Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Horoscopes: The Gum Wall Episode


Can you even see the gum?  

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  We have a new attraction in our town, The Gum Wall.  It's not nearly as impressive as the one in Seattle, but it makes me strangely glad each time I walk by these five pieces of gum in the alley.  (I can say, "the alley", because there's only one. Oh, unless you cross the street, which I rarely do.)  Can you even see the gum in that picture?  Every big gum wall starts just like this, I hear.   The other thing about this picture: there's a shadow!  We know what that means, Aries.  The end of the dark times.  Not a moment too soon.  Enjoy.  (And, add some gum if you get a chance.  Wouldn't it be cool if there were six, or even seven pieces by next week?)

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  RIP, Booth Gardner.  I only had one occasion to meet him, and it was all rather awkward.

A friend of mine, who was a major donor to the Audubon Society, invited me and my then-husband on a special field trip that was a treat for the dozen top donors.  I am not those people, in case there's any confusion.  Just about everyone except my friend was famous in the environmental world.  -- Aldo Leopold's daughter Estella, and Booth Gardner, and people like that.   An expert ornithologist was flown here from Cornell to lead a birdwatching trip, and there was a fancy lunch at a restaurant on pilings, and so on.   Anyway, long story, but the key details are that the day before, R., who was two years old at the time, had hurled a dense cardboard map tube across the room, which accidentally hit me in the eye.

The field trip happened to occur on Superbowl Sunday of the particular year when there was much ado about the high incidence of domestic violence during halftime.  (Or was it toilet flushing during halftime and domestic violence during the game?  I forget.)  To make a long horoscope even longer, my then-husband and I ended up seated for the fancy lunch at a table for four with Booth and his lovely young companion -- it was unclear if she was his gf, daughter, or nurse.  It was super awkward for all the normal reasons, plus other ones (like, what had he been up to in the 2 years since he was governor? And who was the woman? Should we ask?)

After eating in uncomfortable silence for a while, I said, "So, about my black eye."   They had to be wondering, and perhaps assuming the worst of my ex, right?  "My son threw a map tube at me, and while I laid there, stunned from the impact, he walked over and said, 'Did you see something big and brown coming at you like a buffalo?"

Booth replied, "Oh."  We finished the rest of our four course meal in silence.

At any rate, he did much good for our state, especially his work on the Growth Management Act.  May he rest in peace.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  Speaking of resting in peace, I took a nice walk around a cemetary last week with M., who remarked that she rather enjoys finally having an at home mother.  Even though she's 22 and doesn't live at home, and it's not like I'm an actual shut in (Is that term misleading and creepy?  Stay at home mother?   It probably be  "driving around all the time mother.").  But this grave stone broke my heart a little bit more than it already was.  Maybe because I'm reading "The Heart is a Lonely Hunter".  Gemini, don't be a lonely hunter this week.  Hunt in packs.  Count me in.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  I listen to many podcasts every day.  In the middle of the night, I've been strangely compelled to listen to, "Dial a Stranger", where a woman calls random people and asks how their day was.  I can't explain why I'm so hooked on this.  It ranges from the mundane to the tedious to the ultra-boring and occasionally, hilarious.    But that's not exactly your horoscope, Cancer, although we're getting close.  Another podcast that catches my attention (which really isn't very hard to do) is "Love and Radio." The episode titled "Dirty Balloons" had me in such hysterical laughter that I wondered if it was normal.  Lying in bed alone at 3 am laughing til tears run down your cheeks?  We all do that, right?  Anyway, it was about a young woman who was broke and needed money, so she replied to a Craig's List ad looking for women to participate in balloon popping porn.  Did you even know that was a thing?  I tend to think of a balloon popping as kind of a buzzkill, but apparently I'm way out of the loop.  If you find yourself with a lot of time on your hands, recuperating from something, this may help pass the time.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  I was listening to the news this morning about the new anti-abortion laws, and the basis for some of them is that a fetus can feel pain.  Arrgh.  Guess who else can feel pain, North Dakota?  An unwanted child, born to parents without the maturity, resources, or desire to hurl themselves at an unconditional effort that lasts for years.  Leo, may you have a pain-free week.  Can I go off on a little rant, though?  Wouldn't it be easier if we teach our young people about sex and how it works, have them practice the difficult conversations, and make contraception safe and legal and accessible and not so annoying?  Maybe Bill Gates is on the right track.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  Last week, I was driving in to town when a friend called.
"Why are we on the phone together?" was the first thing he said.
"Um, I'm not 100 percent on this, but I'd guess it's because you called?"
"Oh, did I?  I guess that means we should have dinner.  Are you free in 10 minutes?"
Of course I was free in 10 minutes.  There should be more of that in the world, Virgo.  More butt dials that end with someone buying me dinner.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  A friend sent me this article, which is both sad and hilarious.  Mostly sad.  Um, anyway, solar flares, mercury not in retrograde, blah blah blah.  Isn't that how horoscopes go?  Here:  Libra's are usually so balanced.  Not so much this week.  Prepare.  

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  The other night I dreamt that I was in a class with Emily Bazelon.  We were both students, learning how to can dairy products with actual cans.  While I was pouring some half and half into a can that she held, I told her that I have a huge intellectual crush on her.  It was super awkward, and she was all, "Um, yeah, let's just focus on the dairy products, shall we?"  Dream big this week, Scorpio.  Try not to dream of awkward moments around revealing a platonic crush on a Yale law professor.  That's just unnecessary. 

Frankensleeves around a Japanese fishing float
Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  I traded some Frankensleeves for a haircut yesterday.  My young friend has been cutting my hair since she was twelve, which is now a decade.  Her moving away for a while is what lead to the whole, "drink a glass of wine, watch a Youtube video on how to cut your own hair, get out the scissors" situation, which I thought was going okay until JJ mentioned that it had been going on long enough, and it looked pretty sketchy.    At any rate, it was a a lovely visit, and she was happy with the sleeves and I was happy with the hair.  That's what your week will be like, Sagittarius:  all good, with a few useful trades.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  I was sitting on the top of Rattlesnake Ridge today, looking at the beautiful view and all of the decomposing detritis from prior picnickers when my science fair project finally came to me.  How long does it take for a banana peel to decompose?  What are some of the variables that affect that?  How about an orange peel?  I know!  I can hardly wait.  But Capricorn, here's something you'll find interesting.  There's a space capsule orbiting the earth with the digitized genome of Stephen Hawking, Stephen Colbert, and Lance Armstrong, among others. (Have we ever discussed the Oxford comma?  Pro?  Con?)  The information will be stored in the Space Station in case of calamity. Quite a plan. It actually sounds like the set up for a joke: Three guys walk into the space station...  I guess no girls have genes deserving of immortality.  This week, see if you can develop the joke there.

  Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  At 6:30 one morning last week, on my way to yoga in the pitch dark and pouring rain, I saw a light in the road, and I couldn't figure out what it was: bicycle? Dog walker?  It was truly pouring buckets.  As I got close, I realized it was a hitchhiker, a young man in his late teens.   "Yeah, I know you," he said.  I took him at his word, due to my facial recognition disorder.

He was soaking wet and smelled like stale cigarettes and other sour things.  In fact, he smelled a lot like Joey.  I asked where he was headed, and he replied, all cheery, "I've got to catch the 7:22 bus to Seattle for rehab.  It's my second day!  If I do all 30 days, I'll get a voucher towards tuition."  He was super earnest and eager, and was glad that only about 10 cars (!?wtf? that's half the neighborhood!) passed him before I stopped.  He chatted happily all the way in to town.  As he got out, he said, "Wish me luck.  I have to do a psychological evaluation today."

Aquarius, the point being, see if you can make the best of stuff.  And be glad that on this day, you probably don't have to do a psychological evaluation.  Be cheery with whatever's going on.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20): I wrote about that hitchhiker to a friend who asked if we are cheered or depressed by the story.  Cheered! Definitely cheered!  Because at this moment, he's full of hope and opportunity, and that's as good as it gets. It will turn out shitty, of course, but that will come later. He'll drop out of rehab on day 18, not because he isn't trying, but because he'll oversleep twice, not get a ride in time, and miss the bus.  As a result, he'll get kicked out of his parents house.  After years of knocking around, he'll have a disfiguring welding accident.  His heart will be broken by a woman he meets at the bowling alley where he works passing out the shoes.  (He won't realize it at the time-- awareness of his heartbreak will occur to him much later, after she's moved to Cleveland to care for her elderly mother and work at the coat factory.)  He'll end up old and and unemployed and alone, living in a 1974 Econoline van that an uncle gave him.  But even through all of that, he'll be happy, because there will be lots of good moments -- his weekly poker game, a series of good enough girlfriends, usually enough to eat and drink, and he'll decide to focus on those things. He doesn't know about his future yet.  At this moment, he anticipates it being ultra-bright:  steady job, nice apartment in Centralia, Ford F350, well-trained spaniel that he can hunt with in the fall, reconciliation with his sweet gf -- it's all going to work out swell.  The thing with feathers.  Keep that this week, Pisces!

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

It's never too late!

Just when I was about to give up hope about the science fair, I got a note from The Linguist:


Betsy,

Are you still accepting entries to the science fair? I don't have anything particularly clever, quirky or adorable, but hopefully I can make up in quantity what I lack in quality. Here are my two proposed experiments:

1. The Effects of Sleep on Vriksasana

It seems to me that the less sleep I get, the wobblier my tree pose is. Is there a connection? Get a bunch of yogis and yoginis and assign them a certain amount of sleep to get on various days. Count how many times their "up" foot hits the floor on those days, and correlate with hours of sleep. Note that it is not good enough to simply survey the yog(in)is regarding how much sleep they got - it could be that those who get less sleep are more or less prone to wobbliness for independent reasons.

2. The Effects of Temperature on Fluid Exchange (Not that kind of fluid exchange).

I was in the bathroom at my office, and the window was open. It was pretty warm in the office, and pretty cold outside, and because of the high temperature differential, the temperature in the bathroom was dropping faster than if it had been warmer outside. But I wondered whether the air was flowing through the window faster, or if it was just that the temperature of the air was changing even if the air was staying on its own side of the window. Another way to ask the question is whether you can bring more fresh air into a room by opening a window on a cold day than on a warm day.

To test this, one could rig up an apparatus with two chambers separated by a wall. Have a hole in that wall which can be opened and closed from outside the apparatus. Fill each chamber with water containing dye. Say, red in one chamber and blue in the other. Open the hole for a fixed period of time and then close it. Measure the amount of mixing by noting the colors of the chamber (reddish purple and bluish purple). Try this with various temperatures of water. Do you get more mixing when the temperatures in the two chambers are different? Maybe you just get more mixing the hotter the water is in general?

~The Linguist


Dear The Linguist,

(Do you like how "the" has become part of your name?)  Of course it's not too late.  These are excellent ideas, and as you know, there will be prizes.  

I was talking to some young people over the weekend about the Constitution and the subject of Science Fairs came up.  To be accurate, I brought it up, because it's really not the kind of topic you can wander over to smoothly.  It's the conversational equivalent of that awkward stretch at the movies on a first date that ends with an arm accidentally around your shoulder.

At any rate, the teens were incredulous.  "You're having an actual science fair?  Who's in it?"

"Um, no one so far.  Although possibly a woman from Nova Scotia is going to study home electrolysis using an old lamp.  Or do you think she was just kidding?  And there's possibly someone else doing a study on the effects of my urine on lettuce, but again, maybe that was a joke?"

I got that look from these teens, the one that means they're imagining me home alone with a tri-fold presentation board plastered with graphs and they aren't sure whether to call someone or just let it go.

So, The Linguist, I'm glad you've come up with your project.  Mine will involve this plant, but I can't quite figure out how.  Beneficial uses?  Ways to kill?  Advice welcome.



Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Time for Pisces


It's been brought to my attention that the recent Pisces horoscope was really lame.  So were all the other ones, but at least they were longer.  So, my dear Pisces, all three of you, here's your very own long horoscope.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  I was talking about Daylight Savings Time the other day and mentioned that when my kids were little, I had a rule that once we're on the new time, there will be no mention of the old time.  But as I was explaining this, the young people looked at me like, "Wow, we're so glad you're not our mother."  And I realized that it did sound unnecessarily irritable.  Like, really?  No one was allowed to even mention that we changed the clocks?  I know.  I'm not proud of that.

But I used to find it tiresome, all the: "But it's not really bedtime, because on the old time..." or, "I'm hungry now because yesterday it would have been dinner time," and so on.  I'd go on a rant, "CHILDREN!  We're on this time now.  We are so not the kind of people who continue to cling to the old time.  Keep up!"  

Last year, I accidentally made a comment about being tired after we switched times.  R. just looked at me and said, "Go to your room."   

But that's not your horoscope.  

Our beloved town is clamping down on time travel.  First, someone took the sign down.  Now they've fenced off the portal.  I'm not sure what this means.  But if you see someone stuck behind a fence this week, actual or metaphorical, free them if you can.  Or at least stand near the fence and read aloud.  Do what you can to provide comfort, Pisces.


Thursday, March 7, 2013

Horoscopes, The Sinkhole Edition


Credit for the idea and the art to my talented friend.
Credit for the quote, of course, goes to the one who said it
Aries (3/21 – 4/19) I know a highly quotable person who says stuff that belongs on tattoos, so you'll see a lot of that here.  I stole this idea from a friend.  I have no creativity myself, but I know people.  Speaking of tattoos, I was in a hottub the other evening when a young military punk offered to show his tattoo.  I said yes.  Of course I did.  So he pulled off his bathing suit to reveal a tattooed ass that wasn't nearly as good as the one to the left.  I think it said "Cash Only".  Anyway, Aries, the point is, if you're going to get a tattoo, don't make it tacky.  Oh, wait, no that's not it.  The point is: just say no when people offer to show a tattoo, at least this week.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  Silicon Valley is in the business of making forgetting extinct through use of the cloud and other technology.   I read that in the NYT, so it must be true.  Meanwhile, they've discovered forgetting receptors in the uterus.  The uterus has a lot to forget.  Trust me on this.  It turns out that forgetting is an actual ability, and it also has come to light that I'm gifted in that area.  Anyway, will someone tell those people?  Forgetting isn't so terrible!  But ... if one of you is still searching for a science project, maybe you could evaluate how uterine remembering could solve the population crisis.  Store those contractions in the cloud, see what happens.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  JJ just called and told me a story about someone's large fleshy arms touching him accidentally.

"Can we make a new rule about that?" I asked.  "That's creeping me out.  For thirty days, please, no mention of the fleshy arms.  I need a break from that disturbing image."

"I'll try," he said unconvincingly.

I learned on the Internets, (where everything is true), that you Gemini people won't take crap from anyone.  This week, don't take inadvertent contact with large jiggly arms either.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  I was at a restaurant the other day and asked some men who were seated at the other end of our table if they could please use their inside voices.  Luckily, this was met with laughter and offers of free drinks rather than how it could have gone down.  But Cancer, I'd like to emphasize my belief that one of the most important parental responsibilities is to teach your people about inside voices.  (Side note:  I heard a creepy thing that teachers say about "six inch voices" which I is when your voice only projects six inches.  That's taking it a little far, even for me.  Maybe I'm feeling a bit sensitive because I was at a meeting recently with someone who told me,  "Your voice would be better for pillow talk than making a point at a meeting."  Is that awkward?  YES.)  Anyway, Cancer, can we make a stand for the IV (inside voice) this week?


Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  Rice has 50,000 genes, and humans have 35,000.  That's the kind of thing we should think about every day, lest we get too cocky about ourselves.  We have the ability to laugh, sweat, weep, yearn, hope, send text messages, cook with bok choy, waste time, use the very same ingredients to make either paper mache or pie crust (right?), and participate in science fairs.  Rice, we have no idea what it can do, but it must be that plus thirty percent.  And rice looks so simple.  Leo, don't be fooled by that.  Every single thing is complicated.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): How cool is this?  The first science fair participant.  Not to mention one of my favorite young people, because he's smart and curious and kind and has complete and appropriate grasp of the Inside Voice.  (Please forgive the video quality.  Taken with a smart-ish phone.)

Libra (9/23 – 10/22): I was texting with R. the other day, and said something like, "Yes, my son..." and it suddenly occurred to me that people might think I'm trying out for pope.  (Are there tryouts?)  Anyway, Libra, if you're going to the conclave (I so wanted to use that word), please let them know I'm not available, I'm super busy re-reading customer e-mails and making tattoos out of them.  

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Make your mark this week in a watery, slurry-ish way.  Unobtrusive and easy-going, but not.  I mean that in the very best way, you remarkable Scorpios.  Think Colorado River.  Speaking of slurry, I don't know if everyone remembers this, but the caterpillar actually dissolves into slurry in that cocoon, and reformats as a butterfly but retains memories from being a caterpillar.  How cool is that?  So, if you're feeling slurryish, it probably means you're about to be a butterfly.  With memories.


In
Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  Last week, I met The Boyz for a beer, and within about five minutes, they were arguing about something that neither one of them particularly cares about.  Seriously, they debated for about, oh, maybe 3 hours, or at least it seemed like three hours, about whether a parent should allow a young adult to take a break from college if they want to.  One of them doesn't have kids, and the other has Tiny Children.  It just reminds me that debaters debate.  But even though I was bored, I was bored in the most remarkable way, that way where you don't realize you miss people until they're boring you to tears.  Right?  Have a good week, Sag.  May the wind be always at your back.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  The other night I woke up from a horrible nightmare in which I'd received a text message that said, "5242".  I knew that was the code for "someone you care about is going down in a sinkhole." I know.  During the daylight, that sinkhole incident is just one more weird thing about Florida, but apparently it captured my psyche.  In the dream, I wandered around frantically looking for my person, but I didn't know where they were, and I was afraid that I might get sucked into the sinkhole myself.   I woke up in a sweat and told my companion about it, who laughed hard, saying without saying: "Really?  You actually dream you're a text-rescuer?".  It was a good way to wake up -- to have someone fondly poke fun of me and laugh out loud.  But it didn't quite dispel this vague sense of dread that someone's getting swallowed by a sinkhole.  Strap yourself to something before you go to sleep at night, Capricorn.  Beware of the undertoad.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  Aldous Huxley said, “Most men and women lead lives that are so painful, at the best, so monotonous, poor, and limited, that the urge to escape, the longing to transcend themselves, if only for a few moments, is and has always been one of the principal appetites of the soul.”  Aquarius, see if you can quench that appetite.  Transecend transecend transcend.  Oh, and if you're looking for a safe and legal method?   Alternate Nostril Breathing.

Yep, same guy.  How can you not be a fan?
Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  You thought I'd write a whole post without nagging reminding you about the science fair?  We have a deadline coming up.  NEXT FRIDAY.  Is the suspense killing you?

Saturday, March 2, 2013

Hope and Wonder


Does it seem like everyone's tired?  Tired of politics, and wars, and the fakey sequester game, and traffic, and going to crummy places like Target to buy things we we wish we didn't want or need.  We're tired of having no time, and too much e-mail, and too many obligations and we're tired of the corporate bureaucratic hassles.  We're tired of memorizing PIN numbers and passwords, we're tired of advertising plastered everywhere, we're tired of all the papers that come into our homes. They creep in through the mailbox and our kids backpacks and our bags and other places too.  Everywhere you go, people want to give you papers.  Our houses are filled with these papers that we think we'll deal with sometime.  Because it might be important.  I want to throw every single paper in my house out, just to see what happens.  And I'm personally tired of the weird deadlines that I didn't sign up for, like taxes and car tabs and garbage day.  Oh, and this week I was tired of hearing about the pope.

But besides being tired, we're  hopeful.  We're a hopeful people.  We keep getting up and caring about each other and the planet one more day.  And this is almost ridiculous.  But it's all we've got, this hope and wonder and caring, and it propels us forward towards the next thing, towards the next moment when we'll exhale and just think, damn, there are some lovely humans on the planet.

Speaking of lovely humans, I'm currently on a weird writing field trip to a semi-horrible place that's like one giant strip mall plopped down on what used to be an estuary.  It was undoubtedly a gorgeous spot at one time, the kind of sacred place where saltwater meets old growth forest, but now it's more like salt water meets Staples and Old Navy and Costco.  But anyway, that's not the point.

The point is that I was a bit horrified by it here, because I feel like I should get in the car to cross the street since it's just so big and pavement-y.  In fact, it seems like I should wear a car like clothing.  It's awkward to go outside without a car.  Inappropriate.

But I found a tiny yoga studio, and there were my people, doing downward dog, and exhaling, and being kind.  I took a class, and at the end, I didn't act on this impulse, but I wanted to ask the people in the class what they're going to do today, and see if I could tag along like a stray dog.  I think I should get points for not acting on that, right?  Oh, and then minus points because I got a little choked up when we were saying goodbye.  Really?  Is that how I am?  Sheesh.

I talked to my sister today and she said we should think about "appreciatives" but by mistake, she said it in an odd way, as if she had an Italian accent.  And as if it's even a word.  She meant things we're grateful for, but I liked to imagine us in Italy, sitting down with a glass of chianti and sharing appreciatives.  I'd say how grateful I am to have her for a sister.  Oh, I get a little weepy thinking about that too.  (Weepy, as you know, elevates the whole thing to a spiritual plain.  It makes it into an experience, unlike the criers, who are just weak.)

But anyway, back to the wonder part.  I'm sort of wondering how your science fair projects are coming.  I haven't started mine yet. Speaking of weird deadlines that you didn't sign up for, how about if everyone picks their project by March 15?  The Ides of March?  Does that give you enough time?  I am so excited about this, by the way.  You wouldn't believe it.


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...