Friday, September 16, 2005

i'm covered in bees!!!

i took a little excursion the past few days back through my old college town (which, need i repeat, is NOT in austin). a couple of friends and i went to dinner at one of our old haunts, and (dunh dunh DUH) ran into an anti-hey-that's-my-biker. okay, reality bites reference, please keep reading.

the scenario: a woman who was a few years younger than me, but has also since graduated, waited on our table. she automatically recognized my mangy hipster accomplices as former students, but as usual i hung aloof in anonymity until half way through the meal she called me out. "hey, weren't you in max's class....european women's history?" to which i lowered fork and commented that yes, indeed i was, with a throw away remark about the infinite coolness of max, our prof.

now, before i continue the story, keep in mind that my tablemates and i, being the kind souls that we are, had already discussed the tragic fate of this particular waitress (who had, for one, obviously not made her way out of town). in my infinite compassion, i added my isolated recollection of her as The Student Who Incited a Collective Groan Every Time She Raised Her Hand to Speak. i'm not sure if the class groaned on behalf of her ignorance or out of our own misery, listening to her put her foot in her mouth, day after day. with this in mind, we shall resume the story.

i stared back down at my plate, conversation over, but of course she continued: "yeah, that was the class that turned me into a feminist for awhile."

i stifled a choking sound and tried desperately not to regurgitate my asparagus as she continued. "i mean, i was a feminist for years after that, but then i realized, i don't want to have to fix my own flat tires or whatever."

she continued refilling our beverages, or whatever, and i waited to catch the eyes of my tablemates until she was out of earshot. or, almost out of earshot.

now, i could turn this into a teaching moment, but what kind of feminist would i be if i didn't let you draw your own conclusions? plus, my oil needs changing.

the end.

appendix:
astute visitors may have noticed that i deleted the last few comments after my posts. i'm having a little SPAM problem...hopefully soon resolved...but rest assured, random friends of me, that i will not delete what you say. unless you try to sell me something that's not already on erin's site (AHEM plug AHEM). and other erin, yes bury me standing is great i advocate finishing it, and, you rock my socks.

and now, back to the half-blood prince. goodnight.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

i am in love with this woman, maya stein. (papayamaya.blogspot.com) she reminds me of ruth harms caulkin, but younger and not as old time religion. here are two things she wrote:
_______________________
tiptoe

after the wake of breaking headlines,
with a city plunged into darkness and heat,
and so many mouths cracking open
in a fierce wail of need -

no wonder i find myself straddled between
the urge to move mountains
and the other urge,
the more complicated one,
to remain as still and silent as i can,
tending my own little garden.

either way, i am left standing
as if on tiptoe,
clutching at my good fortune
of having such a choice.
__________________________________

one egg

do not think me twisted
when, despite the world's galactic
ricochet of violence, i prefer, these days,
the retreat of breakfast.

over strong, creamed coffee i have time to contemplate
the blessedly innocuous catastrophes:
burnt toast. a shortage of butter.
how to make the meal for two using only one egg.

believe me,
i know how lucky i am.
______________________________

also: i think maybe the problem with me falling in love with a person is rooted in my inability to not fall in love with absolutely eveything. fran.

2:49 PM  

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