I realize this more and more...

The best thing about traveling is coming home.

To my soft, clean bed. To my clean, bug-free home. To stacks of mail all for me, mostly junk.

No more living out of my suitcase. I can unpack and do all my laundry.

Give the gifts I bought, and see how much people like them. Eat the candy I bought.

Get back into a routine. Feel refreshed. Appreciate the good things, and have a new view of the bad.

Take the things I've learned about how different people act in different places and look at the world with a new perspective.

Daniel Suzuki. My boyfriend and Apple Store employee.

He can.

And he does.

Donating Plasma, Part II

I drank a lot of water...just like Biomat said.

I passed out and peed my pants.

They probably had to sanitize the chair after I left.

I'm never going back.

(After it happened, I went online to see if I was a freak, or if this kind of thing happens all the time. There was not one word anywhere about anyone passing out donating blood and peeing. One girl passed out after a belly button piercing and peed. I found solace with her. This article is dedicated to all those who have been betrayed by their bladders and become completely mortified. You are not alone.)

Me vs. High School: My First Day Subbing

Or

The Day I let Teenagers Defeat Me

I was exhausted.

Seriously. Think about it...it's a constant battle against 30 kids, all day. I think teachers should get paid way more. I know people always say that, but I experienced it first hand.

I subbed for Ms. Ibraham, a math teacher at Corona High. This was the only info I had that morning, as I parked my car (in faculty parking! Yeah!) and walked onto the quiet, dewy campus.

The secretary gave me a folder, the classroom key and a bathroom key (teacher's restroom! Yeah!)

When I got to the class, I couldn't find any lesson plans. I was terrified. At the sub orientation (3 hours of filling out paperwork and 30 minutes of training), we were told to just follow the lesson plan, and we would be OK. I panicked, realizing the crosswords and mazes I had brought were not going to be enough.

While I was frantically searching, a student walked into the room. She turned out to be Ms. Ibraham. I was so happy that she was there, I got over how young she looked.

"This is my first day," I told her.

"Don't worry, it's so easy! Just have them do a page in their workbooks, and then give them these handouts. That will keep them busy all period. I usually let them talk quietly while they work. If anyone gives you any trouble, write their name down, and I'll take care of them tomorrow," she said.

"What if someone is really bad?" I asked.

"Dial this number," she wrote it down, "and just ask for security to come to class."

Ok, I thought, more relaxed. Give them busy work, and school security has my back.

She left, and I mentally prepared myself for the students...I.e., I prayed:

"Give me the strength to not be afraid of these guys. I mean, they're only kids! And I'm an adult. But I was a kid once too, so I should just remember what it was like, and treat them like people. And if it doesn't work out, I'll get to start over the next period. And after five periods, I get to go home. And I'm making $100! Well, more like $80, after taxes..."

It went on, as I tried to psyche myself up.

I prayed a lot that day.

First period was geometry. It was soon apparent that Ms. Ibraham also lets her students listen to iPods. Or maybe they were testing me.

When I handed out the Halloween word search (isn't it a little early for Halloween?), one of the students asked another, "Why are we doing this?"

"Busy work," the other replied.

So cynical! But true. I responded with, "It's so I don't have to actually teach you anything." Hey, they're people, right? I was just being real.

With ten minutes left of class, the students somehow silently, yet unanimously, agreed to stop working.

They talked, and I sat there, not sure what to do, and honestly, afraid to say anything.

A new period, and a more-brave me. This was the fundamentals of geometry class. I actually spoke with the students, walking around and helping with the assignment (trying to, at least). Halfway through, I pulled out the "Would You Rather" cards I had brought, and asked them questions like, "Would you rather be a great singer in a really bad band, or a bad singer in a really great band?" and "Would you rather change color with your emotions, or have your arms flail around wildly whenever you walk?"

That was fun.

There was one girl in the class who scared me. I felt like I was back in high school, and she was so loud and tough. But I think I won her over with the "Would You Rather" cards.

She asked me if they could watch the school's student-run news channel, and I wanted her to like me, so I said ok.

Next period was geometry again. They were unruly from the beginning, so I decided to bribe them:

"As soon as you guys finish your workbook assignment, I'll turn on the TV."

I didn't realize the student news channel only broadcasted once a day.

And when I turned on the TV and didn't see it, I knew I couldn't go back on my word.

"C-SPAN?" I tried.

"No," they shouted in unison. "Jerry Springer!"

I could just picture it. An administrator checking in on me and finding us all chanting, "Jerry, Jerry, Jerry!"

"No Jerry Springer. It has to be somewhat educational."

"Jerry Springer is educational. It shows you how not to be a dumb ass," someone said.

Such language!

I settled on "The Price is Right," with the volume turned all the way down.

And I pulled out the "Would You Rather" cards, but this class was too cool. So I walked up and down the aisles, telling kids to put away their cell phones, trying to help with the geometry, and trying to keep the terror that was slowly mounting inside of me from being evident to the students.

Finally, lunch. Relief. Daniel came by and picked me up, and we went to get a Slurpee. But halfway there, I realized I didn't have time and we had to go back.

I was late to fourth period, and running up to the class, saw a man with a walkie-talkie, holding the door open for students. I ran up to him. "Am I late?" I asked, ridiculously. Of course I was.

Fourth period was pre-calculus. How could I tell these kids what to do when I couldn't even do the math myself? I sat at Ms. Ibraham's desk, trying to remember what I had learned more than ten years ago. I could only do half the problems.

Every ten minutes, I would get up and walk around the room.

Then I'd sit back down.

I felt like a fraud.

And I was seriously bored out of my mind.

Fifth period was a break period. I sat in the teacher's lounge wondering, "What is wrong with me? Why am I so timid?" I vowed to be better.

I went back to the classroom, ready for my last class. Fundamentals of geometry again. This was the period Ms. Ibraham had warned me about.

"Hello guys, I'm Ms. Marquez. Today we are doing a page out of your workbooks and a worksheet. Let's just get through this so we can all go home."

I walked around, talking to students, confiscating graffiti-covered paper, returning stolen notebooks, urging, cajoling, and even arguing with students to get them to do the work.

One guy, who had been out of his seat the entire period flirting with a girl, felt like he should defend her when I told her to do her work. "Why should she start the word search? She's not going to finish and then she'll be bummed." He looked like he was my age. He was probably use to teachers leaving him alone.

"Because we're in class, so we should just do the work," I tried. "Is that a good enough reason?"

"I guess..." he said, muttering something else under his breath.

I didn't think to ask him where his assignment was. I didn't dare tell him to go back to his seat. I realized I was being a wimp. I'm not in high school, I told myself. I'm the teacher!

At one point I told another kid that he was really making me earn my money. Where did that come from? At least it shut him up.

It was around that time I noticed my phone was missing.

Maybe I left it in Daniel's car, I thought, as I search under Ms. Ibraham's desk and in all the drawers. Maybe someone took it, I considered, as I search (again) through my lunch bag.

Finally, the last bell buzzed, and I was free. I gathered my things, looking one last time for my phone, and locked the door.

When I got home, ready to ask Daniel if he had my phone, the first thing my mom said was, "Your phone was stolen."

How did she know?

"We got test messaging on our plan today, and I tried to text you with 'We have text messaging,'" she said, "and I got this text back: 'You had it.'"

"So I texted you again: 'What do you mean?' And I got this message back: 'Cuz this phone got jaked.'"

Can you believe that jerk said that to my mom?

And "jaked"? You mean, "jacked"? You can't even spell right, you little punk! (I looked up jaked in the urban dictionary to make sure it wasn't some new, high school lingo. It is, but a different usage. Little thief can't even spell. What a high school.)

Daniel even called my phone to talk the kid into turning the phone into the lost and found the next day at school.

The kid asked if he would get a reward.

WTF!?

I went through many emotions that day. Incredulousness, rage, self-pity, amusement, and finally, annoyance. With myself. I had let those kids walk all over me.

I wanted them to like me. I wanted to be the popular sub. So pathetic.

It took a while, but now I want another chance to do it right.

I don't have to be Sergeant Marquez, but I will not be a pushover. And I don't have to be completely open with them. I will be Ms. Marquez. I can teach, or, in some cases, I can just supervise. I can influence a few and keep the rest in line.

Ding, ding. Ready for round two.

Yay for Yoga!

Tonight was my first Yoga class at UCR Extension. It's the first class in a two-year Iyengar Yoga program. At the end of the program, I'll have down the "Fundamentals of Yoga" and certificates in "Theory and Practice" and "Teacher Training."

Tonight's class is called Iyengar Yoga, Part I.

Iyengar Yoga was created by B.K.S. Iyengar. I don't know too much about it yet.

Here's what I do know:

It focuses on proper posture, and instead of forcing our bodies into poses, we use props like folded blankets, wood blocks and straps to help our bodies get into poses.

So, in my experience, classes are slower and more thoughtful. Students take their time getting into a pose, with lots of demonstration and explanation from the teacher. Students get into a pose several times. The teacher explains what's happening with the muscles and stuff, and the students try to feel it and do it.

This fosters a mind that is aware and thoughtful.

In an Iyengar class, I don't push myself too hard. I "listen" to my body. I feel like I am treating it right. When I leave classes I'm more aware of my posture, thoughts and actions in everyday life. I focus on what I'm doing and do it well. I am happy. My mind isn't running crazy.

It's been a while since I've done any Yoga, so I'm really excited to get back into a regular practice.

My teacher is really cool. He wears these crazy shorts that look like a diaper but must be incredibly comfortable. His response to everything is "right on." Like when he was calling role:

"Eui-jo?"

"That's me."

"Right on."

I felt like he really meant it. He made me happy to be Eui-jo and to be there.

We only did about 13 poses. But we did them a few times with several demonstrations from the teacher. I don't even know his name. I was late to class...but I refused to get stressed out about it! It's Yoga, right? No stress! Right on!

The first was Mountain Pose. I missed that one, so I came home to read about it in my "Light on Yoga," by B.K.S. Iyengar.

The Sanskrit name of Mountain Pose is "Tadasana."

Here's Mr. Iyengar. He's right on.

To be properly in Mountain...

Stand with your feet together, heels and big toes touching. Lift your toes off the ground and stretch them out, but keep the big toes touching. Try to have the left and right sides of the ball of your foot and the left and right sides of your heel grounded. You are standing firmly and evenly on four points on each foot.

Tighten your knees and pull your kneecaps up. Tighten the backs of your thighs and draw the fronts of your thighs up. Draw your butt down and tighten your abs. Imagine that your pelvis is full of water...you don't want any to slosh out.

Pull your shoulder blades in towards each other and down. This will lift your stomach and propel your chest out and up. But keep the bottom of your body the same.

You can lift your arms up or keep them at your sides.

Now imagine yourself tall and strong, like a mountain.

Tada! (sana)

The reason this pose is so important is because pretty much every pose after this will use the same posture. In fact, if you notice your posture right now, you're probably slouched forward, with your chest collapsed and your heart closed off.

Open up your heart!

Review of "In the Heart of the Canyon"

Elisabeth Hyde's "In the Heart of the Canyon" is the fabulous story about a group of folks from all over the country who set off on a river rafting trip in the Grand Canyon.


They don't know each other, or the guides. The character development is incredible.

The novel is completely engrossing. I read until 2 last night and finished it this afternoon. I'm devastated that it's over!

It is a moving and motivating story. Rafting companies should use it as advertising. I am already planning my river rafting trip for next summer! Who's coming with me?

Read it!

Thank you, Current TV

In "Thank You, Recession," Current Vanguard goes to Argentina to link our recession to Argentina's 2001 Economic collapse.

People took to the streets, expressing their distrust of government and banks.


Life savings disappeared overnight. One man showed how he hides all his cash in his apartment – between magazines, in DVD cases...is it really wise to reveal to the world that your life savings are inside a copy of Terminator 2?

The part I liked the most was about Saint Cajetan.


He is known (according to Wikipedia) as the patron saint of the unemployed, gamblers, job seekers and good fortune.


Argentinians pray to him for jobs. Once a month, thousands of people line up at the Church of San Cayetano to pray.


One man Current interviewed said, "After two years of not having a job, suddenly I started getting job offers everwhere."


Saint Cayetano, please intercede on my behalf and help me find a job! At least help me keep the hope alive!

Hmmm...

I think I'll still search at craigslist, journalism jobs, media bistro, creative circle, etc...

And so it continues...

The ill-fated job hunt.

I'm sorry. So many people tell me this is my problem. It is not ill-fated. I will find a job. I believe in myself. I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggonit, people like me.



Corona-Norco Unified School District has me on their sub list. I'm ready to go with my crossword puzzles, word searches, mazes and riddles. All I need is to find that perfect bingo game.

Borders has my resume. And the memory of my smiling, competent face. I hope.

About 15 Web and print publications have my resume and writing samples.

Americorps has my application and references...

And the hope fades as the days pass without an e-mail or a phone call.

Wait, I did get one e-mail. An online marketing company I contacted told me that they had filled the position, but they kindly suggested a Web site to find freelance work.
So I go to this Web site...
And fill out some personal information...

It turns out it's a gimmick to get me to pay $29.95 to join a freelancer database. Probably a company this jerk markets for.
Thanks jerk.

When I'm not looking for a job or lamenting my sorry state, I'm taking a Photoshop class (hence the above, sorry, Stuart Smalley knockoff) at the community college, and I will soon start the Iyengar yoga teacher training course at UCR extension.

Yay!

So long, and thanks for all the fish...

I can't find a job.

I'm beginning to think we have it all wrong.

Humans are suppose to be the smartest animals on the planet, but if that's true, then why are we slaving away all day, every day...


While those damn dolphins just play, and swim, and eat fish all day long. And they live in the most beautiful places.

(smug dolphin)

I want the life of a dolphin.


And some potato chips.


Photos are by kalandrakas, purpleslog, The Pug Father and soleiletoile, in that order. All images were found using Creative Commons.
Click on images for more by artist.

Yum

Daniel is a dork.

That is all.

Blah

Blah blah blah.


Blah.

Blah.

Daniel Suzuki Covers Palos Verdes Fire

Thousands evacuated because of wildfires in the L.A. Southbay area. No one reported injured.

Suzuki said most residents he spoke with weren't very worried about their own houses. L.A. Times says fires were about three-quartes of a mile from homes, and at least one structure was destroyed.

Let's hope for the best.

Here are Suzuki's pictures:

Click on any image to see more pictures at his blog.

Healing for the Heart and the Soul

I had an English professor who always told us to read poetry. "It's good for you," he said.

And it is. It makes you think critically and creatively.

So here's Shakespeare's Sonnet 29 (thank you Sergio). It will help put things in perspective, no?


If you don't have a love to direct this to, there's always God, Jesus, the Universe, etc...


They/It/He/Whatever never breaks up with you or breaks your heart.


(note: read to punctuation, not the end of a line!)

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Photos are by tim eschaton, nattu, giopuo, mike52ad and xamad, in that order. All images were found using creativecommons.org.
Click on images for more by artist.

Babies and Yoga

This "Current" Viewer Created feature shows mothers doing yoga with their babies.

The teacher says, "Yoga begins now in the present moment. That’s the only place where the babies are. They’re in the present moment."

Amazing.

I want to do yoga with my baby!
Oh wait... I want a baby!
Oh wait... I want to meet a nice guy!

Tonight!!!

Just a reminder that tonight is finally the night. "Project Runway" is back!

It's on Lifetime now, instead of Bravo, but Tim Gunn was on "The Daily Show" last night and promised it hasn't changed at all.
Except...
It's in Los Angeles now!

I love Tim Gunn.
Wouldn't it be amazing to run into him somewhere?

If you've never watched the show, don't be such a snob. It's not like other reality shows where people just act ridiculous. At least the overly-dramatic designers on "Project Runway" are talented.

The Life of a Broke College Grad, Part 1

Or

The first time I "donated" plasma.

They call it donating, because they don't want to just come out and say you're selling your life fluid for a couple of extra bucks. Instead, you are compensated for the time it takes to donate.
And it does take time.

The first time I went to Grifols Biomat in Orange it took four hours to donate.

Grifols has donations centers all over the country.


It takes four hours the first time because I had to fill out paper work, have my iron levels, blood pressure and pulse tested, and answer tons of questions about my sex life (In the last year have you had sex with a man who has had sex with another man since 1978? Why 1978? Is that the magic number? Before that, AIDS didn't exist? What if I had sex with a man who had sex with another man New Year's Eve in 1977?)

Then I get physical. I lie on the table and let some strange dude listen to my lungs and heart, feel around on my abdomen, test my reflexes, etc...

Next on to the plasma bay. Three rows of eight comfy, reclining chairs. Sitting in each is a person hooked up to the plasmapheresis machines. A huge Big-Gulp-looking cup is attached to each station, slowly filling with a straw-yellow fluid. That's your plasma, the liquid component of your blood.

They take a lot. I'm not sure how much. I'll find out next time.

So there I sat, for an hour. With a huge (not kidding) needle in my arm. The machine sucks out my whole blood, spins out my plasma and puts the red cells, etc. back. It does it in cycles, so while the blood pressure cuff is tight on my upper arm, I squeeze the squishy ball I'm holding. When the cuff loosens, I relax and let the blood back in.

Yes, it is as uncomfortable as it sounds. Especially if (get ready to be grossed out) the needle is in the vein too far. With every squeeze of the squishy ball, you feel the needle moving around in there.

Occasionally I would look up from the fitness magazine (hula hoop workout for abs and buns!!) I had found in the waiting area, and check out the other donors. The majority were college age, with a few older people who looked broke. The kids were keeping busy, reading mags and books, texting and tapping away on their laptops one-handed.

Often the nurses would come by and ask how I was doing. Especially this one semi-annoying guy, about my age, who kept flirting with me. I didn't want to be rude and brush him off, what with the huge needle in my arm and the possibility that something bad could happen. So I made small talk. He wasn't so bad. I just don't feel like flirting when I'm being pumped. Plus, I'm sure the boyfriend would not appreciate this guy making dumb jokes for my benefit.

After your 44-ouncer is full, the machine automatically switches to saline solution, to rehydrate you. This part is seriously bizarre. It is cold. Cold. I could feel the chilly saline running through my veins.

After that, you're done. No cookies. No sodas. Well, OK, they have a teeny fridge, but you have to ask nice and look tired. This is not the Red Cross. This is a business. They herd you out of your seat, take away your blankie and ball, and send you to the receptionist, who is waiting with your check.

$25.

Yup. Four hours, plus my freakin' blood for $25.

But I was elated. I walked out of there feeling a little tired but ecstatic about my hard-earned money.
It's been a while since I've had any income, OK?

They say you can go back twice a week, not more than once every two days. They like it when people are on a schedule, they say. They have their Monday/Wednesday-ers and their Tuesday/Thursday-ers.
I guess I'll go back in two days. That's $50. Plus, if my blood is good enough, I can get up to $75 each time.
But it seems so soon. Will I really be ready? Donating makes me so tired; I'm basically useless all day afterwards.
My arm won't even be healed in two days. I'll have to go with the left side next time.

Bizarre.

Oh, I went out and bought a hula hoop. Rock-hard abs and buns of steel any day now...

This is not my butt.

'Fantastic' Wes Anderson Does it Again

Another of Roald Dahl’s wonderful books is being made into a movie, but this one is going to be different because it will be the great Wes Anderson’s animated directorial debut.

Fans of “Fantastic Mr. Fox” and Anderson should be excited. I am. Apparently Roald Dahl is one of Anderson’s heroes (mine too!!).

Check out the trailer on YouTube

The film Fantastic Mr. Fox will feature all of Anderson’s favorite actors: Bill Murray as Mr. Badger, Jason Schwartzman as Ash, Owen Wilson as Coach Skip and Adrien Brody as Rickity. IMDB also lists Anjelica Huston.

Mr. Fox will be done by George Clooney (too bad) and Mrs. Fox will be voiced by the fabulous Meryl Streep.

It’s a collaboration with Henry Selick, who also worked on Life Aquatic with Anderson and directed The Nightmare Before Christmas, James and the Giant Peach and Coraline (Selick left the project to work on Coraline, and Mark Gustafson is his replacement).

The film will be Twentieth Century Fox’s first stop-action animated film. It’s coming to theaters Nov. 13.

Click here to see the trailer on Current's "Rotten Tomatoes Show"...just because I love this show.

As for the film’s soundtrack...
Jarvis Cocker of Pulp wrote several songs for the film!

Be prepared to be enraged...either at me for my prudish closemindedness or at society

Today at my internship, while I was writing the oh-so-fun “Just Announced” listings, I had the pleasure (sarcasm) to write a listing for an upcoming horror movie. I’m not going to mention the title, because I don’t want it to get any extra press (all three of my viewers).

Ok, fine. I'll mention it. Just in case some jerk is looking for info on it and gets directed here by some higher power. It's Deadgirl.

Here’s the blurb I wrote (based on the press release. I would not watch this film.):
“Two high school misfits find a naked girl chained up in an abandoned mental hospital. One boy wants to call the police, the other has more demented plans for her.”

Sounds like a real winner, right? WRONG! I was totally disgusted that people are making and watching films like this. Don’t they see how this portrayal of women associated with sex and violence is bad for everyone?

Why do people waste their talent like this? I’m sure the film doesn’t show how wrong these boys are. I’m sure the purpose is to excite viewers.

Why would any woman (or any person) participate in a project like this? It reminds me of the Carls Jr. commercial I saw yesterday where bikini model Audrina Patridge is eating a teriyaki burger. Doesn’t she see she is viewed the same as the meat in the burger?

stupid girl

Why would she do this? Why would Rilo Kiley allow their song to be associated with this commercial (or any commercial/ they are better than that!)?

(way to go, losers)

I get mad when I go to a shared restroom and some guy has left the toilet seat up. How can I expect men in general to have the courtesy and respect to lower a toilet seat when as a whole, all they want to do is chain me up to a table in an abandoned mental hospital, put a plastic bag over my head and leave me for dead, so that other boys can come find me and have their sick way with me?

I do not apologize for my anger. As Rage Against the Machine says, "Anger is a gift."

awesome Rage video

DOES ANYONE HEAR ME??!!!

An AWESOME Artist

Today I am too tired to write anything substantial, because I went to the beach and got too much sun.

And since I meant to show this AWESOME PAINTER to my friend Ani, I'll show it to all my blog friends. All three of you.

His name is Eric Zener. I first saw his work in Juxtapoz Magazine about three years ago.

Here's his Web site : http://www.ericzener.com/

And here are his PAINTINGS (they are not photos!)

That is all.

Saturday is sing-out-loud day

One day I was in the car with my sister listening to a CD I had burnt.

Whitney Houston came on: "I Wanna Dance With Somebody."

(she's so pretty!)

I wanted to sing, but I was embarrassed. Whitney is so dorky, right? WRONG!
I told my sister my dilemma and she gave me a look like, "you're an idiot." I realized I could SING OUT LOUD to Whitney and not care. Why should I let society, my peers or MTV tell me the music I like is wrong?

So today is SING OUT LOUD Day. What song are you embarrassed to sing out loud? Is it something by Celine Dion? Offspring? The Bee Gees? Snoop Dogg?

(The Bee Gees rock, by the way)

Roll down your windows and turn it up. Who cares if that guy in the car next to you thinks he's so much cooler than you.