Wings Are for the Birds

Good Bye!

2010-07-08T09:57:00.001-07:00

Dear friends, anonymous readers and lurkers alike,

It has become clear to me that "Wings Are For the Birds" no longer represents a collective experience that I can relate to in my new phase of life. Post-graduation, post-near-nervous breakdown, I have reached a place where some very lofty and long-term goals have been met and final chapters have been written. I am no longer trying to squeeze in glib clips or interesting photos between assignments or ruminating on the inhumanity of life and the pursuit of happiness. While certainly I encounter frustration on a daily basis and still carry a passion for socio-cultural criticism, I am no longer in a classroom where material is being forced and my voice being sculpted by another's pen. It's all me, baby.

That said, I hope you will join me at my new blog, Present Perfect, and follow along as I undertake some new and exciting circumstances in the coming months and years. I look forward to dedicating more time, thought and positivity to the blog realm.

Best,

Kimberly

World Cup- England 1, US ...1?

2010-06-13T05:36:00.000-07:00

Caroline
I liked that our goal was based on the goalies butter fingers muaaah hahaha

Me

ohhh yeah

i feel really bad for that guy

i mean, we'll take the win

i mean tie

but he s getting lambasted in the media

5:42amCaroline

I am sure he got a super wedgie after

The Finer Points of the Stomach Flu (It's Not What You Think)

2010-06-07T19:35:00.000-07:00

Don't you hate when authors use that afterthought? 'It's not what you think'. As in, my writing is not compelling enough to hook you in to my ideas, no matter how unoriginal, but here's an idea that will mask that fact!

But seriously, I've got the stomach flu and it blows. I am currently in my 50th-plus hour of the sickness, holed up on Tim's couch with a bevvy of delights in front of me- Ritz crackers, Gatorade, Ramen (just the broth, not the noodles) and Sprite- and I do not feel well. Though the un-eating has subsided, the eating itself has not yet begun, either. So here I sit, in stomach-pain purgatory, wishing the little demons in my abdomen would stop it with the cheese graters, already.

I am trying to embrace this experience as much as possible. After all, at no other time in my life do I get to spend so much time on the couch, glued to the TV, with my parent's encouragement. Plus, my GI tract does not negotiate with terrorists. So I can get mad, or I can get cozy and ride this bitch out.

I spent the whole day on my parent's couch yesterday, watching the "Law and Order Co-Ed Killers Marathon" (I'll just let you contemplate that one for a moment....) and catching the semi-finals of the Women's College World Series. Now, I am not a particularly big baseball or softball fan. In fact, when it comes to televised sports, baseball ranks about as low as golf on excitement. But, I do like almost all sports competitions. And you can bet if I am going to be sequestered to the couch, I will watch a hard ball game on TV. And it's going to be softball. And it's going to involve the Lady Cats. Why? Because they're awesome.

But I am not going to discuss them now. The Lady Cats deserve far more attention and far less Ritz crumbs than I am able to provide in my current state. Plus, I am currently watching game one of the Championship series and finding it hard to simultaneously write and scream at them. However, I can discuss what has been overwhelmingly relevant in my life in the last 48 hours without much energy output because I have had quite a bit of time to sit on it (literally) and ponder.

And that is this: The unique quandary of the stomach-flu stricken coffee drinker.

Essential to this problem are the intersectional elements that combine to create quite the conundrum. That is,

The stomach ailment: the source of extreme abdominal discomfort that constuitively creates a siuation where food or liquid must be very bland (or not comsumed at all) and activity is restricted to wretching over a bucket or sprawling on the couch.

The composition of the desired consumable: Delicious. Acidic. Not mass produced**. Umm... Dark. The first three are key, but all four seem to discount coffee from the acceptable digestibles.

The physical, spiritual and emotional effects of ingesting said consumable: Better circulation. Euphoria. Relaxation. A sense of Rocky Balboa-style I-can-take-on-anything-barefisted-ness.

The physical, spiritual and emotional effects of NOT ingesting said consumable: Headache. Sweats. A sense of damnation. Despair. Muderous impulses. AND

Lack of suitable substitutes to get through these conditions per the criteria above.

Or, the cliff's notes version: coffee is both a routine and blissful part of my day. Un/fortunately, it is habit forming and has physical consequences when not ingested. Call it an addiction, I call it necessary. And in the case of the stomach flu, not having coffee makes me contemplate ending it all, because by its very nature, successful consumption relies on the stomach to be in fairly good working condition. My stomach is sitting on the couch in briefs living off workman's comp.

A love for coffee is a beautiful thing. Coffee is a divine beverage. It's composition builds character. It is right up there with the nectar of the gods, the juice of the jehovah, the fountain of life. It takes the drinker to heights undiscovered and elevates to a state of nirvana.

Or it makes you want to die, if your stomach is under the weather.

**There is an assumed level of coffee proficiency and standards in the criteria.

Stuff I Like, pt. II

2010-06-04T10:10:00.001-07:00

NiceNeatNecessarykNowledge

Stuff I like... Cats N' Bike

2010-06-04T09:41:00.000-07:00

Pictured: Happy thoughts.

Summer, Lately

2010-06-03T15:16:00.001-07:00

Kitters assuming her afternoon nap alter-ego: The Trashball

Bell Peppers, Danver's Half-long Carrots, Roma Tomatoes

Petunias, doomed Lavender. Not pictured: Sweet Basil

The cappucino at Luce- I may or may not have

taken a sip before I was able to capture its

beauty. It's Soy. Of course.

My brother looks so handsome in his doctoral graduation

outfit...and crab bib.

GRADUATION!

Things have finally settled down in my little sphere of existence. This week, I had the chance to scrub my bathtub (!), mop my floors, clean my kitchen, sweep my patio and finally shelve stacks of textbooks. These banal tasks were significantly satisfying because I had to budget time and energy during the last weeks of college and the inaugural days of summer- the cleaning account got no love or deposits during this time. Those that know me well are aware that I rely on a clean kitchen in the morning/evening, a working coffee pot, and a tidy room to sleep well at night. Beyond that, dust collected, the tub got a little dirtier and my patio looked more akin to the sahara than a space for commiserating and leisure time. In other words, if it didn't make me hyperventilate to see less than clean, it got the kabash in the daily routine.

In addition to giving attention to these neglected tasks, I also undertook a new venture in yard maintenance: cactus wrangling. Over the last few months, as Tucson received unseasonable amounts of rain, a certain large cactus next to my house, who we will call "Burb" in light of its species (Burbank Spineless), has grown to Hulk-sized proportions and slowly taken over my walkway, roof and some power lines in the complex. I have had several close calls with "Burb", missing s/his racquet sized pads by inches with various parts of my body. On Monday, though, things came to a prickly head with Burb. Literally. I walked strait into a wrath of pads, covered not with spines, but little pokey baby hairs, akin to hundreds of splinters. Adding to the injury of the encounter was the simultaneous verbal protest issued by Tim in the process, causing me to flail about like a half-seized spazz and forcing the contact of my face, forearm and right hand into the mix. If it had not been painful and traumatizing, the whole scene would have been hilarious. Once I calmed down enough, Tim took a look at my limbs and face and proclaimed that I had quite a bit of baggage sticking out of my extremities. To which I responded by stomping back to the house and seizing the tweezers for an hour-long, semi-successful removal session of Burb's five-o-clock shadow(s).

The incident alone would have been enough for me to decide to take action against my encroaching friend, but the missed hairs stuck in various parts of my body provided a constant reminder of the necessity of scaling back Burb's sphere of influence. I undertook this task yesterday.

Luckily for me, I possess of some heavy duty gardening gloves, certain saw-shaped bike tools, Google and an iota of creativity. The first two were used to protect my supple flesh from anymore unwelcome encounters with Burb's fuzz. The second two were put to use researching effective ways to remove the pads from the cactus without causing harm to the plant at large, as well as looking up the ways to prepare nopales. I don't know if Tim and I will actually get around to cooking the cactus, but I imagine the satisfaction I'd feel ingesting something that caused me bodily/psychic annoyance in the past would be significant. You know, kinda like Hannibal.

Here's Burb.

I know, wtf, right? He's like the Barry Bonds of cacti.

C'man

2010-05-28T07:24:00.000-07:00

ONE female athlete out of EIGHTEEN on Breakout Athletes of 2010? Fuck you, SI. It's 2010. Those statistics take us back to 1970.

The State of My State

2010-05-18T17:32:00.000-07:00

I've had a few weeks to internalize and watch, with horror, the fallout from the ratification of SB 1070 in the state of Arizona. Needless to say, between the passing of this bill and continued reports of the Bp drilling catastrophe, it has been very hard to retain my faith in the greater human race. (Misanthropy, anyone?)

Possibly most disheartening for me is not the people who speak in support of SB 1070, but those liberally identified in other states who are all too willing to bash Arizona for the bill. And while Arizona does have a history of problematic legislation pertaining to racial-profiling, immigration, etc, it is certainly not the loony bin, racist land-o-plenty that lazy commenters make it out to be on media sites. To assert that Arizona is an island of racist policy and people, disconnected from other exceptional, and purely republican entities in the United States, is not only essentialist, it's flat out inaccurate and ignorant.* (However, this is hilarious).

I understand that I move in fairly radical circles, or did at least during my time in the Gender and Women's Studies department at the University of Arizona. And while I was accorded the privileges of being able to intellectually dissect the origins, genealogies and power structures that allow legislation like SB 1070 to pass with substantial support, I also participated in several conversations and rallies outside of the academy with individuals who wholeheartedly did not support the bill. In fact, it seemed that most people I talked to could not fathom the logic behind the bill. Social networks and privilege aside, it seems that a great deal of people in Pima county did not support the legislation. And still, statistics were being thrown around by pundits that quoted up to 70% of the population in favor of SB1070.

Where is the disconnect? And what am I supposed to do at this crucial moment of social and cultural upheaval in my state? My professor from the US/Third World Feminism course I took this spring recently wrote a piece for the Ms. Blog touching on Arizona's complex history with border politics and socio-cultural racialization of immigrant populations. In addition to addressing the current campaign to end ethnic studies in Arizona schools, she declares her solidarity with those groups, individuals and companies that have denounced SB1070 and boycotted Arizona economically.

I am proud to see such outspoken, visible and disseminated dissent being articulated and published. Prof. Guidotti-Hernandez provides an example of praxis: taking theory and intellectual discussion and putting it to work actively for the purpose of creating an alter-narrative. In this statement, Guidotti-Hernandez counters the voice of the racist, Arizona resident that is being forwarded in left media. In addition, she sets an example for young people like myself who wish to put their strengths and abilities to use in the realm of criticism, dismantling and positive action. As she states,

"We need to invest in the future of Arizona by donating time, energy and money to local organizations (like some of those above) to fight the good fight and show that we can triumph over racism. We need to fund education, not bankrupt the state with racial profiling. And we need to stop misunderstanding ethnic studies as a field of intellectual inquiry. There has to be something better than this current atmosphere of suspicion and hatred."

Nicole Guidotti-Hernandez's poignant article reminds readers that the passing of SB1070 in Arizona is not simply an example of singular, isolated racist policy. Instead, the political climate in the state is a microcosmic articulation of a larger trend in all states that illustrates for everyone how economic disaster, cultural xenophobia and fear can be manipulated to disenfranchise particular groups of people under the guise of security and economic safe-guarding. Or, to put it another way, it is no coincidence that SB1070 was able to pass in Arizona, given the current economic, political and social climate in the United States as a whole. As a country, we are dealing with a major case of "oh fuck" syndrome and it is in this climate that fear mongering prevails.

That is not to say that Arizona does not have issues that are particular to the state because of geo-political positioning. Certainly, immigration issues are exasperated by the constant tension between US antagonisms and the clashing of populations with racist policy at the border. But to distance what is happening here from greater structural failings in our country's legal, judicial and economic system belies exemplary cases of historical amnesia and academic laziness.

As Prof. Guidotti-Hernandez also points out,

"People are scared, uninformed and disenfranchised, feeling helpless about the economic future of the state for their children. With the passing of the immigration and ethnic studies laws, we are seeing that fear materialize, directed at Mexicans and other Latino immigrant groups–who are seen as illegal no matter what their actual legal status–instead of holding accountable the state that has forsaken us".

To wrap up, what I hope to see more of in the future is commentators and critics in other regions evaluating the state of affairs in their own communities in relation to Arizona's policies for the purpose of creating dialogue and identifying the greater social and political structures that makes these laws possible. Displacing the blame to Arizona citizens only serves to add to the exceptionalist discourse that maintains the imagined autonomy of state and federal governments and scapegoats populations with no positive result. In Southern Arizona, we've got a huge battle ahead of us in the campaign against SB1070. The best way everyone outside of Arizona can help is to support those in dissent, while educating themselves about the issues within their own communities.

And help us. Or get off our backs.

*Citizens and politicians residing in Tucson have been some of the harshest critics of the new laws, spearheading a movements to take judicial action against SB1070. Raul Grijalva, state congressman-D, hosted a protest at his Tucson offices the day after the bill was signed into law. I stood on a street corner in solidarity with thousands the day Jan Brewer provided her signature for the bill's passing.

Top Ten

2010-05-12T19:45:00.001-07:00

It should be mentioned that I have been contemplating the contents of this post for a while but up till now have had neither the occasion nor time to actually put in into writing. I figure my last day of college is as worthy occasion as any other.

Below are the top ten records that I spun during my transformative super senior year in college. Some are newer records and artists, while others lay hidden in my library undiscovered till this year. Each resonated deeply with the events, emotions and experiences I engaged with during the last six months. I am forever indebted to the artists for their inspiration, entertainment and comfort.

Enjoy.

Top Ten Albums

1) The XX- xx

2) Neko Case- Blacklisted

3) Neko Case- Middle Cyclone

4) Florence and the Machine- Lungs

5) Bon Iver- For Emma, Forever Ago

6) Freelance Whales- Weathervanes

7) Lady Gaga- The Fame Monster

8) Local Natives- Gorilla Manor

9) Discovery- LP

10) Emily Haines and the Soft Skeleton- What Is Free to A Good Home? EP

Honorable Mention: Mew- No More Stories Are Told Today..., Dirty Projectors- Bitte Orca, Paramore- Brand New Eyes, Taken By Trees- East of Eden, Yeah Yeah Yeahs- It's Blitz!

And for good measure:

Top Twenty Jams

1) The XX- Islands

2) Florence and the Machine- Drumming Song

3) The Black Keys- Meet Me in the City

4) Emily Haines- Rowboat

5) The Knife (in collaboration with Mt. Sims)- The Colouring of Pigeons

6) Neko Case- Deep Red Bells

7) Neko Case- Outro With Bees

8) Neko Case- Pharoahs

9) Freelance Whales- Generator (First Floor)

10) Local Natives- Wide Eyes

11) Yeasayer- Love Me Girl

12) Drake ft. Lykke Li- Little Bit

13) Mew- Introducing Palace Players

14) La Roux- Bulletproof (Zinc Remix)

15) Taken By Trees- To Lose Someone

16) Aceyalone ft. Z-trip- Everything Changes

17) Lady Gaga- Bad Romance

18) Dirty Projectors- No Intention

19) Yeah Yeah Yeahs- Hysteric (Acoustic)

20) LMFAO ft. Lil' Jon- Shots

Honorable Mention: Kid Sister- Right Hand Hi, Pitbul- Shut It Down, Lil' Wayne ft. Nikki Minaj- Knockout, Jay-Z- Death of Autotune, Brazilian Girls- Don't Stop, James Yuill- This Sweet Love, The Dream ft. Fabolous, Juelz Santana, Rick Ross & Ludacris- Rockin' that Shit, Radiohead- 4 Minute Warning, AmpLive- Weird Fishez/Video Tapez

It's Been A Long Trip...

2010-05-12T12:58:00.001-07:00

Welcome to Earth.

Sars

2010-05-10T18:45:00.000-07:00

I just checked and none of the links in the post below work. So, sorry. Looks like Blogger and UA parking and transportation are launching a two-pronged attack to take me down. Bastards. Elaboration later.

Starbucks Now Has a 'Happy Hour' for Frappucinos

2010-05-10T17:58:00.000-07:00

There are so many significant and symbolic events taking place right now! I would like to give each attention and recognition. However, as is usually the case, they all seem to be happening at once, or at least in rapid succession, so the processing, blogging and time dedication I need to talk map out each is nearly impossible at the moment.

After this weekend, the storm will be passing over and I can begin to pick up the pieces of my social life. So stay tuned for posts in the next couple weeks.

Until then, I am deep in the throes of Terrorist Assemblages. For anyone interested in getting a well-rounded and highly deconstructed perspective on the current global political, economic and social shit-storm, I recommend this book above all others. The only caveat is that it is extremely dense (as all great analyses is) and very jargon-heavy. For anyone not familiar with queer theory, post-colonial critique or third world feminism, it may be miserable and impenetrable. But do it anyway.

Or at the very least, read this interview with author Jasbir K. Puar.

After the two days of brutal bike racing and traveling that was my collegiate national cycling experience (six days in Wisconsin total), I am starting to feel normal again. I was able to sleep 14 hours last night and ease in to the day. Right now, I am sitting on prime real estate in Speedy Cunt (my neighborhood coffee shop), slowly doing the last of my undergraduate feminist analyses that will earn me that coveted piece of paper on Thursday evening.

I am the little engine that could. Toot toot.

T.G.F.T.B.a.S.F.B or Thank Goodness for Tiger Beatdown and Snarky Feminist Bloggers

2010-04-26T12:10:00.000-07:00

Because the campaign for adding boner to colloquial conversation just got a huge donation.

SADY: It is a regular BONER PARTY, out there on the Internet. And it makes my lady boners wither away in despair. Though not really! Because also, I keep blogging. At this point, mainly just to piss them off. Do you hear that, Feminist-Blog-Hating Internet? YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR FEMINIST BLOGGING!

AMANDA: The world will never shrink this feminist boner!

Exactly.

Cool Out, Dood.

2010-04-19T07:05:00.000-07:00

It's cloudy and breezy outside- a rare early-morning scene for Tucson in April. What's the saying.. "April showers bring May flowers"? Not in Tucson, folks. Here in the 520, February showers bring March flowers, and by May, those suckers are suffering under the weight of 95-100 degree temps. I think April is generally a dry month for us, anyway. Which is great. The less it rains during the Spring, the happier I tend to be. A friend recently said that with every degree the temperature rises, he loses a place in a bike race. Despite being a pale creature, I thrive in blazing sunlight and warm rising. Think of me more as a Pale Fire. The higher the thermostat, the better I ride. I chalk it up to all those years on summer swim team and 3:30 pm cross-country practices in September where sometimes my body would lose control of its heating and cooling systems from the heat strain. It wasn't pretty, but if I gained anything from cross-country, it was a resilience in high-temperature competition. And a sense of humor regarding peeing your pants. More on that later, though.

I did not sit down to write with a sense of purpose today- instead, I simply want to record some wandering thoughts as I sip my routine twice-poured cup of coffee before heading out on a Monday cruise with Matt. These clouds look pregnant with moisture, and I am hoping they hold out on dropping water bombs until our return around 10am. After that, they can do what they want.

Last night, as I was turning in for the night, I contemplated a quick entry in my book but thought better of it when I realized I only had one eye open and was straining to stay awake. In those five seconds of hesitation, though, I returned to a thought I have had frequently over the last six months. The forms vary, but the thought is always surrounds the concept of selective reflection. Over the course of my life, especially prior to this year, I have very rarely recorded to better parts of my existence- large and small successes, victories, laughter, smiles, bright thoughts. Even those stories that I wanted to remember fondly were usually imbued with some sort of trouble in the moment. And I have wondered about this a great deal. It is not surprising that I have used my personal writing and reflection as catharsis over the course of my existence. And certainly, a great deal of my life has been dictated by the inability and struggle to manage conflicts, disappointment and hurt. But my life has by and large been no different than most human being's in my encounter of those emotions. I've encountered unexpected death of friends and family, addiction, depression, psychosis, disappointment, personal destruction and mutilation. But so have many others. And I do not wish to undermine the pain that I have dealt with, because it would be a disservice to my self and a lie. However, I do think it deserves constructive reflection and scrutiny in order for me to gain an understanding in how I constructed and perpetuated the cycles of depression I was so accustomed to experiencing.

At this point in my life, there are so many wonderful things to be acknowledged and reflected upon. And I have learned, SLOWLY but surely, that the act of articulating and piecing out "what's good" is not merely a recording of the bright spots, but an exercise in personal affirmation that reinforces what is working in my life and how. With a more concrete idea of those working elements, I can more positively reflect on things that are not working so well for myself, and formulate a plan for altering my behavior and direction. Dr. G calls this concept taking something from the realm of thought into action. And though it sounds like some psychologist's cheesy mumbo jumbo, to me, it is one of the most profound and useful concepts that I have appropriated in the last six months.

So for today, here's to doing "what works" and the further exploration of that concept in life. For myself, it has been the best lens for viewing the world and taking part in its daily motions, rain, clouds or sunshine.

Does your crotch....Rawk?

2010-04-10T06:25:00.000-07:00

Mine does.

Hollow

2010-04-09T20:57:00.000-07:00

I was going to drop a few lines before turning in early, but after stumbling upon this, don't have much to say. Fucking unbelievable.

Two weeks after my teammate was run over by a truck in Phoenix, the cycling community loses another promising racer and rider. And another person loses a life over the misuse of a car.

Sigh.

Happy Wednesday, Love Me and Kitters

2010-04-07T07:17:00.000-07:00

This was taken just before Kitters dropped a snot bomb on me in protest of

our forced family photo. She wishes you well, really.

Ke$ha

2010-03-27T12:30:00.001-07:00

That's right, I bought Ke$ha's album, Animal.

And I fuckin' Luv dat shit.

Thanks pop music.

Congratulations Makko and Kathryn

2010-03-20T07:41:00.001-07:00

Last night, I attended the first wedding out of an anticipated many for my "kindergarten crew" friends. Makko and Kathryn were married in Tubac, forty minutes south of Tucson, in a beautiful, traditional, ceremony. There were about 200 guests in attendance, including yours truly. We started off with the reception at the chapel of Tubac Resort, then headed over the clubhouse for cocktail hour (club soda hour for me) and dinner.

First of all, the food was fucking fabulous. I enjoyed the cheeses at cocktail hour and two slices of wedding cake ( I had to try both kinds! C'man!) despite the massive stomach pains that were accompanied by the indulgence. Going to weddings as a college kid is kinda like Sunday dinner at my parent's house with more small talk and high heels. I always get my fill of the multi-coursed meals, enjoying the respite from the simple fare that I make for myself at home. Also, the parents of the couple (in this case, Kathryn's) spent a pretty penny for each plate, so it would be somewhat of an asshole move to simply have nibbled on the dinner.

(For the record, I had the salmon, and if I could high-five my December-Self for the selection, I would.)

The wedding service was a traditional Catholic mass, complete with call and responses from the priest (no hay, ho's, unfortunately) and hand signals. No matter what, I always feel like an actor on opening night who's script was missing a page at Catholic mass. I have a general idea of what to do and say from a loose upbringing in the Lutheran church (see watered down, rogue Catholics) but still manage to not know anything-about-anything that is going on around me. Likewise, I find some of the ceremonial performances carried out by the priests in Catholic Mass downright hilarious. Yesterday, for example, before Kat and Makko gave one another their rings, the priest took a baby rattle (Okay, it looked like it) and flung water on the rings a few times. My first thought was, "What the hell is he doing?!" and then almost immediately after, "No one said anything about a holy supersoaker". Which, of course, ensued inappropriate giggles and an obligatory, self-imposed mental time-out to get myself together.

ANYWAY. It really was beautiful in the chapel. It was a small, latin-crossed adobe style room with Southwest welded like fixtures, small clerestory windows and limited seating. The ceremonial processions, as well as the ceremony, were perfect for Kat and Makko. They are both very kind, down to earth people who grew in Tucson and who are "traditional" in the sense that they both have very supportive, large families who are rallied behind their relationship and seem to delight in their happiness as partners. The traditional ceremony was a great way for them to share the ceremony with everyone in a manner that was relatable.

That said, as much as I love weddings, I am not sure I could ever have a traditional wedding myself. First, I think I might giggle too much with the gendered and sappy language of the wedding vows that are the modus operandi of Christian-based weddings. (That's not even considering what would happen AFTER if the priest gave my wedding ring a holy shower. ) Second, it would not be an honest representation of myself or my partner to have a wedding with religious overtones. I completely respect the decision of many to get married in a church. For me, it would be an appropriation of ceremonial activities that I do not really relate to in my daily life. If there is anything I would want from a wedding, it would be an honest representation, celebration and sharing of my relationship as it exists on the regular. I'm sure I will have a father-daughter dance, for example, but my dad and I will probably be more likely to dance to mystikal than Celine Dion. (And if anyone tries to sneak in the Electric Slide to the playlist, I'm pulling the plug on the whole deal. I will probably have a bouncer on hand for this task alone.)

Last night was a great deal of fun for me, if only because I got to see two people who genuinely love each other, in what appears to be the purest sense, tell their loved ones that they plan to stay that way. No matter how you experience your own relationships, that basic tenet of human connection is palatable. If there is anything that moved me yesterday, it was simply seeing the way Kat and Makko looked stole glances all night when they thought no one was looking.

In many ways, though, the night was very emotionally and mentally exhausting. I am entering the fifth month of ascetic sobriety, and last night was probably the greatest challenge that I have had to my new lifestyle. Compounding the very presence of alcohol as a challenge was almost 20 of my very good friends and their families slamming drinks on the regular, not really providing much conversation that could distract me enough to not notice their single-minded pursuit of the evening. I tend very much to shy away from small talk if I can avoid it and my tolerance for socially acceptable integration at events like weddings is fairly low. I can manage, but it takes a lot of energy to maintain the calm. Throw in toasts, open bars, loud music... it's pretty much a sure set-up for a relapse. But, as the hours fell away, it got easier. Three club sodas and a diet coke later, I was able to take a deep breath and realize that like climbing a hill on the bike, the beginnings of a challenging situation are often mentally the toughest part.

As the night wore on, I realized that I did not want to stay overnight in Tubac and I came to the realization that I almost certainly could not stay the night and maintain a level head. I thought of my bike, my coffee pot, my cat and my dark and quiet room. Once you stop drinking and going out, it's amazing how even the sheer noise of being around a lot of drunk people is overwhelming. Around mid-night, as people were after-partying in one of the hotel rooms, the need to sleep in my own bed, drink my own coffee and ride my bike before noon became too much to handle. I said goodbye to a select few around 12:20 am, dipped out into the silent, cool evening, and headed back to Tucson. I felt sad and relieved. And so proud that I did not make the choice to drink.

My life is very different now and routines are the metronome's tick that keeps my days in sync. I rely on waking up early, pedaling my bike and spending time with myself in the morning to set the tone for the waking hours. I am in a calm and comfortable place in this new direction and lifestyle, and it has been hard ebbing away from the patterns, scenes and routines that used to throw the wrench in my emotional spokes. Last night, I felt outside of the energy and conversation that my old friends were experiencing. And that's a hard thing to experience. However, the self that woke up at six-thirty this morning is calm and relieved that I didn't stick around. I am okay not being in the center of the action socially. I don't go out much and I don't miss it. I wake up almost everyday with a calm heart, mind and body.

And that makes it all worthwhile.

p=mv

2010-03-15T12:08:00.000-07:00

Never underestimate the power of momentum. Or physics, for that matter.

I speak of this, of course, in metaphorical matters because brevity is not my strong point, and if I were to take on the perks of momentum in the physical sense (say, pedaling through the trough of a downhill to make rolling up the next climb easier) we'd be here all day extolling what should be fairly obvious.

But when it comes to momentum in my daily routine, sometimes the benefits are not so obvious and I have to remind myself. Or subtly not remind myself of anything and just let it happen. Usually momentum is already there, it takes your own ill-advised interference to slow it down or throw it off track.

I am coming out of this weekend with a great deal of momentum, even though it could be very easy not to. I made a lot of mistakes (noob amateur mistakes, in the bike racing** arena) and hit some barriers (not literally, thank god). However, as my favorite fortune cookie of late states, "Nothing is a waste of time if you use it wisely". And for all my mix-ups, I earned a great deal of learned experience. I can't say that I will "never" do something again, but certainly, I will be a great deal more conscious to arrive early to events, have a spare car key, etc. S'all part of the process.

Possibly the greatest achievement and point of pride for myself that came out of this weekend was the up-close-and-personal engagement I had with my spontaneous self. That is, the person that rides, speaks, hurdles, laughs or stands up for myself in a moment where anticipated response is impossible. My proudest moments from racing this weekend came in the situations where I was obligated to act without thought. I surprised myself and gained a great deal of confidence in my ability to encounter unanticipated adversity with creative and effective solutions. That part of me that policed my actions for so long for fear of embarrassing myself was silenced into submission by confidence that was gained each time I both acted and recognized performative problem-solving and hard-working capabilities.

So, as I woke up today, the first day of spring break, with nearly 13 hours of logged restorative sleep under my wing, I felt well. After a wonderful morning coffee conversation with my mom to start off the day, followed by a great interaction with my psychiatrist, lunch at home and the breeze blowing through my windows, I am feeling the collective momentum of a weekend of welcomed experience and riding the lightning of initiative I feel in my re-charged batteries.

It, my friends, is one of the greatest feelings alive.

**The race I speak of was the Tucson Bicycle Classic, a three-day stage race held every year in beautiful Sahuarita and Green Valley, Arizona.

Foundations

2010-03-08T06:19:00.000-08:00

Things I learned at Hillsboro bike race this weekend:

-Never rely on a hotel to have decent breakfast or coffee. Or have it at all, for that matter. Pack for the worst case scenario- ie: world is in flames. Bagels, medium roast, rice milk, natural peanut butter and jelly.

-Always take your own pillow. No pillow is like your own. No matter how much you drool on the hotel provided padding.

-Crying from exhaustion is okay, after you cross the finish line, at the end of a nine mile climb.

-Sometimes you're going to ride alone. Sometimes you're going to ride the whole race alone.

-Buy rain jacket- immediately.

-60 miles is too far on two bottles. Pack for worst case scenario: ie: riding bike race alone, in headwind, rain, mountains.

-New Mexico is beautiful. I kinda-sorta hate their bike races.

-It's going to take a while to learn how to time-trial. And experience.

- My UA teammates are amazing and fun.

-Despite a long, sad, hard day, I still want to ride my bike. And that's pretty cool.

Franz Fanon

2010-02-09T07:05:00.000-08:00

It's very hard to read post-colonial theoretical discourse when the Author's name invokes Rage Against the Machine lyrics. I'm trying to close-read and all I keep hearing is:

"So I grip the canon like Fanon and pass the shells to my classmates... Aw, power to the people!"

I wonder how many people who listen to Rage actually know who Fanon is?

Interesting

2010-01-28T07:11:00.000-08:00

Dem lawmaker: Congress could pass health reform if men were 'sent home' -

And as you can imagine, the comment section of the blog is full of manly support for this sentiment.

It's Fri-day... and We Ain't Got Shit to Do

2010-01-22T13:41:00.000-08:00

Afternoon breakfast: post-work out, post therapy:

Bananas Foster Bagel with Blueberries and Walnuts

1 sprouted-wheat sesame bagel, grilled with Earth Balance

1 Banana and 3 Walnuts, sauteed in 1 tbsp. honey, Earth Balance*

Handful blueberries, sauteed in remaining butter/honey*

Neko Case- Middle Cyclone Album***

*Fruit strategically placed on bagel halves for a well-presented, slightly messy, mouth-watering madness prior to devouring.

***Necessary soundtrack for full Bananas Foster bagel experience

UHHMMMMM! Nummers Nananers.

Due to the nutty weather and a late start on the morning, I headed to the new Rec center at the U of A to exercise prior to my counseling appointment. The U recently unveiled the new Rec Center expansion wing- which is a little mind-blowing considering the University cannot even pay its professors right now. ANYWAY, I was excited to get a glimpse at the new building and space. (There are a lot of theoretical criticisms on the concept of gyms that some feminist on my shoulder tries to whisper in my ear, but if I am to be completely honest, I love going to the these big modern sweat boxes.)

Particularly, I love new, modern gyms that have millions of ways to get my sweat and hard(body)on. And that being the case, the New Rec is a total boner-fest for the exercise nut in me. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows, multi-levels packed with weights, mats, state-of-the art machines and great space organization are all part of the experience. Most of the cardio machines even have personal TVs installed! And although I don't really get down with television during my sweatfest and prefer to listen to my i-pod, the option is pretty rad. There is also climbing walls and rocks for bouldering outside, and many other rooms/neat facilities I did not see in my brief time there.

I have avoided exercising on campus for the last 5 years, but the attractiveness of the new rec almost makes the visual rape I endure under the gaze of my peers worth it. I may have to reconsider driving 15 min. to LA Fitnesse for the new guy...

More sad news from Haiti: heard on radio reports this morning that lack of law enforcement is creating even more opportunities for violence against women. Rapes are being reported at a high number, particularly in Cite Soleil, where armed men are terrorizing displaced people still waiting on aid and supplies. Cannot imagine the panic and fear women in Haiti must be enduring. I am sure there will be discussions about the developing violence against women in Haiti tonight at V. Monologues rehearsal. Eve Ensler will know what to do- or at the very least, have something to say. I am so thankful to have the opportunity to discuss current issues amongst a group of women who are knowledgeable and care.

It Rained All Night. More to Come.

2010-01-20T08:06:00.000-08:00

It's been a while since I've chosen to express my written word electronically. Sure, every now and then I post a cheeky picture or a few terse statements, but for the most part I have chosen to keep my abstractions, daily musings and larger philosophical inquires confined to paper. I don't know why and I do know why. A lot of it has to do with time and convenience- I am often on the computer with a limited amount of time and attention. I don't want to cheapen the thoughts I have by writing out a few sentences and aborting and in the first trimester to make it to class or take a shower or hop on the bicycle. Or trying to eek out a complicated thread of inquiry in a few trite and pregnant sentences that ultimately end up cheapening the amount of thought I have given to certain subjects.

Most of the time, I feel a certain self-consciousness and skepticism about publishing my ideas on the internet because of their accessibility. I like to think that I write for myself. And I know that when I write on this page, someone will ultimately read what I have to say.

If I follow this unto its conclusion, though, I realize that the only difference between writing on a page and writing on the computer is the immediacy and guarantee that a second party will read what I have to say. Ultimately, in a small part of my being, I hope that someone will read the volume of "journals" ( hate the term- "ohhh... it my jouuuurrrnallll".. but you get what I mean). I mean, shit, by the end of my days, whenever that may be, I will be certain to have a small library. I think every person who writes, even the most private of us who swear to its personal content, hope and know that someone will read what they have recorded at some point. It's a mortality complex- a way to immortalize the things you have encountered, conjured, spilled, expunged.

So, you know, electronic or not, it really is not all that different. I do feel more connected to a pen and paper than a keyboard, though. There's no backspace in manual writing (and fuck you, I don't have an eraser- never write in pencil. Messy buggers).

I've been having trouble sleeping lately, the past week and a half to be exact. It seems I wake up every couple of hours and look at the clock only to find that time has slowed down even more and I still have hours until the auto-brew on my coffee pot clicks on. Psychologists and sleep experts say that one should use their bed only for naps, sleep and sex, but that poses a problem for someone like me who lives in a one-bedroom house and has very limited seating. I like reading and writing in bed. I suppose I could get a cot and make a mock bed in my living room- but that just seems like an inefficient use of the limited space I have- not to mention neurotic. There is the possibility that I am drinking too much caffeine, coffee, in the morning. I have felt slightly off from drinking too much in the morning- acidic stomach, heady, etc. But it's so good! And I love the routine. I just started using the auto-brew-alarm on my coffee pot. It's the only alarm clock that I have found that actually gets me out of bed. Go figure. I just need to find one that will pull me shots of espresso and sit on my nightstand... or squeeze me fresh oj... or have sex with me. (Don't think Tim would like that...)

The most plausible explanation for my shitty-wake-sleep state is the inconsistency of my sleep schedule. Workin' on it.

Ah, Haiti. Disaster. Death. Devastation. Poverty. The other day I was at the gym and an image flashed on the screen of riots in the streets over supplies and relief goods. It was violent, scary. The desperation was tangible. It made me nauseous and sad and panicky to even watch the footage- I admit that I had to look away. I feel so conflicted about the whole thing- the news coverage, the calls for relief and money and help, the attention. I truly believe that it is up to the rest of the world to help one another when disaster strikes- and I know that it takes money and supplies and energy to help and rebuild. But I cannot help but see the hypocrisy in the Mediocracy and the Government.

I mean, western capitalism (Neoliberalism) and American foreign policy is largely responsible for the pre-quake state of the Haitian nation. The poverty and lack of infrastructure that existed before the quake facilitated the magnitude of disaster caused by the quake. Of course 70,000+ people died- most of them live in houses made from refuse. Many never had running water, sanitation, health care or food to begin with. Worst of all, Haitian immigrants are one of the most, if not the most, rejected of attempted immigrants into the United States. Prior to the quake, Haitian immigrants were denied access to the US because of the "threat" of aids. Infected or not.

So now this disaster strikes and everyone, the government notwithstanding, is up in arms about relief efforts and helping these people?

....Hypocritical? Little bit? Throw money at them.. as long as they stay OVER THERE. Huh. It just seems that if we have a responsibility to our neighboring nations, it shouldn't take a disaster of this magnitude to garner the attention and aid necessary for these people to live. Especially if our foreign policy is to blame for the squalor in the first place.

All ethics aside, though, I do have to admit that I am impressed with the amount of response that has been generated by non-profits and the government. Hypocritical or not, money and supplies are what is going to help the survivors OVER THERE and for most of us, money is all we can afford to give to the relief effort. I wonder if transportation to US hospitals for the moderately-to-severely wounded is happening? Or how much that would help?

I feel different- I am different. I have changed a lot in the last six months. In two days I will celebrate three months of sobriety, three plus months of committed therapy, three plus months of a new direction in my life. And not just a new physical direction. In fact, I am in the place I started... call it full circle. Zero degrees. I am no longer in flight. I am sitting. Looking around. Not interpreting, analyzing. My heart is beating and for the first time, possibly in my life, it is not struggling. I am gaining confidence. My tides are not extreme. I have love and I can give it. I am only slightly afraid. I am content. I feel centered. Comfortable to explore new things because I know that the things that matter- a safe space, friends, family, my lover, are with me. I am not seeking to be great at something, something, something. I am studying what I love, writing about what I know, creating and writing about what I know and what I love. Not trying to be anything but me. Not trying to "figure anything out" or "working on myself". Just livin', man.

Kitters and I have been spending a lot of time together. We communicate with one another via eye contact, gestures. She responds to my voice and seems to know when I am around or not- even if she cannot see me. Anyone who says animals do not have a soul.. or compares animal intelligence to human intelligence could not have possibly cohabitated with an animal.

Had my first real illustration class yesterday with D. Christiana- I am inspired by his enthusiasm and honesty toward his student's creations. Nearly every class, I record a truism or two in my sketchbook that escapes his wise mouth and sheds some light on creating and the creation process. Christiana seems to take a more organic approach to illustration and teaching- that is, fostering the ideas and skills we already possess and proselytizing modes of teasing out our creativity. A loosening of our censorship and linear thinking. I am looking forward to evolving in my own artistic processes! I can see the improvement, already.

A short note on the sunflowers: Three plants, each taller than 3 feet, with numerous flowers, buds, beginnings. I planted these during my lowest point in September- seeds in leftover fast-food styrofoam cups. Now they are so big, I have to prop up the shoots and stems with sturdy branches or the weight of the flowers will topple them over. How's that for growth?

Hmmm. Lastly, I love Neko Case. No seriously, I love her. And her music. Thanks, Neko.

Hater

2009-12-28T07:39:00.001-08:00

Last night, I coaxed my mom's negative opinion of my hair past her reluctant social filter.

She was quick to add that she "admired my artistic vision", though.

I guess you can't expect everyone to understand the beauty and grace of a rat tail.

2009-12-28T07:37:00.000-08:00

Happy Holidays, fools.

New

2009-12-14T17:25:00.000-08:00

Therapy is...

Cleaning my bike with an ex's toothbrush...heh. heh.

Chet Baker. Someone special singing along to Chet Baker in my bed.

Cloudy skies and soy mistos.

Clutter removal. Folded laundry. washed dishes.

Beat Romantic. Beat heavy. Drum Beats.

Sore Muscles. Long Bike Rides.

The heart and the synapse.s. Seratonin Re-uptake Inhibitors (150mg, 2x daily).

Finishing the semester with swagger.

On A Clear Day

2009-11-16T08:26:00.001-08:00

Listening to Midlake and Mr. Bird...

Today is the second day this week that I could see my breath in the small hours of the dayn'night. It is finally getting cooler. Though I fear the frost may snatch away my sunflowers in the dark, I welcome its presence.

I woke up this morning in the 5 hour to finish some homework and had quite a bit of time to spare before class. I made myself a misto, put on some Rasta Root and cleaned up some details on painting number two in my ______ series. I am pleasantly surprised with the evolution and likeness of the second painting to that in my original vision. Whether or not the recipients are happy with the product, I see these works as a personal victory in my artistic career. I very much see myself in the figures.

I came home from morning class with a feeling of ease and peace. Baya (kitten) ran up to the door as I rolled up on my bicycle and we entered our safe haven together. Breakfast mess form the morning cleaned up now; I'm ready for an easy bike ride around the town in the brisk weather.

Holy Shit

2009-11-11T00:16:00.000-08:00

I DO play games with people. Not purposefully... but because I am afraid of my affection or interest coming off too intense. I am afraid of rejection. I am afraid of alienating people because I care, because I desire more. I am afraid of my own intensity, so I try and hide it. Coax it into submission.

Which really helps no one, because I am an intense person, whether I like it or not.

FUCK.

Life, man.

Evoking My Social Avatar

2009-11-08T21:46:00.000-08:00

There's nothing to be afraid of- but everything to protect. No longer reliant on a source of outward reassurance. Empty. Not full. Not scared. Not anything.

What is most primal in me in not summoned by ghosts or whispers. It comes from a sound, a drum, a rhythm. Beating. Dreaming. It's there. The passion that I fear will engulf me is that which will save me if I let it. And yet I must let nothing come between it and myself. Nothing to coax me into insecurity. No burning bush, long-haired snake or apple. It wants not. I waste not.

Amazing to realize that the person I thought I was, the things I wanted to be, are not me. I pretended I didn't have opinions because I didn't think I was entitled to them. I didn't believe in my experiences enough to rely on their feedback. I was ashamed of my emotional responses, suspect of my conclusions.

In the past I feared hurting others so fervently that I forgot that I also counted as a person. You can be told that over and over till your cup is full, but nothing will convince you. Only a disconnect between an essential physical being and a sentient, thinking self can create such a sad disjuncture. I look upon myself as someone looks upon a malnourished child, a crying best friend, a wounded lover. And I see such a shattered heart. It maps the states of my wandering.

It records my spite, my anxiety, my hurt, my love disguised as indifference, my lies. It carries no legend.

It is an empty window in my chest that carries no mass of burdens and also no hope. It merely sits and sings out the sorrow of neglect.

It is a black hole. A vengeful space that dares to swallow any who comes my way and steps on a fault line.

It is my heart. It is a good heart.

I carry no capacity for arguing or being patient for those that do not give. Simply because I have nothing to give, either. My energy, my love, my primal scream. My tender smiles, my flirtations, my prose and verses. It is all gone. And I do not mourn it.

I only hurt for myself. Cry for my Self. See myself rise and fall as one sees the tides in a crystal ball. I am contained and I am everywhere. I am level. No hate. No pain.

I cannot follow the same dance steps. Wear the same shoes. Follow a partner that lacks no grace. I merely sit and watch the time pass.

What is here today is here tomorrow and gone, gone, gone is my sorrow.

White People

2009-10-11T20:00:00.001-07:00

have you heard or heard of that song "tequila makes her clothes fall off"

7:52pmKaia

not yet??

7:52pmKimberly

well it's a stupid country song

and i was just thinking about it today.. don't ask why

and if some chump is going to get rich off of that stupid fucking line, im going to write a song that says "whiskey makes his dick limp"

7:54pmKaia

hahahahaha

7:55pmKimberly

that's it

thanks for playing party to my diatribe

Cats and Bikes and Rats and Rats and Rats for Candy

2009-10-11T11:28:00.000-07:00

Can't be mad at a weekend where I acquired a full adult banana suit, went to a wedding, made some huge steps in creating my revolutionary rad fem community, woke up naked everyday and committed some serious acts of social and linguistic terrorism.

I can't be mad, but my body is sure bummed the fuck out. It's a shame I cannot choose the synapses and thought patterns that get obliterated when I take my drinking seriously. Otherwise, the whole idea of re-booting my emotional and intellectual computer via booze would be trademarked by now.

I'ma go mainline some gatorade and get back in to functional adult mode.

And continue my program of single white female-ing every good looking gentleman and lady in this town.

Good talk.

2009-10-09T10:35:00.001-07:00

2009-10-09T10:34:00.002-07:00

2009-10-09T10:34:00.001-07:00

2009-10-09T10:33:00.001-07:00

2009-10-09T10:28:00.000-07:00

Friday.

2009-09-18T22:55:00.000-07:00

I planted sunflowers today.

All colors- red, orange, yellow. I put the seeds in styrofoam cups I saved from restaurants because I have anxiety over throwing away styrofoam. The planters are sitting in between rocks in the yard so they don't blow away while I'm asleep or off conquering the world or lost in my own thoughts.

Tired.

A. Lorde

2009-09-13T23:36:00.001-07:00

"How do you deal with things you believe, live them not as theory, not even as emotion, but right on the line of action and effect and change?

I had no sense, no understanding at the time, of the connections, just that I was a woman. And that to put myself on the line to do what had to be done at any place and time was so difficult, yet absolutely crucial, and not to do so was the most awful death. And putting yourself on the line is like killing a piece of yourself, in the sense that you have to kill, end, destroy, something familiar and dependable, so that something new can come, in ourselves, in our world.

And that sense of writing at the edge, out of urgency, not because you choose it but because you have to, that sense of survival- that's what the poem is out of, as well as the pain of my spiritual son's death over and over.

And once you live any piece of your vision it opens to you a constant onslaught. Of necessities, of horrors, but of wonders too, of possibilities... like meteor showers all the time, bombardment, constant connections. And then, trying to separate what is useful for survival and what is distorted, destructive to the Self.

********

I speak here of poetry as a revelatory distillation of experience...

For women, then, poetry is not a luxury. It is a vital necessity of our existence. It forms the quality of light within which we predicate our hopes and dreams toward survival and change, first made into language, then into idea, then into more tangible action. Poetry is the way we help give name to the nameless so it can be thought.

As they become known to and accepted by us, our feelings and the honest exploration of them become sanctuaries and spawning grounds for the most radical and daring of ideas. They become a safe-house for that difference so necessary to change and the conceptualization of any meaningful action.

This is not idle fantasy, but a disciplined attention to the true meaning of "it feels right to me". We can train ourselves to respect our feelings and to transpose them into a language so they can be shared. And where that language does not yet exist, it is our poetry which helps to fashion it. Poetry is not only a dream and a vision, it is the skeleton architecture of out lives.

For there are no new pains. We have felt them all already. We have hidden that fact in the same place that we have hidden our power. They surface in our dreams, and it is our dreams that point our way to freedom. Those dreams are made realizable through our poems that give us the strength and courage to see, to feel, to think.

And there are no new ideas. There are only new ways of making them felt- of examining what those ideas feel like being lived on Sunday morning at 7am, after brunch, during wild love, making war, giving birth, mourning our dead- while we suffer the old longings, battle the old warnings and fears of being silent and impotent and alone, while we taste new possibilities and strengths."

A. Lorde

2009-09-13T23:31:00.000-07:00

"It is not the anger that will destroy us but our refusal to stand still, to listen to its rhythms, to learn within it, to move beyond the manner of presentation to the substance, to tap that anger as an important source of empowerment.

When we turn from anger, we turn from insight, saying we will accept only designs already known, deadly and safely familiar.

Anger can transform difference through insight into power. For anger between peers births change, not destruction, and the discomfort and sense of loss it often causes is not fatal, but a sign of growth."

Sunday

2009-09-13T17:40:00.000-07:00

My heart hurts today.

Some days, the sadness lingers like background static, white noise. Today, I just feel heavy. It's hard to breathe. You were in my dream last night, sorry and sad, present, and promising to talk things over when you got back. And for just a moment, I was relieved.

It reminded me of a dream I had just after Derek died in the accident, where I found him alive in my sleep and cried and cried with relief that he was not truly gone forever.

I know I did everything I possibly could. And that maybe I projected an idea on to you that was not who you are, or are capable of being.

And I'm sorry. For what didn't happen, for what can't happen, for what will maybe never happen. But more than anything, I just have this sadness and hurt that threatens to engulf my very person. I miss you- as a friend, as a lover, as something more. I don't miss the anxiety or the frustration. But I would be lying if I said I feel good now.

I don't know what to do- if there is anything I can do. I just want to know that things are going to be okay.

Drive-By Love Notes

2009-07-27T10:18:00.000-07:00

(Whistles)

Hit me with one of those cat-calls.

See, I was walking down the street- like your sister, like your mama

Walking down YOUR street- like your daughter, like your grandma

Composing a symphony in my mind!

I could see the violinist about to touch the bow to the strings

When... HONK HONK! "DAMN BABY, milk had did your body GOOD!"

(Pauses)

...I'm walking down the street.. like your sister, like your mama

walking down your street- like your daughter, like your grandma

But you don't wanna hear that

because you're only cruisin' for a lover

so all.you.see.are.curves.

Hit me with one of those cat-calls

when I'm writing a POEM in my mind

I had written the outline

and was about to start the rhyme when..

"tsk tsk... Hey Mami! Where you headed?!?!"

And you saved me from the prison of my mind!

"ohhhhh...call me mami again!"

Hit me with one of those cat-calls just one more time

so I can FEEL my womanly worth

I'll call you "Papi"

cuz every woman really wants a "daddy"

And you're the first man to be completely honest about what women really needed!

And I NEED another cat-call cuz sometimes I lose awareness of my curves.

You remind me

I should never worry my head about the problems of this mans world

because there are BIG. STRONG. MACHOS. like you

who value your women so much you just have to "celebrate!!"

your sister's beauty with an "Ai! Sabrositaaaa!!"

When I'm walking down the street- like your sister, like your mama

walking down YOUR street- like your daughter, like your grandma

you know, feeling kinda scared

walking down that street, in that neighborhood

just as paranoia's kicking-my-ass...

"Whoa beautiful! I'm in hea-ven!"

....you made me feel SO at home.

"Hey where you goin' in such a big hurry!?! "

Come back and give me another cat-call cuz

no one can howwwl like you, babe.

Gets me all hot just wonder what else you can do

with that tongue wagging back and forth

and you ALWAYS remind me... it doesn't matter

what I wear.

Cuz I could be a complete mess and... HONK HONK.. "You fine!"

(pauses)

What was I thinking?

Actually worrying about things that don't concern me

Like, education and respect.

when all I really need- more than flowers, more than candy

more than respect

is a HUNKA HUNKA MAN in a HUNKA HUNKA CAR

and those drive-by love notes to convince me

"I think I'm in Looooveee," too.

Hit me with one of those cat-calls

so you finally hit on the one thing that drives me wild.

I just hope YOUR DAUGHTER gets to meet

such giving. men. as. you.

(Amalia Ortiz)

Mr. Cavendish Comes to Town

2009-07-23T21:02:00.000-07:00

I keep having intensely weird dreams (even for me) that feature professional male cyclists. There was the dream last week about Lance Armstrong letting me slip away in the current (at the oddly sterile looking lake...) and today's dream that featured Mark Cavendish as a scotsman, and my houseguest, during a race. Granted, it is TdF time and I am exposed to many images of these men daily, but, it still warrants a raised eyebrow when I consider the content of my brain theatre.

In my dream this afternoon*, Mark Cavendish was my houseguest for a few days during a race (he did not race at all during my dream, however). Instead, he remained strangely ambiguous, with few facial expressions or conversational attempts. At one point, my mom and dad came home, dressed to the nines (which makes these figures wholly incapable of resembling my actual parents) and bragging about my mom's new purchase of a white Dodge Viper (I know, right?!). Mark was impressed but didn't say much.

Later, he informed me that he would have to leave two days earlier than expected to drive to Phoenix to pick up his mother's stuff** (she..died? I guess?). I was crushed.

At another juncture in the dream, part of my nose was cut off and reshaped due to an illness I was having. My new schnoz was interesting, but the whole procedure left me entirely distressed because I was going to have to get my nose re-pierced.

Further along in the dream current, some criminals took over the school building I was in and people were evacuated. I ran back into the building to try and get my suitcase (?) and belongings. I was able to locate M. Cavendish from the roof. He told me to get to work, and get down there. I was exasperated. I HAD TO GET TO MARK. But. I also had to find my cell phone. In my efforts to extricate myself from the building, and find the room with the evacuation lost and found, I was captured by the men who had taken over the building. At that point, I was having a hard time seeing and was only vaguely aware of them planning to touch me in inappropriate places. (Not that it's first on my list, but how come I have to get touched by the criminals and not the cyclist? I guess even in my subconscious I'm not attracted to Mark Cavendish and would rather by touched by invisible rogues).

Then I woke up from my nap. Five hours later. Fuckin' Whack, Bro.

* I have felt terrible for the last twenty hours or so. Something happened during the bliss of the beer tasting last night that left me feeling shaky, sick to my stomach and feverish. This may or may not have something to do with this dream.

**I would like to express my condolences to MarK Cavendish over the loss of his phoenix-based mother.

Beatitudes

2009-07-20T08:54:00.000-07:00

"Blessed are the flexible, for they shall not be bent out of shape."

2009-07-20T08:50:00.000-07:00

"God teaches by means of opposites

so that you will have two wings to fly, not one."

- Rumi

How I Could Just Kill A Man

2009-06-16T23:55:00.000-07:00

Go get your ribbon box
Go get your wounded heart
Seeing spiders, I'm told they never lie.

Go get your brother love
Go get your losing head
Seeing fire, I'm told it never burns.

I want it all, I pull you back. I want it all.

Cry baby, cry baby, cry. Soaking down your face.
Cry baby, cry baby, and you can't understand how I could just kill a man.

No to your letters love
No to unsturdy hands
Sleeping eyes, I'm told they never lie.

No to your key of rust
No to your raging words
Sleeping tires, I'm told they never drive.

If I wanted to stay, you won't stand in my way
But I'm choosing to leave with your heart on my sleeve
It feels too good without you

2009-06-12T17:15:00.000-07:00

Hehe, thanks Kate.

Praise in the Name of Frequent Flier

2009-05-26T13:11:00.000-07:00

First full day in Fort Collins and all I want to do is hide in my blankets and read books. Outdoor exploration to follow- but not today. I am enjoying being in one place without an impending move looming in my conscious. Whew.

I have already lost my cat. She does not share my sentiments, I guess.

2009-05-26T12:40:00.000-07:00

I know there is no use losing sleep over technology and the affect of its development on our society. I know. I know. But I cannot help but feel there is something wholly wrong with the possibility that "books" will be completely digital in the future.

I don't want to carry a computer with me everywhere. Computers break.

And the argument that digitizing books saves trees is legitimate- but what about the materials used to create computers? We're fighting wars over that shit.

I love Caps

2009-05-18T02:32:00.000-07:00

Well, I mean, yes. Pull my leg hairs.

2009-05-17T22:31:00.000-07:00

The Ballad of Sexual Dependency

2009-05-17T13:27:00.000-07:00

"In spite of it all, people have a need to couple. Even when they're being destroyed, they're still coupling. The Ballad of Sexual Dependency starts and ends with this premise, but in between there is the question as to why there is this need and why it is so difficult.

I think that men and women are irrevocably strangers to each other, irrevocably unsuited. It is almost as if men and women are from different planets, they have such difficulty understanding each other. I find men, or the male emotional system, very difficult to understand. Men seem to be afraid of women. Emotionally, I am much suited to be with a woman, but then there is this sexual desire for men. I realize my emotional and sexual need for the opposite sex. The slide show touches gay relationships too; I am dealing with the difficulty of coupling, and part of that is the difficulty in maintaining intimacy. "

- Nan Goldin, Interview, 1986

2009-05-11T10:09:00.000-07:00

A mon a vie...

2009-05-09T22:09:00.000-07:00

If I were to have the space, time, energy or Boss DJ to host a "Crunk n' Shake", I'd play these songs first...

1) "Who Dat?"- JT Money (from the album "Pimpin' on Wax)

2) "Ice Cream Paint Job"- Dorrough

3) "Hood Figga"- Gorilla Zoe

4) "Right Round"- Flo Rida

5) "Make Em Say 'Ugh!'" - Master P

6) "I Need A Dime"- Mike Jones f. Ying Yang Twins

7) "Lip Gloss"- Lil' Mama

8) "Tell Me When to Go"- E-40

9) "You're a Jerk"- New Boyz

and just because I can..

10) "Bombastic"- Shaggy

People would be ghost riding their whips in no time.

Double-Double, Toil and Trouble

2009-05-07T10:49:00.000-07:00

Say ahhhhh.

2009-05-07T09:48:00.000-07:00

As the semester comes to a close and Spring not-so-subtly becomes the dastardly summer, I am finding myself in a familiar situation with an unfamiliar frame of mind.

In the last week, I have moved out of my house, shacked up in temporary residence, shelled a great deal of my belongings, finished the last of my Art History classes and finally come to terms with the fact that I like riding my bike more than almost anything else in this world. I am standing on the edge of another move Northward, yet this time it's to a place that I know I will enjoy both environmentally and socially. (Big ups to CO).

There is a timeline- I will be back. I'm not running from what I perceive to be the shortcomings of my hometown. I am instead embracing how much I love Tucson, so much so that I need to leave for a few months to briefly "cut the cord". I am going to enjoy another place, a different atmosphere and a new living situation with full intentions of returning home. I don't expect to find something that's missing inside of me. And that is an awesome feeling.

***************************

This morning, Kate and I spun out to McCain Loop for an fairly easy 2hr ride. It never ceases to amaze me how beautiful the Tucson Mountains are. We are so blessed to be able to have these roads and hills for which to Play Bikes. Between the beautiful scenery and the comedic performance that is status-quo for rides with Kate, I was totally gellin' (like Magellan??). Not taking those Tequila shots last night was worth it.

Quotant Quotables

2009-04-30T16:32:00.000-07:00

"I don't do contemporary stuff, like Hip-Hop. I'm more likely to have a hip replacement."

-Dr. David Soren, just before he serenaded our cinema class

"What's the deal with gum? It's not a liquid, its not a food..you don't eat it. It's like a stationary bike for your jaw."

- Jerry Seinfeld, "The Gum" episode

Fingers Crossed

2009-04-30T16:28:00.000-07:00

HR 1913 Passes the House

HR 1913 (The Matthew Shepard Act) was passed today by an impressive margin sending a strong statement about equality and inclusiveness for all communities. This bill will allow prosecution of violent crimes based on race, gender identity, sexual orientation, and disability. It is the first fully inclusive bill to be introduced during this Session. The fate of the bill now rests in the hands of the Senate. Powerful speeches flooded the floor of the house today. Rep. Steny Hoyer (D-Maryland) spoke of the importance of“tolerance, equality and justice.” Rep. Alcee Hastings (D-Florida) declared “people need not live in fear because of who they are.” “Hate crimes are an assault on people’s dignity and humanity” stated Rep. Joseph Cao (R-Louisiana). These statements echoed the support for this legislation that is shared by nearly 300 civil rights, education, religious, religious organizations and thirty one state Attorneys General.

The Local Law Enforcement Hate Crimes Prevention Act, H.R. 1913, when passed will:

Extend existing federal protections to include "gender identity, sexual orientation, gender and disability"
Allow the Justice Department to assist in hate crime investigations at the local level when local law enforcement is unable or unwilling to fully address these crimes
Mandate that the FBI begin tracking hate crimes based on actual or perceived gender identity
Remove limitations that narrowly define hate crimes to violence committed while a person is accessing a federally protected activity, such as voting.

Feist-y

2009-04-30T16:19:00.000-07:00

I feel it all, I feel it all
I feel it all, I feel it all
The wings are wide, the wings are wide
Wild card in sight, wild card in sight

Oh I’ll be the one who'll break my heart
I'll be the one to hope

Can I know more than I knew before
I know more than I knew before
I didn't rest, I didn't stop
Did we fight or did we talk

Oh I’ll be the one who'll break my heart
I'll be the one to hope

Can I love you more
I love you more
I don't know what I knew before
But now I know I want to win the war

No one likes to take a test
Sometimes we don't pull or flex
Put your weight against the door
Kick-drum on the basement floor
Stranded in the thought of woods
Looking like the winter bird
On my head the water pours
Cops stream through the open door
Fly away
Fly away the one who want to make

I feel it all
I feel it all
The wings are wide
Wild card in sight, wild card in sight

Audrey Flack

2009-04-17T13:38:00.000-07:00

"I think that stories live in the collective unconscious of societies. Stories about men and stories about women. You all need some new stories...

Vision is male and female. Until recently, the history of art has been the history of male vision. Women dress, look, feel and see differently. Their vision must be incorporated into the history of art. "

Spotting

2009-04-15T12:42:00.001-07:00

It's official: Santa Claus Springs in Tucson, drives a red Yukon and voted for Obama.

Saw it with my own two eyes. Well, four if you include Kate-as-witness too.

BAM.

You Thrive on Mistaken Identity

2009-04-13T20:43:00.000-07:00

“I developed language skills to deal with threat. It’s the girl thing to do – you know, instead of pulling a gun.”

"Pictures and words have the power to tell us who we are and aren’t, and I try to engage that power..I try to make work about how we are to one another."

-Barbara Kruger

Stomping in Jack O'lantern's Weather

2009-03-31T18:38:00.000-07:00

Jim Morrison once said, "I'm just trying to get my kicks in before this shit house goes down in flames."

That attitude might explain why he died young. I don't know, I wasn't there.

It seems like there is a lot to be stressed and panicked about lately- on a local, national and global level- but there are also some fantastic things coming out of the '09 crisis-fest.

I'm choosing to go to the pumpkin stand. More to come.

Thought

2009-03-09T22:35:00.001-07:00

At some point I would like to get rid of my cell phone.

At this point, that is not logistically possible.

Dream small.

Ides of March

2009-03-01T20:59:00.000-08:00

I have found that nothing cures a cranky Kimberly like a long ride alone, leftovers lurking in the refrigerator and a four hour nap on the holiest-of-holy couches in my parents' living room. Not even gale-force winds out of the East and roads with no bike lanes could make this day less satisfying.

Happy March.

Craig Damrauer

2009-02-27T22:03:00.000-08:00

Yeah, that pretty much sums up my first Crit experience. I did learn from it, though. So I don't regret going.

I found these awesome images by Craig Damrauer on, well, fffound.

.This is my kind of math.

Pregunta, Answer.

2009-02-27T21:34:00.001-08:00

My body, however, did a great deal. Sorry about the poisoning last night, body. Je t'adore.

I have come to the realization that the people that qualify as my closest friends have an uncanny ability to dispense quotable phrases and words. Now, as someone who's in love with words and phrases, this is not entirely profound or surprising. But something I would like to honor. Thanks, friends.

For example, today I was given insight and advice about my, uh, "condition" that rendered me immobile for the greater part of the day.

From my Mom, I received a motto that she says she used to live by on business trips.

"If you're gonna play, you gotta pay."

Meaning, she used to go out and get shitblasted and then have seminars to attend the next morning. And she owned it. (It's hard to imagine my Mom hungover at a business conference). It is a good motto though. And I paid in full today. And missed my WS class. In all honesty, I suffer for that more than the class does. Every session missed is a missed opportunity to become more conscious of the dynamics and forces that govern the life I lead. Not something I would like to make a trend. I did have an awesome time raging and bonding with some of my lady friends last night, to be sure. It's a trade off.

From Roja, I received this:

" You can either eat some pills or wait it out. That's my life motto. Either way, you're gonna get through it."

Although it was hilarious when I first heard it, it seems fairly applicable to my last week. I took the last few days to process some recent events and relationships. And it's true, each day it got easier to address the emotions that had been idling in my brain and body.

Pills or not.

My headspace feels wholly less polluted. Now if only I could get the toxins out of my body...

Oh, hey. Got my bike back.

STOKED.

2009-02-22T21:06:00.000-08:00

Mixed Bag

2009-02-20T21:04:00.000-08:00

Random Thoughts and Insights from the Last Week:

"Stop shoving things up me. Stop shoving and stop cleaning it up. My vagina doesn't need to be cleaned up. It smells good already. Not like rose petals. Don't try to decorate. Don't believe him when he tells you it smells like rose petals when it's supposed to smell like pussy. That's what they're doing- trying to to clean it up, make it smell like bathroom spray or a garden. All those douche sprays- floral, berry, rain. I don't want my pussy to smell like rain. All cleaned up like washing a fish after you cook it. Want to taste the fish. That's why I ordered it."

- from My Angry Vagina, The Vagina Monologues, and possibly the most hilarious

monologue I had witnessed.

Basic arithmetic:

(Beer consumption - hydration - dinner )+ orange juice the next morning = headachitus vomitus

Extra, Extra: Chris Brown's a Bastard

I usually do not read celebrity news or gossip because, despite finding some joy in the shallow products they produce, celebrities themselves do not pique my interest. However, the mention of the Chris Brown and Rihanna domestic abuse incident on a couple of blogs provoked efforts on my part to read more into the situation.

The long and short of it is that Chris Brown and Rihanna were involved in an argument after the Grammys that turned violent and culminated in Rihanna taking some blows from her celebrity, teen-dream boyfriend. There is a photo of Rihanna's wounded face circulating on the internet that was supposedly 'leaked' (unbeknownst to the LAPD) to the gossip site TMZ. Chris Brown turned himself into the police and was released on 50,000 dollars bond. Rihanna identified him as the one that caused the trauma.

Here are some of my thoughts on the matter:

1) Police photos do not get leaked without someone knowing about it. Gossip sites and tabloids pay a lot of money for their 'material'. People know that. It's disgusting that a site like TMZ will use an image of a woman's beaten face for sensationalism to get more hits. Celebrities or not. Yet, it's even more disgusting that someone saw the picture- one of a woman who had been involved in a domestic violence dispute- as a way to make money. And that those opportunities exist everywhere.

1a) That said, I am somewhat glad that the photo is being circulated, even if it will not garner the most positive type of attention. The image of a beaten woman, and especially, a woman that is usually in

the spotlight without a physical blemish, makes the issue real. Domestic Violence seems to be the

urban myth of the media- it's rarely mentioned, and if it is, it's in the form of nameless/faceless

statistics that make it seem impersonal. Actually seeing Rihanna's face battered and bruised solidifies

the fact that yes, she was physically attacked and harmed, and that

2) just because Chris Brown is a celebrity, doesn't mean he's not a misogynistic bastard, or susceptible to effects of the patriarchal attitudes and institutions of the Entertainment Industry. In fact, I would argue that he, and most celebrities, are the embodiment of everything that's wrong with our society. The elevation of the celebrity to god-like status, and the public's pre-occupation with their personal lives, almost inevitably means that most celebrities are total sociopaths. It is amazing that we do not hear about more stories like this. I guess that's why most have publicists and good lawyers, though.

Thus, am I surprised Chris Brown hit Rihanna? Hell no.

I'm thrilled she was courageous enough to report it and has not shied away from pressing charges. Because, inevitably, there will be people, men and women, who will take Chris Brown's side and say she deserved it, or provoked him or also hit him, or he's a nice guy. Sure.

He still hit her.

Do my feelings about celebrities make me a hypocrite for listening or consuming their products? Maybe. I own it.

There's something wrong

with mini-vans. I don't like them. They make me uncomfortable. Mini-vans and their drivers form a large number of the population who honk angrily and unnecessarily at cyclists. They are surprisingly fast, and their drivers, astonishingly aggro. Maybe it's because a great deal of them are toting around too many kids and the drivers have had too many starbucks lattes and the combination makes for one overbearing and aggressive human being. I don't know. I can only guess. I don't like never statements, but I will never own a mini-van.

Bedtime. Love.

Tucson

2009-02-16T21:37:00.000-08:00

Big Mountains. Pastel Skies. Wide Open Space.

Room to breathe

On a day when it feels like life is shitting in your oatmeal...

Sometimes the little things matter the most.

I love this city.

Counterpoint

2009-02-15T14:05:00.000-08:00

I was so excited to stumble upon Robert and Shana Parkeharrison's new body of work, titled "Counterpoint". Since I discovered the Parkeharrison's work four years ago, I have been an avid fan of their mixed-media images and find them to be some of the most profound and significant contemporary artistic commentaries being produced.

As per usual, the Parkeharrison's center their efforts around environmental concerns and themes of human and spiritual interaction with the material world. Although I am usually not a huge fan of color photography, I find their use of the medium to be extremely effective. Please check it out.

Robert and Shana Parke harrison

www.parkeharrison.com

Hope everyone is having a peaceful Sunday.

Bite the Bullet... Before It Bites You.

2009-02-14T15:08:00.000-08:00

On our ride today, Kate asked the very profound question:

"What would it be like to poop your chamois?"

Once I realized I was not going to choke from laughter- all I could offer was a simple "I don't know!?"

I have never had the pleasure of such an experience.

My guess, though, is that the feeling would be akin that that which I experienced, multiple times, in my previous week.

Certainly, some of my cloudy disposition was not entirely unwarranted or unforeseen. This week just happened to be the one where I chose to take responsibility for spreading myself too thin socially and physically in the previous months. Thus, self-reflection (instigated by my previous week's drama) forced me to confront some situations and emotions that I had been neglecting to deal with as of late. To continue the metaphor, it was time to take care of the poop in my chamois.

And I did. To the best of my ability.

And I felt better.

Until I got sick on Thursday morning and missed the same class I missed on Tuesday. My physical and mental spheres were apparently incommunicado about the whole 'sacred tuesday of healing'.

And then, on Thursday, I had the pleasure of meeting Bullet. And Bullet met my leg. Or attacked it, rather. Bullet's doppelganger can be seen at the top of this post. Cuddly Pitbull he is. Thanks to his owners for letting him get out, nibble my knee, and take off while I was bleeding.

I don't know if the painful, shitty, headwind-filled ride that Kate and I took today is even worth complaining about. It was physically miserable, but mentally strengthening.

And without it, and my good friend (and Valentine) Kate, I would not have a poop metaphor to work with for the whole of my weeklong smackdown.

In the end, it's all good, I suppose. But I am hoping for an accident and clean chamois week-next.

Cheers.

And don't forget to breathe...

2009-02-10T20:11:00.000-08:00

Took the entire day to clean, organize and evaluate the 'state of my union'. I am looking forward to moving in a more positive and centered manner than in weeks past.

"Tu o Nadie. You or No one."

Also,

2009-02-09T16:25:00.000-08:00

Are they going to stop teaching young children how to handwrite in school? Because you certainly do not need the skill in College Academia, or the rest of the working world for that matter. I think it's absolute bullshit that our society relies so heavily on technological correspondences and assignments.

For kids like me who are kinetic learners, and who desire not to spend their entire days indoors pecking at a computer like a tranquilized monkey, handwriting correspondences, notes and papers IS actually beneficial. I know it would be hard to go back to the way it 'twere - but jesus, when did our society and colleges get so fucking lazy and boring that every textual document had to come from a laser printer? There was once a time when people had to, GASP, write out research papers and letters, professors and bosses had to discern Joe Blow's chicken scratch, and the rest of us actually had to CALL the pizza guy instead of ordering online (a bit off-topic, but also another technological development that seems totally bogus..).

All I am saying is, Long live long hand, motherfuckers. Someday this whole shithouse is going down in flames and if you can't write you name or an SOS note, you're going to die.

Cheers.

Riding Bikes with a Schizo

2009-02-09T15:45:00.000-08:00

"Yo, Gene Roddenberry, there is no humanity in embracing your inner domineering rapist asshole!"

-Twisty, I Blame the Patriarchy

Nor is there any humanity in embracing the apologia attitude that our culture tells us, especially women, to take when we feel the need to express our emotions. It has become apparent to me, via various overly-dramatic situations occurring around my Annibirthary (yeah, I made it up) that in an attempt to accommodate the feelings of too many people, I have compromised my own happiness and peace (pieces?) of mind.

Truthfully, I have attempted to avoid hurt feelings because I fear being viewed or seen as inconsiderate, or god forbid, apathetic. I have internalized hurt, discomfort and anger because I have felt that I was not justified possessing confrontational emotions. It has taken many years of unexpressed guilt to get me to ask these questions: Who the fuck taught me to feel this way? Why do I let people make me feel bad for expressing my own desires and discomfort? And how sad is it to realize that my subconscious attitudes are the result of my cultural conditioning, and not my own sensitivity/ empathy?

Fairly sad, I would say. But, at the very least, I am recognizing this tendency within myself.

I cannot blame people, or significant others (past/present/future) for possessing these attitudes - I suffer from the affects of a patriarchal society just as much as the next twenty-something. However, I am fucking sick of being made to feel like I cannot trust my own instincts or intuition. And I certainly refuse to apologize for it anymore. I do the best I can to be respectful of my friends, loved ones and strangers. To be told otherwise is not a direct reflection or truthful assessment of reality.

And to be fair, alcohol always compromises any judgment, and can derail the best of intentions- something I, and friends, know all too well. I am guilty of believing that I can control my actions with a high BAC. Nice try. This has lead to many guilt cycles, that which I feel like I cannot and do not express, and reinforcing the apologia paradigm.

The topsy-turvy, holy-fucking-drama-batman events of this weekend all culminated in one of the most chaotic and shitty rides of my thus-short (also not a word) cycling career. Although I feel that Mission Road will teach me a great deal about the nature of racing and riding a bike, and I will do my best to embrace it, I will curse it the whole way. Especially when I'm getting alternately rained on and sunburned.

This will be the only and final year I try to extend my birthday beyond its menial one day. Everyday's me fucking birthday. And yours too. <3

HuZZAH!

2009-02-09T09:09:00.000-08:00

Do you have your tickets?

2009-02-02T09:14:00.000-08:00

Ever the place of opportunity and eclecticism, Tucson is hosting two special interest shows for the hobbyist in all of us. The famous Tucson Gem and Mineral Show, and the Gun Show (no need to dick around with fancy names) are rapidly approaching. Both are hosted by the TCC- and god willing- will be operating simultaneously.

So hop on the opportunity to get that handgun you've always wanted, and some fine gems to bedazzle it. Place of mount on the bike is up to you- although I suggest the handlebars for maximum intimidation.

Amazing

2009-01-31T17:50:00.000-08:00

My friend mike found an amazing flikr album with a grip of retro images. These are some of the ones that really lit my fire and gave me something to aspire to. You really can wear spandex, be styly, ride your bike and be a boss bitch.

You can't ride without a bra or shirt, though. Ouch.

Fix Yourself, Girl.

2009-01-31T16:59:00.000-08:00

On our ride today, Kate asked if it were possible to get camel toe while wearing bib shorts. After some deliberation we decided that it is a possibility for female riders to suffer this unfortunate malady.

On the bike, though, it's called chamel toe.

God, we're funny.

Blame Rap

2009-01-31T16:23:00.000-08:00

Rap music is capitalist patriarchy with beats. It discriminates indiscriminately. It is a social institution that worships power and hates its neighbor.

And it is incredibly fun to dance to.

To call it anything else, or to focus on the negative specifics of rap music and rap lyrics is a waste of energy. It is simply a by-product of our social institutions. The art of rap lays in its ability to mask as something other than a perpetuation of the attitudes of white supremacist capitalist patriarchy. (I realize that I am quoting almost verbatim the analyses of Bell Hooks. I am not trying to pass this off as my own idea but simply qualifying it via my own perspective).

To be fair, it can be incredibly demeaning to women. But it is also demeaning to men. One group is no more a victim than the other. Every body suffers or experiences some sort of oppression in our social system and everyone is put down in rap music.

I listen to a lot of rap.

But I do not believe in the system. That makes my experiences far more enjoyable.

Wings Are for the Birds

Good Bye!

World Cup- England 1, US ...1?

CarolineI liked that our goal was based on the goalies butter fingers muaaah hahaha

Caroline

Me

5:42amCaroline

The Finer Points of the Stomach Flu (It's Not What You Think)

Stuff I Like, pt. II

Stuff I like... Cats N' Bike

Summer, Lately

C'man

The State of My State

Top Ten

It's Been A Long Trip...

Sars

Starbucks Now Has a 'Happy Hour' for Frappucinos

T.G.F.T.B.a.S.F.B or Thank Goodness for Tiger Beatdown and Snarky Feminist Bloggers

Cool Out, Dood.

Does your crotch....Rawk?

Hollow

Happy Wednesday, Love Me and Kitters

Ke$ha

Congratulations Makko and Kathryn

p=mv

Foundations

Franz Fanon

Interesting

It's Fri-day... and We Ain't Got Shit to Do

It Rained All Night. More to Come.

Hater

New

On A Clear Day

Holy Shit

Evoking My Social Avatar

White People

7:52pmKaia

7:52pmKimberly

7:54pmKaia

7:55pmKimberly

Cats and Bikes and Rats and Rats and Rats for Candy

Friday.

A. Lorde

A. Lorde

Sunday

Drive-By Love Notes

Mr. Cavendish Comes to Town

Beatitudes

How I Could Just Kill A Man

Praise in the Name of Frequent Flier

I love Caps

The Ballad of Sexual Dependency

A mon a vie...

Double-Double, Toil and Trouble

Say ahhhhh.

Quotant Quotables

Fingers Crossed

HR 1913 Passes the House

Feist-y

Audrey Flack

Spotting

You Thrive on Mistaken Identity

Stomping in Jack O'lantern's Weather

Thought

Ides of March

Craig Damrauer

Pregunta, Answer.

Mixed Bag

Tucson

Counterpoint

Bite the Bullet... Before It Bites You.

And don't forget to breathe...

Also,

Riding Bikes with a Schizo

Do you have your tickets?

Amazing

Fix Yourself, Girl.

Blame Rap

Caroline
I liked that our goal was based on the goalies butter fingers muaaah hahaha