paperweights and winged things

something gets crossed off

2009-01-31T08:51:00.003-07:00

I started and finished my first painting since elementary school in November of last year. I gave it as a gift to my one true love. We may be back on the blog. No promises, but there is just so much to share with the world.

1984 in two parts

2008-06-11T21:44:00.003-06:00

Here is a brief story about using GPS trackers to keep kids from ditching class (sorry about the ad):

Privacy, anyone? Kids will find a way to get around this, I guarantee it.

What's to keep kids from leaving this thing with a friend? Most likely the students are threatened with expulsion or even having to appear in court. Colorado has a state law that students must attend school for a certain amount of hours each year until they are 17...after which they can drop out.

The best part of this video is when the guy says "3 in 10 federal prisoners, 4 in 10 state prisoner and almost half those on death row...are high school dropouts." If we want to look at it that way why not: 7 in 10 federal prisoners, 6 in 10 federal prisoners and more than half those on death row...graduated from high school. Be weary of those high school graduates.

Here is a brief song about Big Brother because Mo and I are going to see Anais Mitchell Saturday night in Boulder:

queues? eff 'em

2008-05-28T21:05:00.003-06:00

Waiting in lines is detestable. I spend a lot of time waiting in lines, especially virtual lines. Movie queues, holds at the library, what have you. In the past week I have bypassed two such lines for the sake of satisfying a manufactured need as soon as possible.

Line one: We like the idea of going to a tangible place to see what the film world has to offer. Net Flix is not compatible with Mac (bad move on their part) unless you are a pirate/hacker who can get around that sort of thing. All in all, Blockbuster works best for us...except when it comes to The Wire. We finished the first season about a week after my appendix took my bank account for a ride. I have said things about that show that I am pretty sure I have only said about my closest loved ones. Sometimes I feel dirty that I love that show so much. We wanted to take maybe a week off between seasons but Blockbuster doesn't carry it in store and the line to get a hold of the first disc of each season was backed up for two months. Finally, we caved and got the free trial for Net Flix. Season two arrived two days later and now the successive discs are easy to score. Free trial, then cancel, line circumvented.

Line two: Thomas L. Friedman writes some of my favorite Op-Eds for the New York Times and has written some books that I will some day get around to reading. I'm not cool enough yet to get the NY Times, but the Denver Post gives us a tease every now and again. Last week Friedman plugged Fareed Zakaria's new book, "The Post-American World." I knew the name and I'd heard about the new book. In a globalization class at Mines I kind of forgot to read "The Future of Freedom" and either sold the book or put it in a box in the basement. Feeling slighted by myself, I was very ready to make up for this and put the new book on hold at Denver Public Library. Number 70 in line. Not going to happen. Hard cover books are a luxury I don't afford myself as I spent thousands of dollars in college on hard backs I never cracked open. Having spent a sizable portion of my income on books from the Tattered Cover that keep getting placed by the wayside for borrowed books I feel a bit entitled to get through a book in its entirety while in the store. The chairs aren't that uncomfortable and they are stocked up well enough to ensure I'll never have to wait in line to catch an in-store adventure.

Speaking of bypassing lines and Fareed Zakaria, we jumped in front of a line of about 12,000 people at DU to see this guy (who happened to be in town again today):

history in the lawmaking

2008-05-07T16:37:00.007-06:00

What happens when a policy wonk gets an idea?

One thing I've learned about public policy in the short year that I have given any thought and time to it is that law makers are not coming up with many new ideas these days. Most politicians are very knowledgeable about history (as they should be; as we all should be; as I am not) and also have access to interns who can dig into history if they themselves are unaware of certain issues.

I have no idea if the following is a true representation of what happens on the inside and I don't really want to know but please indulge me:

A situation arises.

A politician is concerned.

Said politician sends an e-mail to his research gopher regarding the situation and requests that said gopher gathers as much information pertinent to said situation as time allows and then some more. If the politician is lucky, the gopher has skills and a penchant for reading seemingly unused texts at the library and can find obscure sources via the internet and pull together a rough history of how similar situations were handled in the past.

Once their is a large enough history to reveal that there are three or four logical, plausible ways to handle the situation at hand, the politician asks for more.

The gopher gets to it again but not as hard because there were very big, very important things that the gopher decided to withhold because this gopher's skills are self-assuredly top notch. After sitting on these resources long enough to read the paper and check the blogs, the new bomb-shell is dropped on said politician.

After all of the possible ways to handle the situation are in line, the politician starts a delicate process of elimination. Whichever ideas seem like they could possibly be effective but will certainly be embraced by politicians on the other side of the aisle are put into the "find miniscule flaws and blow them out of proportion" pile and whichever ingenious Acme schemes are left that haven't been used in a while are put into a hat.

Once a plot is picked from said hat the politician sets about writing legislation. If this politician is from Colorado the proposed legislation will receive little attention during session and said situation will be reviewed next year.

some economist

2008-05-06T19:48:00.005-06:00

How embarrassing...my first economic post, I misrepresent the information. As it turns out, the tax in question is assessed at the pumps and is not directly placed on the oil companies. My bad. I still feel the same way about its merits or lack of. Reassuringly, the more I read about the situation the more unlikely it seems it will happen.

So what are some good ideas for dealing with the current situation of oil companies profiting from global disasters and high demand while adding to the larger-scale issues of global warming and pollution? Is it by reducing demand by improving efficiency of other fuels, improving public transportation or even raising the gas tax speeding up the implementation of the former two suggestions? If the demand is reduced, therefore reducing consumption, therefore reducing oil companies' profit do we win?

One of the main problems with all of this is that oil companies have such a big hand in it all, right? I really am not sure how I feel about that. The folks running these companies make money because other folks buy their product. It was not Exxon, Shell and all of their buddies who decided to make cars (that nearly everyone would need) run on dinosaur bone oil. The demand side of things needs to take some of the heat. If the public wanted to take it into their own hands they could build veggie-mobiles or start investing in alternative fuel exploring companies or if your situation limits your action, convince people with the power to do these things that they should or take the bus, ride your bike, don't have family in the Springs, stuff like that.

But right now, with gas at $3.40 it isn't worth it to most people to go through with any extra effort other than moaning about it and dipping into their wallet. I think it will still be some time before gas prices hit an impeding enough price to encourage a large enough base of consumers to have a real effect on the direction our energy policies take.

give me a break. not the oil companies

2008-05-05T21:37:00.003-06:00

I haven't been able to get over the fact that 66.66% of the prospective leaders of our country are pushing to get rid of the gas tax this summer. There is an election going on and I am going to be a bit idealistic and have faith in our government that this wouldn't happen any other year.
Getting rid of any tax gets the masses nice and complacent in the voting booth.

The oil companies have no obligation to pass the savings on to the consumer. My best case scenario sees Shell not having to fork over 20% to pay for the roads that there product is waring down and prices staying at right about three and a quarter at the least for the duration of the summer. That means Exxon's profits are up 20%. I don't see how this could be a good thing: while the oil and gas biz is booming, the rest of us are in a recession (or at least a very slow growth period +.6% GDP last time I heard). Sure, let's throw these guys a party for the next three months while many people are barely paying rent with unemployment checks or worse, moving in with their cousin because their house has been repossessed.

Some may argue that there never should have been a tax or that the roads should have been privatized long ago. However, taxes are not going to go away completely any time soon and this is certainly not the place to start. Also, when would the market ever move away from a cash cow such as this precious fossil fuel of ours and towards alternate sources of energy(please don't get me started on ethanol: see next blog)? There is not a whole lot of incentive when you have fat cash in hand and the folks running the show don't let externalities into the equation. As that supply goes down the demand and price are going to blow up in every ones' faces regardless of whether or not the tax gets lifted.

poor batting average

2008-05-03T09:23:00.003-06:00

I intend to no longer use this blog as a shit wall. You know...throw stuff and see what sticks. My web disclosure will no longer include speculation or intentions (I have yet to go into an art supply store). Of course, since I have now posted this intention, I am already violating my new policy and fully realize the self defeating prophecy I may be inducing.

What then, shall I write about? I am circumspect to reveal any further schemes and can only hope you will check back at a date later than this one.

Rilo Kiley - "It's a Hit" This is quite a few years old and it has also been censored (for shame), as there are two references to throwing shit I thought it relevant.

To James Joyce and Virginia Woolf

2008-04-20T08:59:00.003-06:00

There are three yellow flowers in a single vase by my mother's bed. The bees have been brought up to the edge of the petals, dusting their wings with the pale and aromatic pollen, and I blink three times as I sit on my chair. My inner mind rejoices in the subtle nuances of this new day, the thirteen buds that have just broke on the tree that is bare but will soon be swollen with living and blooming life. The harsh call of movement, incessent progression, breaks like a penitent's whip on his naked back, the goosebumps of exposed flesh mingling in between the red welts and failed drops of blood. I am asked to move forward, to pass quickly, to enter into a world of mechanical and constant movement. The whirl of a fan circling calls me to enter sooner, faster. And I find that I must. But then the flowers die and I pity that I never saw one petal wilt.

stretching my own canvas

2008-04-09T13:04:00.008-06:00

Sometimes I think and dream in less lyrical terms and I want to lay these thoughts on paper in a way that I feel lives up to the idea's potential. I have recently been inspired to pick up a paintbrush and pencil. I think I will stop by Meininger's this weekend. When Monet and I went to see Jesus Christ Superstar at the Buell Theatre, we came across an artist that drew a young boy riding a fish. It was a painting that made me want a son so I could hang it in his room. I can not remember the name of this gentleman and I can not locate a picture of the painting even using google. Recently another artist reminded me of this fellow and I am starting the search anew.

Below is the other illustration that inspired me:

Fred Einauti

it's tha first of tha month

2008-03-31T20:56:00.003-06:00

Ooh Doggie! Last week was my spring break....and it sucked. The moment that will most likely be remembered by my family and I forever was me going to the ER Friday for some post-appendix pain. I went thinking I could get it over with in 3 hours but instead it took almost 8. The ER... no problem (it's for my health), the problem was that all of this took place during my cousin's wedding (I was supposed to sing) and I left the place none the wiser to my condition. Many of the other events that added to my stress have been counter-balanced as proceeds. I got to see my cousin in her wedding dress at the reception as well as most of my mom's side of the fam. The Jeep was leaking anti-freeze:the radiator was not the issue (cheap fix). I racked up more medical bills:tax return. The weekend felt like no such thing: Monday brought me back to school, where I am learning to really enjoy/cherish what I do every day. Last week raised my blood-pressure, knocked down my immune system and caused some tears, I realize it could have been a lot worse.

For your viewing (but mostly listening & blunting) pleasure:

2008-03-23T07:57:00.002-06:00

Easter Sunday brings back memories of hollow chocolate bunnies and church services where women and girls wore pastel colored dresses. It also brings back images of food. We would eat honey-baked hams and corn casseroles and potatoes with chedder cheese and chives. My mom had a bunny mold and would craft a bunny cake which she iced with cream cheese frosting and sprinkled with cocunut. My grandmother, with her beautiful blue eyes and soft body, would bring over lemon meringue pies hidden in opaque plastic containers. We would all admire the egg white peaks when she decided to lift off the cover.
My sisters and I would sit in the grass of our front lawn, looking through our easter baskets and cracking open those brightly colored plastic eggs. Susanne, older and beautiful, would make us laugh. We found the greatest present in sitting next to her, in playing with her, in running around like the children that we were. I knew Easter was supposed to be about Jesus, but I felt like it was about my family--all of us sitting together and eating and laughing and enjoying the cool days that would soon evolve into humid stickiness.
Today I am sitting in my kitchen. My younger sister is in Texas, and I have made carrot cake, blueberry muffins and a brocolli and chedder quiche. Susanne loves croissants and I am about to put a dozen into the oven. Now we have Hallie and Ben, and in a few hours I get to sit with them as we go through their easter baskets, cracking open eggs and unwrapping chocolates. Ryan and I are not going to church; I don't get to see the women and the girls dressed in pastel colored dresses. Instead I get to sit next to Ryan in a couch in my parent's living room. We get to look out at the snow covered hills that cloak the horizon in the West. The warmth of a hot oven and the smell of buttery breads will expel the harshness that the snow could have brought. The sun will be bright. I know now that Easter is not about Jesus, at least not to me, but it is about my family and food and being with the people and ther person that I love.

Women Writing War

2008-03-21T13:40:00.004-06:00

As we all know, the anniversary of the war in Iraq was this Wednesday. Yesterday, I attended a conference women war. My professor, an inspiring feminist, brought in four woman, all writers, whose works are linked directly to war. The panel included a leading Virginia Woolf scholar, a Nigerian novelist, an Iraqi poet and a Sargent who contributed to the anthology, Operation Homecoming.

Each woman shared. The Virginia Woolf scholar, Jane Marcus, was the oldest and had been in the foreground of second wave feminism. She briefly discussed Woolf's, Three Guineas, a powerful essay that is largely ignored in both Britain and America. Few people realize the strong pacifist position that Virginia Woolf maintained even amidst the rise of Fascism. She argued that peace can only be obtained when education changes. We live in societies where war is ingrained into the flexible minds of children. I agree with Woolf. I look at the video games, the movies, the discipline of our schools and I see the military and war playing a very prominent role.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie recently wrote the critically acclaimed novel, Half of Yellow Sun. Adichie was articulate and graceful. Her words were like nectar, which may seem like an exaggerated simile, but I really don't know how to else to describe her voice and her presence. She wrote about the civil war in Nigeria in the 1960's. It was one of the first wars to be seen on TV, and it also began the tradition of showing starving African children on the evening news. Adichie argues that Africa is too often seen in the light of catastrophe; those images that we can readily call to mind are limited and depressing. She sought to humanize the war through her novel; she sought to show her readers that Africans still laugh, still eat, still have sex.

The Iraqi poet, Dunya Mikhail, was soft spoken and read a few of her poems. She began each poem in Arabic and then transitioned into the English translation. Her poems were raw and moving and reflective. As we, a room full of Americans, sat and listened to her tell of the beauty and the pain of her country, I felt guilty for not saying more and not doing more to end the war in Iraq.

And lastly we listened to Sergeant Sharon D. Allen. A brave woman to come into a liberal enclave and sit beside a feminist pacifist and a woman from Iraq. She related her experience, a positive one, and I tried to listen respectfully. But as she continued to talk about protecting her country, I couldn't help but stare at Dunya Mikhail. Mikhail alone understands the pain and fear associated with being invaded. She alone has had to sit in an apartment, wondering if her home will be bombed. She has had to deal with her own government, with Iran, and now with the US. And I couldn't help but feel embarrassed and ashamed for our country and our military. I admire the men and women who are willing to serve. At least I try to say that I do. But in reality my mind is so much more aligned with the principles of pacifism that it is difficult for me to support what our nation is doing. Does that mean that I don't support our military? Does that mean that I don't admire the men and women who serve? Maybe it does. I hope it doesn't but I am struggling. And I know that is not a popular sentiment. But that's where I am right now.

2008-03-19T11:37:00.004-06:00

I don't like to think of myself as afraid, but last night when I was trying to fall asleep I felt like fear was paralyzing me. Ryan and I are applying to the Peace Corps this month. By the end of the summer we should know if and where we are going. The possibilities are exciting and frightening; we could be living in a hut without running water and electricity or in an apartment very similar to our own; we could be learning an African dialect or working on Russian with a room full of other volunteers. The uncertainty thrills a small part of me, but the larger part, the more developed, dominant part, is hating the unknown.

I have always liked having a plan. Too a fault, I have planned out my life over and over again. Part of the reason I have been able to do so well at school is due to my obsessive habit of thinking ahead. When I was a freshman in college, I was already thinking about grad school. The past two years have involved meticulous planning; I have taken the right classes, worked with the right people, and developed the needed skills to be a very competitive candidate for doctoral work. Ryan and my friends can attest to the level of work I have put into this endeavor. It is not an understatement to say that I haven't had much of a life outside of school.

And then I realized the other week, that this (all of this planning and work and sucking up to teachers) is not what I want to do anymore. I realized that more than anything I want marry Ryan and LIVE.

So I have scrapped grad school for now. I have put away my GRE books, my anthologies of American and British literature, and I have even allowed myself to turn in an essay that is less than perfect. And it feels good.

Ever since I was in high school, I wanted to join the Peace Corps. I wanted to get married and leave. I wanted to find someone who could love me and who could love others. And I found him. And we are going to go. And we are going to LIVE in Botswana or Jordan or Cambodia, anywhere in the world. And I am not going to be able to plan for that. It is scary, I am afraid, and I couldn't sleep until 2 AM last night. But I also am feeling more alive than I have for a very long time, and I think this fear means something good is happening inside of me.

speaking a new language with my wife

2008-03-18T16:39:00.006-06:00

Getting my thoughts in a tangible form seems to follow a sinusoidal curve. Once the graph dips below zero on the y-axis you won't hear from me for just long enough to bottom out and then on the way up I start to process things well enough to start to think about writing them down again. As soon as it crosses that x-axis...that is when you hear from me. But enough of that tangent (get it?).

Much has taken place and even more is lined up for the next year and some change.

I am probably going to stay at my current job for another year. The only thing that reminds me of my lowly status in public schools is my paycheck and that isn't the most important thing. Everyone else has to jump through the same hoops and deal with the same bureaucracy and they have done so for a while longer then I have. I need to stop bitching, there is no such thing as entitlement. I still need to address some issues I have with the way I react to certain situations and I am frankly tired of jumping from employer to employer (my goal is to keep filing taxes next year down to just 3 employers). I need to find a job for the summer. I feel like I am still in school and really I guess I am.

I am definitely going to be getting married to the love of my life next year. I have a tendency of dumbing down my emotions and turning any serious conversation into a stand-up routine and I am beginning to realize that it can have an adverse affect on those around me so I will do my best here to convey my feelings of the decision we have made. This is something that I am looking forward to more than anything else going on in my life. Not so much the event as everything else it entails (I am making my commitment to Monet and I am making it public and permanent). I truly love this young woman and she is the most important person in my life. I want to experience life in all of its highs and lows WITH HER.

We will hopefully be joining the Peace Corps soon after that. I am in the middle of my application and Monet is almost done with hers. I can not even process the thoughts that this decision is placing in my head. I suppose you can expect a more detailed reaction to this as the situation unfolds and I can express myself lucidly.

It will also be interesting to hear Mo's thoughts on all of these things as this is a shared life and a shared blog. So keep an eye out for that.

Chili and Fingernails

2008-03-11T10:41:00.004-06:00

So I cut off a fourth of my fingernail yesterday--and the newly exposed skin bled far more than I enjoyed. My sister gave me a great set of knives for Christmas; knives that make chopping apples, onions, carrots, and fingers incredibly easy. I was slicing a yellow bell pepper for a pot of black bean chili when suddenly my thumb met my knife which amazingly managed to just slice off my fingernail (my actual skin remained unscathed). But there was a lot of blood, which is always unappetizing when you are trying to cook a pot of food, but I managed to clean off my finger, apply two-three band aids, and finish chopping my vegetables within ten minutes. I found this amazing recipe for black bean chili over the weekend. Cutting off my fingernail was unpleasant, but well worth the pain. This chili is good. And so after making one pot on Sunday, I made another pot yesterday, and I am tempted to make another pot over the upcoming weekend--yes I do tend to get obsessive when I find something I like. But I thought I'd share the recipe, and hopefully you can enjoy it as much as I do (especially if you manage to keep your fingers knife free)
1 Bell Pepper
1 Onion
Olive Oil
1-2 Cans of Black Beans
1/2 Can of Diced Tomatoes
1/2 Can of Tomato Sauce (8 oz)
Cumin
Chile Powder
Vegetable Broth
Chop the bell pepper and onion. Saute for about 5 minutes in 1 TBS of Olive Oil. Add 1 Cup of Vegetable Broth, 1-2 Cans of Black Beans, 1/2 Can of Tomatoes, 1/2 Can of Tomato Sauce. Add desired amounts of Cumin and Chile Powder (make it as spicy as you like!) Bring to a boil and then cover and simmer for 20 minutes. Canned Corn can also be added for extra color and deliciousness. Serve with cheese, sour cream, cornbread. I hope you enjoy!

top of this blog

2008-03-10T19:15:00.001-06:00

I am teaching myself Illustrator and Photoshop. As this situation progresses, I will be messing with the banner.

i, the convalescent

2008-03-07T09:43:00.004-07:00

In my week away from any sort of responsibility aside from healing I had to fill a lot of downtime. I would like to share with everyone what I did with all of this extra time and recommend a few items in case you ever lose your appendix. If you already do not have one, I am sorry I could not be there for you sooner.

I have listened to more NPR pod-casts than I know how to handle. (see itunes store for free subscriptions to various pod-casts)

Books:

The History of Love - Nicole Krauss' book entered into my top 5 list this week and I don't see it ever losing that distinction. It has similarities in content and style with Jonathan Safran Foer's Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, but something makes this one stand out.
Autobiography of Red - I am a third through this "novel in verse" recreation of a present day Geryon and Herakles. Anne Carson can put together words like few others. Honestly, I have trouble sitting through more than a few poems at a time, but this keeps me intrigued and I have even re-read a few of the short "chapters" already.

Music:

Laura Marling - Very young, very talented gal from England.

Jaymay - Fairly young, very talented gal from New York.

Movies and TV:

Taxi - This show is a classic, put it on hold at the library.
The Wire - It took us three months just to find the first three episodes at blockbuster and the hold line at the library is about 100 people long. Try and borrow this from a friend if you can.
Flight of the Conchords -

The Darjeeling Limited - Any Wes Anderson film is worth owning. I want to buy a big flat screen tv just for his movies. I feel like I miss out on a lot of the details on an 18".

appendectomy. oh my!

2008-03-01T21:13:00.002-07:00

While you found me last grousing about my troubles in the career oriented world I was actually in physical pain. I had stomach bacteria in my stomach this summer that I thought I had taken care of and it seemed it had made an untimely return. I stayed away from the stress-filled world of public school on Thursday and around noon was coerced in to appointing with a doctor by a lovely young lady who loves me. I didn't get to see my doctor but was introduced to a nurse practitioner that at once saved my life and almost killed me in a matter of 18 hours.

She thought it may be my appendix but must not have thought to seriously about this as she scheduled my ct scan for the following morning as opposed to right away. Over night I could have up and died (appendix bursting and leaking toxins into my lower bowels and slowly poisoning me). I show up early as they tell me to get there no later than 15 minutes early. I ended up waiting an additional half an hour just to be told I needed to be drinking a strange mixture of lemonade and iodine which we will call lemomidone. After drinking the first cup I was instructed to wait another 20 minutes and drink another and also to let that one find its way to my intestines before I could head back. Finally, I'm in the ct scan room and am injected with a "contrast" which makes me feel like I wet myself and turned my heart into a space heater. I ask if anyone has ever wet themselves after being injected with this and she says it just feels that way but only females ever express this feeling.

Sitting in another waiting room I answer the phone. The nurse practitioner from the day prior, "GUESS WHAT! YOU HAVE APPENDICITIS!" I let her know she probably shouldn't tell people this sort of thing in such a told you so way and she says that I am a little high strung for a boy my age. I get it! I'm a high strung, feminine, appendicitis patient. She gives me horrible directions to St. Joseph Hospital and I end up walking into the St. Elsewhere hospital asking for directions again. I end up in the ER at St. Joe's and they have no idea what I'm talking about. "You were supposed to be expecting me?" Nope. Okay, well then, my appendix could be exploding at any moment or it might have already exploded...get me to surgery, damn it! "We are going to have to give you a ct scan." Are you people stupid or am I going to die? or both? After meeting all of my nurses and doctors in the ER, they have cleared up the misunderstanding and I am rushed to Pre-Op. Not so much rushed but I do end up there eventually. "I'm not going to get charged for the whole ER thing, right? I mean it was your guys fault." "Oh, you shouldn't." But if you do all you have to do is get a waiver signed by the lady at the front desk and have her get it notarized by her aunt's hairdresser after he gets out of the bathroom...or you could just pay it. It's not like you have insurance with us or anything like that.

Pre-Op: paperwork. you can't make long distance phone calls and your cell phone doesn't get service. the only people who you want at the hospital have Colorado Springs' area codes. we're supposed to talk to you about living wills...but we won't actually...we'll just tell you we have to tell you this. can you take your underwear off? we have to shave you? wait, that wasn't a question.

Monet! Someone I love! Get me out of this bureaucratic wasteland of a hospital before they bill me for crying on the sheets.

Anesthesia: we make bad jokes that are supposed to make you feel comfortable and we don't really tell you what's going to happen.................convulsions, I am f-ing cold!!! I can't breathe. Who the hell are you? Recovery Room?: a nurse from Chicago who doesn't really like Denver because she is single and 40 and doesn't really like me because I yell at her for not letting me se my girlfriend or mom, who have both been waiting for three hours because this hospital doesn't have enough rooms for the amount of people that are ill. Why do these people get to talk to people they know and you keep leaving me to join the conversation. I am pumped full of morphine and whatever gas they used to knock me out and I am going to cry and curse because my blood pressure is 190 over 100...what the hell?

They didn't ask if I even wanted to keep my appendix. I didn't but I could have given it as a gift (ex-girlfreind or first-born, either/or).

Seeing my loved ones after this long has made me realize that I'm glad I lived through all of this and won't mind halving my savings account the following week, or whenever I get the bill. Seeing Monet makes me want to elope. Seeing my mom makes me want to cry again. I am a bad patient... I cry and curse a lot.

compunction upon planning an early departure

2008-02-25T16:10:00.006-07:00

I have a hard enough time becoming forever attached to people - leaving a job is easy. It doesn't matter how stressful the points leading up to my departure may get - the moment I gather my belongings (if I have any there at all) and step outside the building...RELEASE! It is not that I lack compunction or compassion. When I start at something, I have every intention of following through. Phases or seasons in life are going to end when necessary. If the earth's rotation can alter the elements every few months and effect every one and everything, insignificant me can make a career move that may inconvenience a few people but in the long run none of these are worse the ware. In the past seven years, 12 jobs have come and 11 have gone. In these positions I have learned much and for most felt my way through day to day tasks with little or no training. The money it has cost employers to train and pay me has been easily covered by wedding parties, contract-bids won, pre-school classes offered, grants received and stapler sales.

Three months from this day (give or take a couple), the grant that is keeping my current position going will run out. While there has been talk of continued funding from various other sources, I am unsure I could survive another 9 months of breathing in 80 year-old dust, taking lip from punk kids that could give a shit less (that would require too much effort as they have found a true stasis of apathy), dealing with a few incompetent adults (there are also many with the wherewithal to be effective) who are entrusted with a sizable chunk of America's or at least Denver's future and postponing the day when I can actually be rid of the one thing keeping me (loans) from doing whatever it is that I am meant to do (musician, writer, stay-at-home Dad).

Survival of all of these things is not quite the point here. I could put up with all of that crap if I didn't have a para in front of my profession. A prefix with meanings including: alongside of, near, resembling, apart from, and abnormal. Is this not degrading? Being under-paid is not enough for this large bureaucracy that looks down on me from the gray tower that looms only a short walk from my house; the powers that be in this building along with many other educational institutions refuse to recognize my accomplishments and my hard work, denying me the opportunity to fight the good fight as a teacher. If I do not jump through their hoops lined up in such a way to make this hoop jumping process unbearably long and tedious, than I can not make the difference that is so clearly possible. I have to pay money to make money, I have to bend to the mold so I can be pushed around further. It is an outstanding admirable thing...to teach. But only from an outside perspective. Within, it is a degrading calamity from the very onset.

2008-02-25T10:14:00.002-07:00

The Whole Foods in Cherry Creek is a unique microcosm of the larger Cherry Creek community. The store is always busy-to a point where you often spend more time trying to find a parking space than actually shopping for groceries. The people are always beautiful--even fifty year old men seem to carry themselves with a natural grace. And the food, of course, is tantalizing and expensive.

The shoppers at Whole Foods often know each other. Business partners run into each other, yoga moms chat while buying granola, and even neighborhood nannies recognize other care-providers from the park. There is a sense of community when you walk into Whole Foods: a shared space where wealthy Denverites can all enjoy the bounty of organic food stuff that Whole Foods so beautifully displays. Even the children in Whole Foods seem to embrace this connection. I have seen little girls with perfectly coifed hair and adorable dresses run up to other children and bring them to the colorful display case of freshly prepped sushi.

And then there is the King Soopers on 9th and Corona. Less than a mile away from the heaven that is Whole Foods, there sits a grocery store versed in my sense of reality. King Soopers is also very busy and parking is a nightmare--but mostly from the fact that the lot is remarkably small and congested with both cars and bikes and random people just walking around. I have seen beautiful people enter and leave this King Soopers, but not the type of "beautiful" that chokes Whole Foods. This "beautiful" is unaffected by an excess of money; style is regulated by cost and produces a far more creative expression of personal taste. I like it. I enjoy seeing the creativity. But there are a lot of other people that mingle through the store. People that sometimes scare me. There is not the homogeny of Whole Foods but instead a diversity that mirrors the community this King Soopers feeds. When you are trying to buy brown rice, it is likely you will bump into someone very different from yourself--and I enjoy that exposure and acknowledgement of difference.

Although Whole Foods always holds a place in my heart, I find myself preferring King Soopers on most days. I find myself wanting to be exposed and challenged by people who live and think differently than I do. And more than even that...I like spending less than 100 dollars on my groceries.

Why I Hope Juno Loses

2008-02-23T11:10:00.005-07:00

Thanks to the end of the writers strike...the Oscars are slated to be broadcasted tonight. After perusing the nominations, I was struck by the strong films that have been released over the last year; although many films may not have been appreciated by a wide audience, the outstanding creative and aesthetic results of a myriad of actresses, actors, screenwriters, and directors are worth recognition and praise.

But I do have one problem. And yes, I am aware that my problem is probably not going to be received with much support. But I don't care.

As many people in the past few weeks have asked me about my opinion on Juno, I am going to assume that many people have also heard me rant about my distaste for the film. But for those of you who haven't, I think it might be worth repeating. I don't aspire to be a film critic, and I will be the first to admit that my knowledge is scant. So my critique has little to do with the more technical aspects of the film, the delivery of the actors or actresses, or the directorial vision. My critique rests in the ideology that undergirds the film.

Juno is about a young girl who gets pregnant by her friend/boyfriend. She is in high-school, decides to keep the baby, meets a wonderful and wealthy couple who offer to adopt the child, develops an odd relationship with both wife and husband, has the baby, gives it to the wife (the husband is immature and decides to bail out on baby and wife), makes up with her estranged boyfriend, and lives happily ever after.

This is not reality. And while I understand that movies often if not always provide an escape from reality, I strongly feel that this movie makes light of an immensely difficult scenario. Being pregnant at 15 isn't funny. Being pregnant at any time--when you're not ready--isn't funny. Women are faced with a decision with two unfavorable outcomes and the consequences from both can be life-long.

It is curious that there have been at least two widely popular films about unwanted pregnancy in the past year--Knocked Up and Juno. There has yet to be a funny film about abortion. Is getting an abortion any more painful than deciding to carry a pregnancy to term? When you're in high school? When you have to hand the child into the arms of another woman? Hollywood apparently thinks so. Considering the media coverage celebrities receive for bearing children (magazines are paying millions to get that first baby shot), babies are in.

Although the last few decades have allowed women to achieve greater reproductive freedom, the stigma against abortion is still strong. Abortion is never a decision that any woman wants to make, but then again neither is deciding to keep an unwanted fetus. There are many girls who get pregnant, like Juno, when they are still in high school, sometimes even middle school. Like Juno, these girls decide to keep their babies. But unlike Juno, there is not a plethora of young, attractive and wealthy families willing to sweep up their babies and give them a 'good' life. These young mothers often have to drop out of school, many of them cannot afford to go to college, and they are unfortunately resigned to a life-time of low paying jobs and social welfare. At the age of 15, these young girls are better suited to be gossiping with friends in the hallways of high school than sitting at home, nursing a baby. Unlike in Juno, the boy that gets the girl pregnant rarely sticks around; these young women are forced to bear the burden of unprotected sex for a lifetime.

Understandably every case of unwanted pregnancy is unique. I do not advocate that every young girl who gets pregnant should have an abortion, but I do believe that it is most often the best choice. Juno paints a very different picture--a picture that is unrealistic and in my opinion insulting to the thousands of women who are confronted with unwanted pregnancy every day.

So yes...although Juno does have some redeeming qualities, I hope it does poorly tonight--perhaps that will give Americans a more realistic picture of what happens when you get pregnant--it usually is not a winning situation.

upper middle-class white kids leave their comfort zone

2008-02-21T09:56:00.006-07:00

If you didn't know I coordinate a math peer-tutoring program at an inner city (hardly) school. I set struggling freshman up with older students that have had the gift of natural math ability. A very unsettling spectacle has made itself blatantly obvious to onlookers of this environment that I oversee. The tutors are mostly white, privileged and those they are helping are not. I could fill many pages with stories, anecdotes and observances relating to my brief time at this school and I probably will eventually. For now, I would like to introduce to you a certain happening.

A woman that has been placed in our school from Colorado UpLift to teach an elective class based in character, leadership and life skills invited some of her friends from the community to perform spoken word for a group of students. I signed my 8th Period tutors up for this knowing very well none of them would have attended otherwise. I figured that many other teachers in the building would also utilize this unique opportunity to create an environment of integration that is seen sparingly outside of the hallways. Hell, even during passing period when the halls are filled past capacity you can pick out pockets of color and sense an increasing disconnect that exists between adolescents of different ethnic backgrounds.

My decision to sign up for this was questionable in the eyes of my tutors and one young lady was outright defiant. "Why would I want to go to this?" Well that is the point, you wouldn't -- so I am making you go. Once in the gymnasium, it was evident that most of the white folks in the room were going to be my small group of tutors and the principal (there was even less of the hispanic community represented at this event). Noticing the uneasiness in our small group, I all but ignored it until the same young lady who had protested heretofore gave this ultimatum: "If this is a waste of time, I get to leave early on a day of my choosing." I assured her that neither of these would be the case either way and my curiosity being piqued asked what her afternoon would have looked like had I let her go home. As was the case, she would have gotten ready to go skiing the following day. Nothing spells community like a day of skiing, so I apologized.

After some time of waiting around (which even I grew a bit impatient with) the festivities were under way. As a (former/future) performer myself, I was very disappointed with the sound. Somebody please find a competent person who could give free classes to every novice sound guy ever, explaining that if ear drums are bursting, the message you are trying to get across will be slightly distorted. The pain in my ears was however secondary to the power behind the words and the clear talent possessed by these individuals. It did not take much coaxing on my part for the young lady sitting in front of me to admit that this was not only not a waste of her time but worth all of the grueling effort on her part. Anything that sets up a large group of apathetic students wired to have short attention spans to be an engaged audience is applause-worthy and in reality a downright miracle.

Puffins

2008-02-21T07:18:00.004-07:00

It is amazing what a bowl of Puffins (aka the best cereal at Wild Oats/Whole Foods/Your organic grocer of choice) and a cup of coffee can do for me. I have been tired for the past week, for the past month, yet if I can have my mug of watered-down coffee and a heaping pile of cereal my day tends to turn out pretty well.

My lack of sleep can be largely attributed to my love/hate relationship with literature right now. I have spent the last week rereading Anthony Trollope's 900 page novel, The Way We Live Now, and also attempting to better understand post-structuralism. And yes- I love both Trollope and his ridiculously long delve into the degradation of London society and the dry, often anti-human, pursuit of deconstruction. Most of my classmates probably think I'm insane, and yes I too am worried.

But then I stop. Like I am doing right now. I stop with my bowl of Puffins and I ask myself, "Why?" Why do you care? And the answers float up quickly. I pursue literature because it pursues me. For years I have invested a small part of myself into the literary worlds of Virginia Woolf, the Bronte sisters, Nancy Drew, Toni Morrison and in return I have been courted by the ever-expanding thoughts and characters these authors and books have so carefully wrought.

I look back at years where I stayed at home, up in my room or on the couch with Noelle playing Barbies on the floor; I look back at those years and I see myself with a book, reading to myself or reading out loud. I remember my Dad coming upstairs in the evenings to read with Noelle and me, in our matching pajamas. And we would read. And we would love those moments. Today Noelle and I read more than any other people I know. She can plow through a 600 page book in a day or two; I read almost 4000 pages over Christmas break.

But in this world where life has become so fragmented, where so many people have lost connection with others, with themselves, there is something haunting about opening a book and finding that you do connect and belong. There is something haunting about muddling through a book like To the Lighthouse, and finding that Virginia Woolf's select absences of plot have allowed your heart to open up and fill the gaps. Language is the sign system that we, as humans, understand reality. And in the moments when I can't fully articulate my own pain, my own joy, I turn to someone who has delved deep into their own soul, into our collective souls, and have found the words to represent my own aching.

This quote by Michael Montaigne hangs above my computer and is juxtaposed against a picture of a woman in orange...
"When I am attacked by gloomy thoughts, nothing helps me so much as running to my books. They quickly absorb me and banish the clouds from my mind."

The Madness that is the Tattered Cover

2008-02-19T15:24:00.004-07:00

If you know anything about Ryan and me, you understand that the Tattered Cover is one of the primary benefits of living in Denver. If you enjoy books and have never been to the Tattered Cover, you should get there now. But the Tattered Cover could merit an entire post of its own...so we will return to that topic later. Last night Ryan and I went to the Tattered Cover to hear the literary giant, Dave Eggers speak. While Eggers has had immense success with his first book, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, his literary contributions far exceed his own personal endeavors. He is the founder of the widely popular literary journal, McSweeny's and a monthly journal, The Believer, edited by his wife. If you get a chance to flip through a McSweeny's the next time you are at the Tattered Cover, you will understand both the time and the money Dave Eggers has poured into his publications. But even on top of all these contributions, Dave Eggers has emerged as a social activist.

His latest book, What is the What, has received marked critical acclaim and an immense public reception. Told through the perspective of a Lost Boy from Sudan, What is the What seeks to give a personal voice to a humanitarian crisis that has occurred during one of the most globally connected eras of history. First commissioned to write a more biographical account of the real story of Valentino Achak Deng, Dave Eggers eventually decided to combine Valentiono's own personal accounts with more fictional elements.

I have not read the book yet, and after hearing Eggers speak last night, I am very interested in picking up a copy. I admire Eggers for using his reputation to bring the crisis to the forefront of many Americans' minds; in our culture, different avenues of acquiring and dispersing knowledge have resulted in a vastly creative web of political activism. But I am also slightly disheartened by the method in which this narrative was written.

Dave Eggers assumes authority to tell Valentino's story; he essentially superimposes his presence and identity as an author over Valentino's identity. It is largely unfortunate that Valentino himself was not commissioned to write his own personal account because the transference of one man's personal experience into another man's story results in an immeasurable loss of authenticity. This is troubling due to the historical context we find ourselves in today. African nations are still recovering from the tragic effects of colonialism: an era in which the wealthy exploited the poor for economic gain, completely disregarding the cultural and economic consequences of such actions. Still today the lens of imperialism prevents many Western people from appreciating and accepting cultures different from our own. While Dave Eggers is using his book for social good, which should not be overlooked, there is a slight taste of post-colonial superiority (eg White man must reinterpret the African man's story in order to be successful). Again I have not read the book and so I am really not at liberty to offer my critical opinion, but the very preface of the novel does concern me.

What do you think?

wyoming, windy

2008-02-18T10:11:00.000-07:00

With the upcoming caucus/convention in Wyoming only three weeks in the distance, a long-time friend and I found our way up to Cheyenne, WY to lend a hand to the newly opened Obama campaign office. This is a state in which the democratic party was so broke that they couldn't afford a venue large enough to hold the caucus. Money was, however, no object at the grand-opening of the office when 60 or so people pulled together a little over $2,000 in under five minutes. After the convention center was booked, people signed up to volunteer and gone home, the campaign office felt more like a mountain town in Colorado. Every vehicle parked in the front was a Subaru with Colorado license plates and Obama stickers

It seems I am striking out big time when it comes to picking travel destinations as of late. Cheyenne is the antidenver if ever there was one. The entire state of Wyoming has fewer residents than Denver alone. While knocking on doors and visiting with randoms, we encountered hundreds of locals, yet we encountered no more than six or so folks in their early twenties. After spending a few hours downtown it became painfully clear why we were hard-pressed to find many people under the age of 35. The cultural scene is abysmal. The coffee shops close at four p.m. A local bar had the weather channel playing. The thrift stores were lacking. Even as the state's capitol, Cheyenne is more bucolic than it is urban and more small town than it is big city.

This is not to say that Wyoming is all bad. People need a place to call home when they retire and this state is a tax haven (there is no state income tax and sales tax is just four percent).

The exodus of young people aside, these people have some character. Harp playing pseudo-scientist Michael Riversong lives about an hour outside of Cheyenne and rents an office out of the same building as the Obama campaign. Rancher Don produced some of the most lucid statements I have heard regarding politics in a while. Keith, a 40 some year old member of the Unitarian church is delving into the world of home music recordings. Katherine, a recent implant from Texas can not live without her NPR. No matter the locale, people in Wyoming have just as much to bring to the table as anywhere.

German Chocolate Cupcakes

2008-02-17T09:33:00.000-07:00

I made and decorated four-dozen cupcakes yesterday. Homemade butter cream icing, fresh strawberries, and slivered almonds covered a delectable mound of German-chocolate cake. Hallie, my five-year-old niece, sat next to me as I frosted the cupcakes, and she carefully placed three or four strawberry pieces on top when I finished. We sat there for an hour and she talked about her imaginary poodle and how her teacher had been sick last week. I had to be careful to avoid the chunks of butter in my homemade frosting (Martha Stewart’s recipes never turn out like they should). But it was one of the better moments of my weekend.
We were at a benefit dinner my sisters were throwing. Susanne, Hallie’s mom, and Noelle, who is almost seventeen, are leading a mission’s trip to Haiti this summer. Last night the two directors of the orphanage spoke, and the ten students, who are planning on traveling this summer, prepared and served dinner to about forty people. I was on desert duty, and I was glad to be in Craig’s office icing cupcakes with Hallie and away from all the people, people that seemed now so different from myself. Different and yet painfully familiar.
I’ve traveled to Africa twice, once in high school and then again a year and a half ago. Both times, I felt “led” by God. I had images of starving children, huts, elephants, and me, a brave white girl, helping out the unfortunate, serving the needy, doing God’s “will”. And both times many of those images were confirmed. When I was in Uganda, I was confronted with child after child coming up to me on the streets in Kampala, usually clutching a younger infant to his or her side, looking up at me with dark eyes and asking for food and for money. One day I met a group of three children, the oldest a 12 year old girl, clearly pregnant and very alone. And elephants? Absolutely. When I was in Botswana elephants were everywhere—at gas stations, at our campsite, in people’s backyards. But the one image that was never confirmed was me because while I did hold orphans I was not brave and I don’t know if I helped anyone. I was a skinny, privileged, white girl who was facing a reality that I still don’t know how to handle. I cried a lot when I was in Uganda. I walked away from my belief in a just God. Eventually I walked away from Christianity altogether.
And so last night, listening to these young, idealistic, high schoolers talk about how much they loved God and how excited they were to serve the poorest of the poor, I wanted to stand up and tell all of them how wrong they were. How much God didn’t care. I wanted my two sisters, two women that I love more than anything, to join me in my understanding and in my rejection of what I’ve been taught—I didn’t want to feel alone.
But then I saw my mom and my dad. I saw them watching my little sister with tears in their eyes. And I thought about how proud they were of us. I listened to the ten kids explain the reason why they were going, and it all tied back to my little sister; she had organized everything, encouraged her friends to get involved, and she’s only sixteen. I watched her, and I was reminded of her beautiful heart—I knew she wanted to love people, to help people, to erase some of the inequality that this world seems to run on. And I was proud too. Susanne and Noelle are in different place than me in some areas, but in others I feel as if we move as one. And I am honored that my sisters care so much about me and so much about people—we may not believe in the same religious paradigm, but there are no other women that I feel as intimately connected to. And so I withheld my urge to deconstruct God, to explain what seeing starving kids did to me, and I just stood and watched as a proud sister.