Ja, Maar,

My parents brought one last box of my stuff I had when they came up for the wedding, and in the piles of randomness was this postcard from the Philosopher Prince. It was a fantastically timed return, and I stuck it, Dutch side out, in the frame of my mirror.

Fall is back, and so am I

It's boots and sweaters, scarves and cider time, folks, and I received a love letter just in time.

http://saschaloves.livejournal.com/299191.html

Days of Awe

I was ready for the High Holy Days when they came, way ready. There was a lovely Shabbat at Leigh's and then on Sunday Daniel Student came over and we made up what turned out to be the most lovely and appropriate Yom Kippur services I could have hoped for.

The results are below.

hobhipster

When I went to watch the This American Life movie, and I looked around at all the hipsters, I had a revelation, which is that *I* am a hipster.

Why deny it? I might not have the pants, or the haircut, but it's only because I'm not putting enough effort in.

I didn't really like being lame at being a hipster, but then Rat coined the term "hobhipster" which is like a "hobgoblin" (lesser goblin.)

This is much more suitable.

Thanks Rat!

Some Wisdom

for the edification of my readership. This one comes from "Indeed: The Collected letters of Steven and Cara 2000-2009"

me: As the saying goes, the fucking shittiest lessons you have to learn for yourself like goddamn dumbass

Steven: That's a catchy saying.

I fell down again

On the same knees as last time.

Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow

Yo, gentle reader, I fell down. I'd like to tell you that I was running to save a baby. Kitten. Or that I tripped over something. But I wasn't, I was just walking around on my legs, and I fell down on the day of the office Christmas party and busted up my knees AND ripped my jeans.

Now I gotta buy new jeans and it's Christmas.

I'm usually a pretty stoic accident victim, since I've had lots of practice, but the office Christmas party made me get drunk, and when Dan tried to clean out the wound I am reported to have yelled "Ow, ow, ow...etc" until he gave up, which is why there are pieces of pajama fuzz in there.

Delegating

Yesterday, I got in an argument with Keith at work, in which neither of us convinced the other.

Today, when he came in, he told me that, feeling unsatisfied, he had gone home and started the argument with someone else. And this person had come around to his way of seeing things. He felt better.

I'm thinking of applying this strategy to lots of things in my life. For example, when I try to teach one of my students about intransitive verbs, and they don't learn it, I'm going to go teach it to another student. Or if Dan doesn't like it when I don't scoop out the cat box, I'll go to Suzanne's house and not scoop the cat box, and she'll be fine with it.

Probably.

not found

Facebook keeps showing me a photo of someone I love who is gone and asking pertly

"Add as friend?"

I haven't tried it but I know the link is dead.

The students mix up "can" and "do" a lot. For example, they will write something like:

"When I was child, I often eating Korean food, so I could like it very much."

or

"I love the swimming, so I can swim often."

And it is really difficult to explain the difference. I'll say "you were ABLE to eat the food, or you DID eat the food?" And they'll say "yes."

Recently, Mohammed wrote in an essay "I have always believed that I am different to the other people. When I do something, I can do that better than the others."

When I read that I wondered if everyone thinks so. I remember the moment when I realized that everyone has to swallow periodically to keep the inside of their mouth moist. Until I was six, I had thought it was my particular quirk. Does everyone believe that they are different to the other people?

Whenever I read a story, or even a novel, I think "I could have written that," and when I see some local artist's paintings in the High Point Cafe I think "I could have done that." Often, like when reading the in flight magazine, or a romance novel, I think "I could have written something better than that." I have felt this way all my life, about most things.

Recently though, when I think "I could have done that," a helpful skeleton person in my mind says "but you didn't."

Is difference between artists and everyone else is that artists make art?

Writers write.

Farmers farm. It's a known fact that if you wear overalls and chew on straw and have a business card that says "farmer" and when people say "and you, what do you do?" and you say "I'm a farmer," that does not make you a farmer.

There are action verbs and stative verbs, you learn this in grammar and in theatre. In English, action verbs are the verbs you do: walk, dance, go, murder and create. Stative verbs are the verbs that just are: have, see, hear and of course be.

In theatre action verbs are actable verbs. And be is not an actable verb. You can't put it in the "ing" form (I am being a rock star) and you can't do it. Not on stage and not in life.

This is wrong, but I still spend more time on "be" than any other verb. (I don't want to be an asshole, I am like her but not like him.) I can know this is wrong.

You were ABLE to know? Or you DO?

Speaking of which

It's not like I don't look at myself in the mirror before I go out in the morning, but every day, literally every day at some point, Suzanne has to cut a thread off of me, or remove toilet paper from my shoe, or politely point out that I have powdered sugar on my nose or that my face is smeared with green dry erase marker.

I've been trying to check with her before I go into class, since I can't count the number of times I've finished a lesson and sent everyone home and then discovered my skirt is on backwards.

This makes me wonder what they were not telling me in New York.

um. no.

A girl in Dan's class asked to go to the bathroom. When she came back she announced to the class in a loud voice:

"You will not BELIEVE what just happened to me! I was in the bathroom and this GIRL came up to me and was like "Do you remember me?" and I was like '(snuff) um. no.' And she was like 'we were in the same class in fourth GRADE, remember' and I was like '(snuffeyeroll) no.'"

And Dan was like "Agh! I'm in high school!"

Which of course he was. In a high school.

I know we're all supposed to associate this sort of thing with grade 9 through grade 11, but I feel like I am in the bathroom saying "do you remember me?" about every day of my life.

Wither Snice?

Last night we got the news that Dan's friend from the Revolutionary Book Club, whose wedding we attended not one year ago is going to be a dad.

I much preferred reminders that I am trapped in the cycle of birth and death when I could text Rachel and hunker down over a paper cone of belgian fries and a tall pint glass of something Europeany. She would talk sense into me and then we'd talk ourselves out of sense altogether and drain a night making realities like paper napkin dolls.

That's what I want to do now.

You know what I want?

Those little fruit candies. What are those called? Runts? Runts! The bananas are the best ones. Where can you get those from? Not Rite Aide, and not Wolfe's Market, that's for sure. Mmm, banana ones.

Thank You, Theives

I'll bet when you read the title, you thought that I was being sarcastic like (sarcastic voice) oh, thank you thieves, thanks for stealing all my stuff. I loooove losing my wallet, phone, ipod and passport in one go.

Actually, about halfway through the coffee I was drinking this morning, I thought (peaceful voice) thank you thieves. Dan had dropped me off at the social security office, and I was waiting. I only had the ten dollars he'd given me before I left, and there was nothing I could do but walk around not listening to my ipod or text messaging anyone. I didn't have money, a train pass or even keys to go home. I thought thoughts. I read the paper.

I never, NEVER would have done this unless I had been rendered totally helpless by the theft. And you know what? There is nothing more valuable, or nice, than time.