Coincidence? I Just Can't Help Myself

What does the phrase "sent Coleman on" indicate here?


Woman gives birth in car before police pull her over at gunpoint
Thursday, March 31, 2005 Posted: 8:03 AM EST (1303 GMT)

KETTERING, Ohio (AP & CNN) -- A woman rushing to a hospital to give birth hit a few stops along the way -- first at a gas station where she delivered the baby herself, then when confused police ordered her out of the car at gunpoint.

Debbie Coleman, whose 3- and 4-year-old daughters were asleep in the back seat, pulled over at a gas station just after midnight Tuesday.

"I asked if she needed help, and she just leaned back in the seat, hollered a little, and I looked down and there was the baby's head," said station co-owner Lloyd Goff, who was alerted to the emergency at pump No. 7 by a customer.

Goff said Coleman "threw her leg over the steering wheel, groaned once, and the rest of the baby came out.

"She caught that baby, put it to her chest, gave me a look, like, 'I gotta go,' closed the door, put the van in gear and away she went."

A customer at the gas station in suburban Dayton tried to give police a heads-up about Coleman's situation, but a mix-up involving the license plate number had them thinking the van was stolen.

As officers went looking for her, Coleman headed for the hospital, naked below the waist and with the baby boy in her arm. His umbilical cord was still attached.

"I kept pulling over, making sure (the baby) was all right, breathing," she said.

Meanwhile, police had straightened out the license plate issue. But another caller mistakenly reported someone trying to throw a baby from a van.

Coleman said she noticed several cruisers following her before one cut her off. With guns drawn, officers ordered her out of the van with her hands up.

"I opened the door and said, 'I just had a baby' and just let them see everything," she said.

Officers sent Coleman on and let the hospital know she was coming.

Coleman was discharged Wednesday. Her 6-pound, 8-ounce son, Richard Lee Coleman Jr., remained in intensive care.



"Sent Coleman on"???

More Proof

Aha! The following excerpt from CNN.com
illustrates the changing face (the ways in which individuals publically perform their own identities) of professional lives.

If one does not keep up on the constantly changing "codes" of
American life-styles, one may end up reprimanded:

Officer disciplined for stopping doctor on way to birth
Tuesday, March 29, 2005 Posted: 1:55 PM EST (1855 GMT)

FORT LAUDERDALE, Florida (AP) -- A police officer who stopped a doctor for speeding on his way to deliver a baby, and then took him to the maternity ward in handcuffs, has agreed to an unpaid suspension for lack of judgment.

Dr. Anthony Chidiac was driving his motorcycle 10 miles above the 25 mph speed limit last March when he was stopped by 15-year veteran Officer William Lilliston.

According to records released Monday from an internal police investigation, when the doctor explained he was going to a delivery, the officer allegedly asked if he was delivering a pizza and later said, "If you're a doctor, I'm Mickey Mouse or Joe Blow."

Lilliston called the hospital to confirm Chidiac's story, and drove him to the hospital as the baby's head was showing. The officer then asked to see the doctor's driver's license before letting Chidiac change into scrubs.

Chidiac delivered the baby 15 minutes after the handcuffs were removed.

The officer, who said the doctor had been slow in pulling over, later wrote Chidiac a traffic citation.

The officer agreed last month to serve a 16-day unpaid suspension under a negotiated settlement, said Jack Lokeinsky, his union's president. The case is scheduled to go before a Citizen Review Board on April 11.

Vetting

So I have a cat; I've just always choosen not to blog
about said cat co-habitation.
I call the cat, on occasion, Zizek.
He is a very low maintainance cat. For example,
he came to us just about a year ago
w/all of his shots
and w/o his balls.

He prowls about outside the house from time to time. Today,
I've been informed that he not only has a small "mark/sore" on his back,
but that he also has formed a bit of a limp.
Just now, he didn't purr when I pet him. Unusual.

To the vet? Sure. Only,
I need new lens for my reading glasses this week
and, frankly, b/c of monetary reasons,
I've avoided my own MD on the past 2 occasions
of a possible ear infection.
Even though I realize that ideal-living w/a cat
means an occasional (if not regular) visit to the vet,
I think I will have to wait out Zizek's symptoms a couple of days . . .

Teaching at the Branch

This branch at the U is a bit of an odd shaped building;
there is a mysterious 4th floor that cannot be seen from afar.
My class was held in a room on this 4th floor.

Students made eye contact with me and smiled
when I walked down the hall. Rather odd.

Cell phones were worn like a badges of honor
and vibrated all the way through my lecture.
During break, a few students approached me
with the beginning phrase:
"Let me tell you [how it is? how it is going to be?] . . ."--
very authorative. Lots of older students and students who work.

And the classroom itself? The space is large and
stair-stepped. Lecture hall style. Ampitheater.
Setting: Small Community on the brink of Technology
Players: Students / Instructor / Voices from the past
Plot: TBA [Instructor goes mad right before everyone's eyes?]

The podium is this massive contraption
with a PC loaded into the front cabinet at a canted angle.
Most awkward.
I have no desk, no rolling chair; therefore, I suspect,
given the tone of the information
packet sent to me as well, I suspect that I am strongly
discouraged from, 'er, sitting.
Yuk.

And guess what? I bluffed my way through >gasp< a "time line."
Why?
I'm not sure.
It's against my pedagogical nature to reinforce
linear systems of thinking . . . and yet,
I did. Last night.
Why?
I'll have to give that some thought.
My knee jerk answer is that, after last quarter, I find it exhausting
to constantly buck the system--
but, as I hope to discover, it may be as equally exhausting not to.

Blog Roll Please?

whoopsy.
I _thought_ I was adding all of my favorite links to a blogrolling service, so without thinking, I deleted lots of the links I thought I was adding from my personal "fav list" . . . I wonder if I've lost anyone? I was so hoping to link your blogs from this site . . .

Post Easter

I can't imagine all the mothers
who woke up this morning to
not only plastic and paper grass strung all through the house,
but also little wads of pastel tinfoil
and half shelled eggs littering the living space.

My mid-sized U actually has five branch campuses
located throughout the state.
Tonight, from 7:30-9:30, I will teach a WS100
at one of these campuses.
Ehem, my main priority will be to stay awake.
You see, I think I have the "dropsies."
For the past couple of weeks, I've felt horrible drowsy at 2:00pm
and 7:00pm. Yet, tonight is important to me
b/c I want to set just the right tone for the class . . .

I have a must book:
Thomas de Zengotita's Mediated: How the Media Shapes your World and the Way you Live in It. Professor at the Dalton School at New York University.
Feel free to browse the first chapter on this link; I believe it may be worth your time.
[Can't get Blogger to accept my link?? Here it is: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4559660]

Tomorrow? ENG 152. What films should I show this quarter?
_Bamboozled_, definately. Maybe excerpts from Tommy's book up there?

American Choices

If everyone is so worried about

gasp,

that they are willing to go

gulp

in hopes to avoid more of

sigh,

or even

frown,

then why can't we all just

enjoy a crazy alternative

(which might help with hello! )

or at least

try new, wild ideas .

Cycles

Let me tell you what I find facinating about personal journals and letters: cycles. For example, while cleaning out some papers (how I loath that job) I found a letter from my partner from 4 years ago in March.
It could have been written yesterday.

Cylces. What life cycles do you find yourself in dear reader?

Connect the Dots (if you care, I'm too tired/bored, honestly); Stream of Conscious

The weird door-to-door guy was back,
creepy man with tight, burnt little
chocolate chip cookies
on a greasy paper plate. How? I guess
real cookies nned a greased pan.
I can't remember.
But why, o why, did I lie and thank him for the first plate?

I'm doomed for more, that's for sure.

Why must exercise punish me?
I tried a "new" rev today and pulled a muscle--
under the left set of my ribs. It hurts.
Makes me uncomfortable.
But more curiously, I find myself avoiding bodily uncomforts
more than ever before . . .
in all, ehem, aspects of life, so to speak.
And burnt little blobs of cookie dough
make me highly uncomfortable.

Emotions, like cookie dough, are vibrant and explosive in adolesence,
too bad its poetry sucks. Adolecent poetry, not cookie dough.
Utterly sucky. Cliches and vague universals--
wait--
pretty much like my current blogging! Is there a connection?
Perhaps young people always feel watched,
so that they must speak in cryptic codes?
A friend's 12-year-old asked me today
how old I would guess someone was if she
looked exactly like me and we passed eachother in a mall.
I said 16.
She laughed.
Then I secretly asked myself how old I really feel--
the answer surprised me.
My current age minus a rather tramatic experience 7 years ago.
Curious.
My mum-in-law is working her way into a "home" as fast as possible;
she is a relativally healthy 60-year-old who drives me insane.

And listen, why does Yahoo! sport the headline:
what?! it's already gone? unbelievable? anyway,
the headline pointed out that Clinton had appointed
the federal judge assigned to the Schiavo case to the bench--
someone at Yahoo! must have already sensed my Q.
One up.
Also CNN:
"Gap dumps 'Sex in the City' Star"
Is the word "dumps" appropriate? Why not let Jessica Speak?

Oh Oh! My partner just called from the video store
and _Finding Neverland_ is already out?! Woo-woo!
Did I just promise sexual favors if the movie
finds its way to my DVD player tonight? I have found my escape.

I hear Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherezade coming from
a viola in one of the back bedrooms; only it doesn't sound arabic at all,
it sounds like an Irish lament and I feel a bit selfish
for hoping she is corageous and bold enough
to play such music at my bed side when I die . . .


Do you ever get the funny feeling that
you are typing just to see yourself type?

As I pulled into my drive,
I noticed new people moving into
the house a couple doors down.

Why do I not know my neighbors?
I should.
I would.
This time, I'd walk up to my neighbors,
introduce myself with a fresh start--
savagely supress
all anti-social emotions
that threaten to damage my well-being,
and those of my future children
(hey, aren't PTOs and soccer required?).

What to say?
I don't bake.
But this was too easy---> as I pulled into my drive,
I saw a ten speed setting out against a tree next to the road.

I bounded over:
"Hello. My name is [SQ's innocence must continue to be protected].
I just live right over there.
I, uh, noticed you parked your 10 here.
You may want to keep in chained up--ours was stolen."

Perfect conversation breaker, no?
I mean, isn't "troubles talk" (see Deborah Tanner)
a human way of communication, of bonding?

Why is communicating so hard for someone who studies communication?
I can just imagine what the dinner table would sound like if I had, say three children. I would have to sparodically say things like,
"Just eat your food, or I'll beat your butt back to mars. Eyeballs."--simply to
keep up a pretence of normalcy.

Back to the neighbor: The guy pinched his face up at me,
looked me in the forehead and said with a heavy Scottish accent:
"She just lived down there [one more door down]. Lived here for a year.
We keep our bikes locked up."

So she isn't my new neighbor, and this isn't a fresh start.

Spring is in the Air

I finally have my digital camera paid off from dell
and where is it?
Not charged up and ready to shoot.
Further,
I'm about 18 months behind on developing pictures.

But I do have my computer desk 1/2 painted--
in reds and oranges so far. Only the yellows
and browns are left. Painting can be so soothing.

And so can the ocean; my partner managed to get
the 2nd week of June off for vacation--what does that make?
12 weeks to go?
His work is getting hectic--some 3 year accreditation
coming up soon--
so we may have to take the laptop & I have mixed feelings about that.
We've never had to mix work and pleasure yet,
why start now? And isn't it funny how we often do not
completely understand what work those closest to us really do?

I'm off to explore my chilly corner of the world--
and to find a way out.

Police State

Start: Late, as per par, ramp onto the outerbelt;
2, count them, 2 Staties hot on my ass; I comply.
Slow down. Act non-chalant.

After an hour & half drive to ________,
I arrive at C Hall, deposit my grades. 9:53.
I shit you not.
Suprisingly, do NOT meet a ton of English people
standing in line with crumpled hair.

Speaking of crumpiness--should not have looked like sh8t today.
My boss in WS may be 600+ miles away,
but her boss, the boss's boss, is on campus. In the office.
Peeps in on me.
I ask to see my evaluations; her response?
"Not that we police the evaluations, but L will
compute them, establish a medium, and write up a report . . .
yadda yadda . . . if you would like [to know what
in the hell is going on with your own evaluations], please
schedule a meeting time with L . . ."

From the week 8, I felt errie when the evaluations for WS were conducted by
office staff; yellow light. Now, not having access period; red light.
There are so many problems with this system, that I feel utterly exhausted
simply contemplating them--
not alone writing it all down.

PLUS, she ended the impromptu meeting by calling
me out on not "keeping dialogue"
with L this quarter (which is so true for so many complicated,
personal reasons). I feel slapped on the wrist.
But it's not "policing"-- a term deliciously relished by graduate
students who know just enough to want to change/challenge the
system in which the tenure track have worked so hard to
successfully establish themselves within . . .
please don't ask how one gets from point A to B;
I don't have all of the answers yet.
Preliminary studies, preliminary studies.

Why do I not keep open dialogue?
Because I am in hiding. Duh.
The more I speak to my superiors, the more risk
I take in being "discovered."
Which is why this college teaching stint is at an end.
Yes, at an end.
For real this time.
Like Jerry S., I know when to exit.
I must exit while there is still some hope of a nod at a reference,
a bridge from which to cross over to my next career.
Three to four years in one spot is tops for me.
It has been three.

Simply put, I am far far too insecure for this type of setting.
What is next? Not sure.
Dread 85%; Hope 10%; Excitement 3%; Fear 2% and growing.
I always like to wait until I am simply comfortable enough
to not care before I cross over, but in this field, that might not happen.
Time to jump ship.
Really, another Group I, tenured fauclty felt this way last year
and used the same tired metaphor (someone well respected). . .
what type of existance would it be to feel this way for the next 20?

Skip to: the English Department and hand in a very late book order; the Comp Director is there. "Tisk. Tisk." at my lateness.
Frown.
Let me out. Ei.
How could I look at evaluations in that environment?
J, the future chair & a person with whom I shall remain in good standing,
if I am never seen again, is right around the corner.
I give up.
No research today. Just Flight.
I bound to my car, metered parked again,
and drive.
I drive and drive.
Hit the highway where I can flee at 65, 70, 75 mph--
around the express curve with the Gs pushing me against
my own door. A bit dizzy, yes.
Run, run away from _________ before I totaly blow everything
I've worked to acheive--

And in the corner of my eye,
following me from another angle,
an angle I didn't see before,
I see
another State Trooper.

Speedy Squire

Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to work I go--
must drive all the way to ________ simply to turn in the
grades I was too lazy to compute on Friday.

But that's ok, b/c I should meet C & M,
who have had quite a difficult weekend--
discovering that an old lover had not only
married, but had a son and then lost
his young wife, 27, to a brain hemorage
last week . . .

Why is moving furniture such a chore?
And why must I do it every spring--
even when I swear, each year, that I won't do it "this" year??
And why must the place look completely trashed
when cleaning out one closet, ect.?

I found a new spot for the pink & gre/ay
smiling, cermatic elephant (with the
red hat and purse)the one
my darling my mum-in-law gave me for Christmas:
it's on the edge of an end table by the front door--
yes, I did it on purpose.
So did she.
Right where Zizek likes to jump up and look through the window--

And by the way
I _want_ to look like sh8t today--ever have days like that?
I occasionally do.
I want my body to visibly reflect whatever "I've been through"
(ie. grading this weekend).
So I will miss match; barely comb my hair; wear crappy old sneakers.
I want to look like my life is so full
that I just had enough time to throw myself together.
Maybe it's just an excuse.

My partner got bit by a baby alligator
last night; she was hiding under our bed,
knocked off from a piece of furniture we had moved.
Prickly teeth caught on the shoe,
marble eye watching, yet seeing nothing.

A Day of Peace and Reflection

Twin A has lost his right incisor; this presents
a difficulty because Twin B's left incisor has come in.
Once again, they are completely identical, and to everyone's
delight, I too am having trouble telling them apart
upon first glance.

I plan to hang my wind chimes from the kitchen window today,
even though I may not get a chance to clean the windows
for another 2-3 weeks. I try to clean the windows at least
every 5 years, whether they need it or not. Someone has to do it.

And yes, Palm Sunday is still holy to me . . .

Most Mornings

Most mornings I start my day with a cup of dark self-brew;
I often put too many grounds in the filter.
There are those mornings, like today,
that I feel the need/urge to drink just one more.
I simply cannot wake up, too sluggish.
Another cup and a half. Pink Sweet and Low packets,
moist with coffee scatter the counter.
The microwave blandly blinks 8:23; I'm suddenly totally wired.
I become upset with my burnt toast, China's red herring use of Tiawan.

This is the ritual.
I find myself rumaging through the fridge
looking for something to mix with a shot of Vodka:

Diet Lime Coke?

Although I designed my final essay
to be a personal, reflexive narrative
on defining feminism and its public/private applications,
(yes)so that I would not have to wade through
each and every set of writing
(but writing is still wonderful for the student's articulation of self)--
instead, simply giving full credit for reach the 4 page requirement,

I couldn't help myself from peeking at some of the answers.

The comment that sticks out most in my mind
was wrtten by a rather combative male student,
let's call him S. S concludes that the single most important thing
he has learned
through this course is that feminism isn't about anger or hate,
but rather, it it about love. Specifically, loving those who
are different from the self.

Now, I could have sworn we talked about rage a bit! But I
find it fascinating that we learn what we want to learn--
and I do remember having a couple 'teaching' moments
where great love was indeed expressed. So this is what he chooses to
remember . . . and it ain't all that bad.

After a Quick Skim--

You know what?
I don't think I need to worry too much.

Nothing here of great interest.

That's an even sicker, more depressing thought:
I'm boring at times.

Perhaps this exposure is just what I need.

And btw (not that I will continue to
2nd guess myself after tonight,
in so much that I must defend this next sentence against
blogging sensationalism before i even say it due to
my imagined sensitivites of my newest readers), but

don't you just hate needing sex from your partner
when you are angry at her/him?

Now I Can't Call Her a Hungry Varmit

I am alone in ________ Hall.
________ is very creepy at this moment, so I don't know how much courage I have to stay. I have a bag of Cheezits, 20oz. Diet Pepsi, and 60+ finals in front of me. My office door has a good lock & I had to access 3 locks to get in the building. I imagine I am safe.

After a 3 hour coffee w/C, I'm OUT.
We started talking about writing,
and one thing led to another,
soon we were out of control, and BAM--
I gave her my web addy.
But geez, it wasn't like she whipped
out a folder and pen as soon as I mentioned
blogging as my writing outlet . . .
I spelled it with two "L's" for "some" reason, Freud.

The cheezits are now gone.

If C is reading this, then I fear I will be all about stroking.
I will definately have to step up my writing--
edit--
polish--
rethink word choice, ect. ect.
D*mn. I like being lazy. But she has typos too.
Like that! See! I wanted to put a "smiley face" after the typo sentence . . .

And if C knows, then A & K must know. Soon.
Solidarity.
Help?? S?? How do I keep my blog
from turning into our listserv??

The Good Thing:
Opening communications between my private life, familiy life,
academic life, and spiritual life could be a good move.
Sherry Turkle would suggest that this blog could help be pull the pieces
of my fragmented self together . . .

The Bad Thing:
I might just clam up tighter. Fantasize more.
Walk into a pet store with a blunt weapon.

The In-Between Thing:
I could start another blog,
a darker blog,
a blog that explores my unspeakablness.
I could rename it with a yahoo account.

So--that's 6 live readers.
Remember what I suggested about unholy numbers?

Bleck, I Over Ate

Ok, so, to top off my very first section
of WS100, we have a potential gas leak
40 minutes into the final.

Oddly enough, we are the only class engaged
in a final, in that building, at that hour.

What would you do if you were the instructor,
there were 40 students in an oven-sized classroom,
and you noticed other noses crinkling-up
during the final exam, during hell week no less?

I did what any other humanities-bred English teacher
would and should do; I yelled
FIRE! and lit a match.


Sorry, another rift on my sick sick fantasies.
I did however, evacuate the room (not the building--after all,
this was a final d*mnit!) and called maintanance.

Because all of you are off in your own little worlds today,
doing who knows what, I really can't imagine,
I have the privelege of sparing you the next 40 minutes
of "human drama" [gotta rent _Huckabees_] and giving you the
short short:

It was gas. human gas. the sewage system under the building
has sprung a leak and can be smelled through the vents.

Remembering I was metered parked today, I quickly jumped into my car,
lets pretend it is a convertable on sunny days,
and zoomed off to a local deli for a lunch break.

Only the deli is now a fastfood joint with
a name that litterally means "fast." D*mn again.
I ate at chicken-eatery I passed along the way
b/c they had popcorn chicken,
and one simply cannot catch such delicacies every day.
Yet, once I ordered, I discovered
that nothing on my plate was green, red, orange, or yellow;
the basic
veggie/fruity colors. Instead, my food was all golden, crispy browns--
the colors of undigestable, saturated fats. That are sometimes tasty.

Now? 20 minutes later? My gut feels like it is going to explode from a chemical
reaction to grease.

I kept telling my students, the ones from section A06,
that no one was going to die today.

But I'm not for sure.

I'd Rather Blog in Green

Because I was in such an utterly foul mood
last night, when I popped in the DVD
_I [Heart] Huckabees_
I instantly bonded with the film's opening lines.

Although it's been a while since I've read
Heidegger (ha! I really have--parts),
this film provides a comic, yet seemingly accurate,
if not ocularcentric, musing on existentialiasm.


In other news, catch a leperchaun today.
Tickle her, braid her beard, but don't,
as some moronic Kindergarten teacher might suggest,
shoot it.
If you shoot it,
how will you ever find the "pot"? of gold, I mean.

I gotta go--will visit more today, I suspect,
because I will be in ________ giving 2, count them, 2 WS100 finals.


Cherrio [s are good if theye have berries in them].

Am I Transparent?

Last night, or maybe early this morning,
I walked up to my mother
sitting at the kitchen breakfast nook
and learned that in the early 70s
she had been stationed in San Francisco
by Flower Power.
Soon afterward, she confessed
to my transparent spirit
that she had, indeed, aborted me.

Is that f-ed up, or what? Time to put
Toni Morrison's _Beloved_ back on the shelf.
Along with a 2003 personal journal of mine
that explored the effects of my being an "accident" . . .
Not a good combo.

Today! Must get oil changed.
Why do I need an appointment for an oil change?
And why would the receptionist call me the night
before in order to remind me of the oil change?
It isn't a doctor's office.
If it was, the mechanic could refuse me oil
on the grounds of "moral objections."
sorry, just thinking of a friend's OBGYN . . .

Also, I have a crack in my windshield.
It begins in the lower left quadrant and is working its
way up to the top. Does not impair my vision.
However, I was told several months ago by State Patrol
to get it fixed.
Delima?
Should I pay the $120+ now and get it fixed,
or take my chances??
I've heard the Staties can pull you over
and make you get a tow?
I donated $20 bucks this year to
the State Highway Patrol;
do you think if I put their little sticker in my window
that they won't fine me??
Man, $120 can buy a decent pair of shoes
or even dinner and a movie . . .

Advice for the day:
Do not make your bed.
Expose those dirty bacteria b*stards to the light.
Do not do laundry.
If you keep up on your laundry,
how will you know what you have already worn
earlier this week? Would you want to wear the
same outfit 2x in one week?! I thought not.

I Also Stumbled Across This

Another CNN Post crossed my path today. I found this post interesting b/c I would really like to know what Ashley Smith said to Brian Nichols during those last 30 hours they spent together in GA. Apparently she read from Rick Warrne's _The Purpose Driven Journal_. I received that journal as a gift myself a couple years ago; I flipped through it and decided that it actually wasn't a piece of Christian consumerism/marketing . . . very useful questions & prompts. Here is an excerpt from Warren on Larry King discussing the nature of "sin" and gay/lesbian life styles:

WARREN: Oh, I think the worst sin is pride. In fact, the Bible says it. The Bible says that pride is the worst sin. It is, as the Bible says, it's the sin that got Satan kicked out of heaven. It's the sin that caused Nebuchadnezzar to lose his kingdom, and King Herod and a bunch of others. Pride goes before destruction.

Because pride is basically saying, "I'm in charge." The middle letter of pride is I, and the middle letter of sin is I ...

One of the things ... is we're in a narcissistic culture, that basically says, "It's all about me. I need to do what I want to do. I want to have what I want to have. I want to be what I want to be." It's a very self-centered culture. And that's why I think one of the things about the book that took off, it's kind of a slap in the face, because the first line of the book says, "It's not about you."

Now, I don't know a self-help book in the world that starts with, "It's not about you." But every other book on self-help will basically say, "It's all about you. It's all about your needs, your dreams, your desires."

Ouch. Are we a narcissistic culture???

Is This Info Really Useful?

Like, duh? Why weren't these words already in Webster??!
I guess we bloggers really are the cutting edge of information:

['Wedgie' Added to Webster's Dictionary
Mon Mar 14, 5:42 PM ET Top Stories - AP

CLEVELAND - Wedgie, a teenager's locker-room nightmare, has made it into the dictionary. Webster's New World College Dictionary based in Cleveland said wedgie was among its new additions to its latest edition.

The new edition will carry this listing: wedgie: noun. a prank in which the victim's undershorts are jerked upward so as to become wedged between the buttocks.

The dictionary also carries the tradition wedgie definition of a type of shoe.

"`Wedgie' was always a part of the high school terminology that you sort of never thought about later," said Editor in Chief Michael Agnes.

"It never really entered the mainstream until the '90s. It broke out of high school and, boy — if you don't know what it is, you're absolutely at a loss."

The new edition will reach bookstores by May and has 58 new entries, plus another 20 new senses of existing words (such as wedgie).

The additions include Al Qaeda, blog, cargo pants, irritable bowel syndrome and partial-birth abortion.]



I Take Great Pride In Knowing NOTHING About American Idol,
but I'm always curious about mysteries (go figure--isn't everyone?),
and this article from CNN/AP is written well. The 3rd "reason" cracked me up:

[Why did Mario Vazquez quit 'Idol'?
Fans abuzz over possibilities
Tuesday, March 15, 2005 Posted: 9:06 AM EST (1406 GMT)

Mario Vazquez dropped out of the "Idol" running on Sunday.

NEW YORK (AP) -- It's personal.

That's what Mario Vazquez is insisting about his decision to drop out of Fox's "American Idol" talent search. Fans were buzzing Monday about why such a popular contender would forfeit "Idol" fame.

"My gut and intuition told me it wasn't time to do this," Vazquez told The Associated Press. "I had to focus on some personal areas in my life with the little bit of privacy that I have."

The New Yorker's own mother, Ada, didn't know about his decision until a local TV reporter showed up at her doorstep.

"I do not know," she told Fox 5 News. "I heard it from your mouth so I do not know what's happening. I feel horrible about it."

Fans felt just as bad. Messages on the official "Idol" Web site ranged from "Post here if you will miss Mario" to "Mario Vazquez Fans UNITE!" Working together, many attempted to piece together the puzzle on why such a promising contestant would call it quits. Here are three theories -- realistic and ridiculous -- that fans conceived, and here's what he told the AP in a telephone interview Monday:

1. He didn't want the "American Idol" contract.

Sure, the winner of "Idol" receives a heaping helping of media attention, but they also are beholden to a record deal with the show's executive producer that many in the industry call restrictive. So maybe Vazquez saw a loophole, some fans posted.

Vazquez: "In all honesty, I'm not able to talk about contracts. ... It's nothing with 'American Idol' in particular, it's just things I really need to take care of in my life."

2. He's got a skeleton in his closet.

Contestants have been dismissed from previous "Idol" editions. One was arrested, some failed to disclose arrest records and one posed for an adult Web site. Could Vazquez be hiding something just as detrimental, or even more personal, and decided to bow out before it was found out?

Vazquez: "Crazy." And, for the record, "Everything is fine with my health."

3. He's going to testify in the Michael Jackson case.

OK, it's a stretch. But Vazquez does have a connection to the Gloved One. The crooner sang backup on "Whatever Happens," a track from Jackson's 2001 "Invincible" album. In a questionnaire on the "Idol" Web site, Vazquez called the experience his "proudest moment in life so far." However, Vazquez wasn't listed as a possible witness for either the defense or prosecution in Jackson's molestation trial. And Vazquez is back in New York while the trial is continuing in California.

Vazquez: "Crazy, that's how it goes," he said, singing the answer. "No, I'm not. It was an amazing experience to work with Michael Jackson, who is a legend. It's unfortunate what's happening with that."

Despite all the hubbub, Vazquez was sticking to his story -- and to his dreams of music stardom.

"I don't think it's by any means an end to my career," he said. "It's just things you need to take care of in life .... I will always be singing. This won't be the last you hear of Mario Vazquez."

Stay tuned.]

I do live in a closet, and, yes, I think that's funny.

Also, I watched _Shaun of the Dead Last Night_. Soon to be a cult classic I'm sure. Loved it. Ok, I liked it alot.

Something else was on my mind today, but I lost it . . . I think it had to do with the bunny and egg shaped pasta I found . . .

Triglyph--you are right: I want to write.
I think I have found a voice. My voice. And I owe it all to
our list serve and Blogger. Now. What to write about?

O Say Can You See?

The petagon gets hit by anthrax
and it doesn't even make headlines?
Our media must be progressing . . .

I visited a neat-o blog today
with a pop-up world map
that allowed visitors to pin where they are from.

The map is powered by: >bravenet.

Is this one of those sites everyone has known about forever?

I Will Be the First to Admit

My degree affords me little knowledge about
the basic 21st century survival skills
that I need to know in this part of the world;
for example:

*** I have either lost or misplaced one of my credit cards.
I'm not sure how to report it, seeing that I don't have any account
information written down or last month's statement even.

@@@ How do elementary caffeteria cooks mess up the menu? The food
is designed to be yummy; why must it be either undercooked
or burnt? Why is there no pride in being a chef of that caliber?

^^^ How can I move my PSL line from here to there? How do I splice
these wires effectively? How can I hack into my sister's computer
and find out what her credit card information is--w/o her finding
me out?

### I desperately want my identity stolen. Why is it that no one
wants to be me?

%%% How can I remember that Monday's are trash pick up? [Picture:
fisting my own forhead, 'Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.'] More importantly,
how do I get rid of this old microwave I mentioned back in January? (If
you are concerned, it is back in my basement--out of city sight and
stuck in my mind.)

&&& How can I paint my bathroom a nice, claming blue w/o making it
look like a rabid child attacked it with a blue crayon? With fangs.
[For instance, I know that last bit is a fragment AND a dangling modifier
(quirky fun dangling modifier), but that knowledge does not make me
see blue when I pee.]


and the big one is . . .

$$$ How do I make enough money
to buy healthy groceries??? AND clothing, ect.?
plus, I must travel. Soon. Or die.

Bored and Grumpy?

Still incredibly restless-
can you read
wanting to do/be meaningful-
between these lines
just don't have the energy-
just what it is
to be who I want to be.
that I am trying to say?


okay--and these all spring from this guy's blog:
just one source.

which is really kindof boring. I couldn't even wade through half of it. Even if I did find information. I could never write html; I have too many typos.

If You Care

Ehem, just for the record,
I was in no way trying to imply
any disrespect to the wonderful world of blogger-vision
young, yesterday morn.
On the contrary, I believe that cyber spaces
have the capacity to coincide
very nicely with physiological spaces. In fact,
scholars, at least the bright ones,
are currently arguing that both
spaces are indeed intertwined in magnificent ways.
Imagine that.

I once won a million dollars.
For real.
The story? As follows:

A few years ago, my partner's older sister came to live
in our basement. While she finished up school was
the argument. She had/has a much much quieter spirit than I.
Often down on her luck. At times, I felt like quite
the bully. To my chagrin.
One evening, we three sat on the Safari sofa.
We ate McDonalds as rebels, hoping to destroy our
bodies with fat. We didn't care. French-fry after french-fry.
She may have had a fish sandwich. This all occurred
right before McD's finally, for the last time, jumped
the big white one. Enough justifying & on with the
million dollar story:

It was dusk. We were all three a bit down. She sat in the
middle; I to her right. We all stared at a Biggie Fry
carton, yellow and red. Greasy. The back of this carton showed
6 scratch offs: the million dollar game.

"Which one?" She asked. It was her carton. I was annoyed.
Why couldn't she make a simple decision?
I gulped back the impulse of taking the carton from her hand
and scratching the darn thing myself.
My partner shrugged. We had already scratched ours.
"Which one?" She asked again. It didn't matter.
It didn't matter.
I bit my tongue. The choice was obvious: the third one down.
The third one down b/c 3 is a holy number.
Everyone knows that three is a holy number.
If you are trying to follow/search for God at all,
you know that 3 is a holy number.

I said nothing.

I said nothing and was almost proud of myself. I didn't
want to continue this relationship of bullying.
It wasn't healthy. And besides, it didn't matter
which she chose. But I had a lingering doubt: perhaps
I should at least voice my opinion?
There was, naturally, a bit more angst in my mind.

She chose the sixth rectangle. The sixth! Hello?
6 is the unholy number? Still, I said nothing.
She must make her own choices.

She didn't win, of course. And when she tossed down the box,
I retrieved it. I had to scratch off the third rectangle.
Million it said. Million.
I stared in disbelief.
I showed it to the others; there was quite a ruckus.

I stopped in a McD's, the next time I was out, and spoke to a manager.
I just had to know. Had to know if it was for real.
Her jaw dropped: "Uh, yeah. That was it." Everyone on shift froze
and looked at me. I nodded and walked out.
Now, that's some sh*t you just don't forget.

What does it all mean???

Oooohhhh Yeeeahhh.

Blog the Blogging Bloggers!
Blogger's back up and I plan
to spend every freaking
moment of this blogging Saturday
blogging until my blogging brain turns to
blogging mush, baby! Bring it!

Not.

You see, I'm out of the swing
of blogging now.
Got things to do.
Wonder how many beautiful bloggers
Blogger lost along the way??

Two cups of coffee down & itinerary in hand!
Go out and enjoy the world of tomorrow
happy blogging people! Then

Blog all about it another day . . .

Et tu, Brute?

Yesterday was the last day of classes.
I was genuinely mawed by students
from 10:55am (the moment I walked into L Hall)
until 6:25pm (when I let my 152 out early
due to an allergy attack). Students: "Sorry I've waited
until the utter last moment of the quarter,
but is there anything we can do about my grade?"

I ate a nasty candy bar out of the vending machine at 5:20
while my class was filling out evaluations. If I passed
a water fountain in the hall, I tried to take a sip.

A friend from the department, a young, brash, single
mother, did not get into a PhD program that she applied
to for the fall. Utterly ridiculous. Trust me, this woman has
sacrificed all for her career, for this department.
Her CVA shined. She was involved in almost everything.
I suspect the problem
is contained within her referrences. So unfair.

My partner wrote a sonnet the other day.
I have yet to see it.

The reason I am on here!
I plan to do a bit of reading today & the next
couple weeks coming up.
I may limit myself to one post a day.
Unless something juicy comes up.

Anyway--everyone I "know" and love on here hates
Blogger at the moment. I am beginning to see why:

1. Happy and Blue has left the building. I have a sick
fantasy that if we all try to leave 100 comments about
what we think of his new adventure, perhaps he will return.
XXX.

2. Blue2going left the most terrific
post yesterday! Yet, she seems quite irritated with Blogger
herself, and rightly so.
XXX.

3. Ramblings, if I may be so bold, left
one of the most poignant post he's written thus far,
in my short career on Blogger; sadly, Blogger is not allowing post
on his account either (error states: "Blog not Found").
XXX.

4. I must admit that I am quite surprised that no one has pestered
Millertarized.com, I know this person is
out of the blogger loop, so to speak--but her blog works d*mnit!
XXX.

5. Finally, I can only assume that this once charished site has indeed jumped the shark due to love.


Off I go, time to "heal" the wounds of this quarter
and prepare my amour for the next.
[No wise cracks from you, dawatcher. Have you walked in my shoes?]
I will teach the WS100 on a branch campus--which should
be interesting. I've selected a book: _Women's Visions_.
Am I whimping out? Using a book I mean.
Week One:Chapter One, Week Two:Chapter Two.
I am just so emotionally exhausted
from confronting all the racism and sexism
that's out there!
I will teach ENG152 on the main campus--again.
Don't know if I will use film. Damn plagiarism.
Wish there was a book out there for this class . . .

I should clean house, repair relationships too.
I'm being good to myself today:
Cream of Tomato Tortellini soup on the stove.

Hum, I really do feel better just blogging . . .

Ode to Cab Calloway--Track 3

I knew it. I knew I could draw out the person who was watching me.
Only, I didn't know that I wouldn't know who it really is . . .
which, in my book, or any I have read thus far, is creepy.
At first I thought "how corny--'dawatcher,'" but now I realize
just how serious this can be.

I once saw a movie where an intruder took a polaroid
of a corner in this woman's apartment--
he would then paint his naked body to blend in perfectly
with the corner of the room. He'd watch her.
You only found out at the end, when his eyes flickered open and
I jumped across the couch.
Screaming.

Funny how one can forget little childhood memories like that--
until they reoccur . . .
I've been noticing odd shadows and such.
Mysterious finger prints left on my keyboard at work.

Did you hear? The head of the CIA held a brief
newsconferrence the other day: he stated that
his job is alot more work than he expected (TIME).
Do you think he meant me? Keeping tabs on my blog?

888888888888888888888888888888888888

I imagine that if I had a Twelve year-old, I'd wait forever
for her to start her period. Anxious.
Worried about how 'prepared' she was.
But she would probably wait until a day much like today,
at dinner no less,
to ask what the color of dried blood looked like.
What is the color of rust?

888888888888888888888888888888888888

If I had the technical skills
I would load music onto my blog.
For example, track 19 on my pirated CD,
is music from the motion picture _Fight Club_.
On long drives, I kick back my seat,
scrunch to the side; I slip into my cookie monster, furry blue gloves,
tightened at the knuckles,
and twist on the steering wheel.
My teeth often grind.
I crank the music.
Grab the stick shift [it's a standard, but when the music is pumping,
that knobby thing's a stick] and peel out.
I feel like one badass mofo.

88888888888888888888888888888

I'm off to watch _Forgotten_ and maybe make love.
Tommorrow is the last day of the quarter.
I will try my best to survive, if not "thrive" Mr. Patriarch.

I just found the code: ">://em/em<<" on the bottem of this post??
I can't even write html--this is getting weird.


Hey--Maybe I have a split personality??!


heidee heidee heidee ho
heidee heidee heidee ho

yeahee yeahee yeahee yeah
yeahee yeahee yeahee yeah

More Clues About the Mysterious Figure

I have made some recent discoveries:

That 56K Job A Year I Mentioned goes down the Toilet with a big fat Courtesy Flush.

I cannot ethically work for such a department. Can I?
Certainly not; especially if they should discover this blog.
Have you read about the people getting fired for blogging Co. info?
Ridiculous.

I feel restless and about to CRACK.
I think I will shave my head, go put on my leather and mirror-shades,
and drive the freeway at 88 miles per hour. Back to the future.

If you really aren't depressed enough
and if you haven't realized just how hopeless life is,
check out this link.

Don't tell me not to panic.

Last Post Today D*mnit!

Is it wrong that I thought about blogging while teaching?

The embodiment of the patriarch visited me this afternoon.
Swishing his coffee in a clay mug, he caught me blogging away;
Stopped to chat about his progress on his PhD.
I trust that he didn't see what the title of my blog is--
or even realize what it is. . .

I teach that writing helps articulate the self.

Because I have so many pieces of the self that deperately need to fit together in order to function, I write. Alot.

I think I pinpointed why I felt so frazzled after coming to school today--I got a lead on a $56K a year position--it scared me so bad that I quickly suppressed it. Then when the activities of the day felt yucky-icky, I couldn't figure out why I felt so distracted.

Success scares me. In fact, I have a "self destruct" button I often push in emergencies . . . am I the only dysfunctional out there?

b.t.w. I was right. Someone IS following me. And watching me. Knew it. I hope it's just a crush--

Ha! Something Funny

So, I "taguht" on Global Feminism today--specifically Cynthia Enloe's "The Globe Trotting Sneaker," which deals with the way women are exploited in what some in the US referr to as "Third World" contries.

Afterward, I passed back all of their gazillion exams--exams I carried to school in a DSW (Direct Shoe Warehouse) bag that I picked up from the mall this weekend.
Not a d*mn student noticed or said a word!

Ha.

So I never mistype or misspell--I'm an English Instructor at a mid-level U. Please. Me?? [The irony and tone of that statement only exists, I suppose, to those who know me or have been reading this blog.] No, the only explanation is that someone--or thing--is stealing my letters. But to what purpose? A ransom note? I'm note sure.

Further, someone has been following me today.

I picked up a soup called "Navjo Chili" just now at the Oasis. I thought that any soup with the word "chili" in it would have some type of bean? Not. Lots and lots of chicken & something green. Wait! A white bean--navy, perhaps. Oh well, it's warm.

So I could collasp in a soggy mess of tears d*mnit. Only I never never cry. Never. I recently found out that 3 classes in one quarter is termed an "overload." The first WS100 kicked my ass. I yelled [do I ever really yell?] today in class at the 2 football players asleep in the back. It can sometimes be challenging to teach students who write "we pay your salary" in their essays on exams . . . I had to explain: student pays U for a degree of stands, U pays instructor to uphold standards. Sh*tting on a piece of paper and turning it in simply cannot count . . .

Yikes!!! I'm ranting under a post marked "Something Funny"!
How unfair!
My apologies.

Someone's watching me--

Someone Must Have Access to My Password

So--I just checked my blogs for today
and discovered that someone must have access to my password.

Why? How did I figure this out?

Because letters are missing.

For example, in one post today I wrote "waTching";
the post published something like "waching."

Just how much are letters going for on Ebay?
Or the blackmarket?

Who is using my letters and for what purpose????

I think I am being followed . . .

Oh no, Gulp, the Downward Spiral

I hope this isn't a plunge.

I can feel my emotions shifting--
class was so depressing.
What do I expect from them?
How can I face the next 2 hours--
a repeat wash?

I just need to know if there is a
physiological explanation for the way I feel.

Would that, in itself, make a difference?

Logistics are so Painful

Also I need to water the plants--sorry I didn't think of that first thing this morning.

I imagine Twin A is off to Kindergarten with his pants on backwards. I wouldn't notice until I saw him pulling them up by the waist on his way into the building because he forgot a belt.

Students want to take the final early. So they can start their Spring Break. Heck, if they only knew I could STOP today and feel great. I barely made it through the readings myself last night, well, just 12 hours ago in fact . . .

Computing the grades is always a bear. I look for shortcuts, but then my over-powering Super Ego takes control and tortures my soul into examining every point mathematically . . .

I turned off NPR on the way to work today and had a nice long prayer. I feel comparatively calm and at peace. A part of me wanted to be PC and call it "meditation" just then--but let's call it what it is . . .

I have 15 minutes to prepare for the next 2 hours--

Someone's Watching Me

I have a sneaky suspicion that someone is wathing me.
Someone is reading this post, yet leaving no sign, hint, or track
of her/his passing . . .

Like a shadow luming over me, I feel this person's presence,
this person's dread and despair. The foul breath of terror . . .


Ok, so I would never ever write horror. Get over it. I have way too many appetizers on my dish as it is. Since this is Tuesday, and lists are quick, easy, and readily accessible, here goes:

1. I never allow students to use lists in their writing; in fact, lists are taboo where I come from.
2. I think someone is watching me.
3. I woke up at 6:00am to prepare the final for WS100, and blogged instead.
4. I can't remember my name this early in the morning.
5. I hope this list isn't too long.
6. All of my items on this list so far, with the exception of this item, have begun with "I"--am I really that narcissistic? which comes first the "s"s or "c"s?
7. My partner refuses to get out of bed. My partner is threatening to quit work today. If this senerio should come about, we will starve. No pressure.
8. No one is laughing. I am serious. So, good.

This I mean to blog:

a. I am in need of a tenus shot. Last one, December 1990.
b. I think someone is watching me.
c. I bought a lavendar silk top. I am scared to wear lavendar. It is the bad color.
d. All of the clues match up. This time I am sure.
e. The final! Must write the final!

Flatline.

Has Blogger Gone Lame?

I step away from blogger for just one weekend and I come back to a bombardment of annoying ads and teenyblogs.

With the exception of my close knit blogger-dynomos, I lack the patients to wade through random blogs looking for signs of life . . .

I wish , o how I wish, that the little square with "Search" beside it, followed by "Blog This!," could really be used as a search engine to find blogs with key words . . .

can you hear me out there, out there, out there, blog genie???

Correctional Institute

__________ Town has a rather large, ahem, Correctional Institute. Medium security. No executions, ie. "capital" punishment (what's so "capital" about the idea of punishment anyway? in a British slang sense, I mean).

Having said that, while out this morning running errands, I noticed many, well, felons out and about, picking up trash mostly, around schools. Yes, schools. Particularly schools with children in them. Young children. I'd wager.

Is it just me, or is there something vaguely unsettling about this little senerio?

If I were a parent, I'd be outraged. I'd call the warden. I'd call the school board. I'd call my Senator. And if that didn't work, I'd lobby Dubya with this sign:

Keep Felons Out of School.

Whata Weekend Willy Man

I bought a coconut bird this weekend.
It's a chime, let's call it an Eegret,
even though I deperately want to call it an Ibis of some sorts.
The long neck and pointed head are both suspended above the body
of the coconut
by a string/wire and stone in the back.
The chimes are of wood and ring a nice hollow sound.

I hung it from the ceiling by a hook
in the corner of the living room.
I dare say it will never truely chime on it's own.
It might take a broom handle for me to reach it.

Yet, what is so very bothersome about the whole coconut bird affair
is the assuming nature of the young cheeky chashier:

"Did you find everything you needed?" He scanned the scone mix before the bird.
When he did pick up the large contraption, one eyebrow arched.

"Why yes I did." I cooly replied. Eyes slanted. "Especially this bird.
It's rather nice; wouldn't you agree?"

He looked for the barcode to scan and tried to stiffle a grin.
"I imagine it will be great this time of year."

"I find it wonderful--the things they can make from--coconuts."
I was staring at him full in the face.

He fixed his gaze upon the cash registrar.
"Sure will be nice to hang chimes from, er,
your bedroom window soon, I suppose."

My own eyebrows furrowed with [mock] indignation.
"Well it certainly isn't for me!" I exclaimed.
"What would I ever do with a coconut bird!
It isn't my bird, you know." I was much chagrined.
I pretended to look steadily away.

Why would anyone make such assumptions about my person?
I am considering making SQMojo business cards
to hand out on such awkward occasions.

Voyeuristic

Did I mention this blog:

my lazy butt stands corrected--happy?

Anyway--
Totally facinated & a bit too scared to leave a post . . .
do you dare???


oh, and, did I just really see
this headline: Hawaii to Link Islands by Ferry System ?
Hello? They haven't done that already?

The Most Horrible Thought EVER

I've been wondering what would happen, if say, Blogger CRASHED and all of my beautiful posts were lost??! Have you ever thought of that?

I mean, this is the most faithful I've ever been to writing, to a journal. We are talking almost daily for going on the 3rd month.

I wonder if there is a backup system?

I'd love to print this stuff off and have it bound every 3 months . . .

O Glorious Day

I love it when my hormones rage in this direction:
look! a happy day.

The sun is shining in my part of the world--
both literally as well as metaphysically.

The morning started brightly when I learned
that I had already been evaluated on ratemyprofessor.com.
My evaluator wrote:

"She is an excellent teacher! Take her for anything you can.
Women's Studies 100 was great with her!"

and then, just now, as I went to the site to copy and paste, I found this:

"The class was really interesting and she brought up a lot of good questions. There was no textbook- she gave us all the reading off Blackboard, and it was good stuff- I actually wanted to read it!"

No way. I didn't even pay these people.
And that isn't even the best part--they rated me as difficult too!
Do you know how hard it is to get compliments and not be too easy?!

This just blows my mind. I feel so warm/loved and bouncy!
And it's a good thing too--b/c the University's evaluations go out today--
and as you may know,
I'm actually an extremely insecure person. That's a secret, by the way.

So! All that good jive is happening & I get a call to be photographed
for the department's webpage. Today at 2:10. Know what? My hair looks great today. So bring it on.

All is right within the world at this moment.
Picture me twirling beneath weeping willows in a shower of rose petals . . .
like a Dawn Dishsoap commercial even . . .

Sigh.

How Much Space Do We Really Have in This Title Bar? The Reason I Am Asking is Because I Like The Font Of This Title Bar Better Than the Following Font

I guess that was it.

I'm getting so tired of this green--this look . . .
but I really mustn't take the time
to do anything about it. All other options are off.

Don't Take This Personally

But I disdain ecards.

Have You Ever Noticed?

Warning: Obscure, hazy blog written from the insider's point of view that is called my mind. You may want to move along today.

The most fascinating people, for me, are those people who,
for whatever reason imaginable, do not have a distinctive line drawn
between public and private personas/selves.
These people operate in society without most of the inhibitions that mainstream, fully socialized people are restricted by.

For example, the two lovers in _Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind_.
The woman intrigues the man because of her "uniqueness."
Not only is she colorful visually, but she is also "colorful"
by means of a quirky/flirty/spontaneous personality.

Yet, the danger of such people, as mused on by this particular film,
is the longevity of such relationships.
Bits of such a person that was once intriguing & facinating,
eventually become odd and irritating . . . what am I trying to say?

Just that it has been ten years. Unbelievable.

I have a horrible habit of never taking my clothes into the bathroom.
I wrap a towel around myself and slip into the bedroom to dress.
My partner gapes as if the experience of seeing my nakedness
hasn't been readily available for ten years.

"When do I get my pictures?"
[Would SQ ever pose?]
"Pictures? You don't need pictures." I flop on the bed with a smile.
Kicking my legs, bent at the knee, behind me. "Besides, you have the xeroxes."

My partner smiles,
turns red around the ears,
looks down. "That wasn't me."

After ten years, all romantic memories blend into one . . .

SQMojo Busts Ass Today at Noon

head over heals baby, down the marble steps,
up against some black car, papers scattered to the wind.

Pause.

I could have laid on the cold sidewalk forever,
looking up at the gre/ay sky.

Except other people were gathering around me
in a small black huddle of coats, gloves, and hats,
holding their steamy breath, perhaps picturing
an ambulance screetching around the corner.
A 9- dialed on a cell phone.

as soon as I felt their eyes, pinched brows, and "o" mouths--
I popped up all Willy Wonka style--
no harm done.

Didn't I just blog about rolling down some steps??
the experience was nothing like the blog.
my elbow is bruised.