Cat:
We dub thee Napolean Underfoot.

Dear friends & family,

After over a year of discussion and careful consideration, we went to the Oregon Humane Society yesterday and spent the afternoon. We took several cats to the visiting room, but finally took home an 9-year-old orange tabby who spent the entire time in the room shuffling between our two laps. He's medium size (a little chubby at 12 pounds) and wonderfully easy going. So far, he's been a dream: he won't jump up on things unless invited, hasn't offered to scratch the furniture and has even demonstrated the ability to sleep on the bed without taking up the entire middle of it. His shelter name was Cosmo, but since he doesn't respond to this, we would like to change it. Any suggestions?

Hugely happy,
Kat

I just sent in my acceptance of a job offer from my first choice CPA firm here in Portland. I'll start sometime in early January of 2008. Yay! No recruiting season for me!

Also, my boss hired my boyfriend (to do computer stuff) and his sister (to do stocking) yesterday. Nepotism in small businesses: it's a beautiful thing. Of course, there is the potential wrinkle that we now not only live together in a tiny apartment but will be working together in a small business. Anyone out there have advice on working in the same place as your sweetie? We're the third couple to both be working there (and there are 13 people in the entire enterprise) so there's already a precedent, but I'm curious to hear about other people's experiences.

Last night, I was one of the crowd. I got in line at 11 with my boyfriend and his mother and his sister, and we returned to his parents' house at 2 am with our four copies of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. We read through the night. I finished about 8 am. Was I satisfied? Pretty much, yeah. Did you do the crazy thing and read all night too?

It has come to recently come to my attention that I have not been sufficiently clear about my sexual orientation: therefore let it be known that while I am certainly not straight, I am not 100% gay. To recap: the gender identity of my romantic interests is variable.

Further points of clarification may follow.

As you have no doubt noticed, I am not actively using this blog as a public (or friends-only) forum. Check out my user info for details.

It had not occurred to me whole potatoes could be grated until I saw Silas do it one night a few weeks ago. I was awed, and I immediately grasped that potatoes, like cheese, are different when bought whole and when bought shredded and frozen. I determined, then and there, that I would make hash browns at home.

I started with butter. I had never used butter for anything but baking or popcorn, and the pleasure of seeing and smelling it melt in a cast iron frying pan took me by surprise. If you too grew up in a home where butter was a frowned-upon decadence, and Saturated Fat and Lying were equal in the canon of sins, do yourself a favor and borrow a tablespoon or two from a neighbor. The delight of melting it on the stove top, pan sizzling, is better than eating gourmet ice cream from the carton.

I picked my potatoes with care, choosing a less starchy variety with a reliable flavor rather than a bland baker that might fry up crispier. A yukon gold potato is not much to look it. Its skin is lighter than your standard russet, a light tan with warm undertones, and the average specimen is medium sized and lumpy. The flesh is the color of white mashed potatoes whipped with margarine. Raw, it tastes and smells like a cross between cauliflower and the after rain scent of fresh earth. There is nothing in its complexion that hints at the glorious, delicate flavor revealed with cooking.

I added the grated potatoes to the butter on medium heat, and I stirred. At the suggestion of The Victory Garden Cookbook, which has lots of useful tips on veggies, but an unfortunate predilection for heavy cream, I added about a teaspoon of apple cider vinegar. I can't explain it, but somehow, the vinegar taste disappeared and simultaneously magnified the flavors of both butter and potatoes.

When the scent of butter frying brought my housemate from the other end of the flat to investigate, and my pan suddenly looked less full, I knew it was time. I scooped out my treat, garnished it sparingly with good old Heinz ketchup, and ate myself a plate full of nirvana. Calorie for calorie, homemade hash browns are a more satisfying indulgence than chocolate.

Over the last two years, I have become deeply tangled in the strange world of the romance and women's erotica genres. At first, I thought this was a way to assuage the lack of first hand experience of romantic love or partnered sex in my life. This summer, it's become clear that what draws me to these books is something at once simpler and more complex.

The drive to understand how people work, what makes the gears inside humans go round, is one of the most powerful forces in my life. Almost from the first day I felt the compulsion to put pen to paper (9 January 1998), my writing reflects this. I wrote then, "I'm willing / to tear you apart / to find out what's inside / proper etiquette is telling me / that's not what I'm supposed to do." I have become a different person than the skinny, lonely seventh grader who scrawled that in her steno pad, but we share a common hunger: we are both ravenous to see the hidden workings. If I can't experience something for myself, I will question other people who have. If I find their answers inadequate against the mystery I am trying to unravel, I read.

Reading novels of romance and carnal passion started out as a way to explore what I wasn't seeing first hand and what delicate interviewing couldn't prompt my friends to reveal. It has certainly clarified my understanding of the once-opaque motivations that leads people to do the seemingly inexplicable for the sake of sex and love. Along the way, I have also garnered an abiding fascination with the romance industry and its unique business environment and an unexpected respect for writers who put their pens to the task of generating the romance-product that flows from many of the imprints distributed in your local grocery store.

As I have continued to read them, I have come to these books for more than vicarious orgasms and happy endings, and found more in them than a deeper understanding of human motivations. Romance and erotica function as modern myths, complete with archetypal figures and a certain cadence to the stories, a shape that they take, just as stories told by our primeval ancestors had a shape and distinct rhythm of their own. They don't have to reflect my values to resonate, and they don't have to be realistic to be true.

I read romance novels by the dozen because they satisfy my human need for stories that explain the things I cannot understand. I read them because they offer an allegorical balm for my gnawing questions about romance and sex and commitment. I read them because they offer a steadfast refrain: love happens.

Dear Readers,

I have had a crazy, wonderful summer. I received (and rejected) my first marriage proposal, helped plan a wedding, developed a social life, visited the church I ran away from two years ago, got intimately involved with a memoir, and moved out of my parents' dining room into an apartment of my own. My blogging hiatus lasted longer than I had planned, but it has given me some time to think about what I want from this journal. I have had some astounding, challenging conversations this summer, and one of the themes that emerged from those was this: I am good at getting to know people. I'm good at it because I want to be known myself, but here's the thing: I am terrible at letting people in, at being known. I can deflect like an Olympic goalie. This year, I want to change that, and I want this blog to be part of that. Writing is the skill I am most sure of in myself. It's the best tool in my toolbox, and I feel safest about the scary prospect of becoming known when I have the security of my gift for the written word in hand.

I'll be seeing you here again soon.

Kat

Undergoing livejournal hiatus. It may last through the middle of July, depending on net access during my upcoming summer travels and on the craziness of the next couple of weeks while I get the last of this quarter's school stuff taken care of.

This has been the week of belated comebacks.

Long time family friend: You should get out more Kat. Your social life is pathetic.
What I said: You're probably right.
What I wish I'd said: When you find a way for me to get out more without getting more migraines, I'll do as you suggest; until then, keep your shoulds to yourself.

Me: I've lost three weeks this term to migraines. May I have a four day extension on the term paper if I have a draft to you by the original deadline?
Professor: All health-related extensions must be processed through the distance ed department. You'll need to provide evidence to support of your claim.
What I said: Oh.
What I wish I'd said: D'oh! How very silly of me to forget that in Red Tape Land, all students with sad stories are procrastinating liars.

Disability Services Coordinator: In the future, you need to contact me AT THE BEGINNING of the term so we don't end up doing this last minute again.
What I said: I understand.
What I wish I'd said: Right, because obviously if I'd done that this term, we could have gotten a Crystal Ball Forecast and known in advance what my fundamentally unpredictable disability was going to do.

Why is it that I'm wittier after the fact?

PSA:
HRH Jennifer Abbots is my hero. I've been in the throes of nasty migraines the last two days, and I was all set to have a terrible day: thanks to the arrival of your fabulous books in the mail, I didn't.



because someone will wonder: HRH=her royal highness

My thanks to newbabel for the seed of this.

"We are what we repeatedly do." Aristotle

So what am I? Here's a list based on the last year, and some of the people who have helped me grow:

• I'm willing to dream and go after that dream tooth and claw. This year, I've finally learned that quitting is the hardest and the best choice for some dreams. I've applied that lesson in at least three tough situations this year; last year, I would not have had the grace. Kudos to Mike for telling me after the second one that even though I felt like my whole world had derailed he could tell that it was only a bump in the road on my way to where I'm meant to be. You were right.
• I need to write, but I don't always recognize the itch for juggling words for what it is. misia has helped me by example, putting words--sometimes eloquent, sometimes raw and awkward--to the gory and the glory in her life.
• I've got a good gut instinct and I smother it too often.
• I don't understand romantic love, but I like talking about it and reading about it. As long as I can do those two, I can live moderately content without firsthand knowledge of it.
• I have trouble remembering that getting As and being somebody special are not the same thing.
• I can and do make people laugh. Sometimes, I use this as a defense mechanism.
• I am resilient. I bounce back.
• I procrastinate the little stuff, but somehow, the big stuff happens on time. My parents deserve gold medals for living with me while I try to become less sloppy in my daily life.
• I am frustrated by people who are not skillful at using words to express themselves and their feelings, and often discount these folks as stupid and bad choices for friends. Matt consistently proves me wrong.
• I consistently underindulge in vegetables.
• I often set out to befriend people because of what they can do for me. Once I have made the effort to see the best in someone and get to know them, my original motivation of wanting something for myself is always overpowered by my desire to do what is in my power to give them joy.
• I am prone to self pity-parties; they are usually private affairs.
• I put my health first. I often feel guilty for doing this.
• I underestimate how much other people value me.
• I am a complex person with a huge range of experiences and everybody in my life seems to know a different limited cross section of them. I frequently surprise people, even those who know me best. For example: my parents actually did a financial self-help program that was popular but generally got dusty on the top shelf in other people's lives and the three of us have since shown up in related stories in several national publications and in a follow up book that profiled families that succeeded with the program.
• When I smile, I light up my surroundings. I smile a lot.
• I like to do the kind of little things that can turn a someone's lousy day into a good day.
• I give excellent presents.
• I say, "I was wrong," out loud at least once a week.
• I give myself tough challenges and beat them.

If I am my habits, I am pleased by what I am.

Mmm. I feel relaxed and content. I'm just back from lovely geology field trip; spent three days in the sun taking pictures and collecting rocks. We couldn't believe it was sunny and warm; the locals couldn't believe it was sunny and warm. Just when I start to think I understand Oregon weather, something like this happens. I brought my parents along and we managed nearly 72 hours of witty repartee, with a brief interruption on Tuesday morning, when the air conditioning stopped working at the same time as the electric windows--apparently, a less-publicized element of the greenhouse effect is foul tempers. At the time of the climate change, we were just north of Coos Bay, and when we pulled into town, the dingy Toyota dealership gleamed like the promised land. In less than an hour, we were on the road again in an air-conditioned car from a nearby rental place. That was pretty much the tone of the trip: it was sunny every time I expected rain. I only hope that putting the project together will go as well as the collection trip did.

And now, I must go study, because I have an econ midterm in a day and a half and I haven't covered several hours of the material I need to know. Alas, this education cannot be entirely made of glamorous geology field studies.

This is how I know I really am relaxed: I'm contemplating getting a B without a trace of panic or stress.

Insight of the day:
Chanting "It doesn't have to be good, it has to be written." while trying to write a dull college paper is helps me stay focused.

I conquered my rewrite today, with much pacing and four hours of soporific video lectures and some extra reading. The new version has more fiber and less flavor, but the same quantity of footnotes. It fulfills the assignment better than the original did, but isn't as interesting to read. I must admit that I do understand the topics in question better after writing the paper for a second time, but all the same, I'm not interested in making a habit out of it.

Somehow, during my insanely busy day tomorrow, I will proof the wretched thing and try to make it less obvious that I was griting my teeth while writing it. With luck, I've been reasonably coherent and I won't have to make any massive changes.

Bah. I need to rewrite the entire paper for content. That is not what I wanted to hear.

On the bright side, she made no mention of my writing mechanics. I choose to interperet this as a confirmation that the actual writing was fine.

This time around, I'll just tell the truth when it comes to the connections between unemployment and GDP and unemployment and inflation: that is, as near as I can tell, there isn't one. Unemployment is a lagging indicator, and the way it is measured has several serious flaws that make it difficult, if not impossible, to connect it to GDP and inflation.

Hey, if I'm going to get a relatively lousy grade on this paper, I might as well get it for telling the truth rather than for pretending to know something I don't.

Oh, and the Microeconomics Midterm of Impossiblity? It was thirty multiple choice questions: I got a 90%. I must learn to stop stressing out about As and shoot for Bs in these econ classes. I will be a happier person and learn more if I can do that.

Confidence boosting day:

I got a perfect score on my first financial accounting exam. Yes!

We had an extra choir rehearsal today and a bunch of the things on the piece I'm soloing on (and am totally in love with besides) snapped in to place. It's so amazing sitting around with forty incredible musicians and working our ears off and making magic happen with our voices. It was also incredible to realize that in this group of people, most of whom have more musical talent than I do, I'm the only person who can do this solo. In four years I've gone from being unable to read music to being able to sight sing and from little vocal technique to having solid enough technique & musicality to be trusted with the solo that takes this piece from interesting to amazing. I'm awed.

Despite losing a day and a half to a migraine, I am pretty well on target academically. I have an adequate draft of my unemployment paper to send in for suggestions. The writing is okay, but I think my use of footnotes and my economics are a bit sketchy. I'm tempted to send it in tonight, but I'm sure I'll find eight grammar slip ups in the morning, and I want to fix it up nice and pretty out of respect for my professor, who is, after all, doing me a favor.

If I sand the rough edges off my paper tomorrow before choir, I may even stand a chance of being prepared for my microeconomics midterm on Monday. I've got four chapters to do in the next two and a half days. Quarters go so fast compared to semesters!

This upcoming week is superbusy. Features include: working solo in the shop for the first (and second) time, seeing three of my favorite people, increased consumption of economics lectures, tickets to see an odd dance company, and at least one academic pity party wherein I feel sorry for myself and try to figure out how I planned to pull this off when I agreed to it.

Stay tuned for updates on the state of Kat's sanity as the situation evolves.
Commentators are standing by to provide live coverage.

This is ridiculous. Behold my morbid perfectionism:

I just did the prewriting on the paper on unemployment I have due next week. For me, prewriting is the part where I write down what I want to say without actually trying to say it in eloquent detail and figure out what trajectory I'm going to take on my topic. It's also where I break the project down into pieces and put a timeline to it. This is my first college expository paper, and I'm freaked about it. The mere thought of trying to get those footnotes and citations done with proper finicky attention to every period and comma gives me the heebie-jeebies. And then there's the matter of the "I". Apparently, this is a paper that should have no "I". But where am I without the I? I have difficulty withholding the I from my thoughts and words. [So true on a deeper level too.]

Thanks to years of therapy, I have learned that communicating feelings can help reduce this sort of stressing out, so I confessed my anxiety to my professor. She agreed to look over a draft of my paper and make suggestions before I submitted it for real, so long as I got the draft to her well before the paper deadline. But does this help me lower my expectations for the quality of what I submit to her first? Nope: I'm daydreaming that she'll respond to my draft with, "This is a superb paper, and one of the best I've gotten in the xx number of years I've been teaching this class. Why were you worried?"

I don't just set the bar high: I expect myself to defy gravity daily.

Good grief.

I just came back from my second pain free bike ride ever. So many thanks to the doctor who pointed me to this helpful site and the folks there who gave their testimonies about this seat. Cycling is SO MUCH more fun when it doesn't hurt!

In other amazing news, my dear Kate got engaged on Friday. I have eight kazillion emotions related to this--happy for her, because it feels incredibly right; scared for her because she's twenty and even if they don't get married for a few years, the statistics are ominous and because I know marriage is messy; indignant on her behalf for all the people who are going to ask her if she is crazy--and I can only imagine that she's feeling all these things and more to the nth degree. Mostly though, I'm happy, because she's happy. If I could guarantee a long joyful life for one person in the world, I would choose Kate.

And now, a fun fact from economics: in the US, the unemployment rate and the employment rate are not opposites. They rarely add up to one hundred percent. This is because they are two different statistics based on two different sectors of the population. Not only that, different countries determine these two key figures in different ways, and many media outlets compare international employment rates without making sure that, say, Canada & the US determine their employment and unemployment figures by the same method.

I would tell you a fun fact about accounting, but it doesn't lend itself to fun facts. Though this weekend I did do Darth Vader's accounts for his first quarter in business as a private investigator. He was remarkably profitable, despite high overhead. It must be tough to disguise that wheeze though; I speculated about how he managed undercover jobs while I finished out his financial statements.

Ooooh, memeage! tagged by cpolk

Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, find line 4. Write down what it says:
For example, if nothing else is changing in your life, your weight depends on how much you eat.
Miller, Economics Today (attempting to explain independent and dependent variables)

Stretch your left arm out as far as you can. What do you touch first?
Shadowmancer, by G. P. Taylor, a UK ya sff galley I have put off reading so long that it is probably now for sale for real.

What is the last thing you watched on TV?
Whatshisface (peter jennings?) doing his intro schpiel to his thing on the origins of christianity.

WITHOUT LOOKING, guess what time it is:
11:52 pm

Now look at the clock, what is the actual time?
12:19 am
Time flies when you're overdisclosing via email!

With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?
A little traffic, the wind in the trees on Ross Island, the quiet whoosh of I-5, my cats' water fountain. (Yes, they have a fountain. They like to sit in the bath tub when it is damp after someone bathes. One of them drinks out of the toilets. The other requires walks on his leash at least once a day. They are an odd pair. It is an odd household.)

When did you last step outside?
About three hours ago when I returned from grocery shopping.

Before you came to this website, what did you look at?
My email. I'm in a chattery mood tonight. Fear does that to me. (I got a blazing migraine while I was driving home from the grocery store. On the freeway. It's never happened before, and I don't ever, ever want it to happen again. Driving with impaired vision and major pain is BAD. I got home safely though, and my miracle drug did its thing. I feel supremely happy to be alive.)

What are you wearing?
Seriously battered blue-grey cord jeans, boring underwear and my favorite tie-dyed t-shirt.

Did you dream last night?
Yes. I even remember what it was about. I'm not telling.

When did you last laugh?
Really laugh? Last week, reading Jean Ferris's Once Upon A Marigold. Laugh so much I was sore the next day? Late February.

What is on the walls of the room you are in?
This is an unfair question. I'm in a three-walled dining nook, not a room. If you insist though... A rug my dad latch hooked thirty-odd years ago with a design based on a canadian postage stamp image of the rockies; a frame that holds a print of painting by someone I know, my reimaging of Psalm 139, and a list of people who would be sad if I died; two corkboard squares I've painted and pinned a kazillion bits of paper to; and a Georgia O'Keefe flower wall calender--this month, the image is 'canna red and orange'--I can't find a link to it, sadly, but it's beautiful.

Seen anything weird lately?
It wasn't weird exactly, more maddening and sad: I spent a couple of hours last night with an emaciated black cat with an third degree burn from acid covering at least 25% of his body.

What is the last film you saw?
Howard's End. I quite liked it, but I haven't the foggiest idea why.

If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy first?
A 15" G4 powerbook with a superdrive and another pair of black chacos.

Tell me something about you that I don't know.
I afraid of singing by myself in front of strangers, but I've got a solo on May 23 anyway, and I'm really, really excited and terrified. It's this cool, low chant thing where I can play around a bit that's part of this utterly amazing world premiere we're doing for a brilliant 24 year old Polish woman.

If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt or politics, what would you do?
I'd eliminate migraines.

Do you like to dance?
In theory.

George Bush: is he a power-crazy nutcase or some one who is finally doing something that has needed to be done for years?
Bush is icky, but you know who really scares me? Rumsfield. It's a terrifying time to be an American. If I were the rest of the world, I'd hate us too.

Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her?
I'd never really thought about it. I'd probably pick something that could swing either way in terms of gender, if the choice was solely up to me. Or maybe Nora.

Imagine your first child is a boy, what do you call him?:
See above. Except change Nora to Nathan (provided Noël doesn't use some version of it first).

Would you ever consider living abroad?:
If 'abroad' was someplace as fabulous as Portland, maybe.

What is something you're looking forward to?
Listening to some more of Les Miserables. (The unabridged audio book, not the musical: yes, I know it is sixty hours long. That's why I bought it from audible instead of borrowing it from the library. Besides, what's sixty hours when a man with a sexy French accent is whispering in your ear?)