Friday, October 29, 2010

No pearly gates, no thorny crown...

The other night, I was sound asleep when the phone rang.  It was R., who was on his way home from work.  I was in that deep grog that happens 10 minutes after you fall asleep, where you can’t quite figure out where you are or what’s going on. 

“Mom, I’m at the round barn, and there’s a truck in the ditch.  Can you come down with your truck and pull it out?”

But what I heard rather than “round barn”, which is about a mile away, is “roundabout”, which is ten miles away.  None of it made any sense to me.  I was especially tired, because I'd spent the weekend with 250 Unitarian youth, and didn’t get as much sleep as I like.  I had fallen asleep thinking about being a Unitarian.

There’s a lot of stuff that Unitarians aren’t very good at.  For example, after a few hundred years, not many people have even heard of the religion.  There are 1.4 billion Catholics, and around 600,000 Unitarians.  I know.  That’s more than two thousand to one.  (Not that I have any quarrel with the Catholics, by the way, with their beautiful rituals, strong sense of social justice, and lots of other good stuff.  I just don’t happen to believe in the same stuff.)

We have a bad name, “Unitarian Universalist.” It’s too long and you have to be in the know to know what it means.  Mars Hill Church?  Three syllables.  Woodinville Unitarian Universalist Church?  You see my point.

But back to the phone. “R.,?  You want me to drive somewhere with the truck? I’m confused.”

“Mom, we’ve tried pushing this truck out of the ditch, but we’re getting nowhere.”

Another thing is that although Unitarians do have a culture and a set of principles, it’s subtle, and interpretation is encouraged.  Which is the beauty of it and the problem, all rolled into one.  Religions with a black and white view of the world are very comforting, and I sometimes wish I could see things that way, but I don’t.  In fact, for a little while in Texas, Unitarianism was stripped of its status as a religion because it doesn’t have one system of belief. 

I would love it, knowing my beautiful daughter is heading to Central America all by herself for four months, if I believed that God were watching out for her, or that our fates are sealed, and whatever happens is part of a grand design, but I don’t. I do believe in the basic goodness of humans, and the ability of my little M. to make good decisions, but still.  Stuff happens.

Unitarian rituals aren’t specific and predictable, and might not imprint on a person the way other religions do.  (Wait, is Flower Communion something to do with spring, or is it more about freedom?  Why is it different every year?)

We get confused about Christmas, because we aren’t always sure exactly what we’re celebrating. Most Unitarians tend to believe that Jesus was a great man and teacher, but those who believe he is the son of God are in a minority.   What we say, in the words of Sophia Fahs, is that each night a child is born is a holy night.  When M. was about four years old, she told me after hearing that that each sock is also a holy sock.  So I guess we do have things we can all agree on.

We struggle with the challenge of being inclusive and non-judgmental, while still preserving our identity.  We aim to be tolerant of a variety of beliefs, even when certain faiths think that we’re going to burn in hell.  If you do the math on that, you realize it’s almost possible to tolerate yourself out of existence. 

But at that moment, I was really just struggling to understand what R. was saying. “R., I was sound asleep when you called. I can hardly understand what you’re talking about.”

“I’m asking you to come down here with your truck to pull this other truck out of the ditch.”

Another thing about the Unitarians, and, I hate to bring this up, but we get frumpy. We are a frumpy lot, and it happens fast.  Come on, don’t say you haven’t noticed. 

We take ourselves seriously in ways that are hilarious, and if you don’t believe me, here’s a little story.  A year or so ago I went to church with my parents, the one I grew up in.  The average age of people attending this particular service was over 70.  In the women’s bathroom, there was a small crystal bowl filled with condoms.  I know.   That little crystal bowl summed up a lot of what’s ridiculous about Unitarianism, and I say this in the fondest way possible.  I asked my mom if there was lots of spontaneous sex going on, and she was a little vague in her answer, as I recall.

There’s silence on the phone.

“I don’t even have pants on, R.”

More silence. I’m starting to wake up, and feel a little bad that I can’t help, but it seems so overwhelming.  Gravity feels especially powerful, making it seem unsafe to even sit up.  Waking all the way up, getting dressed, driving.  I don’t even have a tow rope.  And it seemed strange to me too, that I was being enlisted as the solution for some random driver I’d never met.  I am pretty sure I wouldn’t call them if I had car trouble.

“R., is the person involved really old?”

“No.”

“Is there a baby in the truck?”

“No.”

“Someone sick?”

“Nope.  It’s just one of the wilderness kids going too fast on the corner.”

“I’m sorry, R. but they’re gonna have to figure this out another way.”

Unitarians endure the merciless teasing of Garrison Keillor, which was funny for a while until it took that mean-spirited turn last year.  And some of the teasing is well deserved.  That old joke about what you get when you cross a Jehovah’s Witness with a Unitarian:  Someone who knocks at the door but has no answers, only questions. 

I once heard a rabbi speak at an interfaith event, and he said that he likens the spiritual path to a mountain.  Those who are at the very bottom are convinced that there’s only one path up it, and the people trying to go up a different path look very far away.  But as people get further down the trail, above the treeline, they can see that there are many different paths up the mountain.  From this vantage point, they can wave at others journeying up the mountain, and be encouraging and comradely, because they can see that there are many paths that work.  Unitarians, alas, don’t all agree that there’s a mountain - some might feel more comfortable with the symbology of the egg.

But one thing we do right, better than anyone, if I dare say so, is the way we treat our youth. We allow our young people to explore and be themselves in a loving, non-judgmental atmosphere.  At the Youth Con I attended, I was again reminded of just how well we do this.  And we do it by not doing anything – by letting the youth be as excellent as they are, and not getting in the way.  Not getting too worked up about the small stuff, like swearing or unique hair and clothing styles.  But expecting and celebrating excellence in behavior.  Expecting compassion and kindness.

I saw kids who undoubtedly don’t fit in very well at school fully included in activities.  I saw kids who are probably pretty popular being attentive and encouraging to the loners.  I saw a group of gay young men openly flirting and goofing around with each other, having the normal social life that all youth deserve. I heard kids say, “When I get back to school, I’m going to be a little nicer to all kinds of kids, and a little less judgmental.  I heard kids say, “I’ve never felt like part of a group before this weekend.”

Because the thing about Unitarians is this:  we don’t have god, we don’t have rituals that are set in concrete, we don’t have rules.  It might seem like we’re untethered, but we do have one thing: hope.  We believe in the human spirit, and we believe it’s worth it to live lives full of hope and respect, because what’s the downside?  And what, exactly, are we hoping for?  We probably don’t agree on that either.  But I, for one, am hoping that our young people can hang on to the glimpse of the sky that they just saw, and remember what it felt like to be part of something good, and to be treated well, and to have a safe place to be as excellent as we all are deep down.  I’m hoping they will be inspired to carry on, and find ways to care about this troubled world we live in.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Breakin' up is hard(ish) to do.

Today I got to write a break-up letter to one of our favorite complainers.  I know!  And when I say "I got to", what I mean is that the largest boss requested it from the next largest boss, who requested it from the supervisor, who requested it from the lead, who asked me to do it.  Since I'm at the very bottom of the food chain, I agreed to do it, and when I say, "agreed", what I mean is that I had no other options. 

But once I accepted the assignment, it was actually quite fun.  I know, I haven't been writing about work much lately, mostly because it's tedious, but also because every so often I remember that you're not supposed to blog about work because people who do that get fired and sued and stuff.  And, it's kind of boring.  If I were to write about today, which I wouldn't, I'd describe this scene in the Permit Center:
Me:  Hi, can I help you?

Him, in a super-irritated tone:  Well, I have to come down here because no one ever answers the phone or calls me back.

Me:  Oh!  That's troubling.  Who did you try to reach?

Him:  It doesn't matter.

Me:  Well, I'd like to follow up on it.  [spoken as if I have any control.]

Him:  Well, I didn't call anyone because it's not even worth it.

Me:  Wait, let me get this straight:  are you complaining that no one has called you back, but you haven't called anyone yet?

Him:  Yes.

Me:  You're complaining that no one has returned a call that you didn't make yet?  Do you see how that would be unlikely to happen?

And so on.  So, you see why I can't bear to write about it.  It's like dreaming about doing chores -- first you live through it, then you re-live it when you don't have to.

But at any rate, this is still going on, even though I haven't mentioned it in a while.  And when I say it's still going on, I mean we field dozens of calls and letters about yes, those same cedar trees that were planted in the stream buffer last spring.

The big boss has finally had enough, and asked for a "we're done" letter.  Once I realized that I've written and received these letters before, it was pretty easy.

Dear About to be Ex Citizen,

It's been so great getting to know you visiting your property and trying desperately to work things out together understand your concerns.  You've taught me so many new things really been a good steward and obviously care deeply about the environment. I've really marveled at some aspects of your personality that are unique your dedication to the tiny reach of stream in front of your house.

But alas, we've been over the same issues again and again, and it seems like we aren't able to work them out.  However, it seems as though we've responded to the same complaint a number of times, and we have nothing to add.  It's not you, it's me.  I just don't really have the skill set to be in a healthy relationship with you. The County just doesn't have the resources to keep fielding questions on this same issue, although I understand that it's dear to you.

My therapist agrees that this isn't a healthy connection for either of us.  We've talked to all of the other resource agencies, who agree with our position.

There are many other people in the world, and I hope that we'll both have better success with someone else The County is a million acres in size, and we need to turn our attention toward other pressing issues.  There are many people who will find you charming and delightful in the future.  There are many opportunities for a committed citizen like yourself to be involved in positive ways.  Our lives are short, and we need to make the most of them, and move on gracefully when things aren't working out. As you know, government funding has been declining, and our staff resources are extremely limited; we need to use the remaining resources in the most effective way possible. 

I know this is disappointing to both of us frustrating, but I hope good things for you in the future you will take this opportunity to find another cause to apply your many talents to.  I know there's a temptation to want to discuss things, but at this point, I think a break is best.  Unfortunately, we've given this all of the time and attention that we have.

Fondly Sincerely,
Me The Government

I just changed a few words from letters I've sent and received, and it still seemed okay, so I printed it, knocked on The Great One's door, and handed it to him.

"Here's the break-up letter you wanted."

He looked alarmed.  "What are you talking about?"

"You know.  The letter.  The 'it's over' letter.  Ms Pasta asked me to write it.  Here it is."

He stood there and read it for a minute, and didn't even do that neck cracking thing where he brings his left palm to the right side of his chin and twists the chin to the right, which seems like a good sign.

"Huh.  Good letter.  There's a lot of positive stuff in there.  I wouldn't have put all that in there, or made it so long, but I like it."

"Yeah, I know.  Guys never do."

Sunday, October 17, 2010

The Horrible Gym

So I went to re-join the horrible gym the other day.  I call it the Horrible Gym because it is.  It’s an ugly, grim industrial room, loud, and full of grunting people who should probably wear a bit more clothing.

Beyond the obvious things about gyms, this one is even worse because it's small, just one room, and it smells.  The smell of unhappiness, if you know that smell.  Not the sweat smell of someone who was outside working hard, but more the smell of someone who is about to take a lie detector test.  And the fact that it doesn’t even have showers.  Also, a lot of people there are overweight, which also makes it seem like a lot of misery for little payoff.

I quit my membership a year and a half ago because I’d rather do yoga or something outside.  But, the winters are long and full of darkness and rain, and sometimes a bit of exercise can change things in a good way, so I decided to rejoin.  They’re having a special now where the membership fee is half-price if you bring a sack of groceries for Hopelink.  If me signing up to be even more of a gerbil than I already am can help hungry people, yay, bonus.

So first I go to the horrible big chain grocery store, and let's just go on a little side rant here, shall we?  It is the most inefficient idea ever to have random people buy a bunch of groceries at retail prices with no master plan or knowledge of what’s needed.  If I were to make a donation to the actual group that was going do bulk shopping in an organized fashion, I’m sure more calories could be purchased. 

But I go to the horrible large grocery store, and it takes me forever to decide what to buy, and I’m making a million decisions about groceries for someone I’ve never met.  I don’t know what they need or like, so I keep going up and down the aisles wondering if they would even do anything with lentils or not.  Are they the lentil kind?  Probably not.  I buy peanut butter, tuna, almonds.  I decide that although they aren't the lentil kind, the would enjoy some cans of low-sodium chicken soup.  I think about buying things like hand lotion and tampons, but decide against it because there are just too many problems with that that I won't go into here.  I end up spending about $65 to save $39,. 

I go to the gym to sign up, and am again reminded of why I call it The Horrible Gym.  It’s one smallish room filled with loud bad music, clanging of weights dropping, and the same overweight people I left there a year and a half ago are trudging along on the treadmills.

So a man who looks like David C. Fisher, that guy who played the repressed conservative gay man on Six Feet Under, starts filling out my form.  He’s kind of doughy and short-haired in a republican way.  If his personal style could talk, it would say, “I’d like to eliminate welfare benefits, because by god, I work for a living and so should those lazy people.  And, by the way, it’s my property and no stinkin’ government can tell me what to do on my land.”  I know!  How can I tell all this by looking at him?  So unfair.

But I give my groceries over, and he does all this form stuff that takes forever, giving me plenty of time to watch what appears to be the zombie apocalypse happening on the treadmills nearby.  He eventually hands the form back for my signature, and I see that the monthly charge has gone up to $30 a month, rather than the $19 I was paying a year and a half ago.

“Wow. Really?  $30 a month?”

“Yes.  It’s been a looong time since you’ve been here.”  As he says this, he looks at me as if I’m really out of shape.

“But seriously, that’s a 60 percent increase in a year.  Does that seem steep?”

He stands there with his soft doughy white hands pushing the pen towards me.  His hands look like they have never touched the earth, not even once.  “Well, it depends on your fitness goals.”

I’m starting to get really annoyed, because the correct answer would be, “Why yes!  60% is a rather steep increase.  I see your point, and yet, this is why we find it necessary to increase, yada yada yada.”

I would have so just signed the form had he said anything like that, but he didn’t, which was irritating.  I also realize I’m totally in the wrong here.  Like, his thought bubble, if he had one, would have said, “Um, hello lady, you came in here to join, it is what it is, take it or leave it, but don’t come in here and then whine about it.  Nobody made you come here.”  That would have been completely fair, so I was feeling in the wrong and in the right at the very same time, which made me backpedal just a bit.

“Hmm, I just don’t know if I will really get my money’s worth for $30 a month,” I say, giving him the space to also backpedal, which he didn't.

He looks me up and down and says, “Well, I guess it depends on how important fitness is to you. What your fitness goals are.”

I decide not to join. “Yeah, I guess they aren't big enough.  You can keep the groceries, though.”  I’m polite, but feeling defiant, like, huh, we did the stand off, and I won. 

I see his surprise, because he probably thought his snarky fitness goal line was a surefire thing, and he gets all, “well, I can put you down as a prospective joiner.  You can try it out for 10 times for $50. And if you want to buy ten more after that, you can.  As a prospective member.”

I’m all about compromising, so I give him my $50 and the bag of groceries.  I may develop some fitness goals that involve the zombie apocalypse or living in a cage.

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Easy as pie*

The other day, I was trying to go on a little run in the neighborhood, the one I do when I’m too lazy to run in the woods, or it’s too wet, or it just sounds too hard. So I jogged about a hundred feet or so and came upon my neighbor and her dog.  “I’ll walk with you a little bit,” she announced.

Which was good for me, because I didn’t feel much like running anyway.  I was only out there because I had made a really beautiful apple pie, and it seemed like I should get some exercise before eating it. 

 We walked along for a bit and she updated me on her life in tiny snippets.  “CR is spending a lot of time at her boyfriend’s house because she says he has a nice comfy chair that she can study in.  Does that sound true?” and then she abruptly turned around and said it was time for me to run.

My son, R. and I are perhaps the biggest Ira Glass fans ever.  Since I introduced him to This American Life about 4 years ago, he’s listened to every episode several times, we’ve seen Ira in person, we’ve gone to the live movie simulcast twice, and it’s one of our main points of reference in conversation.

“What are you saying, mom?  Is this like that episode where they didn’t tell the kid he had mosaic downs until he was pretty old?”

“Um, no, it’s not like that.”

“So, Bobby Dunbar? Is that it?”

“No, you weren’t kidnapped as a baby.”

"Mom, you're eyes are red.  Fan of the reefer?" he asks, referring to an episode where a guy gets interrogated by a cop as a result of a Facebook status update he posted.

I continued on my jog, and came upon another neighbor, who was standing at the edge of her driveway with a cup full of corn and seeds, feeding the squirrels.  I suppressed a horrified shudder, because I have such an infestation of Douglas squirrels in my attic that it’s not even funny. I had an overnight guest this summer who thought people were moving furniture in the attic, that’s how loud they are. 

I’ve realized that there’s not just one area to plug up to prevent their entering, but a huge design flaw in the roof that is almost impossible to fix.  I’ve tried various deterrents, and the one that seems to make a difference involves me climbing into the attic crawl space when they start moving about at 4 in the morning, lighting incense to smoke them out, and then crawling back in bed to worry about burning the house.

So I’m a little shudder-y when I see her feeding these rodents, but I stop to chat anyway. This neighbor is the definition of aging gracefully – she’s about 70 and looks vaguely like Katharine Hepburn.  She tells me about the latest man she’s dating.  “It’s just another practice relationship.  There’s really no chemistry there, but this will keep me busy until Mr. Right comes along.”

I tell her about my pie, and jog another few hundred feet when a car pulls up alongside me.

“Do you know where the nearest gas station is,” the well-dressed man driving asks. 

This is an odd question, because anyone who’s driving a car knows that we’re in the middle of nowhere, the nearest town is almost 10 miles away.  I ask where he’s ultimately trying to go, and how much gas he has.

He does some thing with his odometer.  “I can go 18 miles.  Oh, and here’s where I’m going.”  He hands me a sheaf of MLS sheets describing real estate for sale. It seems odd, like he expects me to be google or something, and organize his route and locate the gas stations. I glance through the stack of sheets, trying to make sense of it all, and I feel like I’m at work, and should be explaining aspects of the zoning code to him.  Then I remember about the pie.  “I’d just go into town to get gas first.  You can definitely make it there.”

But he wants to ask more questions, like which route he should take, and would he be able to also look at one of the places along the way, so I just give the friendly wave and jog off. 

It’s taken me about an hour to go just under two miles.  I let R. assume that maybe I ran farther than I did, and put dinner on the table.

When R and I went to the movie simulcast of This American Life the first time, he was about 13, and as we approached the theater, joining a middle-aged, NPR-ish looking crowd, he looked around. “Um, I guess these are the other fans?”  Commenting, without saying anything, on how out of the demographic he is.

Lately, we’ve been comparing who likes Ira Glass more. 

“I want to hang out with Ira and hear some stories.”

“Oh yeah?  Well I want Ira to come over for dinner.”

“Yeah?  Well, I want Ira to go to my school.”

“Yeah?  Well I made this pie for Ira.”

And so on, like seven-year-olds.  So I’m writing this post, the way I try to most days, and it really isn’t coming together, which is happening far too often.

I read it aloud to R.

“Wow, who reads your blog?  Seriously, is your point to announce that you’re a freak?  I’d cut out that whole part about the pie and the stroll through the neighborhood, and just keep it about Ira Glass.”

Even though I know he’s right, I keep wondering why I’m trying to weave our adoration for Ira Glass into the dull story about the jog, so I turn to the source.  I watch a few youtube videos about storytelling by the master, and he harps on the two points of a story:  the anecdote, and the reflection.  The anecdote makes it interesting, and the reflection makes it worthwhile. 

He talks about stories that have a decent anecdote, but no point, and conversely, boring stories that have an interesting reflection, and both of those stories should be killed.

“R., I think this is an okay anecdote, but no reflection.”

“Um, no, Mom. It’s a boring anecdote with no point.  You’ve got neither.”

I read it again, and think he’s sort of right.  I re-listen to Ira, explaining that you must be merciless in killing stories that don’t work.  I wonder why I’m drawn to the story about the jog through the neighborhood, and come up with this: it’s about how all these tiny, mundane, relatively unconnected little lives have interesting details that I intersect with in only the sparest of ways. 

Does CR really like the chair?  Is the senior Ms. Lovely likely to find Mr. Right?  Why does the well-put-together guy in the late model SUV rely on a random jogger for navigation?  These questions aren't fascinating, but they bring up that tender connected feeling of, huh, that’s what’s going on out there?  I had no idea.

In Part 4 of Ira Glass’s storytelling video, he talks about how for years, you’ll make crap, but you have to be patient, and keep working.  You’ll know it’s missing the mark, but you need to just keep at it, and not give up.  Yeah, what he said.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Parental lectures

I’ve been thinking about doing a little series on my top most-used parental lectures, because I’m all done using them. They’ve either taken root or not, so I think I’ll stop haranguing these poor young people, and offer them up to you for your offspring, co-workers, people on the bus, etc.

The Importance of Being Interesting


You, my lovely child, have so much capacity to be interesting. You are charming, delightful, intelligent, and thoughtful. Please use these traits to be fascinating. Even though, I, your mother, will try to listen to every detail that you choose to share with me, I caution you that the world will not do the same.

Because you are beloved to me, I try to be fully attentive to your recap of a video that someone else saw, even if it takes twice as long for you to describe as it would to watch. Or listen raptly while you recount exactly how your left foot, and then your right foot behaved during the skateboard maneuver that you’re learning; I will even try to imagine what your arms were doing during at the time. I will watch you act it out, although I’m also cooking, making a list, signing the endless forms that come home from school, moving laundry about, and trying to get us out the door on time for something else. I truly will. But, my dear one, be aware that the rest of the humans you encounter will not do so, and at times, although I love you more than you can even begin to comprehend, I also struggle to listen.

My point, young person, is that being interesting is a critical survival skill. We all need some amount of attention from other people on the planet, and you must spend your childhood honing the trait of being interesting, or you’ll end up being that guy. Yep, you know the one, the guy everyone avoids because a simple question leads to a long detailed account that no one cares about.

“How’s work, Frank?”

“Oh, I developed a new filing system for my business. The yellow folders, well, they’re legal size, and I bought them on sale, I think it was last Tuesday. Or was it Wednesday? Oh, I know for sure it was Tuesday, because I had my bowling bag in the car. Anyway, the yellow folders are for copies of letters I’ve mailed in months that don’t contain an “r” in their name, and the red folders...”

I know this lecture may seem harsh, my dear one, but trust me, I will be doing you no favors if I give you the sense that you needn’t make effort to be interesting. There is absolutely no excuse for being boring. It means you’re not paying attention to what’s going on in your life or the people around you; it means you just aren’t trying. Please don’t waste our lives that way.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Really? This is the future?

Aries (3/21 – 4/19): Last week when I went to the quirky little grocery store, I bumped into a man I hadn’t seen in maybe 15 years, and I only met him then because he appraised my house. I had gotten the day wrong, so he showed up to a houseful of preschoolers and a giant mess. Without going into lots of detail about how I was in the middle of gluing topo maps to the wall, (because this is your horoscope, after all), but the kids were playing with a huge bowl of rice and funnels and cups, and the dog was wandering between the glue and the rice, allowing them to marry, and so on, and what he said? He said “by the way, I’m just looking at the walls and stuff." It was an extemely kind thing to say, even though it made it a little bit worse in a way, if you know what I mean? This week will be like that. Unnecessary, delightful, yet slightly awkward, generosities all over the place.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  Okay, so TARP turned out to only cost $50 billion.  That really isn't that much, and I wish everyone would quit whining.  But speaking of whining, does it seem like everyone is complaining lately about being sick, or tired, or bored?  What's going on?  Can we make it stop?  If the upcoming week were a roof, yours would be composite with a 30 year warranty.  Sorry.  Next week will be better, I'm sure of it.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  It's time to be thinking about cake!  Yes, it is. 

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  Have you ever had that thing where you gather a bunch of mushrooms, and then, addict like, gather more and more, and eat so many that you feel sick?  Remember when everyone used to smoke pot, back in the day, and there was that paraquat scare, and it was hard to tell if you had been poisoned or were just experiencing normal paranoia? Yeah, like that.  Anyway, your week will be like a clean smock at a new job with your name embroidered in cursive.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22): If you ever get really in the Halloween spirit, google images for Area 51. But here's something NOT to do: DO NOT try to post any stories about Area 51 to Facebook. Weird shit starts happening, right away. I'm not kidding. That guy in the bushes? Yep. CIA.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  Do you ever worry that there's a secret webcam in your house because it will be so awkward when your life is exposed in all it's dullery?   Oh, no, me neither.  Never worried about that.  If your week were a hat, it would be a giant sombrero, which you should take off once in a while, and wave around towards your admiring fans.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22): Does everything seem stale, and you try to write but it's all coming out boring and like a completely unfamiliar life, like, "hey, grandma went down to the bayou and then the horse died and then they made gumbo" til you just want to scream, but you're too lazy?  Yep.  Your week so far has been like a 3 day old scone, but that's about to change.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21)Do your relatives have weird hangups about forks?  Like, your grandma has one fork that she declares as horrible, but keeps it around, only to visibly shudder if it ends up at her place setting?  And your mother and that weird fixation about only using a dessert fork for cake, and your little bro from the same mo' won't eat with a three-tined thing?  I know.  Strangely, you've escaped unscathed.  Help these people, they need you. 

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): Do you ever look in the mirror and think, Oh My Goodness, I have bingo wings!  Yeah, me neither.  I haven't thought that yet, phew.  But it's coming, and when it gets here, the thing to do is yell, "N-42!" and then get on with your life.  If your week were a snack, it would be a ritz cracker with a bit of cheddar cheese on it.  Predictable.  See if you can make some mock apple pie, at least, and what I mean by that is rearrange the boring bits and see if it makes it any more palatable.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): Oh, my dear goats.  Alas, if this week were an outfit, it would be not unlike that meat outfit that Lady Gaga wore.  I know!  Don't shoot the messenger.  You might want to just start with a hat.  But my real point in writing, dear ones, is to remind you to put yourself away at night because there are bears all over the place. 

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  I know someone with a new boss who closed the staff lunch room on the her first day on the job.  On her second day, she locked it, and only gave keys to the handful of people, so that most of the people who work there were just wandering around bewilderedly with their sandwiches saying, "huh?"  Your week will involve a lot of that, but without the sandwich.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  Speaking of bingo, don't be a bingo tease.  It's just too much excitement.

I'm excited to report that the author Celeste Ng has selected m y modern love essay to read for the Modern Love podcast next week. Suc...