Martin High School Lip Dub

First of all, this is not my school, but it is a school in my school district. I thought the project was pretty amazing and definitely did it's job of promoting school unity.

Martin High School Lip Dub 2010 from Tricia Regalado on Vimeo.

More than 3,600 students and staff at Martin High School recently participated in Lip Dub 2010, a music video filmed in one take without any breaks or cuts. The project was an effort to increase school unity and school pride. Martin was the first high school in Texas to film a schoolwide lip dub and had the largest on record. Read more about the project in The Warrior Post or watch the video.

Regarding London

Regarding London:
There is so much hopping around in my brain right now that blogging seems ridiculous. But then maybe that's the point - the idea that I can be relatable, appreciated, and, I admit, loved in a virtual world. Not that I'm not sincere - most of the time - but that the chaos of life (who I am in this life) can be ordered somehow in an 8x4 computer window is outright silly.


And now for the old college try... whatever that means:

1. Shaun of the Dead is real.
Rich and I were in London during several work days, and it looked just exactly like the movie when people were commuting to work in the morning - zombies and regular folk alike - and one would be hard pressed to tell the difference between the dead tired and the truly dead. The tube was full of silent carriages, the only movement an occasional yawn, and even that kept to a minimum because a yawn would be proof of a living being. I tried not to look around ( a dead giveaway that I was a tourist), but I couldn't help but laugh.. thankfully, silently, when I then remembered the slipping on the brains part of the film. To make matters worse, this advert decorated nearly every tube station:

For the record, the zombies in the picture are WAY more enthusiastic than the ones commuting to work. These must be the after 10 zombies.

2. My mother was right.
Cars are weapons and we only get one chance. That was the line she fed me when I was a teenager. At the time, I knew that probably she was right, that I didn't really want to find out, and that hopefully God was on my side, especially since I had gone on practically every youth group mission offered. It turns out, that all she had to do to teach me the validity of this lesson was put me in a car in England with my husband. (sigh)

I'm not saying (ahem) that Rich is a bad driver.. He's just a bad driver in England. In his defense, I practically badgered him into it, reminding him that it was my birthday and that it could be romantic to visit the countryside and picnic near the sheep. It might even be fun, I intimated, to get stung by the nettles and have to look for the leafy cure which, as we all learned years ago in England when I got stung on my backside during an ill-timed bathroom emergency at Hadrian's Wall, is always nearby. We compromised. We took a train out of London and into Oxford where we rented a car and drove through the Cotswolds. It was a gorgeous drive, minus the honking and the curb brushing, and we learned how to utilize round-abouts (kind of), we learned about how to fill a tank with gas (not so different), and we also learned that driving in England is a stress to our marriage and that probably we should stick to train riding. The kind folks in Stow-on-the Wold would agree.

3. I am possibly the most lazy blogger in the world.
Actually, the photo pasting is kind of a nightmare here and my patience is waning. So here's what I'll do: Speed blogging followed by a photo montage, hopefully in slide show format:


* We saw some excellent political/modern art at two fantastic galleries - The Saatchi Gallery in a posh part of London and at the ICA where we viewed a political Russian opera film called Dissent while reclining in beds.


*We took a day trip to Canterbury - made the Pilgrimage, Chaucer style, yo! (minus the donkey/horse riding, the lack of bathing, and the story-telling)- and had a moment of silence for Thomas Becket on the alter where he was murdered. We also witnessed a bell ceremony there in remembrance of all soldiers. I couldn't help but marvel at how American it seemed.. or possibly how British we still are.


* My friends, Mark and Ilham, took me out to lunch at a fantastic open-aired cafe for my birthday and then the next evening took me, a Texan, to a Mexican restaurant called La Mexicana, co-owned by a native Mexican and a Turk, who employed a blond haired, fantastically sarcastic Canadian. All three - the Turk, the Mexican, and the Canadian - wore sombreros and sang Happy Birthday to me in front of a mural depicting a cowboy screaming "Yee Ow!" See, this is why I love Mark and Ilham. They thought to take me to that awesomely surreal place, and it wasn't that weird to them.


*We watched ping pong matches in St. James Park. Had I known ping pong was a free-for-all sport there, I totally would've played. Next time..


* We visited various pubs, including the good-ole standby - the Black Friar- and ate all kinds of horrifically bad for you pub foods, including fried fish sandwiches and a plowman's lunch. Of course there was shepherd's pie (duh), but sadly no bangers and mash.We declined the invitation to "go out back" to the bar-be-cue at the local pub near our hotel where it was perfectly acceptable behavior to roll around in the floor with puppies. I can't begin to explain that - the puppy part - except to say that it happened, and we tried not to stare at the coin slots. Seriously. At the time I was worried about looking all touristy.. but in retrospect, it just grossed me out.

And now for the montage:

4. London is my favorite place on the planet.
We spent a huge amount of time walking around the city and then taking the tube back to our hotel. We ran across several fantastic sites, including the Victoria Rail Station and a car boot sale (where I bought a purse). Mark even took me on a tour of his school - yet another reminder of how same we all are.

Voices I (hope to always) Recall

I'm going to miss my International Baccalaureate class dearly. They are graduating seniors and are off to college next year. This week ends our two year journey together, and I am incredibly humbled by their gratitude and appreciation. I love them. A lot.

As a concluding assignment, I asked my kids to write "This I Believe" essays (in the same form as NPR's 1950's program) - Christine's brilliant (as usual) idea. All of the essays are special - inspirational and personal - because they define what's important to the kids right here, right now. One of my kids, Lauren, wrote a particularly insightful essay about the importance of internationalism, especially regarding education. Her words are poignant and universal. Please enjoy this incredible wisdom from an 18 year old kid:

When I started high school, I was basically a loser. I wanted to get in and out as soon as possible, putting in the minimum effort. I didn't think I had much to learn. I could read and write and I knew what I thought about, well, everything. I knew what was right and what was wrong and what needed to change in the world. I still have a moral code. I know what needs to change. But everything else is different.

I started in International Baccalaureate (IB) flat-out disagreeing with a lot of people in it. With their ideologies, political views, study habits even. I also started out wanting to get my diploma basically to prove that I could. I still thought I knew everything, and after two years of the same ole, I figured I needed to do something challenging before I died of apathy.

And now? I still disagree with a lot of people about a lot of things, but my beliefs - and how I view theirs - have altered drastically.

This I believe - if we are to achieve world peace, we must first seek world education. Universal teaching, not necessarily of the same curriculum, but of the same ideal: that people must learn how to think. They must learn to think for themselves, and they must learn to question those thoughts. Every culture in the world gives their children a different beginning. Every country, every village, every family. Each child begins with a foundation, but to question it, examine it.. And to be willing to change it.. How we know what we know?- Theory of Knowledge (TOK) asks. And that's the most important question anyone will ever be posed.

I don't care if every kid learns Mandarin because that's not really the universal language, is it? There will always be translators of words. The hardest thing is to translate thoughts. Beliefs. How do other people think? Where are they coming from? Where are they standing? A lot of wars have been fought over that kind of translation.

I started out headstrong, and I ended up in love with diversity. I'm pretty much a firm believer in learning through experience. I feel like if every student spent two years in class next to a girl as lovely and compassionate as my friend, Yassmin, there would be fewer idiots in the hallways telling jokes at her expense. I believe that if one in a hundred classes could include the incredible variety of human thought that each and every one of ours does - this is what we do where I'm from; this is what my religion says; this is how we think differently, and the same - there would be a lot fewer hate crimes and stupid remarks and just horrible ignorance in general. There are kids in this country, state, and city who barely even see people of a different ethnicity on a daily basis. How on earth are we supposed to be a global community if we don't even get what our neighbors are saying?

I really didn't care when I began this programme. And then it started to sink in: what IB means, and through that, what education means. And I started to care. I know other apathetic students could, too. I believe that if everyone had to go through this - essentially write a college-level thesis in high school, have discussions in every class, research and study with every resource available like their lives depended on it - they would love learning, or at least take a little pride in their educations. I believe that no one would ever fault their child for wanting a college degree, or two, or four, nor would they confuse academia with elitism.

So, yes, I believe in IB. Me, my classmates, my teachers - we could really change the world because whether we realize it or not, we know what to do. I believe in education and yes, even TOK. I believe in myself, and I believe in all of the future CEO's and presidents, and diplomats I share math class with.

This I believe.

This post was inspired by the Loose Bloggers Consortium, a small and feisty(!) global community. We write weekly on a common topic (Voices I Recall, this week) and post responses - all of us together, simultaneously, from all over the world. (Lovely!) Please visit Anu, Ashok, Conrad, gaelikaa, Grannymar, Judy, Magpie 11, Maria and Ramana for other wonderful posts.

Women International - March 8th

Dear Friends,

A hundred years ago, a group of women got together and decided we needed a day to celebrate women globally, regardless of our marital status, our ability or inability to have children, regardless of who we are in age, color, or where we come from. In countries like Bosnia and Herzegovina, every man and boy gives a flower to each woman and girl on International Women’s Day.

We all have envisioned a day where women will speak out and speak up, to break their silence and demand peace, justice, and more equality in this world. A hundred years have gone by and women have accomplished a lot in legal protection, political and economic representation, education, and so many other areas. But the road to full equality for women is still long, and our vision of justice and sustainable, full peace in our lives has yet to come.



On behalf of our sisters who are meeting on March 8 in Rwanda and the DR Congo, our sisters who are meeting in Bosnia and Kosovo, our sisters who are meeting in London and Sydney, and our sisters in over 50 cities, I am asking all of you to join me, Women for Women International, and women around the world on a bridge on that day. I ask that we, women from all over, consciously take the time out of the working day and our personal life to celebrate International Women’s Day.

It is a time where we will join the drumming beats of drummers, our own drums, and our own heartbeats. A time where we can march, tie our fabrics together, celebrate who we are and what we have given to our families and societies, and more than that, demand an immediate peace and an end to all the wars that are going on in our lifetime and are destroying many lives.

Women need to stand and speak up because:
* 80% of the women in Bosnia and Herzegovina are unemployed when they enroll in our program
* 75% of war casualties are women and children
* Women produce 50% of the world’s food and only own 1% of the property
* 82% of the women in our Afghanistan program are illiterate
* 70% of the women in our DR Congo program have had their village attacked

These statistics show women are disproportionally marginalized in the world. It is time to change that. It is time to speak out. It is time to break our silence. It is time to demand peace and justice. It is time to join on the bridge.
Please join us. I know I will be at the Brooklyn Bridge at 12:00 pm on March 8th. Bring your drums. Bring your fabric. Bring your dreams.

Let us make that day a day the time to celebrate our womanhood, our voices, our contribution to society.

For more information on all of the bridge meetings around the world, please visit www.womenforwomen.org/bridge.

In sisterhood,

Zainab Salbi

Founder and CEOWomen for Women International

Greg Mortenson is my Hero

I heard him speak yesterday, and he is wonderful!

Faith

There was a horrible car accident on the street right outside of our school this morning, as the students were arriving for the day. The tell-tale signs were the varying pitches of wailing sirens -the low honking of the punctual fire trucks, the persistent two-toned police car whine, followed by the sing-song savior/bearer of bad news ambulance - and eventually the nosey news helicopters that whirred overhead. For an hour or more I listened to the horror outside.

The kids who were milling about in the halls ambled their ways to class, a little more quiet than usual, feigning nonchalance. After all, high school kids can't appear to be bothered by much, including by whatever obvious apocalypse that may or may not be occurring on their doorsteps. I could see that their eyes were a little wider than usual.

The PA system announced that we were to let our students in our classes without tardy paperwork. There was, "a horrible accident" in front of the school and traffic was stopped in all directions.

I feigned nonchalance for a different reason - the one that dictates that if the leader is calm, the crowd will follow. I silently took inventory of which students I saw in the halls, those who made it to class, those who didn't make it to class (my breath caught), and of those who weren't in class, those who were rumored to be the "bad" drivers (holding my breath). In the halls I took a silent teacher roll call and cautiously sighed in relief when I recognized that my department - the English folks - were present and accounted for. Not that any of that truly mattered. We all know that there is no reasoning when it comes to "horrible accidents." Without knowing any details about the chaos outside, and while being completely aware that for someone, somewhere - probably too close to home for it to ever be ok - the world was crumbling into irreparable pieces, I steeled myself, trembling, and began the routine assigned for the day: roll call, warm-up activity, instruction, assignment.
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Perhaps this is the definition of faith -the place where the world in shambles meets standard procedure or expectation.

I once had the fortune of hearing Archbishop Desmond Tutu speak at a local university, and though I drive his message into the ground on this blog, it has become sort of a mantra for me on difficult days. "The world," he explained, "is good. How do we know it's good? Because the atrocities are still horrific to us. That's how." The horrific things- the murders, the scandals, the things that leave black scorches on the face of the earth - are newsworthy because we can't believe things like that can happen. The lovely things, in contrast - mothers caring for their babies, people checking in on one another, people praising each other for accomplishments and surviving the shit - that's what is normal. And here is where we find proof (and comfort in knowing) that the world is good.

I suppose in a way this is the concrete faith for which we are desperately searching. It's easy to dismiss people, to say, "You can't trust people to do the right thing or to make the right choices,"or "We're just going to ruin the planet" or the economy or the country or other people or whatever it is we feel like we've got a stake in or control over. For the collective, perhaps these are worthy accusations. But for the individual... Think about the folks around you - friends, family, teachers, grocery store clerks, neighbors, etc. and then weigh your findings.

If you ask me about my specific faith, I land somewhere amid the God inspired, majestic mountains and man-made chasms of the Abrahamic faiths and serene valley of Buddhism. I'm not sure how, exactly, to classify myself. What I do know is that whatever faith people in my school building proclaim (we are a very diverse campus) we were all hoping for, praying for the same things - that our loved ones were accounted for, and that whatever was happening outside would be bearable for whomever it was happening to. Understanding that commonality is a type of faith for me - a faith in people, more specifically, in the good in people.
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It turns out that a school bus carrying 11 kids (aged 14 and under) hit a motorcycle cop who had just made a routine traffic stop. The gas tank on the bike exploded, killing the officer on contact and creating pandemonium. All of the people on the school bus were physically unharmed. The counselors from my high school rushed to the scene amid all of the wailing sirens, boarded the bus, and ushered the little ones out. They acted as immediate trauma counselors for them at our school, even though the kids were from other schools. Emails were exchanged all day about how our faculty was so thankful for the counselors and for the officer on our campus, that all of the police department was wholly appreciated for the constant vigilance and protection.

Individuals taking care of other individuals.. I, thank God, have faith in that.

This post was inspired by the Loose Bloggers Consortium, a small and feisty(!) global community. We write weekly on a common topic (Faith, this week) and post responses - all of us together, simultaneously, from all over the world. (Lovely!) Please visit Anu, Conrad, gaelikaa, Grannymar, Judy, Magpie 11, Maria and Ramana for other wonderful posts.

BeadforLife

I'm in Florida at a conference for work today and was pleasantly surpirsed to see advocates for BeadforLife selling necklaces and bracelets in the lobby of the hotel! Their necklaces and bracelets make excellent gifts, and Christmas time is the perfect occassion to help people in need. Here's What BeadforLife is about:


BeadforLife eradicates extreme poverty by creating bridges of understanding between impoverished Africans and concerned world citizens. Ugandan women turn colorful recycled paper into beautiful beads, and people who care open their hearts,homes and communities to buy and sell the beads.The beads thus become income, food, medicine, school fees and hope. It is a small miracle that enriches us all.




Our beaders and tailors are primarily impoverished women who are hardworking, intelligent, and strong in their desire to improve their lives. They make gorgeous handcrafted paper beads from recycled paper and turn them into necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. Because the beaders use recycled, colorful paper, the beads help prevent environmental degradation. What was trash becomes beauty, money, food, and hope.
Click here to see how a bead is rolled

Our goal is for our members to be independent of BeadforLife within 27 months by being able to support themselves within the Ugandan economy. To assist members in launching their own small businesses or in creating new revenue streams, we provide entrepreneurial training, facilitate savings accounts, and make business funds available.

I addition to buying and selling the beads, BeadforLife sponsors Community Development projects in health, vocational training for impoverished youth, affordable housing, and business development. These projects are supported with the net profits from the sale of the beads, and support not only beaders, but other impoverished people living in Uganda. See how many people we have touched in our first years.

BeadforLife is guided by the following principles:

Creating businesses and jobs through entrepreneurial development is a more sustainable approach to poverty eradication than providing aid. Rather than becoming dependent on handouts from abroad, members build their skills and long-term capacities through meaningful creative work.

Concerned citizens in resource-abundant countries care about the issues of extreme poverty and are willing to get involved.

Paying the members fair trade prices allows them to meet their daily economic needs. Investing 100% of our net profits in community development projects for impoverished Ugandans allows for a long-term sustainable future.

Working together enriches all of us.

The Advent Conspiracy

The story of Christ's birth is a subversive story of an upside-down kingdom. It's a story of promise, hope, and a revolutionary love that is still changing the world to this day. So, what happened? What was once a time to celebrate the birth of a savior has somehow turned into a season of stress, traffic jams, and shopping lists. And when it's all over, many of us are left with presents to return, looming debt that will take months to pay off, and this empty feeling that we somehow missed its purpose.

Is this what we really want out of Christmas?

What if Christmas became a world-changing event again by turning our focus back to the birth of Christ? What could happen to your family if this focus was celebrated in loud, bold and totally unexpected ways? What if you could actually trade your season of stress for a season celebration and unbelievable memories with your friends and family? What if all of this could save a life at the same time? It can.

Welcome to Advent Conspiracy
Learn more at www.adventconspiracy.org

The Women's Bean Project

Speaking of Christine, last Christmas, one of the gifts in my goodie bag was some cookie mix from a group called The Women's Bean Project. I peripherally knew about this organization, but decided to do some more investigating when I finally made the cookies. I at least owed it to Christine who always puts so much thought into her gifts. It turns out I'm glad I did my homework, and now I'm eager to support them. In fact, I plan on doing some of my Christmas shopping at their site this year. The cookies were awesome and the cause is fantastic!!
Check it out*:

Their Mission: To change women's lives by providing stepping stones to self-sufficiency through social enterprise.

Their Vision: Women’s Bean Project strives to break the cycle of chronic unemployment and poverty by helping women discover their talents and develop skills by offering job readiness training opportunities.With this stepping stone toward success, the women will be able to support themselves and their families, and create stronger role models for future generations.

Whom They Serve: The women hired at the Bean Project have histories of poverty and unemployment; they lack hope and self-confidence; most do not have a GED or high school diploma; most are single mothers and have been on public assistance; many are recovering from experiences with substance abuse and incarceration.Women find the Bean Project many different ways, but most often are referred by graduates and current program participants.

Parole officers, shelters and other service agencies all refer women to the Bean Project.

What They Do: The Women's Bean Project is a social enterprise that offers a transitional job in gourmet food manufacturing designed to provide immediate income, arrange support services to overcome barriers to employment, and teach the job readiness skills needed to get and keep a job. Program participants come from backgrounds of chronic unemployment and poverty, and the program helps them develop the work and interpersonal skills needed to function independently in the workplace and community.

But the Women's Bean Project does not hire women to make and sell bean products. We make and sell bean products to hire women.

Women produce the goods that are sold nationwide as they develop the work and interpersonal skills needed to function independently and effectively in the workplace and community.

The Women's Bean Project:
* Meets basic needs and removes barriers to employment by paying a wage and facilitating support services
* Offers life skills that enhance a woman's ability to govern her own life
* Arranges services that increase employability such as GED and computer classes
* Provide hands-on training in the fundamental job readiness skills required by entry-level employers

Why They Do It: The tools gained during their stay at the Bean Project empower women to create better lives for themselves, provide their families with hope, and contribute to a stronger community

* As listed on their website

People in Common - Democracy in Action

The following gives voice to a lovely message and movement going on in London. Please enjoy this from my friend, Mark:



I think I'll go for a picnic next week end..

Hat Hazard

"Pink polka-dot panties, a black lace bra, and a cowgirl hat," she mumbled to herself the next morning. Then she smiled.
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Three days before, she sauntered into the camp castle, relieved after a hot day in the adobe city where she and her cohorts had found what would soon be known as the infamous cowgirl hat. They had wandered aimlessly about the town, stopping briefly to visit the oldest church in the country and to peruse the sparkly trinkets in shop windows. They stumbled into and out of little side-street bazaars and nooks, where natives laid out their wares and promised handmade authenticity for every piece: necklaces from Chiapas, rugs from Pakistan, stained glass wind chimes from Texas, baseball caps poorly stitched with the town logo in the colors of the local flag.. and on and on and on.

It was among the scarves and bags that she found the hat shop. She had almost given up on buying anything until the shopkeeper knelt down to the lowest shelf and dug out one last dusty item - the hat.

It was inexpensive, as far as hats go, but had a little bit of flair and a lot of moxy. "I want to feel free this week," she thought as she pushed the hat down on her head. "I want some dazzle in my life - some turquoise and whimsy." She felt that wearing a new hat might alleviate some of the drudgery of her life, some of the monotony and heaviness that having responsibility brings. "Yes. A hat might be just the thing to help change a person's outlook," she thought. She adjusted the brim a little and then shyly turned to her friends for their honest appraisals.

Their faces lit up. "That's the one," the first said, the other nodding in agreement. "A very nice pairing."

Two men walked by and turned their heads.

"I'll take it," she declared.
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The camp grounds were stunning. After a long journey, it was pleasant to see what would be home for the next week. The main building - the castle - was perched mid-mountain among the fragrant pine trees and weathered rocks. Beautiful, parturient rain clouds crept across the sky, heavy and confident.

"Here is where God lives."
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They were there for work. At least that's what their employer paid for. Truly, the day sessions were great- alive with collaboration and nuance. Each member of the circled group shared their varying ideas - good ones, ones that could logically be implemented into any strategy. Each supported the others, and a bond of friendship and trust enveloped the group. Work definitely got his money's worth that week and more. The members of the group were natural friends - all of them - which meant that after the work, playtime beckoned with her coy little index finger and a smirk! What could they do but heed her invitation? Yes. Of course they had to go.
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Each evening was it's own entertainment, as is likely to happen in a place where God lives with clouds and trees, rocks and camaraderie. Dancing, games, frolicking and hiking, and all around revelry claimed each night. "It's Carnivale!" they cried, understanding both the frivolity and danger of making such associations. Everyone was wearing proverbial masks. Everyone embraced the freedom in their spirits. Everyone danced for the first time in years.

That's why she had to do it.

There were natural hot springs down the trail. Until the last night she had successfully resisted them. She had been envious of the ones who went the night before, who had been caught in a torrential rain storm, but who were tucked snugly into the warmth of the springs, enjoying the juxtaposition of the earth's sulfury pools and the sky's refreshing version of the same . The last tie of responsibility - of being married to an expectation - was wearing thin. This was her last chance to be frivolous this week. Plus they were begging her to go, and they were being very persuasive.

Perhaps it was the intoxication of being wanted that sealed it.

Under the light of a glowing moon in an electrified air, she ran to her room to find something to wear. She hadn't brought her swimsuit. She hadn't brought any shorts. Really, it wasn't a huge leap to put on what she did. At the last second she grabbed her hat - confidence in turquoise and straw - and skipped out of the room to meet her friends at the hot springs.

She felt a little giddy at her own bravery as she shimmed out of her jeans revealing the pink polka-dots to them. Even more brave was the moment when her shirt came off, the black lace an adornment over her illuminated skin. Her last bit of resolve came from the moment she pulled the hat down on her head.

They were looking at her, men and women alike. She didn't care.

And then she eased herself down among them, smiling and brave, into the welcome arms of nature.

15 Books

The rules of this meme are:
Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen books you've read that will always stick with you. First fifteen you can recall in no more than 15 minutes.

My reaction: (stunned silence and then whispered) Too many to count. (Standing in front of bookshelf) How can I pick 15? You're all important to me. I mean, there's you, and you; you, and oh yeah.. I remember you.. Cheeky Mr. Lawrence.. Hmmm.

SO, in no order other than I love them, here are some books that were written especially for me to read (at least it feels that way), some with excerpts because I am bad at following directions, and revisiting my darlings makes me very nostalgic. Read just the big print if you don't have the time:

1. The Portable Dorothy Parker - Dorothy Parker (You know you're my favorite.)
"There's little in taking or giving,
There's little in water or wine;
This living, this living, this living,
Was never a project of mine.
Oh, hard is the struggle,
and sparse is
The gain of the one at the top,
For art is a form of catharsis,
And love is a permanent flop,
And work is a province of cattle,
And the rest's for a clam in the shell.
So I'm thinking of throwing the battle -
Would you kindly direct me to hell?"

2. Candide - Voltaire
Go and work in the garden.

3. Cunt - Inga Musico
“In Letters to a Young Poet, Rilke says, ‘The highest form of love is to be the protector of another person’s solitude.’ That’s what I want. For other people to love each other without having to partake in them, to possess them, to allow them to be their own inside their solitude, to protect that. I wish people respected each other’s aloneness” (Kristen Kosmas, from Cunt 153).

4. Middlesex - Jefferey Eugenides

5. The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde

6. No God But God, The Origins, Evolution, and Future of Islam - Reza Aslan

7. Slaughterhouse 5 - Kurt Vonnegut
[Billy] came slightly unstuck in time, saw the late movie backwards, then forwards again. It was a movie about American bombers in the Second World War and the gallant men who flew them. Seen backwards by Billy, the story went like this:

American planes, full of holes and wounded men and corpses took off backwards from an airfield in England. Over France, a few German fighter planes flew at them backwards, sucked bullets and shell fragments from some of the planes and crewmen. They did the same for wrecked American bombers on the ground, and those planes flew backwards to join the formation.

The formation flew backwards over a German city that was in flames. The bombers opened their bomb bay doors, exerted a miraculous magnetism which shrunk the fires, gathered them into cylindrical steel containers, and lifted the containers into the bellies of the planes...When the bombers got back to their base, the steel cylinders were taken from the racks and shipped back to the United States of America, where factories were operating night and day, dismantling the cylinders, separating the dangerous contents into minerals. Touchingly, it was mainly women who did this work. The minerals were then shipped to specialists in remote areas. It was their business to put them into the ground, to hide them cleverly, so they would never hurt anybody ever again.

The American fliers turned in their uniforms, became high school kids. And Hitler turned into a baby, Billy Pilgrim supposed. That wasn't in the movie. Billy was extrapolating. Everybody turned into a baby, and all humanity, without exception, conspired biologically to produce two perfect people named Adam and Eve, he supposed.

8. Frankenstein - Mary Shelley

9. Me Talk Pretty One Day - David Sedaris

10. The God of Small Things - Arundhati Roy
We're prisoners of war...Our dreams have been doctored. We belong nowhere. We sail unanchored on troubled seas. We may never be allowed ashore. Our sorrows will never be sad enough. Our joys never happy enough. Our dreams never big enough. Our lives never important enough. To matter.'

11. The Miracle of Mindfulness - Thich Nhat Hanh

12. The Red Tent - Anita Diamant
In Egypt, I loved the perfume of the lotus. A flower would bloom in the pool at dawn, filling the entire garden with a blue musk so powerful it seemed that even the fish and ducks would swoon. By night, the flower might wither, but the perfume lasted. Fainter and fainter, but never quite gone. Even many days later, the lotus remained in the garden. Months would pass and a [moth] would alight near the spot where the lotus had bloomed, and its essence was released again, momentary but undeniable.

13. The Awakening - Kate Chopin and The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath (What? They're small, so they count as one entry.)

14. Operating Instructions - Anne Lamott
She's tiptoeing into the very beginning of some sort of relationship with God, or with a higher power, or something, but it is very hard for her to believe...I recommended that she think of all of the women who have most adored her in her life and to come up with a sense of God based on that kind of love, on the same protectedness that it gives you to be loved by a really fine woman, a sense of some mysterious regenerative force at the center of things that is maybe just love. She said with great surprise, "I didn't know you could DO that," and I said, "Oh yeah, you can do anything you want, " and by this morning, she'd found a picture of a big cat licking a little cat. She's a great cat lover, and it stuck. So at the hospital this morning, as she sat in the doctor's office getting the chemo IV, and then as she sat around at home all day waiting to become Linda Blair, she said she'd picture this big cat licking her gently and carrying her in its mouth to safer places.

15. Beloved - Toni Morrison (especially the fixing ceremony)
"after fixing herself on a huge flat-sided rock, Baby Suggs bowed her head and prayed silently. The company watched her from the trees. They knew she was ready when she put her stick down.. Then she shouted, 'Let the children come!' and they ran from the trees toward her.'Let your mothers hear your laugh,' she told them, and the woods rang. The adults looked on and could not help smiling.

Then 'Let the grown men come,' she shouted. They stepped out one by one from among the ringing trees.'Let your wives and your children see you dance,' she told them, and groundlife shuddered under their feet.Finally she called the women to her. 'Cry,' she told them. ' For the living and the dead. Just cry.' And without covering their eyes the women let loose.

It started that way: laughing children, dancing men, crying women and then it got mixed up. Women stopped crying and danced; men sat down and cried; children danced , women laughed, children cried until, exhausted and riven, all and each lay about the Clearing, damp and gasping for breath. In the silence that followed, Baby Suggs, holy, offered up to them her great big heart.She did not tell them to clean up their lives or to go and sin no more. She did not tell them that they were the blessed of the earth, its inheriting meek or its glorybound pure.

She told them that the only grace they could have was the grace they could imagine. That if they could not see it, they would not have it.

'Here,' she said, 'in this here place, we flesh; flesh that weeps, laughs; flesh that dances on bare feet in grass. Love it. Love it hard. Yonder they do not love your flesh. They despise it. They don't love your eyes; they'd just as soon pick them out. No more do they love the skin on your back. Yonder they flay it. And O my people, they do not love your hands... Love your hands! Love them! Raise them up and kiss them. Touch others with them, pat them together, stroke them on your face... You got to love it, you!...

This is flesh I'm talking about here. Flesh that needs to be loved... and the beat, the beating heart, love that too. More than eyes or feet. More than lungs that have yet to draw free air...hear me now, love your heart.' Saying no more, she stood up then and danced with her twisted hip the rest of what her heart had to say while the others opened their mouths and gave her the music. Long notes held until the four-part harmony was perfect enough for their deeply loved flesh.[She] wanted to be there now. At least to listen to the spaces that long-ago singing had left behind."

If you read this (especially you who tagged me first: P-ta, Fougs, and Russell); TAG! You're it!

What will you do when the zombies come?

Hang a banker? I think that's the right response. It is according to these folks:


And the follow up newscast:


*Thanks to Mark for the links.
For more visit
http://www.g-20meltdown.org
http://newsov.org

I don't know why the comments don't work when I post videos.. If you want to comment on this one and don't have the option, leave it on the previous post. Sorry for the inconvenience.

Update In Maturity

We actually scrambled for a babysitter at the last minute and found one - a girl from my class.

I said to her, "It might be a late night. We'll leave at 8:30 and be back at midnight."

She said, "OK, that's cool."

I said, "But it's really late. Are you sure it's OK?"

She said, "Um. It's not that late. I'm a teenager, remember?"

I said (silently), "Oh right. I'm a codger.."

So, we managed to get the baby ready for bed, at which point I usually crash. Instead, I put on my heels, smudged some color on my lips so that I would have a better shot at looking less like the undead, and with a couple of Red Bulls in my pocket for support, we headed to Cafe Rembrandt in the BIG City where we saw Tweedle Dee play in his Elvis Costello tribute band.

I was pleased to note that at 11:30 I wasn't ready to leave, but because I'm true to my word (and because I have to see the babysitter bright and early on Monday morning), we were home by midnight.

Ready, Steady, Grow!

I love this idea out of the UK. Check it out! Rich and I are hoping to start our own food garden this season, but I realy like this:

Get Growing was set up because we are passionate about growing food, concerned about climate change and peak oil, and would like to support people in London to have greater control of the food they eat.

Get Growing is a social enterprise based in Hackney. Our aim is to:

* train people to grow food using natural methods, with the use of structured sessions and learning materials
* establish a social network for participants through which experience, knowledge and resources can be shared
*increase awareness about the dual challenges of climate change and peak oil and how our food choices can reduce our impact
* build stronger, networked communities that are ‘climate resilient’
* increase access to a variety of fresh local food and help people to make healthy food choices – local, seasonal, fresh
* promote physical and mental well-being through gardening
* beautify space through implementing well-designed gardens, and inspiring others to grow food at home
* enhance biodiversity within urban areas
* encourage recycling, composting and water saving.

We wanted it to be a social enterprise as this allows us to be more sustainable by combining business rigour with the ethical principles of a non-profit organisation. Through the securing of grants we are able to offer our services to more people.

"Oh to be in England now that [snow] is there.."

Proof that London is still magical
(A warm thank you to AFP for this).