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April 30, 2005

training Brownies to run

If the weather cooperates, I'll be out tomorrow morning, after my regular run, training Brownies for the Swamp Rat Run, which we ran last year (the one mile fun run), but did not prepare for.

This year, we'll work on things like warming up, stretching, pacing, cooling down, and elbowing to the front of the bagel-and-smoothie line so that when the gun goes off, I don't have 10 girls running all out for 100 yards and pooping out two minutes into it.

I've never actually trained anyone one "how" to run. No one has ever really trained me; I thought for many years that running was like, you put one foot in front of the other, a no brainer.

After having sustained minor injury, I realize HOW important being able to run is for me. ABDmom talked yesterday about how exercise, ahem, makes her feel better. And while I don't experience the exact side effects she does, I do notice a remarkable swing in my moods and my ability to sleep well if I don't get out for several days in a row. So in order to stay running, I'm more committed to preparation, hence our training.

After this crap with ITB syndrome, I find myself approaching my running in a much more cerebral way. I've tripled the time I take to stretch, expanded my repertoire of stretches, and have been researching things like speedwork, fartlek, and supplemental weight training--all things that until now I felt I didn't have time to think about, or I thought that they didn't apply to me since I run for "fun," not to break any PRs or win any money pots.

But now. Now I'm crazed. My brownies will think I'm some crazy lady (I'm sure they all already do), showing them how to breathe, drink water, and jog slow to warm up. Why do they need someone to show them how to peel and eat a banana? To show them how to cross their feet and reach for the floor?

Because. One of the things I was glad to have as a kid growing up was a mom who, while she wasn't really big on, you know, stretching, she DID always encourage us to exercise, and often would walk, bike-ride, swim laps, and play any number of yard games with us (badminton was a favorite, but we did volleyball, soccer, kickball too). She wasn't hugely athletic. But she was fun, energetic, and always up for a frisbee throw.

I want to model that being active is important and fun. I want to show them that small things (warm up, stretch) can make them smart exercisers. And maybe one of them will grow up to be a crazed, PhD student with three kids, too many responsibilities, not enough money. She'll wake up one morning and head out her front door, not remembering directly but indirectly, put one foot in front of the other for a few minutes, lean this way and that way for a little, and walk back in her front door a little sane-er, a little more capable of coping.

Probably the other nine will simply remember me as "the great torturer."

Posted by mryonker at 10:03 PM | Comments (1)

April 29, 2005

right about NOW I wish this were anon

Ooooh. Today I understand soooo fully why some blog anonymously. What can I say? Nothing, really, except that things are happening right now that I wish WEREN'T. >sits on fingers to avoid typing<

*Changing the subject* So, the solution to Destructo Boy's affinity for playing outside? Me sitting outside in a lawn chair with a REaL BooK. One that I don't HAVE to read. Because lord knows that I can't give it my full attention, don't have the opportunity to be thinking hard enough to write notes as I read, etc.

I've got Citizen Girl from the public library (Laughlin/Kraus), and it is exactly what I need: fun. Nothing more. Not making me think too hard, just letting me revel in life-that-is-not-hers (and have a little envy that my life is not hers).

Oh, but now I must away to the *work* that I have been guilt-tripped into finishing. I would rant here, but I can't, about how people are manipulative, inconsiderate, and credit-taking. But because I CARE (about people writing), I will do the work.

I will heavily allude here, so those of you close might infer the HELL to which I refer: The group for whom I slave is disorganized, said they'd pay me and they haven't, and now, for the second year in a row, I spend late nights cussing InDesign trying to figure layout and paginations for a book that is truly..., well, I simply cannot use an appropriate adjective here to describe it. Because I don't think there is one.

Of course, this is only partial cause for my general dis-ease. But this mini-rant is enough for now. I already feel better (though the Yellow Tail has helped as well).

Grrr.

Posted by mryonker at 08:37 PM | Comments (1)

April 28, 2005

I probably shouldn't

So in my quest for organized sanity in order to better get work finished, Brian has put a desk in a back corner of the house away from distractions. He's gonna hang a couple shelves and I'll be set.

It turns out, the desk is adjacent to a window that looks out into the back yard so I can keep an eye on the kids as they dig in the mud (in their socks), ride their bikes through the neighbor's hyacinths, fall out of the tree, throw rocks and sticks at one another, etc.

The only problem right now is that Destructo Boy is happiest playing outside, pushing his giant-sized Tonka up and down the driveway or joining in the mud-digging with the other kids. But he is too little to send out on his own. Hannah will watch him for short periods, but gets impatient (and less attentive) the longer I make her stay out with him.

It occurred to me, not briefly, that I could put him on some kind of line so that he could run around without running away or running into the street. And by line, yes, I mean a leash. Except instead of a collar, I was more thinking like a climbing harness attached to a line by a carabiner.

Child protective services would probably be all over me for that one.

We've talked about fencing in a portion of the yard (the yard is too large to fence the whole thing), but even a small portion of fencing is costly, plus it would probably look gnarly to have a little square of fence in a big back yard.

The line would be much more cost-effective.

Posted by mryonker at 07:44 AM | Comments (5)

April 27, 2005

natch

Nothing personal. But the word "natch" really gets me. I've been reading it in dooce for a while, and I've been translating it into a "doontcha know" [inflection a la Mrs. Doubtfire].

As in: I'm a little p oh-ed, natch [/doontcha know], that my crazy brother will no doubt have caused our insurance premium to skyrocket. [Brian has been on the phone all day with insurance companies.] One of the things I am fairly decent at is getting meaning from context, and so while I didn't actually KNOW what "natch" meant, I was pretty sure it was something akin to "you know."

An email from a dear friend/prof this afternoon contained the word "natch," so I figured I'd better make sure what the hell she meant. :)

It turns out, "natch" is short for "natchurally." Which is cool.

Except that it's awfully close to "snatch," a word that has ALWAYS grated on me because of its sometimes-depending-on-the-context connotations. Like, to refer to a body part as a verb, and as a verb that implies stealing or taking without permission, has always been especially bothersome to me, and it's more bothersome when I have to explain myself WHY the term grates on me, because it indicates that people just don't think about what words carry.

Other things I've had to look up this week because I am so out of the loop: Fahrenheit 451. Please don't laugh, but the meme that's going around asking people "if you were stuck in F 451, which book would you be??" totally went over my head. Huh? And after I've looked around to find out what F 451 really is, I still don't think I totally understand.

What I am REALLY good at, though: identifying a familiar face on Eyes (a new(ish) show about a private detective on ABC that is quite unremarkable): Rayanne from My So-Called Life (AJ Langer). Brian argued with me until he looked it up. Don't argue. I remember faces.

I'm also good at writing sentences with multiple colons. Ugh. Seems what I'm good at is, uh, near-useless.

Posted by mryonker at 10:27 PM | Comments (6)

April 26, 2005

not sure what bupkis is...

...but apparently it can't be any good.* Rana posts a mini-mini-rant with that title, bemoaning the fact that a PhD really doesn't get anyone rich. There's a little back-n-forth in her comments, people mostly agreeing with but also qualifying her rant.

I remember when I was telling Brian's family we indeed were going to move to NY so I could get one. My then-brother-in-law, who always thought in dollar signs, said something to me about "being able to write my own ticket" when I was done. Even then, I knew I wasn't going to be doing brain surgery or rocket engineering--I knew very well that there would be no ticket-writing in the sense that he meant. So I smiled and said something about having a lot of academic freedom and opportunity, and didn't say anything about money.

Why didn't I disuade him of this idea? Mostly because I was still feeling as though I had to convince everyone we were leaving behind that it would be good for us in the long run.

We had the annual "Job Seekers Reveal the Secret Hell that is the Job Search" colloquium this afternoon, where those who are finishing up their search come and reveal the secret hell that is the job search. SU has been fortunate(?) in that so far, all PhD CCR grads have found some kind of gainful employment upon finishing (or near-finishing [ABD]) the program. Many of them have found better than decent gigs at fairly decent schools.

I sat in on their talk thinking of a time in the not-so-distant future where I, too, will worry about excessive perspiration, cheek-soreness from constant smiling, and stomach cramps from stress and multiple-rejections. God, I thought. What if I don't get a job AT ALL? What will the family think THEN?

And THEN I thought: shit. I'll work for Lockheed Martin. They need tech writers. I'll just NOT TELL THEM that I have a PhD.** Because, as the comments in Rana's post confirm, the PhD makes you so un-hire-able that Taco Bell will LAUGH in your face if you apply. [She can't use a caulking gun to shoot sour cream! She's been sitting in a basement for 5 years reading books and drinking fair trade coffee!!]

No, no. I like what I do. I like teaching, I like reading, I like writing. I like getting money (what little I do now, and what little I might get in the future) for doing things that I would be doing anyway. I will get my crap together. I will organize my desk. I will finish my reading lists and proposals. I WILL.

And since I had my IT band kneaded, stretched, and impossibly contorted today by a woman who shall remain nameless but is now an angel in my heart, let the training for the Boilermaker commence!

*via dictionary.com: Bupkis: something worthless; nothing. I had to look it up. I hate not knowing.

**And I won't tell any of my school friends that I've accepted a job with a company that builds planes that carry bombs, either. I gotta feed my kids, right?

Posted by mryonker at 09:51 PM | Comments (11)

things are looking up

This blog stands as a microcosm for what I've been doing lately: nothing. Life is rough here on the CNY homestead: fighting kids, monster toddler (who I've now named Destructo Boy, because he can tear up a room faster than the speed of light)...

Here. See this is why I haven't posted. It will just be more of the same. The kids drive me nuts, the baby is crazy, my brother is so fried that we can't figure out how he makes decisions. I do have a story about him, I guess:

He finally drove his Escort into its grave. He has now inherited our Caravan, which *was* a decent vehicle. Once he started driving it, we started getting parking tickets in the mail from the city. So Brian said, you know, look, you've got to switch the plates over to your name and get it insured so that we don't have to worry about your shenanigans getting put onto *our* record.

Well. No, he didn't immediately get the plates changed, because that is how he is. Instead, he proceeded to back into someone in a bank parking lot, which crunched up the back bumper, passenger-side reverse lights, and a portion of the hatch. The person he backed into (allegedly) sustained no damage, but still insisted that they (do the right thing) and call the police to file a report.

Yeah. The punchline is that if there any claims against the brother, it's OUR insurance.

I think. Because really, I don't know how insurance works, especially here in NY where everything is "no fault." Whatever. Maybe it won't matter at all. But geez.

OK: in other (better) news, I finally broke down and went to Fleet Feet in Syr to undergo "gait analysis" and get some "good" running shoes. The salesperson who helped me was fabulous, and while I was skeptical that a thing called "gait analysis" was a scientific, useful, legitimate procedure, she proved me wrong.

She put me on a treadmill and FILMED my feet from the back. Then she showed me, in very slow motion, how my left foot turns in and overpronates. She fitted me with several pairs of motion control shoes (which I knew existed but didn't know I needed).

AND the best of all, she turned out to be a massage therapist who offered me half-off on a sports massage so she could work on my IT band.

Also best of all, I ran last night without pain. It was only 2 miles (and then we walked three), but still, I'm thrilled to be getting back (finally).

Things are looking up. Now if only the weather would cooperate.

Posted by mryonker at 08:21 AM | Comments (1)

April 25, 2005

94 things

Retro from the old blog. But I'm shutting that one down, so I needed to quick move everything over.

1. b 1-29-76 Omaha NE UNO Hospital.
2. Three kids b. 1996 (girl), 1999 (boy), and 2003 (boy).
3. Mint chocolate chip, pralines n cream.
4. Mushrooms, thick crust, spicy sauce.
5. Best slice: a hole in the wall near the U of IL campus in Champaign.
6. I can play: piano (not very well), guitar (mostly by ear); have played in various orchestras and marching bands: bassoon, oboe, flute, clarinet, and trumpet.
7. I had the best time at summer band camp at U of IL when I was in junior high. Too much fun. My kids will NEVER go away to camp--I know what kids do at camp.
8. Dumped music for writing in college.
9. Regret it.
10. Fave team sport to play: softball.
11. Fave spectator sport: nearly anything but football.
12. Secretly hope one of my boys will be a participant in the X games.
13. Would rather be: writing fiction, practicing yoga, jogging.
14. Am normally: wiping noses, changing diapers, cooking snacks, cleaning up, wishing for a housekeeper.
15. Also seen: taking classes at SU, teaching writing at SU, prepping for my comprehensive exams, looking ahead to a diss project.
16. Often feel the desperation characteristic of grad students who aren't quite sure they're doing the right thing, but when so much time has already been devoted, changing horses midstream is a MEANINGFUL metaphor.
17. My favorite people are unassuming, thinking, funny.
18. I am uncomfortable around people who are inauthentic and feel as though they have something to prove or hide.
19. I wear glasses or contacts. My parents didn't bother getting my eyes checked until I failed the vision test at the DMV, so I was spared this nerdy-look as a youngster.
20. I don't smoke, and while I know and love many people who do, I'm not fond of being in closed places with smokers. I'm happy NY doesn't let people smoke inside public spaces anymore.
21. I've learned that smokers DON'T appreciate your well-meaning comments on their health, no matter how sincere those comments are.
22. I'm obsessed with fiber. I'm always trying to sneak oat bran and flax into baked goods; my family is now too savvy to be tricked. Although I do make a good brownie with bran that still passes.
23. I obsess about my house being messy. I spend time obsessing that I could actually use to, you know, clean.
24. I took up yoga in high school and now my kids and I practice vinyasa before bed. They love it.
25. I enjoy reading about Eastern religion/philosophy. Much of it resonates with my own ideas about how one can best carry through life.
26. My thesis for undergrad framed Keats's work with Taoism, Buddhism, and Hindu. A stretch, but I pulled it off.
27. My undergrad is from Norfolk State, an HBCU. Go, Spartans!
28. My MA is from Old Dominion, also in Norfolk. I didn't pay attention to the mascot there. Some kind of cat?
29. My mom asked the other day if Otto the Orange was an *actual* fruit, or just a round orange person. I wasn't sure.
30. I bit my nails in elementary school. I hated that I did it, but couldn't stop. One day in JH, I realized I had quit without trying.
31. I always order pasta at a steak house.
32. I love carbs.
33. I let my kids watch Will and Grace so they won't think that gay people are "different."
34. Being a mom has made me into a kind of procrastinator. Not that I wait until the last minute to do stuff purposefully; it's simply that I won't do something ahead of time if there's something else that needs doing right now. And there's always something else that needs doing RIGHT NOW.
35. I still can't decide if I will color my hair when I begin to grey noticeably.
36. I don't wear jewelry. I lose jewelry. Wedding bands, sometimes small earrings. Nothing else.
37. I do every once in a while entertain the notion of getting my nose pierced.
38. I have one tatoo of a sunflower on my right ankle.
39. I normally don't show people because I normally don't shave my legs.
40. My least favorite characteristic that I possess is my lack of conviction with regard to things like politics and opinion. It's simply too easy for me to understand others' perspectives.
41. I never was able to keep a paper diary.
42. This blog is the most sustained single-writing project I've ever enacted. It makes me happy.
43. I have a strawbale cabin in WV that my husband designed and built. If we ever lose our house, our jobs, etc, we can go there. I take comfort in that.
44. I'm always growing my hair out.
45. I get annoyed at people for things that I myself am guilty of doing: snap judgments, hypercriticality, leaving the headlights on and killing the battery.
46. I'm raising my younger brother and his daughter.
47. I'm proud of my one purple runner's toenail.
48. I love to brush and floss my teeth. I take the time most women use to apply makeup and devote it to oral hygiene.
49. I wonder if I'll ever start wearing makeup. I think it makes me look ridiculous, but I might need it for a job interview or something...one day.
50. I sleep on my stomach with one knee hitched up nearly to my shoulder.
51. I have always thought meditation was a good idea, but I have yet to be able to do it without external prompting or guidance.
52. I was raised Methodist, but am only a Christian now in the sense that I think Christ had some good ideas about how we can be decent to one another. So I guess I'm maybe not a Christian-by-Christians' standards.
53. I am not forthcoming with this information to the Christian nursery school board for which I am the chair.
54. Hm. Maybe I can use that as an excuse (my heathen-ness) to not be the chair anymore.
55. I tend toward irresponsibility and scatterbrainedness, and I think it's finally not as cute to my husband as it was when we were dating.
56. My MIL taught me how to cook.
57. I eat too much. I love candybars. This is mostly why I run.
58. I also run because when I get back, I feel invincible and in good enough spirits to do the dishes.
59. I dread the day when I will have to wear clothes to work that are "nice." I do not iron. Laundry tends to camp out in our dryer for a day or so. And to even THINK that I would have to wear "Dry Clean Only" makes me itch.
60. Similarly, I dread the day when I will have to wear shoes that are not sneakers. My feet are horrible: wide with cranky toes. Anything stylish or professional make my feet cringe like the wicked witch's striped feet retreat.
61. Pantyhose were invented by men. The sizing charts were invented by some mental waif. I should be an A or B. C doesn't fit. I buy Q, and I still get that horrible waistband rolling effect, the crotch still won't move past my mid-thigh.
62. I have trouble buying clothes because I grew up wearing really nice brand-name hand-me-downs from my older cousins. I never had to pick style or color. They did it for me. And now I can't afford to shop at the Gap or Abercrombie anyway.
63. I take at least one garbage-bag-full of clothes and toys to the Rescue Mission per WEEK. I swear. And we still have so much clothes and crap that if all the laundry is clean, there isn't enough room for it in the dressers and closets.
64. Addiction runs rampant in my family. I lack the conviction to do anything on a daily, excessive basis. I'll drink wine, or beer, or rum, or whatever if it's in my house or if it's offered to me. But I don't have the foresight to purchase it for myself.
65. I had my gall bladder removed on my 24th birthday. It SUCKED but I am glad it's gone, because it was full of stones that would make me feel like I was going to DIE as they moved through the bile duct.
66. In my experience, babies come quickly if you are active, stay vertical for as long as possible, and if you forego the drugs.
67. In my experience, 2 out of 3 breastfed babies will sleep through the night, NOT be colicky, not scream or cry, and will be truly exceptional infants and toddlers.
68. 1 out of 3 will be a monster.
69. My advice: stop after two kids. You can have two simultaneous laps, give two simultaneous hugs, have two kids lay next to you, and if you're lucky you'll have a partner who can deal with one while you deal with the other, if need be.
70. Three kids means someone always feels shunned.
71. I wished I could have taken dance as a girl.
72. I'd like to take Tai Chi.
73. I was an aerobics instructor for a stint after high school. Fun job.
74. I hate scary movies. The sour adrenaline really fucks me up.
75. My kids like hip hop. I let them sing the bad words in the songs, I just remind them not to sing them in front of Grandma or at school. It is high-larious when Jack sings "Shake that ass, girl."
76. I struggle with what I want to shield my kids from. I figure that if I shield them, they'll simply encounter it on the school bus. I think I'm mostly concerned that they grow up to be compassionate, so I don't do a lot of censoring...just a lot of explaining.
77. I will be one of those parents who will "punish" by making them listen and talk back.
78. Jay Leno is not funny. Only funny looking.
79. Conan O'Brien is funny looking, but also a true comedian.
80. I can speak Spanish, but I'm out of practice.
81. Racquetball. Out of control fun.
82. My backhand sucks ass.
83. Tennis sucks because you have to put the ball somewhere, not simply whack it into oblivion and duck.
84. Okra is nasty. So are lima beans.
85. My parents are divorced, and I grew up with a stepdad and stepmom. Raising someone else's kids (and being raised by a step) is tough shit. It is one reason why I can't imagine ever divorcing my husband.
86. I curse when I'm tired or feel intensely.
87. I wish I had more time to read for pleasure.
88. I feel guilt when I read something that hasn't been assigned to me.
89. I often feel like I am not smart enough to be in a PhD program; there are some really brilliant people out there.
90. I hate my knees.
91. I like my hands.
92. I have a banjo. I'd like to learn how to play one day.
93. I sang for a band in high school. We covered Bryan Adams, the Clash, Pat Benatar.
94. I'm paranoid that there are movies out there of us--it would make for some serious blackmail fodder.

Posted by mryonker at 10:27 PM | Comments (0)

April 23, 2005

how I spent spring break

Posted by mryonker at 09:27 PM | Comments (2)

April 19, 2005

funk-free (and this isn't my leg)

I'm a whole lot better today. Thanks for the support, y'all.

So, I ran Monday. Made it about 3 miles before I decided things were getting a little too uncomfortable (but it didn't outright HURT yet).

This morning I woke up to run, and after about 40 steps decided to walk. It's just not ready yet. So I found this little article online (how I [heart] the internet!) that gives me all sorts of goodies to help me get back to better (the pic is the link):
.

I'll be walking the rest of this week.

Posted by mryonker at 10:10 PM | Comments (3)

April 17, 2005

funk

I should have had a fab day today. It was 70 and sunny. I allowed myself a "day off" from any kind of school work, which opened hours and hours to spring clean guilt-free. I hung laundry out to dry. Opened windows. Read a little (fiction).

But today sucked. I screamed and hollered at the kids all day, lamented the piles of laundry, cursed the ever-filling sink of dishes, hated toys that no one EVER plays with, wished I lived alone, yearned for sleep.

And then the *real* guilt: guilt for thinking and feeling all that. Which then results in a indescribable self-loathing, because, as you might infer, a horrible cycle ensues. I'm miserable, I feel bad for feeling miserable, which makes the misery (if it could be any more) worse.

Desperate Housewives didn't even cheer me up, but it's mostly because the series has gone downhill. I'm slowly beginning to dislike and becoming impatient with nearly all of them: Bree turned into an anti-gay Bible-thumper, Gabrielle has hit a new high in materialistic superficiality (though Carlos is a jerk, too), and Susan can't grow some cojones and kick her nympho-mom out. Lynette is really the only one I respect anymore, but she really does need to whoop up on those boys some.

The only thing I can figure is that 1) I have been eating like crap lately [lots of candy, mostly] and 2) I haven't run a step in over two weeks [my ITB was giving me hell, and the only surefire way to get it back to normal is to rest].

Here's hoping the funk passes quickly.

Posted by mryonker at 09:46 PM | Comments (3)

April 16, 2005

lived to tell

A thing I have been avoiding since I began graduate work: the academic conference. Things are still a bit fuzzy, but I'm alive, so apparently it wasn't too awful. But I survived my first today.

Mostly I remember forgetting that I changed, at the Nth hour, the beginning of my presentation with the intention of coming full circle, and forgetting to circle back. Oops. Reminder to self: next time, don't get any bright ideas at the last minute, and if you do, ignore them.

A quick thanks and shout out to Derek, who so graciously chauffeured the trip to Albany (he's posted photos from the outing here). Also thanks are in order to Collin, who made the early trip with us to serve as our groupie. He ended up playing an instrumental role in our FINDING the building we belonged in as well.

Of course, I come home to find a new sailboat in the driveway, a new stone firepit in the backyard, the garden ready for planting. I just can't leave anyone alone for one minute.

And of course: the baby is cranky, the house is a mess, and Jack just came in bleeding from his head (he fell out of a tree) followed by Hannah who got skewered in the eyeball by a marshmallow-roasting stick.

Conference? I went to a conference today?

Posted by mryonker at 07:29 PM | Comments (4)

April 10, 2005

free haircuts

Spring buzzes for the boys via their excellent father, who also spent the day letting Josh drive the riding lawn mower around the yard. :)

Posted by mryonker at 09:26 PM | Comments (1)

April 09, 2005

madeline's way back machine

A pic from the father daughter exactly one year ago. I just thought it would be fun. :) Don't look at our ugly kitchen.

Posted by mryonker at 11:44 AM | Comments (2)

April 08, 2005

for the family :)

This is for you, mom. Pics from the elementary school's annual "Royal Ball," AKA the father-daughter dance.

We had fun thrift store hopping to find dresses last week, but it was slim pickins for shoes.

Posted by mryonker at 11:00 PM | Comments (1)

monologues, radio essays, podcasts!

Dr. Write offers up a way into a new genre for the writing class: the monologue.

Dr. Write comes at this assignment, I believe, from the creative writing class, although I'm certain that it could be just as worthwhile in a "regular" (urgh) FY writing class as well:

What I learned from this assignment is that requiring students to contextualize their own experiences and to perform their own work in their own voices had inspired students in ways that exceeded the usual assignment to write an essay (or a story or a poem).

Indeed. New media does JUST THAT. It makes us see things differently (new-ly). It requires us to come at things from angles we wouldn't normally take.

It also compels our students to do things we've been telling them to do for years: have trouble anticipating that ol' AWK mark? READ THE DAMN THING ALOUD. But this, I do believe, is secondary, really. Because if students are writing in order to have the product be a "sound essay" or what have you, (hopefully) they'll be "hearing" it as it's composed.

Further, Dr. Write offers me another tidbit to chew:

The energy of the monologues derives from combining two disparate narratives: the personal and the public.

Here is an idea that I've been considering ever since I began blogging: that the use of new media requires 1) writers to be able to incorporate multiple spheres of discourse (most importantly that of the public and private) and 2) the audience to somehow be more receptive to genres that reconcile several voices simultaneously. More on this later.

I am ALL OVER this, as I think toward the fall semester, when I get to drive my own digital writing class. This will be a stolen (shared) assignment, for sure.

Posted by mryonker at 01:41 PM | Comments (4)

April 07, 2005

disintegration

Thank you, whoever is sharing P's music on iTunes here in the WP today. You've reminded me that I love The Cure.

The last time I listened to Disintegration, I was probably in junior high. I owned it on cassette. Its dark melancholy went well with being 14. Even Fascination Street, which might be misinterpreted as up beat, has a certain pungent scariness, a certain lush instability.

It goes well with being 29 and unable to eek out one coherent sentence.

I remember who turned me onto Robert Smith and his tatooed lips (before he had tatooed lips): a girl named Sarah who was goth before it was cool to be (and probably before it was called "goth"). She began 7th grade getting on the bus with funky hair and dark eyeliner, and by the end of 8th grade the eyeliner was stylized into teardrops on her cheeks (and it colored her lips, too, I think).

Oh. Sweet reverie. Back to writing. Or trying, anyway.

Posted by mryonker at 04:16 PM | Comments (1)

April 03, 2005

my village has a weblog, and there is water in our basement, and thank you deb for the sweet bread

Here. Small town stuff, for sure.

Note to self: next time you leave dishes at Deb's, make sure you leave bigger ones so that when she sends her son over to return them full of baked goodies, there is even MORE baked wonderful goodness.

Note #2: Nancy Hansen's home waxing strips SUCK. Pay the $8 and have Susan do them!!

And a shout out to my dear H who spent all morning in his boat shoes wading in freezing basement water, bilging it out.

Posted by mryonker at 01:46 PM | Comments (2)

April 02, 2005

what doesn't kill us

We drove to the city today so Brian could get seeds from a small neighborhood co-op that sells organic seeds in bulk. It's become a kind of ritual; since we aren't paying members of the co-op and since we don't normally drive all the way to the city to shop, we rarely go there except in the spring to buy seeds.

It is a small, cozy shop with organic produce and health food. I put the baby in a cart and Hannah and I shopped around a little while Brian took the other kids to pick out seeds.

Joshua, as you probably know, is a few things: impatient, strong-willed, and LOUD. He tolerates a little cart-riding, but not much. I drove past Brian to see his progress. He was carefully labeling a packet of spinach, and was about a third of the way through.

Joshua was straining against the seat belt, grunting and squawking. I got him out, and he and I pushed the cart (he likes to push stuff) for a few laps around the shop. It got old quickly, and Joshua began to shop.

To Josh, shopping is running, grabbing something off the shelf, throwing it, and then running to the next item as I'm picking up whatever he's thrown.

I reason with him, I say, "OK, pick it up and put it back." Sometimes he does. Others, he doesn't. We were fine in the canned goods aisle. But then he got into the condiment aisle, where many items within his reach are glass.

He reaches for a bottle of vinagrette. I lunge, grab, replace, and scoop Josh up. He is NOT thrilled with this, as I am clearly interrupting his gleeful shopping spree.

He squirms, squeals. I walk over to Brian to see how much longer. Josh twists, howls. Brian's still got several more varieties he needs to count and label. Hannah is looking at the hand made soap, and I walk over to see what she's found. Josh arches his back, and lets a mighty whooping cry.

"You might want to take him outside." The voice comes from down the aisle. I look over, smiling, thinking that the person behind the voice is commiserating, or kidding (it was pouring outside, and chilly). The face of a man with a tasteful leather jacket, pressed-looking tee-shirt and designer jeans grips his basket stares at me, his eyes communicating no jest. "It's obnoxious. We shouldn't have to listen to that in here. We're trying to shop."

Uh. I feel as though the air has been knocked out of me. I smile, a little wavering-ly. "I'm sorry," I say, and hold my hand out for Brian to give me the keys. I grab Hannah's hand and drag her outside before I cry in front of everyone.

Josh is immediately quiet in the truck; I let him mess with the steering wheel and radio buttons. I, however, begin sobbing. Hannah says, "Mommy, that man was rude to you, wasn't he?"

Was he?

I don't know. I've been around people with uncontrollable kids. I've thought to myself, "Jeez. What a monster." I've been around people who have no regard for the fact that others might not be able to control their circumstances. In Wegmans the day before Easter, a woman huffed and harrumphed her way through a busy produce department, upset that people were so packed and so pokey.

Josh is loud. If there is something he wants that I can give him to make him quiet, I'll do it, especially if we're in public. But if he wants to trash the bulk granola, I'm not really into paying for all that, so I guess he's gonna holler a little.

What this comes down to is: are kids, like, so much of a CHOICE that I should be condemned to never inconvenience anyone else by subjecting them to my daily struggles with them? I mean what really struck me, as I sat in the truck crying, is that that man had NO IDEA. Every. Day. I. Live. Through. what he was simply saying I should take outside because (why? he couldn't think clearly with the squawking? because it "hurt his ears?" because the vibrations were sullying his organic leaf lettuce?).

Look, buddy. I don't get to tell someone to take it outside. This is my life. So I can't live publicly? I can't be in places where other people might be uncomfortable or bothered by what IS MY LIFE? Again, I understand. I have made a choice to make my lifestyle different from people who choose to live, shall we say, quieter lives. Do we need to have grocery stores for people with kids, and grocery stores for people without?

But I'm not angry. Not at him. The clerk came out to the truck to tell me she was sorry, and that she would speak to the other customer, and that I could come back in if I wanted.

Brian assured me he offered the man some well-chosen words before he left.

But it hurt me. Because he was saying: You should not be here. You do not BELONG here. Get out.

Here is what I'm doing with this experience: the next time I'm annoyed by another's actions, inactions, inability to assess appropriate behavior for a situation, or other incident that would normally evoke my utter disdain, I will make sure I remember the way that I felt when I was treated with scorn.

And I won't be annoyed. I'll smile. And maybe cry some more.

Posted by mryonker at 10:21 PM | Comments (17)

a note about Schiavo

I've watched the Schiavo case with guarded interest. When the debates started however many years ago, I was quite indignant: her parents should just let her go.

Now, (15?) years later, a parent myself, I had trouble watching the file video of Terri's mom leaning in, kissing her on the forehead. Would I let a child of mine go without a fight?

On Google news tonight, trying to see if the Pope finally died (morbid, morbid interest!!), I noticed that the autopsy on Schiavo had been completed, and I linked over to see if there was any information (though I knew well enough there wouldn't be) (again: morbid!! I know!).

So, the link I followed turned out to be an abc wire story. And while the story itself lent nothing new or interesting (to me), the caption of the accompanying photo did: it suggested that Terri's cardiac failure, the cause of her brain damage, had occurred possibly as the result of an eating disorder.

Hoowee. If Karen Carpenter wasn't enough for us. We need to get on this eating disorder thing, people. Moms: do not talk about being fat in front of your daughters. Subvert the sick-skinny (and I mean *sick* not *stick*) paradigm. Provide your girls with empowered, strong, models; be one yourself.

And for those of you who know me: yes, I know what a huge hypocrite I am. But I'm TRYING. We all should be. For our girls.

Posted by mryonker at 08:00 PM | Comments (3)

April 01, 2005

how to April Fool a gullible chick

I was had today. Driving around, running errands this morning, one of my presets (Hot! 107.9) transformed itself into Magic 108, the best of the 80s, 90s, and today. They played Roxette, C and C Music Factory, Def Leppard.

Hannah would be disappointed, I knew. I didn't mind too much.

At dinner I asked Brian if he knew of genre the switch. I turned the kitchen radio on for effect, and Ashanti sang sweetly.

Brian chuckled. I am SO gullible.

Posted by mryonker at 10:02 PM | Comments (0)

how to April Fool a baby

Put a SHORT SLEEVED shirt on him (after he has lived nearly his whole life in LONG), and watch him try to pull the sleeves down to cover the rest of his arms.

Funny.

Still struggling with proposals. Got nowhere on them today; instead I made enchiladas and two kinds of cupcakes for my other April Fool baby, who turned 33 today.

Posted by mryonker at 09:41 PM | Comments (1)