I can't tell you how happy I am to be back in Park Slope.
The price of this privilege is a significant amount of square footage in the bedroom. So the bed has been raised 7 inches to accommodate storage and the furniture is going public or going on the curb. While this coincides with earlier pledges to live light, I'm still feeling inconvenienced. And because all my crap is in the living room (also know as "common area") where it is cramping not only me but my lovely roommates, I'm feeling a bit of urgency to jettison the non essentials.
If you are in need of a desk, lamp, chair, or bookshelf, give me a holler. Or, check for my posts on craigslist.
31 August 2008
28 August 2008
This is my life?
Today walking on the path in central park
Me (taking my earbud out while walking towards a man who was walking towards me on the path): Is that a Labradoodle?
Man (slightly out of breath from walking): No, its a Goldendoodle
(the two women he just passed stop to turn around and mumble to each other, clearly impressed)
Me (taking my earbud out while walking towards a man who was walking towards me on the path): Is that a Labradoodle?
Man (slightly out of breath from walking): No, its a Goldendoodle
(the two women he just passed stop to turn around and mumble to each other, clearly impressed)
24 August 2008
Help, I'm homeless (Well, might be soon)
All day I have been writing:
I am writing in response to your apartment listing on Craigslist. Please call me to set up an appointment to view the apartment.
Bla, bla, bla
Apartment hunting is tiring work. Especially when you don't even know where you want to live.
My feet are sore and my legs are sticky sweaty. At least the weather has stayed in the comfortable 70's and I got a cool new duffel bag last night at the Mets Astros game. I have to say, I was impressed by the Mets fans continued enthusiasm and proud of those 'stros. 8-3: not to shabby! Too bad its doesn't mean much this late in the season.
31 July 2008
Six of one, half dozen of the other
Earlier this week, I was listening to a country music morning show during my morning run. (At this point in my telling of this story, Peggy said, "Why were you doing that?" She has a point, because morning shows are bad, and country dj's are the worst. But I got caught between songs, and I do love some country songs.) Like 97.9, there were two male and one female djs. The topic was how women's magazines depict men. DJ no. 1 claimed that by interviewing emotional, loving, caring men, the magazines were doing a disservice to women: men don't act like that. Dj no. 2 then joked that he was "half a man" because he was in touch with his feelings. The female dj announced she preferred men of the Kevin Kline mold. Then dj no. 1 posed the scenario: if your house is being invaded, which would you rather have, a touching feeling man or a man who would empty a clip.
First of all, if you marry someone based upon what he will do in the most unlikely of events, you are a fool. This path of logic detracts from the conversation, and we can just file that into the thick folder of what annoys me about morning djs.
I am unlike most Texans in that I don't want a gun in my house and I don't think that it will protect me. (While writing this, I can hear the voices of fellow Texans telling me that announcing I don't have a gun makes me vulnerable to attackers who prey on the undefended.) Statistically, gun owners are more likely to shoot a member of their family than anyone else, and their guns can be used against them in an attack. This is more common for women who are untrained to use said gun. Texans who keep guns aren't really swayed by logical arguments like this. If attacked, they want to be able to protect their families, an understandable impulse. Where we disagree is on the ability of gun ownership to accomplish this.
This year, my parents house was broken into while we were home and asleep. It was scary as hell. Someone picked off the molding on a window and took the window off the track. This caused the security system to beep, waking up my dad and Luigi. Luigi charged down the stairs, barking, and the burglar was gone by the time my dad turned on a light. This cemented my belief that having a good dog is way better than a handgun.
In the following weeks we learned that everyone has a burglary story. One friend of a friend was tied up in her home while it was burglarized, and spent the time chatting with her captor. He told her that if she really wanted to prevent this from happening in the future, a dog was her best bet. She now has three large dogs. Other friends had a burglar jump out of their plate glass window to escape and he bled on all of their things. So even though he didn't steal that much, they had to replace the carpet, the window, and several pieces of furniture.
The best story, however, is that one of my friends had his house invaded when he was a child. His dad did empty a clip. There were no direct hits, so really he emptied a clip into his wall, not the intruder. The burglar fired back and then ran away. The part of the story my friend loves is that his dad ran upstairs and into the bedroom, threw the gun at his wife, and yelled, "Reload!" To this my mom said, "And you wonder why they aren't married anymore."
My friend loves this story about his parents, and he thinks that it is an argument for gun ownership. Now, I am impressed that his dad had a loaded gun that he got to in time to use during an attack. I would think that, like a nail clippers, a gun would never be handy when you really need it. But it makes me wonder how well protected my friend was from finding the gun himself when he was a small child. But this is the Texan argument that everyone is armed, so you'd better be armed, too. This story makes me very uncomfortable because it could have so easily ended differently.
There are few things I can imagine that would be as terrible as watching someone empty a clip into a burglar and then having that burglar bleed to death in my home. Having to replace all my furniture and carpets because they were blood stained would probably (I can't say for certain) be more traumatic than having them stolen. The question that Peggy and I can't agree upon is which would be worse, if that shooter was your dad or your husband. In one case, you're a little kid seeing a dead body, and in the other, you are actually married to, you chose to live with, this guy who just murdered someone.
First of all, if you marry someone based upon what he will do in the most unlikely of events, you are a fool. This path of logic detracts from the conversation, and we can just file that into the thick folder of what annoys me about morning djs.
I am unlike most Texans in that I don't want a gun in my house and I don't think that it will protect me. (While writing this, I can hear the voices of fellow Texans telling me that announcing I don't have a gun makes me vulnerable to attackers who prey on the undefended.) Statistically, gun owners are more likely to shoot a member of their family than anyone else, and their guns can be used against them in an attack. This is more common for women who are untrained to use said gun. Texans who keep guns aren't really swayed by logical arguments like this. If attacked, they want to be able to protect their families, an understandable impulse. Where we disagree is on the ability of gun ownership to accomplish this.
This year, my parents house was broken into while we were home and asleep. It was scary as hell. Someone picked off the molding on a window and took the window off the track. This caused the security system to beep, waking up my dad and Luigi. Luigi charged down the stairs, barking, and the burglar was gone by the time my dad turned on a light. This cemented my belief that having a good dog is way better than a handgun.
In the following weeks we learned that everyone has a burglary story. One friend of a friend was tied up in her home while it was burglarized, and spent the time chatting with her captor. He told her that if she really wanted to prevent this from happening in the future, a dog was her best bet. She now has three large dogs. Other friends had a burglar jump out of their plate glass window to escape and he bled on all of their things. So even though he didn't steal that much, they had to replace the carpet, the window, and several pieces of furniture.
The best story, however, is that one of my friends had his house invaded when he was a child. His dad did empty a clip. There were no direct hits, so really he emptied a clip into his wall, not the intruder. The burglar fired back and then ran away. The part of the story my friend loves is that his dad ran upstairs and into the bedroom, threw the gun at his wife, and yelled, "Reload!" To this my mom said, "And you wonder why they aren't married anymore."
My friend loves this story about his parents, and he thinks that it is an argument for gun ownership. Now, I am impressed that his dad had a loaded gun that he got to in time to use during an attack. I would think that, like a nail clippers, a gun would never be handy when you really need it. But it makes me wonder how well protected my friend was from finding the gun himself when he was a small child. But this is the Texan argument that everyone is armed, so you'd better be armed, too. This story makes me very uncomfortable because it could have so easily ended differently.
There are few things I can imagine that would be as terrible as watching someone empty a clip into a burglar and then having that burglar bleed to death in my home. Having to replace all my furniture and carpets because they were blood stained would probably (I can't say for certain) be more traumatic than having them stolen. The question that Peggy and I can't agree upon is which would be worse, if that shooter was your dad or your husband. In one case, you're a little kid seeing a dead body, and in the other, you are actually married to, you chose to live with, this guy who just murdered someone.
25 July 2008
Overheard at the Dogpark
This is what I heard some lady, who was wearing shorts and a t-shirt and running shoes, tell some guy at the dogpark this week.
"So this guy only wore two t-shirts. Whenever I saw him, he was either wearing one or the other. [I thought she was talking about someone at the dogpark, and having a few dogpark shirts seemed like a good idea, because you get all muddy at the park. But I was wrong.] And when he asked me out, all I could think about was his two t-shirts. I couldn't get past it. So then he went out with my friend Brenda.
So, you know, all I ever wanted to do was marry my highschool sweetheart, have four children, and be a stay at home mom. Well, Brenda married him after high school. He went to the Airforce Academy where he coached football. I love football. And now they have four children. And she doesn't work. I just keep thinking, maybe if they didn't have any kids. Or maybe if she had to work as a secretary. But no. If I had just not focused on those two t-shirts.
That's what I tell my kids. I tell that that if I hadn't been so shallow I would have my dreamlife."
At this point the guy she was talking to asked her, incredulously, if she really told her children that. She said that she told the children she taught at school.
"You know, I love Paul [I assume this is her husband]. I am happy with Paul. Oh, no, I would never tell him this"
So, that's the lesson folks. Get over how shallow you are now, so that you won't have to spend the rest of your life coveting your ex-best friend's life.
"So this guy only wore two t-shirts. Whenever I saw him, he was either wearing one or the other. [I thought she was talking about someone at the dogpark, and having a few dogpark shirts seemed like a good idea, because you get all muddy at the park. But I was wrong.] And when he asked me out, all I could think about was his two t-shirts. I couldn't get past it. So then he went out with my friend Brenda.
So, you know, all I ever wanted to do was marry my highschool sweetheart, have four children, and be a stay at home mom. Well, Brenda married him after high school. He went to the Airforce Academy where he coached football. I love football. And now they have four children. And she doesn't work. I just keep thinking, maybe if they didn't have any kids. Or maybe if she had to work as a secretary. But no. If I had just not focused on those two t-shirts.
That's what I tell my kids. I tell that that if I hadn't been so shallow I would have my dreamlife."
At this point the guy she was talking to asked her, incredulously, if she really told her children that. She said that she told the children she taught at school.
"You know, I love Paul [I assume this is her husband]. I am happy with Paul. Oh, no, I would never tell him this"
So, that's the lesson folks. Get over how shallow you are now, so that you won't have to spend the rest of your life coveting your ex-best friend's life.
21 July 2008
B O to the X
There are many things to love about Houston; there are also many things that I miss about Houston when I am gone. These lists include several good and some mediocre restaurants, good friends and humid nights driving around with the windows down and the music up top both lists. I love me some poppy hip hop late at night. When my life takes me far away and I feel wistful for Houston, I seek out internet radio of Houston stations and queso.
But there are things about a summer in Houston that just can't be faked or replicated: my great tan with freckles that the boys seem to like to much (call me pretty and I'll melt like lemon sherbet), achieved from a summer in the pool with the kiddies, the self discipline to leave some enchilada on the plate, attained by an unshakable faith that there absolutely will be more tomorrow, and the deep and varied cultural knowledge that comes with listening to a summer's worth of 97.9 morning shows. The topics range from the mundane to the profane, and some conversations have left me speechless.
The show topped my must-listen list when they preached the gospel of "no one wants to see a bunch of men get together on the dance floor and booty dance." Now, this is something I have never seen, but I don't get out that much. The best part of that show was when one of the dj's went through, by age group, how unacceptable this behavior is. The word seems to have gotten to the 23-35 age group of men, and they don't get up on each other at the club. The morning show was trying to get the message to the kids age 15-23 that men did not need to be booty dancing with other men. I guess if you under age 16, like nine years old, then it is youthful and fun to dance with anyone. But with a driver's license comes other adult responsibilities, one being only dance with girls, or, just let the girls dance with each other. I guess people like to watch women dance together. What a double standard!
Some days the topics are more serious. Last week they played a parody of the background noise when John McCain spoke at the NAACP. Black people really don't give a crap for John McCain, so you can imagine what farce. Later, they brought up the notorious "Blackman," the stereotype about black men and child rearing. The phone lines lit up for that one.
But today's show really took the cake. Men who sag their pants are at risk to being sodomized.
Yeah, that's what the drive time morning show was about. Seriously. I tuned in just in time to hear a County jail employee describe a foul game played in prison. Nine men get naked in a circle and wrestle and whoever penetrates first is the winner. What! What! It takes a lot to render a dj speechless, but this scenario did it. They tried to move on to morning prayers. But then they came back. Why would anyone play this game? The conclusion was that there are no winners.
But there are things about a summer in Houston that just can't be faked or replicated: my great tan with freckles that the boys seem to like to much (call me pretty and I'll melt like lemon sherbet), achieved from a summer in the pool with the kiddies, the self discipline to leave some enchilada on the plate, attained by an unshakable faith that there absolutely will be more tomorrow, and the deep and varied cultural knowledge that comes with listening to a summer's worth of 97.9 morning shows. The topics range from the mundane to the profane, and some conversations have left me speechless.
The show topped my must-listen list when they preached the gospel of "no one wants to see a bunch of men get together on the dance floor and booty dance." Now, this is something I have never seen, but I don't get out that much. The best part of that show was when one of the dj's went through, by age group, how unacceptable this behavior is. The word seems to have gotten to the 23-35 age group of men, and they don't get up on each other at the club. The morning show was trying to get the message to the kids age 15-23 that men did not need to be booty dancing with other men. I guess if you under age 16, like nine years old, then it is youthful and fun to dance with anyone. But with a driver's license comes other adult responsibilities, one being only dance with girls, or, just let the girls dance with each other. I guess people like to watch women dance together. What a double standard!
Some days the topics are more serious. Last week they played a parody of the background noise when John McCain spoke at the NAACP. Black people really don't give a crap for John McCain, so you can imagine what farce. Later, they brought up the notorious "Blackman," the stereotype about black men and child rearing. The phone lines lit up for that one.
But today's show really took the cake. Men who sag their pants are at risk to being sodomized.
Yeah, that's what the drive time morning show was about. Seriously. I tuned in just in time to hear a County jail employee describe a foul game played in prison. Nine men get naked in a circle and wrestle and whoever penetrates first is the winner. What! What! It takes a lot to render a dj speechless, but this scenario did it. They tried to move on to morning prayers. But then they came back. Why would anyone play this game? The conclusion was that there are no winners.
14 July 2008
Keepin' it weird, luau style
I love the sound of a steel drum: it takes me right into any movie set in Hawaii. As it turns out, this is completely due to Hollywood (or to my imagination) because the steel drum is an instrument of African decent. Perhaps movie makers superimposed the music of their Caribbean vacations onto their Hawaiian vacation movies? Or, maybe I just can't keep my mood music straight.
This weekend I was lucky enough to find myself at Barton Springs where I momentarily found myself feeling a little Aloha. My first guess was that all the bikinis were to credit for this mini mind vacation. However, it was discovered that there was a man playing a propane tank that had been turned into a steeldrum. Whoa! It is called a Hank Drum and you can make one, too!
Here's a video of a Hank Drum being played. Despite all those new condos, Austin still knows how to keep it weird.
11 July 2008
A shoutout to the babies at Memorial Park
In general, babies should be grateful that they are so cute, 'cause they score really low on personality. If I just stared off into space and drooled would you be friends with me? Nope, don't think so. I'm not cute like a baby.
When parents strap their twins together in a double stroller and go running, its double bla. One baby in a stroller usually just stares out into space, inviting inquires to how a human can stand to be that bored. And with two its like they are watching two movies screened simultaneously at two different points in the distance. Given facial expressions, the movies aren't edge-of-your-seat action, definitly not a Borne movie: Remains of the Day, perhaps. I just want to yell, "What are you looking at, babies!"
Today I saw a twin stroller with a set of twins in it. I could tell that one was a girl and one was a boy because they were wearing red and blue baseball caps. Wardrobe like this can't help when trying to make friends. However, these babies were cool. Way cool. The little boy (blue cap) was hitting and tickling his sister (red hat). But she was holding her own, poking him back and squealing. Their actions screamed, "You can buckle us in together and dress us like dorks, but you can't make us behave like lobotomy victims, or like we like each other."
It was nice to see rebellion against a world of matching clothes and family togetherness (mom and dad were both running together with the babies at 8am, way to late in the day for people planning on going to work). So, for today at least, let's score one for babies, proving that you can be cool regardless of your stature in life.
When parents strap their twins together in a double stroller and go running, its double bla. One baby in a stroller usually just stares out into space, inviting inquires to how a human can stand to be that bored. And with two its like they are watching two movies screened simultaneously at two different points in the distance. Given facial expressions, the movies aren't edge-of-your-seat action, definitly not a Borne movie: Remains of the Day, perhaps. I just want to yell, "What are you looking at, babies!"
Today I saw a twin stroller with a set of twins in it. I could tell that one was a girl and one was a boy because they were wearing red and blue baseball caps. Wardrobe like this can't help when trying to make friends. However, these babies were cool. Way cool. The little boy (blue cap) was hitting and tickling his sister (red hat). But she was holding her own, poking him back and squealing. Their actions screamed, "You can buckle us in together and dress us like dorks, but you can't make us behave like lobotomy victims, or like we like each other."
It was nice to see rebellion against a world of matching clothes and family togetherness (mom and dad were both running together with the babies at 8am, way to late in the day for people planning on going to work). So, for today at least, let's score one for babies, proving that you can be cool regardless of your stature in life.
09 July 2008
Make Love not Law Review
Peggy has some important job with the Texas Law Fellowship, an organization which somehow helps out law students who go into the public interest sector; because my understanding of the specifics are hazy, I will remain vague. But whatever her role, it left her with many t-shirts, mugs, and other swag branded "Make Love not Law Review." My understanding of how this relates to public interest law is hazy, but its a great slogan and I am considered adopting it as my personal motto.
I love running in the T-shirt Peggy gave me. I also like to run in my Pope tshirt, and "makelovenotlawreiew" just kicks the pope's booty in terms of attractive gym wear. Unlike the pope shirt, which flares out around my hips, giving me lovely accentuated saddle bags, "law review" fits just well enough to be flattering without being too tight to comfortably sweat in. Also, wearing a shirt that says something cloy about law school makes me look both smart enough to get into law school and irreverent in a fun way, which is sort of the opposite of the connotation of a pope shirt, which says "I don't believe in premarital sex so don't even ask."
Anyway, today I ran three miles on the Memorial trail (go me! woo woo!) and that was awesome, and it left me awesomely drenched. The obvious thing to do when you get so sweaty that dumping a glass of water on your head doesn't leave a wet spot on your shirt because the whole shirt is that wet is to change clothes. However, it is Houston in the summer and I've been showering and changing clothes three times a day and I'm so over it. So I just went ahead and wore that wet shirt to Sbucks and the dog park.
Apparently, all the middle aged lawyers in the neighborhood start their mornings at Sbucks around 8:30. I just tried to get out with my free iced coffee (it looks good, doesn't it?) in time for Luigi not to overheat in the car, a challenge because my shirt was such a hit. Its definitely funny, but those lawyers were so excited that I can tell the bar is set pretty low for law comedy. (I guess there are only so many jokes that involve the word "bar.") One guy laughed really hard and just kept saying, "that brings back memories." He looked old enough to have actually protested Vietnam, but then he asked me if I was a third year or if I had finished, and it became obvious that he was so impressed because he thought of law school as a war. All I have to say about that is good luck to Peggy, being a young attractive lawyer in this town full of old, unattractive men who think that having law school in common is enough to warrant a conversation. (Yeah, the law puns just keep coming.)
So, armed with my icy beverage, I drove on, SuperLuigi perched on the sunroof opening, tongue flying. And who arrived at the park the same time we did but some dude I went to high school with and haven't seen since. Now I know how my mother used to feel when she would run into acquaintances at the coffee shop after her runs. I was totally distracted by the fact that I probably smelled like severe BO. Also, I have no idea what dog park etiquette is. You can't really just say hi and then go on your way like the mall or a restaurant. Are you supposed to talk the whole time you're there? When you run out of pleasantries, is it rude to walk your dog away down the trail? Do you wait when the other person has to go and pick up poop? "Excuse me, my dog is taking a crap over there and your dog seems really excited about smelling and eating it." How do you politely say that? I feel all this rendered me only half the conversationalist.
But by far the highlight of the dog park was the new toy Aunt Trish gave me for Luigi, the chuckit. Practicing at home last night I repeatedly had problems with the release and sent the ball into the swimming pool. Justifiably, I was a bit worried about appearing completely uncoordinated as the park, full of people who are adept with their dog toys. After a prelude explaining that it was a new toy and hopefully absolving me of any misfires, I picked up a tennis ball and launched it into an open area by the dog pond. It was a release I felt proud of with a good amount of power behind it, and I looked up to see the ball fly fast and high off the ground, right into some guy's leg.
It was really funny, and I was really embarrassed. If the dude had even flinched I would have yelled an apology, but since he didn't look around I didn't. I just laughed so hard I had to take a conversation break. William noted, there was nothing to feel bad about because that guy had clipped his Doberman's ears. He totally deserved getting zinged in the ankle.
So, I will leave you with a few words of advise. No.1: if you want to wear sweaty clothes anywhere but the trail or the gym, be ready to have long conversations in them. No.2: if you perform elective surgery on your pets, beware. I'll be watching, ready to chuck a tennis ball at you. My speed and aim are improving exponentially, so that is no empty threat.
03 July 2008
ahh summer
Today I ran three miles at Memorial Park, a quite, natury dirt trail just off 610 then drove around green, green Houston with the sunroof open and the windows down listening to the new Maroon 5 cd. I'm may not be able to communicate how great it was.
28 June 2008
Who among us doesn't love a good honky tonk
Last week my new friend invited me to go out with her friends for her birthday. I asked where they go in Houston when they go out, and she named several clubs that I had never heard of, but I pretended that I had. Then I admitted that my friends and I go out to very, very divey bars. The places we go are pretty much as close as there is to a modern honky tonk.
Wikipedia says that a Honky Tonks is:
"a type of bar with musical entertainment common in the Southwestern and Southern United States."
But there is so much more to it than that. It also implies dancing and some shady characters, and I don't mean the James Dean type of shady. I mean some old drunk guy in the corner who looks and smells like he hasn't showered in a few days and wants to tell you something in your ear. Also, there might be some women there with questionable dental plans. A long, long time ago a friend was trying to explain what a honky tonk was to her Welsh boyfriend and he said, "so its a bar that says honky tonk on it?" and she so quotably replied, "No, if it says its a honky tonk, it is most definitly not a honky tonk."
I have several favorite honky tonks in Houston, but, due purely to proximity, The Alabama Icehouse is currently my favorite. Not only can I walk home, but I can walk Luigi there. It is as much fun as the dogpark, and it is coming to resemble one.
Luigi was so happy to be going somewhere new that he pulled my mother's arm for the second have of the walk. Then he was doubly excited because Gabby was there. As my father later put it, Luigi must have thought the Gabby had been at the icehouse all that time he didn't see her.
Dogs are great fun, and so is beer, and so is the tamale guy who comes by just when you really, really could go for a tamale, but the highlight of the night was when the band played the greatest country western song ever. We all sang along and loved it. If you don't know this song, look up the lyrics. You never know when you might be called upon to sing it in a bar. Near the end of the song the singer typically stops singing to talk about the song. Well, at Alabama the singer changed the words, "momma, or trains, or trucks" to "trailers, or crystal meth, or incest." Whoa, was that funny! We might be sittin' in a honky tonk, but it's a honky tonk in the middle of Montrose, so we know how to be cheeky about it. HA.
26 June 2008
Lizards!
Hot and muggy are the two adjectives most often used to describe Houston weather. While these words have a negative connotation and Houston is not exactly a summer vacation destination, I love Houston summer. I love, love, love Houston summer! It is hot, hot, hot all day long only to cool off around eight pm, all the way down to the low 80's. That's the perfect time to take a walk around the neighborhood, drink a cold beer in the backyard or visit your local icehouse. Most days gully washers, the dramatic thunderstorms that take out trees and momentary knock out the lights, come through around 4pm, leaving a nice heavy mist in the air.Some people call this condition ninety percent humidity, but I call it the setting for a magical realism story. The style originated in Latin America, but Houston shares the tropical weather pattern of One Hundred Years of Solitude, so why not!
For me, one of the most magical things about Houston is the lizards. Once the rain (or the sprinkler) stops, the sidewalks become alive. When we lived in Westbury, I only saw one type of lizard: it was a cool little chameleon, and there were lots of them. But now I see so many different lizards. It is just blowing my mind. My whole life people have been telling me about lizards that lose their tails when they are scared or attacked, but I never saw one. This summer I have seen all kinds of lizards in the multiple stages of tail regrowing. 
There are the unharmed, very, very long tails. And while I don't have a photo of a completely tailess lizard, I have seen them. It turns out it is quite difficult to photograph a lizard. Especially those that have recently had a bad experience with a predator. Who is that predictor you ask. My mother's cat, Driver. He's a killer. But I guess every epic story needs at least one killer.
21 June 2008
It's hard out here for a pimp (on a metro bus)
This week, a metro bus in Houston hit a mini van and crashed into a BMW dealership. It happened in the emerging neighborhood of midtown. This story is just a great little metaphor for Houston living.
Oh, how I love weather!
Houston has been especially dry and hot this summer. We a nice big thunderstorm everyday at 4pm, just like Oprah. But, for the past four weeks that didn't happen, resulting in dry, heat that makes evenings outside feel like sitting in a convection oven. The heat has broken records, but the humidity has been low. You sweat profusely, but it doesn't soak your shirt.
At swim camp, we a make-up day once a week, anticipating that the weather will rain (or thunder) out lessons. So far we have had to use all of our Friday makeup days, which sucks because I was planning on using those Friday afternoons to go to Austin and worship at the temple of Barton Springs. Hmm, wait, didn't I just say it hadn't rained? That's right. We have had to close the pool four times in two weeks because a child vomited, requiring the pool to be shocked with a high dose of chlorine. To those of you who think I should be forced to teach lessons in vomit and bleach, sorry, I guess the owners don't want to subject there clients/students to that. And, no, it wasn't even the same child. A summer flu is going around? The fourth time this happened, Ms. Anna cleaned up the vomit she found in the deep end and asked the class who had thrown up. The one child who had been decked from free swim raised his hand. They told him that he couldn't have thrown up in the pool because he wasn't in the pool. Besides learning to call all adults by Ms. and their first name, its hard to say what Montessori school is doing for these children.
So back to the weather already. Last week, the rain finally came. Even my parents, who had been saying that it had been raining for two years solid and we didn't need anymore rain, were welcoming. We had two huge thunderstorms that were pretty awesome. Swim lessons got cancelled and someone gave me a ride home so I didn't have to ride in the rain. When we got to my house she decided that she didn't want to drive home in the thunderstorm so she came in for an hour. We dried off and had a nice little talk. So instead of working all afternoon I made a new friend. How I love Texas weather!
At swim camp, we a make-up day once a week, anticipating that the weather will rain (or thunder) out lessons. So far we have had to use all of our Friday makeup days, which sucks because I was planning on using those Friday afternoons to go to Austin and worship at the temple of Barton Springs. Hmm, wait, didn't I just say it hadn't rained? That's right. We have had to close the pool four times in two weeks because a child vomited, requiring the pool to be shocked with a high dose of chlorine. To those of you who think I should be forced to teach lessons in vomit and bleach, sorry, I guess the owners don't want to subject there clients/students to that. And, no, it wasn't even the same child. A summer flu is going around? The fourth time this happened, Ms. Anna cleaned up the vomit she found in the deep end and asked the class who had thrown up. The one child who had been decked from free swim raised his hand. They told him that he couldn't have thrown up in the pool because he wasn't in the pool. Besides learning to call all adults by Ms. and their first name, its hard to say what Montessori school is doing for these children.
So back to the weather already. Last week, the rain finally came. Even my parents, who had been saying that it had been raining for two years solid and we didn't need anymore rain, were welcoming. We had two huge thunderstorms that were pretty awesome. Swim lessons got cancelled and someone gave me a ride home so I didn't have to ride in the rain. When we got to my house she decided that she didn't want to drive home in the thunderstorm so she came in for an hour. We dried off and had a nice little talk. So instead of working all afternoon I made a new friend. How I love Texas weather!
17 June 2008
I heart my night guard
I suffer from almost daily severe migraines. It has been speculated by those who share a bed with me that all the things I do with my mouth in the night may contribute to these headaches.
During my year-long yoga teachers' training, many ideas were presented, some crazier than others. But one was that unless you are eating your top teeth should not touch your bottom teeth. This was really helpful for me because I thought if my jaw wasn't clenched I wasn't grinding my teeth, but really even when I thought I was relaxed I was putting pressure on my scull. Learning to not relax during the day definitely improved my head and my mood, but I continued to make weird noises at night.
Mouth guards are like today's fashion. You can get a $1,000 night guard made for your head from a dentist, a couture night guard if you will, a $20 mold yourself guard from Wal Mart, or a $5 hockey players mouth gaud (the H&M of mouth guards). First, I bought the Wal Mart mold your own, and that was worthless; I didn't keep it in my mouth; it didn't fit well; I stopped using it.
My dentist explained that mouth guards not specially made for your mouth actually encourage grinding as you try to hold them in at night. Couture guards snap on and are designed to trigger a mechanism in your jaw that when you bit down on the back it feels bad and you open your mouth. I don't really know how that works. Then he explained all the benefits of not grinding away your teeth in the night.
First, I was in sticker shock. But seriously, I'm on my last set of natural teeth, how much are worth to me? So I got a night guard for the bargain basement price of about $500. Getting it fitted required a session of grinding down on guard through carbon paper, waiting for the marks to be sanded off, and then continuing the grinding. That caused a headache, which I guess is also an investment.
I was pretty excited about my first night with the new guard. It felt really tight, and then I woke up the next morning to find it across the room. Since the guard will only work if it is in my mouth, I'm pretty motivated to keep in there. I've discovered that taking half a muscle relaxer equals not throwing the mouth guard across the room in the night. Also, four drinks the night before also solves this problem. Upon purchase, I thought a clear guard would get kind of funky looking, but it also makes it rather difficult to see on the carpet. I would rather not be a drug addict, but I don't enjoy crawling around on the floor every morning looking for this thing.
With use, the guard is getting less tight, as promised, and I becoming accustomed to wearing it. A few nights ago I went to bed unmedicated and woke up in the night trying to take it out so that I could continue chewing. Man, when you are asleep, chewing feels so good. I don't know what it is, but chewing and grinding my teeth just lights up the pleasure spots in my brain. But, I'm a disciplined girl so I stopped chewing and kept the guard in. This morning bite guard was still in my mouth after a night of drug free, uninterrupted sleep. That was awesome!
But the biteguard has more gifts than just protecting my molars and eliminating pain across the sinuses. Last weekend, a group of friends visited Austin and slept at Peggy's all slumber party style. As I was settling in for the night and pulling out my ever so cool night guard, Kelly tells me that she grinds her teeth in the night. My first thought is that she is making fun of me. But then she sees my mouth guard. It turns out we have the same one. It was just like the middle school experience of having the same retainer. I was deprived of this experience by naturally having acceptable teeth. Oh, biteguard, you have given me so much more than I had ever dreamed!
During my year-long yoga teachers' training, many ideas were presented, some crazier than others. But one was that unless you are eating your top teeth should not touch your bottom teeth. This was really helpful for me because I thought if my jaw wasn't clenched I wasn't grinding my teeth, but really even when I thought I was relaxed I was putting pressure on my scull. Learning to not relax during the day definitely improved my head and my mood, but I continued to make weird noises at night.
Mouth guards are like today's fashion. You can get a $1,000 night guard made for your head from a dentist, a couture night guard if you will, a $20 mold yourself guard from Wal Mart, or a $5 hockey players mouth gaud (the H&M of mouth guards). First, I bought the Wal Mart mold your own, and that was worthless; I didn't keep it in my mouth; it didn't fit well; I stopped using it.
My dentist explained that mouth guards not specially made for your mouth actually encourage grinding as you try to hold them in at night. Couture guards snap on and are designed to trigger a mechanism in your jaw that when you bit down on the back it feels bad and you open your mouth. I don't really know how that works. Then he explained all the benefits of not grinding away your teeth in the night.
First, I was in sticker shock. But seriously, I'm on my last set of natural teeth, how much are worth to me? So I got a night guard for the bargain basement price of about $500. Getting it fitted required a session of grinding down on guard through carbon paper, waiting for the marks to be sanded off, and then continuing the grinding. That caused a headache, which I guess is also an investment.
I was pretty excited about my first night with the new guard. It felt really tight, and then I woke up the next morning to find it across the room. Since the guard will only work if it is in my mouth, I'm pretty motivated to keep in there. I've discovered that taking half a muscle relaxer equals not throwing the mouth guard across the room in the night. Also, four drinks the night before also solves this problem. Upon purchase, I thought a clear guard would get kind of funky looking, but it also makes it rather difficult to see on the carpet. I would rather not be a drug addict, but I don't enjoy crawling around on the floor every morning looking for this thing.
With use, the guard is getting less tight, as promised, and I becoming accustomed to wearing it. A few nights ago I went to bed unmedicated and woke up in the night trying to take it out so that I could continue chewing. Man, when you are asleep, chewing feels so good. I don't know what it is, but chewing and grinding my teeth just lights up the pleasure spots in my brain. But, I'm a disciplined girl so I stopped chewing and kept the guard in. This morning bite guard was still in my mouth after a night of drug free, uninterrupted sleep. That was awesome!
But the biteguard has more gifts than just protecting my molars and eliminating pain across the sinuses. Last weekend, a group of friends visited Austin and slept at Peggy's all slumber party style. As I was settling in for the night and pulling out my ever so cool night guard, Kelly tells me that she grinds her teeth in the night. My first thought is that she is making fun of me. But then she sees my mouth guard. It turns out we have the same one. It was just like the middle school experience of having the same retainer. I was deprived of this experience by naturally having acceptable teeth. Oh, biteguard, you have given me so much more than I had ever dreamed!
12 June 2008
I am enraged
When Michelle Obama "fist bumped" her husband before his acceptance speech for the Democratic Nominee for President of the United States I thought that was the cutest thing I had ever seen in politics. It was demonstrative of her support and publicly showed more intimacy than we are used to seeing in candidates. The Daily News wrote "the fist bump of hope shows them 'silly in love.'"Since then, Fox News has called that a "terrorist fist jab," which is just plain stupid, but they also showed a banner calling Michelle "Obama's baby mama." I am outraged. I just watched as MSNBC read aloud the definition of "baby mama" from urbandictionary.com and then discussed the meaning.
| 1. | baby mama |
| The mother of your child(ren), whom you did not marry and with whom you are not currently involved. |
The implication of the remark is that regardless of any personal or professional achievements, Michelle Obama is still black; regardless of her successful marriage she is no different than the millions of unwed black mothers. To use what in this context is a racial slur on such an admirable, successful woman just outrages in me to an extent I can't even communicate. And to watch the hosts of news programs try to explore what the phrase means and discuss the political consequences without outright calling it racist makes me sad for the American viewing public who apparently haven't come as far as they pretend.
My biggest tv crush since Jordan Catalano
Because I have a lot of time on my hands to enjoy myself and my parents netflix account I put Freaks and Geeks in the Queue. It made its way to the top of the list and by the time it was mailed I forgot why it was even on the list. All I remembered was not really enjoying it when some cable channel did a marathon like five years ago.
Well, the reason it was on the list is because it is the first work referenced in bios of Judd Apatow. He produced it and it stars core group of actors from his movies. Since I keep reading about it I figured I'd give it another chance. What a good move!
While Apatow movies are discussed ad nauseum as stories of men who need women to help them grow up, stop smoking pot all day, get real jobs and ditch their loser friends, Freaks and Geeks is about being in high school where sitting around making gross jokes and smoking pot is socially acceptable. And instead of just being a plot device, the girl on the show is actually the main character, whoa. Lindsey is a fully developed character grappling with the high school choices that seem so important at the time and it makes me wonder why the wom
en in Apatow movies are so lame.But what I am really watching it for is Nick Andopolis (also known as Jason Segel), who is absolutely adorable, like a big giant puppy dog. I haven't had a crush like this on a tv high schooler since My So-called Life's Jordan Catalano (Veronica Mars' Logan Echols doesn't count, that was something other than a crush. As Peggy once said, "I don't think I will every be in love with a fictional character the way I am in love with Logan"). While Jordan Catalano was beautiful and mysterious, his appeal really lay in the anticipation and the unknown, as Angela said, "how can I be this upset about a guy I never really had?" Nick Andopolis, on the other hand, is just completely a good guy that you would like to be around because he is so nice and happy. If a puppy could verbalize how happy he was and how much you made him happy then he would be Nick. Not only is Nick completely in bliss by his drumset and by Lindsey, he gives advice about how you, too, can be that blissed out. You need to find your drumset, the thing that makes you totally at peace. Yeah, high school, and life, become way easier if you are always looking forward to that thing you really love. Seriously, look how cute he was!
Nothing says, "I don't have shit to do" than spending time with a bunch of boys playing video games. For some reason boys love video games (?). Watching 43 minutes of Freaks and Geeks is like a whole day of video game banter compressed into a single episode. I just highly recommend it for anyone who has an hour to spare and needs a little easy smile.
This blogger also loves Jason Segel and has a beautiful page detailing her love for him over his career. It is undeniable that he has stayed pretty adorable over the years. I do love How I Met Your Mother (a great show with a terrible premise) and Forgetting Sarah Marshal (I'm so glad that my favorite actresses are getting work after their shows are cancelled.) You need to check out this page just for the youtube clips. (It's easier for you to just click than for me to upload video, seriously.) My love for Jason Segel has moved backward chronologically, as I have just now found his early work, but I am totally glad I did.
08 June 2008
More thoughts on SatC
Lately, opinions of Sex and the City have been coming up more than usual. And by opinions, I mean value judgments on the characters' life choices.
All this talk reminds me of one of Frank's friends in LA. He was sleeping with a woman who had all the shows on DVD and liked to watch them. At one point, he was living with her, and so he would watch tv with her. He said that he was really getting into the show.
"You know, we watch the show and they have all that sex, and then we have sex. So it really gets me in the mood. The ladies: they like Mr. Big, but we can like the show for all the sex."
It's good to know that some men have an open mind about what might just be the biggest chick show and movie ever.
All this talk reminds me of one of Frank's friends in LA. He was sleeping with a woman who had all the shows on DVD and liked to watch them. At one point, he was living with her, and so he would watch tv with her. He said that he was really getting into the show.
"You know, we watch the show and they have all that sex, and then we have sex. So it really gets me in the mood. The ladies: they like Mr. Big, but we can like the show for all the sex."
It's good to know that some men have an open mind about what might just be the biggest chick show and movie ever.
The best review of SatC, yet
My Great Aunt MaryAnn is my father's favorite Aunt, and a window in her 70s. She saw the Sex and the City movie yesterday with my dad's cousin's wife and her two daughters, who are both a bit younger than Peggy and me
MaryAnn's review of the movie was, "I don't know very much, but I do know the difference between soft core and hard core pornography, and that movie had some hard core pornography in it."
She also reported that my cousins cried during the movie and she thought that that was pretty stupid. MaryAnn thought that there were some sad parts, but nothing worth crying over.
So my assignment for the week is to go and see the movie and learn what hard core pornography is really all about.
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