Warning: This post has misplaced its thesis statement.

Jonathan and I really want to buy some real estate. Like a house. But, oh hell, I'll settle for a condo. I mean really want to. For years now, I've been obsessed with the idea of owning a home. In tandem, I have been equally obsessed with the fact that a home in Santa Clara County (why oh why did I choose to live here?!) simply cannot be bought without first entering into an explicit agreement to sacrifice all that is good in the world to the almighty Plutus himself.

Gimme your money, suckers!

I think I hate being a working class American. I honestly believe that the only truly happy Americans in existence are those elite residents of Affluenceland who pay out to the feds at a rate of 35% per year. How can anyone else be happy, really? I mean, so much of happiness is realized through the "haves" and "have-nots" of the world and such an overwhelmingly massive majority of "haves" are only available in exchange for money. 


Do you follow?


(And to digress, it actually confuses me - the whole money/materialism thing. I mean, take the word covet, for example. To covet is to "yearn to possess." And it's bad, according to God (according to the Bible). Right? But what exactly is the difference between yearning for something and needing it? If I go without the things I need (say, food or drink), I begin to yearn for them. And okay, so let's say that the things you need, in order to survive, are the things that are exempt from covetousness. Then how can I be coveting that badass Hobo bag when I NEED IT TO SURVIVE? What am I supposed to carry all of my stuff in? A plastic bag?)

Oh baby you, you got what I neeeeed.

So anyway, disparity. And not to get all conspiracy theory on ya, but Fascism, too. I want to buy a home, dammit, and I can't because of Meg f'ing Whitman (metaphorically, of course). And maybe I could move to Vermont, or Montana, but I hate the cold aaaaand that would solve nothing. The Great Divergence would still exist, and it would only be a matter of time before it crept into whatever little crevice I had found to hide myself from it. The Rockefellers, the Vanderbilts, the Carnegies...that's old news. Today, the richest 1% account for a whopping 24% of our nation's wealth. And I'll bet they're all pretty stinkin' happy. 

Where I'm From

I am a high school English teacher and Resource Specialist; currently, I teach literature classes to students with Specific Learning Disabilities.

At the moment, my freshman literature classes are learning all about sensory details. We're practicing (diligently) the art of extracting meaning (inference) from the pictures an author paints with their words (observation).  In  typical Humboldt County (dreadlock-loving-incense-burning-censorship-protesting) fashion, I asked my students to explore the art of sensory detail from the author's perspective by writing a poem about themselves (poem?! damn those hippies). The assignment called for the use of sensory detail (adjectives, lovelies, adjectives!) as the catalyst for their written presentation of themselves. They were to describe "themselves" by painting a picture of where (in the most general sense) they are from. This is a potentially daunting task for kiddos who have a really hard time "getting" anything that isn't explicitly taught to them.

But we embarked on the good old daunt, because we're awesome.

I wrote a poem as an example. Here's the "teacher model":
 

I am from cool suburbia with low flying planes,

From high, arched ceilings and jam-packed lanes.

From sprinklers at dawn for a thirsty lawn.

I am from tight, narrow circles,

dancing around an empty living room

to long lost diva tracks (all of love and gloom).

I am from burning, itching, sun block filled eyes

and summer songs as we say our goodbyes.

I’m from “ah, it’s a girl!”

and “let’s give it a whirl.”

From climbing grove-grown orange trees,

 and riding bikes with our busted up knees.

             

I’m from mushroom pizza, salty fries,

and huge slices of summer-sweet fruits.

I'm from commuter cars and thrift shop buys,

beach barbeques and vintage cowboy boots.

           

From the flyaway nights of forgotten dreams,

Confined out of one window and into another.

To the sweet, mellow morning time bliss

of the doting, hopeful, hovering mother.

Under my bed was the monster that never spoke,

boxes of photos, and an empty bottle of diet coke.

I am from those moments—

From songs in my head about a glorious leap.

To singing softly to my sweet child as she drifts off to sleep
 
My students were all given prompts (e.g.: "describe the house you lived in while you were growing up") to assist them along their way, but it was their job to be as descriptive as possible.

Difficulty level: moderate. Output: excellent.

Here are some of the incredible bits of genius that emerged:

" I am from a time when my mom was still alive and the trees would change colors while we watched."  (sob)
 

"Under my bed was  a big monster that ate my shoes."

 (hee hee)

"I am from nice clean bathrooms, and delicious Mexican food."

(niiiiiice)

Overall, a huge success and lots of fun.

(I <3 hippies)

Fun with Photo Booth

Oh, so that's what this button does.

Hey, so...can I be on your album cover then?

Channeling Kristen Stewart.

Glow-baby.

A crowd favorite.

Ah sepia, my darkroom lover.

Now I'll never get any work done.

Delays in cognition...

Every once in awhile it occurs to me that I have just stumbled upon some awesomeness that I could have stumbled upon weeks (months/years/...decades?) in advance had I only cracked my little lids a mere fraction of a centimeter more than closed.

(Oh shit...is this a sign of impending dementia?)

Happy Halloween - Mooooo Baby!

This past weekend flew by. Little baby V was dressed up and down in her finest-of-fine cow costume. Mommy nixed the fancy vampire costume at the last possible minute and decided instead to go trick-or-treating as "mom who fails to dress up for Halloween." It wasn't about me, though, so it was all good.

"Yes, thank you, I'll take that."

We went to downtown Campbell and took advantage of the lovely weather, the generous shopkeepers, and V's sweet new (hot pink) ride. And just kidding, we didn't really "take advantage of" the shopkeepers. They gave it up willingly. :-)

Ditched the ride, hoofin' it instead.

 V loves to hold things in her hot little hands, so she had no problem gathering piece after piece of sweet, Halloweeny deliciousness for mommy (thanks V!). She's a few years off from actually eating any of it herself, but mommy isn't!

Life is sweet. <3

Daddy did some world-class chaperoning while mommy snapped an "overexcited mother"-load of photos. (Yes, she's just that incrediblyadorablyamazinglyperfect).

Hi-five, activated!

We finished off the night with some mouth-watering fish tacos a la Orale (mmmmm). (Side note: I could go for some fish tacos RIGHT NOW.)

Win!

And that was that. See ya next year, Halloween!

All in Your Trembling Hand.

Today I stumbled upon the following, which is an excerpt from someone's blog:

"As soon as I saw the “ELIMINATES RIGHT…” wording, I did a double take to make sure I was voting the way I wanted.  Nobody wants to eliminate any RIGHTS, which are God-given.  I know that God did not grant rights for a man to lay with a man.  In fact, such chosen behavior was punishable by death in biblical times:

Leviticus 20:13 (ASV)
¹³ And if a man lie with mankind, as with womankind, both of them have committed abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them.

Today, we love them as children of God and try to guide them in becoming Christians and forsake such behavior in the future."

This person titled their post "God Wins in California on November 4th, 2008."

Ohhhh, so THIS is what Jesus was talking about...

 In my usual manner, I slapped out a response. Please enjoy the music:

"As a Christian woman, I am deeply saddened by the unabashed fear-mongering and blurring of truths that I read in this entry. The will of the people holds no ground in an argument over whether or not citizens of our country should be allowed or denied certain civil rights. We don’t get to simply “vote” on whether or not we have to treat our neighbors with dignity and respect, even if it means that they get to do something that we don’t understand or approve of. We hold no authority to judge them. The argument of gay marriage is an argument “willed” by judgment and the misuse of power in the face of misguided fears. And so I fear that you are sorely mistaken; God did not win in California on November 4th, 2008, Fear did."


And it all boils down to one simple truth:

Love is but a song we sing
And fear’s the way we die.
You can make the mountains ring
Or make the angels cry.
Though the bird is on the wing
And you may not know why.
C’mon people now
Smile on your brother
Everybody get together
Try to love one another right now
Some will come and some will go
And we shall surely pass.
When the one that left us here
Returns for us at last.
We are but a moment’s sunlight
Fading in the grass.
C’mon people now
Smile on your brother
Everybody get together
Try to love one another right now
If you hear the song I sing
You will understand (listen)
You hold the key to love and fear
All in your trembling hand.
Just one key unlocks them both
It’s there at your command
C’mon people now
Smile on your brother
Everybody get together
Try to love one another right now

Thanks for that, Youngbloods.

The Youngbloods (nice hair, guys)

 

                                                                
 

All the blog's a stage.

Seriously, I checked.

Another...

At this very moment I'm chatting with a guy from India named Jhanuari who is insistently telling me all about the ever incredible Ecobill - even though I keep telling him (command X, Command V) that I'm really not interested in hearing about it. We're waiting patiently ("Cat, thank you for waiting patiently," he says) for my account information to populate his screen. I can hear his accent through chat, and it's driving me crazy. Not because I have something against accents, or against India, or against outsourcing in general (okay, that last part is actually a huge effing lie - outsourcing is so amazingly useless and unbearably inefficient for the consumer...but I digress), but because I'm seething (seeeeeething) though the unbelievable pile of injustice that is Comcast's $25 over-billing of my account. Seeeeeeething.

I'm cyber yelling. At Jhanuari. I'm blasting him with caps. I should be cuffed and muzzled. It's just that I can't seem to overcome the small bits of life that my brain screams and gasps and screams are injustices.  Objectively, as well as after-the-fact, I hate when I get all bent out of shape like this. In the calm after the storm, I usually feel kind of embarrassed (or highly mortified, in the case of IRL instances of fighting tooth and nail with someone over whether or not I should be refunded my 50 cents for the extra slice of tomato that I swear I never got). I just (sniff), I just don't know how to "let it go."

In response to my hyper-sensitivity, one of my friends once told me this: "We must fight injustice where it stands." I think he might have been mocking me. Though of his statement - I tend to agree.

But what exactly is injustice?  Because surely it isn't missing a green light because that stupid old man in the Buick couldn't seem to find the gas pedal. And I really don't think it's a 19 year old barista's failure to fill my coffee cup to the brim while shamelessly charging me...wait for it...full price (gasp!). Certainly we mustn't have a massive cow every time the pendulum swings in a different direction and we get mildly fucked over. Small infractions are just that - small. And the blood on my hands (yeah, I've cut a few people off) makes me just as guilty as anyone else.

I told my friend this much. His response? "This is true." Ah, truth!

So the verdict? Comcast is about to take me for 25 hard-earned buckeroos. That's annoying, right? Right. Unfair? Absolutely. But is it a massive blow of injustice? Ugh. It's not. But it's not as though someone has just raped my mother. I haven't been robbed at gunpoint. No one has invaded my country and set my house on fire. Small beans, Comcast, small beans. 

Thanks, blog. I feel better now.

Top 5 ultra-secret government conspiracies and/or cover-ups involving babies.*

I’ve got a baby. She’s cute. Now for the countdown…

1.     Government agents seize Oath Keeper's newborn from hospital (baby returned)… http://www.abovetopsecret.com/forum/thread617765/pg1

2.     Stem cell veto uncovers a controversial top secret government “Snowflake Baby Program”… http://unconfirmedsources.com/?itemid=1818&skinid=14

3.     More than 1500 six-month old black and Hispanic babies in Los Angeles are given an "experimental" measles vaccine that had never been licensed for use in the United States (this is bona fide ghastly)…

http://www.rense.com/general36/history.htm

4.     A babysitter accidentally interrupted a top-secret government recon mission, and now his memory must be erased…http://conspiracy.ifoday.com/?p=19769

5.     Rep. Gohmert is still peddling his “Terrorist Baby Conspiracy”… http://politifi.com/news/Rep-Gohmert-Still-Peddling-His-Terrorist-Baby-Conspiracy-1026233.html

*I cannot, nor do I wish to, verify the authenticity of the conspiracies referenced herein. ;-)

I made a blog!

I have no idea how this thing works, but I've been inspired to recreate myself in a way that is reflective of the woman that I really am. Blog - that seems appropriate. Plus, and in addition to, I love to write. And from some strange reason I can never "find the time" (yeah, thanks for that, facebook). 

I have no focus for this blog.

But I'm going to write it anyway.