y / e / r / k / a / m / a / n / o / r :

blond jokes. or, salmon is gross, don't eat it, especially not if it has color added. or, helen keller was a brunette.

“I don’t think you should encourage her to tell blond jokes.”

My little sister and my dad had been telling blond jokes back and forth for the past 5 days of my visit. “Why did the blond put blush on her forehead?” “She was trying to make up her mind!” “How do you make a blond laugh on Saturday?” “Tell her a joke on Wednesday!” They would guffaw and slap their knees in delight.

Now at dinner, I said what I’d been thinking. “I think that when I was a kid, I liked telling blond jokes, but I didn’t realize why some people didn’t want me to tell them. I think they are sexist and pretty offensive.” I was saying this for my sister’s benefit. “Yeah, they are a stereotype,” she said, surprising me. “They were written by, like, a guy, with black hair.” She paused, sipping her juice. “Hey, why did the blond stare at the orange juice?”

“Well, when I was a kid, we told Helen Keller jokes. Now, those are offensive,” my dad admitted, helping himself to a pile of potatoes.

“But at least those are about somebody who is dead and not about a whole demographic.” I stabbed my dyed-pink salmon with my fork. “And at least there is some truth behind those. She really was blind and deaf.”

“Yeah, and I have friends who are blond,” my stepmother interjected.

My dad rose to his defense: “It’s not about every person who’s blond. Blond is an essence, a way of life, a conscious choice a person makes.” He sipped his glass of red wine and set it down.

My sister said, “She was staring at the orange juice because it said CONCENTRATE!” She giggled.

“And,” my dad continued, “you have to admit that blonds are the prettiest!”

“Dad!” I couldn’t believe it.

“What! It’s true!” He chuckled to himself.

At a loss for words, my stepmother and I looked at each other across the table and rolled our eyes. It was maybe the first time I felt united with her on anything in years.

“Dad, I think you are making Mom feel jealous,” said my sister.

(OK, maybe blonds are not considered a demographic. Whatever.)

been in california a week.

And I don’t get why anyone still lives in NY.

I’m making a soup on the stove. My sister is in the shower. Tomorrow we go to a family reunion.

I have been listening to downloaded new book by Jonathan Safran Foer, one of my favorite people, entitled Eating Animals. Am about an hour and a half in, and I recommend it.

Want pictures? See California Autumn.

===============================================

Daily Tarot Card
Ten of Pentacles
Affluence all around you. Wealth of spirit and resources. Plenty to share with loved ones and friends. Financial security has been reached. Time to create a foundation that will secure wealth for long-term. Family life is in order. Cycle is at an end and you can be satisfied with your work. Stability is at hand. Relax and enjoy time with your loved ones.

HIGH SCHOOL JOURNALS.

Repost from my written journal:

Ha! So tonight I watched My So-Called Life with Glovin and Kate. We watched 3 episodes. So good! We all loved it. I think we are going to get together and watch it in chunks until we reach the last one, #19. I doubt it will happen before my California trip, though.

So, I was curious to see what I was like at 15, and I pulled out my journal from then. It was virtually unreadable! All this “ooh, ahh”-ing and a million !!!!!!’s and, like, tons of “OMG!”-equivalents and bullshit. And gossip, and paranoia, and immaturity. Nothing like Angela Chase.

Then magically, in the journal that starts in Fall 1998, age 17, I finally become a real person. It was in the period of searching for colleges to attend and also working two brunch-shifts at Around the Clock every weekend. It eerily coincides also with the time I start taking Zoloft — maybe not so coincidental?

I even sum it up here, on 11.12.98: “I think I’m going through a big metamorphosis. An emotional growth spurt, if you will. I had my big social growth spurt from 9th to 11th grades, and now is my emotional. See, before, I was externalizing — making changes there. Now, I am internalizing.”

Three times, I laughed out loud:

“10.22.98: Driver’s ed was pretty cool. I drove. I can’t seem to control the car. Aahh! Oh well. Hmm, it was my first time.”

“11.05.98: I had therapy tonight — Debby says I could possibly have hypoglycemia. Damn these psychoanalysts — they can really create basket cases/hypochondriacs out of unsuspecting victims. Just because I eat candy and sleep late. Fuck her!”

“11.26.98: Ann came to visit me at work on Sunday. She and Alex are at a rave tonight! Ooh. Ann’s 2nd one, Alex’s 1st. Wow. They’re both doing E. I’m saving that for when I’m older and bored, but hopefully, I will never EVER be older and bored.”

Wow! Oh, and this particular journal documents the time I saw The Cruise (with Timothy “Speed” Levitch, which I recently saw again!) and then found out he was coming to my class at school, and got super stoked! It also talks about meeting him:

“11.13.98: What I was saying before about a daily metamorphosis, he said it too! I believe in cruising. And I think permanent beliefs, which can never be shifted, are the elements of anti-cruise. OK, that’s Speed-speak. Oh, but he kicks so much ass.”

And there are two separate entries where I admit that I don’t know what “jaded” means, and I try to guess!

“01.05.99: I’m trying to learn to write about everyday life in music. It seems I can only write poetry, songs, when I have an extremely strong emotion. And I kind of want to reflect a bit more on life, like a folk singer. But what can I write about? Everything in this book. I’ll try and convert it, but it will be hard. Extracting the emotions of everyday life! Which is nearly none, since I’m so.. Is it jaded? I still don’t know what that word means. I think I get the feeling it’s like when you walk around in a fog, a muck, an opaque cloud of boredom and blah.”

Haha. OK, that is enough for now.