Brianna

With Karin, I’m going through that stage of romance which is very visible, very ostentatious. Most people are putting up with it. But not Brianna, Karin’s little sister, who is writing thinly-veiled protest literature.

Here is some of that literature. (“Potato” is Karin’s cat, Jasper — nearly as good a cat as Bianca.)

Once there were two girls. They were nine years apart. There was a Little One and a Big One. They were not in fact twins. Little One was at home. Big One owned a Potato. Big One was at home, too. But one day, a big, mean Soccer Ball — and his family and friend [the male Sabby] — stole Big One’s love away. Little One and Potato were sad. Potato mewed, but Big One did not comprehend; she was too busy getting her love stolen away by Soccer Ball, his family, and his friend. Big One left to go see said people. Little One and Potato were sad. Big One came back home later. Little One and Potato were okay but sad. Big One said she had seen the way of errors, and she would never let a Soccer Ball, family, or friend steal her love again. 

The end. 

Similarities to real people, places, and settings are purely coincidental.

Brianna was my friend before Karin was: we used to babysit the church children together. She deserves much credit for my recent happiness. Also, she’s adorable.

P.S. Greetings to my other friend, the female Sabby, on holiday in Guatemala.

My two jobs

My job at the high school:

Today I was notorious. I was summoned publicly — via intercom — to the principal’s secretary’s office; but as it turned out, I wasn’t the culprit she was after.

I’m becoming too efficient for this job.

I complete most of my tasks by Third Period, and then I try to kill off two more hours. This morning I spent a good deal of time looking for spare change so that I could buy a sandwich. (The students were selling Chick-fil-A sandwiches in the cafeteria.) I did find enough change. My sandwich was soggy but delicious.

My tutoring job:

I’m clocked in right now.

There’s no one here for me to tutor. I’m killing time, blogging this.

How these jobs look to other people:

When my girlfriend’s mom interrogated me on Valentine’s Day, she said, “I hope you’re aware of certain things about your life that you need to fix.”

“I am,” I said.

“What do you think those things are?”

“Well,” I said, “I was hoping you’d tell me what you think those things are.”

“Well,” she said, “I was hoping you’d tell me, so I could be sure of your awareness.”

Then I was quiet, because of course there are many things I’m aware I need to fix, but I didn’t know which things she had in mind for me to fix. And so she told me them. What she had in mind was my employment. I needed more of it.

Probably, some of you are thinking, “Hurray for Karin’s mom.”

News

Snowed In until this afternoon all day. I write blog posts on days we’re Snowed In because, other days, I’m too tired.

New gf: Karin, my church friend. Monday was our one-week anniversary. I spent Valentine’s at her mother’s house so that I could be interrogated.

This is my first gf since 2008, when Xavi was in his prime.

It’s dire

— not because of last night’s result (1 to 1) but because we were outplayed. During the first half we barely could string three or four passes together. Emelec were ballet-dancing around us. Here is some apt analysis. This link is for a video of the entire game. Emelec’s goal arrives around this time, easy-peasy, and this is our gritty equalizer.

As I said, Leg Two will be played on Sunday. The order of the tiebreakers: (1) total goals; (2) away goals; (3) penales.

I’m old enough now, I don’t feel anxious so much as resigned.

I’ll miss Stephen. We won’t see the second game together: today he went to Nicaragua with his girlfriend.

November fragments

So many November birthdays:

Five days ago, Scarlett Johansson turned thirty, and so did my brother, David. …

Yesterday at 6:00am Edoarda called Stephen to wish him a happy birthday. …

A few minutes later, Edoarda’s parents called from Nicaragua. “Muchas gracias, muchas gracias,” Stephen kept on saying.

Oh yeah, Happy Thanksgiving.

Our house is vermin-free. For longer than a week, the traps have remained unoccupied.

People have been asking about my new job at the high school.

How long have you been doing it?

About a month and a half, but it seems like forever.

What’s the craaaazzzziest thing you’ve seen?

Nothing too crazy. I saw a kid get arrested. The school’s cop pulled him into a room and yelled at him for a long time. Then they went into the principal’s office. When they came out, the cop said something else to the kid, and the kid tried to run, and the cop pancaked him and put cuffs on him. The cop was built like an NFL lineman. The kid was scrawny.

A couple of nights ago, I saw the cop on TV, telling how he cultivates relationships with the kids.

How well do YOU get along with the kids?

A few times each week, I buy donuts from them, which they’re grateful for. Otherwise, I barely talk to them. I hardly even notice when they make out with one another in the halls. I work more closely with the teachers, ordering supplies and making photocopies. I could tell you a lot about the copy machines. Whenever there’s a paper jam, a teacher emails me and I scurry off to see if the copier is broken enough for me to fill out a repair request form. Our building is big; some of the copiers are, like, two blocks away from one another. There are teachers who’ve been around for forty years who don’t know where the backup copiers are.

I could go on and on about the copiers.

Do you enjoy this job?

Very much. The teachers have vivid personalities: every day is like watching a sitcom. Also, I get free coffee, courtesy of the Social Studies dept chair.

The food of love

Happy Valentine’s to my siblings & their SOs:

Mary & Martin (@ Tradewinds);
Stephen & Edoarda (@ Penn Station);
David & Ana (who knows where they decided to eat. They’re in Texas).

I went to Wendy’s.

Now that it’s publicized on Facebook, I presume it’s OK to mention that Ana & David are going to be married this summer, in Indiana. Mary and I have been looking at reception venues for them. So far, my favorite is the Kroc Center, what with its soccer fields. I envision eating some cake … then going outside to play soccer … then proposing a toast … then playing soccer … then giving a speech … then playing a little soccer … then doing a little grinding …… what a good day.

Snowed in, pt. 2

A cat and four people, confined by the weather to a smallish house. Martin occasionally goes outside to shovel snow or to turn on the cars. (It keeps him sane.) Mary and I plant ourselves in front of the TV. Stephen pines for his gf.

I swallow pills of expectorant; for a spittoon, I use an old sour cream container. I sit on the couch, coughing and spitting, reading Zlatan’s autobiography. (The writing is incredible.)

Every day, M&M watch for school closings.

Monday night, we phone restaurants. Steak ’n Shake is open! We slowly drive up Grape Road … our spirits are refreshed.

Tuesday night, we watch Always Sunny (“The Gang Wrestles for the Troops”). Stephen traces Edoarda’s plane across his laptop screen. Georgia … Tennessee … Kentucky. When the plane approaches Indiana, M&M and I reach for our coats.

“Hey, what is this!” protests Stephen. “You’re not all taking me to the airport!”

Um, yeah, Stephen: The Gang Goes to the Airport.

“No! Not that! Not ‘The Gang’!”

Yes, The Gang.

Poor Stephen: how will he and his gf attain privacy?

At the airport, M&M and I allow Stephen to go in by himself. The young lovers are reunited. M&M and I sit in the car, listening to ’80s funk. The minutes tick away. It turns out, Edoarda’s luggage has gone missing; she and Stephen are taking this opportunity to get reacquainted near the conveyer belt. … Mary becomes tired of the ’80s funk and goes inside the airport. Martin and I remain in the car, grooving; we’ve (sort of) forgotten about Stephen and Edoarda.

By the time we all get home, we’ve spent two and a half hours in the car.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

This morning (Thursday), after three “snow” days, M&M resume their teaching. Tomorrow I’ll also return to work.

I’m coughing less and less …

ah, this is the life.

A plea for candor

Lovely weather; more time out of doors. I’m getting a farmer’s tan. So is Kenny.

K: “Lara says that a farmer’s tan is the most disgusting feature of the human body.”

JP (rolling eyes, rolling up sleeves): “Then I’m going to accentuate my farmer’s tan.”

We devise a scheme for improving our farmer’s tans: using a tanning bed to darken just our forearms and faces.

Then Lara comes into the apartment and tells Kenny how to dress. (Today they’ll be posing for “engagement” photos.) Goodbye, Kenny.

Not that I’d mind if a pretty young woman, say, Jennifer Lawrence from Silver Linings Playbook, came into my life and told me what to do. And I’d probably do most of it … though first I’d have fun arguing about it.

What I think people enjoy about the movie (what I enjoy about it) is that neither of the leads has a filter. They both specialize in saying uncomfortable truths. Oh, their honesty isn’t perfect: they strategically withhold stuff, and they tell lies. But their candor is exceptional. They don’t shy away from difficult subjects: they chase after them. They ask and say things that most viewers wish they themselves were brave enough to ask and to say. And they accept this about each other. And that is so, so rare. That’s what makes the movie a fairly tale.

People, this doesn’t have to be a fairy tale.

Be candid. Be accepting of candor.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Lately I’ve been so worn out, I haven’t been able to take advice. … Criticism, I can bear. Advice, if it isn’t faultless (and usually it’s awful) leaves me anxious and annoyed. It keeps me awake at night. It drains me.

So don’t be all that candid. Or don’t be candid in a way that presupposes that you’ve figured everything out. Because you haven’t.

April fragments

The best free Bembo clone I’ve found.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

What with recent rain, it seemed appropriate to watch The Ghost Writer. Much parodying: “Hatherton” is a parody of Halliburton; Pierce Brosnan is a parody of Tony Blair, of Ronald Reagan, of Bill Clinton, of George W. Bush, etc., etc.; Tom Wilkinson is a parody of Tom Wilkinson in Michael Clayton. There are jokes about Roman Polanski’s other movies and personal life. … But as I was saying, I watched The Ghost Writer because of the weather. The actors were always coming out of a downpour or enduring a drizzle, which made me feel cozy.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Kenny’s gf Lara has moved to Indiana to be with him. They’ll be married at the end of June. Last night we went to the mall to try on dress shoes, and then on Lara’s lark we went into J Crew. For the first time ever, I felt ashamed to be underdressed. Note to self: avoid J Crew.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Pickup soccer has been resumed, thank goodness.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Speaking of being picked up, last week, at the bus station, I was standing on the patch of grass with the cigarette butts, minding my own business, when a black SUV with tinted windows crept up. The driver lowered his window; I stared (bad habit). The driver (middle-aged) said: “Want a ride?” I said: “No.” He drove away. At first I was like, doesn’t he realize I’m waiting for the bus? Then I was like, whoa.

Myers-Briggs

Not that I have much confidence in Myers-Briggs, but it’s interesting how my (unofficial) test results have changed. Before I went to graduate school, I consistently and unambiguously was categorized as an INTP. (Surely most philosophers would be so categorized.) Nowadays the I and the N still clearly win out, but the tests tell me I’m an INFJ.

Of course, for all I know, my personality hasn’t really changed. Maybe I’m just getting different results because I’m trying to conform to a different ambition. I used to want to be a philosopher’s philosopher; now I want to outdo my colleagues by becoming a (super-complicated, inscrutable) saint.

People who can know themselves are so BC.

My brother David has a new gf.

I think I need more oxytocin (you know, the cuddle chemical). One good thing: on Saturday, for two hours, I got to hold my friends’ new baby. :)