The racial reconciliation concept was a joint effort between the Red House staff and us. They pointed out the fact that their employees and customer base were like the "Rainbow Coalition", and we thought something with a comical racial reconciliation theme would be fun, as well as a conversation starter.
Yeah, not so much blogging, hm?
I've been really super busy and as such, stressed. Lots going on. Some of it's exciting, some's nerve wracking, some's banal. I have a hurt arm, I'm over committed at work, and I have too much to do at home.
I'm fine--good, even, but this stage I'm in is one of lots of obligations and little time with others.
Hiked again today, first a couple of miles on my own, birding, and then another few miles with Suze. I'd never been to the quarry in the wintertime, and decided to check it out for waterfowl. The usually empty gully you need to cross to get to the quarry has turned into a creek. One that's too wide to jump over. Dammit.
I found my way across with the help of a couple of stepping stones, though. The sun's angle highlighted the water and pine trees, and it made the red clay soil just brilliant. No birds, though. Ah well. I crossed back over the stream and almost fell backwards into the water. On my ass. Hiking back to the parking lot, I considered how well I'd be able to survive in the woods for a day or so with what I had on me if I broke an ankle.
Inventory of what I was carrying/wearing:
Binoculars
Sibley's guide
Grinch Hands
Cashmere hat #1
Cashmere hat #2
Bandanna
Tank top
Bra
Base layer
Cashmere sweater
Jeans
Underwear
Wool/cotton socks
Hooded waterproof shell
LED keychain
Lighter
Cell phone*
What I didn't have:
Water
Food
Even taking the phone out of the equation (cause that makes it way too easy), I was pretty happy with what I came up with.
Observations of note:
I could use the Sibley's guide and a lighter to start a fire (sad, but worth it). There's a lot of dead wood.
The LED keychain is a wondrous thing.
I'm glad I have warm head coverings.
Wettish leaves would be a good smoke creator.
I know the SOS morse code. I think. Smoke signals. Cool.
I'd drink stream water, risking contaminants.
There's wild ginger, so I could chew on the roots.
Can I catch a squirrel? I don't have a knife. I wonder if I could gut it with my hands. Would it skin easily? Maybe I could just burn the fur off?
I bet if I had to, I could break my binoculars to get to the lens.
Yah. It was a fun hike.
*Which I lost later. And then found again. Whew.
Somewhere along the line my library practically did away with limits on audio materials. You can check out up to 50 (!!) CDs and books on tape. I was a bit floored. I used to get around the limits by picking out a few biographies or nonfiction works on CD for road trips. No more!
Yay!
Another thing that's changed over the past few years is that all the books on tape* are unabridged. (*Yes, I'll continue saying it that way even if I get them in CD format. Kind of like "album.")
Yay!
Wait. Yay?
Gotta say, I'm a bit self-conscious admitting this, but I prefer the abridged versions on tape. Cause, see, it takes a really long time to read a book out loud. (Aside--I just tried to look up how many hours the audio version of The World According to Garp was. I swear there's no easy way to find the answer to that sort of trivia.) Anyhoo, a 354 page book takes over 11 hours to listen to. No, that's not how long Garp is. Silly reader! Didn't you at least do a hover over the link to see?
Rambly Rambly.
My point. A longish weekend road trip (like say, to Georgia) is about 12 hours round trip. The first hour or so you want to listen to NPR. See how the convention is going, maybe do a little Mandalit del Barco name mimicking--that sort of thing. Same with the last hour. Then you need to factor in the "I really should pay attention" times. Traffic. Construction. Rain. Phone calls. Detours. And sometimes you just want music. So really, chances are good you won't finish a 12-hour audiobook on this sort of trip. The abridged versions, however, last only about 4-6 hours. You can get one of those done. Sometimes two.
But maybe a better argument is that I don't like every single book. So if you begin the 12 hour one and don't like it, then you have to switch to one of your backup books. Repeat that a couple of times, and again--you won't finish.
Of course the reason why I'm embarrassed about this is that abridgement is inherently bad, to literature purists. It tastes of censorship. And smells of bowdlerlization. Enough of my identity is tied up in the insecurity of not being smart enough that I get twinges about this. See? I used the world bowdlerize, fercrissake.
I know I'm overthinking a plate of beans. At least maybe that tendency of mine will help stave off dementia.
These are the books and CDs I checked out today (see blog post title).
Books:
A Spot of Bother
Lost and Found
Conception
Dinner with a Perfect Stranger
and
The Boyfriend List
The last two are short. Four and six hours, respectively. We've got a book about religion and Young Adult Fiction. Rawk.
CDs
The B-52s Funplex
The Smiths The Queen is Dead
The Cure The Cure
Johnny Cash Love, God, Murder
What do you think all of this says about me?
Do you ever have people say "You look just like......"?
I think I must have one of those faces. One that is so common* that everyone I encounter can think of someone I resemble in one way or another.
Here are the three most recent.
*Not in a bad way, just not unique or quirky. 
HA HA HA HA!! Not like *that*! I wish...
Anyway.
Yesterday when I came home from work, my neighbor was sitting on his porch with another guy and called me over to introduce me. His visitor is a Swedish photojournalist, who's traversing the country in search of the Real America to share with the 500,000 people who read the biggest newspaper in his country. He said he basically wanted to present the United States that's not known to outsiders, and has been/will be making several trips to meet and interview people all over the country. I think he said that so far he's been to DC, and maybe NYC? He'll be here for a bit longer, and I agreed to let him interview me.
In fact, actually, he's going to interview me at the legislature tomorrow, where I'll be participating in an HIV Advocacy Day, sponsored by one of my fave organizations in the state. Since he's mostly only interviewed white men in the 25-40 range, I figured I could whomp* up enough others at this event so that he'll get a broader picture than he already has.
Other than that, I don't really know what he'll be asking me. He interviewed Neighbor yesterday evening, after we'd all sat on the porch for a bit with Next Door Neighdog (who drank all my water, thankyouverymuch), just chatting. I'd gone home by the time the actual interview happened, so I'm looking forward to what he has to say!
Seems like a cool guy and a cool project. I'm not positive he'll come up with what he's looking for, given how pervasive our culture seems to be elsewhere. But I'm more than happy to help.
I just want to be HEAAAAAAAAARD!
*Whomp up alternate definition: find, come up with, throw together.
An overview:
1) got rid of evil roommate
2) got new, good job
3) made two rockin' 4'x10' garden beds
4) made a worm bin and got some worms.
5) met lots of good new friends, both near and far*.
6) made or continued connections with others who I expect and or hope to meet at some point**.
7) kept up with old friends, not all of whom are bloggers, and so are not referenced, but you know who you are! (I could do better with this, though!)
8) Participated in a couple of cool local eating events.
9) Established my first garden!
10) Got new roommate. The good one.
11) Struggled with mental health, self-doubt, insecurities, loneliness, figurative paralysis and slovenliness. What's new?! :-)
12) Discovered my favorite type of beer.
13) Birded, but not as much as I'd like to.
14) Celebrated one year post quitting smoking, and apparently forgot to blog it.
15) Pined after having a dog, but ultimately decided I am not in a situation where I can do right by it.
16) Continued following issues that matter to me, and did something about them.
17) Probably a lot of other things I can't remember.
As far as goals for 2008, I think the main one will be to address the figurative paralysis of procrastination that often keeps me from doing what I'd like to and need to do.
What about you?
____________________
*This one is giving birth to her second child today! A son! Wish her health and luck! On top of it, her husband and I have known each other basically since birth, because our fathers were best friends from childhood. And Ms. Sitting Still and I made the connection via BLOGGING!
**BONUS! One might happen today!
Wanna hear something depressing?
I was listening to NPR today, and one of the commenters/hosts/whatever asked the other one what s/he thought about the Jena 6 situation, given that the latter was African-American. I think Host 1 framed it in a "what have y'all been hearing around dinner tables" kind of way. Host 2 answered, and I recall being a) annoyed on Host 2's behalf for being treated like THE speaker for the African-American community and b) surprised at my own reaction to learning Host 2's race.
I guess with radio I really don't think about the person unless they have a non-standard voice or name or both.
Silvia Pugioli (if that's how it's spelled) is one that DOES stand out. I picture her with long, grey-flecked hair, tied back and with a scarf on one shoulder folded in a triangle. She's olive-skinned and doesn't much do makeup. Age 55ish.
There's also a Latina woman who doesn't anglicize the pronunciation of her name. I think she's based in California. I could google it, but that would take too much effort, and effort is one thing I'm lacking right now. I perceive her as younger--30s. (Shit. It bothered me too much. I'm referring to Lourdes Garcia-Navarro).
Diane Rheem (See? Radio makes you illiterate, too! I have no idea how any of these names are written) has a distinctive voice, as does the guy who does The Connection, oops I mean The Story--Dick Gordon, innit? Karl Castle, too.
I have no idea what any of them look like. I felt weird for not knowing that Host 2 was black. I felt bad that I lacking other identifying information I was assuming all of these people were white. (I also picture them as beautiful, despite the phrase a face made for radio). And they almost without exception are in their 50s. Not Karl Castle, he's older. As an aside, I'm purposely NOT looking names up for spelling, in order to make a point, and it will annoy me if you "correct" me. I'll likely look them up myself, to try to alleviate the extra-super annoyance I'm already feeling. (Thanks, Current Strong Bout of Depression!)
I haven't gotten to the depressing part yet. That came when I googleimagesearched Host 2 to see what s/he looked like.
Way too many sites linking to a picture of Host 2 were racist, bigoted, right wing, wackjob outfits. I know NPR is considered lefty among the freaky conservative set, but this host is being attacked mostly just for being black. I know it happens. I guess I just have been successful in avoiding people and places that are so fucked up as to impugn someone based on race. These websites felt purely evil...I wanted to wash my hands afterwards, I felt so dirty.
I just went back to see if my emotional memory of this imagesearch matched with my currently cooler head. It doesn't. In fact, it sounds like this host is pretty much reviled by sectors in both the white and black communities.
I guess my point is that racial issues are weird and people who judge based on race piss me off. And that it pisses me off about myself that I do it, too, in assuming whiteness based on name and voice only. It's a little thing, and I'm not exactly down on myself about it, but it did piss me off about the world.
But then again, I'm either pissed off, overwhelmed, pissing others off, fleeing personal interaction, extremely sensitive, and/or crying these days.
I think I mentioned (or else I just thought about it a lot) that the sun doesn't rise here until VERY late--8:30 a.m. is when it truly could be considered light out. It makes a lot of sense, but I hadn't thought about it before. In the summer, sunsets are late late late. 10:00 p.m., if you can believe it. Westernmost part of the Eastern timezone, combined with being pretty far north will do that.
This is on my mind because I've been sleeping the sleep of the dead; I'm in bed by 7,8,9 and never awake before 7. Today the light woke me up, and I know I got up in the night to pee at 8:56 p.m.
I swear I'm not that driver. You know, the one who whizzes by cyclists too close, turning in front of them, or beeping really loudly to attempt to make them get out of the way. (Actually, I'm so not that person that I'm not readily sure what exactly cars do that bugs cyclists the most.)
What I am, or at least what I hope to be, is considerate. When I approach a cyclist on a narrow road, I make sure I am able to give them enough clearance to easily avoid any heart attacks. If I have to slow to a crawl behind them until it's safe for me to do so, no worries. I keep in mind to watch out for people riding bikes when I toodle about town; just a couple of weeks ago I pulled up to turn right onto my street and noticed a bike was catching up with me (on the right). So I waited for him to go by before I turned.
I know that cyclists, many of them, writhe in frustration at how unfriendly the city streets can be for someone on a bicycle. There are regular protests about it in cities around the country (world!) once a month. Bicycles have just as much right to the road as cars, they say! I agree wholeheartedly, for many reasons, that cities should have dedicated bike lanes on all major roads. I wish everyone biked around more; I want people to walk to their destinations whenever possible. I wish my job were closer to where I lived; I'll never be able to be carless due to the nature of what I do, but at least the commute wouldn't burn a gallon and a half of gas every day. (I'm not quite ready to move to the city where I work, though.)
But here's the rub. I recently decided to do a brief tally in my head of the cyclists I came across while driving over the last week, because it had begun to seem to me that there were some really shitty cyclists out there.
With the exception of people biking on country(ish) roads where there were no traffic lights, every single person I've seen riding a bike in the last week has flagrantly disobeyed traffic laws, and all in the same way--by running stop signs or red lights, without even slowing down.
I kid you not, it was 100% of the urban cyclists I saw this week doing this; you can't write it off to confirmation bias.
That pisses me off.
Thirteen out of the 23 students in my first period class yesterday was wearing Clarks Wallabees. The second most popular shoe is the Sperry Topsider.
In 1993, I tried to single-handedly catapult Clarks Desert Boots to the top of post-collegiate fashion scene. Considering I was working at a private day/boarding school at the time, though, it came less ironically than I'd wanted it to, though.
(OMG! In looking up the link to the school, I found out there was a big fire there in August that burned down the beautiful library. Check out this slideshow. It also will show you how extremely traditional this school is.)
I spent time with approximately 250 kids over the last 1.5 days. In most cases I learned ~2/3 of their names.
My nose is so cracked and sore on the inside that it makes me want to cry.
I'm starting to have a freak-out about a grant I'm writing. I've never written a grant before. It's for a lot of money--like, enough to double the programs and staff in my department. OK, so that means going from one to two, but still. I'm feeling like there might be some kind of "all-nighter" issue happening at some point.
My boss referred to a meeting I'd be a regular member of as a "Management team" meeting. That's good, I think.
I've begun wearing makeup most days. Makeup as in moisturizer, foundation, powder, eyeshadow and mascara. Often lipstick. I feel like I look the better for it. It's a concession to age, though. I never used to have any need for evening out my skin. The foundation is both what seems to make the most difference and also is the saddest.
I might add more onto this entry in a bit, but for now I'm going out for breakfast with my Emily.
Imperatrix was right. Photo Booth is addictive. It also feels self-absorption enabling, when I sit there and take pictures over and over, deleting until I get one that doesn't seem entirely heinous.
Not surprisingly (considering my recent state of being), I'm feeling old and battered. Looking at the picture I've posted, I just see the bags and lines. I'm glad that the turtleneck I've got on hides my the extra chin that's conspiring to wrap around my neck until it chokes me dead. It makes me want to get more of them.
(BTW, I'm slightly freaking out, because even though I want to explore these thoughts, I worry that it will make those of you who read and know me want to reassure me that no, no, no you really are cute, stew, and it's OK. I actually know that, though, and let me just make it clear that I'm not fishing. Heh. The logical part of me does accept that I'm not in the least ugly.)
These unfavorable thoughts didn't just stop me, though, from flashing a bright, honest smile at the cute, presumably unmarried* guy across from me who is absorbed in reading a huge stack of what looks to be research papers.
Oy, I still have a headache.
*Of course there's no telling if he a) has a girlfriend or even b) whether he'd ever have a girlfriend.
New addition, 12:45 p.m.
Deposited checks, and miraculously walked into a busy salon and snapped up a no-show's appointment. $50 later....
