Pictures & primaries

Here are a few pictures off my cell phone, spanning one month and at least two worlds:

12/22: Me in my parents' well-lit guest bedroom:

12/24: The view down my parents' street, and my brother and brother-in-law in their incredibly steep driveway:


1/04: Vending machines at the Cabazon outlets, featuring, among other products, batteries, Velcro, and deodorant:



1/14: Fascinating clouds:

1/17: Breakfast at a Palm Springs cafe after picking April up from the airport. The bird below is missing one foot:




1/18 Amusing titles at the Stater Bros.:


1/22 The Palm Springs airport at 2:21 a.m., with people wrapped in blankets apparently borrowed from another airline:

1/25: Icicles on my car, when my bumper was intact, and then me in the car:


1/27 View of downtown on my way to see a friend's band play at the Triple Rock:

1/29 Yet another shot of my mangled car; this long view shows how I was moved in the parking space:

Unrelatedly, this morning I listened to an NPR rebroadcast of last night's Republican debate, and this evening streamed live video of tonight's Democratic debate. The former made my skin crawl (thankfully I was distracted by washing dishes and other activities, but still: border fences! no more money for "entitlement" programs! 100 years in Iraq!), but the latter was relatively painless and, surprisingly, even almost conflict free. And call me shallow, but probably the main thing that struck me about tonight's debate was how likable and attractive I found both Barack and Hillary. Granted, I was in and out for that one, too, and all the clapping did wear a bit, but overall, I was left feeling positive and hopeful about the directions our country will be able to take now that the years of the Bush Abomination are finally ending.

Barack will be coming to Minneapolis this Saturday, for a rally that sold out the Target Center almost instantly. A friend invited me, but we're not sure yet whether I'll have a ticket or not. I'm really hoping to be able to go, of course, both to help me decide for whom I'll caucus next Tuesday, and because it feels like such a historic moment.

Smashed

People, do I seem unlucky to you? Misadventure-prone?

I am having a hard time looking at this objectively. How common is it to file two police reports (and, as long as we're at it, ride with an officer to the ER) within six months?

This morning when I headed out to my car, which I had parked, as usual, in front of my house when I got home Sunday night--despite being sideswiped there last winter (residents' cars parked in the two spots behind the building have been broken into twice in the past couple of years, however, so I still favor the street)--I noticed that the car in front of me seemed to have squeezed into quite a tight space, leaving little room between us. The next thing I noticed, as I got closer, were pieces of plastic on the ground behind my car. Then I realized that the pieces were my car.

A gaping chunk had been torn from my back bumper, and the Bruise appeared to have been jolted violently forward to where it now rested, skewed, mere inches from the car in front of it. Worse, closer inspection revealed that my bumper had in fact been driven into that of the Honda in front of me, cracking both of our bumpers (that of the latter clearly the nicer of the two) and mangling my license plate. Further evidence of the violence of the collision was visible inside the car: coins from my change holder were everywhere, and my phone charger had flown onto the floor. Perhaps weirdly, it was those little things that made me saddest--and the most relieved not to have been in the car during the impact.

The most likely scenario is that sometime during the night, between the time my neighbors got in last evening and I headed out to my car this morning, the person parked on the street behind me, almost certainly blind drunk, rammed into me on his exit from the curb. From the extent of the damage, he appears to have taken a running start, although I'm still baffled as to how anyone could gain any substantial speed in a spot that small. Based on another report filed by a neighbor who witnessed the event at about 7:30 this morning, the driver then appears to have headed south and smashed into another car as he careened around the corner onto 27th.

It's frustrating, to say the least, to yet again be the victim of crime for which I have no recourse--especially as I'm still recovering from the last one (my replacement bike helmet is in the mail, and just last week I purchased a pair of replacement PowerGrips). And yet, there really are things for which to be thankful. For one, the Bruise was never a great beauty, so the aesthetic damage isn't as egregious as it might have been. For another, I can still open my trunk and all my doors. No head- or taillights were broken, and the damage was on the opposite side of my new(ish) muffler. The bumpers appear to be the only damage.

According to the officer, the witness to the corner incident said the perpetrator was in a black Ford. Naturally I'm hoping I'll see it around and be able to exact retribution--not just for my and my neighbor's mangled bumpers, but so that justice for the (really, unforgivable) crime of driving intoxicated can be served--but I realize it's about as likely as recovering my beloved Trek (for which I still can't help but look, everywhere I go). Days like this make one want to believe in karma.

Or at least... (somebody stop me!)... car-ma.

Precip... precipita... rain

We had rain today: RAIN! It hit 43 degrees, although tomorrow the predicted high is 10 above, and the predicted low 10 below.

I wore my scarf on the ride to school, but didn't even wrap it around my face. I also got thoroughly spattered in oily, black, winter-thaw mud. That was slightly disturbing, but as I told a classmate, I'd gladly deal with the spattering if we could have temps like today's all winter.

A true Minnesotan I, clearly, am not.

Nothing

I'm having a terrible time with motivation recently--motivation to accomplish the things that should have high priority in my life right now, anyway, things like succeeding in my three seminars this semester, finishing up my correspondence French class, figuring out my dissertation topic, and generally taking steps toward the timely and successful completion of my degree. I'm not even doing so well at secondarily-pressing tasks like unpacking from my trip, cleaning my apartment, or sorting mail and paying bills.

Instead, I've been doing things--when I'm not just sleeping too much or staring at the walls--like reading fiction* and spending time on the Internet (researching presidential candidates, trying to figure out how soon and how cheaply I can get back to the Sunlit Lands, looking at employment opportunities overseas, reading blogs, posting to blogs, etc.). I still haven't worked out whether these latter activities are better or worse than doing "nothing." There's a sense of having accomplished something in publishing a post to my blog or in completing a book, but no amount of Internet "research" feels especially productive, and simply intensifies my sense of having passed time without accomplishing anything.

Clearly I should stop even working on this post and try to do some reading for my Wednesday seminar; after all, reading--almost anything--is infinitely easier than having to write anything (academic, anyway), and by the time in the semester at which I'm expected to do the latter, I'll be wishing for the simplicity and accomplish-ability of merely reading.

Before I do so, however, I thought I'd pass along the results of my presidential candidate research. Apparently I am a Flaming Liberal because I believe that if government is good for anything, it's for keeping its citizens healthy, educated, and at peace, and because I don't believe in killing people, whether in wars, by execution on death row, or at the hands of a crazy able to wield a gun through faulty legislation and loopholes. The only real Flaming Liberal candidate was Dennis Kucinich, whom I love (vegan pacifist!) but whom I knew, sadly, had very little chance of ever earning the nomination. Especially since his withdrawal this week, I've been thinking about who I can endorse in his place.

The first online survey I completed returned Kucinich with a score of 53, followed by Gravel in the 40s (I have to admit I hadn't heard of him), and all three Democratic front-runners tied at 28. The second, which I recommend, still had Kucinich way ahead, but revealed differences between the three top Democrats. This time, Edwards came out one point ahead of Hillary, who was two points ahead of Obama. The great thing about this particular comparison engine was being able to easily link to each of the candidate's stances on particular issues.

I feel pretty good about all three of the front-runner Democrats: it's about time we got out of Iraq, started moving toward universal health care, and fixed our educational system. I'm also pretty excited about the possibility of a president (or even VP) who's not an old white guy. So it turns out I'm not quite ready to commit here to a single candidate; those of you with stronger opinions and/or data have 10 days to convince me.

*Have you read my reviews up over at the book blog?

Wild Hair

Last Sunday night, my sister and I, having stayed up with the rest of the family-- including my cousin Andrew, who recently entered the Navy, is currently stationed(?) in San Diego, and had come out to the desert on his weekend off--watching Napoleon Dynamite, eating addictive sweet potato burritos, and helping my mom sew tops and pants-extensions for April's scrubs, were in bed with the lights off when it occurred to her that we should drive to Las Vegas.

I was less convinced than she was, but somehow, nonetheless, ended up in the passenger seat of my mom's car, at 12:24 a.m., as April steered us through the desert under a full moon. After staying awake until Barstow, where we made a pit stop at which we were enthusiastically greeted by a voluble, chemically-enhanced crazy on his way back from Vegas with a friend, I reclined the seat and slept. The next thing I knew, I could see the lights of the city from the freeway, and April was wondering which exit to take.

Vegas is a weird place no matter how you look at it, but it's especially striking, I think, when you arrive by car. For miles, you're traveling through desolate desert, and then, suddenly, from the middle of nowhere, arises a blinding oasis of glaring lights and architecture that belongs to no particular era or location, yet appropriates from all in a bizarre and unanticipated amalgamation. Arriving after a scant two hours of Queen-permeated car-sleep, at the conclusion of a journey embarked upon in the middle of the night, only adds to the effect.

We cruised the strip and marveled at the weirdness (it was April's first trip) before meeting up with Bryant at his apartment near the UNLV campus. He treated us to breakfast at a buffet in the Fremont East district, which is historic Las Vegas; did you know that the strip and the major casinos aren't actually in Las Vegas proper, but rather in an unincorporated area called Paradise? I didn't.

Afterward, we took April back to the apartment so she could sleep, and then Bryant took me to coffee on his yet-unnamed, but still thoroughly charming new scooter. We had wanted to eat after that, but ended up only having time to check out the Bellagio and (briefly) the nearby Ceasar's Palace before I started to get terribly jumpy about the flight I needed to catch in Palm Springs in five and a half hours.

We had to drop our excellent chauffeur and tour-guide back at his place and then jet. Traffic was a bit snarled getting out of the city, and then there were painfully slow semis to pass deeper into the desert where the roads narrow to one lane in each way, but the sun was shining and I was powered by my first caffeine in three weeks. And although I drive slowly, if at all, in my normal life, there are few motivators like trying to make an impending flight; straight, dry roads; and a gutsy car; to make one feel like opening it up. It felt good.

As it happened, I needn't have worried about my flight--which was epically delayed--and could have spent at least part of those eight hours back in Vegas. Even so, the visit would probably have been too short... though hopefully it won't be the last.

Here are some pictures:

Listed

There are books that could be written about the things that are better about being in sunny southern California in January than in gelid Minneapolis, but no one would read them anyway. With that in mind, here are as many things as I can think of that are nice about being here, now:

1. The fire in my coffee shop.
2. My electric blanket, flannel sheets, and real mattress (which has now spoiled me, slightly, for the air mattress at my parents').
3. My Heat Machine.
4. A fair amount of smog-less, if not at all warm, sunshine.
5. Tomato rasam.
6. Minnesotans like cold weather; it appears to make them sing. Today I heard friends singing and whistling, respectively, selections from R.E.M., "You Are the Everything," and Salt 'N' Peppa, "Push It."
7. As of today, it's not really all that cold. Today hit 19, and we're supposed to be up to the 30s (!) Sunday and Monday before our next "cold snap."*
8. I'm back on coffee, and, oooh, it's a wonder drug.
9. Friends offer me rides to school.
10. Once on campus, there's really very little need to ever actually be outside, thanks to the tunnels. (Is that a good thing? I'm stretching, here...)
11. A light shade of sunshine and a dusting of freckles from my recent adventure to the Sunlit Lands means that here, I glow!
12. It's been cold for so long that the mountains of snow along my curb are compacted and solid enough now to be relatively easily traversed.
13. I finally ordered a balaclava (thanks to the generosity of Ter, who wrote, "I get cold just thinking about you in Minnesota. Please order what you need to stay warm on the bike ride to school"), and am now that much closer to being a (warm) Winter Bike Ninja.
14. At my parents', tomorrow will be 1 minute, 30 seconds longer than today. Here, tomorrow will be 2 minutes, 19 seconds longer!
15. My mom got me a beautiful new coat to replace the one I'd gotten at Goodwill in high school for $6, which was awesome but had always been too big and was becoming distinctly worn. Did I mention that this one is toasty and stylish and makes me look like a grown up?
16. As long as I'm on warm clothes, I finally found The Perfect Boots, and bought them with Christmas money earmarked (boot-marked?) for the purpose. They are tall, black, leather, mostly flat but thick-soled, warm but sleek, waterproof, elegant and classic, Thinsulate-lined, and should take me from biking to teaching and concert-going to downtown-ing.
17. Did I mention that my flight delay resulted in a free round-trip flight voucher? I can get there from here!
18. And finally, even here, far from coastward friends and family, I am still loved, supported, and appreciated.

*This is a blithe phrase that seems to refer, here, to single-digit and sub-zero temperatures, the kind of epic cold that instantly really hurts any exposed skin and works a dark magic that does things like icing the inside of upper-story windows and freezing bike locks shut.

Cold, carbs, coffee

Apparently the wind chill was 15 below when I hopped on my bike this morning to ride to school. I had looked up bus schedules last night, but had ultimately decided to ride, as, among other reasons, I was afraid that if I didn't today I wouldn't all winter and would thus go soft.

It was surprisingly easy, actually. I still haven't purchased a balaclava, and the scarf I wrapped around my face stiffened as my breath condensed and froze solid, but the SmartWool glove liners my mom gave me for Christmas helped keep my fingers toasty, and my legs remembered how to propel me even after the weeks I've been away. Apparently, remembering how to ride a bike in sub-zero temperatures is... just like riding a bike.

My mom sent me back with lots of food, since she knew I'd emptied my fridge and cupboards before I left. She packed homemade granola, bran muffins, "square meal" cookies, and fresh cinnamon rolls with their own little tub of frosting. I tend to feel uninspired to eat when I'm cold and alone, but can usually manage to do so if there's food in front of me. My mom is awesome.

As of Monday, I'm back on the bean. I had a cup of brewed coffee with breakfast, an Americano a few hours later, and was buzzed for, as near as I can tell, at least the next fourteen hours. After the epically-delayed flight Tuesday I thought I'd have another cup, but already (still?) felt trembly enough that I forwent it and instead decided to pull through, decaffeinated, until I could just go to bed. I thought I'd need some this morning to make it through the 9:00 lecture and teaching two sections--and perhaps should have--but instead ended up waiting until just before my 3:30 seminar, through which I wasn't sure I'd otherwise stay awake and coherent. As I was picking it up at the counter, I realized it might be a bad idea to be drinking it so late. I am still awake now, but am nonetheless feeling hopeful about the possibility of falling asleep shortly.

Altogether, then, life is strange and more than a little surreal. Unfortunately, this is already the case even though two of my three seminars won't even meet for the first time until next Monday. Fortunately, every day the days get a bit longer; this will almost certainly be my last semester of full-time coursework; I have seen no trace of mice other than the two dead ones (in the two traps) under my sink yesterday; and my mom's cinnamon rolls should last for at least two more days.

Home?

As I flew into Minneapolis this morning at 8:40 (my flight having been delayed eight and a half hours--much of which I was thankfully able to spend at my parents' house between trips to the airport), the ground stretched out flat and white and the trees cast half-mile shadows over the snow. I recognized a familiarly-shaped chain of lakes, and near it the cluster of tall downtown buildings, and realized that out my window was the view I'd seen so often on Google Maps that even I, the most directionally-challenged person I know, could point out my own neighborhood. I saw the airfield, the Mississippi, the University, and as we swung far to the east to make our final descent, the twin downtowns of Minneapolis and Saint Paul.

Whether it's because I live closer to both the airport and major landmarks than I ever have before, because the area is impressively flat, because things stood out especially clearly against the pale snowy ground, or because of some other aligning of the stars, it was pretty exciting to recognize the city as mine--as conflicted as I felt about being back.

The Project

Since it turns out it's not a secret (unless my cousin, for whom this is an eighth-birthday present, reads my blog, which my mom does not think is the case--though she is apparently quite the e-mailer), here is The Project. It's a story my dad wrote a couple of months ago, and which this week I illustrated, put into book format, and published at Lulu.com. We haven't seen the hard copy, but here is what it looks like laid out for publication.

If you click on the thumbnails, I think you'll be able to read the story and see the illustrations, if you're so inclined.

Briefly

I just posted over at the dream blog.

That, and the news that my sister is flying in tomorrow!, are all I have for you tonight, because I have been staring at my computer for the better part of TWO DAYS working on a PROJECT,* and need to go stretch my eyeballs.

*A mostly fun one, involving things like making paintings, which neither serves any academic or financial purpose nor induces the stress generally involved with either, but which has also involved a lot of hunching over my computer, squinting at the screen, and cursing various layout programs. It may be a secret, so I won't tell more now, but I will at some point relatively soon.

Cut & color

So I gave myself a haircut. I'd trimmed it before, but I'd never actually been brave enough to cut it all. But my mom has this terrific mirror on an extending arm that makes it (reasonably) easy to see the back of one's head while one cuts, and although I'd had two quite good professional cuts in the last month and a half, neither had been quite as short in back as I would have liked. (Is the quasi-mullet actually in, or is that just how stylists interpret "feminine in the back"?)

As it turns out, I got it a bit too short, probably. Still, the process provided rather an epiphany. For one thing, my own hair is the easiest I've ever cut--curly and color-variegated, and thus very forgiving. For another, I am better acquainted with the shape of my own head and the weirdnesses of my own hair than pretty much anybody else. And finally, cutting my own hair is not only free, but allows me to make unlimited touch-ups as I notice mistakes (something other people whose hair I've cut tend to find annoying).

One thing about having it really short is that even after I put some red demi-permanent color in, the patches on the left side of my head are still visible--even in the picture above, which Mandy took. They're red instead of blond, but I'm still a tortie.

Anyway, overall I thought the self-cut was pretty successful; I didn't even cut myself this time! If you've been thinking about cutting your own hair, I think you should definitely try it at least once.

So-Cal Blogger Convention

So because Mandy and Erin are still on the road on their way back home, it looks like I get to blog about today's adventure first! They came out to the desert this morning for brunch (my mom made cinnamon rolls for me, and I had to apologize to the girls that they would never be able to look at ordinary cinnamon rolls the same way ever again), and spent the whole afternoon. We did the hill loop after we ate, as it was beautifully clear and warm--though a bit breezy. Actually, it was so windy we were nearly blown away, but, as Mandy pointed out, it totally made the adventure.

It seems strange to write that it was my first time meeting them in person, although that's actually the case. The fact, though, is that they instantly felt like old friends, and not just because we've been reading each other's blogs for so long. They are both amazingly kind, funny, and intelligent girls (and, my goodness! GORGEOUS!), and they even laughed at my nerdy jokes. We did a lot of laughing (and, for that matter, nerd-ing).

If my blog is good for anything (and I do occasionally wonder), it's for meeting people like these. Awesome.

More hiking

As my dad and I were returning from our run this morning, we saw a swirling vortex of about 20 hawks hovering above the tallest peak in the hills behind their house, the one he and my mom have dubbed "Big Sunday." It was quite the convention, and since we were already sweaty and the day was beautiful (it hit 73 today!), we decided to hike up and check it out. I called Heidi, and she was able to come with us, too.

By the time we got within sight of Big Sunday (at the base, the smaller hills hide the summit from view), the birds were gone, but the views were terrific anyway. It was such a nice day that we just kept going, and hiked the entire loop, which I hadn't done since last Christmas. It was great.

This panorama (click to see the whole thing) includes San Gorgonio, which I haven't climbed but would like to someday:

Between the run and the hike, I was outside for about three hours, and even ended up getting lightly toasted! It will be nice to have a little color to take back to Minneapolis with me, to remind me of these halcyon days (though I'm still here until the 21st and intend to take full advantage of that!).

Another Wednesday sunset

I take these pictures of the endlessly fascinating (to me, anyway!) San Jacinto while standing, usually in socks but occasionally barefoot, on the cement patio table on my parents' porch. Today, although it was a bit hazy, was the first time we'd been able to see the entire mountain in about three days, and it was glorious in the snow that had been falling while the clouds lingered around the summit.

You'd think that after four winters here, even though I head back to the Midwest between each, I would be used to the desert. But I still just can't get over it.