Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
[s]cience has learned a good deal in recent years about the habits and requirements of introverts. It has even learned, by means of brain scans, that introverts process information differently from other people....[A]fter an hour or two of being socially "on," we introverts need to turn off and recharge. My own formula is roughly two hours alone for every hour of socializing. This isn't antisocial. It isn't a sign of depression. It does not call for medication. For introverts, to be alone with our thoughts is as restorative as sleeping, as nourishing as eating. Our motto: "I'm okay, you're okay—in small doses."
Saturday, June 27, 2009
- Emeri Sparkling Sauvinon Blanc - this wine was light, crisp, and fizzy!
- Chilled Peach Chipotle Soup - I gave this to my friend, but everyone else thought this sweet, fruity soup was full of win.
- Yalumba Viognier - this white wine wasn't bad, but it wasn't memorable either!
- Prosciutto Wrapped Melon - I also passed on this dish; it was a piece of fruit wrapped in what looked like bacon.
- Ruffino Orvieto - a white blend, light and yummy
- Grilled Cilantro Lime Shrimp - I... didn't eat this one either. This is the first time I've gone three stations without eating any food.
- Penfolds "76" Shiraz/Cabernet - this red blend is a nice summer wine. It wasn't dry at all, which works for such small samples.
- Steakhouse Bruschetta - the toasted baguette had a really nice pesto on it; I didn't eat the steak.
- Gabbiano Chianti - another nice red from Italy.
- Fromage a Trios (Zamorano Marques de Castallio DO, Kaltbach Le Gruyere, & La Serena) - I don't remember which is which, but all three cheeses were delicious!
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
ArjunJaikumar @petehoekstra i spilled some lukewarm coffee on myself just now, which is somewhat analogous to being boiled in oil
chrisbaskind @petehoekstra My neighbor stopped me to talk today. Now I know what it is like to be questioned by the Basij!
luckbfern @petehoekstra I stand in solidarity with the oppressed rich white men of Repub Party in the House. #GOPfail Allah Akbar!
aciolino @petehoekstra Today I poked my finger on a hanger. Now I know what all those aborted babies go through.
ceedub7 @petehoekstra I got a splinter in my hand today. Felt just like Jesus getting nailed to the cross.
netw3rk @petehoekstra Someone walked in on me while I was in the bathroom. Reminded me of Pearl Harbor.
MattOrtega Walked out onto Constitution Ave in D.C. and was almost hit by a taxi. Reminded me of Tienanmen Square.
tharodge @petehoekstra maybe now is a good time to reconsider whether you are ready for national politics?
TahirDuckett @petehoekstra ran through the sprinklers this morning, claimed solidarity with victims of Hurricane Katrina
paganmist @petehoekstra Had to move all my stuff to a new office w/o a corner view. Now i know what the Trail of Tears was like. #GOPfail
Clever, eh? I'd almost feel bad for the congressman. But I've always had issues with people comparing their plights to those of others, even in situations far more analogous than the minority party in a democracy vs oppressed population in a theocracy. He just seems so dense.
(I was thinking of titling this post, "The Revolution Will Be Twitterized," but google--after asking me, Do you mean, "The Revolution Will Be Twittered"?--tells me that many, many articles already have that catchy title:)
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
~ Miguel de Cervantes
I have a tendency to freeze in the moment. I’m certainly not unique in this way: many people lack the words when they need them. Me and them, we’re better after the fact. During the moment, the feelings and words are static, frozen, waiting until we’re alone to thaw. We need time to percolate. And that percolation may affect us more than the original moment did because things are clearer than they were. Now, outside that moment, on our own, we experience indignation or jubilance, and we know just the right words.
Me, frozen. The other day I was asked a series of rather personal questions. They weren’t necessarily out of bounds, but they’re the kind I usually don’t get asked because I so successfully project this bubble of aloofness. The way I fold my arms. The way I look down. The pregnant pause before I give a polite smile, as if I have to think before deciding to respond. I don’t encourage familiarity. In that moment, the other day, I responded by withdrawing from the situation. It was only after the fact that I felt anger over the intrusion, as if my privacy and my bubble had been violated.
I found the words yesterday. I said that I’m a very private person and I feel uncomfortable with this discussion. And now that I’ve found those words and can put them in a place where I can deal with them—in writing, in front of me, waiting to be manipulated—I see the comedy of it all: Me, a private, private person; me with a personal blog, writing my deep down thoughts for anyone to see; me with a facebook page and 100 friends; me with a twitter account, tweeting for the world—or my “followers”—to see; and me, who likes to indulge the melancholy, to be alone and undisturbed.
It’s funny. But I think most of my readers will agree when I say the two things – being private while broadcasting to a larger audience – are not necessarily incongruent. Writing, blogging, tweeting, facebooking, are indeed about controlling the message and constructing our identity. That doesn’t mean that any of it is dishonest – quite the contrary! It’s just that some of us need that little bit of time before expressing ourselves, presenting ourselves to one person or the world. Writing, whatever form it takes, provides that bit of time. The pregnant pause before hitting “post” or “send” is not awkward.
One of my unspoken goals is to merge my inner world with my outer one. Teaching and working in the public library have helped, but both of them are very controlled settings, with few surprises; I already have the words for those settings, and I rarely have to improvise.
Tonight I’m going to a birthday bash for an area blogger group. It’s not a group to which I formally belong, but I think it would be a good thing to be a part of. I know a couple people who will be there.
Merge, merge, me, them, us.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
I don't miss the dead less, I miss them more. I miss the tall pines around Lake Pleasant, I miss the brown-and-gray cobblestones on West Cedar Street, I miss the red-tailed hawks that fly so often in pairs. I miss the cheap red wine in a box and I miss the rum-and-Coke. I miss Anne's wet gold hair drying as we saw on the fire escape. I miss the hot dog luau and driving to dance lessons after breakfast at Bruegger's Bagels. I miss the cold mornings on the farm, when the handle of the bucket bit into my small hands and my feet slid over the frozen dew. I miss the hot grease spattering around the felafel balls and the urgent clicking of Hebrew. I miss the new green leaves, shaking in the June rain. I miss standing on my father's shiny shoes as we danced to the Tennessee Waltz and my mother made me a paper fan so I could flirt like a Southern belle, tapping my nose with the fan. I miss every piece of my dead. Every piece is stacked high like cordwood within me, and my heart, both sides, and all four parts, is their reliquary.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Stupid and dangerous as it seems in retrospect, I went into my marriage at twenty-five without being in love. Three years later, I find myself relishing my relationship with this brilliant, prickly man who talks about the yield curve and derivatives, who prays when I drive, and who tries valiantly to remember names like Giacometti, Munch, Kandinsky.