Etc.

At the coffee shop where I was working yesterday, I noticed that the room capacity was "69".

Last night I had a dream that I was in this shitty apartment and a slightly older woman was showing me around, and as we went from the shittily-carpeted living room into the kitchen where there was a tiled floor, there was an evil spirit in the far corner by the built-in Lazy Susan, and though when I was in the living room and could abjure it from there with sworn oaths and the sign of the cross, as soon as I crossed over the little metal strip separating the carpet from the tile into the kitchen, my mouth would stop up, and I would feel this upwelling sense of anxiety, knowing that I couldn't do anything, and all I could do was contain the spirit from afar, rather than confront it, which someone like a real priest or exorcist or someone with real power could do.

On another note, I've talked my parents into taking the Meyers-Briggs personality test, only they didn't feel like taking it online, so I had to cut-and-paste the questions into a Word document, print it out, then take it home so they could circle the answers. Then, my dad was tired and my mom didn't feel like doing it, so I had to read them a lot of questions so they would finish the test. My favorite part was when it was this yes-no question "I almost always stick by my principles," my mom was like, "Less and less," then she said that that was the fun part of getting older.

Also, after they had both finished the test, my parents started making up yes-no questions for each other as if they were on the Meyers-Briggs test, and since my mom had just cooked my dad's favorite stuffed cabbage casserole recipe that evening, she was like, "My wife cooks better stuffed cabbage than my mother," and my dad was like, "Not any more!", since my grandma on that side is getting kind of senile.

Finally got around to reading the Newsweek special election issue.

Yesterday I finally got around to reading the Newsweek special election issue. I found these to be the highlights (paraphrasing since I'm not going to go back and hunt down every single quote, though I did find the last one so you get the full story):

1) When asked by a friend if she would stab Karl Rove in the back if she passed him in a crowd -- since, after all, he seems to be the guy who spread the news in the South Caroline primary eight years ago that their Bangledeshi adopted child was from John McCain and a black prostitute --Cindy McCain was like, "No, the front".

2) In order to avoid the 5-20 lbs. that candidates put on by eating everywhere they go, Obama would always get takeout from all the small restaurants he stopped at, and no one ever saw him eating. Friends, though, said that Michelle would "wolf down a cheeseburger as soon as she'd look at it."

3) Once early in the campaign when a South Side Chicago crowd was grumbling about Obama not being black enough, Michelle just looked at them and was like, "Stop that nonsense."

4) At a campaign stop in the south somewhere McCain called out from behind some photographers this fat older woman in a black t-shirt with the outline of two martini glasses embroidered on it in silver sequins, and when she got stagefright in front of all the cameras, McCain pretended to be in love with her and was like, "What, you're leaving me so soon?"

5) There's this report of top McCain aides doing karoake:

After the town-hall debate, Salter and Schmidt reunited with a dozen or so members of the traveling press corps at a karaoke bar in Nashville. It had been months since the duo had had a night out with reporters. Salter, who had sung in a band in college, was cajoled into singing a few tunes. Before long, and after a drink or two, he was into it. Under pressure from the reporters, Schmidt joined him for a chorus of Johnny Cash's "Folsom Prison Blues." Schmidt even sang "Rocky Mountain High," to squeals from the increasingly inebriated reporters. But then he went off and sat quietly. Schmidt looked worn out, his burly body weighed by stress and the woes of the campaign, his relentless stare dimmed by exhaustion. He ignored political questions and talked quietly about his family. Salter, on the other hand, had found his groove. Standing in the middle of the bar, dressed in his ubiquitous corduroy jacket, he bellowed "More Dylan!" until he had belted out every Bob Dylan song the bar had. Reporters sang loud, drunken backup and tried to get Salter to join them in boy-band dance moves. It was the first time anyone had seen Salter look as if he was having fun in a long time.

That sounds like truly awful karaoke. The one guy sounds like a jackass for commandeering the songbook, and then the whole backup/dance moves thing is typical of every drunken, self-absorbed group that ever comes in to a karaoke bar and behaves selfishlessly. This is the most damning thing in the piece, and I wonder that reporters involved didn't kill this piece, since the aides obviously couldn't. They all sound like a bunch of karaoke retards.

Addendum to the Addendum to the Addendum.

I forgot, when my mom was saying that maybe it was a Hindu or a Jehovah's Witness or a Muslim recalling my books, she was like, "[my name], you of anybody should know that."

Also, when my dad heard my mom say "Muslim", he was like, "I bet all the books on bombs at the library are checked out."

Addendum to the addendum.

Someone just recalled a third book from me! Another $3 per day in fines for every day not returned after December 26th.

Addendum.

Though the library at school was a desert by the end of last week, some grad student recalled a book from me this past Tuesday, and another one recalled another book from me yesterday, which means that I'll be accumulating $3 per day per book if I don't get them back by Dec. 23rd and 24th, respectively, which is impossible since I'm gone from school on vacation, like most normal people, who, being normal, would also never consider recalling a book during vacation (e.g., in the past I have refrained from recalling books I've needed over spring break for this very reason, that I didn't want to stick someone who is on vacation with fines).

Anyhow, I was telling this to my mom today and complaining that people who would recall a book during Christmas break are not from this planet, and she was like, "Don't be so narrow-minded, it could be a Hindu," and when she could see I was getting pissed because I wanted someone to bitch at and she wasn't playing the role, she added, "Or a Jehovah's Witness."

On another note, at the one coffee shop in my hometown that I go to, they have a box where you can put your cup buddies (the cardboard things that go around the cup to keep your hand from getting burned) so they can re-use them, if they're not dirty.

Visit Home (III of III): Marge.

I saw my godmother Marge recently, too. In her house she had all her Christmas bullshit out, stuffed snowmen and pine garlands and santa dolls and the like, but up on her main wall in the living room was this wreath made of dyed red ostrich feathers, with a red bow on it.

"That's out of place," my mom was like.

"Honey, look at that," Marge was like, "That's the real Margie there."

"It looks like a hooker wreath," I was like, and then Marge said she got it at a Lord's and Taylor like two years ago, and it's her favorite Christmas decoration.

After I had said later that I was sorry that she never made it out to see Tina Turner with me, she said that she's sorry she didn't go, but she saw three shows in December, the Rockettes and "White Christmas" and Madonna.

"How was Madonna?", I was like.

"Oh, that was a scene," Marge was like. "There were men running around in wedding dresses and everything," and then added that one of her friends pointed out a guy in a "MALE WHORE" shirt and was like, "Come on, Margie, we have to get you one of those!"

"So what did you think of Madonna, though?", I was like.

"I've always thought she was a slut," my mom was like, interrupting.

"She is!", Marge said, making a disgusted face, "And she's all into that kebob, I don't know what's up with that woman."

Later, Marge was also saying that she and some of her friends went to San Francisco on Halloween, and it was a sight. She said that when they were going through some neighborhood, they ran into a protest to outlaw cars in favor of scooters, and that there was this guy in a shirt cut down the middle and pants cut down the middle, with his ass hanging out of his pants.

She also said they took the bus at one point and walked to open seats at the back, which was a mistake since this guy in the back started talking to them a bit, and then lit up a joint. Her friend flipped out, and then the guy flipped out, and then they got in this huge argument till like ten minutes later they finally got everyone calmed down.

"So," Marge was like, to calm the waters, "What do you do?"

"I'm in distribution," the guy said.

Right before we left, Marge asked me how my program was going, and I told her how I was studying for generals exams and had like four lists of like sixty books to read through before being tested on them.

"Like holy books?", Marge was like. "It's still religious shit, right?"

Visit Home (II of III): Nuns.

When I was visiting my great aunt the nun, she was saying that the previous night she had had a dream that me and my mom were coming to visit her, and then here we are.

At one point her old friend (another nun) stopped by to say hello -- we've known her forever, she used to drive up my great aunt and her own sister who was also a nun, and when we would borrow our neighbor's big yellow pontoon boat to go around the lake, she used to pilot it in full habit -- and we talked a little bit, so since she was dwelling too much on her bad health, I decided to change the subject and tell her some happy news, so I told her about how Obama had wished me a Merry Christmas the other day.

"That's lovely, he seems like such an intelligent young man," she was like, appreciatively, but then she saddened and was like, "but I do hope he changes his mind about the babies."

After this, she talked a bit about how in her family there were seven sisters, and that in one year five of them died, and she was in church praying, "Jesu, will I be next?", and the child in the stained glass window smiled at her and she knew her time had not yet come.

Later, a third nun popped who who was a real talker, and after I said I study the history of Christianity, although she hadn't been a part of our previous conversation, she almost right away started up on this good-natured mini-rant about politics.

"Oh," she was like, "People are so afraid to say God anymore, especially the political candidates, unlike the way it used to be. All the Founding Fathers believed in a God who made us."

"That's right," I was like, "But most of them didn't believe in the divinity of Christ. They were all deists, the most they thought was that Jesus was a supremely moral man who we should all imitate,but no more than that, and that a bunch of superstitious miracle stories had accreted around his life. That's a lot different then Obama and McCain, who are both professing Christians."

She seemed flummoxed, and I added, "Though, McCain's pastor called the Catholic church the Whore of Babylon."

"Really?", she was like, and my great aunt's friend chimed in, "But McCain, or his pastor?"

"His pastor did say that," I was like, "but McCain sat through that for twenty years, and somehow no one made an issue of that in the election. The whole thing is odd."

Somehow, the third nun then got off on a sidetrack and was saying how when she was in college she had a Latin course, and one day before the exam she was looking for a book and was next to the Latin section, and she just felt the urge to pick up some Bonaventure, so she just flipped open the book and read a bit, and the next day, it turned out that the very same paragraph she had read was on the test.

She also began to say farewell (she was a talker) and was like, "May God lead you!", and then that got her saying how she had lived and worked like an hour away from where my parents live, and how after her novitiate ended and she was waiting to be assigned, her mom said to her, "May God lead you," like she always would do, but then was like, "But not too far!"

Somehow, she then said that part of her family had the name that's the maiden name of Obama's mother, and then she began to say that she is hoping he'll change his position on the babies, and since the nun had already outstayed her welcome a bit, my mom was like, "Of course, sister, you'll just have to continue praying for it," and with that a a few other comments nudged her out of the room.

After our visit, before we stopped through a Tim Hortons for coffee, my mom was saying that she always got the impression of a hatchet from John Paul II, and that it was always his way or the highway.

"And," she was like, "it's not like I keep up with any of this, but what does the church have to show for such a long popehood, or papacy, or whatever you call it? I'm not saying that everyone has to be a great leader or that I could be, but you think that with what everyone says about him that he would have been doing something great, but I don't just see what it was with him, except that he was Polish and every other pope before him had been Italian. He didn't even seem that smart."

Visit Home (I of III): Parents.

My mom was saying that she dreads seeing a fat person in line in the library where she works, and then she corrected herself to say that she only dreads seeing fat women, not fat men.

"The fat women are really nasty since they're so unhappy, but the fat men are relatively normal," my mom was like.

"That's because all the fat men want is another sub," my dad was like.

When I asked my mom why specifically she dreaded the fat women, my dad was like, "You have no idea what they do to her, they sneak in back and steal her lunch sandwich..."

Saw Obama today!

[...This was post a bit delayed, started it yesterday and just finished it now, with now meaning one day before you'll see it since I'm trying to write posts ahead of time and stagger them since I'm on vacation...]

So, today after I bought some pastries from the schismatic nuns to take home for my parents and relatives as gifts, I had a coffee at a coffee shop across the street, and then as I was walking home past this Christmas tree lot next to a gas station and an apartment building, I saw like about two policeman on my side of the street, and a guy in casual clothes who was looking around a lot, and then some other guys on the other side of the street standing with their arms folded as they guarded each side of the entrance between the wire-mesh fence, and then there was a guy in the lot itself with binocs who was looking up at all the windows in the apartment buliding overlooking the lot. I figured it must have been Obama and his family, but there wasn't much of anyone in the lot, so I just continued walking on home with my pastry bag and a tart-box in my hand.

Like a block up, though, when I was on the opposite side of the street from where I get my hair cut, like two police cars followed by like three black SUVs with tinted windows followed by a couple more police cars passed me by, so I walked across the street and stood outside the hair place and looked down the street to see if I could see anything, and the Japanese owner waved to me from inside where she was cutting someone's hair, and then the salon countergirl who I had met once came out and saw what was going on, and we both started talking and agreed that we thought that the Obamas should be able to lead a peaceful life, but we wanted to see them anyways, so she ran back inside to go get her coat.

At that point, too, this girl who was in the salon comes out and says hi, and it turns out that it's Artemis, who had graduated high school last year but is still going to college in the city, and was home to visit her parents that weekend, and she was like, "Wait a sec, let me pay up and I'll come with you."

So, we wandered up to the lot and crossed to the other side of the street, where there were some planters that people were standing on, and we joined the crowd there that was all on their tiptoes trying to get a peek of Obama. While doing that I complimented Artemis on her hair, and she was like, "Thanks, but I actually just got a wax done," and so I re-affirmed that her hair was different from the last time I saw her, and still nice.

So, we stood there waiting and waiting, and all we can see is security people, including the one with binocs who was still around scanning all the windows, but the next thing we know, there's Obama besides the black SUV, and he's waving and being like "Merry Christmas!", and looking a lot shrimper in person than on tv.

Artemis was busy trying to snap a picture and somehow missed it, but like everyone else outside waved back and all at once were like, "Merry Christmas!", saying it together like a kindergarten class, only it wasn't quite like my kindergarten class, since the 'all-at-once' voice was pretty black-sounding, since like five-sixths of the people waiting outside in the crowd were black.

After that, the black SUV pulled away and I think I saw his daughters in the car, and I was very happy for like a few minutes, since it seemed like my friends were always running into one Obama or another in the neighborhood but never me, but then I was all pissed that I didn't see Michelle too. It was almost like, "Wait, she couldn't come out of the car and say hi too?", though I would never do that to the daughters, let them lead normal lives, but I do want their mom to jump for a crowd like their dad does, since they're both figures in the public eye.

Anyhow, I then went on my way to the local cafeteria up the block to get dinner since my fridge was pretty empty from my leaving the next day, and I threw my bags down on this table next to two black people doing some sort of business meeting, an older guy in a suit with a moustache and a clipboard, and this late middle-aged woman in a light pink jogging suit with a light pink "OBAMA FOR PRESIDENT" baseball hat on.

"Could you watch my stuff for a minute while I order?", I was like, and when the woman said sure, I was like, "And guess who just told me 'Merry Christmas'?", and then I dropped it on them that I was in the crowd who had just seen Obama outside the Christmas tree lot, and the black guy who was just sitting down at the next table over to both of ours stopped to listen to me too.

"Shoot," the woman was like as soon as I had finished, "I always just miss him!"

I told the news to the (black) girl next to me in line, too, and then I sat down and had my hamburger steak and onions, which was very good and juicy, though they messed my side order up and gave me mashed potatoes and gravy and a cob of corn rather than rice and gravy and a side of mixed vegetables.

When the woman in the pink jogging suit left, too, she stopped and knelt and gave me a half-hug/half pat on the arm and was like, "Now you have a good holiday!"

Also, I stopped by the dollar store to tell the news to the Palestinian owner who I know, and this black woman in line was like, "I knew you were going to say that," as soon as I had said my "Guess who just wished me a Merry Christmas? - Obama!" line, and she added that she's never seen him, though her daughter has a lot, since she goes to the elementary school that's like right by his house.

Addendum.

My friend also said that when she was an undergrad at the University of Iowa, it was mostly smart kids from small towns and not rich families who went to UI, while richer kids would go out of state - that is, unless they had really bad test scores, in which case they went to UI and usually were the frat kids and partied a lot and were always on the verge of flunking out. So, not only were they rich kids, but dumb rich kids, she said.

Anyhow, she was saying the worse time ever was one spring when kids were moving out for the summer, and these kids had tossed a lot of good stuff (furniture, electronics, that sort of stuff) on the curb since they were moving, and when they saw people picking through it, they came out and told them to go away, and started smashing their shit they didn't want up so no one else could have it.

Can't be friends with rich people.

So, yesterday when I was having a drink with my one friend from Iowa, we both got to talking how we've never been able to really be friends with rich people.

"I can't identify with someone who hasn't had to struggle," my friend was like.

Then, after a short pause, she was like, "I think I maybe could be friends with a rich kid who was disowned."

Later, she told me that one of the most awful things she's ever done was go up to a hipster at a bar once who was wearing a John Deere trucker cap and was like, "That's cool, my mom worked for John Deere, where do you work?", and when the guy said he didn't work for John Deere, she played dumb and was like, "Oh, then why are you wearing that cap? I don't know why someone would wear a cap for a company they don't work for."

She added that her mom did in fact work for John Deere at one time, and that she doesn't like how hipsters pretend to be salt-of-the-earth types, when they're really just a bunch of rich kids, mostly.