets for check-out. The cafeteria has fresh, local greens and fair trade coffee -- the Ann Arbor influence? I ate rather a lot of ice cream, and carried rather a lot of boxes.

The library -- the cement keeps it cold. There was a dead flying squirrel in the wood stove when we got there. LC call numbers are on the top floor, Dewey is on the ground floor and in the annex (to the right).

My list of personal necessaries so far:

• Hammock
• Binoculars (for the stars and the birds)
• Laptop (it may be rural, but it isn't so COMPLETELY uncivilized that there is no wireless).
• NetFlix subscription
• Clothes line
• Football and frisbee
  

What will be my cabin (hey -- at least it's not tin like the student cabins).


View from my cabin window.



Douglas Lake at sunset.


Little chipmunk. He sat there while I took his picture, but he is well-camouflaged.

Yes, mother, they do have life vests. No, I will not wear one.

So...I can't say there are no churches in C.G.

At least not of the Baptist variety :-p *Sigh* I think I will start a Church of Michaela. It will be a microchurch and have one member. We will worship very casually in our pajamas.

Advice for Better Living

Don't try to dissassemble a wire drying rack while eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Europeans Do It Better

American Idol. Pwah. Check out the real deal at Eurovision. Click "Watch ESTV". (You have to download a quick plug-in)

It's Back

I've got my Malibu back! I've decided mid-size cars are the Platonic ideal of automobiles. They park anywhere, but they're safer and have bigger engines than compacts. They have trunks, which are much more practical than hatchbacks or truck beds (you can hide things in them). I've decided my next car will either by a Toyota Corolla or a Camry. I like foreign cars because one gets more for one's money. I only bought a Chevy because it was second-hand. So shoot me.

Song Lyrics (I'm sorry I realize that's a cop-out)

I've recently discovered that I like folk music. I won't pretend that this has nothing to do with my political persuasion. Bob Dylan is, of course, the greatest American folk singer (but then, he's from Minnesota, so of course he is. We're taller and hairier and more like Canadians than the rest of you, eh?). I nearly murdered my brother when he got tickets to hear Dylan at the Toledo Zoo (no, he won't be in a cage -- that I know of) in July when I can't go. Dylan wrote a lot of recondite songs, but I like this relatively-straightforward one because it is a counter to all the fatuous top-40 "we-may-both-be-ordinary-but-our-love-is-immortal" songs. Realism is refreshing. And I like counter-anything.

Go 'way from my window,
Leave at your own chosen speed.
I'm not the one you want, babe,
I'm not the one you need.
You say you're lookin' for someone
Never weak but always strong,
To protect you an' defend you
Whether you are right or wrong,
Someone to open each and every door,
But it ain't me, babe,
No, no, no, it ain't me, babe,
It ain't me you're lookin' for, babe.

Go lightly from the ledge, babe,
Go lightly on the ground.
I'm not the one you want, babe,
I will only let you down.
You say you're lookin' for someone
Who will promise never to part,
Someone to close his eyes for you,
Someone to close his heart,
Someone who will die for you an' more,
But it ain't me, babe,
No, no, no, it ain't me, babe,
It ain't me you're lookin' for, babe.

Go melt back into the night, babe,
Everything inside is made of stone.
There's nothing in here moving
An' anyway I'm not alone.
You say you're looking for someone
Who'll pick you up each time you fall,
To gather flowers constantly
An' to come each time you call,
A lover for your life an' nothing more,
But it ain't me, babe,
No, no, no, it ain't me, babe,
It ain't me you're lookin' for, babe.

Thwarted Lily of the Field

I have had a sense of entitlement since I graduated. I feel entitled to be lazy for the months of May and June. For six years, I have been an uncomplaining and hard-working student (OK...maybe not entirely uncomplaining). I subjected myself to the attendant drudgery, splitting headaches, and general running about. But now, I do not CHOOSE to run about. I'm going to return to my unschooling roots. I'm a bloody LILY OF THE FIELD. I'm not even reading serious literature (instead I am rotting my expensive mind with Anne Rice and Elizabeth George). I'm only answering emails when I feel like it.


Yet silly little problems keep popping up and disturbing my two month sabbath. I hear about a job opening that closes tomorrow. I realize that I have more to learn about a computer program I need for work. One of my grades doesn't get posted. My roommate inexplicably turns the light on at 5 AM. And, to top it off, the power steering pump on my car breaks down in the Kroger parking lot. I thought about living at Kroger, given my immense and irrational fondness for that generic grocery store, but instead I called my parents. And they came and got my car and left me with my dad's Chevy pickup.


* OK -- the truck doesn't actually look like that. But wouldn't you feel more sorry for me if it did?

Now, don't think I'm not grateful that I have a vehicle of some sort. I'm as grateful as any American of the "me"-generation can be. But I hate driving that damned truck. I keep telling myself that if I ever own a horse again I will need a pickup, but it doesn't help (since I don't have the matching trailer). Why would ANYONE subject themselves to driving a vehicle with several superfluous feet in an urban environment (Emily?)? I have only recently mustered up the courage to begin parallel parking my Malibu. I KNOW I would fail in the Rust Bucket (as I affectionately call it, even though it's not rusty). Even parking spaces are a challenge, since parking spaces in cities are smaller than parking spaces in places where pick-ups belong -- like Montana. The real estate costs more. I am suddenly the hulking SUV I've always cursed and despised. And why do trucks have to be inherently harder to drive? Why is the brake pedal a foot off the ground, so that sometimes my foot accidentally goes underneath it and I almost run into people? Why does the key have to get stuck in the ignition? Why did it take me five attempts to pull up to the gas pump yesterday?

Today I was DETERMINED to fritter my time without distraction, and so far I have succeeded. I went to the the Ann Arbor Farmer's Market, which is very similar to other Midwestern farmer's markets -- several hundred feet of vendors peddling geraniums, honey, herbs, jewelry, soap, apple cider, and fresh eggs. I then tottered over to the fair trade store and wound up at Border's. I even had a coffee at Bruegger's Bagels (aren't you proud of me, Emma?).

Of course, I couldn't REALLY just wander about without any strategy, so I formed the pseudo-goal of shopping for Mother's Day presents (note: I only did this because gifts annoy my mother, and being annoying is not technically "productive"). I succeeded in both my overarching plan and complementary sub-goal. I also, according to the cashier at Ten Thousand Villages, helped a poor working mother in Bangladesh. What made me feel even better than that, though, was getting 20% off my merchandise for "fair trade day."

Now I am going to take a blanket and go finish The Witching Hour in the Arb. The computer and the cell phone (evil instruments of lolligagging when I am being industrious, and nefarious chains of industry when I am lolligagging) are staying here.

What are mothers for?

Some people come home for solace and consolation. Not I.

As I sat in the kitchen, bare feet on the table, Smithwick's in hand, programming manual on my lap, I looked up at my mother and observed, "I'm not very feminine, am I?" I went on to note that her foul plans to program my gender by dressing me in ribbons and bows had failed.

"I NEVER treated you like a female," she responded.

A while later, she noted that the picture of Bill and me had fooled her at first (oh, the gullibility of the pre-PhotoShop generation). "Besides," she commented, "you look a bit like Monica Lewinsky. You both have round faces. You're just his type."

Great, m0m. I'm a masculine tart. And people wonder what's wrong with me.

Is Our Penal System Communist?

I have no great love for Paris Hilton, but I hold no real hostility towards her, either. If anything, her wardrobe choices have frequently entertained me on GoFugYourself.com. I don't understand the European fetish with royalty, but less do I understand why Americans so enjoy complaining about the rich and famous, while still caring enough to make their putrid lives the most popular story on CNN. Politicians we have a right to complain about -- their actions affect us, and we are forcibly made to pay their salary. Paris is not on our payroll. While she may have more cultural influence than Al Gore or Obama, no one is forced to watch her homemade porn or wear her clothing line. We could choose to ignore her if we wanted. We're just to interested in trashy. Now whose fault is that?

The judge who sentenced her (appropriately named Sauer), however, obviously did have a bit of a grudge against the rich and slutty. She was not allowed to pay for an alternate jail. Obviously, we're going beyond keeping reckless drivers off the street to teaching a spoiled rich girl what the lot of the common woman is.

If she can afford it, let her stay in a secure version of her own hotel! Long ago we abandoned the concept that the living conditions of prisons should be a punishment. Rather, the punishment is the depravation of freedom, and the main purpose is segregating the criminal from the upstanding citizen (oh how I hate that phrase). If this is true, a tiered system should be developed, so those who don't have a fortune can earn an income, and those who do can spend their own money on a pimped-out prison. This would be good for everybody -- both taxpayers and industrious or already wealthy prisoners. I don't resent Paris, but I do resent paying to be kept safe from potheads, bail violators, and prostitutes.

What is the impulse to bring people like Martha Stewart and Paris Hilton down to our level? I find that insulting. Paris only has more money than I do, and she's welcome to it.

Bill 'n' Me

I don't know, Emma, you decide. Was he? OK...so my GIMP skills need some work. But I'm not like you spoiled privies who get to shake hands with important news anchors and book authors. I have to improvise.

Writing about nothing

I shall respond to Brianna's contentless comments with a contentless post.

Graduation was colder than expected. Outside the gate to the stadium, protesters forced huge pictures of bloody, aborted babies on the incoming crowd. Parents tried to divert the eyes of the young siblings and children of the graduates. This method of making a point has upset me ever since I was a nanny and had to deal with the situation as an adult with a small child. Some images are not appropriate in public, general audience forums. I think it's ironic that these same people are trying to stop the distribution of graphic films, even to adults. Throughout the ceremony a plane flew above with the banner "stop abortion and Hillary." With this, I don't have a problem. Bumper-sticker sentiments may not be effective or rational, but at least they're not scarring young children.

During the hour-long procession of graduates, we stood in a long line for hot chocolate -- it was well worth it.

We snickered through most of the ceremony at the bromides and non-sequiters. I nearly split my side when they spoke of the civic pride I was expected to portray as a graduate of a public university. [Side note: I refuse to attend a church that flies the American flag. I consider the implication that nationality has anything to do with religion to be blatantly offensive. This may cause a problem depending on what part of the country I move to. I'm not sure everyone will understand my objections.] Bill's address was unremarkable and less funny or controversial than I expected. There were a few good moments when he talked about how we can't kill, convert, or subdue everyone who disagrees with us.

Sunday Em and I went to Domino's Farm, the only two adults there who didn't have children in tow. We spent several hours lamenting our suburban-bound existences, and wondering if we shouldn't be pursuing degrees in agriculture instead. I posted pictures to Facebook and Flickr (which I'm trying to be better about using).

I'm sleepy and going to bed. Check back tomorrow for a comparison of my family members to well-known celebrities. Yes, I'm totally riffing off Emma's idea.