I, apparently, like pain

Masochist that I am, I listened to the president's press conference last night. I don't know why I keep listening to him speak. It always upsets me. And I was sober, which made it all so much worse.

I know it's a liberal cliche to point out dumb things that the president says. Here I am being trite:

From the press conference:

One of the great sources of energy for the future is liquefied natural gas. There's a lot of gas reserves around the world. Gas can only be transported by ship, though, when you liquefy it, when you put it in solid form.

I was dumbfounded when I heard this. I'm no chemist, but I would imagine that liquefying means to put things in a liquid form, not a solid one.

liquefy=to become liquid.
Solidify=to make solid.

It's quite simple, really.

good morning

Is there anything better than a before work intercontinental phone call from a dear friend?

I was half way out the door when the phone rang. It was D. It was great to hear his voice. I've been smiling ever since our very brief chat. And he's calling this weekend too. And he's sending me a package, as soon as he can find an Italian to walk him through the post office procedure. [It apparently took him over an hour to send a few post cards.]

And I have 2 flats of fresh raspberries and in my fridge.

And the house still smells like bread from last night's baking. I love that.

In conclusion, life is good.

my life in panels

My talented brother makes nonfiction comics. I'm featured in his latest. To preserve my secret identity, someone else is playing me.

(The brother is the sitting down, sex-having one.)

fern-y branch

I spent the past 2 days a Silver Falls, east of Salem, in honor of my birthday. I spent a lot of time reading, hiking, looking at waterfalls, playing with my camera.

The greenness of the place was amazing. I guess that is to be expected of temperate rain forests. Everything except the water was green. I was especially fond of the ferns growing out of tree branches.

middle north falls

There are 10 waterfalls in the state park. Basalt flows are to blame.
The 9-mile trail that I hiked this morning passed by all of them. It was quite stunning.

rachel slept here

This is where I slept last night. The state parks brochure called it 'camping lite.' It wasn't even camping. There was electricity. There was a refrigerator. There was a microwave. There was a bed. I was tempted to bring my laptop and watch Coupling (I have season 2 out from the movie store), but I didn't. It felt sacriligeous to bring trashy TV into nature. So I spent the evening reading. I read all of My Year of Meats, stopping only to cook up some minute rice and a can of saag paneer in the microwave.

excellent novel + good dinner = happy birthday.

aspiring ansel adams

I was standing behind South Falls when I took this photo. I had never stood behind a waterfall before. Very wet.

It's out!

The aforementioned fetus was born last night.
Each time I talked to the now-grandmother, she told me of how the doctor pushed up the due date. First it was July, then June, then May. It was born last night, about 2 weeks after the now-grandparents found out. Apparently the nearly-15 year old mother's blood pressure spiked & they did an emergency caesarean section.
It's a boy. The grandma wanted a girl. . . oh well. . .

I am not going to Hungary next October, at least not at the Omidiyars' expense. It is now safe to resume hating The E-Bay.

And my really hot financial advisor sent me a birthday card. He signed it with a heart and a smily face. I have given myself permission to read way too much into it.

And something not link-ridden:
I spent about a half an hour yesterday trying to convince a coworker that Filipinos do not eat babies. He said he saw something on the news years ago when he lived in Saudi Arabia that said that Filipina nannies regularly ate their charges. It was a frustrating conversation - he was completely unwilling to budge from his absurd position.

I'm in!

I called the BVS office early this morning to check on the status of my application. I was dreading hearing that a few of my references still had not turned in their forms. I was dreading having to contact them - again - to remind them to get it all in.

But that wasn't the case at all. . .
My acceptance packet was mailed yesterday.

teeth redux

The only recurring dream I have is about my teeth falling out. Teeth and blood spout out of my mouth. I pour blood and tooth pieces down the front of my body, onto the ground. It's painful. It's horrible. I have the dream every few months and always wake up disturbed.

Maybe the dream was a premonition.

Last Saturday, I was flossing my teeth before bed when pieces of one of my teeth fell out. It was surreal and I hoped that I was dreaming. I was not dreaming. I was panicking. I made a frantic call to the advice nurse - she didn't know much, just told me to call my dentist on Monday.

I spent Saturday night and all of Sunday and Monday with visions of root canals and false teeth dancing in my head. . .

I just got back from the dentist. My root canal fears were nearly correct. A lot of the tooth that had fallen apart was decayed. They couldn't tell from the x-ray if the decay had reached the nerve. If it had, a root canal would be in order. So he numbed me up and started drilling. My regular dentist fears were compounded by the financial anxiety of paying for a root canal - I know my insurance doesn't cover such things. Hamdu-illah, the nerve had not been reached. No root canal.

I just have a tooth that is more silver filling than actual tooth and a half-numb face.

I hope this will be the last of my short series of dental-themed blog entries.

jesus is just all right.

Most of this weekend was devoted to my seventh grade sunday school class. We were putting on a "children's chapel," a short service for the younger kids. Our theme was "The Loaves and The Fishes." We did a skit of it. We had readings and sang songs about sharing. Lovely.

I was the director of the whole thing. I've never directed drama or music before. So I was saying things like "you guys are playing disciples. That means that you think Jesus is fabulous. That means that you would look at him, not your shoes, while he's speaking." And "sing louder! Sing louder!"

And our skit was a very Unitarian take on the Loaves and Fishes. The kids didn't go for the miracle part of it: Jesus turning 5 loaves and 2 fishes into enough food to feed thousands. Instead, the miracle was that people saw the boy (or girl - we had gender-blind casting) share his food and were inspired to share all they had brought. I think it would be a miracle if people gave up all that they had in order to feed others. Such a good, progressive, Unitarian message.

I wrote the script. It was very post-modern. It broke down the fourth wall. The younger siblings of the kids in my class were planted throughout the audience with baskets of bread. They brought there bread forward "spontaneously" at the appointed moment. Jesus and the apostles distributed the bread to the audience. [My mom suggested that we give them goldfish crackers as well. A great idea, one which I promptly forgot.]

Rachel's drama tip: giving the audience food is a guarenteed way to get them to like your show.

And afterwards, as the cast and crew were feasting on pizza and root beer, the Director of Religious Education told me that I should seriously consider being a teacher when I grow up. . .

postal service redux

"We will become silhouettes" was playing at Fred Meyer yesterday.
Fred Meyer - the antithesis of hip.

This madness must stop.

culture shock

S, a woman that I supervise, is going to be a grandma. She just found out that her 17 year old son & his "almost 15" year old girlfriend are pregnant. [When I asked if the girl is 14, S said, "no, she's almost 15." Doesn't almost 15=14?] Both sides of the family are excited about it. S, who has only sons, is hoping for a granddaugther.

When S first found out, she was worried that the kids would give the baby up for adoption. She was willing to adopt the baby to make sure it stays in the family. I can't understand that. She's on welfare and struggles to get by. She has some serious medical problems. Committing 18+ years of her life to the aftermath of her son's mistake makes no sense to me. I cannot begin to fathom it. But the kids are keeping their baby. Yesterday, both grandmas-to-be accompanied the girl to a doctor's appointment. The father was off on some Coast Guard-in-Training program.

I couldn't imagine how my parents would have reacted had I become pregnant at 14. True, I wasn't at much risk for such things, as I was not having sex. But still, I doubt they'd be taking me baby clothes shopping and helping me pick out baby names. My parents probably would have seen a chance to get some direct personal benefit from all of the checks written to NOW, Planned Parenthood, and NARAL over the years. And I'm sure I would have agreed with them. At 14, I hadn't figured out how to take care of myself yet. I shudder to think about how a child raised by my junior high and high school self would have turned out. S/he would be 10 now.

My first thought when S told me about the impending birth was "oh, so they'll be getting an abortion." Such an option didn't even enter into the equation for them as best I can tell. Bizarre. Maybe they're good religious folk. And of course I couldn't suggest any such option and even say "that's too bad" when she told me of the situation, which was my first reaction. She seemed excited at the prospect of these teen parents.

My workplace is full of women who had kids before they were old enough to vote. Most are shocked that I don't have a few, being "almost 25" and all.
I can't fathom procreating any time soon.

clothing fun facts

I recently completed some research for my minister. It was on 'clothing and the revelation of self,' the messages that people try to send through their clothing. It's the topic of this Sunday's sermon. There will be a fashion show.

some fun facts:
~ In the Victorian era, there were a lot of heterosexual men with foot and calf fetishs. Women's feet and calves were concealed, so they became eroticized according to someone's "theory of shifting erogeneous zones."
~ Everything is a phallic symbol: ties [obvious, but I hadn't thought about it], hats, shoes, coats.
~ Not very much is symbolic of women's reproductive parts. [There should be a phrase equivalent to phallic symbol but about women's parts, but I don't know it. Down with the patriachy!] Jewels. Handbags. One author interviewed men who say that they judge a woman's sexual availibility by her purse. Tightly buckled & held close to her body = prude or happily coupled. Open topped and not closely guarded = whore.
~ When ladies wear a 'little black dress' they are trying to look like a servant. The little black dress first came into fashion in the '30s, popularized by Coco Chanel. She didn't think that rich people, especially the old monied, should flaunt their wealth during the depression. Makes sense - it would be tacky to flaunt wealth while so many starve. She advised monied ladies to"dress like their maid" and designed the little black dress.
~ After great political unrest and widespread tumult women's waistlines move to unnatural places. The empire waist took off after the French revolution. After WWI, flapper clothing, with its waist below the hips became the norm.
~ One widely held theory about clothing is that it falls into 3 categories: representing the person we hope to be, the person we think we are most of the time, and the person we fear we are. It's like a continuum of clothing with aspirations on one end and fears on the other. Favorite clothes fall on the spectrum between aspirations and actuality - not too close to aspirations to feel fake, not too close to actuality to be boring.

So I have spent the fast few days over analyzing my closet, trying to figure out why I like certain things, what messages I am trying to send with my clothes.

ebay reconsidered

I don't like ebay. The founders, alumni of my college, were my commencement speakers. They were horrible. I was told to "be an enzyme. . . create change in the world without being used up." One of their examples of enzymeishness was Martin Luther King, Jr. He was definately a man who was "used up" by making change. He was assassinated. Speechwriting 101: if you're going to give a speech, make sure the illustrations of your point actually support your point.

And my coworker J sells on ebay. She talks about it a lot. Shows me her postings. Shows me things she bid on or thought was cute. It's rather gross. So I hate that website.

Anyway, there is a reason for this ranting. The Omidiyars, the ebay founders, have given all sorts of money to my college to promote 'citizenship and public service.' A few friends got scholarships from them, but I really haven't seen any benefit. . . until now.

The college has alumni trips, mostly your overpriced chance to traipse about the French Alps with a professor who knows all about the wildflowers that grow there while being assured that your traveling companions are at least as snooty and elitist as you are. They have started doing service trips now, so 50 year olds who have spent half their lives exploiting the world can volunteer in an exotic locale for a week and remember that they have a soul.

Anyway, the alumni trips and the Omidiyars have teamed up. Next October, there's a habitat for humanity alumni trip to Hungary. The ebay people are going to cover all expenses for four young alumni to go, provided they keep a journal, take a few photos, and share them with the college.

So I'm applying for a free trip to Hungary. . . I just need to figure 'what I would like to get out of this experience,' as the application phrases it. I doubt that 'a free trip to Hungary' is the answer that they are looking for.

thank you, Jesus

proof that god loves me and wants me to be happy.

My birthday is coming up soon (hint, hint)

open letter

Dear Postal Service,

I hope you are well.

First of all, I would like you to know that I really like your music. I was excited to discover it on my favorite radio station two years ago. I don't buy CDs often, but I bought yours. It has been in heavy rotation in my CD player ever since. I play it for friends and acquaintances to spread the word of your fabulousness. An 8 year old Somali refugee boy was especially fond of 'Such Great Heights.'

The thing is, your music is everywhere. I was excited when a roommate bought it; different songs emenated from our respective rooms. One of the numerous hippie stores in my neighborhood blasted the CD on a lovely Saturday afternoon. If I didn't hate that store, it would have made me happy. And then you licensed: a cover on the Garden State soundtrack, the background for an ad for some midseason replacement medical drama. I heard a story on NPR about you teaming up with the United States Postal Service for an ad campaign. While not overly fond of your new ubiquity, I accept it. You kids do need to make some money.

And the coup de grace: last Saturday, I went to the movies. In the lobby afterwards, your CD was on. The folks I was with then migrated in search of food and beer. When we walked into our chosen destination, your CD was on. It played through and was followed by a CD of remixes of your songs. I still enjoy your music, but it is getting to be too much.

Please, make it stop.

Sincerely,
Rachel

names and race

My life hasn't been very interesting recently. Lots of Freaks and Geeks. Lots of reading about clothing and identity. Apologies to my loyal readership. . .

In other news, my brother has the 13th whitest boys' name while my dad has the 14th most popular 'crossover' name. [i.e. both white and black parents choose it.] Does this mean that my 1950s name-choosing grandparents were more colorblind than the 1980s name-choosing parents? The brother is paler than the father. . . Curious. . .

wimpy teeth

For years, I have mocked my mother because of her wimpy teeth: using wimpy teeth toothpaste, being sensitive to hot and cold foods. Probably not the kindest way to be. . .

And so I get my karmic retribution. I have a tooth that has been sensitive to hot and cold for about two weeks. Today, I went to the dentist, my first dentist visit in over 2 years (the joys of being un- and under-insured)! I was terrified. Half of my fear was of cavities, root canals, and all of the other horrors that must be lurking in my mouth, needing to be taken care of. The remaining fear was comprised of worry about what it all would cost me. My dental insurance, which I've only had since January, covers some things after 3 months, some after 6 months, some after a year.

The fear was unfounded. They took an x-ray & poked around at my sensitive tooth & couldn't find anything major. Apparently as one ages, one's gums recede. When that happens, the newly exposed tooth is sensitive until the enamel toughens up. So they put a temporary sealant on the tooth, gave me some sensitive toothpaste samples (which I need to start using) and set up a 'real' appointment for cleaning and (probably) cavity discovering.

And my insurance covered the whole thing.

less than the sum of its parts

It was A's birthday yesterday. . . I took her out for fancy dessert and a movie at Pix Patisserie. I thought movies and dessert would be a birthday-worthy combination. They show movies every Tuesday night, usually ones that I like, ones that I have been meaning to see, or have had recommended to me. This week's was Cradle Will Rock. A and I were the only ones there when the movie started. It was great. We chatted with the cashier, watched the movie, ate fancy fancy desserts - the kind that I feel a bit sad eating because they are so pretty. My pear-rosemary-chocolate tart was delicious. I was ready to make movies at Pix my regular Tuesday night activity.

About 30 minutes into the movie, far enough to figure out all of the enormous cast (Bill Murray, Jack Black, John Cusack, Joan Cusack, Hank Azaria, Susan Sarandon, Emily Watson, Westley from the Princess Bride, the guy from American Splendor, etc.) and what is going on, when people started coming in. At first, it was just a few people to get things to go, then a couple to stay, then a group of ladies having a night of wine and chocolate. And more. And more. As the noise level rose, we moved closer to the TV. Eventually, when ever table in the place was full of folks having loud conversations, we couldn't hear the movie. We decided to give up our table and move on.

If Pix is going to have a movie night, they need to institute some sort of noise control. Their business is successful enough they probably don't need to do the movie thing, though. A line for tables on a rainy tuesday - impressive.

Willy Week>New York Times

So Portland's own indistinguished weekly rag won itself a Pulitzer, making it only the 3rd weekly paper to do so. Maybe PDX is inching up from its second tier city status. . . or maybe not.

Copied from the Pulitzer website - I'd link to it, but they use frames:

For a distinguished example of investigative reporting by an individual or team, presented as a single article or series, Ten thousand dollars ($10,000).

Awarded to Nigel Jaquiss of Willamette Week, Portland, Ore., for his investigation exposing a former governor’s long concealed sexual misconduct with a 14-year-old girl.

Also nominated as finalists in this category were: Diana B. Henriques of The New York Times for her revelations that thousands of vulnerable American soldiers were exploited by some insurance companies, investment firms and lenders, and Clark Kauffman of The Des Moines Register for his exposure of glaring injustice in the handling of traffic tickets by public officials.

E has had major love for this Nigel character for quite a while. They e-mail. She adores him. I hope she's happy to see the establishment second her opinion.

a theory of cute boy distribution in portland

A and I went to the Oyster yesterday. A has started calling anything that is close to the Pearl District - most of Northwest Portland - the Oyster. I like it & have decided to adopt it.

She bought a chair at a thrift store. After working so hard to find a parking spot, I suggested we wander for a bit. So we did. And we got gelato. Throughout our wandering, we were struck by the high percentage of cute boys in that part of town. We discussed this muchly, trying to figure out why. . . We decided that much of it had to do with the fact that boys in the Oyster are clean. Boys on our side of town, Southeast, aren't the cleanest - many are downright dirty. You have to be quite attractive to still be attractive under a level of grime. . .

And why are all the cute boys in the Oyster? We constructed a theory. The cute boys must have some sort of perimeter that they are allowed to travel within. If they cross the line, they are shocked - it's just like the invisible fences people use to contain their dogs. As we drove out of the Oyster, I tried to find cute boys escaping the Oyster, getting shocked as they tried to cross the street.

No sightings.

Kellie the Astronaut

Last Friday night, I was walking along the Ave. with my mom, listening to her talk about how much the area has changed since she was in school at UW. Apparently, only the U Bookstore, a German restaurant, & an import store remain. As we were waiting for a light to change, I spotted purple piece of paper in the gutter. Scrawled across it was:

Kellie-
Please take
To Neptune.

Entertaining. Perfect. Bizarre. Even more so if one does not know that I was only a few blocks away from the Neptune theater.
Upon discovering this note, I immediately thought of Found Magazine, one of my favorites. Getting something into Found is one of my life goals. Yes, profound, I know. Most of my other life goals are more meaningful. My submission went out in today's mail. I used an extra cool envelope to sway the editor. I will be eagerly checking both the website & the next few issues to see if I am a contributor.