Don't Shoot!

Although I like pretending that I am a scary bear, I am really just a big nerd in a moderately-sized woman's body. The little seal next to me is a snow sculpture.* I fear that with the recent discussion of Gov. Sarah Palin's love of hunting, people might accidentally blow us away with an AK-47 while hunting for wolves from helicopters. I just want to be clear that I am not, in fact, a scary bear.

Speaking of bears, Theo enjoyed his guest post stint this past Thursday so much that I decided to create a new feature called Theo Thursdays. Every Thursday until the election (or until Palin drops out), Theo will post an environmental message on CUSS. He is very excited about this opportunity and hopes you will enjoy it. We both hope that it will not need to continue after early November because Barack Obama will be our next president.

Speaking of bloody "sports," anyone who is interested in submitting an essay for a potential anthology about periods has until September 15 to do so. Check out Congratulations, You're a Woman Now! for details. I think it will be an awesome book along the lines of Sleep is for the Weak. We want to capture a diverse range of stories and experiences, so please spread the word.

*This photo was shot in Cooperstown, NY in February 2005. Husband and I went up there to celebrate our 10th anniversary of being together. I think it is clear that we are well suited for each other, as only crazy people go to freezing Cooperstown in February. We thought it would be fun to participate in their winter carnival and also see the Baseball Hall of Fame, though. As part of the carnival, we took a walking tour across a frozen lake, which was awesome. At the Hall of Fame, I posed for a picture with Curt Schilling's bloody sock. (I hoped that the pig who "donated" his/her ligament to Schilling's ankle would also be honored, but the museum seems to discriminate against non-human baseball heroes.) We had a great time.

Blood, Sweat, and Tears

Sweat
Friday was the hottest weather the New York metropolitan area had sweltered from in weeks. (While it is not unusual for early September days to steam from the remains of August's humidity, the last three weeks of August were in the low 80s and clear, so the September heatwave was a slight shock to the system.) Of course, Friday was also the day I had set aside to walk around Queens and map a course for a tour I am leading in the spring for the New York City Transit Museum.

As I trudged from the Socrates Sculpture Garden to the subway to the Louis Armstrong House to Leo's Latticini to the Queens Museum of Art, the sun baked me in my clothes like veggies wrapped in aluminum foil on a grill. Sweat escaped from the brim of my homemade Mets-Cubs fisherman's cap, trickled down my brow, and stung my eyes. My face bathed in its salty wash, providing a fertile environment for zits.

One of my favorite lines in the movie Good Morning, Vietnam was when Robin Williams described the heat in the jungles of 'nam as so bad, one can do "a little crotch pot cookin'." By that description, I made a feast on Friday. My underwear was so soaked through with sweat that I felt like I just took a swim in the ocean while fully clothed.

Blood
After my stop at the Queens Museum of Art, I headed over to visit my friend Flo and meet her newborn baby, Joey. Despite my foul condition, Flo and her husband not only admitted me to their air conditioned apartment, but also allowed me to sit on their leather sofa. Joey peacefully slept as Flo described her efforts to bring him into the world.

Poor Flo was in labor for 36 hours before doctors gave in and performed a c-section. Unfortunately by that point, Joey was already in the birth canal, so pulling him out was a challenge. Flo said it felt like the OB was sitting on her chest while he tried extracting the baby.

"I need leverage," he yelled at the resident. "Go find another attending!"

A few minutes after she department, Joey finally popped out. Flo waited until Joey cried, held him a few minutes, and then slept for hours. She says it was worth it all.

I am never having a baby.

Tears
I stayed with Flo's family for 45 minutes before I departed for my next errands. My underwear was still sopping when I arrived at school to pick up a packet of reading for my lit class (free! I still can't believe it!), printed out another student's work for my workshop, and refilled my water bottle. Then I headed over to Grand Central Station to meet Husband in Connecticut, from where we would drive to Massachusetts for Alex's son's 5th birthday party on Saturday. My underwear was just drying out as the train pulled into Stamford.

After a delightful dinner at IHOP and some quick shopping for a birthday card, we motored up to the hotel in MA. When I finally fell into the shower at 10 pm, I cried tears of joy. Never have I been in such need of bathing or clean underwear.

Yurts!

Assuming that I'm not planning a new life in a foreign country after election day, Husband and I are heading to California for an end-of-the-year trip. The scheme is to fly to Los Angeles on Christmas Day, spend two-ish days wandering amongst the bronzed and the implanted, then drive up to Ventura to hang out with Suebob on my birthday. From there, we shall continue up the coast, stopping in Solvang ("Scandinavian" tourist trap), Pismo Beach, and San Luis Obispo (Bubblegum Alley!!!), and taking a night tour of Hearst Castle. A search of the internets for a place to stay near Hearst Castle made me gasp.

"Yurts!"

"What?" Husband asked. "Are you OK?"

I sprang up from the couch. "OH MY GOD!!!!! We can stay in a yurt!"

Husband's face transformed into a question mark. I sighed. "You know - a yurt!" Except that he obviously didn't know. "It's a part tent, part solid building thing," I expounded.

"Why do you know this?"

Good question. I have no idea why I know what a yurt is. Although Husband then accused my family of being a roving hippie clan, we never went anywhere more exotic than Burbank to visit my great uncle and great aunt. It's always interesting to try and trace back to when you first learned about something, and I'm drawing a complete blank on the yurt. The only explanation I can up with is that I must have read about it somewhere. Yurts are hardly common in the suburbs of Chicago, so I've certainly never seen one. However it worked its way into my subconscious, I am psyched for our yurt stay.

Class

For once, a post titled "Class" has nothing to do with socioeconomic issues. Have no fear - it also does not mean that I behaved in a way which would exhibit exceptional taste. Rather, I'm excited that I started class at the New School.

My first class was a writing workshop. The instructor* is wonderful, and I think that I will learn a lot from her. There are only 10 students in the workshop, and all of us are first years. The instructor was shocked, as usually workshops are mixed between first and second year students. I've been joking that we are the special ed class. We'll get mainstreamed with the big kids next semester.

Last night I attended my second class, which is about essays and short fiction. (The cheap bastard that resides within me is especially delighted that I don't have to buy any books. All the articles are photocopied and supplied to us for free!) This class is a mix of first and second year and fiction and nonfiction students, although mostly we are first years and nonfiction folk. The instructor of this class is also thoughtful. Again, I believe that I will learn a lot.

One of the assignments was to choose an author from the syllabus and prepare a 10-15 minute oral presentation on a topic on which she/he writes. Using my usual quality barometer, I choose Edwidge Danticat because I read a glowing review of her memoir in my Bible, Entertainment Weekly. (Let's keep this fact between us.) Also, she writes about Haiti, which is a country that I know very little about but am fascinated by from cultural and policy perspectives. I also have a very tiny personal connection. When I was a wee lass, my aunt went to Haiti to do humanitarian work, and she brought me back a Creole primer and a wood table and chair set for my dolls. My aunt also served as a VISTA volunteer in the Haitian community in Miami. From what I understand, Haiti is one of those nations that has consistently been fucked by racism, poverty, and the United States meddling in its affairs, which exacerbates the first two problems. Danticat also writes about the beauty that remains in the country, so I am excited to delve into her work.

*Professor? The technical titles confuse me.

Guest Post: Theodore Roosevelt Reisman

Please welcome today's guest blogger, Theodore Roosevelt Reisman, aka Theo:



(If Theo's message is not legible, double click on the photo for a larger version.)

Theodore Roosevelt Reisman is a companion polar bear and has lived with Suzanne for approximately 20 years. His opposition to drilling in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge and concern for wild polar bears partly stems from learning about the conservation efforts of his namesake, Pres. Theodore Roosevelt. Theo is also a former model, and loves travel, even if it is in Suzanne's suitcase.

Oh, the Hypocrisy

Truly, what I love best about conservatives is their highly developed ability to speak out of both sides of their mouths. It's an impressive talent.

Case in point: Gov. Palin's pregnant 17 year old daughter. If Joe Biden's daughter or Hillary Clinton's daughter suddenly presented an unmarried pregnancy, I know that we would never hear the end of how evil and valueless these adult women are. The nerve of them, fornicating outside the sacred bonds of marriage! Yet another symbol of how Democrats and liberals bring Sodom and Gomorrah right here to our beloved United States, God bless it. Only people with no values would let their children stray into active sexuality. Clearly, they are not fit to lead the good people of this nation! In fact, it is likely God's wrath for the behavior of these harridans, these wanton sluts that sent Gustav to punish Americans for tolerating this slatternly behavior.

Instead, since it is their sweet evangelical governor/vice presidential candidate whose teen daughter indulged in extramarital sex, we get lectured for not minding our own business. After all, this is a family matter! Who cares if Gov. Palin supports abstinence for the rest of our children until they are married?!?! How dare anyone say anything about it!?!? Plus, as an alternate delegate told the New York Times, "Now she's a typical American family."

Boggles the mind. That said, I do feel bad for the kid. It's got to be pretty awful to have a nation discussing your unintended pregnancy.

Abstinence-Only Education is a Huge Success!*

Save a seat for me on the bandwagon as I jump on late in the game. Gov. Sarah Palin of Alaska - who not only flew from Alaska to Texas while nine months pregnant (generally, it is a big no-no to fly after the eighth month or so), then insisted on flying nine hours back to Alaska after her water broke (thus creating a ripe environment for infection) so that her kid would not be born in Texas - continues to fly her family values flag proudly, cheerfully reporting that her 17 year daughter's pregnancy is OK since she is going to marry the baby's father. Smiley-face happy ending aside, perhaps we can take a moment to acknowledge that Gov. Palin's support of abstinence-only education certainly has reduced the teen pregnancy rate in her own home by 0%.

*If success is re-defined as failure. The Bush administration likes re-defining things.