I love driving in the rain.
When there are few cars on the road I can blast my music and sing til my voice is scratchy and useless and feel like I'm driving 140 and completely out of control when I'm driving 60mph and staying firmly within my lane.
I stare out the windows and see white fog gripping the luscious green hills and pooling in the valleys while the sun spears through the dark cumulonimbus just enough to add a pinch of pink and orange to the blue and violet grays.
The spattering rain across my windshield is whipped off violently by the wipers, flung, scattering across the unsupecting asphalt which is too wet to notice and new precipitation.
My heart is beating faster than it has all day, feeling like it hasn't beat this fast all year, and I am laughing and having the time of my life, all by myself, wishing someone were here with me to enjoy this.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Epic Moment of Cat
There is a basement. The basement has a floor and walls and windows, and hanging across the ceiling are several sheets that hide ugly pipes and floor boards. A flight of stairs, open on one side (although with a banister, because safety is important), goes up to the rest of the house. A snake lives in the basement, in a tank, in the basement.
The basement is located in a house. The house has a cat. And a cat door. And many cat toys. The cat is young and very curious and also will poke people in the eye if they wrestle with her.
The one place the cat is not allowed to go is the basement. This is due to the presence of the snake. When in the same room, the two have long staring contests in which each creature asks itself "what is this? Can I play with it? Is it edible?"
The cat really really really wants to go into the basement. Not only because of the interesting and possibly edible snake, but also because it is the One Place She Cannot Go. (I assume this is how she thinks of it, all the words capitalized, because it is a place name and therefore a Proper Noun. I assume cats understand the importance of proper punctuation.)
Once in awhile the cat manages to sneak into the basement, usually when it is occupied by a human, who scoops her up and carries her back to the many places where cats are allowed. Like anywhere in the rest of the house.
Occasionally, the human in the basement tries to scare her away when she gets too interested in a slightly opened door or the top of the stairs. This is done by making monster noises and running towards the intruder. The intruding cat then runs to the safety of Anywhere But The One Place She Cannot Go.
Except when the monster noises are so frightening that instead of running UP the stairs to safety, the cat tries to run through the convenient space right next to her. Which leads to...nothing.
In a desperate attempt to defy gravity, the cat claws wildly at the air, connecting with one of the sheets that is hanging from the ceiling. The weight of the cat (who is no sleek and fit feline, but actually rather tubby) strains the thumbtacks holding one end of the sheet to the ceiling and they pop off, allowing the cat to swing Tarzan-style through the air until she lets go, twists wildly, and falls on all four feet on the ground.
Then, while the human almost dies from laughing, she hides under the bed in shame and won't come out.
The morning after this debacle? She tries to sneak into the One Place She Cannot Go.
The basement is located in a house. The house has a cat. And a cat door. And many cat toys. The cat is young and very curious and also will poke people in the eye if they wrestle with her.
The one place the cat is not allowed to go is the basement. This is due to the presence of the snake. When in the same room, the two have long staring contests in which each creature asks itself "what is this? Can I play with it? Is it edible?"
The cat really really really wants to go into the basement. Not only because of the interesting and possibly edible snake, but also because it is the One Place She Cannot Go. (I assume this is how she thinks of it, all the words capitalized, because it is a place name and therefore a Proper Noun. I assume cats understand the importance of proper punctuation.)
Once in awhile the cat manages to sneak into the basement, usually when it is occupied by a human, who scoops her up and carries her back to the many places where cats are allowed. Like anywhere in the rest of the house.
Occasionally, the human in the basement tries to scare her away when she gets too interested in a slightly opened door or the top of the stairs. This is done by making monster noises and running towards the intruder. The intruding cat then runs to the safety of Anywhere But The One Place She Cannot Go.
Except when the monster noises are so frightening that instead of running UP the stairs to safety, the cat tries to run through the convenient space right next to her. Which leads to...nothing.
In a desperate attempt to defy gravity, the cat claws wildly at the air, connecting with one of the sheets that is hanging from the ceiling. The weight of the cat (who is no sleek and fit feline, but actually rather tubby) strains the thumbtacks holding one end of the sheet to the ceiling and they pop off, allowing the cat to swing Tarzan-style through the air until she lets go, twists wildly, and falls on all four feet on the ground.
Then, while the human almost dies from laughing, she hides under the bed in shame and won't come out.
The morning after this debacle? She tries to sneak into the One Place She Cannot Go.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Secret IQ test hidden in internet application
I have been stuck at home with a nasty cold because working in schools means you really shouldn't suck it up if you're contagious. And while there's been a fair amount of sniffling around in my bathrobe, being stuck at home mostly means applications for grad schools.
Somewhere in this great country there are two lost and lonely recommendation letters trying to get to California. Perhaps they will meet each other, commandeer a mail truck and drive to Canada. But I have no use for them anymore, because I personally drove a third, identical letter to the Letter Service (not in Canada). And that done, all that's left is about a dozen applications to fill out. And write papers for. And spend ridiculous amounts of money to send official bits of paper regarding my aptitude for difficult grammer (not good) and hip hop (B+) and community studying (BA) to various schools who can then compare them with other official bits of paper that probably have real things like "economics" and "politics" on them.
So I've been looking at a lot of online applications lately. I was mightily impressed with one from the University at Buffalo (SUNY) which asked whether my ethnicity was Latino/Hispanic (nope) and then gave several "race" options, all very neatly described in detail, in order to meet federal requirements in the most politically correct way. And it certainly solves that ridiculous problem of "white, not of Hispanic origin" since all white people are descended from Europe/Middle East/North Africa and speaking Spanish or English hasn't got a thing to do with it all.
And then I got to Columbia's, which inspired me to write this little bit in the first place. Before even starting the application — I haven't yet told them my name or my gender or my birthdate or anything — they want me to read about twenty separate web pages of instruction. And, judging from this first one, they are not particularly short. Now, I appreciate their effort to explain each bit, I've certainly had trouble with a few misleading directions (right at this moment, all my references are being asked to send a letter of rec, even though I've had a letter service take care of it. Which wasn't clear until after I submitted the application. And might sort of bug some of my references.). But really, can't you prompt me as I fill it out? Little links to helpful advice along the way? I suppose it ain't no thing, but reading all those instructions all at once is liable to give me a headache.
Perhaps it's a secret test? If I have to constantly look back at the instructions, maybe my brain isn't up to Columbia standards? I'd write it off as paranoia, but it actually seems like a pretty good idea.
Somewhere in this great country there are two lost and lonely recommendation letters trying to get to California. Perhaps they will meet each other, commandeer a mail truck and drive to Canada. But I have no use for them anymore, because I personally drove a third, identical letter to the Letter Service (not in Canada). And that done, all that's left is about a dozen applications to fill out. And write papers for. And spend ridiculous amounts of money to send official bits of paper regarding my aptitude for difficult grammer (not good) and hip hop (B+) and community studying (BA) to various schools who can then compare them with other official bits of paper that probably have real things like "economics" and "politics" on them.
So I've been looking at a lot of online applications lately. I was mightily impressed with one from the University at Buffalo (SUNY) which asked whether my ethnicity was Latino/Hispanic (nope) and then gave several "race" options, all very neatly described in detail, in order to meet federal requirements in the most politically correct way. And it certainly solves that ridiculous problem of "white, not of Hispanic origin" since all white people are descended from Europe/Middle East/North Africa and speaking Spanish or English hasn't got a thing to do with it all.
And then I got to Columbia's, which inspired me to write this little bit in the first place. Before even starting the application — I haven't yet told them my name or my gender or my birthdate or anything — they want me to read about twenty separate web pages of instruction. And, judging from this first one, they are not particularly short. Now, I appreciate their effort to explain each bit, I've certainly had trouble with a few misleading directions (right at this moment, all my references are being asked to send a letter of rec, even though I've had a letter service take care of it. Which wasn't clear until after I submitted the application. And might sort of bug some of my references.). But really, can't you prompt me as I fill it out? Little links to helpful advice along the way? I suppose it ain't no thing, but reading all those instructions all at once is liable to give me a headache.
Perhaps it's a secret test? If I have to constantly look back at the instructions, maybe my brain isn't up to Columbia standards? I'd write it off as paranoia, but it actually seems like a pretty good idea.
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