Curb Girl: what an urban-based accidental journalist accidentally thinks when she's falling face-first on figurative pavement
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
9-26-01
Back when working class was
that —
Before fear, movement.
One job one life one love one
marriage
one straight line with few
regrets; Regrets come from
options.
We have far too many
options and very
little security.
If you are a woman
and if you really consider a pomegranate, you would never question why Persephone disobeyed the lord of the Underworld: if you've ever been hungry, merge that feeling with the (image of) the ruby-bright mosaic of firm, sour and wholesome seeds, and you know that it would be impossible to keep from eating them.
On the other hand, it's harder to imagine why any one (woman) would be talked into ignoring the command of the Lord of the sky, the one who created her, who, instead of imprisoning her in darkness, threw her out from a lush garden, revoked upon her eating of a mere, crunchy apple.
Admittedly, I would have a hard time avoiding either of these fruits for long.
Re: Picking up birds that are dead at night
She didn't want to do it; she could not shake visions of shiny beetles scurrying out over her wrists, scared into escaping — or the thought of phosphorescent-seeming worms, puffy larvae, squirming ever so slightly, soft under her fingers.
B. would tell her this: "Girl, the things you can't see you might not even feel, and in either case, it washes off."
Sunday, July 26, 2009
U.S. consumer credit market report
Personal angle that bears no wider statistical value:
Got the same balance transfer offer from Commerce Bank in the mail twice in one week;
Received e-mail from AT&T Citi card* that my credit limit was increased to a hearty $8,300.
Oh, it's far too easy to get a high-interest loan, isn't it?
As if I'm going to put roofing repairs on a charge-card!
*Card had not been used in years; was used** online a few months ago at encouragement of "use or we close" letter. As this is the card that saved my ass when I was being held by Japanese federal agents at the airport in Fukuoka (having memorized the calling card number, I was able to make an international call for assistance on the green pay-phones), I had to keep it. Also it is a Mastercard, and I like to have one in addition to the Providian- Washington Mutual- Chase VISA, because contrary to commercials, there are some places that don't take the latter (like my university).
**It now has a zero balance, and I did not pay them any interest. Sadly, we do pay interest to a bank I hate more and which is meaner about sneaky penalties and seems to be inching away from the traditional grace period, Bank of America. Perhaps transferring is the way to go. The other VISA in question is not un-evil, but despite its reputation for screwing people, including my dad, has never done me wrong. The switch after this last collapse was a bit harsh, though; they made one agree to all kinds of online rules, and they cancelled some existing services. They think I am worth $15,000 in potential debt. We won't even talk about the golden '90s … I'd have to go find my debt-journal, but it was quite a journey from $18,000*** in the hole on multiple cards — using less than half of all credit available to me — to having thousands in savings. Too bad there was a house purchase and then a salary slash, or we'd be home-free (literally, but happily, I think, because then we would go travel).
***I don't know how — I really don't.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Food and writing
These articles make me go, "hmm, I wonder how much this person is making off this relatively simple re-digesting of well-known information?"
EG: Except for the fish thing*, our household already does all this:
"Foods that speed up your metabolism are vegetables, fruits, lean proteins, fish, healthy fats and whole grains. Look for these vegetables when shopping: spinach, broccoli, carrots, asparagus, cabbage, beet roots, assorted beans and dark, leafy vegetables. Any type of fresh fruit is good for you, but try eating blueberries, melons, apples, citrus fruits and tomatoes. Skinless poultry and eggs are excellent sources of protein. The omega 3 fatty acids in fish boost your metabolism by burning up to 400 calories a day. The enzymes in your body that burn fat increase while those that store fat decrease. If you are not a fish eater, take omega 3 capsules that contain a minimum of 300 milligrams total of EPA and DHA. Eat healthy fats like nuts and peanut butter. Whole grains found in brown rice, cereal, barley and oats speed up your metabolism as well. Consume foods with B vitamins, magnesium and fiber to increase your metabolism."
Duh, whole grains, duh, vegetables and fruit (Am I lucky that I am addicted to apples and tomatoes?) Nuts and lean protein, duh.
What author doesn't say is, "Sure, you can fool yourself that you're eating healthy with a diet of mostly this junk that I'm repeating from every American Heart or Cancer Association note, but all that cheese (string cheese of late, only 3! A woman must have sodium when she must have it!), pretzels — no more whole grain than the Man in the Moon (see above re: sodium), and bacon (2 pounds in 1 month; quota for year nearly reached; see above re: sodium and Moon) are not going to be balanced out."
EG: Except for the fish thing*, our household already does all this:
"Foods that speed up your metabolism are vegetables, fruits, lean proteins, fish, healthy fats and whole grains. Look for these vegetables when shopping: spinach, broccoli, carrots, asparagus, cabbage, beet roots, assorted beans and dark, leafy vegetables. Any type of fresh fruit is good for you, but try eating blueberries, melons, apples, citrus fruits and tomatoes. Skinless poultry and eggs are excellent sources of protein. The omega 3 fatty acids in fish boost your metabolism by burning up to 400 calories a day. The enzymes in your body that burn fat increase while those that store fat decrease. If you are not a fish eater, take omega 3 capsules that contain a minimum of 300 milligrams total of EPA and DHA. Eat healthy fats like nuts and peanut butter. Whole grains found in brown rice, cereal, barley and oats speed up your metabolism as well. Consume foods with B vitamins, magnesium and fiber to increase your metabolism."
Duh, whole grains, duh, vegetables and fruit (Am I lucky that I am addicted to apples and tomatoes?) Nuts and lean protein, duh.
What author doesn't say is, "Sure, you can fool yourself that you're eating healthy with a diet of mostly this junk that I'm repeating from every American Heart or Cancer Association note, but all that cheese (string cheese of late, only 3! A woman must have sodium when she must have it!), pretzels — no more whole grain than the Man in the Moon (see above re: sodium), and bacon (2 pounds in 1 month; quota for year nearly reached; see above re: sodium and Moon) are not going to be balanced out."
*ask me about my sadness over the death of the ocean, the sadness of fish farms, and the concentrations of poisons in les poissons sometime …
Sunday, July 19, 2009
FFB
: has a lot to learn.
PS, LGBT* community battles Feds for acronym superiority/ story at noon; investigative report turns up lots of alphabet soup but no reasons why anyone would willingly fill out that "survey."
PPS, I know, "if you have to ask," etc. I didn't (ask about what, just why).
*feels like she's missing someone …
Friday, July 17, 2009
Because Facebook is sick of it:
: to be shivering in a T-shirt outside during my birthday month is unprecedented at this latitude.
: construction crews getting super-overtime right now to pave road that would see perhaps 25 cars on a Saturday.
: construction crews' backing-up alarms and diseley engines driving me unhappy.
: shivering has health benefits.
: construction crews getting super-overtime right now to pave road that would see perhaps 25 cars on a Saturday.
: construction crews' backing-up alarms and diseley engines driving me unhappy.
: shivering has health benefits.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Apiary: 10 Days of Shirkhood
No, the blog is not an obligation of any kind. I'm never writing about anything named. Maybe some of you have guesses; maybe some of you are victims — but last week I did quite well with the call-returning, the friend-supporting (concierge, counselor, co-celebrator). I overcame "odds" and walked miles in order to get between point-Home and point-Job.
A week is nothing. It takes six (common parlance / check Snopes) weeks to stop or start something called a habit. I don't know: it seems awfully much like I need to be convinced daily about dental care, for example. If it ceased to matter, I would cease to practice. (chances of encountering test situation low / find better metaphor)
The part of me that habitually records elsewhere both minute downfalls as well as continued swing-and-miss behavior (or, habits) wants to draw you into that kind of confessional swamp. I have enough sense not to. As it does not take much to mop up my available wisdom, I predict I shall soon stumble into some other sort of self-confessional bloggery-goo regardless. It is quite possible, too, that I shall not have the sense or time to burn up my diaries before I die. I could end up like Edith Wharton, whose wishes for letter-destruction were not carried out with uniform faithfulness by her friends or servants. My mother told me long ago that she destroyed some journal of hers at some age, perhaps 18. As a girl, I was heartbroken to miss that connection with her; I understand fully why she did it, and it is probable I shall never have any daughters who need to be connected to me via my ridiculous younger quarter-baked written-down selves.
"You are what you do
in order to prevent becoming
what you're busy not doing,
and if you do do it truly and arrive at it duly,
then in the end you are absolved,
and the problem of Heaven is solved."
Editors love unattributed quotes. Editors love writing. Editors can't believe that someone so reliable has fallen into a four-month pit of despair. Editors know no one is reliable. (F, F, F, T; in case you miss the badly rendered irony)
Most anything is unsustainable. The complexities involved with mere digestion — trucks, migrant workers, engineered poisons, all-point refrigeration and, afterwards, plumbing — even make simple nourishment into a huge waste of energy. (energies derived from carbons, incl. wood, which we burn to collective over-use … leading to something lovely, as we have learned)
So if mere eating is tangled up in behavior I do not support in principle, you can see why subtracting other bad items is only theoretically useful. It does all add up, but when the scale is already this far tipped (no amount of local-eating practice will end the fact I have to drive all over the place to collect digestables or have to use urban-utile sanitation systems), I seem to be of the opinion that it's o.k. to ride the plate all the way to the ground.
You know that I am having issues with la casa, its very essence as a place. A noun of trouble. I am adjunct (to) an artist's lifestyle, but there are lyfestiles that act as larger nets; boundaries exist that preclude things like Chinese wedding, Montana ranching, Colorado walking, Salem sailing.
There is no question about where time goes. Zero. The why is evident, but the why not is locked inside the Freudian attic. The attic could use a new roof.
I spent 90 minutes accompanying … car rental 15 miles from house … chosen by slightly higher power (which is footing bill eventually, though there is no contract to that effect) … had to fuel own vehicle upon return to city, and naturally, there was a vacationer-esque rotund man blocking all entrance-points and parked near diesel-only stand in wait for whichever of the two other stands would be first to open. This is an unstaffed station that always has broken card-readers and pumps that are excruciatingly slow. Those sorts of frustrations are so easy to think away. You want to scream, but you smile instead because screaming would clearly damage all sorts of things.
When screaming is used, it's always destructive! When is another thing stored under the eaves.
So, the Dakotas are not all that bad of a compromise, and there was never any question that I would not accompany that far. I'm supposed to be doing all sorts of things (obviously; this diatribe is transparently a procrastinatory landfill). I can't say this with a straight face: he's with another woman. I am glad he does not have to drive 9 hours alone. Everyone else was unable to come/go at the last minute, one due to car failure in Colorado, one due to planner-stupidity, and one who may or may not have existed in the first place. The girl was not going as of 8 this morning but heard from poor-planner that there might be cash involved, "now," and so that was that.
It's funny to know that there are some people who are always going to be friends, friends for years, past roommates, past pains of the highest degree (financial, emotional, etc. — she is a female, after all) — without any sexual interference, people who accept faults and neither condemn nor abandon. It is a repeated situation throughout my little life, but I have learned to judge the difference between actual and merely supposed permanent non-attraction. In other words, there are probably husbands or brothers or others out there who require me to play literal pro-line-walking advertisements in my head the entire time we're proximate.
And considering my audience, I should pre-empt with "it's more fun to be over-confident than paranoid; I am not jealous by nature, nor generous, and I'm not offering any invitations." I have done an excellent job of deflecting certain definite advances — the advertisements work; I have done less well at cultivating an air of non-availability. It used to exist. It was an interesting inner strength. I would say it was breached sometime in 2007 … maybe; who knows. There were a number of milestones, as early as 2001 (the year that fast-forwarded a lot of relationships toward their demise).
I'm not available; I don't want to be available. Regardless, I am wilting under deadlines that I have made promises to myself about … remembering how I thought it would be good and easy to run out to __ later with __ but now finding the situation to be sitting there as if at the end of a 60-mile road-blocked hill. At least I did not commit to that. Commitments and I are like bees and me. Fascinating and necessary for life, these sweet-makers dance, swarm and, of course, sting. I don't need to add to them. I don't have a lot of free ad-space left, no room in the hive. Now you know why I'm always making jokes about colony collapse disorder.
There is no photograph because besides art, the only recent images I have are of the stupid cat and this gougy cut on the top of my foot.
A week is nothing. It takes six (common parlance / check Snopes) weeks to stop or start something called a habit. I don't know: it seems awfully much like I need to be convinced daily about dental care, for example. If it ceased to matter, I would cease to practice. (chances of encountering test situation low / find better metaphor)
The part of me that habitually records elsewhere both minute downfalls as well as continued swing-and-miss behavior (or, habits) wants to draw you into that kind of confessional swamp. I have enough sense not to. As it does not take much to mop up my available wisdom, I predict I shall soon stumble into some other sort of self-confessional bloggery-goo regardless. It is quite possible, too, that I shall not have the sense or time to burn up my diaries before I die. I could end up like Edith Wharton, whose wishes for letter-destruction were not carried out with uniform faithfulness by her friends or servants. My mother told me long ago that she destroyed some journal of hers at some age, perhaps 18. As a girl, I was heartbroken to miss that connection with her; I understand fully why she did it, and it is probable I shall never have any daughters who need to be connected to me via my ridiculous younger quarter-baked written-down selves.
"You are what you do
in order to prevent becoming
what you're busy not doing,
and if you do do it truly and arrive at it duly,
then in the end you are absolved,
and the problem of Heaven is solved."
Editors love unattributed quotes. Editors love writing. Editors can't believe that someone so reliable has fallen into a four-month pit of despair. Editors know no one is reliable. (F, F, F, T; in case you miss the badly rendered irony)
Most anything is unsustainable. The complexities involved with mere digestion — trucks, migrant workers, engineered poisons, all-point refrigeration and, afterwards, plumbing — even make simple nourishment into a huge waste of energy. (energies derived from carbons, incl. wood, which we burn to collective over-use … leading to something lovely, as we have learned)
So if mere eating is tangled up in behavior I do not support in principle, you can see why subtracting other bad items is only theoretically useful. It does all add up, but when the scale is already this far tipped (no amount of local-eating practice will end the fact I have to drive all over the place to collect digestables or have to use urban-utile sanitation systems), I seem to be of the opinion that it's o.k. to ride the plate all the way to the ground.
You know that I am having issues with la casa, its very essence as a place. A noun of trouble. I am adjunct (to) an artist's lifestyle, but there are lyfestiles that act as larger nets; boundaries exist that preclude things like Chinese wedding, Montana ranching, Colorado walking, Salem sailing.
There is no question about where time goes. Zero. The why is evident, but the why not is locked inside the Freudian attic. The attic could use a new roof.
I spent 90 minutes accompanying … car rental 15 miles from house … chosen by slightly higher power (which is footing bill eventually, though there is no contract to that effect) … had to fuel own vehicle upon return to city, and naturally, there was a vacationer-esque rotund man blocking all entrance-points and parked near diesel-only stand in wait for whichever of the two other stands would be first to open. This is an unstaffed station that always has broken card-readers and pumps that are excruciatingly slow. Those sorts of frustrations are so easy to think away. You want to scream, but you smile instead because screaming would clearly damage all sorts of things.
When screaming is used, it's always destructive! When is another thing stored under the eaves.
So, the Dakotas are not all that bad of a compromise, and there was never any question that I would not accompany that far. I'm supposed to be doing all sorts of things (obviously; this diatribe is transparently a procrastinatory landfill). I can't say this with a straight face: he's with another woman. I am glad he does not have to drive 9 hours alone. Everyone else was unable to come/go at the last minute, one due to car failure in Colorado, one due to planner-stupidity, and one who may or may not have existed in the first place. The girl was not going as of 8 this morning but heard from poor-planner that there might be cash involved, "now," and so that was that.
It's funny to know that there are some people who are always going to be friends, friends for years, past roommates, past pains of the highest degree (financial, emotional, etc. — she is a female, after all) — without any sexual interference, people who accept faults and neither condemn nor abandon. It is a repeated situation throughout my little life, but I have learned to judge the difference between actual and merely supposed permanent non-attraction. In other words, there are probably husbands or brothers or others out there who require me to play literal pro-line-walking advertisements in my head the entire time we're proximate.
And considering my audience, I should pre-empt with "it's more fun to be over-confident than paranoid; I am not jealous by nature, nor generous, and I'm not offering any invitations." I have done an excellent job of deflecting certain definite advances — the advertisements work; I have done less well at cultivating an air of non-availability. It used to exist. It was an interesting inner strength. I would say it was breached sometime in 2007 … maybe; who knows. There were a number of milestones, as early as 2001 (the year that fast-forwarded a lot of relationships toward their demise).
I'm not available; I don't want to be available. Regardless, I am wilting under deadlines that I have made promises to myself about … remembering how I thought it would be good and easy to run out to __ later with __ but now finding the situation to be sitting there as if at the end of a 60-mile road-blocked hill. At least I did not commit to that. Commitments and I are like bees and me. Fascinating and necessary for life, these sweet-makers dance, swarm and, of course, sting. I don't need to add to them. I don't have a lot of free ad-space left, no room in the hive. Now you know why I'm always making jokes about colony collapse disorder.
There is no photograph because besides art, the only recent images I have are of the stupid cat and this gougy cut on the top of my foot.
Monday, July 06, 2009
Sunday, July 05, 2009
Friday, July 03, 2009
Explosive language
Me watching TV prior to "July 4th" holiday:
Pyro City, my "home for Black Cat" fireworks, ended their intense commercial with a, "Hey, kids, we've added new Pyro-Heroes," (or some such thing) and showed a ring of anime-type characters in different solid-colored outfits like PowderPuff PowerRangers.
Now that's marketing something dangerous to kids. If they're gonna make silly demands on a poisonous substance people use willingly (at least at first, pre-addiction) — tobacco — then I think someone ought to care about promoting experimentation with explosives.
There was no disclaimer at the bottom of the TV screen about the fact of various cities' regulations on the use or possession of fireworks. Nothing about being a certain age — aren't they restricted to non-minors? And when did the tobacco-age go from 18 to 21? My father once asked me that question about alcohol. Without looking these things up, I have no answers.
I'm against regulations, you know. I really don't care how many kids are unparented enough to get hurt … adults in my personal experience have died from fireworks and from tobacco … and when I was in college, I was dumbfounded by the dumb behavior of "honors students" off campus (my friends) — who shoots fireworks at their own home? Ah, renters! Most were smokers back then, too.
I'm also against calling Independence Day "Happy Fourth of July." I declare, that's like saying "Happy December 25," if you are Christian. Which many of us are not, but we say "Merry Christmas" like conservative radio hosts admonish us to anyway. Because it's convention. And it's easier. I find the convention of saying "happy 4th" to be an interesting comparison point.
This is the one day (tomorrow) I feel lame not having a proper American flag.
Pyro City, my "home for Black Cat" fireworks, ended their intense commercial with a, "Hey, kids, we've added new Pyro-Heroes," (or some such thing) and showed a ring of anime-type characters in different solid-colored outfits like PowderPuff PowerRangers.
Now that's marketing something dangerous to kids. If they're gonna make silly demands on a poisonous substance people use willingly (at least at first, pre-addiction) — tobacco — then I think someone ought to care about promoting experimentation with explosives.
There was no disclaimer at the bottom of the TV screen about the fact of various cities' regulations on the use or possession of fireworks. Nothing about being a certain age — aren't they restricted to non-minors? And when did the tobacco-age go from 18 to 21? My father once asked me that question about alcohol. Without looking these things up, I have no answers.
I'm against regulations, you know. I really don't care how many kids are unparented enough to get hurt … adults in my personal experience have died from fireworks and from tobacco … and when I was in college, I was dumbfounded by the dumb behavior of "honors students" off campus (my friends) — who shoots fireworks at their own home? Ah, renters! Most were smokers back then, too.
I'm also against calling Independence Day "Happy Fourth of July." I declare, that's like saying "Happy December 25," if you are Christian. Which many of us are not, but we say "Merry Christmas" like conservative radio hosts admonish us to anyway. Because it's convention. And it's easier. I find the convention of saying "happy 4th" to be an interesting comparison point.
This is the one day (tomorrow) I feel lame not having a proper American flag.
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