Sunday, August 19, 2007

Tagged by Yoga

Five questions
  1. Wednesday, Nov. 5, 2008. Our side won! How do you celebrate?

    Champagne! Although I'm not comfortable with the idea of "our side." Because while I hope and pray for a Democratic win, my wish is for a viable, progressive third party. But since no one loves a buzzkill, I will clink glasses with everyone. Besides, maybe Kucinich will be the winner. In that case, I will clink many, many glasses with all of you wonderful people. Hey, it could happen.

  2. Are you on a boat or are you a land lubber or do you soar?

    I soar. In my dreams, I fly and hope for soft landings.

  3. What was the last mistake you wished you could cover up?

    I generally cop to my mistakes, which are numerous.

  4. Are your omelettes fluffy?

    Yes, especially when I separate the eggs, whip the whites and fold them gently into the yolks.

  5. When was the last time your paradigm shifted?

    I loathe that twenty-cent word. But I can tell you that my point of view shifts constantly. I'm a goddamn kaleidoscope.
This was fun. Thanks, Yoga!

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Tuesday, July 03, 2007

Eight random facts about me

Catherine at Poverty Barn tagged me with this meme, so here goes. Yes, I am way behind with my memes, among other things. Catherine tagged me with another meme some time ago, as Yoga Korunta, and both look juicy, so here's hoping I get around to them soon.

  • I have road prissiness. Let others take out their rage on their fellow drivers; I choose to point out faux pas in a more dignified manner. When a tailgater is riding my ass, I employ several useful gestures. For example, holding up my hands and shrugging lets the offender know that I can't go any faster than the car ahead of me. Pointing at the speed limit signs as we pass them is another way to impart my wisdom.

  • I hate the word "panties." Think about it. Think hard. Kinda creepy, eh?

  • I'm a collection of acronyms (but aren't we all?). I'm an HSP INFP with ADD, to name just a few. But please don't try to label me — I hate that.

  • I have a rare and exotic condition: dermatographism. You word lovers can easily figure out what that means.

  • I loathe mayonnaise.

  • I frequently experience synchronicity. See my last post for an example. Here's another: last night I was writing a thank you note to a friend, and I used the word "carom." The spelling looked off, but I was too lazy to look up the word, figuring I'd do that in the morning. When I got in to work today, one of the first items in my mail box was an e-mail from Doctor Dictionary with my word of the day, which was "carom." Did the doctor read my mind, or did I read hers?

  • I sing in my car like a cheap Vegas lounge act.

  • One-sixth of an avocado is a serving size? I find that laughable. The correct size is one avocado, in its perfect, nubby little package. On veggie tostadas, sliced into a salad, or sprinkled with salt and lemon juice and eaten right out of the shell — any way you slice it. Bonus fact: I love salt. Truly, deeply and with great loyalty. If I ever develop high blood pressure, I'll cut back, but until then, I will sprinkle insouciantly.

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Monday, June 25, 2007


The other night I was walking home with dinner for J and me when it hit me: I'm incorrigible. I'm not super bad, but I do resent and resist any attempts to rein me in.

A few minutes later, as J and I were eating our sushi, she said, "Gregory says I'm incorrigible."

"Hey, I was just thinking that about myself. Just now." J gives me an odd look.

"He must have meant it as a compliment," I said. "Be flattered."

"So it's similar to 'Well-behaved women rarely make history'"? she asked.

Exactly. It's time to behave a little badly, raise some hell and — if it's not too late — take our country back.


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Thursday, May 31, 2007


To two heartbeaking and beautiful songs.

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Thursday, April 19, 2007

Free market

Spotted on Market Street yesterday: A homeless man with a cardboard sign reading "Future porn star. Need $ for peinis enlargement."

Resisting the temptation to whip out my Sharpie and do a little copyediting was tough. I so wanted to tell him that there is only one "i" in "penis," but then that brought to mind the corporate "There's no 'I' in 'team'" and I became distracted, wondering if these two concepts could be connected in some way.

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Sunday, April 15, 2007


"Any religion that professes to be concerned about the souls of men and not concerned about the city government that damns the soul, the economic conditions that corrupt the soul, the slum conditions, the social evils that cripple the soul, is a dry, dead, do-nothing religion in need of new blood."

-- MLK

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Who knew?

Knock me over with a feather: David Sedaris hyperbolizes. Actually, skip the feather because the moment I heard this shocking fact, I fell over spontaneously, so horrified that my heart stopped for a moment. As I fell, I hit my head on the coffee table, and raised a knot the size of a baseball on the back of my head, which was immediately surrounded by cartoon birds and stars. Oh, and there was background music, too.

This is my favorite quote from the article:
Jon Carroll thinks humorists require "latitude" to make things funny, a notion I find bogus. I find stories that are absolutely true—like the time one of my neighbors, dressed up to party on Saturday night, fell into a 55-gallon drum filled with human excrement and urine—the funniest.
Wow, this totally turned me around. Forget the tiny exaggerations above; from now on, it's nothing but the literal truth, presented exactly as it happened. I refuse to read or write anything that has been shaped in any way. That includes dialogue. I want to hear every "um," every bit of verbal padding. Better still, tell me a story that occurs in real time. If your neighbor falls into a 55-gallon drum of pee (which I must admit, is screamingly funny), don't leave anything out. How did the pee get in the drum? What was your neighbor wearing as he approached the drum? What did he have for lunch the day before? Spare no detail, even if it seems irrelevant. Now that is how you tell a funny story.

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Sunday, April 08, 2007


And to think I used to bitch about having to sit through Stations of the Cross.
Seven devotees were nailed to crosses on Good Friday in a northern Philippine village where the rites drew thousands of tourists and spectators.

The Lenten ritual is opposed by religious leaders in the Philippines — Southeast Asia’s largest predominantly Roman Catholic nation. But it has persisted to become one of the country’s most-awaited summer attractions in San Fernando City’s San Pedro Cutud village.

Earlier in the day in the same village, dozens of half-naked men hit their bloodied backs with bamboo sticks dangling from a rope in a flagellation rite meant to atone for sins.

More than 100 foreign tourists flocked to this year’s Good Friday rites, with many of them seated on a stage at the side of the mound.

Full story here
I find this fascinating, although I won't even pretend to understood hair shirt spirituality. Life brings enough pain, so why seek it out? It's enough to get through difficult times with a bit of grace and humility, so I can't imagine hopping up on a cross, having nails driven through my wrists. I am such a big baby that I could barely manage involuntary church attendance until the age of fourteen.

No, this is not going to be one of those "recovering Catholics" posts. I don't do that. There are worse things than being made to go to church, and at least when I did rebel, my parents didn't freak out.

Still, being made to sit through endless rituals did cause my claustrophobia. Being squeezed into a pew with my classmates, knowing that I couldn't move around, let alone run out of church gasping for breath made me tense, to say the least. Why the hell can't I do this my way, I would think. If religion is about loving and helping one another, then why not just do that? And what does this droning priest and this incense burning my nose have to do with my soul? Because, despite my constant doubts and questioning, I knew that I had a soul and, since childhood, I had known exactly what it looked like: an upside-down "U," a horseshoe.

During one afternoon in seventh grade, I was in church, sitting through Stations of the Cross, about to explode. It was a particularly hot day, and I squirmed in my seat, sweaty and miserable, praying for it all to be over. And finally, it was. Thank you, I thought. As we all stood up to leave, I heard giggling. I turned around and some of my classmates pointed at where I'd been sitting. I had sweated more than I realized, enough to soak through my itchy wool skirt. The sweat had formed a perfect "U," and as I stared at it, my classmates snickered. "Shut up, you assholes," I thought. "That's my soul you're mocking."


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