Revived

Stay tuned for upcoming posts.

I'm back to skirting around the issues.

In the meantime, check out The Everyday Palate and Connotation Press.

Some Bad BBQ

One of the things I miss most about Cleveland is Bubba's Q. I could eat there every day. Seriously. The BBQ is dynamite and the sides are pure south--total badass!

Because of Bubba's Q I crave quality BBQ every month, so I was delighted to see a new BBQ place in Rossford (about 20 mintues from Bowling Green) behind the Giant Eagle: Bad Bobs.

This past weekend on our date night FD and I went to Bad Bobs. And it was bad, not in the good way.

Let me begin my review by saying I have high expectations for BBQ joints; I realize this. But I know good BBQ can be done in Ohio, and I expect it. I am a food snob and I'm food conscious. I have high standards when I spend my hard-earned money on a meal I have not cooked. Maybe you aren't as particular as me, that's fine. But this is my review.

Upon walking into Bad Bobs, the first thing I noticed was how clean the joint is. It's immaculate with their practically sparkling clean tables and well-swept floors. I was happy.

The wait to be seated was about five minutes, which is pretty good for a busy Saturday night, and the place was pretty packed.

Our waitress promptly took our drink orders, which was fine. Everything was fine until I asked for a glass of wine. Then it went downhill. Bad Bobs only serves beer. If you like beer, you're in luck; it's pretty cheap and they have a good selection, according to FD. If you want anything else to drink, it's going to be pop or water. I understand liquor licenses can be tricky, so while this didn't make me especially happy it didn't ruin dinner.

Once FD got his beer and I got my water, our food came about 15-20 minutes later. The service is quick and friendly. There was no question about that.

The food is where my issues began. My beef brisket was exceptionally dry; I thought it would come with bbq sauce or I thought the waitress would tell me how it came: wet or dry. I was surprised because the waitress didn't tell me either way. The flavor of the brisket was okay. It was a little bland, but when I put bbq sauce on it, it tasted better. What was truly upsetting were the sides.

My side salad was clearly taken from a bag and plopped in a bowl, which what I expect from most BBQ places. However, at least it could have been spun a bit so it wasn't still wet from the bag. My green beans were runny and tasted metallic, which means they came from a can. That's disheartening. And my mac and cheese was runny, bland, and not cheesey at all. In fact, I told FD I would prefer to eat boxed mac and cheese over what was served. Additionally, the two plate sides were served in little plastic cups, which I didn't understand. Why not be eco-friendly and not use the cups? Just put the sides on the plate. I'm guessing because the plate would be a wet mess...Needless to say, I didn't eat my sides and only half of my brisket.

FD ordered a full slab of ribs: 1/2 wet and 1/2 dry rubbed. The dry rubbed ribs were exceptional: juicy, moist, flavorful--a real delight. His sweet potato casserole was pretty good too. Nothing special, but much better than the mac and cheese and green beans.

We walked out of Bad Bobs having spent about $48 on both meals and two beers. The prices weren't bad, but the lack of food quality (apart from the ribs) made me regret spending that much on the meal.

I would recommend Bad Bobs for those who aren't food snobby like me. It's a fine establishment. However, I won't be going back. I would rather just wait it out and go to Bubba's Q when we visit Cleveland.

FD said he would go back and get dry rubbed ribs for take-out and make his own sides. I would consider that; those dry rubbed ribs were amazing. And I bet they'd be even more so with my homemade mac & cheese and some fresh farmers market veggies.

Bad Bobs: 2.5 stars out of 5.
Bubba Q's: 4.5 out of 5.

A Kinda Christmas Story

The urge starts like the jingle of a tiny bell: Tink. Tink. Slowly, it builds like an orchestra. Strings. Horns. Percussion. All together. I have to go; there is no holding. None.

Usually the instance I felt a tingle in my bladder, I jumped up and ran to the bathroom. I was a bed-wetter. I couldn’t be trusted to hold, and I knew better than doing so. I had gotten too used to the hot liquid turning cold fast against my bum, the angry flick of light switches in my bedroom, the bathroom, then the laundry room, the stink of vinegar water on my mattress, the swoosh of sleeping bag against floor, and overwhelming guilt of being a bed-wetter. At home it’s one thing, but around family I never see, it’s completely different.

The Christmas Eve I was seven, my mom and I hitched a ride to Chicago with my grandpa and grandma in their Crown Victoria to visit my uncle and his family. Sure, the whole way there I had to pee, but I was with an old lady who had to pee all the time. For once it wasn’t my fault that we stopped at almost every rest area along snowy the Ohio turnpike. No adult questioned the validity of my bladder’s urge and hushed my requests to stop with “you can hold it until the next one.” Finally, there was an adult who had to go as much as me. It was the first time I had traveled in complete bladder comfort.

That night I slept on the pull-out couch with my cousin Katie and cousin Matt. I could barely sleep thinking of Santa. I tossed and turned, bumping Katie’s reindeer print flannel arm and leg while continually whispering to Matt that he was wimp for not staying up with me. The red, green, and blue outdoor Christmas lights that wrapped around the bushes in their yard and their neighbors cast a warm glow in the sunken den of our room.

Up the stairs of the sunken den was the kitchen, then the great room with the front door and chimney, then a hallway where the three bedrooms were. At the end, the bathroom. My aunt and uncle were the closest to it. I hadn’t seen their bedroom, but I imagined them sound asleep based on the contagious yawns I saw at our early evening arrival. My grandparents were second closest. I pictured them sleeping on Matt’s twin sized beds, each in a separate bed, an arm’s length away from each other. My mom was third closest. I thought I heard her loud eggnog induced snore from Katie’s room, trailing downstairs to me, the farthest person from the bathroom. I found the thought of each family member sleeping in a room much closer to the bathroom than me, not comforting but thoroughly upsetting.

Immediately, my bladder jingled its tiny bell.

I had to get up; there was little time for such a far run. Rolling over Katie, thumping on the floor, that’s exactly the moment I heard it.

Scratch. Scratch. Neigh.

I froze, crouched on the green shag carpet.

Scratch. Neigh. Scratch.

Santa was here.

My first thought was: if he sees me, I’ll scare him away before he sees the picture of Poochie I colored for him, before he eats the special sprinkle cookies, before he sets the shiny presents under the tree. Piss my pants or risk no presents. I’d be damned after how good I had been that year to not get presents. And I certainly did not want my distant relatives glaring back and forth between the present-less, brown pine needle-ridden tree skirt and me. I squeezed my thighs together, squinted my eyes shut, pressed my hands over my ears, and prayed Santa would be quick about his business.

Each second the urge to pee grew. The bell was joined by the strings, the strings joined by the horns, seconds later the percussion section took over until all I could hear under my sweaty palms was the drumming of pain in my bladder, throbbing in every nerve of my body. I tightened my vaginal muscles like the doctor told me. I counted. I breathed. Just like the doctor said. 10. Inhale. Exhale. 11. Inhale. Exhale. The burning sensation began. 12. Inhale. Exhale. I felt a little trickle escape. It was only seconds before my urine made a prison break. I looked to the stairs, consciously clutching my vaginal muscles, preparing my body for movement. I had to chance no gifts. I had to make the break.

I popped up like the little flower I was in the past spring’s play, and when I was up, I ran like never before. I jumped the stairs, my bare feet making sticky noises against the kitchen linoleum. I passed through the great room’s threshold, and zoomed passed the reflection of myself in the front door’s glass. Rounding the 8 foot glimmering Christmas tree, I tripped on the hem on my long flannel nightgown. The hardwood cold underneath me, I crouched for a moment on my palms and knees, gathering myself. So far no leakage. My thighs were still tight. I could make it. I took a deep breath and rose to a slight chuckle.

Looking up, I saw a round belly jiggling slightly, shiny black buttons, a white beard twitching. I literally had stumbled upon Santa, who was looking at our pictures and chewing on a cookie. When we made contact, he winked at me. I know it sounds cliché like something from a holiday movie scene, but I swear he was before me in all his magical flesh. This Santa was not some dude at the mall or my grandpa dressed up. He was the real deal. I could tell by his wink. My grandpa couldn’t wink without closing both eyes. I gave Santa a smile and a curtsey. He motioned his head towards the bathroom. The pain returned swiftly, and again I was racing down the hallway. I flung open the door, slammed it shut. I danced my panties off. I sat on the rim without putting the seat down. I didn’t care. The rush of liquid was exhilarating. It wasn’t until my first orgasm that I realized pissing after holding for a long time feels almost exactly the same.

Of course, Santa was gone when I reentered the great room. Crumbs from his cookies rested on the plate and on the chair. I had triumphantly seen Santa. A tale to tell to make all kids jealous. I was proud tiptoeing my way back to bed, knowing I wouldn’t be able to sleep after glimpsing the stacks of shimmering paper and perfectly puffed fabric bows. Christmas would happen after all. I wouldn’t be blamed for scaring off Santa, but soon I realized I would never be believed for seeing him.

(Thanks to Ray Ray for helping this essay come to fruition.)

Some Things Are Worth Repeating

Zooey Deschanel's voice was amazing. (Thankfully, She & Him came into existence!) I didn't really listen to the lyrics until I burned the Dean Martin version from my mother-in-law. From there, "Baby It's Cold Outside" has taken on this whole new life (in my brain). It will forever be known as "The Christmas Date Rape song." I don't want to spoil your Christmas joy, but once you listen to the lyrics really carefully, you might feel the same way.

During My Research

This article says everything I've been thinking about.

I wish I had written it.

Yes, I'm This Obsessed

Just So You Know, I'm Totally Kidding

Another obsession: telling cute kids under the age of 3 and my dog that I want to "eat them" and pretending their limbs are corn on the cob.

Bon Appetite: mon Bleu de chien! (Who, apparently would be quite tasty!)

Why on earth would one want to eat their children and/or dog?

For now, I (among others) speculate it may have something to do with the only way to truly consume something is to eat it, ingest it, let it become part of our own bodies. Or maybe those scary European bedtime stories are to blame; you know the ones where two kids are plumped up with candy and then shoved into an oven for a witch's dindin? Or maybe it's because we watch too much FoodTV, which tells that food equals love?

I'm determined to get to the bottom of this sometime soon.

I need to for my own mental and legal safety and the safety of my dog as well as all the cute children in the world with chubby, edible cheeks, legs, and arms.

What Goes Around...: A Yoga Reflection

Today I endured countless gripping from students: "Do we have to peer review?" "I don't have a peer review copy. That means I can't peer review."

My responses: "Peer review is good for you. Do it." And "Run. Right now. Find the closest lab and print out a peer review copy if you want to be considered present today. Do it!"

All the while I kept thinking to myself, "If I was a student, I wouldn't be so whiny and reluctant."

Once again, I eat my words.

During yoga class tonight, I whined and pleaded with my yoga teacher to "please not make me do that pose again." I dished out all the rations of shit I got from my kids today.

The exception is I feel horrible about it. (But, for the record, my teacher handled it with much grace & encouragement.)

I find, though, that the poses I'm most reluctant with are the ones that I feel the most and are the ones that, in the best of ways, challenge me the most. I need a good challenge. Always. For example, Crane & Handstand.

Three notes to self: 1.) Press down in my hands for a sturdy handstand.

2.) In Warrior I & II tuck the pelvis to open up the kidneys. Practice Warrior III more intently for handstand practice, according to Yoga Journal.

3.) Stop being such a wimp about Crane Pose (photo cred: Yoga Journal). Widen the hands, creep up on the toes, tuck the knees deep into back of the armpits, place head on the floor, and press up--pump up through the hands.

I'm noticing a hand theme emerging.

Another challenge lies ahead.

I promise that's NOT a gripe but rather a positive statement.

I Haven't Been This Crazed in a Long While...

Confession: I once sent Josh Hartnett a care package with a mix tape & handmade friendship bracelet after seeing him in The Faculty. If you ever ask me about this, I'll deny it.

I fell hard for New Kids on the Block in 6th grade. So hard I blew probably the equivalent in cash of my whole college education on Big Bopper magazines & tape for plastering my walls. (Not to mention, actual plaster & paint after having to take them all down when we moved.)

Now, as a woman in my 30's, I have a totally new obsession: the movie Twilight. I admit I am/was obsessed with the book series first, but the writing never really made me love them like I love Pride & Prejudice. What made me love them was the plot & drama of it all. What's fantastic about the movie is I get to bypass the long tedious passages for the quick visual & mindlessness of watching hot boys on the big screen. Normally, I prefer the books, but in this case, NO WAY!

I haven't done anything obsessive as send Robert Pattinson a care package or carve a Twilight pumpkin (as found on a Twilight fan page on Facebook). However, I have seen the movie twice, and I can't stop thinking about Edward Cullen, which I consider a bit obsessive at my age.

Of course, all this seems quite innocent, but for some reason I have to turn it into some big deal. I know a lot of popular culture appeals to teens, and I've always been proud of my involvement & support of teen culture and pop culture. I realize that media is valuable mindless pleasure that helps us escape from bills, work, & seemingly trivial life bullshit. And I realize most times my most brilliant writing ideas come after giving myself a break with this mindless pleasure. All of this I'm cool with.

What bothers me most is that I was a Jacob fan while reading the books, and now after seeing the movie, I adore Edward. I was skeptical of Robert Pattinson as Edward, but the more I see the movie, the more I firmly believe he was the perfect choice. He captured the essence of Edward while being extremely easy on the eyes. I was dissatisfied with my poor Jacob. He was cool & friendly, but not what I expected from Jacob. Of course, in Twilight the book, Jacob hasn't really "matured" yet, but still...I'm upset to be swooning so hard for Edward.

And I'm happily married & I realize Edward isn't real, but I care enough about this to blog about it. I find that weird.

Just as NKOTB made a comeback & their sold out shows were mostly packed with 30 year-old fans who never stopped loving them, I think the same, in a sense, is why so many adult fans are in love with Twilight & Edward. The feeling of the book & the movie reminds me of those awkward days when I was 17--unsure I'd meet my soul mate and, more importantly, unsure about myself while being extremely cocky and maybe a bit whiny at the same time. Perhaps it's the ignorance of those days I miss. Or that surprise element of angst-ridden drama. (Though, Lord knows I NEVER want to experience that drama again. But it's cathartic/rewarding watching Bella & the not-so-17 Edward going through it...)

And seeing a movie like Twilight is inspiring, in the sense that, I'm lucky to be married to my own version of Edward & to know that romanticism isn't dead after all--that it just takes hard to work to make a life with your unconditional love and, above all, that movies with bathroom humor can be beat out by a love story, no matter how cheesy that story might be at times.

Thinking...

If I get an iPhone & use TwitPic more, then I don't really need a blog.

For example, last night during yet another AWESOME FABULOUS Revolver Restaurant experience, I could have used the iPhone's camera to take a pic, then used wifi to post the pic to TwitPic where I would have written a stellar update about how awesome my food was & how jealous you should be--if you have or have not eaten there! (And you should eat there SOON!) The whole thing would have been faster, easier, & more in the moment than writing a long post here, which unfortunately I'm finding less & less time to do. Like right now, for example, when I need to cook my own fabulous meal for my in-laws, swiffer up all this black dog hair on our wood floors, and visit a dear friend's brother's & dad's calling hours.

Microblogging is the wave of the future. I just think it might be better for my life than actual blogging at this point. I'm tried of thinking of "catchy" posts, needless time-consuming writing (when I should be creatively or professionally writing), the impersonal internets & feeling guilty about being self indulgent. Maybe I wouldn't feel this way if I was a celeb or a mom or using my blog as a business tool, but I do feel this way right now.

Any other bloggers feeling this way too or am I alone here?

♪ "Weather the Weather" ♪

Not only am I fan of The Postmarks song "Weather the Weather," I also am a fan of the weather.

So much so that I've actually considered "going back to school" to become a meteorologist.

This week at BGSU's annual Learning Fair hosted by the Study Skills Center, I was beyond ecstatic to meet the one & only "Blizzard" Bill Spencer, Toledo's fabulous local meteorologist.

Blizzard Bill talked with first-year students about his job experiences and shared with them the benefits of "not giving up, no matter what." I was kinda jealous of the way the students were memorized by him. If only I had that kind of magic in the classroom...However, my spouse has been been sucked up into a tornado and I've been the only person in a tv station during a tornado.

As you can see, tornadoes played a big part in his presentation.

Here are some other highlights I jotted down:

On moving from ABC from NBC: "They're into theme parks, not strip malls."

Why Toledo: "Because Toledo is where the weather action is."

On his first wife: "A tornado sucked my first wife into its funnel. After that our relationship was never the same."

On chasing tornadoes: "Being on scene 30 seconds after a tornado is the one memory that stays with me. Seeing people's lives spread all around the neighborhood and them crying, devastated by their losses, motivates me to be the best weatherman I can be."

His talk was the highlight of my week, especially because the weather has been so boring here: sunny and 70s every day.

I could use a good storm.

Some local weather drama would be nice.

A New Hope (*MAYBE* It's As Cool As Star Wars)

When I said I needed some hope I wasn't lying.

And when the Wick Poetry Center delivered, I became a true believer.

For the first time in probably years, I actually feel like a worthwhile writer & contributor to the Creative Writing community.

And I must say it feels pretty good.

Don't get me wrong, I've been doing readings & loving every minute of them, but something about being back in Kent & coming full circle from the kid who went to the readings to being the kid reading meant the world to me. And it motivated me in ways I'm not ready to articulate.

Apart from the fact that I got to spend time with some of my favorite kids who made me feel "oh-so-ready-to-pop-one-out."

Now that I'm home do I still feel that way?

No...Yes...Maybe...No...

But what I feel like is writing. Which can be like having a baby. Good enough for now.

I'm not doing my trip any justice...Just know that the readings were phenomenal. The panel was lively & rigorous at times. And I was always my usual freak-show self.

Once more links become available I'll be posting.

Until & between then I'll be writing.

I really wish I had some pics...

My new fav heros: Tony, Arlan, Carly, & Katherine.

Confession: I cried so HARD when Katherine & I said our good-byes I looked like an idiot.

Two (or More) for Tuesday

A homecoming is in my horizon.

Tomorrow I visit Kent State to celebrate the Wick Poetry Center 25th Anniversary by reading with past scholarship winners/some dear friends I haven't seen in a while as well as reading as part of the Why & Later anthology with benefit yoga classes.

If you can make it out Wednesday the 17th at 7:30 in the Honors College (Johnson Hall) is the Why & Later reading. Thursday the 18th from 11-12:15 p.m. is the benefit yoga class at the KSU Student Rec Center. Thursday the 18th at 8:00 p.m. in the Kiva is the Past Scholarship Winner Reading.

I'm beyond excited. In fact, I'm so excited I can't decide on what to wear.

Looks like I'll have to study the wardrobe binder intently tonight.

~

In other news, I've offended almost all of my friends by declaring my presence a politics-free zone. I care. But, more so, I don't. Usually during this time every 4 years I'm all fired up and ready to talk shop with propaganda pins neatly attached to my denim jacket and stickers attached to my bike helmet. Not this time. Really what difference would be had if I did care? Every candidate declares change, but there never is one. I don't have the emotional energy to deal with another loss or the brain occupancy to deal with bickering about something that will be over in two months. I easily could turn this blog into a rant about both sides. But being that I declared this a politics-free zone, that would go against the whole idea. I will say, though, my dream is to see Nader or Perot on the ballot. Again.

~

In more uplifting (or not) news, the Big Bang Experiment seems to be going well.

~

Thank God I'm going to Kent. Looks like a reunion is just what my spirit needs.

I Really Need to Stop Thinking So Much

Normally on Twitter my 140 character updates come pretty easily.

Today it was different. I had several different things I wanted to say and they all got jumbled so I just said I had several things to say and I figured I post them here because I don't have a character limit.

Being that I have such a rich online life is a blessing. I'm keeping in touch with old friends I dearly love who live far, far away from me. (The fabulous picture was taken by my great friend E.Waters who posted it to Facebook today! How rad to be able to keep in touch with her!) I get to meet new friends from all around the globe. And I get to feel pretty smart being in the know about all the new techy stuff. And Web 2.0 has several important education benefits that have enriched my teaching career.

With that said, the downside is sometimes my online life makes me feel like a huge loser. I thinking about the times I write on a friend's Facebook wall & he/she doesn't respond to me but he/she responds to all these other people & I have to see how much he/she loves his/her other friends on my News Feed. Or when I try to reach out & respond to a Tweet, I get silence in return. Or worst is seeing how awesomely exciting and action-packed everyone else's lives are & all the cool shit I'm missing out on.

I think the reason I felt so jumbled on Twitter is because if I Twitter what I love about the internets, then I come across as a loving, normal person, which is exactly what I want to portray to the online community. However, if I tweet about feeling like a loser, I come across as a whiny, sad, lonely, unhappy hermit. Which is NOT the case. It's just that internets sometimes brings out my self-conscious side, and I want to be able to express that feeling without feeling like even more of a loser.

(But I'm probably looking more like a loser by talking about how I sometimes feel like a loser but I don't want peeps to think I'm a loser.)

For the most part, I don't care what people think. But then again I must if I'm thinking about all the unanswered wall writings, unanswered tweets, unanswered phone calls, unanswered blog posts, etc. etc. etc.

But the other side of the coin is this: we're all freaking crazy busy. How on earth could we respond to every little internet interaction?! If we did we'd go bonkers! And what about all the wall posts, blog comments, tweets, etc. I've left unanswered? Did I cause someone to feel like a loser? Like I don't have time for them? Like I don't care about them?

Now I'm a happy, go-lucky, loser asshole.

In other words, I've been over-thinking the internets and internet friends way too much, and this little psychotic rant is just a taste of a few minutes inside my head. NOT fun.

But let me be clear, I LOVE my online life and my actual life. In fact, I find my actual life quite rich and beyond satisfying. I'm not convinced I'm an all-out loser. I just can see why so many creative-minded people I know avoid having an online life; obviously, they don't want to feel all this rush of crazies every few days (or few minutes).

I wonder how you cope with your online life vs your actual life. Does any one else feel this discord? If you do, how do you avoid it?

It's very possible starting the new semester has awoken by brain a little too much.

In other acutal life news, my students are great, teaching is going well, Bleu is doing well, and I'm seriously considering applying for the reality tv show Big Brother.

Farwell, my dear friend, Time.*

I like to think I have a sunny disposition. That I'm happy, warm, lovable.

That I spread my joy to all who know me.

Until this week. (Don't worry, next week I'll be fine.)

This week, though, is my last week of summer. And today is the only day that is going to be totally mine. Therefore, I must make it count. I will cross off these six things on my to-do list today: swim, finish reading Rachel Zucker's The Bad Wife Handbook, finish the first draft of a new chapbook, dry the Blue Basil leaves I have no idea what to do with, wrap FD's bday presents while snacking on cheddar cheese and NutThins or raw baby carrots (I'm not much of snacker but I LOVE cheese, to put it mildly), oh, yeah, and complete this blog tag** from Stokes.

Easy enough.

10 years ago I was entering my 4th year of undergrad, just taking filler classes like yoga and ice skating because I finished all my major classes in 3 years and I was going to the gay bars to dance my off ass because I didn't want to be worried with being assaulted by drunken frat boys and I was discovering the world of poetry. It's funny to think today I'm the teacher, preparing for the first-year writing students, who dances around my house while dusting, a Swiffer as my imaginary microphone, and who knows full-well that the world of poetry isn't all that magical.

It's this last week of summer, though, that makes me wish I was a billionaire. That I could teach a few classes here and there when I felt like it. And set up a pretty fat retirement plan for me and FD as well as for both of our families too. And build my prefab dream house with a guest house and two detached offices (one for me and one for FD) all with the arty, expensive appliances and furniture I see in Dwell each month. And give money to worthwhile foundations like Alicia's Voice. And travel to cool places like Japan and India. And do yoga whenever and whereever I want. And hire a cleaning staff, a chef, and, because if I was rich why not have kids and hire a few nannies. Finally, of course, I would be a shareholder of The Grey Colt and wear extra fabulous clothes all the time.

Yeah, that'd be the life. But then if I was billionaire, would I really appreciate the days when I cleaned residential construction sites, sweeping wood and dust into piles and shop vacuuming it all up? Or when I cleaned model homes, how I adored making perfect vacuum lines in the never-used carpets? Or when I worked for a cleaning service and scrubbed the settled cigarette smoke off cheap vinyl floors in some office that could totally be in a 70s sit-com, even though clearly we were in the 90s? (God, no wonder I'm a clean freak!) Or when I managed Hons' clothing resale shop & every Thursday Stokes & I would go to Applebees for dinner & drinks b/c she got a discount there. Or how about when I was the women's clothing department manager at Off Fifth & I went into debt buying hoity toity designer clothes. (No wonder I'm a label whore!) Or my days struggling as a TA, trying to figure out what kind of poet/teacher/woman/person I wanted to be until I finally figured out & became the poet/teacher/woman/person I always wanted to be.

Really would all that be lost if I became a billionaire? How would my values change? Or how would I teach my children values, that is if I decided to have kids?

Maybe it's simpler knowing I start teaching again next Monday and life will regain it's schedule, a schedule that I know & have come to love.

That doesn't mean I won't dream of living on Captiva Island, FL; or in Portland, OR; or Martha's Vineyard; Napa Valley; Boulder, CO; Ireland; Scotland; or even just plain ol' Clevelend, OH.

I guess as much as I don't want to, I need to look on the sunny side of this summer, the good times had, the time that I wasted doing God-knows-what.

Last week of summer, please treat me well. Be kind to me. Help me accomplish my to-do list in the best of moods. And help me smile when I wake up in the morning of the 25th, ready for school to begin again.

*Said in a unbearably tight hug that turns into a sloppy sob fest 08.
**I tag SEM, Chop, & C.L. Jones.

The Last of It

It all began with the shoes.

The desire to see each pair without opening the box. (Thank you countless fashionistas in NYC & Martha Stewart.)

Campers are precious shoes that deserve full exposure.

Now the masterpiece is almost complete. Closet domination!

After going to bed I realized I hadn't taken pics of my favorite accessories. And I realized I hadn't showered.

This morning I took those pics & will be adding the accessory photos with stories to the closet binder very shortly. After taking a shower.

(Side note: Walgreens online photo center is the BOMB. Easy to upload photos & easy to pick them up at your local store after receiving the photos-are-ready email.)

Looking at this first pic my closet looks like a mess. But it's small & cramped. (One day my dream of California Closets will come true!) For now, I promise you, dear reader, it is well-organized & exceptionally neat.

For the shoes that are boxless, such as my Orla Kiely wellies and Coleman hiking boots, I hung their pics on the top shelf as reminders.

The only things I would do differently are write stories on the back of the shoe photos, take photos of every t-shirt and tank, take photos of my winter sweaters too (which I can do during winter break...), and print doubles of shoes so one set can go in binder (which I can do during winter break too).

I was thinking this little project is perfect for organization & outfit preparation, but on a morbid note, it's good for insurance purposes & casket attire too. (If that sounds weird to you, clearly you don't know how weird I am.)

From Tuesday night to Thursday morning. Not bad. For pics with stories, outfit suggestions, and level of love codes.

According to my closet, the most loved designers are Orla Kiely, Johnny Was, Lilly Pulitzer, Free People, Boden, and Gap Demin.

The best deals were $188 Blue Cult jeans for $19.99; $130 Campers for $25; and countless of designer (Juicy Couture, Lilly Pulitzer, etc.) finds by Hons at the resale shops in Ft. Myers, FL.

I'm serious about hiring myself out as an organizer. If you're interested leave a comment with your email & we'll discuss.

I just might have a new calling in life.

But before I answer that calling I need a shower & a great summer outfit.

Oh NO She Didn't...!!!

28 hours later. I'm done.

Booya! I am motivated after all.

After 3 hours of taking pictures of my wardrobe.

4 hours after uploading pics to Walgreens, petting Bleu in between uploads (approximately 20 minutes for each 12 pic set of 136 pics).

2 1/2 hours waiting for Walgreens to call on my order.

4 1/2 put together time. (Well, calculate in 45 mins of Project Runway [We have the original DVR TIVO]. Thank God for Tim Gunn giving me a break while firing me up!)

AT 12:30, here I type, should-be-drunk-on-wine-but-exhausted-and-accomplished-yet-still- looking-for-some-pics-that-seem-to-be -missing.

Each pic in the binder contains the buttons & tags as well as the story behind the garment.

If only I was this motivated & OCD about my writing. Maybe one day...Maybe...

However, b/c I'm a label & money whore I'd be willing to this for your closet at a fair price. Fair being a very subjective word depending on your warobe & care of it...

Fun in the Sun

New Buffalo, MI. Harbor Country.

I met up with a very close friend from grad school, KLA, recently for a girls' getaway--something we both really needed. (Thanks for a great time KLA! You rock!)

Of all the pics I took this one was my fav. I took it from the balcony of our room at the Harbor Grand. The hotel was exceptionally clean and comfortably spacious, and its central location made getting around town on-foot or bike a cinch. The pool area was goregous too! However, the staff were not-so friendly or informative. I would recommend Harbor Grand if you know the area and/or don't use the concierge service much. If you rely on the concierge, I suggest finding another hotel with better customer service or figuring out your way around BEFORE staying there. The concierge at Harbor Grand were force-ably nice, not reliable, & a little put-out with our questions and requests that were not of of the ordinary and were encouraged by their website.

The area is fantastic, though! AB FAB!

Best memory of our trip: The first night there as a horrible storm where lightning struck one of the marina's piers, creating a human-sized sparkler. Of course we gawked from our patio door with it open & our heads hanging out. Then the tornado siren went off. Instead of huddling down in the lowest level of the hotel (a 1/2 flight of stairs down from us), we braved it in our room, swearing (literally dropping f-bombs) & swearing to dive into the bath tub if we see any twister action. It was AWESOME. I haven't laughed that hard in a really long time!

If you find yourself in New Buffalo or Harbor Country, check out these great restaurants or places of interest:

Redamak's: Great for lunch, especially if you're hungover. Burgers are the specialty. Milkshakes are grainy in that powdered-milk way, so avoid those. They only accept cash. Remember to bring cash. ;)

Timothy's: AWESOME for a swank dinner out while wearing casual attire. It's a seafood place, so know they're not the best at cooking filet mignon. Portions are huge and the food is intoxicatingly delectable. Prices are good. Homemade blueberry martinis are a MUST!

Gordon Beach Inn: Where Timothy's is located. This inn has a woodsy, homey vibe. Definitely a place worth investigating for future stays.

Bentwood Tavern: Rumor has it that one should be asked to sit on the roof of this marina restaurant.

The Stray Dog: No Black Dog Tavern but decent food in a beachy setting. Again large portions.

Vickers Theater: KLA & I talked about going here just b/c it looks purely radical. However, why see a movie when there's so much to catch up on? Therefore, I plan on going there with FDR sometime.

Go to the Beach: Of course!

And explore all the fun that can be had in MI!

In the words of Sufjan Stevens, "Say Yes to M!CH!GAN!"

And said YES to MI we have! KLA & I both loved the area so much we're planning next year's trip with ourselves, husbands, and dogs. I can't wait! Lounging on the beach, swimming in Lake Michigan, and eating at fabulous restaurants like Timothy's with good friends sounds beyond fabulous.

I just wish we were going this week. But, no, a year from now.

This week is dedicated to lesson planning, uploading Blackboard sites, and general readying for the semster, not fun in the sun.

Book Review: Bonomo's _Installations_

Installations by Joe Bonomo

rating: 4 of 5 stars
Bonomo's _Installations_ is mysteriously gorgeous and intellectually haunting. Each prose poem (beginning with the lines: "A large, well-lit, white-walled room. You walk to a red line painted on the floor.") serves as an installation art piece that is examined by a "you." These pieces (the poems/prose/memoir) replicate the art pieces in an innovative way--one that realistically enacts viewing art into written word. Like viewing art sometimes I just moved on to the next piece without hesitation, sometimes I lingered, other times I obsessed and forgot the time, and almost always I acknowledged rigorous thought and felt some kind of emotion.



Note to self: One emotion I felt several times was jealousy (over the form, language, concept) but, of course, the kind that is from the most loving place.



Like minimalist contemporary art some of the pieces "seemed" easy or underwhelmed or repetitive in a non-repetitive way. Though these qualities could be viewed as shortcomings, they appear to be intentional, at least in my reads. These are aspects I would like to hear Bonomo discuss, though.



The pieces (as identified by their last lines) that I gravitated towards were: "6:47," "Planes and birds glide in eternal gravity," "Your body, in mourning and great reluctance, received you back," "With history in front of you, you feel a tingle at the back of your neck, and you turn around," and "You want to open that drawer."



My all-time fav for its ability to articulate my own art viewing emotions most closely: "What is that small bloom of dread in your chest that you can't name?"



_Installations_ is full of real and surreal surprises, lockets of images, and invitations to join in. And join in, you should.






View all my reviews.

♪♪ Because The World Is Round ♪♪

With my morning cranberry juice I enjoy catching up my friends' blogs. It's kinda like my private time in the morning. The quiet before doctor appointments, puppy playdates, errands, cleaning, get-togethers, blah, blah, blah, etc.

After an usually up-and-down-day yesterday I'm been feeling frustrated, unsatisfied, bored, & generally pissed off to the point I restrained myself from physically bitch-slapping quite a few people.

I considered writing a rant-post about my yesterday. But after reading this post I realized I needed to focus on the things I love. Thanks, Lemon.

So I selected The Beatles' Abbey Road, pressed the round play button on my iTunes, and began this lovely blog-rant.

1.) My husband is by far the only person who "gets" me on every level. His love leaves me speechless in the best ways possible. I would have lost my mind long ago if not for his level-headedness that always pulls me back to the core of our lives & myself.

2.) As crazy as that moose-puppy Bleu can be, in the mornings when he snuggles under the bed covers and curls up in the crook of my stacked legs, I feel such tenderness for him, even to the point that I love him even when he's butt-tucking through the house after his bath shaking water all over the walls and furniture.

3.) I love the joy the freshly cut flowers I got at our Farmers Market brings me. In fact I love the Farmers Market period. I'm learning to be more creative with food, and it makes me feel happy and healthy to know I'm part of a food community.

4.) One great thing yesterday was that I got to talk to a couple of women who've I respected and adored from a distance for quite some time. Talking with them helped me realize afterward that I need to focus more creating a local community of friends, and that there are like-minded people nearer than I thought.

5.) Each day is a blessing, and thankfully each day starts new. And today I'm not going to obsess about yesterday. I'm going to move forward today. I'm going to create something new, worthwhile, and use all this new day's freshness to my best ability. No point in wasting it on non-love. Today is full of love.