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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in abigail's LiveJournal:

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Friday, January 16th, 2015
2:49 pm
a million billion dollars
I'll begin in the middle as a nod to the late Mrs. Street. It's maybe going to look like proselytizing but it's really just prep for the week's classes, and so I can get a little more in touch with language. All this movement and breathing has been just dandy for my own asana practice, but it's perhaps not the best help for my students in terms of my ability to communicate.

This morning I practiced at M's house with him and also K, and it's funny as I get older to find out that whatever you don't resolve by age 10 is just going to nag at you until you find a way to make peace with it- there's just no escaping it. Case in point; M and K are totally the cool kids. I am so not a cool kid. I mean, this is the personal philosophy that I've boxed myself in with since I showed up to school with purple Zips sneakers and got the hairy eyeball from Lisa Ricchardi, who was the premier cool kid of St. Bridgit's. There's probably a plaque still there to attest to it. We were maybe 11. My life's work was launched. It dogged me all through my 20's- from the sense of being not edgy or glamorous or compelling enough for Rick to even Amy and Lori- the whole posse phenomenon, I thought I was a bit of a loser through our twenties because I didn't have a cowgirl hat. Imagine my surprise to find out I'd been considered a part of the posse for years, and I was the last to know. Because I was too damn busy looking at my awesome purple Zips and second-guessing myself for wearing them.

For a stretch in my 30's, I thought that self-doubt was gone. Not that I'd licked it, but that it had just gone away. Motherhood made me more assertive, at least on someone else's behalf, and the confidence I got from doing the job reasonably well spilled over into other parts of my life. St is such a solid foundation, and he's just...he's the safest place to be I've ever had the honor of being in, this cocoon we've built. With him, he's got so much faith in me that it basically saves me from having to believe in myself. I trust his judgement implicitly, and with him it's more like I relax into who I am, it's the most authentic self I've got. Even when I suck, it passes, and he just waits until I get it together again, and along the way he even assures me that I will. So it seemed for a long time like the self-doubt had fallen by the wayside. There just wasn't room for it.

Then I went back to practicing yoga. That was okay. Practicing is a nice, quiet private little space to face yourself and just breathe through the encounter. Sometimes you surprise yourself and it goes well, and sometimes it doesn't, but either way you inevitably get this store of equanimity from it. You get more even keel, you trust yourself more. Your body and your mind change and you just watch it all like the tide. And really nobody else notices, which is the best part.

Then, kind of by accident and also entirely on purpose, I went back to teaching yoga. A little bit. It was terrifying and all of the equanimity I thought I had built up went right out the fucking window. Eventually it started going tolerably well, and it led to more classes, other studios, and taking over classes for master teachers. And at every step of this little path I've been on since last year, my faithful companion Uncertainty has been ever at my side. It's frustrating as hell- I think I know exactly where I'd like to be, as a teacher, but the space I'm in right now, it's like being a sapling and wanting to wake up tomorrow big enough to support a treehouse. The desire and the natural growth process are completely at odds.

Guruji famously said, "do your practice, all is coming." No arguing with it. The disheartening thing is discovering 13 years in that the feeling of wanting to be further along just doesn't leave me; there's always and forever the next thing on the horizon. On one hand that kind of tapas is helpful, because without the desire, nothing comes. But on the other hand it points to a weak spot in my own practice, a kind of clinging to illusion, a misapprehension that causes disappointment. I still walk out of classes all the time feeling like they sucked, not because of anything other than expectations I set for myself that weren't realistic.

Connecting with students is my biggest weak spot right now, precisely because my own asana practice is built around silence and just breathing and above all, blessed privacy and inward focus. It's kinda comical- I've spent years honing the ability to just be completely focused in the present moment with no awareness other than posture, breath and prana- and as soon as I really get that down, I lose my ability to connect with most of my students, who need things to be relatable and probably want to be led by someone dazzlingly confident. Maybe they feel more relaxed with a little music, maybe they need a little release with some laughter, maybe there's a more poetic and precise way to get them to connect with alignment better. How how how can I get better at helping? and omg, I am so not a cool kid and all of them can obviously see it.

Students like assertiveness in a teacher, and to be assertive you have to be cool, and to be cool you just have to own who you are. And that is still a cage fight, for me. It was a cage fight this morning at M's house (he's the Fonz of ashtanga yoga), there in the kitchen with him and K. Breathing and practicing together felt on one hand completely like home, like, lifetime after lifetime, here we are together again. That's what my heart felt. My brain was all kinds of freaked, because they're just so stinking cool. They know more than I do, they're more confident and capable, they're better at teaching, blabbo, blabbo, blabbo.

I guess perhaps the gift of the crisis of confidence is that it's perhaps something to connect with students about. Especially the beginners. Hello, welcome. It takes a great deal of courage to face yourself on your mat and don't worry, not only am I enduring my own judgement now but also yours as well. Let's begin.

So the good news, really, is that yoga is our natural state. Yoga can be translated in a lot of different ways, but it can be helpful sometimes to think of it as our natural radiance, and these practices that we do- asana, pranayama, meditation, these are the coping mechanisms the practice offers us to deal with the ego. Not that we want to dismiss the ego as negative- it's very helpful, but it thrives with a system of checks and balances, which is partly what this practice is. So Patanjali, who compiled the Yoga Sutras about 2000 years ago, pointed out some disturbances, or obstacles, on the path- there's nine of them, by his count. One of them is so familiar to me it's like an old friend. It's probably a longtime companion of yours too. The Sanskrit for it is bhranti darshan (literally, "confused seeing"). You could probably loosely translate as something like "your winshield is really really dirty." It's not seeing things as they are, misapprehension. Maya, illusion. Usually we notice it in our habitual thoughts, or our expectations. We live our lives as if we could actually time-travel; our thoughts are about what happened in the past or what we're going to do in the future. but can we time travel? for real? Or our ideas or beliefs can be a form of bhranti darshan- like, we hear a lot about fundamentalism lately in the news, and when you hear fundamntalism of any kind- even yoga fundamentalists, it's a manifestation of this obstacle, bhranti darshan. We might come to our mats thinking, oh, I'll never be able to do this, or I can easily do that- these are just perceptions in the way.

So the cure, the remedy, for this bhranti darshan is the heat we generate during practice, which helps us see things more clearly. We breathe and we focus our attention inwards, when you're reversing your swan dive there's not much room for thinking about what you should have said, or what you want to eat six hours from now- you are just inhaling in standing up. Simple. We learn to be. We learn to see things as they are. We peel back layer after layer, practice after practice, breath after breath and we relax, finally, in yoga, our natural radiance.

I think I'll say something like that during the classes this week.

Maybe I should tell them I used to get picked last for gym.

Anyways, LJ seemed like the right place to return to. All the best things in my life have come from it, after all.

Current Mood: satisfied
Monday, March 25th, 2013
6:26 pm
the proper way to listen
So there I am, leaning alongside my husband and the parlour mirror at the Orpheum, lounging quite blissfully, reveling in that singular glow that attends tribal gatherings. And it's such a nice looking tribe, that one. The buzzy little bunch of souls who came to see Nick Cave. I can't help myself- that crowd feels like home. For my part, I look like hell- I didn't bother with anything before leaving the house. Who knows what the hair is doing. My eyelashes are naked on purpose- no mascara- because I will be so bone tired when I arrive home that I'll hardly have the patience for brushing my teeth. It is still stupidly cold outside, March is a liar, and so I'm bundled up in my winter coat. Not the nice tailored wool one, but the hardy, sensible S. Oliver winter jacket I picked up in Heidelberg. My boots are appropriate for the Cave tribe, but who the hell can see them beneath the hem of my jeans?

Jeans. I know. I just couldn't be bothered.

A lot of us couldn't be bothered, by the looks of it. I wasn't alone. And seeing that crowd reminded me of watching Clerks 2, like, here's all these familiar faces, but O MY GOD THEY ARE SO MUCH OLDER. Hipster beards streaked with grey. More redheads who hit the bottle than Wicklow county. I put myself on that list- who can tell if any of us are grey? But the women there are lovely, as always. Maybe there's a loveliness stipulation in the tribal membership contract.

So anyways, there I am, wondering absently if not raising my daughters Catholic will ultimately deprive them of a wonderful window of Goth opportunity in life (the clothes! the attitude! the cathartic sex!), when I see a guy who I know. I know this guy. That's...is that the Argentinian ballet dancer who does the Urban Nutcracker every year? Nope, too short to be him. And he doesn't have the remarkable posture of a dancer. But I know him, and the file clerk in my mind suddenly throws a name at me. Neil Gaiman. That's Neil Gaiman.

No. Is that really Neil Gaiman? Waiting in line for a beer? Neil Gaiman waits in lines?

Naturally, I bring the matter to St's attention. He investigates from a different angle. I notice the Maybe-It's-Neil-Gaiman figure shaking someone's hand and saying "thank you." St returns, and it's confirmed, that's really Neil Gaiman. I make a knee-jerk decision to do nothing and let the man have his beer in peace. And besides, what the freak would I say? The usual, hi, I love your work, I don't actually have anything to contribute to your evening but I want something from you, can I have a picture, can I have an autograph. Ad nauseum. One suspects it must be difficult to be gracious in the face of that annoying, repetitive interaction. I'm not going to be a bother. In the wake of my thoughtful judgement call, I enjoy a heady moment of chic maturity and coolness.

Then I remember my dream. My Dream dream in the desert. That's a big story. I've wanted to tell Neil Gaiman that story for fifteen years. It is, in it's own way, something to give him. Instinct then makes my decision, and I smile at St as we start to walk over to where Neil is. It's crowded, and the walk takes a little while. I'm nervously gathering the bits of that story together in my head, trying to figure out quickly how to lay them out, what's important, where to start. I feel, for one quicksilver second, like the fish in Cat In The Hat in that panel where the returning mother's leg is visible through the window- here's this holy mess, you've got two minutes to make it presentable. I abandon trying to put it together. I'll just have to wing it.

We reach him as he's indulging a fan's photo request. When he seems kind of available, in between conversations, I guess, I put my hand on his shoulder (a reflex from Montessori classrooms, too funny, it's outdated for the lobby of the Orpheum) and wait until he turns. And he does, and I say, "There's a story I've been wanting to tell you for fifteen years." And Neil Gaiman, bless his heart, leans forward and listens.

"So twenty years ago, I needed a safe place to go crazy. So I went to the desert, to Arizona, with a bunch of other people who needed a safe place to go crazy, too. And while I was there I had this dream, I dreamed I was back in my favorite place on earth, which at the time, was Harvard Square." I tell him the rest, about how I walked down a sidestreet and knocked on a door, about how I knew I was early because the man who answered the door wasn't dressed yet, he was naked as a jaybird. About how the man was tall, and pale, and had black spiky hair, the singular eyes- that I relayed in tired tones, because I'm betting he's heard stories like this before, and I'm not trying to impress him with spooky metaphysical claptrap. I tell him how the man and I sat on his couch, and he took a marker and drew a symbol on both sides of my left hand that was both spider and bat and neither as well. How we went for a walk, and that the man told me everything I'd need to know for my journey in this lifetime, and how I remembered every detail of that dream when I woke up except for what he said. And that two years passed, and I was in the basement of a friend's house, and I found this picture of this guy in a book who looked exactly like the man I'd met in my dream, and he was, well, Dream.

And so Neil Gaiman looks at me and says, "I've heard a lot of stories like that one over the years, but that one is, by far, the coolest."

I know there's something I'm forgetting, it's bothering me, but he smiles and offers his hand and asks my name. When I tell him, he says "I'm Neil." We shake hands, and then he picks me up in this huge hug and I say, "thank you for everything you've given us." Which is something important that I wanted to tell him, but not the thing that's nagging at me. Besides, he knows he's given that tribe a lot anyways. Like Neil Gaiman needs anyone to tell him that.

My husband and I walk away. I'm struck stupid. I post to FB, which is generally the best course of action when in such a state; it lets you consolidate the stupid. Takes the edge off. St and I are appropriately awestruck, and we make our way to our seats. And then I'm aware of the source of the nagging- when Dream talked to me, I was fully aware that having his counsel was a rare and holy thing, and when I woke up, I didn't mind not remembering it, because I knew that whatever he told me would just manifest naturally during my life. There wouldn't be anything to force, no struggle, my course was set. I wish I had thought to mention it. It's basically the point of the whole story, and I left it out.

As my husband and I sat down, another thing occurred to me- the Dream dream (in all its vivid glory, the likes of which I haven't experienced again) took place in Harvard Square. On a side street. Which is exactly where, twenty years on, Neil Gaiman lives.

A few months ago, I listened while the most learned yogi I know talked about the game of hide and seek, that really, underneath it all, spiritual quests are all the same- it's just a game of hide and seek, and one has to remember, always, to enjoy it. I thought of that while I watched Nick Cave, as he Nick Caved himself hither and yon during his set (he's so hilarious, he walks as if he's in a terrible hurry to arrive at stage right). His fire is so contagious, it always has been, and talk about an artist with a sense of the spiritual, with an awareness of that hide and seek game present in his work.

The Maharaj-ji stories told by Krishna Das remind me, constantly, that it's all one. Nick Cave's show reminded me of where I come from, in a lot of ways. And Neil Gaiman taught me a great deal last night, mostly, about the proper way to listen.

Current Mood: grateful
Wednesday, February 16th, 2005
9:26 am
three years late, no doubt...
I like those Killers boys. Catchy tunes, there.

Current Mood: snappy
Friday, February 4th, 2005
7:58 pm
...and now for something completely different

courtesy of the lovely lucretiasd :

1. YOUR PORN STAR NAME: (Name of first pet / Street you grew up on): Kashka Orange

2. YOUR MOVIE STAR NAME: (Name of your favorite snack food / Grandfather's first name):  Triscuit Frank

3. YOUR FASHION DESIGNER NAME: (First word you see on your left / Favorite restaurant):  Investment Carmen

4. EXOTIC FOREIGNER ALIAS: (Favorite Spice / Last Foreign Vacation Spot):  Nutmeg Prague. No wait, Cinnamon Dublin.

5. SOCIALITE ALIAS: (Silliest Childhood Nickname / Town Where You First Partied): Tink Manchester

6. "FLY Boy" ALIAS (a la J. Lo): (First Initial / First Two or Three Letters of your Last Name): A. Bel. (ha!)

7. ICON ALIAS: (Something Sweet Within Sight / Any Liquid in Your Kitchen): Sugar Dawn

8. DETECTIVE ALIAS: (Favorite Baby Animal / Where You Went to High School): Turtle Williams

9. BARFLY ALIAS: (Last Snack Food You Ate / Your Favorite Alcoholic Drink): Cupcake Bushmills

10. SOAP OPERA ALIAS: (Middle Name / Street Where You First Lived):
No. That's just awful.

11. ROCK STAR ALIAS: (Favorite Candy / Last Name Of Favorite Musician): Godiva Danzig. (hell, someone has to like him, poor devil)

Current Mood: poor. and rich, too.
Thursday, December 30th, 2004
10:18 pm
Dude, her baby looks a lot like mine and their names are similar, too.


weird. perhaps practice overrides genetics.

Current Mood: solidarity
Wednesday, December 29th, 2004
10:22 am
Over seventy thousand people.

Fucking hell.
Monday, December 27th, 2004
11:51 am
well, since she's sleeping...

Amy might stop by today, an event that has me checking my phone and looking out the window like an infatuated schoolgirl. Amaya and I are quite snowed in, I suppose I could go out and about but it hardly seems worth it. Besides, after the grand tour of the days around Christmas, the poor kid needs a few days of no diaper and lots of playtime with me. It's the life she's used to.

J is still being fantastic, though my plans and feelings haven't changed a bit. If anything I'm a mite frustrated by this sudden display of tender affection and concern from him, because I feel like I should wait until it wanes before I leave with Amaya. He knows. He fucking knows. I don't know how he does it, it's something that he's been able to do since the night I met him, he can read me like a freaking book. ngh.

Last night and this morning he stroked Amaya's back tenderly while I nursed her, something he's never done before. He smiled kindly at me while he did so. I made a face that hopefully passed for pleasant and undisturbed. She went back to sleep as he dressed for work. He looked at me and said, "I love you" with great intensity. I remember watching him say it and it was as if it was all in slow motion, the way he tilted his chin down, his eyebrows coming low, the way he widened his eyes; even his pout seemed to puff up a bit. His delivery was nearly flawless. He's still one of the most stunningly beautiful people I've ever seen, and he's well aware of his good looks. He uses them to his advantage often, and I can't fault him for it.

I waited a bit, then got up to go to the bathroom, not realising he hadn't left yet, and ran into him in the kitchen. He gave me a hug. He told me again that he loved me and toyed with first my left nipple, then my right. He left for work. Pat drove him since his car is useless in the snow.

I went back to bed.

Yesterday while he was between professions of love and devotion, I asked him if his definition of a "fresh start" included us actually being a couple and he said no. No intention of being so much as a boyfriend, but professing love and tweaking nipples. I don't buy it.

Current Mood: happy actually
Friday, December 24th, 2004
2:06 pm
poo update

I just know she's going to blow during her debut today.

I tried the poo song and it's accompanying interpretive dance. No dice.


Her growth spurts invariably leave both of us exhausted and very, very hungry (she'll have a monster feeding and then we'll both imediately pass out). I love every minute of them.

Current Mood: lac-tastic
Thursday, December 23rd, 2004
3:01 pm
a talk with Amaya's doctor...

"What's the trouble?"
"Well, it's probably nothing, but she hasn't pooped for like, thirty six hours now."
"Is she nursing?"
"Oh, yeah. She's eating fine. She's farting a lot and all of that, but no poop."
"Are you still breastfeeding exclusively?"
"Well, she's using all of it. Has her nursing pattern changed at all?"
"Oh, yeah. She just went through a couple days of nursing sessions that were barely over an hour apart. She's been up for three nighttime feedings instead of one, too."
"Growth spurt. Nothing to worry about. Have you got a lot of wet diapers?"
"Good. Just watch out, because when she finally goes, she's REALLY going to blow. Out the sides, up the back. It'll be everywhere."

I'm going to put on my goggles and do the last of the christmas shopping, then.

Current Mood: poo-tastic
Wednesday, December 22nd, 2004
10:08 pm
where is this 1.5% of the population? are any of them male?
Jung Explorer Test
Actualized type: ENFJ
(who you are)
ENFJ - "Persuader". Outstanding leader of groups. Can be aggressive at helping others to be the best that they can be. 2.5% of total population.
Preferred type: ENFJ
(who you prefer to be)
ENFJ - "Persuader". Outstanding leader of groups. Can be aggressive at helping others to be the best that they can be. 2.5% of total population.
Attraction type: INFJ
(who you are attracted to)
INFJ - "Author". Strong drive and enjoyment to help others. Complex personality. 1.5% of total population.

Take Jung Explorer Test
personality tests by similarminds.com
Friday, November 26th, 2004
9:38 am
the last straw

Spongebob Squarepants rang the opening bell on Wall Street today.

Spongebob Squarepants.

That's it. I'm moving to Canada

Current Mood: thoroughly chagrined
Thursday, November 25th, 2004
10:43 am
signs that your brain cells are leaking out with your breastmilk

This morning I woke up, exclaimed "happy thanksgiving!" to Amaya, nursed her, put her down for a nap and snuck out (with J here, of course) for ten minutes to get conditioner and a loaf of bread at Walgreen's. I enter the store. I tuck the conditioner under my left arm, and after I've picked up the bread, I instinctively cradle it in both arms while absently patting it's "butt"  with my right hand. That's right. I'm a few pats into things when I realise that I'm attempting to soothe a loaf of whole wheat bread. Embarrassed, I head towards the check out counter. I turn to look at the gum that's over my left shoulder and catch the light scent of Amaya's spitup on my shirt. The thought occurs to me that if the folks at Yankee Candle company were to craft a candle called Breastfed Baby's Spitup, I would buy it and burn it to give the kitchen that singularly cute smell.

I knew it would change me, this motherhood deal, but I didn't realise the extent of it's power.

Happy Thanksgiving, guys.

Current Mood: a bit peckish
Sunday, November 21st, 2004
10:09 pm
a measley 8%
I'm a bit ashamed, actually.

create your own visited country map
or check our Amsterdam travel guide

Current Mood: housebound
Saturday, November 20th, 2004
6:08 pm

Current Mood: BLOWN AWAY
Thursday, November 18th, 2004
10:50 am

I keep meaning to post this little story. Here goes.

During the last month of my pregnancy I was tempted to write about all of the common pregnancy maladies that I wasn't experiencing but I didn't want to jinx myself so I shelved the idea. As it worked out, I sailed through pregnancy without ever dealing with a single hemmroid or stretch mark.


One week after my section, I was dismayed to discover six stretch marks running along my belly, close to either end of my incision. Damn. I was so close. I hadn't noticed them before because the dressing for the incision had covered them up.

Two weeks later I'm showering and I absently rub at one of them, and it comes off. It was residue from the surgical tape that held the dressing. I ended up scrubbing away five stretch marks, and that last one, as it turns out, is the real McCoy.

So yeah, forty weeks, one tiny stretch mark, zero hemmroids and a very pleasant pregnancy. The whole thing has me considering living the life of that perpetually pregnant woman from Greenaway's 81/2 Women.

Current Mood: a bit sleepy
Wednesday, November 10th, 2004
1:22 pm
baby girl
Oh, my god, she's so beautiful it nearly breaks my heart every time I look at her.

Current Mood: tender
Tuesday, November 9th, 2004
11:44 pm
Send the letter portion to your congressman, if you're so inclined. Or add your name to the petition headed to the White House. Regardless of where you stand on the abortion issue, I think we can all pretty much agree that reading the Bible isn't a realistic strategy for dealing with PMS.


President Bush has announced his plan to select Dr. W. David Hager to
head up the Food and Drug Administration's (FDA) Reproductive Health
Drugs Advisory Committee. The committee has not met for more than two
years, during which time its charter lapsed. As a result, the Bush
Administration is tasked with filling all eleven positions with new
members. This position does not require Congressional approval. The
FDA's Reproductive Health Drugs Advisory Committee makes crucial
decisions on matters relating to drugs used in the practice of
obstetrics, gynecology and related specialties, including hormone
therapy, contraception, treatment for infertility, and medical
alternatives to surgical procedures for sterilization and pregnancy

Dr. Hager, the author of "As Jesus Cared for Women: Restoring Women Then
and Now." The book blends biblical accounts of Christ healing Women with
case studies from Hager's practice. His views of reproductive health
care are far outside the mainstream for reproductive technology. Dr.
Hager is a practicing OB/GYN who describes himself as "pro-life" and
refuses to prescribe contraceptives to unmarried women. In the book
Dr.Hager wrote with his wife, entitled "Stress and the Woman's Body," he
suggests that women who suffer from premenstrual syndrome should seek
help from reading the bible and praying. As an editor and contributing
author of "The Reproduction Revolution: A Christian Appraisal of
Sexuality Reproductive Technologies and the Family," Dr. Hager appears
to have endorsed the medically inaccurate assertion that the common
birth control pill is an abortifacient.

We are concerned that Dr. Hager's strong religious beliefs may color his
assessment of technologies that are necessary to protect women's lives
for to preserve and promote women's health. Hager's track record of
using religious beliefs to guide his medical decision-making makes him a
dangerous and inappropriate e candidate to serve as chair of this
committee. Critical drug public policy and research must not be held
hostage by antiabortion politics. Members of this important panel should
be appointed on the basis of science and medicine, rather than politics
and religion. American women deserve no less. There is something you can
do. Below is a statement to be sent to the White House, opposing the
placement of Hager.

(1) Please copy and paste (DON'T forward) the entire email into a fresh
email; then sign your name below. After you sign, SEND THIS TO EVERY

(2) Every 10th person who signs the list (i.e., #10, #20, #30, etc.) -
please forward the entire e-mail to president@whitehouse.gov
<http://us.f138.mail.yahoo.com/ym/compose?to=president@whitehouse.gov> >

Copy, paste and send only the information below to the address above :

We oppose the appointment of Dr. W. David Hager to the FDA Reproductive
Health Drugs Advisory Committee. Mixing religion and medicine is
unacceptable in a policy-making position. Using the FDA to promote a
political agenda is inappropriate and seriously threatens women's
health. Members of this important panel should be appointed on the basis
of science and medicine, rather than politics and religion.

American women deserve no less.

1. Susan Tannenbaum ( Owings Mills,Maryland) 2. Susan Levine (Silver

Spring,MD) 3. Audrey Funk (Henderson,NV) 4. Susan Lowe Shlisky (Las

Vegas,NV) 5. Michelle Straub-Wilensky (Los Angeles,CA) 6. Patricia
Phelan(San Francisco,CA) 7. Victoria Einhorn(san anselmo, ca) 8. Brad

Einhorn(Brooklyn,NY) 9. Bethany M acMillan (Brooklyn,NY) 10. Amy Russell

(Louisville,Kentucky) 11. Beverly D. Moore (Louisville,Kentucky) 12.
Connie O. Byrne (Kannapolis,North Carolina) 13. Janet C. Haas
(Charlotte,North Carolina) 14. Heather V rana (Charlotte,NC) 15. Clare M.
Evans (Newport,VA) 16.Kathy Chadwick 17.Jim Chadwick 18.Claire Grimm
Chadwick 19.Lindsay Addison (Naples,FL) 20. Peggy Addison (Naples,FL)
21. David Addison (Naples,FL) 22. Howard Schumsky (Orlando,FL) 23.
Kristie Born (Orlando,FL) 24. Paul Boyd (Atlantic Highlands,NJ) 25. Lois
Jensen (NYC, NY) 26. Catherine Rubenstein (Belvedere, CA) 27. Anne
Rubenstein (Belvedere, CA) 28. Dirk Rubenstein (Belvedere, CA) 29.
Barbara K. Westover (Oakland, CA) 30. Sharon Bjornson (Oakland, CA) 31.
Rabbi Sue Levi Elwell (Philadelphia, PA) 32. Hana Elwell (Brooklyn,NY)
33. Jen Song (Brooklyn, NY) 34. Janet Lo (New York,NY) 35. Emily
Horowitz (New York, NY) 36. Daniel Horowitz (New York, NY) 37.Josh Hyman
(New York, NY) 38. Mona Goldsmith (Plainview, NY) 39.Kate Striano
(Newtown, CT) 40. Elissa Gellis ( Newtown, CT) 41. Diane Thompson (Sandy
Hook, CT) 42. LInda Parsloe (Sandy Hook, CT) 43. Judy Juracek (Darien,

CT) 44. Deborah Meisels (City Island, NY) 45. P. Briggs Saroch
(Greenfield, MA) 46. Diane Fisher-Katz (Northampton, MA) 47. Kirsten
Cirincione (Florence, MA) 48. Jane Lynch (Florence, MA) 49. Kathleen
Kennedy (Santa Barbara, CA) 50. Leslie Palmer (San Antonio, TX) 51.
Julie Toland, Middletown, RI 52. Josie Merck,( Cos Cob, CT) 53.
Elizabeth O'Neill (Boston, MA) 54. Joan O'Neill (Traverse City, MI) 55.
Barbara Becker (Concord, CA) 56. Ken Bruckmeier (Oakland,CA) 57. Margret
Elson (Oakland, CA) 58, Marsha Sherman (Portland, OR) 59. Marinell Eva
(Santa Rosa, CA) 60. Sharon Oman (Petaluma, CA) 61. Adrienne Davis
(Santa Rosa, CA) 62. Barbara Carlson (Santa Rosa, CA) 63. Karen
Grace-Kaho (Sacramento , CA) 64. Mary Beth Love (San Francisco, CA) 65.
Ruth Finnerty (Oakland, CA) 66. Rosalie Holtz 67. Kay Corlett (Albany,

CA) 68. Connie Barnes (Oakley, CA) 69. Donna Ventura (Brentwood, CA) 70.
Nancy Herman (Lafayette,CA) 71. Shirley Chang (Berkeley, CA) 72. Nola
Chavez (El Cerrito, CA) 73. Elspeth Wells (Clayton, CA) 74. Phyllis
Berger (Los Angeles, CA) 75. Joan Barnett (Boston, Ma.) 76. Karen
Danaher(Los Angeles,CA) 77. Susan Rice (New York, NY) 78. Alan Wagner (
New York, NY) 79. Jane Altman (New York, NY) 80. Sheila Friedman
(Yardley, PA) 81. Susan Cooper (Brookfield, CT) 82. Elissa Fisher
(Pleasantville, NY) 83. Angela Usobiaga (Pleasantville, NY) 84.
Katherine Procopio Goodman (Katonah, NY) 85. Jessica White (Dobbs Ferry,

NY) 86. Danielle Bottari (New York,NY) 87. Jennifer Getschmann (New
York, NY) 88. Sung Pak (New York, NY) 89. Sharon Pak (New York, NY) 90.
Pamela Gold(Jersey City, NJ) 91. Mindy Drossner (Lafayette Hill, PA) 92.
Stephanie Choder (Gladwyne, PA) 93. Robin Stern (Lafayette Hill, PA) 94.
Emily Newman (Syracuse, NY) 95. Mark Stern (syracuse, NY) 96. Robin Fink
(Philadelphia, PA 19102) 97. Greg Rosen (New York, NY) 98, Durelle
Schacter (San MAteo, CA) 99,rachel stewart (san anselmo ca) 100 Joyce
Goldstein ( San Francisco)
101 Kate Slate (New York city)
102 Mardee Regan (Cornwall-on-Hudson, NY)
103 Brad Mehldau (Newburgh, NY)
104 Augusta Quirk (Summerland,CA)
105. Carolyn Furlong (St. Babs,CA)
106. Alexandra Morath (Santa Barbara, CA) 107. Talia Camarena (New York,

NY) 108. Stuart Baldwin (New York, NY) 109. Julie Clarke (Chapel Hill,

NC) 110. Vivian Chen (Chapel Hill, NC) 111.Sheryl Trager (New York, NY)
112. Debra Carbonaro (New York, NY) 113. Bowie Maksrivorawa (New York, NY)
114. Dawn Wetzel (Memphis, TN) 115. Posey Hedges (Memphis, TN) 116.
Jim Spake (Memphis, TN) 117. Charlie Wood (Memphis, TN) 118. Kathy
Kosins ( Birmingham, Michigan) 119. Dan Pliskow (Royal Oak, Mi.) 120.
Susan B. Anderson (Pacifica, CA) 121. Laurence D. Anderson (Pacifica,CA)
122. Irene Spang (San Francisco, CA) 123. John L. Spang (San
Francisco, CA) 124. Katherine Albrecht (San Francisco, CA) 125. Suzane
Kavert (San Francisco, CA) 126. Chris Kavert (San Francisco, CA) 127.
Holly Milne (San Francisco, CA) 128. Emma Tresemer ( San Francisco, CA)
129. Jennifer Black (Boulder, CO)
130. Jesse Ritch (Boulder, CO)
131. Lily Fessenden (Searsmont, ME)
132. Terrence Keeney (East Montpelier, VT)
133. Penelope Stout-Hammar (Milton, VT)
134. Susannah Hammar (Medford, MA)
135. Leslie Stephenson (Riverdale, NY)
136. Marisa Mann (Woodmere, NY)
137. Stacey Ganina (Riverdale, NY)
138. Alex Kehl (New York, NY)
139. Elissa Leonard (Freeport, ME)
140. Maria Dewees (Waltham, MA)
141. Bennet Leon (Sudbury, MA)
142. Maria Jenness (Newport, VT)
145. Allie Leib (Ridgefield, CT)
146. Mathy Mezey (Ardsley, NY)
147. Ariel Samuelson (Newton, MA)
148. Lucy Joffe (Newton, MA)
149. Jake Joffe (Newotn, MA)
150. Susan Tobey (Lexington, MA)
151. Gail Friedman (Lexington, MA)
152. Carol Burt (Belmont, MA)
153. Lynn Graf (Seattle, WA)
154. Ludmlila Golubev (Seattle, WA)
155. Marina Lesnikova (Seattle, WA)
156. Vera Brekhovskikh (Honolulu, HI)
157. Rose Foggia (Hilo, Hi)
158. Elayne Fong (Billerica, MA)
159. Patrick Kopson (Billerica, MA)
11:53 am
Courtesy of (erm, lifted from) the lovely lucretiasd. I know we're all sick of seeing red states that represent Bush country, so instead the red states here are the ones I've traveled to. or through, in a few cases.

create your own personalized map of the USA
or write about it on the open travel guide



Current Mood: pretty good
Wednesday, November 3rd, 2004
8:08 pm
a list of reactions

1. Embarrassment, in a global-stage sort of sense.

2. Insert string of profanities here.

3. Mortification.

4. Outrage at the smug demeanor of the Republican talking heads on the news today, all of whom acted as if they'd won a landslide freaking victory (certainly having all three branches they did, but it's the percentage of the people who wanted them in there that irks me).

5. Surprise; I hadn't expected it would end so quickly.

6. Dread at the prospect of facing another four years of Cheney.

7. Hope (always the last thing) that Will Farrell will keep his SNL contract, since he does such a great Bush. Hey, it takes the edge off.


My fears about our nation's direction regarding foreign policy can best be summed up with a brief dialouge exchange from an episode of the old British comedy, The Young Ones:

"Neil, have you upset the neighbors?"

"No, Mike, I've blown them up."

Current Mood: Linus
Friday, October 29th, 2004
11:24 pm
baby girl
When she sleeps for more than two hours, I start to miss her. It's happening now. I hope she wakes up soon. She's so much fun to be with. She's not really into the smiling thing yet, she likes to smile a bit in the morning and today she even smiled in the early afternoon. Not much. She's still just getting the hang of it.

Today we laid on the bed together and I read her bits of an entertainment magazine. I love reading to her, she looks up at the material over our heads and when I pause, she coos as if she's commenting on what we're looking at.

We have a new song. I sing it to the tune of the Muppet Show theme song, but change the words to "the Mommy show," and the lyrics are all about what happens at bedtime. It just sprung out of me today, like so much milk.

Milk. We've just been through a two day growth spurt. I estimate that she drank appoximately 32 ounces of milk on each day. I'm still thirsty from it.

Current Mood: sleepy
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