The Bliss of Ms. Blossom

Our tiny rose plant looks pretty pathetic. It's turning sort of pale and crisp, and a thin layer of cobwebs clings all around it (acting as some sort of natural alternative to shrink wrap).

In summation: very fuckin' creepy.

I'm so sick of reading in various places how "Jesus was a(n) ______!"

Fill in the blank: liberal, conservative, Democrat, Republican, pro-choice, pro-life, INFP, INFJ, feminist, chauvinist, environmentalist, capitalist... etc.












Who. The. Fuck. Cares.












It cannot possibly matter in the slightest way. I don't care who Jesus would have voted for, just like I don't care how he would have taken his coffee. For the record, I also don't care whether King Arthur would have supported the war in Iraq or whether Pecos Bill would have accepted homosexuals. Would Santa Claus have called Helen of Troy an equal, or would he have mocked her sleigh-driving? Sure, I'll answer that question when I'm ready to have a frivolous conversation, but not as a defense of my political beliefs.

Jesus, Arthur, Bill, Santa, Helen. These people are not real.

I'm not entirely sure what a gardening journal is, but I know that Mom was talking about them this past summer, and I thought they sounded like the stupidest, most ridculous, absolutely worthless undertaking ever. I have since decided to try one myself, and perhaps lead this sad genre to the heights of genius. I might actually check some out at the library (yes, they are actually published), but until then, I'll have to wing it.

We actually have a fair amount of plants in our house. (I would like to take a moment to bemoan the fact that this new residence lacks a name! I mean, Alaska is now legendary -- to about 5 people -- but all I can call this place is home.) I have some sort of leafy thing on my small bookshelf. Her name is Lolita, because I simply cannot get over how much I adore that book. (Dissertation topic?) She still has the "Get 2 for $6" sticker on her plastic pot. I keep on meaning to repot her into a nicer container, but I have always found it difficult to locate a respectable amount of pots at Wal-Mart. I think there's a gardening store in the shopping center down the road (or I'm having another one of many hallucinations), so I might check that out. I'm thinking it needs to be blue. I try to water her every time it occurs to me, but I worry that this is still a pitiful amount. There are tiny clover like leaves that seem to be thriving. Esther called them weeds, but I feel attached to them. (Not to mention, the whole idea of "weeds" as inferior to "plants" is completely arbitrary and values domestically grown organisms over those that thrive in the wild.) Lolita has been listening to a lot of Ani D and Spoon lately. I guess that's to be expected.

I'm worried that this first gardening journal attempt wasn't quite a success. It's probably pretty boring to most people. That might just be inherent to the genre. Now I'm pondering whether a gardening journal is really appropriate for my audience. My students might be disappointed in me at my poor rhetorical abilities. I often feel that they shouldn't hear me speak outside of class, because it might smash the image of a cultivated instructor that I'm trying to present.

And now I've veered far enough way from my original topic that I feel I should just end this now.

The Texas Anna would be very disconcerted by this, but I was so relieved. Air conditionning here is basically nonexistent, and the recent hot weather coupled with life-draining humidity has been killing me softly. As such, my electric fan has become my lover, but I think maybe it's about that time that we discuss taking a break. I mean, Pennsylvania should be cold, right?

Steph and I had an amazing time. I would say more, but it would take about a thousand years for me to write everything down, and I've charged her with spreading the word. Hopefully this will entice others to Happy Valley.