Wednesday, September 26, 2007
The long vine across my window reminds me of something bad that happened this morning. A woman with long, thick, hot hair boarded the train and left her mane resting on my bare shoulder and arm. I tried to move away from the hair, but the hair kept moving toward me. Tickle Tickle. Obviously, the backpack rule should apply to long hair: if you've got it in the back, please move it to the front. I don't want to wear your hair.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
It's time to panic about class tonight. Teacher (me) cannot get the tech working, and conversations about the reading have gone flat. I am overpreparing, which may make matters worse. And then there is the whole issue of finding something to wear without bra straps hanging out.
Youngna and I are getting started on our Newtown Creek project, now that the EPA officially declared the Exxon spill worse than previously thought. We're looking to interview people on top of the ooze if you know such folks in Greenpoint.
After eating pickles, pizza, pie, and other things that start with "p," I lectured Deb and John on "cheerleading in the 1980s." I had no idea the subject was so pressing until I launched into a three-part comparison. Unfortunately, I could only remember the first part, in which I demonstrated the very robotic motions of early '80s cheers (My sis was a cheerleader. "Cheer for the Lancers, Get into the beat!"). I was trying to get to modern-day cheerleading, which involves more spirals, gyrations, and ass. I never got there. The new Kanye album makes me want to do an aughts-influenced "cheers," with big ass.