Insufficient Things

Melancholy is the theme

2010-05-21T17:37:00.000-07:00

Months have passed again. But the blog waits for me; patient and open. Good 'ol blog.

So my step father is dying. Not in a few months kind of way. The doctor's stopped giving him hydration. It was probably the only thing keeping him alive. And my mom now has a steady stream of visitors who sit with her and him. Which I appreciate. I hate to think of her sitting alone in a house with a dying man.

A few months ago an acquaintance of mine posted photos on his Facebook page of the emergency room where doctor's tried to save his father. Rumpled hospital sheets with blood on them. Machines and tools gathered to try and administer comfort amid the chaos of death. His father had been sick for awhile I believe, but lingering illness apparently didn't lessen the impact of his end.

Some people found these photos very disturbing. Tasteless even. I found them extraordinarily brave. I believe he needed a way to process this highly personal event so he recorded it.

This acquaintance also has a brain injury and can be forgetful.

I don't know how forgetful really, but it does beg the question: what would you do if you thought you would you forget the death of someone you love? Would a photograph be enough? Would a social taboo hold you back from preserving that moment in any way you could?

In a quiet moment has my mother taken a photo?

And there have been a lot of quiet moments.

Body Image

2010-01-11T17:09:00.000-08:00

When I think of my grandmother I think of cotton, flower print blouses and loafers. (Or Keds). They are her signature look.

Like Barbara Bush and pearls.

Audrey Hepburn and skinny pants.

Ernie and a striped shirt.

For years, her right foot has been a little lazy. My mom, who spent a lot of time in the hospital while trying to grow up, says she always knew when gram was coming down the hall because she could hear the slight drag in her step.

At 95, right foot has decided to go beyond lazy. It's actually gone a bit rogue. "Flopping around" as she says. Not necessarily turning under when she walks, but certainly not landing flat. Swinging at her ankle; carefree, reckless.

Now, I'm not one to stifle creativity. But this carefree foot could, in its hapless way, bring great harm to gram. Not that harm is right foot's intent. I'm sure right foot just wants to let loose a bit after 95 years of heel toe.

Who can blame right foot, really.

Gram's doctor would rather right foot get back in line though. So he ordered a brace, had her and right foot fitted, and then recommended some orthopedic shoes.

I don't know if this bothers right foot. Gram, on the other hand, is quite underwhelmed.

Last Sunday at our monthly gram breakfast she picked up my mother's worn, though small and somewhat stylish sneaker, looked at it adoringly and said "If only I could have gotten something cute and small, like this."

In order to fit right foot and the brace into a shoe, gram had to get a shoe that is almost two sizes larger than her beloved loafers. It is dull and black. It closes with velcro straps, like the simple shoes of a child. It is clunky at best.

Add the stiff, controlled gait of brace, and right foot has lost all essence of right footedness.

"Maybe I need to get slacks so people won't see," gram sighs.

I've seen my gram wear slacks once. Thick, woolen, plaid slacks so she could ride the toboggan with us down the narrow path behind her house.

Her cotton, flower print blouses are always paired with a matching skirt. Color matched, sometimes pattern.

And did I mention the loafers?

These are trademark items. Right foot supplied a trademark gait.

Will gram lose her gramness? How do you help someone maintain their id when what comprised the id is threatened?

All because right foot decided to finally let loose, do what right foot always wanted to do right along.

Break free of the loafers!

Right foot actually had a subversive strategy all along. Would whisper at night of the secret pleasure of green grass or cool vinyl against sole.

---

I don't know how to end this. And it's far more melancholy that I want it to be. So I'm just going to stop writing.

Attachment

2010-01-07T17:19:00.000-08:00

I could say that my cats are attached to me.

My husband says it's something to do with the size ratio. I am equivalently the size that the adult cat would be to a kitten, if the kitten were the size of a full grown cat.

Right now I'm watching the special "This Emotional Life" on PBS. (I missed a few nights, but am enjoying last night's and tonight's editions in the series.)

Attachment and how it is related to brain development in young children, I'll say birth to 5.

Tonight's special is focusing on things that I am thinking about every day now.

How do young families: mother and father, single parents, one child, multiple children; deal with creating attachments? How do they deal with children who can't form attachments? What role does trauma play? How can services help families? When is the best time to start?

Brain development is truly fascinating. I've often wondered what sort of neuro safety net was in play for me.

On a trip down to Nantucket my friend and I got into a discussion about the kind of "inner strength" that some people seem to get. Take 10 people, put them each through the same traumatic situation, and you will likely get 10 variations of survivor.

My friend attributes my "inner strength" to soul. She has been reading and studying "A Course in Miracles". She also recounted for me a time when she was young, on the swings in the park by herself, and she had a God moment. Suddenly it occurred to her that there was a power beyond her, and that awareness gave her a sense of security. She does not attend church on a regular basis, that I am aware of. But she believes that the soul is the strength.

It's not that I don't believe in powers beyond my comprehension, but I am a firm believer in the science of brain development. There were times when I didn't want to keep going, yet something kept me from giving up completely. And I would say that I have relentless optimism. The more I learn about the studies into brain development the more I think that, though my abuse was devastating, there was some delicate mix of timing and love that kept the true horrors of my abuse from breaking me completely. But it was because of that timing that my neuro safety net connected like it should. There was always enough time to recover between episodes or something.

So while there is an essence within me, without the correctly connected neurons the essence would have been damaged. It wasn't the essence that held the neurons in place.

For some quick views of the studies into young children, check out the Harvard Center on the Developing Child.

But I retained the ability to form attachments. I had to learn how to make healthy attachments, but it wasn't too difficult.

Now, if my cats would miss my lap is another question. Or would any old lap do.

Tsutomu Yamaguchi

2010-01-06T16:33:00.000-08:00

It always makes me feel bad when I find out about great people simply because they die.

I'm going to make a crane in his honor. I'll post a picture soon.

3 hours later.

Because I'm a little on the crazy side, I made a lotus instead out of Hell's Bank Notes. These patterns and rituals are taken from Chinese culture, but I have used them in tribute to Tsutomu because they are the tools I have. It hopefully won't be an insult to his Japanese birth right.

According to an origami book I own, the lotus grows in the mud, but blossoms in the light. For this reason the lotus has come to symbolize triumph over adversity.

The lotus I made has 28 leaves, so I shall list the people I thought of while making this lotus, though I may not reach 28. (Don't think I'm some meditation guru, my mind did a lot of wandering too.) All of these people have over come some adversity. Some are still involved in it.

Tsutomu Yamaguchi
Me
James Renn
Beverly Ramstrom Manning
Richard Manning
Jeff Skinner
Lou TwoHearts
Kola TwoHearts
Lahanah TwoHearts
Norman Skinner
Heather Brown
Katie Grochmal
Kris Bowden
Dorinda Wegener
Tarren Renn
Kelly Dane
Michael Mead
KelliAnn Johnson Mead
Carter Mead
Chase Mead
Hope Gunther
Mary Renn
Thomas Deery
Gertrude Ramstrom
Michelle Graziano
Richard Skinner

I'm sure there are more; are far more people than the 28 leaves of my lotus can ever account for. (Please excuse any spelling and grammar mistakes, it's a few hours past my bed time.)

As a tribute to Tsutomu, I burned an origami yuen bao made out of a Hell's Bank Note. (Not to worry sweetie, I was uber safe in my pyrotechnics.) Traditionally the yuen bao is burned at funerals in honor of family ancestors.

The pictures aren't all that great. But here they are.

I like how the burned yuen bao looks a bit like a lotus itself.

Now I am thoroughly tired, and will probably miss working out at the gym because I will only get a few hours of sleep.

Cats

2010-01-05T17:59:00.000-08:00

It is inevitable, I sit down on the couch and I become a cat repository. First, the aging diabetic cat walks across my chest (and I am sitting up straight) a few times and eventually I have to force him to flop down so I can see either the TV or the computer.

Of course, he is usually across my arms as well which makes typing a strange variation of bicep curls.

After a few minutes one of the other two cats shows up.

If it's the ginger, she creeps from above. Walking across the back of the futon, stopping to sniff my head in a disturbing, bug crawling in my hair manner. Then she places one paw carefully on my shoulder, and descends my right side like sloping pavement covered with a skin of ice. She settles, somewhat uncomfortably, on my lap behind the laptop screen.

I don't call her ginger simply because she is orange.

With any luck, the third cat will decide she can't be left out. She will sit delicately near me and purr. Aggressively. All 20 pounds of her.

After a few minutes she will extend one paw and pick delicately at my sleeve. Turn her head demurely expecting a touch.

She may just settle in that spot eventually.

If she is feeling extra aggressive she will take a few careful steps closer to me, place half of her body on my arm (right or left), rest her chin on her paws, and continue to purr aggressively.

Three cats and a laptop battery (and possibly a fleece or down blanket) ensure a gradual progression from an endothermic to an exothermic state.

For me.

The cats always seem surprised when I explode.

2010

2010-01-04T17:56:00.000-08:00

Ah, another year.

Yup.

The clock still ticks on the wall. Cats still sleep on the bed. Winter mornings still chill me, and nothing beats an ice coffee and melon for dinner in the summer.

At what point did the new year become less exciting?

I may have gone to New Year's Eve parties when I was in high school. I seem to recall a night of drinking and fireworks where I got to play fire marshal with the garden hose incase we set the roof on fire. The roof of a two story house in a closely settled residential neighborhood.

Yeah.

But at some point I realized that what I enjoyed more was getting back into my schedule. This rush of holidays that happens at the end of the year became more of a nuisance, a bothersome distraction.

Not that I don't enjoy some of the trappings. Festively decorated lamp posts. Houses lit up with colored lights. Music that really only seems appropriate once a year. A time when you are expected to get together with family and friends.

The gift exchange I really don't have any specific attachment to. I've been known to give people gifts just because I've found something I thought they would like. No matter the time of year. (A habit highly encouraged, and perhaps fostered, by my husband who loves to give things to his friends.)

I know I am not alone in this. And I haven't had some great revelation that the season isn't about the commercialism. That's the kind of thing that you don't need a cast iron skillet to the head to see.

But I would much rather encourage celebrations throughout the year. Perhaps each friend in the group picks a time that is particularly special to them. Maybe they just like April because that's when the first crocus start to push their way through. Or maybe they like June because that's when they finally feel they can break out the grill. (A little late by some standards, I know.)

Make an event out of it. Invite the neighborhood, invite one person, or go by yourself. But celebrate something small every year.

Vegetarian Agenda

2009-10-23T19:05:00.001-07:00

Strange as it may seem, the kids at the preschool get a pretty vigorous educational work out. Nursery rhymes, big and small, taking turns.

And at some point, each child gets a lesson in “things” and “purpose”.

“This is a hat. What do you do with a hat? Do you eat a hat? Noooo. You wear a hat. Where does a hat go? On your head! Right! Very good friend!”

Coats, shirts, shoes. All things you wear.

Then there is food.

“What is this? It’s a banana! What do we do with a banana? We eat it! Right friend, very good!”

I feel it’s only fair to note that in the beginning children were introduced to a VERY hungry turtle. Once the children properly identified an object in a picture; say a comb, or a truck, they would feed the item to the very hungry turtle. I’ll tell you, that was one deprived testudinata. It ate combs all morning.

So the idea of food and what can be eaten, particularly as it pertained to something other than a human, has a pretty wide definition.

Soon after, the young charges were asked to differentiate between food and other items.

Remember, they have recently witnessed a turtle that eats combs.

“What’s this? Is it a sheep? What do sheep say? Are sheep food or an animal? An animal. We don’t eat sheep, do we?….”

Wait. What?

Though I am not a regular red meat consumer, I have sampled lamb and other “exotic” meats. Maybe a rosemary and olive oil braised shank isn’t in the culinary repertoire of most 2-4 year olds, but what purpose does it serve to make a false distinction?

I mean, what happens when the kid finally learns that part of the hamburger in the fast food meal came from something else that once was called cow and said moo? Or that the family’s celebration roast comes from what was once called sheep and teacher said was NOT food.

No, definitely not food.

It is understandable if teacher doesn’t want to be the one responsible for breaking the news that some food once stood in the field while a buss full of children tried to call to it in its own language. All rheumy-eyed and slow looking.

The food that is.

But if it’s a topic too gruesome for young years, or too sensitive to broach during a simple lesson in things and purpose, maybe its better to just go for the full on vegetarian agenda? Don’t even include animals in the options.

Just those poor, innocent veggies. All green and unassuming.

And fer cryin’ out loud. Feed them to that poor turtle.

Rise Unruly Children!

2009-10-15T17:51:00.000-07:00

Word of mouth has featured a few stories on children's books this week, what with "Where the Wild Things Are" opening in theaters on Friday. (I will be there at some point this weekend, by the way. Sans wolf costume.)

WWTA was one of apparently three Maurice Sendak books that are "all variations on the same theme: how children master various feelings" (quote found in Wikipedia entry on WWTA).

So it was only fitting that WoM spoke with Daniel Zalewski from The New Yorker about the trend he noticed in children's books, and then wrote about as a magazine piece.

The trend? Picture book parents who don't punish their children.

I'm not a parent. One of my parents was abusive, and the other was just scared. So it's difficult to say if a picture book parent exercising discipline over an unruly child would have even made my radar. Or if the picture book parent was more exasperated but loving. In my head wrong was wrong and you didn't test that.

Still, this reported change in picture book theme is fascinating to me. Just about as fascinating as the time a friend of mine who has just become a parent commented that the books he was reading to his child were lame.

"I don't remember children's books being like that when I was a kid," he said. "These books just ramble on and go no where."

That's a bit off topic though.

Could it be that authors are trying to highlight the glory of individuality and creativity in children? And that this should be respected and accepted by parents?

And truly, doesn't Max's mom in WWTA still say she loves him despite his bad behavior because, in the end, a dinner still hot on the plate is waiting for him when he sails back into his room? Or is it different because he got sent to his room for bad behavior in the first place?

There is at least once a day when I laugh out loud at work because I can hear the children in the classroom across the hall doing something that children do. Sometimes there is screaming, sometimes there is singing, rarely is there quiet, always there is an attempt to maintain some sort of order.

So, how to discipline without stifling?

Or, do children recognize the picture book for what it is? A story; a short fantasy to escape from the confines of parents and rules.

One thing I'm not sure Zalewski touched on was if he asked his own children what they thought of the story once the reading was done. And if the trend is a problem, or just a trend.

Either way, I'm making my escape on Friday. Maybe I'll learn something about my own anger. Most likely I'll just lose myself in a book made real on the screen and set sail in my own wolf costume to befriend some monsters of my own.

To listen

2009-10-13T17:03:00.001-07:00

Song birds and chipmunks hold constant court in the woods around Massabessic. Loons and osprey make special appearances, garter snakes look for sun (or maybe legs and socks if they are to truly live up to their monikers), mice ruffle under the leaves attempting the surreptitious gathering of food. It is easier to hear the fauna than to see it.

Unless you’re being dive bombed by a swallow in the fields, or find a blue heron as your fishing partner along the shore.

What is unexpected is a swarm of starlings. At least their pops and clicks and incessant flocking made them out to be starlings.

Their large size and prominent tail spread were not very starling like, but the jungle like atmosphere they created was the kind of cacophony only starlings can create.

For whatever reason, hundreds of these birds decided that this bit of forest along the shore was the place to be on Monday. I watched them flock in small groups, always 10 wing beats ahead of my slow progress down the trail. The air would pulse with the beating of their wings. When part of the group took off all at once, their motion barely discernable through the trees but the audible whoosh of their collective flight giving away their motion, another person on the trail who had stopped to listen to the noise turned to me, eyes wide “Did you hear that?”

It was hard not to.

Before entering the woods I stopped to hear the solo flight of a raven as it circled the Audubon Center. A slow croak was the only other sound it made. The slow push of its wings a stark contrast to the nervous flocking that came later.

Another fun thing to say

2009-10-13T08:09:00.001-07:00

oogle googles

Poto phosting

2009-10-13T02:46:00.001-07:00

Decided to take my camera with me to the Audubon trails yesterday. Clear blue sky, some nice color (though still a lot of green), came up with something in my head to talk about but now can't remember it. So a poto phost today! (Click on the pics for a larger view. Y'know. If you want to or anything.)

For the love of cars

2009-10-11T17:53:00.000-07:00

Catching up with an old friend and we started talking about cars. She moved her daughter back to college this year using a 1998 Honda Civic; made it all the way to South Carolina and it’s got to keep going strong for a few more years.

In the late 80s, soon after my parents divorce, my mom got her hands on a sweet little silver Honda Civic. Not much bigger than a VW bug, but certainly with just as much personality.

If you stretch out your arms, touch your finger tips together, and round out your elbows you will have the approximate size of the steering wheel. And don’t try to tell me that your arms are longer than mine. This polished wood accoutrement could have helped an export freighter full hydrogen Hummers for Schwarzenegger turn on a dime. So as large a circle as you can physically make is probably still less in circumference than the actual wheel.

It was beautiful. Almost fragile to the touch with material and styling you would expect to see in a luxury car.

Perhaps the scalloped edge for better grasp of this slick wheel was exaggerated, but it was part of the charm.

A stick shift to rival a Mack truck stuck proudly out of the four-on-the-floor transmission. With a gear stick head to match the wheel. It was always cool. Even after the scorching of the summer sun.

A bullet-silver exterior and black interior made the wheel and stick shift glow against the monochromatic sensibility of the rest of the two-door coup.

What truly separated this beauty from the crowd, and this had to have been a rarity for the late 80s, was the manual choke. An unassuming pull to the left and down from the steering wheel. Not too much lest you flood the engine. But not enough and you may as well crank that puppy forever ‘till you’ve ground down the starter to dust.

Winters meant driving with the choke wide open until the engine was warm enough to sip gas instead of funnel it like a freshman at his first kegger.

It was a subtle mastery the like of which no other car I’ve owned has required.

Then, while visiting a friend, I backed this eloquent beauty over a wooden railroad tie and into a ditch. To be fair, my friend was warning me to be careful backing into her driveway at the time. At which point I turned my head to ask “what railroad tie?” and my hand, caressing the almost silken wood of that fantastic steering wheel, pushed the steering in the opposite direction.
I bent the frame of the only car my mother owned.

She could only replace it with a dirty, automatic shift Chevette. That car made it for years. This included me making it airborne with a car full of seven friends on the way to the movies, and getting it up to 120 on the highway just to see if I could.

After that it was the Justy. A cheap rip-off of the Civic’s classic beauty. A mechanic joked that the company called it a Justy because you were always working on it to adjusty the breaks, adjusty the alignment, adjusty the transmission.

That Civic is my Platonic ideal of a car. Reality dictates that it would probably be a mess of emissions and fossil fuel consumption. But I would get that car again in a hearbeat. And I bet it would drive me across the country and back.

(Photo can be found here at adclassix.com)

And another thing...

2009-10-09T17:12:00.000-07:00

So far, I've done some html work and organized contact lists and tried to use my communication skills to keep things moving.

Not dealing with the poverty question in the city directly. Though they told us that at orientation. VISTAS are behind the scenes. Building the foundation, ensuring sustainability by leaving a solid rock to stand on.

And I haven't done much reflecting on it either.

So I'm back here. Hoping to talk things out in my head. But what's happening is the kitten is pawing at the button on my sweater like its the best toy she's ever encountered. That is until the clicking of the keys and the motion of the words crawling across the screen dilates her pupils from the rush of curiosity.

And what I really wanted to come back here for was to write something. And I wish my brother were her to help spur me on. The last time I asked him for a challenge he gave me the phrase "the little yellow football from Mars" and I came up with this.

It’s football Saturday.

Martin’s favorite Saturday.

Not because his dad and sister are funny when they cheer wildly for the home team.

Not because Martin and mom drink as much hot chocolate, with mini-marshmallows, as they can while the team is on the field.

Because Martin gets to watch his favorite cartoons all morning while everyone else gets ready for the game.

Heroes and space battles and silly animals. Sometimes Martin will think of new stories for the cartoon characters long after the shows are over.

This football Saturday would have been like any other, except while Martin was making his favorite breakfast of oatmeal and apples he looked out the window to see if the tree had started to get red leaves overnight.

That’s when he saw it.

A bright yellow lump in the front yard.

Martin knew all of his toys by heart. The shiny green and red cars that he likes to race along the kitchen counter.

The little blue house to put bugs in so he can catch the beetles that crawl on the screen door at night and then look at them up close.

The stuffed animals and monsters that he keeps at the end of his bed.

Of all the toys Martin has, none of them are yellow.

He left his oatmeal steaming on the counter and ran out to the front yard, with his pajamas still on, to find out what the bright yellow lump was.

It was a football, a tiny football, and it was the roughest looking football Martin had ever seen.

There were chunks missing from the sides, like something was pulled off the football. Or maybe something had taken a bite out of it.

There were black marks all over the outside too.

As Martin turned the football over, he saw something written near the end.

In tiny little writing was four capital letters.

M A R S

“Whoa,” Martin whispered to himself. This was better than any Saturday morning cartoon could ever be.

He squeezed the football tight in his hand and ran back to the house.

Martin carefully put the football from MARS on the counter and got a stool and his oatmeal so he could eat and look at the football at the same time.

Last week Martin learned about MARS in his class. His teacher told the class “MARS is the fourth planet from the sun. Earth is the third planet from the sun, so we’re like next door neighbors in the solar system.”

Next door neighbors, Martin thought. That’s like the Meads in the brown house, with their dog Scruffy. Last week there was such a strong wind that one of their recycling bins had blown into Martin’s front yard.

Or maybe the Renns in the brick house, who always have great Halloween decorations. Martin knew that on the first day of October he could look down the street and see the ghosts and gravestones as they got ready for the spookiest month in the year.

If these things could happen, then a football could certainly make it to his front yard from MARS.

Martin remembered something else his teacher said. “It is possible to see Mars from Earth, and often it looks like a bright red or yellow sparkle in the sky.”

Of course, Martin thought, as he ate his oatmeal and stared at the football. A yellow planet would have yellow footballs. Earth was full of colors, and you could buy footballs of any color at the toy store.

Sometimes the footballs would have more than one color.

That didn’t explain who threw the football into Martin’s yard.

Martin chewed slowly because it helped him think.

His teacher said that the government sent robots to Mars to look for water, but not for animals or people. Mars wasn’t a friendly planet to live on.

We used to believe that there were people on Mars, his teacher said, and we would have called a person from Mars a Martian.

Martin’s mouth dropped open, still full of oatmeal, just as his mom walked in the room.

“Close your mouth sweetie,” mom said. “What have you got there?”

Martin was so excited he shouted, “A football from Mars!” And he told mom everything teacher had said about Mars being a neighbor of Earth, and yellow and red, and about Martians.

“So this football has to be for me,” Martin said. “My name is only missing an A, and that would make it Martian!”

Suddenly, football seemed a whole lot more exciting.

Martin carried the football with him to the game and watched the players as they huddled and ran and threw the ball around the field.

He wondered how a Martian would play football, and just how far it would have to throw the ball so it landed on Earth.

He even cheered wildly, just like his dad and sister, when the home team made a touchdown.

Not too bad. But the real challenge is if I can challenge myself. Can I give myself something to write about everyday. And can I break out of the flowery, descriptive type of bullshit I usually come out with.

Ooo, off to a great start. Telling myself I write bullshit.

I will be back tomorrow to write some of that bullshit down. See if it grows mushrooms.

Born Standing Up

2009-10-04T18:35:00.000-07:00

Just read Steve Martin's recounting of his comedy days. Took me a few hours. (So I guess that qualifies as a light read.)

Come to find out, he likes logic, and found out that Lewis Carroll (Author of Alice in Wonderland) did to.

Here's a Carroll logic gem Martin refers to: (follow closely)

1) No real poems are unpopular among people of real taste.
2) No modern poetry is free from affectation.
3) All your poems are on the subject of soap bubbles.
4) No affected poetry is popular among people of taste.
5) Only a modern poem would be on the subject of soap bubbles.
------
Therefore, all your poems are uninteresting.

I took two logic courses at UNH and found them tough, but fascinating. In a fit of cleaning out one day I sold them to a used book store. Those are some books I wish I had never gotten rid of.

On another somewhat logical side, my current position with A*VISTA has me venturing into the world of html with Google sites. I know just enough to be dangerous, so I'm trying to learn more. It taxes my brain, but I kind of dig it. It kick starts me into thinking.

But it doesn't keep me from procrastinating on other projects.

So I wonder how long this will hold my fascination.

How's that for a logic problem?

On poverty

2009-07-15T16:26:00.000-07:00

There are 150 people at this Americorps Vista orientation. There are maybe 24 people in the particular North East group that I’m in. Each has a personal experience with poverty. Some are more touching than others. Some have been closer, some have been homeless, some would never have defined themselves as living in poverty.

It reminds me of asking my grandmother about living through the Great Depression. She grew up in a small town in Western Massachusetts, surrounded by family and community. What others viewed as subsistence living was her every day, so any change in her life was negligible.

The facilitator of our group had a very similar experience growing up on reservation land, until the land was bought by the government so a highway could be put in. He was approximately 8-years-old when someone first referred to him as poor.

In the early 60s the government decided to establish a threshold for determining poverty based on food consumed by an average household.

This information comes from the Oregon Center for Public Policy.

In 1963-1964, Molly Orshansky of the Social Security Administration developed poverty thresholds. Orshansky based her poverty thresholds on the "thrifty food plan," which was the cheapest of four food plans developed by the Department of Agriculture. The food plan was "designed for temporary or emergency use when funds are low," according to the USDA. Based on the 1955 Household Food Consumption Survey from the USDA (the latest available survey at the time), Orshansky knew that families of three or more persons spent about one third of their after-tax income on food. She then multiplied the cost of the USDA economy food plan by three to arrive at the minimal yearly income a family would need. Using 1963 as a base year, she calculated that a family of four, two adults and two children would spend $1,033 for food per year. Using her formula based on the 1955 survey, she arrived at $3,100 a year ($1,033 x3) as the poverty threshold for a family of four in 1963.

(current thresholds adjusted for inflation).

Anyone who has ever created a personal budget or applied for any kind of government or financial assistance KNOWS the type of frustration that this formula creates. It discounts the other things people must pay for in order to survive in an acceptable manner.

It’s true, we’ve been discussing this all day. You’re getting some regurgitated information from me. And I hate a party line, even if it’s my party.

But this makes me uncomfortable. I explained it to a friend as facing a lie. I am forcing myself to look at something that I pass on the street every day and turn my head away from. It sends me into a panic when a barely coherent homeless person approaches me asking for money. While eating that fantastic sushi at the Reading Terminal Market I was approached by a man looking for $2. I gave him the .75 I had left as change from paying for my sushi. I saw him at least two more times while wandering around after.

There is a steady homeless population in the city where I live. Every winter certain faces disappear from the sidewalks, and every spring they show up again eventually. Some are constant.

While walking to the gym one morning one of those constant faces was sitting on a bench in the park I cut across. “Good morning!” He called out to me from across the park. A greeting. I didn’t want to ignore him, but I certainly didn’t know how to respond. I waved a little and hurried on my way. Months later while I was walking down the sidewalk along the park I noticed a “shelter” hidden in the trees up against the retaining wall that keeps the park from falling into the strip mall below.

Shelter is a very loose term. It’s a mattress with some plastic bags around it. You need to do a bit of looking for it when the summer trees are in bloom. I don’t know if the items move during the winter months, or if they will be abandoned to be removed by some do-gooder during a community clean up.

When the leaves fall off the trees in the winter you can stand on the bridge over the Merrimack and see where people have spent their summer.

I’m not sure I’ve seen people make eye contact with the servers here. These people who work long hours to be sure we have food in front of us, and could well be living with the poverty we are discussing.

Certain items are absent from meals. There was no meat available at breakfast. No chips available at lunch. And the people sitting at the tables complain about the missing elements. None seem to remember that when the question was asked at breakfast “why isn’t there any meat?” the answer was “Because there was no money for it.”

Because there was no money for it.

And this is the fear, the lie I’m facing. The lie that I can lift myself out of because I have a college education and a family I can rely on. The lie that so many people walk by every day on the street. A lie of signs “homeless, will work for food” right next to a help wanted sign. A lie of words “I don’t have any change”, or simply staring straight past the face.

It is impossible to carry a pocket full of change for everyone who might need it. It is overwhelming to try and help a line of individuals by giving temporary gifts that may give a moment respite, but dump them back on the same corner by morning.

So the question becomes, what is possible?

With any luck this next year will yield some sort of answer.

So here's the thing...

2009-07-14T19:05:00.000-07:00

I'm at an Americorps Vista orientation thing in Philadelphia. The first time I've been out of NH in years. Flew on a plane and everything. Wanted to do some blogging, but I'm so damned tired all I've got for you is my shoes and the view outside my window at the Marriott.

It has been an interesting day so far. One in which I feel I've been too "on". Nervous so I'm having a difficult time relaxing. Hopefully tomorrow I'll have slowed down a bit and can get more of a vibe of the people here. And meet more people too.

Perhaps the most entertaining thing I've heard today? The flight attendant on the plane. As she backed down the isle after drink service her tape was on the club mix of "Excuse me. Watch your knees, watch your elbows, can I get anybody anything?"

I think there was a Doppler shift as she walked past.

Tomorrow I will try to talk a bit about this whole Americorps business, and about my one adventure outside of the hotel to the Reading Terminal Market where I had amazing sushi, but was too nervous to take photos. As usual.

Missions

2009-05-17T15:56:00.000-07:00

omissions
submissions
permission
emissions
commission
admission
recission
remission
transmission

(Please use this link for rhyming purposes only. Don't go there for the poetry. Really.)

An open letter to General Motors

2009-05-14T17:59:00.000-07:00

Dear GM,
Can I call you GM? I know it presumes a certain relationship between us, but you’ve taught me so much since I bought my Saturn in 2005 that this type of familiarity only seems appropriate.

There I was, at the Saturn dealership getting my old Saturn wagon (with the leather seats, I might add) inspected and checked out before I started taking it on a daily commute that was going to rival the distance and time that even my friends who traveled out of state would drive every day. The green darling had just passed the 100,000 mile mark, and it concerned me to think about the hills and highways that would challenge the automatic transition and 4-cylinder engine.

What would really be neat, a voice inside my head whispered, would be a smaller, quicker car, with fewer miles to ease my tormented thoughts about getting stranded on the twisted mountain roads that almost existed as part of Eisenhower’s Interstate dream, but ended up as a state route with the lovely (but accurate) moniker “Highway of Death”.

But I’m getting lost in nostalgia here. Dreaming of a misty time when I was close to actually owning a car of my own, instead of in living in the tenuous state known as “unsecured debt”. It’s all hindsight, this acknowledgement of the lessons you’ve taught me. Little did I know in 2005 that we would have so much in common.

After the wonderful sales person helped me achieve my alloy wheeled-XM radio-six CD changer-5 on the floor-sun roof-dream I was welcomed into a very popular club; though there was no pomp and circumstance for new members. Quietly, I became the latest debt-kateer in the upside down club.

You know the upside down club. Don't act all confident with me and take a sip from your cup while staring me straight in the eye and saying you have no idea what I'm talking about.

And no, its not the club where we run out to the playground and hang by our knees from the bars next to the swings.

We did find ourselves with cars, or boats, or motorcycles, or some other sundry-shiny new toy that, the instant we got it off the lot, it was worth FAR LESS than we were in debt for. Not just depreciated, as shiny new toys do, but with a loan amount and quickly accruing interest that meant we would pay at least twice what the value of the toy was when it was displayed so nicely on your lot.

Most likely the loan was with some distant National bank that you were also friends with; instead of the local credit union who was a friend to both of us.

The sales person forgot to mention the credit union. Maybe if they’d been aware that we were all friends a nice arrangement could have been made. Or maybe the credit union would have let me know that you hung out with friends who I didn’t have a whole lot in common with. Bad friends. Friends who would lie to me about how pretty my dress was, and then turn around and make a face to the rest of the group.

Or maybe the credit union would have let me know that you weren’t really my type either. Even though you seemed so honest and flattering. Telling me I deserved this shiny toy, and that the payment would be close to what I was paying already.

Oh, now don’t go getting the wrong idea. I don’t harbor so many hurt feelings that I can’t see you are now in a tight spot yourself. You must have talked to the same sales person who sold me the car. They told you that it’s a good idea, a solid idea, to make cars that need to have their bearings packed with grease every year after the harsh winter salt eats away the protective layer. And the suspension creaks when you drive over a penny.

They told you it was a good idea to put the battery in the trunk.

They told you it was a good idea to make the rims out of aluminum that would chip or split with impact.

They told you it was a good idea to make the body’s shell out of plastic.

And that it was a good idea to use a fabric that would spot when rain dripped in through the window seals.

Heck, I bought that bill of goods too. See how alike we are?

Let me just mention here, that times have been tough since I went upside down. The commute really was too long, and in just over a year that shiny Saturn saw over 100,000 miles added to its history. A shorter commute and a pay cut later I was still paying off the loan, even though it meant having to cut back on a few luxuries. Less eating out; less opening nights at the movies. It was, after all, my mistake.

Eventually I got a job so close to home that driving the car every day was unnecessary. But times got tougher. The economy wanted to get up in the morning less and less. It pulled the covers up over its head; though the dog whimpered for morning walkies every day.

This has affected both of us. I have been through a temporary layoff, and watched as my earning and spending power has been buffeted about by this persistent storm. You are following the economy’s lead, and have bought a brand new blanket to hide under until all the foul winds blow over.

Here’s where you have truly tested our friendship, GM.

Let me introduce you to a new friend. My husband. A dedicated employee of the auto gaskets industry who has given years of his life to pushing buttons so gaskets will be produced and sent to you. To make trucks, sure; not shiny Saturns. Still, he has shown you support as I have, even when times got tough.

So imagine my distress upon hearing of your actions. We had an agreement, of sorts. Even when my income suffered I continued to support you so our friendship would, at least, remain amicable. If we were to meet accidentally we could still smile and ask how the kids were doing.

No more, GM. No more. You have ground the road out from under me.

Please don’t be surprised to find the final gesture of our friendship on your lawn with the keys locked inside. I only ask that you tell your “friends” not to contact me anymore either. I’ve returned your friendship, and as such we have nothing left to say to one another.

L

*This open letter to GM is slightly fictitious, and somewhat misleading about the nature of loans. After all, once GM got their money from the bank we all know that they didn’t care much about me anymore anyway.
I do, however, continue to drive the token of our friendship. Though in my heart it is now more akin to an albatross than anything else.

Answer me!

2009-03-31T17:53:00.000-07:00

Seriously. Answer me.

Will the resume ever end?

2009-03-19T16:26:00.000-07:00

Or just be in a constant cycle of resuming?

So, I'm spinning my head around trying to create a functional resume and I explain what I'm trying to do to my husband as "listing all of my skills and then organizing those skills into groups that tell a potential employer not just what I did at a job, but also what I can do in a potential job."

Or something like that. I can't remember my exact words.

He gets this weird smile on his face and says "you know what you're doing, right?"

Keep in mind. He is a gamer. Not a video gamer, not a poker player, not a sportsman. He remembers picking up the first Dungeon and Dragons game at a long since extinct toy and game store at a time when Michael Jackson still had some disco in him.

I know what's coming.

"You're creating your own character sheet!"

His glee was almost manic.

"Can I have a copy of that when you're done so I can work up a stat sheet on you?"

Who am I to say no.

Now, back to that character sheet.

And again...

2009-03-18T19:43:00.000-07:00

So, I get all the way through brushing up my resume. And as I said, I am concerned about the fact that I've done some much job surfing. So, now that I've all prettied up my chronological resume, I'm wondering if I should revamp the whole thing into a functional resume.

OH MY GODDESS!!! BUT EVEN THOUGH ONE SITE RECOMMENDS THE FUNCTIONAL RESUME FOR THOSE WITH A VARIED JOB HISTORY THEY STATE THAT SOMETIMES EMPLOYERS DISMISS THESE RESUMES BECAUSE THEY ARE VAGUE!!!

I'm so tired.

Oh my. ..

2009-03-18T17:24:00.000-07:00

resume that is.

Yes, I'm starting the job search again. Why? My finances are in such a state of collapse that I can't play at being all artsy anymore. If I'm so uncertain of being able to do freelance as a "full time" thing then I need to get over my pride and get a job that pays the bills.

After sending out about 5 or so resumes I came across this job site called job-hunt.org. And they've got some good tips and information. I decided to take it from step one of their getting started menu on the left-hand side. And, of course, one of the things they recommend in making an ASCII version of your resume for posting to job sites and when you e-mail your resume to potential employers.

I'm awfully embarrassed, but I got lazy and was uploading .doc and sending my resume as an attachment in e-mails. I really should have known better. But something in my head said "it's ok. People have great anti-virus programs now and sending an attachment isn't going to be a problem." I got cocky. And I'm sure it's affected some of the jobs I've applied for.

Tonight I sat down to make an ASCII version of my resume. What I found waiting in that hallowed personal document was far more frightening that I thought it was going to be. A lack of active verbs. Poor punctuation. Misspelled words. Hyphens where there shouldn't be any. Incomplete information.

Only a steady stream of animal crackers popped into my mouth have kept me from biting through my tongue from pure shame. Translating this document has been one of the most helpful things I've done so far. Not only have I fixed the problems, I feel like I've tightened up my resume into a far more reasonable time line of the things I've done.

I'm still wary of showing dates of hire, though I'm not sure how to get around it. I've done a lot of job flipping in trying to find out where I fit and it doesn't look good on paper.

So now I've got to take the work I've done for the ASCII version and move it back into the .doc version so when I actually have to PRINT this darn thing I've got something decent to give to a potential employer.

It's my personal shame. Being a writer with a craptastic resume.

Oh, but I did write something else for genus coffea. Check it out if you want.

Forgetting. Again.

2009-02-15T17:39:00.000-08:00

Gosh darn it all, why do I forget how much I love to write and look things up?
I'm not going to repost it here, I'm going to give you a link:

Genus Coffea

I've held onto this site for awhile because I had a dream about writing about coffee as a commodity. Every one, work with me here, loves to talk/write/wax poetic about their favorite coffee hangout. Heck, Starbucks snobs get together online and go on forever about what their favorite company is up to.

Beantowne Coffee, my former employer, works diligently to engage their public. There is limited success.

JDubs Coffee is concentrating on getting people through the door on Elm Street in Manchester. It's not an easy location. A majority of the traffic is on South Willow street, even in the summer. And it's really too bad. Elm Street is a wonderful place to build up foot traffic, instead of concentrating on the congested gauntlet of ill conceived chain stores on the strip.

But I didn't just want to plug my local hot spots. I wanted to look at coffee as the economic behemoth that it is. Second only to petroleum I believe. What drives the market? Why is it so popular? Why, on earth, a beverage? It is amazing to me.

But dreams don't always go where you want them to. And you'd think that even conscious dreaming of daily existence would be somehow controllable. Tell the dream where you want it to take you.

And then there are bills. And doubts. And bills. And something on TV. And bills.

So Genus Coffea was forgotten. Until recently. When a new idea was pitched to me, taking the coffee house in a new direction.

But first, let people know that Genus Coffea isn't dead! I mean, the last time I posted to it was 2007! I have a better, if still spotty, track record here. And then Starbucks announced a foray into instant coffee. And I had something to write about. And I remembered why I wanted to start Genus Coffea in the first place.

A new direction will still be good. I won't abandon the economics of coffee completely, but it will be second to the new theme. Something to keep the action swirling from the steam wand.

So enjoy my look at Starbucks new addition. And stay tuned for something more. Something else that wants to look at a common occurrence from a bit of a different perspective.

Friends don't let friends...

2009-01-04T08:28:00.000-08:00

Drink and stitch.

Not that anything really outrageous happened. But no one would have been there to stop me if it had. I can see it now, random piercings with an embroidery needle, table top floss dances, bad lines (hey baby, I think you dropped a stitch. Let me pick it up for you), and waking up the next morning next to someone who doesn't know the difference between needlepoint and crewel.

Man, but it would have been a good time.

Spiders

2008-12-25T04:55:00.000-08:00

Well now, it seems that one Deb Peterson, who writes a continuing education blog for About.com, decided to talk a bit about a few things on my blog after her little web spiders arrived on her virtual door with a nest of potential links.

My signs: "Remain on Path" and "Blog today, tomorrow you may be eaten". And the fact that I decided to live in a freshman dorm when going back to college as a non-traditional student.

She made me sound reasonably intelligent. (She even called me an inspiration!) Which really only makes me laugh because of the "I love to type" post above the post which talks about my college experience at the turn of the century. (I never thought I could refer to something I've done as happening at the turn of the century, but I guess my college career literally did happen as the world slid uncontrollably from the 20th to the 21st.)

"I love to type" is just a silly few minutes of seeing what would happen if I didn't go back to correct typing mistakes I made when typing "I love to type" over and over and over again. I'll tell you, it's really quite difficult to not stop and correct my mistakes. It was neither a particularly inspiring or intelligent post. But it made me smile.

A few years ago I actually had a steady reader, and she would link my thoughts to other blogs and got relatively excited when I mentioned creating a yawn project. (Which I failed to come through on.) Other than that I get the occasional comment from my husband who logs on as anonymous. I can always tell the comments are from him though. So when I got a comment from someone completely new it was kind of exciting.

It's necessary to link in kind for this type of notice. A bit of blogosphere (is that term still used?) politeness that I can't ignore. Of course there is potential that others will read Deb's blog, click on the link to my blog, and then read a bit before being a) uninterested, b) bored stiff by my navel gazing, or c) amused enough to come back a time or two and see if I've written anything worth further review.

This in kind clicking has worked well for my employer Sheree. She even earned herself a Marie Antoinette award. (A shiny virtual trinket that each winner then passes on to others who are deserving. I'm not sure what the requirements are for becoming a recipient for such an award, though Sheree seemed to feel it has something to do with boobs and pottery.)

She thrives off of this widening circle of bloggers. Actually takes time to read other blogs, leaves comments, finds inspiration.

I tend to run screaming in the other direction. Note the nom de plume. Though some of my posts are quite naked tellings of my inner workings I don't like to use my real name. It is totally baffling and frightening to me that someone else could find an ounce of inspiration or interest in something I have to tell. It is a wonderful rush of validation, don't get me wrong. But then the internal pressure to be better next time kicks in.

HOW CAN I POSSIBLY LIVE UP TO MY OWN EXPECTATIONS!

What a laugh. What a personal tragedy. It is truly Greek in its telling.

So go check out Deb and Sheree if you happen to come across this little blog of mine but are in the mood for something a bit different. It can never be said that I didn't encourage others.

I love to type

2008-12-23T16:56:00.000-08:00

I love to type, I love to type, I love to tyep, I love to type, I love to type, I love to type, I love to ttype, I love to type, I love to type . I love to type, I love to type, I love to ttype, I love to type, I love to type, O I olove to type, I love to type I love to ttype I olove to ttype I love to type I love to ttype I love to type I love to ttype I love to type I love to ttype I love to typle I love to type I love to tupe O i love to type I lvoe to type I love to tuype I live to live I love to tyupe I love tgo type I love to type I love to type I love to type I love to type I love to type I love to tyupe I love to type I love to tupe I love to tupe I olove to type I love to type I love to tyipe I tlove to ttype I love to type I love to type I love to type I love to type I love to ltuype I love to type I love to type I olve to tyupe I love to type I love to type I love to ttype I love to type I love to type I love to type Iolove to ttype I love to type I love to tyope I love to type I love to type I love to type I love to type I love to type I love to type I love to tyep I love to tyupe I love to type I loe tov type I love to type I love to type I love to type I love to type I love to type I love to tyep I love totype I love to type I love to type

I just wanted to see what would happen if I tried to type that over and over again without going back to correct anything. Man, I bite!!

Time to watch the Grinch! The fantastic animated one. Sorry Jim Carrey, you bite too.

Rhythm

2008-12-23T16:31:00.000-08:00

Did you ever complete an every day task and suddenly realize how much satisfaction you get from that task?

I just wrote two quick emails, quick requests to talk to people I've never met before but who could become great little profiles for a college publication.

As I typed out these simple requests on my keyboard I realized that my fingers just effortlessly found the keys they needed, and that my brain found focus and a small amount of serenity in the rhythm of spelling words, punctuation, and spacing. I had myself a zen moment.

The last time I had a zen moment like that I was running on a treadmill and suddenly the noise of the gym didn't matter. I was in my body and I was running (as much as one can on a treadmill) and my breath didn't matter, my feet didn't matter, the speed on the display, the calories burned, the time that had passed, it all didn't matter. For a second I was just running. It was fantastic.

I don't get those moments of completeness often.

But sending out those email made me think about how I learned to touch type.

I had recently arrived on the UNH campus to get my bachelors degree. Though I was a non-traditional student I chose to live in a freshman dorm so I could have the complete college experience. (I made it through a year and felt ten years older than when I arrived at the campus in the fall. Living with the young and wild is exhilarating and exhausting all at the same time.) I had been a hunt and peck typist for most of my life, and really did a lot of writing by hand in high school because I just didn't have a type writer and didn't realize that handing in a typed report would look better than a hand written report. I was blissfully out of touch. So anyway, I'm in this tiny dorm room, drifting off to sleep, when I realized that I was spelling words. Why on earth I was spelling words while I was trying to fall asleep is beyond my.

My brain likes to play while I'm falling asleep sometimes, like the time I started to whistle just as I was drifting off. It was a little unsettling for my husband, but he understood.

As my brain is spelling these words I start to wake myself up just a little bit. I don't want to wake up all the way because I want to know what I'm spelling and why. As I pulled myself toward consciousness I saw a computer keyboard in front of me and my sight focused on the letters I needed as they were laid out in front of me. I thought that was pretty interesting, and then let myself fall asleep.

When I woke up the next morning I could still vividly remember my spelling dream so I sat down at the computer to see how well I could do without looking at the keys. I wasn't some 100 wpm prodigy, but I could type without looking at the keyboard. Something I didn't think I could do. A few quick lessons with Mavis Beacon and I was set.

It is absolutely amazing to me that my brain was learning while I wasn't paying any conscious attention. I know it's possible, but it's always a pleasant surprise when it happens.

Of course, I in no way connect this to the first time I tried smoking the funny stuff and it upset my stomach so bad that I booted all over the back step of my boyfriends house. A few months later I had this dream where I was smoking with some Bob Marley looking dude and I could handle myself after that.

I wish I had more dreams really.

I wish I had more moments of zen too.

Here's wishing you a warm winter and solstice, and many moments of zen, typing or otherwise.

I love the smell of dead leaves

2008-11-05T18:21:00.000-08:00

I want to be the salt of the earth.

Quickly now,

2008-11-03T02:34:00.000-08:00

These are the bones that have supported me all these long years. With some support of their own after I treated them carelessly upon a trampoline.

This is the man I love (look closely); shaped as he is like the cradle of life. He inspires me to be gentle and incites me to rage. Never in the same breath, but often in the same day.

Within these attributes of body and emotion it would seem easy to find happiness. An existence that ebbs and flows, swells with the occasional storm, but overall leads me from day to day in a peaceful, steady march.

Let me be clear, I am not unhappy. Yet every day, with every action, I am distracted by small, shiny baubles which I believe will make me complete. Like an 8-year-old I flutter between potential professions in my mind. Think "If I could just learn this then I will be content." And tomorrow, after stumbling upon the work of a watchmaker, after seeing the delicate working of the gears so nimbly manipulated with tweezers and one magnified eye, I will fall in love, however briefly, with the potential of a new path to creation.

I want. I want. I want. But for all the wanting I am left forever missing the subtle satisfaction of mastery. Immersed in the nuance of a subject, and continuing to find it engaging. New chasms of gray matter bridged, accompanied by the stomach warming sensation of "a-ha!", despite the familiarity of something long studied.

The a-ha moments are much smaller when surfing from subject to subject. But like one addicted to falling in love, I look around and cannot choose just one to pair with. For each has excitement and potential. And I visit each in turn, for I am a monogamist at heart, but I spend my time until I am satisfied and then leave, whether my partner is fulfilled or not.

And what do I hope to discover by exploring my need to roam? I'm quite unsure. I've desired to roam since I could look out the window to the next yard. I've been distracted long before "sound bite" became a buzz word, or people with short attention spans were know as adhd, they were more likely called absentminded.

Mostly, I just wanted to try and string together some thoughts that floated through my head. And write down the words which seemed so intriguing at the time.

And getting to show off my bones is fun too.

I lied...

2008-08-17T15:56:00.000-07:00

Sleep is not overtaking me. Though I put a good effort into it. :) The bed was comfy, it's kind of dusk like out, but it's 79 degrees and the fan just makes the bedroom feel like I'm living in a convection oven.

So I'm back to talk about Monadnock.

When I climbed Monadnock last in July of 2002 I would say I was a good 40-50 lbs heavier. I had at least stopped smoking, but making it up the mountain must have been a sight for the others who were on the trail with me that day.

I fell in with a group of interpretive dancers from a college in the area. I want to say it was Antioch New England, but on further thought I really don't think it was. They were a motley group of folks, only some of which had the kind of body you'd associate with dance. They were on their way to the top so they could dance. I guess it was something the class did every year; hauled their cabooses to the 3,165 foot summit and then worked on dance inspired by what they saw and felt. They even asked me to participate. But I'll tell ya, looking like this

and not really having adequately prepared for the climb, all I could manage was what a spider might look like, desperately clinging to a rock crevice in the high wind and hoping that a trip back down to the tree line might be achievable.

That big red smear on my leg? Before I had even hit the trail head I tripped and tore my knee open on a rock. I could have seen it as a bad omen, but decided that I was climbing that mountain no matter what.

I'm still surprised I made it.

Going up was not graceful, but coming down was, for me, almost terrifying. My body was spent, every step was shaky, and every 10 minutes or so some group of teens would come racing down the mountain, leaping from rock to rock, talking about how coming down the mountain was easier because you could just let gravity take you over. In my head I affectionately called them mountain goats.

I can't remember who took my picture at the junction of dot and cross in 2002. But they kindly sent me a copy of the photo, bloody knee and all.

This was right before I started a job in Biddeford Maine. My first real reporting job. Though not young (when I graduated UNH in 2002 I was 31), I was full of optimism and felt like I could take on anything the journalism world could throw at me.

AHAHAHAHAHA!! Aha, ha, heh. Yeah.

This stung for awhile, but the life of a beat reporter was just not kind to me. Already out of shape and having been diagnosed with fibromyalgia when I was 28, well, I just couldn't take what journalism could throw at me. An irregular sleep schedule just made me grumpy and depressed. And I was almost always stressed.

Call me a wannabe prima donna, I just function better when I can (kind of) control how much sleep I get and when. I still do freelance writing, on my terms. It's not changing the world, but I can enjoy what life has to offer without feeling I have to squeeze it in when I can, around work and around every day living.

So today, I was supposed to hike Monadnock with a friend. She had to bow out because of some last minute life things, but I just didn't want to miss a beautiful day outside. So up the mountain I went. The whole trip took me 4 hours, and honestly I don't think it took me too much longer in 2002, but I certainly don't feel as wiped out as I did. Going down was still a challenge, but my legs didn't shake from fatigue.

Just for reference, here I am after the hike. Back at home and showered, but kind of looking like "find the psycho in this picture".

And I feel great about tackling Monadnock twice, by myself, knowing that I learned a bit each time I went up and came back down. Having lost 65 lbs in the past two years (my heaviest was 185, and I'm 5'2") helped me out. I even chose to take a more challenging trail on the way back down. I beat feet up the white dot trail to make it to summit, but then took the white arrow (It's along the left side of the map)to cliff walk to lost farm on the way down. A great change of scenery, and a chance to really be by myself on the mountain for awhile.

Heck, I even decided to be the state park's bitch and bought myself a T-shirt at the park store.

There weren't alot of mountain goats today, but maybe it's because I got there early (8:30 in the a.m.) to beat the crowds. And it was a good thing I did. The parking lot was full up by the time I got back down.

Of course, the most interesting thing happened on the way out to Monadnock. I stopped at a gas station/Dunkin Donuts in Bedford and encountered a raven there that was quite brave. It sat on the roof above the back door and croaked out repeatedly to get attention. The workers tried tossing munchkins to it, but it just kind of flew around and created a racket. It was huge, by bird standards. Probably not as big as a hawk or anything, but big enough. And believe me, it was a raven not a crow.

The really great thing is that the workers said the raven hangs out there a lot. Mostly to go through the dumpster and fish out tasty treats. I might just have to camp out early some morning with my camera and see if I can lure it down to the pavement and get some good shots. That would be fantastic.

So, yeah. That was my adventure. Sorry no photos, but I'm always more concerned with hiking that pics when I do something like this. Maybe I just need a small, knock around camera for these adventures.

Oh, and just for fun, here's a great pic my mom got of some lightening during one of the many thunderstorms we've had recently.

Go mom! w00T!

No more adrenaline

2008-08-17T14:27:00.000-07:00

I hiked Monadnock today. I was all excited to blog about it.

I waited to long.

Sleep shall soon overtak

100 Things

2008-06-22T16:04:00.000-07:00

Why do I do this? Not because I think you'll care, but I found myself listing things off in my head today as I reflected on a job interview and the first question that inevitably gets asked "So, tell me a little bit about yourself."

I. Hate. This. Question.

Why? Because I always answer incorrectly. I tell potential employers things that they don't want to know about, or things irrelevant to the position I'm interviewing for. As a matter of fact, this should be #1 on my list. I'm a lousy interview.
But the question is as much at fault as I believe my nervousness is. "Tell me why you are interested in this position" would seem to be a much more direct question that would get at both my work and personal interests AS WELL AS letting the employer know a bit more about who I am. "Tell me a little bit about yourself" is just so open to interpretation, just vague enough to leave the interviewee wondering if this is like an awkward speed dating situation and if it is appropriate to mention thing #2 on the list, I have approximately 10 craft projects started but none of them completed because I am constantly distracted by that shiny thing over there.

So in the spirit of the awkwardness of this question, here are 100 Things About Me that are not common knowledge. I'll try to make this somewhat interesting.

1. I'm a lousy interview.

2. I have approximately 10 craft projects started but none completed because I am constantly distracted by that shiny thing over there.

3. My favorite birdsong is the chickadee's. It makes me feel safe.

4. I wish my hair would go gray faster.

5. I'm wary of heights because I'm afraid I'll forget that I can't fly and just step off the edge.

6. I like that I'm absentminded.

7. Skin fascinates me.

8. I am a survivor of incest.

9. Watching people truly express themselves through movement or music makes me cry.

10. Toast makes me happy.

11. I consider myself educated and reasonably intelligent, but lack the attention necessary to read a book from start to finish in under a month. I often have to go back and reread sections during one sitting because I have difficulty not thinking about other things while I'm reading.

12. I employ three cats and one husband. I pay them in love and affection most of the time, though they are the first to experience my frustration and resulting anger on a regular basis.

13. Things to put other things in (boxes, essentially) hold an endless fascination for me because of the potential of what could be inside.

14. If friends ask me to house sit for an extended period of time I am likely to look through their closets and drawers. I always look in the medicine cabinets in bathrooms.

15. I love most things Halloween. It has always been my favorite holiday and I can still remember the decorations that the neighbors would put in their picture window at the front of the house.

16. I have adopted traits from others that I find appealing. (I'm a copy cat.)

17. I apologize to animals that have been killed by cars. I'll likely refer to them as "buddy".

18. I prefer only occasional contact with my friends and really don't mind if I don't hear from them for months at a time.

19. I prefer for people to tell me about themselves, and feel horribly self-centered when I talk about myself. I'm not all that interesting. (Yet I make this list for you.)

20. I drink one alcoholic drink a week because my system can't really handle a lot of alcohol (I'm a cheap drunk), but I like to have alcohol as part of my diet. It's like a treat that I get to look forward to on a Friday night. Beer! Whoooo!

21. I think of my misstach (I have dark hair on my upper lip) as my body's tribute to Frida Kahlo, but still want to rip it out anyway.

22. I have one tattoo and would like more but can't decide on a piece of work that I think would be personally meaningful enough put on my body.

23. I got my tongue pierced just so I would know what it was like to have a body piercing. I don't have it anymore.

24. Doctors' say that I don't scar well after surgery. On the contrary, I think I scar quite well, it's just that scarring is rarely the desired result.

25. The first (and only) time I got an anonymous wolf whistle I wanted to track down the whistler and thank him.

26. Whenever I'm stressed and/or nervous about the direction my life is taking I dream that I'm kissing my brother. ugh.

27. Because of my abuse I am mostly unsure of how to react to physical contact of any kind from people, including my husband. It's all awkward.

28. Weather of any kind makes me happy, though I'll complain about it for the sake of polite interaction.

29. I can be catty as hell.

30. I am not a religious person, but am attracted to spiritual practices found in buddhism and paganism.

31. I both love and hate having "things".

32. I like to make sock puppets and then give them away to people.

33. I own the yellow and blue mixing bowls that my grandfather gave my grandmother as a gift. They are so chipped that I'm afraid to use them, but they are a great memory of jam squares and pies at gram's house.

34. I never told my grandparents about my abuse, but I don't know if my mother did.

35. I want to own a house with many bedrooms so my friends can just come and stay with me as long as they want.

36. Or, I would like to become a beach bum and paint horrible paintings and then sell them to tourists.

37. I really have no concept of the power of money, but I'm in charge of paying the household bills.

38. I'm a bit of a hypochondriac.

39. My husband tells me that I can "create a presence". (It basically says "don't f* with me.) I've seen it work if I pay attention, it's scary powerful.

40. I used to yell at women in diet commercials who raved about being a size 2; then I lost 60 lbs over 2 years and guess what, I'm a size 2.

41. I work out on a regular basis but don't look forward to exercise. I always feel better when I'm done though.

42. I wish I had gone to prom with the guy I asked instead of bailing on him to go visit my boyfriend who was in the army.

43. I make up conversations for people/situations/things in my head and can make myself laugh out loud because of them.

44. I wish I had stopped to comfort the boy I saw crying outside of a house while the police just stood by and did their job.

45. I'm the reason why haunted houses put up signs that say things like "Please don't hit/push/assault the house participants."

46. I am uncomfortable with my own mortality, but not necessarily aging.

47. I wish I would get struck by lightening.

48. I miss the thunderstorms that would get stuck in the valley where my grandparents lived.

49. I need the excitement of others to keep myself motivated.

50. It's not that I don't like children, it's that I don't really remember being one so I find it difficult to relate them.

51. I don't plan on having children because I've never had a burning desire to be a mother; but I have felt wooed by the romance of being pregnant.

52. I worked in a bar as a server for three days before some man looked at me and said "dirty deeds done dirt cheap" and decided that wasn't the job for me. The owner said I hadn't really given it a chance.

53. I like to find faces in things, like wall sockets and appliances.

54. I memorized "The Jabberwocky" for a high school English class and never forgot it.

Ok, it's getting late and I'm hitting a bit of a block. Let's see if I can finish this later. Give my brain some time to think of more things.

I'm back! And through the magic of the computer you don't even know how much time has really gone by. Amazing!

55. I own more stuffed animals than any 37-year-old woman has a reason to. 2 of them are from my childhood: a green pig and my first teddy bear.

56. I used to duck when I drove under bridges. I actually had to make a conscious effort to stop.

57. I have a plate and screws in my left leg because I decided to jump on a trampoline with three other people when I was 28 and broke my leg because of it. It's the only bone I've ever broken.

58. I used to cheat at Monopoly when I would babysit this one girl. I liked the girl ok, I just hate Monopoly.

59. I feel I am responsible for how much my cats meow because I answer them as if we were having a conversation.

60. I don't like to tell people that I miss them, or that I will miss them. I prefer to tell them I'm looking forward to seeing them again.

61. I can be an insufferable know-it-all. It's good when friends call me on this.

62. My mom pays for us to have breakfast once a week (maybe twice) and I don't really feel guilty about it.

63. I have played Dungeons and Dragons once in my life, and I laughed all the way through.

64. When I started reading Jack Kerouac's "On the Road" I wondered why it was such a revolution in writing because his style is much like what goes on in my own head. I had to remind myself it was published in 1957.

65. A friend and I once started our own erotica club and would send each other original dirty stories once a month or so.

66. I don't feel like I'll ever be truly satisfied with my life, but I don't think that's a bad thing.

67. I would love to have an "around the world in 80 days" adventure. Or hike the Adirondack trail.

68. I have had a threesome, and been madly in love with a woman.

69. I believe I have some OCD tendencies, but don't let them rule my life.

Ok, now I'm starting to get sleepy. (Been fighting a bit of insomnia lately.) 30 more to go, off to bed and through the magic of editing I'll be back to complete this.

Wakey wakey!

70. I prefer to eat most foods at room temperature. Ice cream and coffee are exceptions.

71. I once wrote a ditty about picking my toes.

72. I own a unicycle but have never learned to ride it.

73. At 37 I am still pretty much undecided about what I'd like to do with my life.

74. I do things just to prove to myself that I can do them. (Go to a real restaurant by myself and eat a meal, make a quilt, take an office job)

75. My favorite breakfast is what I consider an "old man" breakfast. Coffee, toast, eggs (over medium) and beans. Maybe some bacon. I dip the toast in the egg yolks.

76. I cannot keep a secret.

77. I will tell someone the same story/information at least three times because I don't remember ever telling it before. My personal best is asking someone 7 times over the course of an afternoon if he wanted any of the french onion soup. He did not.

78. I talk to myself frequently.

79. A hot shower is one of my favorite things.

80. So is an afternoon nap.

81. Though I like vacations, I don't really like one-day holidays. They break up my schedule.

82. I have to consciously talk myself out of impulse purchases.

83. I have mild dyslexia.

84. I appreciate the convenience of urban life, but every time I go to a more rural place I feel like I'm going home.

85. Though I like to think of myself as a creative type, I often have a difficult time "breaking the rules" even when it won't have any affect on anything or anyone.

Wow! This is just taking forever. It's like I have to go back and review the rest of the list so I can get inspiratin for the last 15. man.

86. I like to wear interesting underwear. What's the fun in wearing boring panties?

87. I'm a lazy cook/vegetarian. I don't want to put in the necessary effort to make fantastic meat-free meals that will give me a good dose of all the nutrients I need.

88. I took dance lessons for at least 4 years but can't keep a beat to save my life. Nor can I dance.

89. My mother and brother are very musical. I am not, though I love to listen to music others have created.

90. I laugh like my father's side of the family. It's always bothered me a bit.

91. I have a difficult time remembering birthdays because my birthday stopped being important when I was about 7. Once I actually ran away from a group of people who were singing Happy Birthday to me.

92. I once just stared at a guy in a bar who was talking to me about how awkward it was to talk to girls in bars. He kept talking.

93. I tried to date two guys at once but always felt like I was cheating on the other guy even though they both knew.

94. I like trying to figure out how to get places, though I don't like to write down complete directions if I'm somewhat familiar with the area. I like the challenge of finding my destination.

95. I don't mind getting lost.

96. I love moonlight walks in the woods.

97. I once caught three sea bass during an afternoon of fishing off a jetty. It was a great afternoon.

98. I've written some pretty bad poetry, but it doesn't stop me from writing more.

99. I am a master procrastinator.

100. I don't really like to go back and read things I've written. I can always find places where the work could be improved. (I've worked as a journalist and currently do some freelance writing.)

Yay! 100 Things! It only took me a month to do! crikey.

But seriously...

2008-06-15T17:00:00.000-07:00

Here's something I wrote in 2000 while at the University of New Hampshire. Why do I post it to the web now? Because I feel I should post something and I was always kind of pleased with this story. Though it could certainly use some brushing up.

Il tempo
This excerpt was taken from the Boston Globe on November 17, 2000.
ROME -- Heavy rains washed trains off the lines on Friday and uncovered corpses buried for nearly a century as Italy was hit by its third bout of rainstorms in a month....In the northern coastal region of Liguria, streams of water washed away the earth and uncovered the dead in a cemetery in the village of Manarola. Dozens of corpses were left exposed and will have to be reburied once the rains stop, provincial officials said.

The bones meant nothing to her. Many gray objects were carried past the windows as the rain furrowed the streets and hills, and she could hardly tell which sticks were bones and which weren’t. It was all a swelling of humanity, from the water logged wooden chairs to the broken vases, all were the remnants of history.

Grandmothers from the old neighborhood would wail and turn their heads, lamenting that great grand papa’ was now indistinguishable from uncle so and so as they watched the rising current of dirt and rain curl through the streets. Old men would joke with each other, yelling across the muddy divide about how old families would start new feuds as their bones mingled in the saturated earth. Despite their mirth, they would unwittingly cross their bodies as they turned away from their taunting. Boys and girls would fish for bones, and once they hooked them together they would beat out a crude, hollow time with the pieces and sing about old men and the pouring rain. Horrified mothers would snatch the bones away from their children and scold them with rapid words. Not knowing what else to do with the reminders of death, the mothers would throw them back out into the torrent all the while muttering to God for forgiveness.

But the bones did not bother her.

“Figurati,” she said as she stuck her hand out of the window to feel the pounding of the rain, “after spending so much time in the weather, you get locked up in a place where the only way you can tell it’s raining is by when the wood swells.”

A pool had formed in her palm and created a stream that coursed down her arm and spilled out of the crook of her elbow onto the braided rug. The cloth was already so saturated that the waterfall didn’t affect the faded colors as it spread from the target to the edge. Staccato beating on the roof muffled the splatter of rain from her skin. She had pulled her hair in tightly at the nape of her neck where it swelled with the humidity, straining for release from the plastic that confined it.

Eventually she took her hand from the open window and wiped her face with the rain, plastering back the clumps of hair that refused to be bound.

“I remember when we were school girls and would run by the graves di sera, holding our breath until we were almost the shade of the sky above the sunset.” She smiled and asked, “We live so close I always wondered why we didn’t go around with our bellies sucked in and our teeth in our lips all the time. With the fear that our families put into us it’s amazing that we didn’t benedire just because someone thought of sneezing.”

By this time the tea was done. It was so strong and black that the steam from the kettle neck seemed to rise up brown right at the lip before it mingled with the gray air inside the flat. To put sugar in it was a shame because the bitter taste helped to battle the sweet tang of air thick with earth and ozone. She filled the blue cups to the line where countless cups of tea had marked their passing. After a deep drink she began to muse again.

“They’ll never find all of the pieces. For years madri will be digging rows for their tomatoes and find a chip of something that they know isn’t rock or wood. Children will have collections and show them to each other in secret, before they are taught di aver timore that is.” Her eyebrows lowered and her lips pressed. “I will never comprehend the coffin,” she said as she sipped the steamed nectar. “I would rather be picked clean by ants after I die. Though my skin would be gone before the year I imagine I would still feel the rain on my skull, and I would rather be bleached by the weather than by the worms. If someone loved me enough they would keep le mie ossa around and place them among the things of the house. A toe in a teacup or a pinkie out with the linen pins in the breeze. For once in my life I would be able to smile coyly when someone asked me a question and not run the risk of those smart answers that my father says keep me in trouble.”

She knew that her father’s bones were locked away in a fancy box with silk lining and brass handles. Still, she continued to talk about him as if he forever sat by the stove and would always tell her that strong ideas chase the men away. Her eyes glittered like his used to every time her tongue got away from her.

“You would keep me around wouldn’t you?” her eyes almost pleaded as the rest of her face remained set. Sweat beaded her lips and it was hard to tell if it was her conversation or the weather. “Please don’t lock me up to let my skin melt and pool stagnant around me. Boil me if you have to and fertilize the roses with my brains. String me together with wire and set me by the stove in papa’s chair so I’ll be warm in the winter and always have the company of the kitchen. You can even hang my skull in the closet by the coats if guests can’t handle my presence, but leave me in the air.”

No promises could be made and as the steam eddied between us. She looked to her empty teacup and the layers of stains that matted the blue ceramic. After a moment she filled the shallow vessel again with the strong brew and returned to the window where the mist soaked the hair on her arms, which had just begun to dry. “Even if you must keep my bones in a box above ground,” she spoke out the window to the mud and slate sky,” you must promise me one thing. You must take me out in la pioggia.”

Slowly the kettle steamed on the stove and the flames struggled against the heavy air. Inside the cups another layer was stained and the blue ceramic faded behind the never-ending rain.

2008-06-15T16:37:00.000-07:00

still watering the plants

I have some pretty good ideas

2008-03-07T17:08:00.000-08:00

And I'll think of them and say to myself "Hey, I should rant/riff/write on that on my bog. It will be fantastic."
And then a few minutes goes by and I can't remember a thing I wanted to write about. Feeling your brain go soft is an awful thing. I'm not talking like getting a physical ailment that inhibits your thinking or ability to do things. I'm talking about pure l-a-z-i-n-e-s-s. Pure I don't want to get out of my nice warm bed or off the couch attitude.
And honestly for the past week I've been dying of the flu (yes, dying. Shut up.), but that isn't really an excuse for the past three months now is it?

I could make it into a GLORIOUS excuse if my brain would just sharpen up a bit. I know it! But here it is, it's lazy. It rests behind my eyes and just as I get into something it distracts with with some inane fact or tidbit of remembering about something else.

Sure you'd like to write, but you know you've got to water the plants. I mean, come on. They're yellow and dying. And they could use fresh soil, but it's still too cold in the house to really try and re-pot them. I wonder how root bound they are by now? Some nest of leggy plant roots desperately trying to suck water out of the very air that creeps in through the desert crust of soil that they've been living in for the past six months.
And what about going into the closet and getting out that writing that you did in high school?
And you know what's in the closet, those platform patent leather beauties which you could never wear now because of your ankle.
Though you've been running at the gym for a few months now and feeling pretty strong. Maybe you could wear those boots without a problem.
But to where? There's not much of a call for the discipline boots when serving up coffee.
Though maybe there's a clientel for that.
What is the cat doing? It sounds like he's trying to dig to China through the litter box. Hopefully there won't be a huge mess to clean up when I go into the bathroom later.
Ah, a nice warm shower. Then off to someplace warmer, like work. How weird is that, that I look forward to getting to work just so I can get warm.
But spring is right around the corner too. Not so cold out anymore, maple syrup day is coming up pretty quick.
I haven't used my camera in ages. Got some good shots at the last maple syrup day though. I should really try to get more photos. Like those nice ones I got of the flowers on the spider plant.
The plant looks a little droopy. I should really water it and re-pot it when it gets warmer.

That line of thinking does not make my mind sharp. It makes it lazy. And I should fix that. Just as soon as I get some more sleep. Because I'm dying of the flu. (yes, dying. Shut up.)

On emptying the vacuum cleaner

2008-01-31T03:05:00.000-08:00

Three cats shed enough fur to create three more. Though this may not be their goal, it is an intriguing aspect of the cats' natural health cycle.

So, what does it mean when one cat pukes enough for the other two? Do you think they schedule it?

Last night I dreamt of loss

2007-12-23T17:37:00.000-08:00

Today I learned that my ex-husband's mother died a year ago of a quick moving cancer that had settled in her liver.

I hate it when that happens.

Mobile blogging

2007-12-02T07:54:00.001-08:00

This may sound like the strangest thing, but I spent the morning at a Panera Bread using the wireless and updating my resume…

AND IT WAS GREAT!!!!

I was relatively warm, I had a supply of coffee as great as the money in my pocket, and I actually felt a little inspired to DO THINGS.

I don’t know if this is just a result of being someplace new. A result of a change of location. A result of not having to wear a hat and gloves in an effort to stay warm while working at my computer in my apartment office. I don’t even need a cat in my lap to ensure that I don’t freeze to death.

There’s just one big problem. I have to use the bathroom, but that would mean packing everything up to go to the restroom so no one walks away with my stuff while I’m gone.

Oh the agony!

…

Problem solved! Two nice ladies sitting kitty corner from me watched my stuff while I ran to the ladies room. Bliss. They wouldn’t let me buy them a coffee for their troubles though. Oh well.

Now that my resume is done, I’m going to start working on a story I’m writing for my grandmother as a holiday gift. At Thanksgiving she was reminiscing about sledding down the driveway of her grandmother’s house in Western Ma. She got a little teary eyed saying that she would give anything to walk up that driveway one more time. (Touching, but somewhat disturbing because I associate that kind of tearful remembering with the beginning stages of death. She is 93, born before electricity. She has always pined for the old days, but I think she is getting quite tired now.)

If I had a little extra time to do this I would make a pop-up book of the story. Something simple, but at the end a perspective “shot” of the hill leading up to the house with the lights on and the Marx sisters coming out of the next door house to join the kids for a sledding adventure. It’s probably the closest she’s going to get to walking up the driveway again.

But sitting in a shop with wireless capabilities has been a far more pleasant experience than I expected. Not that you care, but I had to say something about it.

Have I mentioned...

2007-11-07T03:07:00.000-08:00

I LOVE THE MOON!!!!!

I got this shot out of my kitchen window this morning and it came out much clearer than I expected. Sure, the camera kept trying to tell me that the shot would be too dark and the shutter speed was at 6 and the ap was at 8 and I was relying as much on natural light as I could and normally my hands shake to the extent that this kind of photo comes out horribly grainy and blurry. (Yes, there's a lot of grain in this shot, but it's not too bad.) But I love how the sliver moon is "caught" in the cross hatch of phone wires. I love how even in the middle of the urban, sometimes the sky comes though.

Monthly

2007-11-04T04:39:00.000-08:00

Seems about every month now I get the urge for writing and come back to this here blog to put things down that probably no one else ever reads. I've had ideas (the yawn project), aspirations (NaBloPoMo), and rambling dumps.
And yesterday I had a great idea and was thinking "I should definitely write about that."

And now it's gone. Even the extra hour of sleep/daylight wasn't enough to save that idea from the deep swamp of my brain that swallows inspirations and good intentions.

But today is sunny, and I'm meeting a good friend for coffee, and I'll make it to the gym if I can and work out a bit on the elliptical machine.

Here's two things to leave you with: Once, when I was driving down one of the main East/West streets in my city I saw some kids coming out of an alley. It was summer, and they were wearing bathing suits and had towels and were soaked through. I knew there wasn't a pool nearby, and couldn't think for the life of me where they'd be coming from and how they'd gotten all swimming wet. As I passed the alley I decided to take a peek and see what I could. There amid a small group waiting their turns was the face of a child, hair slicked back, ears sticking out, big toothy Alfred E. Newman grin, but I couldn't see the child's body because it was submerged in one of those industrial buckets you see in restaurants or on construction sites. No fire hydrant available, not able to make it the 10 or more blocks to one of the city's many public pools, someone had found a way for these kids to beat the summer heat. That scene makes me smile every time I think about it.

And now for something completely different, a photo of graves I got while at one of the oldest cemeteries in Massachusetts.

The price of memories

2007-10-06T18:16:00.000-07:00

I bought your vacation pictures at Goodwill for .99 cents.

It’s a little strange. I don’t know if these are the pictures you didn’t want, or the pictures you did want. Are you wondering where they are? Has it hit you yet that you accidentally mixed them in with a donation? Or was someone else cleaning out your things and these just got lost in the shuffle?

You flew Maya Island Air, so you were somewhere in the Belize or Guatamala area. You subjected a dog that I don’t think was yours to wearing your sunglasses. Good thing the dog was good natured.

Are you friends with the other couple? Or did you happen to be sharing space in a pre-determined trip destination. Was it eco-tourism? Was it one in many trips? Or a once-in-a-lifetime adventure? Where did you come from?

Are those monkeys in that one shot? I think I see prehensile tails, but there are no repeat shots so I don’t know.

Was that the biggest moth you had ever seen? Is that why it got a spotlight next to a plastic condiment cup filled with some kind of relish?

Did you dive for that conch you’re smashing with a meat tenderizer on your own, or did you buy it from that shack in the photos?

Did all of your smiles look so strained? Somehow just a bit uncomfortable.

I find the older couple much more fascinating. I’m assuming they’re a couple. Maybe the other two are their kids, or maybe just friends. Or maybe complete strangers.

Who knows what their relationship is.

But I could not resist picking up the package. What on earth would possess the workers at Goodwill to actually put a price on it and sell it off the shelf? Just because they knew someone would buy it?

I’ve found other photos at yard sales and such. One was tucked into a Bible. Another I believe was in a book and had an accompanying letter. Once my husband found a photo of the cast of a play from probably the late 1800s, early 1900. One of the players was in black face. Each is a fascinating piece of history that somehow got lost in the shuffle.

Sometimes there are boxes of old photographs at yard sales. I would buy all of them if I could. Personal history always seems to get lost. People know their grandparents had grandparents, but who they were and how they spent their days is a bit of a mystery. My brother has always been the self appointed keeper of history in my family. It’s a role I’m glad he has taken on. He’s found out things I might never have even attempted to learn. But a few death announcements and photos still leaves some pretty big holes.

Not that a few vacation photos of time in Guatamala is going to reveal all of the mysteries of these people to future generations, but it would be an interesting clue into the adventurous nature of these people.

Because anyone willing to tenderize a conch by the light of a headlamp while vacationing in a far away place is someone with more stories to tell.

blogity, blogity, blog (And Myanmar)

2007-09-30T16:39:00.000-07:00

A little bit of This American Life, a cat at my feet, thinking about Halloween, wondering about the world in general.
Like the situation in Myanmar (Burma) right now. (I always say it, but yay Wikipedia.) What do I do in a situation like this? I'm practically a world away, and I know that people are in distress, threatened, dying for no good reason. That I'm aware of, Monks try to avoid violent clashes. It is not in the Buddhist philosophy to incite violence.
I read the biography of the Dalai Lama and how he encouraged the people of Tibet to try and work with the Chinese and Mao Tse-tung, a sort of peacful rebellion during the Chinese invasion of the county. I believe his thinking went along the lines of, and I'm paraphrasing here, they will eventually go away and we can return to our life as normal.
This didn't happen. And the Dalai Lama reached a point where he was having a difficult time advising his people to refrain from violent protest. The atrocities of the communist party against Tibet were just too great.
How heartbreaking is it to watch people of any religion partake in a non-violent protest and be met with violence intended to silence their voices? What sort of injustice exists that allows this to happen?
And I just watch the news and wait to see what happens to these people who are simply trying to be heard.

I covered a tax day protest in Maine once while working for a local paper there. Young protesters chained themselves together at the wrists with handcuffs (or something, I can't quite remember) and then covered the links with a contraption of thick tubing, tar, nails, and other difficult to remove substances. They set up a circle in front of a company that manufactured items for US defense contracts, which just happened to be across from an elementary school, and urged people, through the resulting press coverage, to think about where their taxes were actually going once collected by the government. More to defense than to education.

It was certainly a charged situation. I felt for these students, and most of them were students from local colleges and universities, because they seemed to feel passionately about this subject.
At least for the day.

But something about the protest felt oddly like a training exercise. Preparing these young minds to go on to greater protests, perhaps more extreme measures to get their point across.

And I wondered how many people, after seeing the TV footage or reading the articles written by the various reporters who covered it, really gave a second thought to their taxes. If anyone learning about this group that intentionally put itself into a confrontation in order to make a point decided that they too would protest the tax situation. Decided that enough was enough, and the war machine shouldn't go on while teachers had to buy pencils for students because the administration couldn't afford them. (I'm postulating here, I don't know exactly what measures teachers in the Maine area were faced with when it came to equipping classrooms with the necessities.)

And what did these protesters do next? Did they continue to lobby for tax reform, fair tax distribution, or did they go on to the next cause du jour?

In short, I didn't know how effective they had been. I didn't feel a connection between the cause and the people representing it.

And I certainly haven't done anything about the tax distribution in this country on my own. Perhaps the fact that I still think about this incident and the true affect that a protest can have is enough. But I can't convince myself of that either.

And a world away people are protesting the junta, military dictatorship, of Myanmar (Burma). If I felt powerless to change the system in my own country, how can I even dream of helping to bring peace to Myanmar? Or Darfur? Or North Korea? What good will it do to join a protest/sign a petition if they only thing I feel it accomplishes is potentially satisfying my ego? I signed the petition, that's my part, right? Can I go back to watching home decorating shows and picking my fingers now? Am I done here?

(Oh, and thanks Save Tibet, for those great paper prayer flags you sent in your last plea for donations. They look great hanging in my doorway, and match the one-fish two-fish ornament my friend gave me in 2002. I still haven't donated money to your cause, but I see those flags everyday and think of you.)

I know I've gone on about this before. And it's not very fair to bitch about the situation and then still do nothing to change it. But it feels just as empty to pay the $2 and put the sticker on my car as it does if I've done nothing at all.

My thoughts are with you Burma (Myanmar). I'm sorry you've had to suffer, junta and monks alike.

Embodiment of a knock-knock joke

2007-08-03T01:49:00.000-07:00

Know a group of young kids with a strange sense of humor? Or just have friends who are really into obscure Halloween costumes? Here's an idea for you:

Get 5 to 6 people. If you're working with little children you may want to be sure they understand the knock-knock joke first, or at least can follow directions with a minimum of fuss.

Dress all but one person as bananas. (Just use yellow shirts with a Chiquita logo on them or something if an actual banana costume is too difficult to come up with.)

Dress the final person as an orange.

For kids, take them out trick-or-treating and send the bananas to the door one by one (yes this could get a little tedious, but stick it out for the joke!)

When all the bananas are done, send in the orange.

See who laughs.

Just trying to keep this from going away

2007-07-29T18:08:00.000-07:00

I don't know if there's a rule about how often to post or not. but if I get back here at least once a month to post something inane perhaps I'll actually get motivated to post something worthwhile. Right now I'm just trying to keep my head from exploding.

On another note, I've thought about changing the name of my blog to Rorschach Panties.

I won't talk about the inspiration behind that.

Another month gone by

2007-06-22T17:48:00.000-07:00

Funny how quickly time flies by.

As usual, I came here to post thinking that I'd have a plan to write something. But I have no new photos, no news, not even any deep thoughts. Of course, the fact that I've had a beer and that I'm the biggest lightweight on the planet means that I'm feeling pleasantly fuzzy and don't really want to talk about anything deep. I know I've had story ideas. I know I still want to do something with the yawn project. I just end up slacking. And talking about slacking or what I had for lunch is not what brings people to read any blog. Why? I'm sure you all know.

BORING.

Want something a little more exciting? Head on over to the Story Corps site. Hear stories from people across America. What's shaped their lives, what's important to them, how the people they love and respect, love and respect them back. It's wonderful to listen to.

Use the force!

2007-05-25T02:42:00.000-07:00

In news today: "Nerd Alert: D.I.Y. Star Wars (WSJ)
George Lucas, creator of Star Wars, has never hesitated to protect his intellectual property, which is why some call him "Lucas the Litigator." But this week, his Lucasfilm plans to make clips of "Star Wars" available to fans on the Internet to mash up - meaning to remix however they want - at will. The clips about 250 of them, from all six Star Wars movies will land on the Starwars.com Web site tomorrow, part of this week's 30th-anniversary celebrations of the release of his hit movie."

(Take from the MediaBistro daily e-mail, article in the Wall Street Journal.)

This has the potential to produce a plethora of drivel with a few gems that the world will be glued to on YouTube for weeks. Weeks I tell you! Now THAT'S entertainment.

I remember going to the theater to see The Empire Strikes Back, and being young I called it The Umpire Strikes Back having no real knowledge in my 7 year old brain of what an empire was so I substituted the first word that made sense to my world. My father laughed about that for weeks. And we weren't sports people.

So the 30th anniversary of these movies would seem like it should be a pretty big event. One worth some pomp and circumstance. Though perhaps George already jumped the shark by bringing the prequel trilogy out just a few years ago. Why didn't he wait until the 30 year mark? With a little more thought, could we all have avoided the pain of Jar-Jar binks? The Star Wars movies are know for the rampant "stereotyping" of ethnicities, Jar-Jar being just one in a list of awful characters. But we all need our villains.

Instead, as some sort of even year celebration we will be subjected, for the most part, to the incoherent ramblings of fan boys and girls with less than stellar video editing skills who will use the mash-ups for insider jokes that will leave the rest of us wondering what is really going on at this party we've managed to stumble into. Sure, it's easy to laugh at the clip of the goofy friends strategically, though clumsily, inserted into the Ewok feast scene. Waving as if on holiday, pretending to hug Ewoks, or kick them in the fuzzy rumps. But this is how to celebrate 30 years? A stream of consciousness frenzy filled with a few shining trout, but mostly populated with the dull sheen of catfish dredging along the bottom for anything that resembles an edible morsel?

Please, girlfriend. As if there is anything new about this.

Something intellectual

2007-05-18T03:13:00.000-07:00

Ok, so it's not so intellectual. I'm just happy that I've made my way back to this page in less than a month's time. Of course I had a list of things in my head that I wanted to write about, but now they're all gone. Lost in a haze of morning sleepy and achy hands.

I'm digging the coffee shop job, but physically I'm starting to wonder about myself. Tendons and muscles are starting to react in ways I wasn't expecting. I'll need to research some stretching/exercise routine that will help to keep me limber.

I'm not going to force writing this morning. This morning that feels like early fall instead of mid/late spring. The tea is hot, the sky is cloudy, and there are bills to pay in the other room.

Here, go entertain yourself:

Show me your dirty wow wow

On writing

2007-05-09T04:17:00.000-07:00

Ah, now I remember why writing under a daily or weekly deadline could be so challenging for me.

I edit while I write. Not necessarily conducive to speed this editing while writing business.

I've spent the last hour and a half trying to get a profile started about an alum who works to preserve a natural habitat owned by an energy company. He is an interesting man, his work is interesting, but there is no pop to the story as it currently stands. So I've played with the first three paragraphs trying to figure out where I want this story to go, never really satisfied with what I'm coming up with.

I want this story to be about him, but do I use the current hot topic to move the story along? If that's my goal, I need to ask more about the current hot topic! Though what he does is more important than the hot topic, so maybe that's not right.

Oh, for the love of all that's good in this world.

It'll come out. I know it will.

In other news: I'm getting older!

Sure, sure. We're all getting older, you say. Why should your age be any more spectacular? It's not, really. But I'm going to see Jigu! Thunder Drums of China on Thursday to celebrate! It should be a good time.

Three weeks

2007-05-01T04:07:00.000-07:00

Well, here it is. Three weeks into the coffee shop/freelance thing.

There's not too much that's terribly exciting to report really. I've stuck to my guns, getting up early in the morning and working on assignments before showering and off to smell of coffee grounds and sandwiches.

Though I have found out one thing. I really don't like espresso drinks. I can imagine a shot with a tad of sugar (enough to take the edge off) and light cream (leaving the shot a rich, caramel color) would be quite an enjoyable experience. But I've made myself a latte and a mocha, and they're too damn rich. I don't want coffee with my milk, I want milk with my coffee. Perhaps I should try a dry cappuccino. Shot of espresso with foam basically.

But those lattes and mochas just sit in my stomach like a rock. :P

In other news, my grandmother decided to get rid of the mixing bowls she's had for the past 62 years or so. I guess my grandfather bought them for her as something to keep in her cedar hope chest after he asked her to marry him. They're chipped, one has a crack that goes straight through but doesn't leak, they're solid as granite and have seen more Bisquick than the factory.

I must build a DIY photo studio and try to catch their character before I drop them on the floor and shatter their history where I won't be able to sweep up all the shards of yellow and blue glaze and end up with a memory stuck in the sole of my foot.

Good Bye Blue Monday

2007-04-12T03:33:00.000-07:00

I'm not as familiar with Vonnegut's work as I should be, but always feel a tug in my stomach when a writer who has affected the lives and thoughts of others dies.

So, good bye blue monday. It was good to have you here.

Living the cliche

2007-04-11T03:09:00.000-07:00

AHAHAHAHA!

I love power outages.

Here's the skinny. I've started working at a coffee shop so I can get time for writing in the morning. Not just blogging writing either, some freelance work. Yay for me! Sure it's a pay cut, but now I can get back on track with writing and perhaps even get better at it.

And believe me, you won't miss what I had going on here before the power outage.

Here's something a bit less whiny and more "what's inside my head":

A logic riddle for you: George, Helen and Steve are drinking coffee. Bert, Karen and Dave are drinking soda. Using logic, is Elizabeth drinking coffee or soda?

Elizabeth is drinking tea. Coffee is the drink of the proletariat, after all, she thinks. Despite what all of those coffee huts want you to believe with their double shot espressos, half-caf lattes with soy milk and a shot of mocha. Nothing more than a working class ruse so these people can dull the pain of the day with something they think is extravagant. And soda is made for the uneducated masses. Sugar laden concoctions meant to rot the brain as much as the teeth. Almost as addicting as those cigarettes so many of these types leave hanging on their lips as they talk to you. Squinting like some ghetto Dirty Harry, trying to blow the smoke away from their eyes in a variety of ways that, on some level she supposes, is meant to make them look knowledgable. Perhaps even worldly.

Come to think of it, why is she even here with these people? Helen is her friend, and perhaps the most educated of the group. But these others? They've been talking about television since walking through the door of this dirty spoon and being visually assaulted by the graying white board that asked, "Who is your favorite American Idol?" in bold pink and green letters. As if the question were one of deep intellectualism that anyone could get behind and debate.

Every once in awhile Elizabeth would throw a few words into the pool of conversation at her table. More as a social experiment than anything else. Each word would set them off on a new tangent, each tangent more absurd than the last.

She sipped the bitter tea that the waitress had bought. The tea was probably left out in an unsealed box, as much a mix of the dust that settled on the high shelves as anything that resembled a tea leaf. The coffee pots didn't get dusty. Neither did the soda machines. They were dulled by use, by the constant demand for production and endless needs of their consumers.

A drastic realization

2007-03-07T10:12:00.000-08:00

The other day a friend of mine told me that his daughter had come to a realization; she finally realized that she is black. This discovery came after a day of learning about Dr. Martin Luther King in school. Unfortunately, this seems to be a bit of a shock to her system and now she is quite worried about fitting in because she's not like everyone else in her school.
This just broke my heart. It is never a good time to develop self-doubt and/or a negative personal image. She is a beautiful little girl who knows Tae Kwon Do, and has enough imagination to tape colored paper to her finger nails after her father told her she can't use nail polish on them.

So, to ease my own pain and hopefully some of hers, I wrote her a poem. This is for Gabrielle.

Not Nearly as Nosy as Nora might think

Yesterday morn as I walked down the street

I met up with Nora, who has skips in her feet.

To skip without trying is a great thing to do,

particularly if your age is near five years plus two.

Despite this great talent dear Nora was stuck,

“My nose,” she cried out “it’s as big as a truck!

It’s misshapen and ugly, a true awful sight.

And there’s a big party at my school tonight.

All the other kids have such petite button noses,

there’s no way I’ll ever fit in with such roses!

All truths be told, her nose is quite stunning.

It fits on her face; it stays on if she’s running.

Noses are made for a few simple tasks,

like breathing, and blowing, and holding up masks.

A nose won’t affect if you can run or are smart,

a nose can’t predict if you’ll be good at art.

“But I’m different,” said Nora. “That scares me inside.

And a nose shaped like mine isn’t easy to hide.”

Yes everyone sees it, sure everyone knows

Some might call as she passes “Hey, it’s Nora the Nose!”

Those people, I told her, aren’t the kind made for friends.

They’ve got brains made of bricks, so unwilling to bend.

Your nose ends at your face, beyond is much more,

like a girl who can skip all the way to the store.

Nora thought for a minute, and then crossed her eyes,

this view made her nose look like more of a prize.

“I suppose for a nose it’s not really so bad,

I could have big ears like my grandma or Dad.

And I like them just fine, and they love me each day.”

With that she was off, a girl well on her way.

That won’t be the last time she thinks of her nose,

she’ll love it or hate it with each day she grows.

What Nora learned from our talk on the street

is that seeing past noses can be quite a feat.

But accepting her nose is the first sign of pride

for the great girl she always is on the inside.

Thought I had lost this blog

2007-03-01T06:22:00.000-08:00

Tried to log in yesterday and found that I had COMPLETELY forgotten my password. Found a backway in though, and should be back from this point forward.
Yes, I still know there is a yawn project to work on, and I'm doing some copy writing work for a way cool online Halloween store, plus just trying to find my place in the universe again.
Seems like I do that every few months or so, but just can't convince myself that not knowing my place in the universe is ok and just to go with that flow.

MUST. HAVE. ORDER.

The dishes go in the cupboard, the cats go on the sofa/bed/chairs, my mother lives 30 minutes away, and I am (here).

Like trying on a new shirt

2007-01-30T06:57:00.000-08:00

New blog look, because I haven't done anything else lately. Though Loki knows I've got things I COULD be doing.

I could add "learn about HTML/XML/CSS" to that list and come up with my own template and look.

But I've got the yawn project (yes, still on my mind) and a post about acting to write. Among other things. I just move slow.

Maybe I should call this blog Sloth Theory.

Wow

2007-01-07T10:14:00.000-08:00

I get past the every day blogging challenge and then I practically forget that the blog exists.

I'll tell ya, it was an exercise in finding out just how much I don't have to say. In that vein (vain?), I've begun to ponder different subjects I could try and make my own. Origami, coffee, music, writing, photography. Allow myself to become an "expert" of sorts.

There is the fallout from Time magazine's "Person of the Year" is "you" article to contend with. What makes me an expert on anything? At best, I'm an educated amateur in at least one subject and an amateur amateur in the rest. At worst, I am a blogger shlub who would rather do some navel gazing than actually get serious about something.

And yes, during the month of November I questioned the reasoning behind picking one topic when there are so many to discuss. If there were so many things to talk/write about, why aren't I doing it? Part of it is I haven't set myself any goals. Not that a goal will definitely get me on the road to blogging wealth (in the most personal satisfaction sense of the term wealth), but having direction is never a bad thing. And the further in to something I get perhaps I'll find a time when I just can't write enough about it.

Writing is going to happen for me no matter what. The journalism degree I'm still paying off at least confirmed that I can write, and often I can write well. It also confirmed that the hours and demands put on a beat reporter are not condusive to me living a happy life. Bully to those who can, I appreciate that someone gives me a jumping off point to what's happening in the world. But blind faith should never be put in a journalist. Not because I believe they're lying or skewing the news to their liberal bias, (Damn liberals! They're what's wrong with America I tell you! Just like those Muslims and heathen illegal immigrants! Wrecking our family values. It's all a woman can do to concentrate on some good old fear of god once a week, or think of ways to get double coupons on Wednesday when the advertisement clearly says Tuesday, what with all this gay marriage and equal rights clatter going on about her ears. Because it's certainly not my fault I can't talk with my husband about the affair he's been having with that little whore from accounting, or I can't sit with my kids long enough to try and have whatever semblence of conversation you can get from a teenager. It's those damn liberals, distracting me from my true happiness of MaiTai's on the beach.), but because if I want to be truly informed I should take the responsibility upon myself to learn as much as I can about a topic. And one AP story in the local rag is not enough to be considered education. It's simply a place to start.

But I digress.

Why should I become an expert, of sorts. Because it means I will continue to learn. (Some tidbit I saw recently, and no I can't confirm where I saw it, said that staying in school is one of the surest ways to stay young.) Perhaps I'll find a passion. And just because I start off on one topic doesn't mean it can't grow into something else. I've not locked myself forever into a role.

And I can digress any damn time I want.

So, thanks for tuning in for more navel gazing. Mmmm, the lint of consciousness is colored a most wonderful blue and never smells unwashed.

Ever.

Random thought: Destiny is the natural end to a life of lucid dreaming and insatiable imagination. Of course it was meant to be.

Origami is FUN!

2006-12-04T17:01:00.000-08:00

Like when you make 32 disco Santas to put into snack bags for the student workers in the department.
(Unfortunately, you only see the disco effect on a few of the Santas in the back row. I was too close to the front one to get a sparkly shot.)

Perhaps I'll try to make another one and see if I can get a disco shot. I'll try the flash on the camera, though that will probably just wash him out.

For awhile I fought the idea of Santa. Saw him as just ramped up commercialism; a strange bedfellow of the "Christian" holiday.

I just went off on the most boring and self-rightous rant. WOW. Not even with an interesting story about how folding 32 origami santas left me with some strange folding injury.

Here's the point. I like Santa. Not because he's a figure of Christmas, but because he is simply the spirit and symbol of giving. And that is accessible to anyone.

Wow, that right stunk as far as a piece of writing goes.

Foot in mouth

2006-12-01T08:07:00.000-08:00

That version of Santa Claus is Coming to Town that I heard yesterday? Not a wino.

It was Joseph Spence

What would I ever do without iTunes and Wikipedia? Really now? I never would have figured out who the singer was and that he is considered a blues/jazz legend.

I just couldn't put the mumbling and fantastic guitar playing together in my head when I heard it. I didn't know whether to laugh or be blown away.

Migraine, day four

2006-11-30T15:40:00.000-08:00

Ok, so the majority of the pain is gone. But I've got a sour stomach like no one's business.

Fortunately, I've got enough energy to blog about something today. The last day of NaBloPoMo. So I'll end with somewhat of a startling noise. But more like a fork dropped on the linoleum, not like a car across the street backfiring or anything.

And no, I'm NOT able to say I found out I was pregnant on the very last day of NaBloPoMo. Hopefully that honor went to someone else.

I admit it, I've already started listening to Christmas music. I've got XM radio in the car and channels 103-107 are all holiday music all the time. 107 is called Special Xmas, or something like that. It's all of those songs that don't get the major airplay because most of them are novelty songs, or strange songs about Christmas Cowboys as sung by Wayne Newton.

I'm serious.

Two songs have really caught my attention so far. A good majority of them are silly parodies of popular songs, or interpretations of how famous bands/singers might have sung a holiday song. There's even a good smattering of Channuka songs thrown in for good measure. But here's what sticks in my mind.

I want a Hippopotamus for Christmas

Be forewarned. This link will take you directly to a music file of the song. I don't know how legal it is what with copyright and all, but obviously someone likes this song. And how can you not? With lyrics like "I want a hippopotamus to play with and enjoy"what's not to like? It's very ba da da - dum - dum - dum, ba da da - dum - dum - dum. If you can make it through the beginning and the fact that the little girl Gayla Peevey singing the song has that kind of squeaky Shirley Temple sound going on, I think you'll like this song. If not, get over it.

Apparently, someone wrote a book based on the song, it's for sale at Amazon
I also included the Amazon link because there appear to be other "suggested titles" that look pretty neat.

For a tiny bit of background information, here's someone's personal FAQ on the song. The actual sound file links don't appear to be working. I'm not sure how old this page is. But it was the second hit from Google. Ah, fair Google. What would we do without thee?

And tonight, as I'm barreling down the highway, I hear the distinct sounds of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" on a guitar. However, it sounds like the only words the singer knows is "Santa Claus is coming ...". The rest of the song is mumbled in an "I don't care about this song, I'm just trying to appease you damn people" kind of way. It could be described as a wino singing the song.
Though I'm sure artist would have some kind of beef with that description. The performace was followed by a hearty applause. No laughing, no hootin' and hollerin', just applause as if it were the performance of a master.

DAMMIT! XM doesn't have an available play list of songs on the Holiday stations and I can't remember the artists name. Back to GOOGLE!!

NO PATIENCE FOR GOOGLE ANYMORE!!

So I'll just drop a friendly email to the station and see what they have to say. News when I get it.

In the meantime, listen to I want a hippopotamus for christmas. See if you can stop singing it.

I dare you.

Migraine, day three

2006-11-29T15:41:00.000-08:00

Yes, day three. The pain isn't as intense as it was, but I'm f**kin' tired and don't feel like even trying to riff off a random thought.

So here's a picture. Ooo, pretty picture. You like pictures, they're better than words. Don cha think? They make books so much more pleasant, and easier to read.

migraine, day two

2006-11-28T15:22:00.000-08:00

This is what you get when you dedicate yourself to posting every day. Most days you all would be saved from me going on about my splitting migraine because I just wouldn't post anything at all.
But today, you get to find out that I'm in the second day of a migraine. I'm going to go take some drugs and fall asleep on the couch.

migraine=lazy post

2006-11-27T15:24:00.000-08:00

For you entertainment, "Headaches" by Allan Sherman

Headaches, headaches.
Aspirin commercials give me headaches.
Just when I'm feeling chipper as you please,
That's when they show me all my sinus cavities.
Headaches, headaches.
Those sponsors don't care how my head aches.
See that announcer, he looks so fine.
His head should ache like mine.
Headaches, headaches.
Those pounding hammers give me headaches.
They say it once and then they say again,
Oh tension, pressure, pain, oh tension pressure pain.
Headaches, headaches.
Those sponsors love it when my head aches.
Mother, don't hand me those pills from the shelf.
I'd rather do it myself.
(Mommy, can't you keep Daddy's car out of the driveway?!)
Headaches, headaches.
Those sponsors love it when my head aches.
There is one remedy that's unsurpassed.
And their commercials give me headaches "fast fast fast".
Headaches, headaches.
Aspirin commercials give me headaches.
Today I swallowed the best cure yet.
I ate my TV set

More keepsakes from the imagination of children

2006-11-26T16:45:00.000-08:00

As if the "make your own monster" from FAO Schwarz wasn't enough; apparently there is a jewelry studio that will take you child's drawings and create sterlin silver charms out of them.

Check out "Off the Fridge" from Magic Dog Studio.

This kind of thing is still not cheap. Any of these items are thought of as custom work, and well they should be. But to have an artist take a drawing that came from your child's imagination and turn it into a three dimensional representation of that idea is just too cool for words in my book.

I didn't know what I was going to blog about today until I saw the item on an HGTV gift show. Pass the idea around. This kind of creativity needs encouragement.

Origami

2006-11-25T14:33:00.000-08:00

Fold paper. Sounds simple enough, but it all depends on what sort of folds you use or what the final product of all the folds is. (I know that doesn't sound gramatically correct, but break it down, the sentence will stand.)

Because the hubster and I are a bit tight on funds, I've decided that this year I'd master a few different origami designs and give them to the family and friends. The two you see above are tests of my skills. Next I'm going to spray them down with a matte varnish to try and make them a bit sturdier. If that works out well I'll get some larger paper and start going to town. (These pieces are a bit small. I'd like some more substantial pieces.)
The cute litte book I got has more star designs, some box/ornament designs, reindeer, santa, doves, and the ubiquitos paper crane. Though most people would see these little items as something to adorn the wrapping of a gift rather than as a gift on its own, I'm sure there are those of you who will read this and think "you cheap bastard".

But here's the catch. I don't need/want anything. I haven't for the past few years. Members of my family really have everything they could need/want from me. At least the things that would normally be within my price bracket. Food is not a good choice, because there is no one item I could make that would cross the dietary needs of everyone I know. So if it comes down to giving them some small bit of dust gathering potential, why shouldn't I at least make it with my own two hands?

Fold paper. The process might not be simple, but the end result is. Beyond that I can try to give my time to the people in my life throughout the year. What else is there really? I will admit. The holidays change when there isn't the mad rush for gifts and wrapping and the excitement of opening something. But I won't say it's for the worse. Its just different.

Pehaps next year I'll try some kirigami (cut paper) scenes and frame them.

Here are some great examples of what kirigami looks like.

Lack of exciting things

2006-11-24T16:05:00.000-08:00

Well, it turns out that a Google of "lack of exciting things" turns up a bunch of posts where people are talking about things they find almost uncontrollably exciting.
So, what makes something exciting? It appears to be linked to a new event/discovery/thought process. (Just a quick review of the links that come up from the Google search.)

People have written about their jobs, about techno music releases, some IBM program, and mother-son purity pledges. (What?)

It's not unusual that excitement is linked to discovery; the rush of the "a-ha!" moment. So who are the people who are afraid of that moment? Breaking it down into something perhaps more simple, who are the people afraid of something new?

According to The Phobia List people with a fear of something new could be classified under at least 2 phobias: Cainophobia or Cainotophobia (fear of newness, novelty), and Cenophobia or Centophobia (fear of new things or ideas).

(This is a pretty interesting list on just the first glance. How accurate it is I don't know, but all the Internet is but a gateway to more information. On a side note, Alektorophobia apparently is a fear of chickens.)

Luddites (Thank you Wikipedia, another great starting point for gathering information) are, I suppose, the most well known example of an organized group with a fear of new things. It wasn't an irrational fear, however. It was a fear that the new industrial methods would negate the need for human labor, and thereby put them out of work. In a time when skilled trades were the norm the potential that the skill could be made easier, and accessible to those without the skill, had to be pretty intimidating.

Sometimes it was the skill itself which was intimidating. Blacksmiths, for example, practiced metallurgy, which was a lot like alchemy to the unskilled. Basically, it was magic. People could watch it happen with their own eyes, touch the results with their fingers; but try to explain why working one metal could help to produce another metal (this is a real basic explanation on my part, I know there's more involved) and those without the skill just couldn't grasp it.

My grandmother thinks the toaster is magic. On a grander scale, so is the computer.

But I digress, because my grandmother is a sweet old woman and if she wants to think the toaster is magic I'm not going to stop her.

Without understanding people resort to simply accepting the process as something other worldly. Therefore, a loom could potentially work on its own, replacing those who once ran it. That loom represents more than a new idea, which could possibly make the job of the skilled laborer more efficient, more enjoyable even. That loom represents uncertainty, it represents unidentifiable potential, and that potential could be bleak. We could all end up batteries for robot farms.

And who wouldn't feel like they suffered from a little bit of Cenophobia if that's where the mind takes you?

It is easy to get excited about an event/discovery/thought process IF the conclusion takes you to someplace that is still familiar. But what about when it doesn't? What happens when the conclusion is so alien, so unfamiliar, that the only explanation is "magic"? Superstition makes some run in fear from the discovery (or call the toaster a stupid machine when the bread becomes a charred brick of it's former wholesome goodness). Superstition would appear to be the comfort zone of the Cenophobe. And at that point the explanation is unnecessary. There is no longer room for "a-ha!". And the potential for excitement is gone.

Today I learned that ... hhmmmm ... today I learned that, um, yeah. After all that pontification about excitement, today I learned that STILL there was a lack of exciting things happening in my life today.

Cat lap

2006-11-23T17:00:00.000-08:00

After a day of smoking out the kitchen while trying to follow a turkey roasting recipe that calls for a well oiled turkey to be cooked at 500 degrees F for 30 minutes before turning down the heat, it's good to sit on the sofa and relax.

But I've had a visitor the whole time. My own personal guardian and breathing blanket, Haywire.

(Shown here owning my husband while he was lying on couch.)

Haywire's a funny guy. If there is only my husband lying on the couch he will settle in on his chest and slowly melt across my husband's body. If I come and sit down, he moves on to me. If my husband then gets up leaving part of the couch open, he will go and lay down on the empty space. So, there appears to be an order of affection/comfy. True melted cheese sandwich type lounging=husband (good). Hugged by a human/reliving kitten days comfort=me (better). Empty space to call his own/curl up with own body heat=couch (best).

And when he's not doing that, he's lying on the office floor doing the "dead entymologist look". Not that the entymologist is dead, mind you, but Haywire lays on his back with all four paws curled up on his body. Much like this:

(Photo taken RIGHT NOW! Digital is a wonderful thing.)

So he looks like an entymologist's specimen. All he's missing is pins and a little identification tag. Catus Resposus Officana.

He's a curious fellow. He's got diabetes, and my husband insists on continuing to share ice cream with the cat. Insulin twice a day to keep those sugar blues at bay.

We know this means he's got only so much longer. And he's already up there as far as cat years go. But I don't get cat lap with the other cats; at least not like I get with Haywire. I'm going to miss that when he goes on to little kitty Valhalla.

In the meantime, I will love him and pet him and call him George. And when he is bad I will squish him and make squishy noises with my mouth.

I could talk about Thanksgiving

2006-11-22T14:45:00.000-08:00

And get all mushy and sentimental; or even go off on a political tirade about the Native American population; or linky link to others who have put their heart and kitchen into the holiday completely.

But why do that when I can talk about CENTIPEDES!!!!!

Not just any old centipede, not just the Cthulu minions of the house centipede, but the
AMAZONIAN GIANT CENTIPEDE!!!

I'm not sure who this "damn interesting" fellow is, but his comic write-up about this carnivorous beastie is both entertaining and informative. I haven't worked up the guts to watch any of the videos yet, but c'mon! A centipede that catches and eats BATS! Cute, fuzzy little buggie eating bats get their due at the legs and toxin of the AMAZONIAN GIANT CENTIPEDE!

Yes, I have to write that in caps every time. You expect to see it across a theater marquee, all flashing lights and lines of curious onlookers. This thing is going straight to Broadway! Lines of GIANT AMAZONIAN CENTIPEDES pulsing to a painstakingly choreographed dance routine, twisting and twining around each other. The audience is hypnotized by this spectacle, simultaneously amazed and atrophied from fear.

As long as a man's forearm. Gah.

Watching bug shows is like rubber necking at an accident, without the threat of causing new mayhem by missing the fact that traffic in front of you has stopped. Nature creates some of the most fascinating and complex creatures, man included. (And yes, women too. Don't think I've lost my feminist sensibilities all together.) Just consider the platypus, or the cuttle fish, or the naked mole rat. Get squeamish over parasites, go soft over puppies, marvel at the enormity of whales; those are things to be thankful for. I mean, my family is wonderful and I'm quite happy that I have a roof over my head, but the diversity of the world and all its inhabitants is a great ongoing science experiment. Takes notes! There's not a test, but your observations can lead to more great things.

AMAZONIAN GIANT CENTIPEDE!!!

hee hee hee

Update your blog, they said

2006-11-21T16:23:00.000-08:00

Pick a new template, they whispered seductively.

It's "beta", you'll love it.

BAH!!!

Why for you bury me in the cold, cold ground?

2006-11-21T15:47:00.000-08:00

This is one of my ex-husband's favorite lines for a Looney Tunes episode featuring the Tazmanian Devil.
Now, Taz doesn't do a whole lot of talking. More grunting, splurting, screaming, growling, mumbling kind of stuff. When he's not deviling around wildly, making even the most stable among us dizzy.
But in this one episode, and I can't remember exactly which one it was, Bugs successfully, though temporarily, buries Taz. When Taz finally makes it back, walking I think instead of whirring, he asks that simple but all illuminating question.

"Why for you bury me in the cold, cold ground?"

That's how I feel. Yet again. Consider this cheating if you must, but please allow me to refer you back to "Functionality"

Frustrated at every turn, feeling a might under utilized, this was a bang your head on the desk kind of day. Not that the situation didn't bring to light another situation which needs to be fixed. And that's not a completely bad thing. But my functionality is greatly reduced when the wheels of the machine grind to a halt to discuss the accuracy of the information behind my task. Information that was not created by me, information that I assumed (my mistake) was correct according to the person responsible for said information.

Alas, this is not the case. And I spun my little hammers until I bruised and splintered my functionality.

Does anyone have any tweezers?

Say, let's lighten things up a bit. How about a new look? Something should be functional.

It's another crap post!

2006-11-20T15:28:00.000-08:00

No, the post isn't about my bowel/bathroom habits. But this is a quick post with a neato link so I can go enjoy my dinner and clear my head before getting my stuff ready for work tomorrow.

This day shouldn't seem so rushed. But it just does.

Today's link allows anyone to delve into their child like subconscious and

Make your own monster

While this is an expensive service offered by the FAO Schwarz company, I think they've really hit on something here. True, Monsters Inc. is long gone from the theaters, and Nightmare before Christmas 3D only opened to a small, exclusive band of theaters; but there is a general societal fascination with the "Creatures in my Head" kind of phenomena.

Whether you're going for the known monsters, like the ebola virus, or something a bit more commercial like "Ugly dolls", there is a wonderful trend toward things that frighten us. FAO Schwarz has taken it to the high-end market, but they've given all of us a way to perhaps make our fears a little less intimidating. The monster in the closet becomes our ally.

Unfortunately, the monster still can't protect us from our multitude of phobias.

Linky links in kind

2006-11-19T10:15:00.000-08:00

Someone names Jessie has tipped the world off to the fact that I'm going to start the yawn project. (My word, now I really have to do something!)

So get those subconscious reflexes under control people, I'll start on the photos of my wonderful yawning mug tonight. (Thanks to the hubster who will help me out.)

In the meantime, meander on over to "The Quirky World of Jessi" and see what that crazy cat (or should I say bunny) is up to.

Before the action

2006-11-18T18:28:00.000-08:00

Not everyone loves the James Bond movies. Or, there are people who are so in love with a certain style of Bond movie that any screen play which deviates from their favorite Bond actor/idea of Bond is, essentially, no good.

No matter which Bond you like, or whether the gadgets make the movie for you or not, nothing compares to the opening montage.

Went to see Casino Royale today. Excellent movie, good new Bond, great story line (even if the story line of the original book was adapted to a current time line where terrorists are the threat, not Russia), but what I really enjoyed was the opening montage starting with the classic "down the barrel" shot of Bond and the blood. The graphics were designed with very clean lines, the colors were bold, the symbolism of card suites instead of blood, the gun sights that turned into roulette wheels. It really isn't easy to describe and have you understand it; it's just this quick foreshadowing of the story line done is a very stylized manner.

Unusually, there weren't any women in the opening montage. I can't say as I missed that particularly, but it did make the opening quite different from the standard opening. And the theme song wasn't what I would call particularly memorable or orchestrated to the standard Bond expectations.

Neither was the whole movie. Casino Royale is the first in the series, it's the pre-story of how Bond became Bond. So though the tendency to womanize was there, it wasn't fully realized. There was no need to play up the seductress, it would have been completely unrealistic in terms of the story.

I wish I could compare the opening to the ones from other movies. Break it down step by step. But I just don't have that indepth knowledge of this most important part of the movie. It sets the scene for what's to come.

And the work done for the Casino Royale opening was simply beautiful to me. I would love to be able to create something like that.

Of course, I'd love to be able to create a lot of things. I just can't decide on one "thing" to create on a regular basis so maybe I'd become proficient.

Oooo, wasn't that boorish of me? Turning this post back to myself one more time, just can't let it exist as an appreciation of the montage.

Damn I'm self-centered. I can feel the axis of the earth as I write.

Bob the Angry Flower

2006-11-17T14:14:00.000-08:00

A few years ago I was introduced the an online comic called "Bob the Angry Flower". The author and cartoonist Stephen Notley has a varied and sick sense of humor. But I find that he can sumarize a universal situation is six panels or less is a painfully humorous way.

I give you this week's strip called Functionality

I cannot say how many times I've felt like this. Full of hammers but denied the nails.

And I'm done for the day. I've had a sour stomach since 4:30 this morning, and my attitude is one of "I don wanna!"

Have a wonderful night.

The real challenge to NaBloPoMo

2006-11-16T16:25:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, you can just freewrite and let your thoughts lead the post.

Other nights, you just don't even want to be looking at the screen and writing about nothing. Contextually speaking of course.

So this is a perfect time to talk about the yawn project! (Hoping that talking about it will give me a sense of immediacy in actually starting the project.)

Walking down the street, stopped in traffic, trapped in a three-hour conference call; you're bound to see someone yawn. What becomes really interesting is how the yawner (the person who is yawning) decides to cover up this mysterious bodily function. (Thank you "How Stuff Works.com") Someone sitting in their car may feel like they're alone, so they don't even try to courteously cover the cavernous reaches of their mouth and throat. (Hey, he's got fillings!)
Someone trapped in a three-hour conference call may try to stifle the yawn, tensing their jaw while a noticable quiver starts in their hair and reverberates to their shoes.
Someone walking down the street will, most likely, try to cover their yawn with their hand. Sparing us the vampiric need to count fillings before their teeth are again concealed by their cheeks.
This is where the social gestures of yawning get interesting. How does the person hold their hand? What is their body posture? Can they walk and yawn at the same time, or do they have to stop as their eyes squint closed and they appear to be in the throes of a petit mal?
And so begins the yawn project, wherein I will post photographic examples of yawns and lable the gesture and stance. This way, when you are walking down the street and you see someone yawn, you will instantly be able to tell something about them thanks to my personal interpretation of what it could possibly mean.
Hopefully none of the photos will get photoshopped on Fark, forever cataloging me in the infinite reaches of all that is Farklike.

Marketing, Ho!

2006-11-16T06:11:00.000-08:00

That's as in a call to action, a troop command to move forward; not as in an ad rep willing to sell his or her soul for the sake of the product.

But, on that note, Pzizz corporate is on the lookout for any mention of their product on the Web, and Edward left a comment I'd like to share with anyone else who bothers to read this.

"edward said...

Hi LjLucy

Hehe - don't worry - there's no pzizz cult - and there are *no* submliminal messages anywhere in the soundtracks!

Unfortunately, in an increasingly litigious world, we are required to include this warning by our insurance company! It's the same for anything that includes spoken suggestions...

I haven't heard of anyone having a "bad experience" while using pzizz, but we still have to put the warning up - c'est la vie!

Happy pzizzing, everyone!"

edward

edward laing
ceo, brainwave enterprises
"the people behind pzizzing..."

:-)

Thanks for chiming in Edward, I'm still not taking any chances. I'd hate to find out the hard way that self-administered hypnosis isn't compatible with my brain.

Hypnosis and Punk Rock

2006-11-15T15:48:00.000-08:00

They don't necessarily go together like chocolate and peanut butter, (you got your punk in my hypnosis! You got your hypnosis in my punk! OMG, it's Sonic Youth! Tasty!) but they are two things that crossed my path today that I found interesting in a passing fancy kind of way.

Hypnosis: Pzizz is calling it "a personal life coaching system, energy and stress, health and fitness" thing-a-mabob, and they even have the science to prove it. (And how we all love science.) And who wouldn't enjoy a guided nap in the middle of the afternoon, something to reinvigorate the mind and body, eh?
Well hold on there hot to trot, this ain't all innocent naps and getting over your Oedipus complex. Keep this warning in mind: (the small print is at the bottom of the Web page)
THE PZIZZ SOFTWARE
copyright © 2005 Brainwave Limited. All Rights Reserved.

WARNING

Do not use the pzizz product if you suffer from epilepsy, clinical depression or any other nervous or psychiatric condition. If you are in doubt please consult your doctor/physician before you use the pzizz product. The pzizz product should not be used when driving, operating machinery or at any other time when full alertness is required.

So, if the voices are already talking to me, using Pzizz will most likely either confuse or irritate them, and who knows what will happen next? I mean, I was honestly thinking about using this. I don't fall asleep easily and something to relax me and siphon some of the detritus floating around in my head would be GREAT! But what on earth are they possibly feeding you with their " Neuro Linguistic Programming", eh? Sounds like an entrance exam to a cult.

In cheerier happenstance, the hubster sent me a link to Boing!Boing! because one of the authors posted a list of his favorite punk songs with videos from YouTube. Ah, boys screaming in to microphones.
I cannot claim to be a punk rock afficianado. I don't own any albums, I was actually pretty young when the punk revolution was in full swing, and I was probably more of an early goth/emo kind of girl than I was aware of. (Yay Smiths!) But there are songs that I recognize on this list and it makes my happy to think of them. No memories attached to these songs. I wasn't at a certain place at a certain time with a certain someone. Just some decent music to jump around to and forget that I'm probably never going to work in a place where dying my hair blue will be acceptable ever again. (Well, not counting becoming a waitress at a greasy spoon when I'm 65/70 when my hair will have gone all silver and I can get a "silver wash" is a variety of shades of blue. I wonder if I'll still be able to find horn rimmed glasses then? Mert. MERT! Order up!)
Heh heh heh.

Melancholy

2006-11-14T16:15:00.000-08:00

A mere trifling of emotion
begins.
Something of sadness exists
within the context of reason.
There is no call for reflection
or contemplation,
no trigger of butterfly wings
to set the whirlwind in motion.
Only the echo of a lost moment
which never existed.
Until it was imagined as stolen
from this kitchen table.
Where a lamp illuminates a book,
a phrase,
which always conjures emotion
from the night air.

Sometimes you write to see where it will take you. The results may be less than satisfactory, but that's ok.
I have a friend who is studying for her master's in poetry; she plan to teach someday. She has progressed to a level of poetry that I can appreciate, but rarely understand. At least not without 5 to 6 close readings so my head is swimming in words. It is interesting how thinking about something complex can have either a mind expanding or a mind crumpling effect. Philosophy, while endlessly fascinating, is not something I can defend in an argument. Eventually it all becomes circular reasoning to me and I get the mind crumple. Poetry, which has a very strong philosophical connection, can often do the same thing. There is a stage where someone becomes the poet's poet. The writing is almost inaccessible to anyone else; the group becomes so tight knit that only those who have gained access to the secretive inner circle seem to be able to discuss the content, context, and second meaning. (While the first meaning continues to elude the casual reader.)
Even without the degree, she is a master of the abstract form. (I believe it's called something else, but she uses powerful images to convey a specific message.)
Then there are those who write narrative. Poems that are often accessible to the casual reader, stating plainly what the writer wants to convey, just written in a manner and flourish that many people cannot attain in their writing.
No matter what the style, the power of that written word becomes mind expanding. Sometimes it is necessary to approach poetry in a Zen style, accepting it for what it is, enjoying the moment and then letting it pass away. If the poem begins to give you a mind crumple step back and simply let the words affect your emotions. Feel like you're doing the poet a disservice by not trying to grasp their meaning? Can't decipher that code?
My mother went to hear Robert Frost read once. (She has an autographed book of his around somewhere.) An eager reader asked "What did you mean when you wrote this?" He replied, "What do you think I meant?"
It becomes and "I don't know art, but I know what I like" moment. Mind expanding. Don't try to figure out what you THINK the artist wants you to know, let the art pick at your own emotions until they are raw. Don't just think "that makes me angry". Wonder why it makes you angry. Wonder why it makes you happy. Wonder why it does anything to you at all.
That is the artist's intention, to make you think. To give that mind expanding moment where you (hopefully) discover a greater truth through examining your own reaction.

And I'm sure I'll look back at this rant in a few days and think "I am soooooo full of crap".

A bit of rabbit like rushing around

2006-11-13T16:33:00.000-08:00

Whether it was Rabbit from Winne-the-Pooh, or the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland, rabbits are often associated with busyness, order, and running around manically trying to get things done.
(Which I don't necessarily understand. Many of the live rabbits I've seen can be pretty laid back. Except when they're chewing on electrical cords of course.)
And such has my evening been. At least as far as I'm concerned. After a day at the office I came home so I could grab a pie and deliver it to a friend. Now it's later than I'd like, I still have to eat dinner, pack my gym bag, lunch, and try to relax a bit before getting in some power Zs before the alarm rings hours before the sun comes up.
So this is what you get this evening. A boring post. All because I'm like the rabbit.

Warning: Serious Topic

2006-11-12T14:24:00.000-08:00

Yes, I gave a warning for anyone who's interested. Today I'm getting personal and talking about domestic abuse.
The Union Leader had a brief article on Nov. 7, about a couple who was arrested on domestic violence charges. The alleged incident took place inside a grocery store, and some shoppers took the initiative of calling the police from their cell phones while they were in the store.
This article gives only the briefest of descriptions of the incident. Only the people who were present can really say what happened there.
Let me make this clear, I have no information on this incident, nor am I passing judgement on the people involved in this incident. That is for the court and judge to decide. The only information I have is the police report as interpreted by the Union Leader correspondent. And that's not a lot.

On to my point. It takes INCREDIBLE guts to call the police in such a situation. So I can only surmise it was pretty bad. I applaud the person who made the call, whether they judged the situation correctly or incorrectly.

Too many times people see something and are either stunned to inaction, or figure it's just not their business and walk away, making that little "tsk" sound in their mind. Too bad, that's another kid who will grow up only knowing violence. Some people shouldn't be allowed to be parents. And so on.

Other people are simply indiffernt. I am a survivor of domestic violence, and I know others who are also survivors. (It's good to have a support network of understanding people.) This doesn't mean dwelling on the past incidents and harboring the pain as an excuse for my own behavior. However, nothing is more bothersome than someone who doesn't understand the extent of some abuse and takes the "my parents beat me and I'm ok" stance.

My first question is this; why did your parents beat you? Did you endanger yourself or your sibling doing something stupid? After 9 times of your parents telling you not to do something, did you go ahead and do it anyway? Were you just being generally defiant of your parents' rules? In my mind NONE of those things are justification to beat a child. Though, being childless I can't imagine trying to raise a little person who is so defiant that they are constantly in danger. So I can't honestly say what I'd try to do to protect them.

But here's the twist; I wasn't particularly defiant of my parents rules. Tried to follow them at every turn. So did my sibling. Still; socks not folded correctly? There was a beating for that. One time I don't know why there was a beating, but I hid in my room and listened to the yelling and screaming and sound of a larger person knocking a smaller person to the ground repeatedly.

That does not make an ok child. That makes it difficult for me to keep my cool when someone says "My parents beat me and I turned out ok".

So I'm sure there are people who read the Union Leader article and thought "the kid was probably doing something that had the parents on their last nerve. Heck, I have to get stern with my kids, who am I to say how they should raise their child?"

Children can be impossible. I watched a friend of mine repeat about 10 times the "parent rules" for when and where her little girl could use a particular toy. Each time with patience, though increasing exasperation. I'm sure she would have repeated the rules 10 more times if she had to. But there never would have been a need for violence.

I don't know what the child from the Union Leader article did. Perhaps the tomatoes in the produce section were just too tempting and each one needed a hole poked in it with some toy. Perhaps it was nothing.

What's perhaps the worst about reading that article for me? I fall into the "stunned into inaction" category. My brain shuts down and I deny what I might be seeing, or hearing. Despite all my healing from my own childhood and understanding the awful dynamic of domestic violence, I'm afraid I might be overreacting to what's happening. I actually ask myself, "Isn't this just what happens?" I tell myself that I'm sensitive to this and am seeing things in a situation that other people don't see.

It is still difficult to guage what is normal and what is not.

And sometimes, I'm afraid none of it is normal. That society has begun, or has always, fostered an attitude of abuse that allows this fucked up dynamic to continue.

And I truly don't know what to do about that.

Dear Denise Richards

2006-11-11T15:51:00.000-08:00

There are certainly more effective, and heavens knows more socially acceptable, ways to get rid of faulty technology.
I mean, I'm with ya' honey. I know how aggravating that can be. The battery was charged just an hour ago, and already the icon says you're low on juice. How can you defend your rights to privacy, and keep those pesk paparazzi at bay, when that Dell 360 won't even boot up properly?
Safe mode? What good is that? The screen is locked in such a low resolution that those jpgs of you and the kids you're trying to keep for your private (that's friends and family only, passwords please!) flickr account can't even be quickly moved off the hard drive onto a memory stick. Easy as pie, and a breeze to stash in a place that's close to your heart. (Like neatly tucked into the top of your cup, girlfriend. Always works for me!)
You shouldn't let technology get the best of you like that. You've got the means, just upgrade to something more reliable. Heck, you may even want to try a Mac. They say the GUI is amazing. Give your old laptop to the kids to bang around with. Or better yet, surf on over to Everything2 and try out some of their suggestions of how to use that tired machine.
And one last tip; don't try bringing that laptop back to the store and say you "dropped it by accident." I've read through the fine print on the warranty and no where does it state that they cover damages resulting from dropping the machine off a balcony onto an 82-year old woman in a wheelchair. Just an FYI for ya.

Call me, we'll do lunch.

End of the mad scientific method, for now.

2006-11-10T13:29:00.000-08:00

Today, class, I shall attempt to complete the mad scientific method by further defining how steps 6 and 7 - Draw your conclusion (crayons are a great medium) and Report your results and conclusion - from the actual scientific method just don't apply as necessary steps if you are mad.

I left off with 5 - analyze your results (see link below for a review), and made some appropriate snowball in an avalance references.

Once the hypothesis is tested in an incomplete and unsubstantiated method, all hades is going to break loose. There is no time to analyze, draw a conclusion, and then report on that conclusion. Everyone is going to know the results. As a matter of fact, everyone is going to know the results at 10:58 p.m. GMT on Tuesday if you must know ahead of schedule. (Yes, I had to switch the time. DON'T QUESTION ME!)

Prepare appropriately. Save your voice, there's going to be lots of screaming. And try to open your mind to a Lovecraftian world of possibilities here people. Truly, some of the mind blowing effects are lost if your little synapses simply click off, and you become the proverbial deer in the headlights. TRY to wrap your mind around it for at least a few minutes. All I'm asking is that you put yourself to the task of being honestly terrified before shutting down.

Look at Tom Cruise. As a matter of fact, he's a perfect example. He already believes, but I honestly don't think anything could prepare him for the terror. Or perhaps he'd be one of those types who is in rapture right up until the moment he is ripped apart by the minions. No matter how hard one tries, one cannot stop the screams and helpless struggle. The body just takes over. That loss of control is the utmost in terror. When you realize there is nothing you can do, and you won't mercifully pass out before the deed is done. Ah, the clarity of the moment.

It's touching really.

Thinking back now, after step 4 there is no method. But the fact that steps 1-3 are something any scientist can appreciate, mad or otherwise, I think proves that there is indeed a method to madness. And the mad scientific method is a valid path.

In a very un-mad move, I'm not going to call the work on this finished. There is refining to do, points that can be clarified, writing that can surely be improved upon. I've linked to the past posts about the mad scientific method below. Review at your leisure, comment, suggest.

But be very aware of the consequences of questioning my authority. Read Temporary Distraction if you have any questions.

Step 5: Tip Number 1,342 (and analyze your results)

Step 4: Finishing what you started (and test your hypothesis)

Step 3: Hypothesize this!

Step 2: The Fools!

Step 1: I am (and stating the question)

A final note about Mad and Insane

The Mad Scientific Method

The Scientific Method

Now that the mad scientific method has reached some sort of conclusion I can begin working on the yawn project. This means you will get to see pictures of me. Don't fret dear reader, it's not all that bad.

I did not make the notable list of Fs

2006-11-09T17:07:00.000-08:00

According to Fussy.org, dedicated reader Rashenbo is wading through the alphabet of blogs participating in NaBloPoMo to highlighting the ones that tickle her fancy, for one reason or another. Oh well, what can I say? I've tried to think of a "theme" for my postings, but I can't even decide on a favorite color. How could I possibly dedicate myself to one topic of discussion? No matter how wide of an interpretation could be taken on it.

For some reason, I just thought about going to see "A Christmas Carol" as performed by our local city theater group back in December of 2003. I think it was the mention of "wide interpretation".

I always enjoy scanning the television channels to try and catch as many versions of A Christmas Carol as possible. One of my favorite scenes from "A Prayer for Owen Meany" by John Irving is when Owen (a boy of small stature) takes on the role of the ghost of Christmas future and actually makes an audience member faint simply from his presence on stage. (That is one favorite I can pick, by the way. If you haven't read APfOM I suggest you rush over to your closest bookseller and DEMAND they sell it to you right away. Give them 60 seconds to meet your demands, I find that always works in a quite charming way.)

So I am open to the various interpretations of the timeless mid-winter ghost story.

And then, I saw the local production. It was some mad mash-up of The Nutcracker, A Christmas Carol, the dastardly Jim Carey release of How the Grinch Stole Christmas, a Victorian carol review (by some very talented singers I might add), and a high school production of fly by the seat of your pants special effects.

In short, is was a mess.

But still, at the end of too much smog during the graveyard scene and the only decent character being Jim - the man who buys and sells items from the deceased's household - the audience stood and applauded. Cheered. I think some of them even called for more.

Perhaps I was misinformed about who was really supposed to be putting on the play. Maybe it wasn't the local city group who I'd heard had garnered such praise for other productions. Maybe I'd been duped.

And then I listened to the episode of "This American Life" titled Fiasco. A man tells the story of a local production of Peter Pan gone horribly awry. Things went SO horribly wrong the audience actually started cheering and calling for the next disaster. The actors tried to carry on nobly, but the audience just wanted blood. Even the little old ladies apparently.

Traditionally, the story teller said, local audiences can be very forgiving of local productions. They know people on the stage. Don't want the players to feel unappreciated for their effort. Know that they will most likely run into them on the street tomorrow, or in the grocery store next to a pile of slightly mushy tomatoes. Very ironic. So perhaps I wasn't misinformed about the group, but I was simply an outsider to the community that supports the local city group.

Either way, I couldn't stand and applaud. I think I actually left as soon as I could, and apologized obsessively to my husband for bringing him to such a slaughter of one of our favorite holiday stories. Sometimes, an interpretation is too wide.

So I won't try to butcher one topic on a regular basis. Why make you feel like you have to stand up and applaud?

Fried brains

2006-11-08T15:57:00.000-08:00

And there's really no good reason for it.

Things that did not happen:

a) a hard day at the office

b) an emotionally trying day

c) the end to some whirlwind affair which I shall remember long after the person ceases to be important in my life

d) some catastrophic event that shook the world

e) a day filled with one meeting after another and an endless list of tasks that need to be completed at specific times throughout the day.

f) a day that required me to break some horrible news to a family member or close friend

g) a day spent climbing a mountain

h) a day spent worry that the cat is going to be ok after swallowing something toxic

i) the culmination of a lifetime worth of work gone to SHIT because of i. a stupid mistake on my part or ii. a stupid mistake on the part of someone else

j) I did not have to miss an event I've been looking forward to for months, nay years, because I contracted mononucleosis

k) no one died that I personally knew

l) I did not discover a long lost sibling who had been adopted soon after birth

m) I did not lose any important body parts

n) there was no agonizing migraine simply because I chose to eat a yogurt

0) my husband didn't leave me for someone else because, well, I'm not getting any younger

p) no one told me I really screwed up on that project

q) I did not electrocute myself trying to get toast unstuck from the toaster with a fork

r) no one picked on me with the viciousness of a 10-year old

s) no one cornered me in an uncomfortable and domineering way, insinuating I might lose my job if I didn't "make the right decision"

t) random wildlife did not throw itself in front of my car as I pushed the safe speed limit on the highway during a heavy rain. At night

u) I did not get road rage

v) I did not get arrested for road rage

w) all of my electronic gadgets continue to work fine. Including my computer running off of Win 98

x) I did not order a valuable and fragile item through an internet store only to have said item arrive in a crushed box and 1,000 pieces

y) I received no bad news from the doctor

z) none of the food I ate today held a rotten/sharp/moldy surprise

So yeah. Things were ok.

Still, I just can't think straight enough to write anymore.

"The only thing you need now is Jesus"

2006-11-07T15:59:00.000-08:00

My husband works at a factory with many people from many different parts of the world. Oddly enough, many of them are also Born Again in a big fat way. (One man had his own evangelical show on the local cable network for awhile, another had the name God's Will.)

For years people were afraid of my husband because, well, he proudly wears his ankh and pentagram every day, and dresses in black T-shirts with designs like dragons and skeletons. They thought he was a witch/warlock and it appears people at the company are plenty superstitious.

I've bought him some brown and green T-shirts since then. One even has a lotus design on it. A bit of a push from my Buddhist interests.

So anyway, last night at work he's talking with a few of his co-workers about his vacation last week. There's not a lot of money to go around in our household, so his vacation was spent hanging around the house, waiting for me to get home from work. Though on Tuesday, our anniversary (yes, October 31 for those trying to figure out what last week was) he did cook me a nice dinner. Fresh salad with apples and walnuts, herbed chicken, and roasted red potatoes. Yum.
So he told his co-workers that he spent his vacation hanging around with his wife. And on this Friday, the Veteran's Day holiday, he was going to spend it with me again; go to the sea coast and a gaming store.

(This is paraphrased here) "You have a good marriage and a good wife," said one of his co-workers. "The only thing you need now is Jesus." Then he invited my husband and myself to Sunday service.

(It's a good thing my husband came in and told me this story. I didn't know what I was going to write about till he told me this.)

We don't go around telling people to become Pagan, or to start meditating; because, y'know, without that life is just missing something elemental. Their lives must be empty without it; devoid of meaning.

I can totally understand wanting to share happiness with others, or a successful life plan. But the instant you start assuming that someone else lives less than a full life because they DON'T embrace the same happiness or life plan, you've crossed the line into delusion.

Make no mistake, I'm touched that this man obviously thinks enough of us in whatever way to try and bring us into the fold. But you can't tell me he hasn't noticed my husband's symbols, or perhaps heard some of the scuttlebut around the factory. I'd hate to think that he just feels a need to save us.

(An old friend of my husband attends the Baptist church that we live above. On day he started telling my husband about how we're all sinners. A belief that neither of us holds any stock in for very strong reasons.)

I will remain a sinner in the eyes of men. Unborn to the glory of Jesus. I know what makes me a good person, and that I wish no ill upon others. I work every day at compassion, but I've rushed to judgement, I've flipped people off on the highway when they drive like asshats. (Not where they can see. Road rage is a scary thing.) Accepting Jesus isn't going to make the day-to-day any more of a spiritual adventure than it already is.

Sleepy head (edited 11/7)

2006-11-06T15:44:00.000-08:00

Still toasty from the blanket of the horizon
that orange moon hangs low
in the frame of my window
Resting between the bedraggled dish rag
and the tchotchke circus of Red Rose seals and rhinos.
That rust colored rabbit, sideways on the sill,
rises with the steam from soapy dishes
past the parade of window dwellers.
Scrubbed clean till its silver
and buoyant among the stars.
On a lazy path back to the horizon,
that only a sleepy head would follow.

Frozen toad

2006-11-05T14:37:00.000-08:00

So there I was. Minding my own business, walking the dog in the back field, when I noticed a most unusual lump of leaf litter in the frost.

A fall style conglomoration of tree debris is was not. It was a frozen toad.

Now comes the real question. Is said toad dead, or did it merely pick an unfortunate place to begin its winter hibernation. According to the few sites I visited, toads and frogs will normally burrow underground before going into hibernation. This toad had picked a shady, frost covered spot along a mowed path, and it was virtually undestinguishable from the grass and twigs around it. And it was quite hard. Like a lump of frozen chicken after its been sitting in the fridge for about an hour hard. So that means solid but you can tell there's some give somewhere.

Needless to say, I took it up to the porch and let it sit in the sun for awhile to see what would happen.

It started to soften. To the point where I could poke its side and the skin would move in, only to push back out into shape as soon as I had released my finger.

Nature is a wonderful and disgusting thing.

Without further ado, my mother and I, who is my partner in crime in many of these things, promptly took an old tupperware-style spaghetti container and used it to make the toad a hibernaculum (look down toward the bottom of the page on the link).

And isn't hibernaculum a great word? Fantastico! As Eddie Izzard would say.

A bit of dirt in the bottom ...

Insert one toad (semi-frozen at this point.)

Cover with leaf litter and a brick to mark where the (say it with me) hibernaculum is.

And you have a wonderful Sunday morning discovery and project.

Now we just have to hope that the toad was merely unfortunate in its decision to nestle into a not so secret hibernation space. Because if it was actually dead and just frozen from the first heavy (though ironically not killing) frost of the year, then my mother will have a nasty surprise come spring. Perhaps some skunk will come along and make the toad into a frozen entree, best enjoyed by gnawing until chewable. Yummmmmm.

I love this frozen toad. I think I'm going to make him in to a T-shirt design.

Online identity

2006-11-04T16:38:00.000-08:00

The oh so clever meez.com has begun to offer people a place where they can design their very own avatar to use, for example, on you Web site or blog, or in conjunction with your IM service. You get to choose from a variety of face shapes, eye colors, hair styles, clothes, shoes, and activities and backgrounds to try and create a digital you. (Or meez, as it were.) You do not get to choose butt size, however, and so my meez is less than true to form. But the general idea is the same.

It feels oddly safe. To create this digital representation of myself and show it to the world. As if I can bypass everything that is taught about personal online safety by simply not publishing my address, and publishing my countenance instead. You still don't know my phone number. You still don't know what city I live in, or what park my grandparents took me to when I was a child. Of course, some simple research would answer some of these questions if you were really interested. Or had some kind of strange fascination with the person I proclaim to be in this rented space.

I still don't think you'd be able to pick me out of a crowd simply because the meez.com people allowed me to choose freckles over make-up.

And if I really wanted to, I could cough up some extra cash to these people to purchase "beans", and through the purchase of beans be able to acquire clothes not in the standard offering. Or perhaps a virtual Versace bag to go with the Pluto shirt. (If they had a matching color, obviously.)

This strange fascination with making the private public in a virtual world can really catch you off guard. There is safety because I am sitting in my house, at my computer, with my cats and husband in the other room. I am not in a club, or a coffee shop, or at a presentation or show of some kind where the presence of others is immediately felt, where a "threat" or "risk" could be ascertained through eye contact, or squirrely movements. As far as I know you are all upstanding citizens, only here for a few minutes to rubber neck at meez. Not quite as interesting as a head-on collision on the highway, but enough for a temporary diversion.

How much have I truly let down my guard by displaying a virtual version of me? Is it enough to have someone call Clinton and Stacy from "What Not to Wear" because I chose a T-shirt and jeans? Am I a slob online as well as off?

Perhaps I really should have splurged on the Versace bag. Then you'd really never know.

Posting from away

2006-11-03T18:50:00.000-08:00

Keeping my promise so far. Hanging out with friends, had to ask to use her laptop so I could post to my blog. My other friend chuckled to himself and sang out that so loved personality descriptive "nerd".

I'd like to point out that he is in the kitchen right now unwrapping and studying articulated figures from the GI Joe series. (He bought one because it had a blinky thing with it, and noted that GI Joe was never this cool when he was a kid.)

So I think we're both well within the nerd descriptive here, just a different approach.

These are some of my best friends. We joke, and pick on each other, and most of the time when we get together it is simply to hang out. We don't really go to shows, or out to fancy restaurants (that's partly finance related), we don't need a plan for what to do. Many times we do things based around entertaining their child. Which ends up being pretty fun for me too. I need excuses to act like I'm 7, or younger.

While it's nice to have friends you can go out and act grown up with (drink some beer or wine, have conversations about politics and the world), it is equally as important to have those people who you can hang out with and be nerds. Poetry nerd, action figure nerd, english language nerd, gaming nerd, bad/tacky humor nerd, all of the above.

I wouldn't call it the true test of friendship, but when you can just sit in the same room and not feel pressure to make conversation you know you have something great. It's like going to see my mom on Sundays. In the warm weather we will simply sit on the back porch and drink tea. We may not even talk, or we may find something to complain about.

Not everyone finds satisfaction in this; the sitting on the stoop mentality. Watching the world go by, wondering about the neighbors. It becomes a meditation. It allows my mind to clear, to stop coming up with some sort of comment on anything and everything. Not every moment needs that MST3K running commentary. (Though it sure does make for some good laughs.)

Well, this has been what I'll term a crappy, navel gazing post. Lots o' lint, not much else.

However, I've posted for the day and have stayed true to the goal for THREE DAYS now. A true accomplishment for me. It took me YEARS to get into the habit of flossing my teeth on a daily basis. This writing thing is probably going to take a whole lot longer.

Hunting the wild past

2006-11-02T18:12:00.000-08:00

While I've never understood people who wistfully sigh over their high school years, "I wish I were 16 again", that doesn't mean I can't appreciate a bit of nostalgia.
For the past three hours I've parked my ass on the couch to relive the music I grew up with through the magic of VH1 "100 Greatest Songs of the 80s". Sometimes, I keep the XM radio on Fred (channel 42) so I can hear some of the stranger offerings of the era. I will actually admit that I've forgotten it's 2006 for brief moments. Though my hair has never gone back to the platinum mohawk of my youth.
These songs evoke a completely different kind of nostalgia than the lullabye I ended with yesterday. THAT was when I was young. And though I was surrounded by the trappings of the 70s then, whenever I went to stay at my grandmother's house it was like traveling back to the 20s and 30s, when she was young.
She hung the clothes on the line outback, kept leftovers on plates and used extra plates as the covers. No plastic wrap or tupperware. A television for Saturday mornings and Captain Kangaroo, but that was it.
I find myself missing an era I was never even close to living in, and the lullabye "Evening Comes" is part of that.
There are CDs out with lullabyes to play for your baby, and there are some mighty nice lullabyes too. But what mother sings her own child to sleep now? There is still snuggling and perhaps the sweet whisper of a mother's voice in her child's ear for comfort, and that is its own lullabye. A sound produced to create a comforting and relaxed state. A ritual meant to transition from the day into the night, and make the journey to sleep easier.
I don't know if we asked for the lullabye. I wouldn't be surprised though. It was part of what made the vacation at the quanset hut the wonderful escape it was. Without that song the evening breezes and other night sounds that would sneak in through the screened in porch would have been somehow more alien. But the song made nature part of going to sleep. Because as I was drifting off - thinking of a trip to the park tomorrow where my grandfather would again tell me the story of how the swans would chase my mother everytime they took her to the same park when she was a child - the rest of the world was drifting off. Particularly the crows which waited everyday for my grandfather to bring a pie tin of scraps over the hill for them. I imagine they dreamed of the ham shavings and spots of sun in the back yard while my grandmother sang in her scratchy voice. We all knew it was time for going to bed.
I would never wish to be 5 again. I am quite happy to be a few years beyond that. But the memories never fail to bring me back, and forget again that its 2006 in the city, where crows wait in the park for whatever they can find.

Well now, seems I've put myself in a position

2006-11-01T16:29:00.000-08:00

(For context, the gun is on this banner because the motto for NaBloPoMo is "Blog or Die"
My kind of inspiration.)

I've decided to become a participant in the National Blog Posting Month; which is kind of the kid cousin of National Novel Writing Month. A month where the truly crazy, though not necessarily gifted among writers, decide to produce a 50,000 word novel over the 30 days that hath September. I mean April, no June, wait I GOT IT ... NOVEMBER!

Whoo! They crazy. Sure you say, 50,000 words + 30 days= pure writing gold! Do you realize that breaks down to, like, over 1,600 words a day? And that 1,600 words will fill approximately 3 pages of paper using a standard type and spacing? (Bear with me, I had this worked out months ago but can't seem to find my figures.)

I could really check my facts but www.nanowrimo.org isn't even loading right now. So go check it out on your own if you can get the page to come up.

Anyway, thinking about me writing 1,600 words a day and having the whole mess make sense from one day to the next creates a sound in my throat that sounds something like "snork".

So I've gone for the, perhaps, lesser challenge. NaBloPoMo. With over 12 hours of my days spent commuting and working, this should be enough for me to tackle. If I get really adventurous I can spend the cash on "No one cares what you had for lunch" (Tofu Pad Thai by the way) and get inspiration for 100 things to blog about. With having to finish up the mad scientific method and start work on the yawn project, I should be good for at least 10 days.

And now I've applied suitable social pressure to myself so lets see what comes out of this whole exciting, and potentially snore inducing, experiment. Because I love experiments.

So here's my first post.

And, for your enjoyment, the lullabye that my grandmother would sing to my brother and I when we would go to visit for the summer. She doesn't ever remember singing this to us. It's not that she's senile, she just can't pull it up out of the many wrinkles in her brain.

Evening comes

The evening is coming, the sun sinks to rest
The crows are all flying, straight home to the nest
"Caw" says the crow as she flies overhead
It's time little people were going to bed

Flowers are closing, the daisy's asleep
The primrose is buried in slumber so deep
Closed for the night are the roses so red,
It's time little people were going to bed.

Goodnight little people, goodnight and goodnight,
Sweet dreams to your eyelids. 'til dawning of light.
The evening has come there's no more to be said
It's time people were going to bed.
It's time little people were going to bed.

Tip number 1,342

2006-10-27T02:55:00.000-07:00

Typing evil plans with a 17 lb cat lying on your lap like a baby and purring madly while trying to rub up against your fingers as you type is decidedly NOT evil.

Though it is truly maddening.

What am I up to now? (About 5.1 Thanks)

For those who need a review, here's the overview of the Scientific Method

Step 5 in the Mad Scientific Method: 5. Analyze Your Results:
At this stage, you want to be organizing and analyzing the data that you have collected during the course of your experiment in order to summarize what your experiment has shown you.

Hmmm, upon closer reading it seems that I could roll steps 5,6, and 7 into one final phase.

And NO I am not trying to wimp out on this project and just get it done faster so I can move on to the yawn diaries. You will be whipped for your insolence.

Let's look at 6 & 7.

6. Draw Your Conclusion:
This is your opportunity to explain the meaning of your results. Did your experiment support your hypothesis? Does additional research need to be conducted? How did your experiment address your initial question and purpose?

7. Report Your Results and Conclusion:
Since you are performing an experiment for the science fair, you will write a report and prepare a display board so that others can share in your discoveries.

(Final tip for conducting the scientific method: Throughout the process of doing your project, you should keep a journal containing all of your important ideas and information. This journal is called a laboratory notebook.)

Once we've gotten past 4 it's all a snowball in an avalanche. Sure, a small test to see if the scaled down version would work, and if all of the evil machinations are truly in place. But once that's done HOO BOY, look out Gotham! I'm 'bout to open a whole hot wired Skinner box worth o' crazy!

Let's break it down, 5: Analyze Your Results. What's to analyze? I've got an agenda here people and the time table doesn't allow for some sissy journal time reflection about how Igor didn't follow my directions quite to the letter and the resulting explosion could have skewed the results. Igor's been duly punished, so let's move on.
The resulting horror should be just as satisfying whether the city is consumed by flames or hordes or flesh eating grubs the size of Volkswagens. (Is it insensitive to thank the Germans for creating such a wonderful car during a time of true madness and then naming is something all mad scientists could benefit from for years to come?)

NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! I just lost half of this post! GRRRRRRRR! RAAARARARARAR!

*sigh*

6:Draw your conclusion. "Did your experiment support your hypothesis?" Again with the reflection.

Ok, I've lost the momentum. I had great stuff about how everyone was going to know the results at 10:52 p.m. EMT on Tuesday, but now it's just gone. I can't recreate it. (Oh, you say, a true writer would have pushed through and just come up with something else equally as or perhaps even more funny. You're just another one of the blogger hacks who thinks she can write. Well, I'm done with you for now.)

That's just fine. And as a matter of fact, it fits right in with my newest most favoritest quote.

"Not everyone can play well with others. That's why people become writers." ~ Audrey, from "The Long Chalkboard: and other stories" by Allen and Feiffer

I'll get the six and seven groove back. Just later. And the last steps of the scientific method are still just really ONE BIG step in the mad scientific method. Things just start to move so quickly once you've unleashed some kind of terror on the world.

Destruction

2006-10-13T07:50:00.000-07:00

Yay for Photo Friday! Every once in a while you get to slow down and do some of the things you want.
This week's photo friday theme is Destruction. This wonderful weeping willow is at the DeCordova Sculpture Park in Lincoln Massachusetts. When the hubster and I went to visit the park in the spring I found this tree perhaps the most interesting piece among all of the other fantastic sculptural work. True, there was no sculptor of the main tree structure other than time, weather, and nutrients (and God if that's what you choose to believe). However, those with an eye for romantic graffiti, or graphic graffiti, or just wanting to somehow make their mark, have chosen to destroy this tree trunk in an attempt to create something memorable for themselves. One heart with initials probably would not have done much more harm to the tree than the immediate scarring. But by slashing up the one surface which brings nutrients to the leaves from the roots, those who could not resist their own desires may have brought down the one thing this tree had, life. It's a slow means of destruction, but I think many of us can relate to what it is like to be eaten alive by the desires of others.

In other news, I have started a medication to hopefully control my headaches. I've been on it 2 days and am actually getting a headache from the drugged and dehydrated effects. If this is what it takes to avoid getting a 10 day headache, then I'm not sure I want it.

Finishing what you've started

2006-10-10T03:06:00.000-07:00

Months ago now I decided to work on the Mad Scientific method. Something fun. Something silly. Something that I could do on my Friday mornings.
Now, because it wasn't nearly as silly as I was hoping, (and because I have this great way of cranking myself up over things that shouldn't get me cranked up) I think about the Mad Scientific Method in a quite apprehensive manner. I haven't gotten back to it and I'm feeling like I just can't stick with anything.
Wah wah wah. Poor me. I could complain and whine, or I could just look back and see what number four is and ramble on about it a bit.

So, we're at test your hypothesis by doing an experiment.

In the latest Superman movie, Lex Luthor (who could fit the definition of a mad scientist in some respects) takes a teeny, tiny bit of the crystal from the fortress of solitude and puts it into the water being used in a model train set up of his, now dead, heiress wife. A city wide black out, and scaled down carnage on the model train set, ensues. BUT, Lexie gets the result he wants. That teeny tiny bit of crystal grows into a quite ominous larger and more destructive crystal. So his evil plan gets legs and is set in motion.

How common is it for a mad scientist to actually "test" things before unleashing them on the rest of the world? Dr. Moreau had his own island full of caged experiements. Dr. Frankenstein didn't actually start out mad. I believe he was initially repulsed by the work of his mad scientis uncle; felt that attempting to bring life back to something lifeless was morally reprehensible. But a few months of studying the books, (thereby violating Number 2: The fools, they were all wrong)and Frankenstein was all gung ho to test the theory. And then he despised his creation once it was alive. All that work to then be bound by some sort of moral dilemma. Perhaps Frankenstein was never really cut out for this line of work.

I'm having a difficult time coming up with a mad scientist who's initial experiement was less of a test and more of the release date for the latest madness. (It's getting closer to the time I have to start getting ready for work so the pressure is on.) I'll make a flimsy pledge to come back to this.

But I think it's fair to say that scientists and mad scientists alike really thrive on the experiment stage. No matter if it's a small "lets see what happens and then move to something bigger" or a "Cry havoc and release the dogs of war" approach. (Say, has anyone else ever tried to control this city through a hoarde of house centipedes genetically manipulated to actually thrive in the light to the point of covering every surface, human or not, in order to soak up the UV to the isolation of all else? I'll have to google that.)

Madness awaits at the college. I must go.

I was just strolling along when suddenly...

2006-09-20T08:27:00.000-07:00

I realized a month had gone by since I last posted. My word! A month?
Taint no madness happenin' ifn' I caint get back har only but once uh month!

Well, today isn't truly going to break that chain. Things to do! Much much many many.

Hypthesize this!

2006-08-25T02:05:00.000-07:00

5 a.m. on a Friday morning. Standardly my day off and I sleep until at least 7. Woke up at 4. Cant. Get. Back. To. Sleep.

So let's look at number three of the Mad Scientific Method, shall we? This should be plenty interesting because I'm a bit groggy. If I work at it, I can loopy to that early morning description. By the time I'm done thinking about hypotheses I should have something completely undecipherable from a reasoned argument.

Begin.

For regular, street corner scientists, step three in the Scientific Method is:
State Your Hypothesis: After having thoroughly researched a topic, you should have some prediction about what you think will happen in your experiment. This educated guess concerning the outcome is called your hypothesis. You must state your hypothesis in a way that you can readily measure.

A prediction about what I think will happen, eh? Here's a few options:

1) I WILL RULE THE MEGAMART AND STRIKE FEAR INTO THE MINDS OF ALL WHO DARE DISOBEY THE TERRIFYING PRESENCE OF THE "DOUBLE COUPON TUESDAY GOLEM". Measurement: the crumpled faces and despondent shuffle of those left searching the isles for deals which I have already purchased at a VAST discount.

2) Hickory Dickory Dock,
The mouse ran up the clock.
The clock struck one,
The mouse ran down!
Hickory Dickory Dock.
Measurement: Box of mice and access to increasingly difficult obstacles to place in way of said mice to see just how long it will take until the task is no longer acheivable for said rodent.

3) Through the use of subtle social pressure and calculated marketing campaigns it is possible to ensure that persons between the ages of 10 and 20 will begin to not only look and speak alike, but think alike, and be lulled into a false sense of material and emotional security as a result of this "community" approach. If done in conjunction with types of hazing - from sideways disapproving glances escalating up to true violent behavior - effects of this approach can last well into the persons 30s, 40s, or even up to the day they die. All efforts must include a basic discounting of things not within the prescribed approach as; "magic", "unpatriotic", "against family values", "hippy crap", "gay", "religious voodoo", etc. etc. Most important, though all are subject to the effects of this approach in one way or another, specifics about what is actually done must remain undocumented because the hardest rules to break are the unspoken ones.
Measurement: Weekends spent in the mall surrounded by all forms of humanity who, even when they try to dress differently, still dress the same.

4) "Emoto claims that when positive or negative thoughts are directed at a sample of water, and that sample is then frozen and thawed, the resulting ice crystals differ on whether the thoughts focused on the water were good or bad. Positive thoughts result in beautiful ice crystals, while negative thoughts result in ugly misshapen ones. Emoto has even gone so far as to claim that positive or negative words taped to the water container can have the same effect."
(Thank you to Polite Dissent writer Scott)
Measure: Apparently whatever Emoto wants it to be.

Scott's post brings up an interesting point. Selection bias. This is something that mad scientist across the spectrum are deeply involved in. They would never admit it, but when your method begins with a pretense instead of a supposition there is an implied desparation to prove that which you believe, no matter the cost or consequence.
This "come hell or high water" approach may be more obvious in the chaos that surrounds a mad scientist, but again I find that the line between mad and not-mad begins to blur. Just look at the recent Pluto debate and the decision of the International Astronomers Union that the public darling of the solar system isn't really a true planet because they had to come up with a new definition of what a planet is.

Miss that debate? Just Google it.

Science can get nasty. Everyone literally has something to prove, and they're willing to do whatever they have to in order to prove it. It doesn't seem at all difficult to lose a solid hypothesis to madness.

So, do I let my resolve for the mad scientific method wither under this "Aren't we all mad in our own little way" digression?

Not so long as there are worlds to conquer and bodies to reanimate in the name of science!

Next up: Step four: Test Your Hypothesis by Doing an Experiment

In which we see the mad scientist completely lose it because we want it to work NOW. And there's no good reason why it shouldn't.

Early arrival

2006-08-24T02:22:00.000-07:00

This little bat got trapped in the hallway in the building where I work. I think it was just looking for the HelpDesk. Probably got to campus early and was just trying to get everything set up ahead of the student rush this weekend.
Unfortunately, spent it's time flying around the hall all freaked out. Finally found a little hidey spot behind a pipe and took a little nap.
I would have used a flash to get a clearer picture but the last thing I wanted was to frighten it again and send it flapping around my head while I was up at the top of the stairwell with it.

Hunting vermin is a moral quandry for me

2006-08-14T06:24:00.000-07:00

Not that I've ever hunted mind you. But hunting implies to me that you be able to do something with the kill; like eat it.

Crow season opened in NH today. Crows, apprently, are vermin and considered an out of control pest. In an NHPR story on the opening of crow season one hunter complained that the birds wake his wife up every morning, and so he hates them. One farmer/gardener complained that they ruin her garden. My question to her is, how much do you rely on your garden for living? Is it a cash crop for you, or do you simply enjoy having some fresh tomatoes straight from your own land?
Compost is one use for a dead crow, and there is no limit on how many a hunter can kill.
True, there is the west nile virus concern to think about. Fewer crows could certainly decrease the potential spread of west nile. But so could fewer mosquitos.
NHPR had a brief report on crow season this morning, but all I can find on the site is the follow up piece they did about the origins of the saying "eating crow". Crow is not reknowned for its savory qualities. Apparently the opening of actual crow season is too sensitive, or not important enough, to post on the site. So people are left wondering, "Did I really hear that crow season opened in NH today?"

So, how much of a pest does something have to be to get it's own no limit hunting season? I know that in some places deer are considered vermin, and they have a truly destructive impact on the land. Same goes for wild boar in Hawaii. (This doesn't mean I'm comfortable with the mass killing/hunting of these animals, but at least you can eat them or sell the meat.)

But crows? I need more convincing before I believe they are enough of a pest for open season rights.

------------

In other memorable news; on August 14 in 1945 Japan accepted the terms of the Potsdam Declaration.

Temporary distraction

2006-08-14T02:21:00.000-07:00

I must whole heartedly apologize for the delay in the remaining steps in the mad scientific method. Step three has the potential of being as round robin of an argument as step one was, and that has me subconsciously anxious about tackling the step. I want something unarguable.
Something as unarguable as the fact that vampires WILL be my mortal enemies when I manage to wipe out the rest of humanity. (The weather was beautiful this weekend, by the way. Sunny blue skies and breezes. Mmmm.)
But that brings me to the second reason why it's taking me so long to get to step three. My husband, good soul that he was, decided to point out to me a few weeks ago that if I were to wipe out all of humanity then the vampires would not exist much longer because their feedstock would be gone.
A valid point. But unacceptable.
So I did what any mad scientist would do and raged against his impudence and utter foolishness at questioning my actions. Vampires would so still be around because they're VAMPIRES dammit! They find a way to survive. I mean, how many movies have shown that it takes vampires at least a thousand years to die? I'll be plenty busy fighting my mortal enemy, mister. Plenty busy.
To further emphasize my point, I killed him through the most horrifying method available to me in a small metropolis. I fed him to the most foul beast next door, Jack the Chihuahua.
Jack is very small so it's been taking a while to get the "morsels" to him for complete consumption. Almost there though.
The mad scientific method should pick up again on Friday, Vampires and all.

-------

As an extra, while trying to figure out how to spell Chihuahua I came across this wonderful word in the dictionary.

chionodoxa: genus name, fr. GK chion - snow (akin to Gk cheimon winter) + doxa glory : GLORY - OF - THE - SNOW

That is worth looking through the dictionary for.

Step 2: FOOLS!

2006-07-28T04:10:00.000-07:00

Back to the mad scientific method. This is going to be short because, well, there's not much to say on step 2:

2. Research Your Topic - Investigate what others have already learned about your question. Gather information that will help you perform your experiment.

The fools. They were all wrong.

Miss Who?

2006-07-24T08:12:00.000-07:00

A professional, well photographed event. A stage full of beautiful women; one crowned Miss Universe, and this is the best photo of her they can find to post on the Web the next day?

hhmmmm, I bet it doesn't make it in to her portfolio.

I am ...

2006-07-21T03:54:00.000-07:00

Dr. Freknur McGuillicutty.

Not too intimidating, huh? Well, if you cut of the McGuillicutty (which was inserted simply for formality) Dr. Freknur doesn't sound too bad.
Coming up with a Mad Scientist persona was much more difficult than I expected. I tried to gain guidance from "How to Be a Villain: Evil Laughs, Secret Lairs, Master Plans, and More!!!" By Neil Zawacki, but his suggestions were a trifle vague with less process than directive to them.

What does Freknur have to do with me? Freknur is the Norse word for freckles. I am one of the rare adults who happens to hold on to my freckles throughout the year. (At least that's what the online medical world tells me; that I'm rare.) I am also the grand kin of a sweet little Swedish man. He was as blond and fair as a Swede could be. Of course, my freknur become more pronounced after being in sunlight for a period of time. This makes me a sworn enemy of vampires every where because sunlight is an irreplaceable part of my evil plan. So, I already have a nemisis within the evil world. This will keep things interesting after I've successfully obliterated the rest of humanity.

On to the first step in the Mad Scientific Method. (Finally.)

According to the outline of the Scientific Method, my first step should be to "1. Stating the Question: What is it that you are trying to find out from your experiment? What is it that you are trying to achieve?"

Mad scientists don't work with suppositions so much as they create or state a pretense; often a selfish or misguided one. You would expect mad scientists to say things such as:
"Humanity will bow before me when I undoubtedly prove that the cure for athletes foot lies NOT in topical ointments, but rather in the vast removal of pedal skin that is then replaced with gold lame!"
or
"Trephination is the means to understanding the true nature of existence, my dears."
or
"Life and death appeared to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and pour a torrent of light into our dark world." (Mary Shelley; Frankenstein)
or
"The world needs more cowbell."

A mad scientist isn't so much looking to find an answer, as bring an answer to the world based on his or her beliefs/misconceptions. And while experiements are necessary to find a way to bring this answer to the world, there is less wonder for what the results might be and more expectation that the desired results will be acheived. Look out if they aren't. There isn't an immediate back-to-the-drawing board response. Someone else usually suffers for an unreached conclusion. After a rampage the mad scientist can usually move on to another process/corpse/toxic chemical if the previous one didn't bring the desired results.

It's less "what makes this happen?" and more "what do I have to do to make this happen?"

I'm sure you can already see that trouble's a'brewin' from that approach. It really leaves a vast number of avenues open to reach the goal; an anything goes mentality.

This seems dangerously close to the method your everyday, garden variety scientist might follow. The real clincher comes in with "What am I trying to acheive?" World domination? A cure for cancer? Frozen yogurt that is truly lower in fat than regular ice cream? (You may as well just eat the ice cream when you look at it.) An every day scientist might answer that question with; "I'm attempting to find out what effect gravity has on a pound of feathers versus a pound of bricks." A mad scientist might answer with; "Acheive? Who are you to ask me what it is I'm attempting to acheive? It's right here, in front of you. In front of all of us. Are you so blind you can't see what is so obviously before you? Here, sit in this suspiciously wired chair so I may better show you what I'm trying to 'acheive'."

Break it down one more time:
Scientist: True wonder for the process and desire to figure out how things work within the context of our universe.
Mad scientist: The context of our universe is horribly misguided and only my robot army will help this stinking mass of humanity to understand that.

I hope we're clear on this. Questions? Clear as murky lab equipment? Flaws in my reasoning? Help me hash this out. While not mad, my methods are certainly ripe for proving.

Step 2: Research Your Topic- Investigate what others have already learned about your question. Gather information that will help you perform your experiment.