I was sitting at the bar drinking some hot cocoa in our Casablanca mug with the picture of Bogie and Bergman sitting at a table in a cafe with the caption: "Here's looking at you, kid."
Shafer / Mr. Incredulous: Who's Here?
Monday, October 30, 2006
for moo, for autumn
The day becomes
more solemn and serene...
There is a harmony in autumn,
and a lustre in its sky.
The Indian Serenade
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
hot mama
by rachel tsunami
Earlier this month, Queen B. Shenaynay posted a treatise called Chili Apologetics, a thought-provoking piece about the virtues and benefits of capsaicin, and endorphins, and pain. As best I could tell, she believes (through extra-biblical revelation), that Adam and Eve ate chili on their first date. Of course, none of us can prove her wrong, nor would we want to.
At the time, I proffered a comment about the following recipe, which has found a happy home in my collection, and was pressed to share it, which I happily do here. However, I need to be perfectly clear about this. I did not try to claim that this chile is "better" than Shenaynay's, only that it is very good, and that it has caused a shift in my chili paradigm. I don't know about you, but in my world, there's room for more than one chili, and each family has its favorites for different reasons.
btw:
~masa harina isn't hard to find. Most any grocery store will have it.
~obviously, the quantity of jalepenos can be adjusted up or down according to how many brain cells you can spare.
~as usual, when cooking with beer or wine, they are added for the flavor. I can't vouch for the taste if you omit the beer. It might be just fine.
All in all, a really good recipe!
Beef Chili with Masa Harina
There are as many versions of chili as there are chili cooks. This one includes a signature flavor of the American Southwest: masa harina. The Mexican corn flour used for making tortillas and tamales, masa harina is made by grinding corn kernels that have been simmered in a slaked lime solution and then dried. It is sold in well-stocked food stores and in Latin markets. Added to the chili near the end of cooking, masa harina thickens the liquid slightly, giving it body, and imparts a subtle corn flavor.Grind the meat yourself or ask the butcher to grind it fresh for chili, using the large holes of a meat grinder to give it a coarse texture. Accompany the chili with small bowls of sour cream, salsa, shredded cheddar cheese and chopped green onions.
5 Tbs. vegetable oil
3 lb. beef chuck, ground for chili
3 large yellow onions, finely chopped
8 garlic cloves, minced
1 jalapeño chili, seeded and finely chopped
1/2 cup chili powder
2 Tbs. ground cumin
1 Tbs. ground oregano
2 tsp. ground coriander
1 1/2 cups lager-style beer
2 1/2 cups beef stock
1 can (28 oz.) crushed tomatoes
1 can (15 oz.) kidney beans, rinsed and drained
1 can (15 oz.) pinto beans, rinsed and drained
3 Tbs. masa harina
Salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste
In a large nonstick fry pan over medium-high heat, warm 1 Tbs. of the vegetable oil. Add half of the beef and cook, stirring occasionally, until browned, 5 to 7 minutes. Transfer to a colander placed over a bowl to drain off the fat. Repeat with 1 Tbs. of the oil and the remaining beef.
Drain and set aside.
In a large pot over medium heat, warm the remaining 3 Tbs. oil. Add the onions and sauté, stirring occasionally, until softened, 5 to 7 minutes. Add the garlic and sauté for 1 minute. Add the jalapeño, chili powder, cumin, oregano and coriander, stir until well combined and cook for 1 minute more.
Add the reserved beef, the beer, stock and tomatoes and bring to a gentle simmer. Reduce the heat to medium-low, cover and simmer, stirring occasionally, for about 50 minutes. Add the kidney and pinto beans and masa harina. Simmer until the chili is slightly thickened, 5 to 7 minutes. Season with salt and pepper and serve in large bowls.
Serves 8 to 10.
Adapted from Williams-Sonoma Collection Series,Soup,by Diane Rossen Worthington (Simon & Schuster, 2001).
Earlier this month, Queen B. Shenaynay posted a treatise called Chili Apologetics, a thought-provoking piece about the virtues and benefits of capsaicin, and endorphins, and pain. As best I could tell, she believes (through extra-biblical revelation), that Adam and Eve ate chili on their first date. Of course, none of us can prove her wrong, nor would we want to.
At the time, I proffered a comment about the following recipe, which has found a happy home in my collection, and was pressed to share it, which I happily do here. However, I need to be perfectly clear about this. I did not try to claim that this chile is "better" than Shenaynay's, only that it is very good, and that it has caused a shift in my chili paradigm. I don't know about you, but in my world, there's room for more than one chili, and each family has its favorites for different reasons.
btw:
~masa harina isn't hard to find. Most any grocery store will have it.
~obviously, the quantity of jalepenos can be adjusted up or down according to how many brain cells you can spare.
~as usual, when cooking with beer or wine, they are added for the flavor. I can't vouch for the taste if you omit the beer. It might be just fine.
All in all, a really good recipe!
Beef Chili with Masa Harina
There are as many versions of chili as there are chili cooks. This one includes a signature flavor of the American Southwest: masa harina. The Mexican corn flour used for making tortillas and tamales, masa harina is made by grinding corn kernels that have been simmered in a slaked lime solution and then dried. It is sold in well-stocked food stores and in Latin markets. Added to the chili near the end of cooking, masa harina thickens the liquid slightly, giving it body, and imparts a subtle corn flavor.Grind the meat yourself or ask the butcher to grind it fresh for chili, using the large holes of a meat grinder to give it a coarse texture. Accompany the chili with small bowls of sour cream, salsa, shredded cheddar cheese and chopped green onions.
5 Tbs. vegetable oil
3 lb. beef chuck, ground for chili
3 large yellow onions, finely chopped
8 garlic cloves, minced
1 jalapeño chili, seeded and finely chopped
1/2 cup chili powder
2 Tbs. ground cumin
1 Tbs. ground oregano
2 tsp. ground coriander
1 1/2 cups lager-style beer
2 1/2 cups beef stock
1 can (28 oz.) crushed tomatoes
1 can (15 oz.) kidney beans, rinsed and drained
1 can (15 oz.) pinto beans, rinsed and drained
3 Tbs. masa harina
Salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste
In a large nonstick fry pan over medium-high heat, warm 1 Tbs. of the vegetable oil. Add half of the beef and cook, stirring occasionally, until browned, 5 to 7 minutes. Transfer to a colander placed over a bowl to drain off the fat. Repeat with 1 Tbs. of the oil and the remaining beef.
Drain and set aside.
In a large pot over medium heat, warm the remaining 3 Tbs. oil. Add the onions and sauté, stirring occasionally, until softened, 5 to 7 minutes. Add the garlic and sauté for 1 minute. Add the jalapeño, chili powder, cumin, oregano and coriander, stir until well combined and cook for 1 minute more.
Add the reserved beef, the beer, stock and tomatoes and bring to a gentle simmer. Reduce the heat to medium-low, cover and simmer, stirring occasionally, for about 50 minutes. Add the kidney and pinto beans and masa harina. Simmer until the chili is slightly thickened, 5 to 7 minutes. Season with salt and pepper and serve in large bowls.
Serves 8 to 10.
Adapted from Williams-Sonoma Collection Series,Soup,by Diane Rossen Worthington (Simon & Schuster, 2001).
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
"This come's from our many media's"
Van Atkins billboard in Ripley-
You're back to school headquarters!
I am?
On a homeschool blog-
If you realy want to homeschool, their is allways away...
Not if you spell like that!
And I'm sure you have all seen this one-
Only windshields kills more bugs than we do!
N.C.S.P.
On a grocery store in Tupelo-
No credit cards are excepted in this store.
Well, in that case...
Uh...
addendum by rachel tsunami~
Ellie, you forgot this one, also seen on a billboard in our fair town. And this is exactly how it appears, mind you:
You're back to school headquarters!
I am?
On a homeschool blog-
If you realy want to homeschool, their is allways away...
Not if you spell like that!
And I'm sure you have all seen this one-
Only windshields kills more bugs than we do!
N.C.S.P.
On a grocery store in Tupelo-
No credit cards are excepted in this store.
Well, in that case...
Uh...
addendum by rachel tsunami~
Ellie, you forgot this one, also seen on a billboard in our fair town. And this is exactly how it appears, mind you:
Cash for Your,Nothing doing! I'm never parting with my Your.
Paychecks and titles!
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
To Autumn
SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twinèd flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barrèd clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
-John Keats 1795–1821
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twinèd flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barrèd clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
-John Keats 1795–1821
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Ok, since you're so smart...
Here's a harder one. Guess who said this:
"I'm so sorry you're feeling bad... Can I have your sausage?"
"I'm so sorry you're feeling bad... Can I have your sausage?"
Monday, October 02, 2006
Thursday, September 28, 2006
the impenetrable beauty of simple, and the evening wisdom of porches and kitchen tables...
by rachel tsunami
It's inescapable. I've always loved well-crafted writing, and I married a graphic designer who has worked in advertising for many years. One of the results of that is that we really enjoy excellent advertisements together, both for their design elements and for good, well-written, effective copy. ["copy" is the words part of a print advertisement.]
I just came across this ad in a foodie magazine, and I think it deserves to be shared. And btw, it really does make me want to find some of this bottled iced tea and taste it. That's the hallmark of an effective ad. But for now, here's the copy. Just lovely, with or without the tea. It reads well in Late Summer especially:
George Grant could be their mayor. In fact, he could have written this. He believes strongly in parades, picnic blankets, and grass between the toes.
(If you're interested in good advertising, visit the site. Somebody found a great ad campaign just waiting to happen.) Somebody tell Dan to look at this.
Well done. I don't even know what state it's in, but for a few minutes, I want to move to Gold Peak.
It's inescapable. I've always loved well-crafted writing, and I married a graphic designer who has worked in advertising for many years. One of the results of that is that we really enjoy excellent advertisements together, both for their design elements and for good, well-written, effective copy. ["copy" is the words part of a print advertisement.]
I just came across this ad in a foodie magazine, and I think it deserves to be shared. And btw, it really does make me want to find some of this bottled iced tea and taste it. That's the hallmark of an effective ad. But for now, here's the copy. Just lovely, with or without the tea. It reads well in Late Summer especially:
Mayor Wanted. The Town of Gold Peak Seeks a Mayor.
Must be a believer. Must believe in the impenetrable beauty of
simple. [oooh, i like that part.] Must believe in six year olds running by a
lake with sparklers and chocolate ice-cream smiles. Must believe in the evening
wisdom of porches, kitchen tables and two chairs by a lake. [and that part.]
Must believe in the divine symphony of the lap of a canoe paddle, the cry of the
loon, and the rustle of maple leaves in September breezes. Must believe in
parades, picnic blankets, and the loyalty of boat dogs. Must believe in the
crisp and sweet purity of grass between the toes and of tea between ice. [this is great!] Must believe in Nathaniel Hawthorne when he whispers happiness is as
a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but which if you
will sit down quietly, may alight upon you. This is that place. This is Gold
Peak. Mayor wanted.
If you believe, visit www.tastegoldpeak.com/mayorwanted
and tell us why.
Gold Peak. What it Tastes Like Up Here
George Grant could be their mayor. In fact, he could have written this. He believes strongly in parades, picnic blankets, and grass between the toes.
(If you're interested in good advertising, visit the site. Somebody found a great ad campaign just waiting to happen.) Somebody tell Dan to look at this.
Well done. I don't even know what state it's in, but for a few minutes, I want to move to Gold Peak.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
National Eat an Apple Day
I saw this announcement in the school library this morning. I felt it incumbent on me to tell all my friends so they don't miss out.
I'm tellin' you, what with Talking Like a Pirate yesterday, and Eating Apples today, there's no time for school!
I'm tellin' you, what with Talking Like a Pirate yesterday, and Eating Apples today, there's no time for school!
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
The Antiquary...
by ~e
Yes. The Antiquary. That is the book I am currently wading through. Wait, don't get me wrong. I love to read, and if you don't find me talking to my friends, doing school or helping my dear mummy around the house, I'll probably be curled up on my bed in my beautiful bedroom that my papa has made for me, reading one of my faves.
Walter Scott's writing is particularly wordy, and although very astounding and brilliant, it is somewhat breathtaking and can be a somewhat daunting task. (Especially if you have to read 15 chapters per week. AAAAHHHH!!!!) However, if I can make myself concentrate and if I try to enjoy the style of writing for what it is, I've found that the plot line is very enjoyable and thrilling.
One of the main characters is Jonathan Oldbuck of Monkbairns. He's the character that Sir Scott describes as the Antiquary, who, because of his own personal disappointments, has taken refuge in the obsessive study of miscellaneous history. He has a curiously passionate love for books and this is very evident in his speech.
Speech? Did someone say speech? Did I also mention that the dialect that Sir Walter Scott uses is completely Scottish? Did I mention that I happen to love the Scottish accent and jargon?
Well, now you know...
Back to Mr. Oldbuck, his bookishness is very prominent throughout and some very good quotes about books are found within the pages because of it.
And so I'll leave you with my favorite quote... (so far)
'For he would rather have, at his bed-head,
A twenty books, clothed in black or red,
Of Aristotle, or his philosophy, (ok, maybe not Aristotle, but you get the general idea.)
Than robes rich, rebeck, or saltery.' - Quoted from the Canterbury Tales
With ~e's permish, I am ammending her post, instead of topping it with a new one, to say how well timed it is, as we are hoping to make our annual trek this coming Saturday to the Clanjamfry --- Memphis' annual Scottish festival. It's not on the grand scale of the one the Beehive attends in Texas every June, but it is great fun nonetheless. Last year the Beehive joined us on the beautiful, ivy league grounds of old Evergreen Presbyterian Church, near Rhodes College, for a full day of tartans, bagpipes, and kilt swishing. (The Wolf River Pipe Band Pipe Major is just too dashing!) They've got the sheepdogs, the traditional Scottish games, the food, the music, the displays of pipes and swords and geneologys galore.
Yes. The Antiquary. That is the book I am currently wading through. Wait, don't get me wrong. I love to read, and if you don't find me talking to my friends, doing school or helping my dear mummy around the house, I'll probably be curled up on my bed in my beautiful bedroom that my papa has made for me, reading one of my faves.
Walter Scott's writing is particularly wordy, and although very astounding and brilliant, it is somewhat breathtaking and can be a somewhat daunting task. (Especially if you have to read 15 chapters per week. AAAAHHHH!!!!) However, if I can make myself concentrate and if I try to enjoy the style of writing for what it is, I've found that the plot line is very enjoyable and thrilling.
One of the main characters is Jonathan Oldbuck of Monkbairns. He's the character that Sir Scott describes as the Antiquary, who, because of his own personal disappointments, has taken refuge in the obsessive study of miscellaneous history. He has a curiously passionate love for books and this is very evident in his speech.
Speech? Did someone say speech? Did I also mention that the dialect that Sir Walter Scott uses is completely Scottish? Did I mention that I happen to love the Scottish accent and jargon?
Well, now you know...
Back to Mr. Oldbuck, his bookishness is very prominent throughout and some very good quotes about books are found within the pages because of it.
And so I'll leave you with my favorite quote... (so far)
'For he would rather have, at his bed-head,
A twenty books, clothed in black or red,
Of Aristotle, or his philosophy, (ok, maybe not Aristotle, but you get the general idea.)
Than robes rich, rebeck, or saltery.' - Quoted from the Canterbury Tales
With ~e's permish, I am ammending her post, instead of topping it with a new one, to say how well timed it is, as we are hoping to make our annual trek this coming Saturday to the Clanjamfry --- Memphis' annual Scottish festival. It's not on the grand scale of the one the Beehive attends in Texas every June, but it is great fun nonetheless. Last year the Beehive joined us on the beautiful, ivy league grounds of old Evergreen Presbyterian Church, near Rhodes College, for a full day of tartans, bagpipes, and kilt swishing. (The Wolf River Pipe Band Pipe Major is just too dashing!) They've got the sheepdogs, the traditional Scottish games, the food, the music, the displays of pipes and swords and geneologys galore.
So. We'll don our status as honorary scots (thoroughly welsh, at least, so we feel entitled), go watch the games, enjoy the celtic bands and the dancers, (buy some jewelry), and who knows, we may even eat some haggis in honor of Great Scot.
~rachel tsunami
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
double first blood
by rachel tsunami
Courtesy of Lacy's camera, here are some great shots Andrew sent me from last weekend when we gathered at Grace Chapel for Timothy Guess to be ordained.
First love.
I have a collection of them in this pose through the years. Taller now.
Andrew helping Molly figure out how to get down the steps.
Really cute, except for the Walmart bag.
She must've nailed him.
Prince Dog. Princess.
Andrew and his Fairy.
Courtesy of Lacy's camera, here are some great shots Andrew sent me from last weekend when we gathered at Grace Chapel for Timothy Guess to be ordained.
First love.
I have a collection of them in this pose through the years. Taller now.
Andrew helping Molly figure out how to get down the steps.
Really cute, except for the Walmart bag.
She must've nailed him.
Prince Dog. Princess.
Andrew and his Fairy.
Monday, September 11, 2006
addendum: Joe4444
Yay Joe! How did I miss this? When I read your comment to Kathryn about the parking lots, it hit me like a pie in the face. Somehow I wasn't conscious (go ahead, somebody. just take that and run with it) of the fact that dear Joe4444 is also a student at U of M. In spite of all the Tiger sports talk you guys do in the comments it just didn't sink in(...it's a woman thang). Now it makes sense. Ah yes, the school year is shaping up just sweeter and sweeter.
So. My list of U of M friends was incomplete (Wednesday, 8/30/06 post). Yet another one to offer advice, encouragement and a helping hand. It warms a mother's heart.
Viva la Joe.
So. My list of U of M friends was incomplete (Wednesday, 8/30/06 post). Yet another one to offer advice, encouragement and a helping hand. It warms a mother's heart.
Viva la Joe.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Find your Parking Spot....and Discover Yourself
by multifarious
Parking at school is a fine art; not something to be taken lightly or for granted.
There are two parking lots at The University of Memphis for students – Central and Southern. Central is my favorite by far. It is right beside the music building and closest to the library. The atmosphere is nicer, with trees every few yards, and there are no chain link fences or construction cones. Southern is rather depressing and trashy looking, so I never park there if I can possibly help it.
I am riding to school with Beka today; carpooling is my favorite.
Molly wants me to bring her coffee. I want some too, so we stop at a gas station and get two coffees in those styrofoam cups with sip lids. Beka's first class is closest to Southern and that's where she plans to park, but that means I have to walk all the way across campus carrying two hot, sloshy coffees. I negotiate: "Why don't I just drive your car around to Central and park it there for you? It will be closer to your last class."
That sounds good to her. Central is also a bit closer to the library where I plan to spend the next 2 free hours studying for Weather and Climate. I know it will take a while to find a parking space; it's usually pretty crowded by 9:30am.
Understatement of the century.
After spending a solid ten minutes driving over the huge parking lot and not having a smidge of success, I decide to take the stalking tactic: look for someone coming from campus, arms loaded down with books, and follow him surreptitiously to his car. This can be awkward as you must drive very slowly, close behind the person, but one must resort to extreme measures sometimes. There's a promising looking one, with a resolute, home-going look on his face, but he keeps walking and keeps walking, never getting to his car and my parking space.
After having unsuccessfully stalked about half a dozen people, I realize the problem. Many of these unsuspecting victims live in the dorms behind the parking lot. So that's why they disappear and don't provide a parking space for me! After about fifteen minutes I learn to detect these kinds by the hand/key factor: Look at hands. No keys, no car. Dorm-dweller.
Now I am discouraged. Should I resort to illegal parking? Many do; yellow lines, medians, odd ends of areas. Should I join the outlaws? No. I will stick to my principles . Surely somebody, somewhere, is through with morning classes and is on his way home.
Aha. There are two guys talking at a car. The door is open; he's fiddling with keys! That looks promising! With a warm thought toward the cozy library and all that studying that is going to breeze me through Weather and Climate, I roll down the window and drive by.
:: sweet, distressed face ::
"Are y'all coming or going?"
"Going. Just a second." I drive around to come in the other way and get a better angle (I am not a very skilled parker).
Big Mistake. Within the 20 seconds it takes me to get back around, another person has parked HER car and taken MY space. She wasn't even around! Sneaky freak.
I am tired. I want the library. Why are there so many students at this stupid school? Why don't they enlarge the stupid parking lot? Am I reduced to parking at Southern, beside the curb at the end of that long line of cars that stretches away from campus to infinity?
No. I will not.
I continue the mad search, back and forth, back and forth. There is a lovely young man. Shall I ask him if he minds me stalking him? Oh. No keys. Stupid guy. Why can't he live off campus like normal people? Back and forth, back and forth; probably burned half a tank of gas by now. I don't care. I won't go to Southern. I take a tiny break to put a love note on the windshield of a red Honda Civic with a kilt on the stick shift and a Jack-in-the-Box antenna topper. My resolution is bending. More cars coming in for 10:20 classes. No cars going out. They are all better space finders than I. They've all done this before; I am just a poor freshman. Someone take pity on me and LEAVE!
It's no use. No one hears my cry or even cares for my plight. I am a nomad and vagabond without my own personal parking space. I don't belong.
Forty-five minutes have passed and it's just too long. I can hold out no longer. I point my car toward the exit. Numbly I wait for a pedestrian to pass, a dark, pretty girl with a sorority jacket on. I stare at her as she walks slowly, meandering her way toward the dorms. Of course there are no keys in her hands. Time stands still in a hopeless sort of way.
Luck is not my friend. I am forced to park at Southern.
Suddenly she stops, turning her head slowly. Her long, straight, shiny black hair swings around in slow motion; it reminds me of a Pantene commercial. She is looking at me. Oh, great. She thinks I'm a moron, just sitting here staring at her. But what is that look on her face? Questioning? Understanding? Sympathy? She points across the parking lot, then turns and starts walking again. I meekly creep behind, blessing her all the way. She stops at a bright blue Mustang. I sit, stoically guarding my space, afraid that a phantom car will appear from nowhere at any moment and whiz in behind me. Nothing happens. She pulls out. I back in.
Hmmm. The person from the car next to me will have about half an inch in which to open his door. Do I dare adjust? What if a skinny motorcycle snatches the spot before I get back in? I pull out and back in, holding my breath all the while. No motorcycle appears. I give the cars on either side perfect amounts of breathing room, and do not kiss the front bumper of the car in back. I shut off the motor.
I love this school. I love Central. I love this coffee I have to carry. I love my heavy bag. I love the long walk ahead of me. I am happy. I found a parking spot.
Parking at school is a fine art; not something to be taken lightly or for granted.
There are two parking lots at The University of Memphis for students – Central and Southern. Central is my favorite by far. It is right beside the music building and closest to the library. The atmosphere is nicer, with trees every few yards, and there are no chain link fences or construction cones. Southern is rather depressing and trashy looking, so I never park there if I can possibly help it.
I am riding to school with Beka today; carpooling is my favorite.
Molly wants me to bring her coffee. I want some too, so we stop at a gas station and get two coffees in those styrofoam cups with sip lids. Beka's first class is closest to Southern and that's where she plans to park, but that means I have to walk all the way across campus carrying two hot, sloshy coffees. I negotiate: "Why don't I just drive your car around to Central and park it there for you? It will be closer to your last class."
That sounds good to her. Central is also a bit closer to the library where I plan to spend the next 2 free hours studying for Weather and Climate. I know it will take a while to find a parking space; it's usually pretty crowded by 9:30am.
Understatement of the century.
After spending a solid ten minutes driving over the huge parking lot and not having a smidge of success, I decide to take the stalking tactic: look for someone coming from campus, arms loaded down with books, and follow him surreptitiously to his car. This can be awkward as you must drive very slowly, close behind the person, but one must resort to extreme measures sometimes. There's a promising looking one, with a resolute, home-going look on his face, but he keeps walking and keeps walking, never getting to his car and my parking space.
After having unsuccessfully stalked about half a dozen people, I realize the problem. Many of these unsuspecting victims live in the dorms behind the parking lot. So that's why they disappear and don't provide a parking space for me! After about fifteen minutes I learn to detect these kinds by the hand/key factor: Look at hands. No keys, no car. Dorm-dweller.
Now I am discouraged. Should I resort to illegal parking? Many do; yellow lines, medians, odd ends of areas. Should I join the outlaws? No. I will stick to my principles . Surely somebody, somewhere, is through with morning classes and is on his way home.
Aha. There are two guys talking at a car. The door is open; he's fiddling with keys! That looks promising! With a warm thought toward the cozy library and all that studying that is going to breeze me through Weather and Climate, I roll down the window and drive by.
:: sweet, distressed face ::
"Are y'all coming or going?"
"Going. Just a second." I drive around to come in the other way and get a better angle (I am not a very skilled parker).
Big Mistake. Within the 20 seconds it takes me to get back around, another person has parked HER car and taken MY space. She wasn't even around! Sneaky freak.
I am tired. I want the library. Why are there so many students at this stupid school? Why don't they enlarge the stupid parking lot? Am I reduced to parking at Southern, beside the curb at the end of that long line of cars that stretches away from campus to infinity?
No. I will not.
I continue the mad search, back and forth, back and forth. There is a lovely young man. Shall I ask him if he minds me stalking him? Oh. No keys. Stupid guy. Why can't he live off campus like normal people? Back and forth, back and forth; probably burned half a tank of gas by now. I don't care. I won't go to Southern. I take a tiny break to put a love note on the windshield of a red Honda Civic with a kilt on the stick shift and a Jack-in-the-Box antenna topper. My resolution is bending. More cars coming in for 10:20 classes. No cars going out. They are all better space finders than I. They've all done this before; I am just a poor freshman. Someone take pity on me and LEAVE!
It's no use. No one hears my cry or even cares for my plight. I am a nomad and vagabond without my own personal parking space. I don't belong.
Forty-five minutes have passed and it's just too long. I can hold out no longer. I point my car toward the exit. Numbly I wait for a pedestrian to pass, a dark, pretty girl with a sorority jacket on. I stare at her as she walks slowly, meandering her way toward the dorms. Of course there are no keys in her hands. Time stands still in a hopeless sort of way.
Luck is not my friend. I am forced to park at Southern.
Suddenly she stops, turning her head slowly. Her long, straight, shiny black hair swings around in slow motion; it reminds me of a Pantene commercial. She is looking at me. Oh, great. She thinks I'm a moron, just sitting here staring at her. But what is that look on her face? Questioning? Understanding? Sympathy? She points across the parking lot, then turns and starts walking again. I meekly creep behind, blessing her all the way. She stops at a bright blue Mustang. I sit, stoically guarding my space, afraid that a phantom car will appear from nowhere at any moment and whiz in behind me. Nothing happens. She pulls out. I back in.
Hmmm. The person from the car next to me will have about half an inch in which to open his door. Do I dare adjust? What if a skinny motorcycle snatches the spot before I get back in? I pull out and back in, holding my breath all the while. No motorcycle appears. I give the cars on either side perfect amounts of breathing room, and do not kiss the front bumper of the car in back. I shut off the motor.
I love this school. I love Central. I love this coffee I have to carry. I love my heavy bag. I love the long walk ahead of me. I am happy. I found a parking spot.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)