HALLOWEEN, ENOUGH ALREADY

Happy Halloween. Notice the lacking exclamation point? That's because I'm pretty burnt out from it already. No, no, I don't want another peanut butter cup...

This weekend I dressed up as The Cat in the Hat's crony, Thing One. Not all weekend, but for two seperate occasions. It was a pretty decent self-composed costume that I gathered for a sum of twenty dollars. The nice thing about it is next year, with some very minor alterations, I can go as Thing Two.

COSTUME PARTY AND OTHER SUCH NONSENSE

You know how traditionally, kids dress up as spooky creepy things for Halloween? Ghosts, for example, or witches, or hob goblins. I actually have no clue what a hob goblin is, other than it is fun to say. In any case, now that I'm an adult and my fear of ghosts, witches, and hob goblins are all but dissolved I thought it would be great fun to attend a costume party dressed up as an adult fear. Fear of relationship failure, for example, or fear of STDs, unplanned pregnancy, or drug addiction.

Here are some costumes I have worn as an adult:

1. Lola from Run Lola Run
2. Selma from Dancer in the Dark
3. Holly GoLightly from Breakfast at Tiffany's
4. A Sneetch from The Sneetches*

*The one stars on thars.

NOTE TO SELF (#3)

Don’t get into an argument while drunk. You might find yourself shouting uncontrollably something like, “Don’t fucking throw my things!!!!!!! If you want to break something throw your own fucking things!!” You might find yourself saying things that, if you’re unlucky enough to remember in the morning, you might regret.

I'm not saying I know from experience. I'm just saying.

HE WEARS MY RING

I asked RS if he would be
My partner in crime,
My better half,
My galactic plate of nachos.
I gave him a ring.

He said "yes."

ALL I GOT TO SAY IS:

Holy fuck, I'm falling apart and it isn't even 7:30 a.m. yet.

WOUND UP OVER MURAKAMI

Yesterday after a slow six mile run, I walked in a zombie-like stupor to a corporate bookstore downtown and bought The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami. I have heard wonderfully strange things about his writing and I wanted to see for myself. And all claims are true! I'm quite wraped up in the story and I would have liked nothing more than to stay in bed this morning nestled in a billowy pile of goose down, reading.

WEEK EIGHT OF TWELVE

It is that time of the quarter again, where students and instructors alike are bogged down in a thick rotting swamp of lethargy. We, my students and I, have been acquainted now for two whole months and frankly, the magic is gone. I know they can no longer stand to hear me go on and on about solving complex vectors just as I can no longer countenance their sophomoric humor and their birdbrain schemes to meet women. And we're all still a month away from the end of the quarter! Quite literally, thirty fucking days!

The only way to ameliorate the situation is to reach back, waaaaaaaaaay back for the most powerful emollient: Biting Sarcasm.

And wouldn't you know it, my tube of Biting Sarcasm is nearly empty.

COMPULSION # 36592

1. Sharpen a pencil.
2. Smell it.
3. Mmmmm.
4. Smell it again...mulchy.

COMPULSION # 411878

1. Play Blue Flower by Mazzy Star.
2. Sing like a goddamn fool.
3. Rinse and Repeat.

WORDPLAY

Sometimes. Sometimes I wake up in the morning without a song in my head. Instead that little bed of grey matter in my head hosts a single word. Yesterday the word was ‘cogent’ and today it’s ‘indelible.’ When I have a word in my head I don’t really use it in complete sentences so much as kick it around the rooms of my brain, the same way you might kick a piece of garbage around the street. It sounds like this:

Indelible
…
Indelible
Indelible ink
Indelible stain
Indelible sadness
Hmm, good one
Indelible sadness
Oh, indelible hair!
…
Indelible hair?
Indelible
Indelible

I know it may sound pretty harmless to you, but its pure unadulterated hell for me. It makes my hands grope for the standby button on my brain. Once, I had the word ‘akimbo’ stuck in my head for over a week.

WITH YOU I'D LIKE TO SHARE IT

Each day I seem to wake up with a new song in my head. It generally persists through my morning routine, commute, and sometimes through my first two hours of class. It is usually something old, like Bizarre Love Triangle by New Order, or Sarah by Starship, or even the theme song from Ghostbusters. But not today. No, today I am stuck with a terrifically repetitive tune by Raffi, that crazy bearded Canadian who is famous for writing songs for children.

Today, I’m stuck with a song about the virtues of sharing.

THE LAST STANZA

Edna St. Vincent Millay week is now officially over. I know it's sad, but look: the helium balloons are droopy and the confetti has turned into a pulpy mess on the floor. Come on, stop licking the punch bowl. Put it down. It's time to move on. I do hope you enjoyed the selected verse though. What inspires me most about Ms. Millay is her ability to paint elaborate emotions and moods in, like, fifty words. And now I would like to share with you my lame attempts at the same:

Ahem.

An Ode to Ethan's Nipples

His ribs, they curve like Puget Sound
Skin, mottled pink of beaches west
Two limpets cling
Their mossy home
The salty flesh of Ethan's chest

HANGMAN'S OAK

Before the cock in the barnyard spoke,
Before it well was day,
Horror like a serpent from about the Hangman’s Oak
Uncoiled and slid away.

Pity and Peace were on the limb
That bore such bitter fruit.
Deep he lies, and the desperate blood of him
Befriends the innocent root.

Brother, I said to the air beneath the bough
Whence he had swung,
It will not be long for any of us now;
We doe not grow young.

It will not be long for the knotter of ropes, not long
For the sheriff or for me,
Or for any of them that came five hundred strong
To see you swing from a tree.

Side by side together in the belly of Death
We sit without hope,
You, and I, and the mother that gave you breath,
And the tree, and the rope.

~Edna St. Vincent Millay

THE TRUE ENCOUNTER

“Wolf!” cried my cunning heart
At every sheep it spied,
And roused the countryside.

“Wolf! Wolf!” – and up would start
Good neighbours, bringing spade
And pitchfork to my aid.

At length my cry was known:
Therein lay my release.
I met the wolf alone
And was devoured in peace.

~Edna St. Vincent Millay

GROWN-UP

Was it for this I uttered prayers,
And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half past eight?

~Edna St. Vincent Millay

FEAST

I drank at every vine.
The last was like the first.
I came upon no wine
So wonderful as thirst.

I gnawed at every root.
I ate of every plant.
I came upon no fruit
So wonderful as want.

Feed the grape and the bean
To the vintner and the monger;
I will lie down lean
With my thirst and my hunger.

~Edna St. Vincent Millay

EBB

I know what my heart is like
Since your love died:
It is like a hollow ledge
Holding a little pool
Left there by the tide,
A little tepid pool,
Drying inward from the edge.

~Edna St. Vincent Millay

FIRST FIG

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends –
It gives a lovely light!

~Edna St. Vincent Millay

SORROW

Sorrow like a ceaseless rain
Beats upon my heart.
People twist and scream in pain, -
Dawn will find them still again;
This has neither was nor wane,
Neither stop nor start.

People dress and go to town;
I sit in my chair.
All my thoughts are slow and brown:
Standing up or sitting down
Little matters, or what gown
Or what shoes I wear.

~ Edna St. Vincent Millay

READ TO ME

Last Wednesday evening I read RS poetry while he sat, hunched over the drafting table cutting out little leaves from colored paper. I was reading from a book of collected lyrics from Edna St. Vincent Millay. These lines are so good, I'm going to declare the next seven days, Edna St. Vincent Millay Week.

THE DAY AFTER

It was a beautiful day yesterday and a huge turn out (1.2 million). The finish was a bit anticlimactic. My dad and I crossed together. I thanked him for running the race with me. He said he had a good time. And then we struck out in search of a port-o-potty and a ride home.

My dad, ladies and gentlemen. He puts 'NO!' in 'no nonsense.'

I came to work today, mainly because I don't want my students to think I'm soft. But seriously, I'm not as sore as I was anticipating. I have a pea in my left knee and a dull ache in my right hip. Other than that, I'm okay. I was talking to a student who used to be an endorsed athlete back in the day (he said he ran a marathon in Europe in 2:17). He asked me what my best time was and I told him, 3:40. Then he asked me how much I weighed and I told him, about 140 lbs. He kind of looked me up and down, the way an equestrian might inspect a horse and said if I trained more with sprints and lost another 10 lbs, I could probably finish close to 3 hours flat. I understand the more you weigh the more weight you have to drag around the course and I would like to get a competitive time in the near future, but I have a hard enough time being mistakened for a fourteen year old boy as is.

THE DAY BEFORE

If you happen to get up on Sunday before 12:00 noon (Central Standard Time), think of me. I will most likely be yakking in Buckingham Fountain in downtown Chicago.

MULTITASKING

I’m an incorrigible multi-tasker.
This morning I blow dried my hair while on the toilet.

TOP SECRET

Today the students have some school sponsored events to take part in, which essentially means classes are canceled. When they asked me yesterday how I would be spending my day off today I replied, "top secret math/science teacher things." I wasn't sure what I meant by that, but now I understand: It means eating an 85 cent Banquet Chicken Pot Pie while watching The Joy of Painting on public television. Oh Bob Ross! All hail your bristle filbert brush! Your cadmium orange! Your prussian blue!

THE CASUALTIES OF DIVORCE

Last night I picked up the ringing phone and was greeted with a small voice.

"Hello."
"Who is this?"
"Sam."
"Sam who?"
"Sam Yourexhusband'sneice" *

She's eight years old. I have not spoken to her in almost two years. We chatted for a little while about school and sledding and her new house with her very own room. After I talked to her, I talked to her older sister and then her mom (my ex-sister-in-law). She told me that Sam, not completely comprehending the whole divorce concept, asked about me. And when her mother told her that I probably wouldn't be coming around or spending the winter holidays with their family like I used to, she started to cry. In an effort to console her daughter, she had Sam call my ex-husband to get my phone number. He aparently gave her my old number and then coolly said, "I don't know if she lives there anymore." Which I don’t. So next they called my other ex-sister-in-law whom I've seen a few times since the divorce. She gave them my current contact information. I was very happy to hear from Sam, this child, so smart, so sensitive and willful. I have been thinking about her all morning.

* That’s not her real last name. You silly goose.

ADVENTURES IN LASHING OUT

It was raining this morning on my way to work. No, actually, it wasn't merely raining it was pissing cats and dogs! It was pouring something biblical. It was really coming down hard. I had one of those rare moments this morning when I wished I had a car; it was that bad. I decided to walk to school because biking would just result in the muddy, brown butt streak of shame. All you bike commuters out there, nod your head in empathy. You know of what I speak.

Right. So I decided to walk to school, dressed accordingly: I packed my pants in my waterproof bag and donned shorts, sandals, and my rain coat. That way, my legs could get as wet as they liked and I could just dry them off and change when I got to work. Only, this didn’t work so well because my walk was almost 30 minutes and water was coming down in heavy sheets, torrents. For the last ten minutes I was kind of shuffling along because my shorts were wet and wicking water upwards, threatening to soak my knickers. I was teetering on the edge of insanity, I tell you! And then.

And then, when I arrived at school who should I find waiting at the east entrance? Surely not the tall, gallant security guard who holds the door open for me when I have my bike. No, instead it’s the pathetic, middle-aged ex-marine who insists on scrutinizing everyone’s identification badge for five minutes, turning it over in his hands, sniffing it like some kind of animal, biting it with his teeth in order to test its authenticity, whatever. Never mind that he sees the same people every day, he can be a genuine, militant anal retentive loser. He asked, “Can I see your badge, ma’am?” Imagine this drenched bird searching through her bag. I pulled it out, flashed it at him and made my way to the bathroom so I could change out of my cold, wet clothes. “Excuse me ma’am, I didn’t see your badge. I only saw your lanyard.” Imagine his voice thin, whiny and annoying. “It’s my job to check.” I said, “You call me ‘ma’am’ one more time motherfucker, and I swear to god I’ll cut you.”

No. Not really. But I did tell him to stop calling me ma'am.

"LET'S PLAY ULTIMATE MOTHER FUCKERS!"

I played a match of Ultimate Frisbee yesterday afternoon and now my ass is so sore I can’t cross my legs without grimacing. It’s funny. I’m in my last week of training for the Chicago Marathon. I think I’m in pretty good shape, and then I wake up with the bones and muscles of a sixty year old lady. I suppose those amphibian sprinting muscles are very different from the mammalian endurance muscles I have been training. Ooof, my back muscles hurt too. WTF?

I played ultimate for two seasons on two separate leagues before I left for China. Now I join a pick up game here and there, or sub for my old team (which is what I did yesterday). It’s fun to play a team sport for a change. Long distance swimming and running can get awful lonely and boring.

A SHORT LIST

A short list of things I don’t own, that I am content not to own:

1. A car
2. A cell phone
3. A microwave
4. A coffee maker
5. A remote control

A short list of things I don’t own, that I would really like to own:

1. A home
2. A yard
3. A piano
4. A garden
5. A hammock
6. An avocado tree

INTIMIATE APPAREL

This evening RS and I walked to the theater to watch Intimate Apparel by Lynn Nottage. The play was about a sensible, although lonely thirty five year old African American woman living in Lower Manhattan at the beginning of the twentieth century. It was very well done. I will admit I was quite swept up in the romantic fantasy of the first half only to be crushed with bitter disappointment in the second. This was the artists’ intent, so kudos to them.

On a peripheral note, it has been at least a year since I saw a play and what really struck me about tonight’s experience is how dressed up people got just to sit in the dark for two hours. I can understand dressing for an occasion, but some people were strutting about like birds of paradise at senior prom. It’s kind of sad, really. It reminds me of the people from my hometown (of 75,000) who use to get gussied up for a "dining experience" at the Red Lobster.