Dearth of Chivalry.

Really. It must be completely dead in the general population. I was retuning to my car after school, crossing Capitol Boulevard/Ninth Street. The day was hot, somewhat muggy, enveloped in the fumes of at least five lanes of traffic. Heat radiated from the concrete. I was crossing the last few feet, surrounded by my colleagues, my co-instruction seekers. Fellow students of all genders and creeds. Just before we reached the beckoning sidewalk, I heard several quick thumps. I turn around, in case it was my recently acquired books. Alas! So it was.

I knelt speedily, my bare knees pressed into the tarred surface, and began to refill my errant bag with the recently lost articles. I was hampered by people stepping past, by, and even over me. I was able to get out of the road before a hasty Jeep barely bothered to swerve around me. I glared at their backs, the polo-shirted, cargo-panted cad, the Slipknot-torsoed scoundrel, and the V-necked, faux-label bag betoting villainess. (There were others. I choose these three to bear the weight of public scourging.)

Home, home, home.

Am v. pleased to be back in the great desert wastes. While the climate of the Bay area is superb, the array of ethnic restaurants dizzying (Mem: Am fond of Peruvian food. Who would have guessed it?), and the hammock a great distraction, all my people are here.

Off to prepare for school.

Annoyed by little bimbo camp counselor.

Surrounded by palms and what appears, to my eyes, as papyrus. Cool shade.

Children and monkeys have more in common than one would think. But some are adorable enough to make up for it.

Smoked whitefish for lunch. /parevegasm

Smoked whitefish for lunch. /parevegasm

Winding wool, listening to the Dead, awaiting the aeroplane.

So, this is what I spent Saturday doing. That is a silken banner, hand-dyed to my own heraldic specifications. The gent on the left is my good friend Gomez, who offered his masculine charms in modeling the hedgehog-and-pomegranate studded bit of windcatchery.

Pfrancing

So, it looks like I have a lot of dancing ahead of me. Which is good, of course. I love to dance, and could definately be in better shape.

As of tomorrow (Tomorrow? Tomorrow!), I will be taking actual lessons in Raqs Sharqi, for which I am very excited. Between that and Baronial dance practices, and the upcoming Yoga and Judo classes for which I'm enrolled, I should be a beast, come this winter.

Not to mention, of course, the movement-, theater-, and dance-related Jewish day camp I'm helping with next week, for four to eight year olds, which should keep me a-moving for nearly eight straight days. Eek. I have to pack for that.

Capuccino at the park, waiting for fighter practice. Listening to zoo sounds. Almost a trumpeting. I wonder what kind of beast it is. Maybe a tiny elephantine creature. There's an oxymoron.

Wicked and Bad

A wicked, detestable girl. A gin-soaked wreck of maiden's fair promise. A braying slattern, fit only to be the lowest of orange-girls.

I had a martini lunch. Admittedly, only one martini, but still. I feel so . . . well, I feel '60s sophisticated, 1740s antiquated/degraded, and 00's medicated.

Gin martini, straight up, with a twist.

In defense of Fantasy literature for Adolescents

So, tonight, midnight (I know it's Shabbat. I'm . . . learning about being more observant) is the release party for the new Twilight series book. From what I hear on the radio, opinion among parents is divided.

"She's respectful to her parents, and daring! Good role model!" say the legions who read the series right along with, and quite as voraciously as their daugters.

"What are they talking about? She seems entirely ruled by her emotions and these books build up insupportable expectations in girls of the perfect boyfriend! He literally glitters! Also, it's gay." say the detractors, who would rather their daughters wear burkha and not read at all or wear cheerleading costumes and read The Rules.

In most cases, I always come down in favor of reading. So far, the only exceptions are things that are disgusting lies. (Examples include Unfit for Command and anything written by the loud, Horse-faced troll or the shanda-far-die-Goyim, schrunchy-faced troll.)

Also, I think building up impossible expectations in children might be a good thing. Lord knows I had them. And you know what that accomplished? Keeping me a nondating virgin for much longer than many of my contemporaries. Frankly, why do we want teen and pre-teen girls (the book's demographic, which I don't, ahem, expressly fit into) settling for anyone or anything? Let them keep their knees tightly shut beneath their books for a while longer.