Cooler than You: Stupid Things I Say and Do

Here's a little story of UPS. A handful of months ago I got married...my UPS guy was nice, and lovely, and polite. There was a handful of packages from wedding gifts, there was stuff I ordered to make wedding hoopla with, there were random purchases along the way. None– the– less, the man was friendly. He buzzed the building's buzzer and waited 45 seconds to a minute before buzzing again. We chatted about dogs, his kids, his wife...random banter along the way. Then...then...the holiday season came, with holiday trainees showing up on this block. Then...then...the delivery hell began. Early purchase packages...one showed up last week. The delivery person was new, clueless, and not wholly friendly. Then, last night stupidity turned into moronic behavior. When I got home around 2:30 there was no UPS delivery. My husband got home around 6:30...still no package. For the rest of the evening we were home, someone always here. Around 8 pm we were on the stoop. Still, no delivery no...

So, as the world knows a damned hurricane showed up Halloween weekend...indeed it did.  Aside from having our lights flicker and having to go to Connecticut for gas, we fared well...granted two blocks over, on pretty much either side of us, there was a different quality of life...we felt like the one percent, and we are still very grateful for having been blessed.  When you've been living in it you find a strange disconnection to being able to write about it...here's the best I can do right now. Along the way,I took a handful of pictures around Astoria Park...the day after, and I must say there was something special about watching to hoards of people flooding along the river bank and into the park. It was a literal exodus from the confines of our tiny apartments. The outpouring of people goods, aside, and services has been astounding. Though, the Rockaways will never be the same, and New Yorkers will always remember several days without the subway, power, and a little thing c...

As life would have it, life has been busy and stressful as of late...so I preface this post by saying that perhaps my mind its screaming for a rest, a day off, a night with nothing but me and my devices of thought and pen. Okay...maybe I'm just fried from working so much, writing more, and smashing my head against my computer while grading. Earlier this week I dreamed that scoops of ice cream–– vanilla, of course––fell from the sky, gently exploding into smaller balls as they fell. Through the course of this scene I could see The Empire State Building upload and The Chrysler Building. I could see the cracks of concrete and flecks of dirt on the window panes. Throughout this scene of a cerebral slow– timed tango, I said those buildings are "my Manhattan." Then, as the best chaos of dreams does...I awoke to lie in bed in a state of confusion half between slumber and consciousness with a literal dream memory seeping around the corners. At thirteen, or so, I a...

I apologize.  Below is the email I just received . . . I have removed the multiple links for continued donations.  Read below for my response. And if you did not know, I am an Obama supporter.  I continue to be one.  This email, from the Democratic committee, is just poor form. Annessa — We're reviewing supporter records in advance of the final Federal Election Commission deadline and noticed you haven't yet made a contribution to protect President Obama and a Democratic Senate. I pasted your supporter record below: Supporter record:  21746160 Most recent:  none Suggested:  $5  Election Day:  22 days If you are concerned about Republicans defeating President Obama and taking over the Senate, time is now short.  This is the final FEC deadline before the election. More than 20,000 supporters have contributed in the last week alone, can you join them? [Redacted links for donations] Thank you for your time and commitme...

In 2012 the concept of a woman needing anything beyond her own wit and merit almost seems passe.  Yet, in this world of instant messages, ATMs, debit cards superseding checks, and steel-toes stilettos a women (or, girl if the term--like me--makes you feel a little more hip, at ease, and at peace within your changing skin) should have a little black book–– or a little black digital phone book–– filled with names beyond old lovers, forlorn exs, or divorce lawyers. These are the things, as I tell students, that just make life easier, richer, and full. A list, per se, that I deliver to Women's Studies when I can and to students, friends, and sometimes strangers when I see or feel the need . . . or just plain hate what I am hearing. In no particular order: 1. A former lover, partner du jour if you will, that is no longer a shag buddy.  Just merly a name and number in her book who she can text or call just to say hi.  Why? While not all rel...

Of the many things that cross my mind meat is sometimes one of them. This time...the taste and texture of meat are center stage. In this case, I've been pondering ways meat can be tough, bitter, or just foul when fresh. We'll pretend that I am a carnivore. Of course, I should tell you how this thought began. Back in February my back muscles got so tight that knots formed upon knots. When my now husband rubbed my shoulders he somewhat freaked out saying my muscles felt like braids. Perhaps they did. As the pain intensified I finally gave in and got a script for a muscle relaxant. My muscles mellowed, I could lift my arms again, and my back didn't feel like cement had taken its place. Yet, my mind spiraled to the absurd. Of course, last week when I caved/splurged on a massage from knots and shooting pains, the thought came back... When cows are slaughtered, and they are tense with knots, does that change the taste of the meat and make it tough?

Sometimes the insomnia hits at the most infuriating moments.  Like now.  I nodded for a few moments this evening, not nearly long enough, and now . . . now I am tinkering away at my keyboard, too idle and blocked to write aptly. I long to drift off to sleep, but--aside from the insomnia--there is a dog hogging my part of the bed. Of course she is adorable, but she is a stinkin' bed hog none-the-less.  A smaller stack of work, than I have seen in months, but still a formidable stack glares at me.  Instead, my mind is too idle to function. Hence, I write moronic meanderings at 12:30 in the morning.  I flip through a French reader, I struggle with an Italian chapter, and I tinker with more Turkish.   Je parle un peu languages, mais franciase est ma favori pour son rythme et de romance implicite de l'espirt et du coeur.   My spelling sucks in all of them.  Yet . . . yet, I can not focus.  Apparently, there is a theme developing to my aimless ...