Sunday, April 06, 2008
Memphis
I am a not-usually-very-proud graduate of the University of Memphis. With all the usual disclaimers about the futility of sports fandom, I would like to say "GO TIGERS!!!! WOOOOO!!!!!"
Friday, April 04, 2008
Southern gothic
A few days ago I wrote that I wished I could cry. Today I was a weepy wreck. It is a difficult, emotional time.
On the front page of the Times Picayune today was a picture of a crazy old woman who I used to see at the grouchy Norwegian guy’s laundromat. She would bring her clothes in a buggy she would push down the street, and even though she was washing her clothes she smelled like she hadn’t bathed in a month. She always seemed terribly sad. She was obviously not right in the head, but it was also obvious that she had once been beautiful. She scared me a bit, because she presented the scary specter of being old and not in your right mind and not being able to take care of yourself. But she was a character I wondered about.
She was on the front page of the paper because the city was tearing down the house that she shared with her three equally crazy brothers. The house was truly a hazard, falling down and stuffed with hoarded junk, and unfit for occupation, and it had been condemned for nine years. So the city tried to do the right thing, and you can’t really blame it if it didn’t quite pull it off. The woman was weeping the street and upset because they wouldn’t let her in the house and she couldn’t find her mother’s wedding picture. And again you couldn’t really blame anyone, because how could she possibly find anything in that mess. But still, she was so decimated and broken by this, and so helpless.
this is the house
I didn’t see the demolition, but I was in the neighborhood. Since my car is still in the shop, I rode the streetcar for the first time since the hurricane. The rumble and the woody smell of the cars, the windows that click up and down, the reversible seats, and the way that through the windows you can see New Orleans as it was the first time you saw it, these are the qualities of the streetcar that made me cry.
Also, twice today I saw this guy who I once met at the Rue who flirted with me and invited me to his birthday party. When I was foolish enough to show up, I was introduced to his fiancee. I remember that he was a few years older than me, which means that now he is past 40 and has blue hair and works in the kitchen at Nacho Mama’s. That was the second place I saw him today; the first was at the Rue on Carrollton where I was reading the paper. He did not make me cry, he made me feel like I did well in breaking out the the rut I was in and glad that I am leaving.
On the front page of the Times Picayune today was a picture of a crazy old woman who I used to see at the grouchy Norwegian guy’s laundromat. She would bring her clothes in a buggy she would push down the street, and even though she was washing her clothes she smelled like she hadn’t bathed in a month. She always seemed terribly sad. She was obviously not right in the head, but it was also obvious that she had once been beautiful. She scared me a bit, because she presented the scary specter of being old and not in your right mind and not being able to take care of yourself. But she was a character I wondered about.
She was on the front page of the paper because the city was tearing down the house that she shared with her three equally crazy brothers. The house was truly a hazard, falling down and stuffed with hoarded junk, and unfit for occupation, and it had been condemned for nine years. So the city tried to do the right thing, and you can’t really blame it if it didn’t quite pull it off. The woman was weeping the street and upset because they wouldn’t let her in the house and she couldn’t find her mother’s wedding picture. And again you couldn’t really blame anyone, because how could she possibly find anything in that mess. But still, she was so decimated and broken by this, and so helpless.
this is the house
I didn’t see the demolition, but I was in the neighborhood. Since my car is still in the shop, I rode the streetcar for the first time since the hurricane. The rumble and the woody smell of the cars, the windows that click up and down, the reversible seats, and the way that through the windows you can see New Orleans as it was the first time you saw it, these are the qualities of the streetcar that made me cry.
Also, twice today I saw this guy who I once met at the Rue who flirted with me and invited me to his birthday party. When I was foolish enough to show up, I was introduced to his fiancee. I remember that he was a few years older than me, which means that now he is past 40 and has blue hair and works in the kitchen at Nacho Mama’s. That was the second place I saw him today; the first was at the Rue on Carrollton where I was reading the paper. He did not make me cry, he made me feel like I did well in breaking out the the rut I was in and glad that I am leaving.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Crappy jobs I had in my 20s, part 1
I am still unemployed, stressed and crabby. I need another Swedish massage and a few thousand dollars to pay for my BAR/BRI course.
Sometimes I look at my younger classmates and think about the crappy jobs I was doing at their age. I could write a whole series about crappy jobs I had in my twenties.
For awhile I had a student worker job in the library’s media department. Mostly this job wasn’t so bad. I mostly remember sitting around and talking, and sometimes delivering TVs and VCRs to classrooms. But for some reason the department was also in charge of processing the teacher evaluations that everyone did at the end of the semester. As the forms came in, I would sometimes spend hours alone in the attic sorting through the forms. The up side to this job was reading what students wrote about teachers. It’s interesting that students seem to have a reflex sympathy toward teachers on such evaluations. Hardly anyone ever got a really bad evaluation. But I learned how to spot the signs of a bad teacher in a purportedly good evaluation.
The job was mind-numbingly dull because I was all alone in the stale attic air. It was always too hot or too cold. And there were no distractions other than a radio that only received a.m. stations. So I listened to WDIA--”the nation’s first black radio station.” They played some music, mostly soul oldies like Marvin Gaye, Al Green. Good but overplayed songs. But they also had lots of talk shows. I had already had a job where I spent the day listening to Rush Limbaugh with a ditto-head, so I knew of the the lunacy factor in talk radio. But the high paranoia expressed by so many callers was really striking. I’m not sure how representative the sample group really was, but I got the impression that most black people think that most white people are plotting complicated schemes to keep the black man down from the moment they get up in the morning till they put their scheming white heads on the pillow at night. The usual conspiracy plots got aired, for example that the CIA deliberately unleashed crack and/or AIDS on the black community. Since this was Memphis, there were still some theories were still being discussed about the King assassination. I think the CIA was in on that, too.
Their paranoia made me paranoid, that all the black people I saw thought I was out to get them so they were out to get me back.
Sometimes I look at my younger classmates and think about the crappy jobs I was doing at their age. I could write a whole series about crappy jobs I had in my twenties.
For awhile I had a student worker job in the library’s media department. Mostly this job wasn’t so bad. I mostly remember sitting around and talking, and sometimes delivering TVs and VCRs to classrooms. But for some reason the department was also in charge of processing the teacher evaluations that everyone did at the end of the semester. As the forms came in, I would sometimes spend hours alone in the attic sorting through the forms. The up side to this job was reading what students wrote about teachers. It’s interesting that students seem to have a reflex sympathy toward teachers on such evaluations. Hardly anyone ever got a really bad evaluation. But I learned how to spot the signs of a bad teacher in a purportedly good evaluation.
The job was mind-numbingly dull because I was all alone in the stale attic air. It was always too hot or too cold. And there were no distractions other than a radio that only received a.m. stations. So I listened to WDIA--”the nation’s first black radio station.” They played some music, mostly soul oldies like Marvin Gaye, Al Green. Good but overplayed songs. But they also had lots of talk shows. I had already had a job where I spent the day listening to Rush Limbaugh with a ditto-head, so I knew of the the lunacy factor in talk radio. But the high paranoia expressed by so many callers was really striking. I’m not sure how representative the sample group really was, but I got the impression that most black people think that most white people are plotting complicated schemes to keep the black man down from the moment they get up in the morning till they put their scheming white heads on the pillow at night. The usual conspiracy plots got aired, for example that the CIA deliberately unleashed crack and/or AIDS on the black community. Since this was Memphis, there were still some theories were still being discussed about the King assassination. I think the CIA was in on that, too.
Their paranoia made me paranoid, that all the black people I saw thought I was out to get them so they were out to get me back.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Dancing
I love dancing because it is the singular physical activity that I am naturally good at. I might immodestly say that I am naturally “good” at sex, but I don’t know if that’s a talent so much as a matter of being comfortable with myself and genuinely enjoying the experience (depending on who I'm having it with). Someone once told me I was unusually good at getting a massage because I have a great capacity to relax and let go! But that's the opposite of a physical activity.
I tend to feel physically gawky and awkward. Team sports make me feel clumsy and solitary sports seem tedious. I’ve done light weight training off and on for years, and it makes me feel good and gives me certain benefits, but I neither enjoy nor dislike the actual activity. To me, it's more as a matter of maintaining rather than progressing. I’ve also done Iyengar yoga for years, which is hugely important to my physical and mental health, but I’m not really good at it. Really, yoga is not something you can say you’re good at, because it’s more a matter of being where you are. I might be “better” at yoga than I used to be, because I’m more precisely aware of what I’m doing in some of the poses and the different actions seem more integrated. But I’m not the hyper-flexible yoga diva. I still can't touch my toes without bending my knees, and I don’t have yoga butt.
When I was in my early twenties, I was sort of surprised to go to clubs for the first time and realize that once I was coaxed onto the dance floor I was kind of good at it. It had a lot to do with the way that I feel or respond to music pretty intensely At that time, it seemed that most white kids were pretty stiff on the floor. I think it was because we were still affected by the disco backlash. Recently, though, it seems that white kids can really actually dance. When I went to see the Dap Kings, Sharon Jones pulled a couple of white boys out of the audience to dance with her, and they were good. They could keep up with her.
I always loved to watch more structured couples dancing, but I was intimidated because I didn’t know what I was doing. But I’ve found that if I try, I catch on pretty quickly. I’m still a beginning swing dancer, but I’m a talented beginner and I can do all kinds of cool things. I’m really excited about how much better I’ve gotten in such a short time, and I really want to make this a permanent regular part of my life, because it’s giving me a kind of physical satisfaction I’ve never had before.
I tend to feel physically gawky and awkward. Team sports make me feel clumsy and solitary sports seem tedious. I’ve done light weight training off and on for years, and it makes me feel good and gives me certain benefits, but I neither enjoy nor dislike the actual activity. To me, it's more as a matter of maintaining rather than progressing. I’ve also done Iyengar yoga for years, which is hugely important to my physical and mental health, but I’m not really good at it. Really, yoga is not something you can say you’re good at, because it’s more a matter of being where you are. I might be “better” at yoga than I used to be, because I’m more precisely aware of what I’m doing in some of the poses and the different actions seem more integrated. But I’m not the hyper-flexible yoga diva. I still can't touch my toes without bending my knees, and I don’t have yoga butt.
When I was in my early twenties, I was sort of surprised to go to clubs for the first time and realize that once I was coaxed onto the dance floor I was kind of good at it. It had a lot to do with the way that I feel or respond to music pretty intensely At that time, it seemed that most white kids were pretty stiff on the floor. I think it was because we were still affected by the disco backlash. Recently, though, it seems that white kids can really actually dance. When I went to see the Dap Kings, Sharon Jones pulled a couple of white boys out of the audience to dance with her, and they were good. They could keep up with her.
I always loved to watch more structured couples dancing, but I was intimidated because I didn’t know what I was doing. But I’ve found that if I try, I catch on pretty quickly. I’m still a beginning swing dancer, but I’m a talented beginner and I can do all kinds of cool things. I’m really excited about how much better I’ve gotten in such a short time, and I really want to make this a permanent regular part of my life, because it’s giving me a kind of physical satisfaction I’ve never had before.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Got nothing
This is the fourth and last week of the writing contract, and tonight is the first time I’ve felt that I had to write something but didn’t know what. The book Writing Alone and With Others has been interesting and helpful but I don’t have the energy to look at it right now. I’m so tired and I have to get up early to take the car to the BMW dealer. I’m annoyed because I still don’t have a check or estimate from the insurance company. Probably I will use the money to fix the mechanical stuff instead of the body work, unless it all adds up to less than I expect. My yoga teacher’s daughter drives an old BMW, and when she took it in for repairs to the dealer, they gave her a new one as a loaner!!! That’s one reason to take it to the dealer, which is not something I would usually do except that I’ve taken it to so many different mechanics and they don’t seem to be consistent in what they tell me. Plus, it turns out the dealer’s labor rate is not that much higher than an independent garage. So we’ll see what they say. If they let me drive a new 1-series I’ll be the happiest girl in the world.
I will graduate in six-and-a-half weeks. Holy crap. I’m not ready, emotionally or practically. Last week I had an interview with a firm in Charleston. I liked the interviewer. I might like Charleston, but it’s kind of expensive and upscale, maybe too upscale to be interesting. On the other hand, it’s damn near as steamy as New Orleans and they get hurricanes, too. I think it might be too late to register for the summer bar exam in South Carolina, which is inconvenient. Anyway, I accepted the temporary job in Richmond so that’s still the default.
I will graduate in six-and-a-half weeks. Holy crap. I’m not ready, emotionally or practically. Last week I had an interview with a firm in Charleston. I liked the interviewer. I might like Charleston, but it’s kind of expensive and upscale, maybe too upscale to be interesting. On the other hand, it’s damn near as steamy as New Orleans and they get hurricanes, too. I think it might be too late to register for the summer bar exam in South Carolina, which is inconvenient. Anyway, I accepted the temporary job in Richmond so that’s still the default.
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