I"m blogging again...

Well, I suppose I can start blogging again! Here's a way for people back home to stay up-to-date with what's going on in my (well, and Justin's) life. It has been an interesting year so far, but I'm ready for a change. I've had several things begin and end already since my summer vacation started (last week) and it was just decided, today, that Justin and I will be moving into a new apartment. We've been talking about this for the last week after a friends mentioned that hers will be available. We met with the landlord a few times and had to bring Dewey! With his permission, and a raise in our deposit, we will be signing a lease next week to move into our new apartment. Justin and I have made tough decisions before, but this was pretty big. We move in July 1st and will finally have a BIG kitchen. We will really miss our current roommate, Peyden, but we're sure we'll see him around. Like I said, it was a bought decision, but there were too many good reasons to move. Interested why? Here's why: - We will have a kitchen that can fit a kitchen table. *Yay!* - The apartment has a LAUNDRY ROOM? Yep, I've been lugging around laundry like it's my job and can't wait for this! - This apartment is Dewey-safe - It's closer to school - Our new place will be quieter :D-- drunk people tend to populate outside out window between 12a-3:30a. - We won't have a roommate who plays trumpet. Sorry, Peyden... You're great, but it will be nice to have a break. Need I go on? It just worked out perfectly. We're not too excited to have to pack up all of our junk and move, but we'll get through it. I'm looking forward to settling into the apartment and, dare I say it, start decorating with all of my interest ideas. Eek! I can't wait. Any other updates? I start a new job this week working as an usher for the Eastman School of Music-- Right now, my life is schedule so that my life happens at night (i.e., Italian class, work, church gigs) and I can stay home with Dewey and practice. It works well. Italian class starts next week and I'm hoping Justin and I will get to eat lots of Italian food~ Olive Garden counts as Italian... right?!?!

A day in the life of Sarah and Katie

Katie & Sarah

(Two best friends upon seeing each other after a long day.)

Katie: Surprise greeting!

Sarah: Excited super cheesy greeting!!

Katie: Animated question?

Sarah: Enthusiastic answer! Energetic question?

Katie: Introverted non-committal response.

Sarah: Hurt and embarrassed dismissal.

Katie: Reengaging statement.

Sarah: Half-hearted response.

Katie: Metabolic question?

Sarah: Titillated response.

Katie: Awkward silence.

Sarah: Pregnant pause. Overly confident question?

Katie: Nervous laughter.

Sarah: Defensive dismissal laughter.

Katie: Urgent statement. Pressing question?

Sarah: Rhetorical question?

Katie: Obstinate statement.

Sarah: Accusatory putdown.

Katie: Aggressive ursine personal attack.

Sarah: Irritated question? Confused question?

Katie: Random fact.

Sarah: Purpose-driven question?

Katie: Random fact.

Sarah: Repeated purposefully driven question?

Katie: Random fact.

Sarah: Piqued response.

Katie: Mutilated baby-babble.

Sarah: Clarify question?

Katie: Magnanimous excuse.

Sarah: Obsolete explanation.

Katie: Question?

Sarah: Statement.

Katie: Surprised response. Closing statement.

Sarah: Final chortle. Statement.

(Hug and depart)

a girl and her dog

I’ve fallen in love with a brown-eyed girl.
At night, I trace invisible hearts
over her white and grey coat.
Her body curves into mine.

At night, I trace invisible hearts
to protect her from monsters.
Her body curves into mine as
I sing lullabies into her ear.

To protect her from monsters
I tuck her beneath my blanket.
I sing lullabies into her ear, and
she kisses my hand—thank you.

Tucked beneath my blanket,
my lips shape a prayer of sleep.
She kisses my hand, a thank you.
Whispered secrets between two sisters.

My lips pray for sleep.
My breath falls into pattern
with my sister’s—whispered secrets.
I fell in love with a brown-eyed girl.

Set the stage...

My science partner is on his way to my apartment.
I run around to remove my stuff and organize my work, my mess.
I set the stage; it’s all a play, a regular rudiment.

The living room! Pillows on the couch, Bible on the table. I’m content.
I fill the soap—only half way. I use it, but I’m resourceful. This I’ll never confess.
My science partner is on his way to my apartment.

Tactfully, I place Calvin & Hobbes comics on his chair, flowers by the vent.
My shoes sorted by color, and oatmeal cookies in the oven. (15 minutes or less.)
I am the master; I set the stage, a regular rudiment.

The dishes are bubbled, the toilet paper end folded into an origami tent.
I sniff my pits, run cologne through my hair, and slap on a blue dress.
My science partner is on his way, almost to my apartment.

I quickly shave my legs in the sink, and my heart pumps for the event.
I don’t want to look like I try too hard; it’s not my only stress.
I set the stage like a dollhouse, a regular rudiment.

Go time. I sit on the couch and add my earrings, a simple accent.
He’s going to see my apartment and fall in love. That’s my guess….
My science partner is knocking on the door to my apartment.
The stage is set—just a regular rudiment.

I like his roommate.

I used to but now...

I used to be a brick wall

I used to be a tattered newspaper dated October 4, 1989, but now I am a red diary full of secrets.

I used to be a Virginia soda, but now I am a Michigan pop.

I used to be a brand new roll of toilet paper, but now I am an orange traffic cone—danger!

Pensaba in Español, Aber jetzt habe ich sprechen Deutsch.

I used to build castles out of post-it notes, but now I am an ice cream tree.

I used to be a penny, heads up, in the middle of the street, but now I am a hot dog topped with mustard and ketchup.

I used to be a hot-pink polyester jacket, but now I am a black and white tweed pea coat.

I used to be a garbage truck stuffed with trash, but now I am painted with chemical-free, waterproof, GREEN paint.

I used to be cigarette ashes sprinkled on moldy bread, but now I am hors d’oeuvres served by men in tuxedoes.

I used to be an Italian art song, but now I am a German-dramatic aria. (The fat lady who sings.)

I used to be a garden gnome stuck between a dead robin and crab grass, but now I am a fuzzy lint roller—here to catch fallen morphemes from a vocal war.

I used to be a Magic 8 ball: try again later, but now I am a deck of cards: hearts is trump.

I used to be a little white dove posed on a wedding cake, but now I am a vibrant peacock.

I used to be a dismantled stove, but now I am a willow plate.

I used to be a purple helium balloon lost in space, but now I am a couple of cheetah-print heels struttin’ down the streets of New York City.

I used to be a pair of left-handed scissors, but now I have a pencil stashed behind my ear.

I used to be a crystal chandelier, but now I am a spotlight.

I used to be the wind winding between metallic house chimes, but now I am a canon used to blast through blueberry fields. I scare away the birds.

I used to be a three-pronged fork underneath a pillow, but now I am three hairs—flushed down the toilet.

I used to be the mother of a boy, but now I am a sister to a man.

if men could menstruate

A white minority of the world has spent centuries conning us into thinking that a white skin makes people superior-- even though the only thing it really does is make them more subject to ultraviolet rays and to wrinkles. Male human beings have built whole cultures around the idea that penis-envy is "natural" to women-- though having such an unprotected sex organ might be said to make men vulnerable, and the power to give birth makes womb-envy at least as logical.

In short, the characteristics of the powerful, whatever they may be, are thought to be better than the characteristics of the powerless-- and logic has nothing to do with it.

What would happen, for instance, if suddenly, magically, men could menstruate and women could not?

The answer is clear-- menstruation would become an enviable, boast-worthy, masculine event:
Men would brag about how long and how much.

Boys would mark the onset of menses, the longed-for proof of manhood, with religious ritual and stag parties.

Congress would fund a National Institute of Dysmenorrhea to help stamp out monthly discomforts.

Sanitary supplies would be federally funded and free. (Of course, some men would still pay for the prestige of commercial brands such as John Wayne Tampons, Muhammad Ali's Rope-a-dope Pads, Joe Namath Jock Shields-- "For Those Light Bachelor Days," and Robert "Barretta" Blake Maxi-Pads.)

Military men, right-wing politicians, and religious fundamentalists would cite menstruation ("menstruation") as proof that only men could serve in the Army ("you have to give blood to take blood"), occupy a political office ("can women be aggressive without that stead-fast cycle governed by the planet Mars?"), be priests and ministers ("how could a woman give her blood for our sins"), or rabbis ("without the monthly loss of impurities, women remain unclean").

Male radicals, left-wing politicians, and mystics, however, would insist that women are equal, just different; and that any woman could enter their ranks if only she were willing to self-inflict a major wound every month ("you must give blood for the revolution"), recognize the preeminence of menstrual issues, or subordinate her self to all men in their Cycle of Enlightenment.

Street guys would brag ("I'm a three-pad man") or answer praise from a buddy ("Man, you're lookin' good!) by giving high fives and saying, "Yeah, man, I'm on the rag!"

TV shows would treat the subject at length. ("Happy Days": Richie and Potsie try to convince Fonzie that he is still "The Fonz," though he has missed two periods in a row." So would newspapers. (SHARK SCARE THREATENS MENSTRUATING MEN. JUDGE CITES MONTHLY STRESS IN PARDONING RAPIST.) And movies. (Newman and Redford in "Blood Brothers"!)

Men would convince women that intercourse was more pleasurable at "that time of the month." Lesbians would be said to fear blood and therefore life itself-- thought probably only because they needed a good menstruating man.

Of course, male intellectuals would offer the most moral and logical arguments. How could a woman master any discipline that demanded a sense of time, space, mathematics, or measurement, for instance, without that in-built gift for measuring the cycles of the moon and planets-- and thus for measuring anything at all? In the rarefied fields of philosophy and religion, could women compensate for missing the rhythm of the universe? Or for their lack of symbolic death-and-resurrection every month?

Liberal males in every field would try to be kind: the fact that "these people" have no gift for measuring life or connecting to the universe, the liberals would explain, should be punishment enough.

And how would women be trained to react? One can imagine traditional women agreeing to all these arguments with a staunch and smiling masochism. ("The ERA would force housewives to wound themselves ever month": Phyllis Schlafly. "Your husband's blood is as sacred as that of Jesus-- and so sexy, too!": Marabel Morgan.) Reformers and Queen Bees would try to imitate men, and PRETEND to have a monthly cycle. All feminists would explain endlessly that men, too, needed to be liberated from the false idea of Martian aggressiveness, just women needed to escape the bonds of menses-envy. Radical feminists would add that the oppression of the non-menstrual was the pattern for all other oppressions. ("Vampires were our first freedom fighter!") Cultural feminists would develop a bloodless imagery in art and literature. Socialist feminists would insist that only under capitalism would men be able to monopolize menstrual blood. ... In fact, if men could menstruate, the power justifications could probably go on forever.

If we let them.

- Gloria Steinem (1978)

kraker 330

It is so that time again. ALL of my boxes are unpacked-- to my past roommates, this is a HUGE accomplishment. I unpacked my last box for the 2009-2010 school year in May. What does this say about my personality? That I am afraid of committment? That I am lazy? OR that there really isn't a place for everything? None of the above.

The apartment is fantastic. It's a nice place with A/C and a dishwasher<- woah. I have an enormous closet and a brand new desk full of fresh paper and unsharpened pencils. It's going to be a good year.

Everything seems bittersweet. I am ready for a Grad program and NEW experiences. I will seriously miss all of the friendships that I have made at Hope College, but a new journey waits. Sometimes I think I am going to give up everything I have worked/paid for and just travel around the world and eat good food. We will see ;) I will miss the liberal arts school. I love learning. I am working to be a professional musician now, but my calling could change in five years. Sometimes I am called to be a minister- other times, to be a doctor or writer. The thing is... I can do whatever I want. I am 20, almost 21, years old! Two decades in one place is just like reading the back of a really big book.

To Kraker 330,
It will be a great 9/10 months. I will love you well and probably make a ding in one of your walls. You will conclude my experiences at Hope, BUT you will also hold many parties, late night conversations, foof jumpings, tears, giggles, delicious meals, and assignments. I hope you're up for the job.

Happy first week of classes.

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