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n. infantile pattern of suckle-swallow movement in which the tongue is placed between incisor teeth or between alveolar ridges during initial stage of swallowing (if persistent can lead to various dental abnormalities) v. [content removed due to Bush campaign to clean up the internet] n. act of nyah-nyah v. pursuing with relentless abandon the need to masticate and thrust the world into every bodily incarnation in order to transform it, via the act of salivation, into nutritive agency
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
yes, it's a little macabre
Labels: don't eat my seeds
Sunday, May 15, 2011
new link to happiness
I have the coolest friends ever.
I want to move closer to them. Okay, I mean, I have cool friends here too. But I want to move closer to this one. Heh.
My broccoli and cabbage is planted outside.
I built a new gate.
I killed a mouse in a trap last night, and celebrated this morning. Seems strange. But that little critter kept eating my seeds in the greenhouse.
I wish I could say to the person who said "I tried really hard to be friends with J" : Bwwhaaaaaaaaahhhhaaaa aaahahhaahahhaahahhaaaaaack. Snort. Hic.
But I guess I'll just have to satisfy myself with a sigh, a smile, and a quick, dry roll of the eyes.
I had no grading this weekend.
I went to the derby and picked up a little treat for my god-daughter and am writing a letter to her which I will send off soon.
I like watching women hustle on the rink.
Shared drinks with a friend I've never visited with alone before. Twas a good conversation, and I asked her to help set up the reading NM has been wanting to set up for awhile - a benefit for the local Woman's Crisis Center.
Took that intensive summer class, and now am waiting for the times so I can intensively advertise for it.
I'm glad I have the coolest friends around. Because I know. Because of them.
I will still look for jobs elsewhere. One more summer in Bville sounds about right.
I dug a two-foot hole for one of the three downed saplings I sized to act as beanpoles. It is buried two feet down and has 10-feet above ground. It seems HUGE.
But I got red noodle beans, which can grow up to 22", they say. So, I need someplace for them to grow. I am excited.
I had a nice dinner/desert with SP. We fought afterwards, then made up. I forgot how tough it is to re-create a friendship after dating. Good thing we're both willing to fight the good fight.
It's funny when you realize you've been being a little mean.
Do you really think that everybody wants the same thing, at the root? We keep having this conversation. I say nay, and she says oui.
NM and I have come to an agreement: no more past, except the good stuff.
I feel like what I've wanted has been as different as grey from purple from the wants of those I've been with. She says we all want the same thing, but don't necessarily want it with the person we're with. I say what I've wanted for a long time is to neither be used nor be pushed, but to exist (an offering) and love(back)/be loved(back). She says I'm not open to change/growth. I say I'm not open to being maneuvered into change/growth. Etc.
There is truth in what we both say, but it is not the same truth.
Herald is still fluffy. Tea Party Republicans will be the downfall of the nation. And slugs are everywhere.
Keep on hitching up those shorts, folks!
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
I just saw one of these
On my hike with Herald. She was beaUUUUUUtiful.
I got pretty close and we watched each other for awhile. Her eyes were really startling... so when I got home, I looked her up. She is a spotted owl, and she lives near my house, back behind it on a trail I regularly visit. Hopefully she will decide it is a great place, and stick around.
I have to say, it made me feel instantly good to see her. She flew like she had no obligation to make flying look complex.
don't be a big baby. be a big loud baby.
So, after a good solid week and a half of brooding and getting angrier and angrier about the creative writing class, I decided to write a polite email to the department head (I don't know her official title, since they seem to change that every year) asking for a meeting to discuss the options she mentioned, and also why I wasn't given a creative writing class for next year. After taking a few days (pins and needles) to get back to me because of the flu, she wrote back and we set up a time.
I had to coach myself quite a bit about what to say, and what not to say... i.e. the best manner of asking WTF?! I told myself I just needed information for future reference, and I was primarily going to listen and hear what she had to say. Also, she was a friend of mine and hopefully would lay it down straight, so as I go on to apply for other jobs, I would know what my weaknesses are, so's to improve on them.
Apparently sticking up for myself is one of the weaknesses, considering how hard it was to drag myself into her office.
And then we had a very nice conversation. She said the committee's decision had nothing to do with my qualifications or proposal - which were excellent. And that their decision had to do with an old policy that is starting to come under some scrutiny... that of spreading the candy around to make everyone happy. Giving everyone an opportunity regardless. She said that my qualifications had actually caused a bit of controversy surrounding the issue, considering that I was the only applicant with an additional MFA.
And she offered me a class... for this summer. An intensive 5-week course, which I'll likely have to advertise for to fill, but would perhaps act like an intensive summer workshop.
It was clear she was anxious to make me feel valued, and to toss me a bone. I'll probably accept the bone and go bury it somewhere in my backyard. A full July of teaching sounds like a dubious honor, considering how burnt out I am on teaching at this time of year, but I was going to have to look for a job anyway, so I suppose I might as well let it be in July instead of August.
I feel better. I still feel weird though, like... if I take this class, does it mean I shouldn't look elsewhere? MH told me that's not the way the world works... that though she doesn't want me to go, it would be fair game to take the class and look for work elsewhere. I would be more inclined to give them Fall Quarter though, since that's when they'd be in a bind. Anyhow, food for thought. I still feel better.
And chagrined. And a little proud of myself, that I went in and talked.
Jess, you were right about Bluets "comforting something in me." I think you must be a genius, to realize that I'm exactly this obsessive. And for the record, I take it back: it's not poetry. More like an essay, surprisingly. Maybe even a fictional essay, I can't always tell, but I don't really care whether it's fiction or not, it's pretty awesome.
80. What I have heard: when the mines of Sar-e-Sang run dry (locals say the repressive rule of the Taliban, who, in 2000, blew up the two giant statues of Buddha at the mines' entrance--Buddhas whose blue auras were the oldest-known application of lapis on earth--caused a particularly long dry spell; God only knows what the American bombing has done since), the miners use dynamite to bleed a vein, in hopes of starting a "blue rush."I still sort of do. Dynamite carries a choice in the form of its fuse. 'Course, I suppose one could get more generous with her interpretation of metaphors.
81. What I know: when I met you, a blue rush began. I want you to know, I no longer hold you responsible.
Speaking of which, NM went to a reading that she knew would have EC in it. She told me ahead of time, and I limited my comments to "be nice to her," but I got drunk the night before and had to stop myself from sending her a text message accusing her of fucking with me. It feels disloyal, to tell the truth. But anyhow. I didn't send the text, as I never have said anything to prevent my friends from making their own choices.
When NM "reported back," I wanted to tell her I don't want to hear a thing about it, that I want that part of my life behind me, that's its that time's refusal to leave me which causes so much rutted tornado crossings in my brain as is, and that I want her to stop talking about those people, all of them. Just stop. Actually, I have told her this, but I don't think it fully registers with her. Why wouldn't I want to hear about EC or DP or CG or etc.? Why not?
Perhaps it's a bigger problem that I also want to hear. I like poking my eyeballs, smashing at my eyes "to reproduce lost color sensations" (Bluets #74). The whole thing seems so devious.
I potted all of my porch flowers yesterday. Ah, colors. This weekend I am going to clean off the porch and set up the tables and umbrellas and pretty things.
I got mom some flowers for Mother's Day, too. Though mostly I worked. Getting close to the end of the quarter. Okay, it's the middle of the quarter. But the middle is closer to the end than the beginning, that's for sure. It's a nice feature of the middle.
And I went for a walk with MH on Friday that was a new walk... along the Nooksack River, and it was in-cre-dible. Herald loved every second of it, as did I. Ah, MH... would that she were single, and would that she were into the ladies. Heh.
And I went on Artwalk... time to start using my studio more for the pursuit of good, rather than evil (grading and prepping). I should aim to open for next Artwalk, I think. Okay... I must be off. Herald is baying at the windows for a walk.
Saturday, May 07, 2011
Monday, May 02, 2011
well, well, well
Truthfully, I think Obama has the devil's own cunning at the timing of all this. Well played, Mr. President, well played.
This is an interesting article... a bit long, but I agree with the conclusion it draws at the end. Hopefully bin Laden's death a big step towards peace. Although I am usually of the opinion that violence never promotes peace, this could be one instance when this is not the case... depends on whether Obama can stop being so hawkish.
Viva el mundo!
Sunday, May 01, 2011
I got a lovely package in the mail, one with a hug in it. It made me happy and I've been trying to stretch that vibe out for a bit. The package had an interesting collection... a coaster. Makes me think of all the coaster poems I've participated in over the years, but none for awhile. ...a rune. But I don't know what it's a rune of! Mystery, perhaps, as I've looked online for it, to no avail. I imagine it's Welsh, which you'd think would narrow down the field, but apparently other than runic alphabets, there is no huge compendium for runes out there that I can find. I will have to wait until Jess tells me, or I will have to hang it and assume it's a most excellent rune that will bring me all kinds of good luck. And last, a book called Bluets, which I told myself I had to wait to read, being that I am trying to finish another book of poetry called Mortal Geography. But I did not wait, and actually I started reading a third book of poetry at the same time. Three books of poetry, not normal fare for me, I must say. But here is a highlight from each:
From Mortal Geography, Alexandra Teague, "Bay Window, with Divorce and Pigeon":
Unbloodily alive, its iridescent feathers matted.From Bardo, Suzanne Paola, "In the Realm of the Hungry Ghosts":
I wanted to kill it for surviving, messenger of the obvious
flaws in the world's construction: in love's shelter,
we forgot the most luminous rooms have thin glass.
In the books that lay around me: my poemsFrom Bluets, Maggie Nelson:
inked, slick-clad, that became
small mouthings in a dying tongue,
I had everything, & I lay there crying.
I was hungry for things I could not eat.
14. I have enjoyed telling people that I am writing a book about blue without actually doing it. Mostly what happens in such cases is that people give you stories or leads or gifts, and then you can play with these things instead of with words. Over the past decade I have been give blue inks, paintings, postcards, dyes, bracelets, rocks, precious stones, watercolors, pigments, paperweights, goblets, and candies...See, they are all good, although I'm having a harder time with Bardo.
15. I think of these people as my blue correspondents, whose job it is to send me blue reports from the field.
16. But you talk of all this jauntily, when really it is more like you have been mortally ill, and these correspondents send pieces of blue news as if last-ditch homes for a cure.
17. But what goes on in you when you talk about color as if it were a cure, when you have not yet stated your disease.
It is sunny out today, and I mean to finish up here and go work on the garden. I will take a picture and upload it when I get to the study later today to do my Sunday teaching prep and tutoring. And you will be amazed by my garden.
And here are all the babies, in this order: Mom's asparagus, radishes, chard, sugar-snap peas, sweet peas, spinach, last years wildflowers (at least one of which is columbine), cover wildflowers I 'let' grow on the path, kale, poppies in the greenhouse, and broccoli and cabbage in the green house
Well, I am still feeling set about getting a new job. I was feeling nebulous before the bad news. But now I feel that I can't afford to merely stem the tide by moving to town and getting another part time job to fill in for the tutoring and placement testing extras I'll be losing soon. The cc has made it clear they don't value me; I'm thirty-four, and need to find a place that values me. So, I'm trying to get things sharp in my head, so I can feel confident. I've been feeling rather not confident for awhile. Not sure why, when I know I am a capable and hard-working individual when I care to be.
I bought new shoes in the hopes that my foot woes become manageable. I've been hobbling around like an old lady, for no other apparent reason than having worked out vigorously on The Elliptical for a day. Maybe pricy shoes will help.
I met with SP and we had a nice lunch, plus I also spelled out my upset. Gently, I think. I wish I had less to spell out and more to celebrate in my life.
Like gnomes, I want garden gnomes... real ones though, not those fake plastic ones made in China.
NM is coming up tomorrow. I was blunt and told her I didn't have the energy to take care of her, so she was welcome if she could manage not being high maintenance. She was funny back: "Well. I am low maintenance. This week." She told me it was her turn to be there for me, so hopefully this visit will be mellow. I mean, it's a work week for me, and she's only coming up because SP's ex-girlfriend invited NM to fill in on their softball team. Bizarre.
I sent some work out for rejection yesterday. I'm getting serious, now, baby.
Herald is shedding like mad. He gets irritated because I am always pulling at his hair-- as I walk by, as I cuddle, as I take him on walks around the park, as I brush him with the brush he bites and snaps at. Man, that dog can shed. It's a good thing he's the best dog ever, including Lassie.
Okay. I'm off.