"That's ok"
Leo, my neighbor to the direct downstairs, is moving out. While I don't know him well, this is nonetheless sad. He's been a good neighbor - quick-friendly when we occasionally see each other, and generally very quiet. He would not be one to tell loud partiers to disband and move away, to call the police, or to ask the neighbor children to stop vandalizing the laundry room. But I have enough assertiveness for the entire wing of the complex, so that's ok.
He has his worldly possessions spread out on the lawn; the yard sale was to begin right now but I've heard his conversations since they woke me about an hour ago. The last conversation I did not hear in entirety - he has his peculiar accent (he's returning to Brazil, his home country, but his first language - and his parents - are Indonesian; and though we didn't discuss it I'm fairly sure they're ethnic Chinese) and was speaking to a woman with what sounded like a thick Mexican accent. She said something about not having boxes, and he said, "That's ok."
The tone he used, so reassuring. Flashed back to George Hague and "I understand." No matter what indignity, injustice, or trial I was suffering, I loved little more than being able to storm into George's room, rail against it, and hear him say, "I understand." Because George would never lie, and would never agitate, so those words were perfect for all situations.
Leo lacks George's Titanic iceberg strength (most of it hidden, and humongous) - he's a passive sort. But in the "that's ok," he expressed a kindness and empathy that touches my heart. He said it's ok, and it really is. Not in a doublespeak martyrdom or a passive aggressive consequence-to-be-determined-later, but in a genuineness like fresh lemonade on a hot day.
I, too, gave my notice. A month from today I will already be in Oregon.
Yesterday we went to Santa Monica and Vidal Sassoon Academy for haircuts and color. They think I'm conservative or something, and I couldn't get them to believe I wanted it as short as all that. Which is fine; it is quite short now, and I'll have the shortest done while in Oregon. Hair is such a bother. I did make Nathan, the instructor in the "Classic Cuts" room, laugh a few times, which I'd never been able to do before. VSA is fascinating to me - I would love to do a sociological study there. And maybe, if I spent enough hours, I'd be able to determine which are prettier - the boys or the girls. We think probably the boys, but I need more time watching.
We also drove twice past the Frederick S. Pardee RAND graduate school. It's in a very lovely location in Santa Monica - near the beach, the promenade, etc. Great cafes and restaurants that are not that cookie-cutter strip mall type that pervades southern California (and probably the rest of the country). It was a lovely day and everything went right (I didn't have any idea the address of RAND, so thought I'd turn down a street just to see if it was there - and it was somehow), so perhaps that is a sign. I will be applying there. I don't honestly know my chances of admission - their admissions counselor said I was a competitive applicant, but when I look at those admitted they have far more education and experience than I. Well, I'll apply nonetheless and see.
Earlier this week Sabine's roommate Prumilla (whose name I never learned to spell or pronounce correctly) invited me over for dinner and made a whole buffet of wonderful Indian food - from samosas to dhal and khorma and other things I cannot remember. It's a pity I'm going to southern India rather than northern (she's originally from Bombay) as I much prefer northern Indian cuisine, but I will have a week to travel and enjoy the food of the north.
I also had a lovely chat with Reba earlier this week, a now former professor of mine. Her house, which I love for its character and gardens, is situated above a golf course. Her railing against the golf course's patrons was amusing mostly because I of course agree. Any place, event, or institution that is all white people instantly makes me uncomfortable. Perhaps because they think I'm one of them.
Calculus is bringing me even more pleasure than I expected - it may well be bragging to say I am getting the highest grades in the class, but blogs are for bragging at times I think. That is less important, of course, than how much fun it is. I had to return the borrowed TI-83 calculator to its owner because, well, because he's a pathetic asshole despite all my attempts to somehow represent him otherwise, and Sheila's TI-82 lacks a couple functions that are very helpful (such as finding the intersects of functions on the graph). So, I'm off this weekend to buy one of the damn things for myself. I can't decide between a TI-83 (plus) or a TI-84 or a TI-86 or a TI-89. The 86 and 89 seem like overkill, but if I do continue with math and statistics and economics, I'll probably want them later anyway and then I'll be annoyed that I spent $120 on its inferior cousin. But, the TI-83 is what the instructor uses in class, and since this is my first encounter with a graphing calculator I need that direct instruction. I'm very annoyed to spend this money, but at least it's something small to pack up when I leave.
Leaving. Yikes. Lots to do before then! Today is a day to start with those preparations again, I guess. Sigh.
No, I think instead I'll go back to Lillian Hellman. Three is a multi-volume (that would be three volumes, hence the name) autobiography - about 800 pages worth. I'm in Pentimento now, the second. It is really good - her sharp eye and ability to concisely say important things makes it easy to identify with, and thereby learn from, her. In 1993 or so, Maria Rozanova introduced me to her. Her husband, Andrei Sinyavsky (a famous dissident), was teaching a course at University of Oregon on Russian poets, and she was teaching a class on Russian Women Writers, which Lillian Hellman of course isn't. But there was a connection between the two forged through the Spanish Civil War, as well as government persecution. I found Sinyavsky difficult to understand, which may have been a result of my fear of using my shaky academic Russian, but I like Maria Rozanova a lot. She was/is spunky and loyal and honest and has/had clear vision (I don't know if she's still alive; Sinyavsky died in 1997). She had such an affection for her husband - both literary respect (she was a notable literary figure in her own right) and emotional. This may be since he was shipped off to the Gulag for some time - perhaps you appreciate things even more when they are in danger.
That's pretty much how I am with most Russians - I like the women a lot and most of the men either I cannot well communicate with or just purely despise. Russian women are, as a whole, amazingly strong and loyal and all those qualities I admire so much. That is, however, not enough to ever want to return there. Russia for me is best as a memory rather than contemporary reality.
He has his worldly possessions spread out on the lawn; the yard sale was to begin right now but I've heard his conversations since they woke me about an hour ago. The last conversation I did not hear in entirety - he has his peculiar accent (he's returning to Brazil, his home country, but his first language - and his parents - are Indonesian; and though we didn't discuss it I'm fairly sure they're ethnic Chinese) and was speaking to a woman with what sounded like a thick Mexican accent. She said something about not having boxes, and he said, "That's ok."
The tone he used, so reassuring. Flashed back to George Hague and "I understand." No matter what indignity, injustice, or trial I was suffering, I loved little more than being able to storm into George's room, rail against it, and hear him say, "I understand." Because George would never lie, and would never agitate, so those words were perfect for all situations.
Leo lacks George's Titanic iceberg strength (most of it hidden, and humongous) - he's a passive sort. But in the "that's ok," he expressed a kindness and empathy that touches my heart. He said it's ok, and it really is. Not in a doublespeak martyrdom or a passive aggressive consequence-to-be-determined-later, but in a genuineness like fresh lemonade on a hot day.
I, too, gave my notice. A month from today I will already be in Oregon.
Yesterday we went to Santa Monica and Vidal Sassoon Academy for haircuts and color. They think I'm conservative or something, and I couldn't get them to believe I wanted it as short as all that. Which is fine; it is quite short now, and I'll have the shortest done while in Oregon. Hair is such a bother. I did make Nathan, the instructor in the "Classic Cuts" room, laugh a few times, which I'd never been able to do before. VSA is fascinating to me - I would love to do a sociological study there. And maybe, if I spent enough hours, I'd be able to determine which are prettier - the boys or the girls. We think probably the boys, but I need more time watching.
We also drove twice past the Frederick S. Pardee RAND graduate school. It's in a very lovely location in Santa Monica - near the beach, the promenade, etc. Great cafes and restaurants that are not that cookie-cutter strip mall type that pervades southern California (and probably the rest of the country). It was a lovely day and everything went right (I didn't have any idea the address of RAND, so thought I'd turn down a street just to see if it was there - and it was somehow), so perhaps that is a sign. I will be applying there. I don't honestly know my chances of admission - their admissions counselor said I was a competitive applicant, but when I look at those admitted they have far more education and experience than I. Well, I'll apply nonetheless and see.
Earlier this week Sabine's roommate Prumilla (whose name I never learned to spell or pronounce correctly) invited me over for dinner and made a whole buffet of wonderful Indian food - from samosas to dhal and khorma and other things I cannot remember. It's a pity I'm going to southern India rather than northern (she's originally from Bombay) as I much prefer northern Indian cuisine, but I will have a week to travel and enjoy the food of the north.
I also had a lovely chat with Reba earlier this week, a now former professor of mine. Her house, which I love for its character and gardens, is situated above a golf course. Her railing against the golf course's patrons was amusing mostly because I of course agree. Any place, event, or institution that is all white people instantly makes me uncomfortable. Perhaps because they think I'm one of them.
Calculus is bringing me even more pleasure than I expected - it may well be bragging to say I am getting the highest grades in the class, but blogs are for bragging at times I think. That is less important, of course, than how much fun it is. I had to return the borrowed TI-83 calculator to its owner because, well, because he's a pathetic asshole despite all my attempts to somehow represent him otherwise, and Sheila's TI-82 lacks a couple functions that are very helpful (such as finding the intersects of functions on the graph). So, I'm off this weekend to buy one of the damn things for myself. I can't decide between a TI-83 (plus) or a TI-84 or a TI-86 or a TI-89. The 86 and 89 seem like overkill, but if I do continue with math and statistics and economics, I'll probably want them later anyway and then I'll be annoyed that I spent $120 on its inferior cousin. But, the TI-83 is what the instructor uses in class, and since this is my first encounter with a graphing calculator I need that direct instruction. I'm very annoyed to spend this money, but at least it's something small to pack up when I leave.
Leaving. Yikes. Lots to do before then! Today is a day to start with those preparations again, I guess. Sigh.
No, I think instead I'll go back to Lillian Hellman. Three is a multi-volume (that would be three volumes, hence the name) autobiography - about 800 pages worth. I'm in Pentimento now, the second. It is really good - her sharp eye and ability to concisely say important things makes it easy to identify with, and thereby learn from, her. In 1993 or so, Maria Rozanova introduced me to her. Her husband, Andrei Sinyavsky (a famous dissident), was teaching a course at University of Oregon on Russian poets, and she was teaching a class on Russian Women Writers, which Lillian Hellman of course isn't. But there was a connection between the two forged through the Spanish Civil War, as well as government persecution. I found Sinyavsky difficult to understand, which may have been a result of my fear of using my shaky academic Russian, but I like Maria Rozanova a lot. She was/is spunky and loyal and honest and has/had clear vision (I don't know if she's still alive; Sinyavsky died in 1997). She had such an affection for her husband - both literary respect (she was a notable literary figure in her own right) and emotional. This may be since he was shipped off to the Gulag for some time - perhaps you appreciate things even more when they are in danger.
That's pretty much how I am with most Russians - I like the women a lot and most of the men either I cannot well communicate with or just purely despise. Russian women are, as a whole, amazingly strong and loyal and all those qualities I admire so much. That is, however, not enough to ever want to return there. Russia for me is best as a memory rather than contemporary reality.
posted by NOLA at 7:57 AM
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