a lesson in moderation

As Weakley and I perused the Baltimore Book Festival today, we tried to keep in mind Alyssa's latest encouragement to be frugal with the printed word. Despite the calling out of several beautifully worn books (and the constraints of limited cash on hand), we managed to stick to a minimized pile of purchases:

-The Sparrow (which I couldn't believe I didn't have my own copy of). Sometimes you just want to have your own copy of something so if I die suddenly at a young age I can prove I had good taste.

-The Liar's Club, by Mary Karr. Recommended by Weakley from a creative nonfiction class.

-The Awakening, by Kate Chopin. A classic that's always been on the need-to-read list.

-The Pleasure of my Company, by Steve Martin. I loved Shopgirl and was intrigued by his newer short work.

-Selected Poems of Rita Dove.

-A year subscription to the Baltimore Sun Sunday edition. What can I say, it's an investment in my potential future job opportunities.

ingredients for a pretty good Sunday

- 2 hours of perusing the Abell Street Fair, conveniently located on my street with art vendors, bake sale items, and several community organizations promoting their causes. I walked away with two paintings, a "conversation tin" (similar to a loaded questions-type game), a flyer for next weekend's car wash, and a kick-ass piece of chocolate cake baked by an 8 year old.

-a continued commitment to reading my home delivery Sunday Times. I absolved my journalistic guilt by subscribing to the print edition for Sundays, and it keeps proving to be an excellent expenditure of time and money. This week's Time Magazine in particular is very good, all focused on education. (See the Delicious links on right).

-3 Clorox wipes and a dustpan, applied to our still-emerging living room.

-leftover cheesy bread

-being called a "love guru" by a friend in need of relationship advice. It's nice to know that my sometimes bumpy experiences are being put to good use.

-having 3 people say hello to me by name at church. It's taken me a while, but I finally am a recognized face and name, at least by my fellow choir members.

my blood probably runs redder these days

In honor of my day off (thanks Maryland primaries), I decided to hit the town. And on a Fall Monday, chances are every bar in town is packed with one type of person:

a Ravens fan.

Now I've slowly been acclimating myself to the world of football, mostly out of necessity at first. I never really saw a need to watch men who, if encountered in a dark alley, would cause me to wet myself, bumble about in spandex trying to knock each other over. The only time my family watched football was on Thanksgiving, and high school football games were much more about socializing and perfecting that damn pat-your-neighbors-leg cheer.

College friends required a bit more investment, for the sole purpose of being able to see them on a Saturday between September and February. I learned the difference between a buckeye and a pot leaf (or at least that there's supposed to be a difference), and politely picked the dead Oregon pom-pom off the seat before getting in my friend's car for our Saturday Costco runs. I even kicked it in my college president's basement one year for the Ohio/Michigan game (although I slept through the third quarter....what can I say he had a really comfy bean bag chair). Now I even belong to what we refer to as the "Ohio State crew," a group of miscreants who either attended the school, lived in Ohio, stumbled into the wrong bar, or just look really good in scarlet.

But Baltimore fans are a breed of their own. Casual Friday around here means wear your favorite jersey, the mention of the Colts will get you kicked out of an establishment, and the day after a tough loss students are either inconsolable or fighting about who knows more obscure statistics from the game. I swore I'd never drink the Kool-Aid, that no matter how much I wanted to jump into the Baltimore culture this was one cult I was just too sane to follow. And believe me, if they thought it would help their Super Bowl chances, these people would drink just about anything...

So I figured holding out a year in this place was enough grounding in reality, and hit the town, purple tank top and all. And I gotta say, it was one hell of a game. Besides the fact that I love any excuse to trash talk in a public setting, football lends itself well to social gatherings. The game lolligags around enough that I can catch up with friends, or not worry that a sneeze is going to ruin the game-winning shot. And it was nice to feel a part of something that had nothing to do with "tracking the achievement gap." I was just another person screaming insults about a 400 lb man's love making abilities in front of the local news camera. Ah, to belong.

call me when you lose a limb

I've never been part of a "well you have the sick leave, so take it" mentality. We called no blood no foul. And usually if there was blood, it just meant you hadn't gotten a big enough band-aid the first time around. We went to the doctor, sure, but that was just to get instructions or meds that legitimized not taking it easy. Pop the pill and call it a day.

I've played basketball tournaments that required a trashcan at the end of the bench for vomit. Still recovering from pneumonia when team camp rolled around? Suck it up and make sure to have extra fruit with breakfast. Broken wrist from rollerblading at the park? Wait a couple hours and brace it with the phone book from the drawer, cause we have to finish this rink session first. In all my time growing up I can only remember my dad taking 1 sick day from school, and that was because he threw his back out and literally could not stand up.

So now that I have my own authority to call the shots, I still find myself reverting back to the "fake it till you make it" approach to self-care. Granted I'm much more prone to using my union-contracted sick leave (thanks mono), but I just can't legitimize "taking it easy" when it comes to illness (laziness is another story...). I've taught more than once with a significant fever, and now tomorrow will hit room 215 trying to ignore the unsightly but harmless rash on my arms and legs resulting from a reaction to strep medication. Nothing my navy blazer can't solve.

the baby walks

After only, you know, a month and a half, I finally put the finishing touches on my new room. The rest of the house is still in progress, but significant steps forward (like visible floor in our living room) have been made.

In an unusual morning burst of energy, I not only started laundry (which was put away within my 24 hour goal), but mounted my wall mirror, hung 2 pictures, and shanghaied the broken DVD shelf using a leftover screw. This involved a hammer, mounting brackets, 6 nails, 5 screws, and at least 3 do-overs to adjust for straightness.

I made a joke that I deserved some male body parts after all that handiwork, but my new roommate gave me the awkward laugh. Like I said, work in progress.