A Super Idea

As everyone knows, Christmas is practically on top of us. So naturally, I've found it is time to begin designing my holiday cards. I have been reading a book on the art of Alex Ross, and was inspired to create a design in a similar style, based on a super hero developed by my beloved web board. So I found myself in the bathroom, perched on a plastic stool wearing a swimsuit, a nursing bra, a pair of Supergirl underwear, and a towel tied around my neck, supporting a digital camera on my head. Upon the unfortunate discovery of the photos later in the day, Mike and my mother had the grace and tact to stifle their laughter before I poked their eyes out with my mechanical pencil. Gavin chose to draw on my new reference with a stump of banana, but as I am now completely out of printer paper, it will have to do anyway.

Michael, the innovative manager that he is, has taken it upon himself to paint the lobby and concession of his theater. He has organized the funds, rounded up victims to help paint, and today we took a trip to Home Depot in search of paint and supplies. There were handsome men everywhere, and I had a sudden, uncharacteristic urge to pinch bottoms. The employee in the carpet department was such an amazing example of muscle and chiseled classic looks that even Mike was impressed. We weren't sure why he would be working at Home Depot when he should be kicking Brad Pitt out of Troy or posing for comic book characters. I really must work on my home improvement skills. I can think of at least a dozen household projects that need to be done, each requiring a separate visit to the carpet department at Home Depot.

If any bottoms are to be pinched, however, I am lucky to have a good one at hand. Mike, having gained an astounding 5 pounds since high school, decided he needed to work out more often. We bought him a new pair of running shoes, a few pairs of new shorts, and off he went. There is hardly a nicer sight than Mike, fresh from his daily run, all sweaty with his hair in damp bronze ringlets. He complained that tourists stared at him, as though they had never seen a white person in Hawaii before, and I had to smile.

A pox on Financial Aid officers

The rain has been sweeping over the mountain all day. We left this morning to visit the Financial Aid office at UH in the hopes of shedding light on this loan process. In the past, the financial aid officers at UH have been utterly unhelpful and downright rude. The last time I visited, I politely asked about information on scholarships, hoping to apply for the next year. "You know its too late for this semester, don't you?" snapped the woman at the desk, not moving to hand me any papers. After ten minutes of defensively justifying my motives, I left with a thin pamphlet and a deep grudge. Today went no better. "I'd like some information about the loan process," I said. "You have to fill out the FAFSA," said she, turning away as though she wished I would leave. "I did, what now?" "Did they send you a letter?" "Not yet, what do I do when I get the letter?" "They have to give you a letter first." "OK, then what?" "Most people apply for financial aid when they apply for admission." "Well I didn't, so what's the next step?" "They have to process your FAFSA." At this point I throttled the woman. 

We left with no further information on the loan process, hoping that the mysterious authorities processing my FAFSA would make things clear in time for registration. We ate lunch at the food kiosk by the chemistry building. I poked quarters in the machine until a bowl of fried rice popped out, and we sat on a stone bench, surrounded by two dozen softly peeping doves and sparrows. An enormous white pigeon perched on Gavin's knee, which simultaneously horrified and delighted him. He gripped my leg for courage and slowly extended a hand toward it. After lunch, I watched him run through the grass, picking up flowers which had dropped from the trees, and I felt so proud. After a stop at the school book store, we came home with a bottle of spray fixative, a fine-tipped pen, a sheet of illustration board, and a parking ticket. A mix of contentment and frustration, but being on campus was so nice, and I can't wait to start classes this fall.

It begins.

I noticed recently that my actual pen-and-paper journal was filled entirely with horrific accounts of random events; I only picked it up to empty my misery into it. In fact, I'm not miserable at all, and I hope this journal reflects that.

This is the start. Last week, two significant events took place: I submitted my book to the publisher; and I was accepted into grad school. The rest of my life will be shaped by these two things, maybe. I can only hope for the best, but already I am so relieved and excited about the future.

Gavin is currently in love with a grungy old plastic dollhouse, which he insists must neatly contain a bed, a chair, a toilet, a little boy doll, and two dump trucks to wreck the whole of it. He has a small rash of bumps across his forehead as a result of last night's naked twirly time outside, where he spun himself around until dizzy, sprinted across the neighbor's porch, and took a head dive onto the concrete with a sickening smack. Great. He took a break from this to fling his plastic hammer to the ground, clap his little hands to his cheeks, and declare "oh dear!" about seventy times. It was devastingly cute.