Qanzaspeak

In preparation for 2009, I embark on a virtual trial run. I'm pulling up stakes and taking Qanzaspeak over to WordPress. You don't have to be a member to comment. I like that. I'll still check in here to see what's going on with my Voxer pals, but until I shell out some bucks for a real site, my gibberish will be at http://qanzas.wordpress.com

Hope you'll visit me there.

Hugs,

Qanzas

Today I learned when you run into a coworker in the men's room, don't ask them what they're doing.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

Melissa Lion makes me laugh out loud over and over again. That's why I'm participating in the democratic and inclusive Melissa Lion meme. And we're off...

1. If you were an SM implement, what would you be?
I'm a butt plug. (I've always wanted to say that.)

2. Random person who you barely know for whom you’re hot.
The surly, brooding, and very nervous guy who sits across from me in lit class. He's such a downer. I'm sure he's sitting at home making lists of everything he hates about the stupid, imbecilic toads he must endure every day he leaves his house. Every now and then my sarcasm from across the room makes him smile. Victory! He loves me.

3. What’s your favorite color?
Green

4. Sexual position you think gets a bum rap.
The Bum Rap

5. Favorite racial slur
Oregonian

6. What is your inner spirit animal?
The nutrio

7. The one thing about humanity that makes you want to smash bricks against your own house.
Oh, where to start? I'm abstaining from this one. You (may) know how I can just go and go and go.

8. With whom do you most identify: Dick Cheney or George W Bush.
Dick or Bush? Really? You have to ask?

9. Hair pulling or Ass smacking.
ass...hair...pulling?

10. State you feel should be firebombed.
Texas! NOW!

11. Pick up the nearest book and turn to page 129. What do you see?
"Remember what I've told you," Catherine said. "I will never use your name and no one who lives in this village will ever see these paintings."
    --Krik? Krak! by Edwidge Danticat

That's all. Your turn.

Poor thing.
Your geisha?
Sitting
face at your knees.
She looks at the floor.
Your eyes
hating me
watch every move.
Your sweatshirt
jeans
ball cap
all beg to belong.
I defect,
malcontent
disembrace.
Your eyes follow
watch me in the glass.
You would murder me.
She would never look up.

Cringe

The delicious Wacky Mommy tagged me. The way this goes, so I've been told, is I answer the questions then tag five other bloggers. Okay, here goes.

1. I can’t believe I’ve never…
been overseas. The S.O. and I are planning it, as soon as I graduate. He wants countryside and mystical/witchy sites in Wales, I want bustling theatre in London's West End. Maybe we can do both? Wait! I have a better idea. Let's move to Portland instead.

2. Every time I think about … I still cringe.
And so I'm going to write about it here? Okay. Re-enacting Madonna's "Justify My Love" video with two friends on the cafeteria floor in front of my entire dorm in 1990. At least I can say, it was a hit. (Except for the fundamentalist Christian woman who was in tears as someone talked her out of calling the police. Really.)

3. I wish I’d …when I had the chance.
taken advantage of college when I didn't have to simultaneously work full-time

4. I’ve never felt so out of place as when I…
went back to school at the ripe 'ol age of 35, and was in Elementary French I with 17 year olds.

5. … is my guiltiest pleasure.
Blowing off homework and drinking some beers

6. I hope … knows how grateful I am for …
my late grandparents...the support/encouragement/love/time they gave me during their lives.

7. In my darkest hours, I secretly blame … for my dysfunction.
those fuckhead assholes that took their homophobia out on yours truly back in 1991

8. … changed my life forever.
The last presidential election. (PDX, here I come.)

Okay, I'm tagging chemorox, ASFuller, The Harvey Girls (that counts as two), anyonebutmepelase. Sorry, y'all. Hope this isn't too chain letter/forward-this-to-everyone-in-your-address-book for 'ya. But come on, you do like to talk about yourselves, don't you?

One more thing. I lurve Wacky Mommy. Lurve, lurve, lurve her. Here's to not giving up hope, WM!

        Gathered around the heavy, antique cherry wood dining room table, we wait. Our group stares at the candle flickering in the center, and we hold hands. A breeze carrying a sprinkling of dust from fallen, dried and crumbled leaves rushes through the window. The chilling, leafy air co-mingles with the heady scent of the table lacquer and melting candle wax before racing straight into the depths of our lungs. We stare at the flame and concentrate. There is no need to speak. We hear each other’s thoughts. Any second now. Keep concentrating. Summon them. Outside, we hear a rustling that sounds like the flapping of wings, or of fabric whipping in the wind. Next, we hear faint footsteps, steadily approaching. The group stiffens. Our hands tighten, and we call the visitors forth into this dimension. We hear their cackling and scratching. They are at the front door.

            “TRICK-OR-TREAT.” 

It’s my turn. I leave the circle and dispense chocolates to a three foot mummy, and a baby Lady Guinevere being carried by a significantly older and larger zombie. I wonder how they will remember this night.

            Halloween evokes a slightly dangerous combination of carefree childhood abandon, a suspension of the social mores of daily life, and a sinister aesthetic. What absolute joyous fun. I love Halloween today as much as in my childhood. With no lack of suspicion my mother comments, “You’ve loved Halloween since you were tiny, tiny, tiny, tiny.” I’m positive she has inspected my scalp for the mark of the beast, 666, repeatedly. The attention is part of the fun.

            Halloween ushers in the infamous holiday season. However, instead of celebrating a strict reverence to a disputed history or dominant religion, like the subsequent holidays Thanksgiving and Christmas respectively, Halloween liberates its revelers. It encourages irreverence, questioning, and individuality. It embraces that most hallowed value in the United States, freedom.

            These attributes contribute to my deeply felt joy for Halloween. I remember as a child that the thought of its freedom, its challenge to express, compelled my desire to transform into the most hideous and vile creature of the night possible with my limited resources. Concocting the most realistic blood I could muster using food coloring and simple syrup, I wondered why other children would choose to be a clown, a princess, or a ghost comprised of a sheet with two holes for eyes. Given the opportunity to break the rules, I met the night head-on, always frightening, and always gory. As an adult, I understand that the creature inside each of us, begging to be freed, is unique. I celebrate the variety of transformations knocking on my door. Life would be hugely boring if we were all the same. Being a nation built on immigration, there’s definitely room for both the football player and the phantom; the fairy princess and the witch. There must be room for Halloween and Christmas. Anything else wouldn’t be American.

            Returning from the door, I reassume my place in the circle. We join hands, focus on the candle, and concentrate on allowing the next spirit to come forth. We know our actions are not only fun, tongue-in-cheek, and childish…they’re patriotic.

There's actually a park named Unthank Park in Portland. Fine, it was named after someone, (from Kansas City, no less) but how unfortunate! Goes along nicely with my favorite street name in Portland, Failing. For real.

Skidmore doesn't conjure up beautiful images, either.

Taylor Dayne has a new album, a new video, and she's going on tour.

Wanna' go?

Thanks, Oregon. I heart you.

Lines form early for civil union signups