...middle of nowhere...

I follow the exploits of my friends lives through text messaging, brief sentences, briefer words. Sometimes it's mini-chronicles, sometimes happy random thoughts. Once there was a political satire in 3 messages and a prologue. These were today's messages received:

Neo: So lab. was great, but I'm never drinking agn.

Javod: Just want to tell u ur beautiful.

Rachel, responding: Oh. God. Then why are you up this early?

I'm going to respond to them here, only because... well I'm here and I can't say what's really on my mind, so this might as well be it.

To Neo: Of course you're drinking again. And I love that you can drink with random people at the place where we were supposed to be, prior to venue-change. I did call you, I promise but must have reached you too late.

To Javod: I feel beautiful, after that, and I adore you. I may be ring-eyed and slow moving today but that's just technical difficulties. I felt beautiful yesterday; maybe it was the leaf necklace, mother-of-pearl, maybe it was the whisky, in excess. I don't even know for sure, but I think I read it on people, and felt it and danced accordingly. Also in excess.

To Rachel: I'm a slave to the retail gods.

Everything is sensitized today, and thoughts from everywhere are zigzagging in a purple crossfire. But that, also, could be the whisky. C wants to know if I knocked them dead. I'm not sure - I don't quite know what I did. But it was good.

...harvard made me do it...

My thoughts on the "Opal Mehta" controversy can be found on Taking it Global. I would love to know what you think about the situation.

...taking signs from lester...

At lunch today I called Rachel and reached her answering machine, as I knew I would. "Dude", I said, "why are you at work? You are a jew". And hung up. Hours later, I am leaving work for the night and checking my voicemail and there are two irate messages from her. One is incomprehensible, as she usually is. The other, she says "Loser, I've been working Friday open since January! Being a Jew has nothing to do with it! That's like, at night. Gaaaah!". And hangs up.

I'm not as inconsiderate a best friend as that. Of course I know she does a Friday lunch shift before going home for Shabat dinner. Clearly that was not the point. Clearly, I was sitting in the diner with HJW standing close by, and I needed to get my requisite Jew reference in for the day. As in, "Look! I like rugalah, and can pronounce it. I take to Judaism like gefilte fish to water. Please like me!" And it worked, because as I was leaving he turns back to me and asks if I am working tonight, which I am. He asks when, and I say from right about now until 11 when we close. "Okay cool, maybe I'll see you there". "Sure, see you later" I send back. Clearly, he is dying to be mine.

Such is the legacy of my childhood in Thornhill - I am immeasurably turned on by collared-shirt Jewish boys with smallish builds named David and Gabriel. Or you know, ones currently without names since I do not know his name yet. The point is. With his oversize headphones, and cuffed jeans, and unmistakable look of "Atkinson and Centre, born and raised" about him, I am done for.

*HJW = hot Jewish waiter

...big love...

Alright my little cyber constituents, lend me your aid...

I was making coffee earlier, and in the middle of the process the light went off and the drip stopped and the pot was cold and there was minimal coffee. And it would not turn back on. I growled a little inside, then got over it. But later, I went to use the toaster on the same side of the kitchen, and it wouldn't turn on. And I had a brilliant idea, ran to the coffeemaker, and pressed the button on and off a couple times, and nothing happened. Fuse problem!

So I ran downstairs to the breaker, and flipped the appropriate switch a couple times. Ran up to try it again, and it didn't work. Repeat 3x, then decided it probably isn't a good idea to keep flipping random switches... what does this mean?!

Earlier was the dreaded POL exam that has been haunting my dreams for the past couple of weeks and making me a miserable dredge to be around. I opened the test booklet, read the first section and just about started crying right there. Of the 10 quotations on the page, I recognized only two on sight. Never mind the fact I had two essays to right as well. I entertained thoughts of dropping out of U of T, actualizing nothing, and reporting to an angry Persian father with a 62% - "what happened to the other 38%?" he shouts at me. Off to the side, a hazy Mr. Wasserman smirks and nods his head, knowing since early high school I would never realize my potential. Justifying giving me the wrong deadline date for the Millenium Scholarship in grade 13 as "nothing wasted"...

It wasn't that bad, but it was difficult. And I was shaking after a little bit, but it's over now. Two more to go, one tomorrow. Funny story that. Studying earlier I discovered a New Studying Method and thought great, I have a week to implement it. Rechecked my schedule and realized (though on some level I really did know this I promise) that nope, the ANT exam is tomorrow. Sigh. Back to cramming.

Left the exam room with Sophie, and headed to Go! for quick dinner, where we ran into my Boss and KindaBoss? in suits no less. Afterwards, prepared to go for coffee with a Rene who finally called me. In between I did something incredibly lame, but which I did the last time I was preparing to see him, sometime last year. It made me feel better. And 13.

This was all much more than you needed to know about my day. Maybe it's true what they say. A three-hour mind-rape of an exam will give you verbal diarrhea. Aristotle's Revenge? (get it... like Montezuma... oh forget it.) I'm going to bed.

...the vocal master class...

Remember everything I said about not condoning censorship? I take it all back. Today the book "Rainbow Party" came into the store. You may not have heard of it, unless you have at some point caught me in one of my "save the souls of our children!" rants. This is a book about oral sex. It purports to be a cautionary tale, but I don't find the complete ostracization of a confused female lead for hosting the blowjob party that never happened too cautionary. It is needless tintillation, and seriously graphic. There were at least three scenes which are racier than what you would find in the adult fiction section. There has been no end of media and lit-forum coverage about this book, and the fact that neither Borders nor Barnes & Nobles carries it (although apparently you can order it through them online).

I want it gone. At the very least I want mature content stickers, like those happy people in the States have. They know how to keep their demoralizing liberal-funky authors slapped down.

Notes:
i) TPTB = the powers that be
ii) Here's to being responsible for lots of peoples futures. And to having it together.

...disappointing mothers since 1984...

I ran into one of my neighbours as I stopped by Starbucks on my home to get my studying buzz-cap. She confessed that she was only buying the coffee to throw it out, and keep the cup. I was intrigued, and asked why. She sheepishly admitted that she hated Starbucks coffee and could only drink Coffee Time, so she was hanging on to the cup so that she could run down the plaza to Coffee Time, buy coffee there, and pour it into her Starbucks cup before starting to walk for home.

Not for the first time I lamented living in Thornhill.

...kitchen makeover...

We started Social Studies today and are focusing on communities for the next couple of weeks. The grade ones are doing our own community, and today we had a visit from a couple of police officers who told us different things about our community and how to stay safe in it. Me, I was thrilled with the presentation and the general thrilliness of men in uniform. The kids just wanted to sit in the squad car. They had the chance to prepare a question each for the police officers on cue cards: nearly every one was a variation of how/why/how often do you catch bad guys.

The grade twos are doing communities around the world, and let me tell you finding websites with useful info at their reading level is a job of work. There is one amazing site called "link to learning" which has curriculum-centred online resources for kids on a number of topics, but that is really the only one. Even using kids-only search engines like Yahooliganas or KidsClick, it is difficult to find appropriate and useful sites. Most of the information out there is for junior-high plus. We had three well-educated, bright educators researching this for over an hour, and only came up with a handful of links. We're not doing social studies until next Monday so that gives me one week to find some more resources - if ANYONE knows of any great sites (remember these are 5-8 year old kids) that they know of, let me know. There really needs to be an online EASY junior encyclopedia - again, the junior encyclopedias that are readily accessible are mostly for junior high and high school kids. Much too difficult and dense for kids this young. It's too overwhelming. We were basically confined today to using non-fiction picture books which, unfortunately, were mostly outdated and in bad shape. Blah. Teaching blues... I want more money and a couple unimpeded hours in a kids bookstore.

Oh! I could also use a copy each of different junior encyclopedia software - are any of them at a younger level? Anyone know? I have WorldBook and Encarta, but both are pretty text-heavy.

Addendum: I might have to move my country again. And by country I mean... server. I started counting 6 degrees of separation and didn't like where it led me.

...a tock who ticks...

Don't ask me why these are the conclusions I am reaching when studying, but reading Averroes late last night gave me insight on my reaction to Gossip Girl. Averroes was discussing the relationship between philosophy and religion, and the risk that careless philosophical study might influence someone to lose faith in God. He conceded that this was so, yet never advocated cencorship and always maintained that it is not only permissible but obligatory that we read, even if it means we lose faith. He said that philosophy is only dangerous in circumstance and not in essence, and that the situations where reading would have detrimental results is the fault of a weak intellect or bad instruction.

Well, I have decided that Gossip Girl is dangerous in circumstance, and not in essence. Yes, it is vapid crap with no redeeming quality whatsoever. However, it is not in itself going to turn teenage girls into high-end fashionista sex machines. It's a quirky fun read for adults and OLDER teens; not appropriate for younger ones, who don't have the judgment or experience to realize that it's ridiculously hyped-up fantasy. The people who should be making sure the right readers get ahold of these books are the parents.

Now - this only is in response to the blatant sexual and drug content of the books, not the more hidden marketing aspect. That part I will never get on board with. Marketing companies buying publishing houses and social-networking programs, getting paid to write books featuring certain brands. None of these series are literature in any form - hell, most of the "writers" were former marketing editors at Alloy and 17th Street. I mean, this newest Gossip Girl features a Chanel charm bracelet on the cover, the logo clearly visible. The last two volumes had "On The Cover" segments inside the copyright page, telling you where you can buy the clothes that the girls are wearing in the picture. Has anyone ever seen that in a book?!

So ridiculous.

...be still like vegetables...

Removed by author for reasons of being a tougher cookie today than she was yesterday

...oh, and...

Also, apologies to the Blue House for not making it to the juice extravaganza - the invite came pre-shoes and I couldn't fathom walking the two blocks to the house. Though I love juice. And blue houses.

But what I WILL do is make a pit stop at the blue house later this week to pick up any comers to a white trash party my friend is holding, just down the street. For Kristen and Swig - the same friend who had the 80's party, 'member?

...walk backwards, walk BACKWARDS...

Oh myspace, not two days and you have betrayed me... quel desastre

Take the Lead, the dancing movie? Amazing. So. Much. Fun. And just full of cheese, mounds and mounds but perfect for a girly night.

The beginning of summer, most girls whip out their collection of cute summer shoes and start parading. Which is fine, because cute shoes are made to be worn. But those first days, oh man the pain. They have to be worked in, you know? So every other girl you see is wearing bandaids on the back of her heels, cringing with every step. That was me yesterday, traipsing around in new pointy keds (in blue AND silver!) wincing internally and yelling at myself. Most of the day was studying which involves sitting in one place, and that was fine. But every time I had to get up and walk, I cried inside. Around 7 Iman calls to see if I want to meet up, which I did. But half a second later, I realized that with Iman these things usually include walking for long periods of time, until we decide on a destination. I called her back and begged her to bring me another pair of shoes and a pair of socks. Which she did, her sister's because hers don't fit me. This is why she is my best.

So she came, we met, I changed (relief!), had a sad phone call from a friend, and went to Take the Lead to let our minds wander somewhere else for awhile.

Advice request of the week: This is the story, Rene is in Toronto. I don't know why, but he is. I saw him last week on my way to work, I saw him last night a couple blocks away from where I saw him the first time. Last week I told myself he was probably just in town for a brief visit, and it was fine if he didn't get in touch. But for him to still be here? I don't know where he is living, or what he is doing, or a phone number or anything. But I would like him to call please. Wouldn't you call? I mean, if you were an ex-boyfriend who was circumstantial (ie. the ones you split with because of distance or something, not for any lack of emotion), wouldn't you call when you were in town and say hello! once again we live in the same city...

Wouldn't you?!?

...you will approach the frog several times...

So if the message in post-drinking cathartic poetry is to be believed, I am not the only one with insecurities. I want to write him a letter and make him million-dollar smile. I'm not the one with the "smile to kill for", but I still want to write the letter.

Swig sent me a great blog link the other day; The Company Bitch is clever, funny, and quick. I read a couple of hours worth of entries and laughed enormously. But didn't go back afterwards. I realized that my interest in blogs aren't really this kind of thing, but more the personal blogs that let you in on people. People are strangers now more than they ever were - I love having a window into people, seeing a side of them I might not otherwise.

Last night was dancing at the Dance Cave, and next week again, twice. I need to find someone to crash with, I am *tired* of having to leave early because of the commute. And next week is a goodbye party, and want to stay till the end.

...the kid in minnesota...

He wants to know about my dark side. Well, compared to drugs or stealing or fighting, I don't suppose it seems that dark, but to me (and to anyone who knows how I feel) it's the darkest.

How do you measure insecurity? How do you determine whether your self-consciousness or self-hate is as debilitating as any other flaw that someone might have? Or what effect that might have on a relationship?

I was insecure with A; I was insecure with J. I worried about how I looked, what I did, how I appeared to their friends. I'm pretty sure the same pattern is before me again. I think he will become bored with me. I agonize about my weight every day. I am preoccupied with whether my friends really like me or not. I want to know how happy people feel to see if I recognize it. I wonder if anyone will fall in love with me. I am afraid I will amount to nothing. I smoke to fit in, I read politics to fit in. I dance and drink and talk and work to fit in. I joined a gym to fit into a dress...

...rose red...

Tom and Katie have had their first baby, and have named her "Suri", from the Persian. Is this to mock me? For complaining so much about their creepy coupling?

If this is a cosmic joke, I'm not laughing. Cringing slightly, but not laughing.

...pull that door shut, quietly...

My house today is rancho relaxo - I slept, I calmed, I cooked. Fat-free, healthy, vegetable-filled bringmylunchtowork goodness: pea-mint soup and chicken salad with lemongrass. I also finished reading "Trickster's Choice", my kids/YA read of the week and started "Perfume", which will be the grownup read of the next little while.

I'm thrilling inside anticipating 18 degrees tomorrow and not having to work, imagining reading Aristotle outside, the heat of the sun helping him sink into me.

My political theory TA responded to my querying email this afternoon, apologizing that he was a couple days late and wanting me to call him at home today so we could talk about my concerns with Hobbes. I couldn't call - I was dumbfounded at this show of availability and care from a TA in the cold pits of hell that is U of T; nerves set in, and the memory of his brilliance, and I didn't call. I will kick myself all the way to the exam.

Oh Derek Derek I forgot to call you today, I'm sorry. Please still be my friend, even though I have neglected you (as I have everyone else, it seems) this year. I love you all, I promise. Life is just... getting in the way.

...sunshine...

Oh it is gorgeous outside, oh! Sun and light breeze, bright bright bright, blazer-only day.

In the car with my dad yesterday:

Me: Why are you coughing so much?
Dad: Oh, it's nothing. I just had something that didn't really agree with me.
Me: What, a cigarette?!

It was unintentionally rude and a little funny, but not so because he IS coughing a lot and smokes a lot and I am concerned.

...in circulation...

One of my students asked me this week if I was a real grownup. "As opposed to a fake grownup, Jesse"?, I said back. After a short debate, his second grade brilliance deciphered that in fact, I am not a real grownup because I don't have a house, a car, or a husband. Well maybe I don't have any of those things, and maybe I don't do my own laundry, or grocery shopping, or remember to water my tree. But I don't think these things are the true measure - you have to consider the many ways in which I am, inexorably, adult:

- $2200 in savings since Christmas
- a Louis Vuitton purse [comprising both adultness and Persianness]
- seeing from a distance my ex-boyfriend, realizing I'm still not over him, wincing, turning, resigning, and walking on.

...it's frankie...

Today's obsession: "Union Station" by Joe Fiorito. Fascinating! This is the real Toronto, kids.

...do you even HAVE an immune system?... [reprise]

The name, by the way, of the post refers to the fact that I am sick again, and had to go home from work. Nothing serious, just the usual have a fever, almost fainted. That type of thing. Unpleasant, but I'm going to bed now at 9:30.

...do you even HAVE an immune system?...

Re: girls and fat talk.

You know. The "I'm so fat", "no you're not!", "ugh yeah I am" talk that we all go through every now and then. It happens to me a lot, and I'm sure I'm not alone. Today I overheard one of my student's fat talk conversation with her friend. Afterwards, I asked her if she really believes she's fat, because I couldn't believe it. This girl is unbelievably skinny and a good head on her shoulders - I didn't think she could really have the hangups she had been describing.

"Well no, not really", she said, "but, like, you know. I feel like I have to say these things. Like, if I didn't say it, maybe it would sound like I was bragging".

I found that interesting on so many levels. On the one hand, the whole concept of fat talk among women is facinating in how prevalent it is. On a purely linguistic note, the idea that by not saying anything she could be thought to be bragging was hysterical.

...sudoku kuku...

Today I came home to my parents, grandmother, aunt and 2 uncles sprawled in various positions around the living room and my dad handing out sudoku on photocopied paper, the same puzzle to all. He passed one to me and said "You're just in time; ready, set... go".

And they were off. Immediately, 7 pencils scratched furiously and you could almost hear 7 sets of wheels turning as we got into it.

4 minutes in - my uncle wins. 7 minutes in - I find a square with two 8's. Shiiiiit. I'm out.

Welcome to my house. Where madness and logic puzzles rule.

...the eternal humorist...

I'm curious how other people feel about sharing their blogs; do you let the people close to your life read them? Friends, family, coworkers, partners, potential romances?

Edited May 2: I'm especially curious this week.

My blog is where all my tiny uneasinesses about myself clump together like day-old oatmeal. They become visible and stark. Compare that to a work-me who is a trooper, light and confident, who has never cried at a mean customer. The two cannot mix, madness would ensue. It actually reminded me of George from Seinfeld.

"There is Relationship George and Independent George. You are killing Independent George! A George divided against itself... cannot stand!"

...sometimes these cogitations still amaze...

From the blog of a friend of a friend (?) of mine, stumbled upon last night.

The Keys to Your Heart

You are attracted to good manners and elegance. In love, you feel the most alive when your partner is patient and never willing to give up on you. You'd like to your lover to think you are stylish and alluring. You would be forced to break up with someone who was insecure and in constant need of reassurance. Your ideal relationship is lasting. You want a relationship that looks to the future... one you can grow with. Your risk of cheating is zero. You care about society and morality. You would never break a commitment. You think of marriage as something that will confine you. You are afraid of marriage. In this moment, you think of love as something you thirst for. You'll do anything for love, but you won't fall for it easily.

What Are The Keys To Your Heart?

...etherized upon a table...

Tonight was singularly terrifying. I have never been so scared and vulnerable in my life, and am still shaking. I used to argue that Toronto is one of the best cities in which to live, but after tonight I'm on board with the "this city is no longer safe".

A couple hours ago, I got on the subway at Bathurst Station - the car was empty and one other guy got on with me. He sat right across from me, which I was immediately uncomfortable with. A few stops later, I tried to get off at Yonge Station, when he stood in front of the doors and wouldn't let me get off. The doors closed and the train started moving - I backed away and walked to the other side of the car, and ran off as soon as the doors opened at Sherbourne. As I started to walk up the stairs to get back on the other platform and go back to Yonge/Bloor, I noticed this guy followed me up and got onto the Yonge-bound train on the car next to mine. He got off one stop later with me at Yonge. At this point, I was starting to get overwhelmed and didn't really know what to do. I have taken self-defense courses and watch a lot of crime TV, but there is absolutely nothing like the panicked feeling that kind of insecurity gives you. I stood still for a minute on the platform, and this guy was standing right over my shoulder. I turned, walked to the escalator and went up to the fare booth, and grabbed a security guard as he was walking the other way, and immediately burst into tears. The guy who had been following me ran forward, down the opposite stairs and away.

I owe a huge commendation to the TTC tonight. Not only was I an absolute wreck, but at one point I forgot where I was supposed to be going. I was completely ungathered. Two constables walked me back down to the northbound platform, handed me over to the security guard on the train who stayed with me until we got to Finch Station, then got out of the train to walk me to a taxi stand. They were incredible, especially considering I barely stopped crying this whole time. They got my description of the guy (he had a huge tattoo across the back of his head, so hardly inconspicuous) and told me never to hesitate pressing the panic strip on the trains if such a thing happens again.

There were also two guys on the last train when I was with the guard who approached me and tried to ask if I was okay. One of them didn't stop staring at me the whole 20 minute ride. A word to other like-minded guys: do not do that. A girl who has just been scared like this is not going to want to be approached by strange men, even if you are wellmeaning (and I have my doubts as to that, anyway).

The other thing is this - the impression given when you say "followed" is ambiguous and much more benign than the reality. I consider what happened to me, if not an attack, then damn close - especially considering he tried to keep me from exiting the train. It was threatening and invasive, completely disorienting and shattered my sense of capability and security. I've never felt like such a ... girl. I don't mean that in a self-hating way. I mean that I am very aware tonight of how little I am, how light, how weak and how insecure.