Ground Control to Major Tom

Here is what people do in the South: own cars. Here is what else they do: drive EVERYWHERE! And finally, while driving, they're inevitably multitasking with GPS devices and it is so dangerous!

I got to upgrade my cellular telephone a few months ago. And I was excited to purchase some Bluetoof technology right along with it. I'd noticed after moving back that driving a stick shift and talking on the phone at the same time was, well, challenging at the very least, to say nothing of its danger. My Bluetoof headset makes me look like Robocop, which is what I call it, and I also find that in spite of the perils of driving while talking NOT hands-free, because my headset acts up from time to time, I often forgo its technological luxury and just talk into my phone itself. However, when it works I do love using the headset. It definitely puts my mind at ease because then I'm left with both hands to shoot the bird to other drivers.

Here is what scares me more, though. Those people with those things that sit on their dash and tell them, "In 214 feet, make...a...left." Except that about 38% of the time, they're wrong and/or the map they are displaying is too tiny to see anything and so the person slows down and inspects the tiny jumbled screen and nearly gives everyone behind them a heart attack. This happened to me yesterday, in fact. I was leaving my school, and got stuck behind a parent who was deccelerating without putting on the breaks down this road that says it's 35, but most people do about 10 over that. This woman was doing a good ten under 35 (That would be 25.) and I was afraid someone might ram into the back of her if they couldn't tell she was going so slow. By the time I was able to pull around her, what did I see but her, jabbing her finger to the screen of her in-flight navigator. Ok, not even pilots are given this kind of thing, and most of them have co-pilots, who can fly the plane when Pilot Numero Uno needs to drink his coffee or do some lines. This lady had her kid in the front seat who no doubt had his nose jammed into a Gameboy.

I dated someone for a while who insisted on using a little gadget like this, and pretty much the only arguments we ever had were about his seemingly boundless desire to nearly kill us in a motor vehicle accident as he took his eyes off the road and pondered the messages his hand-held do-dad was telling him. The worst part was that they were nearly always wrong, so not only did we wind up narrowly escaping death periodically, but we did it in unknown quadrants. He thought this was fancy. He also read books on his PDA. But I found both to be unnecessarily idiotic.

Who knows what kind of intuition is lost to these devices. My father used to tell me after I turned 16 that if I ever had a car wreck, he just knew that I'd be found with my finger stuck to the radio tuner on my car. But to that I now say that radio tuners pose far less threat to me and my fellow road warriors than GPS devices that get you lost. In some places, they've started to outlaw talking on a phone while driving unless it's hands free. I have a hard time seeing how these gizmos are any less dangerous, and they certainly are not advantageous for finding one's way around. Besides, if you've got your eyes glued to that little screen, how will you ever see Robocop driving by shooting you the bird??

Back in Black

Well, my people, it's been a looooonnnnngggg time. The most recent post before this one will tell you why (i.e. grad school half over and untold miserable power point presentations later) and the one before that will tell you just how long it's been since I posted. It is actually cold outside. And usually, I jack up the thermostat with reckless abandon, but have found myself feeling very torn about that of late as the water shortage in the area has now reached Defcon 5 and well, every little bit helps, right. Where are my sweaters?

The truth is that I have no business spending time trolling the blogosphere this evening, mostly because I have no time. I turned in three papers this week and have another due Tuesday along with a big fat final that is terrifying. But I miss this. All the writing I do these days must adhere to APA standards and let me tell you, after years of using the much simpler and more intuitive MLA format, I am struggling with this. Why can't theory writing by like legal writing in which the "ibid" form is used with abandon. I know case names are long; it's also long when forty-eleven authors write up a study, so save me the time, please.

A funny aside about graduate school and writing: I had an environmental assessment paper due in a few weeks ago in which our professor asked us to write about our school placements in a very detailed way in about 7-8 pages. Most people clocked in at over 20 and his notes to me were that I needed to work on my writing. I will admit that I'm not an editor, nor do I receive paychecks from any number of prestigious institutions or publishing houses known to support writers. However, I do feel that I have a knack for stringing subjects, verbs, nouns, and some punctuation together in a relatively interesting way. I took his critique rather personally. And then remembered that he is old and washed up and HIS writing is exceedingly dull and useless and promptly ceased to feel crappy about his assessment of my work.

On the whole, the part about my last post saying that I barely had time for full sentences is true. I have hardly had much time for a social life either, squeezing in engagements here and there only to pay for it working late some nights to finish school work. The upside to compressed programs like this one (it's about 14 months) is that it's not much time of your life devoted to getting your learn on. The downside is that those 14 months are strictly devoted to what you're doing and little else.

A lot has happened since last June. For starters, I've been saying the words "I love you," an awful lot, primarily to a single individual. My brother moved to Australia. I visited my friend Nina in Chicago. I've been to New York twice. My cat of fifteen years died at my mother's home. I got a new cat at my home in Durham. I've been duped into spending far too much on textbooks. I've written a lot of papers. I've met a lot of adolescents, and even explained sex to one of them. Here's to trying my damndest to get back into this.

Hate Power Point

Started grad school last wk. No time to eat/breathe/sleep, let alone write full sntncs. Must save for paper draft due tmrw. Weathered 2 tests this wk. 2 more next, then a wk off. Also weathered load of svrly dull Power Point presentations on "Why I Want to Be a School Counselor." Hate Power Point. Observed every last transgression seen here. Esp bad spelling. Prof loves PPT... Rough yr ahead.

(Thanks, Tater! ;)

It's getting hot in herre

One irony I'm not sure I've ever mentioned about moving back South is that Broommate is a Yankee. He is from Vermont, and a few months ago, his sister moved in to stay with us for a bit. So I'm living with a brother-sister Yankee duo and that is all well and good, but there is one thing about this that really makes me laugh. When the weather started turning warmer, mid-March, around 70-75 degrees on a regular basis, Sister Broommate began to complain about just how hot everything was. And I warned her that she had no idea whatsoever about how hot it can get.

You see, the charm of summertime in the South isn't the lightening bugs at dusk or the warmth of the evening that allows you to sleep with your windows open. Nay, it is but the sticky humidity that descends long about now and doesn't release its sweat-lodge grip until sometime around late September. It is this swampy existence that Sister Broommate has no idea about, having spent all 21 of her years living above Massachusetts. Does it even summer up there? I have no idea whatsoever. I just know there's exactly three days each summer when the water at "The Cape," is warm enough to tolerate, which I find extremely inferior to the bathwater nature of the Atlantic down on the NC coast that starts around now and lasts all summer.

I can winter mildly. I don't need a frigid blast of air or several feet of snow to remind me that it's cold and sucky outside. In fact, I'd live well never seeing another single snow flake in my life. But summering without all the charms of sweat and the requisite constancy of ceiling fans seems downright wrong somehow. New York always delivered on this front, and I made it through most summers without air conditioning. I did the same growing up in the South. And while I'm certain I accused my parents of child abuse for this at times, I wear that badge proudly now and am aware that there will be an impending battle for supremacy of the thermostat this summer as Broommate and Sister Broommate attempt to acclimate to anything about 80 degrees outside.

At the start of each season this year, I've said to myself "This is why I came back here." The spring did not disappoint with its Dogwood blooms and azalea bushes. I know the summer, although spent in school, will please me to no end, even as I throw all the bed covers off night after night to beat the heat.

I'm quite certain it was not manganese*

I've gotten so bad at this. I think the key to blogging is having your computer surgically attached to you in some way. That helps. Because even though I don't have a television (well, technically, we DO have one now, but I choose to ignore it and march steadfastly on as a non-television-having hippie) I don't gravitate towards the computer anymore than I have to. When I was working full time, it was right there and there was nothing to do. I now have a social life and also do not feel as if Dementors have sucked out my soul at the end of each day leaving me with only enough energy left to brush a tooth.

I still have plenty to rant about, however. Like, for instance, the fact that the Tarheel State has forsaken me as one of its own and denied me the in-state residency status I need for cheap tuition. The rule of thumb is that you have to have lived in-state for 12 months, and it helps to establish banking accounts, property ownership, vote, pay taxes, do something otherwise civilian and residential-seeming. I've done most of that. Oh, and I LIVED HERE FOR 18 FREAKING YEARS!!!

My initial application was denied, so I appealed. And all it got me was another denial and a $15 parking ticket, which I feel legally bound to not pay, though I feel certain that neglecting to pay it will ultimately have some perverse effect on my registration or a loan or some nonsense like that. The appeal was a totally nerve wracking experience because I had to wait for a full hour on a hard wooden bench and then get called in at the last minute, only to have these four women stare down their noses at me and while I groveled to convince them to accept me as a Tarheel. Perhaps I'd have done well to take a photograph with me of myself at the age of 2 in a light blue Carolina sweat suit. Whatever. They were autobots, they wouldn't have found it charming.

I got denied again on the appeal, so I have to wait until the fall semester to re-apply, at which time, having been here a full 12 months, I'll be eligible. I can't say I fault the state for being conservative with its educational investments when it comes to potential moochers. But I cannot help but feel that the fact that my birth certificate is stamped in the Old North State should count for something. My parents paid oodles of taxes, and I'd like to be considered just this once on the basis of the sins of my fathers. The sinning being tax paying, of course.

Speaking of which, filing taxes this year was kind of fun. I am now an independent contractor, so I had to track down a bunch of 1099s and talk about write-offs and stuff. It was cool. Here's what: when you're a yoga teacher, you can write off clothing and books and music. Those three things are my life as a consumer, with the exception of a few periodicals, so this was awesome. I've never saved so many receipts in my life!

Finally, and wholly un-related, if you've never listened to this you haven't lived. (*Track 2)

Fire and Ice

I don't mean to go on about the weather, because I find it a generally dull topic, but I'll say this for my visit to New York last weekend: that rainstorm was not nearly as ridiculous as the temperature of upper-40s that was going on. It was kind of tough to leave the weather here, which has consistently been in the 60s and 70s since early March, and go back in time to winter. Most of the trees hadn't even bloomed yet and since everything was very overcast during my whole visit, it all seemed rather drear. It was especially strange since my daily drive to and from work kind of turned green overnight several weeks ago. We've had some of the most gorgeous blossoms, and I spent yesterday afternoon in the Duke Gardens admiring the azaleas. They were just unbelievable.

I have also enjoyed seeing the Dogwoods blossom this year. That's one thing I palpably missed each year living in New York. They are not anywhere near the loveliest flower around, but there is something about the way the trees sort of look like they've had a pale white quilt laid on them that is very charming each spring.

I'd already switched out my closet to my spring/summer clothes before leaving for the city, and had to sadly return to wool sweaters and cords for a few days. It was like a tiny piece of my soul died. I have no clue how I put up with those interminable winters for so long. Or how people reside on an extended basis in, say, Saskatchewan. Or North Dakota for that matter. I'll never be convinced we're meant to be a cold-weather species. We're just smart enough to make it bearable indoors by harnessing fire and other heating measures. Thank you, Prometheus, for hanging on that rock for us. But really, I'll stick to temperate climates whenever possible.

If you're not bleeding, you're not listening

There's so much to write about! Like, my recent trip back to New York in which I could not hide my contempt for being there from anyone really. Not even good friends who are still there and ask me if I miss it. I equivocated before going about whether I should answer this honest inquiry truthfully, but as soon as people started asking me, the decision was made when my negative answer just burst right out of my mouth. I'm not sure I could say I was surprised; I've never been much good at telling lies.

It was a stressful visit because most of the time spent with friends was under pressure to watch the clock before moving onto the the next visit with friends. I also did some working while there and a good bit of yoga, which I relished in spite of getting up at 6:00 each morning to get to class. It was worth every minute of sleep deprivation. The yoga, that is.

But this isn't really what I want to write about. I want to write about this article in the Times today about birth control and its long-term effects and also the suggestion that when women tell you they "loooovvveee" getting their periods because it makes them feel feminine or whatever other crap they say, they are lying. They are lying liars who lie lie lie, and I don't know a single woman who's EVER said she enjoys the monthly process of shedding her uterine lining. It's inconvenient and painful (I passed out at work once and wound up in the ER!), and also stressful and emotionally draining. In short, you feel like shit no matter who you are and so whatever woman says she enjoys hers, or appreciates it because it makes her feel like a woman is, in actuality, a fembot. And full of it.

So the article is discussing a new type of birth control that will eliminate periods altogether. As well as one, Seasonale, that reduces your periods to four times a year, which I am on. Not so long ago, I was highly opposed to being on birth control. I had been on it briefly in college and recalled feeling strange and hormonal and also like I was tinkering with something in my system that was better left alone. I also ate like a garbage truck. So I took myself off it and decided that I would just resign myself to a life of severe pain once monthly. I can't tell you how many days I took off work thanks to Aunt Flo's visits, and since I am allergic to all pain relievers save Tylenol, I was often reduced to just drinking a lot of ginger ale and loving my heating pad for all it was worth. Until my brother had his wisdom teeth out and bestowed his leftover Vicodin on me. I used those like they were made of gold. And when my gynecologist tried to convince me to go on the pill, I recounted my unsuccessful story of a few years' past and also the bit about feeling weird about altering my hormones. She pointed out that it was no more unnatural than popping prescription medicine that wasn't mine on a monthly basis. Touche.

Someone in the article is quoted as saying that it's a tough decision for women to make to give up their monthly periods. I disagree. It's not that the decision was about stopping bleeding. It was about the effect that birth control and its hormones would have on my system overall.

A few months later, as my witch doctor crackers-and-heating-pad routine wasn't improving my monthly situation, I caved and went on the pill. And it changed my life. I did not live with dread about getting my period and I also got to love that I could actually function on the first couple days of it. About a year later, I asked my doctor about Seasonale, which sets you up so you have a period only four times annually. She agreed to put me on it and I am here to tell you that it is amazing. I'll say it again, anyone who tells you she awaits her period monthly as a reminder of being feminine must be crazy enough to thrive on pain and bouts of psychosis because this pill is a complete life saver. Those episodes each month did not do a damned thing to make me feel like a woman, they only made me feel like shit. And if that is what being a woman IS, then, I'll sacrifice bleeding for it any day. Or month!