:: p-dog ::

Goodtime Jesus, by James Tate*

Jesus got up one day a little later than usual. He had been dreaming so deep there was nothing left in his head. What was it? A nightmare, dead bodies walking all around him, eyes rolled back, skin falling off. But he wasn't afraid of that. It was a beautiful day. How 'bout some coffee? Don't mind if I do. Take a little ride on my donkey. I love that donkey. Hell, I love everybody.



Much to say, little time, or will. But I'll be back soon.

*To clarify: this is a poem, a prose poem. I did not write it. I do not think I'm Jesus.

:: Leslie H - 9:39 AM - ::

I felt a little bad about leaving you with a rant against basic human decency, so I thought instead I'd tell you about the Mexican (as opposed to Spanish) tapas I ate for dinner. Oh my goodness, this place! Who knew Oakland had so much to offer? My whole office decamped at 5 in honor of two people leaving and two people arriving, and we ordered almost one of everything on the menu. Maybe it was the 2+ glasses of sangria, or the fact that everything was flavored with the sweet sauce of FREE, but if you happen to be stumbling through Oak-town one eve, stop here and order it all.

:: Leslie H - 9:53 PM - ::

I always sort of liked the whole chivalrous door-opening for the ladies thing, but I think I may officially change my position. No one will smile at each other on the street in downtown Oakland, but working in the same building makes you neighbors of some kind, who afford each other at least some low-level civility. I like the smiling, the occasional "have a good day" hazarded on the way out of the elevator, but I just don't know what to do about the door opening. It's epidemic. I'll be moseying my way toward the main exit and suddenly notice that some man ten steps ahead of me is standing proudly by the door like a cat with a dead bird, looking at me expectantly, like "I opened this door for you, so you'd better trot right along." So I smile and mosey a little faster, say thanks, and wonder why I look like I can't open the damn door by myself. Worse is when someone closer to my age gets to the door about the same time I as do, and, clearly unsure of what's expected of him, heaves the door open and stands back grudgingly as though he's given me one of his kidneys. And then we have to wait for the elevator and ride it up together. Of course he'll stand back and let me walk in first, no matter who is closest to the arriving elevator--because you can't open the door for someone and then storm into the elevator in front of them, no! At this point, thanks to his awkward gallantry, we've simply had too many interactions to credibly pretend we're alone in the 6x6 box. But he's wearing headphones, the universal sign for Don't Talk to Me, so in self-defense I'll take out my cell phone and busily press random buttons as though I have some very important text messaging to do.

Anyway, my point is, if you don't stop it, men of the world, I might start opening doors for you, and we'll just see how you like that.

:: Leslie H - 4:45 PM - ::

Now Really Engaged

It only took us three months (okay, more than three months), but Bryan and I finally got it together enough to get the official engagement ring. And here it is! Snatch me bald-headed!

It's beautiful, and I love it, and my training ring, which I'm already a little nostalgic about, successfully deadened the nerves in my ring finger, so I don't even notice I'm wearing it. (Except when I look down and catch a glimpse of the giant blue rock.) I had only been wearing it for an hour before I was wrist-deep in chopped grilled vegetables, so I can testify that it stands up quite well to soiling and doesn't get in my way at all. Though Bryan says I'll have to stop backhanding him across the face when he forgets to do the dishes. Trade-offs.

We had a fabulous time yesterday in the sunny south bay. Bryan and I decended upon Doug's place with bags of produce from the Oakland Farmers Market, and I got to try two of the recipes I've been hoarding that require a grill: a tomato, onion, and bell pepper soup (recipe link in the sidebar), and grilled peaches with vanilla ice cream for dessert. Grilled peaches! Oh, the goodness.

A couple of pictures from last night are in our summer album, and I'm hoping to add some soon from the 4th.

:: Leslie H - 1:52 PM - ::

You, Me, and Our Monkey Brains

Two links for you today--work is hectic after the long weekend. First, Clare's latest Peace Corps post: moving. Second, why no one gives a crap about things that are going to kill us, entitled "If only gay sex caused global warming." Unifying themes: irrationality, cat death.

:: Leslie H - 1:31 PM - ::

It's been a while since my last photo-post, so I thought I'd bring you this shot I snapped in my lush, forested backyard (that is a LIE).



What's that in the treetop? Why, it's a black bear! What chased it up 15 feet of tree? Why, it's a small orange cat!

Hope you are all having as much fun on your holiday weekend as I am.

(I actually stole this from Cute Overload--god I love that site--which I think stole it from Yahoo News.)

:: Leslie H - 9:12 AM - ::

I got this email the other day from a former student of mine.

hi ms hall
well iam so glad
i walked the beatiful stage
so cool
next year ill be a FRESHMAN
yay
so whats up
anything new
me nottin
just trying to get a job
well talk to you later
always
NAME

If you think of it like a poem, it's less depressing that he's about to start high school and can't spell beautiful.

:: Leslie H - 9:26 AM - ::