Cat Meets Fish

Although Luna is a pretty smart cat, it's taken her nearly six months to discover that we also have a fish. She's spent the last few days trying desperately to figure out how to get the fish -- whether to play with or to eat, I'm not sure -- while I repeatedly explain to her that the fish was here first. See, what Luna doesn't know is that Fish (yes, the Fish's name is Fish, he's a fish for the love of god) has been here all along. Fish came to live with me over a year ago after one of my students and one of A-Rod's students decided that the best way to achieve their goal of getting us to fall in love with each other was to bestow matching fish upon us. While this seems like a foolproof plan to even the least romantic among us, it didn't quite work out that way (and PS, I could have done without all the resulting drama). At least Fish has a new mission in his little fish life, which is to torment my cat with his mere existence. It's actually quite entertaining, especially if you're the sort who doesn't own a television.

I Cannot Live Without Books

Last week at "Cogan's Thursday," which is apparently about to become "Softball Practice Thursday" (note to whoever's in charge: couldn't we practice on Wednesdays? I have Thursdays set aside for drinking), Steve and Josh and I got to chatting about five things we would prefer not to live without (mine: wine, music, books, pets, & the ocean). Since we're nerds (the cool kind, not the nerdy kind), books were on all three of our lists and Josh asked us to name our three favorite books. We were settling our tab at the time -- it was 11:30 on a school night and I was fairly drunk -- so I told Josh I'd get back to him, but not before he'd mentioned that A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man is one of his favorites. Now, I know Josh well enough at this point to know that he was not trying to impress anyone with his love of James Joyce, and he knows me well enough to know that a man who claims to dig highly intellectual crap is much more likely to arouse my suspicions than my libido (especially if he went to UVA), so I believe him about Portrait of the Artist.

I'm just surprised a book by James Joyce would make it onto anyone's top three favorite books list. Top three best books, maybe, but favorite books? I've read Portrait of the Artist and I know the writing is phenomenal -- I mean, it's James Joyce. I think I might even have enjoyed the story, but I read it in high school 14 years ago (yikes!) so I can't say for sure. I remember that I liked it, and I had a good English teacher so I felt like I really understood it. But I also remember that it just wasn't my kinda book. And the more I thought about my favorite books vs. Portrait of the Artist, the more I realized something that occurred to me a while ago about my appreciation of the arts: there are a lot of things I recognize as good art that I just don't like. There are all sorts of books, paintings, songs, etc. whose artistic merit I value but that just don't speak to me.

I'm not sure if other people make this distinction, but isn't that the whole point of art? Isn't it cool that A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man speaks to Josh in a way it doesn't to me, and that some other book speaks to me in a way it may not to Josh? And that there is something universal in the other's favorite that allows us to appreciate its goodness without having to fall in love with it?

I've read a lot of books, most of which I've appreciated as quality literature without coming to love them. I've also read a handful of books that are complete crap from a literary perspective, and I've even liked some of them despite their lack of artistic merit. But my favorite books are the books I've read and fallen in love with, books that make me smile while I'm reading them because they're just so good, books that my family sees me reading and asks, "Haven't you already read that book? Like five times?," books that have changed me in some way, books I wouldn't want to be stranded on a deserted island without. There are several more than three of those, but after much consideration I've managed to narrow it down. . .

The River Why by David James Duncan

The River Why is essentially a book about a guy, Gus, who really likes to fish. He moves to a cabin in the woods along a river and devises "the ideal schedule" centered entirely around fishing and notes a few ways to actualize this ideal schedule: "avoid friendships, anglers not excepted (wastes time with gabbing); experiment with caffeine, nicotine, to eliminate excess sleep; do all driving, shopping, gear preparation, research, etc. after dark, saving daylight for fishing only." Gus quickly realizes that his ideal schedule is not bringing him any joy, that he and everyone around him is destroying the natural world, and that what is missing from his life is some sort of spiritual connection with others and with nature. The River Why is a funny but deep study of ecology, spirituality, love, and the connections among the three. It always makes me want to spend some quality time by the water and to learn more about Eastern philosophy.

Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal by Christopher Moore

You can tell from the title of this book that it's hilarious and irreverent. What you can't tell is that it's so much more than hilarious, and that what appears at first to be mockery is actually a deep respect and admiration for the core teachings of the world's major religions. Lamb chronicles the life of Jesus as a young boy learning to become the Messiah. He travels around the world living with various religious gurus who help him shape his message that "love is not something you think about, it is a state in which you dwell" and that "the kingdom [of God] is open to everyone. Ev-ree-one, get it?" This is a book that makes me laugh out loud while reminding me of the beauty of what Jesus stood for. Every time I read it I come away feeling more enlightened, and sometimes I even find new jokes.

Winter's Tale by Mark Helprin

I don't even like winter and I love this book, which is 673 pages of winter. Winter's Tale is beautifully written and magical. It is a novel of big ideas --love, god, justice, and morality -- set in a fantasy version of New York City. Just reading this book makes me happy to be alive. Hell, just reading the first sentence of this book makes me happy to be alive: "There was a white horse, on a quiet winter morning when snow covered the streets gently and was not deep, and the sky was swept with vibrant stars, except in the east, where dawn was beginning in a light blue flood." My friends have learned not to mention Winter's Tale because they know that within minutes they'll be rolling their eyes and wishing I would shut up about how wonderful it is.

So there's my list of the three books I most adore. To the best of my knowledge, none of them have won any awards. I've never seen any of them on a summer reading list, nor is Oprah considering one of my picks for her next bookclub selection (thank god!). But they're my three favorites because, in addition to being well-written, they just make me happy. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to go re-read each of them.

Holy Bad Architecture, Batman!

In the spirit of Jim Kunstler's Eyesore of the Month, I offer these two monstrosities currently under construction near my parents' house (which is not a monstrosity) on the Outer Banks of North Carolina.

Exhibit A:

This is a perfect example of what geographers call "maladaptive diffusion" -- otherwise known as "what the fuck is that doing here?!" Note the psuedo-Southwestern stucco and tile roof. Note the corinthian (!) columns. Note the proximity to a large body of water (in this case, the Currituck Sound). Note how the longer you look at it, the more you feel like throwing up.

Exhibit B:

I don't even know what this is. I mean, I know what it is: it's somebody's house; I just don't know what they were thinking. Perhaps the owners have a shit-ton of children and need all those rooms to accomdate their extraordinarily large family. Or maybe they feel most at home in hotels and decided to create a space that just screams "Embassy Suites." Most likely they simply suffer from the fairly common affliction of having oodles and oodles of money but absolutely zero taste.

When construction first began on this monstrosity, I thought they were building condos. Ugly condos, but condos nonetheless. I was pleased that some developer was finally building something that sort of made sense, since most of the working folks who live on the Outer Banks can no longer afford to live on the Outer Banks. But nope, some developer is building yet another ostentatious piece of crap for wealthy northern tourists morons tourons who will probably leave their empty Corona bottles on the beach. The joke's on them though: that place is gonna be a bitch to heat and cool when the oil runs out.

George Allen, You Are No Thomas Jefferson

Dear Senator Allen (R-Virginia),

I read in the paper this morning that in announcing your bid for reelection you described yourself as “a common sense Jeffersonian Conservative.” Since you earned both your History and Law degrees at Jefferson’s own University of Virginia, I'm confident you are well-aware that Jefferson was not a conservative and that you are no Jeffersonian. Perhaps you’re hoping the vast majority of Virginians merely admires Jefferson in the abstract and lacks the critical-thinking skills needed to detect the paradox in describing yourself as Jeffersonian or Jefferson as conservative. Such a hope would not surprise me given your efforts to destroy public education in Virginia during your six years as Governor, but as a Social Studies teacher I can assure you that a host of good teachers continues to produce citizens who can think for themselves and who know that Jefferson’s party was not the party of wealth and privilege.

Thomas Jefferson championed civil liberties and valued those civil liberties over security. He was a staunch advocate of the religious freedom guaranteed by our separation of church and state. Jefferson’s faith in our republic rested squarely on the ability of citizens to criticize their government in speech or in print. He was a steadfast proponent of public education and believed that quality education was the cure for most of society’s ills. As a student of the Enlightenment, Jefferson openly embraced change and hoped that each generation would improve the political system he helped establish. In short, Thomas Jefferson was the antithesis of what you and today’s Republican Party stand for.

Please refrain from insulting him -- and us -- by implying that your beliefs are in any way similar to his.

We Take Politics Seriously Around Here

When I was in the sixth grade, my fourth-grade sister ran for Treasurer of our school’s Student Council Association (SCA). She didn’t win, and it’s all my fault: I didn’t vote for her. I didn’t think she was the best candidate. Sure I was torn, but not because of any loyalty to my sister or any faith in her ability to keep track of money.

As I recall there were three students vying for the envious position of SCA Treasurer: a kid named Melvin who had the hots for my sister, my sister, and the kid who won. Melvin’s campaign speech centered around the dubious statement, “I like to keep money.” Even as an eleven-year-old I knew that treasurers aren’t supposed to keep money, they’re just supposed to count it. So obviously I couldn’t vote for Melvin. I had it narrowed down to two candidates and, well, the other kid’s speech was just a little bit better than my sister’s. He sort of made me feel like he was qualified to do the job in a way that my sister wasn’t. But it wasn’t as easy to reject my sister’s candidacy as it had been with Melvin. I struggled with the decision, and in the end I voted for the candidate I thought would make the best treasurer: the other kid.

I thought I had done the right thing. I remember announcing this at the dinner table shortly after the votes had been counted and my guy had been declared the winner. I got grounded. For like a long time. I distinctly recall my father inquiring as to how I thought President Reagan would feel if his own sister hadn’t voted for him. I distinctly recall trying to explain to my father that if President Reagan’s sister didn’t think he was the right man for the job she shouldn’t vote for him. It didn’t go over well.

In retrospect I should have voted for my sister. She would have made a kick-ass SCA Treasurer. That girl can manage money like nobody’s business. Plus it was freakin’ SCA Treasurer -- how much control would she really have had over the coffers of Fairfield Elementary School?

But you know what? I stand by my decision not to vote for my sister based on the sole qualification of her being my sister. If she ran for public office now there’s no way in hell I’d vote for her. I love my sis, but I can’t think of a single political issue we agree on. She wouldn’t vote for me either. I guess President Reagan would ground us both.

I Bet Nobody Saw THAT Coming

Ah, Plamegate. The mysterious name-leaker has yet to be officially determined, but now that we know Bush told Cheney to tell Libby to leak classified intelligence about Iraq’s efforts (or lack thereof, as it turns out), to procure uranium yellowcake from Nigeria, is it so crazy to think that Bush, Cheney & Co. might have been involved in outing Plame?

Eventually we’ll get to the bottom of this, and eventually Bush will be called upon to fulfill his promise to fire those within his administration who committed a crime in revealing Plame as a CIA operative. I just wonder. . .how does one go about firing oneself?

John McCain, You Lost Me

Senator John McCain (R-Arizona) has long been one of the few politicians I admire and respect. I often don't agree with him but I've always considered him a man of principle and integrity. Despite my leftist views (and they're pretty far left), I voted for him in the Republican primary of 2000 and then wrote him in for president the following November. I'm a firm believer that voting your conscience is not, as many people argue, throwing your vote away. Plus I live in Virginia, which has been successfully gerrymandered to deliver the state to Republican presidential candidates nearly every time. So I felt pretty good about casting my vote for McCain and I slept a little easier at night knowing that I'd voted for someone I believed in.

That was the 2000 McCain. The 2006 McCain is not getting my vote. Not even if he were running for class treasurer (I have a long and controversial history when it comes to voting for class treasurer, but I'll save that story for another time). McCain has recently done two things that call his political integrity into serious question.

In March, he endorsed South Dakota's criminalization of abortion, which doesn't conflict with his anti-choice record but doesn't exactly demonstrate respect for the rule of law. South Dakota's new abortion law is in direct violation of a Supreme Court ruling and, you know, states just can't do that. I guess McCain figures he has a better shot at winning his party's nomination if he follows in Dubya's footsteps and completely disregards the Constitution.

As if that hadn't degraded his political reputation enough, on "Meet the Press" this past Sunday McCain said that he thinks "the Christian right has a major role to play in the Republican Party. . .because they're so active and their followers are." This would be the same Christian right whose leaders McCain described as "agents of intolerance" back in 2000. It's not like these whack-jobs have grown more tolerant over the past six years, nor should the religious beliefs of these (or any) extremists shape public policy. Perhaps the previously principled McCain simply decided that hopping in bed with these agents of intolerance was a small price to pay for the Republican nomination.

Unfortunately, his strategy just might work. But he's lost my vote and my respect.

Despite Its Occasional Difficulty, Honesty Really Is The Best Policy

Do you remember that night right after Thanksgiving when you met me and my brother and sister at Colley Cantina? It was shortly after we began dating and I voiced some concerns that we might not be looking for the same thing. Remember how I told you that I was "the queen of monogamy" and that "I don't do casual"? Remember how you responded to my fears by saying, "Let's try something different: let's be completely open and honest with each other"?

I do. I remember it because I consider openness and honesty to be the foundation of any relationship, and because it was that conversation that made me believe I could trust you.

When did you decide you were no longer bound by that agreement? When did you decide you had so little respect for me that you didn't need to be open and honest with me? When did your desire for casual female companionship become more important than my desire for a meaningful relationship? When did you relinquish responsibility for everything but your own feelings?

A lie of omission is still a lie.

I don't know when you realized you didn't have feelings for me, but I do know it was long before you said so, and I suspect that you wouldn't have even said so if I hadn't asked. Because, really, why would you? Sure, there's that bit about openness and honesty above, but you knew if you told me you weren't into me there'd be no one across from you at the dinner table or underneath you in bed. So you allowed me to believe that the time we spent together meant something, and I bought it because, well, I like to think that people aren't shitty.

All of that was pretty callous, and your approach to the conversation wherein you contemplated aloud why you just weren't "feelin' it" and uttered platitudes like, "I think you're a nice person" was painfully insensitive. However, none of that was quite as damaging as your insulting and unreasonable expectation of continued friendship.

You used me. Why would I want to be your friend?

"Don't Think Twice, It's All Right"

How is it that Dylan always manages to have the exact song you need? Oh yeah, it's because he's a fucking genius.

I Refuse To Allow April To Suck As Much As March Did

Ordinarily, due to my SAD, February is the month that makes me want to kill myself, but this year it was March that really kicked my ass. Mostly I just had a rough month at school, but my job is pretty important to me so I take things like that to heart. If you find yourself near tears at the end of the workday and you start thinking to yourself "well, I suppose I could come in tomorrow and sit at my desk and cry all day or I could take the day off and try to regain my sanity," it's probably time to take a day off. Especially if you are not, by nature, a crier. I know we all have days like that, but most of my March felt that way.

So when April dawned clear and warm and beautiful yesterday (actually, I'm told April dawned kind of drizzly and warm yesterday and only got beautiful later, but, you know, poetic license) I took it as a sign of good things to come. And I'm sure there are good things to come, but first there's this: I had begun to suspect that Dave, who I had pretty much fallen for, was merely killing time with me. When I asked him about this last night he confirmed that while he thinks I'm "a nice person," he's "just not feelin' it." Not kidding. I'm paraphrasing the overall message, but these are words that actually came out of his mouth.

So if it's all right with everyone, I'm just going to ignore the calendar and count last night as part of the suckiness that was March. I may need to count today too, because I plan to do a bit of wallowing (even though Steve has my Eva Cassidy break-up CD, which it's hard to properly wallow without -- I'll have to make do with Jeff Buckley).

And PS, I'm a hell of a lot more than a nice person. Just ask my brother.

Does Anyone Else Smell Bacon?

Dear Officer Reese,

Were you smoking crack when you left this on my windshield yesterday?

I only ask this because, well, my vehicle's not abandoned. I simply parked it overnight on the street outside my house. See, I live in the city and, like many of my neighbors, I don't have a garage or a driveway. So what we city-folk do is park on the street. It's perfectly legal, except on the first Wednesday of every month between 9 and 10 am. That's when they clean the street.

I can see how you might have thought my almost-new car with the sunroof and the leather interior was abandoned if it had been parked in the same place for over four days. You know, like your silly notice says it has to be if you're going to fill out the silly notice. But, as you can see, my car has only been parked there since 3/30/06, which was the same day you left this for me.

Perhaps it was my expired state license that led you to believe the vehicle was abadoned. I could buy into that, but the thing is my tags aren't expired. They expire 12/06, just like my inspection.

So, Officer Reese, I hope you're not serious about towing my car on April 3rd. Because that's really gonna piss me off. . .

Something's Missing From My Life

It's called the news. I realized how starved I have been for the news -- I mean the real news -- on Sunday morning when I awoke at my parents' DC-area home and promptly scampered out to the curb in my pajamas (sorry Dad, I know that's against the rules) to get the Post, then scampered back up the driveway scanning the headlines and thinking, "Oooooh, Washington Post," much like Homer Simpson thinks of doughnuts.

To make matters worse in the news-withdrawal department, about a month ago I cancelled my subscription to my local daily, the Virginian Pilot, after Dave noticed nearly a week's worth of newspapers piled inside my front door and asked, "Why do you get the paper if you don't even read it?" Good question, Dave. Simply for the sheer pleasure of recycling it I guess. Actually, I used to get the paper because I like the idea of being an informed citizen. Plus it gives me a lot to bitch about. Unfortunately, in a momentary lapse of sanity, I stopped getting the paper because I was working so much that I never had time to read it. That seems reasonable, right? If you're working too much to read the paper, just stop getting the paper. No dumbass, stop working so much!

Have I mentioned that I'm a teacher? A Social Studies teacher? I kinda need to be up on world events. And since I don't own a television it's probably a good idea to subscribe to a newspaper or two.

Now, to be fair (to me) the Virginian Pilot is not exactly reknowned for its coverage of global news. In fact, most of the articles in the Pilot are about various ships/troops coming/going, whether or not the local air base (the largest on the east coast) will remain open, or how to make really good ribs. They also frequently run the same story in multiple sections of the paper. But at least it's something. At least when one of my 15-year-old students says to me, "Hey, what do you think of this Dubai Ports deal thing?" I can respond with something other than, "Um, Dubai Ports? Yeah, we're gonna talk about that in class tomorrow," as I discreetly type "dubai ports" into the search engine at www.washingtonpost.com.

So starting tomorrow I'm not fucking around anymore. I'm re-subscribing to the Pilot and I'm going to read it every day (but not the Business or Sports sections. Puh-leaze.) Never again will the comings or goings of various ships catch me unawares. And on Sundays I'm really not fucking around: on Sundays I will read a real newspaper -- the Washington Post or the New York Times, or maybe both. I'm getting ready to be soooooo informed.

Who Knew Grownups Still Played Tag?

Apparently there's this internet/blog tag game where if someone writes about something and "tags" you, then you have to write about the same thing. Either that or I'm completely out of touch. Either way, I've been tagged. . .

Accent -- If I have an accent at all (and the Geography teacher in me knows that everyone has an accent) it's probably a slight Southern accent. However, more than a handful of stangers -- upon hearing me speak -- have asked me if I'm from New Zealand, so at the very least we know I talk funny.

Booze of Choice -- Wine. I can drink the hell out of some wine. I've also grown quite partial to Hoegaarden (a Belgian beer) and I've been known to drink more than my fair share of bourbon, although everyone really wishes I wouldn't. And in the summer there's gin.

Chore I Hate -- Cleaning the shower. And it's probably the only chore I hate.

Dog or Cat? -- I've always considered myself a dog person, and I definitely love dogs, but I currently have the most adorable cat in the world and I'm pretty partial to her.

Essential Electronics -- Computer, cell phone, and CD player.

Favorite Perfume(s) or Cologne(s) -- Aveda Love for me. On a man I prefer a nice combination of Dial and Tide.

Gold or Silver? -- Um, have you seen me in the past 20 years? Silver. And not from Tiffany's.

Hometown -- Well, I grew up in Virginia Beach and that's where I consider myself to be "from," but my current hometown -- and one that I could get very used to -- is Norfolk, VA.

Insomnia? -- Not a chance.

Job Title -- My official job title is "teacher," but I prefer the term "educator" because there's a lot more to this whole teaching thing than the actual teaching.

Kids? -- Not at the moment. I really like the idea of kids, but so far I haven't gotten to a point where I actually want to have any. Someday though, yes, I'd like to be a mom.

Living Arrangement -- Just me and the cat and about 30 houseplants.

Most-admired Trait -- How should I know? I'm a pretty giving person, and I think most people kinda dig that about me, but who knows, maybe they simply admire my incredible hotness.

Number of Sexual Partners -- Whoa! Isn't this the kind of question only your doctor gets to ask you? I think anyone reading this either A) already knows my magic number, B) doesn't want to, or C) doesn't need to.

Overnight Hospital Stays -- I've spent a night or two lounging around various emergency rooms, but I've never been admitted.

Phobia -- I'm terrified of being eaten by a shark! I would prefer never to encounter a shark at all, but it is a risk I run because I'm certainly not staying out of the ocean. If I have to interact with a shark in a chomping kind of way, I would really prefer that the shark just take a bite out of me rather than eating me alive. Does that seem reasonable to you, sharks?

Quote -- Wow, that's tough, as I absolutely love quotations. Here's one of my favorites: "You are not here merely to make a living. You are here to enable the world to live more amply, with greater vision, and with a finer spirit of hope and achievement. You are here to enrich the world. You impoverish yourself if you forget this errand." - Woodrow Wilson

Religion -- No thanks. I consider myself to be a very spiritual (but definitely not religious) person. This just means that I spend a lot of time talking to trees and the moon and such.

Siblings -- Younger sister and little brother.

Time I Wake Up -- 5:30ish on a school day, anywhere from 8:00 to 11:30 AM on the weekends or in the summer.

Unusual Talent/Skill -- I see dead people. Seriously. I think the fact that I seem to act as a gravitional field for ghosts qualifies as unusual, though I don't know that I'd call it a talent or skill. And it's rarely fun.

Vegetable I Refuse to Eat -- I'm a vegetarian. I pretty much eat all vegetables. Oh wait, beets. One time when I was a kid my mom, who adores beets, fixed us a nice can of beets and forced us to eat them, which caused me to throw up. Ever since then I've kinda steered clear of beets, although I hear fresh beets are actually quite tasty.

Worst Habit -- I have tendency to be slightly dogmatic. And sometimes I leave dirty dishes in the sink overnight.

X-rays -- Yes, every time I have to get a TB test, for starters.

Yummy foods I Make -- In order of popularity: crabcakes, apple pie (with bourbon!), grilled vegetables, tuna steaks with a corn and tomato relish.

Zodiac Sign -- Libra

People I'm Tagging -- How 'bout E-Ditty? She hasn't posted a damn thing since November and it's about time she got her shit together.

Drive Much?

Attention DC-area drivers: the left lane is for passing. That's all, just passing. Now move the fuck over!

Bedtime for Bonzo

It’s 8:15 and I want to go to bed. This despite the fact that just a few short hours ago I stopped by Fair Grounds and drank what I considered at the time to be way too much coffee. Perhaps I wouldn't be so tired if on Friday I hadn't gone to bed drunk and consequently been unable to sleep, or if I could somehow program myself to sleep through the disturbingly delicious smell of frying pork that has come to characterize my Sunday mornings.

So (you may be asking) if I’m tired, why don’t I quit whining about it and just go to bed?

Did I mention that it’s 8:15? I didn’t even go to bed at 8:15 when I was in elementary school. Back when I was cool. Back when I secretly stayed up reading by the night-light when they sent me to bed. (Wait, maybe that’s not that cool. I wasn’t reading. I was, um, doing something cool. Like playing Barbies. Barbies are cool, right?)

I’m tired, but I’m 30 years old and I’m staying up till 9 goddamnit. Or maybe 8:45.

I (Secretly) Heart Hair Metal

Attention Steve: Did you have to give lend me this "Monsters of Rock" CD? I mean, it seemed like a nice gesture at the time, but that was two weeks ago and the novelty just won't wear off. I could be listening to all kinds of good music, but no, here I sit with "Cum on Feel the Noise" on repeat.

For the love of god, I'm a feminist! With fairly good taste in music!

And attention Razor & Tie Records: Why doesn't this particular compilation include "Kiss Me Deadly"?! What, Lita Ford isn't a monster of rock? Just because she's a woman?

Is there a hair metal fans anonymous? Because I might need that.

Color Me Happy

Yesterday I discovered yet another reason I love living where I do: The Greening of Ghent, a St. Patrick’s Day block party held on the main drag of my very very cool neighborhood (Ghent). The local business association closed several blocks of the street to traffic, set up beer tents, and brought in a few bands. So we (we being Dave and I) pretty much walked downstairs out of my place to the corner and bought a beer at the nearest beer tent (technically Dave bought the beer -- I just drank it). When we had to pee we walked back around the corner to my place, at which point a revelation struck us: we don’t need to wait in line to buy beer -- we can just pour the beer from my fridge into our “Greening of Ghent” plastic beer cups and walk back downstairs. Dave thinks they should do this every Friday.

Have I mentioned how much I love it here?

PS okay, to be honest our beer cups said “Fraim for Mayor” but no one I know is voting for Fraim so allow me a little poetic license here.

I'm Falling out of Love

David Payne is one of my favorite authors. He hasn't published a book since 2000, so I was very excited when I received an email from ML at the Island Bookstore that said, "We're booking David Payne for a June 8 signing. I'm going to send you the reading copy of his new book only if you promise to read it and give me a full report." I was even more excited when the book arrived, and I began reading it almost immediately. However, my excitement was short-lived because, well, how do I say this?. . .the book sucks. It's not just that I don't like this book as much as Payne's others, because I was prepared for that. It's that this book is bad. I mean really really bad. Awful. Like worse than a Nicholas Sparks book, which is pretty much as bad as it gets.

Okay, specifically, here's what I don't like about David Payne's new book (which, incidentally, is called Back to Wando Passo and is due out in June):

1) It's melodramatic and overwritten. Payne does lean a bit towards the dramatic, but I've always excused this because he writes such good stories and I get emotionally caught up in them. This is not true of Wando Passo, which is full of shit like this: "Finally -- to the tune of "Five Little Ducks" -- they set out. They were down to four, when the opossum or raccoon -- the remains had reached the state where it was hard to differentiate -- disappeared under the hood. As the tires tump-tumped, Ran caught Hope's expression in the rearview. Her face had gone grave; her eyes had that scintillating and musing light. She seemed like a tiny mathematician working out a problem, and it struck her father that his little girl had found the deep equation that would occupy her life. She had the artist gene -- Ran didn't know what else to call it, or if he would have wished her spared." Ugh. What the hell is he even talking about?!

2) The plot is ridiculous. In a nutshell, and without giving anything away, this is a book about a washed-up rock star who's been estranged from his wife and children and is returning home (to Wando Passo!) to make things right. Unfortunately, he's bipolar and he's off his meds so he keeps fucking everything up. Or wait, maybe he's fucking everything up because Wando Passo, an old South Carolina plantation with a history of. . .wait for it. . .slavery, is cursed. Because we also learn that something sketchy went down at Wando Passo a few hundred years ago, and that the something sketchy centers around the fact that the white plantation owner had an affair with one of his black slaves and did not subsequently free her or their offspring. How original.

3) None of the characters is likeable or believable. There's Ransom (or Ran, for short), the troubled musician who won't take the medicine that keeps him from being quite so troubled; his wife Claire, who inherited the cursed plantation, is apparently quite hot, and who may or may not be having an affair with her long-time friend (and Ran's long-time enemy) Marcel (or Cell, for short), who is black, which we don't even find out until chapter 15. A few hundred years ago there was Percival, the master of Wando Passo, and his mistress Paloma; Harlan, Percival's legitimate and white son, who has recently married Adelaide (or Addie, for short), a nice girl from a nice family in Charleston; Jarry, the illegitimate mixed-race son of Percival and Paloma; and Clarisse, Paloma's daughter by a previous master (or is she?). It is nearly impossible to give a shit about what happens to any of these people, as there seems to be little more to them than their respective skin tones.

So what does this mean for my beloved David Payne? Do I still love him? Can I still love him? I don't know. I know that when I read Gravesend Light in 2001 I loved it, and then I read Ruin Creek, which he wrote before Gravesend Light, and loved that one slightly more. Then I hunted down a used copy of Early from the Dance (which was out of print at the time but has since been reissued) and fell head over heels for it. Early from the Dance is one of my all-time favorite books, and one that I frequently re-read. But I'm afraid to now. What if stupid Wando Passo has ruined David Payne for me forever? What if I've fallen out of love?

South Dakota

Let's all take a moment to thank god we don't live in South Dakota, which just took it upon its backward-ass self to challenge Roe v. Wade by making it a crime for doctors to perform an abortion unless the mother's life is in danger. This is, of course, in direct violation of the US Supreme Court's 1973 ruling that all citizens have a constitutional right to privacy and that for women this right to privacy includes the right to terminate a pregnancy, but I think we've already established that religious fanatics don't let pesky little things like fundamental rights stand in their way.

Giving up on Lent

Hi, my name is Megan and I am a recovering Catholic.

One of the last vestiges of my Catholic upbringing is that I feel compelled to acknowledge Lent -- to show some sort of weird solidarity with Jesus and his 40 days of desert solitude (or whatever the hell Lent is about).

On Tuesday, after careful consideration, I decided to give up the f-word for Lent, which began on Wednesday and ends on Easter. I considered this plan ambitious, although Mama (who doesn't even give anything up for Lent!) reminded me that Lent is supposed to be a time of sacrifice, as if doing without the F-word for 40 days is an easy undertaking.

On Friday, after a concerted but unsuccessful effort to curtail my use of the f-word, I decided to give up on Lent entirely. I think it's better this way. I need the f-word for certain situations: dealing with an overall crappy week; having to talk (pleasantly!) for HOURS to a guy who recently graduated from UVA (the University) and claims to have actually read Ulysses (puh-leaze); explaining to a colleague that yes, in fact, students do have a constitutionally protected right not to stand for the pledge of allegiance, and yes, actually I can understand why someone would not want to stand for "our country".

So there you have it. . .I guess I'm going to hell. Fuck.