Ginevra & Regina's Blog

Potato, leek, and spinach spoup with tempeh crutons

2007-04-16T08:35:00.000-07:00

I made this last night. It was based on the recipe in The New Basics Cookbook, but I changed a few thinks. Basically, I added proccuitto, white wine, carrotts, and parmesean cheese. The tempeh crutons are really tasty and add the necessary protein. To make the tempeh crutons, just cube the tempeh and fry it up in a very hot pan with a generous amount of olive oil.

1 lg onion, chopped
3-4 leeks, chopped
4-5 cloves garlic, chopped
3 stalks celery, chopped
1/4 lb proccuitto
1 tsp salt

Sautee the above ingredients in olive oil

5 cups veggie broth
1/2 cup white wine
4 potatos, chopped
4 carrots, peeled and chopped

Add the above ingredients to the pot and simmer. Cook until potatos are tender.

rosemary, tarragon, fresh parsley, oregano, sage

Season (to taste) with the above ingredients, or whatever you want. I used lots of rosemary, and a bunch of parsley. Reserve some of the parsley to put on at the end.

1 package frozed spinach, thawed and drained
1/4 cup shredded parmesean
1/2 cup milk (or cream)

Remove about half of the soup and process it in the food processor. Proccess the spinach too. Mix it all back together. Add the parmesean, milk, and remaining parsley. Garnish with the crutons, and parmesean cheese.

Why I din't update the blog for awhile

2007-03-24T15:17:00.000-07:00

I've been busy. This picture probably implicates me in a number of safety violations, but there really isn't anyone reading this anyway. I've been working straight through most weekends and this shot was taken the Friday before St. Patty's Day. The next day I came in and worked up a reaction which contained 25 grams of tetrakis(trifluoromethyl) 1,3-dithetane (a stinky compound). My hood stopped working mid-way through the workup, and the stink made its way all the way down the hall and into the other building. After completing the workup, I had to run another one of these columns right away to purify the compound. I felt pretty lousy by the time I was finished, since I never really enjoyed the solvent high. Anybody who likes huffing ether is easily amused. I went home, opened a beer, and made Jamaicain Jerk pork and rice for dinner. Either the Jerk sauce was little too hot, or the pork was on its way out, because the next morning I wasn't feeling so great. All in all, it would have been better for my health if I had started drinking at noon and had a giant plate of corned beef and cabbage for dinner.

My sweet new bike

2007-03-23T21:06:00.000-07:00

Well, I've been working towards my previously stated goal of eating fewer hormone-infested foods and "leaving a smaller footprint" as my friend Rivka likes to put it. I got some extra cash yesterday, so figured it was high time I got myself a bike, for commuting purposes. I heard of this place called Bikes Not Bombs in JP, where they take used bikes and personalize the components according to your needs. In addition, they have all sorts of community programs, like the Earn-A-Bike program for neighborhood kids. It is basically an after-school program where kids learn how to fix up bikes and learn about bike safety; presumably they get a bike out of it too. They also send bikes (and their programs) off to developing and disaster-struck places, like Ghana and New Orleans. The notion is that a bike can provide an affordable means of transportation, which may help a person get out of whatever rut they are in.

The cost is $250 for the basic edition, which includes a new chain, seat, handlebars, pedals, grips, tires, and I think they replace the brakes and such too. My bike is about $450 because I got a nicer frame, for which they charged me an extra $100. I also got a front and rear fender, a new gearshift, a rack, and front and rear lights. It takes about 2 weeks for them to do the work. Oh, the bike comes with a free tune-up after 30 days, 10% off new components for a year, and a sweet bikes not bombs T-shirt. The nice part is that I got to choose all of the above-stated components. This really saved me money because I wanted a mountain bike with street tires on it, and a larger-than standard seat, of course. The bike is going to be totally cool because it is purple and has bright yellow fenders. I want to paint flames on the fenders, but we'll see how long it takes for me to do that.

There were about 3 or 4 high school students helping out, and I'm guessing that they will be fixing up my bike. There was also a younger kid running around and playing hide-and-seek with Subbu. He made sure we knew that his dad owned the shop and that I was riding around on his dad's bike. It felt pretty good to be there, like these people had really made a nice place for kids to hang out and be proud of themselves. It is a bit scary putting my faith in these kids, but there is no possible way it is any shadier than my auto mechanic. I am far from worried about it, and $450 is way less than my mechanic's screw-job.

So, after picking out my bike, I did my grocery shopping. While this is less exciting than picking out a sweet yellow and purple bike, it is something I am looking at differently. At this point, I am just testing the waters and thinking about how to change my eating habits. Last time I went shopping I noticed that lots of items have natural-sounding names, but do not actually make any claims that separate them from generic brands. I think they may have just been more expensive. Many of the organic vegetables were wrapped in cellophane or came in plastic packages, which is somewhat counterproductive from the environmental standpoint. It will just take a little time to navigate the change. Ideally, I'll start doing my shopping a little earlier in the day and not get stuck going to the 24-hour grocery store all the time.

This time I decided to stick to vegetarian items, just so that in the future I am more familiar with how to use them. I bought a few flavored tofu's and some tempeh, along with some fancy cheeses. I also bought some tea, to slowly reduce my caffeine habit. Rivka told me that coffee just sucks all the nutrients out and it is harder to replace them without meat. My bill was less than normal, probably because I didn't purchase meat. For dinner, I sauteed a bit of tempeh and put it on a salad with cranberry cheese, cilantro, vinegar, and oil. The tempeh tasted like warm crutons that were crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, so I was pretty happy about that.

Overall it was a good day.

I'm bored of being sick

2007-03-07T08:57:00.000-08:00

I've been sick for 2 weeks now. There's this stupid cough going around, which makes its way into a headcold after about 4 days, then returns to being a spasmatic cough for at least two weeks. I tried resting for awhile, but got bored of that. Basically, I can't fo anything but work or rest, cause I can't go to the gym or a bar and I'm not going to go outside for a liesurely stroll (it is wicked cold and windy). With dank writing his thesis, resting is very boring, so I might as well work. The worst part is that I'm still waking up several times in the night with a violent cough. Maybe I'll go to CVS and see what kind of drugs they sell for this. That will at least make rest more exciting.

8 Eggs, 16 Yolks

2007-03-03T09:10:00.000-08:00

Last night I wanted to test my top secret recipe, so I ran down to Johnny’s Foodmaster for a few things. Normally I don’t trust Johnny’s for much of anything, but I figured that since I was going to use the stuff right away, it would be OK. Among the items I needed was an undisclosed number of eggs. I cracked open the first egg and it had two yolks. I wasn’t too surprised, though you don’t see that every day. I cracked open another egg and it too was a twin. I didn’t want to use it because I’m trying to optimize the recipe, and don’t know how the number of twin eggs will correlate to normal eggs. I cracked open the next one, and it was another twin. The next egg was normal, but it was followed by a triplet. The rest of the eggs in the carton were doubles. I thought maybe it was an omen, like my recipe was cursed or something. Then I thought maybe all the eggs came from one very fucked-up chicken. Maybe they’ve started doing IVF treatment or something to have the chickens produce more eggs. More likely, they have pumped every type of hormone into these chickens.

This was something of a breaking point for me. I don’t really want to be bearing children with extra body parts, so I don’t think I should eat eggs from Johnny’s anymore. I don’t want to eat from a contaminated food supply anymore. I have no problem going to Charlie’s for a double mega burger every once and awhile, but I’m going to start buying organic foods. It isn’t just the food supply, it is everything. Yesterday it rained all day, but it should have been a snowstorm. The only time I needed to shovel this winter was during the ice storm we had a few weeks back. The stock market crashed this week, despite many companies (especially oil) posting record profits. Oh, and then there is this war in Iraq. Our school system is crap and don’t even get me started on healthcare.

Perhaps I am arriving at all of this now because of where I am in my own life. I’ve got about a year left on my PhD, and dank is writing his thesis right now. I am thinking about what is next in my life. I’ve come to think that I am not going to have a normal job, but rather find a way to play a role in some of these issues. I’ve thought about this before. There is no way that I will work for a pharmaceutical company, and I do not want to be an academic. The only way I can see staying in research is if I work in a government lab. This is kind of taboo in the science, since we are all supposed to want to run our own research labs. I thought about patent law, but it seems like I’d just be carrying a briefcase for the same people I don’t want to work at the lab bench for. I want to do something important with my life, but I am not sure how to approach it. Maybe it won’t be about the job I have, but about how I live my life. I just don’t know yet.

My Top Secret Recipe

2007-02-26T14:24:00.000-08:00

The success of the tunnel of fudge cake got me thinking; can I make up a recipe that is worth one million dollars? I was poking around on the Pillsbury website, and yes, that is the prize for winning the bake-off. The thing is, it has to be an original recipe and it has to involve the use of pillsbury ingredients. It must involve the pop-open biscuits, their jams, etc. I decided to aim towards the Old El Paso category, since I make lots of Mexican food. The problem is, I never use Old El Paso stuff. I mean, you aren't going to find a recipe for 180 tamales on a bag of taco seasoning. At any rate, I invented something that is original, easy, and very Tex-Mex.

This weekend I made it twice, each time experimenting with the exact conditions. My taste-tester seemed satisfied by it, but I think he'd prefer I continue testing it. I don't think either test was up to snuff, but it tasted good. At any rate, it was fun to just take the weekend making food and living the American dream. You can't come up with anything more wholesome than testing recipes for a bake-off. You can't come up with anything more American than bastardizing Mexican food for money.

I'm going to try it one more time, and then send it off for peer review. (I'll have my mom and sis make it in their test kitchens.) Once I'm resonably satisfied with it, I'll submit the recipe. The deadline isn't until April 22nd, but I really don't can't imagine making this too many more times before then. I guess I'll wait until after the deadline to post it, cause I don't want anyone stealing my million dollar idea.

cucumber and radish relish

2007-02-23T15:33:00.000-08:00

A couple of years ago I made ceviche and discovered that cucmbers are a fantastic compliment to mexican food. (I sprinkled them with ground red pepper and salt and served them with the ceviche.) I made this relish last summer to go with a bbq, but last night I served it over broiled striped bass. This can be used in any setting where you might want a relish, salsa, chutney, or dip. The cucumber/radish/heat combo is the secret, and is amenable to other herbs or flavors.

1 cucumber, chopped
6-8 small radishes, chopped
handful cilantro, chopped
juice of 1-2 limes
1-2 jalepeno peppers, roasted, peeled, and finely chopped
1-2 cloves garlic very finely crushed/chopped
cumin, salt, pepper, red pepper, olive oil (to taste)

mix it all up and let it sit for half an hour, then eat.

Today is a Day of Independence

2007-02-22T16:50:00.000-08:00

I associate today with the scene in the Wizard of OZ after the house falls on the wicked witch. All of the munchkins are celebrating, and then the mayor shows up casting a shadow on their celebration, then the munchkin says "As coroner I've thoroughly examined her, not only is she merely dead, she's really most sincerely dead." After that, the party really gets going and the lullabye league does their thing.

I'm not reaally sure why this particular reference comes to mind, except perhaps that my ex-husband kind of looks like a munchkin and maybe that got my mind going in that direction. Today a sat down with Sister Mary Lou at the Metropolitan Tribunal in Boston and she OK'd my annullment. There is still some process to be had in the church, but my part of the task is complete.

Like all the munchkins, I was celebrating when the house fell on the witch (ironically that is a good analogy for what ended the marraige). I've had a feeling of closure for quite some time, but there's something about having the church thoroughly examine the marraige and call it dead. Besides, this sets things up for the next scene, with the yellow brick road and the cowardly lion and all that.

tunnel of fudge update

2007-02-20T11:10:00.000-08:00

Well, you will not get to see what my tunnel of fudge cake looked like. It remained intact until I brought it to Subbu's house for dinner on Sunday night. The eight of us ate about half the cake. Subbu spent the next 2 1/2 hours consuming the rest of it. I think that took a year off his life, but he said "I wouldn't have done anything in that year anyway."

Tunnel of Fudge

2007-02-18T09:49:00.000-08:00

The Globe had a Food section exclusive on chocolate cakes, and it succeeded in putting the idea in my mind to make a chocolate cake for Valentines Day. Given our crazy schedules, that didn’t happen. In retrospect, I’m glad this wasn’t a Valentines Day cake, given the inappropriate name. According to the article, this cake “won second place in the 17th Pillsbury Bake-Off Contest in 1966.” So anyway, my friend Subbu invited us to dinner on Sunday, and I asked if there was anything I could bring, then suggested that I bring dessert.

I went to the store last night to get the stuff, and found everything but the bunt pan. I was half a block from home and the road was blocked by a van that got stuck very badly in the ice. I got out and tried to help, but eventually left them with my shovel, reversed down the street, and came in from the other side. I got stuck going into my driveway, and realized that one wheel was sinking into a sludgy ice-mixture that would be basically impossible to dig out. Anyway, I got started on that, and the other folks got their van out and came to help me. With four guys pushing, they were able to get the car out no problem. I’m convinced that there is no way to get through winter without the help of strangers, which is why I helped them in the first place. This is the third time my car had gotten stuck in this icy mess and each time I got help in some form from a stranger.

Anyway, I figured it was as good a time as any to get more of the ice out of my driveway, so I worked on that for awhile. By the time I brought my groceries up it was midnight and time to work on the tunnel of fudge. Given the strangeness of the evening, it came as no surprise to me that one of my housemates had a bunt pan, which is quite necessary for the fudge-effect. The recipe is fairly straightforward, three and a half sticks of butter, a bit more sugar, six eggs, followed by diabetes and a heart attack. I pulled it out of the oven at 1:30, and pretty much fell straight asleep. This morning I managed to get it out of the pan, which I am proud of. I’d show you a picture of my tunnel of fudge cake (the pic is from the above link), but I don’t have a digital camera. I think mine is prettier because I used the cathedral-style bunt pan. Maybe I’ll let you know if it is any good once I’ve eaten it.

Tamales

2007-02-17T22:45:00.000-08:00

For years I've been talking about making tamales in New England. It is a traditional winter activity, which results in this warm delicious treat to share with close friends. Everyone I've mentioned this to has sounded very excited about the idea, so I hauled back dried chiles, masa, and corn husks from California, set a date, and prepared myself mentally for the challenge. My roomate Magali gets top billing for the event, since she if from Mexico City and had actually made tamales before. I held my own with general cooking ability.

We started at 9:30 am, our helpers were not sufficiently schooled in tamale-making to understand the importance of an early start, so Magali and I were on our own. Our secret weapon was the complete absence of quality control. We were making tamales for folks that have never seen one before, and we didn't have an expert in the corner on our case. I stewed the pork loin. prepared the picadillo, and softened the dried chiles. Magali started making the masa and making the filling for the sweet tamales. We realized that we would not have enough chiles, so I ran to the store for more. This cost us time, but that is all part of the learning process. I broiled the fresh chiles and the tomatillos (for salsa) while Magali made more masa. Before we started stuffing, I made the Bloody Mary’s, our other secret weapon. We used bannana leaves for the sweet tamales, which was much more difficult than wrapping with corn husks, so we had a slow start.

At this point, the first football game had started, so we moved the assembly operation into the living room. By about 3pm our first helper, Deniz appeared. We put her to work stuffing. It was my turn to make more masa, so I left Magali and Deniz stuffing while I made a mess at the masa station. It didn't take long for Deniz to understand the tamale making operation, and she became determined to earn her share. As our other guests arrived, she showed them how to fold the tamales and kept them busy. Subbu took a picture of dank dipping his hand in the masa and smearing it on the corn husk, which went along with our theme of no quality control. Meanwhile, Magali and I prepared the salsa, black beans, and rice. Before I knew it, the rest of our guests had arrived, and the first batch of tamales was steamed for consumption. By half time of the second football game, we ran out of broth, filling, and lard, so the tamale-making operation was complete. Between the tequila shots, beer, margaritas, and tamales everyone seemed to have a good time.

Pops

2007-02-17T22:22:00.000-08:00

With my grandmother’s help, my grandfather wrote this before he died in 2001. I just recently read it for the first time. The one significant trait of my grandfather was his honesty. One could rely on him to say things as he saw them and tell a story with a reasonable amount of fairness. When he writes about his fears and his encounters with other Marines, this honesty stands out. Usually when a person fabricates, they will display themselves as a hero and their enemies as villains. There are not heroes in his story, just very young men who manage bravery when it counts. I feel connected to him through this aspect of the story because it reminds me of all the times in my life where I was touched by his honesty and perspective.

When I was young, my grandfather used to take us to the pier to go fishing. That was the thing he enjoyed doing with us the most. The rest of the time he was somewhat grouchy. In 1994 he had a quadruple bypass. We all thought he was a goner, but he pulled through. Once he started to recover from that he changed. I suppose the brush with death helped him to live each day to the fullest. He started talking about his experiences in Saipan, and wrote this. He became more affectionate and mellow. His heart never quite healed and the reduced oxygen flow to the brain resulted in dementia. The last years were hard on him and my grandmother, but he adored her to no end.

They celebrated their 50th anniversary in 1998 and my grandmother planned a huge party, which I missed. My sister Katy sent me an account of it, which included a description of my grandmother yodeling. I still have it, and will post it at some point. On Veterans day in 2005 the Memorial was erected near the pier in San Clemente in honor of the Marines. My family donated money to put his name on one of the benches, and I like to go down there and sit when I’m home.

I'm Back

2007-02-17T22:20:00.000-08:00

I've actually been working on blogs, but I wasn't satisfied with any of them, so I figured that I would get back to them later. That never happened, so here are a few updates.

Biography of Melvin Chrislip Jr.

2006-12-01T11:56:00.000-08:00

Melvin Chrislip was born on March 29, 1924 in Jethrow Hollow, East Liverpool, Ohio, a town which was frequently flooded by the Ohio River. A few days after his birth, he and his mother had to be evacuated from their upstairs bedroom window into a row boat. After graduating from high school he enlisted into the U.S. Marine Corps at the age of 18 on March 18, 1943. He enlisted in Cleveland, Ohio and came home to tell his Dad that he enlisted in the Marines. His Dad said that was good because he thought it was the Merchant Marines and when he found out it was the U.S. Marine Corps, his Dad told him to go back and try to change it.
From Cleveland Melvin was sent to San Diego, California for training. From San Diego he was sent for machine gun training to Camp Elliot in Orange County. He then was sent to Alameda Island across the bay from San Francisco where he was assigned guard duty. He later was shipped to Hawii to Camp Tarrara for further training awaiting being sent to Saipan. He was on a LST landing craft tank which was carried on top of a regular transport ship on his way to the battle of Saipan. The marines slept in the LST’s. They were required to water down the ammunition on board the ship constantly to keep it from blowing up. Another ship was not watered down enough so it blew up and blew an airplane out of the sky. From Hawii we stopped on the Marshall Islands where I was one of the Marines who was assigned to pick up chickens. The boat was small and rocked in the big waves, I got so sick that when one of my buddies said to be careful or they would dump the chickens right on me, I said I didn’t care. Eating chickens meant that we were in for battle.
When we arrived on Saipan on June 15, 1944 our 2nd Division landed on the opposite side of the island from where General Saito expected us. Saipan had been under air attack for four months and was still smoking from three days of shelling from American battleships and cruisers. The Japanese had twice as many troops as intelligence reports predicted. Saipan was so narrow that when the Marines came ashore on the west coast, the Japanese guns on the east coast were able to take them under accurate fire. Rounds from batteries on the island of Tinian three miles to the south and the Marines were in a scrap as soon as they crossed the barrier reef. Saipan is less than 15 miles long and from three to seven miles wide. It is only 1,300 miles from Japan which made it a key to its Military value. Airfields on Saipan would place Tokyo within striking range of the B-29’s that were coming to the Pacific in growing numbers.
General Holland M. ‘Howlin Mad’ Smith who was newly promoted led the troops of the operation. He stopped to talk to me and asked me how I liked my gun. The other officers were observing what was being said and I replied, ‘I don’t carry a gun sir, I carry a rifle.’ In the Marines a rifle is considered the most important equipment a soldier has and it is the most respected part of a Marine.
On the ship going to Saipan I was on guard duty with another Marine. The other Marine said, ‘do you know a guy named Chrislip?’ I thought it was a joke, so I said ‘No, who is he?’ He said ‘I don’t know, but see that fellow over there? He said he was going to shoot Chrislip when we hit the beach.’ Messer and I got into a fight and I beat him so he had it in for me. I had a job and was working in an office because I could type. There was an officer who I didn’t dig a hole for and he had it in for me. He went and told the other officers and they placed me in for a court martial. What happened was we were on maneuvers and my job was to take all messages by radio and log them and give them to the adjutant. I dug my foxhole and was waiting for the messages as they came in and this officer said ‘dig a foxhole for another officer’ since I was working for the adjutant I looked at him and asked ‘is that what you want me to do?’ Then he said to the other officer, ‘this man’s job is to take all the messages that come in.’ It was fairly slow at that time and the officer dug the hole but was glaring at me the whole time, in other words, he had it in for me, he gave me an order and had a higher rank than the adjutant, but that was the job that the adjutant had to do and that came first. After we went back to the office and shortly thereafter I was called in. A couple of the officers and the adjutant were talking and a decision was made that I should be placed in a line company and taken out of the office. This happened because that officer claimed that I was mentioning islands in my letters home. He was a censor officer. I never received any mail from home after that even though my mother had been writing. Later the adjutant gave me a PFC patch meaning that I was promoted to private first class and got a raise of $5.00 a month. They put me over Messer and his friend and I was transferred into the tent area by the officer who didn’t like me. Messer and his friend just came back from Tarrara and they were bragging about being in combat and resented that I had a higher rating than they did. The three of us shared a tent. They would throw their knives each night across the tent and sometimes the knife would fly close to my head, so I told them if any of those knives hit me that I would throw the knife back at them. Messer said if you want to start a fight that’s OK with me. The other Marine said you have got to go to the field. Messer picked up the wire for me to go through the fence and I said ‘you go first’ because I figured when I put my head down to go through, he would jump me. By then allot of the other Marines came to see the fight. He went through the fence and then when I came through, he went after me and we got into a fight and I got the better of him. He tried to trick me into going through first but it didn’t work, so he lost his nerve. Messer bit me which is a ‘no-no’ in the Marines. They gave me a three day pass to have the wound to heal.
I didn’t know what to do, I worried all night while I was on guard duty about Messer’s threat. We were watching to make sure no Japanese would try to board the ship. I didn’t want to tell my officer because I felt he would think I was scared and trying to get out of going to fight. I decided the only thing I could do is keep my eye on Messer and make sure nothing happened and worry about killing Japs instead of other marines. We went over the reef and had trouble getting over the beach because the waves would hit the amtracks and sometimes turn them over.
The bombing was heavy, I hadn’t seen Messer. Later he and his buddy jumped out on the beach. We had to get into the water and help carry the ammunition and wade in the water. My seargent and I started to carry the ammunition in. Messer and his buddy were pointing at us and laughing because we were struggling with the ammunition. I got on the beach and saw my buddies, we had a fellow by the name of Poncho de la Cruz, who was a champion boxer of the South Pacific, I always admired him and wished I was built like him. I found him all curled up and scared to death. Because the Japs were shooting at us. Another friend of mine was shooting his machine gun like he was at a party.
I was crawling along, I noticed a young pretty girl about the age of 19, she was walking around like in a daze. She had a dress on and one side of her dress dropped down and was exposing her breast. Another Marine came up to her and tied her dress to cover her. She just remained standing there.
We were told to move over to a big field and cross it. We saw the Japs come down off the mountain, it looked like hundreds of them. Three small Jap tanks along with about hundred men came down the hill. We were in the sewer trying to shoot at them. We called for bazookas which was a new weapon to the Japanese. Two men could handle the weapon. They came to the front of the line and fired. One of the Jap tanks got stopped by our fire, then the other two small tanks retreated back up the hill. The Japanese soldiers then followed them. We jumped into a ‘stink sewer,’ it was called that because it took the sewer water into the ocean. We all got into that sewer and were glad to be there because we were sure we were going to get killed. In the meantime, the other troop opened up fire and the Japanese went back up the hill.
We came to this field. I was a runner and my job was to run messages, I stayed with the seargent, he would tell me when and where to go, we were the last ones to cross this field. When it came to he and I, and I said ‘you want to go first?’ He said “are you kidding?” No, I said if you want me to go first I’ll go. He said “if you don’t go first my job is to shoot you.” So I said OK and I ran across the field until we got into a wooded area. We thought we would be safe there. The battleships starting shooting at the Japs, the waves were coming up and down, when they went down some of the flack would come down on us. My job was to signal them to raise their fire but I had lost my flags when I was carrying all the ammunition in, so the Marine who had the flags was evidently successful because shortly it stopped the fire from dropping on us. I had a little piece of metal hit my leg and it started to burn so I had to push it off my leg.
We got the word to move out, so we had to move out and we got to the bottom of the mountain. They told us before we left the safe area to fix bayonet. This was the first time that I got really scared. I thought to my self ‘I didn’t want to kill anybody.’ We started off, we got to the bottom of the mountain, heavy firing was coming from the Japs. So we jumped into any kind of crevice we could get into, a little later, I got shot. I couldn’t see the lieutenant because he was in another ditch nearby, I could hear him holler, ‘Chrislip, are you there?’ I yelled ‘yes,’ he said ‘Give the order, all men that aren’t wounded to form up to attack the Japs.’ I said ‘you mean all men who are wounded to pull back, don’t you?’ He said ‘why, are you wounded?’ I said yes. He said you stay where you’re at and kick the man next to you and tell him to go down the line and tell the men to move back 50 yards. I kicked the man to go but he didn’t want to go, finally he went. They formed a line like a firing squad and the lieutenant was ahead of them, everyone was trying to scoot down to be as little as possible. This lieutenant stood up like in the movies and he would direct the fire with his hand to the right, everyone would fire to the right. Then his hand to the left, everyone would fire in that direction. They drove the Japs up and killed many of them. They stopped their advance.
I lay there with my arm almost blown off, Messer and his buddy came up with a stupid grin on their faces. They looked at me, Messer was getting too close to my exposed wounded arm, so I looked up at him and reached over for my knife and pulled it out and stuck it into the ground next to my arm. Messer’s buddy said, ‘watch out you might kick dirt into his wound’ Messer then pulled back and left.
The lieutenant then came over and asked me how I felt and some of the men came over to say goodbye to me. Someone then gave me a shot. Then the lieutenant told Messer and his buddy to get a stretcher and carry me to the beach. I told the lieutenant I could walk. But I was covered with blood all over my uniform from laying all day wounded. The lieutenant insisted they carry me. They would go a few yards and stop, after they got away from where the lieutenant was, they would drop me because there would be fire. Finally, they stopped again and started talking, they asked me if it would be allright if they told me how to get to the beach because it was getting dark and they didn’t want to get caught between the lines. So I said ‘go ahead and go, I’ll get to the beach on my own.’ So I made it to the beach. Someone recognized me, they came out of their trenches and took me into a tent where there were a couple of officers. They said ‘what’s your name?’ I said ‘I don’t know,’ I didn’t remember my name. One of the Marines said ‘I know him, he’s Chrislip.” I said, ‘who in the hell are you?; He said ‘I’m your staff sergeant.’ They took me in their area and someone dug a foxhole and put me in a foxhole and I stayed there all night. First the Japs were all over the place and then the Americans would be running all over, it seemed like they would get right near me all night. Finally, it was daylight, the Japs were all gone. A few Americans were around, I walked over to a Marine and saw him pick up his rifle, I noticed what looked like a Marine going towards the ship, swimming and wading, this fellow with me picked up his rifle and shot him. I said, ‘why did you shoot him, it was a Marine?’ He said ‘I don’t care, he was going the wrong way.’ So I figured I better stay where I was and be careful.
I saw a landing craft and they told me to get in that. The blood was 2 or 3 inches thick in that craft. They took me aboard the ship. I had to get in line to get operated on. I waited and waited until finally they put me in a hammock and cut and cleaned to wound. One medic said maybe we should cut his arm off, I said, ‘No, you’re not going to cut my arm off.’ The Medic said if you don’t start moving it we’ll have to cut it off.
I was in the upper bunk, the ship was making allot of racket and rolling and started to move. It was going slow, I said ‘what’s going on?’ There was alot of firing going on. They said the Japanese army was out there but evidently the Americans got the best of the shootout. I saw some men huddled together praying and I felt like I wanted to join them but since I never went to church, I felt I would be like a hypocrite. I never went to church before and I was laying there I started to cry. I prayed to God that if I got out I would study all the religions and pick the best one I could, and that is what I did later on.
We went full speed all the way to Hawaii. I was able to walk, they took us to the hospital. They started to give us allot of shots. They said they had some Japanese prisoners if I wanted to see them. I said ‘No.’ I stayed in the hospital in Hawaii for maybe a couple of months. I got shots everyday in the butt. One day a guy said ‘cover your head,’ I said ‘why?’ He said just cover your head, the nurse went by and he pulled the shirt over my head and asked the nurse ‘Guess who this is?’ And she said ‘That’s Chrislip. I’d know him anywhere.’ Finally we got on a ship and they took us to San Francisco, we then went to several hospitals where I spent over a year. Then I was sent home.
While recuperating from my wounds in Bambridge, Maryland I was hitchhiking one day and was picked up by General Smith’s Sister. I showed her my citation signed by him and asked her if that really was his signature. She said ‘let me see it,’ then replied, ‘Yes, that was his signature.’
Another incident while on Saipan a Marine came up to me with three handguns and because he had no place to put the third handgun asked me if I wanted one. I said no, because I figured if I got caught by the Japs they would think I was an officer. Also another incident that happened while coming back wounded I saw a friend of mine locked in a wooden cage, they had metal cages for the men who were more severely off. One of my friends was shot in the buttocks and I said ‘If you found the Marine that did that, I bet you’d kill him’ and he said ‘No, I’d kiss him, he probably saved my life!’
Later on, I asked about the Marine that took my place in the office. He was a nice guy and became the head runner replacing me. A Marine told me that he ‘lost his head,’ I said ‘that’s good thinking he went berserk and was sent home.’ But the Marine said, ‘you don’t understand, his head was blown off!’ It seems he was standing between General Smith and another officer and was shot and blood from him was strewn all over the General and other officer and everyone panicked thinking the General had been shot too and that they lost their commander. This news really shocked me.
All the men liked ‘Howlin Mad’ Smith, he was a very good general. When the Army couldn’t hold up their end of the line and kept letting the Japs through the lines, he pulled them out of the lines and put more Marines in and got the job done. He was then put in charge of the whole operation over the Army and the Marines on Saipan.
After I was honorably discharged and received the Purple Heart , I started college at Youngstown University in Youngstown, Ohio. A friend of mine told me to find a ‘nice Slovak girl and get married,’ that’s what I did. August 21, 1995 we will celebrate out 47th wedding anniversary. We have two sons and two daughters and two grandsons and six granddaughters. We moved to California in 1963 and have all our family close to us. I’m thankful to God for answering all my prayers.

Hello Again

2006-11-11T15:55:00.000-08:00

I haven't been blogging for awhile, but I'm not apologizing for that; not this time at least. I've been journaling, which I had stopped doing when I started blogging. I was preoccupied with writing stuff that would interest other people. The things I've been thinking about are mostly not for public consumption. Even the stuff that isn't too personal just isn't universal. For example; I battled the university over shitty healthcare. I remodeled my living room. I'm broke. I've run through the pre-holiday hoo-ha with my family. Mr T has a new show called I pity the fool. It friggn' rules. Kids write in to Mr T, and he shows up to help the kids handle unruly parents.

I suppose it is just the case that not all insights or forward progress in life is universal. It's like Mr. T says, "to thy own self be true." I can't just make up bullshit to make y'all's life easier. All I have are my own little somewhat insignificant insights. Maybe daylight savings just took all the wind out of my sails. The sky goes dark and the day comes to a close but I keep moving. Some part of my mind shuts off and my thoughts turn inward.

In the least, that feeling is universal. There is no way to bypass our connection to the world or our duty to do our best. It's like Mr T says:

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is
a piece of the continent, a part of the main...any
man's death diminishes me, because I am involved
in mankind...

Happy Birthday

2006-10-03T07:56:00.000-07:00

Just writing a birthday shout-out to dank and ED. Rocktober 3rd has become a day of madness and legend. Last year we witnessed the fall of the indestructable. Who knows? maybe this year a cop car will get tipped.

Stereochemistry

2006-09-25T10:25:00.000-07:00

One of my reasons for writing this blog is to communicate with my sister. In particular, we’ve been shooting around the notion of doing an art/science project together, and this is a forum for ideas. To do a project, we need concept, and that requires looking into our lives to find the ways in which we reflect and contrast one another. It occurred to me that our project should be about non-superimposable mirror images, about things that seem the same but are opposites, and about things that are inside out and right side in. Take for example this picture. In this picture, my sister and I appear to have assumed the same pose, but not quite. My left leg is in the same position as her right leg, and her right arm is in the same position as my left arm. We even have injuries on opposite knees. One could say that we have not struck the same pose at all; we have assumed opposite poses. My pose is totally incompatible with her pose, or rather her pose is totally incompatible with mine.

We are related as non-superimposable mirror images. My image is a reflection of hers. This happens everywhere. For example, Luis Pasteur discovered that tartaric acid forms two unique crystals, which are mirror images of one another. One consequence of nature is that only one type of crystal is used. Tartaric acid has a stereocenter, meaning that it has a center of asymmetry. As a result, it can have “Regina stereochemistry” or “Ginevra stereochemistry.” Nature has opted to use only one flavor of stereochemistry. It is kind of like a world in which only right hands exist, and no left hands. This is a result of nature’s tendency towards repetition and self-recognition. (To extend the analogy to its limits, it is easiest for two people to shake hands if both people extend their right hands.)

This whole thing is about seeing each other eye to eye, (that is, left eye to right eye and right eye to left eye). It is about having a more complete view of the world by accepting the things that make us distinct and the things that tie us together. Our project can entail assembling images that reflect this duality and how this duality is true to nature and defies nature.

Are you more ape-like than human?

2006-09-20T20:10:00.000-07:00

Today scientist’s reported their analysis of a skeleton from a species that existed 3.3 million years ago. The creature seems to be more ape than human, as it crawls around and doesn’t have a voice-box. The age was estimated from looking at the undeveloped adult teeth, and decided that it compared well with a 3-year-old chimp. However, the brain size was small for a chimp of this age, which makes the species more human. Slow development is thought to be a distinctly human trait, perhaps even more so than standing up straight. This means that it is ape-like to be mature for one’s age. I guess this evens us all out a bit.

Administrative Update

2006-09-17T11:18:00.000-07:00

I changed the settings so that anyone can post a comment.

Osama's Ex-Lover Speaks

2006-09-15T18:03:00.000-07:00

This was in Harper's Magazine...

[Memoir]

His Prerogative

Posted on Tuesday, August 22, 2006. From Diary of a Lost Girl: The Autobiography of Kola Boof, published last February by Door of Kush Books. Boof has written for the NBC daytime drama Days of Our Lives. In 2003, when she was interviewed on Fox News by Rita Cosby, the network reported that Boof had lived for several months in 1996 on an estate in Morocco with Osama bin Laden. Originally from Harper's Magazine, September 2006.
People are animals. They fuck, pray, and make bombs. The Dinka women of Sudan say the devil is the most beautiful man you will ever lay your eyes on. I never took these words seriously until I encountered my now infamous ex-lover, Osama bin Laden.

Soon after installing me in his estate in Marrakesh, Osama started to abuse me. His hand would be resting on my hair, his eyes glued to the pages of his Muhammad Qutub books while I read Galway Kinnell. We would be lying there in bed and he'd say, “African women are only good for a man's lower pleasures. What need do you have for a womb?” I would feel insulted—not just to the heart, but to the soul. Then I'd go back to Galway Kinnell's bone-white stanzas—only I wouldn't be able to make out the words for the tears in my eyes.

He would humiliate me by making me dance naked. It was such a strange thing, because for the most part he believed music was evil. If a guest at the estate played music, he would cover his ears until the “poison” was silenced. But other times he would become this devout party boy who wanted to hear Van Halen or some B-52's. To this day I hear the song “Rock Lobster” in my sleep. I would be jerking around like a white girl—“Dance like a Caucasoid girl!” he would say—and his eyes would track me from one side of the terrace to the other. “Your ass is too big, show me the front,” he said. Osama, you understand, did not know the difference between being vicious and being tender.

The first night I met him, at a restaurant, I ran out the door, gripped by terror, and drove home. Relieved that his henchmen hadn't followed me, I ran a bath, lounged in the cold bathwater, then changed into a flowing silk robe. There was a bang on the door, and I could hear shouting: “Hey, black girl!” When I opened the door, there was Osama bin Laden and his seven-man posse. A cold bolt of lightning went through me.

But Osama was trying to be charming, despite the fear in my eyes. “Why did you run? I just think you're lovely and I find you intriguing. I wanted to be your friend.” I can't deny what a good-looking man he was—over six feet with a zesty salmon-orange complexion and very sexy Negro-like facial features, forged by generations of desert sun. I remember thinking he had the most beautiful lips and being overwhelmed by the largeness of his hand when he took mine (to kiss it). Osama's men laughed, and Osama's eyes kept falling on my cleavage. I knew no matter how many Barbara Stanwyck movies I had devoured as a teen, I was powerless, and men can be merciless when women have no power.

“From now on you may see no man but me,” he said. I wanted to throw up.

* * *

He stepped into my room and told his men to wait outside. We were chest to chest, his eyes looking down at me as he closed the door behind him. A hundred ideas went through my head. Maybe I should get on my knees and beg for mercy, but that was too wimpy. At last, I thought my only escape from death was to seduce him. He wanted to fuck me: that was the only good card in the deck. So I stretched up and kissed Osama very softly on the mouth. I undid my robe and let it slip down to the floor.

“Put your clothing back on,” he told me. “I don't want to see this acting. I want to see the real you. Serve me something to eat.”

I made a pot of tea and served him chunky crab salad on pita crackers and thickened tofu with dates in it. His lust was thick. He smoked a little marijuana from a gold hookah, sipping his tea and instructing me that I was always to keep hot tea for his “kif-canbo,” to ease the burn in his chest.

“Why do you wear your hair braided?” he asked.

“Because my braids are beautiful,” I replied.

Osama said only monkeys braid their hair. He told me that the singer Whitney Houston was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen and that she never wore her hair braided. “I want you to fix your hair like hers from now on,” he said. “I can't put my fingers through it when it's braided.”

He asked me to hit the hookah, but I explained to him that I had a weak system and couldn't handle drugs. Luckily, he didn't insist. He talked about America. He laughed and rambled on about his favorite TV shows: The Wonder Years, Miami Vice, and MacGyver. He said the U.S. government was made up of “fanatical crusaders” and that he'd once worked as a mind reader and trained secret agents for the CIA. He even said that he'd had a white, blonde girlfriend back in some state I'd never heard of. He talked about his mother, describing her as something of a feminist. I was bored, but I listened.

Osama kept coming back to Whitney Houston. He asked if I knew her personally when I lived in America. I told him I didn't. He said that he had a paramount desire for Whitney Houston, and although he claimed music was evil, he spoke of someday spending vast amounts of money to go to America and try to arrange a meeting with the superstar. It didn't seem impossible to me. He said he wanted to give Whitney Houston a mansion that he owned in a suburb of Khartoum. He explained to me that to possess Whitney he would be willing to break his color rule and make her one of his wives. I tried to hide my outrage at his racist remarks, but it would come to pass that for the entire time that I would be trapped in his palm, Whitney Houston's was the one name that would be mentioned constantly. How beautiful she is, what a nice smile she has, how truly Islamic she is but is just brainwashed by American culture and her husband—Bobby Brown, whom Osama talked about having killed, as if it were normal to have women's husbands killed. In his briefcase I would come across photographs of the star, as well as copies of Playboy, but nobody in the West believes me when I tell them this. It's like they have this totally bogus image of Osama bin Laden. Anyway, it would soon come to the point where I was sick of hearing Whitney Houston's name.

Later, after he came back from the bathroom, Osama smoked some more marijuana and talked about his children. He said that he'd missed an appointment with his “doctor”—Ayman al-Zawahiri—just to do me.

Sept 11

2006-09-11T23:36:00.000-07:00

All day I’ve been thinking about doing a post about what I was doing on 9/11 and how it changed my life. I remember that it was a gorgeous day in New England. I was at Morse’s Pond in Wellesley testing the soil for hexavalent chromium. Paint had been dumped on the site years ago, contaminating the soil. At the time, I was working for an EPA contractor. Mandy and I were cramped in the trailer on the pond. It wasn’t until Frank, the OSC, showed up that we even knew what happened; “those fuckers destroyed the trade towers” is how he put it. I couldn’t quite visualize it. I couldn’t even visualize the dimensions of the NYC skyline and how the towers looked in it. I couldn’t imagine how big of a void would be left. As the day passed, the excavator dug deeper into the toxic soil. With each batch of soil came news from the radio in the excavator about the Pentagon or the plane in Pensylvania. With every bit of information, the world became harder to visualize.

I didn’t have a TV at the time, so at the end of the day I went down to The Cherry Tree (a bad bar in Newton) to see what happened. The news stations were still showing the footage of people jumping out of the buildings. I suppose they replayed that footage today, but I don’t have a need to watch it again. They also showed Palestinian refugees rejoicing. The bar went nuts over how we should blow them all up. Everything about it feels misplaced; this world appears beautiful but hate is easily stirred under the surface. I finally understood what it means to be patriotic; irrespective of how badly our leaders behave, I have an obligation to defend and love this nation.

I suppose that 9/11 changed my life in the way that it reshaped the world and my country. The devastation did not affect me directly, as I did not personally lose any one close. For a little while it brought the world closer together in grief. That’s kinda gone to hell now, but eventually order will be restored. The Freedom Tower will eventually be completed. In the meantime, at least French fries are back. The war for oil will be replaced by something else (probably not democracy, but at least our loved ones can come home). Pretty sure the job at Morse’s Pond is done, at least by EPA standards. Mission Accomplished.

Local Mysteries

2006-09-10T12:28:00.000-07:00

This weekend I went to
America's Stonehenge and to the Westford Knight memorial Both sights are part of a theory that pre-Columbian Europeans made their way to the states and left a mark. The Newport Tower is another bit of evidence, which I saw last winter. I’d say that America’s Stonehenge was the most mysterious of them all. It consists of a series of stone caves that were assembled from large, flat stones. The main chamber had several small rooms and passageways. Around the main chamber is a path that is indicated by a stone wall. Along the path, large, flat stones were erected, and from the main chamber they line up with the sun on particular days, like summer solstice. The layout of the main chamber suggests a spiritual purpose for the space. The “oracle room” is a little closet that fits one person lying down. That person could see out, but the entrance is hidden so that they would be unobserved. 13C dating of ashes from the site suggests human presence as early as 2000 BC.

Theories on the originators of the site range from Irish Monks, Native Americans, or 18th century farmers. Irrespective of the origin, the site has been modified, and probably more than once. The site creator eventually abandoned it, and someone discovered the site, and transformed it to fit their spiritual sensibilities. One visitor builds up the site, and another removes portions of it. Now there are families taking their pictures next to the “sacrificial stone” and kids crawling around in the caves. Spiritual traditions change with the times and are modified beyond recognition. It doesn’t really matter who created the structures and for what purpose. It is worth experiencing and wondering about. The site has spiritual significance because New Age folk go out there and purchase crystals. Visitors get to believe what they want about the site because nobody really knows how it got there.

There is a stone in Westford that has a punch-hole marking which appears to be a sword. The stone was discovered in the 19th century by a farmer as he was clearing a field, but may have been modified later in the century by some kids. The theory is that the marking is a memorial to a Templar Knight that explored the area in 1398. This site is far from overwhelming in significance. The result seems to be a bit of town pride and another little mystery to keep the imagination alive. Each of these places is a part of our history and the way that we treat these sites will be part of history. A hundred years from now there will be a display depicting New-Age people worshiping the stones and kids crawling over them.

Mom's Website

2006-09-09T12:50:00.000-07:00

Our mom's art is now on a website that I made for our mom.

The gallery is a new feature.

http://www.reginasart.com/

mE11if1uou5

2006-09-09T12:37:00.000-07:00

Ginevra's been keeping the dream alive, which used to be my job. Now I read all the posts and I want to say some things and keep the dream alive again. There are so many thoughts I brought up and then abandoned.

I love the softball game story. Teamwork and the drumroll mentality- like MASH. I want to go to Milwaukee too. Isn't science like art because you have to come up with a concept to go on?

Coming up with ideas for people to try to shoot down. Or enigmatice crossword puzzle answers.

ICE

2006-09-09T12:08:00.000-07:00

http://ice.uga.edu/html/

This is a link to a good sight about art and science dual vision.
I'm using confusing words in purpose.
It's a site with a dual-purpose.
We need to do an art-science project.

Katy

2006-08-26T15:26:00.000-07:00

Our sister Katy is in the hospital with ketoacidosis, but she’ll recover. She spent yesterday throwing up acetone and the like: a really shitty reaction to Juvenile Diabetes. Katy has probably influenced my life in about the same way as she has influenced Regina’s. She is transformative. She takes what she sees in life and turns it into something else. When she was little, she called the ocean the “big drink.” Once she made Chineese food and put licorice in it; I remember that one because my mom got so mad. I am the opposite; I just want to see and present things as they are.

When she was about 4 and I was 9, we were going somewhere together and she decided to walk along the top of a retaining wall. I was walking alongside, telling her that if she falls, to fall in my direction so that I can catch her. There’s no way in hell I would have walked on of that wall. When she is in the hospital, I am likely to sit here and worry, but her fearlessness helps. I did manage to get the things done today that I needed to. I tried calling the hospital about 5 times, but every time I called she was getting tests done or sleeping. Nobody was there with her today, which absolutely killed me. My mom spent all day there with her yesterday, but had to work today.

This afternoon we had our championship softball game. I was definitely feeling bad juju, and thought it would rub off on everyone else. The first pitch of the game resulted in a broken windshield, but that wasn’t my fault. In the second inning, the ball fell in dog crap and it got all over the shortstop’s hand. We were down all game, until the last inning, where we were up by two. I had done my part to keep the game interesting by sucking in the field. Of course, we had lost the coin toss, so the other team had last ups. They scored one and then it was two out with a man on third. A lefty came up to bat, and popped it up in the infield. The fist baseman called it, but I was under it. Game over, we won.

All of a sudden a shitty day and a shitty game was changed into something else. For that moment I stopped bearing the day as it was and turned it into something better. Just after the game I finally got through to Katy in the hospital, and she was feeling better. I feel indescribably good now.

Work Vs. Play

2006-08-23T19:35:00.000-07:00

I guess maybe the blue sky freaked me out a bit too much. We’ve all heard the saying, nobody wishes on their deathbed that they had worked more often. I started feeling like if I were to become deathly ill, I would wish that I had worked harder. That is a tribute to what grad school does to a person. So, I cancelled Milwaukee vacation to work. I managed to get the necessary things done, but it totally sucked. I missed out on seeing my sweetie’s home in the summer. I missed out on Lake Lulu and a Brewers’ game. We were going to a few days alone. It will be awhile before I stop thinking about how wonderful it would have been. Such is life. There will be next summer and the summer after that and so on. Ultimately, it is just one less thing to think about on my deathbed.

The first deep blue day of the year

2006-08-12T18:26:00.000-07:00

The first scent of autumn blew through town today. Last night I fell asleep on top of the blankets, and woke up early to the chill of the first autumn breeze. Even though autumn is my favorite season, I have a feeling of eminent loss. It isn't really the losing the leaves from the trees and the bareness of winter; it is the loss of another year.

I hadn't really seen the leaves fall off the tress until my first semester in college, and I loved it. I saw winter as a time to be bare like the trees, to strip one's life of all but the essentials. That's great, and I wish I had time for it this year. The reason to strip oneself for winter is to be prepared for spring; for rebirth and more growth. The trees have to suck up all the nutrients from the leaves and preserve themselves for awhile. Leaves are for productivity and growth, so they are irrelevant in the winter.

So, this winter I will see what it's like to be an evergreen. This winter I want to work hard, since I have this new idea and all.

Things that need to be nurtured to grow

2006-08-09T16:15:00.000-07:00

This spring I planted some herbs and the like on my porch. I've never been much of a gardener, but I wanted a wholesome hobby, so I decided to give it a try. For several months I dilligently watered the plants and they grew. Alas, we had a heat wave and I neglected to water my garden for a week or so and all of my plants died. Likewise, and I'm sure that the 16 people who have read my profile have lost interest since I last blogged. Most things require dilligence to grow, which is why good gardens and blogs are rare. On the flip side, despite constant negligence my butt continues to grow.

A new Idea

2006-07-06T00:20:00.000-07:00

It’s 2:30 a.m. and I’m trying to come up with an idea for a new project. I’ve been in a vacuum for the last week and a half, putting together and processing thoughts. Tomorrow I’m going to share those thoughts with my advisor, and he will judge themI spent the first day reading papers that I didn’t quite understand. I spent the second day reading my Thermodynamics book. Day three I went back to the papers I didn’t understand the first time. None of this led me any closer to an idea, I was getting the background ideas and models. I still don’t know if a good idea came of it, so it may all been a waste of time.

On the fourth day, I was reading papers that were closer to my area of interest. This lead me to day five, where I evaluated a whole bunch of systems to test my theory. The cycle started over, and I was back to my P-Chem text. Finally, I’ve got something to show for it. Honestly, spending this much time away from the lab is making me completely loopy. The thing is, I don’t have experiments to do until I have a new idea.

Tomorrow is the first test. It is my job to defend the things I came up with, and KK’s job is to try to shoot them down. KK needs to look for flaws because I don’t want to waste the next year or two figuring them out. I need to defend my idea, because if I don’t he won’t trust that I know what I’m talking about. That means he’s gotta look at all the papers I looked at and see if it makes sense.

It feels like I’m setting my mind on the table and asking him to stab it. This has been all me. That’s OK, I like the rush. (That ought to tell you just how exciting my life is.) Well, now it’s 3:11, so I’m just gonna toss my heart out on the internet for you to stab and get to sleep.

Chesapeake bay-bridge

2006-06-28T18:21:00.000-07:00

He isn't dead

2006-06-28T18:17:00.000-07:00

really, check out swimmingholes.info

2006-06-28T18:15:00.000-07:00

2006-06-28T18:09:00.000-07:00

On the drive home I was trying to find a central theme that relates each place to the next, but I failed at doing that. This trip was a patchwork of places. Dan and I explored little roads in little places and drove hard against big roads in big states. So, this is more of a travelogue of cool places to see. It’s a formula for having a nice roadtrip.

Wednesday morning at around 10am we headed out towards Philly. We took the Merrit Parway, which is the oldest freeway in the world and inspired the autobauhn. (Dan is always telling me things like this, which I’d never know otherwise.) That turned into the Hutchinson, which we took the cross-county parkway and onto the 9. We got through NYC and headed over the GW Bridge. From there, we took the New Jersey turnpike towards Philly, except that I got us lost, so we took some back roads.

Once we got into Philly, we saw Independence Hall, which was surrounded by a Freedom Fence and park rangers with holsters. We saw a couple other old buildings, but I can’t remember what they were. Since Father’s Day was the following Sunday, we sat on a bench and wrote postcards for our dads. We didn’t stay downtown long, since we had tickets for the Phillies. I had put a few beers in the cooler for pre-game tailgating, so we drank those and talked to an old dude who was a Mets fan. We stood behind home base eating a Philly Cheeese Steak during batting practice. We could have stood there the whole game if we wanted to because that is how the stadium is set up. Still, we had a good view from our kinda cheap seats. Partway through the game it started raining, but we waited it out. The Phillies were getting killed, so we left in the 7th to see the Pine Leaf Boys and meet up with Rivka.

We caught a couple of songs and drank a few Yuengling’s, since that’s what everyone else was drinking. Thursday morning Rivka went up towards Asheville, but Dan and I stayed along the coast. In Delaware, we stopped in Bethany Beach to jump in the ocean and bodysurf. The waves were just big enough to catch. I got sand in my baithing suit. I thought about putting some sand in Dan’s but remembered that he has bigger hands and can put a lot more sand in my suit. As it turns out, Dan’s grandfather was on a ship that hit a mine 20 miles off the coast of where we stopped.

Dan says that in order to have been in a place, you have to stay the night, have a beer, or have sex. We had a beer and some soft shelled crab in Delaware, so we can say we’ve been there. From there we drove though Ocean City, where I hit a bump that knocked the passenger side window off it’s track. We drove through Maryland and into Virginia, then over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel and into North Carolina. The bridge is 30 miles long in total, but includes two tunnels which are each a mile long.

We stopped in Kitty Hawk for the night and got beer from a Brew-Thru, which is a drive-through beer store. From there, we went to McDonalds and back to our hotel. Finally, we were officially in North Carolina. The next day we got the car window taped closed and were on our way. We drove past the mound of sand where the Wright brothers took off. I tried to get a picture, but we went by it too fast. Before leaving the Outer Banks, we stopped just to look at the ocean. So, 45 min later we changed out of our swimsuits and were back on the road.

We headed out on Rt. 64 and started our search for genuine North Carolina BBQ. We found exactly what we were looking for at Shaws BBQ House. They had all sorts of interesting items, like kudzu jelly. Shortly thereafter we were on the 95, which brought us into South Carolina. We stopped at South of the Border to fuel up.

Our final stop before getting to Savannah we stopped at Colleton State Park. I found it on my favorite website (swimmingholes.info). We managed to get there just as the sun was settting and just wandered around enjoying it. Dan had a cigarette and we got back on the road.

We headed into Savaannah, and I got us lost again, but we found the Days Inn on Mall Blvd. So, we officially made it Georgia. Dan and I finished our beers and took a shower. There was no water pressure, and we had to fill the ice bucket with warm water and dump it on our heads to get the shampoo out. I told Dan that’s what you expect when the folks arranging the hotel were stationed in Iraq and Afghanistan. We caught up with the wedding party at Churhills, which is a bar downtown. The next day we cruised the city and had Mimosa’s and black-eyed peas sandwiches at B. Matthhews, which is an alcohol-serving bakery. Rivka and I got to talk a bit. Rachel met us after her hair was done and it was fun catching up with them. They are two of the craziest and nicest people I know. Rachel joined the army after 9/11 and since then she has been a paramedic in Iraq and Afghanistan. Will was her helicopter piolot.

I went to the mall (on Mall Blvd) because I still didn’t have anything to wear to the wedding. The reception was at the Gingerbread House, which is totally georgeous on the outside and inside. The bartender made me a Mint Julep, which I’d never had before. The food was incredible. The best part was the Elvis Impersonator.

Afterwards we went on a haunted bar crawl. For $10 a tour guide takes you from bar to bar telling ghost stories. You can get booze in a plastic cup and bring it to the next place. Many of the bars in Savannah were hotels or public houses for a long while, so there’s enough history to make is fun, but not really spooky. Rivka and I got a little time to talk, which is more than I had hoped for. I knew it would be a short and busy stay, since she had other family commitments.

From the bar crawl we went to a diner where we has ridiculous amounts of greasy Southern Food. The next day we left at 11 and drove. Even that part was fun, we ate (at BoJangles) and drove. We took the 95 most of the way back and landed in Boston at 4 am.

IMMANUEL KANT :: "WHAT IS ENLIGHTENMENT?"

2006-06-25T17:41:00.000-07:00

Ginevra- that's awesome that you came up with that enlightenment connection since a very smart friend of mine, Stacy Garfinkel, had told us about this Kant essay in the context of taking that student initiative. Or in a less marmy-ish voice- the potential of teaching. Education as the development of free will, critical thinking, the ability to think on your own without getting caught up in the tide. How to know what you want. Isn't that something that needs to be developed and isn't really natural? To answer for you- "Yes." Ha ha. I'm one of those people with the annoying habit of writing in questions. That's because I'm the Hamlet of my life- Here's a link to the essay:

WHAT IS ENLIGHTENMENT?

ps- Ginevra, look here to see how to make a link.

WHAT WE LOOK LIKE

2006-06-25T17:33:00.000-07:00

Me 'n' Ginevra.

JUST DO IT

2006-06-25T17:29:00.000-07:00

STORY-IMAGE FOR ZINE FROM TEXAS

2006-06-25T17:14:00.000-07:00

HEY TEACHER!

Forming a solid goo out of gravel, this visual and mental and ear-razing some thought that really happened.

Elements are:

metal
wood
stone
fire
air

Elements should:

pizza crust (not as good as cheese)
chain link (<>)
donas (?can you please put a mexican swirly over the n?)
spinna's
scrapers
bussers
sn8ke<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< (veronica taught me how to write snake that way]

"But it didn't happen like a list," said Dinah.
"What, then? You mean since you though this up. You cooked it up and expected me to understand the real reality of your imagination?" asked Manuel.
Veronica was just drawing some playing cards for the kids. They were so funny with their crumbled up stories that hardly made any sense. They just live in a fairy land. Newborns only years ago.

GO TO THE STORE AND GET THESE THINGS:

chips
jalapeno
you already have onion but you're going to need it so don't use it
cheese
tomato

Grate the cheese. Heat the oven to like 300. Then get a plate. Put the chips on the plate, like one layer of them. Put cheese on the chips. Stick them in oven til gooey. Then addnother layer of cheeps. More cheese. Goo=ify [the word GOOfy is trademarked by disney so I had to write it with the equals sign]. Eat them; or save in case of an earthquake along with a can opener.

You are a good person and so are the others in the world. I love you and bless everyone, especially the people I think about most. I hope you are safe and take care of yourself. I hope you get enough sleep every night. I hope you have good food (not really nachos, tho, be careful of the nachos, your butt may get full of them) every day and enough of it. And I hope that you have a warm space with warm friends and pets or wild animals who treat you well. I love you. I joke often but about this I took my tongue out of my cheek. Which means I was sticking my tongue out but not at you.

Be aware and -ware of reality. Whatever that means.

GETTING IT RIGHT

2006-06-25T15:04:00.000-07:00

I read somewhere that “one understand a thing by virtue of getting it right.” If I recall, the quote applied to achieving enlightenment in the spiritual sense. If one acts enlightened and convinces those around oneself of it, that’s enlightenment. Getting students to just do it is the core of teaching Chemistry. Students tell me that they feel like they are just memorizing answers to problems without really understanding how to do them. There is not much I can tell them, except that repetition is the key to understanding. Learning Chemistry and doing Chemistry requires persistence, not the inspired kind, but really grinding it out. It takes years of learning to really understand even the basic principles of Chemistry, so the intro student tends to get either frustrated or hungry for the next class. Enlightenment, in the scientific world, truly is achieved by virtue of getting it right.

Pragmatically, Chem classes are objective and as such, we are all either taskmasters or unfair teachers. Intro Chem classes are filled with people who want to go to med school and Chemistry is their least favorite subject. As such, it is important to set guidelines for exactly what is required and add up the points at the end of the semester. Consistency and clear expectations keeps students from freaking out, which clears their minds for learning.

I tried an experiment last semester, when I was teaching Orgo Recitations. The students downloaded a problem set online before coming to class. Usually the recitation TA stands at the board and does the problems. Instead I had them go to the board in pairs, solve the problem, then explain it to the class. Most students didn’t respond well to it, maybe because it is embarrassing to stand at the board. Still, the students that liked it seemed to understand that this was good use of their time. This is the ultimate just do it teaching method. The experience of doing the problem and explaining it to the class taught them how to do the problem. When the students did a problem wrong, it revealed a misconception or trap that many students would fall into. It does not matter if the problem is done right wrong, the way to learn Chemistry is to just try. If the answer is right, then yes, the student understands by virtue of getting it right.

Doing research in Chemistry takes patience and is repetitive. I wouldn’t say that you just do it, because experiments need to be thought out and there is always a ton of really simple stuff to learn each time you set up an experiment. It is difficult to figure out exactly what experiments will give you decisive information. Even the best laid plans . . . well, know what can happen. In the end, yes, you say, well I’ll just try this. The greatest scientists are those who tried the most simple and obvious experiments and they worked. The great scientist finds the universal truth in simple experiments, and seeks answers which have broad implications. They are great by virtue of getting it right. The truth was on their side. This relates back to spiritual enlightenment. When you are spiritually enlightened, you get it right because you know truth.

AGE OLD QUESTION #10897362Y

2006-06-21T18:28:00.000-07:00

How much of teaching is about being a taskmaster (recently one of students in his frustration called me a taskmaster), and how much of teaching is about inspiring students to dream the impossible dream.

The way I posed that question is decidedly tainted and skewed. Oh well.

This is an age-old battle between the right-wingers and the lefties. For instance, when teaching a child to read, the right-wingers say you should teach phonics, while the lefties say you should teach stories/ culture. The middle of the roaders say do a little of both.

Many students just want to hang out and they get annoyed when you expect them to work. Once they start working, they are happy and once they see the final product they are happy or they wish they had worked more.

I teach animation, and often my students don't want to write a storyboard or anything, they just want to randomly doodle. They want to be in their own little bubble. They could do that at home and I would not be a good teacher if I allowed that to go on.

But how do I teach- through calculated inspiration (in educational thinking, the lefties like this approach and they call this "scaffolding"). Or do I just force them to finish the damn exercise, knowing that they'll thank me in the end (obviously a right-wing tactic- Do the fighting words, "bring em on" ring any bells?).

I've found it's better to do the calculated inspiration route. However, sometimes I haven't calculated enough or I am too tired to be fully present, so I fall back on the just do it approach. It really does take a lot of experience to have the time and foresight to be fullly prepared with a ergonomically desgined, form follow function scaffolding. So I do fall back on the 'just do it' approach and it does the trick. But part of the scaffolding is this composed front that keeps the law of the land, which is all a drama of blind justice. I pretend that I'm serious about deadlines and all that, so that they have something to strive for and feel like their work is truly important and needs to get done.

It's all invisible, yet it yields real results. I am always finding out that the most important thing in the classroom is the culture of the class. It's necessary to teach skills and whatnot, but you can really make the class work for you. When they work together and teach each other, it's a lot easier for me, they feel proud to show people what they know, they learn better from their peers and they become friends. When there's laughter in a room and happiness it is such a big difference froma competitive environment. I really try to subvert the competition, not in any idealistic way. I didn't set out to have a noncompetitive classroom before I started teaching. It's when I saw the way people are, especially on computers. Some people are so know-it-all and try to beat everyone to the punch all the time (the guy who called me a taskmaster was the ultimate 'master of the computer class'). It's rough on the self esteem of the other students and then they feel like they'll never get the hang of it.

I am rambling, like a class with no structure. I love structurelessness. But I also love structure. Systems, ya know. Systems seem like a female thing- school marm, matriarchy, safe monetary investments. They seem so ball-busting. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, nerve endings or need to compete. Actually maybe I want to shine a mirror towards the competers until they punch the mirror in competitive fervor and with bleeding fists realize how foolish and how to open their hearts. Not only will you learn 2 kinds of tweening, you will learn how to learn to love in 2 weeks intensive computering around with me as your taskmaster/ scaffolder. What was more amazing - the Sistene Chapel ceiling by ol' what's his name? OR the scaffolding built by Jacomo di Patronelli Santa Barbara Castini IV?

WALK NOT UNLIKE EGYPTIAN, O CHILD OF 80'S

2006-06-17T18:33:00.000-07:00

Is it fantasy or reality that the song Walk Like an Egyptian is fucking hell yeeah rad and dance-inducing coma good. I recently gave it a re-listen and just thought this is the kind of enjoyable random thing that should go in our blog. Blogging, drumming and programming are my hobbies and this is my weekend off (by that I mean Saturday since Sunday is all about trabajar). On my spare time I shuffle around my workshop/ garage and toy with hobbies. You are a victim of my hobby since you are reading this.

But revisiting the Bangles brought me to a little memory I have of my sister, me, choir and the evil and sad Miss Mudge. Ginevra and I went to a snobby Catholic grammar/ middle school for a good many years until our parents split up and my dad began hoarding his hard-earned cash (or so my conspiracy theory goes. whatever the case, my mom plummeted to below poverty, while my dad stayed upper-mid). I loved music, but our school had a hardly existent music program. My publicschool neighbor had the choice of having an instrument to borrow and learn- I was so jealous- he also had Atari- ooh was I jealous.

Ginevra and I were in the choir since that was the only music thing you could do at St. Edward's Catholic School. Miss Mudge hated Ginevra and I, and hated our singing even worse. It's funny that I actually would teach music later in my life and feel paranoid that I don't become like Miss Mudge when getting frustrated.

For Christmas the choir went around a strip mall in Dana Point and sang carols to all the storefronts int this strip mall that has a bigger parking lot than store space. There used to be a pizza place there, a stationery store and a huge grocery store and lots of other stores. And at some point we had hot cider. And also at some point we were all dancing like egyptians to that song that played everywhere at that point in time.

IN WRITING TODAY... I complained about different things, very wistfully. Speaking of victims, I am the victim of my own memoir mindset. Here I am, with a cup a tea, warmly orange-lit room, crepuscly mood, going, well when I was a child- I was wronged. O the cycle of life. O the dreams and the wistful memories, haunting yet what I would give to go back. O me. O me. Would I were that child, sipping cider. There was a parking lot, big as the sands of time.

Arthritis, Anyone?

2006-06-16T07:32:00.000-07:00

Kids who can't afford skateboards in russia do beautiful things. Check it, yo.

Underground Man Surfacing?

2006-06-15T21:20:00.000-07:00

There is this avante garde writer/artist who is ubiquitously labeled "underground" and his name is Weldon Keyes. If you know of him, you know that he's underground. If you don't know of him, you may either assume he's underground, if you get the chance to assume because in a heartbeat you'll be told what to think about him, which is that he's underground. Well no one really knows or has known for years where he slipped off too, but it's pretty apparent that he jumped off the sf golden gate bridge and insodoing killed himself. Underground, underwater- wherever he is- he's a fantabulous writer- a little grim at times ala flannery o'connery. It is easy to devouor his stories like eating your favorite pre-packaged junk treat. It's just that good.

I saw a few of his films Sunday night at the Yerba Buena. They were definitely underground, if that means pretentious lo-budge janky little contraptions. It's just that bad. It was a lesson in time and style as it passes. I thought about how I shouldn't overwork myself lest I get too tired and out of touch and make crappy art that people have to discover one day and then other people have to be eluded and deluded into possibly having to enudure and inure for a matter of hours or so. But then is everything I do and see about me me me? Ginevra would say, that it's true that Regina is an egomaniac. Would I then beg to differ or blithely argree.

So Weldon Kees (i always forget how to spell his name) was a true bohemian. He lived his life psychologically on the edge like so many maniacs before him. But I don't want to talk about his depressing life. It reminds me of all the nutjobs and my days of being a nutjob without help in my field of vision. Why are people interested in glorifying insanity. And talking about talent and how the meaner the more talented. Ah- I refuse to tackle this issue. I'm writing like chewing on gum. Which reminds me of a sound on the bus the other day that repeated itself often and sounded like Chewbacca and I couldn't resist laughing.

One of the movies was an anthropological/ scientific movie about a mother with 3 kids. The cameramen were hanging out in the apartment just shooting this mother feeding, clothing, bathing, etc her babies. The movie was about the mom because she supposedly had a disease that made her indifferent and not very affectionate. She didn't seem unusually course, but she also didn't seem very affectionate.

Anthropolgical movies are a funny notion to me. Only certain people can have anthro movies based on certain other people. Of course it's rooted in the tradition of university, which is rooted in a whole other set of traditions in itself. Can you be an anthropolgist studying your own people or people wealthier than you? Do you have to be looking for real scientific conclusions or can you just be a hunter and gatherer of stories that yield no true results.

CAT GETS BEAR

2006-06-14T19:10:00.000-07:00

This story is from the BBC News!!

Tabby cat terror for black bear

Jack the cat is possessive about his territory, his owners say
A black bear got more than it bargained for after straying into a family garden in the US state of New Jersey.
The unwelcome intruder was forced up a tree - twice - by the family pet, a tabby cat called Jack.

The terrified bear was only able to make its escape when owner Donna Dickey called the hissing cat into the house.

Ms Dickey said Jack liked to keep a close watch on his territory and often chased away small animals, but one of this size was a first.

"We used to joke, 'Jack's on duty', never knowing he'd go after a bear," Donna Dickey told local newspaper The Star-Ledger.

"He doesn't want anybody in his yard," she added.

The bear was first spotted in the tree by neighbours who thought the 15lb (7kg) cat was just looking up at it.

They then realised the bear was afraid of the cat.

After some 15 minutes, the bear descended, but was chased up another tree, before finally making its escape when Jack was called indoors.

Bear sightings are not unusual in the area of West Milford in New Jersey, which experts say is one of the state's most bear-populated areas.

Hurra

2006-06-14T06:02:00.000-07:00

So, a week ago today I saw Hurra Torpedo, which the top kitchen appliance band from Norway. They played until all of their instruments were totally destroyed and they nearly died from exhaustion. It is definitely worth checking out. The band buys ovens, freezers, washing machines, etc and plays the appliances until they no longer will produce sound, and then the band members pass out atop a heap of rubbage. The highlight was when the drummer took a giant wheel and smashed an oven, then picked the oven up and put it on top of another oven. All of this was happenining to the tune of “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” The thing that separates this show from other variety shows was the vibrancy and rawness. They weren’t just random people in blue sweatsuits, you could really see the individual personalities. The drummer was the joker; he slobbered on his to complete the impersonation of a tango dancer. He was also lead smasher. The base gutarist was more hippie-like. He liked to put things on his head and pretend to fly around. Lead guitar was the serious one.

So, after the show, I got to talk to fellow blogger misspiggyslunchbox guy. You should check out his site for more pictures and info on the show. Well, I’d write more but I’m getting ready to go on a roadtrip . . .

CITY SLICKERS

2006-06-09T08:29:00.000-07:00

I took this picture last summer at the farm where I work in West Oakland. West Oakland is sort of a rough part of town, sort of a beautiful part of town, and a part of town where the administrative decisions have been top-down for centuries: Meaning, wealthy people who don't live there decide what happens. Then NIMBY's' get it their way when they build a freeway, BART tracks and a post office sorting center(a block's worth of people were displaced for this) through West Oakland's main commercial street. The KKK's have got their way as well. I'll explain in another segment this weekend.

These girls are the daughters of one of the best dads I've met ever. Very cute and smart kiddies. We killed the old rooster and made coq au vin.

RECIPE FROM OUR MOM

2006-06-08T00:00:00.000-07:00

FRENCH TOAST BAKE

Ingredients
1 pound loaf French bread, cut diagonally in 1 inch pieces
8 eggs
2 c. milk
1 ½ c half/half
2 t. vanilla
¼ t. cinnamon
¾ c butter
1 1/3 c brown sugar
3 Tbl. Light corn syrup

Directions

1. Butter a 9 x 13 baking dish. Arrange slices of bread in the bottom.
2. Beat together eggs, milk, cream, vanilla and cinnamon. Pour over bread, cover and refrigerate overnight.
3.Preheat oven 350. In saucepan, combine butter , brown sugar and corn syrup; heat until bubbling. Pour over bread and egg mixture.

4. Bake uncovered for 40 min.

Human-Animal Harmony

2006-06-06T10:29:00.000-07:00

This is the picture of an indian boy feeding a canadian elk a lollipop. I found it on the internet and saved it for my perusal and now I'm re-posting it to our world's wide web. A reddish-brown elk in yellow grass leaning towards a remarkably smaller mammal- a human toddler. The file name says this child is an Indian.

I've inferred several things one of them is this, tell me what you think: The elk leans towards the child because he's scared of humans, yet he loves lollipops. Lollipops are actually a technological confection that couldn't have come about without trade, sugar plantations, production lines, fossil fuels/ petroleum products (to color the lollipop, but maybe the elk doesn't care about the colors) and trucks/ boats. This elk is dependant on humans if he wants to get a lollipop. His clunky hooves and huge bulky body would never do the trick. And human slavery in the plantations and production lines is so far-fetched from his rugged natural habitat. Is the elk even a "he"? Tell me what you think...

Do I sound naive when I ask- is this picture truth or fiction? Was it drawn from a photograph? It was done from a photo that is obvious to me- but did this actually happen, or was it 2 photos - one of an elk, one of a child - that were merged in the painting to create what had previously only existed in the artist's elaborate imagination. Tell me. I'm dying to know...

Death Kit :: Susan Sontag

2006-06-04T15:34:00.000-07:00

And right you are Ginevra- Listen up all of you reading this blog... this blog... this blog ((((echo))))
Look forward to some hot hot writing from the multi-talented queen of art and science, Ginevra.
And from me- thoughts, like trash blowing in the wind, of a random nature.

I am writing at this moment to disprove my perception. The whole reverberation of Susan Sontag's book "Death Kit". Reality is below ground in this book. I have an old copy with an awesome font that inspiresme to create my own font already. I haven't read any of Sontag's books about images, like "On Photography" but I have been wanting to for a while and this book might just be the final push that I needed.

The story is of a man who has lived a life of indecision- he got a degree in medicine, and was always interested in literature. He is a rising star (if you can call a high-end salesman a star) in his company which sells microscopes ((image cognition abounds throughout, down to the cheesy symbolism of the blind girlfriend, a symbolism which I believe Sontag is skewering- or is she a player in the blind symbolism game? will I ever know?)).

His llife is ordinary>> despite his success in business he is depressed, and lonely too. Tries to kill himself. It seems like a typical plodding modern novel about a detached modern man.

Until he gets on the train that stops in a tunnel, the lights go out, he goes out and kills a workman who is tearing down a wall- or so he thinks. He's not sure. He confesses to a (blind) woman who he was secretly lusting after before the tunnel. To his surprise she says that he was sitting across from her and couldn't have possibly done it, plus to his surprise she wants him so bad that she drags him into the bathroom caveman style and they do have sex.

OK, so it still has that moderny-seeming trend- like hitchcock- not to use the pigeonhole technique. but there's this nice surrealism going on that feels Derenesque. The blind symbolism is kind of nice because it speaks to how people who don't use their eyes can't judge and organize objects based on visuals (not good or bad).

Many other things happen between reality and under reality, including the story of Wolf Boy and droll office pitter patter (en vogue in commercials nowadays), nice walks in the sunset and blood & guts. Feels like a POSTmodern rennovation of Dostoevsky's "Crime and Punishment" replete with Freudian fenestration- on how we perceive life, the inner and outer realities coinciding- and how visuals (real and imagined) impact our perception. Perception sometimes meaning how you organize things like past events, self, love, and it's all mumbled up.

And does Sontag leave it jumbled/ organized because that's real to her- or am I just too lazy to really go in and figure it out. I'll never really know because it just so happens that I am too lazy to find out. And reading is my hobby, not my serious doctorate. Why don't I just read romance novels and whatnot then, since I'm not willing to truly find out what I'm reading. I think romance novels are harder to decipher than art intellectual novels. CIA code-crackers get to work on that every day on the romance genre as do stereotypical women who enjoy that.

And by the way- Sontag has some beautiful ways of writing and these ways make her writing a must-reads.

Why Ginevra is writing this blog

2006-06-03T18:13:00.000-07:00

I wanted to write a blog to improve my perception. If I am writing something that someone else might actually read, I’ll want to do a good job, so I’ll think about it. As a result, I’ll take a closer look at life in search of something insightful. Of course, that is purely selfish, but in these matters one should first consider one’s own needs, then those of others. Like the stewardess said, you are supposed to put on your oxygen mask before assisting small children. Maybe my insight will help someone else find insight, and good will beget good.

So, why write a blog with my sister Regina? She caught me on the phone at a good time and I said yes. Since she’ll read it, maybe she’ll get insight from what I say and start seeing things my way (ha!). If you are into watching girl-fights, you should follow this blog. We are doing this experiment to see if we can communicate effectively this way. If so, maybe we’ll get somewhere interesting. Communication is the transmission facts and ideas (my def). The only reason to really bother with it is to alter the way in which one views the world: either by becoming aware of new facts, altering ones view of known facts, or by simply being surprised that someone else could see things so differently. Regina usually surprises me, but every once in awhile I am inspired.

All I can tell you is what I plan on blogging about and how I plan on doing it. Maybe Regina will do the same thing. Since I am a chemist and Regina and artist, we’ll probably write about art and science. It’s likely that I will write about how I became a chemist; maybe Regina will write about how she became an artist. I will write about growing up in a family of artists. I will write about my experiments and my plans to make a family of chemists. The blog may evolve, fizzle, or go up in flames. Only one way to find out.

why we are writing a blog

2006-06-03T12:59:00.000-07:00

THis is a blog about 2 sisters, a chemist and an artist. Both are hard-headed, yet peace-filled. ...THIS IS THEIR STORY