The Board of Education is expected to approve the school district’s calendar for the 2005-06 academic year tonight — but not before a spirited debate among parents over when classes should begin.

There have long been arguments among parents over whether school should start before or after Labor Day, with the former winning out the past several years.

This year, however, brings a new wrinkle — the 20th anniversary of the Burning Man art festival in the wastelands of Nevada is scheduled for Aug. 29- Sept. 5. In an only-in-San Francisco argument, several parents are demanding that school start Sept. 6 so their children can attend the event.

— San Francisco Chronicle

Moving is always always brutal. I might be very capable of dealing with a lot of things, but i have complete paralysis when i have to pack. So Saturday was spent staring at my room too overwhelmed to do anything. And then on Sunday, two of my dear friends came by and helped me run through the room and pack everything. On Monday, movers were supposed to arrive at 9AM. I called to confirm. They never showed. These were the same Irish men i used two years ago and recommended to all of my friends – i was *pissed*.

So we started calling around, trying to find a mover desperately. Random Chinese men from Fremont came through. They arrived at noon and started bitching immediately. Oh, so much stuff, too large couches, etc. ::groan:: I couldn’t even be around their negative energy and screaming, even though i had no idea what they were saying. We got to the new place and they were awful from the get go. Ugg… terrible stairs, impossible… everything was impossible. They moved so slowly and clearly didn’t have either the muscles or endurance to carry this stuff. They only moved things that went on the dolly. And then came the couches. Oh, the couches. Bitch moan. Our landlord came home and they were able to go through his apartment with the small one. It was a nightmare – everything was awful and they complained nonstop.

Finally, before we got the large one, we told them to go home. We paid them and they asked for a tip. I glared at them and said, no, i still have a large couch to move. One of my dear friends was over and he kept declaring positive attitude, we need positive attitude. Somehow, we roped my landlord into helping.

And there we were – me, my roommate, my friend and our landlord – four queers trying to move a couch. What a site! We went through the garage, around the stairs, under a tree, over the wooden frame, up three flights, into the kitchen, over the banister, through the living room. Of course, it took most of an hour. But we did it. We kicked ass and we got that couch in the living room. Needless to stay, i was strongly told that i would have to take it out in pieces or it would have to be a permanent item.. No one loves my couches as much as i do. And oh do i love them.

And then there were the cats. Marbellio sat and cowered at the bottom of the stairs until 2AM when she got curious about the boxes. Theo thought everything was utterly fascinating and romped around looking for play toys.

All and all, i’m moved into a new swank home in Mission Dolores and ready to be in a neighborhood with cafes, queers and food. My beloved neighbor already made me dinner to welcome me to the hood. I walked to Safeway to buy a shower curtain (which they don’t sell) and i ran into two friends. I’m sooo going to love living here. Yippee.

It is absolutely ridiculous that i haven’t taken a proper vacation since January 2002. I’m longing to see a proper beach and do a shitload of reading for my orals while lounging in sand. The problem is that i have no idea how to best go about finding a cheap flight to some place warm. I’m curious if anyone who reads my ramblings has a good idea of where to look. I want to fly out on March 18 and want to come back on March 27 (could fly out after 8PM on the 17th and could land on the 28th at any time). Hawaii, South America, Caribbean, Asia… i don’t care. Just warm, sunny, beachy and not resorty (i.e. i want to find a hostel or a bungalow or something else that is low-key). Does anyone have any suggestions of how to get somewhere for relatively cheap? Everything that i’m seeing is >$700 and won’t take my miles (American).

Two felines sat at my door with a foul expression, clearly upset that i was gone for so long. Or perhaps i’m projecting my guilt. The holidays have been wonderful – time with friends and family, gluttonous food and culture. But i’m really glad to be home and now it’s time to get back into high gear.

I will be blogging some of the backlog even though my need to understand the tsunami’s effects are trumping all other activities. Information on how to help is being posted at Tsunami Help.

Oh, it is most definitely finals time. And paper submission time. Leaving my couch happens on rarer and rarer occasions, food comes from cans and human contact is succinct and always mediated.

Thankfully, i have The Onion to remind me of what happens when hyper-focus goes wrong:

“Taking Ritalin to study is very dangerous. If you let your focus drift, you’ll spend the night scrubbing your telephone.”

Danielle Carlson
Novelist

I just finished giving a talk at Sosial og Digital. It is 10AM in Norway and 3AM in Chicago. I spent the last hour talking into the ether about Friendster with virtually no visual and absolutely no audio feedback. It was a very very very peculiar thing. Here’s a segment of my pre-amble for everyone’s amusement:

There’s something very odd about this situation. It’s 2AM in Chicago. I’m sitting in a musty hotel room by myself, talking into a camera that is being projected into a different time zone. It is dark outside and even with all the lights turned on, it is still dim here. The ethernet cable is screwed into the table so that i won’t steal it. As a result, i’m sitting at a wooden desk which faces a very large mirror.

If i look above the camera, i’m staring at myself in the mirror. If i look below the camera, i’m staring at the captured version of myself on the iSight. No matter where i look, i’m staring at myself talking into the ether. I’m trying very hard to resist the temptation to make faces at myself because growing up, that’s what my brother and i did whenever we saw ourselves on surveillance cameras and in mirrors.

I cannot really see you. I have no idea about the temperature of your room, the smell of the morning coffee, the sense of shared presence that you’re currently relishing, the looks on your face as i speak too fast. I understand that if i look down at my notes, my eyes move away from you and this must be very disconcerting since i assume that my face is ridiculously large in front of you. In order to get feedback from you, i have to wait for information from iChat, which results in me appearing to turn away just as you talk to me. It is a very peculiar situation that we’re engaged in.

Of course, as a blogger, one might assume that this is a comfortable position. After all, i write long treatises and throw them into the wind, never aware of the reactions of my readers, never even aware of who my readers are. [interlude about Walter Ong and embodiment]

The difference has to do with my conception of my audience conception. For me, the plausible deniability invoked in blogging is strong. I can convince myself that i write for me and me alone ::wink:: and convince myself to be shocked when i receive feedback. I can check my stats, but those are just numbers – nameless, faceless people. Yet, here i am, speaking to nameless, faceless people, only i’m required by this situation to convince myself that you do really exist, even if i cannot see you. In this situation, i have the expectation that i am a face to you and you’re just an assumption to me. It really brings life to the idea that i’m just a talking head.

Of course, the first question i got was to prove that i’m not just a Fakester talking to them from next door. I love it!

After work, i stopped by to see a friend. We talked at length about research and she told me that i needed to track down a NYTimes Magazine article from about two years ago that discusses the Pro-Ana community. She thought i’d find that report fascinating.

I went home, poured some OJ and picked up the magazine on the top of the magazine stack to read some non-theory before going to bed. On the top of the stack was a NYTimes Magazine with a discussion of the architectural replacements for the WTC site. I groaned since this was one of the topics in my theory reader that i was avoiding. I noted it that it was an older Magazine, thought it odd to be on the top of our stack, put it down and went to bed.

My roommate woke me this morning when the cable modem guys came. He said that it was really strange that there was an old NYTimes Magazine in the kitchen. I told him i’d seen in too. I poured some cereal and picked up the same Magazine, avoiding the cover story. The first page i turned to after the cover story was the Pro-Ana story.

I didn’t live in that house on the date it was printed. No one in that house at that time had a subscription to the NYTimes. I had cancelled my subscription to the NYTimes after their dreadful coverage of Afghan bombing. We only have about 4 other NYTimes Magazines in that stack. Strange strange strange.

When i was a little girl, my mother worked absurd hours to keep food on the table. She was always on the brink of collapsing (and on a couple of occasions did). We had this amazing babysitter – a grandmother type figure who would come and pick us up from school, take us to soccer practice and otherwise help my mother out. She loved us and my mother was beyond thankful for her help. One day, my mother came home a complete mess. I don’t know exactly what prompted it but Mrs D looked at mom and said:

“Kathryn, you need to learn a new word. It starts with ‘n’ and it ends with ‘o’. The word is ‘no’!”

The memory of this tale used to always make me smile, but i never quite got it. Nowadays, i’m trying to learn the same lesson. Like my mother, i’m always excited about a new possibility, a new opportunity. But i’m definitely cracking under the weight of what i’ve committed to. There’s nothing that makes me feel more guilty than flaking, yet i flake because i’m avoiding a more fear-driven action: having to say no. I want to be involved in everything, i want to be helpful to everyone; i want to be social and a workaholic. Much to my dismay, i cannot take on anything more for a while so i’m trying to learn the lesson my mother tried to learn 15 years ago. Of course, i don’t think that my mother succeeded.

I am stunned. When Derrida died today, i chuckled at the NYTimes label Abstruse Theorist. But Christopher Reeve’s death hits home on a much more personal note.

I broke my neck only months before Reeve broke his in 1995. Our injuries are very similar, only a calcium deposit in my spinal chord from an earlier gymnastics accident prevented my destiny from looking like his. Every time a doctor looks at my chart, they are stunned that i am walking. I am very lucky and very thankful. Every time i see Reeve, i am humbled.

I lose vision and hearing often and have ongoing chronic pain. Still, this is nothing compared to Reeve’s story. Yet, i have always held onto the dream that through his celebrity, research would continue and there would one day be a cure that will stop the deterioration of my neck. When Kerry referred to Reeve in his answer on stem-cells, i couldn’t help but get teary-eyed. Reeve has been an icon for my quiet struggle. I just hope to god that, in his memory, the fight will go on. I am sad to see my Superman depart this earth and i hope that he is dancing in the heavens.

Yes, i attended the Love Parade and Mie kindly snagged a picture to prove it. What a goofy San Francisco day!