Verbal Doodles

Tongues and Dentists and Sunday School, Oh My!

2012-03-19T23:26:00.000-07:00

Last week I went to the dentist. He told me that like 5-10% of the adult population of the world, I have a weird "tongue thrust" that makes me look weird when I swallow. (I am between 5-10% of the population in so many categories, especially medically, that it seriously boggles my mind that I could be outside the standard deviation in so many ways.)

It also complicates my life greatly because my orthodontist had to put a lingual bar across my top teeth, really high up close to my gumline, so that my teeth wouldn't move when said muscle thrust its way toward the top of my mouth.

Furthermore, it means that for whatever reason, I swallow down the wrong tube more often than it seems anybody else ever does and therefore I am always eye-watering and trying to contain myself (usually it happens at public events, like work dinners, banquets, or dates), failing miserably, until I can swallow more stuff and soothe the passage and make it all go away.

Anyway, I was thinking about tongues, and it hearkened me back (yes I know that doesn't make sense; I am going to create a new colloquialism) to the time when I was either seven or nine (can't remember which). I was in Sunday School, and there were two or three of us that had the answers more regularly and wanted to share even more regularly than we knew the correct answers in the class. Everybody else just seemed like they were there to either moon about or socialize. Sometimes, socialize meanly. Occasionally, nicely. We are people, so that is how it goes. But I digress (as usual).

I remember that Bishop T was our teacher. He'd just been let go of his official duties, and got stuck teaching the little kids. I wonder if he was overwhelmed or if he had requested the assignment. In any case I think that handling seven (there were fourteen of us, so we had to be split into two classes) inquisitive minds (or even three) is a lot of work.

As a side note, one time, for Christmas, he invited us over to his house and we had gargantuan banana splits. I had never had a bona fide banana split before. It was glorious. He even had the cherries!!! (I don't like cherries, but it totally blew my mind that banana splits could be so fancy. Heretofore, "fancy" was getting bubble-gum flavored ice cream at Baskin Robbins.)

Anyway! Back to Sunday School. He was trying to teach us a lesson. He asked us which muscle in the body was the strongest. Me, being who I am, immediately piped up (most likely without raising my hand) and said that the uterus was the strongest muscle. (I think I really meant myometrium, but I wasn't that advanced yet.) How could anything else compare to something that was strong enough to push a baby into the world? It was indisputable logic; however, it was not the logic he was looking for. He immediately started to interject, to guide us to his point. He began by saying, gently, "No, it's the tongue that's the strongest."

I started to doubt myself. After all, I knew that muscles had to be exercised in order to get stronger. How could a uterus be strong if it had never been exercised before? I had never exercised *my* uterus, so I wasn't sure. But then one of the other "always knows the answer" kids agreed with me. (He knew more of the details than I did, but suffice it to say, the lesson plan was completely derailed within the blink of an eye.)

Poor Bishop T. His point, of course, was that tongues can be vicious, and can hurt more than anything else. Sticks and stones, and all of that. I don't remember. All I remember was the muscle talk.

My dentist sure thinks my tongue is strong. He said, "That's why I can't take the lingual bar off your teeth - your tongue is such a strong muscle that it will move your teeth." I don't have kids, so my uterus hasn't been tested, but I bet it's pretty strong, too.

XYB, PDQ

2012-03-03T12:01:00.000-08:00

On Monday, I woke up and thought I was going to immediately expire from the sheer exhaustion that overcame me as soon as I opened my eyes. I struggled into my clothes, and made it to work in a moderately timely fashion.

On Tuesday, I woke up and wished that I could just have five more minutes...so I took five more minutes of precious sleep time. And then five more. And then five more. And then I had to get out of bed. I blearily selected my outfit, thinking that my standard of slacks and a button down shirt would suffice. So that's what I wore. I went to work and felt better by the time I arrived. (Something about endorphins...) Typing along, fact-checking, etc., was fine until I decided to use the ladies room and walked in. Normally I don't look at myself in the mirror but this time I did and it was probably a good thing because the bottom button of my shirt wasn't buttoned. Oops. So I remedied the situation and continued with my normal routine.

On Wednesday, I don't think my alarm went off at all. Or rather, it did, but it was in another room, so I woke up in a panic...and I wish I could say I immediately shot out of bed when I saw that my body's alarm clock was approximately 30 minutes after my physical alarm clock was set to go off, but I did not. It took about three minutes for me to haul myself out of the warm cave of covers I had built myself. I started to prepare lunch but then remembered I hadn't gotten dressed yet, so I took care of that, then finished, and trundled out the door only to find that it was snowing. And then it started snowing sideways. I was feeling a mite underprepared, wondering if this would turn into a full-on blizzard. (It didn't.) But when I got to work, I went to fill my water bottle up but for some reason I decided to stop off at the bathroom first to wash my hands. Again, it was a good thing that I did, and that I looked in the mirror, because today, I had gotten sidetracked and forgotten to button the last two buttons of my shirt. I sighed and used the skill I learned when I was about three years old, rolled my eyes, and drank my water.

On Thursday, I woke up early squirrelly for a pre-work dentist appointment. (No cavities...yay!) and decided that I better wear a shirt without buttons on it, just to be on the safe side. Two buttons might go undetected while I was sitting at my desk, but my brain was awake enough to realize that if the pattern continued, three buttons would *not* go unnoticed. (Who knows how many buttons I would have forgotten, since I left my house before 7am.!) The no-button thing worked out pretty well for me that day. Well enough that I tried the same tactic on Friday, with equal success.

Maybe next week I'll go back to buttons...

Return to Angel City: Part II

2012-02-29T00:07:00.003-08:00

My Return to Angel City: Part II

We woke up the next day and went to breakfast at 26 Beach Cafe. K got hot chocolate again (do you see a theme here?)

Hot Chocolate 2

Quick straw poll: Do you think that Hot Chocolate 1 (previous post) or Hot Chocolate 2 was more visually appealing?

We got everything. Bacon, eggs, french toast...hers was custard and came with mangoes and whipped cream.

Mine was filled with strawberry preserves and cream cheese and had a shocking lack of strawberries on the top. I found out that in fact, I do not like strawberry preserves on French Toast. In fact, I think fresh fruit and strawberries are the only way to go. Or maybe syrup. But no preservatives, and no cream cheese. I'm glad I had it though, because now I know cream cheese french toast is not my cup of tea.

Rating: 4.0 Long wait time, good menu.

Venice Beach

"I Pose for Pictures. Please feed me change."

Beaches, we love you.
Parking at beaches, we do not love you.

Venice is probably the most shamelessly chintzy touristy place I have ever seen in my life. Manhattan and Pike Place are right up there, as was Hollywood itself, but this and Pier 39 in San Francisco are immediately called to mind when the word "touristy" is mentioned. I don't know whether to be charmed or annoyed by it, in all honesty.

Here I am getting cuddled by a half shark half man who's metallic blue. He thinks he's all that. Apparently I thought something of him because I gave "him" approximately 27 cents (do you see a theme going?) in exchange for pretending to put his arm around me. I got 27 cents worth of enjoyment out of it, so we came out about equal.

Here is the ocean...and the sand, and the lifeguard huts. This is as close as I got to the water. I was sort of tempted to go in but as it was I was already freezing. Plus, it was calming just to be near a real ocean. I see water every day, but it's just the bay. (Not even The Bay. Just the bay.) It's not bona fide, to quote Oh Brother! Where Art Thou?


Look! It's the OCEAN!!! And me, of course.

In case you didn't know, Venice Beach is also referred to as "Muscle Beach." It's because there's a bodybuilding gym built into the beach, and guys go there to work out. It's part of the tourist "charm." I'm not joking.

The sign (above) says that the workout gear was put there by the founder of bodybuilding. I'm not sure I believe that.

We actually walked right by it without even noticing. And then K, being K, decided to ask the cops for directions. And because she's K, they rolled down the window and smiled big ol' smiles and happily told her everything she needed to know. Which apparently didn't include how to make me look instantly like a bodybuilder while playing on the bars at the playground.

This is me, by the Venice Beach sign. A beach with its own brand?!? But look at that sky! Wow. I hadn't seen a sky that blue in...months. My marketing hangups aside, it does make for a nice backdrop of a picture. --->

The other thing that blogs do not do is tell you about the "feel" or smell of a place. I had flipflops on and I took them off and then the thought occurred to me that I better put them back on or else I might step on a needle. K had the exact same thought at the exact same time. Shoes went back on, needless to say. Also, sadly, after we were through, we reeked of marijuana.

Swingin' @ Swingers

More breakfast food! Bacon, eggs, and two pancakes. I got the All-American.

Rating: 4/5. Good bacon, good eggs, helpful staff. However, this is the one big breakfast I ate that didn't really stick to my ribs - I was hungry not too long after. Also, there is a major qualifier on their "fresh squeezed grapefruit juice."

It's not actually fresh-squeezed by them. It's organic and apparently wonderful high-end stuff but they let me have a sample: as all of you who know me are not surprised because I am very suspicious of any citrus juice that I did not squeeze or saw someone squeeze it in my presence. Also it was weird to see waitresses in full makeup at like 9:00 am. But hey. It was good. I'd definitely go back. Just don't get the grapefruit juice!

Forest Lawn 

Forest Lawn is a mausoleum/graveyard. Why, you ask, would I want to go here? Because it's so peaceful. It's one of the only truly peaceful places in LA - sacred space. It's in a beautiful setting, and there is also lots of amazing art there. (Let's face it, that's the real reason why I went.) Behind me is one of the main mausoleum buildings.

Here I am with the children, reading the Builder's Creed. (You have to click on the 'see larger image' to be able to read the whole thing in a decent font size. But I highly recommend clicking over - he was a man on a mission, and he really did succeed. Beautifully. As you will see below. )

This is where the glass window reproduction of the Last Supper is. They have a kind of commercialized audio program that lasts about six minutes that comes on every half hour. They only open the shutters that let the light into the nave-like space every half hour for about seven minutes. I'd never seen stained glass like it. I'll save you the audio program and tell you that it was made by the last of the family that made all the awesome stained glass windows in Italy. It was commissioned back in the 30s and took years to make. Apparently Judas was the hardest - his portion of the glass broke about five times and the artist thought she was going to have to scrap the whole idea but finally his shape conformed and she was able to finish it. I can only imagine what the real Last Supper is like. The colors were so vivid - the shading so convincing. I can't wait until I go see the real thing.

Also in this building are some other cool works of art. Yes, they are exact replicas and not the real thing, but it is still really cool that they went to so much trouble and expense to get them in. They have copies of the Moses, Day/Night, Dusk/Dawn, the Pieta, the only copy of Madonna of the Bruges, and loads of others I can't even remember.

The only sad thing is that the museum, which apparently houses the largest painting in America, was closed. That always seems to happen to me. I was mucho disappointed but then decided that it meant I would just have to come back. I hope I do, someday. It's a beautiful place.

Holly Terrace: Where Michael Jackson and a host of other people are buried. The first engraving I saw that I recognized was Louis L'Amour's.

All these flowers were for the King of Pop. (V, I took this picture just for you because I knew how you would bristle and threaten to disown me all over again.)

You can't go inside, because it's a private building. In case you were wondering.

K in the heart of Babyland

Babyland:

It's exactly like what it sounds. There is a huge heart sidewalk surrounding all these tiny graves. They're all tiny babies. Babies that will have to be still in the ground with no human mother to cradle them to sleep at night for a really long time. It was kind of depressing in a beautiful way to know that out of so much sadness could come a place of beauty and reverence. From up on the hill, all you can see is the outline of the heart. It's not until you look at the map that you see it's Babyland, and are reminded of all the sadness.

Sometimes maps are overrated.

On the other hand, classic art is almost never overrated:

This is how I feel about art. Mom, I think this is how you feel about it too. Especially since the installation of the Postcard Buying Tradition.

Drumroll...for Michelangelo's David

I knew he was there. I knew he wouldn't be lurking in the bushes either, like a total creepster. I knew he'd be standing tall and proud and that I would get goosebumps from the sheer awe at the artistic prowess it took to create him. I knew that I would be unprepared for the combination of grace and aloofness he presented. I knew that his hands would be too big. But I didn't know that I would see him first by just driving past him as if he were another bump in the road or an Average Joe statue. (Apologies to all other statues at Forest Lawn. But really, the reason I came here was for a boy. And not just any boy. A naked one! (oops. that sounds bad.) He is naked though.

I'd even seen him from the air before when we flew over Forest Lawn one time. That was how I knew that he existed. What I didn't know was that this exact replica is made of stone from the same quarry that the original came from. I don't know how many copies there are - I would guess less than 10 - but this one, in its outdoor setting, was amazing.

"K, stop, back up!" I cried. He was on my side of the car. She put it in reverse and did her awesome K thing and we pulled right up in front of him. I practically embarrassed myself because I couldn't get out of the car fast enough. I think I did a combination of running and floating to get to him.

I don't know if you call that runfling or florning but I did it and he was everything I thought he'd be.

Look at his smallish waist. Look at his too-large hands. Look at the way his musculature flows. Imagine me speechless. Yep. That happened, too. I touched his toe and shivered. It felt like sacrilege. I looked up and wondered if he was going to frown down that long nose at me at my audacity.

I just sat and stared for about three minutes. It was just me, David, and K. K was playing on her phone for some of it, so it was really just me and David. We had some quality time. I was sad when I had to leave. I will see your original soon, buddy. Seeing you keeps alive my Italy dream.

After that, I didn't really care about anything else. Except we did see a blue bird eating an orange berry. The progression, caught by K on film, went like this:

Hi. I'm a bird.

I'm a bird pretending to ignore you.

Take that! I have snatched a berry!

I am eating your berry!

I might be able to swallow this.

The bird managed to eat the berry without asphyxiating. Huzzah, birdie. Extra huzzahs for leaving us alone afterward.

I need a cape to be a proper George Washington.

K and I found Walt Disney buried in the corner. The little thing hanging from the tree is a disney wreath, probably left there over Christmas.

Isn't K cute?

We also stopped at the Garden of Remembrance, which makes a very pretty picture.

Then we left Forest Lawn, and went back to the West Side - but we took a tangent to the mall in Pasadena first to buy water, food, lacy things, and makeup. Classic girl time.

Santa Monica Pier

On the pier!!!

Riding the bronze dolphin.

At sunset, it can be pretty. It was really cold though! Hence the reason why I am actually wearin ga coat. I'm always surprised how cold it is on Third Street and the beach - even in the summer.

You can see Cirque du Soleil in the background, and the Ferris wheel is the neon blur to the right.

View from the Top

I tried to jump up and be like the girl in the mural. Sadly I have no vertical and so it ended up making me look like the man in the photo. I tried two or three times but none of them worked. K and I laughed so hard looking at the attempts that it made it hard for her to operate the camera properly. When it was determined that in fact I do have no vertical, we got in line with her bf, G, to ride the Ferris wheel. That's why there's an implied third presence.

This is what the sunset would look like without my glasses on. Only I was wearing my glasses, and got to see the non-blurry version. But I like the little blobs of light - they seem so friendly and warm. So I invited them onto this blog.

Then we went to the brand new mall on 3rd street promenade and tried on headbands at kiosks and nail polish and other stuff.

And while we were there, I saw this sign that cracked me up.

No pets on the escalator: No Pets!!

But we'll be cute while we remind you.

We went to Baby Blue's for dinner and we ordered far too much food, because we were STARVING.

Rating: 4.5/5 stars. Great mashed sweet potatoes, but the mac n' cheese didn't win me over. Meat was really good.

The meat was really excellent, but since we sat so close to the door it was a little cold. Good food. We had ribs. We had brisket. We had wings. We had cornbread. We had baked beans. We had Carolina style BBQ sauce. We had water with no ice. We also had "no fat added" to any of this. Basically, it was a great way to end a great trip!!

Return to the City of Angels: Part I

2012-02-26T00:22:00.116-08:00

Los Angeles!

Good people: I used to live in the City of Angels. I know there are angels there (see car accident, guitar rescue, and other stories in previous blog posts). I recently went back to visit the sunshine and the angels. It was beautiful. It was so much the same, and so much different, all at once - so many old familiar feelings and new feelings rushed over me as I drove through my old neighborhoods. It seemed as if I had never left. But I had, and now I was, as Arnold would say, "back."

So I'll give you a picture-log of what happened:

LAX - POINT OF ORIGIN
Flew in. The paper bag wasn't on my knee, but I did forget my ipod. Never again! But better to forget the ipod than the noise reducing headphones, if you have to leave just one, I guess.

Note to self: Airport shuttles are not always optimal modes of transportation.

Dinner, 11pm: Cafe Rio, courtesy of Aunt Marti.
(Pork burrito. Piping hot = 5 stars)

Sighs of relief at being horizontal. Peace. Warmth. Welcomed.

Literally. In many ways. Seriously, Aunt Marti is the best. And here's why:

My room was warm
There was a lovely gift on the bed
And a book waiting for me to read with a note on it
She got me a blind date invitation, and made a
Large note expressing love.

I don't think it gets better than that. Auntie M has pretty much spoiled me for all other houseguest experiences.

Orange County
Day 2: Woke up. Went to Auntie M's room, where I was regaled with stories of Bandit, the awesome stump-tailed Jack Russell Terrier. (I wrote a whole Bandit post, which I will post later.

Then we went to Mimi's for lunch, where they brought cold chowder for Auntie M along with her club sandwich, and I had a pulled pork sandwich that was standard.

Harley Davidson nail polish flower
Rating: 2.5 stars. Fairly standard stuff.

Company: 5 stars.

Then we went to get pedicures. I'd never gotten a pedicure from a man before. He asked me if I wanted a flower, and I said yes. So he gave me one. It kind of reminds me of a Harley Davidson symbol.

Time for a quick church ball game. I'd never seen so many boys play b-ball in Keds. Also, there were a shocking lack of teenage girls there to cheer them on. I remember going to such basketball games and there were always a million girls there...but not at this game. We had steak for dinner, yummy mashed potatoes. Auntie M put some makeup on me. This is what I looked like. Then I went to Farrell's with TH on a blind date. That was interesting. Farrell's mimics old-timey soda shoppes, only they have a new age cheekiness on their menu. It was loud. Every time there was a birthday, they would play a siren really loud and then proceed to sing almost as loudly a birthday song. They had two or three that I heard just in the hour that I was there. Also, they had this amazingly huge concoction that was the size of a really large mixing bowl that had plastic flamingos and palm trees on it and was apparently full of ice cream. They did an elaborate worship dance where they put it on a litter and then literally ran it around the entire restaurant. I'm amazed they didn't trip. The litter dance was accompanied by siren after siren. I think I need my hearing checked. Anyway, I had a good time with TH. We both had banana splits, which were good, but a tad overpriced.

Rating: 3.5 stars. Five for novelty; minus one for cheek, minus 1/2 for prices.

I had breakfast potatoes and sausage for breakfast, and then took L to Chuck E Cheese: where a kid can be a brat! (instead of just a kid.) I had never been inside a Chuck E Cheese before, and I'm not even a parent, but I can understand why parents would shudder in horror at the very idea of entering such a place. Ever.

Then we went shopping - my first ever time to Kohls-and I bought some stuff but nothing fit the image that Auntie M had in her head. Oh well. Maybe next trip.

A Twip on a Twain

I took the 609 to Union Station. I'd never ridden Metrolink before. It took a shockingly short time to arrive at my destination. I was amazed how many people were there - but I shouldn't have been, because it was 6:00 on a Friday night.

Famima!!

My first stop in LA was at Famima!! Those of you who have not encountered the awesomeness that is Famima!! are really missing out. Yes, two exclamation points. Not one, not three. Just two. And of course I bought ranch corn nuts there, in honor of K-lo. And RJ. But that's another story for another post.

Rating: 4 stars for this location. They didn't have bananas and whipped cream with chocolate shavings wrapped in a large pancake for sale.

Seeing Stars

Then it was K-time! She came to pick me up and we went to Griffith's Observatory We waited in line to see the nebula beneath Orion's belt from a rather large telescope. And I saw Jupiter. I had seen Jupiter before, with my naked little eye, but I guess I always just thought it was an uber bright star and not actually a planet. Look what an education will do for you. Here are some pictures. Sadly, I posed for a picture with this guy and I don't even know who he is. It was one of those things where I thought I would remember but I don't actually.

<---This is how much I would weigh on Mercury. And Mars. I'd weigh 350 on Jupiter and 5 on Pluto.

--->Saturn's rings are kind of blocking the rest of the planets, but the big metal thing is the background, and then the rest of the hanging things are objects (the planets) scaled to size and distance away from the sun.

Look at all those lights! I used to feel so comforted when I flew into LA and saw all the lights. It was like they were winking blinking me home. And that song, "Sometimes I feel like I don't have a partner/sometimes I feel I like my only friend/is the city I live in/the city of Angels/lonely as I am, together we cry that talks about how the city knows him...that song always went through my head right as we were about to touch down. And I do love LA.

This is what I think of when I think of Los Angeles...the view so often given in TV shows - the view (from a different angle) that I saw every day on my way to work. You can see my building in this picture. It's smack in the middle. Then, below, that's where I lived. Seems less glamorous but it was oh so much better than living downtown.

After our brief educational field trip, K and I went to Father's Office. It was packed, at 10 at night. Who knew. There are no substitutions on the menu. Everything is F.o... Not FO, or F.O. And they get offended if you ask for ketchup with your fries. Rude. All you need to say is, "I'm sorry miss, we don't offer that on the menu." If you wanted a bit of snark, THEN you would say, "I'm sorry miss, we don't allow red sugary goop masquerading as tomato based condiment to come anywhere near our culinary creations." It's a bar, people. Bars should have ketchup. They put gruyere on my burger. I found out I don't like gruyere. :( Especially not on hamburgers. And there was this garlicky mayo-based sauce for the fries. I skipped that part. Which meant I mostly skipped the fries.

Rating: 3.5 stars. Inflexibility on the menu + crowded and no ketchup partially offset the otherwise pretty good burger. Partially my own fault, since I don't like gruyere.

Then we pretended we were students and went to Diddy Riese - relaxation spot of all UCLA-goers. K and KF both got cookies. I got a cookie sandwich. It was good. We also had to wait in line there. At like 11. I forget that everybody else always stays up later than I do...

Rating: 4.5 stars. Excellent price. Really good ice cream. Cookies were a bit blond for me.

The next morning, we went to the Griddle Cafe for breakfast. And put makeup on in the car. Typical of us.

And K got hot chocolate. --->
And I got Mother's French Toast. The most popular thing on the menu. I can see why it was popular. Usually I'm not much of a FT buff but this was amazing. I am glad I ordered it instead of a giant plate of pancakes. Seriously, all the pancakes covered the entire plate. I got a side of eggs because I didn't want a sugar crash. K told us a story about how she went to school with the Kardashians and Kim K. pushed my K's friend into the bushes over a dispute over a drama class assignment. It was kind of funny, though I feel sorry for K's friend. And the bush.

Next Stop: HOLLYWOOD

I have officially arrived!

Our first stop was the Chinese Theatre. Also known as Grauman Theatre, after Sid Grauman, the uber rich guy who owned it. Or maybe he wasn't rich...but he was apparently at the top of Who's Who in Hollywood for a really long time. I actually think I saw his burial site when I went to Forest Lawn, but that's coming up later.

Chinese Theater lion, Frank Sinatra, and Julie Andrews

Then we took pictures. Me with a bunch of people's footprints: Tom Hanks, Denzell Washington, Danny Kaye, Arnold, etc. I also got one with the Harry Potter people that looks like it was really for Michael Jackson. K had to take the picture like that because the Twilight people are there, just above the HPs, and I couldn't have them sullying my picture! I also got my picture taken in front of the Chinese lion with Julie Andrews and Frank Sinatra. K also got her picture taken, with Shirley Temple and Marilyn Monroe. I think Shirley was the only one to have bare footprints. Natalie Wood, for example, was wearing stilettos. She had uber tiny feet. Just for the record.
Guys dressed up as Darth Vader, and Superman (he did look like Chris Reeves but older and not with as great of a smile...and fake muscles. I don't dig fake muscles unless they're in cartoons that my friend Jonners wrote me when I was in ninth grade) will let you take your picture with them if you give them a dollar. They do not ever give freebies. K also paid twenty-seven cents for a wannabe rappers CD. He was struck by her beauty and pretty much told her she was gorgeous about ten times. Oh, Hollywood!

Now comes perhaps my favorite shot of the trip: the uber cheesy travel agent postcard pose. My eyes were watering so bad when she took this photo. It was cute, she led me up and around and around and around and told me not to look...and then I looked. And there it was, right there in front of me: the Hollywood sign.

Then I took a picture pretending to be an elephant..and of El Capitan Theatre...and of Michael Jackson's star on the starwalk. We didn't walk along far enough to see stars of other people...but some of the people I did see on the star walk, I was really surprised that their "contributions" merited a star. I practically deserve a star by the metrics they were using! (Imho.)

Next, we went to the Grove. I wish I'd looked around more, but things got a bit hectic. It reminded me a bit of Pike Place...without the fish, and more truly outside. We went to Anthropologie and K bought a really cute apron. At first I thought it was a dress, but then I was like, "Wait. This dress has no back. But it's so cute! What is it?" and of course K had to explain what it was. We watched the bubble men and took pictures on the bench while we tried not to freeze. (It was a little chilly out.)

This is us, showing our shopping selves:

I met an old coworker, RJ, for Starbucks. He claimed it was cold. Do you see a jacket on me?!? I'm not saying he's wrong, I'm just saying where I come from, we appreciate weather like SoCal's.

Black beans, wet style. Always.

After that, I went south to visit K-Lo. We went out to dinner and I had the most gigantic burrito I ever saw in LA. I'm not sure exactly the name of where we went, but I'll give you a rating anyway:

Rating: 4.0 Really good portion sizes, good sauce, and a lot of bang for your buck. Cons were that there was no place for six people to sit.

All the tables were different heights and shapes (round vs rectangular) so you couldn't effectively even shove two tables together! Oh well, I enjoyed it anyway.

Her husband and two kids came along. I had a good time - just like the old days, when we worked together. She's still my sistah, and always will be.

Phew. That's enough for Part I.

Sneak peek for Part II: Venice Beach, more excellent food, and Forest Lawn!

Lost Shoe Season

2012-02-07T00:09:00.000-08:00

It seems like winter and summer are the seasons to lose shoes. I don't recall ever finding lost shoes in the fall or spring. Just summer and winter.

Last summer, I was walking in the park with someone, and we noticed a forlorn, slightly grimy, tiny bright pink flip-flop with a plastic flower where the straps joined between the toes. It was clearly well-loved, but had been left behind. I was imagining the circumstances under which the tot had probably been forced to leave it behind - perhaps she had been playing in the fountain and hadn't come when her mother had called. Maybe the mother came after her, counting in (what she thought was) a controlled voice, and whisked her away, the flip-flop flying off her foot as she was carried into the air by the angry mama. "Mommy, stop!" my brain told me the little girl cried as she struggled against The Powers That Be (aka, mothers in a fury)...but to no avail. When tired worn out Mom and Small Girl arrived at home, Mom must have been even more upset. Or just have thrown up her hands and chalked it up to a long day.

But maybe the little girl was just forgetful, and, so caught up in the shiny sparkle of the reflection of the sun on the water, took a mis-step and stepped out of the flip-flop, and, being entranced and also used to running around without shoes on, and the sidewalk not being overly hot or cold (given our climate), a small foot could easily slip out of its none-too-restrictive 'holster' and the loss of said flip be unnoticed.

Wintertime shoe losses are a little hard to explain...especially since the lost shoes I see in the winter are usually adult shoes. Just last week I saw a mid-calf sogged synthetic suede boot lying in the middle of a busy road, mired in six inches of slush. Later the same day, I saw a snow boot with the shaft bent sideways at the very low waist as if it were out of breath and just couldn't deal with the snow anymore. A week before that, when it had been dumping rain, I saw a ballet flat akimbo on the base of a streetlight. If the shoe had been on a foot, the owner would definitely have had torn a few ligaments and be in a cast.

Why is it that people lose one shoe, and not two? I understand losing one glove; half of a scarf-hat duet, one mitten, one shoelace, or the removable hood of a rainjacket...but just one shoe? Especially adult shoes? In the wintertime? Plastic children's shoes in the summer, I understand a bit better. But leaving your shoes in the middle of a snowstorm to drown in slush is just plain irresponsible.

So why have I come across so many in the last two or three weeks? Were they having a Lost Shoe Where's Waldo, and nobody bothered to tell me? Or does the winter wet make people get so distracted they lose just one shoe?

Yogurt Elves

2012-01-30T09:33:00.000-08:00

There is an elf in my grocery store. I presume it is the same elf that adores peach yogurt and leaves the blueberry behind (see earlier post).

I say this because on Saturday when I went to the groc (as W would say) to get a few things, I wanted to pick up some of my favorite brand of Greek yogurt: Fage (which, as it says on the label, is pronounced "fAy-uh"), but I am picky and I only like the stuff made with whole milk (they call it Total). It's absolutely divine. It's usually uber expensive, but sometimes they go on sale - individual servings (which are really like 4 servings for me) for $1. So I always swing by the yogurt half-aisle to look for it - but now I always approach with caution, because for nine out of the last ten times, when I arrive on the scene, the Fage Elf has been there. Apparently this elf is on a high-fat, high-protein diet, because he/she takes the total of the Total and there is never any left for me. Seriously. There's 2%, and nonfat, but never Total. All I want is plain yogurt. But this elf continually denies me! And I've had it. >: # ---> angry face.

I even vary the times I go to the grocery store, and the days of the week, just to see if I can catch the elf out...or at least beat it to the yogurt punch...to no avail.

Last week I even resorted to buying a sort of half-serving that had a compartment of honey in it (they have fruit ones, too-and unsurprisingly, there is always plenty of blueberry [see previous post]). There was only one left. I even went so far as to mention it to my grocery manager. I even told him about my firm belief in the Fage Elf that was out to ruin my life. (It's Cap Hill, so I can get away with that. Also, I didn't use the phrase "ruin my life" - but I did mention my belief in the existence of the elf.)

So I was eyeing the greek yogurt section, despairing inside at the lack of Fage, and refusing to compromise my tastebuds for 2% (It's 80% as good. But why settle for 80% when if the darned elf would just give up, you could have 110% tastebud bliss?), when a lady walked up and picked out four cartons of another brand, and when she saw me eyeing her, she raved about how delicious it was. I inwardly laughed, as that's something I would do--buy a zillion cartons of something and give an on-the-spot groc recommendaiton. Unsurprisingly, she took no blueberry, and there were several blueberry cartons left...and not much else. Maybe she was the yogurt elf of the other brand! I thought. So, because I can't let the elves win, I found myself reaching out to put a carton of the substitute in my basket, on her recommendation...I think I took the last honey.

Sorry, blueberry yogurt, you're still not loved.

Not even by the yogurt elves.

Feeding Your Demons

2012-01-25T21:31:00.000-08:00

So I'm reading this book about feeding your demons. The idea is that instead of hating yourself and letting fear rule your life, you can invite your demons over for tea and feed them. Meaning, once you recognize the dark holes inside yourself and acknowledge them, and you can actually use your weaknesses to your advantage.

Visualizing what the demon looks like, identifying what the demon wants, is, according to the author, much better than living in fear all the time.

I was reading this as I was feeding myself at a great restaurant: Veritable Quandary. I saw the name on the map and immediately was in love. That was more than a year ago, and it took me this long to get there. I had a serving of cassoulet. For any of you who do not know what that is, it's French stew stuff. VQ's had handmade sausage (which was good, but I didn't eat most of it because of everything else that was excellent in it) and duck and white beans and red and yellow beets and small whole onions and potatoes and other root vegetables and it was gorgeous. So was the bread.

I thought about all the demons I have. It's hard to follow the advice and think of individual demons when in your mind you can rationally see how Pink Fuzzy Polka-dot Demon is holding hands with Greasy Green Mossy Demon, and they are running away from Night on Bald Mountain Demon, who is swirling around, great and powerful, but then it's sucked away into the Neverending Story's Nothing.

When you think about all the things that could go wrong - all the things you want to change about yourself - it's paralyzing, and easy to think that it's easier to just invite the demons in and not only let them have tea, but also crumpets, cucumber sandwiches, lemonade, and cake. The thing is, not all demons want cake. Some want pickles, or pretzels, or prunes. So you have to figure out what the demons want and then figure out how to trick them into thinking you've given it to them so they'll go away.

I guess I'm fixated on the whole "tea" thing because in the beginning of her book the author says that Gandhi had a British colonel or something over to chat about the salt tax protest. Gandhi's supporters wanted to put nails in the road so the Colonel's tires would pop. Gandhi refused, saying instead he would invite the Colonel to tea. Upon sitting down and asking for the appropriate number of lumps of sugar and stirring them in, the Colonel, I imagine, said, "Now see here, Gandhi, old fellow, let's discuss this futile resistance, shall we?" in a falsely cheery tone. Gandhi reportedly said, "No, no, my friend, there is something more important we must talk about." So they'd talk about something else - who knows? The price of wheat, maybe, or the weather. And then the Colonel would say, "Well, really, Gandhi, good fellow, you really must do something about this salt tax." And Gandhi would repeat himself. This happened for a few cycles before Gandhi apparently had the Colonel wrapped around his finger - he had expressed himself so well and comported himself with such devious dignity that the Colonel had been swayed. In the author's analogy, Gandhi is us, and the Colonel - the oppressor, is the demon. So instead of antagonizing the demon and playing along with its game, the author thinks that we should find a very Demon custom - in this case, having the British take tea - and use its own custom to trick it, and afterwards, banish the demon.

I'm not sure I agree with this line of thinking, or if it will even work. But I do know that just like everybody else, I've got some demons that need reconciling. The demons can have the tea. But I won't share my cassoulet with the demons. It was too good. Don't want the demons thinking they can get any of the good stuff!!

letting go

2011-12-19T14:19:00.000-08:00

It has come to my attention recently that the effects of love and indifference can, on the surface, look identical. Before your brain boggles, let me explain:

To love a person, you must let him/her go.

You let people go all the time that you don't particularly care about. In dating situations, you might simply just not call for that second or third date. In business situations, you tighten your network. In fb land, you purge your friendlist. You let go.

But you also let go of people you love very best. Mothers send their children off to college every year. And to kindergarten (maybe the same mom doesn't do both every year, but...). Fathers watch their teenagers take the car, wondering if both will make it back in one piece. Caretakers sit by the sickbed, coming to terms with the inevitable in quiet conversations - and often, the sick try to hold on until their loved ones are a little more ready. In relationships, sometimes you love people so much that even though it hurts like a knife to contemplate them being happy with someone else, you know that they wouldn't be happy and it's better to end the relationship sooner rather than later--before it hurts even more.

Love is a 'many splendored thing' - comes in different sizes and shapes. Actually, the love emanating from each person is never the same color or shape or density because no two people are alike...and every person loves no two other people in exactly the same way, so the shape of love between two people is also varied.

Love, as recorded earlier in my All in a Word post, can be unrequited. Or unbalanced. Too giving, or too selfish. No wonder speakers of other languages get so frustrated by the word "love" in English. There's only one word for it. Not like "moisture" (rain, sleet, snow, drizzle, shower, thunderstorm). Adding descriptors is necessary. Maybe the English needed reasons to constantly re-think, re-define, re-actualize their love. Maybe they were just too lazy to come up with new beautiful words to describe their feelings.

In any case, love is a gift - to receive, and to give - each spark of true love is unique, culminating in burning heartfires. So I'm going to treasure each flare of sulphur I receive, and rejoice in every stick of kindling I give...until the time comes to let go.

Thanksgiving

2011-11-27T19:38:00.000-08:00

This year, I deviated from my usual pattern for Thanksgiving and went to J's J's Parent's House for Thanksgiving, and was indoctrinated into Other Ways of Thinking About Thanksgiving as a result.

Meaning, I tried new food.
I had some homemade pickles for the first time on Thanksgiving. They were delicious.
I also had some chocolate mascarpone pudding-ish goodness. It was like...a pudding brownie. Or something. Words can't describe it but it was really yummy. Good enough that I felt like saying, "These mashed potatoes are so creamy" about fifty times because it was, in fact, that creamy. (No, they weren't chocolate potatoes. But the movie quote was just irresistible.)
I also had mashed potatoes with leeks in them. They were also good.
I also had no stuffing. (at least, on Thursday. I had crock pot stuffing on Friday, which was surprisingly delicious.) I didn't even really know I liked stuffing until it just wasn't there. It's still definitely not my favorite...I guess it's all about expectations.
Zucchini-thickened gravy, instead of made with flour or cornstarch. Which didn't make it taste like zucchini, but it added some color to it.
I also had an entire drumstick and didn't gnaw on it. I was proud of myself. The turkey was also soaked in beer, which I had never had either.
I also ate cranberry cheese. That is, cheese with cranberries in it.
And chocolate tortilla chips. Yep. Actual chocolate in the chip. They took me by surprise, and not in a bad way.
And I eyed a "Mock-Apple pie" with distaste and refused some. Apparently you can make apple-less apple pie if you dunk Ritz crackers in apple pie spices and bake it. (Or some such nonsense. It wasn't plausible enough that I wanted to test it out.)
Kale salad with cheese. I had never seen so much kale in my life. The dressing was also very good. And there was cheese on the salad.
Oreo whipped cream. Or, cookies n cream cream. Oreo whipped cream sounds better. Also less like generic brand. (I usually don't much care between brand name and no name, but in Oreo cases, Nabisco always wins.)
I also had some grapefruit, strawberry-jello pie. That's right. Grapefruit, coated in strawberry jello mixture stuff. It was actually really good. The tart of the grapefruit and then the sweet of the jello was a surprisingly attractive mix. It was just the aftertaste that I wasn't sure about.

I also saw a Yoda-head earring in the process of being made, a blue heron, high high tide, a beautiful view of the Sound, won at Sevens, and met twins. Oh. And did some black friday shopping. So all in all, it was an eventful weekend.

I'm thankful that I have a good life. It could be better, but I think a lot of the reason why it isn't earth-shatteringly great on most days is because I could simply have a better attitude and be more grateful for the things I have and try harder to get the things I don't have that are really important to me. But I'm thankful that I do try, and you know, sometimes bad things just happen. But a lot of how good my life will be dependent on how I choose to react to the bad things.

I'm going to go forage for leftovers. In the meantime, hope you all had a great Thanksgiving weekend!

I Feel (Good?)...

2011-11-19T20:59:00.000-08:00

11/15/11, 8:06 am CST: Feeling: Sick. I was on Day 5 1/2 of An Exceedingly Bad Cold.

11/15/11, 3:24 pm CST: Feeling: Joy. As I was leaving I got a "star upon thar" in the form of a red star sticker from my niece. She told me I was the Best Auntie Ever for being the first to come visit her in her new house. (Other Aunties, be not jealous. I am sure if you ever visit you will get Best Auntie Ever stickers, too.)

11/15/11, 7:50-8:26 pm PST: Feeling: Pain. I had a head cold and with no decongestant I got on a plane. I think I'm really lucky that my eardrum(s) didn't rupture. The pressure was so bad. I hurt so much. I couldn't even think about being nauseated because the head situation was so bad.

11/15/11, 8:40 pm PST: Feeling: Relieved/Happy. No longer on the plane ride! While I am appreciative of the fact that the landing was butter smooth, the pressure was really a killer. Upon reflection of the events of the day, I smiled because I got a package of Kleenex from a sister to show she loves me (and she let me use up like a whole box while I was there, too), a ride to the airport from a brother-in-law, seven games with Gregor, and Kater watched intently as I packed. The girl who has to be torn from movies wanted to watch me pack! I was nearly overcome.

11/15/11 10:20 pm PST: Feeling: Relieved. Home. Cold. In pajamas. Reading 'directions' on decongestant I purchased as soon as I got home.

11/15/11, 11pm-1am today, PST: Delirium.

11/16/11 6:50 am: Feeling: Like I slept. I went to bed and didn't wake up feeling like there was fire in my nose six times during the night. I'm pretty sure I didn't breathe through my mouth either because I think I was too busy grinding my teeth instead. You know you really need to go see that second and third dentist to get opinions when a lot of your dreams feature teeth.

11/16/11 8:24 am: Feeling: Worried. All the decongestant that was supposed to be slow release, over 12 hours, decided to take effect on my walk to work. I thought my head was going to 'bust a gasket', as my dad would say, before I could safely get to work and take care of the situation. Thankfully, I made it and you did not see "Seattle Woman's Head Explodes; Officials Rush To Clean Up Damage" on the mid-morning Yahoo post. Phew.

11/16/11 1:06 pm: Feeling: Good. I'm sitting in my work chair, downing my not-pho, when I realize: I feel good. I'm not tired. My head doesn't ache. Yeah, I'm sick, but...wait!! I'm sick? Who knew?

11/16/11 2:11 pm: Feeling: Medicated. Holy cow. No wonder I felt good not so long ago! Ick. I seriously think I had some hallucinations. No wonder people can get addicted to cold medicine!

11/17/11 11:30 am: Feeling: Deja vu. I just spend three hours on the phone with the tech guy because my connection to the server went out. I thought I was disconnecting my LAN cord and reconnecting it (at the source end; I'd already tried the computer end) but accidentally disconnected from the tech guy instead because I (in my medicated state) mistook the phone jack for the LAN jack. Ugh. And then when the guy called me back (thank you!) my computer had magically reconnected itself to the server and everything was fine. Yay for being fine. Not yay for randomly having issues and then making people think I'm delusional because they miraculously fix themselves. (I was going to add 'without explanation' there, but figured that 'miraculous' covered that, too.)

11/17/11 2:00 pm: Feeling: Hungry. Late lunch!

11/17/11 7:00 pm: Feeling: Shocked. Still not hungry, but at the grocery store. While shopping for Fage (yum! my new favorite) and gleefully hoarding all the remaining Snack'mm jars of Vlasic pickles because they were on sale for $2.50 (they're usually $4) I realized, out of the blue, that I had forgotten to eat breakfast that morning! That never, ever happens to me. I have never 'forgotten' to eat breakfast before. I blamed it on the cold medicine and decided to abstain from then on.

11/18/11 5:00 pm: Feeling: Relieved. It's the weekend, everybody! Also, I stopped at the library and picked up some good stuff. :) Also, a bit frustrated that I am still not back to 100%. But at least I don't sound like a man-braying-donkey anymore.

11/19/11 9:00 am: Feeling: Like I should get out of bed. But I actually couldn't make myself get out of bed, so I waited until J called me at 10:15 to do so. (I know.)

11/19/11 4:00 pm: Feeling: COLD. And over-shopped. 30 degrees outside and lots of sticker shock can do that to a girl.

11/19/11 9:00 pm: Feeling: Finished with this blog post. Hopeful that tomorrow I will be back to 100%!

Game Face

2011-11-12T20:53:00.000-08:00

I really like to play games. I like to win games, too. I don't mind losing, but what I do mind is losing a game that took forever to play and it was clear from, oh, round 4 of 386 that I was going to lose, and lose by a wide margin. It kind of depends on the day. Sometimes you could kick my proverbial trash and I would just smile and blithely whistle the rest of the day away. Sometimes I can get a super grouch face on that doesn't evaporate until you feed me or I sleep or both. Probably both. (Let's be honest.)

During a visit to my sister in TX, I was playing with her boy. He's great at games. He's only five. He is so accommodating and although he does occasionally peek when he's not supposed to, and he sometimes whines when things don't go his way, he is generally very self-regulated and even polices himself when he cheats. He's so cute! (Cute is an understatement, but I thought I'd give you a break from all my hyperbole for this post.)

Anyway, so a lot of this visit has been spent playing games and reading books and sleeping. (This is how almost all my visits go. It's great. Sadly I also got sick this time around, but hey, you can't win 'em all.)

The first night I was in town, I asked Gregor what he wanted to play, and he said, "We could play Memory, or Go Fish with Memory cards."

I said, "Okay..." but before I could finish vocalizing my game choice, he interrupted and said, "Let's play Go Fish with Memory cards, because I don't really like Memory." He said it in the most polite voice. I couldn't help it - neither could his mom - we both burst out laughing.

I guess there's more than one type of game face - poker face, and honest face. I prefer honest face.

Proper Protocol

2011-11-07T14:56:00.000-08:00

Imagine falling asleep on the couch - not feeling so hot, meaning to go to bed but just not quite getting there before you pass out. You're sleeping lightly, with the light on (which means you must be really tired), and then all the sudden your eyes open wide because you hear the distinct sound of a key in your lock. It's not your key. Your keys are in their usual spot. (Yes, your eyes check just to make sure.)

The noise, followed by muffled sounds of agitation, and keys being dropped on the ground, comes again as the would-be intruder makes another go.

Not wanting to believe your ears, you cautiously make your way across the floor to the door and slide up to the peephole. Peering out, you see that someone, indeed, is trying to make his way into your apartment. Sagging against the wall, your brain does some mental calculations, runs through a few scenarios as you watch the lock, praying that it doesn't give, and you ask yourself this question:

What is proper protocol when a neighbor mistakes your apartment for his at 1:30 am?

Do you open the door and give him the Evil Glare of Death?
No. Too risky. What if he was inebriated or had violent tendencies?

Do you not say anything and just hope he'll wise up and go away?
No. You might die of adrenaline spiking by then. Besides, what if he got frustrated and kicked the door down?

Do you yell rudely through the door, "Look, buddy, you've got the wrong apartment!"
No. That might wake other neighbors up. Their sleep time is important, too.

I'll tell you what I'd do. It may not be Proper Protocol, but I'd knock on *my* side of the door and say politely, "Excuse me, I believe you have the wrong apartment."

Then hopefully, the keys would drop as the owner was completely stupefied by his mistake. The mutterings would cease. And what would be extra nice would be an apology in the form of: "Oh! I'm so sorry!" being heard through the door.

And I would check the door three times to make sure it was still intact and then huddle in bed until I fell asleep.

Thank you, Gmail

2011-10-31T11:06:00.000-07:00

Whenever I sign on to Gmail and look at my contact list for people to gchat with (it's not IM, it's gchat. Amazing job, Google branding team!), there's one name at the bottom that always pulls my heart strings: Rosc W. There's a little grey 'x' by his name, but then again, since I'm invisible, there's always an 'x' next to mine, too. Even though the last time we gchatted was more than a year ago, Gmail's memory, scary-elephantine in its capacity, remembers that R and I chatted. Even though it's irrational, I like to think that Gmail knows how important R was to me, and that's why he is always on my gchat short list. Always there, at the bottom.

I think it's R's little private joke on the big corporation; like he went in the back way and permanently programmed gchat to always include him on my list, thereby reminding me via google that he'll always be there for me, just a memory (or soul [g]chat) away.

Way I Am

2011-10-21T23:15:00.000-07:00

by: Ingrid Michaelson. Listen Here. (But don't watch the movie.)

Real Words    My Words
If you were falling, then I would catch you                 If you were falling, then I would catch you
                                                                                         with open arms

You need a light, I'd find a match.                                 You need a light, I'd find a match
                                                                                (or flashlight)

Cause I love the way you say good morning.            Cause I love the way you say good morning.

And you take me the way I am.                                     And you take me the way I am.

If you are chilly, here take my sweater.                           If you are chilly, here take my sweater.
            sorry it's so small

Your head is aching, I'll make it better.                           Your feet are aching, I'll rub them better

Cause I love the way you call me baby.                            Cause I love the way you call me baby

And you take me the way I am.                                           And you love me the way I am.


I'd buy you Rogaine when you start losing all your hair.    I'd do the laundry so you have clean underwear

Sew on patches to all you tear.                                        Match your work socks to show I care


Cause I love you more than I could ever promise.                  Cause I love you more than I could ever promise.

And you take me the way I am.                                                  And you take me the way I am.

You take me the way I am.                                                         You accept me as I am.

You take me the way I am.                                                          You take me the way I am.

Fed Up**

2011-10-21T22:40:00.000-07:00

I'm fed up with you.
I'm fed up with you.
I'm not fed down, fed around, fed under
Not fed in, fed out, just about fed over
You starved love 'anywhere a cat can go'
All that's left is up so that's where I'll aim for
Got no emotion left to give to you
I'm just fed up. We're through.

You treat me like I'm nothin' when you know full well I'm not.
Don't even have the grace to give me notice of your thought
That maybe we're not good as two and single is your pref
I'm shouting via text to you and you pretend you're deaf

That's why:

I'm fed up with you.
I'm fed up with you

I'm not fed down, fed around, fed under
Not fed in, fed out, just about fed over
You starved love 'anywhere a cat can go'
All that's left is up so that's where I'll aim for
Got no emotion left to give to you
I'm just fed up. We're through.

You never call me when you say you will and that's not cool
Then give me lame excuses like you think that I'm a fool
I tried to make excuses and I told myself 'it's fine'
I truly can't believe I ever wanted you as mine.

I passed initial numbness and moved on to Angry Girl
I'm out of softish objects that it's safe for me to hurl
I skipped right past resigned and now I'm at this new heart stage:
'The lameness that you are should incite a public outrage.'

And so:

I'm fed up with you.
I'm fed up with you
I'm not fed down, fed around, fed under
Not fed in, fed out, just about fed over
You starved love 'anywhere a cat can go'
All that's left is up so that's where I'll aim for
Got no emotion left to give to you
I'm just fed up. We're through.

**All characters in this work of fiction are purely fictional. Any references to real people, events, or places is incidental and should not be construed as anything else. Meaning, I did not write this about me. Or about you. It's what my mom would call a high school poem.

all in a word

2011-10-09T21:04:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, as I've discussed previously, one word can bring an overwhelming image to your mind. Sometimes it's simple, like "sun" or "square" or "blue." Other times it's more complex, taking more words to bring any image at all.

One such word - the kind that requires no explanation: unrequited.

I can't decide if I'm really glad that there's one word that describes so utterly perfectly the stress, angst, sorrow, despair, and loneliness of the condition of being on the giving side; OR if I just want to cry because the need for the word exists at all. (How depressing, to have "unrequited" as a label for your affection!)

Unrequited, you're a slave driver of the giver of affection and the bane of the recipient of your minion's labor. You choose to exert no control and continue to attract participants like moths to a flame. Unrequited, you're no fun for either person. You should always be the first to leave a party, with dignity and poise, but instead you're last. You're clingy and maybe even a bit stalkerish. No good.

Wish I could find a requited partner for you - so you could fit together like puzzle piece sentinels of love. Then maybe instead of 'unrequited' you could be relabeled "happily-ever-after."

Cats

2011-09-28T23:33:00.000-07:00

Hekter T. Phoodle
(or, a Cat Resume)

Employment:
Laze-About, Principal Director: birth-present. Job duties include yawning, stretching, occasionally purring, and generally burning minimal calories.
Picky-Picky Cat Food, Nose-Upturner: since memory began-present.
Hello, Kitty! (American Realist) Very Cute Kitten: Age 0-6 months.*

Special Skills:
1. Dandy Danderifier: I spread dander and make people sneeze just by living! This is awesome. You should think so, too.
2. Regeneration: Hair is my specialty. I can shed enough hair in 1 month to clog any vacuum cleaner. Twice.
3. Baleful Hiss: I practice at least 3x daily. Key is to follow the hissing action with:
4. Inscrutable Stare: No blinking. Ever.
5. Expert Shredder: Anything you don't want sliced to ribbons with my genuine, non-imitation, did I mention, not fake, claws. The sharper the better!
6. Meowing: Scorning the stage rendition of my species.
7. Rhyming: Meow::cow, bow, row, dhow, frau, how, Mau, now, ow, pow(wow), sow, tau, vow, wow.
8. Look, Ma! Kitty Litter: Use kitty litter as directed. Most of the time.
9. Purring. Perhaps I should have mentioned this first. I have received 3 Inappropriate Length Purr Awards.
10. Hunting. Self-explanatory in urban or non-urban environments. No further explanation is given.

References:
1. Puss In Boots
2. Cat Lovers Anonymous (ask for V or K)
3. Fiendish Felines

here comes the rain again

2011-09-18T19:14:00.000-07:00

falling on my head like a memory

We had a vacation of sorts: it was shorter than implied when I signed up for vacation days in June*, and longer than expected when the boss handed out updated scheduling info in mid-August. In summary, after three and a half weeks with nary a raindrop in the waking hours, here comes the rain again. It started yesterday and continued today and will probably continue until...well...June of 2012. Already I miss the sunshine.

In just a few weeks, the memory of sunshine and warmth will become a near figment of my imagination. I will wonder if natural vitamin D and UV ray gathering is something only in movies or in archaic books. So I will hold on tight to the memory of no down blanket on the bed and the option of wearing socks everywhere and being even approaching too warm with all my might in the hopes that it will carry me over to next 'summer.'

*Actually, I signed up as soon as daylight savings took effect in 2010, but I knew that was a little early to begin to hope, but I just had to do it.

taking care of business, and working overtime

2011-09-17T11:09:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went grocery shopping at 3:30 pm.

"Why aren't you at work?" you might have asked me if you saw me in the store.

The answer is that I went on an airplane ride, and as the day was mostly gone anyway when my flight got in, I decided to take a much-needed break.

As I was in the store, something weird happened to me: I started to dance. A little soft shuffle as I went past the eggs. A crossover step past the ice cream. I was humming. It was weird. Which prompted the thought: "What's going on here?"

The answer was simple. I had worked a shorter day than usual. I actually had *energy*. And because I was at the store at 3:30, and not at work, and I hadn't even taken the day off, it felt marvelous.

It might have been partly the novelty of it, or the fact that I was 'playing hooky'. (Though if my boss had been in the same situation I'm sure she would have done the same thing...it's just that I checked my blackberry a few times, and she might have looked at it all night.)

So I took the break where I could find one, and I enjoyed every last shuffle-step egg-walk frozen food groove second of it.

Buckets

2011-09-08T18:17:00.000-07:00

Bucket List for Seattle: (will be edited as needed)

~~Anthony's~~ 8/11                       ~~Paddleboating on Greenlake~~ 8/11     ~~Fremont Troll~~ 2/11
Swimming in Greenlake          Gasworks Park                                ~~Golden Gardens~~ 3/11
Dusty Strings                         Karaoke                                           ~~Molly Moon's~~ 7/11
Bainbridge                             ~~Vashon~~ 8/11                                     Bremerton
La Conner                             Bumbershoot                                    Uwajimaya (again)
Jade Garden                          record at EMP                                 San Juan Islands
~~UW Arboretum~~ 8/11             Clipper trip to Victoria                      ~~Serious Pie~~ 7/10
~~Etta's~~ 3/11                             Five Spot                                         Ellensburg Rodeo
~~Puyallup Fair~~ 9/11          All SPL locations                 Mariners game
Sounders game                      ~~Cafe Presse~~ 9/11                              Elliott Bay Books
Emerald Downs                     Hockey game (Everett Silvertips)      Saltoro
~~Seattle Jazz Vespers~~ 10/11    Olympic Peninsula (Port Angeles)     Olympic Sculpture Garden
Salumi                                   ~~Lake Chelan~~ 3/11                             Mt. Rainier Forest
Anacortes                              Show at the Paramount                    ~~Burgermaster~~ 7/11
Uncle Elizabeth's

Items that caused me to make the Seattle list:
Pike Place Mkt * French Crepe Place * Wild Ginger * Lola's * Dahlia Lounge * Green Leaf * Elephant & Castle * Snoqualmie Falls * Ballard Locks * SAM * Ipanema * Machiavelli * Argosy Cruise *

San Francisco Bucket
Sausolito                                 California Science Academy         SF Zoo
Union Square                          Ferry Building                               Exploratorium

SF Items that caused me to make the SF iteration:
Amoeba * whale-watching * Palace of Fine Arts * de Young * Legion of Honor * Napa * Pier 39 (don't forget elephant feet/ In n Out) * Ghirardelli Square * Alcatraz * Grace Church Cathedral

Bertie Bott's Every-Flavor Ice Cream (Alphabet, Alliteration Style)

2011-08-24T20:33:00.000-07:00

acerbic avocado angle
bucolic butter bites
cosmic caramel crash
dervish dandelion dangle
elusive effusive eggplant
frenetic finicky feeding *this is what it started with. It kind of went on a tangent from there...*
green grape gusto
hibernating horseradish hop
iridescent irresponsible icing
jicama juxtaposed jam
killer karma kumquat
linger longer lychee
moonpie melon madness
nefarious niggling nerfherder
opulent organic orange
pandering praline prickle
quizzical quirk quart
ruby radiant radish
stuffed strawberry scone
triumphant twitch toffee
unexceptional uphill upside-down-pineapple
vulnerable venerable vanilla
winged watermelon whale
yummy yellow-yam
Xanadu xanthum x-ray
zealous zinnia zest

Still Life of Fruit

2011-08-20T11:34:00.000-07:00

Or, Summer in America (minus melons and berries*)

Courtesy of local farms, California, Australia, and Chile. And Bangladesh (if you count the glass).

*chances are I would have these, too, if I was buying groceries for more than one person, and/or had a larger appetite.

blink of an eye

2011-08-15T20:55:00.000-07:00

Life can change in the blink of an eye. Think about all the things that happen in a blink:
1. a sneeze
2. light from a lightswitch
3. a beesting
4. accidents
5. reading words on the page to find out you have a horrible disease
6. realizing you're in love
7. a perfect baseball pitch
8. popping a balloon
9. burns (not sun)
10. recognizing an attractive person
11. getting your contact lens out of place
12. firing a sapphire bullet
13. cutting yourself
14. smelling fresh air
15. smiles (except slow ones)
16. turning off rap music
17. clicking to buy a plane ticket somewhere (to the ones I love, most preferably)
18. changing the channel on the tv
19. opening a new firefox tab
20. seeing "you've got mail"

just to name a few.

Sometimes blinks seem to last a lifetime, like slow motion bad movies. Sometimes blinks zip by. Some blinks you'll remember for the rest of your life, and some of those, you might never fully recover from.

Blink.

Blinkety blinkety blink blinky blinkini blinkykink blinky blink.

Stuffy-stuff-stuff

2011-08-14T10:32:00.000-07:00

1. The days wherein having a convertible in Seattle is a good idea are probably < 30 in any given year.
2. If you're going to wear socks with your sandals, make them gold toe socks.
3. Needing a light jacket in August is weird,
4. Crabs are wonderful and various. And there are a lot of them in the Sound, judging by a 1/2 mile walk along the beach yesterday. (Of course, all the ones we saw were dead, but still.)
5. Being a good communicator is really hard. Communicating with known entities can still be hard...people change, and so your communication style has to adapt or die. This might sound gross, but someday I hope to perfect the cockroach communication style - it can survive anything, even nuclear war.
6. Cream is amazing.
7. I now know where the phrase "losing weight" comes from.
8. Strong cores are preferable to weak ones.
9. Laughing makes every day better.
10. Music can really change your mood. I was really tense at work for the last few days...on Tuesday, I was on my way home and heard a version of this song. If I hadn't heard it, and found it on the net, and played it nearly continuously, I would probably have gone crazy somewhere around Friday at 3 pm and maybe considered finding one of the windows that have the little circles on them that indicate you can smash them outward. I didn't know that before...that even though it doesn't look like the windows open at all, the ones with the circles have "one time opening" capabilities.

R&R...or Railroad Crossings

2011-08-03T21:44:00.000-07:00

I miss the sound the train made at night when I was sitting on Emmy's porch, or even my own, for that matter. The long lonely whistle somehow managed to always seem forlorn-sounding...it was always saying, "I'm sad, come back" and never "I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm almost there, wait for me." There was always a sad ache in my heart and sometimes I got goosebumps even though it was warm outside.

But the sound still reminds me of home. Reminds me of warm summer twilights and violin lessons and trips to the city. Counting the cars with my sister on road trips. Drivers ed classes..."every 90 minutes, a train accident happens." Which is why I have one of these on my keychain.

But now the yellow, which, by the way, is public domain as the Feds own it, doesn't remind me of railroads and the dangers of failing to come to a halt when the clanging of the bells and the cherry cough drop semaphore warned me to.
Now, double R's remind me of:
RR: rest & recuperation
RR: for Rosc and Ridj: two men I love (though in very different ways) that I have grieved for losing them within the last year
RR: ready to rumble
RR: the noise that K-lo can't make with her tongue in Spanish, so she always looks for a synonym so she doesn't have to try. (Example: instead of carro, she says automobil)
RR: a good ranch name. It could be Double-R, Rocking Ridgepole, Rambling Ranchhouse, Ruminating Ram, Ridiculous Rhymes etc.

I'm at a railroad crossing in my life. The train is coming. Will I stop and wait and count the cars? Will I rush for the track and get held up and wait impatiently? Will I become the victim of a railroad crash because I tried to squeeze past? Will I squeeze past successfully and listen to the wail and say "can't catch me?" Time will only tell. Here's to hoping that RRs continue to mean good things in my life.

they don't make 'em like they used to

2011-07-26T21:47:00.000-07:00

I am in a (re)structuring phase of my life. I'm trying to do little things, to help me on the margins, which will hopefully lead me to small happinesses, which will in turn hopefully lead to leaps of joy. (But I have to get in better shape first, or I might twist an ankle or pull a muscle in my wild abandon.)

Part of doing this is doing things to take care of myself. So I'm making some changes. I decided I was going to get a fresh start.

First step: Crosstrainers. I hate shoe shopping, mostly because my feet don't fit into any old shoe, so I don't even like to try. I'd like to think I have Cinderella's capability of capturing the interest of the prince, but sadly, the feet of one of her stepsisters. (Shh. Don't tell him yet.) So I thought to myself, "Self. This isn't so hard. You've worn this type of shoe for years. You saw some for sale just a couple months ago, but for whatever reason, you did not buy them. Buy them. The time is now. The bell tolls for thee, well-worn footwear!"

So I got online, to my favorite retailer. You all know what company I speak of. I look online. No footwear. None. I check other places. I even am thinking, "whatever, I will pay a ton of money plus obscene shipping and handling to get this problem taken care of. Nothing!!! So now I am like Shoeless Joe. Soon I will be limping about in the rain. I must fix this problem, but I must finish this list first.

Second step: Rainjacket. For where I live, I need the following: a. water-resistant and/or -proof; b. extended hood; c. knee-length; d. wind-resistant; and e. (for me) under $150. I would say $100, but read on. I go online to what used to be my second-favorite clothes retailer, but is steadily gaining on the #1 spot. It has 2 L's in it. I search for 3/4 length jacket. Five choices come up. None of them looks like the old coat I have. I call the customer help line. No, they don't make them anymore, and yes, now they all are ugly and $150. I am desperate. My rainjacket doesn't keep out the rain anymore. But I'm not desperate enough to buy one in pink. The lady says they have my size in Very Berry. I say I think I'll try the size bigger in Bright Elm. She says there aren't enough left to have them on the website, even, so I jump at the chance. Big mistake. Literally. The reviews say the coat runs big. Gah.

Third step: Replace loved sandals. I have these sandals that I love to wear. They're the first pair I've ever worn and liked that had something between my toes. Do they sell them anymore? No. Did I buy the first pair online? Yes. Do you sense a pattern here?!?!?!? I'm telling you, people, if you shop online and find something you like, buy a zillion of it and store them in the back of the closet or even under the sink if you have to, or you might end up like me. But it gets worse!

Third Step: Replace Slippers. Not any slippers. Wicked good ones. Only they don't make 'em like they used to. Who wants backless slippers?!?!??!!? Mine have a hole in them after constant wearing in the cold NW winter. Six months ago they didn't have the style I wanted, looks-wise...now they have an approximation, but there's just enough of a back to be annoying, and not enough to actually keep my Achilles warm. Yes, my Achilles gets cold. Doesn't yours? So now I have to buy UGLY ones for $60, or have my feet perish in the cold and dreary winter. I need black. And white. And comfort. And none can be found at reasonable inconvenience.

Fourth Step Comfort jacket. I've got this seersucker jacket that I wear everywhere. It's lemon yellow. I don't like lemon yellow. But it keeps me warm when I'm cold, and cool when it's hot, and so I wear it everywhere. I tried to see if they still made them, even when my mom told me she hadn't seen them in awhile. Do they make even an approximation? No.

Fifth Step: Suitcoat Jacket. I have two black ones. I lost weight so I thought I'd get another one. Do they have it? Nein. It's not even a sizing issue, it's just that they don't make them anymore.

Sixth Step: Yoga pants. I have these black pants I wear a lot. I got them when I was 16. Feel free to cringe. But they are soft and lovely and don't have holes yet so I still wear them in public. Do they make pants like this anymore? No. It's all weird modal waists and 100% polyester or super skintight.

Seventh Step: Bookcase. I broke a commandment for years. I coveted a dark cherry bookcase that my mom bought, and then she gave it to my sister, and I always wanted it. It got left in Chicago. I'm looking online now, as I need some bookcases, and I realize that with inflation prices have gone up, but they just don't make them anymore!

Etc. Same with furniture like the stuff my parents have - they've had the same kitchen table since I can remember. I wanted to buy one like it for my house, when I have a house. But the company went out of business. My grandparents have some of the same kind, and they're about 40 years old. They're still comfy.

Why don't they make 'em like they used to???????

Result: Frustration!

I'll let you know if I find any replacements for the things I need for the things I love.

Emotional Elevator Analysis

2011-06-28T23:04:00.000-07:00

This is my elevator analysis of how emotions can sometimes go, instead of numbers/trends, like at work.
Using work (or not) terminology:
Black = banker terminology (acceptable)
Blue = words I would use, but would get me a raised eyebrow for banker appropriateness
Red = words have zero place being in an underwriting

                                                       peak
                                                  float descend                                                      skyrocket
         hill                            incline          slant                                                         /         flail trend...end
     up      dip              rise                   dwindle              minimal/stable            /                creep
climb         flop        increase                  shin splints   slope                    \         /
          decrease                               plunge                             plummet

Birthday

2011-06-26T16:22:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I thought of you all day, R. About your many good traits - the habits/processes I observed in you that I want to emulate; I also thought of your cheerful smile, your way with words, your love of buttery sweet goodness, and fresh fruit shakes.

I've decided that I don't like summertime heat because the last time it was hot, you were here, but so so sick, in the sterile-yet-seemingly-dirty hospital. The heat now reminds me that you are here no longer.

My heart and soul remember you. I know you are at peace, and that you stop by once in awhile to see how I am. I appreciate it, as I appreciated all the small (and big) things you did for me while you were here.

Happy would-be 29th, R.

Whirly Word Love

2011-06-17T22:49:00.000-07:00

Here are the first letters in the first name of every person in my immediate family:
D S N T W A J R L D V K I

We love words. We heart them muchly. We syntax, debate, spell, and rearrange.

I downloaded an app on my ipod called "whirly word." It's kind of a stupid app but it can distract me while I'm waiting at the doctor's office for a few minutes, or waiting for a haircut, or waiting in the airport, etc.
The app gives you six letters in a wheel and you have to find all the word combinations that can be made from those six letters.

The rules are as follows:
1. The word has to have at least three letters;
2. Each letter given can only be used once per word;
3. No proper nouns; and
4. (I added this) No plurals.

In honor of the love I have for my family, here are the words made up of the first letter of the first name of the first circle of my family.

There are, of course, probably many many more words than these.
Feel free to comment and notify me of ones I missed. Even if it doesn't mean love to you like it does to me, at least we share a love of words.

A	D/D	I	J	K	L	N	R	S	T	V	W
add	dad	ink	jail	kid	lad	nadir	rad	sad	tad	van	was
aid	darn	ilk	jar	kin	laid	nail	raid	said	tail	vast	win
ail	dart	irk	jaw	kind	land	nil	rail	sail	talk	vat	wilt
ant	dawn		jilt	kit	lank	nit	ran	sand	tan	vial	wit
arid	dial			kilt	law		rand	sank	tar	viral	wad
aril	did			kiln	lawn		rank	sat	task	vista	wand
art	din				lid		rat	saw	tin	vital	wail
avid	drink				link		raw	silk	twin		want
					list		rid	silt	tidal		wrist
							rind	sin			wink
							rink	sink			war
								sit			ward
								slat			wart
								slid			wan
								slink			wind
								slit
								star
								stink
								stir
								swan

Pomegranate Love

2011-06-14T12:23:00.000-07:00

(Sung to the tune of "My love is like a red, red rose")

My love is a large pomegrante, plucked fresh from the tree
My love contains an aril sweet, tart juices bursting free
Though you must dig to find the fruit, and pay old Hades' fee
My love will stain your stubborn heart, and you will ne'er be free

My love's sequestered deep inside, a gem inside a mine
My love's a tough extraction job, it's delicate and fine
Can't push too much or pull too hard, or else the ruby breaks
And leaves its bright red tears behind, hearts' ransom it forsakes.

But if you find the precious fruit, and nourish it with love
The seed that's planted will grow strong, as if blessed from above
And it will bear a love so rare; one money cannot buy:
A tender heart, sincere soft words, a lovelight in the eye.

headache

2011-06-11T18:05:00.000-07:00

Headaches are caused by:
1. Not enough water
2. Music that's too loud
3. Grinding your teeth
4. High pitched whining noises
5. Hitting your head on something
6. Lack of sleep or food
7. Staring at a computer screen for too long

Some days, I get exposed to six out of seven and manage not to get a headache. Not too bad.
Some days, one hit from the list is all it takes.

Headaches are different than brain aches. Brain aches are when you use your head a lot at work and are mentally tired out. The cure for brain ache is to (when time permits) go home and rest your noodle.

Headaches are cured by (not in any particular order):
1. Magic blue pills, also known as painkillers, can't remember the name right now (because I have a headache)
2. Sleep
3. Drinking water
4. Going for a walk
5. Concentrating on something else besides the pain...sometimes known as deep breathing exercises

Now for the obligatory cheesy poem about today:
Head ache, go away. Don't come back another day.
Sunshine, here to stay. Summer's here, it's one fine day.

I Have Decided: Part I

2011-06-08T22:18:00.000-07:00

1. Geraniums smell awful.
2. It takes some serious lack of sense to anticipate the light by shoving your board across the road. It takes serious skill and command of your 'board to glide down an 8% grade hill in rush hour traffic. It takes some serious luck to not get hit doing either.
3. High-pitched noises are almost never a good omen.
4. I have a weakness for games involving fish tanks. Perhaps it's some vestige of a psychological phenomenon from my childhood - or perhaps it's just that I can have fish without having to actually clean the smelly, dirty tank.
5. I like to watch crowds, but not be part of them...at least, not on foot. Perhaps if they parted like the Red Sea whenever I wished to go someplace I would like it better. I like crowds at baseball games. But not if it's just milling about and people are pressed up against me because there's no room to walk.
6. Getting upgraded to a suite at a 4 star hotel is decidedly awesome.
7. Sitting next to people on airplanes who are a. taking up more than their fair seat room; b. drink coffee; c. smell strongly; or d. all of the above is not my favorite thing to do.
8. I still don't like the TSA.
9. Lady GaGa could really use some more variety in what passes as 'music.'
10. Sometimes, the view is worth the climb.

Clammy

2011-05-26T21:22:00.000-07:00

near sweat, close to cold
partially warm, not dry or wet
uncomfy limbo

a state of being
associated with nerves,
handholds, and fever

Echoes

2011-05-24T20:32:00.000-07:00

A Poem for Two Voices

Give up                           Give up
says the hammer of stress
beating a tattoo of drudgery
on your dreams                   on your dreams

Give up                                   Give up
                                                sing the fog horns
in forlorn low tones
letting the light of hope fade
to a glimmer
                                                shimmer
mirage
                                                in the distance

All right      All right
says your heart
                                                countering with its lonely tattoo
a solitary thump without echo
                                                ...... echo?
What?     What?
Stop.
    Did you hear?
A voice
                                                Small and soft
In the background
                                                Nervous at first, then growing stubborn and
Strong     Strong, calling out
In a loud, singing echo:
I won't
                                                I won't
I can't
                                                I can't
think that working
                                                and toiling
and fearing
                                                is the whole story

I'll hope a new sun                 I'll hope
                                                a new moon
a new faith
                                                a new song
is just beyond my
Reach                                      Reach

Playoff Time

2011-05-16T19:04:00.000-07:00

R,
It's playoff time...my first playoff season without you.
I thought about you all day yesterday...

the blueberry shakes we used to make together
the Pens games we got excited about
the SSMB (brawl) games you always dominated

yes, even as Yoshi

reading aloud to you
singing old timey songs on the projector (but never country)
listening to Linger
chattering away to your listening ear
watching J kiss your smiling face

You're exceptional in so many ways, I can't even count them. And I can count pretty high, because of the stacks of beans I count all day. Seems like there is no problem you couldn't solve, except the problem of cancer. And you gave the crab a pretty good run for its money. Quietly impressive, is how I would describe you. No flash, no bling, just steady as a rock.

Love you, miss you.

Recipe

2011-05-08T19:34:00.000-07:00

How to Bake a Breakup:

Ingredients:
Broken heart
Numb brain
Water

Prep Time: Depends on the maker, and the relationship

Steps:
1. Break heart into little pieces. Place in medium sized mixing bowl.
      Be numb from shock.
2. Add water.
   Cry your eyes out.
3. Mix heart and water together.
     After you've wrung every tear out of you, go to sleep exhausted.
4. Chill overnight. Re-read recipe.
Be confused. Ask yourself why you broke up. Is it a horrible nightmare you can't wake up from? (Is it just that you forgot the salt, and that's why it tastes so nearly inedible?)
5. Realize you mixed the heart and water in wrong proportions.
    Be despondent. Wail in frustration. Tell yourself you'll never find another who takes care of you so well, or that there was someone better for you anyway. Add a sniff and foot stamp and if you are really feeling adventurous, add a few ounces of self-pity.
6. Turn on the oven to "bake" and the proper setting. (It won't be 350 degrees for every person). As the oven preheats, stew and plan and reanalyze every little thing you each said in the last few days before the breakup.
7. Re-read the recipe. Repeat steps 2-6 over and over, to varying degrees.

When you have the mixture just about right, dump the heart and water mixture into a casserole dish and bake until hardened. Bake times very depending on how finicky the oven is and if you like it chewy or hard.

Note: Best served room temperature. Please limit servings. And serving size....

when in need of a laugh

2011-04-30T22:28:00.000-07:00

For some reason, I find this link extremely funny: http://dagobah.net/flash/fanten.swf

That is all.

(I feel certain no animals were harmed in the making of this film.)

Maybe I posted it already, but if I did...it still makes me smile.

departmenting licenses

2011-04-29T22:24:00.000-07:00

Today I was watching Bones, organizing my bills and sorting through my (mostly) junk mail. I was congratulating myself on being productive while entertaining myself, when I came upon my car registration renewal paperwork (sadly, not junk). I put it in my "I will deal with this when I am done with the junk mail pile", but as my hand was moving back to the stack in front of me, I realized that I was proverbially dead meat, and my heart started beating a little bit faster.

On Ides of April, aka Tax Day, I went to get my license to drive renewed. The DOL (not labor, but licensing) mailed my license to me. I put it in my Very Important Paper pile (not to be confused with the "I will deal with this when I am done with the junk mail pile" - not only because one involves capitalization for emphasis and the other quotation marks, but also because, erm...not only always goes with but also grammatically, so I had to stick one in).

*cough*

Then Certain Events happened and my mind got scrambled. I knew exactly where it was as of Sunday afternoon, but now I have no recollection of where my new license is. It's not in either stack of papers - quotations or capitalizations. It's not even in junk mail. It's not with the stack of languishing Christian Science Monitors, nor is it in the newly filed non-junk, but bills pile. It's not where it was on Sunday, and it's not in the garbage, it's not the recyclables. It's not in the couch, it's not on the kitchen counter, it's not in the bed, and it's not in the closet.

My mind can't relax because I can see the license clearly in my mind's eye, exactly where it was on Sunday. I moved it to make room for food (I am now cursing the food in retrospect out of immature spite) and I have no idea where I put it.

My temporary license expires soon. I really don't want to go pay the $45 again, and stand in line again, and hold up my car registration to boot. My apartment just isn't that big. Where could it be?!?!

I am entering the department of crazy, all over this silly license business.

And perhaps the saddest thing about this is that the episode of Bones was to introduce (perhaps) a spinoff show, where there's this guy whose name is Walter, who has the talent of being a "finder." Seriously. You name it, he finds it, no matter if it seems impossible. It's due to some weird brain thing he sustained while he was a POW in Iraq. But anyway...I was thinking, if he came up to me right now and asked me what he could find for me, I'd tell him nothing, because I haven't lost anything. And then I realized a few minutes later that I was missing my license and I wanted to say "oh snap" but I didn't, and then I just rolled my eyes (this was pre-panic) and decided to add the copy of my 2009 tax return to the "needs finding" list. Unsurprisingly, I have found neither, and wish I had a Walter.

Ridings

2011-04-26T18:27:00.000-07:00

A ladybug rode on my light yellow seersucker jacket through the grocery store on Saturday. The two-spotted, still-brown-from-winter female was finicky; she did not buy anything, for she saw nothing she liked. (Though I could tell she was tempted by the fresh pineapple.)

She hung about, seeing the sights, keeping me company as I wandered, circling the store what seemed like five, or maybe twenty times. My thoughts and feet were not aligned, but she was patient, and walked with me: up one sleeve, across the shoulders, along the rim of my hood, perching on the far shoulder.

Perhaps she could sense my distress in the urban confusion of the market, and wanted to comfort me. Or perhaps she is a very smart girl, for she stayed with me until I emerged into the sunshine, and the comfort (safety) of a tree beckoned too beguilingly for her to resist.

Eternity

2011-04-25T18:48:00.000-07:00

I'm having a hard day. I called my sister to talk to her about it - vent, really - and then her daughter asked for a turn to talk to Auntie. I always love talking to little kids, even if I don't always understand what they say.

I asked my niece what she did in school.

"I don't know." she said.

"You don't know?" I asked.

"No."

Silence.

I tried a new conversation tactic. "What did you have for dinner?"

"Rolls, potato chips, corn, and milk," came the prompt reply. (That seemed to work a little better.)

She proceeded to tell me about her new mice and their sleeping habits: "They stay awake all night, running on their wheel, and in the morning we can take them out and play with them. And when we get home from school, they are sleeping. That is how they are nocturnal."

"Do you know any other animals that are nocturnal?" I queried.
"Yes. Bats." Slight hesitation - I can tell she is considering how to break the news to me that she is bored of talking to me.

"I have to go now."

"Thanks for talking to me. I love you." I said, even though am not a fan of how "I love you" means signaling the end of conversations. (It was actually a conversation with her that made me recognize this particular verbal cue...but I haven't been able to kick the trend yet.)

I expected her to just say, "I have to go now. Byebye!"

But instead, she said, "I love you more than these two things. Haha. That's a joke. I don't even like these two things!" Which is totally typical of six year old humor, and I inwardly groaned and prepared to hang up, slightly dissatisfied with the conversation ending.

She wasn't done, though - for then she piped up into the phone, "I love you more than eternity!"

Thanks, K. For loving me into eternity. That makes my day a little bit better.

ISWAK

2011-04-23T10:55:00.000-07:00

I've been watching an old drama. A Taiwanese drama.

Let me give some background:
I think perhaps Korean dramas started first. A friend of mine told me that her mom watched them when she was little, and laughed at me for watching dramas. Or, "doramas" - as that's how they usually end up sounding when spoken in English.

Korean dramas are long. They're usually 20-30, sometimes 40 episodes, each about an hour in length. They are the longest, in terms of season, of the three types (Japanese, Korean, Taiwanese). They usually have crazy music swelling in the middle - some of it quite good, some of it extremely cheesy - and there are is always...well...drama. And a bunch of weird side characters who are completely, and I mean, COMPLETELY, wacko. They're the "odd relative" stereotype. Every single one. (I assume they are there for comic relief, but in my opinion, they always get too much screen time, which is why Korean is, generally, my least favorite of the three.) And then there is the evil girl, or guy, who seeks to sabotage everything. And the concerned parents, and the friend who encourages when one or the other party gets discouraged, and then there's the hero and the heroine, who after much trial and tribulation usually end up together, though it's very hard when your favorite actors were once the lead man and then got demoted to the one who gets shafted, or when the ones you didn't like get cast as the new love interest. Grr. There is more variety in Korean actors/actresses than in either of the other types. Meaning, the jobs get spread around more. Also, there are historical dramas, and love dramas, and crime dramas, etc. Historical dramas actually are a surprising chunk of them, more so than J or T. Korean dramas are also the least likely to have a second season.

Japanese dramas are short, usually no more than 14 episodes. They are the most direct in terms of storyline sticking to the main characters. Usually the group of friends surrounding the hero/heroine is really funny, but unfortunately there is almost always one really weird creepy person that has anime tendencies...like wearing very extreme clothing and stalking or skulking around, with very disturbing music and a scary tendency to look derangedly into the camera. Usually, the dramas I laugh the hardest at are Japanese. (Take a watch at Hana Yori Dango, or the one with Oguri Shun where he's a pole vault jumper.)

Taiwanese dramas are middling in length, and in tangents to the storyline, and on weird creepy people. Taiwanese dramas are usually 20 episodes in length. There are a few "golden children" in the Taiwanese acting world who always get the main parts. Not only do they get the main parts, they are also musical and are also models. I wonder how they get any sleep at night. Seriously. For example, Jiro Wang, who always gets the part of the losing point of the love triangle, is a model and also is part of a boy band, Fahrenheit. His voice is actually decent, but the problem is that two of the other three boys (I use the term loosely, some of them are in their early 30s now) have weak voices, but are also part of the media frenzy. My favorite Taiwanese actor of all time (mostly because of a weird experience I had) is like 30 something now but is still playing the role of college students. He was the main character in the biggest smash hit ever, Meteor Garden (which is the Taiwanese version of Hana Yori Dango) and, with the rest of the Flower Four, formed a band called F4, which was wildly popular. Of course they sang their own theme song for the second edition, and were so famous that the author of Boys over Flowers claimed F4 was a copyright issue so they changed the name of the band to JVKV, which is the first letter of the English name of each guy in order of age. Yes, I digress. Anyway, so he is a megamodel and definitely a media mogul. It's bad enough that whenever I go to the equivalent of Little Japan, which usually translates into all of Little Asia, I recognize almost all of the faces on the magazine covers--and they've been the same for years. There are a chosen few who star in almost every drama.

Of course, if a drama is successful, then the neighboring industry makes its own copy. Hana Yori Dango, for one. It Started With a Kiss, for another. Coffee Prince, for a 3rd. The high-jumper one, for a fourth. GAH. OVERLOAD!!!

Anyway. I'm watching ISWAK. Go ahead. Make fun of me. Be concerned for my mental well-being. But actually there are a few gems that are to be had - such as "aim for the person you want" and "spirit is everything" and "life is more interesting with some discomfort" and "it's hard to be perfect - to have the pressure of always having to be perfect, to never disappoint". Also, notes about never buying weird troll figurines and never buy a pink VW bus, and getting your house inspected before you move in, are also in there as well.

Giving up is just not part of the heroine's vocabulary, at least when the hero is concerned. But if every girl was like that...I don't know. Is unrequited love enough? Yes, it is a great angst simmerer, and when it does work out (as it almost always does in drama, though not so in real life), it seems on the surface that it's great...but if I were the unrequited, I, in my skeptic nature, might always wonder if the person just gave in if I pestered them enough. What if, unlike in drama, the hero never came around? Is watching from afar good enough? Or watching from not-so-far, if you are the "friend" who really is pining? How can you live your life in a one-sided way? How can you ever really get to know the person that you think you love if they don't really love you back? How can it just not be a sort of nice, sort of painful fantasy? Is there really love at the end of all the Disney movies, or is it just one person relenting and accepting the little pest that they actually kind of have gotten used to now?

vhat eez thees?

2011-04-13T23:03:00.000-07:00

The last two weeks have provided me with new experiences; fodder for blog posts.

Things I have seen recently:

1. a $24.95 sandwich
2. sparrow in an airport
3. pigeon in an airport (these were both in JFK - what is it with birds and Kennedy's?)
4. zippers on hats. why would you ever want a zipper on a hat? what would you possibly stick in a hat?
5. random shoes in a hole in the wall tailor shop . i suppose the idea is that you know how high the shoes are going to be that you're going to wear for the occasion and then put them on in case you hadn't brought any. that seems a little weird. and slightly unsanitary.
6. motel room with a tile entryway
7. whitecaps on a lake
8. snow on mountains, making it it look like a giant petticoat, with the plateau as the waistline
9. times square. why you ever would drive through there is beyond me. a. traffic is terrible and b. the signs would be so distracting!!!! likely you'd have a fit of epilepsy just traveling through and cause a crash
10. statue of liberty!
11. the frick collection
12. part of the met
13. central park
14. broadway
15. the subway. turns out if you paint something black, chances are it feels/looks black.
16. no evidence of bedbugs!!!!!! yay!!!!!
17. my whole family dancing together

The Pickle Song

2011-03-21T19:50:00.000-07:00

by Arlo Guthrie.

I don't want a pickle/ just wanna ride on my motorcycle
And I don't wanna die/ just wanna ride on my motorcycle

I feel crunchy. Like a pickle. Not a sweet pickle. Or even a yummy baby dill pickle. Just an in betweener pickle. Sweet pickles make my face contort in an "I'm going to die if I swallow this" manner, so I try to avoid those. Dill pickles, I heart greatly. The little crunch squeak, crunch squeak as I munch is a joy to my "oral auditory ear", as Michael Jackson would say. (Here's a shout out to all the people who watched that part of This Is It).

I feel kind of like a Wild Ginger pickle. I was there on Saturday for lunch, and I had some with the lovely duck with the most excellently flavorful plum sauce on the side. WG pickles seem a little sweet and a little sour. I ate one. It made my salivary glands work a little and my face scrunch a little because I couldn't figure out if I liked it or not. But it's a pickle, so I was bound to try it unless it's super sickly sweet like relish. ** I considered a bit and let my mouth carry on the conversation that I had started while in the back of my mind I mulled over the value of the pickle. I decided I didn't know what to think of it, so I tried another, with the same disconcerting result. It was kind of like eating a ho-hum strawberry and so you try another to see if by eating the next one you will be able to remember what strawberries are really supposed to taste like. In such a situation, before you know it, all the strawberries are gone. Similarly, before I knew it, all the pickles on the plate were gone and my luncheon partner had to fend for himself in the pickle department. But it bothered me, because even though I had eaten all the pickles, I still hadn't figured out if I liked them or not.

I am in a period of my life where I am eating Wild Ginger pickles. I am getting sick of the crunch and of the inability to tell if I like the taste or not. As I work my way through the pickle, I hope I figure out if I like it or not. Life is just one big pickle - you don't have the ability to just eat one little hole, like in Eric Carle's The Very Hungry Caterpillar. You have to keep going, even if it feels like the cop in the Pickle song (see above) wrote you a ticket, put the ticket in the pickle, and shoved it down your throat. (Luckily, I am not feeling that way at present. Just to be clear.)

Here's hoping I figure out my pickling recipe and get out of this crunchy, disconcerting Wild Ginger pickle phase and make all the rest of my life's pickle a yummy baby dill.

**(I am usually really good at telling a pickle's sweet factor from ten paces. I have had to develop this art because usually when I take pickles I take a lot of them and it looks exceedingly wasteful if I am someplace and I have a pile of pickles on my plate, with one that has a big chomp out of it and a rather queasy look on my face. [Yes, my face can look queasy. Do not quibble with me on grammar today. I am in a pickling mood and you would get nowhere.])

i got change in my pocket goin jing-a-ling-a-ling

2011-03-02T19:41:00.000-08:00

There have been a lot of changes in my life recently.

Almost exactly a year ago I moved across the country. I transferred with work, and so while I reported to the same person, my coworkers, workspace, commute, and general responsibilities all changed, too. I do a lot more administrative assistant stuff. I would say more about it, except my blog is public. :)

Climate change is real. I'm here to tell you all about it. Going from mostly sunny to often rainy is an adjustment. Walking to work is different than driving in famously heavy traffic. In my last residence I rarely walked anywhere except for pleasure. Now I do out of necessity. (I have to keep my Scrooge status so I walk to a. exercise b. get there faster and c. save on parking. Though we all knew that c. was really the driver in the first place.)

I've also realized this year that confidence is healing. I'm not sure if healing is the egg or the chicken, or if confidence is, but both are needed in life to succeed. Just like you need chickens and eggs to have a chicken omelette.

Physical therapy is tiring. Really tiring. I've made some changes to my daily routine to accommodate the stretching, etc. required to get my body a little stronger.

Eh, this post is getting boring. I'm going to have to reboot and try again later.

Happiness Hotel

2011-02-13T21:18:00.000-08:00

Anybody who is a Muppets fan and who is in my family probably automatically thought something along the lines of this when you read the title of the post:

"You have three payment options: 1. cash 2. check 3. sneak out in the middle of the night.

"We'll take 3."

"Very popular choice!"

Yesterday was one of the happiest days I have had in recent memory. A little poignant at times, but very happy nonetheless. I can't exactly pin it down - the reason(s) why - but I do know it was happy and that I am glad.

Perhaps it was a sequence of events. Or a chemical surge. Or a miracle. Doesn't matter what caused it, just that I felt it, and it made me hopeful that a happy life is not just random incandescent slivers of unmitigated joy amidst sunshine, clouds, and rain, but that there's the possibility of non-random incandescent swaths of unmitigated joy amidst sunshine, clouds and rain. With the occasional snowstorm, ice storm, hail storm, and all other sorts of storm, accounted for by climate, geography, time of year, and other such scientific factors, all of which I cannot be bothered with to think about right now. I am concentrating on my sliver now, and not thinking about the what-ifs and maybes of storms that will inevitably come later.

So. Burst of song. Acceleration on the highway. A weed-free garden. No dirty socks in the laundry pile. All library books returned on time. Waking up without an alarm. Think of whatever it is that makes you happy (all of these things clearly make me happy), and wish, as Ceci and Gabina did in Nine Days to Christmas, and come dance in my sliver of joy with me while it lasts.

Sounds Like...

2011-02-11T23:20:00.000-08:00

Who's good at Charades? Who's even /heard/ of the game Charades? Who knows Babette's Feast? (spelling?)

This song kind of hit me out of nowhere. I listened. I thought, hm.. this reminds me of something. It sounds old, but I know it's new. Who sings it?

Challenge you to click the link, close your eyes, and tell me who it reminds you of /without looking/! No cheating. I want to see if your mind is like mine...

the song

Fleetwood Mac

2011-02-06T23:01:00.000-08:00

I love Fleetwood Mac.

Perhaps because with this band, more than almost any other, I think, "Hm. This is a good song. I wonder who sings it?" Only to find out....it's FLEETWOOD MAC! Seriously, it's FM a ridiculous amount of the time. I think it's because they had so many songwriters and so many good leads in their group.

I've been on this overtime 70s kick lately. Until I emerge, there will be much fleetwood-ing and not so much fleet fox-ing. Either is good, I'm just in a Mac phase.

On another note, even when life is hard, life is good. I'm going to write this now so that later when I'm not so sure I believe it I will have hardcoded evidence that at one time I thought so, and perhaps re-reading it will remind me of all the reasons why life is good and things will get better almost immediately.

Lastly, I went to the library and checked out Where's Waldo and did it today. I had forgotten how much fun picture finding books are. Everyone, I recommend revisiting this particular avenue of childhood joy. If you never indulged, I encourage you to do so now. Perhaps it will lessen your chances of Alzheimer's by .000001%. And it will be slightly entertaining if you look at the stories between the interaction of people on the page. So just do it.

Okay. I'm done with my two shameless plugs. (They really were shameless, too...)

12 Blogs of Christmas

2011-01-10T22:11:00.000-08:00

a follow up to a friend's blog

2011-01-09T22:46:00.000-08:00

So, I read a blog post a friend wrote about our junior high school Spanish teacher, Senora Showalter. Her post reminded me of so many things about that class, but I will just name a few:

1. There was a lone ninth grade boy in my class. I won't name him here. I had just read Gone with the Wind and he looked exactly like Rhett Butler would have to me. He had to put up with all the little seventh grade girls mooning over him. Hilarious.

2. She wore these flowy printed pants that were always a little bit too short. Often they had a white background with some sort of flowers on them. She always paired them with tennis shoes, mostly black. And she usually wore white socks. This is perhaps why I am okay with wearing white shoes with black pants, but not black shoes with white pants.

3. She would grit her teeth together when she was mad, just clicking her teeth together in a very distinctive way...any of you that had her know exactly what I'm talking about.

4. She was always late. I had her for first period and I was so conscious of time back then - I am a little more relaxed now - so I was always worried, but it turned out just fine, because often we were waiting for her.

5. She made Matthew M (can't remember the last name, and even if I could I wouldn't put it here) cry the first week of class. I remember, we were learning the alphabet, and she had one of those big red-orange plastic baseball bats...the kind that are way too fat and if you actually threw something really hard at it, or someone swung excessively, it would develop a big dent in it that never quite would come out.

Anyway, she wanted to make sure that we could say the d/th sound. I had grown up hearing it because my mom went to Spain on a semester abroad once, so I had no problem. Showalter went around the room, a cagey look in her eye, requiring us to say a word with the d/th in the middle. Her glasses hung on a string around her neck, and they would bounce as she took the baseball bat, which she hid behind her back, and bopped poor kids who couldn't say it correctly on the head. Hard.

Poor Matthew, he had a slight speech issue, and saying the word she put to him was very difficult. She hit him two or three times. I was absolutely stricken; I don't think I had ever seen a teacher strike a student before, and I didn't know what to do. I went home and told my mom. I'm not sure she believed me, but apparently enough other kids told their parents that she got a reprimand (deservedly so). Fear is not the best teaching method.

6. Around Christmastime, Showalter decided that she had a voice problem, and needed to have a microphone on her all the time to be heard, not to wear out her voice. Which was fine - after so many years of talking loudly over kids, I would probably have voice issues, too. She would use it sometimes, and not other times, but there didn't seem to be very much consistency for when she would utilize it and when she wouldn't. One time, she went to the bathroom and forgot to take the headset off. Bad idea, in a class full of seventh-and-eighth graders. Eeps.

7. We had an assignment to make a pinata. I made a gold pear, from some poem. It was Mom's idea to do the pear. I was at an absolute loss. It was easy though because all I had to do was use a balloon and paper that, so I was good to go. I remember I spent hours with a little eraser, cutting the crepe paper in tiny strips, putting the end of the paper on the eraser of a pencil, and then gluing it. In retrospect it would have been so much easier just to roll the yellow paper around and around it but I wasn't sure if that would have passed muster. Plus, manual brainless labor like that is good for the soul every once in awhile. I don't think I got a very good grade on my pinata. Matthew M did show everybody up though by coming with a TIE fighter done in blue and shiny silver and black.

Good old Spanish class. Too bad I don't remember much of what I learned. Does that mean I never learned anything?

Stand in the [Grocery Aisle]

2011-01-04T23:16:00.000-08:00

I went grocery shopping by myself today - a hated task. Although I love to eat, I don't so much love to shop for food. Especially as I don't have access to my world-class grocery anymore. Waaaaah.

I couldn't resist - while I was walking by the yogurt/dairy, I looked at prices. Yoplait was 10/$5 - as low as it gets. It reminded me of when I lived in a certain complex when I was at University and six girls shared one fridge. At least two of them would buy about twenty individual yogurts when they went on sale and then there would be no room in the fridge for anything else. These were girls who had seen their mothers buy on the economy scale for their entire lives - at what other university would you see an industrial sized bottle of minced garlic on the door of the fridge? I ask you.

The overcrowding due to the yogurt required every person to shuffle her foodstuffs. Some girls took more than their fair share of fridge space. For the first few days after the yogurt trip was made, when you first glanced in the fridge all you could see was gallons of milk and Key Lime Pie yogurt all over. In the morning I had to play the "milk game" which was like one of those puzzles that has one empty piece and the rest are numbered and you have to get 1-8 all in a row by moving them around. Heaven help you if your milk was in the back of the fridge for too long, because it would get frozen. But I digress.

In the aisle, I stood, looking at the choices left to me. At school, Key Lime was all the rage, with the occasional Orange Creme, or on a decadent day, chocolate whip. When you went to the grocery store, all that was left was blueberry and harvest peach during the yogurt megasales. Here, there's no harvest peach, just blueberry and Key Lime Pie. It made me laugh - the culture I'm from really does love its sugar. Just goes to show that there are still regional differences. But in some cases, the more things change, the more they stay the same: blueberry yogurt still comes in last place. I took pity on it and bought two servings. Just so I could be reminded of the old days when fridge space was at a premium - to make me grateful for all the things I have now.

So thanks, blueberry yogurt, for being a constant. So long, Key Lime, you're out of favor. Harvest Peach, you're always imitation, so I'll leave you for the cleanup crew.

Baby, it's Cold Outside

2010-11-27T19:58:00.000-08:00

I didn't really know that song until I watched the movie Elf for the first time. That's my favorite scene in the movie. My second favorite is where Buddy says, "There are four major food groups. Candy, candy canes, candy corn, and syrup!" as he's putting syrup on his spaghetti noodles instead of sauce. It kind of makes me shudder in sugar horror even thinking about it; I don' t know why I like it, but I do. I would never do such a thing, and the rest of the movie is pretty lame, as far as I'm concerned, but I do like those two parts.

This week it was record cold. It snowed and sent the city into shutdown mode. When I woke up on Wednesday the thermometer read 19, feels like 10. Brrr. I was a little ice box all week. My little feet were frozen at work. I wore a scarf, hat, gloves, and big winter coat, not to mention boots with fairly good tread as I made the trek to work. There was no way anybody without those little tire tread makers hooked on their tires was going anywhere.

The nice thing about snow is that when you're a little kid and you don't have to worry about going anywhere, it's actually romantic. Little individual ice crystals falling from the sky that you can go play in, make snowballs with, go sledding on, and do snow angels in - what could be better? Especially when you can just go inside and have hot cocoa when you're done with five little marshmallows on it (ten if mom's feeling generous).

Apparently my neighbors are small children inside, because a snow day was announced, and since there was 2" of snow on the street, they got their sleds and snowboots on and slid down the street again and again, shrieking gleefully at the tops of their lungs until almost midnight. I thought it was kind of cute and a nice background noise until I started imagining what would happen if someone in a Range Rover decided to come down the street going too fast, and the possible ramifications and lawsuits, and then I kind of tried to block out the sound. Oh, how quickly I have become a negator!*

For a few days everything was minimally staffed - hardly anyone was at work - and staying warm and traveling safely were all anybody thought about. It made me think, hm. If I were still down south, I wouldn't have thought about weird weather in the north at all. Weather's one of those things where unless you're in it you just don't care/understand. "Oh, poor you, you're having a snowstorm. Guess what? It's 55 and sunny today!" If you're not in the place with the weather, it doesn't affect you at all. But if you are in the place with the weather, and it's bad weather, it consumes you. I never even looked at weather.com before....not since I moved. But you can bet that every few hours I'd refresh the page to see what it looked like.

It was cold outside. It's warmer now - and for a few weeks, people will be careful, and try to keep a few emergency items on hand. But after a few weeks, it may snow again, and we will replay the situation over and over again. It's like a broken record: snow. panic. cleanup. remember. forget. snow. panic. cleanup. remember. forget. All the way until spring, and then the "forget" becomes the rut until next winter.

Yes, I did just compare weather to a record. Hopefully anyone who reads this knows what a record is. Oh help for those who don't. If you haven't, you're missing out. But you can miss out less...you can experience the cold just by putting on "Baby, it's Cold Outside."

Negator: Professional wet blanket.

Goodwill

2010-11-20T09:02:00.000-08:00

Dear Goodwill in the Warehouse District:

I appreciate your presence. Although you have limited parking and your concrete steps are hollow, at least you are handicap accessible and you *have* parking. And it's free. So kudos on that.

The signs on your bathroom scare me, and the fact that your employees need to wear gloves that can withstand Clorox and masks that could potentially ward off h1n1 makes me dubious about your success.

You do carry a variety of plastics, which I like. And while I would not buy a stuffed animal for a small child from you, or dig through various bins of debris to find the lid to the perfect sized salad spinner that I was eying but then realized there was no lid (I could just hear my mom saying, "look with your hands, not with your eyes"...but sorry, Mom, I just couldn't do it. Not without industrial strength gloves.). So I am salad-spinnerless.

However, the shapes of some of the composite furniture you had on display was fairly impressive, and the sewing machine that didn't have a presser foot was really amazing...at least 70 years old. That's how you know the oldies but goodies brands. And the pricing scheme you came up with was unique: 49 cents per pound of housewares. I don't think I've ever seen wholesale plastic cups and old pans by the pound before. And someone with good taste donates to you, because I saw at least 5 Roger Whittaker records for sale. But let me share a secret with you: you're a bit short on books.

I'm glad I visited you. It made me hope that I will never by pure necessity visit to purchase shoes or any other accessories or even need stop by again. But every time I want to feel gratitude, I may stop by. It won't be a pity party. You're strong, even in this economy. You have options. People need you. I need you. Even if it's not for the same reasons that some of the other people do.

So here's to you, Warehouse Goodwill. Keep up the good work.

Songiment I

2010-11-18T22:07:00.000-08:00

It's safe to say that I love naps, and the world could use more love and more naps. But you'll never catch me snoozing in a field of gold or sleeping in the flowers. What if there was clover, and I rolled over and landed on a bee, and got stung on the lip, and it started to swell and look like a red rubber ball? Then I'd really be a lady in red. (When I was younger, [so] much younger, I thought that song was about me all the time because my hair's red.)

To make myself feel a little better, I'd probably have something sweet - probably vanilla ice cream - with peaches, if they were in season. That reminds me of the time Uncle Dan got stung by a bee and ruined by a little bird within thirty seconds of each other. As long as I don't have a not-so-fine day like that, I'll be all right. But if all that did happen, at least I'd have something to talk about.

Okay. Give me a break. Some of these are a little reachy, but they're what popped into my head. A true sequence of songs and I wanted to link them together. The story is a little weak, but I'm going to do a series of these, and hopefully they'll improve as I go along.

Little Bird/ He-art

2010-11-15T22:23:00.000-08:00

brush your grey wings on my head / say what you've said / say it again / they tell me I'm crazy, but you told me I'm golden

sometimes it's hard to tell the truth from a lie / nobody knows what's in the hold of your mind

Something about this song just struck me. It was my song of the week about three weeks ago. I was searching desperately for a different song- one that I thought was by the Weepies, but was actually Regina Spektor. Fidelity. What a good name for a song. So you can guess what my song of the week was as soon as I found it. I kept hearing the "ha-ha-ah-ha-ha-ah-ha-ha-eart" line over and over again in my head, which is kind of funny, considering the lyrics of the song: "i hear in my mind all of these voices / i hear in my mind all of these words / i hear in my mind all of this music / and it breaks my heart".

There's just something about it - going back to the Weepies song - the fact that it's 3/4 time, the softness of the song, the odd harmonies, the words of the song, the mood I was in when I heard it for the first time - that really made an impact. I think I listened to it about twenty times. The chorus, especially, got to me. brush your grey wings on my head like, it's okay, all the bad stuff is gone now. You were confused but you don't have to be any more. Just let me comfort you and everything will be all right. Keep telling me it will be all right, and I'll believe you.

The way she talks about how it seems like nobody knows you, but if you just look for the good things, and don't let the regular mundane everyday minutiae get to you, you'll see how good life is and how much better it can be if you let it. Sometimes life just stinks. It's true. But if you listen to the little bird inside of you, maybe it will gradually get better.

Every person needs a little bird. The wings don't need to be grey, and the bird doesn't have to have a Weepie voice and it doesn't need to sing in three quarter time. I don't even like birds...but I like the little bird in this song. So little birds everywhere, keep singing. Keep comforting. You never know who will need a brush of wing or a hug from you.

Sierra Leone (not the country)

2010-11-11T08:47:00.000-08:00

So, I would like to think that I'm a pretty smart person. Able to (perhaps with some tutoring, depending on the subject) understand concepts and theories and put them selectively into practice. Usually Wiki is great for helping me in my quest to become a more educated individual.

For example, you can find out when almost every ship in the US Navy was commissioned and whether it's still in active service or not; you can find out about the Defenestration of Prague and other historical events; you can find out the discography of even a prolific artist (like Gordon Lightfoot! Who I finally saw in person! but that is for another blog post); and you can look up mathematical formulas and business strategems. What a great tool.

But every once in awhile, there's Wiki Fail. Sometimes, we make wiki fail on purpose. For example, making certain assertions about a certain player from a certain hockey team and his lack of ethics in his hitting and taunting practices. (He shall remain nameless in order to allow him protection.) And then other people fix it! To take out bias and the like.

Sometimes Wiki is just darned confusing. Or maybe I was just dazed and confused when I read the article on dubstep. A friend of mine sent me a song and I listened to it, and I hadn't really ever heard of dubstep before so I looked it up to see how it was done, etc. And the result was sort of confusing. But I like the song anyway! It's this one.

Pretty cool, especially when you listen with surround sound speakers like mah sistah has. Of course, five minutes is about all I can handle, but this particular one is an interesting mix of ethereal and dark.

So really this isn't about dubstep at all. It's about the fact that I like music, that Wiki fails sometimes, and that I like learning. Thanks for 'learning' along with me.

Before and After, Part II

2010-10-07T19:00:00.000-07:00

So, three years later, I am writing this blog post. It's about the before's and the after's. That would be a great band name: Befores and Afters.

So...either I'm really not blog savvy or google's restrictions or dumb, or a combination of both, but the captions wouldn't work on all of them, blah blah blah...SO FRUSTRATING. *pants* Okay. Sorry for yelling.
Here we go:

David Bowie: The far right is what we captured. But when I saw the one on the left I couldn't resist putting it in. Look at that hair!

Left: Eric Clapton. Though I think I will always think of him as he appears on the cover of the Cream of Clapton CD. First run-through.

Sonny & Cher: It's a long way from "I've got you, Babe" to "Do you believe in life after love?" (and apparently plastic surgery...)

Left: Warren Zevon. Whoever that is.

Middle: Gordon Lightfoot! I am going to see him next month. I am so excited; if you could read my mind, love, you'd know this concert is not going to be like the Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

Left: Ian Anderson, Jethro Tull. Bungle in the jungle.

Billy Joel

Michael Jackson

Elton John

Perhaps the most drastic is MJ. I couldn't bear to put the King of Pop's face up how it was right before he died. Interestingly enough, I will never forget the day he died because I was taking an accounting final that day and I was so worried I was going to fail it.

What will you look like, before and after?

the scream

2010-10-07T18:08:00.000-07:00

by Edvard Munch by emmello

in honor of Halloween. Or creative genius. Or random paintings. Take your pick.

by the numbers

2010-10-01T23:34:00.000-07:00

Okay. I had some random thoughts.

1. I thought about Lamb Chop. You know, that character that the ventriloquist, whose name I think is Sherri, but actually isn't - the one with the bright copper hair - and I was marveling that these days one could never have a show with the main character called Lamb Chop. It's violent. It's meaty. It's discriminatory. It could promote gang violence. (Eh?) There's no way that in this current PC world a kid's show could do that. What is the world coming to? I mean, clearly it was in trouble, that producers got so desperate as to have a Lamb Chop in the first place....

*groans and hides my face in my hands* Oh my. The things I think of.

2. I am losing my touch. I made a resolution to go online and do at least one algebra problem a day...just so I don't forget how. I think if I had to take the ACT again tomorrow I would probably get a 12. I got out my pencil and paper at work today and started jotting down during my lunch hour. I had forgotten the satisfaction of working the numbers by hand, of the aha! when you solve for x. Or y. Or both. I am by no means to quadratic equations yet (I just started out with 3x + y = 8 or something like that), but I plan to do it. You just never know when you will have to whip out those skillz.

3. I have a song of the week. It really does last about a week. I listen to it an insane amount of times for seven days. Often it's the first thing I put on when I get up, and the last thing I hear before I go to bed. It runs through my head over and over. I nod my head at work and deconstruct rhythm in my head.

I remember entire sequences of events by weeks. It's why I have a SOTW calendar. Like, this week it's the Beatles' "I'm Looking Through You" - but this is the version you should listen to. Not the other, slower one. Bleh. It's the week of bbq @ conference and the $15MM water fund line of credit I've been trying to underwrite. Last week, it was this. It ran through my head, loop after loop, like a complicated puzzle, while I sat and decoded budgets. The week before, it was this one. This last one reminds me of R for some reason. Can't say why. Maybe it's the "alabama, Arkansas" part...

Before and After...Part I

2010-09-25T08:59:00.000-07:00

So. I went to get my hair cut a couple weeks ago. It was atrocious. I panicked - and I didn't even have my glasses on yet. She (the stylist) stopped before she got to the end and said, "I'm sorry. I have no idea what happened." I'm sure it didn't look as horrible as I thought it looked, but I was not happy. So I went to get it cut...again...later...by a different person. Here's what it looked like after the second person was done:

And then, there was three weeks later, after the blowdryer:

From my Front Porch

2010-08-14T20:30:00.000-07:00

Today, I was in a hot place. There is nothing like a summer morning in the desert. The air is just...there's an indefinable quality to it that is unlike any other.

I was sitting on the porch, watching the sun set over the lake, as I have many times, and hope to do many more times. I was sitting by myself, as usual. I can't even tell you how many times when I was a teenager in angst I sat on that porch and waited for [insert boy-of-the-month's name here] to call, or stop by, or for a boy to magically appear and sweep me off my feet...or how many times I sat and picked the dead heads off the petunias in anger or self-pity. (My excuse is that I was a teenager. Please, give me some slack.)

Today I was also waiting. Waiting for something...this time, I wasn't sure what. Now that I'm inside, I'm still not sure. But I had, just a few hours earlier, received life-altering news of the negative sort: one of my best friends - a person who I loved well, who was the kind of person who made a difference to other people - has passed from this earth and is on his journey back to God. I had made a few phone calls to a few friends, letting them know the news, still numb, still in shock.

It almost felt like I was waiting for a friend to call me, as I sat there, phone in hand, watching the green meld with the orange as the sun melted behind the island. It's one of those moments when you feel sad but you're not going to cry - when you're not quite sure what to feel, but whatever it is you're feeling, it's intense and it's not going to go away.

Life will never be the same. But there's still the porch. And the lake. And the summer nights in the darkness. And the waiting. Maybe soon, I will find what I am looking for, and I won't be waiting any more. Or maybe I'll always be waiting for something. I kind of hope not, as to me that means I will never be satisfied with what I have - never content or even happy to be on the stretch of road that I'm at - always wishing I was further ahead or in a place lagging behind. There's an art to living in the moment that I just haven't mastered yet. But I'll get there. Even if it's the last thing I do.

Cheers, R. I love you. May you finally be granted peace after your long, painful journey.

No One Is To Blame

2010-08-04T23:02:00.000-07:00

PS, I like that Howard Jones song. :) Reminds me of mah li'l sis, V.

I've been noticing a few things lately:
1. How come gnats always seem to congregate at eye/face level, in the middle of the sidewalk?

I know there are a lot of gnats. But seriously, they are always at face level. Does anybody who's not 5'6" have this problem?!?!?!

2. My brain seems to be full of useless information.
How come I can't tell you certain aspects of my job that I clearly should know, and know well, and be able to explain to a complete stranger/novice, but I can describe the latest happenings of several celebrities? It just seems unfair. I don't even want to know what endorsements the famous have or where they went last week or who they are currently with, and yet my poor brain records every fact and retains it. How come I can't retain the meaningful stuff?!?! ARGH.

3. How is it that being irritated is so easy, especially over little things, and being happy, even over big things, seems to be a much greater challenge for many of the people I know?

4. Some girls do all the dating. Some people always reach out to the other person in the 'relationship.' Some people have no-touchy bubbles at least a yard wide. We're just different. There's no getting around it, even if we want to.

5. Why is it that when you drink several kinds of alcoholic beverages in a night that your hangover is worse the next day than it would be if you just drank vodka?

6. I seem to be one of the dwindling few who the who hopes Facebook perishes soon.

7. I prefer green grapes to red ones. Oh, the horrors. when did this happen?

8. Grouchy really does not wear well.

Hold On

2010-06-21T22:21:00.000-07:00

I love many people in my life. Thank you, all of you, who love me back, who provide me support when I'm weak, help me laugh when I'm strong, and carry me when I feel like I can't go another emotional step on my journey.

One of my favorite people on the earth is gravely ill. I feel helpless, like one grain of sand being tossed about in the ocean, and yet I have hope that I and my loved ones will make it to the shore and will be made into a beautiful sandcastle someday, all living together.

One of my other favorite people on earth is a brave warrior, learning vast amounts of knowledge, making critical decisions daily, staying strong for her greatest love. Caregiving is hard. So hard. I only have a taste of it, and I am not sure I could carry myself forward with the fortitude and determination she carries with every step she takes. Then again, our minds, bodies, and spirits are resilient things. God made us so we could adapt, and I know He is helping her to be strong in the face of the leech/storm that is cancer.

Heaven seems so far from hospitals. It's hard to feel God's love in a such a sterile, beeping, somehow toxic environment. I walked by several rooms yesterday and saw no loving hands holding, no soft love whispers, no person attentively listening to a treatment plan. It made me feel sad to think of all these people in the ICU who had no one to come visit them. At all. And more grateful that I have people who will come - running, or flying - when I call for help.

Hope and peace is what we need. That, and a miracle. It's hard sometimes to say "whatever will be will be" or "it is what it is" or "It's in God's hands now." We always have been in God's hands. It's just that sometimes we are more aware that he could squeeze a little, molding us in not-so-subtle ways.And that's not always easy to accept. Right now I'm not liking being squeezed so much.

R, I love you. J, I love you. Stay strong. Hold on.

Crow vs Robin

2010-06-08T17:53:00.000-07:00

On my way home from work today, I was a little startled when a large crow swerved and did a tight coil and landed about eight feet in front of me - in the road. (Those of you who know me know how much I dislike birds, but that is another post.) The point of this post is to document what happened next: a very skinny robin,** cheeping loudly, dive-bombed the crow. The crow, not having any of this insurgent behavior, immediately took off after the robin.

The robin alighted on the branch of a tree, unseen, and the crow landed on the grass, walking cockily up and down. There were several quail nearby, as well. The robin continued to cheep angrily, while the crow pretended not to listen (reminds me of some past interactions with some sisters of mine, but that is also for another post). The crow proceeded to bully a nearby pigeon, causing it to fly away, across the street, by where I was. By now I had stopped and was just watching, carefully. The crow gave the air of not being ruffled, but it really was, and walked over to bully a few more pigeons.

One pigeon, who had just decided to fly from a (safe) branch to the ground, decided it didn't want to be too close to the crow, but was too close to the ground before it could make up its mind and ended up doing a belly flop. I seriously have never seen a bird belly flop, but it did. Rather ungainly looking; I hope I never have occasion to see it happen again.

The robin dive-bombed again. And again. The crow was clearly getting annoyed and was taking it out on the pigeons, snapping at them. The robin decided to give it one more try, squawking madly the entire time, but the crow had had enough, and went aloft, the robin in hot pursuit. Only the crow, being more wily, took a sharp turn and the robin missed and went to hang out on a branch, clearly aiming to do better next time.

Meanwhile, the crow ruffled itself and went back to terrorizing the pigeons. I left with the robin circling, still making noise, and the crow still trying to assert dominance. I wonder what the robin was so hot and bothered about.

Oh birdbrains, how I love you. You provide such entertainment.

**Perhaps in an effort to go 'green' it had given up on worms - I am used to ugly fat robins, so this one practically looked emaciated, but was really just on the slim side...

For the First Time

2010-05-13T19:47:00.000-07:00

Things I've done for the first time in 2010:
1. Gone on a 3 day road trip. 1200 miles, all told.
2. Ridden the train for my commute
3. Worked more than 30 stories up
4. Recorded a song on video
5. Gone serious apartment hunting
6. Consistently walked to the grocery store as my main means of shopping
7. Bought a coscto membership
8. Gone mattress shopping
9. Bought a vacuum
10. Eaten crab legs
11. Eaten Indian takeout
12. Paid for parking downtown for a night event
13. Gotten a free couch
14. Hung over my deck
15. Had an appointment with the cable guy

Mostly fairly mundane "firsts." I'm sure the rest will bring a whole lot more.

Random pics: Out with the old, in with the (new) view!

Sad Songs and Waltzes [Are] Selling This Year

2010-04-25T16:58:00.000-07:00

And every other year, apparently. Last night I was with R and J and we were singing traditional Irish folk songs. It occurred to me that besides "All for me Grog" they were, uniformly, beautiful and sad. (I don't count the sea chanties....sorry.)

And then came a litany of sad songs. Think about it. Most really really popular bands, they have one sad song. Probably if you know at least one song of the band's, it's a sad song. Every big name has at least one trademark sad song. Here are a few of my selected examples, combined with a couple of exceptions to the list.

Notice, there is no one "new" in this list. That's because you have to be a time-tested, enduring musical presence in order to be counted on this list. Not everybody has to like what you do, but anything post-80s doesn't count at all.

Sad Songs by Big Names
1. Stairway to Heaven, Led Zeppelin
2. Imagine, John Lennon
3. Leavin' on a Jetplane, John Denver
4. Puff the Magic Dragon, Peter Paul & Mary
5. So Far Away, Carole King
6. Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, Gordon Lightfoot
7. Billie Jean, Michael Jackson
8. Major Tom, David Bowie
9. My Heart will go on, Celine Dion (this breaks the 80s rule but dang, she's been singing for a LONG TIME)
10. Howard Jones - No One Is to Blame (though I'd rather listen to Everlasting Love)
11. Poison - Every Rose Has its Thorn (though I really don't think Poison merits being on the "great" list, this is their one song everyone knows, and it is sad)
12. Simon & Garfunkel - The Boxer (and most of their other songs)
13. Fleetwood Mac - Landslide
14. Tiny Dancer/Candle In the Wind, Elton John
15. She's Always A Woman, Billy Joel. There are a lot of other ones from him that are really well-known, too...like Piano Man, anyone?
16. You're So Vain, Carly Simon
17. Faithfully - Journey (being faithful isn't sad, but all the words are sad, as is the general feeling of the song)
18. Hotel California - Eagles
19. Horse With No Name - America

Exceptions to the Rule
1. Beach Boys (Surfin' and Barbara Ann don't count, though "Help me Rhonda" does nearly get on the Pathetic list. Don't get me wrong, I love that song as much as anyone else as far as its singing in the car qualities go, but Rhonda is just a fool if she falls for that line....)
2. ABBA (Dancing Queen is their #1, which isn't sad, but Fernando is fairly well known, and it definitely is - so are a lot of their other hits)

I know I left out a great many. And of course, my point was to prove that sad songs really do sell, so admittedly, my exceptions list is a little small. But seriously, name me some big names that are always happy!! Let's make a whole list.

Atlas Shrugged/Manic Monday

2010-04-20T08:37:00.000-07:00

Last night, I was doing laundry. Yay for laundry!
Not yay for what happened next. I was in the midst of ordering a down blanket for myself, on an awesome deal, when I heard something rattle. I didn't think much of it. Then I heard the dryer buzz. I did think something of that, and went to change it. Only when I opened the door, I was greeted by a gargantuan puddle of blue. Yep, that's right, the detergent bottle fell from its (I thought it was) secure location, and the top shattered, spraying it everywhere, and seeping all over the bathroom/laundry room floor.

I tried my best to clean it up. It took forever. I kept wishing that I was Atlas, or Samson, or even Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime, and that I could leverage the w/d up. But then I thought, Atlas couldn't hold the world up AND clean up under; that takes too much coordination. So then I wished I had a personal Atlas to shrug so I could clean underneath it anyway. When I got the mess down to mostly a thin soap veneer on the floor, and had tried as many tricks with paper towels as I knew to get what was under up, I went back to finish ordering my blanket. Only the offer of the super great deal expired at midnight in another time zone, and it was now nine minutes too late, no ifs, ands, or buts. No laundry disasters accepted as excuses.

So now my bathroom smells like fresh laundry...that's good. What's not so good is the aftermath. *Sigh*
Yep. Yesterday was definitely a Monday.

The Merit of Bad Chocolate

2010-04-16T18:41:00.000-07:00

Sitting here, eating dinner (my usual, only sans spinach), I look at the ornate glass bowl I inherited from my neighbor-for-a-day, which has chocolate eggs wrapped in those foil colors that look garish at any other time of year. Perhaps in our minds we suspect that, in October, if we purchased them, they would be [stale/old/moldy/dessicated] unfit for human consumption, seeing as how in our minds we associate these chocolates with Eastertide.

To give some background, I bought them for 50% off the Monday after Easter in an ill-advised shopping trip at 7 pm before having dinner. Grocery shopping without having eaten complex carbohydrates (a phrase I used to hate, it having been used too many times to count to lecture/educate me on the needs of my body, when all I wanted to eat was candy, back in the day) in the last 30 minutes before departure is definitely not something I should ever do, and yet I still do it at least bimonthly. I was trying to decide which ones to get, and someone who was probably around my dad's age looked at me and said, "oh, so you're the 50% off after easter chocolate lady," to which I arched an eyebrow and gave a somewhat sardonic smile back and said, "Clearly, that I am." Which I think kind of boggled his mind, as I looked less than respectable (I believe I wasn't even matching) and he was taken aback that someone actually /admitted/ being a 50% off chocolate lady.

I decided it would be nice to fill my bowl, anyway, after I got them and it was too late to take them back. So I dumped them out and they have been sitting there ever since. I admit I've eaten perhaps a handful since then. But to get to the main point: the merits of bad chocolate are:

1. It's sweet. When you have a craving, it will likely satisfy it.
2. It's slightly sickening. You can taste the wax. Even if it's sitting there, seemingly temptingly winking with those jewel/pastel colored wrappers, you can sniff haughtily and think, "I'm too good for that chocolate. It's not worth the {insert 'calories' or 'sugar crash' here, depending on your preference - I prefer the latter}. I don't need it.
3. It gives people who come over something to do. In absence of a good coffee table book, bad chocolate is nearly always tempting enough to get visitors to have a piece, or two, or three or five, depending on (a) how well they know you; (b) how hungry they are; (c) how their mothers raised them; and (d) how much they like bad chocolate. Absent better conversation, any visitor can always unwrap one, pop it in his/her mouth, and thereby (hopefully politely - smacking lip chocolate eaters are frowned upon by Miss Manners, I'm sure) refrain from carrying on verbally.

Or, if it gets to be October, it can be an instrument of ridicule: When did you buy this chocolate? It's so old! Throw it out already! {Then why did you just have a piece?}

Having pointed out its virtues, I am still going to steadfastly refuse to give in to the siren call of bad (seasonal, which makes it even worse) chocolate.

*Update. My sister W came to visit in July. She said, "Are those from Easter." I said, "Yes, they are." By the end of her visit, they were gone. So! Bad chocolate really DOES have merit!!

If You Could Read My Mind - or - Why I Do Not Read Sad Books

2010-03-28T21:35:00.000-07:00

"when you reach the part where the hero comes, the hero would be me / but heroes often fail / and you won't read that book again because the ending's just too hard to take"

(See? Gordon Lightfoot really /is/ the best. See yesterday's post.)

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
I close the book, tears streaming down my face, then reopen it, vision blurred, sniffling slightly.
There are a few pages left of torture, of unrelenting sadness, left to consume.

Somehow, I cannot pull myself away, and the sadness envelops me; and I, enthralled, flail helplessly in the grip of emotion, compelled to finish, to read the last bit in the futile saga.

Part of me, the Romantic part, clings to some futile hope that somehow "things" - meaning, the universe - will be all right, and that a happy ending is imminent, and is going to write itself in indelible ink in the few remaining pages.

But it is not to be, and when I am through, and the sadness has been recorded, and I have been unable to stop the tide of words, I close the book, a keening desolation engulfing my being, and I sob quietly, my body wracked with grief. I sob, and it seems that with each gasp of air what was a tiny rip becomes a tear in the fabric of my soul. This continues for a few minutes, as I try to control my body, while my mind replays the climax over and over again.

Then reality intrudes as I become in desperate need of something to blow my nose with. I ignore my growing discomfort and I stroke the cover of the book longingly, still caught in the web of sorrow that was captured on the pages. But no! The web is of my own weaving, the manifestation of my own reaction to mere words on a page.

Sighing, I get up and pad to the Kleenex, and think to myself, "It's just a book. Why are you crying?" I can't explain it. I return to my chair, sit down, and run my fingers over the spine and think, "I don't want my story to end like that one." And I turn my head into the cushion and feel the dampness from where my reaction to some ink and paper and glue, bound into a story, seeped from my eyes, and I wait to be released from the spell of sadness. I wonder, "Why does anyone even LIKE that book?" and scrunch my face and hug myself.

I know I'll never read it again - its poignancy is too vivid to endure more than once. And then I look in the mirror and see my red-rimmed eyes and inflamed nose and wonder, "Was it worth it?" And part of me thinks, "Yes. You are more of a person now - you have embraced an aspect of humanity, and uncovered a facet of yourself that you never knew about before, and it has altered your world view slightly, yet permanently."

And the rest of me thinks, "No. You have enough sadness in your life without inviting more through works of fiction. This work is too close to home. It makes you remember things you want to forget, and reading things like this only causes you to regurgitate the actual unpleasantness in your life, and compare it with the events you just read about."

I vacillate between my two opinions for a moment, then shrug and decide I don't want to scrutinize my emotions anymore - they need no enhanced clarity: I am sad. I was crying. The book affected me.
This, I decide, is all I need to know.

So I put the book down on the floor and huddle into the chair and pull the blanket up to my chin and wait, rocking, for the inexplicable uprising of emotion to subside, and for life to return to "normal," knowing I will never be the same.

Minstrel of the Dawn

2010-03-27T22:42:00.000-07:00

Gordon Lightfoot is the best ever.
You may not like folk. That's fine. You may not like Canadians. That's also fine. You may not like acoustic guitar in general, or awesome voices. That's fine, too, but we may have to have a discussion later about your taste, and I may seriously question your ability to discern true lyrical, if not musical, genius.

So: Go buy Gord's music. I know I'm not the only one who feels this way about his work - entire Youtube forums have been written about it, and I am sure many more such posts are in progress as I write.

His songs evoke feelings in me that words can't explain: a feeling of overwhelming sentimentality, remembering times I was listening to his songs, remembering what I was thinking about, remembering long car rides. Sometimes it's an overwhelming sadness, thinking through the lyrics, knowing how many sad things happen to people every day, and how dreary the world must seem to people who don't have a strong safety circle of people who love them, like I do. Sometimes his songs make me think about all the good people in the world who seem to try really hard and never 'get anywhere.' Or people who love unrequitedly, unconditionally, for long periods of time, and the love in their hearts eventually shrivels up and dies because they could only love one person. Or how happy I am to be on the road, moving toward people and things that I love. Or how grateful I am to be alive, with the wind in my hair and watching the sunset's colors changing, humming a Gord's Gold song in my head.

I love his music. End of story. So to sum up: his music is stunning in its simplicity, and sincere in its emotions. Kind of how I want my entire life to be.

If you have not had the pleasure of hearing Gord's stuff, let me know and I'll give you my list of personal favorites.

Across (The Western Coast)

2010-03-07T09:41:00.000-08:00

Car mileage ticks by like endless rain into a paper cup/ signs slither as they pass, we slip away across the western coast

Good people: I have arrived!

Here's how The Trip went. I do believe it is the longest road trip I have ever taken, roughly 1200 miles from start to finish, covering three days and at least that many inches of rain.

By the way, I will write a separate log about all the travails and helps that I had to deal with/was blessed with to give credit to all the lovely people who helped make this move possible. (Yes, the cheese was intentional, but your help is much appreciated nonetheless.)

The travelog:
Wednesday, 6:45 am. Put keys into the box. Get in car. Drive away. Get gas. Get on 405. Wind through hills, past the Getty, past that circular tower in which I will never live but will always wish I had experienced. Down into the valley, with smog hanging like a silk curtain (let's romanticize a little). Average: 80 miles/hour. Topanga, how I will miss hearing your name being memorialized daily as being a traffic hazard. Wind westward on the 101. Rain falls.

Just before San Luis Obispo: Jack in the Box. Lunch at 10:45. A bit early for me, but it turns out to be a great decision, as there was a guy in there who drove the 101 all the time and gave us good directions. He heard us asking the former CalTrans employee (now JitB on break) about if there was a number to call about landslides and he gave it to us, along with directions of where to get on.

We started up the 1. I have never done any driving like that before. Curves winding so steeply, rising and falling in elevation. 15 miles an hour, in heavy, heavy fog. Sometimes I couldn't even see where the road was going to curve next. It was like being in Mordor, except with no fire and ash, fog and (sometimes) angry surf instead. For miles we saw no one.

We got out a few times...the turquoise water was too alluring. Once we stopped and stood on the edge of a steep ravine, rain gently misting our glasses in perfect tiny drops. We couldn't see the ocean, but we knew it was there. We could see streams trickling toward the ocean, but we couldn't see the destination. It's cold by the sea. It was grey and the sea seemed to be content...but grey days on the ocean always remind me how powerful it is - no man can stop the tide. Good thing too...it would be a sorry thing if men could control everything.

The UPS driver whipped around the curves that I had been inching round for hours, smiling and waving. Waving? How can you take your hands off the wheel for long enough? My back was tense and I was ready for a break. We stopped at a lonely roadside store, past strings of solitary mailboxes with no homes attached to them, out of sight up steep steep driveways, or without driveways, seemingly random in placement. We bought salami, to go with our delicious crackers which there seem to be a looming shortage of. Salami, hummus, broccoli, townhouse crackers. Randomly, some Fritos. That's our food inventory.

The sun came out, and the fog rolled back. We could now see across the sparkles - noting the changes in depth, clearly marked by water color. (oh, fishies, live on amid the filth that daily we add to your playtank! ) We twisted and bent to Monterey. Up and down we wended our way toward San Francisco, with a stressful (for me) set of conversations about where we were going to spend the night. Apparently wednesday night is a busy night for hotels, as many were completely full. I began to wonder if we would have to camp out in the car. But no, such was not our fate! We got the last room with two beds at the Stratford Court. We were tired and were showing shocking signs of travelburn. N came to stay with us at the hotel, after a lovely dinner. I think perhaps that was one of my most favourite restaurant meals ever. I had steak - a tender cut, done just right, with wild mushrooms that were oh so tasty on the side and carmelized onions, with a baked potato. The portions were perfect, and the food...yum. I fell asleep at 9:30, earlier than I have in years.

We got up and had croissants for breakfast, and took a quick visit to the Grace Church Cathedral. Saying our goodbyes, we got in the car after a lengthy conversation with the valet and made our way north. I must say, I rather enjoyed those long strips along the 5, looking at orchards upon orchards, thinking...this is a completely different way of life than I am used to. Also completely different Wendy's service, as they messed up both our orders in fine fashion, which hasn't happened to me in years. Harmony, population 18. Road 5. Rural America, at its finest.

Then came the mountain passes. Miles and miles up up 6% grade, then down 6% grade. Passing trucks, downshifting, tested the limits of my car and of my driving ability. A little skittish from the previous day's near encounter round a curve, I set the pace slow and concentrated. Oh, Mount Shasta, how you awed me!

We came upon it, seemingly out of nowhere, as it rose starkly off to the left. It was so white! Its shape leads to very few places where snow cannot settle, making it nearly impossible to tell where the mountain began and the sky ended, if you didn't look closely. All alone, it sits in quiet elegance, snow blinding white and seemingly evenly coated, leaving just a few crags uncovered. To follow the LOTR references, it was like Lonely Mountain.

Too bad we didn't get any pictures. Though I doubt it would have done it justice. What we did get pictures of was another small mountain that appeared out of nowhere. Shasta, how I miss you, even two weeks later.

Oregon, here we come! Land of no sales tax and not putting gas in your own car. We stopped to get directions and I drank an odd green drink at Starbucks that had kiwi and celery in it, but actually taste pretty good. We were hijacking the wifi in order to find a place to live. Needless to say, we did not plan our vacation before started it. We found a hotel that had a nice breakfast room, and walked to a place called Greenleaf for dinner, where I had the most awful chicken I do believe I have ever tasted and where we both kind of spread out along the booth bench. Luckily our legs are not long enough to have our feet dangling at the end like forgotten drooping balloons. Then we took a nap. Yes, a nap, at 6:30 pm. After which, we took in a play: Pride and Prejudice. We sat in the back, and later commented on how they did absolutely nothing with the set, and how it was a bit stiff at the beginning (this was one of the first times they'd ever performed it). Darcy had a weird speech "thing" I didn't like - his s's were strange - and poor Lizzy, I felt like she was straining so hard, her neck cords were popping out. Mr. Bennett was completely ineffective and Mr. Collins stole the show. The version we saw put a lot of emphasis on Mrs. Bennett - which I am used to, thanks to A&E, but that even surpassed. They did do some interesting things about the passage of time that I thought were cool though.

Day 3: 9am, we head out. Day 3 was Rain Day. It rained. And rained. And rained. ALL DAY!!!

After a few more hours of mountain passes (now I know why only trucks come this way!) we stopped at a gas station and out of habit I drove up to the pump even though we didn't really need gas. We went inside and it was the oddest mix of convenience store and J&L, with a little Home Depot thrown in. It was very strange, but the people seemed friendly enough, and mum found some cards she liked, that also made me laugh.

We hit some snaggleteeth of traffic near Portland, and then it was stop-and-go solidly from near Olympia all the way to our destination. I have never felt more "are we there yet? are we there YET?" whines build up inside of me. Sadly, let a few of them slip out. We listened to O Brother, Where Art Thou? and decided to visit the Big Rock Candy Mountain someday and to 'stay on the sunny side of life', which seemed incredibly ironic at the time, as we had not seen a single direct ray of sunshine all day up until that point, and didn't see any for the rest of the day, either.

We had all these plans about how we were going to listen to the book club book of the month and get naps in the car. I was the only one who took a nap, and we didn't listen to a single minute of that book on tape the entire way. My nap was for an hour or so on the third day. Mom drove between the odd gas station/hardware store/seed store and Portland. I think. I don't know, it was all a blur. That entire third day was just, let's get there, let's get there! I drove a little faster than was strictly safe with all the rain that was glutting the roads and was glad for my mudflaps. In LA mudflaps are obviously gratuitous but they may prove useful yet!

And now I am here. Ready to start my new life. I'll add pictures as soon as I get them (hint: yes, that means I want you to send them to me!)

Hey, Soul Sister

2010-01-15T18:23:00.000-08:00

That's the song of the week. The one that's always on when I turn on the radio. The one that I'm humming as I walk up the steps to get to my flat. The one that this week I love, and next week will become a terror to my inner heartstrings from overdose. It's by Train, in case you're not familiar and wish to look it up. However, I'm too lazy to provide a link here for you.

So, a muse:

LA's version of christmas lights
brakelights and headlights as far as the eye can see
flashing white and red, in long clumpy strings, wending their way imperfectly across the landscape
onramp meters add occasional pepperings of red and green staccato, in exclamation points of color not quite on the beaten path
like jingle bells being shaken, cars move and brake in an awkward jumble of squeaky breaks and balding tires - an odd cacophony for unison.

A few measures of this symphony:
Signal, move, brake. Brake, tense, brake. Signal, fumes, hold. Dart left, brake, swerve. Pull hair. Tap wheel, turn dial. Wince, turn dial. Grumble, roll eyes (at neighbor using cell phone). Brake. Battle nervous tic. Brake, gun engine, brake. Signal, move. Dart right. Watch mirror. Brake.

the rhythm of the dance is never quite in sync, but it gets the job done
later, rather than sooner, the cars graduate from the year-round lighting masterpiece and move make the exit...some leaving tire tracks, others delicately extricating themselves with unbelievable panache.

the Sound of Silence

2010-01-14T21:26:00.000-08:00

silence like a cancer grows/people talking without speaking/people listening without hearing/people writing songs that voices never share/ and no one dares/ disturb the sound of silence

I came up with a great phrase today: soliloquy of silence.

That, I do believe, says it all. At least, all for today.

Homeward Bound

2010-01-10T10:58:00.000-08:00

For two weeks, I was on Cold Mountain terrain. I had a warm bed, plenty of drink, and good company to take away the cold and make it rosy and glowing.

I'd like to point out that being with people is hard. It takes energy and perseverance and understanding. It is waiting with (or without) sniping when the other person is finally ready to go. It's about compromise. It's trying and frustrating and makes you want to pull your hair out sometimes...or just go lose yourself in a good book or on a solitary stroll.

The solitary times are the reflections, the idea builders, the trying to figure out who you are changes. It's the quiet affirmations with the wind in your hair, the furious journal writing, the talking to God and feeling your soul grow times. They're the times when you beat yourself up the most and have the moments of clarity that give you direction. They're the times when you ponder status quo and decide to change. When songs of the heart steal through your veins and beat a tattoo on your conscience.

And, don't forget: it's the times with people that you remember. The lazy afternoon car rides, the watching movies, the playing games, the quoting books, the squabbling over spaghetti leftovers, the arguments that make you reaffirm those beliefs that you decided to uphold in the solitary moments.

We all need both. Just when I think I prefer solitude to waiting in the cold car for the last straggler family member, I think, "where would I be without this person, who has loved me and uplifted me...Who has contributed to my crankiness and who has done my share when I wasn't able to? Who woke me up with the exuberance of the morning and of loudly squawking when I wasn't willing to share?"

I'd be alone, and all the quiet walks and soul-piercing moments can't begin to compare to the joy of belonging, of being absolutely sure of another being's love for you - that arms are open, waiting to hug you, and that there is always someone rooting for you - on your side.

To be alone is absolutely required sometimes to keep the sanity alive. But I can't think of a worse fate than to be in silent solitude forever.

Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer

2009-12-19T21:19:00.000-08:00

Well, I have a red nose, so I'm halfway there. Sheesh, it is so COLD in my apartment! Seriously, I have three shirts, a sweater, and slippers on and I am still a little icicle!

Anyway, what prompted this post was that I heard this awful rendition of "Rudolph" this year. Or is it Rudolf? Never sure. The point is that I heard the song, and it reminded me of the days when my sibs and I were the only people who said "like toothpaste" at the end of the song instead of "like Columbus." Columbus? Please. Toothpaste is *so* much better than tobacco.

Regardless, it occurred to me that the song totally reinforces all the negative things about being a little kid, and yet a lot of little kids really like that song. How ironic! I mean, if you were a sad scrawny reindeer who did not conform to the 'norm' and who got bullied, emotionally abused, and ostracized, and then an imaginary fat man wanted to exploit your natural assets (the red bulb of a nose that is apparently neon in fluorescence), how would you react? And then when all the two-faced snobbery 'deer fell upon you in fake adoration, would you fall for the flattery or be suspicious, thinking, gosh, ten minutes ago, you all hated me and were making my life miserable, and now you want to make all nicey-nice and pretend we're best buddies? *I think not.*

So. I love Christmas carols and songs. Not all, but most. So this Christmas, sing away, loud and clear. Even if you do choose to sing about Rudolph.

SSA

2009-12-08T17:25:00.000-08:00

i kid you not. these are the first 1o acronyms to pop into mind.

silent smelly assassin
soprano soprano alto
silver salient agate
scrawny studmuffin abroad
sill sagging ajar
story strident audience
sleepy silly audio
salty sassy almond
scrunch sulk away
saddle sable appaloosa

On Garbage Cans

2009-12-05T23:51:00.000-08:00

WARNING: THIS MAY BE TMI FOR YOU. If you are easily offended, please feel free to skip this post.

Garbage cans have many uses, the primary one being for garbage. Usually, garbage cans are made of metal or plastic and can vary from tiny (usually at least 8" high though, and at least 6" around) to huge (dumpster, anyone?)

Usually, I use garbage cans for trash. However, once I had to use them as a coordination lesson, as I was throwing a bag of garbage in the industrial sized bin downstairs and somehow my keys got ripped off my fingers and flew into the bin. Several spiders crawling over me, a near-panic attack, and several car alarms later (all false, as I tried desperately to use a broom handle to lever my keys up and out of the bin, and accidentally pushed the car alarm with the head of the broomstick instead of getting the broomstick to fit within the keyring), I successfully retrieved them.

Garbage cans also have other uses, as well. Unfortunately, sometimes they serve as the receptacle for something else - not nearly as pleasant as trash. Like today, for example, I was trying out makeup at a store with a friend. She's a spa technician/artist by trade, and she was giving me a free makeup consulation. Later, I'll have to show you what she did to my eyes. Wowser! I started feeling lightheaded, so I just sat down on the floor. She was working on my eyes, and I was having a hard time concentrating on what she was telling me about how to smoke my eyes. I bought a few pieces, and on the way to the register I felt like leaning over and putting my head between my knees. I was grateful for the excuse to bend over to sign the credit card release.

We exited the store and had not gone twenty steps before I said I felt a little sick and I needed to find a garbage can. There are nicely lined garbage cans everywhere, as it is a mall, but I couldn't see any. Only a poor unlined garbage can with a lot of Pepsi drinks in it. I had my eye on it, thinking maybe I could make it to the restroom. Nope. I'd walked all of three steps past it when I turned around and grabbed it. I'll leave the graphic stuff out...except I will say that due to Mom's training when I was a kid, I am very neat about such things. And I hardly disturbed my makeup with eye-watering, either. Amazing!

So the point of all this is that I am very. Very. VERY grateful for garbage cans. In all shapes and sizes, lined and unlined. For the things in them? Not so much, usually. But yes. Garbage cans are great. May they prosper in the land.

Dysphemisms

2009-11-28T09:54:00.000-08:00

I suppose our family's Thanksgiving fare is as run-of-the-mill as anything else...except perhaps the plethora of pickles. ;) (Here's to us, fellow pickle princesses (and the odd prince)!)

The post-dinner conversations, however, are another story entirely. Other than the odd hockey reference, the conversation is dominated by determining how to start to attack the discombobulation that is our immigration system (no elaboration is necessary), and what game we are going to play next (in this case, Ticket to Ride - Europe).

So this Thanksgiving, the conversation inevitably turned to music, and we were musing about how although, admittedly, the Black-Eyed Peas have some serious beats going, their lyrics are possibly the lamest ever. For example, using "lovely lady lumps" as a descriptor for female secondary sex characteristics? Please! What is more unattractive than a "lump?" (Have you ever heard of anything less appealing? Or heard a "lump" being referred to as anything positive? Lumps are too-large cottage cheese curds. Lumps are cancer tumors. Lumps are proverbial peas in the proverbial mattress of the Princess. Lumps are uncomfortable!!!!!)

Moving on....we were talking about euphemisms, and how my friend Mikey was always talking about how everybody used euphemisms, and I always teased him that his euphemism was the actual word, euphemism. And then the conversation turned to dysphemisms, which I had to be introduced to, as I was (I am ashamed to admit - sometimes my self-education has rather large holes in it which I have determined to begin afresh to fill in, but that is another story for another blog post). Being the people that we are, we rarely use dysphemisms in our day-to-day speech.

Being the applicator of knowledge that I am (in the hopes of retaining as much as possible), I was trying to figure out when I would ever be party to a dysphemism, and then, it hit me. My eyes lit up, and my finger went up in the air in an "aha!" moment. "I know! LUMPS!"

She can be taught!!!

Because I Love You (a poem for two voices)

2009-11-17T21:54:00.000-08:00

Because I love you,                          Because I love you,
I wash the dirty laundry
Fold it neatly                                    Fold you neatly
                                                         in my arms when you’re sad
Because you love me                      Because you love me
                                                       You buy apple beer
                                                       So I can enjoy the
                                                       Pop, foam
Twist, fizz
Of its charming flavor

Because I love you                        Because I love you
I look for bargain airfare
                                                      I try seafood
I offer to drive
                                                       I tolerate your music
I make you fresh-squeezed orange juice
                                                       I do the dishes, with water steaming
Hot                                                 Hot
Tamales are your favorite
                                                       Lemon tea cakes are your weakness
I know chips and salsa are your staple
                                                       I know spaghetti is your comfort

Because you love me                      Because you love me
You iron your own shirts
                                                        You pay your share of the bills
And mine                                         And mine
Because I don’t like to                    Because I don’t like to

Because I love you                          Because I love you
I reset my hug timer
                                                         I open my arms
So there’s no excuse                       So there’s no excuse
For me not to say
                                                         For me not to echo
That I love you, too.                        That I love you, too.

An Encounter with Sid the Kid

2009-11-08T10:17:00.000-08:00

One traffic laden journey. $85 plus shipping/processing. A mile walk to the Staples Center. Opening my bag for security. All these things climaxed in one great adventure: an encounter with Sid the Kid's Pittsburgh Penguins. Look at how close we were!

So I didn't really meet them in person. But my eyes were totally star-crossed, so I started down the steps before the usher told me I had to wait for the next whistle (we were late, due to various factors). My eyes were peeled for the 87 jersey. I saw 44 (Orpik) first, and jumped a little in excitement, which made the usher laugh. "Look, there he is! There's my man," I said, as I saw 87 skate toward me. He wasn't more than 100 feet away. "Does he know he's your man?" S asked, teasingly. "He will now, if he knows what's good for him," I replied.

The whistle blew, and like a horse out of the starting gate, I took the stairs two at a time. A face-off was about to take place. There he was. Not even thirty feet away!!!! The cold of the arena made me shiver, but I was laughing in excitement. Finally, I got to see the Pens in action!

Of course, I was momentarily saddened by the thought that two of my four favorites were out for the count due to a broken wrist (#55, Gonchar) and a strained shoulder (#71, Malkin). waaaah. Oh well. It was still a great great game. When we got there, it was tied 1-1. Then, late in the second period, my second-favorite defenseman, Orpik, scored a goal. It was like watching it in slow motion, the puck gently drifting past all the players, skittering into the net. I think I'll always remember it. It was GREAT. Of course, then the Kings promptly scored 4 goals in retaliation, two in quick succession. Poor Fleury. He never really recovered from the first one and then there they were again, in his face. I could tell they were going to score before the puck actually went to the back of the net. It was like watching a flock of ravenous wolves descend on the fat piglet. (Fleury only resembles a fat piglet because of all his gear, though. Man, that guy is flexible!!!!)

Fleury = goalie = 29
Crosby = 87 = captain, youngest ever appointed at the time, hailed as the "next Great One." Basically, the kid's a whining scoring machine, and the poster boy of hockey.
Staal = 11 = the best fourth-liner around, he really should get a pay raise, and probably will after the next season, when he (unfortunately for Pens fans) will likely switch teams. As long as it's not the Red Wings he defects to, I think I'll be okay.

In short, although 'we' lost, it was a great game. I practically couldn't talk the next day from all the shouting I did. Luckily, there were loads of Pens fans there too, so I didn't get yelled at for screaming at all the 'wrong' times. I was thinking, hmmm, I could really dig this. And then I remembered that I'd have to move to Pittsburgh if I wanted to see my Pens on a regular basis, instead of every five years or so. Which of course killed my enthusiasm immediately. So don't worry, I'm not in line (yet) for next year's season tickets.

At the Palace, by the lake

2009-11-01T10:38:00.001-08:00

Last weekend I went to San Francisco. I survived two plane trips without getting H1N1 (yay!) and managed the Muni in Monday rush-hour with luggage. Power to the commuter!

On Saturday we (N & I) went to Santa Rosa to a wedding reception. It was a beautiful fall day - I didn't even need a jacket! It was for a mutual friend of ours whose pheromone experiment finally came to fruition, in a rather flaming hurry. She was a beautiful bride and we got "their" story from both sides. Unfortunately, I got sunburnt on the car trip as well. :(

Then after an interesting discussion on the merits of the production and marketing of pop religious music (of which we found few), we alit at the Palace of Fine Art. Don't ask me where it is, because I don't know. But I know it's not downtown or in the Mission. Anyway, we walked about before the hula show we had tickets for. It was just a bit windy, and the light of the sun setting made for some really great picture opportunities. We even saw more animals - some I'd never seen before in real life, like a bittern (which N hadn't seen either) and an egret. Up close! See how close:

The Palace was lit up. The moon seemed very close in person, but somehow it did not seem so close through the lens of the camera. It looks kind of like the Great Pumpkin, all lit up, does it not? Perhaps a bit later I'll show you the bittern and a series of me along the lake and against the Palace walls.

What is this a picture of?

2009-10-11T18:55:00.000-07:00

So I have a question. If it's not a star, and it's not a white dot, and it's not a brownish background, what is it?
V-k and I came up with some options on our most recent collaboration (rather, she visited me, and we had a par-tay).
a. tiny spaceships with antennae
b. funky baseball caps
c. random single boots tromping around on stick-legs, in a below-the-knee view
d. personalized pickaxes
What do you think it is? I know what I thought it was. And it wasn't the real answer anyway. But it just made me think of "The Treachery of Images: or, This is Not a Pipe." See right.

It's like those pictures that are really weird and psychologists ask you if you see an old lady or a young lady, or one pyramid or five triangles, or some such nonsense. Images are images, pipes are pipes. But every person's interpretation of the pipe is different. So let me enjoy my non-smoking pipe, and I'll leave you alone about yours.

Lastly, a true image for you: remember, sibs, those days when we played Labyrinth? And there was the lizard, that V-k bit forever ago, so we always knew who had what. And remember how the blue scarab beetle was cursed, courtesy of J? One time it took her like six or seven turns just to get the darned thing. The board kept on changing. I remember that card vividly still: the bright blue beetle with its gold clawed legs.

The long and the short of this is that when V-k and I went to see the sharks....which, by the way, we touched one over six feet long. It was a baby. o.O Anyway, we saw sharks and flat fish with only one eye and saw playful rays and touched sea cucumbers and anemones and urchins and the like. Oh! And we saw a REALLY cool octopus, but that is for another post. This post is not about suckers. This is about scarabs. And images. So I thought I'd post an image of a beetle. Sadly, it is not a scarab, but it is about as big as the card on which the original cursed scarab was found. Since this beetle is not a scarab, I am not cursed. Just wanted to point that out. Now I'll get the point and post what you've all been wanting to see all week: a gigantic flying beetle. Yay!

I will say that at first, when we spied it, I thought it was a hummingbird. V-k assured me it was a hummingbird moth. I thought it looked too shiny, and its iridescence was more like a hummingbird. But then, V-k argued, it was too small. I had to agree. It wasn't until a split second before the bug landed that I realized that it was indeed a beetle of most gargantuan proportions. And then I just HAD to take a picture.

Octoberween

2009-10-07T20:48:00.000-07:00

What's on board for this month:
1. I am getting a washer/dryer, probably next week.
2. I am going to experience jury duty for the first time.
3. I am going to take an accounting midterm. And do my darnedest to pass.
4. I am going to go to San Francisco to teach the senior analyst who makes twice as much as I do how to do his job.
5. Having a job interview. (No, I did not get said job.)
6. Watching Season 8 of Smallville, season 5 of Bones, season 2 of Saiunkoku Monogatari, and trying out Friday Night Lights. Ah, Tim Riggins, every good girl loves a bad boy.
7. Not being happy with the fact of human nature that people lie.
8. Lots of people getting married. Weird, because October is not really a month that I picture with marriage, but I suppose the beautiful fall colors could really make for some gorgeous pictures.
9. A random visit to the Happiness Hotel. (Don't get the reference? It's okay, you can still sneak out in the middle of the night anyway. It's a 'very popular choice.')

better

2009-09-26T17:07:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking lately (dangerous, I know) about the experience of having something that you took for granted and then losing it. Is it better to have not known it at all, so you wouldn't have to deal with the pain and loss? Would it always hang in the air, a maybe bitter, sometimes desperate, often humbling reminder? Or is the body capable of adapting, but the mind and heart are just not willing?

An example: You're 23. You're young and pretty (or handsome, as the case may be) and all appears as it should be. You have friends, you laugh, you mostly love life. Sure, you have your days, but life is good to you so you roll with the punches.

Then, you're on the way to eat dinner with some friends and a semi-truck hits you. You nearly die, and because you were crushed inside your car you will be quadriplegic and be forced to be in a wheelchair for the rest of your life.

Your body adapts. You work through the pain. You learn how to use your arms, which were useless sticks of wood before, and you become strong and can fully function. So, one day, the movies come on and Chariots of Fire is playing, and you're having kind of an iffy day emotionally anyway, and you see all these sprightly lads running about. You can almost feel the wind in your hair and the burn of your lungs and hear the thud of your feet hitting pavement.

So, do you glory that you once had those days, of running free in the wind? Are you grateful for the chance you had to spread your wings, and fly? Or are you disgruntled, changing the TV channel so that you don't have to remember the pain, or feel the sadness that you will never be able to run again? Are you happy for the other people who can still run, or do you wish they all had even just a moment when they were bound to the chair, as you are, to make them see perspective? Are you angry at God? Do you despair and want to throw things? Do you ever wish that you had never known the joy of running down the proverbial lane, because you miss it so much you think you can't even take it for just one more minute?

Almost everyone I know has had a great loss. It may not be their loss, personally - but one from a close friend, family member, or significant other. Is the loss easier to bear if it didn't happen to you, so you don't have to feel the pain? Or is being the one who has to watch the other person battle through the pain harder than having the pain in the first place?

So. Is it better to experience the loss, and chalk it up to life's experience tab, or is it better to never have known the joy in the first place?

The Long and Winding Road (reversed), e.e. cummings style

2009-08-02T11:49:00.000-07:00

if i can't love for forever
then i don't want to love at all
if there's no faith in tomorrow
the giddy joy's not worth the fall

is there some point to this heartache
will my soul ever start to heal?
"getting over it" is not easy
hard to forget what made you feel

they say life's too short for grudges
but pain has a long memory
the dull grey foggy ache of hurt
makes even small joys hard to see

after your heart cracks for the first time nothing's ever quite the same
it sometimes seems to hard to let go and to somehow stop the blame

i have a long and winding road
to travel, as the old song says
and miles to go before i sleep
so now i'd best be on my way

Dancing With Myself

2009-08-02T10:54:00.000-07:00

In reading a sisterling's post, a notion of the chicken and the egg came to my mind regarding dancing and music.

For me, music and dancing are inextricably intertwined. If I had to choose one, either dancing OR music (perish the thought, and may it never come to pass), I think I would have to pick music. Because I'd love music even if I couldn't move, but I don't think I'd love dancing if I couldn't hear. I would love watching the fluidity of others move, and the synchronization of movement, but I would always feel like there was something missing.

This really came to mind the other day as I was at the film festival, and someone put together a music video for Billy Idol's "dancing with myself." See it here. I thought it was rather clever, myself. But the song and the video made me wonder if I dance because I love music or if I dance because I love movement. I'm always dancing...while I mop the floors, while I clean the bathroom, while I drive in the car, while I do the dishes, when I'm waiting for coworkers so we can walk to go get ice cream, when I'm making copies and there's no one around...

I had a roommate once who hated the fact that I turned up music and danced around. I figured she must have a dark spot on her soul to begrudge me this rather innocent pleasure. She'd say to me, "you're so young!" with a sneer in her voice. I was too spineless at the time to tell her that it had nothing to do with age - that when I'm 42, 36, 59, 64, and 71, and 89, and all the ages in between, that I'm still going to be dancing, as long as I can dance. And if I blow my hearing, I'm going to hear the music in my head anyway. And if I'm in a wheelchair, I can still tap my toes. And if I can't feel my toes, I can tap my fingers. And if I can't tap my fingers or move my toes or nod my head and I'm in a near comatose state and my nurse isn't there and I don't have my hearing aids in, I'm STILL going to have a song running through my head and my heart will be dancing.

So dance with yourself. Don't let snotty ladies in the grocery store or peeping neighbors or dark-spotted-soul roommates interfere with your communion with yourself. Just dance. Just listen. Just....be.

Dirty Laundry

2009-07-09T21:32:00.000-07:00

Until about a year ago, I never had to do coin laundry. Ever. I have decided that when I move from my current existence, I never want to do it again. Ever. There's just something about the stress of taking all your dirty clothes - your unmentionables, your pajamas, and your business clothes - and trundling them all down the stairs in baskets, putting them in washers in questionable sanitary states, and then putting money in and leaving them. Someone who you don't even know put his clothes in the washer, and then the dryer, and the result is that you have to empty the lint trap of his lint. !!! Laundry really is personal. Clothes say who you are...they're the outward expression of the inward person. So to put your dirty clothes out there, carrying them around for all to see...just makes me think that the phrase 'dirty laundry' when referring to skeletons of your past in the closet really does have some meaning. So much meaning that it creeps me out. It creeps me out enough that I never want to do coin laundry again. Ever.

"Living in Reseda, there's a freeway running through the yard..."

2009-07-05T22:39:00.000-07:00

Gosh, one would think I'm a Tom Petty fan, what with all the references. But the point is that we (le hermano) and I went to the zoo, which is in the Valley, but we went the wrong way for part of it, and ended up going through Reseda.
That being said, our favorite part was the giraffes and the okapi. Okapi, as the naturalist would tell you, are forest giraffes. They're like donkey-zebra-giraffes. Only that would be donzeffes, and they call them Okapi instead. What pretty stripes. How easily startled. How far a walk! Seriously, we walked like a mile to see it. But it was worth it in the end. I won't make you walk a mile - all you'll have to do is scroll.....

And now for my other favorite part. Look at these wee giraffes! See how their legs wobble ever so cutely. They remind me of my niece. In the best possible sense. Graceful and serene at heart. Though her tongue isn't two feet long and blue for half, nor does she have a weird tail with super long black hairs on it...Don't make the mistake of thinking there are only two giraffes in this photo. I assure you, there are three. And that only makes it so much cuter. Have you ever SEEN such a wee giraffe?

On this day we also went to the Getty and saw the cool maze and these extremely awesome illuminations. Seeing Bibles from the 13-1400's in all their gilt-leaf glory and all their Latin coolness was really something else. Also, we saw some very cool paintings which I cannot remember write now. Le hermano, please comment to remind me what they were again, as my brain apparently has holes the size of swiss cheeselets in it. So much for all the stickynotes to help remind me of stuff...

Show Me What I'm Looking For

2009-05-31T14:21:00.001-07:00

In the last month or so, I've heard this song on the radio a lot. It's got some really interesting contradictions in it, which makes me like it more. I like the sentiment of it - I can do better, I've been wrong, help me get out of this, show me where to go so I can move on, getting closer to perfection.
But it also has some things that go a little against the grain: "I'll pay any cost to keep me from being confused." In a sense, because Christ died, He already paid the cost, or the price, to keep every person on earth from being confused. But at the same time, we, as mere mortals, have to be willing to give up our sins to know Him better, to become more like Him. We have to want to know what we're looking for before we will find it, and we have to be willing to follow the path once we're shown the way.
But the song does have a point - that we are saved only in Christ, but that He can help us change, to become more than what we are, until we are beautiful lilies in the field, sunlight on the water, angels on earth. We just have to be willing to let Him help us...to look to Him to 'show us what we're looking for.'

Thing I and Thing II

2009-05-24T21:55:00.001-07:00

If you missed the Seuss reference, shame on you!

More things about me, that you may never have learnt:

1. I don't own hairspray

2. I like to paint even though I'm not good at it.

3. I adore growing melons. A few years back, I had this awesome internship, and I got to live at home and grow melons in my spare time. The first thing I did when I got home from work every day was to put my bag down, toss my shoes in the closet, shuffle into my gardening sandals, and run outside to see what new little leaf, curling tendril, or blossom flowerlet had emerged. You'd think that not much could change in a day, right? WRONG. One day I went out there, and everything was fine. I was growing these wee cucumber plants that were ever so cute. Anyway, one day I went out there to check on two little cucumber plants that were about 3" high and seemed to be doing well. They were fine. The next day, I went out, and lo and behold, one of the plants was GONE. Disappeared. Poof! I didn't pick it, the dog didn't eat it, and the other plant was just fine. Did ants eat it? Did some obnoxious quail take it as nesting material? Whatever the reason, I was nearly distraught and had to be comforted by my mom. I care a lot about my wee plantlets. Don't MESS with them! Or you'll...you'll....I'll...put a cage on your head so you can't eat them anymore. I'll make it a lead cage, too, just in case you're Superman.

Things about Me

2009-05-24T21:51:00.000-07:00

For those of you who missed my facebook note:

1. I used to be hot pink personified. Now I'm more an earthy brown.

2. I secretly would like to write songs for a living. Or books. Or blogs. Or anything...as long as it involves writing.

3. I have a hug timer. When I need a hug, I say, "ding!" and expect the nearest loved one to hug me. My fuel is hugs.

4. My boss is my favorite thing about my current job.

5. I never thought I would end up living in LA. Ever. But I live here now. Have for awhile...not sure when I'll be leaving, either.

6. Samwise Gamgee is my literary hero. Because he took the ring at the end and gave it back. Because he stayed behind to deal with the pain, when Frodo went into the West. Because he loved Rosie enough to want to stay with her. Because he was the truest friend that one could ever ask for. I aspire to be like him.

7. I will do all the dishes you want, but please do not ask me to take out the trash.

8. I love each member of my family. All ten of them. Plus the dog. :) I spent all my vacation days visiting them last year. That's true love. A lot of it... 25 days.

9. I tried to make an alphabet with names of medical conditions I've been diagnosed with. I was four letters short of making a book, but I had several duplicates.

10. I learned the guitar as an excuse to sing.

11. I didn't eat salad dressing until I was 21. I still only rarely eat it.

12. I only drink fresh-squeezed orange juice. We're talking, I had to see you squeeze it or squeeze it myself in order for it to count. That's fresh.

13. I am good in a kitchen but I can't cook.

14. I have a $300 pair of designer prescription sunglasses.

15. When I was a kid I hated nothing worse than washing celery, wearing sunscreen, and wearing hats. Now I voluntarily do the latter two. But I still hate washing celery.

16. My dowry is not cows, or $, but a 150+ collection of hardback children's books. So I can read to my kids someday. If I'm lucky enough to have any, that is.

17. I do not like to move. I stayed in the same apartment for two years as an undergrad, and another apartment for both years I was in graduate school. I crave stability, something which LA and being single do not offer.

18. I'm double-jointed. That means I can bend my fingers more than halfway back, loop my thumb under the knuckle of my index finger, and touch my elbows behind my back. It also means I'm in a lot of pain due to several neck injuries.

19. I love to go to the zoo. And museums. I'm one of those people who says, "Did you know..." and rattles off more facts about giraffes, snakes, and frogs than you would ever possibly want to know.

20. I have more art than will fit on my walls.

21. I wish I knew how to do back hand springs. Really. A lot. It's one of the things that I will always regret not learning how to do.

22. When I was a kid, I wanted them to remake Anne of Green Gables and cast me as Anne. I still do wish that, sometimes....

23. My favorite food is hamburgers. With pickles. Cannot forget the pickles! NO sweet pickle relish though. Or sweet pickles at all. Sicky!

24. I have made a concerted effort to become a more tolerant person.

25. There are angels in Los Angeles. I know. I haven't seen any, but because of my experiences with losing and finding guitars, people picking up my phone, and my perfect near-brush of death due to a garbage truck that they are real, and that they watch over me.

A Photo's Worth a Thousand Words:

2009-05-10T09:41:00.001-07:00

Or several thousand dollars.
Check it out!

To get this beauty of a car, I went through a rather traumatic process, which included traffic on the 5, dealings with the Russian Mafia of car salesmen, and several hours of rather grueling research.

Now all I have to do is get my rotten-in-the-state-of-Denmark insurance agent to call me back to make sure this baby blue is covered to the maxx!

I woke up at 7 this morning to (a) make sure it was still there (b) make sure it had no 'dings' in it and (c) make sure that the sprinklers hadn't ruined my carwash.

The 5 trip wasn't so bad. I only felt bad because my friend Kimmy was taking me to the dealership, and she had something to go to later, so I am afraid she was rather late.

The Russian Mafia, on the other hand....grrr. I went to check out a 2010 Ford Fusion (if you don't know what they look like you can check them out by going here. I liked my car salesman - very genial sort of fellow. Tried to be understanding, and all that. I went in, and I wanted a blue car. Those of you who know me know that I really like blue.

I wish I had a picture of him. His name was purportedly Alex. All his teeth were caps, unnaturally white. You could tell he was a smoker (I don't have anything against smokers, just their smoke/smell), and all the back teeth had gold caps on them. He had bear-greased hair cut in a very severe style and the accent to go with it. He looked very...Russian.

My salesman was fine. Then Alex, the numbers guy, came out, and gave me a sheet of paper. I immediately stiffened. I react very strongly to people and this guy did not bring warm fuzzies to my gut - in fact, he generated the exact opposite response. I did not want to be within ten feet of this guy, much less shake his hand to meet him. Keep in mind that the sticker price on the car was $21,599 or something. He says, okay, you qualify for the 0 down 0.0% financing. I say, sure, let's see what the payments would be. He shows me the paper and one eyebrow just went up. I figured I could figure it out - I got out my cell phone: $869.00 x 36 = $31,284.

I'd been up since 6 that morning (on a Saturday? Me? UNHEARD OF!), so granted, I was a little tired. But not tired enough to pay $10,000 above sticker price!!! I just looked at him and said, "Do you really think I'm that stupid?" to which he had no reply. He said, well, that's the numbers, and I just showed the phone to my salesman and started to laugh almost uncontrollably. Seriously, that Alex character will ruin it for poor Todd every time. By the way, they're just asking for a lawsuit, in my book...

So I tried to leave. That didn't work so well. They sent guy after guy to come talk to me, saying, what can we do to earn your business TODAY? I said, absolutely nothing, when I woke up this morning I knew I was not going to buy a car. They pushed and pushed, but to no avail. The final straw was that I'd parked my car in the service lot unwittingly and I couldn't leave...I had to come back and get one of the guys to open the gate for me.

On the other hand, I was in and out of the dealer yesterday in a little under two hours...test drive included, with the computer down. That's pretty good. And they didn't even try to sell me any extras. Yay for Commerce Hyundai!

[Up] the Hill and Far Away

2009-05-10T08:42:00.000-07:00

About a month and a half ago (yes, I'm in a time warp), I took a trip with a couple girlfriends to the J. Paul Getty museum. It looks like this:
but that's not the view I know and love. I couldn't find a photo and I've never taken any. :(

Regardless, I actually have seen very few things INSIDE the museum, as I always end up just taking a walk around the grounds and looking at the flowers.
Here are a few photos I took:
Above, please note the soft red against the pale green. What a stunning combination. I should wear green more often, I think...

Above: I've never seen an orange cactus before.
I think the main reason I took it was for the fuzzy things in the centre of the picture, but I can't exactly remember how they looked close up right now.

To the right:
the solitary beauty stands aloof
her soft pink inner shell unrivaled
tall and slender, there, she models
setting her body lines just so
exploiting the background, light,
turning so her perfect blush
draws the eye, invites a smile
she'll raise one eyebrow in a moment
querying, to test the admirers of her display...
this one will always want attention

Here's little ol' me. Back when my hair was a smidge longer. Ah, there is my beloved Yankees cap. Remember, I am a pre-A-Rod Yank fan. Now, anybody but the Red Sox winning it all is just fine.

Below: "Girl Watching Water"

It's an inside joke, so please don't ask. But I will tell anyway: We'd just seen all these pictures, and when we came out and saw the fountain, I thought, wow, I could be in one of those pictures, you know, from behind, a girl laying on the pavement, watching the spray of water as it endlessly shoots . If you bend down far enough it looks like one stream of water is shooting over, making a wee tunnel of sorts. Anyway, so I could imagine an impressionist painting of me, wearing a skirt, with my legs bent at the knee, calves crossed, watching the water. Of course this is not what it would look like, it just looks like me being silly at the Getty. But there really was a purpose behind it!

Oh, the indulgences we grant ourselves....
And on that happy note,
'til next time!

Catwoman

2009-03-11T22:03:00.001-07:00

So, I walk (not run) in my neighborhood. I like it, it gives me a chance to be outside for a bit and to kind of mull things over...that is, when I'm not chatting away like an alien on my bluetooth. :) Huzzah for hands-free!
Anyway, so I was walking along one of my favourite roads, and a cat walks up to me. It's got a white belly, chartreuse eyes, and orange and grey spots. Anyway, today, as I passed it, it got up off the porch and came and walked next to me. It has a small sort of bell thing on it, so you can hear it a little bit, but it's not too annoying.
I said, "hi kitty cat," which was nice of me, since I don't usually deign to talk to cats, though they would have you believe that it is they who refuse to speak to me...and i looked down and thought, oh, a cat. Hmm....and I kept right on walking.
I walked down to the corner...about five houses. Then I crossed the street and turned around to come back, walking along the other side of the street. The cat cautiously looked both ways, and then darted across the street and kept walking in front of me.
We got a few houses down, and the cat started to lag behind. Then it darted up so it could be in front of me again, exactly as if it had been on a leash. But after a few houses, it went up the driveway of one, veering right, and about halfway up the carpark looked at me as if to say, "I bet this is your house, isn't it?" I just shook my head and kept going, thinking, well, maybe that's the cat's house."
But then the cat shook its head and came back, looking at me, jogging ahead. It put its ears back, listening for me, to make sure I was still following. Every once in awhile it would stop in my path just because it wanted me to pay it some attention. I usually stutter-stepped and half-laughed, as it would start going again just before I changed directions to step around it.
I went up into a cul-de-sac. The cat followed me all the way around it. We came around the corner, and a few houses down, the cat left me on the sidewalk and deviated up along a very nice brick path to a house I wouldn't be ashamed to call my own. Not that I would be ashamed of any house, at this point, but still...
It sat for a moment, twitching its tail, impatient with me that I didn't know where 'home' was. I looked it in the eye and then deliberately turned my head, ignoring it. Sure enough, it darted in front of me again. I kept going, and it stopped, looking at me forlornly. However, my next turnaround point was soon, and as I came back toward it it watched me and then crossed the street again, and we did our funny little stop-start again. It had been following me for roughly ten minutes.
I turned the corner for the home stretch, and the cat gave up...I guess another cat's boundaries took over. It sat on the corner and watched me. I kept going, undeterred from my goal of being home with my hummus, but turned around every so often to look back at it. It kept watching me.
I wonder, if I take the same route tomorrow, will it follow me again? Do I have a fan? Stalker!!!!!!! :)

Chinese Zodiac

2009-02-05T23:08:00.001-08:00

So this year is the year of the Ox. The year in which I was born. But...it's not really the year of the Ox, I decided...it's the year of Sweetcheeks.
I never knew the term existed until I flew to Seattle for Thanksgiving and a more than slightly inebriated fellow sitting next to me called me that several times on the three hour flight. Made me a little uncomfy to be honest. He rides around on trick bikes....this great big 6'4" beach bum dude who soups up cars for a living and rides around on a trike. hilarious!
Anyway, so in the meantime, I have heard the term more often than I care to recall, and have had it directed at myself multiple times, and always at inopportune moments.
Therefore, since at the moment I am feeling a wee bit ungraceful and out of sorts, I dub this year not the year of the Ox, but the Year of the Sweetcheeks.
Bitter hearts, beware.

The [Pear] Story

2008-12-14T12:07:00.001-08:00

All of these lines across my face/ tell you the story of who I am / so many stories of where I've been / and how I got to where I am...but these stories don't mean anything if you've got no on to tell them to / it's true. I was made for you!
- brandi carlisle

Here are three pears: from L-R, Pear 1, 2, and 3. This is their story:
Pear 1 is happy, calm, and confident; flies under the radar; is a little on the stocky side, and is the perfect ripeness.
Pear 2 is average in most respects, but has gorgeous coloring. Look at that smooth butter yellow next to the blush. Wow, what a knockout.
Pear 3 is on the athletic side, not quite ripe yet--you can see he's got some grainy issues just from his skin. But maybe he'll grow into a handsome looking/tasting peach someday. He's had a rough life: look at those battle scars from previous relationships.

Pear 2 likes Pear 1. See how she's leaning in, her stem curled a little in anticipation, the blush burning up her face? Look at her sticker. If stickers were mouths, Pear 1 better make up his mind right now about whether he's going to turn away or not! Shameless hussy!

Pear 3 likes Pear 2, and is trying to sidle up to her (! personal space issues, if I were Pear 2!) His poor little stem is hopelessly bent toward Pear 2, as if he's looking for any little hint or speck of a spark that might bring her to him. If he had feet he'd be shuffling them uncomfortably and looking at her constantly, but as soon as she looks in his direction, he pretends to be fascinated by some speck on the wall to his immediate right. Pear 3 is young and has been hurt a great many times before, leaving gash marks which have not, and never will heal. But he has not given up hope on the female pear population just yet. However, he's gotten the process a little out of order in his head and has moved close but has not turned to look at her (look at that sticker position! how will he ever get the girl doing that, I wonder?) to see if she is interested in reciprocating.

Pear 1 is not oblivious to Pear 2's overtures; however, he is not sure that he wants any part of being part of a pear pair. See how his stem is straight up? In his mind he's going straight forward, without regard for Pear 2 or any other beauty who might cross his path. But his head (literally) is being turned...look at that sticker. Tsk, tsk.

So, how did the story end? I can only tell you that all three ended up in my stomach, and that no matter how hard I tried to get Pear 2 to take a look at Pear 3, she would not do it. Her natural inclination is to lean toward Pear 1. Pear 1, did you cherish her? Hm...I wonder. Pear 2, stop being such a flirt! Pear 3, hope you made something happen in the interim between when the photo was taken and when y'all got eaten, because if not, you ended up sad and lonely.

All I want for Christmas is...

2008-12-08T20:22:00.000-08:00

not my two front teeth. I mean, I'm grateful I have them and all, but since I already have a set, I don't need another. That would be....awkward.

So here's what I want. Rather, these are the things that I will not be getting for Christmas this year, but that I want anyway. These are not in the order I most want them, for privacy purposes. (HAHA. Since most of you reading this would know exactly how to rank them for me anyway.)

1. Super awesome recording equipment.
2. DSLR from Canon. The Rebel XSi looks pretty good to me.
3. Guitar with a plugin, with an amp to match.
4. Boyfriend. Might seem lame-o to actually put this on a Christmas list, but oh well. I've been known to do lame, potentially embarrassing things before. I've turned out okay anyway.
4. Nintendo DS Lite with Mario Bros. game and Brain Age.
5. No more accounting!
6. New job. Preferably in Utah or Seattle or San Francisco. Since this is a wish list, pay should be >$70K/year, 40 hrs/week, with 4+ weeks vacation. Unreal expectations, yes, I know...
7. Real furniture. None of this twin-bed-without-a-real-bedframe-put-on-risers-so-it's-three-feet-tall-and-wobbly garbage. Or the fakey "desk" I've got.
8. Someone to go to Italy and Britain with.
9. Vacation days enough to visit above countries.
10. For it to feel like Christmas in LA.

the waiting is the hardest part

2008-11-19T22:55:00.000-08:00

Ah, Tom Petty...the link to this movie, which I had to watch 3 times to make sure it was really him singing it, is here. His voice is so funny...the part where his guitar goes through the paper makes me laugh, and simultaneously reminds me of those gargantuan rolls of the stuff that we used to make posters of back in public school. Thank goodness I am no longer in public school. I don't know which is more stressful...dealing with the possible threat of 2.5" long cockroaches scurrying about, or randomly appearing dead in corners that were clean just a few hours ago, OR going to school with the weird and popular kids alike who are so mean to each other and eating cafeteria food and dealing with lascivious teachers and dirt everywhere. Seriously, both just make me want to crawl into a freshly made bed where the sheets are still warm from the dryer and huddle for a good long while.
Anyway, back to the waiting: I find it rather hard to wait. I'm a pretty impatient person, it seems. I've learned to deal with traffic (mostly), and the printing queue at work (some people print 65 MB jobs, several in a row, without warning), and for everybody to go to the bathroom before we leave to go places (we meaning the immediate family). But I'm not patient on the big stuff, like finding jobs and men who will treat me well. It's a longstanding struggle. I can't live with myself, and I can't live without myself. Sometimes I'm just whistling in the car after moving ten inches in ten minutes, and sometimes I'm about ready to pull my hair out (guess it has to do with the time of day, how far I am from home, and how recent my last meal was....but still...) after a few taps on the brakes. I'm having a hard time accepting that my timing is not always perfect. And what I want is not always what I need. So. Waiting to see whether what I want is what I need, and whether I get my way or not, is very hard. Lots of times it's harder than actually going forward and moving on. That's why, as Tom Petty says, the waiting is the hardest part.

change is in the air

2008-11-15T22:45:00.001-08:00

So. Lots of things are happening for me. In the mix, I'm trying to decide whether or not to: (a) move; (b) find a new job; (c) dedicate my entire being to an accounting course; (d) buy a new bed; (e) buy people christmas presents or make them presents, and (f) generally move on with my life. In the meantime, the sky is falling (literally! due to the fires, there is ash floating everywhere) and traffic gets worse.
I've got relationships to start and to get over, trips to plan and take, and life to start the living. Something is in the air here in SoCal. Something big is on the move - my weather-predicting scars in my back from when I had those pesky tumors removed a few years ago can sense it. I don't know what is going to change...all I know is that I hope I'm ready for it!
Thanks to you all for your love and support. I have to say that the thing about blogging that I don't like is that if you keep writing, people who weren't there 'at the beginning', per se, hardly ever go back and read the best posts (of which this is not one). This ambiguous person is not me! Something's gotta give! I'll let you know what it is when I find out. :)

Proposition 8

2008-10-21T22:14:00.000-07:00

Much has been said on this topic. Much more will be said. However, I feel the need to express my thoughts on 'paper' about this measure.

First, by recognizing same-sex marriages, the law would be changing the inherent definition of what a marriage is. What one group of people is asking for would be null and void if they received what they were asking for, so even though they think they're getting what they're asking for, it's not exactly what they wanted, because the definition changed.

Second, I'm a bit disgruntled because the whole push of anti-Proposition 8 is about the right of two individuals of any sex to have a marriage legally recognized, but they're actually campaigning for a GROUP right, not an individual right. Campaign away, but on at least one political issue this election, let's call a horse a horse and a carrot a carrot.

I am in favor of Proposition 8. !!!! I truly believe that marriage is meant for one man and one woman. I am not hateful or angry toward people who do not share my beliefs, or who don't adopt my preferred lifestyle. I just have a belief, and I'm going to act on it on election day.

just saying...

2008-10-17T08:08:00.001-07:00

that if the highlight of your day is squishing a 2.5" cockroach at work, then you are either under ten years old and your employer is breaking child labor laws, or your day has just been sad, sad, sad.