SSA

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

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

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)

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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..."

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...