I just left my debit card in a restaurant check envelope for the second time in two months. If you want to steal my money, you should probably just trail me into all of the places I eat. I'm bound to leave my card again at some point.
There's a judge on the 4th Circuit Court of Appeals who just resigned because she has been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's. Although she is capable of performing her duties still, she did not want any of her decisions made post-diagnosis to be questioned later.
Sometimes I worry that is going to be me. One grandmother with dementia, one grandmother with Alzheimer's, and a mother who is starting to joke about having "senior moments."
What if, one day, I wake up and I've forgotten everything?
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
Delerium
The Magician came home late last night, after I had been asleep for an hour, because he had a magic show (yes, this name is not for show) and then went out afterwards. In a sign that my brain is messed up, as he climbed into bed, I asked "how was your argument?" He replied, "you mean, the magic show?" I said, "no, the moot court...I'm tired."
I argued in the moot court competition last week and the week before, and while I didn't advance to the quarterfinals, I did get invited to interview for a spot on the team. This is a good sign. I'm really good at interviews. (Thanks are due to all the high school juniors and seniors that I interviewed for college admissions. You guys did a great job of displaying what not to do in interviews.)
In addition, my efforts in the writing competition did not go unnoticed: I got offers from all five of the journals I was eligible for. I knew I had a good eye for editing for a reason.
In short: things are going well.
In slightly less short: being on a journal is very exciting. Being on moot court would be even more exciting. Even so, it's really, really good to know that I can compete at my school. For all the work it took to get in there, this has shown me that I truly did belong.
I argued in the moot court competition last week and the week before, and while I didn't advance to the quarterfinals, I did get invited to interview for a spot on the team. This is a good sign. I'm really good at interviews. (Thanks are due to all the high school juniors and seniors that I interviewed for college admissions. You guys did a great job of displaying what not to do in interviews.)
In addition, my efforts in the writing competition did not go unnoticed: I got offers from all five of the journals I was eligible for. I knew I had a good eye for editing for a reason.
In short: things are going well.
In slightly less short: being on a journal is very exciting. Being on moot court would be even more exciting. Even so, it's really, really good to know that I can compete at my school. For all the work it took to get in there, this has shown me that I truly did belong.
Monday, July 06, 2009
Hindsight Can Be 20/20 If You're Mature Enough to Realize It
Here's a lesson for you: an apology can mean just as much 10 years late than it would have at the time.
My brother D and I have not always had a good relationship. In high school, he ridiculed me for anything and everything, called me all kinds of names, told me I was fat and ugly, and made jokes about how I would never have a boyfriend. (Yes, this all from a 16 year old who still turned away when seeing people kiss in the movies.) We clashed, and often. My parents did little about it, instructing me to "let it roll off my back" because D was sensitive and they were worried about criticizing him. This made our relationship immensely difficult.
The first sign of hope I saw was during my first semester of college. D called me in a moment of frustration while getting yelled at by our mom. It was the first sign in years that he saw any value at all in our relationship. D has since started a graduate program in psychology, and seems to be recognizing some things he regrets. Earlier today, we were chatting about our parents, and then this happened:
D: yeah, you have options. i strongly suggest you try something different, because whatever it is you're doing ain't working. the ultimate possibility is that you can do everything right and you'll still be hearing about it from her about how you're ugly or something
btw, what are the criticisms that she's levvying on you lately?
me: oh, I'm fat
didn't you know?
:-P
every time I eat half a fucking cookie she looks at me like she's going to die
D: heh, yeah. on behalf of my teenage self, i'm sorry for being a douchebag back then
me: and each morsel of crumb i put in my mouth is bringing her closer
D: i was a real prick. i'm sorry
me: thank you, I appreciate that.
I wasn't always the nicest to you, either, and I am sorry as well.
D: thanks. fortunately, being in this program has given me a bit of perspective, and that's one area of my life that i would have done differently if i weren't so naive
me: Such is life...hindsight can be 20/20 if you're mature enough to realize it
D: but i was, and i was pretty mean
I can't tell you how shocking this was. I was floored. I didn't know what to say, except to thank him for realizing in retrospect how much he had hurt me. And you know what? I didn't care that it was 10 years late. Not one bit.
My brother D and I have not always had a good relationship. In high school, he ridiculed me for anything and everything, called me all kinds of names, told me I was fat and ugly, and made jokes about how I would never have a boyfriend. (Yes, this all from a 16 year old who still turned away when seeing people kiss in the movies.) We clashed, and often. My parents did little about it, instructing me to "let it roll off my back" because D was sensitive and they were worried about criticizing him. This made our relationship immensely difficult.
The first sign of hope I saw was during my first semester of college. D called me in a moment of frustration while getting yelled at by our mom. It was the first sign in years that he saw any value at all in our relationship. D has since started a graduate program in psychology, and seems to be recognizing some things he regrets. Earlier today, we were chatting about our parents, and then this happened:
D: yeah, you have options. i strongly suggest you try something different, because whatever it is you're doing ain't working. the ultimate possibility is that you can do everything right and you'll still be hearing about it from her about how you're ugly or something
btw, what are the criticisms that she's levvying on you lately?
me: oh, I'm fat
didn't you know?
:-P
every time I eat half a fucking cookie she looks at me like she's going to die
D: heh, yeah. on behalf of my teenage self, i'm sorry for being a douchebag back then
me: and each morsel of crumb i put in my mouth is bringing her closer
D: i was a real prick. i'm sorry
me: thank you, I appreciate that.
I wasn't always the nicest to you, either, and I am sorry as well.
D: thanks. fortunately, being in this program has given me a bit of perspective, and that's one area of my life that i would have done differently if i weren't so naive
me: Such is life...hindsight can be 20/20 if you're mature enough to realize it
D: but i was, and i was pretty mean
I can't tell you how shocking this was. I was floored. I didn't know what to say, except to thank him for realizing in retrospect how much he had hurt me. And you know what? I didn't care that it was 10 years late. Not one bit.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Reasonable Suspicion
A selection of responses to some choice quotes from SAFFORD UNIFIED SCHOOL DISTRICT #1 ET AL. v. REDDING:
"If a student is reasonably suspected of giving out contraband pills, she is reasonably suspected of carrying them on her person and in the carryall that has become an item of student uniformin most places today."
Really, Souter? A carryall? You're funny.
"The common reaction of these adolescents simply registers the obviously different meaning of a search exposing the body from the experience of naked-ness or near undress in other school circumstances. Changing for gym is getting ready for play; exposing for a search is responding to an accusation reserved for suspected wrongdoers and fairly understood as so degrading that a number of communities have decided that strip searches in schools are never reasonable and have banned them no matter what the facts maybe, see, e.g., New York City Dept. of Education, Reg. No. A–432, p. 2 (2005), online at http://docs.nycenet.edu/ docushare/dsweb/Get/Document-21/A-432.pdf (“Under no circumstances shall a strip-search of a student be conducted”)."
Screw you, Justice Breyer and your joking about other people putting things in your underwear during the oral argument in this case.
"I have long believed that “‘[i]t does notrequire a constitutional scholar to conclude that a nude search of a 13-year-old child is an invasion of constitutional rights of some magnitude.’”"
I love you, Justice Stevens.
"Redding would not have been the first person to conceal pills in her undergarments . . . [n]or will she be the last after today’s decision, which announces the safest place to secrete contraband in school."
You're kidding me, Thomas. Really. You're kidding. Right? No? Shit. Fuck you.
"If a student is reasonably suspected of giving out contraband pills, she is reasonably suspected of carrying them on her person and in the carryall that has become an item of student uniformin most places today."
Really, Souter? A carryall? You're funny.
"The common reaction of these adolescents simply registers the obviously different meaning of a search exposing the body from the experience of naked-ness or near undress in other school circumstances. Changing for gym is getting ready for play; exposing for a search is responding to an accusation reserved for suspected wrongdoers and fairly understood as so degrading that a number of communities have decided that strip searches in schools are never reasonable and have banned them no matter what the facts maybe, see, e.g., New York City Dept. of Education, Reg. No. A–432, p. 2 (2005), online at http://docs.nycenet.edu/ docushare/dsweb/Get/Document-21/A-432.pdf (“Under no circumstances shall a strip-search of a student be conducted”)."
Screw you, Justice Breyer and your joking about other people putting things in your underwear during the oral argument in this case.
"I have long believed that “‘[i]t does notrequire a constitutional scholar to conclude that a nude search of a 13-year-old child is an invasion of constitutional rights of some magnitude.’”"
I love you, Justice Stevens.
"Redding would not have been the first person to conceal pills in her undergarments . . . [n]or will she be the last after today’s decision, which announces the safest place to secrete contraband in school."
You're kidding me, Thomas. Really. You're kidding. Right? No? Shit. Fuck you.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Let the Sunshine In But Don't Sing Out Loud or You Will Annoy Your Neighbor
I have come to realize that I will never be able to go see the current revival of Hair on Broadway.
Last night was the induction ceremony for the Songwriters Hall of Fame, and because of my internship I was able to get a ticket (not to the dinner, but to watch the show from the balcony.) People from other music organizations were there, and it was a fun event with lots of surprise and exciting performers (showing the relative age of the audience, James Taylor got one of the most excited receptions.) Rob Thomas honored Jason Mraz with the Starlight Award for a new songwriter, saying "I hate you. You've ruined the curve for everybody. You're kind of young, and you're cute and you're just too talented and I think you should stop." And Mraz, adorable in his acceptance, said "songwriting either makes you spiritual or a crazy person, and if it’s not doing either one of those things then you’re doing it wrong."
But last night, the last honorees were Galt MacDermot, James Rado and Gerome Ragni, who wrote "Hair." And what way could they honor the music from Hair except by having Marilyn McCoo and Billy Davis, Jr. (of The Fifth Dimension) sing Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In. And what else do you do when you're two steps from the theater in which Hair is playing? Of course, you make it the 11 o'clock number and have the cast of Hair come in and dance all around like crazy people.
Here is my issue. They invited everyone to sing during the "Let The Sunshine In" part, and sing I did. Except...I had already been singing. I had been singing the entire freaking time. I CANNOT NOT SING TO THIS MUSIC. I KNOW EVERY SINGLE WORD TO THIS DAMN SHOW. I tried, sitting alone at home, to not sing along to the soundtrack. It did not work. I want it long, straight, curly, fuzzy, etc., and I want to sing every single fucking word.
Well, shit. Looks like I'm never going to see the show, since all I will do is bug the crap out of all the people sitting next to me. Unless I could make it so that I know all the people sitting next to me...
Last night was the induction ceremony for the Songwriters Hall of Fame, and because of my internship I was able to get a ticket (not to the dinner, but to watch the show from the balcony.) People from other music organizations were there, and it was a fun event with lots of surprise and exciting performers (showing the relative age of the audience, James Taylor got one of the most excited receptions.) Rob Thomas honored Jason Mraz with the Starlight Award for a new songwriter, saying "I hate you. You've ruined the curve for everybody. You're kind of young, and you're cute and you're just too talented and I think you should stop." And Mraz, adorable in his acceptance, said "songwriting either makes you spiritual or a crazy person, and if it’s not doing either one of those things then you’re doing it wrong."
But last night, the last honorees were Galt MacDermot, James Rado and Gerome Ragni, who wrote "Hair." And what way could they honor the music from Hair except by having Marilyn McCoo and Billy Davis, Jr. (of The Fifth Dimension) sing Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In. And what else do you do when you're two steps from the theater in which Hair is playing? Of course, you make it the 11 o'clock number and have the cast of Hair come in and dance all around like crazy people.
Here is my issue. They invited everyone to sing during the "Let The Sunshine In" part, and sing I did. Except...I had already been singing. I had been singing the entire freaking time. I CANNOT NOT SING TO THIS MUSIC. I KNOW EVERY SINGLE WORD TO THIS DAMN SHOW. I tried, sitting alone at home, to not sing along to the soundtrack. It did not work. I want it long, straight, curly, fuzzy, etc., and I want to sing every single fucking word.
Well, shit. Looks like I'm never going to see the show, since all I will do is bug the crap out of all the people sitting next to me. Unless I could make it so that I know all the people sitting next to me...
Monday, June 15, 2009
OK, just going to say it.
I really, really don't understand what is happening in Iran.
There.
Am I stupid?
There.
Am I stupid?
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Snug.
I realize it has been a while since I updated. Lack of motivation, or just the fact that The Magician is here and I need this outlet less? Who knows. Regardless, here I am. Basketball players who wear face masks look silly. The Red Sox just pulled out a beautiful win against the Yankees and all is right with the world.
I guess that's it. I don't need to blog right now because so much of what I am feeling gets absorbed by this other person. Even last night, when The Magician SLEPT THROUGH the giant thunderstorms that were happening outside, all I had to do was poke him and he sighed, turned over, and put his arm around me. He may have been asleep throughout the entire thing, but I felt better all curled up on his side of the bed, my back protected and my breathing matching his. Each time the thunder shook the apartment and I shuddered in fear (shut up, it was freaking loud) I was able to pull his arm closer around me. Fear means little when there is someone to hold you.
I guess that's it. I don't need to blog right now because so much of what I am feeling gets absorbed by this other person. Even last night, when The Magician SLEPT THROUGH the giant thunderstorms that were happening outside, all I had to do was poke him and he sighed, turned over, and put his arm around me. He may have been asleep throughout the entire thing, but I felt better all curled up on his side of the bed, my back protected and my breathing matching his. Each time the thunder shook the apartment and I shuddered in fear (shut up, it was freaking loud) I was able to pull his arm closer around me. Fear means little when there is someone to hold you.
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