dearest daughters

So, I'm obviously losing it...

If this photog of green beans coming out of my head doesn't prove it, believe you me I have plenty that may furthur convince, including, but not limited to a series of photos of myself and two opossum puppets. Please contact me for a private showing.

um, Furthur Proof: I posted this nasty picture of myself. Yuck. But, it's from a Club Filipina Outkast dinner and I was cooking and frying and eating and it doesn't even matter because it was fun.

For serious. I haven't been in the best place these past couple of weeks. I'm not like perched on a window ledge or anything, I'm just overwhelmed with the impending reality of my first year in the real world. I'm applying to schools, practicing for various test, angsting over withdrawing from a class I hate and thinking I'm just a quitter, while applying to schools, and wondering whether I'm choosing the right schools, the right future, as a teacher, and contemplating why I chose Wellesley anyway? if I'm going to be a teacher in California and not pay off my debt until 2026, maybe, unless I evaporate and my debts and withdraw and test scores and applications and my Purpose are forgiven, forgotten.

Then, I can be alone with my green beans, puppets and harmonica. (Oh yeah, I play the harmonica now, yes, folks, the blues).

Ramdom Thoughts for Le Day

Today, Katherine and I went apple picking. The pickings were slim, but us Slims went picking anyway… the Slims meaning KT and me who both weigh less than we used to. It was nice to enjoy the 2 minutes of sunshine that we’ve had in the past 10 days. So, we got our vitamin D, 8 Asian pears, two pumpkins and a gourd. We also, much to KT’s delight, rode in a “train” around the orchard, you know, one of those tram things that is supposed to look like a train... anyway, Katherine could not contain her excitement despite the fact that it wasn’t actually a real-live-train, and she disobeyed the rules (as documented above) by sticking her arm outside of the train. We weren’t arrested or anything, but it gave me, at least, a little adrenaline rush at the thought of having such a rebellious friend.

I’d like to note here that in writing in my blog and posting photos, I’m not trying to implicate anyone in any wrong-doings, arm-reaching, drunkenness or otherwise. I don’t even use last names (I don’t think…)! But, I apologize if you’re offended by my representation of you, photographic or otherwise… I really find this all harmless and don’t think that anything that I do is shameful or embarrassing… for me at least… which warrants another apology for the times that I’ve embarrassed my friends. But, obviously, I have no concern for my future and the possibility of running for office. I’m obviously an irresponsible person. Obviously. I’m mos’ def’ not a nice person. A good person, perhaps. But, never nice. And always irresponsible.

Also, can I say that I love Le StuCent. KT and I have THE most intellectual discussions there about gender and motherhood and hegemony and imperialism and the ideal ratio of ketchup to mayonnaise for dipping hamburgers and French fries into and whether 8 packets of ketchup constitute a tomato or not and what about if there’s a slice of tomato on the hamburger too? and how many napkins is a waste of napkins if they’re made of recycled paper anyway and hegemony and concrete thinking and concrete identities and ambiguous identity and ambiguous sexuality and my recent perversion of using the phrases “gay” and “straight” to describe things even though I know its offensive and identity identity identity. Sorry, I’m so self-centered. Damn, that place has some crazy angles, but good light and energy.

A Story Hand-crafted for You From Scratch Using My New HTML Skills

[July 2011: This was a clickable map, but it's not anymore, so just pretend things move or link or whatever it was they did back in college.]

Long, long ago in an era I like to call adolescence" and a time of year that Ilike to call "summer," I found myself on the northern coast of California. I mean, I didn't "find" myself, "find" myself, like figuring out who I am and stuff, that just happens to be where I was physically located at certain moments of the summer. So, in this particular time of my life, I was camping with my family among the misty redwoods that line the coastal hillsides of my beloved state. Always a pleasant experience, I remember our camping trips with a bright fondness, despite the hazy dampness of the fog that the Pacific Ocean sets upon our annual campsite--that is until one summer when a disastrous storm released itself upon my older sister and me.

After a meal of steak and perhaps sweet white corn, if I recall correctly, another of the hearty meals for which my family's "tailgate" camping style is known, my sister and I were going to take a drive to the grocery store a few miles down the road to buy Hershey's candy bars for what else? S'mores! Opening the doors to our little white Saturn, my sister on the driver's side and myself on the passenger's side, we were completely oblivious to the events that would unfold in the next few moments. As I placed my left foot into the car, lowering myself into the seat, my sister doing the same on the other side of the car, except, I imagine with her right foot first, a small forest creature, I like to call, a "bird" swooped menacingly into the four-door. In a frantic flutter of feathers and beady eyes, the animal screeched about our heads and flung itself against the windows and dashboard in a horrible scene of both angry savagery and helpless panic. We were out of the car faster than dog hair to a cute pair of tailored and freshly dry-cleaned black pants.

"Kevin!" we called, certain that our brother who by this point in our camping trip had come to resemble a barefoot and half-clothed Mowgli from The Jungle Book, would surely save us. Instead, he and an audience of family members laughed in the face of our misery. The bird continued to bounce off of the car windows and doors and headrests like a pinball, until it managed to fling itself out of one of the two open doors like an angry bull out of its pen, charging towards the blue matador of a hazy sky. Our hearts racing, my sister and I embraced as our siblings began their mock reenactments of our brush with death. And now we hate birds.

The end.