Subway ride.

The other night I was coming home on the subway on a crowded train and was reading a (used) hardcover copy of "The Fabulous Sylvester", and I noticed this (black) woman sitting in front of me looking up at the book.

"Oh," I was like, "You a fan or something?"

"Oh no," she was like, "Just looking," and she totally continued to read the quotes and stuff on the back cover.

When it got to my stop, I opened up my overcoat and slid the book into this very convenient side pocket, where the book just fit but wasn't visible when you closed the coat.

"Isn't that great?", she was like. "They don't put pockets like that on coats anymore!"

And I agreed, and told her I loved it, and often wished all my coats had pockets like that.

Xmas swap!

So, at this party I went to with the sister of my one (half British) (half Sudanese) friend, she and a law school classmate of hers had brought a big sack of presents from regifting and the dollar store for a party game...

I ended up with this handy soup container with a screw-on lid and a portable spoon that you can tuck inside the lid, which was pretty amazing, since just earlier that week I was packing up a lunch for school and had thought that I wish I had something like that, so I could take some of my potato-leek soup to school for lunch.

Her one (black) law school classmate who also got the presents said they each spent less than $10 to put the presents together, and that she got the idea from her family; her grandma shops clearance all year round, and then Christmas she brings this sack of kick-ass presents that everyone fights over, and only cost her like $20 for the whole sack.

"I don't plan that far ahead, though", she laughed.

Memories of a (British) person: Christmas.

So, the other day I was talking with the sister of my one (half British) (half Sudanese) friend, about her plans for the holidays back in England (she's going back for a couple weeks).

I asked if her (British) mom had converted to Islam when she married her dad, but she said no, and in any case they always celebrated Christmas, even when they lived in the Sudan: they used to have this plastic Christmas tree they would pull out and set up, and they would give each other presents in the immediate family, and on Christmas day they would have their (Muslim) extended family over for a party and dancing.

Memory: British English.

One time I was talking with my one British friend (I think this summer), and I mentioned something about "It's so hot", and he was like, "What's so difficult about it?"

He understood the way I said "hot" as "hard"! Honestly. I repeated the word for him, and his first reaction was always to hear it as "hard".

Gamblin'.

The other day at my lesson with the lawyer who's learning Greek, in our chit-chat before the lesson the subject of slot machines somehow came up, and I told the story of how there's bars in the city where they have them "For Entertainment Purposes Only", but the regulars play them and the bartender marks what they get, and then every once in a while pays them out from a till behind the counter.

"Maybe I shouldn't tell you that because you're a lawyer who works for the city, though," I was like.

"Oh no, it's okay," he was like, and then told me how for years there was this one building you'd pass by on the elevated train, and if you looked in this one window just before downtown, you'd always see a group of people playing cards, no matter what time of day.

A bar story: Serbian restaurant, with jazz.

The other Monday night I was out and I popped into this Serbian restaurant/bar, which had almost no-one at tables but a pretty packed bar, and I went down towards the end to an open seat, and asked this gaunt-looking older (white) guy if I could sit down, and he shrugged and gestured to sit.

Then, another older (white) guy came out of the bathroom and sat down by his half-finished beer on the other side of me, and the 2 started to talk across me.

Oddly, later it was jazz night at the Serbian restaurants - traditional jazz, no Serbian players - and the 2 guys were 2 aging jazz musicians from the city.

After talking about their colonoscopies coming up, they began talking about old jazz bars in the city that had closed down.

"Remember that one place near [one street] and [another street]?", the one was like. "The place with the tree?"

"Oh yeah, that place with the tree," the other was like, "I can't remember the name of that place for the life of me, though."

After a story from one about his brother subbing in from him once in the late 60s, and another about some drummer with cirrhosis (sp.?) of the liver, the one was like, "Man, doesn't that all seem just like yesterday."

"Yes, it certainly does," the other was like.

No more excerpts.

Oops - mis-estimated the excerpts before I typed them out.

I love how 2nd-wave feminists speak their truth so clearly. And so much of it is true!

A Ship (4 of 5?): Normal.

From the same, p. 174:

Though this last phase is also considered normal, society definitely neither advocates or condones it - in fact, scarcely acknowledges its existence. In this stage teh couple becomes disillusioned, bored, miserable, and ripe either for "breakup" or coma.

"Who said this progression is 'normal,' that this is the shape of love?" I asked myself. "And who decided what constitutes 'the real world'? The same guys who brought you Vietnam, Hustler, chicken factories, and an ozone layer that rivals swiss cheese," I replied...

. . .

A Ship (3 of 5?): Singleness.

From the same, pp. 145-147:

It seemed to me that women were nearly apologizing when they described themselves this way, as if being one-whole instead of one-half were not legitimate or healthy, but instead something one hoped soon to recover from. It was as if they were not really living but simply on hold until they plugged into someone else, became one-half of a couple, and turned on their lives again. I knew they would never think to call themselves "single" if they didn't accept coupledom as the natural and therefore more desirable state - a state I now dubbed "coupledumb."

We are taught to accept the menstream assumption that one-half is better than one-whole because two is necessary for oppression...

I think men took our worthy and natural desires and, in a truly diabolical way, turned them against us - making us, under threat of death, do to one another in the name of love what most of us would be too merciful to do to someone we hated.

It is phallocracy that insures our obedience by lying, "When you have a wonderful moment with someone, you must quickly capture and own her so that you can be assured of having more such moments. If you don't get possession of her, someone else will, and you will be left with no one to touch and hold and love you." It is the fathers who continue to misname these feelings of powerlessness, scarcity, and desperation "love".

Realizing this, coupling began to look not merely dumb but deadly: CoupleDoom.

. . .

A Ship (2 of 5?): Marriages.

From the same, p. 122:

When I think about the hooplah over longevity of unions, all I have to do is look at my parents, at parents of friends, at high-school friends now thirty-five years married, to discover couples who, though they have stayed together because of legal, socially-demanded commitment, have been wretched with one another or numbed out for entire lifetimes. It's pretty discouraging to watch Lesbian and straight friends struggling to emulate that ghastly example.

I don't think they do it because they have seen so many wonderful marriages that they can't wait to follow suit. Denial and irrationality are classic evidence of brainwashing. Few, if any, discerning people have seen at close range many wonderful marriages - or at least marriages that *stayed* wonderful. You and I agree that what all of us have seen most often is loss of identity, dependency, eventual boredom, misery, dysfunction on all levels, disillusionment, betrayal, heartbreak, violence, and/or a deep, deadening despair that passes for contentment.

. . .

A Ship (1 of 5?): Parthenogenesis.

From (2nd-wave feminist) Sonia Johnson's "The Ship That Sailed Into the Living Room: Sex and Intimacy Reconsidered" (p. 97):

We [=women] not only have the unique power to create new human beings, but we have the power to create them ourselves without the assistance of men. Although knowledge that this is true is lost to conscious memory, I think that parthenogenesis still happens on occasion - by choice as well as by accident - and that we bore children parthenogenetically for hundreds of thousands of years at the beginning of human history... Men have always known that women do not need them for anything, and women have always known that men need them for everything.

. . .

Bracelet story (new details).

So, at the sex doc a few Tuesdays ago, the shortish bearded (white) guy who's a sub into BDSM went off on swingers again and how heteronormative they are, and he re-told his bracelet story:

At the swinger house party, people had different-colored bracelets, and the host was pressuring pretty much every woman to wear the color that signalled that they were bisexual.

Only, the BDSM guy went to ask, and no matter how much he pled, the host wouldn't give him one.

"I knew that no other guys would have one," he said, "But I wanted to wear one, as a statement."

An idea from a Latin student...

The lawyer who's learning Latin (who's a conservative Catholic) had an idea because of the discussion about the revision of the English translation of the Roman missal:

Each week in addition to what we're reading, he brings in a missal section and we work through it and produce a translation, and *then* after that look at the old and new translations.

How fun!

I told my mom and she loves the idea.

I might have a new Latin student!!!

I got contacted through the online ad that I post -

The (white) guy is younger and works in an office on campus, and has always wanted to learn Latin.

It looks like after Christmas, I'll meet with him once a week for 30min. to correct his homework and answer any questions he might have.

The money isn't great (he can't pay my asking price), but it's fair and easy!

My one (Dutch) friend on Hebrew.

My one (Dutch) friend has an Israeli wife who he makes horribly incorrect jokes with, so when I was studying for my Hebrew exam, I texted him that I not only resented his wife for killing Christ, but also for the difficult language of her ancestors.

He texted back -

This is the trick that they don't tell the gentiles. Read it from the right to the left.

. . .

(black) postman.

The other Saturday afternoon I was coming through the foyer in my apartment building and there was a (black) postman putting mail in the boxes.

He asked me how I was, and I said great, since I had been out till late the night before and had just gotten up like an hour or two before.

"That's nice," he was like. "Sometimes you need that."

Then he said that he would love to go out and party, it had been 3 or 4 months, but he was saving money for his daughter's wedding.

"But if you go to the right places," I was like, "You can drink cheap and get fucked up for less than $20."

"Hell," he was like, "I'd take that!"

2 more (black) folk on the subway.

1) Going home the other week this old (black) man in jogging pants gets on, and out of nowhere he turns to me from across the aisle in the half-empty car and is like, "Your ears are dirty."

"What?", I was like.

"Your ears are dirty," he said. "There's a lot of wax in the back, they're brown."

Then, after a pause, he was like, "I'm not trying to insult you, I'm trying to help you."

I thanked him, and after 3 or 4 minutes, to no-one in particular, he shouted out,

"JOE BIDEN IS A [garbled]-ASS N-GG-R FROM ANDOVER DELAWARE!"

2) A few days after that, going in to school at like 8:30am, a middle-aged black guy was clipping his nails on the half-empty train.

Addendum.

I forgot -

The entire time I was getting a drink with the South African, his cell phone kept going off... It was a new phone and he had bought out the contract and # of some black woman, and he keeps getting at least 5 calls a day, including from her mother.

The one text that was confusing he said was about a birthday party for some "dead twins"...

He had gotten 2 texts in a row, one about a birthday party for the twins and stopping by for a cooler for ice, and then the next one was like -

The ones that their Dad got killed -

Which he had interpreted to mean that the twins were dead (and not the twinses' dad).

Food technologist!

The other day I had a drink with a South African who works on my campus, and it turns out that his mother is a food technologist!

Basically, she has this lab and can whip up any candy on contract.

For example, she made three different types of Kit Kat (including a Black Forest cake one) when the company commissioned her, and she brought home samples to try.

She also made this drink that replicates the taste of the South African hairy peach, which feels all dry when you bite it from its long hairs but then is all juicy from the peach flesh; the drink makes your mouth dry first, and then the peach flavor hits you.

Standardized tests.

My 16/17-year-old homeschooler when I was going through a practice Latin SAT II exam with her and none of the answers seemed right:

"Don't overthink it, you get into trouble if you do that. These tests don't want you to think too much."

She then told me about a friend of hers who got a 4 instead of a 5 on an AP Chem exam because he overthought a couple crucial questions and none of the answers seemed right (and they technically weren't).

3 (black) people (3 of 3): Breakfast.

That same train ride, there was a young (black) kid like 6 or 7 years old with has dad...

It was 7:30am, and he had a little bag of Cheetos (sp.?) open that he was eating.

3 (black) people (2 of 3): Losing Weight.

The other morning I was going in on the subway and there was this *huge* (young 20s) (light-skinned black) guy in a security outfit going in to work at 7:30am...

He was with someone (black) he knew, and was talking about how he had signed up for a personal trainer and was going to buy a swimsuit, because he was working up to losing weight and once he stopped being out of breath he would start swimming.

Later, he picked up his lunch to get off the train, and there was a 2-liter bottle of grape soda in it.

His bag brushed against something and grains like sugar started pouring out, and someone pointed that out to him, and he said it was salt.

3 (black) people (1 of 3): Starbucks.

The weekend of Thanksgiving I popped into the Starbucks on Sunday to use internet, and the (black) woman (late 30s, chunky) who I always chit-chat with refilled my thermos of coffee for free, and was like, "Happy Thanksgiving," so I put my dollar in the tip jar.

And that's despite the fact that we don't have an exceptional conversational vibe, I think.

Variations.

The one thing that gets me about Hebrew is how many variations you have to remember for each paradigm. They're endless and discouraging!

I think the trick is to memorize them and keep revisiting them and then see them at use in texts when you read, so you don't forget them.

All-American Muslims.

I sent the link for the new TLC reality show "All-American Muslims" (which follows 5 families in Dearborn, Michigan) to my one (Muslim) British friend and several other people with this message:

I hear that some of the Muslims on the show are so all-American, they even beat up other Muslims!

. . .

Bar #s.

I'm not very good at math, and I don't have a calculator at home.

Sometimes, I total up the bars I've been to (luckily my notebook fits 25 on a page, so it's easy to count), and then think about how many days I have left till it's a whole year, and if I can hit 500 bars by then.

If I do the long-division on days left and then figure out bars per day and times it by 7, I have to go to like 12 a week, which is impossible.

If I think ahead to the end of February, though, and think about "10 bars per 7 day period", it seems like I'll make it and then some.

Somehow I'm doing the math wrong, I think with the 1st figures, but I don't quite know how.

A memory of San Francisco: Pigeons.

Coming back from Golden Gate Park and the ocean, I hopped off the bus like a 10-minute walk from my hotel, so I could walk through a different part of the city.

As it turns out, it was a very run-down area full of mentally-ill and homeless people, right around the UC-Hastings School of Law campus.

As I was walking around a corner, there was this huge flock of pigeons, and this old homeless (white) woman shuffling around in a circle muttering to herself "my children, my children..."

Then, as I walk by, the pigeons start flying up and I can't see anything, and suddenly this Rottweiler being walked by a (black) dude in a leather jacket leaps out at me and gets to the end of his leash and is pulled back in mid-air, like 2 feet from my hip.

Before I realize what's going on, the dog pivots and lunges again in the opposite direction, and picks a pigeon out of the air in mid-flight, and gets it down on the ground between its paws and starts crunching it as it spasms.

At that, the (white) homeless woman stops, and this other (white) homeless guy walks up fast to the (black) guy and starts shouting, "YOU CAN'T DO THAT HERE, YOU CAN'T DO THAT HERE, THAT IS ILLEGAL IN THIS CITY, YOU CAN'T DO THAT HERE...!!!"

And at that, I just picked up my pace and kept walking away as fast as I could.

Fun with Latin!

My home-schooled high schooler has been studying like heck for the SAT II subject test.

So, to reward her for the first day after the test, we are going to have a "fun" session where we translate a Latin chant from "Evita", and different verses of the Christmas carol "Adeste fideles".

She told me many months ago that she likes Broadway and would like to read that Latin Chant from "Evita"! The Christmas carol is my idea.

Working hard on Hebrew.

Every once in a while I pull down my Hebrew bible and just try to sound out a paragraph as carefully as quickly as a I can.

If I recognize a word, sometimes it comes quick.

Overall, it doesn't, though. The other day in class the instructor wrote a verse from Jeremiah up on the board to have us sightread, and I was only 1/3 of the way through when someone pronounced it thoroughly and gave an accurate translation...

A shitty meal in San Francisco.

So, one day during a break from the conference, I took a walk since it was nice out, and came across this price-y soup restaurant downtown that had signs outfront for being one of the "Ten Best Sandwich Places" etc. from local free newspapers, and they had all these signs up for how they use organic and locally-sourced ingredients.

So, I ordered "soup and sandwich" special, getting a steak sandwich on baguette and a bowl of fresh mushroom soup.

Honest to G-d, both the soup and the sandwich were so bland and underspiced it was unbelievable. I don't know what it was, but though both looked appetizing, they had very little natural taste, and almost no spicing. I almost went to return them, but I didn't, because then the people would have to throw them out.

Instead, I just put a lot of salt and pepper on them and made the best of it.

But, the entire time I was thinking, "This place is good?", and, "So you use locally-sourced ingredients, but shouldn't you at least know how to prepare them?:

What a *huge* disappointment. All the greasy spoon restaurants I went to (burgers, kebabs) were very ho-hum too.

Uplifting sight.

Yesterday morning I was commuting into school and waiting to get the bus, and the bus came up all jam-packed with (black) passengers, and I got really really pissed thinking of how (white) people in other parts of the city didn't have to deal with chronically over-crowded busses like that.

As the people poured out of the bus, this (short) (mid-30s) (black) woman with an apple bottom waddles out with a big black hoodie with a picture of a large pink ribbon and the slogan -

SAVE THE TA-TAS

- and I just brightened up and realized that nothing could ever keep her down.

My verdict on San Francisco.

San Francisco is beautiful, with the hills and the water and everything, and all the great houses in the wealthy parts of town.

It's also amazingly compact, and reminds me of Manhattan-like pedestrian densities in a lot of town, which is unbelievable for a town with a 700,000 or so population.

But, I hated having to admire the rich, and felt weird going around and staring at all those houses and liking them, and thus indirectly having to gawk at their wealth and feed their egos.

Also, no-one seems to be able to live there anymore, which automatically reduces a city's coolness quotient by 300%.

Also also, in terms of patios, cool coffee shops, and delicious locally-sourced food, as well as cheap eats, Milwaukee is a much much superior city!

Insight (2 of 2): Tarot.

One of my other colleagues who I ran into heard that story, and so she told her story -

She grew up in West Virginia, and even though she looked like a punk with a shaved head and long mohawk and stuff, she was a good kid, but didn't know where she belonged, so she went to go see this regionally famous tarot card reader, a woman named Betty and lived in a trailer, and on Sat. nights like 12-15 cars would line up on the road outside her property, each waiting in turn to see her for their half-hour session (! - people waited a long time).

So, my colleague who had the punk haircut finally got in there, and she was terribly unimpressed by the reading. She doesn't remember too much, except that the woman assumed she had problems with her parents and drugs, and she didn't.

"And don't keep sleeping with those black boys," Betty told her, too.

Insight (1 of 2): My one Dutch friend's wife.

So, when I was at a recent conference, I got to catch up with a lot of people, including my one Dutch friend.

His wife, who is a pensive Israeli hippie who ended up in banking, has astounding insight, he says; she just kind of sits around being tense and not interacting much, but then she comes up with very accurate judgments.

For example, one of his colleagues is a psychologist and my one Dutch friend liked him because he was outgoing, funny, etc., but then when he and his wife went to the guy's house for a party, she didn't interact with him, but when they got home, she was like, "There's something wrong with him, he has done something evil to people."

So, they googled him and found out that he had been in trouble for getting with his therapy patients, oftentimes by withholding medications.

Another time, after she briefly met someone else, she was like, "He is not well," and only later did my one Dutch friend find out that that guy had serious health problems.

Lost a student.

I think I lost my 2nd high school student.

He didn't want to study Latin, but has to take 4 years for his high school.

I admitted that could suck and that the poetry they were assigning was hard, but that he had a knack for converting forms as if it was a spoken language, and he just had to get on a twice-daily study schedule for endings and then maybe vocab.

He did that for a week and got results, but then quit and said he would never get an "A" no matter how hard he tried.

I tutored again but he just wouldn't get back on the study schedule, and the parents said they'd let me know if they needed my help again.

I guess the problem is that maybe I didn't encourage much, and that you can't motivate a person, they have to motivate themselves.

Helping the world economy.

Whenever I'm in a store and I have a choice of products, I think to myself, "Which place needs my money the most?"

Thus, I buy Michigan apples instead of Washington, for example.

The other day I was at a wine store and chose Spanish and Greek wines.

Hebrew.

In all the languages I've studied, I can look at a word and read it all at once.

If I look at a page of Greek, for example, the words jump out at me.

Hebrew I can't, though. I really have to look letter by letter and at all the dots, and it takes me *forever* to read it. I don't really have a facility!

Changed Thanksgiving plans.

So, I had checked with my one (light-skinned black) friend from Arkansas about Thanksgiving plans, and since she wasn't going home - that was unclear at one point, whether she was - she invited me over to have Thanksgiving with her and her roommates.

Since my one lawyer friend from Missouri is also in town and has wanted to hang out with her more, too, she asked for an invitation, so I got one, and everything was set to go.

Then, my one (light-skinned black) friend from Arkansas made up with her boyfriend and is now going to his parents' for a long weekend! But she texted that we could still have Thanksgiving with her roommates.

She is notoriously flaky, so I just roll with it, and laugh... It's still unclear what's happening.

Addendum.

I forgot -

The other day at lunch with a graduate student, (fat) people came up, and the one graduate student was like, "Okay, so there's a genetic argument for obesity, I understand that, so why weren't there so many fat people in the past?"

He then said that (fat) people should get more exercise or stop eating so much crap.

Bus stop thoughts.

The bus route to the subway goes through some poorer (black) neighborhoods, and since there's bus-stops pretty much every half block, the bus can stop a *lot*, and get caught at lights a *lot*.

Some of these women who get on are pretty big, too, and I always think of what my mom says, "How can people let themselves get that big?" They take up 2 seats, whether on the bus or on the subway, and no one can sit next to them!!!

Anyhow, I just think the city transportation authority should take out every other bus stop. The bus would be faster, and these (fat) women would get more exercise, and everyone would win.

I told that thought to my one lawyer friend from Missouri, and she said that she's always thought they should charge (fat) people more for health insurance plans.

Woman on subway platform.

The other evening I was going home and after getting off the bus was waiting on the subway platform, when this frantic looking (black) woman who was kind of squat with a wide ass gets off, and from looking at her I just knew she was African.

So, I ask her if she's okay, and it turns out that she had slept through downtown, and missed her connection to get out to the airport, and now had to go northbound to get it.

She had planned to get to the airport 45-60 minutes beforehand...

I asked her where she was from, and she was from Benin.

I then started to say something, and she said that her English wasn't good, so I switched to French to try to explain to her that she would definitely miss her flight but there might be a cheap late-night train that could maybe take her to the city, and I realized I couldn't.

My French is gone! Or, as they say, it is -

FINI!!!!

2 morning anecdotes.

1) The other morning I got on the subway, and this older hippie-looking black man with sunglasses who I sat down next to had this sheet of paper out in front of him, and there were insane squiggles all over it. I looked more closely, and they were Egyptian hieroglyphics that he was practicing writing.

2) The other morning I got out of class and was walking across campus, and this adminstrator I know was walking into work, and enthusiastically was like, "Isn't this a great morning, it's salty!", and she said how the brisk fog made her feel like it was an autumn morning on the Atlantic coast.

Gone, all gone.

My hair is changing colors, I think.

For years I've had brown creep up the sides, and I get blonde highlights easily.

Lately, people have been telling me I'm blonde, so I asked the people at the hairplace I go to if I was a redhead.

They actually said I was more strawberry blonde, but if they had to say either blonde or redhead or brunette, they'd say blonde.

The Japanese owner actually pulled out a book of fake hair swatches of different colors and pointed out which color my hair was.

It wasn't in the redhead column. :/

Sex work and male modelling.

So, the other week I got to hear a male model speak.

During the Q&A, I asked about what type of sex work that models engage in, and how it breaks down male/female gay/straight.

First, a lot of people have sidelines, and are students, bartenders, etc.

Second, women tend not to do it, since they get paid so much more then men.

Third, a lot's informal, where people are hired by socialites as personal assistants, instructors for sports, etc., and then propositioned into it; the guy I talked to had been a swimmer for years, and gave swim lessons for example, and was propositioned for more and had to lay down the law that he was only hired to give swim lessons.

Fourth, the higher-ups tend to be (gay) men and (straight) women, so especially for men there's a casting room couch, and no matter how they identify they'll sleep with the sex they're not attracted to if getting a campaign is at stake.

Overall, he said that esp. in New York, there's these old socialites with money who are known to hover around "the industry".

I asked him if there was a slang name for them, and he said no, that the whole thing was known about by everyone but not ever really discussed.

Addendum.

I forgot -

For the 2nd half of the exercise, I switched the scenario around, and said to envision an expensive restaurant downtown where the 1% eat food that's flown in from all over the world and served up by minimum-wage workers.

"So imagine there's this obese girl," I began, "And there's some crocodile meat that's flown in from Africa..."

Later, I said that the construction "the must-be-eaten crocodile" would imply something like that it was so tasty that the girl had to eat it, or perhaps the waitstaff disliked the obese girl because she was obnoxious, and so they made sure she ate it because they could mark up her bill 5000% in revenge.

"She sounds a lot like Kim Kardashian," my tutoree was like.

Stories of Latin Instruction: The Future Passive Participle.

To teach Latin participle forms (2 of which are roughly equivalent to English, one of which is not), I set up an exercise with my students where I say a girl is swimming in a river full of crocodiles, and you hear screams and run up to the river, and you could see one of three things:

- the crocodile ate the girl.
- the crocodile is eating the girl.
- the crocodile will eat the girl.

Then, I ask them which nouns and participles they could use in each of those three situations, beginning a statement "I see.." (answer - "the eaten girl", "the eating crocodile", "the will-be-eating crocodile").

As a closer, I point out that what is in some textbooks called "the future passive participle" actually doesn't have that meaning (i.e., "the will-be-eaten girl"), but actually means necessity - e.g. "the girl who has to/must/should be eaten").

As I told my homeschooled 17 year-old student, "It's like when Edward first smells Bella, and thinks, 'I need to eat that girl'; she's the girl who you just have to eat!"

"Or," my homeschooler was like, "it's necessary to eat her, because she whines a lot."

Moldy bread.

Like I always do, I put some bread I got from the corner store in my freezer, and just take out slices when I need it for toast.

One day, I was eating toast, and one bite of the upper part of the crust tasted moldy, but then I looked at the rest of it and it was fine.

The next time I had a piece of toasted bread, I looked and it was fine, but then before eating it I decided to sniff the crust, and I smelled mold at one part, and I looked very very carefully, and I noticed very small strings of mold by a pine nut sticking out of the multi-grain crust.

So, I ripped that off, threw it away, and then ate the rest.

The rest of the bread in the bag was fine.

GIFT!!!

This past Friday my coat check number was "666".

So, I saved it, and today I'm giving it to a friend who's presenting a paper on the Book of Revelation!

I can't wait to hear what she thinks of it... At the club, when I was in line for the coat check, I noticed the number and asked the (hipster) kid by me if I should save it or if that would be spooky and weird, and he said it was spooky and weird and not to save it.

Movies.

It's so funny, I can go months without seeing a movie in a theater, then if there's a lot out that I want to see, I can see four within the space of a week.

Catalan narratives.

So my one lawyer friend from Missouri is writing a children's book about how her dog wanders all over the city and solves a mystery; she's been doing photo shoots all summer, and wants to publish it as a book for parents to buy for their kids to get them acquainted with major sites before visiting the city.

So, the other week I was having drinks at the student bar and was talking with the Catalan, and he asked how my one lawyer friend from Missouri was doing, and I told him she was working a lot on her children's book.

"Does it have a sad or ambiguous ending?", he was like. "Does [the dog's name] die at the end?"

"No", I was like, "It's a children's book. The dog solves the mystery."

"That is too bad, man," he was like, "Children remember sad or ambiguous endings. The dog should be raped. Then, he should die. In that way, the children are sad, because the dog was raped. Then, they are unsure how to feel, because perhaps the dog is better to die, to keep from pain and save money on psychological bills."

Night in the City (2 of 2): Earlier.

During the discussion part of the sex doc series, this (white) goateed computer programmer who I know from there who's around my age and has previously talked about his involvement with BDSM offhandedly mentioned his involvement leading a Roundtable Discussion Group of submissive males.

He said a lot of abuse goes on, that they never tell the woman if their lines were crossed, since it's so hard to find female doms and they're afraid they'll never find another one.

This morning...

...I had a great busdriver, an older (black) lady in a cardigan.

We had been stopped at a light, and a bus pulled up on the cross street just as the light changed, and a guy got off the other bus and started running toward us, but the busdriver just gestured to him to stay where he was, she'd open the door and pick him up.

Right when we were stopped at a light before my stop, too, I asked her if she could let me out.

"I have an 8am quiz!", I was like.

She just turned to me and smiled and opened the door. She had big sunglasses on too.

Night in the City (1 of 2): Backwards forwards.

So Tues. was that sex documentary series, and afterwards I walked a bit in the city, since it was a pleasant night, even though it was rainy on and off.

I walked by the "Occupy Wall Street" protests and there was one person there. One. A late 30s white in a flannel shirt and with a straggly beard.

An Eastern European bartender's stories about stealing crap (2 of 3): Short-lived job.

The Eastern European bartender lady also was telling me about this bar she worked at for like 2 days. It was this dirty rundown bar run by this eccentric old (white) woman who was fat and would shuffle around the bar.

She said the very first day, right after the woman finished showing her all the beer prices, including all the cans for $1, the bar started getting flooded by all these nicely-dressed college age kids and their families.

It was the graduation exercises of some nearby university, and the old woman hadn't known it.

Soon, she shuffled over after helping people at table and was like, "No more one dollar, two dollars, two dollars, all the beer is two dollars!", and the Eastern European bartender said she had said that she felt weird asking the people who just paid one dollar to pay two dollars, but she was the boss, and she'd do it.

And, the old woman during all the madness would shuffle over the register every once in a while, take a handful of the bigger bills, and stuff them down her bra, since she didn't know the Eastern European bartender and didn't trust her around the cash drawer.

The next day, the Eastern European bartender showed up, and the old woman kept her around for an hour and then sent her home since she said it wasn't busy enough and she didn't want to pay her, she'd have her son bartend instead.

"And he was a weird forty year-old loner," the Eastern European bartender said. "So I say, 'Why did you hire me in the first place?', and I leave."

An Eastern European bartender's stories about stealing crap (2 of 3): Alcoholic.

At this other bar she used to work at, this sweet old alcoholic used to always come in and get one drink - she would limit herself to one drink at one place, as a measure to try to keep herself from drinking too much.

One time, the other (male) bartender was working, and he poured her a white zinfidel (sp.?) and set the bottle on the counter, put her $5 in the register, and turned around to see her holding the bottle up and chugging out of it.

Then, she wiped her mouth and walked out.

A few weeks later, they were changing shifts and the woman was there.

"See, that's the woman I told you about!", the other bartender said, "Charge her for that bottle!"

So, the Eastern European bartender did, and the old alcoholic woman was nice about it and got her new drink and paid for the old bottle and apologized and everything.

An Eastern European bartender's stories about stealing crap (1 of 3): Takeout.

Now that I've been to 341 bars in 241 days, I find myself getting jaded about certain things, like Euro cafes with espresso machines and liquor; they have to be damn good for me to take notice.

A good one the other day had this wonderful Eastern European blonde bartender (not sure what ethnicity; I don't ask anymore, I'm fine with the mystery; she had bleached blonde stringy hair with brown showing underneath, and was mildly tan, and had high cheekbones and soft eyes), and we somehow got on the topic of stories about stealing shit.

She was telling me about how her bike was stolen from right in front of the 24-hour restaurant where she worked after it was locked out there three days, even though it had a u-bolt and everything.

She also said that once this woman parked outside, came to the counter to pay and pick up her takeout, and even though she had exact change and wasn't in there more than 30 seconds - the counter was right by the restaurant door entrance! - her car was gone from right outfront when she turned around...

She had left her keys in it.

Luckily, her boyfriend's relative was in the police department, so they got 5-6 cars to the area right away, though the bartender said she never did find out if she got her car back.

Bread vs. Popcorn.

The other morning I wasn't hungry so I didn't toast the bread in my toaster and when I looked at it the next day, it had become dried out and hard.

Oddly, I made popcorn a few nights later, and the next morning I found a popped kernel on my stove - but this was soggy, not crisp at all.

My question for a scientist: why would bread left out overnight become hard and stale, but popcorn soft and soggy?

3 Black Women on Occupy Wall Street (3 of 3): Office assistant.

The other day I was talking politics with a couple office assistants, and the one (Latina) one who used to be involved in city politics was saying how she wishes the Occupy Wall Street protests had more specific demands, and then we segued into talking about deportation of illegals (she knows someone in his early 20s who came over illegally with his parents when he was 10 and just got deported back to Mexico from Michigan), when the one (black) office assistant came up and I made a joke about how I was waking everyone up without coffee by talking protests and politics...

"Protests?", she was like. "I am so happy that they are protesting on Wall Street," she said, talking about the high student loan burdens people have, and no hope of jobs.

3 Black Women on Occupy Wall Street (2 of 3): At my local chain coffee shop.

The other Sunday the weekend after the local mayor busted the Occupy Wall Street protestors in my city for a 2nd time and arrested over 100, I stopped through the local chain coffee shop to get some coffee and enjoy the late afternoon out on their patio, and asked the upper 30s (black) woman who's a barista if she heard how many people exactly got arrested.

"I didn't hear that that happened again," she was like, "But I am happy people are doing something," and she started talking about how people are drowning in student loans and how banks only think of shareholders and keep doing crazy ATM fees and deceptive loans etc., to make money off people who have nothing and funnel it to the top.

She also said she the mayor better be careful busting the protestors like this, because people will start getting pissed at him - a sentiment a late 30s well-dressed (white) professional woman agreed with, saying she was already getting angry.

3 Black Women on Occupy Wall Street (1 of 3): On the subway.

The other week I was on the subway going downtown after school and I happened to sit next to this mid-40s (black) woman, and we ended up chatting after the train was stopped at one station a while and we started bitching about when it would start up again.

Then, I told her I was going with a friend to see the Occupy Wall Street protests (or at least my city's version of it) downtown.

"Are you going to see it, or are you going to join it?", she said, looking at me questioningly.

"Actually, to join it for a bit," I said.

"Good!", she was like, then she said she totally gets it and would go if she could, but she can't with work and kids. She then said she lost her house over 2 years ago and has had to take out payday loans to make ends meet sometimes, and it's criminal what the banks do to people.

We also started talking about GOP presidential candidates.

"Mormon has nothing to do with it!", she was like, "An asshole is an asshole!"

Met a Syrian (2 of 2): Church.

So, the (Syrian) guy I met was Catholic (he says 10% of Syria is), and still goes to church here.

He says church here is more atomized, because back in Syria it was a chance to see family members and friends you hadn't seen in a while and catch up, whereas here people don't live near their extended families like that.

He also said that it's quite obvious that people are age have fallen away from the Catholic church; very few people go, and he's met so many people who have gone through the sacraments, but just don't attend. He said that that drop-off in #s seems huge and is just shocking.

That is actually the same thing the Latin priest was saying 2 summers ago! He said that's the major unrecognized problem in the Church right now.

Met a Syrian (1 of 2): Facebook.

So I met a(n early 30s) Syrian doctor the other day.

I was asking him about the Arab spring, and he said a friend of his who's a physician wrote something on Facebook that the government interpreted as anti-government, so they showed up in the middle of the night and took him away.

That was six months ago, and his parents received word last week that his location is still unknown.

My parents on the Koch Bros. etc.

So I sent my dad that one Mother Jones expose "inside the political action rally of the Koch Bros.".

He read it, and was even more disturbed than he had been.

When I asked him about vote suppression, he said he's been watching for that in the news, and is really disturbed, and he just doesn't know what this country is coming to.

As for my mom, she hadn't read the article, but said she would.

As for vote suppression, she thought it was unfair, but she said, "Just you watch, there'll be lawsuits about this," trying to comfort me that everything would turn out all right - which I do think she believes will happen.

Friday night on the subway, Halloween weekend.

So Friday after class I stuck around to work all day and then go to the gym, then I met friends at the student bar, and since I stuck around to say hi to the Catalan (he didn't show up till 11pm), I set out for home very late.

Just as we were getting to downtown, the only people on the subway car was this (fat) (tired-looking) (middle-aged) (black) woman and two young (black) guys, and when we pull up to this station and the subway doors opened, there was just this shrieking coming in, and we all look out to see like 10-12 (early 20s) (white) girls dressed up in very skimpy outfits and all drunk off their ass and one crying and shouting at the top of her lungs while the makeup from her face ran because of her tears, "WAIT, WE CAN'T GET ON NOW, WE HAVE TO TAKE THE NEXT TRAIN, WE HAVE TO WAIT FOR..."

At that, the (black) woman just lifted up her fat arm and shook her finger and looked off nowhere in particular and said loudly and firmly, "Aww, hell no."

And, the guys started shouting out, "Yeah, that's right, take the next train!"

Fortunately, the doors did close, and that huge group had to wait for the next train.

Halloween weekend post: (white) (American) girl costumes.

So the (half British) (half Sudanese) sister of my one (half British) (half Sudanese) friend lives in this same city since her husband is here, and she started up law school here.

The other week she was telling me about all the parties they have at her law school, and how a lot of them are dress-up and it's an excuse for the (white) girls to get raging drunk and then dress up in as little as possible.

"And the next day you're in class and all in the lecture hall," she was like, "And we're supposed to sit as if everything is normal, as if I hadn't seen them in their underwear the previous night."

You know what blows my mind?

The latest game sweeping fraternities: "Gay Chicken".

The more you can make out with your bro, the more macho you are. To balk is to be a pussy.

My bowels.

For some reason I've had the worst gas the past 3 days. I feel all bloaty like I need to shit, but when I sit on the toilet, I fart forever and then finally a few small pieces of shit fly out.

Alternatively, a few times I've gone to let a fart out, but then I feel like shit's going to come out, so I go to the toilet, and there I only fart.

Also, a few times when I've shit it's all been very thick liquidy and brown, like an Ensure shake with a little more texture.

The cultural studies of karaoke.

There's this one cultural studies prof in the English Dept. who has frizzy hair and high energy and is always at events around campus, and she had a panel with a filmmaker that I went to go see, and as part of that panel she talked about karaoke scenes in working class movies, and how there's a desire to realize authenticity by performing a song like the way it was originally performed and thus becoming the object of the gaze etc.

I didn't quite get her, so I asked her at the reception afterwards to clarify, and I disagreed and told her my theory of karaoke, where there's karaoke jackasses who get up and sing in a group to be obnoxious and bond, and then there's karaoke where people think they're on Star Search and get up and belt something out, but then there's good and very moving karaoke, where people have a song they like and they sing it to share it, or they even change up the song to make it interesting, like the time my friend who can sing funk sang Paula Abdul's "Straight Up" in funk style (and I added to the prof that the best karaoke performances often involved men singing women's songs or vice-versa).

She politely pointed out that we were talking about the same thing, and that my definition of good karaoke took place against groups of people who were striving for normativity - some people to be part of the group, and some people to be like the singers they see and know.

"Never underestimate people's desire for normativity," she said.

And then I realized that all the stuff she had been saying that I was confused at wasn't jargon, but was actually incredibly precise analytical terms that had gone right over my head the first time.

A Story of my British Friend: A Prayer Book.

So this summer when he was visiting relatives in Khartoum (sp.?), my one (half British, half Sudanese) got a prayer book from one of his relatives to read, and he said he dug it out recently to read through it more because he really really likes it.

First, he said, when he was on the bus, everyone was looking at him since he was reading some book in Arabic.

Second, he said he finds a lot interesting since it's prayers for every occasion.

For example, under the section "meeting unbelievers", they suggest that instead of saying "God be with you", you say, "May God bless you", which implies "...with conversion" but doesn't come off that way.

They also have a lot of magical stuff, like what prayer to say if you hear a cock crow at night and you fear the invasion of evil spirits.

He said that he told his sister about that prayer, and asked that if she woke up at night at a cock crowing, did she think it was enough if she heard the prayer, or should she wake up her husband to say the prayer too so he could protect himself.

"That's not Islam," she was like. "That's rubbish."

"Oh no!", he was like, "I quite like it."

Like mother like son.

I was telling my mom how I have everything arranged the night before so I can roll out of bed and get going in the morning.

It turns out that she's the same way!

She told me that she has her clothes layed out and her stuff packed up and coffee in the coffeemaker and a peeled egg in the fridge, so she can just get up and not waste much time around the house and go.

Eccentricity.

So on Thursday I stayed out late barhopping then seeing a friend's band then more barhopping, which sucked since I had an 8am Hebrew quiz on Friday (like I do every Friday).

So, after less than 3 hours of sleep, I went in and took my quiz (I kind of blanked at the letters at first and couldn't read them, but it turned out all right).

Then, I went deep in the stacks of the main library, pulled out a sleep mask, and slumped over a table and slept in till 1pm.

I had dreams of undergrads congregating around me and talking, and someone sitting next to me and setting up a laptop and me barking at her and telling that I was trying to sleep.

It was only when I woke up that I realized that that was all in my dream, and the space I had envisioned that in was nothing like the space where I had gone to sleep.

Morning Routine.

To maximize sleep before my 8am class, I have my alarm set for 6:03am (that's about as late as i can go). The night before, too, I -

- pack my bag.
- lay out my clothes.
- pack my lunch
- put coffee in the coffee maker.
- set up bread in the toaster.
- peel a hard-boiled egg and set it in the fridge.
- set a water bottle, coffee thermos, and fork next to my bag as reminders to bring with me water, coffee, and my lunch.

. . .

Sleep.

2 downsides to my tutoring job:

1) it's social, but it's not like i'll have new social circles emerging from my job.

2) like every other weekend i have both a sat. 11am tutoring session and a sun. 12pm tutoring session, so i can't sleep in and lounge around the house.

Black people on the subway (2 of 2): A young guy.

The other morning I was on the subway into school like 7:15 am and this young high-school age scrawny (black) kid comes on with headphones, a baseball hat, and a basketball.

For a good ten minutes, he sat on the edge of the seat and dribbled the ball underneath it thump-a-thump-a-thump-a-thump-a-thump while the train moved.

Otherwise the subway car was perfectly quiet.

Black people on the subway (1 of 2): A girl.

The other night I was going home on the subway and two large and stylish (black) girls in their early 20s were squeezed into the seat behind me... Both had sunglasses on, and done-up nails, and really bright cool t-shirts and dark jeans.

Halfway through the ride, the one gets on the phone and the call ends up being about personal financial information - she had taken out a payday loan and thought she had paid it off, only she hadn't, and so the interest was running up.

Automatic flush toilets.

Somehow whenever I use an automatic flush toilet and I get up to wipe my ass, the thing keeps automatically flushing every 30 seconds, even if I'm just standing there still wiping my ass and tossing used toilet paper into it.

"Bigamy".

I've always wondered where the word "bigamy" came from.

I just realized the other day that it divides "bi-gamy" - and so it's a "-gamy" word like "monogamy" and "polygamy", and means "double marriage".

Scandalizing colleagues.

The other week on the way in to school I happened to be on the same subway car with a French colleague, who became irate when he saw me using a pencil to take notes in a library book from our school.

"You do not know," he said, "that I have yelled at other for that reason!"

I then defended my position, saying that it was erasable, but I only made educated comments, and that it improved the reading experience of others when attentive.

I also he said that he was behind the times, and that post-modern polyphony was here to stay, but he wasn't convinced.

I later texted my one Czech lit prof friend to find out if she ever wrote in books -

I've been guilty of that.

- she replied.

I then asked if she ever reprimanded anyone for writing in books -

Only within the pages of the book.

- she replied.

Memorable bartender.

This summer way out toward city limits I went to one of those combo liquor store - combo bar bars.

There was a giant island bar in the middle of the room, and this (white) (blonde) junkie with a mohawk, who looked to be his mid-40s and moaned a lot, laying his head on the bar.

The bartender came in, and he was a muscled-up (white) guy with tight light jeans, a red tight t-shirt, and an American flag bandana.

"Hey bro, what can I get you?", he said.

Their restroom had that poster of Demi Moore in "Striptease", where she's naked but has her arms and legs crossed to cover up her lumps and hoo-haw.

Stone cold sober.

The other week I was talking with a (computer science) grad student from school, and it came up that he doesn't drink.

"Oh," I was like, "That's cool."

"Yeah," he said, "No alcohol, no drugs."

"Perfectly respectable," I was like.

"Yeah," he was like, "But I used to do all that stuff."

Then, after a pause, he was like, "But then I almost ripped my dick off after taking crystal meth and masturbating for nineteen hours straight."

Then, after another pause, he was like, "They had to do reconstructive surgery. It was actually bent at like a 45-degree angle."

Then, after yet another pause, he was like, "It's a quarter inch shorter now, from all the scar tissue. It contracted."

Then, finally, he looked me in the eye and was like, "You honestly have no idea how good it feels. It's like a million orgasms going off in your head all at once, for nineteen hours straight. It's all chemical, but it's all real, because it's all in your head."

Hebrew.

I'm taking Hebrew this semester. The vowel patterns drive me *nuts*, there are so many exceptions.

I think it's the type of language where you'd have to read in it forever to become comfortable with it, before you ever began to even think of teaching a beginning language course in it.

Remembered advice from my (former) (escort) friend...

When I was jobless and had mentioned to him that I was looking at all my options, he said to start drinking light beer and vodka and tonics, because that way I could get a flat stomach and escort.

If I was really keeping all my options open.

This was before I found out he was an escort.

Old newspapers.

I'm reading old newspapers from across the U.S. at the very end of the 18th century.

I'm really shocked at how many ads are descriptions of escaped slaves, or of slaves for sale.

Protest!

I wanted to go to the "Occupy [my city]" protest afterwards, so I folded up my "Exploit-o-nomics" sign from the Madison protests into my backpack, and brought it along.

As it turns out, the (Mexican) guy is super pissed off, so after running 26.2 miles, he hobbled over to the protests with me - though not before I just pulled out my sign and leaned against a wall downtown in a park by the marathon traffic, so all the people going by could see it!

Most looked confused, one (late 30s) (really fit) (black) lady smiled broadly, and one older (white) guy in khaki shorts and with a big paunch shook his head and grimaced when I wasn't looking, the (Mexican) guy said later.

In any case, I was "that eccentric guy at a big event"!

Anyhow, on the walk over to the protest the (Mexican) guy said he's super pissed, since the U.S. is becoming more and more like Mexico, with everything for the super rich, and nothing for everyone else - health care is becoming too expensive, education is becoming too expensive, etc.

He said he moved here for opportunity (he's an engineer, and works in the suburbs), and he sees less and less of it...

He said the only thing preferable to Mexico vs. the U.S. is the free college education there.

He also said that he thinks back a lot to a class in college in Mexico about social change, where a professor asked people what they thought about this systemic problem, that systemic problem, etc. After it was all done, she asked people to raise their hands to see who would protest to the point of getting hurt and even getting killed, and no one did.

"You see, there is no hope for our country," she said.

"You know," the (Mexican) guy said, "I realized she is right, that is why I moved."

Cheering at the marathon.

The other weekend I went to cheer at the marathon for a (Mexican) guy my one lawyer friend from Missouri used to date, and her neighbor as well.

Part of the marathon course was like 2 blocks from her house, so I woke up at 7am and had breakfast at home and then biked down to cheer...

The streets were pretty packed 2-3 deep, and people had speakers set up, and there were some Japanese drummers keeping up a beat on native drums.

Later, we biked down to the finish line and found a place in the bleachers. Behind us was a(n Asian) couple, and the husband saw their son go by but the mom didn't.

The (Mexican) guy my one lawyer friend from Missouri used to date slipped by us as well!

I think my favorite part of the day earlier was being out cheering with her one friend from the same town in Missouri... She had a decently tight top on, and when she raised her sign it showed her gazongas. I actually saw 2 runners look back and give her the once over, after they ran by!

Hipsters suck.

So a few weekends ago I went to this giant music club block party that almost made me like hipsters - under $30 entrance for a day of good acts (including 2 I really wanted to see; all the performers did at least an hour's set), then reasonable event prices (e.g. $2 cups of good coffee, which was nice, since it was getting cold).

After the last act I wanted to see, I went to go get some food from these foodtrucks they had lined up behind the performance area, but it was hard to see where the lines to the separate foodtrucks were, because people were so clustered up.

So, I followed the line back from the foodtruck I wanted to go to, and right where it ended in a crowd, I asked this (early 20s) (white) (hipster) girl who looked nice enough if that was the end of the line.

"I don't know," she was like.

"Oh," I was like. "Are you waiting?"

"Yeah," she was like.

"Oh," I was like, "So how far back does this go?", since it wasn't obvious.

She looked me in the eyes and shrugged. "As far back as it goes."

...I really need to have a good response to hipster bullshit like that... I just said, "Bitch," and walked away. Maybe I should have said "cunt", or, "you know something, you're really a rude cunt"...?

A day downtown.

On Thursday I was downtown.

I walked by the Apple store, and was surprised that there were flowers and apples and cards out front and post-it notes above them on the store's window, and so many people taking photos of them that a policeman was stationed there to remind people to keep in so the sidewalk was clear for pedestrians.

After that, I strolled up to this ritzy downtown neighborhood park to study outside, and I arrived at an intersection when the "stop" hand was blinking, so I said to the (older, but with plastic surgery) (white) woman with a shopping bag standing there, "C'mon, we can get across!", and as soon as we stepped into the street the light turned yellow and we had to dash across.

"If anything happens I'll sue you!", she joked, jogging up behind me.

At the park I got a coffee, but there were few places to sit, so I went up to this (white) girl in a black halter top and big sunglasses who was studying by herself at a table, and was like, "Excuse me, can I study here?" - and it turned out to be a ph.d. student I know from another institution, I didn't recognize her because of the sunglasses!

We talked a bit, and it turns out she and her boyfriend had moved into the neighborhood recently. She says the weirdest thing is that a lot of rich people from the place on Sundays do one-day rentals from the nearby Mercedes-Benz dealership, and do that just to take the car to brunch at restaurants within walking distance, so they can have them parked outside.

She also pointed out the cougar bars in the area, and we decided that we should go to "cougar night" specials (= drink discounts for guys under 25 and women over 40) at different bars, just for the scene and the fun.

Lesbian Nuns (11 of ???): an Irish-American nun (5 of 5).

From “Healing in the Dark” – Mab Maher (1956-1974; 291) -

The following Christmas I flew to Ireland. I needed to see the roots of myself more clearly. I rented a car and began a trip to the farthest Western Point, Dingle Peninsula. I felt completely free and at one with myself as I drove along. The roads grew more narrow and cut into rolling hills. Almost imperceptibly I became one with the round, soft hills that curved into each other from every direction. They were the shape of women loving each other. I have never felt such an overwhelming sense of being at home. In that moment all the Earth was saying *yes* to my Lesbian identity. I got out of the car and opened my arms to the Irish hills; I ran up and down them calling them my lovers and my sisters. As the sun began to set I reluctantly left them to find a hostel with a huge feather bed and to sleep until the middle of the following afternoon.

. . .

Lesbian Nuns (12 of ???): an Irish-American nun (4 of 5).

From “Healing in the Dark” – Mab Maher (1956-1974; 289-290) -

One year before I left the convent I took a leave of absence to do consultation work in the East... Luckily my friend Sarah taught me to look carefully at society’s expectations... During those first few months I learned how much inverted interest there is in the lives of nuns. Sarah taught me to treat questions as projections and to have fun with them.

A few weeks later a man with whom I worked asked me over lunch if there were underground tunnels between rectories and convents for easy access to sex. I said, “Sure.”

“But isn’t that awfully dangerous? You could be found out.”

“Oh yes,” I assured him, “that did happen.”

Two weeks later he called to confide that he had been having an affair with his neighbor’s wife. There was a secret path in the adjoining orchard. But he had been found out!

When a woman asked me if nuns masturbated, I said, “Sure.”

She was shocked but interested. “I suppose it did help a tense situation.”

“Oh, of course.”

A few weeks later at the swimming pool I overheard her say that she and her husband were again having sex. She attributed this marvel to her newly discovered joy in masturbating.

Perhaps all this was not exactly what Ghandi [sic] had in mind when he spoke of experimenting with the truth, but I was learning who I was not and how easy it is to be caught in the web of projection.

. . .

Lesbian Nuns (11 of ???): an Irish-American nun (3 of 5).

From “Healing in the Dark” – Mab Maher (1956-1974; 288) -

At twenty-eight, in graduate school in Washington, D.C., I had my first experience of triangular love. A handsome young nun from Detroit and I grew very close as we studied in the library, ate together, and took long walks each day. I loved Ann. I had so much energy I could have sold it. Ann was also a close friend of a priest from Ireland whose years of scholarship had left him physically blind. When the three of us went on an outing, I usually drove. One day we went to the ocean in Delaware. After we finished our picnic, I hiked two miles back over the dunes to find the car and drive it back to them. When I returned, they were lying under several blankets. I could see him sucking her breasts through her open habit. Overwhelmed with my own sexual yearning and loss, I fell to the sand and sobbed. I never revealed that I had seen them...

. . .

Lesbian Nuns (10 of ???): an Irish-American nun (2 of 5).

From “Healing in the Dark” – Mab Maher (1956-1974; 287) -

In our large mother house there were a dozen or more walk-in lockers in which food was kept in cold storage. One day my friend and I were accidentally locked into the one which stored milk. As the door jammed, I felt my anxiety rise. Everyone would now see that we were particular friends. (Actually, I am not sure that my friend knew she was my particular friend.) I huddled up in the corner with the cream cans. Much more pragmatic, she pounded on the door. After several hours of physical cold and psychic heat, the sister who managed the kitchen found as. As she released the latch, I blurted, “We didn’t do anything.” Laughing, she shook the bag of apples she was carrying at us and said, “Too bad. Too bad.”

. . .

Lesbian Nuns (9 of ???): an Irish-American nun (1 of 5).

From “Healing in the Dark” – Mab Maher (1956-1974; 287)

In the novitiate I loved to kneel next to one classmate. Usually we were assigned places in chapel, but not when we knelt through the night before the casket of a dead sister. The intent of this observance was like that of the Tibetan Buddhists: by seeing death clearly, we were to become aware of the passingness of all things. But I never felt so alive as during those nights when I could kneel next to my friend. I felt as if I would live forever.

. . .

Lesbian Nuns (8 of ???): Interview excerpt.

From “Alternative Community” – Sister Anne (1956-present; 310) – an interview -

Sister Anne: During the next ten years I went out with several men – mostly people in ministry – though I did have an intense affair with another community member. I was almost forty when I met Laura, a student at the University where I was chaplain. We were madly in love. I used to crawl through her dormitory window to sleep with her, often returning to the convent in the early morning – hoping no one had missed me. Sometimes she would stay over in my room; we’d prop the door closed with a chair since there were no locks. We were wild: making love on the kitchen floor, holding hands under the table during dinner with the community. And we were sworn to secrecy – nobody knew anything. It was intense for two years. Then the isolation and the constant fear of being discovered overwhelmed her.

Nancy: Yes, it’s hard to maintain a relationship under those conditions. So then?

Sister Anne: Then I met Marie. She came to a group Laura and I were forming to explore alternative religious communities. Little did we know...

. . .

Lesbian Nuns (7 of ???): More from the same author...

More from “God Was an Innocent Bystander”, by Jean O’Leary (with Jan Holden) (1966-1971; 237-238):

Carrie and I were seen once walking by the lake, holding hands and kissing under the light by the bridge. The novice mistress called us to her office. She said we shouldn’t walk by the lake because we were breaking the rules. Nothing else. We knew she knew, but she said nothing.

One night the postulant mistress, Sister Martha, caught us. Everyone was in the rec room. Sister Martha was working on a mosaic. She asked me to get more tiles from the laundry. I asked to take Carrie with me. At first, Sister Martha said no. But when I said I’d like company because it was dark there, she consented. Whenever Carrie and I were alone we became very passionate. We always schemed for those moments of privacy. Getting the tiles shouldn’t have taken long, but once we were in the laundry, it was dark and quiet and we were alone, lost in a world of each other. Suddenly the room was thrown into glaring light. Sister Martha stood in the doorway. She just stared at us. our headdresses were off, and there was no question what we were doing.

I was in agony that night. I knew that I was going to be kicked out. I knew tomorrow would be my last day... We went to bed without talking. I didn’t want to leave the convent; I wasn’t ready for the world.

Sister Martha called me into her office the next morning. I could barely look at her. I wanted to be anywhere but in that office, knowing she was going to dismiss me. She said, “The least you could have done was talk to me.” I was stunned. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t going to throw me out. She was jealous! I left the office floating.

The next day Sister Martha asked me to take her to the store. When we returned, I drove the station wagon into the garage, turned off the ignition, put my arm around Sister Martha, and kissed her. It was that simple.

Sister Martha had been in the convent for twenty years. She followed the rules meticulously, and she set the rules for everyone: lights out at ten, no radios, no smoking, walking correctly, no cutting up, maintaining an attitude of dignity. She didn’t encourage familiarity.

After we began having the affair, Martha changed dramatically. She began to express her wonderful sense of humor. A spontaneous, warm, creative person emerged. And, of course, the convent changed, too. We became a family, a community of intimacy and love. Not that we were open or direct about our love, but the atmosphere became completely supportive and nurturing.

. . .

Lesbian Nuns (6 of ???): Postulancy, together.

From “God Was an Innocent Bystander”, byJean O’Leary (with Jan Holden) (1966-1971; 233-234):

Sister Jackie and I were postulants together. We took the same courses, worked together in the Villa, and lived on the same floor in the dorms. Talking, always talking, we explored our innermost feelings. The energy between us was amazing. She was my opposite – quiet and introspective. She was my first love.

After months of building, our affair finally began with a backrub. We were in a classroom when the convent bells chimed Vespers. The building around us was silent and empty. Everyone was in the chapel in prayer. We should have hurried there ourselves. Jackie and I looked at each other as we listened to the bells. Neither of us moved. She spoke softly, answering the question I’d asked before the bells. Her voice seemed to fill the room. The end of her sentence finished our conversation. I watched her face, so strong and intelligent, her eyes mysterious, passionate, their distance muted. She stood finally and touched my shoulder. I looked straight ahead as she massaged my neck. We were drawn so tightly together, invisibly held by the emotion between us. When she paused, I turned and gently pulled her to the seat beside me. I could hear her soft breath and feel her pulse as I touched her neck. Magnified in the silence of Vespers, the tension between us exploded in our first kiss.

. . .

Lesbian Nuns (5 of ???): Yep.

From “South American Lawyer in a Cloister”, by Maria Cristina (1963-1975; 213-214):

Another difficult practice was flagellating ourselves alone in our cells every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. The two flagellation devices were called the minor and major disciplines. The small one was supposed to hurt but not show anything on the skin. The other one was heavier and sometimes drew blood. The disciplines were to be used on the buttocks and legs...

The purpose of flagellation was to dominate our sexuality. But sometimes when I hit myself I awakened my carnal desires. When our carnal or sensuous side was aroused we had to explain what had occurred to the Mother Superior. It was difficult for me to share with her because I felt guilty and ashamed. I knew that as a woman there were moments when my sexuality was there. This flagellant device did arouse my feelings, and it was hard for me to control them. By obedience to the Rule, I had to use that device on myself every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. There was no escape.

Many times masturbation, which was forbidden by the Rule, happened. I had to confess, in front of the community, ‘Last night I had impure thoughts and impure manipulations.’ I felt guilty and remorseful, and I requested heavy penance, which was granted. Heavy penance was self-inflicted flagellation, which sometimes aroused me again. It was a cycle, especially right before or during or after my period. We also had belts with small crosses to wear around my arms, thighs, and waist. Those small crosses caused a lot of hurt. Some days, doing this penance was quite helpful and rewarding for me in trying to achieve perfection.

. . .

Lesbian Nuns (4 of ???): South America

From “Finding My Way”, by Mary Brady (1956-1970; 200-201):

Then I was asked to go to South America. I accepted eagerly, hoping the challenge of the missions would end this unhealthy preoccupation. But it was there I met Beth. It was Christmas morning 1968, after Midnight Mass, when she first came to my room. Beth was my superior but only two years older than my thirty years, and we knew each other from the novitiate.

“I wanted to see if you were all right,” she said, looking a little flustered. She sat beside me on the bed and put her arm around my shoulder. I can still see the dimly lit room, the tan bedspread, the Sacred Heart Statue on the nightstand. She began stroking my back, then held me against her breast for what seemed like a long time. I was afraid to breathe. She was warm and soft, and before I went off to sleep I was in love again.

A week later she retired early, not feeling well, and I took a tray to her for supper. We talked, and when she finished eating, she asked me to lie beside her on the bed. Ignorant and shy, I never initiated such moves, but was only too glad to accept an invitation. I lay down and she held me, stroking my back, her hand running thrillingly under my pajama tops and eventually even under the bottoms. I grew excited and confused, but it felt so good I didn’t want to ruin it by asking questions.

After that I contrived to visit her room almost every night. The caresses grew more intimate, and she taught me to touch her in ways she liked. At last I had found what I’d been needing all those years...

. . .

Lesbian Nuns (3 of ???): Eva, and more.

From “Revolving Doors”, by Coriander (1962-1968; 187-188, 191):

I taught sixth grade that year; Eva taught first. She had a wonderful rapport with her students. I was lucky if there weren’t dogfights in the aisles. Life was tough, but not at all like it used to be. I was loved, and I knew it. Each evening I crossed through the bathroom into Eva’s room, and she read to me. We sat very close on the bed, her arm around me, while I listened to stories like The Little Prince or The Wind in the Willows. Sometimes we lay down for awhile before I went to my bed. Before long my initial feelings of affection became desire. The night Eva asked if she could put her hand on my breat, I was only too ready to comply. From there we went in the direction of least resistance, and finally I had to admit that what we were doing was sexual...

I left the convent in 1968 because its walls had become a prison... It’s painful to remember my blunders as I tumbled back into the world. I had no idea how to dress. My attempts at dating led me into bizarre situations. More than once it was a priest who offered to purge me of my virginity...

It took me over a month to find the Lesbian community in Boulder... The little bit of doubt I kept to myself was dispelled when I feel in love with a woman from Oregon who called herself Gnome. The night we first kissed was a full moon in September. There was no holding back the night we made love. My body responded with natural ease, and in my heart I knew I had finally come home to myself. Women’s music was never the same after that. All of a sudden the words were really about me. I had joined the club, declared myself a dyke. Gnome had to restrain me in public. I was sixteen again and in love.

. . .

Lesbian Nuns (2 of ???): Gina.

From “Fresh Starts” by Betsy Snider (1964-1967; 100) -

Gina was a year older. During my postulant year, I was frightened of her and avoided her as much as possible. However, when I became a novice, she and I were in charge of a group of children during summer day camp. We spent much of the summer together. We began giving each other massages. During my postulancy, I gave frequent massages to other postulants. It was all fairly innocent. However, Gina liked to give naked back rubs, using oil and powder. I found it exciting and terribly disturbing. Throughout the winter, we continued to meet alone, go for long walks together, eat together, and spend much of our free time in each other’s company.

. . .

Lesbian Nuns (1 of ???): Silence.

All of these posts will be from the legendary Lesbian Nuns: Breaking Silence, edited by Rosemary Curb and Nancy Manahan (Naiad Press, 1985).

This post is from “What Silence Does This Book Break?” by Nancy Manahan (1966-1967 [=years in religious life]; xxxvi-xxxvii):

At the Maryknoll novitiate, I confessed my religious doubt to my postulant mistress, Sister Rita Anne. She suggested I talk to Johanna, an older postulant and an articulate convert to Catholicism. Johanna and I debated the creation story, original sin, indulgences, and papal infallibility. Perhaps I never saw the light because I didn’t want our meetings to end. I didn’t know I was in love with her. I only knew that the chapel vibrated when she walked in, and my stomach lurched when she knelt soundlessly behind me. I longed for her touch.

As assistant infirmarian, Johanna visited me when I was hospitalized for spastic colon and ulcer symptoms. In my misery, I held to the end of her long grey scapular for comfort. Even then, I was afraid that others would see us and KNOW. I knew that what I felt for her was wrong. Home from the hospital, I remember lying on my stomach after the Profound Silence bell, my pajama tops unbuttoned down the back, waiting for her. She came in silence, warmed the cream in her hands, and touched me. I hardly breathed through the whole backrub.

. . .

!!! EL TIEMPO DE LOS SWEEPS A LA BLOGA !!!

Other media venues do Shark Week, but aqui at la bloga, we do:

A SERIES OF POSTS ABOUT LESBIAN NUNS!!!!

Joking with Africans.

The other week I was in the store shopping, and there was this well-dressed (West African) couple picking up some groceries after church.

I had to pass them, and the wife stepped out of my way in the aisle, being like "Excuse me," and as soon as I got my eggs, I turned to get some other stuff, and it turns out that we were in each other's way again as we were reaching for vegetables!

"Do you want to dance?", I was like, enunciating my words slowly in case their English wasn't that good. "But your husband is right here!"

At that, she laughed, and the guy really laughed, and as I walked by he patted my arm and was like, "Good one."

One of my favorite things about West Africans is their genuine appreciation for easy-going situational humor.

Wisconsinites - They can really annoy me.

The other weekend I was drinking with my one Czech literature friend and her friend on a bar patio downtown, and all these UW people were walking by after a local football game.

First, we joked a lot, since I guess the Wisconsin cheer is "Go Badg!" (=badgers), which my friend heard as "Go vag!".

Second, I was joking that I should just chant "RE-CALL WALK-ER!" as everyone passed by to see how many people supported it, though I got talked out of it because many of the people were extremely big and tough-looking and very very drunk.

But, these two (early 50s) (Wisconsin) couples sat down on the patio for food and a beer, and we started talking to them, and when the one couple said they were from Madison, I was like, "Oh, what do you think of how the train line isn't going to get extended anymore?" (= Walker didn't accept federal funding).

"Well, it's controversial," the one (white) guy said, and just clammed up.

Bitch. I know he was a Walker supporter.

Going off the wagon.

So my one (former - I'll get to that) friend who hooks was telling me how his sexual behavior was "phasic".

In late high school, he was kind of crazy, then he settled down in early college and even dated a bit, then in late college he was crazy again, then there was a period of like a year where he was "anally celibate".

Then, out of the blue one day, he texted me what I thought of gangbangs.

(I can't remember what I said, probably, "They're great, as long as you invite me.")

Later, I talked to him and it turns out that he had been talking with a guy through the net for like ever, and then finally the guy told him about a suburban jock gangbang that was happening in this hotel room everyone had rented out.

So, he drove to the suburbs, and there was a bunch of (white) jock guys in their early to late 20s, and, as he put it, "I got fucked and fucked and fucked and fucked, and then when I got tired I fucked some, and then I got fucked some more."

He said he and 2 other guys ended up spending the night in the hotel room, and he slept between them, and then they woke up and fucked some more.

"Because you just couldn't get enough of being used by two guys at once," I was like.

Then, he told me that actually that morning he wasn't, the one (white) jock was super alpha and fucked him and dropped his load in his mouth while the other guy just stood off to the side and watched and had to wait his turn.

3 downtown bars (3 of 3): Italian restaurant.

After that bar, I went around the corner to an Italian restaurant, part of which was a caboose set into a building.

I walk in, and there's 2 (young) (white) guys standing near the front talking seriously and both have their wallets out, and there's these 2 very thin and beautiful (female) bartenders behind the bar, and this chunky (Asian-American) guy in a baseball cap and business clothes at the bar, and these two (white) guys in the same in a corner table.

Otherwise, the place is dead.

When the 1 (female) bartender went to go get something, the other one just held her hands over her head and started doing a very slow, very slinky dance, which made me realize that was probably a good way to kill time, tips-wise.

Later, she danced out from behind the bar and rubbed up against the (Asian American) guy, who just got a big ol' smile on his face.

Later, I went to meet my friends. I couldn't believe I was downtown, near places where normal people go.

3 downtown bars (2 of 3): Bar/Liquor Store.

The next bar I went to was this bar that's a combo liquor store as well.

It had a bunch of hard-bitten local (white) women smoking outfront, and they were dressed up, not like excecutives, but more like office managers and stuff.

Inside, there were more women like that, some business men, one knock-out (half white, half Asian) woman with a big ol' purse, and this big-shouldered (young) (Polish) bartender in a aquamarine tanktop.

In the back, there was one cooler with Miller six-packs, too.

After I sat down and got a drink, I heard the (fat) (white) businessman next to me drunkenly talk to the (half white, half Asian) woman, and he made some very loud joke about selling himself, and he went to pull open his shirt to show his sweaty chest and straggly chest hair.

She smiled but her eyes didn't seem amused, and I realized all of a sudden that she must be an escort.

Later, I went to take a piss - though the bar was very very small and you weren't more than 20 feet from the door, there was a sign in the bathroom "GO OUTSIDE TO SMOKE" - and when I returned back, I noticed that when I was seated, I couldn't see behind her purse this big ol' cup of Dunkin' Donuts coffee on the bar next to her wineglass.

She *was* an escort, and she was getting ready for a long night.

3 downtown bars (1 of 3): Pizzeria.

These are some memorable bars from a while ago:

There's this pizzeria downtown right by a subway track, and outside there's this lovely sign from the 1950s, and inside there's tons of little tables, and a bar tucked away in back.

So, one very hot (summer) evening before meeting friends, I pop in for a drink.

It's very nice, with tons of black-and-white photos of local celebrities on the walls.

"How you doing?", this one (chunky) (heavily done up) (Puerto Rican?) waitress (in her late 30s) asks me as I come.

"Man, it's hot out there," I was like.

"I know!", she said. "My eyebrows melted off out there, I had to re-do them!"

Running into people everywhere.

The other week the subway is stalled out on the platform with the doors open, and this (white) woman from the corner of the car starts getting impatient, and she gets up from her seat and starts pacing, and she looks vaguely familiar...

She also has clothing that's brightly colored and slightly mismatched, which makes her look mentally ill.

After a minute of her frantic pacing, she goes to the door and yells out to the platform, "HEY, WE GONNA GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD AND GET MOVING OR WHAT?" -

And as soon as she does that, I recognize her as that one bartender from the bar with the plywood sign, the one who doesn't serve drinks to (black) people.

A naming story.

So I met a college friend of my one lawyer friend from Missouri.

Her fiance's name is Danny, and his older brother is Daniel.

"What?", I was like.

It turns out that her fiance's mom is a warbride from the Far East and slightly off-kilter, and when she had her second son, she asked her first son what she should name him.

"Dan!", he was like.

"No, silly," she was like, "That's your name."

"Danny!", he was like.

So, she named her second son that.

A (Polish) bar.

So the other week before meeting a friend for a drink I left a little early to catch a drink someplace else early, and I ended up going to a (Polish) bar in a neighborhood that has a vestigial Polish population (i.e. they left for further out where real estate prices were cheaper)...

(I knew it was Polish from the "Zywiec" beer sign outfront.)

Anyhow, so I go in, and there's a few (white) hipsters sitting on the stools, and this older (white) lady with a very glossy face, and when I sit down, I'm sniffling like no other, like I had been all day, and I start asking her if there's a cold going around, or if it's allergies, and she (in accented English) starts telling me that it's allergies, everyone's been coming in with them.

So, we start talking about that, and I start telling her about neti pots, which she had never heard of, and she started saying that there's a lot of (Polish) natural healing stores that have medicines from India, Korea, and Japan.

We talked some more, and I told her I was (half Polish), and I started asking her about her immigration story.

It turns out that her grandparents had been in the U.S. and her dad was born here, but then they decided to move back to Poland before WWII, and so her dad grew up there as a U.S. citizen, and thus was able to take all his kids under the age of 18 back to the U.S. in the 1970s no problem.

At that point, I introduced myself, and she held out her hand and said her name, which is the same as the name of the bar (minus the apostrophe).

She also said that there's been no young (Polish) people in the city like there used to be, ever since Poland joined the EU; because of that, a lot of students get siphoned off to the UK, and a lot of the construction workers get siphoned off to Austria and Italy. She said things might change if the U.S. economy picks up, but anyone who comes here now usually goes back after a few months because there's just not enough work here, comparatively.

Soul Train events (2 of 2): Concert.

The free anniversary concert the next day downtown was a mixed bag.

I ran into some (white) people I knew (my friend I had originally planned to go with cancelled because her dog was sick), and then ran to a nearby 7-11 to get some wine to share with everyone, and then made some friends asking everyone around for a cork screw.

"Nope," the (middle-aged) (black) woman sitting in a chair behind us was like, "No corkscrew, I got my chardonnay right here!", and she held up and tapped an empty pop bottle full of yellowish clear liquid.

So, I went looking among picnic groups, and some (older) (black) women who didn't have a corkscrew but wished me luck laughed when I was like, "Doesn't it just tick you off, all that happiness closed up in this bottle and it can't get out?!?!"

A few acts in, they announced that it was one of the biggest turnouts in the spaces (almost 20,000 people), and it was like a fun packed dancer party at 1st...

"Why did you bring a chair when you're not sitting in it?", I said to the (black) woman behind me and her friends.

Like 2/3 of the way through the concert, they had to kill time between act set-up and the talking went on forever (at least 15min.), and the crowd started dispersing.

The best acts were early on, too! What a weird shape to the night.

Soul Train events (1 of 2): Doc.

So the other weekend I went to a (sold out!) screening of a documentary about "Soul Train" where Don Cornelius appeared afterward:

1) As this tall young (black) guy with artful dreads and a leather jacket walked by, the ticket-taker was like, "That's his son!"

2) Before the film started, this one skinny (light-skinned black) woman in a baseball caps and athletic suit was chit-chatting to everyone in seats on every side of her - when I sat down she was talking about how the first time she heard Donna Summer (Summers?) sing "Love to Love Ya Baby" it just bowled her over - and then she was saying how nice it was to see such a diverse audience, "'cause that makes you see that Soul Train wasn't just a black thing, it was an *everyone* thing."

So, I slid forward and was like, "Sorry, I couldn't help overhearing you..." and then told her about my one (Puerto Rican) friend with (Indian) parents who got hooked on good music through watching Soul Train as a kid.

"Even today," I was like, "When he hears a song, he'll say a lot of times, 'That's nice, but it doesn't have enough butter in it.'"

"Ha!", the lady was like, "Butter! I like that, I'm gonna have to use that. You see, when he say 'butter', he really mean, 'soul'."

Then, she started talking about how she had been at the Texas State Fair and had tried deep-friend butter there, and the (white) woman next to her started talking about how at some state fair she had tried a Krispy Kreme burger, where they make up a burger but put it between 2 Krispy Kreme donuts.

3) Everyone sang and clapped to all the songs in the movie, but my favorite part was when some (black) woman behind me shouted out when a young Chaka Khan was briefly on screen, "Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, look at that waist, mmmmmmmmmmm!"

Afterwards, I turned around, and the noisy women behind me turned out to be very staid, tastefully-dress (black) women in their upper 50s.

I also liked how in the doc they said that in the 1st year of Soul Train, the local tv show order for kids was Soul Train, Speed Racer, and the 3 Stooges, and some (black) guy shouted out from the audience, "That's right!"

4) Don Cornelius was a douche to everyone.

He was talking about how he and the announcer (some local radio or tv personality) had always been smooth, "and we're both still smooth, only now you're smooth and round!"

He introduced his ex-wife as the mother of his children, but then was saying he doesn't know what she's up to or who she gets down with anymore, though she probably is getting down, and then he apologized and was like "Sorry, she's a cancer, she's always been a one-man woman."

When some local docent asked for addresses of a past place he lived in Chicago so she could include it on a Black Pride South Side tour, he just said that would take some doing, and never offered to get that info back to her later, though the announcer jumped in and named the local high school he graduated from.

When someone during Q&A asked him if he still kept up with the dancers, he got all abashed and was like, "Uh, no.... That was 1971, that was 40 years ago, that was a long time..."

He seemed to be going senile, but I think your true character starts to show through when that happens.

Met some Germans.

So I was out the other Friday and I met some friend's German coworkers and their 2 friends visiting from Bavaria.

I talked with them some, and it turned out that not only were they students, but they were also each firefighters in their "willages" near Ulm.

"Professional or volunteer?", I was like.

"Wolunteer," they were like.

So, I started asking them if they would go into burning houses and save the beautiful German families from the flames (and I spoke slowly and with simple words so they could understand me).

"Oh yes, all the time," they were like, laughing.

"Well," I was like, "What do you do with the Turkish families?"

They seemed confused at first, and then they said that they saved them too.

"Now," I was like, "If there was a dark Turkish child in a burning house, and a beautiful German child next to him, and there was a burning piece of wood falling directly towards them both, and you could only strike it one way or the other and save either the dark Turkish child or the beautiful German child, which one would you save?"

The one laughed, and was like, "The beautiful German child, of course," and he said it like he was in on the joke with me, but his joke didn't have much finesse.

If I was him, I would have said:

- the Turkish child, so no-one would accuse me of racism.

-or-

- the beautiful German child, since I could say I didn't see the dark Turkish child in all the smoke.

Europeans. Henh.

Addendum addendum.

Also also, after knowing my one friend who "hooks" for like over half a year under a kind of bad-ass hispanic name (“Andreas”), but before I knew about his “hooking”, he told me, “You know that’s not really my name, don’t you?”

I was surprised, and then he told me that he had told me that several times before, but always when I was pretty drunk, which is why I probably didn’t remember it.

(I didn’t.)

He then told me his name (a very ultra-nerdy, unattractive hispanic name that does not translate well in terms of coolness, and perhaps is not even that cool in the Central American country from which his parents come; his dad was a very low-level govt. official, and fled corruption but now is a manager of a gas station in a decrepit suburb, and has been for decades, and will likely be in that job till death), and when pressed joked that “Andreas” was his “stage name”.

I didn’t quite get that, except that maybe he used that out at clubs since his other name would be a turn-off to people? I also realized that he had gone out with friends to movies, and he had introduced himself to them under his real name, which must have confused them when I kept calling him “Andreas”.

And why did he originally introduce himself to me that way? I knew him vaguely from around school, but I can’t remember when and how he introduced himself to me.