Falling for the Flu
At a literary reading, I paused to think when the speaker said something about outside events reflecting inside struggles, and as the evening progressed, I wondered if he knew just how meaningful those words were.
Diran Adebayo gave a reading at George Washington University and began by saying he was a little "flu-y", but it didn't really seem to be a problem. At least not at first. He talked about and around his writing and read a lengthy passage from his first novel.
At one point he stopped and asked for a chair and then added water to that request. Or maybe it was the other way around. After the second request, he bowed his head and his forehead glistened with sweat.
Slowly, but quickly, he crumpled, fell into the lectern, and then collasped onto the floor. He didn't hit the floor hard, but at the very end his head bounced like a gentle rubber ball. His hands twisted inward and they shook. Then they stopped. His eyes were closed.
He looked like a corpse.
The audience was stunned. It was terrifying. No one could have reached him in time to prevent the fall. A university professor who was in the front row had gone to get the requested chair. If he hadn't, he may have been able to catch the man before he fell.
Things really do change in an instant. The author reading from his work became a corpse-like being on the floor and then just as quickly, the corpse became a man who said he was fine. He insisted on continuing the reading, refusing to even sit in a chair. One woman in the audience said we'd all feel better if he did, but to no avail. (Later, as he continued the reading, he exhibited a manic energy that belied the collapse we had witnessed earlier.)
Someone called campus services, and to the author's annoyance they insisted that he get checked out. The audience murmured about the fact that a man whose head has just ping-ponged on the floor now had to climb stairs and go to where campus medical services could check him out. Why couldn't they come to him?
Just this week I have been listening to the audio version of Wickett's Remedy, a book that centers on Boston and the effects of the 1918 Spanish flu epidemic. This was back when the flu was referred to by its full name, influnenza. Influenza is serious business; a grown-up version of the flu. Watching in horror as someone who claimed to have a touch of the flu fainted, reminded me of this. I could go on and mention that dreaded flu that we hear so much about, but I won't.
The girl sitting next to me wore Ugg-like boots and had a styrofoam carton that I had presumed held something like french fries. When she opened it, I saw that it actually held edamame.
We were all a little shell-shocked. Unguarded, she said something about him being a "big, black man". (He was on the tallish side, rather thin, and not at all big.)
She was talking more to herself that to me and I think she uttered this phrase to indicate her disbelief that this type of thing could happen to such a a person.
I decided not to challenge this particular view, nor the years of stereotypes that lay underneath it.
She went on to talk about how he had visited her class earlier in the day, and she chirped about what a great writer he was.
A Brit with Nigerian heritage,he spoke of how black authors always have to deal with race and how he tries to get away from that. Later during the Q&A (fainting or not, the man was not leaving before he finished) someone asked about the seeming contradiction between his saying that it is not right that black authors always have to deal with race and the fact that his writing deals so much with that very topic.
Being no stranger to the SBW (Strong Black Woman) syndrome, I know what it is to insist that you are alright. Although his insistence may have had more to do with some macho pride than race. Whatever it was, those of us who stayed remained nervous throughout the rest of the program, still shaken by what we saw.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Just Say No
Back in the 80s when Nancy Reagan came out with that "Just Say No" campaign, people laughed and lampooned the idea that all it takes is a "no".
But even now pop pscychology will tell you to simply say "No, I cannot.", "No thank you.", and "No, I am not available." in a clear, firm voice. Just say no and do not offer any explanations or excuses, they say. People will respect that, they say.
Just who are these people exactly? Sure, if you say no to a free newspaper as you are coming out of the subway, someone may respect that.
But if it is someone with whom you have a more than slight acquaintance, they are not having it. I am sure I have done my fair share of cajoling myself.
A "no" is usually followed by reasonings, accusations, and all-expense-paid guilt trips.
So if I have told you no recently, then yes this is for you.
Rinse. Lather. Repeat.
Back in the 80s when Nancy Reagan came out with that "Just Say No" campaign, people laughed and lampooned the idea that all it takes is a "no".
But even now pop pscychology will tell you to simply say "No, I cannot.", "No thank you.", and "No, I am not available." in a clear, firm voice. Just say no and do not offer any explanations or excuses, they say. People will respect that, they say.
Just who are these people exactly? Sure, if you say no to a free newspaper as you are coming out of the subway, someone may respect that.
But if it is someone with whom you have a more than slight acquaintance, they are not having it. I am sure I have done my fair share of cajoling myself.
A "no" is usually followed by reasonings, accusations, and all-expense-paid guilt trips.
So if I have told you no recently, then yes this is for you.
Rinse. Lather. Repeat.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Countdown to Impact
A friend called me while driving into DC from Richmond, and asked what was up with our speed limits because the numbers on the signs keep changing.
She could have been talking about those signs where your speed is broadcasted as you drive past, but from her description and location, I knew that she was not talking about those.
I realized that she was referring to the countdown signs for pedestrians.
"You don't have those in Richmond?" I asked.
"No," she said. It sounded a little like an accusation.
"Welcome to life in the big city," I replied.
A friend called me while driving into DC from Richmond, and asked what was up with our speed limits because the numbers on the signs keep changing.
She could have been talking about those signs where your speed is broadcasted as you drive past, but from her description and location, I knew that she was not talking about those.
I realized that she was referring to the countdown signs for pedestrians.
"You don't have those in Richmond?" I asked.
"No," she said. It sounded a little like an accusation.
"Welcome to life in the big city," I replied.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
A Riddle
For once I was actually early in getting to a town council meeting that I had to cover for a local newspaper, and lo and behold, I was able to see a musical performance.
The mayor stood at the microphone to say how pleased he was to have 8th grade members of a school orchestra there to perform for Black History Month. As I sat in anticipation, I thought for certain that they would play a song by a black composer or a song that has somehow been recognized as being related to Black History. But they didn't. They did, however, play a lovely Ukranian folk song.
The kids were very excited to be performing and their teacher/conductor seemed like a very caring educator. But you know I had to sit there and puzzle over what it all had to do with Black History Month. (Skip to the end if you want the answer.)
There were black kids in the group, along with white, Asian, and Latino kids. Was that it? The kids were from a school that is in an area where a lot of black people live...that could have been it. I thought their teacher was African American, until he spoke, and then I knew he was Latino.
Do you give up yet?
Answer: In reality, as far as I could see there was no obvious link between the performance and Black History Month. The month was coming to a close, and the mayor had asked someone he knew to help put together some kind of program for Black History Month. At first that seems a little half-hearted, but in listening to his comments, I could see what lay beneath. He mentioned how the town had a new mayor and a new council and that this was the first time that they'd had something for Black History Month. So basically there was a new climate in the government of this tiny Maryland town that was open to acknowledging Black History Month in a tangible way. Even if it took a Ukranian folk song to do it.
For once I was actually early in getting to a town council meeting that I had to cover for a local newspaper, and lo and behold, I was able to see a musical performance.
The mayor stood at the microphone to say how pleased he was to have 8th grade members of a school orchestra there to perform for Black History Month. As I sat in anticipation, I thought for certain that they would play a song by a black composer or a song that has somehow been recognized as being related to Black History. But they didn't. They did, however, play a lovely Ukranian folk song.
The kids were very excited to be performing and their teacher/conductor seemed like a very caring educator. But you know I had to sit there and puzzle over what it all had to do with Black History Month. (Skip to the end if you want the answer.)
There were black kids in the group, along with white, Asian, and Latino kids. Was that it? The kids were from a school that is in an area where a lot of black people live...that could have been it. I thought their teacher was African American, until he spoke, and then I knew he was Latino.
Do you give up yet?
Answer: In reality, as far as I could see there was no obvious link between the performance and Black History Month. The month was coming to a close, and the mayor had asked someone he knew to help put together some kind of program for Black History Month. At first that seems a little half-hearted, but in listening to his comments, I could see what lay beneath. He mentioned how the town had a new mayor and a new council and that this was the first time that they'd had something for Black History Month. So basically there was a new climate in the government of this tiny Maryland town that was open to acknowledging Black History Month in a tangible way. Even if it took a Ukranian folk song to do it.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Proceed with Caution
Every language has those polite little oddities--
expressions that can mean nothing or signify danger ahead.
Phrases such as:
"If you don't mind I'll..."
"Do you/Would you mind if I..."
Let's say, for instance, you are working in an open office and someone says,
"Do you mind if I take off my shoes?"
As is often the case in these situations, the person will engage in the aforementioned act without waiting for a reply. Asking is merely a formality.
Then, let us suppose, there is a second person present, who seeing the action of the first, decides to follow suit. This second person need not bother with asking rhetorical questions, seeing as how their predecessor did not meet with any objection.
Now, if you were to add the consumption of foods such as sardines and pork rinds to the equation, the situation could become very dangerous indeed.
Every language has those polite little oddities--
expressions that can mean nothing or signify danger ahead.
Phrases such as:
"If you don't mind I'll..."
"Do you/Would you mind if I..."
Let's say, for instance, you are working in an open office and someone says,
"Do you mind if I take off my shoes?"
As is often the case in these situations, the person will engage in the aforementioned act without waiting for a reply. Asking is merely a formality.
Then, let us suppose, there is a second person present, who seeing the action of the first, decides to follow suit. This second person need not bother with asking rhetorical questions, seeing as how their predecessor did not meet with any objection.
Now, if you were to add the consumption of foods such as sardines and pork rinds to the equation, the situation could become very dangerous indeed.
Friday, February 17, 2006
A Danish By Any Other Name
First it was "freedom fries", "freedom toast", and perhaps even the "freedom kiss".
Now we have "Roses of the Prophet Muhammed".
I read that in Iranians must no longer ask for a "danish", but they must refer to the pastries by the aforementioned name.
Yeah, I kinda rolled my eyes when I heard the outcry against the French allegedly resulted in an end to french manicures and that the streets of DC were flowing with french wines out of protest.
If only it was just about renaming baked goods...people are dying and in the streets and it is blood, not wine being spilt.
First it was "freedom fries", "freedom toast", and perhaps even the "freedom kiss".
Now we have "Roses of the Prophet Muhammed".
I read that in Iranians must no longer ask for a "danish", but they must refer to the pastries by the aforementioned name.
Yeah, I kinda rolled my eyes when I heard the outcry against the French allegedly resulted in an end to french manicures and that the streets of DC were flowing with french wines out of protest.
If only it was just about renaming baked goods...people are dying and in the streets and it is blood, not wine being spilt.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Peas in a pod
My Valentines Day surprise came 25 minutes after Valentines Day when my NYC cop cousin called at 12:25 am (from the squad car) to say, "Hey, I forgot to call you on Valentines Day. Are you asleep?" Uh...yeah.
It really is the thought that counts.
And some thoughts make more sense than others.
When I read that some couples in China are getting matching plastic surgery, I wondered what they were thinking. A woman quoted in the article said that her boyfriend thought it was a great idea and now they have matching noses.
Tattoos are one thing, and those who have had to go in and get a name turned into a rose or a teddy bear can tell you that they paid dearly for thinking they wanted to preserve someone's name on their skin...but actual matching body parts?
I have no problem with the way I look, but this look is not for everyone, and most certainly not for my significant other. When they say that the people in your life are a reflection of you it means their personality, the person on the inside.
This does not mean you need to make that evident on the outside, too.
Then I read another article that said that people who are together a long time start to look alike. We needed a scientific study for that? I used to hear people say that all the time. So why get butchered, when you can just hold out until it happens naturally?
My Valentines Day surprise came 25 minutes after Valentines Day when my NYC cop cousin called at 12:25 am (from the squad car) to say, "Hey, I forgot to call you on Valentines Day. Are you asleep?" Uh...yeah.
It really is the thought that counts.
And some thoughts make more sense than others.
When I read that some couples in China are getting matching plastic surgery, I wondered what they were thinking. A woman quoted in the article said that her boyfriend thought it was a great idea and now they have matching noses.
Tattoos are one thing, and those who have had to go in and get a name turned into a rose or a teddy bear can tell you that they paid dearly for thinking they wanted to preserve someone's name on their skin...but actual matching body parts?
I have no problem with the way I look, but this look is not for everyone, and most certainly not for my significant other. When they say that the people in your life are a reflection of you it means their personality, the person on the inside.
This does not mean you need to make that evident on the outside, too.
Then I read another article that said that people who are together a long time start to look alike. We needed a scientific study for that? I used to hear people say that all the time. So why get butchered, when you can just hold out until it happens naturally?
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Who Gets Top Prize?
As a movie I was attending began, the audience heard a familiar sound--a ringtone.
(And it was not that cutesy pre-movie public service announcement where the phone rings as Native Americans hunt buffalo.)
The next sound, however, was not familiar. One of our comrades in the audience yelled out, " Turn off your f%^&*ing phone!!!"
We all laughed.
I thought about this later...was anything really funny? But what I forgot was that there a thing called nervous laughter. The man who yelled sounded so hostile, that collectively, the rest of us probably decided to break the tension by laughing.
I get as annoyed with cell phone use as the next person. And I don't like to hear cell phones ring at movies, funerals, weddings, or any of the many other occasions that usually require you to focus on the people/events present, rather than entities that are absent.
Still...which pollutes more: the cell phone ring or someone's angry, expletive-laced reaction to it?
As a movie I was attending began, the audience heard a familiar sound--a ringtone.
(And it was not that cutesy pre-movie public service announcement where the phone rings as Native Americans hunt buffalo.)
The next sound, however, was not familiar. One of our comrades in the audience yelled out, " Turn off your f%^&*ing phone!!!"
We all laughed.
I thought about this later...was anything really funny? But what I forgot was that there a thing called nervous laughter. The man who yelled sounded so hostile, that collectively, the rest of us probably decided to break the tension by laughing.
I get as annoyed with cell phone use as the next person. And I don't like to hear cell phones ring at movies, funerals, weddings, or any of the many other occasions that usually require you to focus on the people/events present, rather than entities that are absent.
Still...which pollutes more: the cell phone ring or someone's angry, expletive-laced reaction to it?
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Physician Heal Thyself
I was standing at an intersection, along with a fellow pedestrian, waiting for the light to change, when a woman pulled up to ask for directons. She had just named a street I'd never heard of, when another car appeared behind her and honked loudly.
She moved on, probably fearing the fierceness of the horn and the hulking size of the SUV. The man next to me turned and said, "I have no patience for people who are not patient."
Then he paused, smiled, and said that his previous statement didn't make at whole lot of sense.
Sometimes the problem and the cure are the same.
I was standing at an intersection, along with a fellow pedestrian, waiting for the light to change, when a woman pulled up to ask for directons. She had just named a street I'd never heard of, when another car appeared behind her and honked loudly.
She moved on, probably fearing the fierceness of the horn and the hulking size of the SUV. The man next to me turned and said, "I have no patience for people who are not patient."
Then he paused, smiled, and said that his previous statement didn't make at whole lot of sense.
Sometimes the problem and the cure are the same.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
All Things Antiquated
This week has been a blast from the past. Without going into any detail, I will tell you that I used a typewriter (okay so it was electronic, but still a typewriter). Someone who saw me using it referred to it as a "chicken clucker".
And I drove down the street, finding myself marveling at an incredible sight: a man talking on a pay phone. I don't know which was more incredible--that the pay phone was still there and being used or the fact that I was really intrigued by this strange custom. As if I didn't grow up seeing and using pay phones. It really hasn't been that long since pay phones were everywhere. There are fewer now, of course, but it is not as if they have all been wiped off the planet.
It really does not take a lot of time for us to become unaccustomed to things that were once quite routine.
This week has been a blast from the past. Without going into any detail, I will tell you that I used a typewriter (okay so it was electronic, but still a typewriter). Someone who saw me using it referred to it as a "chicken clucker".
And I drove down the street, finding myself marveling at an incredible sight: a man talking on a pay phone. I don't know which was more incredible--that the pay phone was still there and being used or the fact that I was really intrigued by this strange custom. As if I didn't grow up seeing and using pay phones. It really hasn't been that long since pay phones were everywhere. There are fewer now, of course, but it is not as if they have all been wiped off the planet.
It really does not take a lot of time for us to become unaccustomed to things that were once quite routine.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Spaced Out
People are crazy.
We all know it and say it. Of course, we can hardly be objective, since we are people too.
The other day I was backing into a parking space, when I paused because I saw someone running towards my car, on the driver's side. I panicked for a moment: Did I run over something? Or someone?
The woman who appeared at my window, knocked and demanded that I roll the window down. By now I knew that I had not killed anyone or anything. I refused to roll down the window. She insisted, and was rather nasty.
"Just roll down the window!!!"
I said no, and told her I could hear her fine from inside the car. Wait a minute...is this a carjacking, I wondered. Is a middle-aged white woman trying to jack my car on Wisconsion Avenue?
She looked at me with disgust, and finally backed away. As she left, she yelled,
"I want your parking space!"
Puzzled, I finished easing my car into the space. This woman, stopped her car at an odd angle, left it almost in traffic at a busy intersection, put the hazard lights on, and came to knock on the car window of a stranger--all for a parking space. A space that was not even available because I was backing in and not out.
Out of concern for my own safety, I did not roll the window down. But obviously the woman was not interested in her own safety. She left her car almost hanging out in traffic. And she wanted me to roll my window down, not knowing who I was or what I may have had in my car. Plus, she was very close to my car, never thinking for a moment that if I put my foot to the gas and turned the steering wheel, she could be injured. And yet in this very precarious situation, she thought it was a good idea to yell at me, a person that she did not know. Good thing for her, I have no interest in violence, be it senseless or even somewhat provoked.
The quest for a good parking space is just a part of urban life. And like an oasis in the desert, you are likely to see many that are just mirages. But whatever you do, don't go crazy and start banging on people's windows.
People are crazy.
We all know it and say it. Of course, we can hardly be objective, since we are people too.
The other day I was backing into a parking space, when I paused because I saw someone running towards my car, on the driver's side. I panicked for a moment: Did I run over something? Or someone?
The woman who appeared at my window, knocked and demanded that I roll the window down. By now I knew that I had not killed anyone or anything. I refused to roll down the window. She insisted, and was rather nasty.
"Just roll down the window!!!"
I said no, and told her I could hear her fine from inside the car. Wait a minute...is this a carjacking, I wondered. Is a middle-aged white woman trying to jack my car on Wisconsion Avenue?
She looked at me with disgust, and finally backed away. As she left, she yelled,
"I want your parking space!"
Puzzled, I finished easing my car into the space. This woman, stopped her car at an odd angle, left it almost in traffic at a busy intersection, put the hazard lights on, and came to knock on the car window of a stranger--all for a parking space. A space that was not even available because I was backing in and not out.
Out of concern for my own safety, I did not roll the window down. But obviously the woman was not interested in her own safety. She left her car almost hanging out in traffic. And she wanted me to roll my window down, not knowing who I was or what I may have had in my car. Plus, she was very close to my car, never thinking for a moment that if I put my foot to the gas and turned the steering wheel, she could be injured. And yet in this very precarious situation, she thought it was a good idea to yell at me, a person that she did not know. Good thing for her, I have no interest in violence, be it senseless or even somewhat provoked.
The quest for a good parking space is just a part of urban life. And like an oasis in the desert, you are likely to see many that are just mirages. But whatever you do, don't go crazy and start banging on people's windows.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Absorbed into the [main]stream?
Yesterday the Washington Post reviewed a new downtown DC bowling hotspot and the reviewer complained that although the place said it wanted to attact an "ethnic" crowd, he mostly saw African Americans. Adjectives/categories like "ethnic" are annoying, but I was still suprised to read that black folks are no longer fit into this subset. According to the article we are no longer "ethnic" and (at least in the establishment mentioned) are allowed to break the rules.
A main talking point so far has been Lucky Strike's dress code, which bans skull caps, athletic wear, baggy white T-shirts, "excessively baggy" clothing and "excessively long" jackets and shirts. Despite all the talk of targeting ethnic groups, I have to say that most of the crowd last weekend -- and much of it on previous weekends -- was African American, including a number of guys wearing baggy sweatshirts and jeans.
-Washington Post, Weekend section,
1/6/06
Yesterday the Washington Post reviewed a new downtown DC bowling hotspot and the reviewer complained that although the place said it wanted to attact an "ethnic" crowd, he mostly saw African Americans. Adjectives/categories like "ethnic" are annoying, but I was still suprised to read that black folks are no longer fit into this subset. According to the article we are no longer "ethnic" and (at least in the establishment mentioned) are allowed to break the rules.
A main talking point so far has been Lucky Strike's dress code, which bans skull caps, athletic wear, baggy white T-shirts, "excessively baggy" clothing and "excessively long" jackets and shirts. Despite all the talk of targeting ethnic groups, I have to say that most of the crowd last weekend -- and much of it on previous weekends -- was African American, including a number of guys wearing baggy sweatshirts and jeans.
-Washington Post, Weekend section,
1/6/06
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Sibling Revelry
I was informed that something I wrote was not quite accurate. So although there are no corporate sponsors for this blog, there are guest artists. Today's featured performer is my brother.
In response to the the entry Shared Memory (December 15, 2005) he wrote:
For the record I did see that food at the Econo Lodge and there was one stairwel that smelled like funky feet boiled in liquidified Haggis.
We really don't have the same mind, however. Despite the fact that in a recent game of Scattergories when pressed to think of a fruit that began with the letter "H", one of us wrote "hot apple" while the other wrote "hot pear".
And before you ask, it is supposed to be revelry (not rivalry).
I was informed that something I wrote was not quite accurate. So although there are no corporate sponsors for this blog, there are guest artists. Today's featured performer is my brother.
In response to the the entry Shared Memory (December 15, 2005) he wrote:
For the record I did see that food at the Econo Lodge and there was one stairwel that smelled like funky feet boiled in liquidified Haggis.
We really don't have the same mind, however. Despite the fact that in a recent game of Scattergories when pressed to think of a fruit that began with the letter "H", one of us wrote "hot apple" while the other wrote "hot pear".
And before you ask, it is supposed to be revelry (not rivalry).
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Can You Hear Me Now?
I've been reading about corporate co-opting in the blog world-- blogs written in the voice of tv characters, blogs written with corporate sponsorship, etc., etc.
Well, let me tell you my fine feathered friend, there is no sponsorship or product placement here. It is I and only I.
The thing about not being sponsored by laundry powder is that one must do one's own publicity. So of course one starts with people one knows. This is fine, but if you happen to be a person with family and friends, or if you know any such creatures, then you realize that one's own life (and the people in it) are the best source for material. Even if they may not like it.
There are worse things than almost not being mentioned in someone's blog.
This entry is actually supposed to be about my Christmas holiday (yes, I said it, Christmas) I had a good time, thanks for asking. No spills, thrills or chills. Still, I have to say that I was a part of some interesting dialogues...
I was asked a number of times about what I'd studied.
"Didn't you study ---?"
"No, I studied ^^^^."
"But I thought it was ---?"
"No, it was ^^^^."
"Really, I thought it was ---."
"It was ^^^."
"Oh, well you need to help me out. I need to study ^^^."
This could have gone on forever. Thankfully, it did not.
Then there was the tantalizing offer to pack my bags and move to another city to work at the publication of someone else's choice. Mind you, this person knew of no openings. They just thought it would be nice for me to work at a place that they like.
"But if you had the opportunity, wouldn't you work for ###?"
"Well, no. I wouldn't move to work for ###?"
"Why not? I'm just saying, if you could, wouldn't you?
"No."
"I just love ###...what about %%%? Would you work for them?"
I'll let you fill in the next blank.
Finally, there was the 2005 Gift of the Magi-Who's on First Edition, in which an entire family (of which I am a member) went to the mall the day after Christmas because everyone thought someone else wanted to go, when really, no one wanted to go. Each one's sacrifice of enduring the mall for the other turned out to be in vain. So after a brief sojourn they all left. Some left sooner than others since about half of them got stuck in horrid Day-after-Christmas-mall-parking-lot traffic.
The End.
I've been reading about corporate co-opting in the blog world-- blogs written in the voice of tv characters, blogs written with corporate sponsorship, etc., etc.
Well, let me tell you my fine feathered friend, there is no sponsorship or product placement here. It is I and only I.
The thing about not being sponsored by laundry powder is that one must do one's own publicity. So of course one starts with people one knows. This is fine, but if you happen to be a person with family and friends, or if you know any such creatures, then you realize that one's own life (and the people in it) are the best source for material. Even if they may not like it.
There are worse things than almost not being mentioned in someone's blog.
This entry is actually supposed to be about my Christmas holiday (yes, I said it, Christmas) I had a good time, thanks for asking. No spills, thrills or chills. Still, I have to say that I was a part of some interesting dialogues...
I was asked a number of times about what I'd studied.
"Didn't you study ---?"
"No, I studied ^^^^."
"But I thought it was ---?"
"No, it was ^^^^."
"Really, I thought it was ---."
"It was ^^^."
"Oh, well you need to help me out. I need to study ^^^."
This could have gone on forever. Thankfully, it did not.
Then there was the tantalizing offer to pack my bags and move to another city to work at the publication of someone else's choice. Mind you, this person knew of no openings. They just thought it would be nice for me to work at a place that they like.
"But if you had the opportunity, wouldn't you work for ###?"
"Well, no. I wouldn't move to work for ###?"
"Why not? I'm just saying, if you could, wouldn't you?
"No."
"I just love ###...what about %%%? Would you work for them?"
I'll let you fill in the next blank.
Finally, there was the 2005 Gift of the Magi-Who's on First Edition, in which an entire family (of which I am a member) went to the mall the day after Christmas because everyone thought someone else wanted to go, when really, no one wanted to go. Each one's sacrifice of enduring the mall for the other turned out to be in vain. So after a brief sojourn they all left. Some left sooner than others since about half of them got stuck in horrid Day-after-Christmas-mall-parking-lot traffic.
The End.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Shared Memory
For the past few days as I have walked down the hallway, coming and going, I have seen the same thing in front of a neighbor's door: a brown paper bag on top of a tv dinner. I don't know what mysteries the paper bag contains, but I can see that the tv dinner is a tv dinner. Especially since it is not in a box.
As I write this, I am thinking, "Why didn't you at least mention it to the manager?" Couldn't tell you why. Could have been left by a friend? Meals on Wheels? I have never seen that door open, and I don't know who lives there. I hope this person or those people are still alive, and just neglectful. Or on vacation.
This reminds me of the time I went on a class trip to Albany in the 6th grade. We stayed at an Econo Lodge. The building was painted with vertical turquoise and white stripes.
For the three days of our stay the same tray of food remained outside of the room next door. I had the gruesome thought that we would come down the hallway to find the tray covered with ants. But that didn't happen.
My brother, who was two years behind me at the same school, claims to have the same memory (school trip, Econo Lodge, tray of food unremoved). I tell him that he has just co-opted my memory, and he emphatically denies this. No matter. I am not particulary possessive about that memory anyway.
For the past few days as I have walked down the hallway, coming and going, I have seen the same thing in front of a neighbor's door: a brown paper bag on top of a tv dinner. I don't know what mysteries the paper bag contains, but I can see that the tv dinner is a tv dinner. Especially since it is not in a box.
As I write this, I am thinking, "Why didn't you at least mention it to the manager?" Couldn't tell you why. Could have been left by a friend? Meals on Wheels? I have never seen that door open, and I don't know who lives there. I hope this person or those people are still alive, and just neglectful. Or on vacation.
This reminds me of the time I went on a class trip to Albany in the 6th grade. We stayed at an Econo Lodge. The building was painted with vertical turquoise and white stripes.
For the three days of our stay the same tray of food remained outside of the room next door. I had the gruesome thought that we would come down the hallway to find the tray covered with ants. But that didn't happen.
My brother, who was two years behind me at the same school, claims to have the same memory (school trip, Econo Lodge, tray of food unremoved). I tell him that he has just co-opted my memory, and he emphatically denies this. No matter. I am not particulary possessive about that memory anyway.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Panda-monium
Recently it has been impossible to read The Washington Post or its free tabloid, Express without seeing something about, Tai Shan, the National Zoo's new panda cub.
So I was amused to finally see that some Post writers were willing to poke fun at their own paper, skewering the constant panda coverage. There was a really funny cartoon depicting how every single section of the paper could get in on all this panda action.
I laughed out loud, thinking of it as satire rather than a prediction. But you know what they say about the genius of comedy. Today's Health section a short piece explaining the psychology behind why people like pictures of the Tai Shan so much and that "cute" pictures trigger an emotional response in a certain part of the brain.
Apparently humans are hardwired to find respond positively to the physical features of young creatures (human or not). That way the species survives because adults are drawn towards and want to nurture the young.
Okay, so I learned something new...but I still think we are seeing way too much of that panda.
Recently it has been impossible to read The Washington Post or its free tabloid, Express without seeing something about, Tai Shan, the National Zoo's new panda cub.
So I was amused to finally see that some Post writers were willing to poke fun at their own paper, skewering the constant panda coverage. There was a really funny cartoon depicting how every single section of the paper could get in on all this panda action.
I laughed out loud, thinking of it as satire rather than a prediction. But you know what they say about the genius of comedy. Today's Health section a short piece explaining the psychology behind why people like pictures of the Tai Shan so much and that "cute" pictures trigger an emotional response in a certain part of the brain.
Apparently humans are hardwired to find respond positively to the physical features of young creatures (human or not). That way the species survives because adults are drawn towards and want to nurture the young.
Okay, so I learned something new...but I still think we are seeing way too much of that panda.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Float on
If you have never had men float past your window, you don't know what you're missing.
These are no hallucinations, but the real thing. The never-ending construction on my building means that I experience this quite often. And this would have been a touching tribute to all their hard work...if they hadn't started hammering quite earlier than usual the other day, waking me up. I want them to be gone so I can miss them already.
If I look out of my huge window, and see the hanging ropes start to shake, I know the visitors will soon appear. I rush to close my blinds, in anticipation. Sometimes they stop right in front of my window; other times the keep gliding up to visit one of my neighbors.
If a song that I love from back in the day comes on the radio, then they are likely to show up with a drill and drown it out.
But then again, they also just as likely to entertain me.
Once, I heard a harrowing tale of someone who traveled through Mexico, and Arizona, being chased by la migra (that's immigration, y'all). And another morning, outside my window there was a deep voice singing, "¡Qué bonito! ¡Qué bonito!" Ah...my first serenata (serenade). Although I enjoyed the serenade, we really don't like the same music. Their radio is tuned into the all ranchera station, while I prefer salsa, merengue, bachata and Latin pop.
Even as I write this, the ropes are shaking.
But today they have passed me by, moving up to higher heights.
If you have never had men float past your window, you don't know what you're missing.
These are no hallucinations, but the real thing. The never-ending construction on my building means that I experience this quite often. And this would have been a touching tribute to all their hard work...if they hadn't started hammering quite earlier than usual the other day, waking me up. I want them to be gone so I can miss them already.
If I look out of my huge window, and see the hanging ropes start to shake, I know the visitors will soon appear. I rush to close my blinds, in anticipation. Sometimes they stop right in front of my window; other times the keep gliding up to visit one of my neighbors.
If a song that I love from back in the day comes on the radio, then they are likely to show up with a drill and drown it out.
But then again, they also just as likely to entertain me.
Once, I heard a harrowing tale of someone who traveled through Mexico, and Arizona, being chased by la migra (that's immigration, y'all). And another morning, outside my window there was a deep voice singing, "¡Qué bonito! ¡Qué bonito!" Ah...my first serenata (serenade). Although I enjoyed the serenade, we really don't like the same music. Their radio is tuned into the all ranchera station, while I prefer salsa, merengue, bachata and Latin pop.
Even as I write this, the ropes are shaking.
But today they have passed me by, moving up to higher heights.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
It's all in the wrist
My neighbor asked me how work was going.
I said it was okay and that I was taking a copyediting course.
He looked thoughtful for a moment and then asked,
"What kind of software do you use for copyediting?"
So I explained that people really don't use software to copyedit;
it is something done with brainpower.
"So, you do it by hand?" was his response.
His tone made it into an archaic activity, like churning butter.
Actually, I could see that on a t-shirt: Copyeditors Do It By Hand.
My neighbor asked me how work was going.
I said it was okay and that I was taking a copyediting course.
He looked thoughtful for a moment and then asked,
"What kind of software do you use for copyediting?"
So I explained that people really don't use software to copyedit;
it is something done with brainpower.
"So, you do it by hand?" was his response.
His tone made it into an archaic activity, like churning butter.
Actually, I could see that on a t-shirt: Copyeditors Do It By Hand.
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