Tuesday, Jan. 20, 2004 - 10:14 p.m.
1.
After a protracted and ultimately successful annoyance campaign involving lunging repeatedly toward my plate, pushing her head through the hands I put up to block her, and yowling loudly for several minutes, Ronnie discovered that she did not, in fact, like gingerbread. She scooped the piece I put in her bowl out with her paw and smeared it around on the newly mopped kitchen floor.
2.
When I lived at home, one of my main chores was putting away the laundry. My mom still did the actual washing, but I�d have to fold and separate the clothes, collect hangers, and return everything to the proper closets and drawers. I�d always have to be reminded to do this task, but when I actually did it, I performed every action with careful deliberateness, pretending the whole time that someone was watching me. I�d have conversations in my head with the lead server at the restaurant where I worked as a cashier, with an imaginary European boyfriend, with a young Bob Dylan. They�d watch me fold the laundry, marveling at my unerring knowledge of which underwear belonged to who, admiring my careful hanging skills.
These days I find myself doing exactly the reverse, showing off the most mundane skills for my faraway parents. I imagine my mother walking home from the grocery store with me, carrying canvas and reused paper bags full of fresh fruit, organic coffee, and cheap but good Californian wine. I stand with her admiring the new magnetic knife holder that I mounted on the wall myself using L�s power drill. I show my dad the front page of the South Carolina paper, snickering at our Republican senator.
I don�t know why I�m doing this. At age thirteen I did even the smallest things with an eye to what other people would think; this is perfectly consistent with adolescence, with the formation of an identity. But at age twenty-five I should be doing things for myself, not for other people, and especially not for my parents. Of course I care that they know I live in a clean apartment and eat healthy, good-tasting food. But I don�t know why I summon their imaginary stamp of approval for my every action and acquisition.
3.
At a stoplight this weekend, a guy rolled his window down and asked me to recommend a bar nearby where he could watch the game; he was from out of town, staying at a hotel nearby. Then he asked if he could buy me a drink. I kindly demurred, and he revved his engine and drove away.
4.
I thought about delivering my lecture today in a throaty yell punctuated by bizarre frat boy whoops (a la Howard Dean), but it�s a good thing I refrained; only three people in my class of twenty-five knew about the results of the Iowa caucuses.