For those of you who aren’t watching the minutiae in the news today, you may have missed this item. Disney/ABC traded Al Michaels, the sportscaster, to NBC (which owns Universal) in exchange for the rights to Oswald the Rabbit.

Yes indeed. A guy was traded for a cartoon character. For those of you who don’t follow the Disney “world,” Oswald was an early creation of Walt Disney and a precursor to Mickey Mouse. Disney created him while working for Universal and they’ve retained the rights all these years, media corporate mergers notwithstanding.

Michaels was planning to do Monday Night Football for ESPN, but for lots of complicated (and boring) reasons, he wants out of his contract with ABC, thus the trade.

Here’s how it went down:

NBC guy: We want Al.

ABC guy: You can’t have him.

NBC: What do you want for him?

ABC: Um, one of Leno’s cars.

NBC: No can do. How about a gross of peacock cups?

ABC: (sigh) Ok, let’s see, how about a successful sitcom. Maybe My Name is Earl?

NBC: Are you kidding? You can have the rights to the unaired episodes of Book of Daniel. Watch out though, the scary Christians will hate you.

ABC: Nah. OK, let’s see how about we give you Chris Berman, the most annoying sportscaster ever?

NBC: You want to give us Berman so that we take Michaels. No way. See we got Keith Olberman already and he’s pretty funny even if he is difficult. Plus he keeps punking O’Reilly, which is pretty nice. Berman would just pun his name. Plus he never shuts up and every senesible person in the world hates him.

ABC: Are you mareketing to sensible people now? No wonder you’re third. Anyway, how about you give us one of your lamer cable channels? USA?

NBC: It is lame, but no. You want the footage of Costas trying to explain the symbolism of the Opening Ceremonies of the Torino Olympics? By the way isn’t “Torino” a cool way to refer to it? ‘Turin” is so pedestrian. That footage is so “right now.”*

ABC: Ok, let’s cut to it. We want the rabbit.

NBC: Rabbit?

ABC: Yeah, the Disney rabbit. All those jokes about how often rabbits procreate–they’re hilarious. Plus which, the Disney people WILL NOT shut up about the rabbit.

NBC: You want to swap the rabbit for Michaels?

ABC: Yep.

NBC: Well, ok. It’s sort of weird.

ABC: OK, throw in some peacock cups too, then if anybody asks it’ll seem less random.

NBC: You got it.

*I know the swap happened before the opening ceremonies, give me a little latitude.

There you have it, the sporkseye view of Hollywood. Come back soon when we will explore other important Hollywood topics like whether Ryan Phillippe is most jealous of wife Reese Witherspoon’s money or talent. And we’ll reveal, through the magic of Scout’s life experience, which “characters” at the Chinese Theater in Hollywood are the skankiest. My money is on Elmo. We’ll see.

Today I came in to work feeling ok. I had my jamba juice and had managed to bring my lunch to work, which always helps me avoid the “what crappity crap am I going to eat today?” question. As I came in, I noticed some weird energy in the office. Whatever, I thought. We have staff meetings on Thursday morning, so I did my usual scan of e-mail and brain for what I need to tell people about. Staff meeting can be a little contentious, but this one was fairly calm. Nevertheless, there were a few pop-up issues that bothered me. We had lost a bunch of stuff we needed because the college’s server crashed and we hadn’t done a back-up in three weeks. Then someone asked if the front office staff could be notified when the paperwork bin is full. Now, if the paperwork bin is full, that means the paperwork isn’t getting done. At least to my way of thinking.

So after staff meeting, I go into the Assistant Director’s (AD) office and she and I started talking about the problems in the office. She’s officially been in her job for six months and I’ve had my interim job for 18 or so, but I know I don’t know what I’m doing. So we’re both sort of casting around for what to do.

One major problem we have is that the major problem person on the office is a friend of hers. The friend hiring preceded my presence, and though AD’s very good about trying to draw boundaries, I think the emphasis there should be on “trying.”

We talk for a while and then I asked what turned out to be the critical question…

“What did Previous Director (PD) and Previous Assistant director (PAD) do that we’re not doing?” I’m a big admirer of both PD and PAD. PAD still works in the office in a different capacity. So AD called PAD into the office and we talk about what to do.

I ask PAD the crucial question. Now, see, here’s the elephant in the room: AD and and I both worry about micro-managing. PAD says, “don’t worry about it. Micro-manage if you need to.” Now, I’m not stupid, but this idea struck me as genius. I can micro-manage. AD can micro-manage. If people aren’t going to do their jobs and we can’t function well for the next two weeks because we have no data because we have no back-up files, then somebody’s got to be watching the little stuff.

So AD, PAD and I set some priorities on paper and have a meeting with Office Manager (OM). I try to spin it, but OM sees right through me. She doesn’t want to work hard and the new “accountability” plan that we’ve come up with requires hard work. And accountability. Still and all, if I can’t motivate OM, I can make her accountable for her job. And accountability requires fewer inspirational tools. Which is good, because I tend to have very little sympathy for ennui, unless it’s my own.

OM asked in the course of the meeting when the search for the permanent director would happen. Whatever.

AD tried to reassure me and suggested I bring in food occasionally.

Anybody got any inspirational sayings I can use? The best I can come up with is, “Sporks for all!”

(Footnote: Blogger’s spellcheck suggested “necromancer” as the best alternative to “micromanage”)

Last night I was driving home from puppy school with Biscuit. She’s finished her six sessions and now has a certificate of completion. The certificate is not an acknowledgement of skills, it’s an acknowledgement of showing up. We did show up. Honey and I started calling her “completer” last night.

I was listening to “Says You” on NPR on the way home from puppy school and they were doing lists of “what does it have in common?” “Pea, Walnut, Golf ball, Grapefruit, Softball” was one of the lists. The answer, in case you care, is that the are U.S. Weather Service sizes of hail. I found myself trying to make sure I remembered them correctly. I then had to look up hail sizes on the web. According to the NOAA.GOV web site (that would be the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, the uber-agency to the National Weather Service), there are the following hail sizes. Are you ready? You sure?

0.25 inch Pea Size
0.50 inch Mothball Size
0.75 inch (Severe Criteria) Penny Size
0.88 inch Nickel Size
1.00 inch Quarter Size
1.25 inch Half Dollar Size
1.50 inch Walnut or Ping Pong Ball Size
1.75 inch Golf Ball Size
2.00 inch Hen Egg Size
2.50 inch Tennis Ball Size
2.75 inch Baseball Size
3.00 inch Teacup Size
4.00 inch Grapefruit Size
4.50 inch Softball Size

I was relieved to see this chart and its specificity, because I had been worrying about the relative lack of difference between the size of a softball and a grapefruit and the relatively large size difference between a pea and a walnut. It helps me to know that there is a complete list and standards to go along with it.

Of course, then I worry about people being killed by grapefruit sized hail. Sure enough, someone was killed in 2000 by a grapefruit sized piece of hail in Forth Worth, TX. Probably a Republican, but still.

I worry about these kinds of things too much. Give me a topic, prompt an interest and I’ll find out everything I can about it. I file the little factoids away, trot them out at random times, and admire them like pretty little nuggets or hen egg sized pieces of hail.

My mother says that there are two kinds of people in the world: those that tell you everything they know, and those that know way more than they will ever tell you. She is definitely in the former category and my dad in the latter. I like to think I am more like my dad in this way, but suspect the opposite is true.

Lately, I’m trying not to be the busybody know-it-all that I have a tendency to be. Because I’m not teaching now, I don’t have a captive audience for random fact of the day. Therefore, I want to spout them out when I can.

Murphy Brown had a great scene about this whole thing. One of the characters is telling the bartender something (it’s been a long time since I’ve seen it, ok? Don’t expect really great scene recreation). The bartender replies, “If I remember that, I’m going to have to let go of Truman’s hat size.” Please don’t remember the hail sizes unless you have room.

I know that facts don’t do you much good unless you have the analytical tools to connect them. I was at a meeting yesterday where a faculty member went on a rant about the chancellor of our system. I know facts about him (the chancellor) and I’ve heard opinions. I was impressed by the provost’s response. He talked for a while and then said, “if the problems we have were really the result of one person, the solution would be fairly simple.” It was as clever and thoughtful a bit of reasoning as I’ve heard in a while. And he’s right, of course.

I’ll probably hold on to the hail sizes for a while. But I’m going to try to figure out how to think about them (and all the other random things) in a more complex way.

I don’t, by the way, know Truman’s hat size and I’m not going to look it up.

Ok, ok, I know EVERYONE is playing poker these days. It’s all so cliched. I learned the play poker from my Dad, who likes to play his law partners. He likes it because he takes their money. I like poker too, though as those of you who read this blog know, I tend to turn pink when I’m excited.

When I started my current job and found that the whole office was a bit poker mad, led by the office manager. The rest of the office often looks to her as a guide for what’s good and right in the world. Her mood sets the office mood. She loves poker and everyone else seemed to fall in line.

Occasionally, we have poker parties at office manager’s house and tonight’s one of them. I go about half the time. The other half the time I beg off or am not invited. It’s sort of like the office Friday lunch. I get invited sometimes but I rarely go. When I do go, I sense that they would have just as soon had me skip it. Honey says I should always make Friday lunch plans. I’m too much of a social goober to do that, but when I do, I am always glad to say that I can’t go. Everyone is so relieved.

A couple of times I’ve been in the final two in the winner take all pot during the poker parties. I’ve never won, however. Inevitably, the person that beat me felt bad about it. It’s not that they feel sorry for me or anything, but I’m the BOSS.

I forget that a lot. People act reluctant to ask for vacation; they defer to me. It can all go to my head. Last week I talked the Assistant Director down from her opinion in the middle of a staff meeting and then realized that I shouldn’t have done it. I apologized to her and am going to try to be more thoughtful about that kind of stuff in the future.

I guess it’s hard to have it both ways. Respect and distance often go hand in hand. I appreciate that they invite me at all, I guess, but wish I were just one of the gang.

I decided to be an academic in part because it struck me as less hierarchical than most jobs. While that is true, I get a little tense around the Dean, a lot tense around the Provost and the President’s presence makes my mouth pasty. I guess I fit somewhere on that food chain and the staff in my office know it, even if I forget it sometimes.

Meanwhile, tonight, I play quietly and carefully and probably lose. And it’s probably best that I do. At least I’m pretty sure they like me enough not to shoot me in the back, even if I have Aces and Eights.

I like craigslist ok for the usual reasons. I bought a Tony Little Gazelle on it. Fine transaction, cheaper than retail by a lot. The guy did insist on my taking the Tony Little videos that came with it. I can’t say I blame him.

I sold an old bike of mine on it. It was poring raining and this German guy drove from Santa Monica to the Valley to buy it. He then got soaking loading it into his car. It was a hideous sea foam green Peugeot U.S. Express I bought on a whim in 1989. I should have kept my 1985 Trek Elance. Honey says I shouldn’t worry about old bikes or dead pets. She’s right. But I can’t help it.

For the most part, I don’t use craigslist the way some people do, looking for jobs or apartments. I like reading the “free” section and the “pets” community board.

Now, the pet board is a whole bizarre thing. It’s supposed to be for people to exchange information about pets (which happens a little), and to post available pets for adoption. It’s a tense place. It throbs with conflict between backyard breeders of animals (or wannabes) and rescue folks, really intense folks.

Every day there is a post or two with the euthanasia lists for the Los Angeles City Shelters. An aside, honey and I have three pets, all adopted from the L.A. City shelters. Calif was gotten from the South L.A. shelter, Halo from the East Valley Shelter, and Biscuit D. Dog is a South L.A. product as well. We helped Slangred and Bryduck pick out Amber at East Valley. And Honey and I plucked “the best cat ever(tm)”–Squeaky–from the West Valley “Sick Pet Room.” I believe in shelters, I have only ever owned rescue dogs and cats in my adult life and have helped friends and family pick out same. My sister-in-law so believes in her Atlanta shelter cat Mambo’s right to platinum care, that she calls the vet during every vacation to remind them that Mambo should get any medical care he needs.

So, anyway, I find the L.A. shelters pretty depressing. They are full of pit bulls and pit bull mixes. I felt very lucky to find Biscuit and would not have gotten her had I waited until a weekend to come in. Honey was one of two people who wanted Calif. I know that pit bulls can be nice dogs. I know. But, here’s how the shelter is described on craigslist (pit bulls=staffies):

“OMG!!! THE BRUTAL SOUTH LA SLAUGHTERHOUSE IS KILLING SO MANY DOGS AGAIN!!! MOST OF THEM ARE BEING KILLED OUT OF SHEER BREED BIGOTRY—THEY LOVE TO KILL OFF NEARLY ALL DOGS LABELED AS STAFFIES AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE, GIVING THEM NO CHANCE TO GET ADOPTED, NO MATTER HOW FABULOUS THEY ARE. OTHER DOGS THEY LABEL AS “USE CAUTION” DOGS, AND THEY ARE GIVING OUT THOSE LABELS VERY FREQUENTLY THESE DAYS, AS AN EXCUSE TO KILL DOGS WHO DON’T DESERVE THOSE LABELS AT ALL. NOT A SINGLE ONE OF THE DOGS LISTED BELOW EXHIBITS ANY SIGN OF AGGRESSION, YET THEY ARE CONDEMNED TO DEATH. THERE IS NO EXCUSE FOR THE KILLING!!!”

Then the poster goes on to describe individual dogs. Here’s a typical example:

“THIS IS THE CUTEST, MOST BEAUTIFUL LITTLE ITTY BITTY BORDER COLLIE/STAFFIE, WEIGHING ONLY 32 LBS., AND SO VERY FRIENDLY!!! HE’S JUST STUNNING, WITH SUCH A DAINTY BODY AND THOSE HUGE ERECT EARS. HE’S SUCH A SWEET, INNOCENT BABY, WAY YOUNGER THAN THE AGE LISTED. HE WAS ACTUALLY IMPOUNDED OVER A MONTH AGO, AND PUT INTO THE ANNEX FOR SAFEKEEPING BECAUSE HE’S A TERRIFIC DOG, BUT NOW HE’S BEEN TRANSFERRED TO SOUTH LA, WHICH IS NOT EVEN GIVING HIM A CHANCE TO GET ADOPTED, THEY ARE SO EAGER TO KILL THIS PERFECT LITTLE ANGEL!”

Do I need note that the caps are in the original?

Without getting into the politics of the thing, I want to say that I’m very much in favor of saving dogs and I think this person is probably a good person. Nevertheless, I am worried about the hysteria here. I’ve been to these shelters. These dogs are not that nice. They’re just not. They may be great with A LOT of work at home. They may not.

Biscuit was at the shelter for a day. She’s a handful undoubtedly backyard bred and probably ignored for the first year of her life. I try to work with her. She’s still a lot of dog.

Anyway, if you want to watch human tension, check it out. On the gentler end…

Here’s what’s great about the “free” section:

“I have a cute cat bowl, one vial of advantage for cats (9 lb and up), an ornate glass vase, and a few assorted sealed jams (2 strawberry and 1 apricot).”

Ok, I guessing the cat died and I’m sorry for it. But why throw in the jam? And how is the vase related? And do we have to take all of it?

There are a lot of “clean dirt” ads in the free section.

I liked this one today too.

“We thawed this turkey to cook today for the Super Bowl, but we all woke-up too late to cook it in time (needs approx 5 hrs, unless you deep fry it). So if you want the turkey, you need to come get it before we go over to our friend’s place at about 1:30. Otherwise we are going to have to trash it. ”

It’s really a way to watch people struggle with themselves. What can they not bring themselves to throw away? What do they not want to move? It’s like little existential crises available for everyday. Free!

Sandra–the coolest person ever drew me three sporks. I picked the coolest looking one and then picked a new template to go with the spork! Here were my choices…

Go sporks!

I have great nostalgia for my own past and the distant past. I am enough of a realist to recognize that the past was problematic. The life I live today couldn’t have been lived fifty years ago. I love my tivo and my female life partner (not in the same way!). And I recognize that neither tivo nor an open relationship with my honey would have been possible way back then in black and white land.

Two women died this week who affected my life in different ways. When I was in college, filled with the kind of post-feminist angst that seems only possible in the 1980s, I fell into a pleasant obsession with Wendy Wasserstein and her plays. I saw Heidi Chronicles on Broadway with Christine Lahti (Joan Allen originated the part) and was sure that Heidi spoke to me and my “issues” in a profound way that no one else could understand. My Dad, who took me to see the play, recognized the obsession (if not the reason for it) and went back to the theater the night after was saw it and asked to buy a Christine Lahti Heidi poster. The play had just won the Pulitzer and Allen was coming back. We had seen the last Lahti performance. They had no more posters. Dad talked them into selling him the one from the marquee signed by the cast and Wasserstein. He then got it framed for me. I loved Wasserstein. I never met her, of course, but she had things to say to me.

Lillie Scoville ran an alternative pre-school/kindergarten in Atlanta called the Out-of-Doors-School. Miss Lillie was an amazing woman. Tough and fair minded. She taught me to read and caught me in a lie or two for which I was always embarrassed. There were other teachers at the school, but Miss Lillie was one of those presences that shone bright and clear in my mind. She attended one of my mother’s churches and I had lunch with her once ten or twelve years ago. She was gracious and thoughtful. By that time, she couldn’t see very well. But she told me I was beautiful. It was a nice thought, I suppose. I laughed, but she meant it.

Miss Lillie and Wendy both left me this week. Left me to think about what they meant to me and the others whose lives they touched.

Billy Collins has a wonderful poem called “Nostalgia” the last verse of which I have always particularly liked:

“As usual, I was thinking about the moments of the past,
letting my memory rush over them like water
rushing over the stones on the bottom of a stream.
I was even thinking a little about the future, that place
where people are doing a dance we cannot imagine,
a dance whose name we can only guess.”

There are people I know and love who are sure that we will meet again with those who we have lost. I have to content myself with the hope that they are right and the promises I’ve heard my whole life are true.

I do know that my heart is full for their presences in my life.

Happy journeys.

Ok, big time confession…

Are you ready? You sure?

I’m white. Caucasian. A WASP. You may have guessed that from the whole “turning pink” thing yesterday. But, just to confirm, I am very white. There’s no olive undertone to me. I do have brown eyes, so it’s not like I’m Nordic looking. Actually I look like what I am–a white girl from Anglo-semi-Celtic (but nowhere out of the British Isles) stock who grew up in the South. My family is from South Georgia and England.

As I was growing up in Atlanta, white people of certain ideologies worked hard to prove they weren’t racists. I went to a mostly African-American high school. Before you get too excited about my diverse upbringing, I should also note that the school used what was called “leveling.” I was in Level 1, which was all white kids and one black guy. Level two was about half white and half black. Levels three and four, all black. Coincidence? You decide.

I went to a middling private college in the Northeast. Mostly white people.

I did graduate work at UCLA. Mostly white people.

I don’t pretend that my sexuality actually makes me understand the experience of ethnic minorities in the United States. It’s not the same thing. I work in academia, my honey works for a GLBT publishing company. Being lesbians in either context=not a big deal.

I am both humble and proud of growing up in the New South, proud of the changes that were made in the Civil Rights movement by Southerners, both black and white. Like any good folklorist, I approach any person, regardless of their cultural background as someone from whom I can learn things.

So, I had to have a meeting earlier this week with two of the ethnic studies departments on campus. I had put it off and put it off. Then I called the very sensible Associate Dean and told him the problem. He said we needed to meet with them. I said I’d rather bury my head in the sand. He said to call them.

Here’s how the meeting went:

Me: The state standards are x for y course. Does your course include x?

Ethnic Studies Department 1: Yes, though from a ethnic studies perspective.

Me: Great! Can you take the x list and share them with your faculty?

Them: Sure, we’ll make it part of the common syllabus.

Me: Great!

One down, one to go.

Me: (to Ethnic Studies Department 2): How about you?

ESD2: Maybe

Me: Ok, well here are three options… (you don’t want to know them: boring). Can you present to your faculty and discuss?

ESD2: Sure.

Me: Oh and we could do this really nice thing for you, if we can’t fix the y course problem.

ESD2: Ok

So, last night I get cc’ed on an e-mail from one of ESD2’s faculty. (He called me Ms. Sporksforall in the e-mail… Honey said I should just e-mail back and say, that’s Dr. Sporksforall, thank you very much! Which I totally should have done, using sporksforall instead of my name.)

Anyway, here’s to let everyone know that Dr. Sporksforall is a racist. I don’t care at all about the history of oppression of ethnic minorities. I am totally responsible for the white bias in government standards.

Aren’t you all glad to know how powerful I am?

I was good and calm and sent a message to ESD2’s chair in a calm a judicious tone. But there the e-mail sits, in my inbox. There may be little flames coming out of it.

I had a dream the other night that there were wrapped Chipotle burritos in bed with me to ward off heartburn. Last night, Honey and I had Chipotle. She asked if I’d like her to put my burrito on my pillow for protection.

Chipotle burritos can’t protect me from heartburn (and may, indeed, cause it). What can protect the white girl from charges of racism? I dunno, but I’m guessing burritos won’t help there either.

Lo, the Blessed Surprising Pencil arrived today and it was not at all surprising. It looked just as it had in the efficiency catalog and wrote, not at all surprisingly, like a pencil. A mechanical pencil. But a pencil nonetheless.

I’m avoiding bed right now. There are periods in my life when I sleep the sleep of the just and righteous. This isn’t one of them. In fact, now I am sleeping the sleep of the obsessed and unwell. I would rather be just and righteous.

Biscuit thinks the up-late locked in the office thing is ok. She’s locked in the office, I’m not. If she doesn’t stay locked in the office, she goes fishing for snacks in the litter box. It’s a hobby I don’t condone. I like it better than her vigorous play with “dead bird friend.” But that hobby had a time limit. Once dead bird friend was too decomposed to play with, the game, was, well, over. Litter box surfing goes on and on.

She’s ok now, though. She’s probably just as relieved as I am to have checked the daily woot and found it wanting. My blog doesn’t show up if you google “whateveronfire.” What does show up is the night when I bought the last item woot had to sell Whatevernfire is my woot user name). I’m listed as the “member to blame.” Yea me. It was far a watch too small for my uber-chunky wrist. Honey wears it a lot. It looks good on her.

I’m listening to the newish Michael Cunningham book on CD right now. I loved The Hours. This one may have gone a step or two off the weird dock for my tastes. We’ll see. I’ve just gotten to the part about the lizard people. Lizard people? Yes, lizard people.

I know, I know, books on CD are so, so, lazy? Anti-intellectual? Indeed. And let me add that my favorites, those for which I will pay full-pop retail, are the ‘Series of Unfortunate Events” young adult novels written by Lemony Snicket (aka Daniel Handler) and performed with great aplomb by Tim Curry. Last November I harassed a Border’s employee for 45 minutes to find a copy of the CDs on the day the novel was released. By the end, she started to feebly gesture at the stacks and stacks of hardcovers of the same book. I found the audio version myself, misfiled and tucked away. She didn’t smile in triumph as I left, rather in relief.

My folks like books on tape too. When they made their flee from Chicago, my mother discovered that her new car didn’t have a tape player and that she had bought cassettes. They stopped in Gary at a Radio Shack to buy one of those old-fashioned flat cassette players and a car adaptor. How desperate were they to leave Chicago? She drives around in a BMW with a $12 tape player lying on the front seat.

Last summer, when we went to the beach (she and Dad in one car, Honey and I in the other), she kept the tapes of “Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire” (oh damn) while Honey and I were given the bloody thriller to listen to. Honey thought the bloody thriller stupid, but we’d have been dead in ditch having fallen asleep listening to some random BBC actor perform Decline and Fall. Did I mention that Mother had part 2 and not part 1? I’ll take Caesar over Constantine EVERY TIME. And Rene Auberjonois performing an overblown thriller with lots of deaths over either.

That said, in my continuing obsession with tv, I want to give a shout out to ROME, the HBO series this fall. Loved it. I was sad when Caesar died, but as Dad pointed out, you get to 44 B.C. and March and all and what are you gonna do?

Ok, maybe bed now. Probably not, but I’ll give it a shot.

My honey and I were watching a West Wing repeat this morning on Bravo. Actually I was, Honey moves around me while I watch. It helps me feel a little centered for the day if I sit on the edge of the bed after I shower and watch WW. Bravo’s morning sponsor is eHarmony. I am strangely drawn to and repulsed by the eHarmony ads. My inner Sandra likes the mini-romance stories. My inner non-Sandra hates the pablumy founder, the anti-queer stance of the company, and the use of bad pop music.

Bravo, like any other media outlet move seamlessly from a homophobic company’s advertisements to ads for Queer Eye. Oh well.

So this morning’s ad is my favorite. The couple talk over each other at first and then she stops to let him finish. The expression on her face shows such loathing and resentment, that her tension and unhappiness are palpable. They show a few more shots of them saying the right things and then hugging, but my read of her was so strong, that I asked Honey to watch. She agreed with me.

Our faces betray us, of course. Honey’s lip trembles a little when she’s excited (it’s really cute). I flush red in the face when I’m angry or agitated. (It actually isn’t just my face, my whole body goes sort of pink). I’m inclined toward playing cards, but can never really do so for money, since my body and face betray me.

Last night and today I have been very tense about a phone call I needed to make. I’ve made it, but now I’m waiting for the call back, which isn’t any less nerve-wracking. I know that my mood is out there for all to see. I snapped at Assistant Director. Every encounter that doesn’t end in my losing my temper seems like a small triumph.

Right now, I’ve shut my door so that no one can see my face. It’s easier that way.

I asked Sandra to draw me a spork with a face for this blog. Friendly, I said, but with an edge. That’s about what I can do today. Friendly with an edge.

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