Friday, November 09, 2007
Sunday, October 28, 2007
The Future of American Education
I don't feel like writing about my personal life.
Ok, well, here:
Satisfaction with work: Dwindling
Relationship with police sargeant: Over
Dieting: Unsuccessful
Last book read: Peyton Place
For filler and / or possible interest, here is my response to a discussion question on future trends in education for my 'Standards in Education' Class:
The future of standards-based curriculum and instruction will be partially determined by future trends and events in our society. If our schools grow more violent, an increasing number of parents may choose to home school their children, and / or have them attend school online. More students may start attending private schools. With shifting dynamics like this in place, it will be difficult to enforce standards.
Within public schools, standards will continue to adhere to what the market will bear, so to speak. College-bound students will likely invest extra time in supplemental education and or preparation classes in order to pass graduation exams. Ambitious students have always done this to pass college entrance exams like the SAT. Having to pass graduation exams will put extra pressue on them.
It is not likely that standardized testing will go away. It may become more culturally sensitive since it is under fire for not being so. I suspect that more schools will offer alternatives to passing scores on graduation exams. This may lead to the sort of stratification schools had before the 1960s or so, in which there was a distinction between students who were 'vocational' and students who were 'college prep'.
Hopefully schools across the country will focus on each others' best practices. It's not going to be easy to find the right balance between setting high expectations and making unrealistic demands.
Ok, well, here:
Satisfaction with work: Dwindling
Relationship with police sargeant: Over
Dieting: Unsuccessful
Last book read: Peyton Place
For filler and / or possible interest, here is my response to a discussion question on future trends in education for my 'Standards in Education' Class:
The future of standards-based curriculum and instruction will be partially determined by future trends and events in our society. If our schools grow more violent, an increasing number of parents may choose to home school their children, and / or have them attend school online. More students may start attending private schools. With shifting dynamics like this in place, it will be difficult to enforce standards.
Within public schools, standards will continue to adhere to what the market will bear, so to speak. College-bound students will likely invest extra time in supplemental education and or preparation classes in order to pass graduation exams. Ambitious students have always done this to pass college entrance exams like the SAT. Having to pass graduation exams will put extra pressue on them.
It is not likely that standardized testing will go away. It may become more culturally sensitive since it is under fire for not being so. I suspect that more schools will offer alternatives to passing scores on graduation exams. This may lead to the sort of stratification schools had before the 1960s or so, in which there was a distinction between students who were 'vocational' and students who were 'college prep'.
Hopefully schools across the country will focus on each others' best practices. It's not going to be easy to find the right balance between setting high expectations and making unrealistic demands.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
*&#%!
I received word today that one of my students died. He was a new student and hadn't posted into his online classes in over a week. I'd left him several messages and knew something was wrong when he didn't return them; he and I'd had a great rapport when he came in for his initial appointment.
His father called the main number today and it was reported to me that Scott had died. I don't remember exactly how old he was, but he was under 30. He had some physical deformities and had told me of kidney problems but I figured he'd still get to live out his life. He was a positive person, with a lot of goals for himself. He had a great sense of humor and was one of those people who I'm sure was liked by everyone who knew him. I'm sorry if it seems morbid to be writing about this, but he was a neat guy and I just want to pay him tribute.
In more upbeat news, I am deciding on a Halloween costume. What I really want to be is an angel. Yes, that's right. Don't laugh. However, I just started dating a police sargeant, so I had the idea of going as one of the women you see on the TV show 'Cops' (if you happen to watch it. I watch it about as often as I thumb through the National Enquirer in the grocery store line, which is to say every now and then if I am really bored). I'd wear a stained tank top with a thick white bra strap hanging out. I'd get a fake tattoo on my upper arm and mess my hair up. I'd complete the look with sweat pants from WalMart and a touch of garish makeup.
But no, I'd rather be an angel. So an angel I shall be. That is if the Halloween Superstore isn't sold out of angel costumes by the time I finally manage to get down there.
His father called the main number today and it was reported to me that Scott had died. I don't remember exactly how old he was, but he was under 30. He had some physical deformities and had told me of kidney problems but I figured he'd still get to live out his life. He was a positive person, with a lot of goals for himself. He had a great sense of humor and was one of those people who I'm sure was liked by everyone who knew him. I'm sorry if it seems morbid to be writing about this, but he was a neat guy and I just want to pay him tribute.
In more upbeat news, I am deciding on a Halloween costume. What I really want to be is an angel. Yes, that's right. Don't laugh. However, I just started dating a police sargeant, so I had the idea of going as one of the women you see on the TV show 'Cops' (if you happen to watch it. I watch it about as often as I thumb through the National Enquirer in the grocery store line, which is to say every now and then if I am really bored). I'd wear a stained tank top with a thick white bra strap hanging out. I'd get a fake tattoo on my upper arm and mess my hair up. I'd complete the look with sweat pants from WalMart and a touch of garish makeup.
But no, I'd rather be an angel. So an angel I shall be. That is if the Halloween Superstore isn't sold out of angel costumes by the time I finally manage to get down there.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Platinum Blonde
Two days before my 40th birthday I dyed my hair bright red. I lived in Portland at the time, and flew to Denver for a lovely party my friend Martha was hosting for me. I hadn't seen my Denver friends for almost a year. You know how when you make a major change in your appearance, it's the first thing people comment on when they see you? You know how they ooh and aah and fuss over you? That's only if it looks good. No one said anything. Not a word. Finally, I turned to one of my friends and graciously implored "Would you please say something about my *ucking hair??!" The best she could manage was "Oh...well, I guess I just need to get used to it."
Ok then, no more bright red.
Let's try copper. Let's try copper and wear a mauve twin set while on major network TV (a Portland station was running a feature story on the singles group I'd started). Copper and mauve. Very, very bad idea. Even without the mauve.
Next.
Ok, maybe something a little closer to home is the key. Blonde. But golden
blonde. And new makeup to go with it! I don't fully trust the Clinque salesgirl's choice of bright coral, but hey! I'm sure it looks better than I think! I just have to get used to it! That night I was cohosting an event with little southern belle Patsy (see the Ted Nugent Style of Home Decorating post). She took one look at me and a look of great distress came over her face. The kind of great distress expression most people reserve for seeing someone who's just been shot. "Windy" she hissed "That is the wrong shade of lipstick on yew. Yew go take that off raht now."
Do you think I said "Thank you very much for the excellent suggestion Patsy. I'll go do that right away." If you guessed 'Yes' you don't know me very well. After a few choice words the orangey smear on my lips stayed on. It was, however, never reapplied.
Actually with a few adjustments the golden blonde wasn't that bad. Light brown was pretty nice too. Dark brown? Won't be going back to that anytime soon.
For the past few years I've stuck with the tried and true- highlights. In Sweden I decided my hair needed some perking up, so I bought a highlighting kit. Thankfully the directions were not just in Swedish. They were also in German. Oh well, I've done my own highlights before, no problem. And yes, they came out well. A lighter blonde than I'd ever had but it looked good. Did Peter notice? No. Did he notice my zig-zag bangs the time I'd trimmed them with toenail clippers? (I was stuck in a minimally stocked cabin in Ugglarp, Sweden. What else was I supposed to use? A knife?) Yes.
My point of this whole bimbo-esque post? At 1:30 this afternoon I announced to my mananger that I was taking two hours off to have my hair done. "Investing in my professional image" I supplied. I went to the salon across the street and told the stylist I wanted cool blonde highlights. Really light. Platinum. And that's what I got.
When I got back to work, my whole team was in a meeting in the room next door. I walked in, planning to scurry to the nearest available seat when a very loud collective "Whooooo!" of admiration went up from the group, followed by an equally loud round of applause and lots of "Wow, it looks great!" type compliments. Never one to accept a compliment graciously I blurted out " I think I look like Edgar Winter!". Only about four people on my team are old enough to remember the albino leader of the Edgar Winter band, but never mind. When questioned why I didn't like it, I said I need to get used to it. I think I'm liking it though.
Within a few weeks I'll post a picture. I'm dieting. God help me.
Will this insipid post ever end?
Yes.
Ok then, no more bright red.
Let's try copper. Let's try copper and wear a mauve twin set while on major network TV (a Portland station was running a feature story on the singles group I'd started). Copper and mauve. Very, very bad idea. Even without the mauve.
Next.
Ok, maybe something a little closer to home is the key. Blonde. But golden
blonde. And new makeup to go with it! I don't fully trust the Clinque salesgirl's choice of bright coral, but hey! I'm sure it looks better than I think! I just have to get used to it! That night I was cohosting an event with little southern belle Patsy (see the Ted Nugent Style of Home Decorating post). She took one look at me and a look of great distress came over her face. The kind of great distress expression most people reserve for seeing someone who's just been shot. "Windy" she hissed "That is the wrong shade of lipstick on yew. Yew go take that off raht now."
Do you think I said "Thank you very much for the excellent suggestion Patsy. I'll go do that right away." If you guessed 'Yes' you don't know me very well. After a few choice words the orangey smear on my lips stayed on. It was, however, never reapplied.
Actually with a few adjustments the golden blonde wasn't that bad. Light brown was pretty nice too. Dark brown? Won't be going back to that anytime soon.
For the past few years I've stuck with the tried and true- highlights. In Sweden I decided my hair needed some perking up, so I bought a highlighting kit. Thankfully the directions were not just in Swedish. They were also in German. Oh well, I've done my own highlights before, no problem. And yes, they came out well. A lighter blonde than I'd ever had but it looked good. Did Peter notice? No. Did he notice my zig-zag bangs the time I'd trimmed them with toenail clippers? (I was stuck in a minimally stocked cabin in Ugglarp, Sweden. What else was I supposed to use? A knife?) Yes.
My point of this whole bimbo-esque post? At 1:30 this afternoon I announced to my mananger that I was taking two hours off to have my hair done. "Investing in my professional image" I supplied. I went to the salon across the street and told the stylist I wanted cool blonde highlights. Really light. Platinum. And that's what I got.
When I got back to work, my whole team was in a meeting in the room next door. I walked in, planning to scurry to the nearest available seat when a very loud collective "Whooooo!" of admiration went up from the group, followed by an equally loud round of applause and lots of "Wow, it looks great!" type compliments. Never one to accept a compliment graciously I blurted out " I think I look like Edgar Winter!". Only about four people on my team are old enough to remember the albino leader of the Edgar Winter band, but never mind. When questioned why I didn't like it, I said I need to get used to it. I think I'm liking it though.
Within a few weeks I'll post a picture. I'm dieting. God help me.
Will this insipid post ever end?
Yes.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Sweden
I left for Sweden on October 13th, 2005. I wonder if 20 years from now October 13th will still be a significant date for me. Logic would dictate that it shouldn't be, but I've never been particularly logical.
For whatever reasons my memories of Sweden are very deeply etched.
In a weak moment around mid September, I called Peter. He is finally divorced, but big deal. He is distant in more ways than one. Yes, he was friendly but...whatever. Except for that one weak moment I've moved on.
For whatever reasons my memories of Sweden are very deeply etched.
In a weak moment around mid September, I called Peter. He is finally divorced, but big deal. He is distant in more ways than one. Yes, he was friendly but...whatever. Except for that one weak moment I've moved on.
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Jacksonville, NC
As mentioned, my family gathered in Jacksonville, NC last weekend to see my nephew Jeff since he will be deploying soon for Iraq. We got to see Jeff and Taylor's house in Sneads Ferry, which is about half an hour from Camp Lejeune in Jacksonville. When I stopped to ask for directions to Peru road (pronouncing it like the country), I was told -in an 'you idiot' tone of voice - that it's PEE-roo road. Ok then. This is not to say that the area is redneck. It's actually much nicer than I thought. From what we saw of the base, it didn't look much different from an ordinary suburb. The foliage and beaches in the area are beautiful. The picture below is of Jeff. I won't go into the 'not only is he handsome, he's brilliant and has the kindest heart and is a wonderful person' thing again. Oops, I just did.
One of the highlights of the trip was getting to meet Jeff and Taylor's beloved dogs Brooklyn and Sierra. They are very bonded with the dogs, and the dogs are very bonded with each other. They like to walk together with both of their mouths on the same toy or frisbee. Sometimes they wrestle over toys like two wolf puppies.The picture below is of Sierra.
Here's Sierra doing what Jeff and Taylor call the bone parade. She picks a bone off the floor and walks across the back of the couch five or six times in a row. Then she walks across the laps of whoever happens to be on the couch, in this case Mom and Dad.
Doing the aforementioned sharing the toy thing.
Mom, Jeff, doggies, and my ridiculously skinny sister Jill at the beach.
Being used to Oregon coast beaches in recent years it was amazing to wade in bathtub-warm water.
We went to a wonderful restaurant on Saturday night with a great view of the beach. The reception for the wedding party below (totally unrelated to us) ended up being in an adjacent room.
One of the highlights of the trip was getting to meet Jeff and Taylor's beloved dogs Brooklyn and Sierra. They are very bonded with the dogs, and the dogs are very bonded with each other. They like to walk together with both of their mouths on the same toy or frisbee. Sometimes they wrestle over toys like two wolf puppies.The picture below is of Sierra.
Here's Sierra doing what Jeff and Taylor call the bone parade. She picks a bone off the floor and walks across the back of the couch five or six times in a row. Then she walks across the laps of whoever happens to be on the couch, in this case Mom and Dad.
Doing the aforementioned sharing the toy thing.
Mom, Jeff, doggies, and my ridiculously skinny sister Jill at the beach.
Being used to Oregon coast beaches in recent years it was amazing to wade in bathtub-warm water.
We went to a wonderful restaurant on Saturday night with a great view of the beach. The reception for the wedding party below (totally unrelated to us) ended up being in an adjacent room.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Performance Review
I had my first performance review today with my new manager. His assessment: "You're doing a fantastic job. I wish I could clone you ten times." Thanks. I like you too.
This is turning out to be a good job for me. I have a lot of fun with my coworkers and I enjoy working with students. I'm also surprised to find out how competitive I am. I'm expected to enroll four students a month. I already have seven for October.
Another comment from my manager was that everyone on my team admires me and looks at me as "the person who can get everything done."
In other news I am completely and utterly sick of school. With as hard as I'm working (I tend to work several hours of overtime a week) I just don't have the energy when I get home to do schoolwork. I'll muddle through these remaining three classes, but I'll be very happy when I'm done.
I spent this past weekend in Jacksonville, NC. My nephew is a 2nd lieutenant in the Marines and will be spending the next year in Iraq. In a short period of time he has become fluent in Arabic. He's amazinginly smart, and well, wonderful in every way. It was just about a perfect family gathering. I'll post pictures later this week.
This is turning out to be a good job for me. I have a lot of fun with my coworkers and I enjoy working with students. I'm also surprised to find out how competitive I am. I'm expected to enroll four students a month. I already have seven for October.
Another comment from my manager was that everyone on my team admires me and looks at me as "the person who can get everything done."
In other news I am completely and utterly sick of school. With as hard as I'm working (I tend to work several hours of overtime a week) I just don't have the energy when I get home to do schoolwork. I'll muddle through these remaining three classes, but I'll be very happy when I'm done.
I spent this past weekend in Jacksonville, NC. My nephew is a 2nd lieutenant in the Marines and will be spending the next year in Iraq. In a short period of time he has become fluent in Arabic. He's amazinginly smart, and well, wonderful in every way. It was just about a perfect family gathering. I'll post pictures later this week.
Friday, September 21, 2007
eHarm
eHarmony has a new feature that lets you see your matches without having to pay first. I am grateful for this since, ever the optimist, I considered renewing my membership after three months of perfectly ridiculous and inappropriate matches. After the latest batch they emailed to me- "Mike is a 5'6, 58 year old meatcutter from Horsefart, Idaho. He says the three most important things to him in life are his Christian faith, his seven children, and his collection of George Strait memorabilia" - I am going to look elsewhere.
Besides, any site endorsed by a bloated megalomaniac like Dr.Phil is bound to be frightning.
Besides, any site endorsed by a bloated megalomaniac like Dr.Phil is bound to be frightning.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Sunday, September 09, 2007
More Pictures From My Neighborhood
The back of my apartment building (I'm two floors from the top, 2nd window from the left)
Stadium High School. I think this may be one of the coolest-looking high schools in the country. The school is situated right at the point where Commencement Bay meets Puget Sound.
In random news...
Stadium High School. I think this may be one of the coolest-looking high schools in the country. The school is situated right at the point where Commencement Bay meets Puget Sound.
In random news...On Friday one of my student said "It's supposed to be beautiful next week" Being woefully out of sync with the rest of the world I pictured cool and cloudy. Turns out it's going to be in the 80s. Yuck. The only time I don't enjoy the mile walk to and from work is when its hot out. Rain doesn't phase me at all. I love walking in the rain. This baffles my coworkers who don't understand why I don't drive on rainy days. First of all I think it's absurd to drive when it's only a mile. Again, I'm out of sync with the average American who would probably drive to an office two blocks away. While I'm on my high horse, posturing not only as the queen of health and fitness but also as an environmentalist, please use half the recommended amount of laundry detergent. That's all you need- really.
I have a new manager at work. I was really sad to see my old one go since I really liked him. The new one is a Red Bull-guzzling Mormon (hello?? Actually I have to admit I think it's kind of cool that he's not bound by dogma) who offered to keep the office refrigerator stocked with said legal narcotic because he wants us to be "high energy all day, every day". He's an aggressive, corporate-climbing, former football player with a bone-pulverizing handshake. I'm working on liking him.
I'm going to Jacksonville, NC at the end of the month to visit my nephew who will be spending the next year in Iraq.
I want to make an overnight trip to the Oregon coast sometime in the next month or two. I can't think of any place I love more. Of all the places I've lived in or visited, the only one I don't miss is Denver. I hate Denver. There are only two things I miss about that area and that's Boulder and Red Rocks Ampitheater. Even though Boulder is only 35 miles from Denver it always felt like a different world to me. South Florida will always be part of my soul, but I can't really imagine living there now. And while I would never want to live in Phoenix again, I do have a few good memories of my time there. I may actually go back at some point to visit Dave. One place I really want to visit again is western North Carolina. My grandparents used to have a vacation home in Deep Gap, and I went to Camp Yonahlossee in Blowing Rock for several summers. I haven't been back since 1976. I especially want to visit Asheville which has morphed into the sort of weird, new-agey kind of town I love. I'd love to visit there in the Fall. The Blue Ridge mountains at that time of year are gorgeous.
I've worked for my current company for a year and a half as of September 6th. I haven't talked to Peter in five months.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Filler Post
Too busy to post past week or so. Finishing a class this week; will have more time after that (although I start a new one the very next day). Went to the Muckleshoot casino Saturday night with a couple of friends from work. I spent $20 on gambling and had a club soda with lime. Woo. I'm a party animal.
The casino was fun in that in had good live bands and a nice atmopshere in general, but I can't stand breathing air that's polluted with cigarette smoke. I'm starting to scare myself with what a militant anti-smoker I am becoming. It amazes me when I see young people smoking. Do they say to themselves "I want to spend a thousand dollars a year on a habit that will make me smell disgusting, render me repuslive to the opposite sex, and quite possibly kill me? Great idea, I think I'll start smoking!" Yes, I know. I was a smoker off and on in college. But that was when you could still smoke in restaurants and I think even on planes. There just seems to be an even clearer message now that smoking is so toxic and disgusting that if you must engage in your filthy habit please do so at least ten yards from any public building. I doubt that casinos will ever be completely smoke free- although though I do give Muckleshoot credit for having a smaller, completely non-smoking facility across the parking lot (but that's not where the band and all the fun stuff was).
The casino was fun in that in had good live bands and a nice atmopshere in general, but I can't stand breathing air that's polluted with cigarette smoke. I'm starting to scare myself with what a militant anti-smoker I am becoming. It amazes me when I see young people smoking. Do they say to themselves "I want to spend a thousand dollars a year on a habit that will make me smell disgusting, render me repuslive to the opposite sex, and quite possibly kill me? Great idea, I think I'll start smoking!" Yes, I know. I was a smoker off and on in college. But that was when you could still smoke in restaurants and I think even on planes. There just seems to be an even clearer message now that smoking is so toxic and disgusting that if you must engage in your filthy habit please do so at least ten yards from any public building. I doubt that casinos will ever be completely smoke free- although though I do give Muckleshoot credit for having a smaller, completely non-smoking facility across the parking lot (but that's not where the band and all the fun stuff was).
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Cube Culture
I'm moving up in the world. I now have a .....drumroll..... window cube. I feel a little bit less like I work in a dressing room. It's not a spectacular view, but it's a taller window than this picture shows, so I can see a lot of sky.
Some people deal in interesting ways with the lack of privacy in a cube farm. This coworker affords herself some privacy with this crepe paper 'door'.
I hate the 'Rah rah, let's gather in a circle and sing the Tupperware song' type of soy filler enthusiasm some corporate higher ups try to shove down your throat, but this is cute.
Some people deal in interesting ways with the lack of privacy in a cube farm. This coworker affords herself some privacy with this crepe paper 'door'.
I hate the 'Rah rah, let's gather in a circle and sing the Tupperware song' type of soy filler enthusiasm some corporate higher ups try to shove down your throat, but this is cute.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
This Weekend
I went to Semiahmoo for the weekend to visit my parents and my precious puppy. Brandy went to the groomer a few days ago and was especially beautiful and silky.
Last Thursday was my parents' 53rd anniversary. They are doing great. It is really inspiring to see a couple love each other so much after so many years. My dad is still a walking encyclopedia and my mom is still beautiful. Regarding the picture below, Brandy was not being very cooperative in my efforts to get a picture of my mom and Brandy together. This is the only one where Brandy isn't a blur from moving around.
Last Thursday was my parents' 53rd anniversary. They are doing great. It is really inspiring to see a couple love each other so much after so many years. My dad is still a walking encyclopedia and my mom is still beautiful. Regarding the picture below, Brandy was not being very cooperative in my efforts to get a picture of my mom and Brandy together. This is the only one where Brandy isn't a blur from moving around.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Peazza
Tonight there was a special thing at work where we all had to stay until 8 pm. My manager offered to order pizza for everyone and asked for requests. As is more typical than not, the men all wanted fatty meat toppings (pepperoni and sausage). My manager enthusiastically concurred. Another woman and I called out that we'd prefer veggie pizza. My manager's response: "Veggie pizza? What's that? Does it have peas and carrots and corn on it or something?"
I think he was kidding.
I think he was kidding.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Recommended Reading
The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls.
Every time I finish a book I love, I want there to be a movie of it. I got lucky in that regard with Jennifer Weiner's In Her Shoes. I saw it in Sweden where it was titled i Hennes Skor, and I loved it. The movie adaptation of Rebecca Well's Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood was decent, but seemed to be a patchwork of promienent scenes from the book hastily cobbled together to placate the rabid fans. I've waited ten years for the film version of Wally Lamb's She's Come Undone, but if it hasn't happened by now, I doubt it's forthcoming.
Harry Potter? Who's he?
For some reason, although I love a lot of classic science fiction, I have little to no interest in Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings. Yeah, I know. I can hear all of you: "OH MY GOD! Are you kidding?? You don't know what you're missing!!!" Maybe one day I'll make an attempt, but for now all I can say is I'm too busy reading a wide assortment of other genres.
I hear the "You don't know what you're missing" thing a lot about seafood, all of which I hate except for canned albacore tuna (with lots of mayo). All I can say is lobster and crab activate a deep sense of primal dread in me, and I think they taste like poison. I was once at an art museum opening, a lovely catered event, when a friend suggested I try one of the cheese puffs. Cheese puffs. Yum. Sign me up. I bit into it and a second later wondered how I was going to manage to politely chew and swallow it in a ladylike manner. I managed to do so but then asked, in deep, earnest chagrin how my friend could "Do that to me". He shrugged and said sorry, he didn't know it was crab. Ugh!.
In other not-related-to-this-post's-title news, a friend of mine from Portland was in Tacoma this weekend. He used to lead the monthly hikes I coordinated for my singles group. Brad's a cool guy, very intellectual and creative, always excited about something new that he's doing. Right now he's into TV and video production. We walked Tacoma's waterfront on Ruston Way this morning, talking a mile a minute. Ruston Way is a gorgeous walk. I only live a few miles from it and am hereby vowing to myself to get there more often.
Every time I finish a book I love, I want there to be a movie of it. I got lucky in that regard with Jennifer Weiner's In Her Shoes. I saw it in Sweden where it was titled i Hennes Skor, and I loved it. The movie adaptation of Rebecca Well's Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood was decent, but seemed to be a patchwork of promienent scenes from the book hastily cobbled together to placate the rabid fans. I've waited ten years for the film version of Wally Lamb's She's Come Undone, but if it hasn't happened by now, I doubt it's forthcoming.
Harry Potter? Who's he?
For some reason, although I love a lot of classic science fiction, I have little to no interest in Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings. Yeah, I know. I can hear all of you: "OH MY GOD! Are you kidding?? You don't know what you're missing!!!" Maybe one day I'll make an attempt, but for now all I can say is I'm too busy reading a wide assortment of other genres.
I hear the "You don't know what you're missing" thing a lot about seafood, all of which I hate except for canned albacore tuna (with lots of mayo). All I can say is lobster and crab activate a deep sense of primal dread in me, and I think they taste like poison. I was once at an art museum opening, a lovely catered event, when a friend suggested I try one of the cheese puffs. Cheese puffs. Yum. Sign me up. I bit into it and a second later wondered how I was going to manage to politely chew and swallow it in a ladylike manner. I managed to do so but then asked, in deep, earnest chagrin how my friend could "Do that to me". He shrugged and said sorry, he didn't know it was crab. Ugh!
In other not-related-to-this-post's-title news, a friend of mine from Portland was in Tacoma this weekend. He used to lead the monthly hikes I coordinated for my singles group. Brad's a cool guy, very intellectual and creative, always excited about something new that he's doing. Right now he's into TV and video production. We walked Tacoma's waterfront on Ruston Way this morning, talking a mile a minute. Ruston Way is a gorgeous walk. I only live a few miles from it and am hereby vowing to myself to get there more often.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
An Accidental Sort of Bio
In 1983, when photography was my primary passion, I had a lapse in judgement and showed my latest series of photos (which had earned high acclaim from my photography instructor) to a family member whose name starts with, um, Jill.
1983 was my first living-in-Phoenix experience. At the time there was an outdoor trampoline center called 'Jump'. I was new in town, and taking photography classes at ASU with the intention of entering the MFA program. For those keeping score, I ended up going home to Miami the next year instead, and working in a photography studio. Anyway, I was driving down Scottsdale Road when suddenly I saw flying humans. Suspended in the air, then gone. I knew I had found a place of great visual opportunity.
I spent a lot of time at Jump. I emerged a few weeks later with a unique portfolio of photos. Some of the photos captured the pure lines of the human form. Others captured graceful dance-like movements. Some were downright silly, in an unabashed, giddy way. My favorites though were the ones that represented a metaphor for spiritual levity. In one such photo, the one on which my sister commented, the subject is a young girl, about 11 years old. She has escaped earth's bounds and is blissfully ascending, arms akimbo, her innocent face enraptured and angelic. Behind her is only the cobalt blue of the desert sky. My sister studied the photo for two seconds, maybe three. Her comment, delivered in an impatient tone: "Ok, who's she?"
The purpose of this post is not to make fun of my sister or to hurt her feelings. I seriously doubt she reads my blog anyway. My point is that that experience, and a few others, taught me that not everyone will always 'get' what you are trying to express. People are wired differently. Some people would rather see exactingly-executed photographs of churches, and that's fine. It's really cool though when people do 'get' you. I have a friend with whom I share my stories (I write stories. I'm pretty serious about them). He is brilliant, a Berkeley-educated lawyer, and a great writer. I sent him my first story with trepidation. Long story short -no pun intended - his unbridled enthusiasm has given me a glimmer of hope that I possess some talent.
I had no idea this post was going to take this direction. I meant to write just one paragraph as a sort of disclaimer against the weirdness of the photos I was about to post. Now that I'm here though, I just want to take a moment to thank the people in my life who do 'get' me. I hope I am similarly able to express to my friends and family the unique qualities I appreciate about them.
Ok, this is getting kind of gross.
Next post: Weird photos.
1983 was my first living-in-Phoenix experience. At the time there was an outdoor trampoline center called 'Jump'. I was new in town, and taking photography classes at ASU with the intention of entering the MFA program. For those keeping score, I ended up going home to Miami the next year instead, and working in a photography studio. Anyway, I was driving down Scottsdale Road when suddenly I saw flying humans. Suspended in the air, then gone. I knew I had found a place of great visual opportunity.
I spent a lot of time at Jump. I emerged a few weeks later with a unique portfolio of photos. Some of the photos captured the pure lines of the human form. Others captured graceful dance-like movements. Some were downright silly, in an unabashed, giddy way. My favorites though were the ones that represented a metaphor for spiritual levity. In one such photo, the one on which my sister commented, the subject is a young girl, about 11 years old. She has escaped earth's bounds and is blissfully ascending, arms akimbo, her innocent face enraptured and angelic. Behind her is only the cobalt blue of the desert sky. My sister studied the photo for two seconds, maybe three. Her comment, delivered in an impatient tone: "Ok, who's she?"
The purpose of this post is not to make fun of my sister or to hurt her feelings. I seriously doubt she reads my blog anyway. My point is that that experience, and a few others, taught me that not everyone will always 'get' what you are trying to express. People are wired differently. Some people would rather see exactingly-executed photographs of churches, and that's fine. It's really cool though when people do 'get' you. I have a friend with whom I share my stories (I write stories. I'm pretty serious about them). He is brilliant, a Berkeley-educated lawyer, and a great writer. I sent him my first story with trepidation. Long story short -no pun intended - his unbridled enthusiasm has given me a glimmer of hope that I possess some talent.
I had no idea this post was going to take this direction. I meant to write just one paragraph as a sort of disclaimer against the weirdness of the photos I was about to post. Now that I'm here though, I just want to take a moment to thank the people in my life who do 'get' me. I hope I am similarly able to express to my friends and family the unique qualities I appreciate about them.
Ok, this is getting kind of gross.
Next post: Weird photos.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Light at the end of the tunnel
You all are probably thinking "Nooooooo! Not more fiber optic images!"
I am granting you a brief reprieve.
The light at the end of the tunnel refers to the completion of my master's degree in Education. I'll be done on January 14th, 2008.
I am granting you a brief reprieve.
The light at the end of the tunnel refers to the completion of my master's degree in Education. I'll be done on January 14th, 2008.
Monday, August 06, 2007
I Love This!
Yes, my new $5 Gottschalk's- going-out- of- business-sale fiber optic night light really does make me that happpy.Friday, August 03, 2007
Fire Drill
The fire alarm in my building has sounded three times in the past two days. Each time I've had to walk down 14 flights of stairs. One time isn't that big a deal, but three times is annoying.
It's tempting to ignore a fire alarm after the first one's a dud. Except of course you start wondering to yourself if you're going to look like something out of the Pompeii museum if you don't get out of there.
My guess is that the alarm is being pulled by an angry resident. There are a lot of angry residents in this building due to the snotty attitude of the manager, maintenance issues, people getting locked in their own bathrooms, whatever (actually I'm not that angry, but if I will be if they take much longer replacing my door).
This evening after we were told it was ok to go back up to our apartments, a father and his three young children were waiting for the elevator.The kids were in awe of the firefighter, in his full regalia, walking down the hall. As he passed by he held out his hand and high fived each of them. I thought that was sweet.
It's tempting to ignore a fire alarm after the first one's a dud. Except of course you start wondering to yourself if you're going to look like something out of the Pompeii museum if you don't get out of there.
My guess is that the alarm is being pulled by an angry resident. There are a lot of angry residents in this building due to the snotty attitude of the manager, maintenance issues, people getting locked in their own bathrooms, whatever (actually I'm not that angry, but if I will be if they take much longer replacing my door).
This evening after we were told it was ok to go back up to our apartments, a father and his three young children were waiting for the elevator.The kids were in awe of the firefighter, in his full regalia, walking down the hall. As he passed by he held out his hand and high fived each of them. I thought that was sweet.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Next I'll Throw a TV in the Hotel Pool
I locked myself in my bathroom today. It's simple: I was curious to see if the locked worked, as I'd never tried using it.
It worked. Too well. It kept me locked in from the inside.
I stayed calm. For about 45 seconds. I scanned my tiny bathroom for some sort of tool. My search yielded a barrette. I fantasized that with one deft toggle I'd be free. 27 clumsy toggles later I was still trapped, and composed as a chimpanzee on crack.
Not only am I high strung, I am extremely claustrophobic. I can't even stand sleeping in a bed with the covers tucked in. I wanted out and I wanted out now.
For the first time in my life, a bathroom scale became my friend. I picked it up and smashed it into the door. Ah, victory. A small tear produced a window of light. Somewhere between ten to fifteen increasingly vigourous smashes later I had produced a large enough hole to climb through.
Of all the things I try to be grateful for, I will now have "Not being trapped in my bathroom" on my list.
I needed to get back to work, but stopped into the leasing office first to tell them what had happened. Let me start by saying that I am a perfect tenent. I pay my rent on time, if not early. I'm ridiculously quiet. I'm 47 years old and I wear a lot of pink and well...I don't exactly look like some party animal who goes around smashing in doors. The arrogant and condescending property manager (he had never bothered me thus far, but everyone in the building hates him) wasn't swayed by these facts. He's, um, (I'm whispering): he likes boys and kind of right out of central casting about it. When I told him what had happened, he gave me a special look and said "Do you think maaaaybe you overreacted? Couldn't you maaaaaybe have just kicked the door?" He made it very clear that he had superior breaking-out-of-bathroom skills and I did not. Ok then. For some reason I didn't get angry. I stated the facts, signed a work order and walked back to work.
When I came home four hours later the entire door had been smashed in. As in pieces of door and door splinters, but no actual door. Maybe tomorrow they'll put in a new door. Maybe they won't. All I can say is that I'm happy I'm sitting here at my desk, watching the shipping traffic on the Bay.
It worked. Too well. It kept me locked in from the inside.
I stayed calm. For about 45 seconds. I scanned my tiny bathroom for some sort of tool. My search yielded a barrette. I fantasized that with one deft toggle I'd be free. 27 clumsy toggles later I was still trapped, and composed as a chimpanzee on crack.
Not only am I high strung, I am extremely claustrophobic. I can't even stand sleeping in a bed with the covers tucked in. I wanted out and I wanted out now.
For the first time in my life, a bathroom scale became my friend. I picked it up and smashed it into the door. Ah, victory. A small tear produced a window of light. Somewhere between ten to fifteen increasingly vigourous smashes later I had produced a large enough hole to climb through.
Of all the things I try to be grateful for, I will now have "Not being trapped in my bathroom" on my list.
I needed to get back to work, but stopped into the leasing office first to tell them what had happened. Let me start by saying that I am a perfect tenent. I pay my rent on time, if not early. I'm ridiculously quiet. I'm 47 years old and I wear a lot of pink and well...I don't exactly look like some party animal who goes around smashing in doors. The arrogant and condescending property manager (he had never bothered me thus far, but everyone in the building hates him) wasn't swayed by these facts. He's, um, (I'm whispering): he likes boys and kind of right out of central casting about it. When I told him what had happened, he gave me a special look and said "Do you think maaaaybe you overreacted? Couldn't you maaaaaybe have just kicked the door?" He made it very clear that he had superior breaking-out-of-bathroom skills and I did not. Ok then. For some reason I didn't get angry. I stated the facts, signed a work order and walked back to work.
When I came home four hours later the entire door had been smashed in. As in pieces of door and door splinters, but no actual door. Maybe tomorrow they'll put in a new door. Maybe they won't. All I can say is that I'm happy I'm sitting here at my desk, watching the shipping traffic on the Bay.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Benihana of Twenty Something
I once read that Benihana of Tokyo is so inauthentic that in Tokyo it is called Benihana of New York.Anyway, Benihana is where I spent my Saturday evening. The occassion was my coworker Jamie's bachelorette party. Her bridesmaids in attendance were in their 20s; the other coworkers she'd invited were 21 and just-turned 30.
My coworkers had told me they really wanted me to be there. For some reason, at this somewhat advanced stage in my life, people in their 20s like me. One of them last night said "Wendy, you tell the best stories." Maybe that has something to do with it.
The whole Benihana rapid-whacking -up- of -meat- and -vegetables thing was cheesy but fun. I pronounced this loudly whistling, steam plume-producing onion 'freakish and wrong' but it was quite good with gingery dipping sauce.
Coworkers Ashley and Diana. Diana, the one on the left, is pretty close to being a perfect coworker. She is really sweet. She reminds me in ways of a coworker in Phoenix named Meghan who had a lovely, lilting voice and was always in a good mood. When I was all but banging my forehead against my desk in administrative-overload frustration, Meghan would e-mail me pictures of puppies and offer me half of her Twix bar.
Jamie, the bride-to-be. The wedding is August 11th.
Why yes, we do!
One of my coworkers hung up from an incoming call Friday, turned to me and said "Wendy, you are not going to believe this one. "
They guy she'd been talking to had told her he'd been a truck driver for years. In what she says sounded like total seriousness, he explained that he now wanted to become a bounty hunter. Did we offer a degree in that?
They guy she'd been talking to had told her he'd been a truck driver for years. In what she says sounded like total seriousness, he explained that he now wanted to become a bounty hunter. Did we offer a degree in that?
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Congratulations ____ and ______
I live next door to the Landmark, a facility that hosts wedding receptions. Every weekend the marquee changes at least three times, sometimes just a few hours apart: Congratulations Kim and Devin. Congratulations Brittney and Bill. Congratulations Julie and Corey.
It is both heartwarming and amusing to see the variety of bridesmaid's dresses. Today I slowed my car to allow a bridesmaid to dash across the street from the parking lot into the building. The bridezilla to whom she was attending had not chosen the dresses wisely. The dress looked like a pastel flowered clingy white nightgown. It had wispy spaghetti straps. The bridesmaid was at least a size 18 and had several large tattoos on her arms and back. I wish I had gotten a picture of her. She was just really interesting visually. Her face was sweet and she was very likeable as she tottered on her heels in the rain, trying to make it inside before her carefully styled hair got wet.
It is both heartwarming and amusing to see the variety of bridesmaid's dresses. Today I slowed my car to allow a bridesmaid to dash across the street from the parking lot into the building. The bridezilla to whom she was attending had not chosen the dresses wisely. The dress looked like a pastel flowered clingy white nightgown. It had wispy spaghetti straps. The bridesmaid was at least a size 18 and had several large tattoos on her arms and back. I wish I had gotten a picture of her. She was just really interesting visually. Her face was sweet and she was very likeable as she tottered on her heels in the rain, trying to make it inside before her carefully styled hair got wet.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Yep, That's My Plan
I am lucky to have a wonderful, fun, 27 year old manager. He's a very positive person and maintains an upbeat atmosphere without being cloying. He not only tolerates my silliness and sarcasm, he encourages it.
Sample dialogue:
Him: Hey Everyone! Wendy's appointment is here. She's going to enroll this guy! Right Wendy?
Me: Yep.
Him: Hey Everyone! She's not only going to enroll him, she's going to get him to do his application before he leaves. Right Wendy?
Me: Yep.
Pause
Me: You know, I think that's not enough. I'm going to do something more.
Him: Hey Everyone! Wendy's going to do something more!
Me: Yeah, getting him enrolled and getting the app isn't enough. I'm going to usher in a new era of world peace.
Him: Hey Everyone! Wendy's going to usher in a new era of world peace!
Sample dialogue:
Him: Hey Everyone! Wendy's appointment is here. She's going to enroll this guy! Right Wendy?
Me: Yep.
Him: Hey Everyone! She's not only going to enroll him, she's going to get him to do his application before he leaves. Right Wendy?
Me: Yep.
Pause
Me: You know, I think that's not enough. I'm going to do something more.
Him: Hey Everyone! Wendy's going to do something more!
Me: Yeah, getting him enrolled and getting the app isn't enough. I'm going to usher in a new era of world peace.
Him: Hey Everyone! Wendy's going to usher in a new era of world peace!
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
International House of Dogs
When I opened this picture, sent to me by my sister, my reaction reminded me of something my niece had said to me a few years ago. Said niece, who was in her sophomore year of Reed College, and I were at a crosswalk in Northwest Portland waiting to cross the street. Out of the blue Sarah said to me "Wendy, please don't gnaw too loudly." Baffled, I asked her what that was supposed to mean. She informed me that there was a really cute dog behind me and that whenever I see a cute dog I burst forth with a resounding "Nawwwwwwww!"The title of this post comes from the fact that Zoe is a Shibu Inu, Brooklyn is an...er.. New Yorker, and Sierra's ancestors were of course from the land down under.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Pink Thoughts / Views from an Apartment
"Pink Thoughts" by the Swedish artist Charlotta Sandberg became mine thanks to a winning ticket at a holiday party art auction in Sweden. I didn't really take anything with me to Phoenix, so this is the first time I've had it in my home.
A glimpse of my bedroom, including mirrored closet doors (bad feng shui, but good for extending the water view and for getting dressed in the morning). Couldn't get the lighting right on this pic (too dark without flash), but it gives you an idea.
Yes I know I've shown this view before but it's a little different each time depending on what's going on on the water and how visible the mountain is. And after living in a room in Phoenix that looked out onto a wall, I don't think I will ever get tired of this view.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Trophy Wives
After my mother read my "Ted Nugent School of Home Decorating" post, she told me she had recently read an Ann Landers column about almost the exact same situation. She said the woman in the column had complained about her husband's (similarly) appalling taste in decor, and that the woman in the column had draped the deer head trophies with sheets whenever they had company over.
Maybe it was the same jerk's ex-wife? Or perhaps there are more women out there than we realize who are having to live with dead animal heads on their walls. If so, maybe there should be a support group. I think 'Trophy Wives' would be a good name.
Maybe it was the same jerk's ex-wife? Or perhaps there are more women out there than we realize who are having to live with dead animal heads on their walls. If so, maybe there should be a support group. I think 'Trophy Wives' would be a good name.
Views from a Train (Tacoma to Bellingham)
The nebulous forms in the background are the San Juan islands. You see blurry, I see mystical. Let's call the whole thing off.
This post is an experiment to see if the text works better below the photo (as I usually do) or above (as in the caption about the San Juan islands). Let me know what you think.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
View from an Office Window
This is from the window closest to my desk. If you look to the left you'll see a green awning and red and white umbrella tables. That's El Toro, a restaurant where we often go for lunch. We also sometimes go there for a very late lunch at 3 pm, when happy hour starts. For the cost of a Shirley Temple (yes, Jamie really orders that) and a diet coke (guess who) and whatever else everyone is drinking we get free burritos. They're not that great, but their green salsa, which is heavy on the cilantro, is wonderful. Last Friday four of us went for drinks after work. We compared dating horror stories. My entry tied for 1st place: I was on a third date with a good looking and well-educated guy I really liked. He wanted to sit on the same side of the booth in the romantic Italian restaurant he'd invited me to. Toward the end of the evening he sidled closer to me. I was excited. I thought he was going to tell me I looked pretty or that he was really enjoying getting to know me. Since I already mentioned that this was a horror story you know he did not say either of those things. What he said was "I'd appreciate it if you'd contribute $15 toward the check". The women asked me if I paid it. When I said yes a collective "Arrrrgghhhh!" went up. One of them- I'm not sure if it was Sojourner ("Sojo") or Faauu- summed it up well "Girl, you have got to raise your bar" That, in essence, is what my mother keeps telling me. And for the most part, with an occassional lapse (in the form of a troglodyte named Larry) I have.
To get back to my point of this post, I love the street my office is on. This same street, Broadway, turns into St. Helens avenue, where my apartment is. So what you are seeing is the first part of my walk home from work.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Scenes from a Cube
Welcome to my cube. It's not yet fully decorated, but it's starting to feel like home.
This fountain simulates rainfall. I don't tend to use the "Soothing nature sounds" feature which includes a riot of crickets ("Summer Night") or howls of terrifying primates ("Rain Forest"). The round purple thing is my Ikea light. When on, it is filled with what look like fiber optic crystals.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Graduation
Yesterday was graduation day for UOP western Washington students. We all had to be there to help starting at 7:30 a.m. That's after a 45 minute drive up to Seattle. Needless to say, since I can never fall asleep before midnight, I was half asleep through the whole thing.
It was a nice ceremony (I hate having to resort to adjectives as bland as 'nice', but for some reason the correct descriptor eludes me at the moment). It was in Key Arena in the Seattle Center, by the Space Needle. There were 460 graduates. The whole thing went off with only a few bloopers, none of which were caused by me, thank God.
As mentioned in an earlier post wherever there is a gathering that involves emoting people, I pick up on that emotion. However it's really not the collective emotion that affects me, it's the little things: a father's face at a wedding, wondering how the years passed so quickly (you know, the whole "Sunrise, Sunset" thing). Or yesterday, happening to catch a glance of a graduate who appeared to be about 35, clutching his diploma and looking both wistful and proud. Even if the whole life story I saw in him at that moment was inaccurate, it was representative of the graduates in general.
When I graduated from college 26 years ago, I didn't want to take part in the graduation ceremony. I had a blase, 'big whoop, everyone graduates from college' attitude and I just saw it as the end of four years. Also, since I had transferred into my college as a junior, most of my friends were sophomores when I was graduating. My grandfather told me I'd regret it the rest of my life if I didn't participate in the ceremony. I knew at the time that wouldn't be true for me, but between that and my parents' desire to watch me graduate I went through with it. All I really remember was steaming out my black graduation gown in the shower (knowing me at that time in my life I had probably throw it into a wad on the floor when I first received it) while my friend Lou crimped my hair. Crimping made hair look like crinkle cut fries- it was an 80s thing.
After the ceremony, I don't remember any "Wow...now I'm a college graduate" feelings. The main thing I remember after the ceremony was getting into a battle of wills with a brownie at the reception that followed. The brownie won. Four years of overspending on my father's gold American Express card. Four years of throwing myself passionately into English, photography, and psychology classes, but blowing off the classes that didn't interest me. Four years. Done. Big deal.
The average age of the graduates yesterday was about 35. Many of them have familes and made a lot of sacrifices to get this degree. Many of them were the first in the family to graduate from college. Many of them saw graduating as a true accomplishment. It was impossible to not feel happy and excited for them.
By next June I'll have finished my master's degree. I really don't think I'll take part in the ceremony. It's just not my thing. But I will be proud of myself this time because with my ADD (self diagnosed, but I think it's undeniable) and adjusting to being a full-time cubicle dweller, it has been an accomplisment for me to stick with getting this degree. It hasn't been particularly taxing intellectually, but it's been a challenge to come home after a long day and have to crank out a 1,500 word paper. In ways I'm enjoying school, but like the graduates yesterday, I will definietly be happy when it's over.
It was a nice ceremony (I hate having to resort to adjectives as bland as 'nice', but for some reason the correct descriptor eludes me at the moment). It was in Key Arena in the Seattle Center, by the Space Needle. There were 460 graduates. The whole thing went off with only a few bloopers, none of which were caused by me, thank God.
As mentioned in an earlier post wherever there is a gathering that involves emoting people, I pick up on that emotion. However it's really not the collective emotion that affects me, it's the little things: a father's face at a wedding, wondering how the years passed so quickly (you know, the whole "Sunrise, Sunset" thing). Or yesterday, happening to catch a glance of a graduate who appeared to be about 35, clutching his diploma and looking both wistful and proud. Even if the whole life story I saw in him at that moment was inaccurate, it was representative of the graduates in general.
When I graduated from college 26 years ago, I didn't want to take part in the graduation ceremony. I had a blase, 'big whoop, everyone graduates from college' attitude and I just saw it as the end of four years. Also, since I had transferred into my college as a junior, most of my friends were sophomores when I was graduating. My grandfather told me I'd regret it the rest of my life if I didn't participate in the ceremony. I knew at the time that wouldn't be true for me, but between that and my parents' desire to watch me graduate I went through with it. All I really remember was steaming out my black graduation gown in the shower (knowing me at that time in my life I had probably throw it into a wad on the floor when I first received it) while my friend Lou crimped my hair. Crimping made hair look like crinkle cut fries- it was an 80s thing.
After the ceremony, I don't remember any "Wow...now I'm a college graduate" feelings. The main thing I remember after the ceremony was getting into a battle of wills with a brownie at the reception that followed. The brownie won. Four years of overspending on my father's gold American Express card. Four years of throwing myself passionately into English, photography, and psychology classes, but blowing off the classes that didn't interest me. Four years. Done. Big deal.
The average age of the graduates yesterday was about 35. Many of them have familes and made a lot of sacrifices to get this degree. Many of them were the first in the family to graduate from college. Many of them saw graduating as a true accomplishment. It was impossible to not feel happy and excited for them.
By next June I'll have finished my master's degree. I really don't think I'll take part in the ceremony. It's just not my thing. But I will be proud of myself this time because with my ADD (self diagnosed, but I think it's undeniable) and adjusting to being a full-time cubicle dweller, it has been an accomplisment for me to stick with getting this degree. It hasn't been particularly taxing intellectually, but it's been a challenge to come home after a long day and have to crank out a 1,500 word paper. In ways I'm enjoying school, but like the graduates yesterday, I will definietly be happy when it's over.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
More of my Neighborhood
Looking down a side street
.This is a pretty staight-on view of what I see as I walk to work every morning. That's the Tacoma Dome in the background.
Another off to the side view, zoomed in a little bit.
This is the Temple Theater / LandMark Convention Center, right next to my apartment building.
In a previous post I promised to show the building attached to the entrance awning. Ta Da.
The Ted Nugent School of Home Decorating
The wedding yesterday was beautiful. The church ceremony was blissfully short (really short- I don't think the ceremony itself was more than 15 minutes), but it manged to cover everything. Molly was a gorgeous bride in a unique linen and lace dress. I made it through the ceremony free of excess emotion, and very much enjoyed the reception.
It was great to catch up with Seattle friends and acquaintances. Over dinner, I shared with my table my latest romantic tribulation.
When the guy in question first answered my ad, I was impressed with his response. He seemed intelligent, stable, and nice looking. And, he raised yellow Labs.
The first night we talked on the phone it went great. Granted, our interests were different, as were our upbringings and well, almost everything else but there still seemed to be some kind of connection. The next night was a shorter conversation but it went well too. The third night seemed to be keeping up the positive trend, but then I asked him to tell me more about his house in the country. First of all, from this point forward if a man mentions that he lives in the country I am going to run like hell. A living situation anything more than 15 miles from a major city makes me break out in hives. My no more than a three minute drive to get a Diet Coke rule is going to remain firmly in place. Besides, people who live in the country tend to be loners, and /or huntin'/fishin'./campin' types. The signs that this guy was both were becoming evident even through my...well, let's call it my shroud of optimism.
He was telling me about certain features of the house, so I asked him how it was decorated. He monotonously named off every last piece of furniture. Then he mentioned that both of his bathrooms had the same shower curtain: A hunting scene of hunter, pointing dog, and water fowl. Yes. This was indeed the first sign of trouble. Then he got to the part about the two deer head "trophies" mounted on the living room wall.
I'll admit it: I can be obnoxiously blunt at times. My response to his wall carnage was something like: "OhmyGod, I could NEVER live in a house with dead animals on the wall!"
A well-adjusted guy may have been able to laugh this off, but this guy was anything but well adjusted. We'll get to that in a minute. First I want to talk about what my former business partner Patsy would have done in the same situation. Patsy was a long haired, 95 pound, born again Christian with huge saucer eyes, and the thickest, most exaggerated southern accent you've ever heard (despite the fact that she hadn't lived in Oklahoma for almost thirty years). Men found her adorable, or as she would put it "Cute as can bay." If she, inevitably, sniffed out John's financial situation and found it favorable she would have said of the living room Bambis "Yew dew? Whale, ah just thank that shows what a masculine man yew are John. Ah jus' luv men lahk yew." Then she would have used her feminine wiles to learn more about his financial situation, and if the cash and prizes added up would have considered him for her 4th husband.
I am seriously hoping to fall deeply in love. I'm not out to 'win' some jerk just because he has money.
And I don't even think the jerk in question here had any real money. But that's not the point...
Ok, after my lack of favorable reaction to his decor he went into a frighteningly muted, clenched-teeth tirade about how it's his home and his wall so he could have his deer there if he wanted. Ok then. I asked him where the anger was coming from and he explained that his last wife hated the deer too and would insist on covering them with sheets when they had company over. Deer heads draped with sheets. Tee hee. Anyway, then he launched into a new tirade about how she was a control freak and how he likes the way he decorates and... well, between this and the fact that in all three nights he had barely asked me any questions about myself, at this point I was done.
Happily, all the women at my table agreed that he sounded like a world-class jerk. My favorite response though was from a voice-of-reason kind of guy named Dave. Dave explained that he and his fiancee were in the process of building a house. They were designing the house to have a workshop out back for him, and a room in the house just for her so they could both have their own spaces to pursue their hobbies- or just be alone at times. Dave suggested that if a man really needs to have deer heads in his home, that it would be best for him to have them in his own little part of the house, not where his wife would have to look at them every day. I couldn't agree more. It wasn't the deer heads that were the deal killer (I'm not vegetarian so I'm not hypocritical about people killing animals)- it was the uncompromising attitude. And, ok, I won't lie: I do think animal trophies in a living room are in poor taste. Not to mention bad feng shui.
So that's been my last few days. Frankly I'm more fixated on being worried that I had a big piece of dark green lettuce in my teeth in some of the wedding photos (why is it always something with me?) than I am in thinking about this guy. Despite everything I've been through with men, I remain hopeful. During the wedding vows, Molly and Patrick stood facing each other with both hands joined. As Molly spoke, Patrick lightly rubbed his thumbs over her gloved hands in a gesture that spoke volumes about love, connection, and adoration. That was the closest I came to crying during the ceremony because I so want that in my life. I've gotten snippets of it here and there, but it's never been mine to keep. I don't want to close with an "I hope...: sentence, so I'll simply sign off here. Back this evening with more Tacoma photos.
It was great to catch up with Seattle friends and acquaintances. Over dinner, I shared with my table my latest romantic tribulation.
When the guy in question first answered my ad, I was impressed with his response. He seemed intelligent, stable, and nice looking. And, he raised yellow Labs.
The first night we talked on the phone it went great. Granted, our interests were different, as were our upbringings and well, almost everything else but there still seemed to be some kind of connection. The next night was a shorter conversation but it went well too. The third night seemed to be keeping up the positive trend, but then I asked him to tell me more about his house in the country. First of all, from this point forward if a man mentions that he lives in the country I am going to run like hell. A living situation anything more than 15 miles from a major city makes me break out in hives. My no more than a three minute drive to get a Diet Coke rule is going to remain firmly in place. Besides, people who live in the country tend to be loners, and /or huntin'/fishin'./campin' types. The signs that this guy was both were becoming evident even through my...well, let's call it my shroud of optimism.
He was telling me about certain features of the house, so I asked him how it was decorated. He monotonously named off every last piece of furniture. Then he mentioned that both of his bathrooms had the same shower curtain: A hunting scene of hunter, pointing dog, and water fowl. Yes. This was indeed the first sign of trouble. Then he got to the part about the two deer head "trophies" mounted on the living room wall.
I'll admit it: I can be obnoxiously blunt at times. My response to his wall carnage was something like: "OhmyGod, I could NEVER live in a house with dead animals on the wall!"
A well-adjusted guy may have been able to laugh this off, but this guy was anything but well adjusted. We'll get to that in a minute. First I want to talk about what my former business partner Patsy would have done in the same situation. Patsy was a long haired, 95 pound, born again Christian with huge saucer eyes, and the thickest, most exaggerated southern accent you've ever heard (despite the fact that she hadn't lived in Oklahoma for almost thirty years). Men found her adorable, or as she would put it "Cute as can bay." If she, inevitably, sniffed out John's financial situation and found it favorable she would have said of the living room Bambis "Yew dew? Whale, ah just thank that shows what a masculine man yew are John. Ah jus' luv men lahk yew." Then she would have used her feminine wiles to learn more about his financial situation, and if the cash and prizes added up would have considered him for her 4th husband.
I am seriously hoping to fall deeply in love. I'm not out to 'win' some jerk just because he has money.
And I don't even think the jerk in question here had any real money. But that's not the point...
Ok, after my lack of favorable reaction to his decor he went into a frighteningly muted, clenched-teeth tirade about how it's his home and his wall so he could have his deer there if he wanted. Ok then. I asked him where the anger was coming from and he explained that his last wife hated the deer too and would insist on covering them with sheets when they had company over. Deer heads draped with sheets. Tee hee. Anyway, then he launched into a new tirade about how she was a control freak and how he likes the way he decorates and... well, between this and the fact that in all three nights he had barely asked me any questions about myself, at this point I was done.
Happily, all the women at my table agreed that he sounded like a world-class jerk. My favorite response though was from a voice-of-reason kind of guy named Dave. Dave explained that he and his fiancee were in the process of building a house. They were designing the house to have a workshop out back for him, and a room in the house just for her so they could both have their own spaces to pursue their hobbies- or just be alone at times. Dave suggested that if a man really needs to have deer heads in his home, that it would be best for him to have them in his own little part of the house, not where his wife would have to look at them every day. I couldn't agree more. It wasn't the deer heads that were the deal killer (I'm not vegetarian so I'm not hypocritical about people killing animals)- it was the uncompromising attitude. And, ok, I won't lie: I do think animal trophies in a living room are in poor taste. Not to mention bad feng shui.
So that's been my last few days. Frankly I'm more fixated on being worried that I had a big piece of dark green lettuce in my teeth in some of the wedding photos (why is it always something with me?) than I am in thinking about this guy. Despite everything I've been through with men, I remain hopeful. During the wedding vows, Molly and Patrick stood facing each other with both hands joined. As Molly spoke, Patrick lightly rubbed his thumbs over her gloved hands in a gesture that spoke volumes about love, connection, and adoration. That was the closest I came to crying during the ceremony because I so want that in my life. I've gotten snippets of it here and there, but it's never been mine to keep. I don't want to close with an "I hope...: sentence, so I'll simply sign off here. Back this evening with more Tacoma photos.
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