Friday, October 27, 2006

trick or treat

My mother called again today. She also called my sister - that was unexpected. The usual same song and dance, this time with the refrain "I miss you". Miss what exactly? Miss having another kid's life to ruin? I guess she's all done with my brother - who emerged finally to tell me he resigned from his $40k job and will be down for christmas. Down for his birthday or thanksgiving? No. Apparently he's spending that with the goblins up in MA. He also happened to tell my sister that I had "indicated I was ok with the idea of everyone doing their own thing for thanksgiving". This is a typical example of his creative reinterpretting of what is said to him. And it was rotten as it made my sister think I had preemptively uninvited her down via my brother. All so he can feel ok about not coming down anytime soon. I think he sometimes wants to avoid me because I say "crystal meth" and not "picked up", I say "when you used" and not "when things got bad". I refuse to speak obliquely about his addiction.

I told my sister mom was calling because it's halloween and it's the scary thing to do. It feels like the Stuart Smalley spooky story.

Got my period today and it's supposed to rain buckets on moving weekend. Still I'm unreasonably optimistic about the move, the physicality of it at least. A big fat lump of the emotionality of it hit me tonight out of the blue. I thought I'd gotten over the worst of that, but apparently not. It hit me when I opened a container which had held some soap I used for a while when I was with Tom, when I saw my lettering on the boxes from last year's move. FRAGILE.

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Beautiful blueness

Today looks amazing. After days under ambivalent clouds, waking up to a shiney self assured blue sparkle of a sky put me in a nice mood. I think what makes it so dramatic is that the sky has the same depth it has in November but without the sorrow of completely bare branches framing it. Today, there are still enough leaves left to wave off thoughts of an over-close Winter.

My unbelievably sore ankle and continuing email discussion with a couple of poorly behaving students are testing that mood, however I am going to think of what today looked like when I first saw it. I think it is powerfully beautiful enough to get me through.



Friday, October 13, 2006


Why is is spelled like that?

Every linguist who has a sundae eats it.

This evening was frightening. After hours making a lecture (more like 2/3 of a lecture), my computer became confused in mid powerpoint (what with all the sundaes). It experienced this strange not quite frozen but very not fluid behavior. I guess I'd say it was slush. I don't know why. You wouldn't think powerpoint was that taxing, but apparently it was performing a highly strenuous, um, copy and paste or something.

Nothing scares the backup ocd into you faster than a slushy computer.

Oh and unrelated, except that it hurts right now, I have a name for what is wrong with my hip. "Fucked up" was good enough for me, but people have asked so here it is: hip impingement. That's what the big jock doctor says at least. Sounds trendy to me.

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

healthy man love!

Is the most unexpectedly funniest thing I heard today. It was on an episode of Penn and Teller: Bullshit. Doh, hey here's A___, coming over just in time. Got some healthy man love for me?

Actually the context for "healthy man love" was annoying but the commentary by Penn Jillette was amusing so it's ok for me. The term had been used by a PSYCHOtherapist who cures gay people of being gay. He was saying it to a client who had experienced "healthy man love", apparently a big step on the straight and narrow path. What an appropriate show to watch on Coming Out Day. Happy Coming Out Day. Do we say happy? See, if I start my business, we will have coming out baskets...including one for the people who react like assholes. They will get butt plugs of various shapes and sizes (and colors - to be festive) so they can learn to loosen the fuck up.

A____ about shit himself laughing at the therapist saying "healthy man love" with such misplaced and overblown sincerity. A____ immediately promised give some health man love to all his closest man friends when he sees them next.

Me personally? I want all men to give each other health man love, and hey, if they just happen to slip into it* all the better for everyone. The world needs a big happy orgasm.

*ask cjblue about "slipping into it"

Moving and meth

New landlord Steve called tonight to tell me it's ours. Woo hoo!

Immediately after the rush of "woohooness", I had the "oh boy is this the right choice?" This is something that happens to me EVERY time I settle on a new place. Each and every time, so I'm trying not to let it consume me. I'm relieved to be done searching, hoping it will all work out, and looking for all the bright sides to bask in whenever I sense the doubts I always have about moving crowding in to lessen my joy.

I've had a pretty suck ass day so this is really welcome good news.

Suck ass? Why? you might innocently ask. Well any day with a doctor's appointment in it is sucky by definition. Then there was another call from my mother. Fortunately, I didn't pick up. I thought "Oh look, a 617 number I don't seems strangely familiar though, maybe I should answer it?" Then I remembered she's called once a week for the past two weeks and I let it go to voicemail.

I have now programmed the number so I'll know it's her and not risk picking up. She is listed under "Douchebag".

Mere seconds after I had listened to some of Douchebag's message (I'll play the rest in my shrink's office), the phone rang again. This time it was my parents' house phone. I let it go to voicemail, thinking it was my mother again. Turns out it wasn't. It was a tearful call from my brother who did meth again and who broke up or was broken up with again. He was speaking of life and the relationship with the same pronouns with no distinctions between them "It's over. It's really over this time. There's nothing left..."

All of this was while I was on the way to the doctor's office. Usually I am more worried and sad for my brother. Today, my very first reaction was anger.

Also, I think I caught "the stomach thing" my advisor and half my lab have had. Either that or tag team mom and brother are giving me a hell of an ulcer. I have felt like total ASS all day.

Home after the doctor's appointment - still feeling horrible, but I managed to finish the midterm for my class. I don't think it's too bad although I suspect that it might have benefited from a less foggy and sick head. A___ looked it over for me and helped correct the stupid mistakes. While I was working on it, a student wrote to me to tell me that she's been kinda sick and wants to reschedule the midterm. Oh this was just so not the night for that. I mean, I am empathetic but just tonight....not tonight. I told her the makeup exam would include an oral or essay section.

As I was finishing up the exam, formatting it so it's not confusing or riddled with mistakes, my brother started text messaging me. Last we talked, I thought he was going to the hospital. See, meth makes you fucking psychotic when you come down and he's already on antipsychotics. So when he comes down, he usually needs restraints.

Nope. Not at the hospital. At home, alone, freaking out. I'm stuck over 2 hours away and I want to help but I want this to stop, for me but mostly for him.

I really am tired of this - it's not that I don't want him to contact me. What I'm tired of is him not taking care of himself. I told him when we talked that he needs to keep fighting this, and that sometimes it's hard but that doesn't mean you've stopped fighting, that fucking up sometimes is part of it - providing you take care of yourself. God it's so hard to help from down here. I remind myself it's not much easier to help when he's local either. But I can't help feeling if I were closer I might be more help - maybe not at these acute times but on other occasions which could help avoid the crisis at all. At least some times.

Last night, whenever I asked him what he was doing NOW, he would start talking about where he could (and couldn't) live, what his options were (and weren't) for longer term stuff. He couldn't or wouldn't talk about NOW, tonight, about making a plan so he would be safe just for now....and, to be perfectly blunt, so he wouldn't do anything really fucking stupid. Which he does when he's on or coming off meth.

It's frustrating that he doesn't think he's worth taking care of, and that goes for when he's fucked up or sober. That is the biggest thing that I see needs changing. And yeah, when you do the shuttle from bus station to ER, when you get 2 AM crazy fuck text messages from your sketchy brother, and when this is not as rare as it should be (say like never) you've sort of earned the right to at least voice some comments on what needs changing in that life.

Monday, October 09, 2006


A___ and I saw the coolest apartment today. It's a little pricey although still cheaper than us living separately and certainly normal for the market here in fuckville nowhere CT. The biggest con is that it's far from campus, about 18 miles, which translates into probably about a half hour of mostly country road commute. This will be difficult to adjust to since I've been living only 5 miles from campus for over a year. Being closer to campus means more independence for me. I'm a little squirrely about that since, well, it's been an issue with the health stuff.

However, the amount of time I have lost due to home disaster related stress and mishaps has been considerable since I moved into the 5 miles from campus rat trap where I currently reside. A___ and I knew that looking further out to try to find a nicer place to live would mean a longer commute. I can't say the prospect doesn't give me a little pause, but I've really deliberated on this for a while.

The apartment is on the first floor of a converted mansion. It is just great. 3 fire places, two big bedrooms, a big kitchen with a fucking pantry (yes, a pantry...I haven't had one of those since I lived in my parents' house), wood floors, wood paneling in the living room, did I mention the fucking fireplaces? And the porch? The private entrance on the first floor (no more rickety open wooden steps to climb with groceries)? The washer and dryer in the basement? The heat and hot water included? The fireplaces? Cats are ok, smoking wasn't even raised as an issue, it's walking distance to a downtown (a real town) and a short drive to things which count as urban here in buttfuck nowhere. Contrast this with a picture of a place A___ and I looked at during our last housing hunt a few weeks ago:

The place that we were being shown (the crappy one from a few weeks ago in the picture above, not the cool mansion apartment from tonight) is the lower level "unit" off to the right. It was $1200, no utilities included, and situated under two sets of "bachelors" (the landlord's word for it, not mine). It took about four calls to the landlord to get him to call me back and set up an appointment. When we did finally get there, he was late. When he showed up, it turned out he had the wrong key. A___ and I waited, swarmed by bugs from the farm pond out back, while the landlord went home to get the right key. Except it turned out that was the wrong key too.

The landlord then showed us the apartment, a converted two car garage, from the outside, pointing out key interior features we could see through the big sliding glass doors which were the only means of egress. We had plenty of time to note some of the more remarkable exterior features as well. For example, we noticed the collection of discarded lawn mowing devices lined up near the house, clearly an homage to a bygone time of giving even a sliver of a shit about the redneck jungle that was threatening to engulf the house, shack, and lower portion of the driveway. We saw several garabage cans with packed trash bags not far from them. The top driveway/front yard had a wrecked car parked in one of the two occupied spots. The side driveway, where A___ and I were told we would park, had a huge truck and another wrecked car. Presumably these vehicles were courtesy of the bachelors.

So, I wondered to myself as I looked around the beautiful, well maintained and cheaper but further away mansion apartment this evening, do I pay more than I would to live in a fucking mansion with three fire places, a porch, beautiful woodwork, and room enough for me, A___, the cat, and heat and hot water included in order to live 10 miles closer to campus?

I think the answer is a big fat no.

Now, will we get the place? Having spent all that time teaching my students about mimicry and behavioral convergence, I was going to try to imitate the landlord a bit to foster a sense of happy-good-people like me-ness. It turns out I didn't have to. I was amused and happy to note that the potential landlord kept adopting my posture while we were talking and touring the apartment. Depending on what he finds in A___ and my credit records and bank accounts (you know, the usual checks and shit), I think it's a go. I hope so at least.

We had gone to the mansion place on a sort of whim, but we went with checkbooks. We left a deposit with the applications and hoped all thirteen miles back to our local rat traps with mold encrusted holes in the ceilings, broken windows, and a convicted sex offender neighbor whose entire family communicates through only screams, yells, and hollers.

We reached the rat trap around 8:30. It was dark. It was Something or Another Booze Special Night at the bar on the other side of our driveway. The bar used to be cool, a nice little local bar and restaurant with outside eating and casual charm, but then it was bought by a dickhead (who happens to also live in my current apartment building). The dickhead parties with teens on a regular basis. He's my age, playing beer pong with kids and trying to pick up girls who still talk squeeky voice even when they are buying from their drug dealer (who lived downstairs from me). Since the dickhead acquired it, the bar now caters to undergrads and bikers. Wow. Fun.

As I walked up the driveway, listening to the sounds of drunk idiots misparking their cars and bikes in the bar parking lot behind me, I saw the landlord had left up several of his ladders from today, the latest round of playing "Ropes and ladders" (aka fixing the roof) which involved ropes outside my bathroom window this morning while I was showering and the sound of my landlord not quite breaking through the ceiling.

"Look...his ladders are still up. Maybe he's still up there," A___ and I joked to one another.
"Maybe he fell off."
"Yeah maybe he's around back."
"Fuck. I hope we get that place."
"Me too."

missed out

I tell my fella A____ "Oh man, Jon Stewart was on campus!"
A____ says "When?"
"This weekend. We missed it."
"It's probably best. If we'd gone, we both would have ended up sleeping with him....and that might have been awkward."


Sunday, October 08, 2006

I want candy, or hypoglycemic blogging

Out of nowhere, I just got hit with a powerful craving for candy corn. I'm not a huge fan of candy corn, so this is odd. Seems like one or two would take care of my candy corn needs for about a decade. Unfortunately though they are only sold in 20 gazillion gallon bags and vats.

Right before the candy corn, I recall I had been thinking about potato chips but didn't feel like getting unscary enough to head up to the store. It wasn't just any potato chips. It was specifically the kind with the fake flavored shit like canker sore killing dill-ranch-pepperchip and super finger coating cheddarcheddarandcheddar(etc, it's like spam). Holy shit, someone has actually written a review of ruffles. It's so Ted Nancy!

  • Ruffles are the top of the line in my book when it comes to potato chips. They are the thickest, crispest, least greasy potato chips out there. They are perfect for dips because unlike a lot of the thinner potato chip brands, they won't break off in the dip and leave crumbs in it. And typically with Ruffles, you don't end up with a lot of crunched up crumbs in the bottom of the bag like with thinner chips as well. Best of all, Ruffles is a very tasty potato chip with about the right amount of salt. Ruffles, to me, is a top of the line potato chip.
I settled on cold left over chicken penne. This is good as it is better for me and hopefully will take care of these strangely specific and sort of gross junk food stirrings (stirings?). It's not that I don't ever eat shit, not that I haven't enjoyed some of these items at different times in the past. It's just that in general, I don't usually crave shit that is quite that shitty. That kind of food is more of an in the moment sort of thing. You know?

Not preggers (I always want to add a "woo hoo" after that).
Maybe it's the grading that's doing it.
(cinnamon brown sugar poptart, with frosting)
I wish I had a glucose monitor. I'll bet my blood sugar's in the fucking basement. Guess I'll add a faster sugar to the chicken and pasta snack.


Fall is taunting me with it's prettiness. Pretty Fall days make me feel like Max looks

I had (have) so much work to do this weekend and it is utterly gorgeously Fall outside. I know I shouldn't have, but I couldn't resist blowing off a little work to make a stop at the herb farm. I took some pictures.

Herb farm

Aaron and Agate at the herb farm

Agate saying goodbye

Saturday, October 07, 2006

no tragedy left unexploited

Bush's solution to the two recent attacks on girls at US schools - shamelessly use it as a means for promotion of GOP policy.

Apparently reauthorizing "No child left behind" will somehow help. This is as much Bush's stupidity as the mainstream media's gullibility (or complicity) for reporting on this as if it were a fucking coherent, relevant story. Is the idea that a would be shooter, upon attempting to enter the school with the intent to rape and kill girls, would become caught and hopelessly trapped in the web of red tape spun about our schools?

Real, responsible news story here?
"Desperate Bush uses tragedies in schools to promote failing "No Child Left Behind" law"
"Bush to lawmakers: (re)pass my law or the girls get it"

If it weren't so sick, Bush's having linked these two issues together would be silly.

President Bush on Saturday lamented recent "shocking acts of violence" in schools, and promised his administration will do what it can to keep centers of learning safe for students.

Bush also pushed for reauthorization of the No Child Left Behind law, which he says needs some changes. Under the law, schools that get federal poverty aid and fall short of their yearly progress goals for two straight years must offer transfers to students. After three years of failure, schools must offer low-income parents a choice of tutors....

The president outlined a series of ways in which the law could be improved, such as by expanding testing in high schools, an idea he has pitched to Congress for two years. He also said he wants the federal government to pay for 28,000 low-income students across the country to transfer to private schools, and has asked for $100 million to pay for the initiative.

"Thanks to this good law, we are leaving behind the days when schools just shuffled children from grade to grade, whether they learned anything or not," Bush said. "Yet we still have a lot of work to do."

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

you have chosen

I think it is possible that my having included a picture of Curious George about to be eaten by leopards in my powerpoint for today's lecture might have a WEE tiny bit to do with my shitty mood about the gendercidal fuckwads who've turned over a new leaf in fuckwaddery.

In my defense, I have to say that at 2:00 AM, it seemed like a fun graphic to illustrate the benefits of primates living in groups (as opposed to living alone).

If there were a "choose your destroyer" web game out there, I think I know who mine would be. The classic - Mr. StayPuft. He's big, fat, strangely childish, white, and male and he's storming around in a violent apocalyptic rage for really no apparent reason.

I'm so confused

Did Mark Foley want to fuck little boys because he was molested or because he is gay? The most recent "break" in this story really leaves that issue up to the reader.

Attorney David Roth said Foley was molested between ages 13 and 15...He also acknowledged for the first time that the former congressman is gay, saying the disclosure was part of his client's "recovery."

I can't help noticing that it seems the former representative is being portrayed a strong gay child sexual abuse survivor, maybe one we should find some small sliver of admiration for because, according to his attorney, "As is so often the case with victims of abuse, Mark advises that he kept his shame to himself for almost 40 years."

As another survivor (who once tried to make out with a fourteen year old boy when I was fifteen but got completely turned off by the fact that, despite his being a cute funny smart little bad ass skate rat, I probably could have tossed him over my shoulder and run a 50 yard dash without breaking a sweat), I have to admire the former congressman's ability to have kept his SHAME to himself for so long. I am not even close to as strong as that, choosing instead to express my SHAME all the time and in numerous different ways.

Hey now, here's a thought. Maybe what former Congressman Boyfucker was ashamed of wasn't that he was abused. Maybe it was that he himself had some pedophile tendencies.

I guess we should all be thankful he didn't shoot a schoolroom full of little boys to take revenge for it.

Honestly, I am so sick of the media perpetuated ignorance when it comes to this shit. "The shame!" Fuck their shame. The only shame is the shame that is laid on us by a continuous flow of shit like this. Foley disclosing now that he was molested, what the fuck is that? A defense? The number of people who have been sexually abused as children far outweighs the projected numbers of pedophiles. Look it up, I'm busy and can't get you the references right now (I'm writing a lecture, presumably). But it's a convenient myth for Foley and his lawyer to use at the moment. Something to explain it, to make it all part of a larger crime in which Foley is the victim and not the nasty old fuck that he seems. And the media is happy, oh more than happy, to perpetuate this shit.

It's not just the mainstream media who are pushing my buttons these days though. A quick review of current news at some of the more prominent feminist resources (NOW and Feminist Majority Foundation) shows a complete and utter lack of awareness about the recent gendercide school shootings. Not even a friggin' mention on their news pages.

For example, at you can find a link to The feminist perspective on U.S., global and campus news stories this week. In this page, they're on the Foley story too, just like the mainstream media. They have breaking reports about bride kidnapping and domestic abuse in Kyrgyzstan and underrepresentation of women writers at Harper's and Atlantic Monthly. But there is not even ONE single sentence of "feminist perspective" on the recent gender based attacks on girls in two different US schools this week. Nothing on how prior school shootings have had a tendency to have been boys hunting girls and women. Where's the feminist perspective? Or is two men planning to rape and kill little girls in one week not enough of a feminist issue for them? I'm guessing the PACs don't give much of a shit, because the elected officials that be (and that might be) don't give much of a shit. And major mainstream feminist groups are, these days, just packaging for their political fundraising committees. I get the need for them, I do. I worked for one briefly one summer. But what the fuck is the point in electing "pro feminist" officials if the feminism exists only in terms of token gestures, bumper stickers, and dangerous daily instances of misogyny represented only as a mythically far away and foreign event?

I know there's not much I can do alone. I'm working with my campus women's center to try to do something local in the next week. I also know that a candle light vigil or cleverly composed quarter sheet fliers will not change the world. However I simply refuse to be a part of the masses of people doing and saying absolutely NOTHING other than reading the dwindling mainstream media news reports of official handwringing over how to classify the apparently brand spanking new criminal concept of males violently attacking females.