Friday Night Poetry Reading

(Since I don't have a date tonight, I've been sitting here assessing the drinkability of a free bottle of Cab I acquired, and looking through my computer archives to see what can safely be relocated to the Trash. I re-discovered a poem I wrote some years ago when I was trying out Yahoo's personals and discovered that my former Lit Crit professor had his profile posted there. Quelle surprise! I mean, this guy was adorable, if a bit high-strung, literate, articulate, and one would think that he'd have coeds lusting after him day after day and have no need to resort to an intermediary such as an online dating site to get him some find a soulmate. At any rate, instead of putting out the standard bio, Dr. B posted a number of poems critiquing the online dating environment from a male perspective. I wrote the following poem in response, but never had the nerve to send it to him.)

You think you got it bad?
We girls have it worse –
Most guys on Yahoo
Can't write, much less converse
(Although I will grant you
your talent with verse!)
Dudes put up photos
So tasteless, I cringe --
It's obvious they come
From some lunatic fringe.
I'm not all that picky
When going on dates,
But teeth, hair and shirts
Are all admirable traits
For a guy to display
(So in that regard,
You're doing okay.)

Bongo photo appropriated from fotopedia.

Still Life with Peaches and Figs . . .

...but no dates.

Except this update: After a week of relentlessly pursuing me via telephone and e-mail, culminating in what seemed to be a successful and highly entertaining dinner date with Mr. Compatible two Fridays ago, all communication from him has stopped, and my attempts to contact him have gone unanswered.

It's quite possible that I have simply stunned the fellow into silence as he contemplates whether or not he is truly worthy of my companionship. Or perhaps he is bi-polar, and we just happened to initially connect during one of his manic phases. (It wouldn't be the first time that's happened....)

I'm not sure I have the will to sort through all the nuts out there, just to get another date.

Pro Choice

One workday a week or so ago, my stomach was feeling a bit queasy, and so I headed off to one of the mini-markets on campus to buy a can of ginger ale. After searching all the refrigerated beverage cases, I was pissed off dismayed to discover that the University's new marketing agreement with Pepsi means no more ginger ale can be sold on campus! Until then I had been under the (false) impression that only the vending machines and dining units were beholden to PepsiCo. (I'm thinking I could make a little money on the side selling black-market Coca-Cola and Canada Dry products in the parking lot at lunch time.)

This morning I heard of another blow to freedom of choice: It turns out that Michael Jordan's son Marcus chose to play his first university baskeball game wearing a pair if his dad's Nike Air Jordan shoes. No problem here in the land of the free, right? Wrong. Marcus Jordan's action was a violation of UCF's contract with adidas who, unmoved by such acts of sentimentality has said it will terminate the $3-million/year agreement with UCF.

What's the point of sending thousands of troops overseas to defend our freedoms if the Corporate States of America are going to deny us the right to choose what to drink and wear?

Musings

Intellikid reports that all is well in Boston. She is dismayed that her class schedule won't allow for attendance at either the Tea Club or Linguistics Society meetings, but that seems to be her worst complaint so far. She is an inveterate worrier, however, and while I'm glad that we have the sort of rapport where she feels free to ask my advice about matters of import, her habit of asking questions I am not qualified to answer is sometimes less than endearing.

Her latest quandary: whether she should change her major from Linguistics to a new Philosophy and Linguists double major the university offers. Do I think she should switch?

My advice: "I think that someone considering a major in Philosophy should work that out on her own, don't you?"

A Confederacy of Tooters

I've just spent the end of last week at a conference in Richmond, VA, schmoozing it up with all the big names in the world of professional tutors. But readers, it's not as glamorous as it all sounds. For example, two colleagues and I had to drive the 350 miles to the conference site in a motorpool minivan with bad rotors and an even badder smell -- which turned out to be the dog poop that two of us had stepped in prior to our departure.

The conference hotel, despite its $140/night room rate, did not provide free internet access -- nor many other amenities -- in its rooms, so for entertainment I spent a few hours each evening in the hospitality suite and people-watched while trying not to abuse my own liver too much, a task made fairly easy because the Shiraz ran out on night one of the conference and I wasn't in the mood for Chablis from a box or Bud Light from a can.

Besides, one of us had to be sober enough to drive back home Saturday morning....

Signs of the Season

Driving home from work Monday I saw indisputable evidence that the year is rapidly coming to an end:  Christmas trees. 

In the neighboring counties in northwestern North Carolina, thousands of acres are dedicated to the cultivation of Christmas trees, which are already being harvested to ship to points far away.  Part of me hates to see so much acreage and resources involved in the production of a disposable commodity, but then we can't have every Paul Bunyan wannabe traipsing the National Forests, chainsaw in hand, in search of their perfect holiday icon.

Meanwhile, millions of pumpkins are being led to slaughter this week.  When will the carnage end?

That time of year

Last weekend's cold snap brought the first snow flurries to these here hills, and the freeze must have sent my muse in search of warmer digs because I haven't been able to come up with anything postworthy to note here.

Oh, you noticed.

This week things are warming up, in more ways than one. The weather is much more temperate, at least once the sun comes up. That means that we really don't need the heat on in our offices, thank you. (It has been a stifling 80-degrees in my windowless corner of the building!)

Outside the realm of meteorology, there is a spark of activity on the Match.com front, too. I won't risk jinxing any possible positive outcome by elaborating here, but will simply say that I am very pleased to have made contact with someone whose intellect and humor are compatible with my own. It's been so long since I've ventured into the realm of dating and such, however, that I have no idea what I'm doing. Hopefully that will seem endearing and not off-putting.

I'm not sure why, but most of my (at least temporarily) successful long-term relationships (all 3 of them) have started in the Fall of whatever year they started in. (Interestingly enough, one beau and I met at a Halloween party, where he was a cowboy and I was Cousin It.) Obvious biological drives aside, maybe there is another instinctual influence that prompts some of us to seek out warmth for the coming cold days -- and nights -- ahead.

Or maybe it's the dread of another New Year's Eve spent with the dog.

Making amends

... to JadedJ for inflicting unscenic imagery upon him. Click here for something a little bit más hermosa, my friend.

Last year around this time I was forced to spend 10 days in a resort hotel in San Juan, working the conference that my employer sponsored. Alas, the only way to really unwind after working 12-hour days was to head to one of the hotel's 3 pools (or 2 jacuzzis). If that didn't relax one sufficiently, there was nothing to do but walk up the street to one of the local dining establishments to fortify oneself with a mango and rum concoction. Or three.

It was the best worst 10 days of my life.

Now as the morning temperatures here in the mountains dip into the 40s, I wouldn't mind re-visiting SJ ... but as a tourist. Alas, any income allocated to travel must go towards intellikid's airfare home for Thanksgiving. That's ok, though -- I'll just add a trip to San Juan to that list of things for her to do for me when she graduates and is making more money than I.

Or else I could look for a Sugar(cane) Daddy . . . .

Observations

I've been eating plenty of fruits and veggies lately . . . doing tai chi and strength training . . . feeling pretty damn good, actually. So it was rather distressing that yesterday two people in my building commented on how exhausted I looked. Huh???

Maybe it's just the work environment that makes me look less than perky. When I look in the mirror at home, I think I look fine. Especially since I changed out all the high-wattage lamps for 40-watt ones.

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

Random observation of the day: It takes a very brave woman to wear white trousers when she's got her period. It takes another type of woman altogether to wear see-through white trousers and sheer underpants that allow persons following behind her up the stairs to see her sanitary pad.

(Sorry, guys.)

There's still time . . .

. . . to celebrate Banned Books Week . I'll have to carve out a few hours this weekend to observe the occasion.

Looking at the American Library Association's list of 100 Banned & Challenged Classics, I see I've got some catching up to do. I'm kind of hesitant to admit that I've only read about 47 of the titles listed...even more hesitant to admit that I've read all the Faulkner titles listed (for a seminar course).

(And who the fark wanted to ban Winnie the Pooh for promoting juvenile delinquency? It's so obvious that the homoerotic-beastial attraction between Winnie and Christopher Robin is cause for yanking that from library shelves! )

So tell me, what's your favorite banned book?