Pinterest

uh-oh...i think i'm hooked on pinterest. the website describes it as an "online pinboard: collect the things you love." i am awaiting an invitation (whatever that means!) in order to join. membership is free, so i cannot understand why creating a login is so complicated. i hope i get my invite soon? lol, in the meantime, i'm going to embed things i've found that i absolutely love here on my blog! so. happy.

bieber fever

oh man. so lily, at the ripe old age of two, is just as obsessed with justin bieber as the rest of the tweens in the world. his tunes are catchy, i admit that, and we've been showing her youtube videos of him since she was a year old. and every time his face popped up on the screen, her eyes got wide and she smiled from ear to ear. hysterical. love the fact he could soothe my fussy baby with his good looks and smooooth vocals, lol. one of these days i will have to catch her singing "baby, baby, baby, OHHHHHHHHHH!" on film, that is my current goal. and, yesterday while taking a bath, she told me quite matter-of-factly, "i have dinner with justin bieber." a date, already?!?! not so fast little girl, we have plenty of time left before that happens...i hope ;)

yay, i found my blog!

literally, years have passed since i've blogged, but i have to say that i'm a little bit excited i found this old blog-site associated with a uw-bothell course i took (like the title says, bis318: performance, identity, community and everyday life, with a focus on technology! longest title in the world for a class, haha).

my daughter lilian (hannah jean long) turned two years old just over a month ago, specifically on april 1, 2011, and i just posted some silly sayings of hers on facebook when i thought i should try and look-up (and successfully log-into) this old blog. user id? email...check. password? ohhhh dear. well i took a lucky guess and it worked...check. now i'm in :)

so the facebook post was a list of funny phrases lily has been repeating lately and they include: "i can't believe it!," "it's my favorite!," "i'm so excited!," "you're my best friend...in the whole world," "kids (insert any word here really, water, bubbles, toys, etc.) everywhere!"," "look at me, i'm not holding on tight!," "i like kids/i like my friends..." she is so funny, i could listen to her talk for hours! can't wait to hear what she comes up with next...

on another note, yesterday was mother's day and it was really great! greg and lily got me the sweetest supermom card (and a starbucks gift card, win!) and my other gift that i unabashedly asked greg for isn't here yet, but it's like a present for both of us: a sonicare toothbrush with two spinbrushes! so excited, we'll both have sparkling clean teeth! haha. anyway, lily had an amazing (and often rare) 2-hour nap, then we took a few pictures in the front yard, got in the car, made a stop at subway (famished!), then walgreens, then dropped off some flowers for my bff and new mama nicole (with her darling baby madison), then went to nana debi's house, THEN our final stop was at justin and teresa's house for dinner and dessert. phew and yum! i must say it was nice spending the morning with my two loves just sitting at home. hanging around the house getting prepped for a fun evening out is something that i treasure...i don't know why, but maybe it's because all too soon these moments will be gone. lily will be grown up and i won't have to get her dressed or changed or fed or anything at all. WAH! want my little girl to stay little forever...

well it's late, i better hit the sack (does anyone really talk like that?), but i'm pretty happy i have rediscovered this outlet to get all of my expressions (and lilian's!) out. goodnight!

the times they are a-changin'

In the collection of prose poems Backscatter: New and Selected Poems, John Olson transcribes his words in a style similar to that of a person having a conversation, a conversation rich in vocabulary and vivid language. Olson writes with enthusiasm and delight, about subjects few individuals would suppose to touch on like Mercury and My Favorite Gland where he writes, “It tastes like sunlight.” His technique does remind me a little of the great pop culturist Andy Warhol and is reminiscent of the writer Kenny Goldsmith. Backscatter is an odd assemblage of poetry, or rather eclectic collection; John Olson is a talented poet who, with great ease and creativity, transforms everyday life into works of art, and here is my attempt at shadowing him:

Color Wheel: After John Olson
Unlocking doors with a wand is freedom as brilliant hues fly through your hands bursting silhouettes as passages welcome you to heaven shy but a bit curious. Is releasing passion nervous and inexperienced away from scrutiny and criticism is retouching delicate outlines on your loves body songs brushing her to sway her head arms and legs her eyes blue and dreamy as you layer more color in, deep rich shades of paint. Is laughter brushing you to dance blended on carpet and rugs brushing the mood to blend through your body stirring with songs and harmony. Your breath stained in the air.

Evaporation: After John Olson
Drip like a faucet; plop, wash, sing, swim. An aimless rhythm or a concert from my sink? Raindrops, flips, pitter-pattering against rooftops; a pulsing dance conducted by Mother Nature. Dripping wet with sweat. Salty skin, saltine crackers soaking into my chicken noodle soup. Seeping, weeping blood flowing down my finger as Sleeping Beauty flashes in my brain. Cold water dripping from my hair or warm droplets running down my cheeks. Trickles of hot candle wax making a gummy puddle, red, like the color of fire, like the heat of my soul. Blistering saturation of oil splattering on my skin, popping off like evil in my head – angry, burning thoughts of him. A little time is all it takes. Drip, drip, drip and he’s gone.

video game*

oh my gosh...getting this video to upload was SO complicated. i'm exasperated...right there, yes, there, that is my face*

follow this link por favor: http://nicole8236.neptune.com?selectedalbum=nicole8236384108

baby sounds*

kids are cute. babies are even cuter. all the gurgly sounds, the coos and squeals...i can't help but try and get them to make noise because frankly, it's funny. i wondered what i should do for the audio prompt, and then realized that recording 30 seconds of sounds the baby i watch makes would be perfect. it wasn't as easy as i thought it would be, mainly because every time i pressed record, he was quiet, then when the recording was off, he would start the baby-talk; it was bad timing, we just weren't on the same page! frustrating, yes, but i knew if i kept at it, i was bound to catch something on my recorder. finally i got it, a little clip of him playing his xylophone...a classic toy eliciting classic sounds. i should have video taped him, it was pretty cute to watch. he hits that thing so dang hard, it's like he can hardly contain the excitement of holding a little wooden wand and slamming it down on the pretty and colorful keys. sometimes, when he's really excited, he shakes. silly baby :)
here is the link to my audio clip:
http://www.supload.com/sound_confirm.php?get=91761043.wav

just three days after i took this sound clip, my girlfriend sent me a sound clip of her daughter laughing, which is probably the cutest thing i've ever heard: kai is cracking up over the grinch's butt and big belly...she's watching the jim carey version, which is pretty funny if you haven't seen it. enjoy*
http://www.supload.com/sound_confirm.php?get=94047906.wav

Sugar and Spice

…And everything nice, that’s what little girls are made of. On November 7, 2008, the gender of my baby was revealed and yes, it’s a girl! My boyfriend and I are so happy. I have to say that I was a bit shocked because I was absolutely certain that I was carrying a little boy. It was just this feeling, something I couldn’t really put my finger on, but whatever, I was wrong. Maybe others influenced my opinion; roughly 48 out of 50 people were convinced I was having a boy. I guess I was "carrying low" and since my morning sickness (which should really be called all-day sickness) was extremely mild, supposedly that also meant I was incubating a boy.

When I first found out I was pregnant at 7 ½ weeks, I was considerably stunned, but didn’t feel "pregnant." A week later, things were noticeably different. Nausea, among an assortment of other pregnancy symptoms, settled in. I started eating crackers to curb the nausea and it worked like a charm. Then another thing happened: I began to crave fruit. I hate to use the word crave, but I just desperately, and rather urgently, wanted fruit. Watermelon, nectarines, peaches, plums, and grapes, that was it. It varied day-to-day, and once, I made a trip to the grocery store around 11pm because I downright HAD to have a nectarine. The very next night, I was back at the grocery store and required the ingestion of red grapes. I walked past the nectarines, stopped for one moment to observe them, and shuddered; they looked positively disgusting to me. Blah. The thought of a nectarine was sickening, but it was only the night before that I absolutely, positively had to have one. What the hell?! It was during these two weeks of seeking out fruit that I thought I might be carrying a girl; apparently, girls stimulate fruit cravings, whereas boys induce strong meat and/or protein desires.

My 20-week ultrasound clearly reveals that I’m having a baby girl. Well, it was clear to the ultrasound technician, not to me. My boyfriend Greg is over the moon; he got his little girl. I know it is going to be exhausting and require endless days and sleepless nights of patience, dedication, and hard work. Although I have no idea what it’s like to bear and raise a child, I have worked as a nanny for 12 years and believe I have a very good indication of the commitment and energy it takes to nurture one. The work will be worth the outcome. This baby girl will be loved and loved and loved for all her life.

I cannot wait to meet her.

Impossible Project

Go outside on a clear winter night and look up at the sky. Find a star, a bright one, and make a wish. Don't tell anyone what you wish for.

Wait until your wishing star falls from the sky. Catch it and hold it close. Then take it and put it in your pocket. Keep it safe.

The following winter, pass your star on to a loved one.
Forget about what you wished for.

Fundamentals of Sheet Music

Music plays a great role in my life and to be able to create some of that music is a sensation I cannot wholly explain. Playing the piano is soothing, peaceful, satisfying, and so many other things. It is beautiful to listen to and even better to compose. I have been blessed with the skill to play and will carry that with me for all my life. Below I’ve compiled some fun and easy directions that might help equip a piano novice to read sheet music. For starters, the standard piano is made up of 88 black and white keys and the first thing to teach someone is where middle C is located on the piano. Your piano should have a row of white piano keys interrupted by alternate sets of three and two black keys. The white key to the left of the first black two-set is known as C. On the standard piano, count the C keys from left to right. The fourth C to the right is Middle C. The next important thing to learn is knowing the names of the notes and where they are located on the piano. You cannot read sheet music without knowing the names of the keys. On the white set of keys the names are A,B,C,D,E,F, and G. After learning where those keys are, you need to be able to know the names of the black keys and where they are located. The black keys are are either going to be read as a flat key or a sharp key. The sharps are C#, D#, F#, G#, A#, and the flats are D-flat, E-flat, G-flat, A-flat, and B-flat. After learning the names of the notes and where they are located you will have to identify where they are loacted on a staff. A staff is bascically the bar which one reads when learning a piece of music. It lets you know if the piece is going to have any sharps or flats. And of course it has all the notes themselves listed. Next is learning rhythms. You need to count how many beats you hold down a key. A whole note is 4 beats, a dotted half note is 3 beats, a half note is 2 beats, and a quarter note is 1 beat. A beat can also be known as a count. Another thing to learn is the fact that on a piano you use both hands. This means you need to know the notes on the treble clef and the notes on the bass clef. The treble clef is attached to the right hand and the bass clef is designated for the use of your left hand. There is a little trick to remembering which note is what on the staff. For the treble clef, any notes that fall on the lines of the staff remember the phrase "Every Good Boy Does Fine." The first letter of every word is the name of the note. For the notes that fall in the spaces, you spell the word F.A.C.E. For the bass clef you can say "Great Big Dogs Fight Animals" for the lines and "All Cows Eat Grass" for the open spaces. In general, once you get all the notes down, it’s all about practice. You need to train your mind and your fingers to be able to work at the same time. That involves reading the music and memorizing where your fingers go on the piano in unison. Practice is an extremely crucial element to feeling comfortable enough to have your fingers dance freely along the keys. Once you get that down, it should be easy as 1-2-3. You’ll be a pro before you know it!

Warhol/Goldsmith

*Warhol*
Diamonds
Diamonds are overrated. There is nothing that could stand in the way between a woman and her jewelry. How a rock, a stone, could wind up costing more money than anything has a right to cost is beyond me. Engagement rings, wedding rings, anniversary bands…marriage is overrated. Although I am a promoter of love (whatever that may be, it is by any measure undefined) marriage is a trap. The way I see it, love should not be caged, or possessed, or confirmed by a vow, ring, and a license. A partnership should be confirmed by proximity and longevity, how long a couple can stand to be next to one another, that is all.

Technology
Technology is a curse. A blessing to most, but a curse if understood correctly. When applied, it can save lives, connect people together that are living extreme distances apart, it can make all forms of communication more simple, more accessible. But conventionally, it is unconventional. Efficient? Perhaps, but it consumes our thoughts as well as our actions. Creativity is restricted in one way, like entertainment for starters. Our minds are limited, our focus is shifted. Bigger and better, more frequent and faster. A factory is born. We have turned into machines. The simple life as we knew it is fading. Men on the moon? It is nearly terrifying of what will they think of next.

*Kenny Goldsmith*
Good Morning
The alarm sounds at 7:30am. Wake up. Turn over to the right. Open eyes. Grab the telephone and with blurry vision hit "Disable." Turn over and lie on my back. Turn over to the left and touch Greg. "Babe, it’s 7:30am, time to get up." Groggy and quietly, he replies, "Okay, 15 more minutes." "Okay." The alarm is off, so I am only half asleep, anticipating 15 minutes to go by. It goes by quickly. "Babe, it’s 7:45am…" "Okay, 3 more minutes…will you get the ironing board from your sister’s room for me?" "Okay…" I sit up halfway, the blanket still covering most of my body. "Where are my pants?" I feel around with my feet for my pants, which I’m certain are somewhere near the foot of the bed…I can’t find them. I sit up, shift the covers, lift them off my legs…there are my pants. I grab them, put the covers over me, and put on my pants while lying on my back, and with the covers up to my neck. I’m cold. I sit up and move from out under the covers. It’s cold. I find a hooded sweatshirt and put that on over my tank top. Open the door, open my sister’s door, and take the ironing board that’s lying against the wall behind her bedroom door. I shut her door behind me, walk into the kitchen, and unfold the ironing board. I walk back into my bedroom, Greg sits up, sighs heavily. "I don’t want to get up…can I have that sweatshirt?" I take off the sweatshirt, hand it to Greg, he gets up out of bed, I crawl into his spot. It’s warm, but I’m still cold. I lay under the covers until 8am, watching the hands tick on my new clock.

Novels In Three Lines*

USA Today
The Associated Press
Nov 7 2008
Snake oil is being sold to tourists in Chesterfield, Idaho; the product is said to make old men young and young women frisky.

USA Today
The Associated Press
Nov 7 2008
A deer rammed its way through glass doors at the Deery Bros. Collision Center in Burlington, Iowa; the animal died from its injuries.

USA Today
The Associated Press
Nov 7 2008
Eliot Spitzer, former Democratic New York governor who admitted to hiring call girls, will not face criminal charges; he resigned in March and has since been spending time with his wife and three daughters.

USA Today
By John Bacon with staff and wire reporters
Nov 7 2008
O.J. Simpson, who was convicted of kidnapping and robbery, could face life in prison; he is seeking a new trial.

USA Today
By Alexandra Olson
Nov 7 2008
“Black boxes” found on the plane that crashed and killed two of Mexico’s highest government officials have been sent to the U.S. for investigation; drug cartels are under speculation for having caused the crash.

Redmond Reporter
By Bill Christianson
Nov 06 2008
A 24-year-old software engineer was found murdered in her apartment. The cause of death was listed as strangulation and asphyxia; there are no suspects in the case.

Redmond Reporter
By Bill Christianson
Oct 30 2008
Former Microsoft employee impersonated a police officer, forcing a woman to have sex with him. He has been charged with rape and faces 20-26 years in prison if convicted.

Kirkland Reporter
By Kendall Watson
Oct 18 2008
Employees of the Red Dragon Spa and Red Rose Hot Stone Spa, who were not state-licensed massage practitioners, offered massages and other sexual favors in exchange for $100. The owner has been charged with felony prostitution.

Journal of the San Juans
www.sanjuanjournal.com
Oct 29 2008
A man who was vacationing with his wife suffered a heart attack on a ferry en route to the San Juan Islands. He later died at the hospital.

"News From Home"

Film: "News From Home"

By Chantal Ackerman

a dim alley, cars pass, people pass...
switch scenes: more cars, slightly busier street. i can see the water, just a small peek.
switch scenes: dialogue begins, even more cars and people. someone is reading a letter. it is new york! a mother reads a letter to her child, i think perhaps a daughter. she ends with "your loving mother." it is her birthday.
switch scenes: darker alley, rundown, littered streets.
switch scenes: not a cross section or alley, but a direct view of the front of some building. everything is so dark and gray...
switch scenes: one parked car, a crooked sign.
switch scenes: a street...nothing special here. it's all the same, people walking, cars driving, dirty streets.
switch scenes: it is getting dark. headlights are on; i can see the body of water again, this time at dusk. it looks cold.
switch scenes: another letter, the voice is drowned by traffic. "don't walk" flashes...who are these people? i'm afraid they might be homeless, how terribly sad...
switch scenes: a dark skinned woman on the sidewalk sitting on a stool i think...what is she doing there?
switch scenes: a parking lot. the camera moves! scenes are switching more quickly now, letters are harder to decipher, the traffic is loud. it is now very dark outside, almost pitch-black. the camera spans from one angle to another. a subway appears, no one is there. it is loud. it's dark. there are a lot of people outside on the street; another letter, a man smoking a cigarette sits outside a shop. view into a store, looks like some sort of eatery, maybe a deli. it is so dark outside. an empty diner, a donut shop...another letter. new days, new scenes, less letters from the child to her mother. letters are redundant...they sort of mirror life. nothing new seems to happen. it's the same old routine: money is sent, parents' health is poor, they are worried about their daughter. sounds like my mother, always talking about the same things. it's boring. it makes me crazy. where are the letters being sent to? ughhh...conversations are frustrating when redundant...the mother sounds interrogating. letters are being sent overseas i understand, from new york, but to where exactly is still unclear. the images in the video are repetitive, just like the letters. it is all getting a little dull to me now...this is not exactly the bright and busy new york i had imagined.

"The Last Clean Shirt"

Short Film: "The Last Clean Shirt"
By Alfred Leslie
Subtitles By Frank O'hara

To view the video, click on this link: http://ubu.com/film/leslie.html

Where are they going? Why is the woman passenger doing all the talking? How obnoxious, lol. What is she talking about?! It must not be important, since the conversation isn't reciprocated by her male companion. What is Alfred Leslie trying to imply, that what women have to say is essentially unimportant? I think so, but you know, not all what women communicate is unnecessary, mindless jibber-jabber. What's with the clock? I wish I knew what his intention with the clock was. My God, his driving is horrendous. In fact, everyone behind the wheel of a car is driving horrendously. Yikes! And they're not even wearing any seat belts... Oh, something familiar--I love T.S. Eliot. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock is my favorite poem of all time. In fact, it might be the best poem ever written. Okay, maybe that's taking it a little far. I forgot a moment about Shakespeare, Poe, Keats, Emerson, Frost, Dickinson, Whitman, Twain, Yeats, and another personal favorite, e.e. cummings; he's probably not as popular as the rest, but I love his work. Well without further adieu, here it is, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock:

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question . . .
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair--
[They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!"]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin--
[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!"]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:--
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all--
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all--
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . .

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet--and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"--
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: "That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all."

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the
floor--
And this, and so much more?--
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."

. . . . .
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old . . .I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

This woman has absolutely no sense of personal space! Was the "Africans building dams" a racial slur? He doesn't talk, but he smokes...typical. Gosh lady, slow down! Are we women that bad? That we don't even pause to speak as our voices are drowned out by buses, by sirens? What a slap in the face, what an insult. Is the gentleman timing how long she talks, or the distance between point A and point B? Who is the narrator and why is he quoting from the book of Genesis? Is someone going to die? "Ashes to ashes, from dust to dust..." Unconnected? The title has no connection to the plot. I'm not even sure if there IS a plot. The woman has no connection to the driver...he has no connection to his passenger. Is this all just a waste of time? Who is thinking? Because the man thinks and the woman speaks, does that mean he's some sort of an intellectual? He doesn't even hear her...ah-HA! The universal truth is revealed: when women speak, men aren't listening. "A far cry from a hard-on?" Of course they're thinking something sexual; stereotype confirmed. Unconnected...we are all lost, detached. No wonder things hardly get resolved, we're not on the same page. Where the hell are they going? Nowhere. Why won't he hear her? How completely disrespectful, but she doesn't seem to notice...or care. "Making out with the kangaroo..." Sex again! Oh man..."I like you." Then listen to what I am saying...

3 Images

Oh to peek at the development of a human being, the wonder, for there is nothing greater than the realization and growth of new life. How complex the system is, the anatomy of a woman. Blood from the mother flows like a heavy, constant stream, supporting another living thing. The baby has patterns of wakefulness and sleep, it breathes and it has a beating heart, like the rapid beating of a drum. It is a hummingbird, buzzing with energy, with color and personality, but cannot yet be seen. An invisible love, only felt and heard. Like true love often is, the feeling is strong, but the fulfillment is fleeting for you experience an overwhelming joy one minute, and the next, an apprehensive, nervous terror…you cannot bear to think it would cease to exist…

The poor walrus, he is so large! And because of his size, I would venture to say his momentous dimensions are intimidating to most. But he is not intimidating in The Walrus and the Carpenter. The story is a tale within a tale. One of my most favorite stories by Lewis Carroll is Alice in Wonderland. It is in one word enchanting. The Walrus and the Carpenter is just one silly account into the absurd world experienced by Alice. The walrus is a robust and hungry creature and the carpenter…well, I don’t remember the carpenter’s role. In fact, I hardly remember the walrus’ role. What I do remember is the character of the clam, or rather, clams. They are not only adorable, but sweet, and sweet to eat if you were to ask the walrus. But the dainty little clams have a trick up their sleeve. No more will they be taken over by the hungry walrus beast! They plan their attack strategically, and when it comes time to unleash their wrath, the walrus is beaten at his own lethal game. The clams are spared being digested, their lives are saved. Hooray for the clams!

There is nothing children love more than dinosaurs. Young boys, actually, for girls have little interest in big, bony, or dead things. Engaging in the habits of dinosaurs is not suitable to the delicate conduct of ladies. T-Rex is the most popular of course, probably because he kills things. And boys, with their destructive nature, like hearing about things that can kill. It’s quite morbid really, and one has to question why boys take such pleasure in wrapping themselves up with things related to viciousness. It’s no wonder that when these boys grow up, they often partake in brutal contact with one another, whether it be through sports or fights on the playground. Are we breeding fighters? I hope, at least, not killers. My boy will at some point probably want to be a killer T-Rex for Halloween, and I feel I will have no grounds to deny him of that particular costume. What is the fascination?! Will I never understand because I am simply not a male? Men understand, they understand why their boys love dinosaurs, and fighting, and dirt, and bones. I wonder what the odds are that I'll have a girl.

how sad...

so in addition to this class, i'm taking creative writing on saturdays (blah!) and u.s. political processes, which is particularly interesting because we're lucky to be in the midst of what may be the most crucial presidential race ever. the other day, my boyfriend showed me this video of a sarah palin rally in ohio where several individuals were asked to give their opinions on obama. i wanted to share it because frankly, the responses terrified me. to think that there are people who live in this country and talk and act this way is shameful and very disturbing to me.



unfortunately, i don't think it's just obama these folks take issue with, but likely black people in general. of course, considering obama is running for president, that's going to get people talking about him specifically, but it does make me wonder what they think of other people of different races and color on a whole...i have a feeling they probably don't think very good things :/

it freaks me out, the whole white-supremacist thing...yikes.

The Lost World*

I'm All In*

Poker is a game, a gambling game, which I was never interested in before I met my boyfriend. He is a poker MANIAC. Loves playing online, loves playing in tournaments, and loves to win. I liked playing the occasional card game every once in a while, but I'm not a very competitive, or rather passionate, card player so playing cards was something I rarely did and mostly only when thoroughly bored.

After months and months of laying next to him watching him play on the laptop, I grew interested in this betting game, particularly No Limit Texas Hold Em. I felt overwhelmed by all the rules and different winning strategies, I felt as though I would never get the hang of it. Well you'd be amazed how much you can learn after just observing someone else play. I finally got it! So began my addiction to poker.

I started watching the tournaments on tv, asking my boyfriend if I could play a few hands for him on the internet poker sites, until finally I just made up my own account on Full Tilt and Poker Stars. I played with free chips at first, then with real money. Illegal? Maybe, I don't really pay attention to those rules. Millions of people play online, and if the government has such a problem with it, well I know they have the access and technology to shut all those Internet sites down. Until they do, I'll continue to play poker.

Gambling is not for me, but poker is such a fun game! I love games, including board games. They are a far better pastime sometimes than watching a movie or television program, especially on a Friday or Saturday night; even some Sundays. They structure time by helping pass the time...they also bring family and friends together. And competition. And silliness. And laughter. Poker is a mental game, a thinking game, and for the most part, a game of luck. It takes a combination of luck and brooding strategy to win. Also a little bit of bluffing, and a little bit of truth. It's trickery! It is the perfect reflection of life.

I’m not one to play tricks, but I am very aware of what I need to do in order to get my way, lol. Exploitation sounds harsh...MANipulation is more like it. As with life, you just have to make the best of the hand you're dealt, whether it's folding, calling, raising, or bluffing. The biggest poker lesson of all that translates into everyday life? Don't be a donk, lol.

Everyday Quote

The reading was indeed challenging, however, I was struck by the idea of revolution in everyday life. Lefebvre says on age 28 that vital consequences of history are forcefully brought into the everyday life; men are no longer equipped to live as before. The everyday and the historical come together at this moment, and even overlap, but in the dynamic and fiercely negative review which history makes of the everyday.

A revolution is sort of an inevitable change, I decided similar to evolution. For example, the evolution of technology has resulted in better, more advanced solutions (or unnecessary disillusions depending on who you ask) to our daily routines; evolution REQUIRES revolution! Everyday is not dormant or stationary; we might think of it as simple and fixed, but it is complex and shifting, constantly repositioning and progressing. As much as we like to think everyday doesn't transform, because our lives are the same and boring and routine, it is quietly continually moving in a different direction, changing the fundamentals of our lives, and as a result, recreating history.

The view of the mountain might look the same as you gaze upon it routinely from your balcony, but every second, that scene is changing. The sun will shine brighter and softer, clouds will have swirled, expanded, and diminished, and the water and life existing in the surrounding ocean will have been destroyed and at once reborn. The overall picture will remain the same…the greenery might fade, the rain might start to fall, but the majestic mountain will still be there tomorrow. However, it will never be precisely the same mountain you saw before; the mountain itself will have aged, and thus, changed. Blind to the naked eye, but big or small, nothing ever stays the same.

It is important to note, though, that even if a thing will undoubtedly, absolutely, concretely change, memories are forever. "I see you, as I did yesterday, beautiful, astonishingly beautiful." Honore de Balzac

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A Soft Place To Fall

I LOVE pillows. I have 14 pillows on my bed: six are for sleeping on, and eight are decorative. It might seem excessive, I mean, who really needs six pillows under their head to sleep on, but they’re soft, they’re cozy, and above all, they’re comfortable! I usually sleep with three or four on the bed, one or two actually beneath my head, and throw the rest off. As for the decorative pillows, they’re always on the floor because I hardly ever make my bed; I prefer the tousled look, of course, not in terms of appearance, but for the comfort factor. Certainly a well-made bed is much more attractive than a disheveled one, but looking at my ruffled bed makes me feel soft and warm inside; it’s a matter of stiff versus floppy, and I prefer to flop. I like when my pillows are everywhere and my sheets and comforter are pulled up and kicked around. When I walk into my room at nighttime, I stand in front of my bed and it’s like looking at a big mountain of white cotton fluff…who wouldn’t want to fall and wrap themselves up in something like that? Forget untucking and flop right in!

Then you get to thinking: there are so many different varieties of pillows! Some are feather, some are down, others are foam, and let’s not forget hypoallergenic! The list goes on: there are firm pillows, soft pillows, neck pillows, lumbar pillows, accent pillows, and throw pillows. There are bath pillows and even pillows you can request when flying on the airplane. The pillow market is no doubt a multi-million dollar industry! The truth of the matter is, people like comfort. This nation is one that is overworked, pressed for time, always on the go. It’s no surprise then when it comes time to stop and break, people want to unwind with a soothing device by their side, specifically designed to appeal to their comfort and relaxation.

When I sleep, I often do so while hugging my pillows. Mine are stuffed with down and feathers…a down comforter with down and feather pillows, it’s no wonder I could sleep all night and day. But pillows are so much more than sleeping apparatuses and room ornaments. Although they are most often used for purposes related to sleep, they’re also used as tear sponges; I know I’ve cried into my pillows more times than I’d like to remember. On a silly day, you can use them in a fight, and when you’re young, pillows can be the foundation of great forts. My personal favorite role of the pillow, however, is that it is the ideal instrument for escaping to dreamland. Oh to sleep and dream! There is truly no better pastime*