I love the word Wednesday.
Just look at it...
Wednesday
I especially love it when it is written just as above, with proper capitalization. The big W, the round front loops of the d's, and nes right in the middle.
It makes me think of when I was in Ms. Guiffre's first grade class and I was practicing careful loops with my number 2 pencil. The smooth, thin handwriting sheets.
...and the W fills the space between the 2 solid blue lines...
...and the d's are written so the top of the loop reaches the the red dotted line but the backbone of the d - the line portion, if you will - reaches as tall as the capital W...
...and my y always with flourish. Showed a bit of personality...
Friday just doesn't pack the same punch.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
State of the Union - Still FUBARed
The best part about the State of the Union:
"Madam Speaker, the President of the United States."
Because even though Bush should bow down to Nancy Pelosi, it's good enough for me to hear her title first.
Other thoughts...
If Bush spoke this well during the first few years of his regime, his approval rating might not be so far into the toilet. Then again...
Balance the budget? I think someone already thought of that. Wasn't it Clinton? I wish Bush had followed more of what he did. I wouldn't care who sucked his dick - just as long as we weren't at war.
You want Medicare & Social Security to become sound? Make it so that every person in the Congress has to retire with only those two options. It will become sound real quick.
As for NCLB, bullshit. It is the solution to make a mediocre nation - not one that excels. We may need more focus on Math and Science, but what about critical thinking? Today's youth don't know how to think, to problem solve. There isn't time in a classroom to teach that, to develop it. Regurgitation of information to pass standardized test will NOT make a nation intellectually strong. Only true breakthroughs can do that. How about paying teachers more and demanding more of them? Help them get their Masters degrees, their PhD's, and then pay them to build the future of this nation.
Remind me again why we are in Iraq? The 9/11, Al Qaida smokescreen fails to impress. Way to slip in Iran followed almost directly by the word "wicked" instead of evil. While I've known for a while that Iran was our next target, hearing Bush say it crystallized the dire situation this is about to become. I'm curious as to who will profit from this one. Probably the same white men - private and public - that are profiting from Iraq. Make no mistake America. Your boys and girls aren't dying for freedom. They're dying for oil, for profit. And you'll never see a dime.
"Madam Speaker, the President of the United States."
Because even though Bush should bow down to Nancy Pelosi, it's good enough for me to hear her title first.
Other thoughts...
If Bush spoke this well during the first few years of his regime, his approval rating might not be so far into the toilet. Then again...
Balance the budget? I think someone already thought of that. Wasn't it Clinton? I wish Bush had followed more of what he did. I wouldn't care who sucked his dick - just as long as we weren't at war.
You want Medicare & Social Security to become sound? Make it so that every person in the Congress has to retire with only those two options. It will become sound real quick.
As for NCLB, bullshit. It is the solution to make a mediocre nation - not one that excels. We may need more focus on Math and Science, but what about critical thinking? Today's youth don't know how to think, to problem solve. There isn't time in a classroom to teach that, to develop it. Regurgitation of information to pass standardized test will NOT make a nation intellectually strong. Only true breakthroughs can do that. How about paying teachers more and demanding more of them? Help them get their Masters degrees, their PhD's, and then pay them to build the future of this nation.
Remind me again why we are in Iraq? The 9/11, Al Qaida smokescreen fails to impress. Way to slip in Iran followed almost directly by the word "wicked" instead of evil. While I've known for a while that Iran was our next target, hearing Bush say it crystallized the dire situation this is about to become. I'm curious as to who will profit from this one. Probably the same white men - private and public - that are profiting from Iraq. Make no mistake America. Your boys and girls aren't dying for freedom. They're dying for oil, for profit. And you'll never see a dime.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Saturday, January 20, 2007
the cost of happiness
For two brief months, I lived better. I thought about the kind of life I want - a smaller home, a brief commute, a city existence outside of suburbia. Kevin and I planned to think small rather than sprawling. We want to travel, to enjoy things outside the home.
And then, today, we bought a house. It's really beautiful. The lot is surrounded by trees. The house is bigger than we need right now - we have room to grow. The mortgage will be hundreds above my comfort number.
Will we travel? Will we still enjoy life? Is it really just about making a home, raising some kids, and trying to stay out of crushing debt? I think about debt on a regular basis. What amount is too much? How much does happiness cost?
For this moment, I have my answer. Happiness (with a morning room, walkout basement, gourmet kitchen, bay windows and a luxury bath) runs about $350,000 (before design upgrades).
And then, today, we bought a house. It's really beautiful. The lot is surrounded by trees. The house is bigger than we need right now - we have room to grow. The mortgage will be hundreds above my comfort number.
Will we travel? Will we still enjoy life? Is it really just about making a home, raising some kids, and trying to stay out of crushing debt? I think about debt on a regular basis. What amount is too much? How much does happiness cost?
For this moment, I have my answer. Happiness (with a morning room, walkout basement, gourmet kitchen, bay windows and a luxury bath) runs about $350,000 (before design upgrades).
Monday, January 15, 2007
Snap.
In the picture she is smiling, open-mouthed, face forward, eyes slantways watching him.
He is not looking at her, but directly through the lens at me on the other side of the camera. Lips parted, hair cropped close in the attempt to look GQ or Abercrombie - or like someone from some other place I don't shop. His short wool coat is dark gray, clean lines. I'd like to know him better.
She's wearing tan mules with small heels, desperate for sophistication. Loose blond hair betrays her truth. She has her legs crossed under her short handkerchief skirt, exposed knees held together against the fierce wind and the camera's watchful eye.
Her toe points toward him. She hopes for their future. His feet point west, away from her. He knows he'll be gone by the end of the month. Maybe even the end of the week.
I hold the camera out as he crosses the plaza to me. She grabs her cell phone out of her Dooney & Bourke bag, faces east.
"Thanks for taking our picture," he says.
Between the two of us, four hands on his camera.
I let go. "Not a problem. It turned out well."
He inhales to say something. I look down, smile, and turn west.
The wind smacks us as we walk separate paths.
He is not looking at her, but directly through the lens at me on the other side of the camera. Lips parted, hair cropped close in the attempt to look GQ or Abercrombie - or like someone from some other place I don't shop. His short wool coat is dark gray, clean lines. I'd like to know him better.
She's wearing tan mules with small heels, desperate for sophistication. Loose blond hair betrays her truth. She has her legs crossed under her short handkerchief skirt, exposed knees held together against the fierce wind and the camera's watchful eye.
Her toe points toward him. She hopes for their future. His feet point west, away from her. He knows he'll be gone by the end of the month. Maybe even the end of the week.
I hold the camera out as he crosses the plaza to me. She grabs her cell phone out of her Dooney & Bourke bag, faces east.
"Thanks for taking our picture," he says.
Between the two of us, four hands on his camera.
I let go. "Not a problem. It turned out well."
He inhales to say something. I look down, smile, and turn west.
The wind smacks us as we walk separate paths.
Friday, January 12, 2007
still i drive
i drive the wide arizona surface streets. it's only 85 degrees today, in new july. a departure from desert summer. through my windshield i see jutting hills - purple and perfect on the eastern horizon. mountains close in and surround this yawning valley of heat and people.
this sky is full slate - brooding gray at 1pm on a wednesday. the time isn't really significant, more a marker in my mind to separate the time between when i felt fine and now, when i don't.
physically, nothing of note is wrong with me. but a blackening sky and kick of wind has pushed me into contemplation. yesterday's demons and today's loss of hope written on a paper top and spun into my manic brain.
twirling.
twirling.
twirling.
i press the accelerator, lean into the curve, and it's 6 months later in virginia's january. it was 75 degrees in the mid-atlantic this past saturday reminding me that arizona followed me to this green state of rain and sprawling suburbs.
the streets here are lined with trees not fully dormant in this unusually warm winter. spring buds threaten to break free of the branches and the baby birds who are born too soon and will die in the snow that will surely come in late march.
i'm angry about a lot of things - more than the surface anger of someone cutting me off or the annoyances of being overworked. it's an anger without regard to consequences - a hopeless one born of being ordinary with the want of something more. it is nearing despair.
still, i drive these roads through sunlight, rain, and pinkish dusk. in my car, and heart, i am solitary - looking for a twist of road, an adventure to find what I've lost.
this sky is full slate - brooding gray at 1pm on a wednesday. the time isn't really significant, more a marker in my mind to separate the time between when i felt fine and now, when i don't.
physically, nothing of note is wrong with me. but a blackening sky and kick of wind has pushed me into contemplation. yesterday's demons and today's loss of hope written on a paper top and spun into my manic brain.
twirling.
twirling.
twirling.
i press the accelerator, lean into the curve, and it's 6 months later in virginia's january. it was 75 degrees in the mid-atlantic this past saturday reminding me that arizona followed me to this green state of rain and sprawling suburbs.
the streets here are lined with trees not fully dormant in this unusually warm winter. spring buds threaten to break free of the branches and the baby birds who are born too soon and will die in the snow that will surely come in late march.
i'm angry about a lot of things - more than the surface anger of someone cutting me off or the annoyances of being overworked. it's an anger without regard to consequences - a hopeless one born of being ordinary with the want of something more. it is nearing despair.
still, i drive these roads through sunlight, rain, and pinkish dusk. in my car, and heart, i am solitary - looking for a twist of road, an adventure to find what I've lost.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Of Shells and Angel Wings
New Year's Eve and I'm standing on the beach with my toes in the cold, frothing surf promising things that can't be promised - shouldn't be thought of even since they are just future failures waiting to happen.
I found angel wing shells earlier today - blue and purpley smooth on the inside encased in a rough black exterior. The two sides fold in on eachother joined by a thin supple spine. When opened, each side looks like two halves of a chipped and barnacled heart.
I laugh. "A metaphor for me?"
The shelled heart appears as one entity - weathered but resilient. I pocket it and continue to comb through the collapsing tide for jewels and hermit crabs. Later, after we leave the humid beach and the shells dry, I see the tumbled halves are waiting to snap free from one another. Each are plain without the other. I think of this as the darkened sky lights up with the red pops and silver snaps of fireworks shot haphazardly by people on the pier. One misses his aim and the beach erupts in green glitter stars.
Should I notice that my spirit feels as thin and fragile as stray seaweed, my soul bruised and half broken like the coral washing up at my feet? Should I dive into this hopeless fear - of being lost, of being forever unhappy - and experience yet another journey toward renewal and rebuilding?
The tide makes me feel small. I want to be unruly, to gain control of the moment, be wild, be free again. Instead, I drink too much and throw up for the entirety of the first day of this brand new year. As I bend over the bowl, I catch a glimpse of my face in the water and wonder when I became so ordinary.
I found angel wing shells earlier today - blue and purpley smooth on the inside encased in a rough black exterior. The two sides fold in on eachother joined by a thin supple spine. When opened, each side looks like two halves of a chipped and barnacled heart.
I laugh. "A metaphor for me?"
The shelled heart appears as one entity - weathered but resilient. I pocket it and continue to comb through the collapsing tide for jewels and hermit crabs. Later, after we leave the humid beach and the shells dry, I see the tumbled halves are waiting to snap free from one another. Each are plain without the other. I think of this as the darkened sky lights up with the red pops and silver snaps of fireworks shot haphazardly by people on the pier. One misses his aim and the beach erupts in green glitter stars.
Should I notice that my spirit feels as thin and fragile as stray seaweed, my soul bruised and half broken like the coral washing up at my feet? Should I dive into this hopeless fear - of being lost, of being forever unhappy - and experience yet another journey toward renewal and rebuilding?
The tide makes me feel small. I want to be unruly, to gain control of the moment, be wild, be free again. Instead, I drink too much and throw up for the entirety of the first day of this brand new year. As I bend over the bowl, I catch a glimpse of my face in the water and wonder when I became so ordinary.
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