homophobia, the great uniter

This picture was above the fold in the New York Times today. In my not-yet-had-my-morning-caffeine state, I got excited. Look, leaders of the Abrahamic faiths standing next to each other, sharing bottled water. This must be good.

Well, not so much. Leaders of Muslims, Christians, & Jews met up not to speak out against war, typhoid, child abuse, or a host of other ills. They held a joint press conference to rally against an upcoming gay pride festival in Jerusalem. An American Evangelical leader associated with the press conference was quoted as saying, "this is the Holy Land, not homo land."

What brings these leaders together is not the realization that they need to work together to bring their region out of an apparently never ending cycle of dehumanization and violence, but shared hatred of the gays.

Just want I wanted to think about over my morning toast and tea. . .

Stephanie would be proud

In third grade, my titularly referenced teacher made us keep a journal. (I went to an alternative school - we called the teachers by their first names.) In this journal, we were to write one thing we learned each day. She had us do this for about 2 weeks & then forgot about it. If only I was still keeping that journal. I would have much to write today.

today at work, I learned that my name in Somali is 'honey', or at least that is what my Somali Bantu interns call me. They're great workers & the women like to touch me. It's a bit strange to walk from one end of the building to the holding someone's hand. I can't say I mind it. I'm not getting much physical affection these days. . . The only people who have ever developed & regularly used pet names for me have been foreign women who are significantly older than me. My Latin American host moms were great at that. Mi cielo - my heaven - was my favorite.

today at work, I learned that people still use the word 'oriental' in reference to people. I thought that was archaic & out of use. I thought wrong.

today at work, I relearned the tremendous inefficiency with which my employer operates. Every Wednesday at 12:15, we have a meeting. This Wednesday, I forgot. It was a busy morning - produce day - there was much to do. So I didn't go to the meeting. In the late afternoon, when I remembered that there was supposed to be a meeting, I asked my supervisor if it happened today. When she said it had, I asked why she didn't call me (the organization pays a lot, I would imagine, to equip us all with Nokia walkie-talkies that we wear clipped to our waist, so we can call each other constantly.) or walk the 20 feet to my work area to remind me of the meeting. "You know how I am. . . " was her response. I asked if anything important was covered in the meeting, she said there was much content, that we will have to go over it tomorrow. So the moral of this story is that my supervisors would rather repeat the content of a 20 minute meeting at least twice, (Others missed the meeting as well.) than take the 15 seconds it would require to rouse me on my walkie-talkie. Glorious.

Today, not at work, I realized how much I enjoy Freaks and Geeks. It's due back at the library today and I am quite sad to see it go. . . I think I am going to buy it. I have an amazon gift certificate that I should spend. I think I will feel better buying DVDs from amazon than books. When I buy books from amazon, I feel like I am being unfaithful to Powells.

high school reunion

I spent Saturday afternoon with T, a friend from high school, hanging out in the house she owns, talking about her upcoming wedding. Bizarre. She's taking his last name, which seems freakish & weird to me. I guess it is what most ladies do. She wants the family that she has to feel 'like a family,' all with the same last name. I don't think last names have anything to do with family bonding. My immediate family has 3 different last names. [My dad and I have one, my mom has another, the brother chose to have mom's & dad's hyphenated for his last name.] I think we do alright.

Part of T and my ritual of hanging out is to update each other high school acquaintances. She runs into people's parents at the supermarket. I have a few people linked on Friendster. T is still in close contact with a woman that I was close to in high school, C. C and I stopped being friends because she only wanted to be my friend when she was uncoupled. I was unwilling to put up with that. C's pattern of losing herself in unworthy boys has not stopped. She was explaining her latest breakup to T, saying that she can't get her live-in (now ex-) boyfriend to move out. Part of the problem might be that she's still sleeping with him. Her direct quote:
"Doesn't he know it's break-up sex, not make-up sex?"
It makes my recent dramas (which I spent much time sharing with T) seem benign and functional.

the moral of this story is: yell at work

Yesterday, a coworker yelled at me & our supervisor. Usually, the two of us get along well - he loans me DVDs, we share jokes, he wrote a letter of recommendation for me for BVS. He was frustrated & angry. It was understandable. My employer is having some serious troubles, a continuing series of crises since last August. It keeps him, and the rest of us, from being able to do our jobs well.

There's only 10 more weeks for me here, hamdu-illah. (for those of you who do not know transliterated Arabic, Hamdu-illah= praise be to god.)

My supervisor & I talked over the situation with the executive director yesterday afternoon. The resolution that they came to was that Frustrated Yelling Man gets today off as a paid holiday. We were already scheduled a half day off - Good Friday, crucifixion, Catholic employer, etc.

So, the moral of the story is that yelling at your supervisor gets you a morning to sleep in & 4 hours extra vacation. Maybe I should start yelling at work. . .

the moral of the story is: don't talk to strange men

I came home last night to see a blinking light on the phone, saying that I have a message. It was from N, the most unfortunate date. He wants to go out again. I thought he overheard that I wasn't interested. I guess not. Knowing that I needed to call him back & being a slightly socially awkward one, I rehearsed what I would say, working up alternate scripts if he answered or if I got his voice mail.

I suppose it was good that he called. It gave me a chance to end it ethically. I called him & told his voice mail that I wasn't interested & wished him a happy spring.

And the saga of N is over.

amateur psychology

I suffer from an affliction I am calling television bulimia. As far as I know, it is not yet in the DSM-IV.

This illness is characterized by compulsive overwatching of television, entire seasons within a few days, usually followed by self-proclaimed dislike of television ie. "I never watch TV. It's gross. I have better things to do.", and is often accompanied by guilt and frequent relapse.

I blame my hometown library. It checked out VHS and DVDs, including multi-disc entire seasons of shows, for one week only. When the brother and I had something checked out, we had to watch all 20 episodes of Queer as Folk, The Sopranos, etc. within a week. It would be what we did with every spare moment.

My current libary has a much more reasonable three week lending period. But that doesn't stop me from binging, watching entire series in a few days. Most recently, Freaks and Geeks, my new favorite show. It is what I have done with free moments for the past week. I have completed the series, but W is coming over tonight so I can introduce him to the wonders that is F&G.

Maybe I'll start the Television Bulimia Foundation & have benefit concerts & sell plastic bracelet to raise money to find a cure. . . all I need is a celebrity to admit that she/her brother/her pet suffers from this affliction.

late night telephoning

I went to bed early last night, 8ish. I had a horrible car accident dream the night before and woke up shaking, my heart racing, at 7, unable to get back to sleep.

After I had been asleep awhile, the phone rang. I didn't feel like picking it up, but I did. It was He Who Shall Not Be Named.
HWSNBN: Hi, is Rachel there?
me: This is me.
HWSNBN: Hi. It's ----------. I wanted to call you now, before you went to sleep.
[insert inconsequential smalltalk, with Rachel trying to wake up, trying to figure out why he's calling. He's driving. The phone keeps cutting out & hanging up, so he has to call me back 3 times.]
HWSNBN: I'm going to San Francisco for spring break. I'd like to see F. [My happily coupled best friend, the one he spent 2 hours propositioning last November.] Do you have her number?
me [my sleep-addled brain trying to figure out if I should give it to him]: I do.
HWSNBN: Can I have it?
me: I guess so. Do you have a pen?
HWSNBN: Yeah. I just have to pull over to the side of the road. . .
[I wait. The phone hangs up another time. He calls back. I give him the number.]
HWSNBN: Thanks a lot. We should go out for coffee soon, discuss our future plans, our falling out. . .
me: I don't want to do that. We have nothing ot talk about. And you should know that F probably won't want to see you.
HWSNBN: Really? That's not the impression that I got.
me: I don't think she'll want to see you. I'm going to call her right now & let her know to expect a call from you. Bye.
HWSNBN: bye.

I promptly call F. She's outraged that he has the impression that she might want to see him ever again. I try to go back to sleep. B calls. We share a good chat. I sleep.

"I see London, I see France"

On Saturday night, A and I saw 'The History of Lingerie' at the Clinton Street Theater. It was great: old movie footage from the 1910s to the 1960s of women in their underwear. Ideals of beauty changed so much during that period. The film archivist who put it all together introduced the film & provided us with a brief history of panties, bras, and nylons. I must admit, I knew little about their history. He said the bra was invented by Howard Hughes. I haven't seen The Aviator yet, so I don't know if bra invention made it into the biopic.

Each clip started with women fully clothed & ended with them naked or nearly so. As the show wore on, I started speculating about how they would become undressed. Some stripped, but many had much more contrived reasons for undressing. Swimming was a popular one, as was being a model changing outfits. Also, a cowgirl had her clothes whipped off by a cowboy. Young women in school dormitories or boarding houses getting ready for bed was common as well.

good news

the brother's life, or at least the next year of it, is coming together.
Hooray!
I remember being in his place, trying to figure out what would happen post-graduation. My plans all fell through & I was left with a 2 week cross-country trip as my answer to the persistent "what will you be doing after you graduate?" The brother's answer to such questions is a bit more exciting, a bit more long-term, and a bit more financially lucrative.

Time to start figuring out how to go visit him.

catsitting

I've been catsitting A's cat, Hermione, for the past week. [I don't think animals are entitled to identity protection.]

It's been great; I'm learning why people like cats. She is always waiting at the door,happily & hungrily meowing, when I let myself into A's apartment, like I matter or something. She's fun to play with & affectionate. She can stalk a feather on a stick for hours. She races around the apartment, very entertaining. She curls up in my lap when I'm reading. She has personality.

My 'rents cats, the cats I am most familiar with, are not like that. Jasper and Maya are just beings that coexist in my parents house. They don't like to play. They don't like to be touched. Sometimes, occasionally, they will let you sit beside them and pet them. Any attempt to pick them up turns into hissing and scrambling. They just sit around the house, eating, scratching up the furniture, & leaving hair everywhere. So I never understood why people want to own these beasts.

It's good to finally figure out where those cat lovers are coming from. I'm not about to hit up the Humane Society or anyting - cleaning a litterbox is very unfun. Cats, like children, are something that is fun to play with for a while. It's nice to be able to give them back to their owner at the end of the day (or week in Hermione's case).

my sociopathic life

I think life would be easier if I was a sociopath. Not caring about others' emotions would make things simpler. Acting ethically is important to me & I put much effort into doing so. . . . and sometimes it backfires.

Case in point: last night. I have been fearing a call from N, the horrible date, especially now that I'm back in town & my "we can't do anything next weekend, I'll be visiting my grandma" excuse has expired. I don't want to have to tell him something he doesn't want to hear. It won't give me joy. I know I have to though, & have been mentally rehearsing my "I never want to see you again" speech.

Yesterday evening, E, J, & I were in the midst of a Freak & Geeks marathon. The phone rang; E picked it up. After the person asked for me, I asked her who it was, fearing it would be N. She asked. When she told me it was N, I told her to tell him that I am busy, not using the kindest phrasing. I was busy watching TV on DVD, after all, & not in the mood to talk to him. So she did. Apparently, the volume of our conversation was a bit too loud. E says that she thinks he heard the whole thing; his message to her revealed as much.

So my quest to be ethical about this whole thing blew up in my face.
At least I don't have to tell him straight out that I never want to see him again.
And I feel bad about it. . . maybe becoming a sociopath would absolve such guilt, would be a good life choice.

back to civilization

E is back to portland. I am back to portland. hooray!

California is a strange place, or at least my Grandmother's house is. That is all of California I saw this weekend. The only time I was not in her house was when I was coming from & going to the airport.

She had her 80th birthday parties Saturday. The party for her friends in the afternoon; the family party at night. My job was to encourage people to write their names on fabric flowers & stick them to a piece of fabric. My mom will transform it all into a quilt.

My other job was to be introduced to my grandma's friends. The script:
Grandma: this is Rachel, P's girl.
Grandma's friend: Hi, Rachel. Are you the one who plays basketball?
Me: No, that's M, over there, the tall cousin.
[shared forced chuckle at my unfunny joke.]

(I am the shortest of my cousins. It's bizarre to be in an environment in which 5'10" is short. It freaks me out.)


The family fiesta was much more interesting. I like hearing about my mom's childhood. I was at a table with my mom, her sister, & their cousin, J. They were talking about the family meals in my grandparents' home. Any misbehavior resulted in the offending party finishing the meal in the laudry room, with their plate perched on the washing machine. Bad table manners were punished with a spoon to the side of the head or a fork nearly stabbed into the hand. It impresses me that my mom raised in that environment, gave the brother & I such functional childhoods.

Growing up, when the grandparents would visit, they would sometimes threaten the brother and me (mostly the brother) with finishing the meal in the laundry room when we spilled milk, fell off our chairs, refused to eat something, etc. etc.

I always thought it was an idle threat. . .

and my grandma told my mom that I am "such a good conservative girl" bizarre.

this morning

I dreamt last night that I threw an egg at George Herbert Walker Bush.

We were in a big green field. There was a crowd. It was some sort of field day. We were all supposed to partner up for an egg toss. I couldn't find a partner. The leader, a woman with a megaphone, had everyone without a partner come to the front of this crowd of hundreds. I was hesitant, not wanting everyone to see that I had no friends. Up at the front, everyone without a partner was assigned a celebrity of some sort. I got a former president, looking especially frail, with Barbara trailing around behind him. We were successful with the first toss. As we both stepped back in preparation for the second, my alarm went off.

damn alarm.

a brush with power

A while ago, I googled, P, one of my fellow sunday school teachers. I google lots of people. It's an entertaining way to kill time at work. P & I had shared a few inconsequential conversations, nothing too interesting. He has a family, a job in business, & has lived in town for a while.

All sorts of hits turned up for him. Turns out, he used to be a journalist in DC, working for a magazine. Turns out, he used to be the Oregon Secretary of State. It's like he's a superhero: unassuming sunday school teacher by weekend, investigative state-running hero by weekday. I've never said anything to him about it, not wanting his secret identity to be revealed.

He was mentioned in Slate yesterday. Apparently, he has some prescient things to say about health care in '82. It's weird to read his name and think 'I know that guy.'

[I had classes with Richard Perle's spawn in college. When I read his name I think, 'I know that guy's son - he's a jerkface.']

If P decides to run for office again, maybe my photos of him decorated like a christmas tree will be profitable.

I [heart] pdx

Right after I've set a date to leave this town (June 30, fyi), Portland puts on a show to make realize how much I'll miss it.

There's been glorious 70 degree weather, a day at the coast, $3 movies with beer, good conversations with acquaintances I have no intention of keeping in contact with (including one who did BVS 10 years ago and had good advice about the program). Today, a homeless man gave me flowers, picked from the park across the street, I'm sure. Do such things happen anywhere else?

A recent conversation with E hasn't helped matters. Apparently in Philly, it's impossible to buy beer at convenience stores (or anywhere else convenient) and there is a dearth of hummus. It precipated flashbacks to my college years: carrying an enormous jar of Adams Peanut Butter with me every time I left the Northwest. I'm not looking forward to such things.

Portland, how can you be so cruel? How can you be so fabulous for me in all areas except my 'career,' forcing me to leave a place I love in hopes of finding work I love? Frustrating.

falling in like

My faith in humanity, which reached a nadir on Friday night, has been restored somewhat. . .

There's a This American Life piece about two early 30s women, coworkers who are becoming friends. It's hard though; they don't have the time or desire to go into their backstories. One of the women makes the other a tape, explaining her important stories: jobs, family, friends, ex-boyfriends. The other listens to it as she flies cross-country. They become much closer.

This is all my convoluted way of explaining my Saturday. I went to Cannon Beach and Tillamook with A, taking advantage of E's car while she's in Philly. Cannon Beach is one of my favorite places on earth; again, it did not disappoint. A and I have hung out numerous times, but never for very long. Keeping a conversation alive for 6 hours is much more challenging than having something to talk about for 2. We did, though; we crossed from acquaintanceship to friendship. We told each other the important stories: friends, family, travels, jobs, moves, boys. It was great. She's smart and funny and kind. She shares my fascination with the Tillamook cheese rabbi. Really, what more can one ask for in a friend?

Bonus goodness: I got to ride in a mini. a surprising amount of leg room. And I got to see AM again & meet her boy. He told his worst date story: a woman who tried to find common interests not in movies, books, etc., but in drugs. A five minute conversation of
her: 'have you tried ______?'
him: 'no.'
her: 'oh. well, have you tried ________?'
him: 'no'
comforting to know that others have spent awkward times with no-longer-potential love interests.

More bonus goodness: I met a cute boy at church. It was his first time there. Apparently the Unitarians were mentioned in his sociology class. He was talking to Allison Frost and J, a parent of one of my sunday school students. They introduced us so I could talk about young adult church things to him. He went to brunch with me & some other unitarian young adults. He's very young (20!) & escaping his christian upbringing. I have no desire to intangle myself it that.

Sometimes, having someone to look at is enough. . .

Rachel's rules

So, say you're on a date with Rachel. . . these are things to avoid if you want her to like you:

1. Saying that Ace Ventura is your favorite movie.
2. Saying that Phil Collins is your favorite singer.
3. Admitting to turning off The Royal Tenenbaums after the first 20 minutes because you thought it was horrible.
4. Repeatedly complimenting her ass, calling yourself a "buttman," or mentioning how much you enjoyed riding your bike behind her when you first met her, leading to think that you're awkward pickup line ('you're hot.') was not so much about her face.
5. Talking about how the only books you read are self-help books, having her innocent 'what books do you like?' turn into a laundry list monologue of all of your issues.
6. Being anti-religion to the extent that you won't participate in blood drives if they're held in churches & continuing to be vocally anti-church after Rachel explains that she teaches sunday school, that her church matters to her, and that her unitarian universalist faith has little in common with your childhood catholicism.
7. Having a tattoo of a clown-resembling zombie being cut in half by a chainsaw.
8. Telling a famished yummy-yummy-Hot-Lips-Pizza-eating Rachel that you only eat healthy food.
9. Being embarrassed and awkward about wearing T-shirt that is an exact-only-larger replica of one worn by a toddler in above mentioned pizza place. If you're going to wear a T-shirt with the superman logo on it, you should expect to see little boys in the same shirt.
10. Dragging your date along on your errands: comic store, movie store, toy store, not asking if she minds if you stop in.
11. Asking for definitions of words Rachel uses, words such as 'epic' and 'trite.'
12. Saying 'fag.' After you notice Rachel's disgusted expression at that word, telling her about how many gay friends you have.
13. Telling a horrible story about how you cried the whole way through Spider-man the first time you saw it in the theater.
14. Complimenting the goodness of Rachel's aura. What is it about boys and auras these days?
15. Telling jokes that involve rimming in prison.
16. Saying that politics don't matter.
17. Talking about the Middle East when it is obvious you know nothing about the region.

As you might have gathered N, the boy on the bike from last week, and I went out tonight. As you might have gathered, it was horrible. As you might have gathered,he inspired and broke the above-listed rules.

He kept telling me how attracted to me he was ('thanks' was my repeated response.) and that he was having a great time ('oh' was my repeated response.). I kept trying to figure out how to fake a broken leg & cursing myself for not bringing my work cellphone with me, so I could go to the bathroom & call someone, telling them to call me back & say there was an emergency.

He wants to see me again. I would rather gouge out my eyeballs with toothpicks.

Is there a graceful way to never see him again? Do I just have to say, 'we have nothing in common and I was bored out of my mind?'

say yes

In addition to being one of my favorite Elliott Smith songs, 'say yes' is a rule I am trying to live by. Too often, when someone invites me to do something, my first response is 'no' & I have to be pushed into the 'yes' column. I wish I was opposite. I don't know how I got to be this way, but I'm working to retrain myself.

Last night, the plan was to cook up some eggplant parm, clean my room, and have my weekly date with Ira. After I finished dinner, A called, inviting me to go out & hear a singer-songwriter. My first thought was 'no,' that I would rather stay in, lying in my bed and listening to Ira's stories. It was a new episode, after all. But I said yes. And it was good. The show was at Doug Fir, which A accurately described as something out of The Brady Bunch. It is very 70s; I suppose that is hip with the kids these days. The bathroom walls are all gold-veined mirrors, the downstairs music area feels like a basement rec room. There are yellow lights in the floors. There is an attached hotel. A hipster's Kennedy School, perhaps?

The music was good. We were the second- and third- to last people to get into the sold out show. The singer had a beautiful voice, a bit strangly warbly - she never seemed to hit a note straight on, always starting sharp or flat & gliding into it. She had friends in the audience who joined her on stage for a song or two. One of them played the concertina. She sang a painfully earnest song about adolesence & was painfully embarrassed about it. Very cute.

The Shout Out Louds are playing there next week. I might go.

More yes saying: I'm meeting up with N, the bike boy of last week tomorrow night. We shared a bizarre, awkward, brief phone conversation last night. Doesn't bode too well. We're meeting up at Powell's. He likes books. I like books. That's promising. If the conversation falters too terribly, we can always walk across the street and catch The Life Aquatic at the Bagdad.

killing time

Sometimes, when I'm bored at work, I click on the random blog button & see where it takes me. Usually, nowhere interesting. I found an entertaining one yesterday. An 11 year old's thoughts about her friends' attempts to be popular, the proposed dam on the Yangtze, livestrong bracelets, etc. I was talking to F about it & she wanted me to post the link. Enjoy.

a sign

Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something.

I was told today that the state is not renewing a contract with my employer. Some of the money from this contract is my wages, benefits, etc. As of July 1, three people will be laid off. I will likely be one of them.

One of my new years' resolutions was to not be working at my current job by July 1. It looks like now I don't have a choice.

The similarities and differences between Oscar Day 2003 and Oscar Day 2004

I've been kicking this post around in my head for a few days, trying to figure out how to make it a tidy package. I don't think it will be. It will more closely resemble a horrible junior high compare and contrast essay.

Oscar day last year was a great day. . . Oscar day this year was just okay. . .

Last year during the ceremony, E was doing happy dances at the triumph of her holy trilogy. . . and I watched both her and the TV, drunk, very entertained.
This year, I woke up at 5:20 am to get her to the airport on time. She's now in Philadelphia. I worked on my quilt throughout the ceremony. I was sober and alone for most of the telecast. Housemate J joined me for part of it. I thought we would be able to be snarky together. He couldn't even work up a pretend rage at Antonio Banderas's butchering of 'El otro lado del rio.'

I don't remember church last year, only that the choir sang.
This year, the sermon was on the beauty industry. . . very interesting. Marilyn the minister spoke using a cardboard cutout of Marilyn Monroe to illustrate some of her points. There should be more cardboard cutouts of celebrities in church. And we sang one of my favorite hymns:

"How could anyone ever tell you, you are anything less than beautiful?
How could anyone ever tell you, you are less than whole?
How could anyone fail to notice that your loving is a miracle?
How deeply you're connected to my soul."

And in Sunday school we made scones - to illustrate the story of the loaves & fishes. Except these scones didn't miraculously multiply. And we talked about our ideal city AKA 'the kingdom of God.' I learned that Portland is great & all, but it really would be better if the bubblers downtown were pop, not water, if the schools were better, and if everyone whose first name started with O was given free shoes. (I'll give you one guess at the first initial of the proposer of that change.)

And last year's Oscar afternoon was spent with F and He Who Shall Not Be Named at the Bridgeport. Drinking, going on the tour, and drinking more. Being drunk and silly. It was the day I met him, the day the epic saga began.
I did see HWSNBN at church this Oscar day. He came up to me during coffee hour. "You look beautiful today," he said. A year ago, words like that would have given me such pleasure. Now, they had no effect. So we stood outside and chatted about inconsequential things. . . lovely.

This year's Oscar afternoon was to be spent hiking, after A invited me during coffee hour #2. I was then disinvited. The woman she was to go with, the woman who was driving, had invited folks as well. I was the odd woman out. So I spent a super-exciting afternoon writing a letter, reading the newspaper, and cleaning the kitchen.

In Conclusion, there were similarities and differences and continuity between Oscar Day 2003 and Oscar Day 2004.