I would post something original about Sarah Palin

if I didn't feel like everything I have to say is summed up in this article:

The Sarah Palin pity party

"She boldly tries to pass off incuriosity and lassitude as regular-people qualities, thereby doing a disservice to all those Americans who also work two jobs and do not come from families that hand out passports and backpacking trips, yet still manage to pick up a paper and read about their government and seek out experience and knowledge. When you stage a train wreck of this magnitude -- trying to pass one underqualified chick off as another highly qualified chick with the lame hope that no one will notice -- well, then, I don't feel bad for you." Aaaaa-freakin-men.

My backpack

No, I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. I have, however, grossly underestimated the amount of time and energy necessary to be a productive graduate student in a school full of insanely smart people. I looked back yesterday on the past week and calculated that I probably spent at least 35 hours studying/writing/pulling my hair out over spss code. I had three papers due and about 400 pages of reading.

Today I bought a backpack. This purchase was long overdue. When I got here I was convinced a purse would do (I have a tendency to carry very large purses). Again, I was mistaken in thinking that graduate school was cute and fun. I mean, it is FUN, but cute? Oh god, very far from it. So today I bought a real backpack. A real backpack that would actually allow me to transport multiple 2" binders, books, lunch, sanity, etc. So if you think I'm overreacting here, I invite you to take a look inside. These are the supplies for my Saturday study session. And this only covers two classes.

This is water

This morning I woke up at 10 a.m. to a soundtrack of Top 40 R&B slow jams, courtesy of a guy sitting outside my window in his car, drinking a 40 ... windows rolled down, no regard for those of us trying to enjoy a slow Sunday morning. After two hours (I'm not kidding), he walked across the street and peed on the apartment building across from mine. When I left my apartment at 1:00, he was still there; though the soundtrack had changed from Rhianna to some sort of Mexican polka.

Sometime during this whole debacle, I collected myself enough to sit down and read the NYT online ... only to discover that David Foster Wallace committed suicide on Friday.

I think this is as good a time as any to break this out: 2005 Kenyon University Commencement Speech. My mantra for the past several years. Ringing especially true these days of new and rude and dirty and uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

This is water. This is water. This is water.

R.I.P. D.F.W.

Obama does Columbia

So, the 24,900 of us who weren't awarded tickets to Thursday's sit-down with Obama and McCain scrambled for a piece of concrete outside.

But I will share this

An email from the CU President this morning ...

Dear fellow member of the Columbia community,

I am delighted to welcome you back for the new academic year with some exciting news. Columbia University has been selected to host "ServiceNation Presidential Candidates Forum" next Thursday evening as a partner in the ServiceNation Summit that will take place in New York on September 11-12.

On September 11, a day of remembrance that ServiceNation organizers intend for nonpartisan reflection on our obligations as citizens, we look forward to welcoming both Senator John McCain and Senator Barack Obama back to our campus for a nationally broadcast conversation in Alfred Lerner Hall about the future of national service moderated by TIME Magazine editor Richard Stengel and PBS NewsHour anchor Judy Woodruff. Governor David Paterson is scheduled to provide a welcome to the event.

It is entirely fitting for us to become part of this two-day conclave that will bring together so many admired leaders in our country to consider ways to expand the scope and scale of successful service programs throughout the nation. Public service and active involvement in the issues facing our society have always been an essential part of Columbia's identity and academic mission. As a leading research university in our nation's greatest urban center, ours is a campus of robust engagement in the life of our neighborhood and City, our nation and our world.

Each year, thousands of Columbia students across all our schools, colleges and affiliates participate in hundreds of service learning, volunteer action and social entrepreneurship programs here in New York and across the globe. We look forward to having this very public event spark an ongoing conversation within our own University community about strategies to further enhance the role of service and citizenship in Columbia's academic mission.

Given our limited space, we will ensure that all seating available goes to students in our University community. Students will receive a follow-up email tomorrow with details regarding how to register for the ticket lottery.

While it will not be a presidential debate, but rather two individual conversations, this nonpartisan Forum is one of only a few times that John McCain and Barack Obama are scheduled to appear on the same stage during the general election campaign. We are delighted to be part of an event on a theme so important to all citizens and to Columbians.

Sincerely,

Lee C. Bollinger

President

And on October 21st, the education advisors for both campaigns will debate at Teachers College ... Linda Darling-Hammond, in the flesh. My brain might explode.

I love my school.

Fact

I'll write soon. Hold yer horses.

In the meantime, I HAVE been sending things to my tumblr ...

Never too early to talk about yule logs.

Those who know me well know the fervor with which I celebrate Christmas. It is the apex of my year. In fact, just the other day, I was thinking "Wow, summer is almost over. It's almost Christmastime!" That's right, in my mental calendar fall is not fall, but rather the prelude to "Christmastime."

I'm not too proud to admit that one of the main reasons I'm excited about living in New York this next year is being there for the month of December. The Christmas decorations, the Rockefeller Christmas pomp and circumstance, the department store windows, the lights on the Empire State Building, the Rockettes, the general feel of the holiday hustle on a scale larger than I've ever seen before. This is a town that does Christmas.

So, imagine my surprise, nay goddamned falling-out-of-chair-with-excitement-ness , when I read this:

The campus Tree-Lighting Ceremony is a relatively new tradition at Columbia, inaugurated in 1998. It celebrates the illumination of the medium-sized trees lining College Walk in front of Kent and Hamilton Halls on the east end and Dodge and Journalism Halls on the west, just before finals week in early December. The lights remain on until February 28. Students meet at the sun-dial for free hot chocolate, performances by various a cappella groups, and speeches by the university president and a guest.

Immediately following the College Walk festivities is one of Columbia's older holiday traditions, the lighting of the Yule Log. The ceremony dates to a period prior to the Revolutionary War, but lapsed before being revived by University President Nicholas Murray Butler in the early 20th century. A troop of students dressed in Continental Army soldiers carry the eponymous log from the sun-dial to the lounge of John Jay Hall, where it is lit amid the singing of seasonal carols.[7] The ceremony includes readings of A Visit From St. Nicholas' by Clement Clarke Moore (Columbia College class of 1798) and Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus by Francis Pharcellus Church (Class of 1859).

The more I learn about Columbia, the deeper in love I fall.

Things I Plan to Do In New York City This Fall That May Lead to My Arrest

1. Show up at the Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince premiere and, per Claire's suggestion, yell to Daniel Radcliffe: "Show me your Harry Potter."

2. Pull a Chuck Bass on Chuck Bass.

Things I Have Accomplished In the Last 48 Hours; Or, Get Me Off This Crazy Train Called Moving Across the Country

The following things happened between yesterday morning and right this second, giving me official cause to tell this move to "bring it, sucka" because I am knocking shit out of the proverbial park.

1. I have a place to live in New York City. Repeat: I have a place to live in New York City. I had to somewhat let go of my ideal Upper West Side quaint studio scenario in a move that is, in the end, totally, mind-blowingly convenient. I'll be four blocks from school, a ten minute walk from the Fairway, and a few blocks from the 1 line which runs from the top to the bottom of Manhattan. Fully furnished. Sigh. And Olive will have a playmate! Deposit sent. Lease in the mail.

2. I have initiated email introductions with two of my new roommates. A teacher, a poly sci grad student and me. Quite the serendipitous combo?

3. Student loans are finalized. Repeat: student loans are finalized!!! Yes!!! And in an odd turn of events, I think I'll actually be acquiring less debt than I would had I stayed in Seattle and done the full-time MPA program at UW. I mean, there are many reasons why that would have been a disastrous choice regardless, but whatever, conscience cleared.

4. "Cat Business" ... I'm lumping this into one because holy hell moving across the country with a cat is an ordeal. But, Olive officially has a vet visit in which I will pay a doctor $80 to look at my cat for five minutes and give me some sort of State-approved certificate that says she's healthy and can travel on a plane. I also managed to track down the Jet Blue-approved pet carrier at Mud Bay and am picking it up after work today. Also, there will be cat valium. Which hopefully doubles as people valium.

5. Discovering that my Columbia ID gets me into most every museum in the city for free. While one R. Matthews pointed out that the museums are all mostly "by donation" anyway, what jerk actually has ever demanded a ticket without paying? I don't have the balls. And now, I don't have to!

6. I have a plane ticket. I have a plane ticket. I have a plane ticket. On August 22nd, 2008 at 11:59 p.m. I will leave the Pacific Northwest from whence* I entered: Portland, Oregon. What? Your mind is blown in the fluidity of that Circle of Life connection I just made there? I think I just gagged.

7. Lost most, if not all, humility. I'M GOING TO NEW YORK CITY IN 23 DAYS! YEAAAAAAAYYYYYYY! Humility be damned!

Siiiigh.

*I know this is technically redundant, but "I will leave the Pacific Northwest whence I entered it" just doesn't sound right so bite me.

Sucka punch!

So, I'm starting to believe that yesterday, instead of having my two grossly impacted wisdom teeth removed, I actually paid the oral surgeon $500 to sock me in the grill for an hour. Do my teeth and gums hurt? Not a bit. Does my jaw feel like it has been broken into a million pieces? Yes. Case closed.

Of course, I don't actually know what happened during that hour, under the influence of some amazing amnesic drugs. What I can tell you, however, is that I know I sat down in that chair listening to the latest "This American Life" and later found my ipod halfway through the Frightened Rabbit album. Obviously conscious sedation is no match for impeccable musical taste, suckas!

Other than being absolutely bored out of my brain and asymmetrically swollen-faced, I have no complaints. I just realized I CAN eat my favorite Ginger Cat cookies if I left them turn to mush in my mouth first. My day is made! Small victories!

In which my old/dead British boyfriends write songs that make me sad for the ladies...

So, I have this longstanding fear that I tend to gravitate toward tortured, brooding writers and artists who, you know, have um, issues with the ladies. I'm afraid this reflects badly on me as a "modern woman." Hemingway? Fitzgerald? Graham Greene? Full disclosure? I'd risk the psychological trauma to be a Zelda or a Hadley.

To further this embarrassing theory, I present my two '60s rock and roll boyfriends, Mick Jagger (oh god please see above) and John Lennon.

I had a date with Rubber Soul on the bus the other day ("I'm Looking Through You" is one of my favorite songs ever) and I stumbled again on "Run for Your Life." Every time I hear this song, I really, really want to blame it on Paul. Because, frankly, Paul is still alive and the 16 year old girl inside of me who used to make a point to wear her John Lennon shirt every year on December 8th is still kind of bitter about that. Also, I think he's a cad. But mostly, he's still breathing, and I'm going to go ahead and hold it against him.

Try as I might, though, I can't blame this nasty song on Paul. It's John. It's all John. And I quote:

Well I'd rather see you dead, little girl/Than to be with another man/You better keep your head, little girl/Or I won't know where I am

You better run for your life if you can, little girl/Hide your head in the sand little girl/Catch you with another man/That's the end'a little girl

Let this be a sermon/I mean everything I've said Baby, I'm determined/And I'd rather see you dead

If ever there was a DV theme song, here it is. Granted, apparently John did say some years later that this song was the one he regretted writing the most, but um, yeah. It's still there. It still ruins my Rubber Soul high every time.

And then there's Mick. Okay, so Mick has always been an asshole and I'll admit that "Under My Thumb" is also on my list of all-time favorite songs, but well, then there's "Stray Cat Blues." And well, lines are crossed.

I hear the click-clack of your feet on the stairs/I know you're no scare-eyed honey/There'll be a feast if you just come upstairs/But it's no hanging matter/It's no capital crime

I can see that you're fifteen years old/No I don't want your I.D./I can see you're so far from home/But it's no hanging matter/It's no capital crime

Oh yeah, you're a strange stray cat/Oh yeah, don'tcha scratch like that/Oh yeah, you're a strange stray cat/Bet your mama don't know you scream like that/I bet your mother don't know you can spit like that.

And in an even more endearing twist of events, according to Wikipedia, on Get Yer Ya-Yas Out the Stones went ahead and changed the girl's age to 13. Nice touch, Mick.

I'd love someone to Freud this out for me and explain why I gravitate toward hyper-males. And by "I'd love someone to Freud this out for me..." I mean don't actually bother, because I think the combined power of Mick and John and Ernest and Graham and Scott may be a force I'm too weak to resist. Even if that makes me a shitty woman of the 21st century.

the queen anne scene

With four more days in my apartment, though I'd share some pics I took this week on the hill .... world's smallest graffiti?

Skeeze!

Maybe my favorite craigslist apartment listing yet ... $100 Great offer for open minded woman (East Village)

I'm a white late 20's guy that works in finance. I work A LOT and therefore my social life has become nonexistent. So, I want to add a little bit of excitement to my life. I would like to rent the room to a woman between the age of 18-27.

You should be a free spirited, liberal minded person who is very open minded. I would like you to be a slim attractive girl who is OK with occasionally walking around or hanging out in her underwear <---yes...that would be the slightly crazy part.

I would never ask you to strip or do anything at all. You must be someone who occasionally walks around like that and is ok with me being around when you do. I know this is a strange arrangement, but like I said earlier, I am trying to add some exitement to my life:) I am not looking for anything to develop into a relationship, or to have you start acting like a girlfriend. If you are interested, send me an email so I can discuss it further with you. There is no sexual contact or anything involved. I WOULD NEED THE ARRANGEMENT TO BE 100% CONFIDENTIAL.

PLEASE do NOT respond by saying "WHY WOULD A GUY AS GOOD LOOKING AS YOU WANT TO DO SOMETHING LIKE THIS". We all have our reasons.....Thanks

Oh man am I excited to interact with this level of self-absorbed douchebaggery in NYC ...

In which Katie spends her Tuesday getting screwed over by a dental professional, Vol. 2

For about eight hours today, I was having one of those days, unique to your mid-twenties, when you feel a rush of excitement that you're finally in control of your financial life, finally independent, able to fully support yourself. It feels good! It feels amazing to realize that I'm moving to New York City, and I'm paying for the whole damn thing! I can actually do this and it's weird and it's awesome.

What I've lost this past week in terms of appetite and dignity, I've certainly made up for in productivity. By noon, I had hashed out a budget with a loan counselor at school and discovered I need to borrow $10k less than I thought; finalized my move-out with my landlord; emailed 6 potential roommates; and rented a 14' U-Haul for next week's move. That shit? I was knocking it out of the park.

By the time 2:00 rolled around, I was walking into the Medical/Dental Building downtown with an extra spring in the old step, nearly no longer terrified of meeting the oral surgeon to talk about my wisdom teeth (RIP). I actually thought to myself "It feels kind of good to pay for my own dental bills."

I'll just put my pansy self right out there: the thought of having my wisdom teeth out terrifies me, for totally irrational reasons. I don't want to be put to sleep. I don't take pain medication. I have major anxiety about not having control of my faculties and having people all up in my grill freaks me out. I'm a wimp. Case closed. That's where I'm coming from.

So when this surgeon comes into the room, throws my xray up on the computer screen and starts barking to her assistant about sinus cavities and bones and nerves and "complications" and then molesting my mouth with her finger, I start to lose it.

Of course, because I'm already effing terrified, I'm told I have a "very complicated case" and she will "absolutely not do this without general anesthesia" and something about bacteria rotting my face and my lower lip tingling for life. I cry. This encourages her to go soft on her Pro-Anethesia stance and agree to do some sort of heavy sedation shit. Fine. Whatever. Get it over with. I hate you.

And then comes the bill. I had talked to friends about this and everyone said "Eh, couple hundred bucks, don't worry about it." So I was, naturally, expecting to pay $500 max. Fine. Whatever. Get it over with. I hate you. I'm handed the bill and .... $3,100. That's right, $3,100. I burst into tears.

Granted, my insurance will pay for some, but I'm still left with a big, whopping $1,700 to cover, out of pocket. Oh, the fucking irony.

So I'm trying to weigh my options at the front desk when I say something to the effect of "I just, today, signed $40k in student loans. I'm not putting this on credit. I'm moving to New York in one month, this is ridiculous." And the office manager says, apparently trying to console me (?), "Oh, where are you going to school? ... Columbia! Don't worry honey, you'll have plenty of money later." What the fuck? Who says that? I'm not going to med school, or law school, honey. I'm going into debt so that I can work at a non-profit. It's awesome and I can't wait and I wouldn't have it any other way, but don't tell me to buck up and take it, don't give me that "Oh please, stop overreacting" look, because you assume I'm going to have loads of expendable income in the future. Was I just reverse-discriminated against? It was weird.

My solution is, I'm just pulling two teeth. The easy ones. The one with a cavity and it's sister. The others can wait.

And of course, because I'm a worrier, this immediately made me think of the millions of people who don't have dental insurance. How the hell do they pay for this stuff? And of course, those who don't have insurance, probably aren't those who can suck up a $3,100 bill, and probably aren't the ones who can take a week off of work to recoup. And those health problems just get worse, and lead to other things that can't be treated. Ugh. It makes my gut hurt just thinking about it. It's all cyclical.

Though I'm finding some solace in the fact that this Tuesday I can say, it's just business. Not personal.

*I saw this poster next to Animals on 12th this morning as I was walking to work ... I thought it fitting.

Bus Notes: Scratch these ...

So I was reading this amazing article in last week's New Yorker this weekend about a woman with an insatiable itch on the right side of her scalp. She can't stop scratching.

One morning, after she was awakened by her bedside alarm, she sat up and, she recalled, “this fluid came down my face, this greenish liquid.” She pressed a square of gauze to her head and went to see her doctor again. M. showed the doctor the fluid on the dressing. The doctor looked closely at the wound. She shined a light on it and in M.’s eyes. Then she walked out of the room and called an ambulance. Only in the Emergency Department at Massachusetts General Hospital, after the doctors started swarming, and one told her she needed surgery now, did M. learn what had happened. She had scratched through her skull during the night—and all the way into her brain.

So interspersed within the story of this poor woman and her poor itchy head is the story of how the study of itching baffled doctors and scientist for a very long time. Apparently, they've now discovered that the itch reflex differs from more primal, survival type responses like pain, in that the itch sensation actually triggers more sophisticated areas of the brain, including the areas responsible for emotional response and for satisfying urges and impulses (the same area that tells me to eat ten more bites of ice cream when I've already had twenty, and that tells the wino that she needs another drink). Which explains why scratching feels soooo effing good.

So anyway, (I'm about to link this back to my bus ride, I swear) what I thought was especially interesting about this story is that itching isn't necessarily connected to the need to scratch, and the way that just the thought of something itchy or creepy triggers the desire to scratch (whereas the though of sticking your face on the stovetop doesn't necessarily make your cheek sear in pain). Needless to say, I devoured this article because gore + niche-y science knowledge = my cup of tea.

And then today, today, there was a woman sitting outside of Elliott Bay Books at the 15/18 bus stop, furiously scratching her white-with-chafe feet with a dull razor blade. I was waiting there for nearly ten minutes and she didn't let up for a second; the sound of sandpaper against a cast iron pot. It was excruciating to listen to and watch, and I'm sure doubly so to actually feel. Now, an hour later, at home, I cannot kick the urge to scratch my feet and could swear (though I've not actually touched them) that they are dry and screaming out for the sweet, sweet relief my fingernails can offer. And yet there's nothing even remotely near them, save for some air.

Oi. Brains.

Oh, and the picture? I saw that keychain on top of a trash can at the 3/4 bus stop up on 12th and Jefferson. Poor Danny Sandhu ...

Old photos of people I've never met

My favorite spot at the Fremont Market is a booth in the covered area full of old things I always promise myself I'm going to buy and do cool, artsy things with (haven't once yet, c'est la vie): old watch faces, typewriter keys, Victorian-era French postcards, oversized Dick and Jane books. What really draws me back to this spot, Sunday after Sunday, though, are the boxes full of old black and white photographs. Hodgepodge boxes of other people's photos with lovingly written descriptors on their backs: "Sue and Davy at Nana's House, Christmas 1947" or "Joe: Wish you were here! Fried chicken better than aunty's. Love, Chug and Zipper, Tennessee 1962"

I've a bit of a thing for old photographs.

So, when my mom sent me home this weekend with a CD full of old photos of people I'm related to, yet have never met, I popped that thing into my mac with the same perverted curiosity I impart on the boxes of other people's memories every Sunday afternoon. She was mostly right; I don't have a clue who most of these people are. What I did find, though, are some incredible shots of my grandpa (one of them is up above).

My mom's dad died a few years before I was born, so my knowledge of him is pretty scattered, and before these pictures, I'd maybe, MAYBE encountered five pictures of him total in my entire life. What strikes me though, is how much we look alike. It's actually little bit freaky, staring at a picture of someone you don't know and seeing yourself. Actually, my mom looks exactly like him, but I also happen to look exactly like my mother, so, two and two, well ... Anyways, I made Claire confirm this last night, and though there was wine involved, we concluded that the resemblance is actually pretty weird, and I think we're totally right. Case in point:

I mean, look at those profiles! Now I know who to thank for this nose, this square face and this pouty chin.

I also love this picture of more people I don't know, plus my grandma and grandpa there on the far left.

I think this one sums up why I'm drawn to old photographs, and I realize, I'm totally projecting here, but whatever. Something about this smacks of a time when people weren't so fucking distracted and self-involved and were okay working hard and being happy and in love. I love it. I want it.

And here are a few more, thrown in for good measure. My grandpa was kind of a handsome devil.

Bibliononsense

So I've been grappling with the idea of writing a book. My hesitation lies in the fact that I feel that just by saying "I'm thinking of writing a book," I've catapulted myself into a very special circle of hell reserved for self-indulgent know-it-all assholes. But I do really want to write one. At some point.

What, at nearly 25, do I have to contribute to the world, save for a knapsack full of crude jokes and some optimism and a subpar vocabulary (according to the GRE)? Well, that's very much TBD, but I'm going to use the next year to start recording some blah blah blahs and whathaveyous. I'm envisioning something about education (shocking!) ... maybe some sort of memoir about going from a three year old who sat in my bedroom teaching my Teddy Ruxpin how to read; through an iffy public school system in which Mr. Stamp laughed at my 16 year old self when I told him I wanted to go to Harvard; to a Jesuit University; to, finally an Ivy League school where I'm going to study ways in which I can make education more accessible and equal and just plan exciting for kids back in the communities in which I grew up.

People seem to think it's funny that I'm a bleeding hearted liberal athiest borne from a conservative Christian family (my family doesn't know what to think of it) ... I wouldn't have it any other way, but in large part, I have my education and the incredible folks I've met along my academic way to thank for Katie ver. 2008. I'm a nerd to the core, always have been, and I love it and I want to write about it.

So, anyways, here's to spouting off some big words that I hope to live up to this year ...

Home and Heartbreak: 120 Hours in Cowlitz County

Hopes were high for this week.

I had five days away from work and plans to spend the 4th of July in my hometown, where I've spent nearly every 4th in my 25 years. I've been hard on my hometown in the past. There are drugs, abandoned industries, poverty, the persistently declining graduation rate of my high school ... all cyclical. The truth is, though, having been away for some seven years, I can now say that the 18 years I spent there, nestled in the sort of idyllic middle-class, blue-collar neighborhood where everyone knows everyone in every well-kept Dutch Colonial on every tree-lined block, well, they're the kind of 18 years I plan to give to my future herd of little nerds.

And the 4th of July, well, the 4th of July is when my hometown gets all gussied up. The population swells as all of the Cowlitz Countians flock to Lake Sacajawea in the center of town to wait an hour in line for elephant ears and buy tatty kitsch at the flea market and watch burly loggers run with chainsaws at the lumberjack competition. People stake out their spots on the lake bank early in the morning for the night's fireworks show ... which every other year seems to suffer from some sort of technical malfunction (which we all willingly forget every year). As a kid, you went to the lake to catch up with friends during summer break. You convinced your 6th grade boyfriend to buy you a glow stick and an ice cream cone and let you hold his hand during the fireworks' Grand Finale. In college, it became the event for which everyone gathered back in town from their respective college campuses, to see the people they haven't seen in months, years. Even at 24, the nostalgia far outweighs my angst at the preponderance of "Speak English or Get Out of My Country" bumper stickers.

So in some sort of ironic twist of whatever, on Day One of my annual Go 4th Nostalgia Fest, I managed to get myself dumped by my high school boyfriend. Thud.

As I get ready for my year in the nation's biggest metropolis, I've been grappling with these ideas of home and belonging and such as, like. Do I really want to be on the East Coast? Am I crazy to abandon my Pacific Northwest, which I will argue with anyone is one of the most stunning places on Earth? Am I a big BIG city girl? I like to think the answers to those questions are no, yes, no, but that's another story altogether. Back to my broken heart.

As I was sitting on my parents' couch ruminating over the fact that I was just text dumped by the long-time apple of my eye, I realized that the place no longer felt like home. I wanted nothing more than to be back in Seattle. I wanted my kitchen, I wanted my market, I wanted to walk up to Kerry Park and watch the ferries cross the bay or sit on the patio at Linda's and bullshit with friends, new and old. Yeah I've been hard on Seattle at times too (too corporate, too fratty, not Portland, etc. etc.) but those are only on my bad days.

Seattle is the place where, over the past seven years, I've grown into my own. I like my Seattle life, my Seattle self, immensely. And I'm just coming to realize, as I box up my apartment, that I'm going to miss both, immensely, this year.

My hometown is my hometown, but Seattle, well, Seattle is now home. I'm going to miss her. Talk about heartbreak.

I need company

So there are a couple of things I am currently, desperately, physical-pain-in-gut missing at the moment. 50% of that couple-of-things, well, I am too coy to blab on about on my blog (though you know I'd love to shout it out). The other 50% of that couple-of-things is my cat. Last night it was raining (it is taking a marked effort on my part to not focus all of my energy right now on hating this horrible, horrible prolonged winter, fyi) and after a long day at work, a longer than usual workout, and a confusing (to the brink of tears) discussion with the financial aid dept at TC, all I really wanted to do was sit on the couch, pop in my "John Adams" dvds (nerd) and not think about life. Once I accomplished this, however, I realized what I really wanted to do was sit on the couch, pop in my "John Adams" dvds and not think about life ... while cuddling with my cat. I miss her desperately. I miss having a weird little personality around to contend with. You should never underestimate the impact of a fuzzy ball of fluff and purrs on your happiness.

It also does not help the situation (warning: most selfish statement of all up ahead) that she is currently living with her sister and happy as a clam. And at the end of August, I'm going to take her to New York so she can be a lonely apartment cat again. Am I the worst mother ever? Perhaps.

Me? Sad sack.

Babraham

Best. Ever.

Warning: You Will "Awwww!!!!"

Pig in Boots: The world's only porker who is afraid of mud

Officially a student again...

That's right, I officially have a schedule for fall semester, and I couldn't be more excited. Let's just put the nerdy right out there. I'm taking:

Education & Public Policy; Political Policy Analysis in Education; Social & Political History of American Education Reform; Probability & Statistical Inference; and (hopefully) the Federal Policy Institute

I say "hopefully" on FPI because it appears to be quite legendary at TC:

Rated by TC students as “a course that changed my career,” the Federal Policy Institute examines historical and current debates over federal educational policy-making through an intensive week-long institute in Washington, DC linked with preparatory and follow-up sessions at Teachers College. While in Washington, participants will meet with leading policy makers from the legislative and executive branches of government, along with prominent representatives from key professional, advocacy, think tank, and member organizations. Upon return from Washington, students will prepare a policy analysis and present mock testimony on an educational policy topic germane to their interests.

Not only that, the course is taught by Sharon Lynn Kagan, who is Big Deal, A when it comes to Early Education Policy. I swoon.

Help Me Avoid NYC Hobo-dom

Friends, friends, friends:

I am headed to NYC for school at the end of August, and I am going to go ahead and exhaust all possible avenues to find housing. This is where you maybe come in.

Know of anyone who is looking to sub-let an apt on the Upper West Side for a year (last week of August 2008 - Early/Mid-Summer-ish-maybe 2009)??? And/or anyone who is sane and awesome and just as terrified by roommates as I am but equally terrified by NYC apartment costs and is looking for a roomie (who is, you know, also kind of awesome, will cook rad veg food, and is a serious lover of personal space)???

So, my preferences are: Upper West Side (seriously, anywhere; i'm kinda crushing on the 70s, but I'll consider anything); liveable, I like clean things; cat-friendly; within walking distance to GOOD grocery store: I am kind of a strict eater so I need a soy/organic/SEATTLE-friendly market/co-op (don't laugh, bitches); something close to the 1 line, ideally. I would love, love, love to spend under $1300 a month. God, Seattle, I miss you already.

Also, all of that said, there is still a chance I could maybe MAYBE be persuaded to do Brooklyn (Cobble Hill, Prospect Heights, Park Slope, esp.) for the right person/price/place...though most of my classes are at night, so I'm not really loving the idea of a long late night commute. But if you've got 'em, throw 'em this way.

I'm early on in my hunt, so am open to anything at this point. If you know of anything or anyone and are lovely enough to send them my way, I can guarantee you that it will be much, much, much appreciated.

Hugs and thank yous,

kt

Proud.

In our country, I have found that this cooperation happens not because we agree on everything, but because behind all the labels and false divisions and categories that define us; beyond all the petty bickering and point-scoring in Washington, Americans are a decent, generous, compassionate people, united by common challenges and common hopes. And every so often, there are moments which call on that fundamental goodness to make this country great again.

So it was for that band of patriots who declared in a Philadelphia hall the formation of a more perfect union; and for all those who gave on the fields of Gettysburg and Antietam their last full measure of devotion to save that same union.

So it was for the Greatest Generation that conquered fear itself, and liberated a continent from tyranny, and made this country home to untold opportunity and prosperity.

So it was for the workers who stood out on the picket lines; the women who shattered glass ceilings; the children who braved a Selma bridge for freedom’s cause.

So it has been for every generation that faced down the greatest challenges and the most improbable odds to leave their children a world that’s better, and kinder, and more just.

And so it must be for us.

America, this is our moment. This is our time. Our time to turn the page on the policies of the past. Our time to bring new energy and new ideas to the challenges we face. Our time to offer a new direction for the country we love.

The journey will be difficult. The road will be long. I face this challenge with profound humility, and knowledge of my own limitations. But I also face it with limitless faith in the capacity of the American people. Because if we are willing to work for it, and fight for it, and believe in it, then I am absolutely certain that generations from now, we will be able to look back and tell our children that this was the moment when we began to provide care for the sick and good jobs to the jobless; this was the moment when the rise of the oceans began to slow and our planet began to heal; this was the moment when we ended a war and secured our nation and restored our image as the last, best hope on Earth. This was the moment – this was the time – when we came together to remake this great nation so that it may always reflect our very best selves, and our highest ideals. Thank you, God Bless you, and may God Bless the United States of America.

Not a bad lookin' first famliy...

I nearly cried in my wine glass tonight as the headlines streamed in on CNN at 22 Doors. I'm proud of my guy.

Now, Barack, go take a nap. It's been a long run.

I'll write more about Hillary-as-VP and/or the laughable spectacle that are sure to be McCain/Obama debates, once I collect myself.

pics from a lazy sunday at the ballard docks

no, no, no.

Oprah just used the word "sheroes."

You know, I didn't think it was possible to hate a pseudo-feminist-bullshit-word even half as much as I hate "womanity" and "herstory" and "sisterhood." I have been proven wrong.

Sheroes? Really? I'm embarrassed for my sex.

"Do I sound like a musical robot?"

So, full disclosure, I'm sitting at work right now watching the Scripps National Spelling Bee online on ESPN. It is one of my favorite events of the year. One of the best things about the Bee is that once you've completed the 8th grade, you're no longer eligible to compete. So, essentially what you have is an enclave of oily, gangly, awkward pre-teens who, while their peers are out obsessing over Miley Cyrus and plotting to ruin each other's social lives and passing "will you go out with me? yes no (circle one)" notes, these kids are obsessing over words. As a world-wearied nerd myself, I feel a special pang every time I witness one of their awkward tics, their bowl-cut bangs, their geeky air-writing-and-erasing, the facial hair/soprano voice dichotomy and just want to gather them in one big bear hug and tell them it's going to be okay! You nerds shall inherit the earth! A spot on the middle school volleyball team does not a success story make! (Okay, okay, now it's getting personal)

The Bee feels like a safe haven from the zitty, catty, self-esteem-teeter-totter that is Middle School. In fact, the only genuinely painful part of the broadcast is when the dolled-up correspondent, a Paris Hilton clone all veneer-y mouthed and frosty-locked (never a nerd, I'd venture to guess) tries to engage the kids in breezy backstage banter, when it's clear they'd rather be discussing the etymology of the word "eremophyte" at home with their mothers.

Hang in there kiddos. You'll be laughing in the faces of those who laugh at your dog-eared dictionaries soon.

And on a final note, one of our favorite blogs around these parts (lawyer nerds!) http://throwingthings.blogspot.com/ has a guest blogger covering the Bee. None other than Shonda Rhimes, writer/creator of "Grey's Anatomy." He posts almost make me forgive her for the clustereff-waste-of-airspace that has become "Grey's." Almost.

And my money/heart is on Rose Sloan.

Bad Effing Dog, Carl

Okay, before getting started here, let's just make two things clear:

1. I am a dog lover. And if this picture is any kind of proof, DOGS LOVE ME BACK. Case closed. (Yes, I'm also aware that this picture is proof that white girls shouldn't wear keffiyehs if they don't want to look like dbags. moving on.)

2. Some Rottweilers are amazingly awesome and gentle and sweet lovely things. See: Carl.

Now that we've got that straight, let's talk about my walk home last night. So, la dee da, it's 10:30, I'm walking down 12th after a looong night of proctoring. I'm approaching the Cafe Press/Stumptown complex when I see a lovely little Rottie tied up to a pole outside. I'm a good three feet away at this point, because I'm not a fucking moron, people, I've lived with dogs all my life and I know you do NOT shove your schoz in the face of random dogs on the street. I say (because I talk to all dogs; I can't help myself), "Hey buddy, how are you?" His/her ears go back, I think "Wow, homes does not want to be touched," and proceed to walk by while saying goodnight to the pup. Apparently homes did not want to be spoken to either, because fucker LUNGED AT ME AND PUT MY ARM IN HIS MOUTH.

I then proceeded through a strange mental process that went (in my head, mostly; some shouted via text message) like this:

Me talking to dog: "Dude, why did you do that? That is not cool? Let's be friends man. Not cool!"

Me being very very thankful that this Rottie decided to bite ME and not some little kid and/or person afraid of animals. Maybe I'm just an asshole, but I can definitely tell the difference between an "I want to eat you" bite and an "I'm kinda freaked out so I'm gonna put my mouth on you so you'll go away" bite. This was the latter. Had this been anyone else, though, there's a good chance this could have ended up in a law suit and/or dead puppy.

Me being really fucking pissed off that this dog's dumbass owner has neither the sense to NOT TIE UP A DOG PRONE TO BITING STRANGERS ON A PUBLIC SIDEWALK; nor the time/brains to get to the bottom of this biting/being afraid of strangers shit. You know, I understand if you've got a dog for protection. That is cool. But don't put it on the sidewalk. And if this dog is just your fun let's-get-a-pet dog be a fucking responsible pet owner and get a handle on that shit. Talk to a trainer, whatever. IF YOUR DOG IS ANGRY AND AFRAID OF PEOPLE, THERE'S A REASON. Talk to anyone in my family; we had the border collie from hell who is now The Greatest Dog In the World.

Me being really freaked out because a ROTTWEILER FACE is not something you want to see lunging at your person. See:

Me feeling really slighted that this dog didn't like me. See: If your dog is angry, there's a reason, above. Dogs love me. I wasn't antagonizing this one. I promise. It just flat out, didn't like me. I take that personally, Rottie. Dogs love me. I love dogs. Sometimes more than people.

So, in conclusion, nothing was harmed (save my feelings) and I'm angry at irresponsible people. This is not news afterall.

And because I'm such a dog nerd, I have to say, again, that I'm not criticizing Rottweilers. Ever! They are awesome! If they are socialized and treated well and taken care of (like every other dog ever)! I'm not afraid of them! Just their idiot owners who give them a bad name!

"Screwing things up is a virtue..."

i'm pretty sure with the death of mr. robert rauschenberg, we've lost not only an american art behemoth, but the one person on earth who can claim he both erased de kooning and made out with cy twombly AND jasper johns ... aside from me, who says these things and is totally, totally making them up (jealously). RIP, sir.

circa 2001

for a brief moment last night on the bus while listening to "say it ain't so" (don't hate) and texting my sr. prom date, i could have sworn it was 2001.

notes on a sunday

sinus infection be damned, i reunited with my good friend, the ballard sunday market this afternoon after a long, long winter. there, i scarfed on gluten-free baked goods from flying apron and bought a genovese basil plant.

i was a little hesitant about basil as i've heard it's kind of a beast to grow, but the woman at the plant stand assured me that this particular basil babe had lived indoors all his life and would prefer a nice sunny windowsill to the wild and wooly outdoors. so what i have is elitist basil. and in honor of my favorite elitist, who with the passing of each day, comes closer and closer to earning the democratic nomination, i've dubbed my basil "barry." barry and i look forward to a long summer of much fresh pesto and universal child care and other elitist things.

also, because food blogs have basically become my porn, i have to brag about the dumpling soup i stole from my favorite blog 101cookbooks and recreated on saturday night. i made these snap pea dumplings a few weeks back and now have dozens waiting in my freezer to be put to good use. they are sooo sooo good. and perfect paired with a simple broth and some yellow split peas. behold:

Oh godddddd the irony ...

“The great divide in this country is not by race or even income, it’s by those who think they are better than everyone else and think they should play by a different set of rules,” the former president said.

my new favorite

Things that get me out of bed on a cold Tuesday morning in April

1. Homemade granola: So granola has become my newest culinary obsession because it combines three of my favorite things -- saving money, bulk foods, honey-covered baked goods. Last night I was feeling DOWN, raided the bulk foods at Madison Market, headed home and immediately set to work furiously toasting honey-glazed oats and almonds and sunflower seeds. Does my apartment smell delicious? Yes. Is my tummy full of goodness at 9 a.m. this morning? Yes. Do I now possess enough granola to feed a small country for a year? Fo sho. Wins all around.

2. The threat of sunshine: Hey sunny, I saw you peeking out from under my blinds this morning. It's okay, baby; I don't bite. Come gimme summat sweet Vitamin D.

3. An inflamed right tonsil: HO. LY. WOW. It hurts. It hurts! What is it about sore throats that makes everything feel icksville? My teeth hurt, my ear hurts, my sinuses hurt. And as to where this came from, well, I'm pleading the fifth.

4. Major endowments: Of the college persuasion, dirtymind. Columbia just gave me 12 credits free next year ... that's about $12k I don't have to stress about. And/or a year's worth of rent in Brooklyn. And so the benefits of a well-endowed Ivy League university begin to reveal themselves. I'll take 'em.

5. http://www.theonion.com/content/news/son_of_a_bitch_mouse_solves_maze Aww, son of a bitch mouse!

6. NOT TALKING ABOUT Pennsylvania. I'm already overwrought.

what walks on four legs and holds the key to my heart?

So Olive is now at, what I'm calling for the purpose of trying to make myself not feel like the world's worst mother, her West Seattle summer camp playing with her sister and the world's greatest yellow lab, Ms. Penny. A few weeks ago, while Olive was dallying around outside on my windowsill, the building owner drove by and, well, that's that. I'm not supposed to have cats. I was breaking the rules. Case closed. Long story short, Olive is gone until I leave for New York in August and my heart is broken.

Yeah, so my apartment is a little cleaner, and I don't have a million glasses in the dishwasher that have fallen victim to dipping kitty paws, and I don't have to live with double sided tape all over my couch blah blah blah. I do have a silent house, and no one to cuddle under the covers with me at night, and no one to greet me at the door when I get home and talk to me when I'm bored, and nothing to pet and scratch right before I fall asleep on the couch for a nap. I never pictured myself as a cat lady, and i still might argue that I'm more of just an animal lady in general, but Olive has got me whipped and I miss her immensely. I actually can't think about it without bursting into tears. I miss my girl.

Stay Classy, James

'“Mr. Richardson’s endorsement came right around the anniversary of the day when Judas sold out for 30 pieces of silver, so I think the timing is appropriate, if ironic,” Mr. Carville said, referring to Holy Week.'

I hope you can feel my eyes rolling.

sassed by a cabbie

I just paid a cab driver $10 to dish me a serious amount of unwarranted 'tude. and i quote(ish):

Why would you even suggest 1st avenue? When did you move here, like a month ago? You don't need to tell me where to go. I'm the expert. You know, I think that is like a really big misunderstanding with people like you; you think Seattle is a really big city, like downtown is some kind of obstacle. I don't know why people like you think that. This isn't a big city. I've been driving cabs for 22 years, so I know.

Wow, an asshole AND a mindreader! My lucky day!

The Danger of Living Alone

I got home last night and immediately put on my pajamas; it was one of those days. Well, my apartment was freezing for some reason, so over the course of a few hours, I managed to put on quite a few layers, grabbing whatever was lying on my bed from the day before. La dee da. Well, then I managed to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Obviously there was no one around to tell me that I'd dressed myself up like a giant effing Easter egg. Though, I mean, at least I was seasonally relevant. At least. Oi.

Never thought I'd say it but ...

I'm pretty impressed with Mike Huckabee right now.

On Morning Joe today:

HUCKABEE: [Obama] made the point, and I think it's a valid one, that you can't hold the candidate responsible for everything that people around him may say or do. You just can't. Whether it's me, whether it's Obama...anybody else. But he did distance himself from the very vitriolic statements.

Now, the second story. It's interesting to me that there are some people on the left who are having to be very uncomfortable with what Louis Wright said, when they all were all over a Jerry Falwell, or anyone on the right who said things that they found very awkward and uncomfortable years ago. Many times those were statements lifted out of the context of a larger sermon. Sermons, after all, are rarely written word for word by pastors like Reverend Wright, who are delivering them extemporaneously, and caught up in the emotion of the moment. There are things that sometimes get said, that if you put them on paper and looked at them in print, you'd say "Well, I didn't mean to say it quite like that."

JOE SCARBOROUGH: But, but, you never came close to saying five days after September 11th, that America deserved what it got. Or that the American government invented AIDS...

HUCKABEE: Not defending his statements.

JOE SCARBOROUGH: Oh, I know you're not. I know you're not. I'm just wondering though, for a lot of people...Would you not guess that there are a lot of Independent voters in Arkansas that vote for Democrats sometimes, and vote for Republicans sometimes, that are sitting here wondering how Barack Obama's spiritual mentor would call the United States the USKKK?

HUCKABEE: I mean, those were outrageous statements, and nobody can defend the content of them.

JOE SCARBOROUGH: But what's the impact on voters in Arkansas? Swing voters.

HUCKABEE: I don't think we know. If this were October, I think it would have a dramatic impact. But it's not October. It's March. And I don't believe that by the time we get to October, this is gonna be the defining issue of the campaign, and the reason that people vote.

And one other thing I think we've gotta remember. As easy as it is for those of us who are white, to look back and say "That's a terrible statement!"...I grew up in a very segregated south. And I think that you have to cut some slack -- and I'm gonna be probably the only Conservative in America who's gonna say something like this, but I'm just tellin' you -- we've gotta cut some slack to people who grew up being called names, being told "you have to sit in the balcony when you go to the movie. You have to go to the back door to go into the restaurant. And you can't sit out there with everyone else. There's a separate waiting room in the doctor's office. Here's where you sit on the bus..." And you know what? Sometimes people do have a chip on their shoulder and resentment. And you have to just say, I probably would too. I probably would too. In fact, I may have had more of a chip on my shoulder had it been me."

You know, Mike, you're probably never going to convince me on the "replacing the Constitution with the 10 Commandments" thing, but I certainly appreciate the fact that you've made a point to resist the knee-jerk and engage in a thoughtful discussion about this; I wish some of your compadres would do the same. This kind of vitriol isn't cool, whether it's coming from Wright or Falwell. But we've gotta talk about why it's being said, or we're just going to keep ignoring the elephant in the room. So kudos, sir. Big kudos. I'll stop referring to you as Miracle McCrazypants now, I promise.

I wish I really knew Dr. Abbott.

Dear Friend,

I have a confidencial bussiness proposal worth ($26,000,000 USD Twenty six million United State dollars) for you.If you are interested do get back to me so i can furnish you with more information on this subject matter.

Yours Sincerely,

Dr.Emmanuel Abbott

Private Email:dr_emmanuelabt@sify.com

I'm Headed Straight to Hell, or How the Irish Ruined My Sacred Sunday Morning

So I really needed to talk about how at 9 a.m. this Sunday morning, some sort of very very loud, loud-speakery ruckus was being raised on Lower Queen Anne. In a sleepy stupor I grabbed my computer and googled "What the fuck is going on Queen Anne Sunday March 16." Obvs didn't get me very far. Luckily rational side of brain slowly waking at this point. Looked at the Seattle Center site and realized it's Irish Heritage weekend or something and apparently they're running on UK time, because assholes were having an effing party too damn early on my sleep-in-Sunday morning.

My real point: when I started to write this post, I was trying to think of something funny because I have to try really hard to be funny, and the only things that popped into my head were Bloody Sunday and potato famines. What does this mean? I'm an awful person, on the fast track to H-E-double hockey sticks. Oi.

Oh, I should also point out that yesterday, there was this St. Patrick's Day parade going on downtown on 4th ... which the bus drivers apparently didn't know about. So there were impromptu reroutes on my way to the library (which is like the easiest way to rile up the crazies on the bus, let me tell you). My bus driver pulls some sorta Jack Ryan shit and SIDESWIPES A CAR. Brilliant. THE IRISH ARE FUCKING WITH THE BALANCE OF THE UNIVERSE THIS WEEKEND.

P.S., I need a Wolfhound, stat.

tunez!

I've been relying pretty heavily on my itunes to keep me sane these past few weeks. I made myself what I think is one hell of a mix that I've been dancing around the house to, incoherently screaming the lyrics of and subsequently scaring the cat, etc. etc. Now I'm sharing it!

Title of this fabulous collection, you ask? "Girls Who Eat Their Feelings." In homage to Tina Fey and "emotional eating" and my current inability to stop myself from eating excessive amounts of Girl Scout cookies. Because the faster I eat them, the sooner there will no longer be any cookies to eat, right? Right. Enjoy!

<http://www.mediafire.com/?n32y26zsmbk

(It's just a .zip file. So, download, extract, drag extracted folder into itunes or your other suckier music player of choice. voila!)

Hey Manhattan, you ready for this?

Because it's 41 degrees and pouring and the first afternoon of Spring Break here at the Law School and it's deserted and I'm so completely hungry and lacking for good things to eat and people are sending me tom cruise videos and ruining my day, I've decided to start a countdown! An official(ish) countdown! It is 99% certain that this fall I will be packing up my closet, my cat and my le creusets and embarking on the classic "West Coast Girl Hits Manhattan" journey.

We'll ignore the fact that Columbia has been slightly shit about telling me anything other than, "Hey! You're accepted! Come visit us in May! Get Vaccinated!" and instead put to use my fabulous deduction skills to guesstimate (yes, that's a technical term, asshole) that I will be arriving on the Isle of Manhattan on or around the 29th of August. Yeah yeah, so it's technically only for a year at this point, but still, let me have fun with it. I'm kind of wishing I had a big steamer trunk, just for the effect, but that's another issue. Blah blah yeah yeah, here's the countdown:

158 DAYS!!!!!!!!!!!