It's important to be warm

Our regularly scheduled program has been interrupted for this rant.

There’s a minor scandal (oooh!) going on about a couple of Pgh High Schools and as an alumna of one of them, I feel I have a right to take my turn on the soapbox, wag a finger, and get back to my generally angst-free adult life.

Without touching the incredibly inane title of the article, the issue to me is when will people own up to who they were when they were teenagers? It’s not as if the current generation invented problems with power at the undefinable age between childhood and serious responsibility. They just have a new tool and the internet, like any creative tool, can be used to empower, to gossip, to babble on endlessly, and to get you in trouble. New tool=same shit different day.

I thank CAPA for the education it gave me, on the usual subjects as well as on the social issues. That school probably saved my life as it was a haven for the wild, raging freaks we were at fifteen. I had incredible teachers, some now passed on, who I carry deep in my heart. I had some rather blah ones as well, and boy did we talk shit on them!

There were scandals all the time when we were coming up. In the un-airconditioned building, it was miserably hot at times. The girls could wear skirts in summer, often with shorts underneath, but neither gender could wear just shorts. So, the boys decided to wear skirts until shorts were allowed as it was genuinely unfair. There was the scandal of the mural and the rage of the painters who had to redo it so that the girl’s arm covered her breast. I still can bring up actual anger about that one, even now, even though it wasn’t my painting. There were countless others, not limited to discussions of which teachers were sleeping with which other teachers (on the roof of a car! in a McDonald’s parking lot!!!), the girl who gave birth all alone in the bathroom on the first floor, and so on. And really it hardly matters. High school is all about scandal. Even if kids aren’t having sex, they’re thinking about it, and talking about it. They’re also doing a lot of other stuff that is dangerous and/or beautiful.

Zig, Bleys, and I (class of ‘94, ‘92, and ‘91, respectively) went to visit CAPA on a tour of the old and new buildings they were doing for some sort of celebration I’ve forgotten the official name of over a year ago. Running around our haunts of yesteryear, we reminisced about all the good times to great length, and agreed that you couldn’t pay us any amount of money to go back to that age. Such a great suffering it is to be stuck on the verge of figuring out who you are as your own person, ripping free of family and often of friends. It’s a rotten age to be. It’s also amazing and unforgettable. In wandering those old, filthy halls, we admired the current crop of students, their funk and their relative normality.

We rode the school buses down the busway under police escort to town. It was one of the top ten bus rides I’d ever been on just due to the energy of the sunshine, the freedom of those uncomfortable seats, and the memories that flooded us. We arrived at the new building and almost re-thought our stance on going back to school. The equipment! The clean and shiny digital-ness of it all! So nice and so beyond anything we had back in our day. We felt both old and hopeful. We lamented that the kids wouldn’t necessarily get the education we got in making work out of literally nothing, how to dumpster dive, and how to invent the oasis we had in Homewood. But we quickly realized that was just our age talking and soon figured out exactly where the camera eyes guarding the halls couldn’t see. We picked the closet out that kids might go and hide out in, doing all the stuff that causes teenage scandals. We did it. Our kids will too. My mom was great during my teen years as she remembered all the shit she pulled, not the least of which was rolling her boyfriend’s car in the flatlands of Indiana.

I’m proud of the CAPA kids personally, and the North Allegheny kids too, by extension. They’re carrying on a fine tradition of “fuckin’ shit up”, as we used to say back in high school. If you don’t learn how to do that right in your teens, you end up being a really annoying adult, and we sure don’t need any more of those around.

</rant>

Now back to worrying about the slow drain on the washing machine’s sink and cleaning the house.

Filed by joy at 3:32 pm under politics
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I am fortunate to have a great family, both blood and chosen relatives. My mom’s mother could never quite understand those families with infighting and drama as all her ten children took care of one another, and she thanked her God daily for the obvious love surrounding her. Growing up an only child on my corner of that vibrant, messy, affectionate group led me to choose some wonderful friends for extended family. More and more this nuclear family set up seems a recipe for suffering and loneliness. Family is who will take you in when you have no where else to go, and it is also those that love you beyond reason and disappointment. Each of us needs as many family members as we can muster.

I’ve given careful thought to what it is to belong to a family and to a place, brought into sharp light by moving back to the zip code I was born in. When I left my chosen Kansas City family to start over in my hometown, I tasted a distinct bitter of the few people with whom I’d hoped to have reconnected. It’s a minor edge of flavor on the deep, mellow sustenance of those who put me at ease, in Pittsburgh, and in all my travels. I count the wide reaches of my family tree as I daydream of who my children will be able to call on, to celebrate being alive, or take them in if dark hours befall. This tree in my mind has twisting, elegant branches that root in various cities, blooming in bright, interesting people. From New Zealand to New England, I know I’m home.

I’m truly blessed and honored.

___________

Food of the family:

Susie’s Bean Dip
Two cans Black Beans (not too firm or briny), drained
One can Shoepeg Corn (slightly smaller can than standard), drained
One can Chopped Tomatoes (preferably Italian flavor or similar), NOT drained

Dump the contents of all four cans into an attractive large bowl. Stir gently and completely.
Garnish with fresh chopped green onions.
Serve with tortilla chips (lime are especially yummy!)
Expect it to disappear.

Grandma Pancakes
Batter: for each egg
(estimate 2 eggs per adult, 3 if you’re hungry or haven’t had these in a long time):
1/4 cup flour
3/8 cup milk (soy works just fine, rice is too thin)
1 teaspoon sugar (can be left out if you don’t do sugar)
1/4 teaspoon salt

Use a mixer or a blender capable of dealing with flour to blend all ingredients to a smooth consistency. Very small flour bumps are ok, but not preferred. I’ve had to make this whipping with a fork before and it’s not as nice with flour clumps.

Generously melt butter (Soy garden works great) in a good skillet/griddle/comal at medium high heat. Don’t let it brown.

Turn down the heat and add the batter, ladling slowly as you tip the pan to form and even out the crepe. Check the edges, listen for scorching, flip when lightly brown. This is a practiced skill, don’t be discouraged if the first several flips are messy or tear the pancake. The second side will bubble nicely if your pan is the right temperature. Now that your pan is hot, keep the temperature moderately low and repeat until the batter (or the butter) is gone.

Serve immediately if the cook isn’t hungry. Keep in the oven if you want to all eat together.

To top a crepe
Preferred: Chop a lemon into squeezable portions. Mix up cinnamon and sugar about 1 to 1. Sprinkle the cinnamon sugar in a line down the center of your crepe. Drizzle lemon juice down the same.
Roll. Eat. Repeat.
Alternates include a fruity jam or similar. I’d like to try these with a fine lemon curd one day, but I just haven’t gotten around to it and I like the cinnamon sugar with fresh lemon too much to bother.

This is one of the first things I ever learned to cook. Dad taught me, telling me stories of his grandmother, the namesake. I’ve made the recipe my own, converting to soy milk and free-range eggs, running three pans at once. Patience, especially for food, is not one of my virtues and it always took forever for him to make these when I was a kid.

Enjoy.

Filed by joy at 9:45 pm under crafty
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Expect several photo entries for awhile. I only took 270 pictures on my trip.

We had absolutely perfect weather for the drive.

And what is a road trip without spotting religious nutbar signs:

Tunnel fun:

I can’t stop playing with the camera in the car at night. Endlessly entertaining, to me at least.

Thank you Zig for coming with.
Thank you Jude for the title of this entry, from back in the proxemics project days.

Filed by joy at 4:07 pm under visuals
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flickr is neat. Especially when it memes.

/a>

I can’t seem to get that lost piece of code out, so eh, enjoy with the oddity.

Filed by joy at 3:23 pm under visuals
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I have much to say about the NY trip, but, in short, all of it was amazing and wonderful.

A few things have occurred since arriving home and attempting to settle back into my usual work-a-day life. Having missed the fun of projectile vomiting at Naomi and Rob’s, I got a slightly different view of it in my own childless home. Saggar must’ve missed us as she took it upon herself to snooze between our heads, almost like a real cat. Needless to say, Ian didn’t feel entirely guilty when he tossed her blindly into the dark room when she started making those chraawwwwk crawwwwwwk noises. He doesn’t seem to like it when Saggar offers to puke on his head. Make a note of it.

We went to see Fzzn Grrl this evening. It was a good play in their odd series of “Art is Science Made Clear”, though the problem of women in the sciences was brought into sharp focus as some dorky older man chatted at us afterward. He asked “Saw the play? Liked it?” like any casual parking lot repartee, and as we offered our positive confirmations, he made some offhand crack about “see what happens when you give women power” and it was all I could do not to blow him up, with or without nuclear fission. Now, of course, I have several wordy weapons I could toss at him, but all I could think of at the time was “My, you haven’t gotten laid in a long time.” Kinda wished I’d said even that lame remark. He didn’t deserve to get away so cleanly.

Filed by joy at 10:03 pm under life
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My dinosaur is back up! in front of the Carnegie no less!!

I have no idea why, but anyone who can find out rocks my world and gets some un-named prize I’ll think of later…

I’d love a picture as well as I am entirely unable to take one from NYC.

Filed by joy at 10:09 pm under life
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I’m quiet because I’m on the move. Naomi proudly hatched herself a second and I’m taking it as a sign that I should go up and visit her and the big apple generally.

The short list:
Knitting! Finished the matching hat and scarf with ruffles. (Shout out to crafty rockstar Kari for helping at the Church of Craft). Mom found a box from the move with all my grandmother’s needles. I am so pleased. They’re all so shiny and pretty. Metal does have that over bamboo.
House: Finished spackling, we’re priming today. Pictures later.
LUPEC: That was fun. I even won a prize at the quiz for knowing the name of a long gone women’s bar on the South Side. Typical native daughter.
Snow: WTF? Stop it.
Sick: I’m finally getting over whatever the nasty bug is. Relief.
NY: Watch out. Not only am I heading your way, I’m bringing Zig and we will sing merrily all the way there. Be afraid, be very afraid.

Filed by joy at 3:45 pm under life
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Enough with the snow already. Just stop it.

Filed by joy at 1:48 am under life
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Continuing on my quest to get all my drinking done early in the year, I’m already getting excited about tonight’s Corsets, Cocktails and Camaraderie at the Frick Art and Historical Center.

LUPEC again joins forces with The Frick Art and Historical Center to explore a century of women. The evening will feature guided tours of the Bakewell Glass Exhibit (starting in the 1820s), a special tour of Clayton (covering the 1890s), and discussion of the 1920s, including an appropriately flapperesque cocktail. As with all Frick events, this
one promises to be fun, educational, singular, and heavy on the hors d’ouvres.

Filed by joy at 10:51 am under life
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I went to visit B. at work. It was nothing like any of the three places I’ve actually been that were the XYZ offices. Very metallic and cool loft-style open space, very suited to their style. There was a central waiting area with a nice receptionist named Julie (not a real person). B. was in a meeting, probably with some of the other boys who work there, but I never saw in the dream. Right in front of Julie’s desk was a modern and again, very cool and metallic framed bed. This made perfect sense as the boys of XYZ often worked way past the wee hours and needed a nap space. I waited on the bed like it was any couch in any waiting room. Chatted idly with Julie before dozing off, which was perfectly natural given the space. Later, B. came around to the central room, I awoke from my doze, finding that everyone else had left. The office had become his living space, again, not any I’ve known, even as his living space was their real office at times. The loft had rooms all in the same run around the central space, but the reception space became more aptly a bedroom. The metal rods up near the ceiling, which may or may not have been evident earlier, were hanger rods, and incredibly well thought-through ones at that. There were probably five rods, set up in long U shapes originating equidistant from one another, pointing into the center of the room, in an implied continuous circle behind some peripheral wall. Not unlike a dry-cleaners, the hangers would smoothly and quietly roll along until the item desired was near, then, with an elegant modern hand-crank, you could lower the hanger rod down to you. B. sat with me on the bed and we talked for awhile. When I noticed the hand-crank near the edge of the bed, he showed me how the closet design worked just in time for A. to come home. We hung up her coat. We three were all heading out to dinner. As he passed the desk where she was momentarily standing, he passed her a note not for me to see directly, but not hidden in any way. In big block handwritten letters, “I’m horny” was clear, with a smaller note beneath it. They exchanged a sideways glance at one another, and we all left the loft.

Filed by joy at 10:43 am under dreams
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