Somewhere deep inside of me is the desire to blog. I know there is. There’s also the natural ability to float on water, and let’s just say I have been sinking like a rock since 1983.
Posts under ‘Liberal Arts - Holla’
Why I love Michelle Obama
“Spring Awakening” put me to sleep
*Spoiler Alert: This post is about the Broadway musical “Spring Awakening,” which I don’t think you should see. If you plan on seeing it anyway, you might not want to read on.
To my unborn male child:
My friend April wrote this. It’s right on, and she’s an awesome gal.
The Clingy Creepy Drunk Friend thing
I’m disappointed in someone who is not me, for a change. It’s kind of refreshing.
Women’s studies
We are discussing another co-worker fond of saying “That’s not my job!” Despite the clarification, we really aren’t sure what she does all day.
Exhibition
These last few days haven’t been very eventful. I’ve felt blah the entire week, but managed to finish up my Pilates class card and schlep my printed and framed photograph to the art gallery. Life Coach was nice enough to drive me to Westchester to do the latter. Somehow the Google Maps directions I printed were wrong, thus ensued a misguided adventure Kerouac would have approved.
The Business of Being Born
This afternoon, Cade and I went to a screening of The Business of Being Born, a Ricki Lake-produced, pro-midwifery documentary about the birthing industry. Women’s health is right up my alley (PUN!), so I wanted to see it as soon as I read praise from The New York Times, which hates just about everything…just like me.
Small secondhand world
Six months after deciding to organize and purge the apartment of things I don’t use, I sold a few items on ebay yesterday. The whole process amazes me. People from anywhere can browse and bid on other people’s stuff from anywhere. Once you win an auction, the stuff is mailed to you, and you never meet the original owner of whatever you bought. At the most, you get a return address, so I guess you know more about your item than you would if you got it from a thrift or resale shop. Nonetheless, there’s a lot of trust involved. How can anyone be sure my best friend didn’t die in those Paper Denim & Cloth jeans and decide to haunt them from deep within the stylish dark wash? Or that I didn’t kill my upstairs neighbor by stomping him to death in the wedge shoes, which easily wipe clean?
I was Imus-ed
The Don Imus brouhaha reminded me of something that happened years ago, but still incenses me. I don’t think of it often, but when I do, I honestly still feel disgust toward some people I know I’ll never see again. I meant to write about it in a more timely fashion, but then the Virginia Tech shootings occurred. Everything else going on in the world paled in significance. I was upset for days and struggled to find the lesson in the story. Teachers at my school were debating whether or not we should discuss it. If yes, then how? Should we teach our students about compassion for outsiders? Should we preach non-violence and gun control?
