every disaster is an opportunity

let all the housewives and their facile homemaking magazines rejoice! i have managed to turn a sloppy stew of leftovers into an orgasmic feast! last week's "spicy bolivian cabbage and potatoes" are tonight's cheesy potato tacos. note the masterful integration of local, organic radishes and cabbage from our CSA.

i am more serious than your mom and the pope

who let these animals into my kingdom?

it's been two weeks and i still can't get over this harmless interaction. from now on i'm waiting at a different shuttle stop where something about the lighting prevents such cretins* (a.k.a. friendly grad students in other departments) from lurking (i.e. talking).

her: blah blah blah, so what do you do outside of school?
me: [blank stare, forced laughter]

would-have-been-acceptable answers:

1. i go to shows, actually i am in a band; yeah we play high school band instruments and stuff
   
2. i "party" with my friends
3. i fancy myself some sort of hobbyist (in my kitchen, in outdoor adventures)
4. i write pithy social criticism for an obscure publication
5. i fight for all the good "-isms" and against all the bad "-isms"
6. i own my own business, solving your middle class hangups from my trusty dodge caravan
   

cold-hard-truth answers:

1. i drink alone and eat overpriced frozen organic food
2. i read embarrassing classic novels and financial self-help books
3. i do everything you do on the internet, except more frequently
4. i grocery shop for "fun"
5. sometimes little birds stop flying and look me in the eye
6. i sit in cafes and pay diligent attention to other people's** conversations: an architect and an interior designer discussing the textbook they are co-authoring, old ladies praising some style of brassiere in front of "uncle joe", one art history grad student mentoring another who is writing her dissertation prospectus (dialogue below)
   

mentor: oh. are you post-feminist?
mentee, (definitively and immediately): yes.
mentor: i understand. it's a generational thing.
me (in my head): is it?!
mentee: i just don't want to write about gender and that kind of stuff.
me (in my head): so this is what feminism has been reduced to!

*apparently south alabama defines a cretin as "one whose physical and mental development has been retarded or arrested due to thyroid deficiency"
**i neglected to mention the streetside table where a gay couple sat down across from...you guessed it - a woman studying to be a sex therapist. and yes, she did switch chairs to be closer to them.

fill in the blank

this place is a mistake! we were meant to live on farms; we were intended for the city. i used to swim through universes between the microscopic hours of five and nine. even the ghosts won't stay. here.

fixing one's sights
upon tree tops
is windowboxing

there are those who need glass to look at themselves, there are those who need the chalice to look inside themselves, and there are those of us who need _________ to look beyond ourselves

but must this sacred geometry be rational/irrational? irrational is the most imprecise word we have.