I never knew that suitcases could melt

It is a rhythmic hissing sound.
Waves of steam,
Slipping out of the grate at the top,
Make a rhythmic hissing sound…
I like it, so I turned the television off
To listen.
The cat is suspicious of that sound;
Warmth and noise are signs of life to her,
And she is less-than-thrilled
About additional lives here.

I have thought about you quite a bit these last few days.
The combination of cold weather
And hissing devices,
Reminds me of that time
We were snowed in,
And so we drank really, really cheap red wine
And ate pasta
And made out
And laughed too much.
Every once in a while,
The apartment was so cold we could see our breath,
And we accidentally left a suitcase leaning against the floor-board
Heater
And the suitcase melted
Just a little bit.

Flu shots

So, the weather people at weather.com think that there may be snow in the forecast for beautiful Queens, NY... which I am excited about for a couple of reasons. First, several dear friends (Hello, E! I can't believe you're going to NCA without me!!!) are headed to San Diego this week for a conference, and I am not going. I am sad about that, mostly, but, the prospect of snow makes it feel not-so-sad. Second, snow (or even the chance of snow) means I get to put on my kicky red snow boots. And that is always a bonus.

Speaking of weather.com and red boots and snow and long-distance-friend-monitoring, my mom is totally stalking me. (Hi, Mom!) She sent me an email today in which she mentioned the location of my friendly neighborhood flu shot clinic. She found it on weather.com--our favorite website. I think that is sort of amazing and touching and creepy, all-at-once. Amazing and touching--because my mom is awesome and she is a master of the Interwebs and she cares about my health. Creepy--because it reminds me of all the things that people who are maybe not so interested in my health can learn about me via the Interwebs and zip codes. That's a heebie jeebie moment, right there.

I will get the flu shot, Mom. And thanks for all the stalking.

Man, am I sick

It is Friday night, and I am at home. My whole face sort of hurts. That is probably a bad sign. It's nights like these that make me glad for a couple of things, and, just for you (and the possibility of distracting myself from the possible sinus infection I am developing), I have compiled a list of the things for which I am grateful:

-Jane Austen books. I am re-reading them, and she still rocks.
-Tea with milk.
-Having a home and a family I look forward to seeing.
-Remembering/Looking forward to hearing your luscious voice.
-Not having any sort of stupid tattoo anywhere on my body. I have friends with cool tattoos ("agon," vampires, partnership rings, Tasmanian devil) and then I know some people with not-so-cool tattoos (and that shit is permanent).
-A job and a workplace that I love.
-Seeing a new movie tomorrow (I am taking my class to see "Synecdoche, New York." Stay tuned for a review).
-Smart, kind students with good questions.
-Thanksgiving with my favorite cousins.
-Good hair. Thanks for that, Mom and Daddy!
-Planning to see old, dear friends at Christmas. Thanks for that, Facebook!
-Wislawa Szymborska's poetry.
-Laughing out loud at "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia," even in the midst of weird sinus face pain.
-Dearest E!
-Fresh-squeezed orange juice.
-Mallomars.
-Getting to see Katie on Sunday.
-G-chat buddies who keep me smiling, even when I am sick.
-The Pogues singing "Fairy Tale of New York." That is a good damn song.

Um. Sorry for posting another list. When I am more healthy and my face does not ache, I will be clever. I will tell you a story of love and loss and realization. Promise. Right now, I am going to have more tea. And then I am going to bed...

Noone cares if you upset a 'droid

True Story, Representative Anecdote-style

Scene: Early morning, the home of Team Wright. Our heroes, lying in bed, are just waking to a beautiful, sunny Sunday morning.

Mom: You know, Texas Tech winning yesterday isn’t going to affect Alabama’s standing in the polls. I mean, I recognize that they struggled against LSU, but LSU was national champion last year! That has to count for something… Right? Don’t you think that counts for something?!?!?!?

Daddy: (pause) And good morning to you, too, my love.

Drama, Facebook-style

So, thinking that I was all sneaky and ninja-like, I deleted someone from my friends list the other day. What was originally intended to prevent my apoplexy at her constant, Sarah Palin-loving, Obama-hating status updates became a little drama. She, somehow, discovered that I had deleted her, and emailed me. So... I had to explain to her, without the benefit of vocal tonality and eye contact, why. Well, maybe I didn't have to explain, but I felt like I ought to. I apologized, and then I said that I had done it because of the status updates. And then I sent another friend request to her, and she has ignored it... which leads me into the next phase of this post.

Some other (unmentioned) reasons for the delection.
a. History and Memory: We were never really friends when we lived next door. Why are we friends now? What does that even mean? I mean, a dear samurai-loving colleague tells me that this moment calls for warrior-mind: In this era of electronic anxiety (characterized by John Durham Peters), I am obligated to use my oratorical, electric skills to engage my electric friend.
b. Desire: I don't want to do that. Because we are not, and never really have been, friends. I don't wish her ill. She seems happy and healthy. Her family looks very nice in their pumpkin patch profile picture. And I that is wonderful. She seems to think that I am en route to Hell, but, in the whole white-Christian-Southern-Baptist sense of the world, I probably am. She mentioned, in her last message to me, that we can just agree to disagree--perfect. Done and done, little lady.
c. Laziness: Changing people is hard. Asking them to think = even harder. I try to do it all the time--as a teacher, as a debate judge, as a "friend," as a sister/daughter/lover/student. But where, exactly, do I get my mandate to do this? Who am I to tell these people with whom I come into contact that they are thinking about something in the wrong way, that, if they just take this class or read this book or listen to this song or walk this way, their world will be a better place? Maybe it's better to leave people in the pumpkin patch.
d. Authenticity: If there is a limit to the amount of energy I can expend on these changes, then I want to save it for the people with whom I am actually in love. Facebook and Myspace, as ridiculous as they may be in a variety of ways, have allowed me to reconnect with people I thought I had lost: My best friend from primary school, who made me the person that I am (and probably has no idea how much of an influence she exerted when we were growing up), reappeared in my life, THANK GOD, because of these "social networking" devices; friends from other phases in my life; people who see the world differently and accept our differences with kindness and elan; partners of friends; students; recent acquaintances--who may or may not turn out to be people who live in the pumpkin patch or people who sometimes step into the watermelon patch next door.

Perhaps I am a bad person. Perhaps I should be, as the samurai so frequently reminds me, constantly in warrior mind, and ready, at the drop of an obi, to engage various folks in vigorous clashes of wit and will. Perhaps I failed in my responsibility to the Other when I so ignobly slunk away from a facebook throw-down. Perhaps I am tired.

Whatever the case may be, I am looking forward to a break soon. I will go home. I will drink wassail with my mom. I will touch the hands and hug the necks and kiss the cheeks of dear family and friends. And I will practice warrior-mind, dear Universe, I promise.

Listening to Better Angels

First of all, let me just say how delicious the words "President-Elect Barack Obama" are.

Second, I am also a big fan of the awesome that happens at and around blogos. Right now, some folks are chatting about presidential fitness. Dear debbilicious mentioned that President-Elect Obama likes to play basketball. And, what with the selection of Rahm Emanuel (our very own, real-life Josh Lyman) to be Chief of Staff, and the marvelous-ness that is "The West Wing," I thought I would post this clip.



Please, please, please, dear Universe, may President Obama listen to his better angels.

Oh, and just btw, send Toby Ziegler to my house. Instantly.