This Won't Hurt a Bit

Last weekend I went to the Cape with friends. Diana made dinner the first night-- beer infused chicken. The idea was to stick an open beer can up the chicken's arse and the aroma of the beer would permeate the skin. I felt like the bird was being violated, but I took pictures anyway. I was grossed out and fascinated at the same time.

Here you can see before and after pictures. Did I eat it? Damn right I did, and it was good.

Get Used to It

I've lived in Boston for 16 years, and I still don't know the network channels here. To me, CBS is channel 2, NBC is channel 4, and ABC is 7. That's New York, of course. What channel is CBS in Boston?

Another thing I can't get used to here is pizza bags. I'll never forget the first time I got a slice of pizza to go in Boston. They laid the pizza flat and put it in a stationery bag! In New York, they use flat bags for cards you buy at the stationery store. For pizza, they fold the pizza slice in half and put it in a lunch bag like one of those brown paper bags kids put their lunch in.

I have gotten used to asking for a frappe when what I really want is a milkshake, and I use the words "wicked" (I'm wicked tired!) and "no, sir!" (I don't believe you) regularly. There's still hope.

Fire Alarm--Don't Panic!

The other night my friends and I went out to dinner before going to a movie. We went to this restaurant and had a good time, laughing, reminiscing, and catching up. Towards the end of the meal, the fire alarms went off. The first reaction of my friend Imke and myself? Ugh, stop that annoying noise! There was no visible smoke. Dawn was more proactive; she thought we should leave. We sat there for a few moments, and when we saw a line of guys from the bar start to walk out, we got up. It was like a wave--everyone eventually got up and walked out of the restaurant very calmly.

I remarked about this out loud, and some guy did a fake panic scream for me. We all gathered along the sidewalk and noticed that it was the whole building that had alarms going off, not just our restaurant. We looked at our watches and noticed that the movie would start in about 15 minutes, so we just went to the movie theater. Yay, a free meal! At the movie theater, we started seeing fire engines arriving. Was there really a fire?

The thing that struck me was the fact that so many people were desensitized to the alarm. Yes, we didn't panic, but we also didn't get moving. That's a little scary. I bet if we had seen smoke there would have been a mad dash, and people would have gotten hurt. Dawn was amazed that no one was in charge. No staff person ever came out to tell us to leave or stay put, or anything. That was also scary.

In the end, I hope it was just that a cook burned the fries or it was a false alarm. It was nice to have a free meal. It was delicious, too.

UNO!

When I do English conversation with kids, we often play card games. One favorite game is Uno; we play "the Japanese way", where you get to put down several cards in a row. For example, if the color is red and the number is 5, you can put down as many 5's as you have. You can also do this with any other card.

Here's one of my students who whittled down all of his cards until he had four left, all draw 4's. See his expression of glee? He won, because he went out with those four, and his poor brother had to draw sixteen cards.

That day the kids also learned Spanish; they had no idea that "Uno" meant "One".

People at the Gym

Dear Readers,

You may have been wondering why I haven't blogged about the gym lately. It's because I haven't been. Before yesterday, I hadn't been in 11 days. I also don't train as regularly with Steve, because I've graduated to doing it myself. Consequently, I don't go as often. This is probably how I should have started in the first place, slowly, then working up to more days. I'm kind of doing things backwards.

In any case, I was at the gym yesterday, and the first person I saw was this woman whose husband wanted to take nude photos of me about ten years ago. Say what??? Yeah. I was working as a puppeteer at a child's birthday party, and afterwards, one of the dads said he was a photographer and he'd love to do a photo shoot with me. At the time I had a bleach blond crew cut and an earring in my eyebrow, so I guessed he was after my alternative look.

I went to his house, met his wife and young son, and saw his work: naked women. They were tastefully done, artistic, and all, but still. He told me he did nudes and he wanted me to shave my head. Uh, no thanks. I was creeped out, but agreed to take some photos with all my clothes on, thank you very much. I haven't ever seen him in town, but I see his wife occasionally, and I always get an icky feeling when I see her. She didn't remember me, thank god.

Later on, I saw this guy I've seen a few times before. He has curly black hair, very long, pulled back into a ponytail, and he wears a white sweatband around his forehead like he's living in the 70's. He was walking with a chain belt around his waist, and attached to the belt was a kettle bell. It looked like a cannonball with a handle. He was walking with this thing inbetween his legs, and I wanted to shout, "You got balls!", but I restrained myself. What he did was grab this bar and did pull ups with this thing attached to him. So strong and macho! Maybe I'll try it next time.

I got on the bike and didn't pedal quite as fast as the old man on the bike next to me, but I'm working my way up to it. Gotta protect myself from injury.

Watercolor Class--Any Better?

My friend Chris told me she was taking a one-time watercolor painting class, and when I said, "Oooh!", she asked me if I'd like to join her. I'd always wanted to take a watercolor class. It was just one night, two hours of our time. Perhaps this was the class I should have taken instead of Linguistics for the Linguistically Challenged. We got our supplies at the art store, and arrived in the basement of the library ready to learn.

There were five people in the class, including us. The teacher didn't introduce himself; he just pulled up a table and told us we could sit there. The three other people were already painting. It turned out that this was a two-part class, and we were at the second part. Perhaps these students had already been schooled for two hours?

We sat down and waited for instruction. And waited. Finally, the teacher told us to sketch the scene and then to paint it. I looked at the still life and groaned inside. It was so cliche--a wine bottle, a loaf of bread with one slice cut, and two brown eggs, all on a cloth, draped dramatically and taped to the wall. Look, it's France in the basement of a library in Boston!

Chris and I started sketching, and the teacher walked out of the room. Huh? He came back a few minutes later and looked at everyone's work. "Very nice shading", he said to the man next to Chris. "I like what you've done", he said to someone else. He came to me and said, "Why don't you erase all of this and turn the paper the other way?" I replied, "Check this out!" and I just flipped the paper to a new one. He sketched the whole scene for me, looked at Chris's work, and then left again.

We wondered why the teacher kept leaving, and why no one was talking. They were all so serious. The man painted one French scene after another, whipping them off his pad as if it was a new sport--Watercolor Racing, first one who uses his whole pad wins! I fell back into my comfort zone, and starting making wisecracks just loud enough for Chris to hear so that she'd laugh. We felt like the bad kids in school; I had to stop myself from passing her a note.

The teacher came back and announced that there was an art show upstairs and if we needed a break we could go get free refreshments. So that's where he'd been! Scarfing cookies and juice while we waited for some interaction. Technique? Tips? Answers to questions? He leaned over me and said, "How you doin', Kiddo?" He didn't know that one nickname I happen to hate is "Kiddo." I am forty years old, I am nobody's Kiddo. I told him I didn't know what I was doing. He told me that it was all about dark and light, the draping, the shadows. He told me where it was dark and where it was light, complimented Chris, and then left again. At least that time we knew where he was going.

I didn't see dark and light. I saw a vacant bottle of wine, probably emptied by our fearless non- leader, a loaf of stale bread, and eggs with samonella. I realized that I was not a watercolor artist, I was a photographer and an anthropologist. I liked watching the teacher interact with the different people in the room, and making assumptions about him based on the stories he told us about how people had seen his work and bought his paintings on the spot for lots of money.

I took a picture of the scene and compared it with my painting. My loaf of bread at first resembled a turkey, but once I added some shading, it turned out to be a hot dog. One of my eggs looked like a lemon, and the other one melted. My background just looked dirty. Chris's painting was much better than mine, but she kept blotting at it furiously in order to make it appear lighter. We agreed that what we both liked was watercolor outlined with black so that it was crisp and not flowy. We decided to look at children's books and admire what illustrators had done.

I gave up. I started sketching out the words for this blog post, I texted someone, and I went upstairs for free cookies and juice. I met a very nice artist and saw a book I wanted to borrow from the library.

At the end of the "space rented out so we could use the things we bought from the art store" session, because it turned out not to be a class after all, Chris and I met up with friends for dinner. Maybe she'll come to the "Dark Side of Boston" walk I signed up for at the end of the month. Whaddaya say, Chris?

Back to School

My school got a voucher for a free class at my alma mater, and after asking the rest of the staff if they'd like to use it, jumped at the chance when they said no. I was so excited to be taking a graduate course again, and I knew the professor, though I had never taken a class from her.

The class was entitled, "The Nature of Linguistic Language." I thought it would perfectly coincide with the work I was doing after school, teaching English conversation. We would learn how people learn language, how they acquire second language, and a host of other things.

The class was taught by two professors, and they had taught the course together for many years. They wrote a book, which was our textbook. I ordered that book as well as another book to read if we were interested.

In the first class, we talked about how to make plural nouns in English. We learned how to make plural nouns in Armenian. As always, I was quick to speak in class even if I didn't have the right answer. I figured out the young women to the left and right of me had the answers, and I made a deal with them: if we worked together, they could come up with the answers, and I'd be the spokesperson for the group. They agreed to do it.

The first class was hard, and the second class wasn't any easier. I learned this was a research course, and we'd be making hypotheses. I hypothesized how long I would last. I started making jokes under my breath, much to the delight of my new partners in crime. When one professor was talking about the soft palate in your mouth, I whispered, "I think my soft palate is up here", and I tapped my head.

I spent much of the class with a quizzical look on my face (see photo), and I talked a lot. Here's a sample of what we had to read in our textbook:

"The concept 'plural' is semantically interpreted at the NP level, as a result of the NP and the morpheme {plural} merging. However, the phonological form of the morpheme {plural} can be found on the head of the N of the NP, on the adjectives modifying the N, on the determiners, or on all of the above. Or on none of the above; that is, the morpheme {plural} does not have to be realized phonologically at all within the NP." (copied without permission from Honda and O'Neil, 2008)

Get it? Me neither. When the word "morpheme" came up in class, all I could think about was morphine, which I felt like I was on. I withdrew from the class and will now be watching Oprah on Thursdays instead of making my soft palate even softer with morphine.

iPod Fun

A lot of people put their iPod on "random" mode to get a good mix of music. Here's another way to do it: click on "songs", and just listen to them in alphabetical order. It's so much fun to see how they're organized.

How else could I listen to "White and Nerdy", a parody of a rap song by Weird Al Yankovic, followed by "White Lines", a classie rap song by Grandmaster Flash? How many songs begin with the word "Don't"? A lot.

Don't (Elvis Presley)
Don't Ask Me Why (Billy Joel)
Don't Be Cruel (Elvis Presley)
Don't Believe the Hype (Public Enemy)
Don't Break my Heart (UB40)
Don't Go Breaking my Heart (Elton John)
Don't Know Why (Norah Jones)
Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me (Elton John, George Michael, David Archuleta)
Don't Play Me (Prince)
Don't Stop Till You Get Enough (Michael Jackson)
Don't Stop the Music (Yarbrough and Peoples)
Don't Stop--Planet Rock (Afrika Bambaataa)
Don't Take Your Guns to Town (Johnny Cash)
Don't Talk 2 Strangers (Prince)
Don't Worry, Be Happy (Bobby McFerrin)

Can't wait to get to the end of the list, where song names begin with numerals...

English is Stupid, part 52

I just read an article talking about a new store, and it said something like, "She clothes her new space in blacks and tans..."

It occurred to me that in that context, we pronounce the "th" in "clothes".

When we're talking about things we wear, it's pronounced "close".

Ridiculous.

Countdown to Halloween

The other day a dad at school told me about a costume he once made for Halloween. He wore tennis whites; shorts, shirt, sweatbands, the whole bit. Then he made a gruesome hand out of papier mache and stuck it to his back. Ready?

He was a tennis pro with a vicious backhand!!!

That rivals one of my favorite costumes, The Madonna/Madonna! (seen here with newly adopted David)

No Halloween parties scheduled yet, but it's always good to be prepared...

Happy Fall!

Now that's a fresh apple!

More from the Early Ages

Written right before I saw Pre-Modern Pharmacist, while eating dinner at Panera:

I don't understand the baguette. What is appealing about a bread that looks and feels like a lobster without its appendages? It's so hard to rip apart, you end up gouging it with your fingers. I feel like a cave woman. Ugh! I beat my chest in frustration.

The middle part of the shell of bread does go with the soup, however. I'll deal.

Me Want Drugs!

There's a pharmacist at my local CVS who looks exactly like one of the Geico cavemen, I'm not kidding. He has long, scraggly curly brown hair, a full beard and mustache, and a Cro-Magnon-shaped face. He wears a white button down shirt, a tie, and dress pants. He looks like early man trying to fit into modern society. I have to keep from laughing every time I see him. Dude, get a haircut, and maybe shave a little!

The Scent of a (Single) Woman ('s Studio)

The other day I went out to breakfast with my friend Sophie and her daughter Kate. I had a scrambled egg, and Sophie had a fried egg. Her egg looked so good, I told her the next time we went out I wanted a fried egg.

Today I have the day off. I decided to get fancy and I made a fried egg for myself. It was yummy, though I always get scared that I'm going to get salmonella from eating a runny yolk. I put the air purifier on to get rid of the fried egg smell, and went out to do an errand.

Came back an hour later, and now my apartment smells like fried egg and cat poop. Thanks a lot, Shelby. Looks like we're going to get a visit from our friend Mr. Bleach Cleaner!

Do the Funky Chicken

The other day our school went apple picking. There was this toddler there who was hanging out with a chicken. They kept doing the same thing! From the top...
1) On the fence
2) Walking away
3) Squat down...
4) and up again!

Time to Go Through It

It's that time again...I'd collected about four containers worth of papers, and it was getting a little out of hand. As usual, I dumped it all on my couch and made myself go through it. Probably took about two hours. I shredded a lot of stuff.








My goal was to have everything fit into these three boxes.




Great news! Not only did I fit everything into just two boxes, but I found $60 in cash, leftover from my birthday in April! The next step is to immediately go through these two boxes and file everything in its proper place. I swear I'll do it next weekend.

Bobby with a Bulb

My grandmother used to have a lamp exactly like this. It looked like a British policeman to me, you know, a Bobby. See the hat, and the small space for the face, and the puffed up chest, down to the slimmer legs? Can't you see the brass buttons? I think of my grandmother and Bobbies every time I see one of these lamps.

Haunted Haircuts?

Looks like the local barber shop is ready for Halloween!

Umbilical Pot Pie

I go to this place called The Soup Factory for takeout sometimes. They have the best chicken pot pie ever. It has a flaky crust at the bottom, chicken chunks and veggies in the middle, and another flaky crust at the top. It's yummy, and very filling. Every time I eat it, I tell myself to blog about it, and I never do. I just had to put it to the side so I could write this.

The crust at the top is hard to cut up with a spoon, but I usually manage to do it. The crust at the bottom, however, is impossible to cut. I always try with a spoon, and I always give up, deciding in the end to gnaw at it with my molars. Every time I do, I get an image of me as a mother cat gnawing at her newborn kitten's umbilical cord. That's exactly what I feel like when I'm at the bottom of my chicken pot pie. Ah, the miracle of birth! How delicious.

Mystery Solved

I teach English conversation privately, in people's homes. One place I go to is a high rise luxury apartment building. They have signs outside advertising studios and 1, 2, and 3 bedroom apartments with amenities. There are 10 floors, and lots and lots of apartments. The place is huge!

After going to this building on a regular basis, I noticed that there seemed to be a striking number of college aged people living there. A lot of them know each other, and go from floor to floor via the elevator. It resembles a college dorm building at times. I wondered, "Is this a dorm? How can students afford these apartments?"

Last week my curiosity got the best of me, and I finally asked two young people who were in the elevator with me. I said that there seemed to be a lot of college aged people around, and they said that they were mostly Boston University students. I then asked, politely, how college students could afford luxury apartments.

The students both got red in the face, and the girl said, "Well, my parents pay for mine." And the boy said the same thing. They agreed that most students' apartments were paid for by mom and dad. That's what I had thought, but at least now I knew.

Note to families: Do not rent an apartment at this apartment complex, unless you like loud parties on weekends!

Orange You Glad I Blogged?

See this orange? See how it's cut? It came like that. That's the Japanese way of serving oranges. It's easy to eat that way, and not messy.

What you do is, you get a bento box at the local Japanese restaurant, and if you order what I did, you get a little piece of teriyaki chicken, a little bit of white rice, a few pieces of lettuce and tomato with soy sauce dressing, and two slices of orange. It's perfection in a meal.

Tom and Mary Go Downtown

Mary: Tom, it says here in the Kelley Blue Book that the Ford Taurus isn't worth jack these days!

Tom: Oh god, are you talking insurance fraud again?

Mary: Could you not put it that way, please? Look what happened after just one day downtown. They got the back door and passenger door off, but they left the radio and hubcaps. Must've heard someone coming in the middle of the job...

Tom: You know, Mary, you seem to know a lot about illegal activities. Is there something you want to tell me?

Mary: Oh, you're so dramatic! Why don't you get that rolled up newspaper out of your ass and live a little! By the time they strip our ride, we can clean up with the insurance money and maybe take a trip somewhere. I was so silly to leave the car unlocked, wink wink!

Tom, under his breath: And I was so silly to answer that personal ad.
Uh, Mary? There's something I have to tell you. I'm gay.

Mary: Yeah, and I'm the queen of fucking France. Get in and drive, Pretty Boy.

Recycle Guilt

Question: If I switched to using a canvas bag for grocery shopping, where would I put the cat shit?

See, my bathroom is way too small to put the cat litter box in, so it's a ways from the litter box to the toilet. Consequently, I scoop the litter box contents into a plastic bag and throw it in the trash. Easy, no mess, no smell.

I use paper bags for recycling the newspaper and other paper that I shred.

I suppose I can buy brown paper lunch bags for the litter; we'll see. Till then, I'm trying hard not to feel guilty every time I go to CVS.

Driveby

Here in my neighborhood, we have so little crime that people resort to sticking decals on their cars to make it look like they've been riddled with bullets. Ooh, that's so badass!

FedEx Fun

Do you know about the arrow in the FedEx logo? Look inbetween the orange E and the x.

Now find the teaspoon in the purple e.

Once you find them, you'll see them every time you see a FedEx truck. Have fun!

Fall-out

Forgive me, Readers. It has been 10 days since my last post. I will say 20 Hail Bloggers.

It will be fall in a few days.

Pom Pom Puppy

This is Gizmo. He was the cutest dog I saw today. I think he weighs 6 pounds, about half of what Shelby weighs. He's a Pomeranian puppy; he's losing his puppy fur, so he should be a lot fluffier in the coming months. I hope I run into him again.

Katydid!

Wow! My friend Kari commented that the creature I saw at the T station was a katydid. I Googled it, and sure enough, it was, thanks, Kari! That is beyond cool. Katydids are related to grasshoppers and crickets. Did you know that they change colors to adapt to their environments, and that there are pink ones?? Katydids are found in grassy areas. And T stations.

And I'm still glad it didn't fly in my hair.

Poser, Part Deux

If could do this pose, I would rule the world. Hmm...seems that I wrote that exact sentence in my Feb. 21st post, entitled, "Poser". But I tell you what, that's how I feel when I look at the Athleta and Title Nine catalogs. I see these strong and powerful women in these amazing poses, and I wish I could do them. Not that I'm going to yoga right now, but if I was... and I was 25 years old...MAN!

Sure, I could think of Dara Torres as my inspiration. She won Olympic medals at 41, soon after having a kid. If she can do it, I can do it! But my knee hurts sometimes. And I have two jobs, and a very needy cat. And I like to sleep, and I like cake. So for now, I'll look at those catalogs. And dream.

Flippa Flappa

I was just at the T station waiting for the train, and this...thing flew past me and landed on the opposite platform. It was a big thing; I didn't know if it was a bird, a bat, or a moth. It flew, it didn't hop. When it landed, I could see that it was green. Could it be a giant grasshopper?

I went over to see, and I'm still not sure what it was, but it was some sort of grasshopper imitating a leaf thing. It was really big, I'd say about 2 1/2 inches long. What the hell kind of wings and legs it had to enable it to fly is beyond me. It let me take pictures of it without flying into my face, thank god. The picture doesn't do it justice.

I'm sooo glad it didn't fly into my hair.

The Night Before

Micro: Puffy, this is wrong. I know it's wrong. But it feels so...right.

Chair: Shhh. Baby, ain't nothing wrong with love.

Micro: I know, but...but...I always thought I'd be with...I'm sorry. An...appliance. A hot plate, or a gas stove, hell, even a refrigerator! But I knew you and I had a connection, the day I moved in. Steve would always heat up dinner in me, and then go sit in you. It was like we were living our relationship vicariously through him...does that make sense?

Chair: I know exactly what you mean. I felt it too. How could I not? Whatever came out of you was so...hot. Damn! I'd hear those buttons...beep, beep, BEEEEP! and I knew you'd be close to me, soon as that door swung open. But it wasn't close enough. Until now.

Micro: (sigh) Yes. Now. It's hard to believe, isn't it? It feels so good to be in your arms. You're so soft. And puffy. And...and...(sniff) it's all going to come to an end tomorrow morning! That weaselly little desk lamp told me that a big truck was gonna come, and separate us, and...and...it's not true, is it? Say it's not true!

Chair: Aw, Baby, Lamp is just mad 'cause Couch told him he didn't have enough watts to light up her life. Don't listen to him.

Micro: Hold me.

Photo Project Incomplete

I have this photography project going; I've been doing it for many years. It's in my head. Here's the project:

There are some people in the world I could never get tired of looking at. I would like to photograph these people and make the photographs into a book, a big coffee table book. The thing is, I never actually take the photos because I don't know how to get the subjects.

I see people on the subway or just walking down the street who are, to me, very interesting to look at or just really really good looking. What can I do? Go up to them and say, "Excuse me, I'm doing a photo project of people I could never get tired of looking at. Could you come to my studio so I can take your picture?" They would think I was crazy! I don't know what to do, so I just do nothing. I've been doing this for about 10 years. I actually know some of the people I'd like to photograph, and I suppose I could approach them...I could say I'm doing a portrait book. That would be true, but not the whole truth. I'm still thinking about it.

I think the best looking man in the whole world is Johnny Depp. Just saw him in the movie Chocolat. I could look at him and look at him and never get tired. Could you?

They Are Everywhere

The other day I went in to school to meet a new family and show them around. There was no one else at school because we're still cleaning up and getting ready; school starts next week.

After they left, I was straightening up one of the cubbies. I was by the basement door, which was open. A guy who was in the basement whom I didn't know comes over to me and says, "You work with kids?" I said yes, because I was in the nursery school and thought he had heard me with a kid earlier.

He said, "Wanna see something? Come here!" and he goes into the labyrinth of the basement. My goodness, is it my lot in life to be introduced to serial killers, or what? Like I'm about to go down into a basement with a stranger, with no one else around. Yeah, right! "Wanna see something?" That has got to be the oldest line in the book for serial killers!

Once again, I had to think fast. I was just about to tell him that I was really busy, and back quickly up the stairs, but then he said that he was part of the Boston Camera Club and he had a huge roll of paper he'd like to donate to us. I saw it. I saw all the camera equipment. We introduced ourselves. We talked for a few minutes.

Did I feel like a jerk for suspecting a fellow photographer of murderous intent? NO! I'm sure he still was a killer--a killer with a hobby, trying to lure me with paper for the children. Well, I'll take the paper, all right, it'll be good for our painting easel. And maybe write Jim a nice thank you note. It was a nice gesture.

Scenes From Around Town

I came upon the following scenes while walking around during the past two weeks. At the top, we see a still life nature scene on a bench. I call it, "Still Life with Sticks and Beverage Containers."

In the middle photo we can witness the generosity of people in my town. Where else can you find free hair color and ironing starch at the T station?

Lastly, someone was protecting their giant dead sunflower. We are kind in this town. "Please Do Not Take. Thanks!"

Take a walk today and look around you. See anything out of the ordinary?

Breakfast Blues

Last night I used up the last of my milk, so I was planning to go to Starbucks for breakfast this morning. I mean, with no milk in the house, I couldn't drink my tea, and what else could I drink? Water? I don't think so. Besides, there was nothing to eat. No more cereal, which I couldn't drink anyway, with no milk.

I decided to eat some yogurt so that I would at least have some protein before I ate a 400 calorie muffin. Lo and behold, I found the leftover Yoo Hoo from last night's dinner at the new Tex Mex place up the block. I also remembered that I had English muffins. And a banana. So I guess I'm all set for breakfast.

Starbucks will have to be a mid-morning snack.

apple? or Apple?

I'm at my computer, and I just heard on the TV, without looking at it, "Next: some news that apple lovers can sink their teeth into!" My very first thought was that Apple was coming out with some new feature on the iPhone.

I turned to look at the TV and saw apple trees. Oh my god, they were talking about real apples, and I was thinking about a product. I am under the spell of advertising moguls. Lord help me.

The New England Aquarium--It's a Whole Other World

Notes from Observations at Starbucks

8/20/08

I should have been an anthropologist, I like observing people so much. I wish I knew as a child there were so many things you could be. Is it too late for me to be an anthropologist?

I begin my study at the local Starbucks, one that is not on the list of 600 that is slated to close. There's an old man in the corner, trying to read his newspaper in peace. He can't seem to relax. A boy at the table next to his rocks in his chair. The man admonishes him, "Stop doing that!" the boy's grandmother says, "Listen to the gentleman."

Across the room, a Starbucks employee is training a newbie. The trainer has such an annoying voice, it's almost as if she's a caricature come to life. That cannot be her real voice. Her inflection is loud and so nasal it's like she's speaking through the space between her eyes. If I had to work with that voice, I'd apply for a job at Dunkin' Donuts.

A man comes in and talks to an employee at the employee entrance, the side of the counter. The old man looks up at them in annoyance. They are disturbing his newspaper reading.

A young man gets settled with a bottle of water and a newspaper. A beautiful young woman comes in, and the guy says to her, "Would you stop following me?" He's joking; they clearly know each other. He stands up, and they chat. She shows him the book she just got. He stands close to her and looks her in the eyes. He says positive things about her book. He is interested in her. She moves on, and playfully taps him with the book. She is not interested in him. "Stalk you later!" she says, walking away. She has made his day. And all these observations have made my day. Until next time...tall iced hazelnut latte!

Strike a Pose

It's happened again. I found Shelby in a position so cute I almost couldn't breathe. Here she is, having fallen asleep gently holding her feather toy. You can't make this stuff up. I need to go lie down; I'm feeling lightheaded.

New York in a Day

Last Friday I went to New York City for two hours; I had some business to attend to. I got on the train at 9:15 and arrived in NYC at 12:45. Took the subway to the bank and completed my transaction in approximately four minutes. I ate lunch at the kind of coffee shop you can only find in New York, and got back on the train an hour and a half later to be home by 6:30. While on the train I pretended I was a businesswoman. Here's what I wrote while eating lunch:

I'm eating a cheeseburger, well done, with a side of cole slaw and a pickle. And to drink? A chocolate milkshake. Not a frappe, a milkshake. This coffee shop is aptly named. It's called Utopia. This cheeseburger is the best I've tasted in years. So good, in fact, I was moved to write the preceding sentence on a piece of paper nad requested to have it delivered to the cook.

The waiter read the note and said to me, "What about the serivce?" I told him it was great, but I came here for the taste, not the service. He laughed and shouted to the cook in accented English, "This is forrr youuuu, the lady with the cheeseburger give it to youuuu!" Lord knows how many calories are in this meal, but right at this moment, I don't care. It is pure bliss in the form of a beef patty and chocolate.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

I haven't even posted anything about Snow. Not the white stuff that comes out of the sky, but a kid. In our preschool's summer program, we had a girl named Snow. Her mother is a meteorologist, I'm not kidding. Snow was one of the cutest kids, and she said funny things.

One time a few of us were all at the art table, and I was talking about George Michael. One kid asked, "Who's George Michael?" and my very good friend and mom at the Co-op said, "Oh, he's a washed-up singer." A few beats went by, and then Snow said, "He is not washed up. He's dirty."

On a different day, another child, Erik, was talking about Snow. He said, "They should have named her tornado, then we could all go down in the basement!"

I will never get tired of my job. I'm looking forward to the beginning of school.

What TVs do Before They're Picked Up on Trash Day

So much to say, so little time. Thought I'd fill in the space by posting a pic of a scene I came across one day: the rarely seen TV playing hide and seek. As I was passing by, I could hear it:

"8, 9, 10! Ready or not, here I come!"

The coffee cup and the shovel tried to hide in trees, but they were soon found. Can't hide from a Sony, yo.

English is Stupid, Part 68

I teach English. Sometimes it's hard. I don't know much about the rules or origins.

I was looking at a sign the other day. It the word TOMB on it. It made me think.

Why do we say TOMB as TOOM, and BOMB as BOM?

Seems to me we should say TOMB as TOM, and BOMB as BOOM.

Thank You Ma'am, for the Mammogram

I turned 40 this year. You know what that means, ladies. Time for your first mammogram! Just went and got mine done. Fascinating. The best part was in the waiting room. In the first waiting room, they called two of us up at the same time. I said, "Is this a two for one special?" Ha ha.

We changed into robes and went to sit in a different waiting room. It was like a private woman's club because we were all wearing the same thing. I started talking to two older women. The one across from me made a positive comment about my tattoos, and the one next to me snorted in disgust. "Agh!" She said. I said, "You don't like them." "Agh!" she snorted again, "Not at all! My granddaughter, she has a...thing in her nose, I don't like these things at all!" She had a Russian accent. She said she came from Russia.

The older woman across from us said that she liked them, they were colorful. She and I kept talking. We talked about tattoos, how it was in the old days when you couldn't even afford to go to the doctor, vaccines (she asked me, "Do they give vaccines anymore?"), and TV. I learned she was 87 years old. I said, "87! God love ya!" She laughed and said she was starting to lose it a little, though, in the past six months. She couldn't remember the name of the guy who had won American Idol. She thinks that's losing it. Wow. She has her own room in her daughter's house. On the 3rd floor. She walks up all the stairs, no problem.

This woman was amazing. I wanted to have tea with her. She said she likes talking to people, she talks to everyone. I wished we could have talked longer. Eventually she left, and I watched Family Feud with the next woman who came in. The waiting room was a party and a half!

I got called in and had my boobs manipulated by a woman's hands and a machine. When was the last time I had this much action? And why don't women talk about this machine? It was the strangest procedure I have ever had, bypassing the time a nose camera went up my nostril.

Women close to 40, pay attention. You stand real close to the machine so the parts are in your face, and the technician puts your bare breast on a shelf, like it's not attached to you. You tilt your head to the side, and another plastic shelf squeezes your breast flat like a pancake. You stand in a very unnatural and uncomfortable position for a few seconds, and then she does the other breast. Four poses in all, unless she gets a fold, and then you have to have more done.

As the technician was adjusting my breast, I said to her, "I would love to see what kind of training class you had to take to learn this." She told me it was mostly on the job training. I asked her if she liked her job, and she said, "It's a job. Somebody has to do it!" and I told her I was glad it was her. She was nice. I was told I would get a letter in the mail and she'd see me next year. Hopefully the whole gang will be back.

Sometimes I Feel Like This

I just learned how to scan photos. I experimented with a drawing one of my kids did a few years ago. You can scan drawings, too! Somehow I feel like I must be at least 10 years behind (how long have people been scanning?), but I don't care. I can do it now. I'm going to pick my best photos to scan from all my old photo albums, yee heeeee!

Canon Rebel XSi

I got a new camera. Here's one of my fave new shots.

Olympiwo-man

So I'm still watching the Olympics, despite the fact that my boyfriend Michael Phelps isn't on TV anymore. As I told a friend, hurdles, schmurdles. I still watch, though, because gymnastics are still on, and diving is cool, and I even caught some trampoline the other night.

The other night in gymnastics I saw a woman who literally looked like someone had screwed a man's head onto her body. She was on the German team, I think, but she wasn't German. I think her name was Oksana. Anyway, the other thing about her was that she was like a grandma in terms of age of gymnasts; she was 33 or something. I found her just fascinating (see pic).

And just now, there was a male gymnast who looked like a younger Michael J. Fox. I love the people watching on TV.

TP Trouble

I was going crazy. I got one of those defective rolls of toilet paper where the two plys don't line up, and therefore there's not a clean rip when you tear a piece off. I HATE that. One ply comes off, the other one stays, you have to rip them separately...I tried to find an even place and ended up making a huge pile, still no even place (don't worry, I saved the pile and used it up, I'm not that wasteful).

I considered throwing away the whole roll, this phenomenon bugs me so much. Alas, this morning, guess what? The plys lined up! My bathroom is a peaceful place once more.

Tan is NOT the New Black

I stayed in Vermont with a former Co-op family; Peg, Paul, Emma, and Theo. Tons o' fun. We saw a lot of nature, which leads to dirty feet. One day, mom Peg suggested to daughter Emma, age almost eight, that she should wash her feet.

The next day, Emma and I had the following conversation:

Me: Hey Emma, did you ever wash your feet?

Emma: mmm, no.

Me: Don't you think you should?

Emma: They're not that dirty.

I look at her feet. Me: Hmm...

Emma, in all earnestness: They can get black.

I look at her.

Emma: These are rather tan.

Get Gold or Go Home

I think the Olympics should award the Gold medal or nothing, because that's all they focus on anyway. I thought this two years ago at the winter Olympics. I can't stand the way the commentators remark on the medals:

AND THE UNITED STATES IS IN THE LEAD, THEY WILL GET THE GOLD, YES, YES, YES!!!
And Germany Gets the Silver!


and china gets the bronze.

And then they go up to the exhausted Gold medal winners and say, "How do you feel?? How did you do that??" Leave them alone, already!

And then they go up to the Silver medalist and say, "You didn't get the Gold. What happened?"

If it were me, I'd go up to all of them and say, "Great job! You're in the Olympics!" Then again, I am a preschool teacher. Everyone is special in their own way.

Vermont-A Trip and a Half

This is Stella. She is a Vermont girl. She picks her own carrots. She can ride her bike, not only with no training wheels, but standing up. I saw it. She is three years old.

Being in Vermont for me was like being on another planet. Sure, I've been around frogs and flowers before, and I know what grass feels like. But I have never picked a carrot out of the ground before. I knew they grew in the ground, and I've seen the pretty ones they have at Whole Foods, with the green part at the end, but I have never seen the process up close. Listen, as I've said before, you can take the girl out of New York, but...

To me, long carrots come in a bag with no green part and a over-feminized rabbit on the bag that says, "Bunny Luv". As we were picking carrots and tomatoes and lettuce (what what what???) from the garden, Oscar, a boy with a shaved head, was catching a frog. I'm not kidding. It was as if a Norman Rockwell painting came to life in front of my eyes. I rubbed them. Was I in 1950? Or 2008? I looked at Oscar. 1950. I looked at Stella. 1975.
It was groovy and swell at the same time.

Wingspan

Michael Phelps just made history. I'd cry if I let myself. I have a lump in my throat.

Dara Torres won silver. She's so old, it's fantastic.

That's all I know about the Olympics right now, because that's all they cover on my TV.

I am very, very happy for Michael Phelps. Perhaps he'll be in my dreams tonight; wrap that wingspan 'round me, baby. I don't care if you have flipper feet.

(by the way, you've heard by now how the number 8 is a lucky number in China? That's why the opening ceremonies were on 8/8/08? Well, this picture of Michael Phelps on my computer was number 8888, I am not kidding. We were...uh, it was meant to be).

Vermont Graffiti

On the Road Again

I wrote the following while on the bus to my second vacation in Vermont this summer. Different family, different location. Same bus stop.

On the bus from Boston to Vermont. Takes as long as it does to get to NYC. We left at 8 am, due to arrive at 12:15. I'm meeting my friends for lunch.

I ate breakfast around 6:30, so I knew that six hours would be a long time to wait to eat again. I was so good. I packed a container of almonds and dried cranberries, planning to eat them at 10:00. Which I did. And drank water from my water bottle, such a health-conscious girl am I.

Around 10:45, the bus driver announced that we'd be taking a 15 minutes break. There was a McDonald's, a Subway sandwich shop, and a Chinese restaurant. I was so good. I decided I'd go to Subway and get a nice little container of yogurt for 99 cents. I like the yogurt at Subway, because it's not sweetened with that disgusting artificial sweetener crap.

I walked in the door and was greeted by a display of every Hostess and Little Debbie snack cake you could imagine. Turns out it was a convenience store. Tucked away in the corner was the Subway. I went to the bathroom, and when I came out, somehow yogurt was the furthest thing from my mind.

I looked left and right, and circled the snack cake display two times. God was testing me. What did I want? A donut? A pack of donuts? A Ho Ho? I saw my favorite dessert from another life, a Little Debbie oatmeal creme snack cake. It had gone up in price from 25 cents to 35 cents. I touched the package. I held it. I read the calorie amount. 330. NO ! I would not give the devil my soul. I would not give in. I moved away as if I had been burned by Little Debbie's evil smile.
My mind went blank. I had forgotten what I had gone in there for. Somehow I found myself in front of the coffee urns.

I don't drink coffee; I'm a tea aficionado. I'll drink coffee about once a year, if I'm at a conference or on a road trip. When I make coffee, it's like a dessert. Satan was not going to let me go easily. Almost as if I was having an out of body experience, I took a cup and filled it halfway with coffee. I like those little flavored creamers they have, so I put 2 hazelnut containers in. Then I saw they had hazelnut flavored coffee, so I put some of that in. Next, 2 sugar packets. And 2 more creamers. And 2 more sugar packets, because I remembered that coffee always tastes a little bitter to me so I like a lot of sugar. I mixed the delicious smelling concoction and paid for it.

When I got back on the bus there was still time before we had to leave. I drank my coffee and ate my remaining almonds. When I had drunk about half of the coffee, I started to feel sick. The coffee was so sweet, it was gross. And it did not go with almonds. Ick. I gathered up my strength, got off the bus, and threw that coffee away. HA HA, I won! I did not give in all the way, just part way, but in the end I came out ON TOP, yes I did!!! It took about an hour for my stomach to feel normal again. Just in time for my cheeseburger and fries lunch.

Back in New York...

I have so much to post, I can barely keep up. I'm going to try this weekend. As such, here's another vignette about New Yorkers that I wrote while sitting on the step of my brother's apartment building.

There's a woman, very well dressed, getting into her silver Acura. She has on a crisp white blouse and black cropped pants. She's an older woman, and has on a lot of makeup. She looks like Cruella de Ville of Disney's 101 Dalmations. She has a stern look on her face.

She has two bags from Zabar's, the famous Upper West Side gourmet food shop. Before she gets to put the bags in the car, a dog stops by and sniffs them. I silently warn the dog not to sniff the bags of Cruella de Ville; it's a trap!

Suddenly, the woman turns around and offers me a black and white cookie. "Want one?" Did she think I was homeless, sitting on top of my bag, at the door of the apartment building? See, that's the thing about NYC. A nice older rich woman will offer food to a homeless tattooed woman like myself. Or maybe she offers cookies to everyone. I politely decline, in case she had laced it with cyanide while crossing the street. New Yorkers are friendly, but you can never be too sure.

For that Toothy Smile!

Toothpaste has changed so much since when I was a kid. It's changed even in the past five years. Recently I went to the store to get some new toothpaste, and I saw this kind that had glitter in it, so help me god!

Well, Colgate didn't call it glitter. It said, "Max Fresh with Mini Breath Strips!" Breath strips, glitter, it just looked like New Year's Eve for your mouth. I quickly put it in my basket and waited for the party to begin.

Unfortunately, it took awhile for a breath strip to actually make it to my toothbrush. The first few times, all I got was blue gel. I thought maybe it was all a farce, but one day, I got a speck of glitter on my brush, and it's been a sensational soiree ever since.

Does it make my breath fresher? I dunno, but sparkly trumps fresh, in my book.

Olympiman

I love watching the Olympics. Maybe too much. Last night Michael Phelps, Olympic swimmer/hot boy/man, was in my dream. We were in a high school classroom, sitting next to each other in those awkward chairs with the desk attached to the arm. He held me. We weren't in high school, though. I was, and am, 40. He was , and is, 23.

I am fascinated by his extra long torso. So sue me.

NY, NY, cont.

I walked up Columbus Ave., looking at all the fancy storefronts. A guy passing by was staring at my arm so hard he actually turned around to keep looking at it. Just when I was about to tell him to take a picture ('cause I'm a New Yorker too, and I speak my mind), he said, "Nice! That's very nice!" We stopped, and he came over to get a closer look. He studied my arm, and was bold enough to lift up my sleeve to see the continuation of my tat, and you know what? I let him, because I could tell he appreciated the artwork. We told each other to take care, and went our separate ways.

Later, at the Duane Reade drugstore, the line was really long. I was third in line--it wound down the aisle so you couldn't see how long it was when you first came in. I got the brunt of the reactions to the line, being at the front of the aisle. People would come in, look past me, and say, "Oh, god!" One older white balding guy said, "Fuck it!" and put his stuff back. You don't hear that in Boston. It was refreshing. I said something about the length of the line to the woman behind me, and she replied, "I know. This place sucks."

There was a Jamaican woman in front of me who shouted out, "You want me to call for backup? We need backup at the register!" Her accent was so thick you could barely understand what she was saying. I, however, could understand her, being an expert in accented English deciphering. She turned around to me, and we laughed. She asked her friend what she thought about the little girl who was missing.

The friend didn't know the news story. She said, "Woman, don't you watch no news?!" She laughed again and turned around, and I told her that I knew the story she was talking about. We traded thoughts on it, and then it was her turn. She was waited on by a black woman with an Australian accent. I love New York.

New York, New York, it's a Helluva Town

It was a beautiful day. No thunderstorms, as had been predicted. I began the pleasant walk from 56th to 80th, knowing that I would soon find a Starbucks where I could use the restroom. It only took about two blocks.

New Yorkers talk to each other. There was a guy in front of me in the restroom line who looked like he was one sandwich short of a picnic, if you know what I mean. He looked at the stars tattooed on my arm. He said, "Do you have any stars of David?" I said no, just regular stars. He asked if I had any yellow stars. No.

He started mumbling different phrases with the word "star" in them. "Shooting star. Everybody wants to be a star..." Thankfully, it was his turn. When he came out, his parting words were, "When you wish upon a star..." He may have been a little eccentric, but at least he made standing in line more interesting.

The Bus Stopped Here

Yesterday I was on the Greyhound bus going from Boston to NYC. I was thinking about how I had forgotten my Metro card and how I'd have to get a new one at the subway station, then go through that long-ass tunnel to get on the subway, and how much I don't like that leg of the trip, but it's unavoidable. It sucks, because I have to go to 80th and Broadway, and the bus always goes right past my block, like it's teasing me. The bus terminal, Port Authority, is at 42nd and 9th.

Suddenly, at 56th and 9th, the bus stopped and the driver said, "For the woman who had to get to the hospital before visiting hours were over." A woman with crutches hobbled off. I yelled, "Can anyone get off?" He didn't stop me, so I grabbed my bags and jumped off. This never happens; they're not allowed to stop just anywhere.

I felt like I had won the lottery. I took it as a sign that this was going to be a good trip.

Holey Crap!

These are my favorite pants. I got them at J.Jill in 2000. I remember when I got them, because that was the year I went to Japan for the first time. They're cute. They're comfortable. They're linen. I've been wearing them for eight years. I like them so much I got another pair of them in black. They're sort of like my trademark in the summer.

Just this year I decided to demote them to working at preschool pants, because, let's face it, they're old and worn out. I recently discovered exactly how worn out they were. How can I put this delicately? I can't. My pants were pulled down in the ladies room, and this is what I saw:



Yes, I've been walking around with holes in my pants for who knows how long. I checked my black pair, and...yep, the black pants have 'em too. I guess the moral of the story is this: always check your pants when they're down. Or you might have a (w)hole different story to tell.

Wham! It's George Michael! Part 3

I forgot to tell you what GM was wearing. He wore a black suit with a black V-neck tee shirt underneath. I kept waiting for him to change into jeans, cowboy boots, and a white tee shirt, for his big "Faith" number, but he didn't, which was really disappointing. He only changed outfits once, and for one song. He came out wearing a state trooper outfit, and I couldn't really understand, but later I did some research. He did a song where he makes fun of the incident where he was busted in a public restroom by an undercover cop. I think that was why he did the whole cop getup, for that song. He looked hot. If I were a gay man, I'd be all over him like white on rice!

I'm telling everyone I know: take 3 minutes and 99 cents, and go to iTunes and download "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" by George Michael. Oh, and have a box of tissues handy. Oh my god, if I was the person he was singing that song to, I think I'd just melt into the floor. When they say on American Idol you have to "feel the song", this is what they are talking about. This man has the most beautiful tone to his voice.

I am obsessed with George Michael. Prince, there's room in my heart for many hot singer/songwriters, calm down.

Wham! It's George Michael! Part 2

The set of the GM concert was pretty simple. There was a screen going from the way top all the way down, all across the stage floor, and it curved down over the stage. There were huge rectangular screens on either side of the stage. The band was way in the back, on two levels. George (we call him by his first name, like we're pals, apparently) had three or four backup singers, but mostly it was just him doin' his thang onstage.

The screens lit up like a screensaver on a computer, with this cool graphic red line pulsating to the beat. When he came out, of course we all went crazy. I can't even remember what the first song was, but suddenly he busted out "Hard Day" from his Faith album. Oh my god, I had totally forgotten about that song, and it was one I love. I went crazy! "Bang, bang, you're dead, could we just make love instead...say yes, 'cause it's what we do best, and I've had such a hard day..." Oh man, it was great. The videos were so cool, all over the floor and up the back wall.

After a couple of songs, he said hello to Boston, and he apologized for being late. The screen showed him up close, and I noticed that George looked a little...thicker than he had in the past. Not fat, really, but I noticed his neck, in particular. He looked like a football player. Liz remarked, "Like Alec Baldwin." Exactly! He's older (though only 45), and methinks the cannabis problem he deals with has not been good to his physique. However...

He can shake that booty, and lordy, did he look good doing that! He gave us quite a show at various times. He's also comfortable with his sexuality, which was nice to see. He made a few references to being gay, including when he was singing "Everything She Wants". He sang, "Because I said you were the perfect girl for me..." and then he said, under his breath, "Yeah, right!" It was pretty funny.

He sang some songs I wasn't familiar with, but most of them I knew. He went all the way back from "Careless Whisper" and "Faith" to "Father Figure", to" Amazing" and "Flawless". He also did some covers that were surprising, but I guess were on one of his albums. He did slowed down versions of "Roxanne" and "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face."

Although he started an hour late, he stayed for over two hours, and finished up by having us all sing "Happy Birthday" to his drummer, whose birthday had been forgotten the day before. His final song was "Freedom 90".

What a show, what a night! I am now completely obsessed with George Michael. Buy his new CD, Twentyfive. You will not be disappointed.

My New Favorite Response to my Hair

My friend Paul: You got a haircut!

Me: Yep.

Paul: What's up with that?