A charismatic guy approached me today about tax forms. A tanned man in his fifties, with a boyish look. He spoke quickly, switching languages and laughing about his own observations on life. Yuri offered to find him the tax form online, but he put on a 100 watt smile and said, "Oh, I have time. I'm determined to find this form in hard copy, it has become something I must do." His efforts to be charming were kind of working on me, which was weird.
He kept talking for a few minutes in an engaging manner, claiming to be a multi-lingual naval architect, until Yuri persuaded him to go upstairs to hassle the reference librarian. "He's nuts," Yuri said as he left. I was worried. I hadn't thought he was nuts at all. I thought he might be the kind of person with enough personality and brains to be nearly indistinguishable from a crazy person. An eccentric. In the short time I spoke with him, I had started to trust him - and I thought of the massive cult in South America that drank a vat of poisoned Kool Aid. Really weird to meet that kind of person - and to discover I was the kind who might fall for it. Oh no.
Sunday, February 27, 2005
Saturday, February 26, 2005
Turandot
A call to my Italian readers: in Puccini's Turandot, the singers pronounced the name both "Turan-DOT" and "Turan-DOH". Which, if either, is more correct?
Home dry cleaning kits are fun for all ages. Sitting on the kitchen floor with my black dress, I removed all the parts of the kit and experimented with the little plastic pads, cleaning fluid, lemony-fresh steam cloths, and neat little zippered pouch. Tossed in the dryer for half an hour, my dress was as good as new - even if the zippered pouch emerged covered in blue melted crayon. Call that a narrow miss.
Leaving the boys behind, my mother, grandfather, and I had dinner at the local Mexican joint before hitting the opera. I scanned the crowd for my mom's future husband, earning curious glances from several gentlemen who looked like James Bond with their expensive jackets and handsomely creased brows. My mother did not make eyes at anyone, but the opera was beautiful. Much more melodic and charming than the Flying Dutchman (Wagner!!). Still a bit sick, I nodded off during the second act, my head bobbing up and down as I was lulled to sleep and then jarred awake by the flow and crash of the music. Embarrassing. I perked up during the 3rd act and tried to make up for it by applauding until my hands tingled.
Home dry cleaning kits are fun for all ages. Sitting on the kitchen floor with my black dress, I removed all the parts of the kit and experimented with the little plastic pads, cleaning fluid, lemony-fresh steam cloths, and neat little zippered pouch. Tossed in the dryer for half an hour, my dress was as good as new - even if the zippered pouch emerged covered in blue melted crayon. Call that a narrow miss.
Leaving the boys behind, my mother, grandfather, and I had dinner at the local Mexican joint before hitting the opera. I scanned the crowd for my mom's future husband, earning curious glances from several gentlemen who looked like James Bond with their expensive jackets and handsomely creased brows. My mother did not make eyes at anyone, but the opera was beautiful. Much more melodic and charming than the Flying Dutchman (Wagner!!). Still a bit sick, I nodded off during the second act, my head bobbing up and down as I was lulled to sleep and then jarred awake by the flow and crash of the music. Embarrassing. I perked up during the 3rd act and tried to make up for it by applauding until my hands tingled.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
not so bad things
Coincidences. It seems as though every time I eat a vinaigrette, I get a stomach flu, and every time I eat low-fat popcorn I wake up with a sore throat. I wait just long enough between trying them again that the next wave of illness starts up again. A vicious cycle.
I went to the community college yesterday to see a man about a website. Maybe it isn't too smart of me to take on another job on top of full-time grad school, parenting a toddler, working at the library, and illustrating a book, but we really need the money. As of right now, our budget for next year doesn't include food. On the bright side, this might mean we have to sell the exercise bike, which has been parked in our tiny living room for over a year now.
Today I'm off to the library to check out Tony Hillerman's autobiography for my presentation next week. I find it a bit odd that Hillerman was on our list of YA authors. Of the three books I read, each featured young adults only as props, with limited dialog and the bad habit of being gruesomely murdered. Not that I minded. I enjoy any book about the Navajo reservation, and I liked being brought back there while I was reading.
I went to the community college yesterday to see a man about a website. Maybe it isn't too smart of me to take on another job on top of full-time grad school, parenting a toddler, working at the library, and illustrating a book, but we really need the money. As of right now, our budget for next year doesn't include food. On the bright side, this might mean we have to sell the exercise bike, which has been parked in our tiny living room for over a year now.
Today I'm off to the library to check out Tony Hillerman's autobiography for my presentation next week. I find it a bit odd that Hillerman was on our list of YA authors. Of the three books I read, each featured young adults only as props, with limited dialog and the bad habit of being gruesomely murdered. Not that I minded. I enjoy any book about the Navajo reservation, and I liked being brought back there while I was reading.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Valentine
The table was covered in flowers and chocolate when I came downstairs in the morning. Gavin and I smelled the roses and looked at the heart-shaped box for a few minutes before we walked to the store to pick up Mike's Valentine's Day liquor (I'm a die-hard romantic, obviously) to go with the box of chocolate covered cherries...
The Chocolate Covered Cherry
1997. Three months into our relationship. On Thanksgiving weekend, Mike and I packed up our letterman jackets and hopped in the rattling Chevy Nova for a road trip to Indiana. During the long stretches of cold Midwestern road, I read aloud from a book of Stephen King short stories. At midnight, we stopped at a lonely gas station and bought steaming cups of cappuccino, pouring little packets of flavored creamer in them until they were sickeningly sweet and delicious. The car was littered with the usual traveling debris; empty tubes of Pringles, juice boxes, soda cans, tissues, clothes. And two boxes of chocolate covered cherries.
Unable to finish reading the Night Flier in the dark, I took out the candies to break the monotony. I popped one in Mike's mouth and turned up the radio. We drove onto a long rail-lined bridge, and I chose that moment to crack a joke. Mike laughed, and then made a funny noise. I thought my joke must have been much funnier than I thought, but it quickly became evident that Mike was choking. The bridge had no shoulder. I grabbed the wheel and had a moment of panic when I didn't know what to do - stop in the road? Could he wait until we pulled over? Would he be able to operate the brakes? Were we about to crash and die?
But this is Mike. He held his breath and waited for the lanes to widen, then pulled over smoothly and politely hacked up a wad of cherry. He wiped his lips and then smiled at me, "You just tried to kill me." I decided at that moment that I loved him.
Fast Forward
8 years later.
Mike smiled when he saw the chocolate covered cherries. "You're trying to kill me," he said on cue. He's a few years older and has more hair, but he's still the guy I tried to kill all those years ago. He took me to a coffee shop in the afternoon. We sat in big purple chairs and sipped over-sweetened drinks while Gavin played with a coffee stirrer on the floor. We stopped for ice cream, and then had dinner with my mom at our favorite Chinese joint. I did my best to pick at all the food, and I chased the meal with a half hour on the recumbent cycle, but all was lost once the liquor came out. It was really a good day.
The Chocolate Covered Cherry
1997. Three months into our relationship. On Thanksgiving weekend, Mike and I packed up our letterman jackets and hopped in the rattling Chevy Nova for a road trip to Indiana. During the long stretches of cold Midwestern road, I read aloud from a book of Stephen King short stories. At midnight, we stopped at a lonely gas station and bought steaming cups of cappuccino, pouring little packets of flavored creamer in them until they were sickeningly sweet and delicious. The car was littered with the usual traveling debris; empty tubes of Pringles, juice boxes, soda cans, tissues, clothes. And two boxes of chocolate covered cherries.
Unable to finish reading the Night Flier in the dark, I took out the candies to break the monotony. I popped one in Mike's mouth and turned up the radio. We drove onto a long rail-lined bridge, and I chose that moment to crack a joke. Mike laughed, and then made a funny noise. I thought my joke must have been much funnier than I thought, but it quickly became evident that Mike was choking. The bridge had no shoulder. I grabbed the wheel and had a moment of panic when I didn't know what to do - stop in the road? Could he wait until we pulled over? Would he be able to operate the brakes? Were we about to crash and die?
But this is Mike. He held his breath and waited for the lanes to widen, then pulled over smoothly and politely hacked up a wad of cherry. He wiped his lips and then smiled at me, "You just tried to kill me." I decided at that moment that I loved him.
Fast Forward
8 years later.
Mike smiled when he saw the chocolate covered cherries. "You're trying to kill me," he said on cue. He's a few years older and has more hair, but he's still the guy I tried to kill all those years ago. He took me to a coffee shop in the afternoon. We sat in big purple chairs and sipped over-sweetened drinks while Gavin played with a coffee stirrer on the floor. We stopped for ice cream, and then had dinner with my mom at our favorite Chinese joint. I did my best to pick at all the food, and I chased the meal with a half hour on the recumbent cycle, but all was lost once the liquor came out. It was really a good day.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
The Illustrated Woman
I hope my cataloging professor doesn't mind drawing up a Library of Congress classification for my name - because I'm about to be a published children's book illustrator!
I just got off the phone with the director of Mutual Publishing, who is sending me a preliminary book contract to look over before signing a final contract and moving towards a summer release of our book, No Slippers. She wanted to make sure my mother (the author) and I (the illustrator) would be available for book signings.
Omigodomigodomigod.
I just got off the phone with the director of Mutual Publishing, who is sending me a preliminary book contract to look over before signing a final contract and moving towards a summer release of our book, No Slippers. She wanted to make sure my mother (the author) and I (the illustrator) would be available for book signings.
Omigodomigodomigod.
Friday, January 28, 2005
Pre-opera
Tonight I'll be putting on a black dress and going out with my mother and grandfather to eat dinner and see The Flying Dutchman. I'll even enjoy a margarita out of plastic stemware during the intermission.
Yesterday, Gavin and I went to the library to pick up my books for class, and arrived just in time for Toddler Storytime. I felt like such a proper parent. Afterwards, I spent most of my day reading Name Me Nobody, which was a very nostalgic trip back to high school in Hawaii - if my high school days had involved shoplifting diet pills. My assignment was to evaluate the figurative language in the book, but a more bluntly written piece of fiction you couldn't ask for. Somehow I'll have to write a paper on the couple of metaphors in the text. Or maybe I'll be talking about the lack of figurative language. Bluntly.
This last stage of my weight loss journey is taking an incredible amount of force and willpower. My metabolism has thrown up its arms and given up. I will try to keep going. Fraction of a pound by bloody fraction of a pound, if needs be. Sometimes I wonder when a hobby becomes an eating disorder, but I don't think I'm quite there yet.
But I'm lonely. I miss Mike, and I'm sad that we can't find the time to go out to dinner for our anniversary.
Yesterday, Gavin and I went to the library to pick up my books for class, and arrived just in time for Toddler Storytime. I felt like such a proper parent. Afterwards, I spent most of my day reading Name Me Nobody, which was a very nostalgic trip back to high school in Hawaii - if my high school days had involved shoplifting diet pills. My assignment was to evaluate the figurative language in the book, but a more bluntly written piece of fiction you couldn't ask for. Somehow I'll have to write a paper on the couple of metaphors in the text. Or maybe I'll be talking about the lack of figurative language. Bluntly.
This last stage of my weight loss journey is taking an incredible amount of force and willpower. My metabolism has thrown up its arms and given up. I will try to keep going. Fraction of a pound by bloody fraction of a pound, if needs be. Sometimes I wonder when a hobby becomes an eating disorder, but I don't think I'm quite there yet.
But I'm lonely. I miss Mike, and I'm sad that we can't find the time to go out to dinner for our anniversary.
Sunday, January 16, 2005
Working girl
Yesterday I spent my first whole day working in the library. I opened up, checked in books, put the newspaper on their wooden rods, made hundreds of xeroxes, and talked with my very funny friend/boss over lunch. I showed her pictures of Mike and she said, "That's that cute guy from the movie theater!" Small island, huh?
By the end of the day, my boobs were painfully backed up. Gavin hurled himself at me as I came in the door, and I dropped to my knees and caught him. I think I'm in store for a lot of world's-best hugs throughout the years. He had a hard time nursing off all the milk, but slept like a rock through the night with a full belly. I frowned at the scale in the morning when it told me I had gained back one of the 2 pounds I had lost this week, but one look at my breasts told me where it was. I twirled around to admire myself in the mirror with comic book boobs, then hopped into the shower. As I was shampooing, I spotted a clumsy B-52 cockroach stumbling along the top of the shower nozzle. He dangled by one foot, trying to reach a bead of water, and I had just enough time to say, "Hey, stupid, use two legs!" before he fell on me. He survived my shrieks and flurry of limbs, and in the end I dropped a hair ribbon into the tub where he was paddling and pulled him to safety. He sat on the edge of the tub licking his legs clean until I flicked him in the butt and told him to get lost. Stupid roach. The cats are much better pets.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
cutting distractions
I need to get my shit together. I deleted a few e-mails and stopped logging into IM, and now I can breathe again. With regret, maybe, but I have other things going on that need my attention for now.
Mike gets to be the haggis bearer. This is a warm, reekin honor, and I feel proud. He'll dance his highland, drink his scotch, and deliver the chieftain of the pudding race to the hungry Scots. That's good for him.
$100 for a textbook. Yes. $100 for an object to thump myself in the head with for the next semester.
I'll survive.
Sunday, January 09, 2005
I've got to admit...
... it's getting better.
A fruitless trip to the mall. I tugged on a fitted leather jacket in the Harley Davidson store and admired it while Gavin kissed his reflection in the mirror. We didn't accomplish much today, but I did my good deed when I discovered that the clerk at 7-11 had given me too much change and I went back in to return it.
Mike spent the afternoon with his band, but came home to get his work uniform. He dropped off a copy of Napoleon Dynamite, so I guess we'll get to see what all the fuss is about. I thought about Brooke as I examined the character on the cover.
School starts tomorrow. I don't actually have class until Tuesday, but perhaps I'll be going to the library, where I can chat with the philosophy undergrad I work with.
A fruitless trip to the mall. I tugged on a fitted leather jacket in the Harley Davidson store and admired it while Gavin kissed his reflection in the mirror. We didn't accomplish much today, but I did my good deed when I discovered that the clerk at 7-11 had given me too much change and I went back in to return it.
Mike spent the afternoon with his band, but came home to get his work uniform. He dropped off a copy of Napoleon Dynamite, so I guess we'll get to see what all the fuss is about. I thought about Brooke as I examined the character on the cover.
School starts tomorrow. I don't actually have class until Tuesday, but perhaps I'll be going to the library, where I can chat with the philosophy undergrad I work with.
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
I can't see what's wrong with me...
I found my Heavy mix, the tape I listen to in the car when nobody is with me because it would be too much like them watching me drive naked. I'm not even that much of a music fan, but this mix of Led Zeppelin, Alice Cooper, Deep Purple, and Janis Joplin can shine me up until I become a smooth blur.
I arrived at the library this way, and then went into my work trance. There wasn't a bad thought in my head, nothing outside of the job at hand and the people around me, until I clocked out and walked into the evening several hours later.
Ok, fine, I'm hurt. I'm mad and isolated and unable to summon up any kind of sympathy. Mike has no words to offer me. I don't know what I want him to say, but his tight lipped shrugging and helpless "I love you?" only make me more angry. I don't know what to do but ride this out alone, feeling like a sulky teenager - me against the world - pathetic and ridiculous and inconsolable. I need to take myself by the shoulders and shake it off, because this can't go on.
I arrived at the library this way, and then went into my work trance. There wasn't a bad thought in my head, nothing outside of the job at hand and the people around me, until I clocked out and walked into the evening several hours later.
Ok, fine, I'm hurt. I'm mad and isolated and unable to summon up any kind of sympathy. Mike has no words to offer me. I don't know what I want him to say, but his tight lipped shrugging and helpless "I love you?" only make me more angry. I don't know what to do but ride this out alone, feeling like a sulky teenager - me against the world - pathetic and ridiculous and inconsolable. I need to take myself by the shoulders and shake it off, because this can't go on.
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