Things I got done today in spite of myself (in order of appearance):

1. Picked up my new knee brace.^*
2. Mailed a precis to Bill Palmer.
3. Copied an entire dissertation in case I need it for my "dark side" of motel architecture paper.
4. Went to the courthouse, picked up some deed of convenant agreements from the recorders' office.
5. Took deed of covenant agreements to BRI, set up the backup/CD-burning software on the office computer.
6. Bought a present for Catherine.^**
7. Bought a copy of The Advocate and The Gay & Lesbian Review^*** and a book on supersymmetry (SUSY) theory.^****
8. Got a haircut.
9. Wrote one essay for my philosophy class (took an entire hour, I guess this is why getting an MA in the philosophy of science and mathematics would be a bad idea)
10. Talked to my boss about Problem Co-Worker A. She's on it, already talked to human resources about her.
11. Called IU EAP.
12. Went to pharmacy.
13. Started reading a novel.

Things left to do:

1. Write to Peter.
2. Read/correct Sunny's paper.
3. Go to gym, upper-body workout.

^*I look like a total jock, but my god, is this how the knee is supposed to work? This brace has hinges on each side, and my knee only opens and closes along a prescribed (proscribed?) path now. And let me say, this path is nothing like the one my knee has been following. I've learned more about the way I move in the past five hours than I have in my whole life. I am just totally stunned by the fact that I now need to learn how to walk again.

^**Does this make me a guy? I spend all evening being unpleasant, and then I go out and buy a gift to make up for it. I think it does make me a guy.

^***I *will* have a gay identity, dammit! The trouble is, The Advocate has absolutely no bearing on my life. I don't have AIDS, I'm not HIV-positive, I'm not looking to cash in my life insurance, I'm not into cruising guys in bikini briefs. I'm also not having a baby, so the focus of this month's issue spoke not to my soul at all. Why do I even buy this stupid magazine? I've been complaining about it for years, and it just never gets any better.

^****You know you are a freak when you experience a moment of real frustration in the bookstore when you realize you have to choose between a book on calculus and a book on the quantum paradox. I'm a freakin' weirdo.

Some random thoughts:

--You know why I love Bloomington? Even the men who work at the post office are all hoosier-y and nice.
--Splashin' Safari has a new slide. I thought Otorongo was going to kill me, there's no fucking way I'm going down ZOOMbabwe.
--Catherine wants me to take this class, but $600 for a 5-week class seems like a lot. Anyway, I'll already be taking SolidWorks and descriptive geometry. And I was thinking about taking calculus by correspondence, so I just wouldn't have time. And anyway, I'm way too bashful, I'd rupture my aorta blushing through the entire thing.

Well, I must be in the dog house 'cause Catherine didn't leave me a note before she left this morning. That's what I get for being a total bitch, I guess.

Many things on the to do list today.

Man, I have been online for an entire *hour* trying to buy airline tickets. I don't know, if we keep sniping at each other, we're going to be all, like, Dude! I'm not going anywhere with you!

Rob is completely cracking me up.

Here's the thing. On one hand, I feel a little bad that Gary Condit's career was destroyed, since it now seems like he's not the only possible suspect. As far as his affair with Chandra Levy, I have to say I really don't care about it. Yes, it would appear he abused his position of power, but honestly, I think his infidelities are between him and his wife/family and Chandra Levy. I've known some perfectly fine people who have stepped over the line for love and/or lust. So, although I may think less of him for using his political position to get laid, I'm not sure it made him a particularly bad politician (except that all politicians, by definition, are bad).

On the other hand, I don't feel bad at all, because the fact that he was instantly singled out as the most likely suspect should tell us all how screwed up our political system really is. We all believed he killed her, and if something like this happens again, we'll believe it was the closest congressman who offed the intern. We have no confidence whatsover in our elected officials, and yet we still keep electing them. We believe Washington, D.C. to be the most corrupt city everywhere (except my parents, they probably think its San Francisco), and yet still we run our country from the White House. The demolition of Condit's career should be a wake-up call. Far be it from me to call someone else morally bankrupt, I hardly live my life according to the Ten Commandments (although I do strive to live according to Kant's categorical imperative), but my god, why do we put these losers in power? They are beyond the dregs of humanity.

Addendum:
Okay, I am right in the middle of this chapter on ethics, and just finished the section on "virtue ethics," a large portion of which was dedicated to outlining an argument as to why infidelity is morally wrong. I've read this whole thing twice now, and I'm still not sure I see that adultery is necessarily wrong. Well, wait, I do see that it's wrong because it betrays a promise made (if you're in a monogamous relationship, for instance), but I'm just not sure that adultery is the worst thing in the world. I would never go out on Catherine, but I somehow think that's less because I promised her I wouldn't and more because I don't see any benefits of having an affair for myself (my god, I can't even bring myself to ask a stranger for the time, if I had to put the moves on them, I'd probably have a nervous breakdown). I do still think that honest, trustworthy, (reasonably) stable people might stray in their relationships. I think this might be the flaw in virtue ethics--you can have the best of intentions to live a moral life, and even make solid decisions that should prevent you from being put in the position of even having the possibility to cheat on your spouse, but there may be a moment when the flesh will be seriously tempted. I mean, is sex a biological instinct (there's an argument I don't want to get into)? If it is, is it immoral to fall prey to it?

I guess the whole problem I'm having here is--why is monogamy considered the only moral way to live? I myself am 100% happy in a monogamous relationship, but I don't think I should be allowed to project my life choices out and say, "My way is the moral way, the rest of you will be damned to some inner ring of Dante's Hell." Aristotle was pretty uptight.

I have to go home this evening and buy *another* set of plane tickets. Catherine and I just made a last-minute decision to go to this really cool conference.

The flyer came in the mail last night, and I almost tossed it without looking at it, but it had a picture of the Bamiyan statues of Buddha destroyed by the Taliban on the front cover and that, of course, caught my eye. I'm just so pleased we can go. Catherine's work will pay for her registration and/or airfare, since all the stuff about "insuring art in an age of uncertainty" and "protecting sites, visitors, artworks" is part of her curator's job. I'm just going because:

a) architecture in an age of uncertainty is just an intriguing concept;

b) I'm interested to see what the architects have to say about the "affirmation of cultural continuity" and building design;

c) I'm intrigued by the talk on "defining cultural attacks," presumably this includes something other than just physical assault;

d) building on the previous item, I want to know what Mr. Lewis is going to say about "defending cultural property." First off, what is cultural "property," is it physical? is it intellectual? are we defending our ideologies, or just the buildings in which we house them?;

e) I want to see Ground Zero now that it's all cleaned up. I managed to type out that addendum to my December blog entry, but it doesn't begin to describe what was going through my mind last time we were there. I want to see what's changed--the site, how I feel, how Catherine feels, how New York feels.

So, come June 6, we'll be going back to New York for the weekend. Which should really, really, *really* piss my parents off.

Never, ever, ever use mvp.sportsline.com (the merchandise division of CBS Sportsline) to buy anything. If you want to know why, just ask me.

I am so looking forward to staying here in August.

Maybe a mile was too much last night. The joint is all swollen and stressed again.

We are such geeks. We went out to the Outback for soup and salad tonight (by the way, even though it's a chain restaurant, Outback gets props because they don't use preservatives. It's the only place in town I can get a salad because I'm allergic to sulfites), and the waiter had to keep wiping down our table so we wouldn't get food on our reading material. Catherine had an article for the next Kinsey catalogue, and I had the rough draft of my manuscript, and we spent the whole meal ignoring each other and reading.

36000 words might be my upper limit. I have a headache.

I can almost take a regular stride. Not quite, but almost. And after walking from my car to the office, I've had to wrap my knee in ice again, but still, I can see some improvement. I might try walking this evening whilst Catherine is out running. Not far, and not if it hurts. But I need the joint to stay limber.

In other news, I have hired Diane to design a new website for me.

I also realized this morning that although I am an intellectual snob, I'm perfectly willing to forego a challenging plot in a movie if the lead actress is hot enough.

I am a lousy feminist. Someone should take my membership card away. The first thing I did when I got to the gym was step on the scale.

On the other hand, I'm not as lousy of a feminist as these other two women who were in the Cybex room next to me. They were talking about their friend Beth, and how she didn't work out so much anymore. Now that she's married, she's getting fat, because, you know, those married women don't think they have to work hard to look good anymore, so they just sit around get fat and don't care. I so wanted to turn around and say, "Hey, would you mind giving me Beth's phone number so I can call her and tell her you all suck?"

Christ, I really don't have time to transfer my website to a new hosting system. And I have two months left on my netfirms hosting contract. Their service sucks so bad that I'm just going to have to do it this weekend before it really screws up my life.

Glad to see someone's paying attention.

The Shift in Women's Sport Advertising

Next year, instead of hockey camp, I'm going to the fitness camp at Smith. It looks like a hell of a lot more fun.

I have this fantasy that I can go back to the beginning and start again and major in astrophysics and get a Ph.D. and be an astronaut and then my parents will think I'm smart.

Boy. I really lost it tonight.

Okay, wish me luck. Good luck, self.

I'm going to the gym. I'm going to ignore any non-important pain (ie., palm and wrist). I'm going to respect important pain (ie., hamstring, ACL, collateral ligament). I will not freak out when I discover my bench press capabilities have dimished in the 1 week and 2 days I have been off my feet. I will not do anything that might further jeopardize my skating career, but will everything else I can without flinching. I will have not a meltdown when I find out I've gained weight over the past week. In fact, I will not even step on the scale (maybe).

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhh

Obviously, my dad is feeling better. Geez, give the man some energy, and he goes right for my jugular. I mean, here I was all at this happy place where I actually *liked* my parents, I was looking forward to going home in August, and he has me so mad that I can't stop shaking. I am perfectly willing to listen his point of view, I really am, but for god sakes, does that mean I have to sit there and let him make all these personal attacks? I mean, would it kill him to admit that I'm not the stupidest person on the face of the earth? How dare *anyone* suggest I don't know anything about history. I didn't sleep through my two master's degrees. I don't come to my opinions about the Israeli/Palestinian conflict by reading cereal boxes. I work hard at educating myself, and damn him all to hell for not recognizing it. I have been struggling with the "middle eastern question" for more than a decade. I put more effort into learning about the world than almost everyone I know. I read, I take classes, I discuss, I contemplate, I work fucking hard. I don't care if he agrees with me, in fact, I know he doesn't and never will, and that's fine, but why is it okay for him to tell me I don't know anything about history, that if I'd ever read anything, I'd know better, and that well, maybe I did read something, but I wasn't capable of understanding it. Would it fucking kill him to admit I'm well-educated and intelligent to boot? Because I am, and I'm not going to let him or anyone else in my family tell me otherwise, because I'm sick of that crap. I'm 35 years old, and I am not going to let them make me feel inferior or stupid or hysterical or any of that. Fuck that.

You know, I am the most stable of all my parents' children. I own a house, I have a great spouse who has a respectable job with a world-renowned research institution, I have a steady job at a research university and am adjunct faculty at a state college to boot. I don't do drugs, I scarcely drink, I don't even do caffeine. I take a minimum of two classes every semester and always have a correspondence course going on top of that. I read probably 5-7 books a week, minimum. I have studied and traveled abroad, and I travel to new places in the U.S. every two or three months. I read newspapers from all over the world, every day. I've formally studied Russian, German, French, Italian and Korean. I have four college degrees. I've always graduated with honors, and I've never gotten a speeding ticket. I do volunteer work at BRI every Friday. I do cool things like play hockey and study rocket science in my spare time. I exercise on a regular basis and understand what a nickelback is. I play half a dozen musical instruments and can sing reasonably well. I've never hit a child. I'm an alternate captain on my hockey team. I vote in almost every election. I know some fantastically intelligent people, and many of them consider me a friend.

But I still feel like a complete and utter failure. What's wrong with this picture?

That's twice now that Catherine's given me permission to buy a bass guitar. Maybe I'd better do it before she reconsiders.

I meant to write about this right after we got back from Richmond, but it just slipped my mind for one reason or another. One of the things we did in Richmond was go to the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts. One of the exhibits with which I spent a lot of time was an installation by Richard Roth, called "Grief." There is a shorter, on-line version that should give you an idea of what it was basically like. And also, here is an a short (but not very critical) article about the exhibit.

There are 237 images in the exhibit, covering 4 walls and a center display area, all (allegedly) clipped indiscriminately from print media. At first, I was overwhelmed by the images, felt like sobbing, didn't want to look at any more, etc. But I think because there are so many, you get kind of numbed to the emotions depicted. After I was numbed up a bit, I started really reading the captions on the photos and not looking at the images at all. Half way around the room, it suddenly occured to me that there were a *lot* of photos of Israelis mourning their dead, but I couldn't remember seeing any Palestinian grief photos.

So, I stopped, and went back to the door and started counting, Israeli photos on one hand, Palestinian on the other. I included the photos from Rabin's funeral in the Israeli count. Okay, I have no proof that Richard Roth didn't manipulate the images. Publicity statements seem to imply that he just cut out all the photos of crying people he could find without discrimination. If that is indeed true, here is the evidence that we are so underrepresenting Palestinian suffering in our newspapers--particularly the New York Times, since that's where these photos came from. There were 28 images of Israeli families mourning lost members, but only 6 of Palestinian mourners (actually, those numbers may not be quite right, it's been a month since I counted, and for some reason, I think the Israeli count might be higher).

The message is--you can kill 10 Palestinians for every 1 Israeli, and Americans will think that is okay, because they will only see a picture of 1 Palestinian dead, not 10. Americans think the numbers are even, or that Palestinians kill a lot more Israelis than vice versa. And that's just not true. This completely wasn't the point of Roth's installation, but that's what people should be looking at.

So, I had a nerve test on my hands this morning. I already wasn't feeling that great, and I guess shooting electricity into my median nerve didn't make things much better. He doesn't see many other options at this point. I need an MRI so they know where to cut when I have surgery. I've decided I'm going to put the whole thing off for awhile. If I can rehab my ACL, I want to go to camp, if only for practical reasons, since I've already spent $900 on camp fees and airline tickets. I'm just going to have to suck it up.

I just want to cradle my hands against my body and protect them from everybody.

Guess what? It's *raining*. It hasn't rained in, gosh, like, five whole minutes.

The weather here is seriously fucked up.

Catherine's book finally showed up at Amazon.com.

Sex and Humor: Selections from the Kinsey Institute

My ideal Sunday morning does *not* involve sitting in my office with my knee packed in ice.

Insomnia is apparently my muse.

Erika looked really good tonight. Henry must be doing something right! She's still thin, but at least she's lost that stretched, gaunt look. I couldn't even stand to look at her before, and hugging her was like holding a skeleton. She hasn't really gained any weight, but she definitely looked different, much more healthy. It really effected how I related to her. I'm usually pretty reluctant to talk to her about things, and let Catherine do all the talking, but she seemed so much better tonight that I found myself chattering like a wind-up doll. Anyway, we made a tenative date to go out to the Quarry Diner in Stinesville for dinner next month.

Four and a half hours last night. It's improving.

If I didn't know better, I'd say I was peri-menopausal. My mood swings were incredible yesterday. After I finished my rough draft, I was hopping around on one leg trying to do the happy dance for an hour. Next thing I knew, I was in tears--mostly about MistyD, I think, but partly about Todd--and then an hour later, I was completely manic again. I spent three hours last night playing DJ and hopping around my office. The end result is a stack of, like, 50 CDs on my desk that I have to put away this morning. And my knee is absolutely killing me from trying to dance on it anyway last night.

Following up on last night's melancholy, Catherine and I had a long conversation in bed this morning about Todd and why I can still be reduced to tears three years later. It's amazing that someone you're not even romantically interested in can fuck up your life so badly. I think the conclusion we came to this morning--again--is that it's not really Todd that I'm sad over, although I do miss having a best friend. What I'm really worried about is that it will happen with someone else. I had no idea someone could be so cruel, especially not someone I admired so much. I'm not sure how both Catherine and I missed his mean side for so many years. What I worry about is I'm going to find someone else I really like, spend time with them, get to know them, like them or even love them, and one day out of the blue they're going to turn around and hand me an itemized list of all my character flaws, everything they don't like about me.

As Catherine pointed out, the hard part was--if I was bugging him so much, why didn't he just say something in February when I first started getting on his nerves, instead of masking it all with friendliness for six months? I don't understand how someone can keep a tally in the back of their heads of all the things they hate about you, but at the same time, (apparently) eagerly make plans to go out to dinner. I have gone over it and over it and over it, and there were absolutely no signs of any kind that our friendship had come to mean less to him. If he really cared, he should have said something to me. Hell, he could have written "Get Lost" on a post-it note, and that would have been better. And if he behaved badly because something in his own life was going wrong, he should have said that, too. I don't take friendships lightly, I don't ask just anybody to be my best man at my wedding. If he wasn't comfortable with that role in my life, he should have stepped away from it years before.

And another thing that keeps me away from people, I'm not just afraid they'll dislike me, I'm afraid they'll misunderstand my intentions. I am a more-than-happily married woman. I'm not looking for anything outside of my relationship with Catherine. There is nothing better, and I'm not even curious about anyone else. I do not want to have dinner with a friend and have them turn around and say, "Yeah, well, it's obvious you're chasing me, and I'm not interested." How in the world Todd could ever even suggest something so stupid is beyond me. I mean, I don't how in the world he missed the fact that I am GAY, for chrissakes. And how arrogant is he to be to assume that if I was going to sleep with a man it would be him? I don't think so, scrawny, hairy boy. And how insulting of him, to stand at my wedding the year before as I pledged my entire life to Catherine, and then turn around and suggest to me I didn't mean those vows?

Anyway. It's obviously time to get over this crap. This is the first time I've ever written at such length about it, and they say "journaling" is supposed to make you more sane. We'll see about that.

I never betrayed you, and I never betrayed the revolution
I just didn't want to alone. I needed you to see me home
And if I could save you, and if I could find a solution
I would die a thousand times, to get you out of here.

The forecast? I'll tell you forecast. It's going to fucking rain.

(Constructive) things to do if I can't play hockey anymore:

1. Join/form another a cappella group
2. Join the Bloomington Community Band
3. Answer an ad in the paper from someone looking for a drummer
4. Go back to graduate school (is that constructive?)
5. Build more model rockets
6. Read more books
7. Finally learn how to speak Spanish/Norwegian/Korean
8. Learn how to play the bass guitar.

Today, I am incredibly impressed with myself. Not even the Great Morgan Smith could have accomplished what I did in the last five days. 106 pages in five days. That must be some sort of record.

It is incredibly hard to dance on one leg.

Four hours appears to be the maximum amount of time I can stay asleep--640 contiguous minutes. I can apparently function on that, so unless it gets worse, I'm not going to worry about it anymore.

Our sump pump finally stopped running 24/7. It was driving me batty. The landscape between here and Indy has completely transformed itself as a result of the flooding. It's like you leave Martinsville and end up in the Netherlands, thoughtfully contemplating land reclamation projects.

This will be a be a day with no privacy. While I was in the shower, the city moved a steam shovel (or whatever its modern-day equivalent is) into my backyard. Dare I hope they are finally going to fill in that trench?

With the proper font, I've got 83 pages at this point.

Well.....fuck. I just got a message from Rhonda [erasure]. This is a mighty fucking stupid world.

If I could do anything right now, I would reverse time so it could be yesterday again. I would give anything to not have [erasure] and I can't do a damned thing about it and it's tearing my heart out.

Maybe I really do want to marry this woman.

As Corpses Multiply in Juarez

There was a lot more I wanted to write down last night, but I was so tired. I'm surprised I didn't wreck the car last night, I was falling asleep behind the wheel on the way up to Indy, and it only got worse on the way home.

I just wanted to comment on how impressed I am with the way Jenna has been handling her head injury. I mean, look at me, I'm wandering around under a cloud of depression over the possibility of being kept off the ice, and the truth is, I don't care about hockey even 1/2 as much as Jenna does. It's her passion, and it's been taken away from her right when she was really getting somewhere with it. Her work ethic, her talent and love for the game were really taking her places, and now what? If I was her, if I felt half as strongly, I'd probably be hovering on the brink of suicide. She's a lot stronger than I am, and smarter, since she's staying off the ice. She says she still has trouble coming up with words and gets lost in the middle of conversations. I hope she recovers with time. I want to ask her if she ever tells herself she should have stopped playing after the 3rd concussion, but I'm not sure if she wants to talk about it.

It seems particularly brutal for her now that Amy is making a place for herself on the ice, too. I know they thought they'd be playing together for a long time, but I guess that's not going to happen.

I'm feeling a little more optimistic this morning. Dr. Florini said it's definitely my ACL, but she doesn't think it's torn. It's too tight to be torn, she can feel it. She wants me to be conservative for the next week, and if it's still in the same condition after that, it's time for an MRI, physical therapy, whatever. Props to Dr. Florini--it's nice having a doctor who actually remembers what you're doing with your life, and also tries to get you the best care even though your medical file is 10 inches thick. She said she was reluctant to send me to the orthopedic surgeon because she didn't feel they'd been very responsive to my injuries in the past, she'd rather just watch it for a bit and see what happens. And I have to agree. Dr. Eelma was very helpful, but the rest of them completely piss me off, and I don't need to be carrying around any more anger right now.

Everyone was talking about playing in the BUNS league last night, and my competitve nature just really got the best of me, I think. I'm so upset that they are all getting to skate this summer, and I'm barely on the ice at all. I need some quality time before camp, and I'm not sure when I'm going to get that. Once again, the season is going to start and I'm going to be at the back of the pack. I wish I could play BUNS, but it doesn't start until 9:15. Off the ice at 10:30, out of the locker room by 11:00, that means I wouldn't get home until 1:00 a.m. I like hockey, but not that much, and I know very well I'd fall asleep behind the wheel before I even got to Martinsville.

Man, I hope everyone caught the last part of the San Jose/Colorado game last night. That was some awesome hockey. Incredible effort put forth by both sides. Game 7s are so much fun.

I'm not sure if congratulations are in order or not. I went up to Indy this evening for a meeting of the minds, and ended up being appointed to the board of directors of the soon-to-be-incorporated Indiana Women's Ice Hockey Federation. On one hand, this is exciting, because the Federation will be able to really promote ice hockey, and really get something going in the Midwest. It will be easier to get sponsors as a non-profit organization, and the potential for growth is great. On the other hand, I can't help but hear the death knell for my sports career. I feel like I've spent the last two weeks just trying to avoid the fact that my hockey playing days are almost over. I'm so bitter--I finally find something I want to do, and I have to stand here and just watch it slip through my fingers. And I'm doubly bitter because things were going so well: my weight is down, my strength is up, my aerobic conditioning is on the right track for camp in July. But I'm terrified the doctor is going to take one look at my knee tomorrow and tell me to give it up for good. I just want to play, just give me a few more years.

39 pages. Read 'em and weep.

Thanks, Doyle.

Haikus of the Weird

Okay, I need to make a new vow not to slam lesbian fiction. The novel I read last night actually had a math joke in it that cracked me up.

Q: How do you know you've been spending too much time with a mathematician?

A: Her habit of converting everything to base-7 is getting on your nerves, 33 hours a day, 10 days a week.

What the fuck is IU EAP there for, to push people over the edge? If I wasn't in need of a shrink before I called them, I certainly was by the time I got pushed off the line by the answering service. I'd hate to see what would happen if a truly desperate person tried to get in touch with them. The brochure very clearly says 24/7 365 day a year. If they're not going to commit to that up front, they should give me back the money they're taking out of my paycheck.

Them: IUEAPthisisShanemayIhelpyou?

Me: Uh, yeah, I was calling to see if I could get a referral to a local therapist?

Them: You'recallingIUEAP?

Me: Uh, yeah.

Them: Thistheiransweringservicethey'reonlyavailablefromeighttofivedoyouwanttoleaveamessage?

Me: Uh, yeah, I guess.

Them: Whatisthisabout?

Me: Uhhhhh, I don't know? I mean, I need to get a referral so I can talk to a local therapist?

Them: Doyouwanttomakeanappointment?

Me: Yes.

Them: Name?

Me: Susan

Them: Lastname?

Me: Johnson

Them: You'recallingIUEAP?

Me: Yeah.

Them: Phonenumber?

Me: 855--

Them: Wherecanyoubereachednow?

Me: Oh, you mean my home phone number, right now, not tomorrow during the day? 812-3--

Them: Isthisanemergencyifit'snotanemergencyyou'llhavetocallback.

Me: I'm sorry?

Them: Ifthisisn'tanemergencyyou'llhavetocallback.

Me: Uh, okay.

So...if it was an emergency, how is that kind of conversation even going to help anyone? One thing I do know, you don't talk to a twitchy person at a million-miles-a-minute pace. And you could at least get your story straight. Well, fuck them. And fire Shane.

Lizzie, you rock. Congratulations on the job.

Interview with Lizzie Reis

I've just discovered that I can be bitter and happy at the same time. Very bitter.

Field Hands Find They Can Now Own Land

SUSAN AHDOOT is a poet and visual artist. She began painting as part of her spiritual path and has since had numerous and individual group shows. Ahdoot has been writing poetry for the past two and a half years and toured Europe in May 2000 reading from her first book of poetry, HEAT. Highlights included Shakespeare & Co. and Tea & Tattered Pages in Paris and student workshops in Germany. She has been published in FTS and GW Review. She has two new books of poetry, BEFORE YES and THE END TO INERTIA. She has been invited to participate in the 2003 show on Women's Sexuality that the Kinsey Institute at the University of Indiana is producing. She is currently working on a project that combines her poetry and art.

I can't believe I said "okay" to that. Get a grip, Susan.

Tonight on our run we saw: dozens of birds (lots of cardinals), several rabbits, 2 deer (twice), a woodchuck, a cat and a dog.

Things I would study if I didn't have to hold down a lame job:

Physics (theoretical particle and/or astrophysics)
History and Philosophy of Science (physics and mathematics)
Military History (World War I)
Music (conducting, percussion)
Philosophy (ethics, theory of knowledge)
Geology (temblors, plate tectonics, geomorphology)

Six and one-half pages, baby. And there's more where that came from.

There are 9726 LiveJournal.com users with the interest "Jimmy Eat World" listed and only 3024 users with the interest "lesbians" listed. What's wrong with this picture?

Potter's Bar Train Crash

Eight Feared Dead at Russian Space Complex


Five Sisters Killed in Firebombing of Muslim's Home

Mascots: Cheer On and Cheer Up

Philip Howard cracks me up.

Dear Sir: I have worked in an investment bank in the US for the last two years. A large portion of my day is spent writing e-mails to people within the firm. I find it extremely difficult to change my S's to Z's in words such as "organise", which becomes "organize" here. The recipients of my correspondence are invariably American. What is the proper thing to do? Should I change all my English to American English? Jessica Laskar, Atlanta, Georgia

The useless letter Zee is on its way out even in England. The "rule" is that if an Enlish word is, or could be, derived from a Greek verb ending in -izo, it takes the Zed in English. But, a word like "analyse", which comes from Greek "analusis", "analuein" (no Z) to loose. Stays "analyses". Infuriatingly, Americans tend to spell analyze unetymologically with a Zed. But this is a distinction without a difference. Many style books, including that of The Times, have given up -ize verbs. Do the same. This is a form of "correct" spelling that is barking mad.

Dear Sir: One of my neighbours is English, and I have been trying to get to know him, in a friendly way, for ages. He is terribly shy (or possibly terribly British) and has so far bravely resisted my invitations for coffee. Trouble is, from our brief conversations, I've realised he would make an excellent friend, so how do I make it clear to him I want him as a friend and not a boyfriend? Linda Hennesy, Dublin

Persevere. The English can be very shy. They do not have the warmth or the love of goss and parties of the Irish. I should let the fact that you want him as a friend not a boyfriend emerge naturally in your conversations. If you state it explicitly you may frighten him away to Iceland. The English are slow. But they can be good friends. But you must not assume that you can bend him to your will. He may just be antisocial as well as timid. Keep on being friendly.

Being something of a homosexual, I find myself wondering whether there exists a polite way to inform acquaintances of my orientation, when - as often happens - they ask the inevitable "so do you have a girlfriend?" or similar. I am in my early twenties and do not want to appear either an activist or simply rude, but I do object to heterosexism. Is it better to leave the matter, laugh it off maybe with a polite "ha ha, no", or should I gently correct their mistake? Name and address withheld

There is nothing to be ashamed of in being "something" of a homosexual. Past unhappy and shameful history have made it a love that dares not speak its name. But today you can wear your sexual orientation with pride. In the desperate overpopulation of the world, the more homosexuals the better. To the young and liberal you can say, "I'm gay." To the old and bigoted, when they ask whether you have a girl friend: "No. I'm not that way inclined." Do not pander to the prejudices of the bigots by appearing to be ashamed of your sexual nature.

This 4 a.m. crap has got to stop.

Only a freak gets to work a half hour early on a Monday.

You get the ark, Noah, and I'll round up the animals.

Is this a cool page or what? Bunker Hill. I miss the Bunker Hill stairs. And look look look! The Embassy and and old Embassy picture. Wow, I'm amazed it's still standing.

I've already written a million and one things in here this weekend, but I want to remember this. I just sent this to Catherine, and it perfectly sums up why I was such a basketcase after the Landers temblor. Given that my room rattled when anything bigger than a 2.0 aftershock occured, I'm surprised I didn't go insane:

April 22, 1992:
6.1 magnitude (foreshock) (Joshua Tree). I convert to Christianity while under my desk.

June 28, 1992 (Gay Pride Day in W. Hollywood):
7.3 magnitude, 4:57 a.m. (Landers quake)

June 28, 1992:
5.6 magnitude, 4:58 a.m. (aftershock)

June 28, 1992:
5.6 magnitude, 5:01 a.m. (aftershock)

June 28, 1992:
6.4 magnitude, 8:04 a.m. (Big Bear, aftershock)

143 of the aftershock quakes registered 4.0 or more, 19 registered 5.0 or more.

Then get this....they now think that aftershocks don't necessarily decrease with time. There are still aftershocks from the Landers quake going on. In 1997 there were 1000 aftershocks from the Landers quake alone. I'd be a basket case if I was still there.

This is from August 17, 2000:
"At 9:43 pm last night, there was a M3.1 Landers aftershock of the June 28, 1992 Mw7.3 Landers quake. The location was 17 miles north of Yucca Valley. It was reported felt in the small town of Landers. Although Landers aftershocks have become rare of late, due to the amount of time since the main shock, they have been continuing at a slow but steady rate."

So, I was already strung out and tense by the end of April (ie., the beginning of the riots). Finish with the riots, move right into more earthquakes.

[Erasure]

We had a conversation this morning about space. I'm always amazed that the men at the Y seem to have no problem taking up personal space, and I think this is the one thing I really resent about them--they take up as much room--physically and mentally--as they need. There isn't a single guy out there playing basketball who acts like maybe he shouldn't be there, maybe he isn't good enough or fit enough. When the play is at the other end of the court, the men who are waiting to join the game will shoot at the open basket, then back off when the play comes back down the court. I would never do that, I'd be afraid they'd either yell at me or trample me. And in fact, that's what they did last time I was at Bryant Park, even though the posted rules very clearly said that only 1/2-court games were allowed. I've noticed it in the weight room, too. The men don't think twice about resting on the machines between sets. The women are all slinking from machine to machine, trying not to bump into anyone. The women are all trying to become smaller, trying to become *invisible*, the men are trying to bulk up and take up even more space. And it never occurs to them that maybe they don't have that right.

I just realized I was so obsessed with Curtis Williams on May 6 that I didn't even notice that it was my 6th month anniversary without Coke.

The administration at IU is so effing stupid. IU (the entire state, in fact) is out of money, they have to raise tuition, they laid off 1/2 the physical plant workers, none of us will get the raises we need and deserve this summer, and what the hell does the administration waste money on? I can't believe they spent $136,000 to develop a new logo that looks EXACTLY LIKE THE LOGO PLASTERED ALL AROUND TOWN ALREADY. Idiots. I could have provided those so-called "subtle differences" with a red marker I bought for 0.69 cents at Ben Franklin. And they wonder why the community spits on the university's shoes.

Man, I love Molly Ivins. I want to marry that woman.

I feel better. I spent a lot of time in the arm chair, watching Catherine clean, more or less reading Coachella (which, incidentally, is turning out to be a better book than Seven Moves--I abandoned that one about 1/2 way through last night). Sunny and Ed stopped by for dinner, but didn't stay too long. That's what I like in a guest: good company while they're here, polite enough to excuse themselves early in the evening. I think I'll go to bed and finish my book.

Powell's is double-damned now. I ordered some CDs off the web on Wednesday, and they arrived today. Any shipment from Powell's? No, of course not.

We did get up and go running, I guess that's the one positive thing to hold onto right now. About 1/2 way through grocery shopping I had to bail and go rest in the car. Came home and went to bed for a few hours. I don't know...Catherine mentioned asking Dr. Florini about a pain management clinic, but that seems so...final. I really think I have a few more years of good mobility in me and I don't want to give that belief up yet. Anyway, I'm not sure they'd consider it a good referral since I still refuse to have surgery. Surely if I was desperate, I'd let them cut me open, right? Well...whatever.

Well, one thing I'm going to do is definitely call and make that follow up appointment with Dr. Dellacqua on Monday. I'm not letting him put anything in my hand this time, but maybe he can come up with some other alternative.

My mom said my brother finally called yesterday. How can he be such a jerk? It's been 3 months since dad was in the hospital, and he's just calling now? He said he didn't call before because he thought Mom was mad at him. Well, no kidding. Why shouldn't she be? Mom said Dad gave him a bit of a lecture, it's about fucking time. He'd better stay away from me or he'll find out what real anger is all about.

Okay, I didn't go running (we decided to do it in the a.m., making this my free day, making my back very happy), but man, I got a lot done, which is completely unusual. I usually just sit around and read things of little consequence on my day off.

We had a good dinner. Catherine said something very nice to me, making me quite happy. I was a good girl and cleaned my office when we got home instead of reading the Carol Anshaw novel I recovered from the pile of books in the back seat of the car. I can actually see my desk, and can actually roll my chair over to the drum kit without hurting myself. Good on me. I also got the property tax-exemption forms filled out and ready to go for when Steve gets back. It wasn't as hard as I was making it out to be (of course).

I didn't even freak out when I had to write a $1500 check at the travel agent's. Even though it didn't even include the Washington D.C. tickets. Apparently I'm on my best behavior.

Bought a very excellent book on the way home from dinner, a biography of E=MCsuperscript2. Catherine thinks I'm insane, but I'm completely psyched. I read the first several chapters at the store and really want to finish it now.

How to avoid people you don't like at the bookstore: If they're women, study the books in the sports section. Women don't like to be forced into conversations about rugby. If they're men, study the books in the physics section. Men aren't going to come talk to you and risk finding out that you're smarter than they are. Unless they're Ron, who will stop and talk to you no matter what, unfortunately.

I've more than shattered the self-imposed moratorium on book-buying. I've got to knock this crap off, where am I going to put all these books? I've already gotten rid of most of my academic books, just one or two shelves left, really. My smart friends would be very disappointed in my shelves these days. A few Orientalism books, some British history books, a few Red Scare books. Now where the heck am I going to put all these Civil War books? And my hockey/sailing/climbing/miscellaneous sports shelves are overflowing.

Life according to the bullet point:

--I forgot to read Pat's book this afternoon.
--My hand is freaking killing me.
--Travel agents are a complete rip off.
--I can put a load of laundry in to wash, but it will never make it to the dryer.

Man, my productivity today is almost frightening. That's what happens when you get up at 7:00 a.m. on (my) Saturday.

Things I managed to get done:

1) An hour of shooting hoops.
2) Eye exam, new glasses.
3) New batteries in 2 watches.
4) Purchase black watch identical to my brown watch.
5) Pick up 2 more tax-exemption forms at court house.
6) Empty my e-mail inbox of personal mail (except I didn't answer Petya).

Things I will get done in the next hour:
1) Pick Catherine up.
2) Go to travel agent, buy tickets for Banff, Portland, Washington, D.C., Seattle
3) Go out to dinner
4) Go running (or not, as the case may be).

I changed my clothes 3 times today. If I go running, it will be 4. It's just like being in college again!

Okay, Powell's has blown it. The mailman just delivered a book I had on backorder with Amazon, and still I have no Powell's shipment.

The good news is, the book that arrived is the one I really wanted to read, Red Sun, The Invasion of Hawai'i After Pearl Harbor. Everyone should read it! There's the cutest little picture of Pat on the back, I'm so proud of him. And I'll admit I'm flattered that he not only remembered what I used to say about teaching at a community college, but he also remembered my diatribe on history as fiction. Amazing to find out that someone was actually listening to me.

I should have bought that ball up at Galyan's last weekend. 40 bucks for a basketball seems like a bit much, though. Maybe I can get one at MCSports this afternoon. Might as well go shopping since I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING TO READ. I can only read so many Civil War books, after all.

I can't believe that out of all my friends, co-workers, family (including Catherine's), only *one* person has ever broken a bone. What's up with that? Didn't these people play outside when they were kids? Okay, here's the list I said I'd write up for Catherine last week. This should explain why I had to pay out $1000 on top of my insurance last year to get my body put back together, not counting prescriptions, either.

Injuries requiring either 1) doctor's care; 2) trip to the emergency room; 3) physical therapy; 4) surgery; 5) stitches; or 6) crutches. Not including trips to the emergency room for other illnesses! In order of appearance:

Childhood:

Right foot (stitches, cause: jumped on broken Coke bottle in bare feet)
Left arm ( broken ulna and radius, cause: stupidity)

High School:

Left hand (cracked, cause: fell up stairs)
Right ankle (sprain, cause: running backwards in P.E.)
Right ankle (re-injury, cause: playing volleyball)
Right ankle (torn ligaments, tendon damage, cause: playing soccer)

College:

Left thumb (broken, playing volleyball)
Right ankle (sprain, playing soccer) (repeat ankle sprain ad nauseum until death)
Tailbone (fracture, cause: riding 4-wheeler)
Left ankle (sprain, cause: Tae Kwon Do)

Grad School:

Back (torn muscle from spine, rotated vertebrae, cause: pride)
Left ankle (sprain, cause: basketball)
Left foot (tendonitis, probably from the sprain)

1998-present:

Right patella (bruised, ligament damage, skating accident)
Left rotator cuff (impingement, swimming)
Right elbow (fracture, rollerblading, aka stupidity)
Both feet (plantar fasciitis, hiking)
Right ankle (sprain, hiking)
Left ankle (sprain, hiking)
Right elbow (chipped, hockey)
Right wrist/palm (carpal tunnel, tendonitis, hockey)
Left rotator cuff (impingement, tendonitis, weightlifting)

Somewhere in there I know I fractured my left foot, but I can't remember when. Was it after we moved to Bloomington?

Current status: tolerable pain level in back and wrist/palm.

When you add all this to the other gazillion times I've been in the emergency room, it suddenly becomes clear why I've developed such a hatred for the medical profession. At least I have a good GP and finally found a decent orthopedic surgeon. On the other hand, I skipped my last wrist appointment because I couldn't bear going back and getting another injection in my palm.

Okay, Powell's is starting to piss me off. I ordered a stack of books from them, and a stack of books from Amazon on the same day. The books from Amazon arrived days ago, and I've already got a good chunk of them read. Where the hell are my books from Powell's? They both ship from the PNW, so there's no excuse for this lame service. I ordered the books because I wanted to read them, not because I wanted to wait for them.

I'm trying to read this book Coachella but not having much luck. I should have read the back cover before I checked it out, I'm not sure I can make it through a book about AIDS. Especially a book written in 1998, but set in 1983. I don't really have the words to explain it, but it upsets me. Catherine and I talked briefly today about why we don't have any gay male friends anymore. "Because they all died?" was her first reply. But we had plenty until we moved to Indiana--now we have no gay friends, female or male. I know why we don't have any lesbian friends (because I don't play softball or listen to womyn's music!), but I'm not sure about the male part. Because we're afraid they'll die? Or did we just get sick of the misogyny? We don't do any AIDS volunteer work anymore, maybe because the urgency went away after Michael died?

I think I'm bitter, because if Michael, or John, or Robert, or Thomas or....jesus christ, all of them...had been alive just 2 or 3 years later...they'd probably still be alive today.

Damnit, Powell's, if you'd just got my trashy lesbian novels to me, I wouldn't have to be thinking about all this.

Addendum: there's an article in this morning's paper saying that the CDC is advising gay/bisexual men to get tested for HIV every year--the first time they've really said something like this. I hope Alex is paying attention.

Well, I didn't learn a whole lot at the security meeting but, really, who am I to pass up two hours of quality day-dreaming?

Talked to Kirk and Tom for awhile when I went to drop off the grades. Kirk says that if I get/take the BRI job, I could always teach more at Ivy Tech to make up the difference in income. I could have another CAD section, and also a beginning architectural CAD section. That would be cool, it would be almost as if I was using my degree....imagine that.

The keys in my pocket are pulling my shorts off. I should have worn a belt after all.

You'd think I'd just move the phone cord instead of getting my feet wrapped up in it every single day.

I need a new website, mine is really starting to get on my nerves. Maybe I'll just hire somebody. I've designed several front pages that I like, but I can't seem to get any of the content pages in place. The new CSS/DHTML book that Anne ordered is good, too bad it didn't come 10 weeks ago when I could have used it. CSS sucks.

ITSO class today. I'm not really interested in security, but it will get me out of the office for 2 hours. I just realized it is in the Oak Room, not out at 10th-and-the-Bypass, so that sucks. Damn, that really screws up my lunch plans.

Last night's run was really hard--I went out too fast. I had an easy first 10 minutes, but the last 20 made me feel like hurling. We're going to have to start doing this before work now that the humidity is here. I hate running, and I hate runners, but I still look forward to going out on our runs. Something's wrong with that picture, I don't know what. I've been reading the forums at Runnersworld, and it just reminded me how arrogant and self-congratulatory runners are as a group. Thank god I'm really a hockey player.

Those ladies at the court house are so nice--all hoosier-y and everything. That's what I like about this state, the hoosier-y people. Got 2 different copies of old tax-exemption forms, so I should have everything ready to file when Steve gets back on Monday.

My hand must have really hurt last night--I had a dream about spiders again. I dreamt that this tiny spider was caught under the skin of my palm, burrowing. I kept trying to pop it out like a sliver, but I couldn't catch it. It left tracks all over my palm before I finally managed to squeeze it out. Completely creeped me out.

God, I feel like crap. I can hardly wait to get through menopause.

I'm still annoyed about last night, but I guess that's better than being devastated. Jenna and Amy probably thought it just didn't matter, they have no idea what a big deal it was for me to take the initiative to invite them out in the first place. It's not their fault, anymore than it was Beth's fault last time, and it's not fair of me to get completely upset simply because I have people issues. They were just ordinary rude, not exceptionally rude. I'm overreacting because of everything else.

So, thanks, Todd, for everything you've left me with. Thanks for fucking up my life and turning me into someone too afraid to be honest with my friends. Thanks for being the cruelest person I've ever met, and thanks for showing me how easy it is to hurt people. Thanks for nothing, in other words.

I'm disappointed about the Rusted Root concert. Jenna and Amy backed out this afternoon, so I guess I won't be going. It just feels too weird to go to a nightclub by myself. I told Jenna I wasn't mad about it, but maybe I am a little. I don't know, maybe I just get upset over stupid things, but I think that once you accept an invitation, you should stick with it. I get that Amy is playing tonight and Jenna wants to watch, but still.. I guess I'm just sad I won't be going. I just can't see driving 2 hours by myself, standing around in a club by myself, then driving back home 2 hours by myself.

This day sucks.

Jesus fucking Christ. *And* Seattle Slew died. This day just sucks.

I'm depressed about Curtis Williams, feel sorry for John Daly, and feel really, really bad for Heather Cassady. It's just all unfair, different levels of tragedy.

Had a good run in the rain yesterday. Wrapped up class, gave my students their final. Need to finish grading their final projects and I'll be done with that. I don't have any energy for it all, though.

Damn it.

Former Husky football player Curtis Williams dies

Monday, May 6, 2002

By JANIE MCCAULEY
AP SPORTS WRITER



Former University of Washington football player Curtis Williams, paralyzed from the neck down in a game at Stanford in October 2000, died Monday just two days after his 24th birthday.

Washington Athletic Department spokesman Jim Daves said Williams died Monday morning of a "system failure" at the Fresno, Calif., home of his brother, David, where he had been living. A more specific cause of death was not immediately available, Daves said.

Williams, a strong safety, was in Seattle on April 27 to watch the Huskies' annual spring game and attend other events on campus. It was the first time he had been back since he suffered the spinal cord injury in the helmet-to-helmet hit while attempting to tackle running back Kerry Carter.

Williams was in precarious health during his visit. His temperature was rising and falling rapidly, Daves said.

"This has been a real tragedy, from that late October day until today, when he passed away," said coach Rick Neuheisel, in Spokane to take part in an alumni golf tournament.

"Although he was confined to his wheelchair, Curtis taught all of us associated with Husky football the true meaning of the word courage. I think anyone who met or was associated with that kid, they will find it hard to ever feel sorry for themselves," Neuheisel said.

"I will always admire Curtis for his tremendous courage and for inspiring all of us to learn to persevere in tough times. We always said that he was a warrior on the field. What we learned was that he was a warrior in life."

When Williams went to campus two weeks ago, athletic director Barbara Hedges said, "there were so many positives to look forward to."

"I talked to him at the baseball game and at the spring game. He was very upbeat." she said. "He was thrilled to see his teammates and to meet with the academic services staff about completing his degree."

At the time, Williams said he planned to attend Husky games this fall in Seattle and California. He was six classes short of earning his degree in American Ethnic Studies and had hoped to take correspondence courses and complete the work in about a year.

Williams played in 24 games and started every game as a junior and senior before his injury. He finished his career with 142 tackles and one interception.

Williams appeared at a benefit dinner April 25 that raised $30,000 for the Curtis Williams Fund, which has raised more than $400,000 total.

Following his accident, the university established the fund to help support his long-term care and to assist with expenses beyond those covered by family, school and NCAA insurance. The money also will be used to establish a scholarship at the university.

35 [erasure].

Catherine actually said yesterday: "I'm excited to go running in my new socks!" Then she realized what she said and tried to back pedal :) She's doing great, going to do 24 minutes next week. She thought I was lying when I said she'd lost weight recently, but she stepped on the scale and found out she'd lost about 20 pounds (maybe more, I'm not sure what she used to weigh). So, I'm proud of her, because she's getting a good aerobic workout and eating right.

My back is killing me. I think I pulled something shooting baskets on Friday. It hurt before then, it was incredibly painful during my final and when I was at BRI, I shouldn't have gone to the park at all. It hurts from my spine all the way around my right oblique. Luckily I don't have to lift again until Thursday, no running until Wednesday. My body needs some recovery time.

Read a really good book this weekend, Egret, by Helen Collins. Not sure why I liked it so much, but I read it twice. I'm probably in love (or lust) with the antagonist, just as the protagonist was. Doing a lot of reading lately, reading a book on Richmond during the Civil War, another book of primary sources from the Civil War, a cheesy romance, some poetry. Waiting for my books to arrive from Powells and Amazon. Altogether we spent over $200 on books this month, which sounds extravagant (well, it is), but since we don't have to pay the mortgage this month, it gives us a little bit of money with which to have fun. Looking forward to reading Pat's book.

Had fun at Diane and Garett's last night. Going to Terri's tonight, Sigrid will be there.

Fatal crash ultimately claims 2 young lives

Driver kills himself after girlfriend, a U-M student, dies in wreck

Tuesday, April 30, 2002

BY JO COLLINS MATHIS
News Staff Reporters


Yu Ming Leong would have turned 23 Saturday.

Instead, his family and the family of his girlfriend were mourning their deaths - hers in a car crash and his as a result of a suicide a day later.

Leong came to Ann Arbor on Wednesday to help his girlfriend, University of Michigan student Amanda Yeo, 19, move from her room in Bursley Hall to an off-campus apartment for the summer. She had just finished her sophomore year in the College of Literature, Science and the Arts, but had not declared a major.

Leong, an Indiana University student, was driving a Ford Expedition at 12:53 a.m. Thursday in Superior Township when he failed to stop at a blinking red light. The SUV was hit broadside by a tractor-trailer, and Yeo was killed.

Leong was treated at the U-M Medical Center and then checked into a motel. He called a friend, who picked him up the next afternoon and drove him back to his apartment in Bloomington, Ind., about a mile from campus, Bloomington Police Capt. Joe Qualters said.

Leong, who lived alone, arrived at 8:30 p.m. Friday. About 15 minutes later, he began writing an eight-page suicide note.

"The note indicated he had remorse over the accident in which his girlfriend was killed and he felt responsible for that," Qualters said. "He was obviously very anguished."

At 11:35 p.m. Friday, after two friends tried unsuccessfully to call him for two hours, they forced their way into his apartment and found him lying on the bed, Qualters said. Leong had slit his throat and wrist.

Investigators don't know how long Leong and Yeo dated. They were both Singapore natives. In her online profile on U-M's Web site, just updated this month, Yeo wrote that she missed "bubble tea the most." Bubble tea is a frothy drink made from green, red or black tea and colored with fruit syrups, and includes chewy tapioca balls. The drink is extremely popular in Singapore.

Leong, a junior biology major, was vice president of the Singapore Students Association at Indiana until recently, when Goh Guo-Hua took over the position.

Guo-Hua said one of his happiest memories with Leong was when they imported a box of bubble tea mixes and shakers and made the drink for many others. "We were the only ones in Bloomington who made it," said Guo-Hua.

"He was one of those good people whose passing you would feel is a great injustice," he said. "It'll make you think that life is very unfair. He was bright and deserved better. After the accident, I knew he'd never be the same again, perhaps even stop studying here and moving far away. The thought that this could have happened did cross my mind, but I guess I was just hoping he would not resort to that."

Singapore Students Association member Ferris Lim said Leong was "a great buddy and friend" to all in the organization.

"He had never failed to impress me with his intelligence, sensibility, exuberance and sincerity toward friendships," Lim said.

Sean Liu, president of the association, said members will miss Leong's generosity and eagerness to help those in need.

"We will all miss him very dearly and our hearts goes out to his family," Liu said.

A memorial service was held for Yeo on Sunday at Muehlig Funeral Chapel in Ann Arbor.

Leong's body will be claimed by his aunt, who lives in Boston.

Catherine is really trying hard. She's been making travel reservations for us all week. I feel kind of guilty. It's not her fault that I can't find any purpose in my life.

How can the least self-confident person I know (me) be an INTJ?

David Horsey's Earth Day Cartoon, courtesy of
the Seattle P-I

This is what I get for not having a best friend. Remind me to keep my personal life to myself.

The riots started 10 years ago today. And, although I don't often let myself, I can feel like I'm right there again. I remember the initial feeling of disbelief when I realized how close I had been to walking by the intersection of Florence and Normandie, the initial feeling of relief that even though I had been out on the streets alone, no one had bothered me or acted as if anything was happening. I got my paper bound just fine, and luckily decided not to walk to school and turn it in.

I remember the deep thudding in my chest every time the Marines helicopter went over my building. In my sleep, I could distinguish the difference between the news helicopters, the police helicopters, the military helicopters.

I remember standing at my window in my dark room--breaking the rules because we were supposed to stay down to avoid sniper fire--talking to Chong on the phone and being so angry I never wanted to talk to her again. Angry that she'd trivialize the situation, angry that she'd think I was out on the streets contributing to the violence, angry that all she wanted to talk about was her job when I was standing there watching a building on the next block burn down. Angry that she didn't care enough to even watch the news.

I remember being told to come off the roof--it must have been the first day--because the police were going to fire on us if we didn't. And being disappointed because it was the best vantage point to watch how close the fires were getting. Watching the billows of black and grey and yellow smoke between us and campus and wondering what would be left and how close everything would come to us.

I remember the empty parking lot next to our building, empty for the first time ever because people were afraid to come to work.

I remember looking down onto Grand Ave. and watching the police cars move in a V-formation, taking up all the lanes.

And I remember the absolute silence and stillness between police patrols. Rationally, I know there must have been sirens and noises and murmurs, but all I remember is that none of the noise of my life was there anymore. Everyone was gone, no one was on the streets, no one was moving, and the silence was the most impressive thing I've experienced in my life.

I was afraid to leave my turtle in his aquarium for fear I'd be on the ground floor when we were evacuated and wouldn't be allowed to go back up and get him.

I was angry at USC for not providing for us, for leaving us without food for the entire time, for not bringing us anything. And I was angrier still at all the USC students who fled the campus and went back to their safe havens and ignored the entire thing. I hated USC for throwing its gates closed and leaving us outside and not taking care of us.

I updated my answering machine every hour so if my parents called, they would know I was still okay. I didn't like to be alone in my room with the curtains drawn, I couldn't stay there, I had to be out in the building somewhere. Jen and David called every couple of hours the first day or so, to talk to me, to apologize for not being able to come rescue me. They couldn't get through to downtown LA from Culver City, and I didn't want them to try. I remember talking to Doyle, he joked about my answering machine message for my parents.

We tried to hold a meeting of teaching assistants, only to be distracted by the noise in the streets. We crowded around the window, watching a chicano/latino man break the window of the Foot Locker across Grand Ave. Where did all those people come from? The streets were empty, but almost before the glass landed on the sidewalk, swarms of people were in the store, gathering up the shoes. I wondered what they would do with the shoes if they didn't fit. The police showed up, maybe there was a silent alarm, and everyone got away except one poor woman. The cop handcuffed her to a tree and left. I didn't get to see what happened when he came back or how long she stood chained to the tree. I was embarrassed about everything, and sad.

I was impressed by the damage, the burned stores and buildings I walked by on my way to school. I was afraid to take photographs (but I did, sneaking my camera out of my pocket when I thought no one would see me). I was afraid to walk by myself by the Korean stores. I was either amused, impressed or embarrassed by the first billboard I saw asking if we could all get along. I still don't know how I felt (but I took a picture of it).

The fury at USC's hypocrisy. I walked to the one grocery store in the area and had to sidestep a fully-armed national guardsman to enter. The commencement ceremonies on campus were repeatedly interrupted by military helicopters (the Coliseum was the staging ground for the armed forces responding to the riots) and national guardsmen were everywhere. And the president of the university gave this speech about USC's role in the community, and how much it meant for the university to get out amongst its neighbors, and I wanted to stand up and yell, "Yeah, then why'd you lock your gates, you bastard? Why did all your white kids go home to their Beverly Hills adjacent addresses and bury their heads in the fucking sand?"

I was confused by my role in all of this as a white gay female--disempowered in some areas, but privileged because of my skin. L.A. wasn't my home, and I didn't even understand most of what was going on. I didn't know what role I had in the black v. asian conflict, and if it was any of my business. I just didn't want to get shot.

And two weeks later, when I was called a white bitch by those guys who backed me against that fence, all I could think was how stupid it was to kill me just because I was white, just because I was female. And after I was safe, I thought what it must be like to feel that feeling all the time, and wondered if I would hurt someone with less power than me just because I finally could.

How much changes in 10 years?

Well, Diane thinks I was being insensitive, and she said if she was Catherine, she'd have been really mad at me. I just can't help the way I feel. I feel bogged down and trapped, like nothing is ever going to change, like for the rest of my life I'm going to wake up and have to face the same thing, over and over. I just want us to grow and develop a little instead of becoming so completely complacent with our lives. And I realize this is my approach to life, not Catherine's, and I'm imposing it on her, but somehow it seems that when we got together, this was more of what she wanted, too. I just feel like I'm always looking for new things, new ideas, new places, and then I have to drag her along because it doesn't occur to her to do the same.

My workouts are for me. If she wants to be a part of them, she can't make me sacrifice anything. If she doesn't want to run when I do, she should run on her own. If I need two hours, and she only needs one, she should arrange transportation home. It's not my fault she doesn't drive, and I am so tired of waiting, waiting, waiting, every day. It never changes.

This is not how I envisioned my life turning out.

26 [erasure] selling out.

hey
don't write yourself off yet
it's only in your head you feel left out or looked down on
just try your best
try everything you can
and don't you worry what they tell themselves when you're away


hey you know they're all the same
you know you're doing better on your own so don't buy in
live right now
just be yourself
it doesn't matter if that's good enough for someone else


it just takes some time
little girl, you're in the middle of the ride
everything everything will be just fine
everything everything will be all right


do your best
do everything you can
don't you worry what thier bitter hearts are going to say

I'm going to be really embarrassed if anyone comes around the corner of my cube and sees me rocking out to this song.

I guess that murder in Bellingham disturbed me more than I thought. This morning, I woke up out of a nightmare in which a teenaged boy was strangling me. Once I jumped awake, the first thing I thought of was that poor little boy and how awful it must have been. I like to think that you can control--at least partly--the violence around you by surrounding yourself with people who aren't likely to pull out a 9mm assault rifle and shoot you. I think it's very unlikely that anyone with whom I work or anyone with whom I live will ever crack and go on a murderous rampage. But how do you protect yourself from "random" acts of violence? In the case of this boy, I guess it wasn't random, since it was his neighbor w/a criminal record. But how do you protect yourself from coming across people who seek just to damage you?

I think I'm still a little shaken from being chased by those two guys the other day. I think we're lucky they didn't kill us. They certainly could have. I don't know what anyone could have done to stop them if they'd walked back to our car and pulled out a gun. Even if you wanted to stop something like that, how could you even think it would happen? We weren't doing anything when they came into our lives--how could we avoid them? They were looking for something to destroy before we even crossed paths.

Anyway.

Reading back over the last week, it sounds like all I've been doing is fretting. Actually, things are going much better than they were. I'm feeling positive about working with BRI, I'm caught up on my physics homework (and hey, I'm even getting an A in the class, Mr. Johnson would never believe that I turned out to be a little smart in the end), I've got a lot of research done, and I've picked a topic for my next architectural brief (Port Sunlight). The weather is great, and I only have one more week of teaching.

But, ah, am I waiting for the other shoe to drop? Maybe that's just my personality.

Damn, my back hurts.

I had another weird spider dream last night. I dreamt (dreamed?) that there was this spider hanging over the stairwell at my parents' house that was so big, it had caught an abalone in its web. And I had to walk underneath it as it was lowering the empty shell to the ground and it freaked me out. I have some seriously fucked up phobias.

Well, I have an appointment for 9:00 Thursday to talk to the director of BRI. I'm not sure why I didn't do this earlier, maybe because it's not quite the field I thought I'd be in? Anyway, he definitely wants me to volunteer (stroked my ego a bit), and even mentioned they would be looking for part-time help in the future. If it works out, maybe I can leave this full-time job for that part-time job. It sounds stupid when I type it out, who would give up a steady job? But there it is anyway.

Sunny has stopped by twice today, completely stressed out over her group presentation. I could write a book about the relations between Koreans and other Asians just based on what I see from her and what I used to see from Chong.

I never thought I'd hear my mom use the words "genetic drift" in a sentence. She can even distinguish it from "gene flow," which I can't do without looking it up.

My back is killing me. I don't know if it's from the driving, sleeping in a strange bed, or just being generally tense. I had an awful nightmare about being covered w/spiders last night, followed by another one I can't remember, so I must be stressed about something.

Tomorrow is ANZAC Day. I should read something about Gallipoli.

Found a great Civil War site for our trip in June: Civil War Traveler

I'm thinking my proposal for the SCA isn't going to work, but I haven't given up yet. I'm a little swamped with make-up work this week (that's what I get for going out of town), but I'm going to try to dig out as many primary sources as possible between now and Saturday, then get to work and see what I really have. Thank god for e-mail, it gives me a few extra days to work on it.

Anyway.

Just got back from the annual meeting of the SAH. There's so much to wonder about I don't even know what to write. I was completely stressed out about going, afraid someone would realize how badly my career has tanked, but luckily, that didn't happen. I talked to Christine a bit about my "research," and Terry never really asked, probably because he hates his job, too. I could completely sympathize. I was eaten alive by envy for all that Christine has managed to do. I guess that's what happens when you have a passion for something, instead of a vague interest (like me). Anyway, I made various career-related decisions over the course of the week. I'm going to join the Recent Past Preservation Network (thanks, Christine!), I'm going to try and volunteer for BRI and get some hands-on experience, I'm going to try and figure out a way to work 1/2 time so I can finish my design technology degree and get the hell out of here, I'm going to just keep plugging away w/research on a couple of topics that interest me and see if I can't come up with some paper proposals.

So, the conference was good. Richmond is a neat place, at least the part of it I saw. I understand parts of it are less appealing, but that's pretty much how cities work. I know I should be appalled by the southern-ness of the place, but I found parts it quite sweet. The guide at the Capital Building won me over and

[erasure]

I used to think people who specialized in the history of the Civil War were all weird. Now, I wish I had done it. Either that, or World War I. If I could do that history degree over again, I'd be a military historian. I was thinking it would be an interesting paper to study informal Civil War scuffles in the western states, or at least monuments in the western states. I found this bit of an e-mail on the web and it really got me thinking:

"Sir, It's commendable that you are embarking on a page for California in the War of Northern Aggression. But what about the actions fought IN California? The Rebs were about to launch a privateer from SF bay when they were surprised by a US Navy ship who captured them all.... What about the Battle of Volcano in which the Union garrison turned back a group of Southerners by threatening to fire a cannon loaded with iron scrap, nails and broken glass? The cannon is still in Volcano, CA."

I saw the cannon when I was in Volcano in high school. There must be more things like this out there, especially in California since so many Californians fought in the eastern and western theaters. I guess Washingtonians did, too, even though it was only a territory.

Beyond history and architecture, we had an interesting time staying with BR. I am so confused about the whole weekend. I find myself caught in this trap all the time. Whenever I meet someone, I want to be friendly and open, because I know other people take it personally if I am quiet and shy. After a bit, though, I just want to pull away and protect myself and stop telling people things. This is what happened this weekend. It's stupid, because BR is the genuine article, and I don't expect any malice or duplicity from her. For that matter, it will be a long time before we see her again, so why would I even worry about what she knows about me or what I've said? I just felt like I needed to hide after awhile. It always happens like this, and I hate it.

I guess when it takes you 13 hours to drive home, you have a lot of time to analyze your personality. I don't know what this push/pull thing is. I want to get to know people and share bits of my life with them, but when I do, I instantly want to end the friendship. At the very least, I pass the friendship over to Catherine and make her do all the talking. That's what happened again this week. I tell myself to just get over it, but then, I worry things will end up like they did with Todd, and I can't go through that again. Luckily, Catherine doesn't have these hang ups, and she manages to keep in touch with my friends for me.

Oh, and bad news. My teammates are going to Rusted Root with me, but Catherine can't, because of class :(

Well, I had an idea yesterday that I think might bring me out of my depression. I've actually got a pretty workable plan for submitting a paper proposal to the SCA. I'm not sure if the paper will get accepted, but I think it's a sound topic, and I have two weeks to write a 500-word abstract (of a paper I haven't even written yet!). I did a lot of research today, just superficial, but covered a lot of areas, and I think I can come up with a good thesis and outline. So, that will hopefully give me something new to put on my CV so I don't have to be ashamed of the fact that I haven't done anything useful since dropping out of grad school. I'm trying not to think big, but if it gets accepted for the SCA conference, I don't see why I can't refocus it and submit a new proposal for the SAH annual meeting. I am an adjunct faculty member, after all. At a tech school, but still....

While I'm in the blogging mood:

1) 2 months after my father's heart attack, I'm still completely pissed off at my brother. Or, my former brother, I should say. How does he get to be such a complete jerk? I swear, the angry things I'd like to say to him....

2) I'm not sure how to handle problem co-worker A. I can't just keep being surly; on the other hand, I'm not sure how I'm ever going to prevent myself from being surly. I'm just waiting for her to make some sort of comment about my weight (oh, look, I used homonyms), then I'm going to unload on her. 'Cause it's coming, I know.

3) On the plus side, I've finished 2 of my 4 philosophy questions, and started the 3rd one about Kant's synthetic and a priori judgements. It's taking me an hour to do one question.

4) I hope my teammates want to go to the Rusted Root concert with us next month, it would be nice to do something with someone else for a change. We're going to try and get together with Terri before she leaves town, too. Considering I do absolutely nothing with my life, it's sure hard to schedule face time with other people. And next term I don't want to teach on Mondays. I'm missing Margaret Cho tonight because I have to teach. And it really interferes w/March Madness, so that's got to go.

5) My Russian is stressing me out, it takes me an hour to write a 3-sentence letter. What's up with that?

This didn't update the last time.

Went to New York on Thursday. Got up hyper early and got to the airport two hours ahead of our flight. Good thing we did, because our flight was canceled, but we were there early enough to catch a 8:30 flight. Got into New York around 11:00, grey and raining. Took a crowded van ride from La Guardia through the tunnel at Queens to Manhattan. We stayed with a Kinsey patron. He took us around to the galleries in the Chelsea area after lunch at East of Eighth. I wasn't feeling very good and thought I might faint. After he left to go back to his home in Long Beach, Catherine and I did some shopping at Whole Foods, went back to East of Eighth for a drink and dinner, then went to see the Harry Potter movie.

Friday we got up early, did a lot of walking. Took the subway to the MoMA, decided to skip it and went to the American Craft Museum instead. Then we walked around, went to Rockefeller Center to see the tree and skating, saw the GE building, St. Patrick's, St. Bartholomew's, the Waldorf-Astoria, the Chrysler building, and various other buidings. Took a walk in Central Park, had a pizza at the wild animal place, watched some skating at Wolman Rink, then walked up to go to Strawberry Fields. Media circus. Walked around the Dakota. Went back to the Chelsea area, had dinner across the street from Madison Square Garden.

Took Catherine's slides up to Houston street, walked around before going to the gallery. Sat through the gallery panel. Very rude people, very hot and stuffy. Nice to see Bronwyn. We went out to drinks with Bronwyn and two of her friends after the panel talk.

Saturday we went down to see the Woolworth Building, and went to Ground Zero. Don't feel like writing about it.

After that, we met our hosts and went up to 91st street for lunch. Then to the Guggenheim, which was disgustingly painted black. Dinner at a nice Chelsea Japanese restaurant.

Up early, took a very expensive car ride back to La Guardia. Noticed how close Flushing Meadows is to the airport.

Addendum, 6 months later:

I still don't feel like talking about visiting Ground Zero. I keep holding it close to my chest, for the past six months, I've only taken it out when I've been by myself, usually in the car on the way up to Indy for hockey practice. I keep thinking that if I just let enough time pass, I can tell someone what happened while I was standing there, but I just can't. I haven't even talked to Catherine about it, except for about 15 seconds soon afterward. I wanted to talk to Linda about it, but couldn't bear to even start.

Here's the thing. I never break down in public. Never. I can hold it together better than anyone I know. And I didn't break down in New York, either. I do, however, cry about the whole thing every time I go to Indy, sometime after the 45-50 minute mark in the drive, when I'm by myself and no one can touch me and no one can see me and no one will hear me. It's not like I'm hoarding this pain during the week, or that it's on my mind all the time. It's just that given enough time and privacy, things eventually work themselves to the surface.

Anyway, standing there, well, kneeling because I was right at the barrier and there were people behind me and I didn't want anyone to push against me to see around me, that's probably the closest I've ever come to breaking up with people around me. And it wasn't crying breaking up, it was worse. If I had let go at all, I would have been screaming, because that was what was going on in my head. Every time the wrecking machine knocked down another chunk, I just wanted to scream, tell them to stop it, they can't do that, all those papers flying in the air belong to somebody, they have to stop, they could be smashing a body, they have to stop, they have to stop. It was like...boom and I needed to scream. It was deafening inside my head, and I was terrified I was going to have to actually scream, and....just how fucking stupid is that?

Catherine had a completely different reaction to everything, she cried almost immediately, for different reasons, I think. At least, there was nothing familiar in what she was saying to me as I was trying to comfort her. And I want to know where are the people who experienced the same thing I did, the ones who were right on the brink of insanity?

I don't want to share this with anyone. I don't want anyone to devalue my experience, either claim they know how I must have been feeling, or suggest that maybe I was over-reacting. Because I have never felt anything like that in my entire life--I don't go insane over nothing, and I've never screamed in my entire life. And I don't know how to explain how the thud of the wrecking ball ricocheted off my breast bone and forced its way up my throat. I'm glad I didn't scream, but if I had stood there for even 10 more seconds, I'm afraid I wouldn't have been able to stop myself.

Spent Thanksgiving with the Kuebler family--Beth, Mike, David (Mike's brother), Mike's mom, Beth's parents George and Phoebe, Beth's uncle Bob and partner Jeff, Beth's sister Sarah, and some other people from around the neighborhood. Cute kids from down the street. Drove up Thanksgiving morning, got there really early due to the time change. Beth and Mike got there an hour or so later. Dinner was late because of a mashed potato crisis, but the food was good. Felt good because I didn't over eat (might help that I don't like antipasta!). Watched some skating with Jeff and Bob. Jeff was pretty funny all weekend.

We slept in on Friday a bit, then drove back home after noon. Took the "back way" home through Spencer, a nice drive. Got home in time to go to the women's basketball game in the evening. We lost to NC State (ranked 10), which was harsh, but probably expected.

Laid around very lazily yesterday, watched our football team (finally) win the Old Oaken Bucket. It's about time. Went to the gym, had a good workout.

Haven't had a Coke since November 6.

Feeling stressed--too many commitments, doing too many things I'd rather not do at the expense of things I'd rather do. Must sort it out.

Had dinner at Gratzi with Sigrid this weekend. I like that girl.

Might get to teach at Ivy Tech, we'll see.

Lots of PT on my wrist. Having a hard time sleeping in the hard brace.