Kindness is as kindness does

I like that so much that I am going to say it again.

On a more interesting note...

Sometimes I can be (annoyingly? naively? gushingly? embarrassingly? ) idealistic. When I was sitting in my interview, listening to my interviewer respond to my question about her experience with TFA, I started writing down quotes that were coming to my head, and I posed this question to myself:

"Am I young enough to believe in revolution?" --Kris Kristofferson

In my research, I found out that Kris was born in Brownsville.

Brownsville, TX

The per capita income for the city was $9,762. About 32.4% of families and 36.0% of the population were below the poverty line, including 45.0% of those under age 18 and 31.0% of those age 65 or over.

In 2000, the median gross rent paid for housing in Brownsville was $405 per month. This was the lowest of any city in the United States with more than 100,000 people.

• According to the U.S. Census Bureau, only 51.7% of the population has a high school diploma.
• According to the U.S. Census Bureau, 87.2% speak a language other than English at home.

Strange (rs)

i met him in a hotel room, number 225. and i think it's strange how you can meet someone and give them a hug like you already know them and then think, wait, do i already know you? and it's strange how you can sit on a hill, taking in the (almost forgotten) sunshine and laugh until you cry while listening to a story about the time he convinced some children that his already-been-chewed chewing gum was a specialtopsecret polymer from NASA, which had the utilitous, miraculous quality of attracting the fish in the river. and i like to hear about the little kids that would come up after school and wait outside his door for him until he had some more of that special polymer to give out.

most of all, i think it's strange how people can be so, so nice to a stranger. and stranger still how we save all the pain for those whom we love.

This ought to cure what ails me

The wind, she blows

hard against the glass of my window. She is carrying ice crystals like weapons in her hands, knocking, and threatening to break in if I don't open up my window and let her come and lie in bed with me. She is stripping down this big, strong house and making it feel weak and vulnerable under all this pressure. Little by little she is carrying off chips of yellow paint and well-being, they're rolling down the street with knocked-over trash cans and discarded bottles of 7-Up. Everything and everyone is getting out of here as fast and they can, pushed along by her indignation.

I tried to hide from her, curled up under my graygreen covers. I tried not to make a sound so that she wouldn't know I was there and, in fact, I stayed so still and quiet that I forgot I was there, too. I drifted off into a land where the wind wasn't blowing quite so hard and it was so hot that our clothes were sticking to our chests and my hair was dripping sweat onto the carpet. I was dancing with a boy in his fourth floor apartment. The neighbors below were pounding their ceiling, informing us that our good time had gone on for too long and was beginning to hinder the hush they had worked so hard to protect. I threw my head back and laughed at their taciturn request and pounded my heels while I spun around the room. Later, a friend told me a secret and kissed my ear while shivers ran down my spine and conducted electricity through the wet-with-sweat carpet.

I woke up craving something sweet and filling, something that would stick with me for a good, long time and help weather these fronts that keep blowing through.

Yes, I am

d.

The World Wants to Know

Where the fook is my iPod!?!