More than meets the I

Did you read the article on my last post? Hmm. Well, I thought it was interesting.

I've decided that dancing is magic. It's the greatest thing I've ever done in my life. Yesterday, I was in a foul mood all afternoon, snarling for little or no reason. I went to dance class last night ... I picked up my veil and whirled across the floor, tension melting away. I came to the surprising (though it shouldn't be) realization that all this work is paying off. I can make my veil do amazing things. I can easily incorporate my finger cymbals into my dances. I can do belly flutters and mayas and lunge walks and floreos (nearly) with the best of them. After just a little over a year, I am an advanced student -- and now, apparently, I have my first real performance coming up. I mentioned to my teacher yesterday that I was choreographing my own dance for the first time, and she promptly informed me that I would be performing it in the next student show in April. *shivers delightedly* I mean, it's a student show, which is only mostly a real performance, but it's close enough, and it is ridiculous that I haven't performed up to this point, so bring it on!

Someday, this will be me. (But for now, it's just an awesome picture of what I love, by Cynthia Hollings-Morris.)

I am chock full of mating ritual!

http://dsc.discovery.com/news/briefs/20060220/dancer_hum.html?source=rss

And in other news, bunnies.

The sound of people slurping ramen. (Not the crappy 10 cent kind -- the REAL stuff which is wonderful and delicious.)

A purring cat.

Waking up next to a loved one in the morning.

The ocean.

Dancing.

Kissing in the rain.

Learning new things.

Tea.

Clean sheets.

People-watching.

A back massage.

Music.

Confidently coming ever closer to the shining goal in the distance.

The first hug after a long separation.

Throwing snowballs.

Everyone singing along to the radio.

Hearing "I love you."

Saying "I love you."

So, as some of you may know, I've been studying American Sign Language (not age, sex, location, for those of you 14-year-olds that read my blog, ha ha) since the beginning of the year. First of all, I LOVE IT. LOVE IT. Not just because ASL is goddamn neat in its own right, but more broadly, it just feels good to be learning again. (Yep, I'm still at this bettering-myself-growing-up stuff.) :)

However, my ASL learning has been a bit hindered by the fact that my teacher was constantly sick, so of what ... nine classes now there have been two or three cancelled and several that got out less than halfway through. On top of that, we've been getting a small chunk of info and then spending two or three classes on review. Well, poor sick teacher left and we have a new robust teacher, who was appalled at how little we knew after a full month, and has been blowing vocabulary at us to make up for it. Which suits me fine, because I am, as far as I can tell, one of maybe two people in the class who are taking it for fun and not to fill college credit, which means I want to learn goddammit, not cheer and go get drunk when the teacher doesn't show up.

In any case, tonight we received an excellently meaty nugget of vocabulary and syntax, mainly beginning-word-order stuff. I annoyed my teacher in the usual way (she's gonna be sorry she ever taught me the sign for "why..." *grin*).

So, in ASL, the question word -- who, what, where, etc. -- usually comes at the end of the sentence. ASL has an extra couple of question signs (that are, for lack of a better word, stronger than their English counterparts), one that functions as "do/does" (which can be used as a weak, implied "is") and a "which" sign. But, "which" comes in the middle of the sentence, not the end, which of course caused my hand to shoot into the air. "Why 'which' not last word?" I asked in my rudimentary vocabulary (but hey, at least I knew enough to ask!). To which Lynn, my teacher, replied, "this is 101, you'll learn that later." Basically, "settle the fuck down, woman, that's way too advanced for this class." *laugh* Of course, this happened three or four more times. Then she recommended me a couple of books, to shut me up, I suppose. :) (Nah ... I asked for them.)

But, my grand realization of the evening comes from my longtime love of body language. The very first day of class, our (previous) teacher emphasized to us that Deaf culture did not prize individualism; quite the contrary. Deaf folks desire community, groups; they want to be around other Deaf folks who understand the language and the culture and all that. So, tonight, teacher #2 drilled into our heads that ASL is supposed to be OPEN, very OPEN, open body language, signs that start covering your body and then open outward, fingers pointed up and open, open, open, OPEN; it would have sounded like a damn Mervyn's commercial had we been speaking.

Open body language. Inviting. "Enter past my defenses, I like you, I trust you." ASL is remarkably similar to French SL, because it came here from there in the *thinks* 1800s? Maybe earlier. The French are touchy-feelier than we are, too. I wonder what ASL would look like had it really been an American invention? With the American need for individualism, with the American fear of friend and foe?

I can't think of any other tongue where the body language itself is a) such a part of the language and b) speaks (if you will) so clearly about its users. Fascinating stuff, really. I can't wait until I really know grammar, and can put together more than just "where is the bedroom? I like my cat. Do you eat sheep poop?"


Hmm. I need to learn the signs for "groovy shit." *grin* Well -- "shit" I know. And "cool." It'll do, for now. ;-)

Prescript: Allan, go read the reply to the comment you left on the previous post. ;-)



I promise original content again sometime soon. Really. But for now, enjoy, from McSweeneys as usual:


OBSESSIVE-COMPULSIVE VALENTINES.
BY JENNY TRAIG
- - - -
Sweetheart, I've got you under my skin. I'll wash and wash, but you'll never come out.
- - - -
Roses are red, violets are blue. Sugar is sweet, and I think I left the iron on.
- - - -
I'm crazy for you! Get it?
- - - -
BE MINE. Wait. That has six letters. Six letters is so unlucky. It's like YOU DIE. That's exactly what it's like. Now you're going to die and it's all my fault.
- - - -
Honey, I'm hot for you! It's like a fever. Do you think it's viral meningitis? I bet it is. I touched the light switch and who knows what germs were on there. Then I thought about you, and infected you—it's a viral brain infection, so of course it's transmitted through brain waves, that makes perfect sense. We should probably just drive to the hospital right now.
- - - -
You're all I think about. Literally!
- - - -
You and me, sitting in a tree—oh, wait, that doesn't sound very safe, does it? Let's say we're sitting on a couch instead. Huh. I wonder who sat on this couch before us. Maybe we should put some plastic wrap down. Yeah, I think we'd better. Is this a new box of plastic wrap, or has it been opened for a while? Are you sure? OK. OK. Let's just say it's new and move on. So we're sitting on a couch, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. Except that I kind of feel this tingle on my lip? Like I might be getting a cold sore? Maybe we should just forget the whole thing.
- - - -
It's hard to tell, what with all the SSRIs in my bloodstream, but I think I feel something for you.
- - - -
I'd touch you without gloves. If I could, I mean.
- - - -
I love you. Wait. That didn't feel right. Let me try it again. I love you. Don't think about disease. Don't think about disease. Don't think about disease. I love you. There.

I played my violin today. Yay! I can still make the thing sound good when I pick it up ... not good enough for my taste, never good enough for my taste, but it's decent. I have these lovely thoughts of rejoining an orchestra when I make it out to Cali. (As usual.) My violin is still such a part of me, and I've let it go for what, five years now? *sigh* I always think about joining an orchestra again, and I never do. Maybe this time I actually will.

I can still play the 1st violin solo from Vivaldi's "Spring," though. Yep, somehow I still rock, even if I don't show it off very often. Here's to more of that!

Glorious Star Wars Valentines from Something Awful. Gigglicious!

http://www.somethingawful.com/articles.php?a=3574

I am a time goddess.

Hmm. Come to think of it, there aren't really a lot of deities specifically representing time, are there? There are seasonal gods/-desses like Persephone, there're sun and moon figures; there's Father Time and the whole old man/baby thing happening on New Year's, but you could barely call that personification. In fact, I can't think of a single tradition that specifically has a God or Goddess of Time (which doesn't mean that they don't exist, of course, or that I'm not having a brain fart).

I wonder why? Is it because time as we measure it, minutes half hours cigarettes lunch breaks meetings vacations car trips quickies, is completely arbitrary? That deep down in our hindbrains we have no need to mark anything but light/dark and warm/cold? Makes sense to me.

What this means, however, is that the position of "time goddess" is up for grabs, and I shall appropriate the title for myself.

My sense of timing is uncanny. In the mornings I do the following things in the following order:

- groan at my alarm
- get up and feed my cat
- choose clothes for the day
- shower
- put that girly shit on my face that girls do
- pack up my backpack with my books n' such

At this point, when unplugging my phone to take with me for the day, I check the time, naturally.

I finish within one minute of myself every day. I have no idea how I do this. It seems that if I lay in bed an extra two minutes, it will take me two minutes less to condition my hair. If I spend an extra moment petting my cat I will have one thing less to put in my backpack in the morning. How does this happen?

It's not just my morning schedule, either. If you ask me to guess the time I can very often hit it dead-on, or at least be within five minutes. I have this great ability to put myself in a trance of sorts if I just need time to pass and I can't sleep (i.e. on airplanes and such). Yet, I have not mastered the ability to slow time down when I want it to!

I am so constantly aware of time's passage; to the point where it's frustrating, really. Take this past weekend, for example. I arrived at Cliff's apartment, and we plunked ourselves down on the furnitureless floor and commenced giggling, and I could not stop the thought from entering my head: "Oh, this is already over!" And then ... it was.

How am I supposed to live in the moment when all I can feel is moments whooshing by?

Man, I was all set to be done with my taxes tonight, motivation out the wazoo, and my stupid student loan website isn't working so I can't finish it. *grumble*

But, in other news, I had an awesome-if-altogether-too-brief weekend in Mountain View. I helped organize Cliffle's new place and gorged on Indian food, including: Carrot Barfi! Mmm! These were small squishy squares of carroty goodness with what tasted like peppermint. Most unlike barf, for the record. Well. Maybe not "most." But they did taste good. :-D

I also got a personal tour of the great Google campus itself, where I:

Google is officially replacing Disneyland as the Happiest Place on Earth(tm). Sorry, Walt. Maybe you shouldn't have been whispering "sequels ... SEEEEQUELLLLLLLS!" from beyond the grave, eh? But the bright primary colors of my future place of employment call to me. Oh yes. It will be mine. If they'll hire me to lick their bidets I'll be all over that shit (umm ... literally?). (Eww.) Hell yes I'm feeling lucky! Bring it on! :-D

Funny and heartbreaking.

http://bitsandpieces1.blogspot.com/2006/01/childrens-letters-to-god.html

Lovely weekend ... beautiful weather on the porch.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20060202/stage_nm/life_canada_lordoftherings_dc

Cross reference:
http://www.mcsweeneys.net/2006/1/30james.html

Sorry posting is light lately -- I'm actually busy at work, or at least busy enough that I don't have the time to devote to a thoughtful blog entry, and my internet at home has been screwy. On top of that my evenings have been taken up by my ASL and belly dance classes, which I adore but make me tired.

So, the short list is:
Job is good, belly dance is good, ASL is good, relationship is good, "Brokeback Mountain" was good, living with parents is okay, smoking is bad for you, I like tangerines, go sports team, I love you, you love me, 23 skidoo, see you on the flip side.