the voices dying with a dying fall

        Song of the hour: Gates to the Garden, Nick Cave

Having one of those "Best of Days, Worst of Days"… days.

(I have to tell someone– outside the cuppajoe window right now is a slightly portly 70 something chinese man complete with that fumanchu faciel hair concoction, wearing a Madison University t-shirt and a too small purple fedora made out of fake fur. You can’t write that stuff.)

So, the bad news is, getting the household cars up to date past the emissions fines, taxes, fees, etc., is adding up to over a thousand dollars– and that’s without the repairs needed for my car to pass inspection for this year. This is really, really shitty. But in return for ridiculous amounts of money, Brian’s got his license again, so he won’t be going to jail. Luckily, he got a promotion at work, so hopefully this will work out well.

The good news, ignoring how much money was spent today, is that I finally quit my job. You may remember how I am when it comes to jobs– I can’t quit if I’m going to leave someone in a staffing lurch. Thus 5 years of my life was lost to Waffle House.
But not this time. My beloved boss Charlotte quit, and got another job, which left me free to walk out– which I just did. It’s not that it was a bad job; aside from hurting feet after 9 hour shifts, and angry people yelling at me b/c Uhaul has shitty local equipment and any given truck would break down every 15 rentals or so. Othertimes it was kind of fun to meet people in strange circumstances of moving and I’m secretly kinda good at customer service. I get some kind of perverse pleasure out of being so ridiculous and mock-aggravated that people have to laugh at me no matter how stressed they are. I’m going to miss yelling at gangsta-types for parking in handicapped spaces and playing their bass so loud my teeth rattle through a manner so inane they repark and turn down their stereos while smiling. I don’t know, I’m a little sad about it.
On the other hand, I have this kid I hardly ever get to see, and it’s gonna be great being home more on weekends.  Not to mention not freaking out b/c I’m scheduled for 24 hours on a weekend, with 3 tests the next  day (as I have been this week). Anyway, free from Uhaul. I have several shirts if anyone wants one for the novelty (Bonnie, I’m washing one in downy just for you). It is conceivable that I could also create some kind of social life, but I’m not holding my breath. Baby bit has grown like 3 inches while my head was turned, and that’s sad.

I aslo wanted to share with you the details of how my personality class is going. Let me start by explaining, that not ONCE have we addressed any actual "material" in our book. He assumes we’re reading it, and that we can learn personality psychology on our own. Class is for more important things.
Last night, we started class by watching about ten minutes of a Chi Kung instructional video, which involves exercise and meditation  that revolves around various positioning of the anus chakra.  He demonstrated somewhat along with the video, since he and his wife have been doing it for about three years (did I mention she could see auras?).
Throughout class, we passed around these metal tuning forks that we were supposed to strike against our hands, and then place against the appropriate chakra, to feel and hear its resonance. He brought the one for the heart, anus, and head. (are you picturing a class full of 45 UNC students? you have to. it’s not the same if you don’t. )
We also listened to some music (CD), of the Omaha Tribe tradition, played on an eagle bone flute that was supposed to resonate with the nirvanic chakra.
To be fair, in retrospect I think we were focusing on alternative medicine. But we do that every class– Tuesday he brought in a 2000 year old Tibeten ringing bowl or something, which was fascinating,  but he talked for 75 minutes about he and his wife’s routines of meditation and the different ways to breathe, the effect on his hypertension, medical history, etc.; as well as relating to us a new study about why women are better mutli-taskers than men (the corpus collasum that connects the two hemispeheres of the brain is much more intricate in women then men). It’s ALWAYS like this.
Anyway, I digressed. Last night, after telling us in great detail about a cancer patient of his, a shaman named Silver Wolf, and how he taught his team (3 psychologists and 3 psychiatrists) how to play a double sided drum in healing rhythms so they could aid him with his own cancer; and after going into great detail about the vision-quest of sorts Silver Wolf led them on with his drum, in which they found their power animals (dr. lucas’s is an eagle), Dr. Lucas took the last 7 minutes of class to play for us.
We closed our eyes, he turned out the lights,  and he walked around the room banging his old, authentic double-sided Omaha drum and encouraged us, should we encounter a cave, to go in and see our power animals (perhaps I was too relaxed by the pleasant resonance of the heart-chakra tuning fork I had just set aside to pursue this cave, I didn’t see one).
this was my class last night.
I’m not humbugging any of this stuff. There’s enough biological research and support of the effect these things have on the body. Crystals turning tumors to scar tissue, the effects of meditation and group therapy extending termianl cancer patients lives for years, the control hard-core meditating buddhists have over their bodies and involuntary muscles– this shit works. But it’s so surreal and bizarre to sit through demonstrations twice a week of the most far-fetched and bizarre cultural ideasabout healing and the soul. Even my most nihilistic aspects can’t deny that this stuff can work– whether placebo style power-of-the-brain, or some mystical force, is up for debate.

Just wanted to give you an idea of what was up with the poet-psychology proffessor.  repeating the classroom antics makes it less surreal somehow. I’m really into this drum thing– very relaxing.

If you’re curious about the science of it, check this out. General Meditation : Dalia Lama fMRI
It’s pretty convincing.

that pretty much covers the last 24 hours. I’ll try to lighten up on the blogging; I just had to share my joy and bitterness.

(and thanks sara for the parental hypothetical breakdown– I feel much better.)

love.

Song of the Hour: My Little Corner of the World, Yo La Tengo
                                & the Magnolia Soundtrack

Where to start?
1. Brian’s driver’s license is somewhat on the "suspended" side of things, for reasons that aren’t entirely clear. We were aware of that when he got behind the wheel for the commute back from Ch-ill, as we were aware that my tags are expired, and will remain so until I pay off a $300 fine for letting my safety inspection expire. However, since we had both gotten tickets in the last week, it seemed statistically improbable that we would get pulled over and ticketted yet again. At least, that’s what was going on in the back of our minds. Stupid, granted, but there you go.
As you may have concluded from the subtle hints embedded above, we got pulled over. I don’t know if highway patrolmen have magical high-tech eavesdropping devices in their cars, but I think they must. I was making all sorts of inane reccomendations to Brian, trying to keep his spirits up while we waited forever for the cop to come back. You know, of the "Let’s make pig-calling noises" and "maybe if we tell him the ‘hot doughnuts now’ light just turned on at krispy kreme, he’ll rush off and let us go" variety. You know, stupid stuff. He HAD to have heard me. Not only did Brian get a ticket for driving with expired tags, without a license; I got a ticket for letting him drive. Have you ever in your life heard of such a thing? Fucking nuts. Anyway, I have no idea how much it is, but next time, I’m keeping my damn mouth shut.

2. Last week, I saw a roadkill under a bridge on capital blvd. Now, I don’t know what other people do when it comes to roadkill, but I try very hard not to look, and end up looking anyway. Sometimes, it’s curiosity as to what exact animal it was; othertimes it’ s a perverse masochistic gesture I suppose to punish myself for being a part of a species that drives in cars so fast they run over animals. Who knows. Anyway, when I got close enough to make it out, it turned out to be a goose. I thought that was strange. I’v never seen a roadkill goose before. In my mind all the way to work, I concocted various ridiculous scenarios, some of a rather mystical variety, to explain how a goose got ran over by a car under a bridge on capital blvd. Some were quite creative if I do say so myself.

Yesterday, driving under the bridge again, there was a second roadkill goose about 6 feet away from the first one.

You tell me, friends, you tell me.

3. Sunday night was a complete void on network tv. I watched several minutes of "The path to 9/11" on some channel, while Joss played with toys around the room. I’m not going to talk about the movie, because in Freudian terms, I’ve repressed it. Too traumatic a media move. There was a scene, though, of Muslims praying. Joss asked me what they were doing, and of course I explained about other faiths and their practices. Then of course, the 10 seconds Joss is actually paying attention, guns start firing. We went into conversation mode about a lot of things– terrorism, the Israeli war, etc., and he asked me whose side I was on. I told him we shouldn’t choose a side, b/c to choose a side would be like saying we think it’s ok to do what they’re doing; and that they’re killing each other, so it’s not ok. Idiot that I am, I went back to an Abraham/Isaac/Ishmael parable story to explain fighting over land. Joss of course, being the invincible little critter that he is, said he’d go join the Israeli army and get them not to fight. Yeah, I’m not sure he was entirely understanding the simplified scenario.

Anyway, somehow, something the Arabs were doing reminded Joss of the pledge of allegiance. He asked me if I knew it, then put his hand over his heart and said it. I was kind of on the "shocked" side of things. I asked him if he said it in school everyday, and he said "we have to". Something must have shown in my face, though I tried to be nonchalant about it, but he asked me what was wrong.
"I don’t think you should have to say it. I don’t think anyone should have to."
Know what he asked me? And this killed me:
"Mommy, what does it mean?"

I explained it, bit by bit. It wasn’t clicking for him, so I simplified, "You’re swearing, making a promise, to serve our country "under god". I don’t think anyone should have to say it, b/c part of "liberty" means freedom not serve; and there are a lot of families out there that don’t believe in god, as is their right, and they shouldn’t have to make promises about him. I think it’s wrong to force people to do that. It’s kind of like a lie."

That was simple enough for the monkey-bit to understand. But I had an immediate freak-out after he thought about it a minute, and said "I don’t want to say it then. I’m not gonna say it anymore."

In a flash I saw myself outside his school on the evening news holding some lame sign and being harrassed by crisis-greedy reporters. Then I remembered my father existed, and closed my eyes and breathed deeply.

"Sweety, it’s ok if you say it. I just think it’s wrong to force people."

"Mom, we HAVE to say it. Everybody does."

"Well, do you want to do. If you get in trouble, we’ll deal with it. "

"Ok."

We’ve only seen each other in passing the last couple days. It hasn’t come up again. Maybe my dad got a hold of him, or maybe he gets so caught up in class that he doesn’t think about it, and says it out of habit. I don’t know. I’ll ask him tomorrow. Meanwhile, keep an eye on the evening news. I so don’t want to be one of those people, one of those mothers. But maybe he’ll get something out of it.

am I out of line? should I know better? I always think of the Sara’s parents when we get into conversations like that.  I want to handle it like they would have. Is that weird?  I don’t know, I don’t know anything.  I’ll keep you posted.

gotta run,

love.

Songs of the Hour: Red by Okkervil River, assorted Modest Mouse

Before I go too ramble crazy, do something for me. Have you ever heard of a sand artist? I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. Watching this guy is like being on acid– but without the backache. Seriously, if the artistic minded would do me a favor, and let me know exactly how much talent it takes to do what he does, I’d appreciate it. I’m amazed– but then again, perhaps I’m easily impressed. You HAVE to see this guy. I don’t mean like you saw my new friend Delilah months ago, because none of you did and i was very disappointed in you. She knew, and it hurt her feelings. I forgive you, but whatever gods and karmas you believe in may not. I’m just saying. If you feel bad enough now, your last chance is here. If you don’t find that to be a novel and interesting take on Prayer, then something is wrong with you. Seriously wrong. And check out the sand artist– let me know if you’re as fascinated as I am.

Hmmm, news… not much, actually. I saw Tom again, and he’s having his heart looked at it see if it can take anesthesia, so he can undergo electroshock therapy for his depression. Yes, they still do that, although it’s extremely rare and only in the most extreme of cases. Not as much current as they used to use, and only on one hemisphere of the brain, but still– it’s got to be awful if his therapist is resorting to that. All I can do is hug him repeatedly and tell him I love him, which is what I do, but it just leaves me feeling helpless.

I’m also forsure applying for the summer abroad Shakespeare class with my financee Dr. Armitage (we’ve reconciled after that "final exam" debacle; I’m very forgiving, you know). I have to get reccomendations and stuff, so I’m trying to overcome my paper-work loathing. And there’s also this "essay" issue of which I am wary. What do these people want to hear? You know. Don’t hold back– advise me.

[Sara my love, I've been thinking about what you said about the MFA. You're probably right, and it might be a waste of time. I just feel I have so much to learn about writing, and I don't know where to learn it from.  And I'd like to thank you for conveniently planning your wedding for my Fall break.  Unlike SOME people....]

Anyway. Did I mention I had to take basic math this semester? Does anyone actually remember how to do square roots by hand? Quadratic equations? Slopes? (shut up, marco). I for one do not, and I’m remembering the dreams I had while sleeping through trigonometry, as well as the notes passed to and from Ian Palmquist, but oddly enough absolutely nothing about math. Alas, I’m an idiot. (secretly, I enjoy this algebra business. But I’ve forgotten the most basic things– like flipping fractions, and I find it very frustrating.)
My other classes are great, I’m learning interesting things I’m sure I’ll repeat to you endlessly about the life of Keats and Freudian looks at hitchcock, but it’s a lot of work and reading. In regards to my last post, I spoke too soon. I went to my Statistics recitation and was prompted not once, but twice, into rambling about myself in that juvenille "let’s get to know each other" fashion. God, we had to make up alliterative details about ourselves so we could remember each others names and stuff. Nothing interesting starts with J, except Junkie, jealousy, jackass, and juxtaposition. Don’t ask, just go from there.
You know, in the tradition of "if you can’t beat em, join em" , I’m starting to use itunes. I’ve installed it twice on my computer for classes, and then promptly uninstalled it when the class was over– mainly b/c the way it insinuates itself into every corner of the harddrive makes me ill. but I’ve had to do it again for my Philos of Film class, and damn it I’m just going to leave it. I’m using it. I give up. I can’t work the damn mac-oriented icons, but I can learn. I’m tired of fighting it.

Last and least, I’m having optimistic thoughts about my Nihilism issue. It hasn’t solidified into something explainable yet, but there’s more to life than logic and meaning. Or maybe there isn’t, I don’t know. But regardless of the source of the things that drive us, chemicals though they are, there’s a power in it that moves whole civilizations. And that’s worth investigating.

gotta run,
love.