1999 january 4

pc

i started my new year in a blaze of glory.

i made a run to target on friday, while gene was watching the endless parade of bowl games, and i bought light bulbs. and i do mean light bulbs: fluorescent tubes for the kitchen, decorative ones for the dining room chandelier, grow lamps for the plants, halogen bulbs for the desklamps, tiny little things for the nightlights. there is not a single burnt out bulb in the whole condo.

now that i can see everything, i am going to have to dust. and vacuum. and buy new furniture.

**

i had to pick up a friend at the airport this weekend and since i am wise in the ways of waiting for flights that are said to be on time when you leave the house but are magically late by the time you arrive at the airport, i brought along a book to read. i've been picking at greg sarris' grand avenue for a couple of weeks -- a page or two here, a paragraph there -- and i was looking forward to finally getting some quality time with the collection of linked stories. surprisingly, the waiting area at the gate was not at all crowded so i plunked myself down and started to read.

a few minutes later i noticed someone sit down one chair over, but i was so engrossed in the story of rita, i didn't bother looking over. it wasn't until i had finished the story and glanced up to see the time that i saw it was an elderly native american man; i was immediately thrown into a vicious cycle of being alternately embarrassed and then proud to be reading the work of an indian author.

what an absolute idiot i am at times.

i blame it on the politically correct movement. as children, my parents instilled in us a respect for all peoples, regardless of race, creed, colour or fashion sense. growing up in countries all over the world helped quite a bit, i suppose, as did often being in the minority as a white female. it truly did not occur to me to think of someone as a potential hoodlum simply because they were black and wearing a hooded sweatshirt, or an alcoholic if they were a slow moving indian; i must confess however that people whose pants were too short invariably made me think of them as dorks.

but, after a decade of having correctness pushed at me, i am now overly sensitive to every move i make, every phrase i utter, every joke i tell. instead of simply being able to read toni morrison on the bus, i feel i should either hide it or discuss it with the black woman who may sit next to me. instead of reading greg sarris, i spend fifteen minutes thinking about why i am reading greg sarris and whether i have a right to do so. instead of just accepting people for who they are, i feel compelled to analyze why i might like them or dislike them to be sure i don't have racist or ethnocentric motives. at times i have found myself bending over backwards to try and like someone who is obnoxious simply because i was afraid i did not like them on some deep subconscious level because they were black or asian, or more likely, italian.

fuck it. i am reading grand avenue because it was recommended to me and has proved to be a good read. and i refuse to let me headgame myself into not enjoying everything this world has to offer. and if i don't like someone, it is most likely a result of some behaviour that irks the living hell out of me. i just have to keep telling myself that.

**

well, now that i've started the new year out on a asinine, longwinded and preachy note, let's talk about the other pc: personal computer.

i want a new one. actually, i want two new ones, a desktop and a laptop. mostly i want the laptop though, so i can spread all the papers i am constantly working on all over the floor and hunker down there with the computer to do all my work. it would be eversomuch easier than trying to cram everything onto this small desk.

anyone willing to donate a high end laptop to the cause drop me a note; if you have a line on an affordable one, please do the same. otherwise, i am going to have to consider selling plasma for some extra cash.

with a pc here and a pc there, claire