Taking advantage of the two-week-free-trial opportunity at Net Flix, I recently became a joiner. Now, for 1/3 the cost of cable or less (which I'm banned from watching until I graduate. HURRY HURRY!!!), I can watch as many movies as I want in a month-- two at a time. How about THEM there facts?! (err-- fax, excuse me.) Oh, and they don't sell your personal info as such, but they do collect marketing data on you, and then use it to select ads from their 3-rd party vendors to include in your DVD envelopes. Trixy we are, my Precious. (Did I just say that? Oh, dear. The sky must be falling. Either that, or it's Monday.)
See... I came to the realization that I was watching a movie several nights a week, to give my brain time to rest, drain out all the academic goo, and reset itself. But, see, it gets expensive to keep BUYING DVDs when you get sick of the ones you own... and students just don't have spare change in the form of two or three $10 bills a week... and even though I am one of those odd individuals who LOVES watching the same movie over and over again... I am SICK S-I-C-K SICK of watching the movies in my collection. I mean, really, how many times can you watch "Down Periscope" before you start singing along with the songs and fastforwarding between punchlines? It was sad. S-A-D sad.
And, you know, NetFlix claims they have over 72,000 movies! That's a lot of movies. Granted, I probably don't want to watch a good 2/3 of them... and I might own about 30 of what's left... but that still leaves a lot of ground for me to cover (repeatedly) between now and graduation. I don't know about you, but I just cannot face driving to work (1 hour) working for 10 hours, driving home (1 hour) and then actually DOING anything else that day. Except, maybe, make a bowl of popcorn and pop in a movie. So that's what I do.
And, after much exploration, I have a whole 25 movie titles in my cart... which reminds me that I forgot to sign up for the movie that's been taunting me for months now, and is one of the main reasons that I finally gave in to social joinery and signed up for NetFlix. The Mummy Returns, here I come, baby! OOH-- and maybe they'll have the sequel to The Librarian! (action adventure, along the lines of Indianna Jones) One can only hope. Since I got several good laughs out of some of the titles I stumbled across in my online travels, I thought I'd pass a few of them on to you. These are all true. I swear. Although I may have misspelled "felafle."
The Watermelon
The Kiss of Debt
He Died With a Felafl In His Hand
Osmosis Jones
Smiling Fish and Goat On Fire
(I had no idea there were that many) Strawberry Shortcake Movies.
With Six You Get Eggroll
Totally Blonde
A Woman Her Men And Her Futon
Yes. I may have to rent the one about the Felafel's, just so I can tell you all not to see it.
And just so you know, I only looked through the Action-Drama, Comedy, and Family-Friendly sections so far. There was definitely a lot of overlap, somehow. I actually think I saw X-Men in all three categories, come to think of it. Having selected everything from Danny Kay's Court Jester to Disorganized Crime with Lou Diamond Phillips to Mary Poppins to Jet Li's latest... I think I confused the poor little "let me help you find more good titles" program, too. See, every time you add a movie to your que, a little helpful box appears that shows you a selection of six to eight other movies that you might like, based on your selections so far. After my first five picks, it just kept showing me the same three or four movies over and over, hoping maybe this time it was going to be right.
It wasn't.
Further bulletins as warranted.
Monday, February 26
Sunday, February 25
Catina Rug
The intrepid explorer strikes again!
This tapestry quilt hasn't been sewn together yet, hence the pins and lack of quilting lines. I call it Elemental. The four little gold squares are actually candles, and will have hand-sewn "flames" above them. As soon as I go shopping for thread. And more bobbins. It's amazing how many bobbins a self-respecting machine quilter needs to keep on hand! Did you know they even make different SIZES of bobbins? Yeah. So you have to be careful when you buy more. Most machines I've come across only take one size of bobbin. But WHICH ONE??
I'm really loving this tapestry quilt... It's going to be hard to part with. I've got a pretty good average going, though. I've only kept the very first one (also not finished yet), called FairyTails, and given (or will give once complete) the next three away-- and I have one that will be for sale once I finish it. This one is called Light Sources. It'll be going up for sale soon. Yes, you can still see pins on this one, too.
Abbigale, the intrepid explorer, has returned successfully from her mission, just in time to help me type this. Her chin has taken up residence just above the space bar.
...Due to unforeseen demands, the rest of this blog will have to be postponed indefinitely, or at least until after I pet the cat.
Thursday, February 22
FYI: It ain't that bad.
FYI, if you read "Just Perfect," and are wondering what exactly inspired my most recent rant... I just spent $225 on a razor phone because it is supposed to be thin and easy to use. Only it is actually a pretty large phone, and you have to buy a thicker battery anyway if you want it to last more than 30 hours, and it has a lot more buttons than my last phone (and if you push the up arrow from the main phone screen, you connect to the internet- oops, I'm not paying for that feature!), and cost me a huge hole in my budget, and about 3 hours of my evening.
Dammit.
And I realized that all of my jeans (except one pair that gape a LOT at the waist, so I don't wear them much) have holes now, and it is just PAINFUL to go jeans shopping because nobody ever finds a pair that actually fit them, and women's jeans usually are pretty cheaply made for the steep price they charge you, and I just don't want to go through all that again, especially after what I just spent on my cell phone.
And I'm not looking forward to my tasteless breakfast tomorrow, and I ran out of vanilla soy milk, too, so it's going to be even gruckyer, and you can only add raisins to cereal for so many months before you get sick of raisins.
And my toes are cold, but I have this big heavy blanket on the bed, and I'm feeling smothered.
And I still can't believe I just spent $225 on a cell phone I don't really like... because it was the best option available.
And I canceled my cable because I'm on a budget and I'm staying away from TV while going to grad school and working and trying to get out and see my friends at least 2x/month. But I miss my shows.
And I didn't even bring up all the fuss-worthy issues I'm having with bras...
And it's past my bedtime.
And I'm just kinda grumpy right now.
And tomorrow is another big day... with no mistakes in it yet.
And I guess if I really don't like the phone, I have another 13 days to return it.
Sigh.
...You know, life ain't all that bad, really...
-I have a cat who adores me, and sometimes lets me sleep past 4:30am.
-I have a whole lot of supportive and intelligent friends that I like to spend time with.
-I have dinner, every night I stop running around long enough to make it.
-I have breakfast, such as it is, every day. (And I really could have gone to the store for soy milk today, too.)
-I have a cell phone, and a good calling plan, so I can call my friends and complain to them about cell phones and jeans and cereal and blankets and bears, oh my.
-I have a roof over my head, a bed to sleep in, more than one pair of jeans, lots of books to read, yeast on my popcorn, and sole ownership of the remote control (I still watch DVD's).
Hey-- life is GOOD!
...And I really do want world peace. (quote from Miss Congeniality. Sorry. Couldn't help it.)
Dammit.
And I realized that all of my jeans (except one pair that gape a LOT at the waist, so I don't wear them much) have holes now, and it is just PAINFUL to go jeans shopping because nobody ever finds a pair that actually fit them, and women's jeans usually are pretty cheaply made for the steep price they charge you, and I just don't want to go through all that again, especially after what I just spent on my cell phone.
And I'm not looking forward to my tasteless breakfast tomorrow, and I ran out of vanilla soy milk, too, so it's going to be even gruckyer, and you can only add raisins to cereal for so many months before you get sick of raisins.
And my toes are cold, but I have this big heavy blanket on the bed, and I'm feeling smothered.
And I still can't believe I just spent $225 on a cell phone I don't really like... because it was the best option available.
And I canceled my cable because I'm on a budget and I'm staying away from TV while going to grad school and working and trying to get out and see my friends at least 2x/month. But I miss my shows.
And I didn't even bring up all the fuss-worthy issues I'm having with bras...
And it's past my bedtime.
And I'm just kinda grumpy right now.
And tomorrow is another big day... with no mistakes in it yet.
And I guess if I really don't like the phone, I have another 13 days to return it.
Sigh.
...You know, life ain't all that bad, really...
-I have a cat who adores me, and sometimes lets me sleep past 4:30am.
-I have a whole lot of supportive and intelligent friends that I like to spend time with.
-I have dinner, every night I stop running around long enough to make it.
-I have breakfast, such as it is, every day. (And I really could have gone to the store for soy milk today, too.)
-I have a cell phone, and a good calling plan, so I can call my friends and complain to them about cell phones and jeans and cereal and blankets and bears, oh my.
-I have a roof over my head, a bed to sleep in, more than one pair of jeans, lots of books to read, yeast on my popcorn, and sole ownership of the remote control (I still watch DVD's).
Hey-- life is GOOD!
...And I really do want world peace. (quote from Miss Congeniality. Sorry. Couldn't help it.)
Just Perfect
They don't make my perfect cell phone yet. Since they keep trying to add features without actually getting rid of any-- and this keeps them from actually making smaller phones-- they probably never will. See, I want a small phone that can fit in those dagm excuses of a pocket that girl-jeans come with (therefore small means thin, and short-- very thin, and pretty darn short!). I want that small phone to get REALLY GOOD reception (which is why I use Verizon, actually-- best reception in most locations of any service I know). I want it to get really good reception, AND have a battery life of about 5 days. And none of this "slowly losing battery life" crap. I'd also like it to have a little flat loop hole at one end, like cameras do, for a handle strap or a carabiner.
I don't want ANY BUTTONS on the outside except one small inset one on the top that lets you shoot a call straight to voicemail if you don't want to take it, or are in a meeting (but that you can't accidentally push by keeping the phone in your pocket or something), and which same button doesn't do anything when you open the phone. I want it to be a clamshell phone that opens to reveal the buttons-- opens with a very sturdy hinge, and closes firmly, too, no less, and with a large font on the screen. I want a button for getting messages, and a button for accessing the calendar. I also want a button that lets you go back one function step (or turn off the alarm in one simple push-of-a-button) like my current "back" button does-- because there are too many features on phones now, and sometimes I find myself faced with a question I don't know the answer to. It's SO nice to be able to go back a step and see what other questions I could have ended up with, without having to answer the unknown question first!!
I want all of this to come in an actual METAL CASE-- like the old Motorola 60's did. They were small, had amazing reception, long battery life, and after being dropped almost daily and covered in paint shmears, the phone never had a battery disconnect or other problems. Never. Until it died, and I found out they don't make it anymore. And I want that metal case to come in about ten colors. Like metallic bug green, and apple red, and cool purple, and bronze, and black, and grey, and silver, and pumpkin, and so on.
I don't want video or music in the phone. I have an i-pod and a cam-corder for that. I want the phone to have no camera (or else an 8 mega pixel resolution camera that takes the photo the mili-second you hit the button, and not 2 seconds later), and the only internet I want is for it to be able to access maps of all US streets-- and to zoom in on an address or a general part of town, so I could see where I was vs where I meant to be. And I want an option to receive emergency bulletins from local news channels and law enforcement agencies-- to be set to a 10-mile radius of my billing zip code or something. And maybe be able to choose between 3 levels of "emergency" so I don't get every fire or whatever reported to my phone. ... but I do find out if the volcano blows again, or a hurricane hits or something.
I also want an option in the tools that tells me how many minutes I have left on my plan for the month (and doesn't count the in-calling minutes I've used, since they don't count against my plan minutes). I want another option in tools for calculating tips (and discounts)-- not a calculator exactly, but you enter the basic cost of food (within say 50 cents), and say what percentage you want to calculate-- 10, 15, 20, 25, 30, 40, 50, 60, 70, 80, 90. I do want a really good range of ring tone options-- from classical to hip-hop to good ol' ring-rings and silly fart noises. I'd love a button you can push to make a voice recording for quick notes to self or confusing directions from the boss-- and an easy way to access them later, with a little icon on the screen to let you know when you DID record something.
I want to be able to CHOOSE all the buttons that appear on the main screen (except the main menu button, of course). I want at least three alarms that I can set. I want it to be really easy to use the calendar feature (the razor actually has a great calendar system in it). I want the option to hook the phone directly to the computer so I can download all my addresses and contact info and photos (if there is a camera) into my computer. I also want to be able to use my hands-free NON-ENERGY-CONSUMING ear-bud. So a spot to plug that in would be nice. (Most of the new phones don't have anything but blue-tooth anymore if you want hands-free.) I also want the display on the outside of the phone to tell me the phone number or name of the caller BEFORE I answer the call. And NOT to have a streaming message on it. I don't care what the message says-- I TYPED IT IN, so what's the point?! And I have to wait for the whole damn thing to scroll past before I can see the date and time again.
I don't need to check my email from my phone. I don't need to check the stock market or the weather on my phone. I don't need to make videos or listen to music via my phone. I do need to be able to drop it into my pocket without worrying about breaking it, pushing any buttons on it accidentally, hurting myself trying to sit down, making holes in my pants because the pocket is too small for the phone I've shoved in it, and so on. And I'd like that basic phone to cost about $100, so it doesn't hurt my wallet, either. That's what I want. I'd buy that.
I want the perfect pair of jeans, too. Ones that aren't so long I have to roll them up twice to keep them from dragging through every mud puddle and piece of ABC gum on the sidewalk. Ones that actually have enough space for my butt in them-- but don't gape open about 5 inches at the waist because of it. Ones that don't get holes in the knees and crotch after only 2 years of basic non-demanding wear. Ones where the zipper stays up, and the legs stay down, even if I sit. NON-STRETCH ones so they aren't a totally different size after I've worn them for 4 hours, but with a bit of give so I don't hurt myself bending over. Jeans that have a nice sturdy button above the zipper, and not a snap-- and that have a well-sized button hole so it isn't either coming undone when I walk or alternately making me pee my pants because I can't get the dagm things undone in the bathroom after lunch! I want them to have the same quality high-endurance construction that boy's jeans have. And I want them to have the same low price, too. Under $60 for a decent pair.
Yeah! I'd buy that! I'd buy TEN of that!!
You know what else I want? The perfect blanket for my bed. One that is long enough to pull over my head, but still tuck in at the bottom AND have room for my toes to wiggle. One that is warm without being super heavy, but that breathes so I'm not sweating after being under it for 3 hours, even when my feet are still cold. (I hate that.) One that can be both washed AND DRIED in your average home washer/dryer. And it doesn't stain the other clothes it's washed with, either.
Yeah. I'd buy that.
And another thing! The perfect cable package. Yes. I'm dreaming big tonight. I want to be able to pick my ten favorite channels from ALL THE CHANNELS (except maybe the all-movie ones like Starz and HBO), for about $20 a month. I mean all the channels-- TLC, SCI-FI, CNN, Local News, Learning Channel, HGTV, TRAVEL, Cooking, etc. Then add any 2 special-topic channels (like HBO or the ALL-BASKET BALL ones) for an extra $5 a month, if you want them. Add in tivo at any point for an extra $10, and I'd gladly pay it. Then you could add in sets of two specialty channels for another $5 each, and ten additional other channels for another $10.
People would end up getting maybe 1/3 the channels you can get now for the price-- but they could pay a lower price to get only the channels they actually want to watch. Maybe even have one week every 4 months where people can try out ALL THE CHANNELS, and see if they want to upgrade or switch around which channels they get for the next 4 months or something... I tell you, this would be the most popular plan ever. I don't WANT 75+ channels, if half of them play the exact same thing, and 2/3 of them don't play anything I ever want to watch-- but I still have to flip through them when I'm LOOKING for something to watch!
Yeah. I'd buy that.
And breakfast cereals! Every time I find one that has some protein AND some flavor-- they stop making it. I'm on my fourth breakfast cereal, and each one is worse tasting than the one before. It is a verifiable fact that you need MORE PROTEIN for breakfast to get through your day with more energy. But it is a struggle to find a cold cereal that offers more than 3 grams of protein in a serving. WHY IS THAT??? For a while, there was a cereal that combined a bunch of fairly healthy ones so it had 5 grams of protein, and lots of different flavors. I loved it. It tasted good. It WORKED! And they stopped making it about a year ago. Then, I found one that actually had some berries in it, plus 7 grams protein, and with vanilla soy milk, it even tasted okay. But nobody carries it as of about 3 weeks ago. So I found a cereal that claims 15 grams, but has NO FLAVOR and NOTHING BUT FLAKES in it-- and I eat it if I know I've got a long day with no snacks in it... but I'd like to look forward to breakfast, ya know?
It's just a sad state of affairs. I mean, really. I'm okay with strange lunches, and I've managed to calm down about the way they make T-shirts without sleeves these days. I can even handle the strange and limited selection of alarm clock features I found in December... but... We're talking about some of my favorite things in life-- cell phones, jeans, warm blankets, good TV, and breakfast! And I, for one, would like each of them to be available in a form (and at a price) that is just perfect for me. Is that really asking too much?
I don't want ANY BUTTONS on the outside except one small inset one on the top that lets you shoot a call straight to voicemail if you don't want to take it, or are in a meeting (but that you can't accidentally push by keeping the phone in your pocket or something), and which same button doesn't do anything when you open the phone. I want it to be a clamshell phone that opens to reveal the buttons-- opens with a very sturdy hinge, and closes firmly, too, no less, and with a large font on the screen. I want a button for getting messages, and a button for accessing the calendar. I also want a button that lets you go back one function step (or turn off the alarm in one simple push-of-a-button) like my current "back" button does-- because there are too many features on phones now, and sometimes I find myself faced with a question I don't know the answer to. It's SO nice to be able to go back a step and see what other questions I could have ended up with, without having to answer the unknown question first!!
I want all of this to come in an actual METAL CASE-- like the old Motorola 60's did. They were small, had amazing reception, long battery life, and after being dropped almost daily and covered in paint shmears, the phone never had a battery disconnect or other problems. Never. Until it died, and I found out they don't make it anymore. And I want that metal case to come in about ten colors. Like metallic bug green, and apple red, and cool purple, and bronze, and black, and grey, and silver, and pumpkin, and so on.
I don't want video or music in the phone. I have an i-pod and a cam-corder for that. I want the phone to have no camera (or else an 8 mega pixel resolution camera that takes the photo the mili-second you hit the button, and not 2 seconds later), and the only internet I want is for it to be able to access maps of all US streets-- and to zoom in on an address or a general part of town, so I could see where I was vs where I meant to be. And I want an option to receive emergency bulletins from local news channels and law enforcement agencies-- to be set to a 10-mile radius of my billing zip code or something. And maybe be able to choose between 3 levels of "emergency" so I don't get every fire or whatever reported to my phone. ... but I do find out if the volcano blows again, or a hurricane hits or something.
I also want an option in the tools that tells me how many minutes I have left on my plan for the month (and doesn't count the in-calling minutes I've used, since they don't count against my plan minutes). I want another option in tools for calculating tips (and discounts)-- not a calculator exactly, but you enter the basic cost of food (within say 50 cents), and say what percentage you want to calculate-- 10, 15, 20, 25, 30, 40, 50, 60, 70, 80, 90. I do want a really good range of ring tone options-- from classical to hip-hop to good ol' ring-rings and silly fart noises. I'd love a button you can push to make a voice recording for quick notes to self or confusing directions from the boss-- and an easy way to access them later, with a little icon on the screen to let you know when you DID record something.
I want to be able to CHOOSE all the buttons that appear on the main screen (except the main menu button, of course). I want at least three alarms that I can set. I want it to be really easy to use the calendar feature (the razor actually has a great calendar system in it). I want the option to hook the phone directly to the computer so I can download all my addresses and contact info and photos (if there is a camera) into my computer. I also want to be able to use my hands-free NON-ENERGY-CONSUMING ear-bud. So a spot to plug that in would be nice. (Most of the new phones don't have anything but blue-tooth anymore if you want hands-free.) I also want the display on the outside of the phone to tell me the phone number or name of the caller BEFORE I answer the call. And NOT to have a streaming message on it. I don't care what the message says-- I TYPED IT IN, so what's the point?! And I have to wait for the whole damn thing to scroll past before I can see the date and time again.
I don't need to check my email from my phone. I don't need to check the stock market or the weather on my phone. I don't need to make videos or listen to music via my phone. I do need to be able to drop it into my pocket without worrying about breaking it, pushing any buttons on it accidentally, hurting myself trying to sit down, making holes in my pants because the pocket is too small for the phone I've shoved in it, and so on. And I'd like that basic phone to cost about $100, so it doesn't hurt my wallet, either. That's what I want. I'd buy that.
I want the perfect pair of jeans, too. Ones that aren't so long I have to roll them up twice to keep them from dragging through every mud puddle and piece of ABC gum on the sidewalk. Ones that actually have enough space for my butt in them-- but don't gape open about 5 inches at the waist because of it. Ones that don't get holes in the knees and crotch after only 2 years of basic non-demanding wear. Ones where the zipper stays up, and the legs stay down, even if I sit. NON-STRETCH ones so they aren't a totally different size after I've worn them for 4 hours, but with a bit of give so I don't hurt myself bending over. Jeans that have a nice sturdy button above the zipper, and not a snap-- and that have a well-sized button hole so it isn't either coming undone when I walk or alternately making me pee my pants because I can't get the dagm things undone in the bathroom after lunch! I want them to have the same quality high-endurance construction that boy's jeans have. And I want them to have the same low price, too. Under $60 for a decent pair.
Yeah! I'd buy that! I'd buy TEN of that!!
You know what else I want? The perfect blanket for my bed. One that is long enough to pull over my head, but still tuck in at the bottom AND have room for my toes to wiggle. One that is warm without being super heavy, but that breathes so I'm not sweating after being under it for 3 hours, even when my feet are still cold. (I hate that.) One that can be both washed AND DRIED in your average home washer/dryer. And it doesn't stain the other clothes it's washed with, either.
Yeah. I'd buy that.
And another thing! The perfect cable package. Yes. I'm dreaming big tonight. I want to be able to pick my ten favorite channels from ALL THE CHANNELS (except maybe the all-movie ones like Starz and HBO), for about $20 a month. I mean all the channels-- TLC, SCI-FI, CNN, Local News, Learning Channel, HGTV, TRAVEL, Cooking, etc. Then add any 2 special-topic channels (like HBO or the ALL-BASKET BALL ones) for an extra $5 a month, if you want them. Add in tivo at any point for an extra $10, and I'd gladly pay it. Then you could add in sets of two specialty channels for another $5 each, and ten additional other channels for another $10.
People would end up getting maybe 1/3 the channels you can get now for the price-- but they could pay a lower price to get only the channels they actually want to watch. Maybe even have one week every 4 months where people can try out ALL THE CHANNELS, and see if they want to upgrade or switch around which channels they get for the next 4 months or something... I tell you, this would be the most popular plan ever. I don't WANT 75+ channels, if half of them play the exact same thing, and 2/3 of them don't play anything I ever want to watch-- but I still have to flip through them when I'm LOOKING for something to watch!
Yeah. I'd buy that.
And breakfast cereals! Every time I find one that has some protein AND some flavor-- they stop making it. I'm on my fourth breakfast cereal, and each one is worse tasting than the one before. It is a verifiable fact that you need MORE PROTEIN for breakfast to get through your day with more energy. But it is a struggle to find a cold cereal that offers more than 3 grams of protein in a serving. WHY IS THAT??? For a while, there was a cereal that combined a bunch of fairly healthy ones so it had 5 grams of protein, and lots of different flavors. I loved it. It tasted good. It WORKED! And they stopped making it about a year ago. Then, I found one that actually had some berries in it, plus 7 grams protein, and with vanilla soy milk, it even tasted okay. But nobody carries it as of about 3 weeks ago. So I found a cereal that claims 15 grams, but has NO FLAVOR and NOTHING BUT FLAKES in it-- and I eat it if I know I've got a long day with no snacks in it... but I'd like to look forward to breakfast, ya know?
It's just a sad state of affairs. I mean, really. I'm okay with strange lunches, and I've managed to calm down about the way they make T-shirts without sleeves these days. I can even handle the strange and limited selection of alarm clock features I found in December... but... We're talking about some of my favorite things in life-- cell phones, jeans, warm blankets, good TV, and breakfast! And I, for one, would like each of them to be available in a form (and at a price) that is just perfect for me. Is that really asking too much?
Wednesday, February 21
Catina Blanket; 1 a.m.
I got a bit cold last night, so I woke up enough to pull an extra blanket across my shoulders and toes around 1 am this morning. I then proceeded to witness a fifteen-minute comedy routine, completely spontaneous, and full of physical humor. I love my cat.
Abbigale was sitting by my toes, where she usually sleeps. The house was quiet. The neighbors were quiet. My eyes were shut, and I was determined to go back to sleep... when I felt this odd movement in the blanket just above my knees...
I looked down in time to see Abbigale's tail disappearing under the edge of the extra blanket. Then I felt her purring as she crouched against my tummy, and pondered her next move. She started using one paw to gently probe for more open area around my tummy, arms, and neck. It really tickled! When nothing gave way to her demand for additional space, she started pushing harder-- with both paws-- on my kidneys. I pretended to be asleep.
(By the way, the intrepid explorer just found her way under my carpet again-- and has emerged triumphant, with the string wrapped around her neck and a front paw-- apparently, it tried to get away from the avid huntress by hiding under the throw rug in the living room. Silly string! Abbigale-the-Great is NOT afraid to hunt in the dark depths of the throw-rug jungle. She's been there before. ...and visitors wonder why my living room rug is always so bunched up at one end!)
When the paws-on-the-kidneys trick didn't work, she slowly oozed her way over my side and down into the well of blanket at my back. There, she turned around once or twice, rucking up my night shirt and generally tickling me with her whiskers. I gave up trying to go back to sleep, and started instead trying not to laugh. By 1:09 am, the call of the unexplored was heard, and more movement was felt, as our furry fusspot slowly excavated her way down to the crick between toes and bum. (I sleep with my legs bent, so there was a pretty good open space behind my knees-- which I thought would solve the problem, and we'd all go back to sleep.) Where she realized that the blanket didn't extend as far down the bed as she'd hoped. She backtracked, and then suddenly the pressure of her slow low creeping movement was gone. I couldn't take the suspense, so I opened my eyes, and peeked over my shoulder.
Abbigale was in the midst of the deep unknown-- still under this random extra blanket, but over in the part that didn't cover me-- the part that was sort of still folded up in a heap on the side of the bed. She got stuck in a fold, panicked, and at 1:15 am the relieved and somewhat static-y explorer shoved quickly over my legs and back outside the blanket, emerging at exactly the same point she'd originally entered. All good explorers carry a map of where they've been, you know. And as close as she must have come to exiting the blanket at several points in her research, I suspect that she never actually saw the nightlight, and thus never knew how close she'd been to working her way free on several occasions.
I think it was that little purrrt of utter relief and "did you miss me?" when she finally came out from under the blanket that did me in, since this whole "journey" had been over, around, and through me! I started laughing. Uncontrollably. Apparently, rather than taking offense the way she usually does when laughed at, Abbigale took this as reassurance that nothing that horrible had happened in her absence, and promptly curled up on my toes, and a corner of the slightly rearranged blanket, and started snoring.
I finally stopped laughing and went to sleep with a smile on my face around 1:30 am. I love my cat.
"Don't you people ever knock?"
Abbigale was sitting by my toes, where she usually sleeps. The house was quiet. The neighbors were quiet. My eyes were shut, and I was determined to go back to sleep... when I felt this odd movement in the blanket just above my knees...
I looked down in time to see Abbigale's tail disappearing under the edge of the extra blanket. Then I felt her purring as she crouched against my tummy, and pondered her next move. She started using one paw to gently probe for more open area around my tummy, arms, and neck. It really tickled! When nothing gave way to her demand for additional space, she started pushing harder-- with both paws-- on my kidneys. I pretended to be asleep.
(By the way, the intrepid explorer just found her way under my carpet again-- and has emerged triumphant, with the string wrapped around her neck and a front paw-- apparently, it tried to get away from the avid huntress by hiding under the throw rug in the living room. Silly string! Abbigale-the-Great is NOT afraid to hunt in the dark depths of the throw-rug jungle. She's been there before. ...and visitors wonder why my living room rug is always so bunched up at one end!)
When the paws-on-the-kidneys trick didn't work, she slowly oozed her way over my side and down into the well of blanket at my back. There, she turned around once or twice, rucking up my night shirt and generally tickling me with her whiskers. I gave up trying to go back to sleep, and started instead trying not to laugh. By 1:09 am, the call of the unexplored was heard, and more movement was felt, as our furry fusspot slowly excavated her way down to the crick between toes and bum. (I sleep with my legs bent, so there was a pretty good open space behind my knees-- which I thought would solve the problem, and we'd all go back to sleep.) Where she realized that the blanket didn't extend as far down the bed as she'd hoped. She backtracked, and then suddenly the pressure of her slow low creeping movement was gone. I couldn't take the suspense, so I opened my eyes, and peeked over my shoulder.
Abbigale was in the midst of the deep unknown-- still under this random extra blanket, but over in the part that didn't cover me-- the part that was sort of still folded up in a heap on the side of the bed. She got stuck in a fold, panicked, and at 1:15 am the relieved and somewhat static-y explorer shoved quickly over my legs and back outside the blanket, emerging at exactly the same point she'd originally entered. All good explorers carry a map of where they've been, you know. And as close as she must have come to exiting the blanket at several points in her research, I suspect that she never actually saw the nightlight, and thus never knew how close she'd been to working her way free on several occasions.
I think it was that little purrrt of utter relief and "did you miss me?" when she finally came out from under the blanket that did me in, since this whole "journey" had been over, around, and through me! I started laughing. Uncontrollably. Apparently, rather than taking offense the way she usually does when laughed at, Abbigale took this as reassurance that nothing that horrible had happened in her absence, and promptly curled up on my toes, and a corner of the slightly rearranged blanket, and started snoring.
I finally stopped laughing and went to sleep with a smile on my face around 1:30 am. I love my cat.
"Don't you people ever knock?"
Sunday, February 18
A Beautiful Heart
I went to the coast today, and met two really wonderful ladies. I also had a really REALLY yummy marrionberry scone, picked up some more driftwood to dry for my patio bonfires, and almost but not quite ran out of gas on the way home. Luckily, I realized it was going to happen, and did NOT start back into the mountains until after I found myself a gas station and filled 'er up. I'm home safe now, just in case you were worried.
By the way, if you are uncomfortable with what lies behind reality, you may not want to read the rest of today's blog. I go there. And it's beautiful. I usually try not to go there in my blog... but today was special, and you'll just have to deal. Whether you believe that energy is a scientific phenomenon based on simple magnetic properties of the earth and the moon, a reflection of God's light in each of us, a spiritual force, that it is of the great Mother Earth and the Moon Goddess herself, or something else entirely, we each have moments in our lives where we just have to accept what occurs, and say "thank you." Both of the women I met today fall into this category, and I'm going to tell you about them. Backwards.
The second woman that I met at the coast today has a little shop in a corner of a building so NOT on the main path that I really had to look at the door for a while to decide if it was the FRONT door or not. It was. In fact, it was the only door. I only even saw that door because I was taking a short-cut behind other buildings toward a sign I'd seen earlier in the day for a bead store. This, it turns out, was not the bead store... I never made it to the bead store, and I'm still glad that I followed the sign. After staring at the door for a while, I went into the shop, to be confronted with a little of everything that I love and am looking longingly at these days.
It was very overwhelming at first. I truly think that I could have had anything in my mind that I REALLY NEEDED TO FIND at that moment, and it would have somehow manifested in that little shop. There were rings, beads, scarfs, incense burners, tarot cards, little statues, big statues, fixings, containers, books, more scarfs, gorgeous jewelry, semi-precious pendants, amazing pieces of art-- and over in one dark corner were bits and remnants of all the things I'd have LOVED to find there as a child... That corner is obviously somewhat neglected now. There is even another half of the store that I never made it into. And this was a small store.
After I'd been standing by the front door staring at a rack of five different kinds of birth-sign reading cards (the star signs we all know from our horoscope in the paper, the Chinese animals, the Egyptian goddesses, African fortunes, and more), a woman appeared. She is probably in her sixties, and though she doesn't look old, her hair is pure white, and she looks like she knows a hell of a lot. I didn't really have much conversation with this wise woman, but I was thrilled to find that she is every bit as interesting as her choice of what to have for sale in her shop. And somehow, the prices were all ones I could handle, too... just not all at once. I'm definitely going back to that store the next time I go to that part of the coast. First off, I want to see if the store (and the owner) actually exists outside of my mind, and more-- I want to explore the second half of the shop! I am now the proud owner of a Healing Woman Tarot deck, and a beautiful spring green 100% cotton sari scarf, shot with silver threads, from India. I also feel like I just met a manifestation of the Goddess, and that the store existed in that moment, just for me. Since I'm quite happy about that interpretation of events, I didn't ask too many questions, and I didn't look behind me when I walked away. I just said "thank you," as I closed the door.
A little background for the first part of the second story:
My Aunt Jacque, mom's oldest sister, was a very special person. She was a truly spiritual being by the time I knew her. She got that way, in large part, by remembering to breathe. She became an ordained and practicing Presbyterian Minister somewhere along the way. She also worked with healing energy, cleansed auras, used essential oils medicinally, met with the Dali Lama, traveled all over the world, and loved unconditionally. She just KNEW things. She knew when to watch Spring unfold-- that one magical day each year when the leaves appear and the buds turn green or pink or gold. She knew unusual facts about celebrities-- and she wasn't someone to sit down and read a People Magazine. She knew what essential oils your body needed to get healthy, and she often knew what ailed you. She knew how to listen, and how to tell a good story.
She was never on time. She didn't actually have a sense of time as we know it... and she was happier that way, I think. She didn't really know how to drive either, but she made her way around Chicago without getting into accidents, for years. I think she had a bit of divine intervention on that one. You'd agree if you'd ever spent time with her in the car. I suspect she is the person who taught my mom to drive, actually. She'd be looking in the rear view mirror (or be half-turned in the driver seat, and looking at you directly) to maintain eye contact with you as she told a story-- and the car would be slowly swerving back and forth across the full width of whatever road she happened to be on. But we never crashed, never drove off the road, never hit another car... She also never knew how to get where she was going, but she usually got there anyway. I take a surprising amount of encouragement from this one little fact. That someone this gifted and internally beautiful might not really have known how to get where she was going-- and that she still got there in the end... maybe I will, too.
(This also ties nicely into my reality of following directions while driving. You see, I have a tradition. No matter how hard I try, I can't break it. The tradition is that you will give me driving directions over the phone, and I will write them down in detail, and with clear organization, so that I can follow them later when I'm driving... and then I will not look at those directions again until I am on my way to visit you, and realize that I've left those great directions at home. And I somehow-- often with a few phone calls for help if it's a long way to go-- manage to get to where I was going anyway. I love that!)
She started her own school of healing, called Crossroads, ran her own business, produced a CD of meditation techniques, faught off breast cancer at least three times, and started writing her own book of spirituality as well, before she died. She even knew how to decide when she would die-- noon on Christmas Day. And she always knew what I needed from her to make things okay again... Jacque is a wise woman I've turned to for love, support, and better understanding throughout my lifetime. I tell you this now, because it is pertinent to my meeting with the first woman of today.
The first woman I met today is a clairvoyant. A really brave person who has overcome a lot of fear in her life. I met her by accident a while back, and have exchanged maybe two words with her since then. Today, I asked her to do a reading for me. She sat me down and asked me if I had any questions or expectations, and I told her I just wanted to see what came up. I think some of the best gifts are the ones we don't ask for, so to me it was an opportunity to learn what I may not even KNOW I need to know.
She looked at me and told me that I have a very strong creative bent to my life. That my creative talents are as much or as little as I need them to be, because I've really tapped into them fully of late, and because my will is so strong that I shape them to my liking. She said I'm well-grounded now, and I've spent time building a strong foundation lately, but that now I'm moving forward with my creativity, my skills, and my plans for balance and security-- and I'm going in the right direction with all of it. Then she opened her eyes and said I have a beautiful heart. She was a bit in awe of all that she'd seen me overcome in the past year, and of all the protection and sunshine that surround me now and for the future. She says it's because I'm acting from my heart now, and I have such a great heart. (This may be about when I started crying... I can't think of a better compliment-- a better place to work from-- than having a beautiful heart!)
Much to my surprise, it is not just my Aunt Jacque that she saw watching over me of late, but also my Grandfather Elliott. It makes sense, and I'm glad to know that now. Because this is what she does, just like Jacque did what she did, this gifted woman spoke with my angels, and she looked into my "history book of the soul" that the angels keep for each of us, and discovered that there are two volumes for mine. The reference material from my whole life and lives leading up to about a year ago, and the new volume I've been writing since that time. I've gone through such a rebirth that it is as if I am a different person.
She was actually quite surprised to realize that the things she saw in the past, and the things she saw in the present/future are for the same person! (I guess this reading, like many other first meetings I've had with some of the great women in my life, was a great new experience for her. I'm so glad about that! Sometimes, my desire to be different-- to be outstanding-- surprises me. Especially since I'm okay with buying my clothes off the rack at Fred Meyer or some other chain store half the time.) She told me that my strength is my own (I'd really been wondering when whatever was giving me the strength to do all this would go away again, so that was SUCH a relief to know it's actually mine!), and that it has come from the decisions I made, and the efforts I've put out in the past year. She was just thrilled about the future path that she sees for me, too. Whatever it is, she believes I am going about it just at the right speed, and in the right manner. And she was asked to let me know that the people I need in my life will be there waiting for me when I need them.
I've never had my fortune read, and beyond Aunt Jacque, I haven't really had a lot of energy work or other alternative medicine done either... but since Jacque's death, I've felt like my sense of direction has been harder and harder to find... (I had a compass tattooed on my back a few days after she died, come to think of it) and in some ways, that was true... but not because of Jacque. Today, I learned some great visualization techniques to help me deal with my fears, and I learned that it is okay to acknowledge my struggles, and to take credit for my successes and for my inner strength in working to succeed and be joyful. Additionally, I found a great alternative to calamine lotion for dealing with my "I don't want to date yet, but flirting is fun" itch... and I made a good friend. I believe that there is energy out there, and that there is a font of universal knowledge waiting to be tapped into. I believe that people like my Aunt Jacque and the clairvoyant woman I met today are tapped into that knowledge in some way... and so for me, it is easy to put aside my scientific mind, and stop assuming that life is just random chance occurring over and over again... and to say "thank you" for the gifts I've received today.
So... speaking of people appearing in my life when I need them, have I told you about the blog I'm going to participate in writing for the LibraryJournal magazine? At the ALA Midwinter Meeting back in January, a woman I'd never seen before sat down to rest at my small table (two rickety chairs, about 20 newspapers, my lunch, and a bunch of crumbs) outside a really busy Starbucks one day. Neither one of us was drinking coffee. She ended up asking me a bunch of questions about being an online MLS student. She was also interested in the fact that I have my own blog. (You're reading it.) It turns out that she is the Editor-in-Chief of the LibraryJournal, and she has been thinking about starting a library student blog in her journal's online component-- and I may just be lucky enough to come along for the ride now that we've met!
Yeah. Really happened. Random woman on the street... just when I was trying to network and thinking about looking for opportunities to publish my work (if I have any library-related work worth publishing at this point) so that I could make myself more appealing for library jobs down the line...
I could tell you a lot of other stories from my life just like this-- stories where I meet a stranger, and gain an opportunity or learn a lesson or hear a story that changes the way I look at life-- changes my future plans for the better. It isn't really coincidence. Remember that time you were traveling... stuck in an airport you'd never been to before, and in some part of the country you never visit? Remember how you bumped into someone from your elementary school that you always wondered about, or your old next-door neighbor with those great dogs, or the perfect character for your next book, and the name is even perfect? "Small world!" you said... and all the angels and fairies and scientists and totem animals just laughed from where they were watching over your progress through your life... and then, as you boarded the airplane and finally headed out to your next destination, you thought to whisper a "thank you" into the air. Coincidence. Totally.
By the way, if you are uncomfortable with what lies behind reality, you may not want to read the rest of today's blog. I go there. And it's beautiful. I usually try not to go there in my blog... but today was special, and you'll just have to deal. Whether you believe that energy is a scientific phenomenon based on simple magnetic properties of the earth and the moon, a reflection of God's light in each of us, a spiritual force, that it is of the great Mother Earth and the Moon Goddess herself, or something else entirely, we each have moments in our lives where we just have to accept what occurs, and say "thank you." Both of the women I met today fall into this category, and I'm going to tell you about them. Backwards.
The second woman that I met at the coast today has a little shop in a corner of a building so NOT on the main path that I really had to look at the door for a while to decide if it was the FRONT door or not. It was. In fact, it was the only door. I only even saw that door because I was taking a short-cut behind other buildings toward a sign I'd seen earlier in the day for a bead store. This, it turns out, was not the bead store... I never made it to the bead store, and I'm still glad that I followed the sign. After staring at the door for a while, I went into the shop, to be confronted with a little of everything that I love and am looking longingly at these days.
It was very overwhelming at first. I truly think that I could have had anything in my mind that I REALLY NEEDED TO FIND at that moment, and it would have somehow manifested in that little shop. There were rings, beads, scarfs, incense burners, tarot cards, little statues, big statues, fixings, containers, books, more scarfs, gorgeous jewelry, semi-precious pendants, amazing pieces of art-- and over in one dark corner were bits and remnants of all the things I'd have LOVED to find there as a child... That corner is obviously somewhat neglected now. There is even another half of the store that I never made it into. And this was a small store.
After I'd been standing by the front door staring at a rack of five different kinds of birth-sign reading cards (the star signs we all know from our horoscope in the paper, the Chinese animals, the Egyptian goddesses, African fortunes, and more), a woman appeared. She is probably in her sixties, and though she doesn't look old, her hair is pure white, and she looks like she knows a hell of a lot. I didn't really have much conversation with this wise woman, but I was thrilled to find that she is every bit as interesting as her choice of what to have for sale in her shop. And somehow, the prices were all ones I could handle, too... just not all at once. I'm definitely going back to that store the next time I go to that part of the coast. First off, I want to see if the store (and the owner) actually exists outside of my mind, and more-- I want to explore the second half of the shop! I am now the proud owner of a Healing Woman Tarot deck, and a beautiful spring green 100% cotton sari scarf, shot with silver threads, from India. I also feel like I just met a manifestation of the Goddess, and that the store existed in that moment, just for me. Since I'm quite happy about that interpretation of events, I didn't ask too many questions, and I didn't look behind me when I walked away. I just said "thank you," as I closed the door.
A little background for the first part of the second story:
My Aunt Jacque, mom's oldest sister, was a very special person. She was a truly spiritual being by the time I knew her. She got that way, in large part, by remembering to breathe. She became an ordained and practicing Presbyterian Minister somewhere along the way. She also worked with healing energy, cleansed auras, used essential oils medicinally, met with the Dali Lama, traveled all over the world, and loved unconditionally. She just KNEW things. She knew when to watch Spring unfold-- that one magical day each year when the leaves appear and the buds turn green or pink or gold. She knew unusual facts about celebrities-- and she wasn't someone to sit down and read a People Magazine. She knew what essential oils your body needed to get healthy, and she often knew what ailed you. She knew how to listen, and how to tell a good story.
She was never on time. She didn't actually have a sense of time as we know it... and she was happier that way, I think. She didn't really know how to drive either, but she made her way around Chicago without getting into accidents, for years. I think she had a bit of divine intervention on that one. You'd agree if you'd ever spent time with her in the car. I suspect she is the person who taught my mom to drive, actually. She'd be looking in the rear view mirror (or be half-turned in the driver seat, and looking at you directly) to maintain eye contact with you as she told a story-- and the car would be slowly swerving back and forth across the full width of whatever road she happened to be on. But we never crashed, never drove off the road, never hit another car... She also never knew how to get where she was going, but she usually got there anyway. I take a surprising amount of encouragement from this one little fact. That someone this gifted and internally beautiful might not really have known how to get where she was going-- and that she still got there in the end... maybe I will, too.
(This also ties nicely into my reality of following directions while driving. You see, I have a tradition. No matter how hard I try, I can't break it. The tradition is that you will give me driving directions over the phone, and I will write them down in detail, and with clear organization, so that I can follow them later when I'm driving... and then I will not look at those directions again until I am on my way to visit you, and realize that I've left those great directions at home. And I somehow-- often with a few phone calls for help if it's a long way to go-- manage to get to where I was going anyway. I love that!)
She started her own school of healing, called Crossroads, ran her own business, produced a CD of meditation techniques, faught off breast cancer at least three times, and started writing her own book of spirituality as well, before she died. She even knew how to decide when she would die-- noon on Christmas Day. And she always knew what I needed from her to make things okay again... Jacque is a wise woman I've turned to for love, support, and better understanding throughout my lifetime. I tell you this now, because it is pertinent to my meeting with the first woman of today.
The first woman I met today is a clairvoyant. A really brave person who has overcome a lot of fear in her life. I met her by accident a while back, and have exchanged maybe two words with her since then. Today, I asked her to do a reading for me. She sat me down and asked me if I had any questions or expectations, and I told her I just wanted to see what came up. I think some of the best gifts are the ones we don't ask for, so to me it was an opportunity to learn what I may not even KNOW I need to know.
She looked at me and told me that I have a very strong creative bent to my life. That my creative talents are as much or as little as I need them to be, because I've really tapped into them fully of late, and because my will is so strong that I shape them to my liking. She said I'm well-grounded now, and I've spent time building a strong foundation lately, but that now I'm moving forward with my creativity, my skills, and my plans for balance and security-- and I'm going in the right direction with all of it. Then she opened her eyes and said I have a beautiful heart. She was a bit in awe of all that she'd seen me overcome in the past year, and of all the protection and sunshine that surround me now and for the future. She says it's because I'm acting from my heart now, and I have such a great heart. (This may be about when I started crying... I can't think of a better compliment-- a better place to work from-- than having a beautiful heart!)
Much to my surprise, it is not just my Aunt Jacque that she saw watching over me of late, but also my Grandfather Elliott. It makes sense, and I'm glad to know that now. Because this is what she does, just like Jacque did what she did, this gifted woman spoke with my angels, and she looked into my "history book of the soul" that the angels keep for each of us, and discovered that there are two volumes for mine. The reference material from my whole life and lives leading up to about a year ago, and the new volume I've been writing since that time. I've gone through such a rebirth that it is as if I am a different person.
She was actually quite surprised to realize that the things she saw in the past, and the things she saw in the present/future are for the same person! (I guess this reading, like many other first meetings I've had with some of the great women in my life, was a great new experience for her. I'm so glad about that! Sometimes, my desire to be different-- to be outstanding-- surprises me. Especially since I'm okay with buying my clothes off the rack at Fred Meyer or some other chain store half the time.) She told me that my strength is my own (I'd really been wondering when whatever was giving me the strength to do all this would go away again, so that was SUCH a relief to know it's actually mine!), and that it has come from the decisions I made, and the efforts I've put out in the past year. She was just thrilled about the future path that she sees for me, too. Whatever it is, she believes I am going about it just at the right speed, and in the right manner. And she was asked to let me know that the people I need in my life will be there waiting for me when I need them.
I've never had my fortune read, and beyond Aunt Jacque, I haven't really had a lot of energy work or other alternative medicine done either... but since Jacque's death, I've felt like my sense of direction has been harder and harder to find... (I had a compass tattooed on my back a few days after she died, come to think of it) and in some ways, that was true... but not because of Jacque. Today, I learned some great visualization techniques to help me deal with my fears, and I learned that it is okay to acknowledge my struggles, and to take credit for my successes and for my inner strength in working to succeed and be joyful. Additionally, I found a great alternative to calamine lotion for dealing with my "I don't want to date yet, but flirting is fun" itch... and I made a good friend. I believe that there is energy out there, and that there is a font of universal knowledge waiting to be tapped into. I believe that people like my Aunt Jacque and the clairvoyant woman I met today are tapped into that knowledge in some way... and so for me, it is easy to put aside my scientific mind, and stop assuming that life is just random chance occurring over and over again... and to say "thank you" for the gifts I've received today.
So... speaking of people appearing in my life when I need them, have I told you about the blog I'm going to participate in writing for the LibraryJournal magazine? At the ALA Midwinter Meeting back in January, a woman I'd never seen before sat down to rest at my small table (two rickety chairs, about 20 newspapers, my lunch, and a bunch of crumbs) outside a really busy Starbucks one day. Neither one of us was drinking coffee. She ended up asking me a bunch of questions about being an online MLS student. She was also interested in the fact that I have my own blog. (You're reading it.) It turns out that she is the Editor-in-Chief of the LibraryJournal, and she has been thinking about starting a library student blog in her journal's online component-- and I may just be lucky enough to come along for the ride now that we've met!
Yeah. Really happened. Random woman on the street... just when I was trying to network and thinking about looking for opportunities to publish my work (if I have any library-related work worth publishing at this point) so that I could make myself more appealing for library jobs down the line...
I could tell you a lot of other stories from my life just like this-- stories where I meet a stranger, and gain an opportunity or learn a lesson or hear a story that changes the way I look at life-- changes my future plans for the better. It isn't really coincidence. Remember that time you were traveling... stuck in an airport you'd never been to before, and in some part of the country you never visit? Remember how you bumped into someone from your elementary school that you always wondered about, or your old next-door neighbor with those great dogs, or the perfect character for your next book, and the name is even perfect? "Small world!" you said... and all the angels and fairies and scientists and totem animals just laughed from where they were watching over your progress through your life... and then, as you boarded the airplane and finally headed out to your next destination, you thought to whisper a "thank you" into the air. Coincidence. Totally.
Friday, February 16
I Itch!
Visited my folks this week. Got my car's oil changed, new wiper blades, and readjusted the headlights while I was in town. I call that a productive visit. Mom tried a new recipe on dad and I while I was there, too. It was a very yummy cheesy stew. I'd have enjoyed it more if I hadn't caught her picking some of the grated cheese off her shirt and putting it into the stew pot when she was cooking. She's a clean person- it isn't that- it's just that she uses glasses to read and see things up close... and she uses glasses to see the TV and to drive... but she doesn't actually "wear glasses" if you know what I mean. It could easily have been a bit of something NOT CHEESE, and she might not have noticed when she put it in the pot. And there WAS an awful lot of cat hair on her shirt, too...
Similarly, I found a flea on me while sitting at the dining table the next morning, listening to my mom give me her advice on how to approach religion. I've already got my own opinions about that, so it was one of those listen-and-nod kind of conversations. I drowned the flea, and told mom about it. She can't believe it. She's NEVER seen a flea in the house! Somehow, I'm not surprised... and it doesn't make me rule out the possibility that they have a flea problem. See note about her glasses, above. In fact, the garage has been crawling with them for years. I hated going out there in high school because they'd jump on my legs, and the spider webs would catch on my face and hair, and the window was full of dead bugs and living spiders.
Five minutes later, a box elder bug (basically harmless, but they are always invading my parents' house en mass, via the kitchen and dining rooms-- it's been ten years or more now that they keep finding ways to get in, and my parents just keep trapping the bugs, and throwing them out the sliding door) did a low fly-by-- which I heard-- and then landed in my hair. I found him there by accident a moment later. I'm calm about bloody injuries (it's amazing how many people slice the end of their finger off with bread knives every year!), infectious diseases, dramatic relationship situations, violent animals, you name it... but spiders running or jumping toward me, and bugs in my hair are just FREAKY!!!
So I did one of those "NO YOU DON'T AND I'M NOT GOING TO TOUCH YOU FOR MORE THAN .2 SECONDS WHILE I MAKE SURE OF THAT" wild gyrating arm dances to dislodge the bug, and felt itchy and crawly for the rest of the day. I'm still not sure I shouldn't have gotten out the cat's flea meds and put some on the back of MY neck when I got home!
Between these little invasions of my personal space, and my stilted conversation with my mom about religion, I dagmn well ITCH!!!! And all I really wanna do is have a Japanese soaking tub installed in the middle of my living room so I can sit and soak in some lavender-and-thyme scented water (creepy crawly bugs of many kinds hate these plants' essential oils) for the next 24 hours. But I have homework to do, and a job to work, and bills to pay, and a cat to pacify because I was gone for over 24 hours without warning her and she thought I'd left her forever, so she spilled the trash in the bathroom looking for used Q-tips to sustain her (she loves ear wax-- don't ask). Anyway, life is just complicated, and dealing with having my personal space invaded over and over in a very short period of time did not improve my sense of well-being.
On another front, speaking of itches that need to be scratched, I went to a birthday party tonight. I knew the birthday boy, his girlfriend, and myself. Everyone else was from his work, or was somehow associated with it. Nice people. Just busy talking with each other about engineering and drinking good beer, loudly. The talking AND the drinking. I met a couple of really nice women that I hope to meet again at future get-togethers... and I got to hang out with a lot of eligible (except for their girlfriends/wives/loud drinking, sadly) and successful strange men, all about my age and all in one place, for the first time since my divorce. I realized three important facts tonight:
One: I'm interested in practicing my flirting skills.
Two: I do not want to waste my time on guys already in relationships, gay guys, and jerks.
Three: I have no fugking idea what the rules of dating are anymore, and I don't think I actually ever did, come to think of it.
I'm in trouble. Big trouble. Because I found another itch-- and it's SO hard not to scratch those unconscious itches like wanting to flirt or flea bites or yelling at people who push your buttons-- however unconsciously... and I know for a FACT that flirting with guys is one itch I am NOT prepared to deal with. I plan to go through a lot more counseling about boundaries, about healthy relationships, and about ME before I get into anything even resembling another us. So these little urges to flirt are going to get a BIG DOSE of ugly pink calamine lotion the next time I feel them. Somehow. Maybe my "NO YOU DON'T" bug-in-the-hair dance would scare all the cute boys (and, hopefully, also the jerks, since I seem to be magnetically attracted to jerks) away, and the problem could just solve itself naturally... because I've learned that even when I'm NOT trying to flirt, and am just being my usual nice warm personable self, I attract self-centered boys who don't bother to ask their buddies if I'm interested in them or not-- they just assume they are king, and start looking for some sugar, baby. And I just don't have much patience for fools these days-- especially when they look just like me, only with lots of pink calamine lotion all over.
Similarly, I found a flea on me while sitting at the dining table the next morning, listening to my mom give me her advice on how to approach religion. I've already got my own opinions about that, so it was one of those listen-and-nod kind of conversations. I drowned the flea, and told mom about it. She can't believe it. She's NEVER seen a flea in the house! Somehow, I'm not surprised... and it doesn't make me rule out the possibility that they have a flea problem. See note about her glasses, above. In fact, the garage has been crawling with them for years. I hated going out there in high school because they'd jump on my legs, and the spider webs would catch on my face and hair, and the window was full of dead bugs and living spiders.
Five minutes later, a box elder bug (basically harmless, but they are always invading my parents' house en mass, via the kitchen and dining rooms-- it's been ten years or more now that they keep finding ways to get in, and my parents just keep trapping the bugs, and throwing them out the sliding door) did a low fly-by-- which I heard-- and then landed in my hair. I found him there by accident a moment later. I'm calm about bloody injuries (it's amazing how many people slice the end of their finger off with bread knives every year!), infectious diseases, dramatic relationship situations, violent animals, you name it... but spiders running or jumping toward me, and bugs in my hair are just FREAKY!!!
So I did one of those "NO YOU DON'T AND I'M NOT GOING TO TOUCH YOU FOR MORE THAN .2 SECONDS WHILE I MAKE SURE OF THAT" wild gyrating arm dances to dislodge the bug, and felt itchy and crawly for the rest of the day. I'm still not sure I shouldn't have gotten out the cat's flea meds and put some on the back of MY neck when I got home!
Between these little invasions of my personal space, and my stilted conversation with my mom about religion, I dagmn well ITCH!!!! And all I really wanna do is have a Japanese soaking tub installed in the middle of my living room so I can sit and soak in some lavender-and-thyme scented water (creepy crawly bugs of many kinds hate these plants' essential oils) for the next 24 hours. But I have homework to do, and a job to work, and bills to pay, and a cat to pacify because I was gone for over 24 hours without warning her and she thought I'd left her forever, so she spilled the trash in the bathroom looking for used Q-tips to sustain her (she loves ear wax-- don't ask). Anyway, life is just complicated, and dealing with having my personal space invaded over and over in a very short period of time did not improve my sense of well-being.
On another front, speaking of itches that need to be scratched, I went to a birthday party tonight. I knew the birthday boy, his girlfriend, and myself. Everyone else was from his work, or was somehow associated with it. Nice people. Just busy talking with each other about engineering and drinking good beer, loudly. The talking AND the drinking. I met a couple of really nice women that I hope to meet again at future get-togethers... and I got to hang out with a lot of eligible (except for their girlfriends/wives/loud drinking, sadly) and successful strange men, all about my age and all in one place, for the first time since my divorce. I realized three important facts tonight:
One: I'm interested in practicing my flirting skills.
Two: I do not want to waste my time on guys already in relationships, gay guys, and jerks.
Three: I have no fugking idea what the rules of dating are anymore, and I don't think I actually ever did, come to think of it.
I'm in trouble. Big trouble. Because I found another itch-- and it's SO hard not to scratch those unconscious itches like wanting to flirt or flea bites or yelling at people who push your buttons-- however unconsciously... and I know for a FACT that flirting with guys is one itch I am NOT prepared to deal with. I plan to go through a lot more counseling about boundaries, about healthy relationships, and about ME before I get into anything even resembling another us. So these little urges to flirt are going to get a BIG DOSE of ugly pink calamine lotion the next time I feel them. Somehow. Maybe my "NO YOU DON'T" bug-in-the-hair dance would scare all the cute boys (and, hopefully, also the jerks, since I seem to be magnetically attracted to jerks) away, and the problem could just solve itself naturally... because I've learned that even when I'm NOT trying to flirt, and am just being my usual nice warm personable self, I attract self-centered boys who don't bother to ask their buddies if I'm interested in them or not-- they just assume they are king, and start looking for some sugar, baby. And I just don't have much patience for fools these days-- especially when they look just like me, only with lots of pink calamine lotion all over.
Wednesday, February 14
Bookrock
Yes. I've officially gone over the edge. I received what I think is probably the BEST valentine I've ever gotten from a man this year. And he is 2 years old. The world needs help.
But this blog is not about children. Or valentines.
Okay, well, it is actually inspired by both of these, but that's not the same thing at all.
It is about me going over the edge, the world needing help, and some really really good books. Eclectic and weird are the official words of the day. Sample quotes and bibliographic information to follow:
"Why isn't love easy? I don't know. And the raccoons don't say." Fulghum, Robert. All I Really Need to Know I Learned In Kindergarten. Second Edition.
"Another really luscious rollneck. Versatile collar, versatile sweater (you can turn it around and make him gasp at the 14 buttons down your back). Ribbed, sag-proof cuffs. Knitting quality much better than your favorite aunt's, without trickery or glitz. You might wear it every day. Color: They call it "Brick" but it's not. I counted at least six different shades of red and deep orange in the wool. Glorious. Rollneck Sweater. Price $220. Made in Ireland." The J. Peterman Company. Owner's Manual No 38a; Fall 1995.
"Watch that bee!" Stanley advised. "What bee?" asked Rhoda. "Near your right foot," said Stanley. "He got me!" Rhoda screamed. "It hurts!" Rhoda screamed. "It's just a bee bite. Let me see it," said Stanley. "Don't touch it! Don't look at it!" said Rhoda. "When we get home, Daddy will fix it," said Stanley. "What will Daddy do?" asked Rhoda. "Take the bee sting out of your foot with a needle," said Stanley. "Then again he might soak your foot in boiling butter." "It's better now, Stanley," said Rhoda. "I'm glad," said Stanley. Wells, Rosemary. Stanley & Rhoda.
"Soon more trick-or-treaters began to stop by.
They'd seen the lit pumpkin and smelled the warm pie.
'They're my pals,' the witch whispered in John's little ear.
'They're loud and they're messy, but nothing to fear.' 'Trick or treat!!!' howled the callers. 'Bring on the fun!' John offered them seeds, since the pies were not done. ...
While the witch and a wizard slow-waltzed through the air,
A slimy green creature slipped right off its chair
And oozed in between dirty disco-ing brutes
Who had spiders with webs on their crusty white suits.
As this ghostly group danced and downed down his food,
A beaming John Pig was caught up in the mood."
Waldron, Jan L. John Pig's Halloween.
"But what if nobody likes the way I dance?
You go dancing in the woods, alone in the crackling leaves.
One day you meet someone else dancing in the woods.
You dance together. You throw leaves on each other.
You lie down in the leaves."
Dragonwagon, Crascent. Will It Be Okay?
I'm not quoting from this one, but I wish I'd had it earlier in my marriage. A practical guide for the impractical reality. Lets just say the author definitely has everyone's best interests at heart, and a lot of information from individuals with experience.
Colombo, Luann. How to Have Sex in the Woods.
"If you can't see something, chances are you don't know you have it. Think about this if you have piles of items that you're uncovering for the first time in a long time. How long have you lived without them and gotten along just fine?" Leist, Laura. Eliminate Chaos: The 10-Step Process to Organize Your Home & Life.
"What if the costs of being neat and well organized often outweighed the benefits? What if being somewhat messy, in a broad sense, were a better deal?" Abrahamson, Eric and David H. Freedman. A Perfect Mess.
"You know how to be silly. That's why I like you. Boy are you ever silly. I never met anybody sillier than me 'till I met you." Warburg, Sandol Stoddard. I like you.
"A cow says moo. A sheep says baa. Three singing pigs say LA LA LA!" Boynton, Sandra. Moo, Baa, La La La!
"I realized that in society in general there were very few positive images or role models for women... It occurred to me that a contemporary reclamation of Goddess history could provide positive images of womanhood and at the same time offer rebuttals to later patriarchal religious decrees, especially the one that most annoyed me, that it was 'divine will' for the male to rule over the female." Stone, Merlin. Ancient Mirrors of Womanhood: A treasury of Goddess and Heroine Lore From Around the World.
"Sometimes you can't explain your actions. Sometimes you can't explain yourself. Have a sneeze that's the envy of others. Challenge yourself. Make the world your playground. The faster you run upstairs the more likely you are to forget why you went in the first place. Depend on others without losing your independence." Becker, Suzy. All I Need to Know I Learned From My Cat.
Without seeing the pictures, there is no way a quote from this book will do it justice. Greive,Bradley Trevor. The Blue Day Book.
"She was determined to buy whatever he was selling. ... He was so cute when he was wrong. ...and then I ripped out his lungs. ... She was disinclined to play by the rules." Taintor, Anne. I Can't be Good All The Time.
"Runny doesn't always do
The thoper pring at all.
Just see the motes his namma
Has pasted on his wall."
A Billy Sook by Shel Silverstein. Runny Babbit.
"Chocolate Fix:
1 -11oz package milk chocolate pieces
1 -11 oz package butterscotch-flavored pieces
1 -12 oz jar dry-roasted peanuts
1 -3 oz can cow mien noodles"
Breast Cancer Commemorative Section. Better Homes and Gardens New Cook Book.
"Others chose to use fairy art as an acceptable vehicle for taboo subject matter, such as nudity, drug addiction, eroticism and the supernatural." Zaczek, Iain. Angels & Fairies.
"If we want houses that nurture us, we need to develop a language that describes the qualities of home and not just the quantities. ... It will focus on quality design and construction, using sustainable techniques and materials, and will appeal to buyers who want a home that really nurtures their spirit rather than simply impresses the neighbors with scale." Susanka, Sarah. Creating the Not So Big House.
"Chapter 1, In Which Cimorine Refuses to Be Proper and Has a Conversation with a Frog. Linderwall was a large kingdom, just east of the Mountains of Morning, where philosophers were highly respected and the number five was fashionable. The climate was unremarkable. The knights kept their armor brightly polished mainly for show-- it had been centuries since a dragon had come east. There were the usual periodic problems with royal children and uninvited fairy godmothers, but they were always the sort of thing that could be cleared up by finding the proper prince or princess to marry the unfortunate child a few years later. All in all, Linderwall was a very prosperous and pleasant place. Cimorine hated it." Wrede, Patricia C. Dealing With Dragons.
Add in a healthy dose of M*A*S*H* for the first seven years of my life, and you'll understand a whole lot more about me and my weird sense of humor. Happy Valentine's. Let's all go out and celebrate the death of celibate men everywhere! (Ahem-- have you or have you NOT researched the Christian Beginning of this holiday you are celebrating in such excess??)
But this blog is not about children. Or valentines.
Okay, well, it is actually inspired by both of these, but that's not the same thing at all.
It is about me going over the edge, the world needing help, and some really really good books. Eclectic and weird are the official words of the day. Sample quotes and bibliographic information to follow:
"Why isn't love easy? I don't know. And the raccoons don't say." Fulghum, Robert. All I Really Need to Know I Learned In Kindergarten. Second Edition.
"Another really luscious rollneck. Versatile collar, versatile sweater (you can turn it around and make him gasp at the 14 buttons down your back). Ribbed, sag-proof cuffs. Knitting quality much better than your favorite aunt's, without trickery or glitz. You might wear it every day. Color: They call it "Brick" but it's not. I counted at least six different shades of red and deep orange in the wool. Glorious. Rollneck Sweater. Price $220. Made in Ireland." The J. Peterman Company. Owner's Manual No 38a; Fall 1995.
"Watch that bee!" Stanley advised. "What bee?" asked Rhoda. "Near your right foot," said Stanley. "He got me!" Rhoda screamed. "It hurts!" Rhoda screamed. "It's just a bee bite. Let me see it," said Stanley. "Don't touch it! Don't look at it!" said Rhoda. "When we get home, Daddy will fix it," said Stanley. "What will Daddy do?" asked Rhoda. "Take the bee sting out of your foot with a needle," said Stanley. "Then again he might soak your foot in boiling butter." "It's better now, Stanley," said Rhoda. "I'm glad," said Stanley. Wells, Rosemary. Stanley & Rhoda.
"Soon more trick-or-treaters began to stop by.
They'd seen the lit pumpkin and smelled the warm pie.
'They're my pals,' the witch whispered in John's little ear.
'They're loud and they're messy, but nothing to fear.' 'Trick or treat!!!' howled the callers. 'Bring on the fun!' John offered them seeds, since the pies were not done. ...
While the witch and a wizard slow-waltzed through the air,
A slimy green creature slipped right off its chair
And oozed in between dirty disco-ing brutes
Who had spiders with webs on their crusty white suits.
As this ghostly group danced and downed down his food,
A beaming John Pig was caught up in the mood."
Waldron, Jan L. John Pig's Halloween.
"But what if nobody likes the way I dance?
You go dancing in the woods, alone in the crackling leaves.
One day you meet someone else dancing in the woods.
You dance together. You throw leaves on each other.
You lie down in the leaves."
Dragonwagon, Crascent. Will It Be Okay?
I'm not quoting from this one, but I wish I'd had it earlier in my marriage. A practical guide for the impractical reality. Lets just say the author definitely has everyone's best interests at heart, and a lot of information from individuals with experience.
Colombo, Luann. How to Have Sex in the Woods.
"If you can't see something, chances are you don't know you have it. Think about this if you have piles of items that you're uncovering for the first time in a long time. How long have you lived without them and gotten along just fine?" Leist, Laura. Eliminate Chaos: The 10-Step Process to Organize Your Home & Life.
"What if the costs of being neat and well organized often outweighed the benefits? What if being somewhat messy, in a broad sense, were a better deal?" Abrahamson, Eric and David H. Freedman. A Perfect Mess.
"You know how to be silly. That's why I like you. Boy are you ever silly. I never met anybody sillier than me 'till I met you." Warburg, Sandol Stoddard. I like you.
"A cow says moo. A sheep says baa. Three singing pigs say LA LA LA!" Boynton, Sandra. Moo, Baa, La La La!
"I realized that in society in general there were very few positive images or role models for women... It occurred to me that a contemporary reclamation of Goddess history could provide positive images of womanhood and at the same time offer rebuttals to later patriarchal religious decrees, especially the one that most annoyed me, that it was 'divine will' for the male to rule over the female." Stone, Merlin. Ancient Mirrors of Womanhood: A treasury of Goddess and Heroine Lore From Around the World.
"Sometimes you can't explain your actions. Sometimes you can't explain yourself. Have a sneeze that's the envy of others. Challenge yourself. Make the world your playground. The faster you run upstairs the more likely you are to forget why you went in the first place. Depend on others without losing your independence." Becker, Suzy. All I Need to Know I Learned From My Cat.
Without seeing the pictures, there is no way a quote from this book will do it justice. Greive,Bradley Trevor. The Blue Day Book.
"She was determined to buy whatever he was selling. ... He was so cute when he was wrong. ...and then I ripped out his lungs. ... She was disinclined to play by the rules." Taintor, Anne. I Can't be Good All The Time.
"Runny doesn't always do
The thoper pring at all.
Just see the motes his namma
Has pasted on his wall."
A Billy Sook by Shel Silverstein. Runny Babbit.
"Chocolate Fix:
1 -11oz package milk chocolate pieces
1 -11 oz package butterscotch-flavored pieces
1 -12 oz jar dry-roasted peanuts
1 -3 oz can cow mien noodles"
Breast Cancer Commemorative Section. Better Homes and Gardens New Cook Book.
"Others chose to use fairy art as an acceptable vehicle for taboo subject matter, such as nudity, drug addiction, eroticism and the supernatural." Zaczek, Iain. Angels & Fairies.
"If we want houses that nurture us, we need to develop a language that describes the qualities of home and not just the quantities. ... It will focus on quality design and construction, using sustainable techniques and materials, and will appeal to buyers who want a home that really nurtures their spirit rather than simply impresses the neighbors with scale." Susanka, Sarah. Creating the Not So Big House.
"Chapter 1, In Which Cimorine Refuses to Be Proper and Has a Conversation with a Frog. Linderwall was a large kingdom, just east of the Mountains of Morning, where philosophers were highly respected and the number five was fashionable. The climate was unremarkable. The knights kept their armor brightly polished mainly for show-- it had been centuries since a dragon had come east. There were the usual periodic problems with royal children and uninvited fairy godmothers, but they were always the sort of thing that could be cleared up by finding the proper prince or princess to marry the unfortunate child a few years later. All in all, Linderwall was a very prosperous and pleasant place. Cimorine hated it." Wrede, Patricia C. Dealing With Dragons.
Add in a healthy dose of M*A*S*H* for the first seven years of my life, and you'll understand a whole lot more about me and my weird sense of humor. Happy Valentine's. Let's all go out and celebrate the death of celibate men everywhere! (Ahem-- have you or have you NOT researched the Christian Beginning of this holiday you are celebrating in such excess??)
Sunday, February 11
It Ain't
So... a few pieces of professional advice from someone striving to become a professional...
I recently received a really exciting email from someone I spoke with over a month ago, and never heard from again. I am very pleased by it-- and it reminded me of this important rule:
Don't assume nothing came of it until it's officially already happened! An effort you made years back could still bear fruit for you tomorrow.
Although I first learned this fact in the Army, (where they can say you get time off as much as they like, but you can't make plans for your free time until you actually leave work early-- and even then you might get called back in)... I have found this to be true of my professional connections, my various jobs (even the ones I swore I'd never work at again), my hopes and dreams, and my homework. Beyond the moral right of just doing your best at everything, there is the stark reality that you get back what you give at some point down the road, and by then-- for good or ill-- it has usually snowballed into something much larger. So doing it right, and doing your best, is really about self-preservation. (And about that great do-good high!) Oh-- and check your spelling. People make more snap judgments based on spelling errors than on anything else your email might contain.
You see... Professionals-- especially successful ones-- are busy people. They have trained themselves to make snap judgments and snap decisions because there just isn't time to agonize over every little thing. You have to trust yourself. And networking is the key to being successful. So they may have decided right away that they like you-- but you might not hear about it from them for several weeks. As I said, they are busy people.
So as a future librarian, it behooves me to make as many positive professional connections as I can-- and to maintain them. Because I am not yet in a position to give and take on that professional level, I have to remind the energetic people that I meet (and often hope to emulate) that they know me-- and that I will be on that professional footing with them in the future. This way, even though they may not have a reason to contact me today, when that reason does come along, you can bet I'll be the one contacted. This is great practice for when I become a professional librarian, and need these connections myself. Or a professional anything, for that matter. If people don't know who you are and what you do, they can't hire you to do it. And if you haven't gotten out there to find out who they are and what they do, you won't know who to turn to when you have a question or a special request. It works both ways.
Here is where I again extend my warm appreciation to one of my old mentors-- the business woman. She taught me the power of networking... that it is WHO YOU KNOW that often matters in business. She also taught me the value of keeping records, and dating every piece of paper that passes through my hands. We weathered an audit of her business together at one point, and everything had to be tracked down, and verified. This is much easier if your business calendar, your collection of other peoples' business cards, and your business lunch receipts all have dates on them. Trying to remember who you had lunch with on August 4th of 2003 is much easier to do ON AUGUST 4th of 2003, than on any day after that (especially a day that falls in 2005)!
I also learned that you must know every aspect of your business yourself-- and that includes the tax laws. Even if you don't plan to do the taxes yourself. It will influence your business decisions (and these decisions will be to your benefit because they are informed decisions), and it will greatly influence your bottom line. Don't be afraid to advocate your product (whether it's performing a service or creating a piece of usable art), and don't be afraid to do what is best for your business, whether Mr. X, whose been doing it THIS way for 20 years agrees with you or not.
So... remember that amazing American Library Association Winter Conference I went to, way back when last month? Well, I am still in touch with some of the people I met and networked with while I was there. I haven't always heard a response to my communications right away... but I know they are busy being successful... and that by keeping myself in their mind (and checking my spelling, so that I appear competent when doing so), I am opening myself to opportunities. Great opportunities.
Another secret to success that I've learned, but not always successfully applied, is to carry business cards. Always. And a pen or two. People will remember someone who gave them a good working pen in a pinch, and was prepared enough to have an extra for themselves.
Although I have business cards, I don't always hand them out, because the info they contain is not always relevant. I have a good friend whose business card carries nothing but her name. It looks very professional, and it can be handed out to anyone. And I intend to emulate this solid system with my next purchase of cards-- because those cards have lots of space for writing... and because it gives me the power to decide how a new person in my network can contact me, to provide only that information that this person will find relevant. And by writing my contact info on the card before I hand it over, I am personalizing our relationship. This goes a long way to helping them remember me.
Are they a POC (army for Point of Contact) for my art business? A POC for my work and career as a Librarian? Or are they just a neat person I'd like to get to know better? I have a different email for each of these, although I know they often overlap. So I need a business card. The one I have now is for my art business, and has an old email address on it. Handing it out does not enhance my aura of skilled competence at this point in the library game, however appropriate the card was when I had them made-- all 1000 of them. The good news is that I didn't have anything printed on the back of the cards, so I can use them for quick notes to myself... ("JUST PUT YOUR NAME ON THE CARD NEXT TIME, STUPID!")
I also believe that although your friends and your business network often overlap-- especially if you are good at what you do!!-- it is important to have an email account dedicated to business use. This way, all my electronic subscriptions to business -related journals go into the business account, as do responses to my letters of introduction to other business professionals. I'm not confronted with them on a day off unless I purposely go to my business email. I can also give that email out to strangers more comfortably, knowing my truly personal correspondences usually happen elsewhere... I never understood how a person could need more than one--possibly two-- email accounts... until I entered the business world. Now I know that if you dedicate an email account to this early on, your ability to maintain communication with your business network won't be affected if you move to a different company or state, and they cancel your company account. It's your email, and nobody can decide to delete it but you. (I actually have a friend with the opposite problem just now-- her old business email at the last institution where she worked is still active-- 8 months later. And people are still trying to correspond with her through it because of that. There's nothing she can do to reroute them because she no longer belongs to that institution.)
So, in celebration of all the good things that are happening (or about to happen, or might yet happen) in my life... Remember:
I recently received a really exciting email from someone I spoke with over a month ago, and never heard from again. I am very pleased by it-- and it reminded me of this important rule:
Don't assume nothing came of it until it's officially already happened! An effort you made years back could still bear fruit for you tomorrow.
Although I first learned this fact in the Army, (where they can say you get time off as much as they like, but you can't make plans for your free time until you actually leave work early-- and even then you might get called back in)... I have found this to be true of my professional connections, my various jobs (even the ones I swore I'd never work at again), my hopes and dreams, and my homework. Beyond the moral right of just doing your best at everything, there is the stark reality that you get back what you give at some point down the road, and by then-- for good or ill-- it has usually snowballed into something much larger. So doing it right, and doing your best, is really about self-preservation. (And about that great do-good high!) Oh-- and check your spelling. People make more snap judgments based on spelling errors than on anything else your email might contain.
You see... Professionals-- especially successful ones-- are busy people. They have trained themselves to make snap judgments and snap decisions because there just isn't time to agonize over every little thing. You have to trust yourself. And networking is the key to being successful. So they may have decided right away that they like you-- but you might not hear about it from them for several weeks. As I said, they are busy people.
So as a future librarian, it behooves me to make as many positive professional connections as I can-- and to maintain them. Because I am not yet in a position to give and take on that professional level, I have to remind the energetic people that I meet (and often hope to emulate) that they know me-- and that I will be on that professional footing with them in the future. This way, even though they may not have a reason to contact me today, when that reason does come along, you can bet I'll be the one contacted. This is great practice for when I become a professional librarian, and need these connections myself. Or a professional anything, for that matter. If people don't know who you are and what you do, they can't hire you to do it. And if you haven't gotten out there to find out who they are and what they do, you won't know who to turn to when you have a question or a special request. It works both ways.
Here is where I again extend my warm appreciation to one of my old mentors-- the business woman. She taught me the power of networking... that it is WHO YOU KNOW that often matters in business. She also taught me the value of keeping records, and dating every piece of paper that passes through my hands. We weathered an audit of her business together at one point, and everything had to be tracked down, and verified. This is much easier if your business calendar, your collection of other peoples' business cards, and your business lunch receipts all have dates on them. Trying to remember who you had lunch with on August 4th of 2003 is much easier to do ON AUGUST 4th of 2003, than on any day after that (especially a day that falls in 2005)!
I also learned that you must know every aspect of your business yourself-- and that includes the tax laws. Even if you don't plan to do the taxes yourself. It will influence your business decisions (and these decisions will be to your benefit because they are informed decisions), and it will greatly influence your bottom line. Don't be afraid to advocate your product (whether it's performing a service or creating a piece of usable art), and don't be afraid to do what is best for your business, whether Mr. X, whose been doing it THIS way for 20 years agrees with you or not.
So... remember that amazing American Library Association Winter Conference I went to, way back when last month? Well, I am still in touch with some of the people I met and networked with while I was there. I haven't always heard a response to my communications right away... but I know they are busy being successful... and that by keeping myself in their mind (and checking my spelling, so that I appear competent when doing so), I am opening myself to opportunities. Great opportunities.
Another secret to success that I've learned, but not always successfully applied, is to carry business cards. Always. And a pen or two. People will remember someone who gave them a good working pen in a pinch, and was prepared enough to have an extra for themselves.
Although I have business cards, I don't always hand them out, because the info they contain is not always relevant. I have a good friend whose business card carries nothing but her name. It looks very professional, and it can be handed out to anyone. And I intend to emulate this solid system with my next purchase of cards-- because those cards have lots of space for writing... and because it gives me the power to decide how a new person in my network can contact me, to provide only that information that this person will find relevant. And by writing my contact info on the card before I hand it over, I am personalizing our relationship. This goes a long way to helping them remember me.
Are they a POC (army for Point of Contact) for my art business? A POC for my work and career as a Librarian? Or are they just a neat person I'd like to get to know better? I have a different email for each of these, although I know they often overlap. So I need a business card. The one I have now is for my art business, and has an old email address on it. Handing it out does not enhance my aura of skilled competence at this point in the library game, however appropriate the card was when I had them made-- all 1000 of them. The good news is that I didn't have anything printed on the back of the cards, so I can use them for quick notes to myself... ("JUST PUT YOUR NAME ON THE CARD NEXT TIME, STUPID!")
I also believe that although your friends and your business network often overlap-- especially if you are good at what you do!!-- it is important to have an email account dedicated to business use. This way, all my electronic subscriptions to business -related journals go into the business account, as do responses to my letters of introduction to other business professionals. I'm not confronted with them on a day off unless I purposely go to my business email. I can also give that email out to strangers more comfortably, knowing my truly personal correspondences usually happen elsewhere... I never understood how a person could need more than one--possibly two-- email accounts... until I entered the business world. Now I know that if you dedicate an email account to this early on, your ability to maintain communication with your business network won't be affected if you move to a different company or state, and they cancel your company account. It's your email, and nobody can decide to delete it but you. (I actually have a friend with the opposite problem just now-- her old business email at the last institution where she worked is still active-- 8 months later. And people are still trying to correspond with her through it because of that. There's nothing she can do to reroute them because she no longer belongs to that institution.)
So, in celebration of all the good things that are happening (or about to happen, or might yet happen) in my life... Remember:
It ain't over 'till it's over!
Friday, February 9
How To:
How to have a really quality pity party...
Step 1) Don't invite anyone. Not only do you not want witnesses, but you also don't want the possibility of having someone cheer you up. That is NOT the point of a pity party. Unplug your phone, too. There's nothing like being interrupted by Mom in the middle of a really good pout.
Step 2) Pick a good day for your party-- like Mother's Day if you don't have kids, or Earth Day if you live in a big stinky city... I picked early February because I'm single, not currently dating anyone, and those damn pink-and-red displays are EVERY-FUGGING-WHERE!!
Step 3) Stop at the store on your way home from work on the day of the party. If you've had a really shittastrophic day at work, and are coming home later than usual, so much the better. While at the store, assume an expression that says, "If you bother me, I will hurt you, and then I will cry." Try to look as wan as possible while wandering aimlessly through the store. It helps if you forget to grab a cart, too. Grab whatever you think will make you feel better, and don't forget the magazine aisle, the jewelry counter, the fuzzy PJ's, the freezer section, the candy aisles, the wine and beer section, the specialty cheeses, something really garlicky, and the food. Allow yourself to feel even more depressed by the gargantuan bill at the cash register-- you just blew half your rent money, isn't that great!
Step 4) Make sure you haven't gotten enough sleep for several nights in a row. This adds to the drama and anxiety necessary for a truly successful pity party. Personally, I just worked a ten hour day (plus an hour's drive time on each end), I smell and feel like melon-orange baby poo-- there may even be some on my socks, and I haven't slept more than five or six hours a night for about two weeks now, courtesy of my delightful little kitty cat, who thinks 4am is WAY too late for anyone to be in bed-- especially when they could be petting her! (And she has been ignoring my usual methods of saying "no" between the hours of 2-5am... like throwing shoes and yelling unintelligibly.)
Step 5) When you get home, put on a sexy top-- preferably with a pithy saying on it, and then pull your hair back in one of those clips that leaves lots of weird strands sticking up at the back of your head, and straggling oily wisps sticking to your forehead. That way, when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror, you can feel both depressed that you can look that good and still not be getting any and, conversely, be depressed at how un-sexy you look even when you 'try.' Remember, you still smell like baby poo anyway. (My sexy tank top says "ALLRIGHTYTHEN" on it, and has lace straps.)
Step 6) Finally, put the most corny romance movie you can get your hands on in your DVD player, and crank up the volume. Maybe, if you're lucky, your cute young neighbors will be so annoyed by this that they will actually knock on your door to ask you to turn down that DRIVEL... and will thus get to see (and smell) you in all your self-pitying glory, and start to giggle uncontrollably. Wouldn't that just make your day complete?!
Any Questions?
STOP BOTHERING ME!! Just stand still for a minute while I cock my fist... and grab a kleenex... sniff....sniff... You ASSOLE! Who invited you, anyway?! (Thanks, I actually feel much better now.)
Step 1) Don't invite anyone. Not only do you not want witnesses, but you also don't want the possibility of having someone cheer you up. That is NOT the point of a pity party. Unplug your phone, too. There's nothing like being interrupted by Mom in the middle of a really good pout.
Step 2) Pick a good day for your party-- like Mother's Day if you don't have kids, or Earth Day if you live in a big stinky city... I picked early February because I'm single, not currently dating anyone, and those damn pink-and-red displays are EVERY-FUGGING-WHERE!!
Step 3) Stop at the store on your way home from work on the day of the party. If you've had a really shittastrophic day at work, and are coming home later than usual, so much the better. While at the store, assume an expression that says, "If you bother me, I will hurt you, and then I will cry." Try to look as wan as possible while wandering aimlessly through the store. It helps if you forget to grab a cart, too. Grab whatever you think will make you feel better, and don't forget the magazine aisle, the jewelry counter, the fuzzy PJ's, the freezer section, the candy aisles, the wine and beer section, the specialty cheeses, something really garlicky, and the food. Allow yourself to feel even more depressed by the gargantuan bill at the cash register-- you just blew half your rent money, isn't that great!
Step 4) Make sure you haven't gotten enough sleep for several nights in a row. This adds to the drama and anxiety necessary for a truly successful pity party. Personally, I just worked a ten hour day (plus an hour's drive time on each end), I smell and feel like melon-orange baby poo-- there may even be some on my socks, and I haven't slept more than five or six hours a night for about two weeks now, courtesy of my delightful little kitty cat, who thinks 4am is WAY too late for anyone to be in bed-- especially when they could be petting her! (And she has been ignoring my usual methods of saying "no" between the hours of 2-5am... like throwing shoes and yelling unintelligibly.)
Step 5) When you get home, put on a sexy top-- preferably with a pithy saying on it, and then pull your hair back in one of those clips that leaves lots of weird strands sticking up at the back of your head, and straggling oily wisps sticking to your forehead. That way, when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror, you can feel both depressed that you can look that good and still not be getting any and, conversely, be depressed at how un-sexy you look even when you 'try.' Remember, you still smell like baby poo anyway. (My sexy tank top says "ALLRIGHTYTHEN" on it, and has lace straps.)
Step 6) Finally, put the most corny romance movie you can get your hands on in your DVD player, and crank up the volume. Maybe, if you're lucky, your cute young neighbors will be so annoyed by this that they will actually knock on your door to ask you to turn down that DRIVEL... and will thus get to see (and smell) you in all your self-pitying glory, and start to giggle uncontrollably. Wouldn't that just make your day complete?!
Any Questions?
STOP BOTHERING ME!! Just stand still for a minute while I cock my fist... and grab a kleenex... sniff....sniff... You ASSOLE! Who invited you, anyway?! (Thanks, I actually feel much better now.)
Thursday, February 8
Oh, Please, Sir!
I recently had reason to reminisce about my life as an Army Wife. As thinking about the pain and isolation of the year that my then husband was deployed to Iraq is still painful and upsetting... I tried to think further back-- back to when the irrational reality of The Right Way, The Wrong Way, and The Army Way could be laughed about... and I started thinking about that pizza box, and about all the stone buildings at the Post that is West Poignt on the Hudson. I realized that most of my experiences there fell into one of three categories-- stone, iron, or brass. Stone buildings. Dumb as a stone. Iron cannons from every war America ever fought in, and possibly a few we didn't. Iron-tough men with no emotions and no originality. Then I started thinking about brass... and here is what I thought:
I have always wanted to understand any organized activity before I took part in it, and so it was with my future plans to become an officer's wife-- a soldier's wife-- married to the military. So, my patient fiance was asked to explain each term he used that I'd never heard before ("What the heck do you mean, the spiders are barking?!"), and the reason for each rule or social expectation or tradition in which we took part. ("So... you don't want them to know when your birthday is because you people celebrate birthdays by getting tarred and feathered, and carried around Post naked in a laundry hamper... what the HELL?!")
(This might also be a good time to tell you about the bizarre USMA tradition called "doing the Naked Man." It is the accepted high-brow version of howling at the moon. It's 11pm, after lights out, and you have spent the last four nights frantically writing your final term paper by the flickering light of your computer screen. It is due by 7 am tomorrow morning. Your computer just crashed, and the "gold-coats" --aka technical support-- are not available to help you until sometime next month. Great. Perfect. Ya know, while my life is going down the toilet anyway, I might as well do a Naked Man. So, you strip naked, grab a flashlight, and begin to run around outside, in a predetermined and traditional square pattern. This most often occurs in winter and after dark, to the cat-calls and jeering encouragement of your fellow cadets of both genders, who helpfully shine flashlights and other torches on you and the ground in front of you as you run, so that everything can be clearly seen. You can't graduate WP without doing the Naked Man at least once. And then there are the guys who find that public exposure is really their thing. There has been quite a bit of statistical analysis done on how many times you can do a Naked Man before the odds are no longer in your favor of not getting caught.
Sometimes it's even done in packs. The more participants, the greater the risk, and the more fun, apparently. The big challenge is to get around BOTH QUADRANTS of barracks and back to your room, and put your clothes on before the authorities can catch you. If they don't catch you with your clothes off, they can't punish you. And I mean CATCH you. Some of the best stories to come out of that bastion of honorable decorum have been about close calls for those brave and intrepid souls who dared to do a Naked Man before dark, and almost got caught. It's even been done by a few of the female cadets there, but not by anybody I know, of course.)
Thus it was that, come the great Ring Weekend, I knew what was really going on. I knew why we weren't allowed to go down into the knoll where the juniors (the "cows") were seated, receiving their class rings-- and all those of us parents, girlfriends, and family who'd come all the way here to witness it (and feast and dance after) had to stand around in 95* weather and strain our eyes to see all the little white-uniformed cadets running around performing arcane and unintelligible rituals. I knew that once they received their rings, there would be an insane and nefarious tradition in which freshmen are allowed to harass the WP ring recipients, so long as they do so in the traditional format:
Groups of Plebes (freshmen) run around cornering the soon-to-be-seniors in the two hours immediately following the ceremony, and quote a memorized historical poem about wanting to touch the ring-- the amazing and shiny new ring that means they are going to graduate from that pie-in-the-sky institution known as West Poignt. And the ring-wearing cadets must stand there as each person quotes the poem, and then he or she must let them touch or kiss it. It's like going on safari at Dinosaur Island, and watching the little mad packs of flesh-eating Deinonychuses hunt down and devour their much larger prey. These newer cadets have saved up months and years of silently accepted abuse from these same individuals, and NOW is finally their chance to give a little back. And they do it with GUSTO!
The other tradition was that you just HAD to have a girlfriend for the big Ring Dance-- and although the girlfriend (or your blind date for the weekend, as was often the case) thinks that what is being commented upon and rated by your fellow cadets all evening is the new ring sitting on your finger... it's actually the qualities of the girl hanging on your arm that are being discussed. Right in front of her. Some guys even make it a contest to see who can get the ugliest or least appealing date for this event. I was not amused. Talk about brass!
So, to commemorate all those poor innocent (and not so innocent) women who have gone through the ritual hazing of Ring Weekend, and never even knew it, here is a short quote from the traditional ring poem... One that always makes me laugh as I think of all these desperately heterosexual men grabbing onto each other in tight, sweaty little groups, and begging to get a turn at handling what has essentially become a symbol of his manhood. (By the way, I have no idea how I got this whole underlining thing to happen, and I can't turn it off, but that's okay because this is a commemoration of a time-honored and highly anticipated yearly event.)
I have always wanted to understand any organized activity before I took part in it, and so it was with my future plans to become an officer's wife-- a soldier's wife-- married to the military. So, my patient fiance was asked to explain each term he used that I'd never heard before ("What the heck do you mean, the spiders are barking?!"), and the reason for each rule or social expectation or tradition in which we took part. ("So... you don't want them to know when your birthday is because you people celebrate birthdays by getting tarred and feathered, and carried around Post naked in a laundry hamper... what the HELL?!")
(This might also be a good time to tell you about the bizarre USMA tradition called "doing the Naked Man." It is the accepted high-brow version of howling at the moon. It's 11pm, after lights out, and you have spent the last four nights frantically writing your final term paper by the flickering light of your computer screen. It is due by 7 am tomorrow morning. Your computer just crashed, and the "gold-coats" --aka technical support-- are not available to help you until sometime next month. Great. Perfect. Ya know, while my life is going down the toilet anyway, I might as well do a Naked Man. So, you strip naked, grab a flashlight, and begin to run around outside, in a predetermined and traditional square pattern. This most often occurs in winter and after dark, to the cat-calls and jeering encouragement of your fellow cadets of both genders, who helpfully shine flashlights and other torches on you and the ground in front of you as you run, so that everything can be clearly seen. You can't graduate WP without doing the Naked Man at least once. And then there are the guys who find that public exposure is really their thing. There has been quite a bit of statistical analysis done on how many times you can do a Naked Man before the odds are no longer in your favor of not getting caught.
Sometimes it's even done in packs. The more participants, the greater the risk, and the more fun, apparently. The big challenge is to get around BOTH QUADRANTS of barracks and back to your room, and put your clothes on before the authorities can catch you. If they don't catch you with your clothes off, they can't punish you. And I mean CATCH you. Some of the best stories to come out of that bastion of honorable decorum have been about close calls for those brave and intrepid souls who dared to do a Naked Man before dark, and almost got caught. It's even been done by a few of the female cadets there, but not by anybody I know, of course.)
Thus it was that, come the great Ring Weekend, I knew what was really going on. I knew why we weren't allowed to go down into the knoll where the juniors (the "cows") were seated, receiving their class rings-- and all those of us parents, girlfriends, and family who'd come all the way here to witness it (and feast and dance after) had to stand around in 95* weather and strain our eyes to see all the little white-uniformed cadets running around performing arcane and unintelligible rituals. I knew that once they received their rings, there would be an insane and nefarious tradition in which freshmen are allowed to harass the WP ring recipients, so long as they do so in the traditional format:
Groups of Plebes (freshmen) run around cornering the soon-to-be-seniors in the two hours immediately following the ceremony, and quote a memorized historical poem about wanting to touch the ring-- the amazing and shiny new ring that means they are going to graduate from that pie-in-the-sky institution known as West Poignt. And the ring-wearing cadets must stand there as each person quotes the poem, and then he or she must let them touch or kiss it. It's like going on safari at Dinosaur Island, and watching the little mad packs of flesh-eating Deinonychuses hunt down and devour their much larger prey. These newer cadets have saved up months and years of silently accepted abuse from these same individuals, and NOW is finally their chance to give a little back. And they do it with GUSTO!
The other tradition was that you just HAD to have a girlfriend for the big Ring Dance-- and although the girlfriend (or your blind date for the weekend, as was often the case) thinks that what is being commented upon and rated by your fellow cadets all evening is the new ring sitting on your finger... it's actually the qualities of the girl hanging on your arm that are being discussed. Right in front of her. Some guys even make it a contest to see who can get the ugliest or least appealing date for this event. I was not amused. Talk about brass!
So, to commemorate all those poor innocent (and not so innocent) women who have gone through the ritual hazing of Ring Weekend, and never even knew it, here is a short quote from the traditional ring poem... One that always makes me laugh as I think of all these desperately heterosexual men grabbing onto each other in tight, sweaty little groups, and begging to get a turn at handling what has essentially become a symbol of his manhood. (By the way, I have no idea how I got this whole underlining thing to happen, and I can't turn it off, but that's okay because this is a commemoration of a time-honored and highly anticipated yearly event.)
Oh, what a crass mass of brass and glass...
That cool jewel that makes me drool...
Oh, please, Sir, May I touch it? May I touch it, please?
That cool jewel that makes me drool...
Oh, please, Sir, May I touch it? May I touch it, please?
Monday, February 5
Leverage, Says You
I've moved around a lot in my lifetime. Not as much as some folks I know, and mostly in the Northwest, I'll grant you. But... (I'm counting)... I moved five times last year alone... and ten times before that-- not including college. Everyone moves around during college.
This year, I managed a first. In the one month this year has existed, no less. I moved without being aware of it. Yes. I find that impressive. In fact, it was this weird little 21 year old banker at my local branch (who kept saying "Score Team!" whenever he entered info into a field on the computer, and it stayed there) who informed me of the change. Apparently, I've not only changed zip codes, but I'm now in a different town as well. The post office has just been nice about forwarding my mail for the past few months, apparently, because they are nice like that. (And yet, nobody TOLD me that I MOVED! I guess some things are supposed to be self-evident. I haven't even noticed any extra boxes sitting around!) I still don't know what this will mean for my taxes, either. But, I'm a veteran when it comes to moving. I know enough not to panic for the first few months if I can't find my bank statement or my birthday gifts are delivered in person (a few months after the fact) because it's just easier that way. Not a problem.
(As a side note, my cat has now given up her attempts to physically move my fingers from the keyboard with one paw, and down onto HER, where she believes they'll be much more useful, and is now informing me that it's cold in here. She does this by sitting very primly in front of the only heater in the living room. RIGHT IN FRONT OF IT. Shrinking in upon herself. Because she knows this is usually the warmest spot in the house, and it's NOT. So I've given in to peer pressure, and turned on the heat. As soon as she felt the warm spot get warm, she relaxed her posture, and started washing her paws. Success! Those big idiots can be TAUGHT!! I hope to feel the same way about my govergnment someday.)
Apparently, the part of town I was living in got too big, and had to be annexed. Rather than just giving us a new zip code, they decided instead to give us to a smaller neighboring town. How sweet. Is it legal to give my home to someone else without my consent? It is if my taxes are lower as a result, that's for sure.
Taxes. I went to a poetry reading over the weekend. Well, actually, I went to the 18th Annual International African-American Read-In at one of my local libraries. How it can be African-American AND international, I have no idea, but they did it. And it was an excellent event. I'm planning to keep an eye out so I can attend again next year. One of the speakers was a Ms. Alicia Jackson. She read a poem she'd written, and I LOVE IT. I want a copy of it. I just don't know if it's in print yet. All about how the world is... in her mind's eye... with everybody making enough money, no taxes (since we didn't make the mess we're paying for anyway) and children in all countries with food, shelter, safety and love, and reports from the governmgent you can trust, institutions to Educate, and not to Incarcerate, no drunk drivers with multiple warnings who just go out and do it again, and so on... But how that's not real. It's not the world we live in right now. It was a beautiful poem, well-read, and an appropriate reminder that there is always work for us to do, bringing our dreams for ourselves and our children and neighbors and friends into reality.
It's this annual worry about taxes that reminded me. Another civic duty. One so totally disconnected from our actual choices of leadership and interactions with our governing body's adopted laws, and hands-on volunteer efforts to make a difference on this earth, that most of us don't even connect the two in our minds anymore. We pay taxes because we make decisions about where the money goes... through voting. It's not just because we have to pay even more money later if we don't pay it now, and Big Brogther is Watching.
I don't feel the connection anymore. America is too big, too ruled by the politics of corporations and money lenders, the computer programmers and ballot counters too biased, and the whole system too unwieldy for me to believe that I actually make a difference by casting my one little vote. I think we, the people, have more voice by rioting in the streets en mass than we do by voting sometimes. But I still vote. Because just maybe, someday, some of what I see in my mind's eye will exist when I open my eyes, too. And I'd like to be a part of that.
Had an interesting conversation with a good friend about Social Segcurity today. Somehow, of the vast majority of people I've spoken with in my generation... none of us believe we'll see any Social Security payments in our lifetimes. We know the SS taxes we pay this year will go directly to pay the dues owed our grandparents and the older retirees, THIS YEAR. We know that the current average life expectancy of a woman is 97. We know our parents-- the Baby Boomer generation-- will probably see that age. Most of them. And that most of them, who saved for retirement at all, were on the "we'll live about 20 years after we retire" plan. Because back when they were my age, that was the life expectancy... about 82. Even life insurance plans don't go past age 99. There hasn't ever been any point to doing so before.
So how will they live out those last twenty years? They'll use Medicare and Medicaid, and Social Security, and loans and credit cards and second mortgages if they can. There aren't as many workers in the coming generations-- a terrible ratio between the working and the retired that does not bode well for any SS financial reserves or even any direct payments to be left for us gen-Xers, and those in the surrounding generations. (I'm not actually sure what mine is called...) So we all know how important it is to save for our own retirements. And none of us expect to stop working at age 60 or 62 or 65. We'll only be middle aged by then. Heck, my parents took up kayaking at age 60! They aren't old. No way! ... so I know when their retirement money runs out, there had better be an extra room on the ground floor with their name on the door, and a bathroom they can use down the hall. They aren't leaving this world any time soon, and I'm glad of it. (They would be horrified if they knew I plan on this happening. On them moving in with me. They are independent and capable right now. And they have planned for retirement. I think they just still look at it the way they did when they first started saving. And they don't want me to feel obligated to them in their old age. I don't as such... but with love comes responsibility, and it is not a choice they can make for me. So I borrow house plans with mother-in-law suites from the library, and ask about their latest boating trip on the phone.)
We are making more amenities and programs and resources available to our retirees because they have leverage. They are a large and growing group in our population, and they have special needs. "Leverage, says you... I feel a change in the wind, says I." (Quoting a pirate, for all that I don't believe those who fall behind should be left behind. What kind of social morals are those? ...And do we want to risk actually being one of the ones falling behind some day?)
You see, there is a ray of hope in this, if you can call it that. First, we all see it coming, so we have time to prepare. And second, the younger generations-- kids in 4th and 5th grade-- they have actually got a SHORTER life expectancy. The first generation of kids who can expect to live shorter lives than their parents and grandparents did. At that point, when they retire, SS probably won't kick in until they are about 75 or 80 anyway, and by then... most of them will already be dead from cancer or growth hormones or apathy or asthma or aids or diabetes or chronic obesity or chronic depression. Heck, half of the coming generations will probably be BORN with these challenges... and many of them won't be able to work at all ever anyway-- so again, Social Secgurity as it stands would be a moot point.
So what is our government doing to ensure that there is a new and more adequate plan in place to answer the swelling medical needs of our country? To deal with the aftermath of changing everything to cater to the retiring Boomers as we are struggling to do now... and having those changes to the system still in place after those boomers are gone, when the population of America suddenly decreases dramatically... but for the incoming swells of people with dreams, born in other countries, and needing health care and unemployment insurance just like the rest of us humans? How will we care for the ill, the homeless, those unable to hold or work a job, the multitudes of our men and women who are mentally and physically ill from the wars or from toxic work environments? How will we stem the increasing proclivity of our youth to rely on credit cards and bank loans for income and for unexpected expenses like hospitalization and pregnancy?
I don't know. But I keep voting, and closing my eyes to see the world I want to live in, and paying those taxes anyway. I don't want my parents to be homeless one day either, and I'm willing to pay into a government program to keep that from happening. Call it social security if you want.
This year, I managed a first. In the one month this year has existed, no less. I moved without being aware of it. Yes. I find that impressive. In fact, it was this weird little 21 year old banker at my local branch (who kept saying "Score Team!" whenever he entered info into a field on the computer, and it stayed there) who informed me of the change. Apparently, I've not only changed zip codes, but I'm now in a different town as well. The post office has just been nice about forwarding my mail for the past few months, apparently, because they are nice like that. (And yet, nobody TOLD me that I MOVED! I guess some things are supposed to be self-evident. I haven't even noticed any extra boxes sitting around!) I still don't know what this will mean for my taxes, either. But, I'm a veteran when it comes to moving. I know enough not to panic for the first few months if I can't find my bank statement or my birthday gifts are delivered in person (a few months after the fact) because it's just easier that way. Not a problem.
(As a side note, my cat has now given up her attempts to physically move my fingers from the keyboard with one paw, and down onto HER, where she believes they'll be much more useful, and is now informing me that it's cold in here. She does this by sitting very primly in front of the only heater in the living room. RIGHT IN FRONT OF IT. Shrinking in upon herself. Because she knows this is usually the warmest spot in the house, and it's NOT. So I've given in to peer pressure, and turned on the heat. As soon as she felt the warm spot get warm, she relaxed her posture, and started washing her paws. Success! Those big idiots can be TAUGHT!! I hope to feel the same way about my govergnment someday.)
Apparently, the part of town I was living in got too big, and had to be annexed. Rather than just giving us a new zip code, they decided instead to give us to a smaller neighboring town. How sweet. Is it legal to give my home to someone else without my consent? It is if my taxes are lower as a result, that's for sure.
Taxes. I went to a poetry reading over the weekend. Well, actually, I went to the 18th Annual International African-American Read-In at one of my local libraries. How it can be African-American AND international, I have no idea, but they did it. And it was an excellent event. I'm planning to keep an eye out so I can attend again next year. One of the speakers was a Ms. Alicia Jackson. She read a poem she'd written, and I LOVE IT. I want a copy of it. I just don't know if it's in print yet. All about how the world is... in her mind's eye... with everybody making enough money, no taxes (since we didn't make the mess we're paying for anyway) and children in all countries with food, shelter, safety and love, and reports from the governmgent you can trust, institutions to Educate, and not to Incarcerate, no drunk drivers with multiple warnings who just go out and do it again, and so on... But how that's not real. It's not the world we live in right now. It was a beautiful poem, well-read, and an appropriate reminder that there is always work for us to do, bringing our dreams for ourselves and our children and neighbors and friends into reality.
It's this annual worry about taxes that reminded me. Another civic duty. One so totally disconnected from our actual choices of leadership and interactions with our governing body's adopted laws, and hands-on volunteer efforts to make a difference on this earth, that most of us don't even connect the two in our minds anymore. We pay taxes because we make decisions about where the money goes... through voting. It's not just because we have to pay even more money later if we don't pay it now, and Big Brogther is Watching.
I don't feel the connection anymore. America is too big, too ruled by the politics of corporations and money lenders, the computer programmers and ballot counters too biased, and the whole system too unwieldy for me to believe that I actually make a difference by casting my one little vote. I think we, the people, have more voice by rioting in the streets en mass than we do by voting sometimes. But I still vote. Because just maybe, someday, some of what I see in my mind's eye will exist when I open my eyes, too. And I'd like to be a part of that.
Had an interesting conversation with a good friend about Social Segcurity today. Somehow, of the vast majority of people I've spoken with in my generation... none of us believe we'll see any Social Security payments in our lifetimes. We know the SS taxes we pay this year will go directly to pay the dues owed our grandparents and the older retirees, THIS YEAR. We know that the current average life expectancy of a woman is 97. We know our parents-- the Baby Boomer generation-- will probably see that age. Most of them. And that most of them, who saved for retirement at all, were on the "we'll live about 20 years after we retire" plan. Because back when they were my age, that was the life expectancy... about 82. Even life insurance plans don't go past age 99. There hasn't ever been any point to doing so before.
So how will they live out those last twenty years? They'll use Medicare and Medicaid, and Social Security, and loans and credit cards and second mortgages if they can. There aren't as many workers in the coming generations-- a terrible ratio between the working and the retired that does not bode well for any SS financial reserves or even any direct payments to be left for us gen-Xers, and those in the surrounding generations. (I'm not actually sure what mine is called...) So we all know how important it is to save for our own retirements. And none of us expect to stop working at age 60 or 62 or 65. We'll only be middle aged by then. Heck, my parents took up kayaking at age 60! They aren't old. No way! ... so I know when their retirement money runs out, there had better be an extra room on the ground floor with their name on the door, and a bathroom they can use down the hall. They aren't leaving this world any time soon, and I'm glad of it. (They would be horrified if they knew I plan on this happening. On them moving in with me. They are independent and capable right now. And they have planned for retirement. I think they just still look at it the way they did when they first started saving. And they don't want me to feel obligated to them in their old age. I don't as such... but with love comes responsibility, and it is not a choice they can make for me. So I borrow house plans with mother-in-law suites from the library, and ask about their latest boating trip on the phone.)
We are making more amenities and programs and resources available to our retirees because they have leverage. They are a large and growing group in our population, and they have special needs. "Leverage, says you... I feel a change in the wind, says I." (Quoting a pirate, for all that I don't believe those who fall behind should be left behind. What kind of social morals are those? ...And do we want to risk actually being one of the ones falling behind some day?)
You see, there is a ray of hope in this, if you can call it that. First, we all see it coming, so we have time to prepare. And second, the younger generations-- kids in 4th and 5th grade-- they have actually got a SHORTER life expectancy. The first generation of kids who can expect to live shorter lives than their parents and grandparents did. At that point, when they retire, SS probably won't kick in until they are about 75 or 80 anyway, and by then... most of them will already be dead from cancer or growth hormones or apathy or asthma or aids or diabetes or chronic obesity or chronic depression. Heck, half of the coming generations will probably be BORN with these challenges... and many of them won't be able to work at all ever anyway-- so again, Social Secgurity as it stands would be a moot point.
So what is our government doing to ensure that there is a new and more adequate plan in place to answer the swelling medical needs of our country? To deal with the aftermath of changing everything to cater to the retiring Boomers as we are struggling to do now... and having those changes to the system still in place after those boomers are gone, when the population of America suddenly decreases dramatically... but for the incoming swells of people with dreams, born in other countries, and needing health care and unemployment insurance just like the rest of us humans? How will we care for the ill, the homeless, those unable to hold or work a job, the multitudes of our men and women who are mentally and physically ill from the wars or from toxic work environments? How will we stem the increasing proclivity of our youth to rely on credit cards and bank loans for income and for unexpected expenses like hospitalization and pregnancy?
I don't know. But I keep voting, and closing my eyes to see the world I want to live in, and paying those taxes anyway. I don't want my parents to be homeless one day either, and I'm willing to pay into a government program to keep that from happening. Call it social security if you want.
Saturday, February 3
Those Powerful Parentheses
If you were ever in doubt... this blog will prove once and for all that YES, I am a NERD! ...and a future librarian. ...and I'm strangely happy about it. Of course, that doesn't stop me from embellishing on my reading assignments to keep them from putting me to sleep.
This semester, one of my classes is called Advanced Online Searching. Since we do live in the age of computers and online information retrieval... I thought it would be a smart move to make sure I didn't leave any skills in this arena unlearned. In chapter 2, we learned about those powerful parentheses, and how we can use them to drastically affect the outcome of an online search. I'm pulling directly from the text, here. Somebody (named Suzanne S. Bell) went WAY too far to make the science of online searching exciting. This next example assumes you already know something about Boolean Logic. If you don't, I promise not to teach you about it today. Behold:
(insane AND crazy) OR looney
insane AND (crazy OR looney)
(insane OR looney) AND crazy
insane OR (crazy AND looney)
(insane AND looney) OR crazy
Did I miss any vital combinations? Besides my own special blend of the above terms, randomly applied? You see-- each of these options gets highly different results. Go to google.com and check it out. Apparently, "crazy insane" is an actual term. I know I use it fairly frequently, but I thought that was just me. And a few other people I know, whose lives are even MORE crazy insane than MINE is!! Having tried searching "(insane AND crazy) OR looney" for myself, I gave up looking for any separate listings of "looney" after the first 26 pages of links to items containing both the word "crazy," AND the word, "insane." My favorite title so far was this:
Then I looked up "insane OR (crazy AND looney)"... and actually found some titles that also have "looney" in them. I was getting worried, so this came as some relief. I thought maybe I was the last person on earth who used that term. It's happened before. I noticed that whereas "crazy insane" seems to fit a wide variety of interests, most of the links to crazy AND looney information were somehow also referenced by looney toons, or a character therein. I particularly liked look of the article about
Similarly, one of my favorite unassigned reading books is Eats Shoots & Leaves, by Lynne Truss. In this grammatically gregarious rant, a story is told of a Panda Bear who goes into a diner, orders the special, eats it, pulls a gun, shoots a hole in the ceiling, and walks out. Everyone is vastly confused by this uncharacteristic behavior, until the waitress (who moonlights as an English Teacher because she loves reading and teaching, but still needs to pay the bills somehow-- okay, I made that part up) notices a pamphlet beside the Panda Bear's empty plate. It's a wildlife manual.
On page 37, which is marked with several blobs of hot sauce from the "special," she reads the following sentence: "In its native habitat, the giant panda eats, shoots, and leaves." Ahhh-- he was trying to do what all pandas do! He was trying to BLEND! The waitress explains to the remaining restaurant patrons (the police are busy with REAL crimes, and haven't bothered to show up to this random shooting where no one famous actually got killed) that if only the wildlife manual had been proofread for grammar, it would have stated that "In its native habitat, the giant panda eats shoots, and leaves." All would have been well, and the poor panda would not now be running around downtown with heartburn and a handgun.
...I love stories like that! The ones with a really important message you can GRASP! (Okay, I'm being slightly sarcastic, here... but I did laugh the first time I read the story, and it did convince me to both buy and READ the book.) And... it's nice to have someone defend my personal belief in the power of the parenthesis... and commas. I love commas. I use them, often. SO that's my story about how the proper combination of grammar and Boolean Search Techniques has impacted my world today. It has changed lives, I tell you! CHANGED THEM FOR EVER!! (see previous blog regarding the use of corny movie quotes in nefarious circumstances)
Imagine receiving the following email from your boss, as you sit in a busy newspaper office, creating the final list of articles to be included in tomorrow's run:
"Run that article by me, again." ...huh? The last article you wrote was 3 years ago!
And with this pithy suggestion, I leave you to pursue your silly little unimportant lives where you actually go around breathing outside air and talking to real people who don't check your spelling before they post what you say, and dumb things like that. (Remind me again, what do normal people do every day??)
This semester, one of my classes is called Advanced Online Searching. Since we do live in the age of computers and online information retrieval... I thought it would be a smart move to make sure I didn't leave any skills in this arena unlearned. In chapter 2, we learned about those powerful parentheses, and how we can use them to drastically affect the outcome of an online search. I'm pulling directly from the text, here. Somebody (named Suzanne S. Bell) went WAY too far to make the science of online searching exciting. This next example assumes you already know something about Boolean Logic. If you don't, I promise not to teach you about it today. Behold:
(insane AND crazy) OR looney
insane AND (crazy OR looney)
(insane OR looney) AND crazy
insane OR (crazy AND looney)
(insane AND looney) OR crazy
Did I miss any vital combinations? Besides my own special blend of the above terms, randomly applied? You see-- each of these options gets highly different results. Go to google.com and check it out. Apparently, "crazy insane" is an actual term. I know I use it fairly frequently, but I thought that was just me. And a few other people I know, whose lives are even MORE crazy insane than MINE is!! Having tried searching "(insane AND crazy) OR looney" for myself, I gave up looking for any separate listings of "looney" after the first 26 pages of links to items containing both the word "crazy," AND the word, "insane." My favorite title so far was this:
bride wigout freakout meltdown hair wedding bridesmaid haircut crazy psycho cut insane rage girls scissors furious bad
Here's the link. I didn't look around too much, so no guarantees that this is a safe/sane/user-friendly site. The title was enough.Then I looked up "insane OR (crazy AND looney)"... and actually found some titles that also have "looney" in them. I was getting worried, so this came as some relief. I thought maybe I was the last person on earth who used that term. It's happened before. I noticed that whereas "crazy insane" seems to fit a wide variety of interests, most of the links to crazy AND looney information were somehow also referenced by looney toons, or a character therein. I particularly liked look of the article about
The Crazy Oboist's Looney Bin
Similarly, one of my favorite unassigned reading books is Eats Shoots & Leaves, by Lynne Truss. In this grammatically gregarious rant, a story is told of a Panda Bear who goes into a diner, orders the special, eats it, pulls a gun, shoots a hole in the ceiling, and walks out. Everyone is vastly confused by this uncharacteristic behavior, until the waitress (who moonlights as an English Teacher because she loves reading and teaching, but still needs to pay the bills somehow-- okay, I made that part up) notices a pamphlet beside the Panda Bear's empty plate. It's a wildlife manual.
On page 37, which is marked with several blobs of hot sauce from the "special," she reads the following sentence: "In its native habitat, the giant panda eats, shoots, and leaves." Ahhh-- he was trying to do what all pandas do! He was trying to BLEND! The waitress explains to the remaining restaurant patrons (the police are busy with REAL crimes, and haven't bothered to show up to this random shooting where no one famous actually got killed) that if only the wildlife manual had been proofread for grammar, it would have stated that "In its native habitat, the giant panda eats shoots, and leaves." All would have been well, and the poor panda would not now be running around downtown with heartburn and a handgun.
...I love stories like that! The ones with a really important message you can GRASP! (Okay, I'm being slightly sarcastic, here... but I did laugh the first time I read the story, and it did convince me to both buy and READ the book.) And... it's nice to have someone defend my personal belief in the power of the parenthesis... and commas. I love commas. I use them, often. SO that's my story about how the proper combination of grammar and Boolean Search Techniques has impacted my world today. It has changed lives, I tell you! CHANGED THEM FOR EVER!! (see previous blog regarding the use of corny movie quotes in nefarious circumstances)
Imagine receiving the following email from your boss, as you sit in a busy newspaper office, creating the final list of articles to be included in tomorrow's run:
"Run that article by me, again." ...huh? The last article you wrote was 3 years ago!
And with this pithy suggestion, I leave you to pursue your silly little unimportant lives where you actually go around breathing outside air and talking to real people who don't check your spelling before they post what you say, and dumb things like that. (Remind me again, what do normal people do every day??)
Thursday, February 1
The Flaming Pizza Box Story
Okay. So even though it's totally gauche to post TWO BLOGS on the same day... having mentioned the flaming pizza box story in the last post, which you really aughta read first anyway, I just gotta tell you the flaming pizza box story. In sequence. With major disclaimers so no one gets into trouble. And the one about the Eagle Scout and the bear with the dirty underwear can wait for another time. Trust me.
Ahem.
THIS IS A TOTAL FABRICATION. I TELL YOU, IT NEVER HAPPENED IN REAL LIFE.
(And the cameras filming the sitcom of my life were not rolling somewhere in the background, either. Nu-uh. ) I TELL YOU, THERE IS NO PROOF! AND ALL THE CHARACTERS ARE FICTIONAL. THEY HAVE NO BASIS IN ANYONE YOU KNOW OR I KNOW IN REAL LIFE, OR THAT I'VE CASUALLY MENTIONED IN THIS BLOG BEFORE. NONE. NADA. ZIP. NO WAY, HOZAY! NIET. NIEN. NON. NONE.
Right. So. Anyway,
This guy I eventually married lived in a "dorm" while attending "college." AKA: West Point. The Army calls these dorms "Barracks," and they have all the same rules as a dorm, only you aren't allowed to have your lights on after 10pm, and you can't have girls in the boys' room without the door open, and you have to be fully clothed and sitting on different pieces of furniture even if the door IS open (and it had better not be after 10pm!). I kid you not. You can get dishognorably dgischarged for some of it... if you get caught...
So, naturally, no candles are allowed. But, here he was, with a candle on his desk. Lit. (Remember, this is a fictional story.) And he had his window open, because, just like the dorms you remember, this was nearly summer vacation, and there was no A/C. On the far side of the lit candle from the window was an open pizza box. Empty. Inhaled within 20 seconds of being delivered. By no less than 20 armed guards. You think I'm kidding. OH- and they did it in a linear and circumspect fashion, because it is BAD LUCK to break the wheel of a pizza by taking a slice out from somewhere other than the place the first slice was taken from! Seriously. Ask your local neighborhood USMA graduate. I've been banned from pizza parties before because I ALMOST broke the wheel. HORRORS!
Anyway... this random guy who almost-but-not-quite looked exactly like my ex-husband eight years ago... was smart. He made sure to keep the lit candle a good two feet away from the empty pizza box on his desk. But, he's not that smart because he leaves his room for a moment. He actually -gasp!- leaves a lit candle unattended! And this story is the moral to why this rule is so important that your parents and your college refuse to allow you to light candles in your bedroom. They don't even know about this story. And if you don't tell them either, we can keep it that way!
So, two minutes later, he returns to his room. And to flames shooting up from the pizza box-- a good two or three feet high. Cut to scene of tall, broad, and athletic young man RUNNING DOWN THE HALL WITH A FLAMING PIZZA BOX IN HIS HANDS, frantically dodging frozen-with-awe year-mates like a blitzing quarterback, in his quest to reach the mass shower room before the box a) burns his hands, or b) sets off the sprinkler system, or c) is noticed by anyone who can then ruin his future military career... While his roommate (who somehow hadn't noticed the flames until just that moment either) frantically waves a copy of his (my ex's) final term paper under the fire alarm-cum-automatic sprinkler system, to keep the remaining smoke in the room from setting it off and ruining everyone's life.
Yes.
So, How did this priceless moment happen???, you ask. Well, there was a box of kleenex sitting on the window sill. All these future engineers for the Army put their close-shaved heads together-- those who'd witnessed the flaming pizza box run, and therefore ...KNEW... --and the only thing they could come up with was that a breeze from the open window must have loosened an individual kleenex from the box, which then wafted over the lit candle, where it caught fire, and continued-- on fire-- to waft the additional two or three feet until it landed squarely on the open-but-empty grease-saturated pizza box, and resulted in some very tall, very blue, flames.
But, of course, this story isn't actually about real events, you see. So... children... don't try this at home. And, whatever you do, don't leave kleenex on your open windowsill if you plan to light an illicit candle in your bedroom. Trust me on this.
And, if you read the other blog from today (highly recommended) before reading this one... you now understand why I was so surprised that my kleenex wasn't great tinder for lighting my own personal illicit fire. No. It wasn't. That would have been too easy. And the filming crew must be amused. For, after all, the show must go on! (...at least until we're all filthy rich from it's popularity, and then we can just make some extra spending money off the reruns for a few years. ...Anybody wanna start paying me? Any time now. It worked for Arlo, and nobody believed anything HE told us about his personal history, either. But I'm telling you-- NOBODY COULD MAKE SHIGT LIKE THIS UP!)
Ahem.
THIS IS A TOTAL FABRICATION. I TELL YOU, IT NEVER HAPPENED IN REAL LIFE.
(And the cameras filming the sitcom of my life were not rolling somewhere in the background, either. Nu-uh. ) I TELL YOU, THERE IS NO PROOF! AND ALL THE CHARACTERS ARE FICTIONAL. THEY HAVE NO BASIS IN ANYONE YOU KNOW OR I KNOW IN REAL LIFE, OR THAT I'VE CASUALLY MENTIONED IN THIS BLOG BEFORE. NONE. NADA. ZIP. NO WAY, HOZAY! NIET. NIEN. NON. NONE.
Right. So. Anyway,
This guy I eventually married lived in a "dorm" while attending "college." AKA: West Point. The Army calls these dorms "Barracks," and they have all the same rules as a dorm, only you aren't allowed to have your lights on after 10pm, and you can't have girls in the boys' room without the door open, and you have to be fully clothed and sitting on different pieces of furniture even if the door IS open (and it had better not be after 10pm!). I kid you not. You can get dishognorably dgischarged for some of it... if you get caught...
So, naturally, no candles are allowed. But, here he was, with a candle on his desk. Lit. (Remember, this is a fictional story.) And he had his window open, because, just like the dorms you remember, this was nearly summer vacation, and there was no A/C. On the far side of the lit candle from the window was an open pizza box. Empty. Inhaled within 20 seconds of being delivered. By no less than 20 armed guards. You think I'm kidding. OH- and they did it in a linear and circumspect fashion, because it is BAD LUCK to break the wheel of a pizza by taking a slice out from somewhere other than the place the first slice was taken from! Seriously. Ask your local neighborhood USMA graduate. I've been banned from pizza parties before because I ALMOST broke the wheel. HORRORS!
Anyway... this random guy who almost-but-not-quite looked exactly like my ex-husband eight years ago... was smart. He made sure to keep the lit candle a good two feet away from the empty pizza box on his desk. But, he's not that smart because he leaves his room for a moment. He actually -gasp!- leaves a lit candle unattended! And this story is the moral to why this rule is so important that your parents and your college refuse to allow you to light candles in your bedroom. They don't even know about this story. And if you don't tell them either, we can keep it that way!
So, two minutes later, he returns to his room. And to flames shooting up from the pizza box-- a good two or three feet high. Cut to scene of tall, broad, and athletic young man RUNNING DOWN THE HALL WITH A FLAMING PIZZA BOX IN HIS HANDS, frantically dodging frozen-with-awe year-mates like a blitzing quarterback, in his quest to reach the mass shower room before the box a) burns his hands, or b) sets off the sprinkler system, or c) is noticed by anyone who can then ruin his future military career... While his roommate (who somehow hadn't noticed the flames until just that moment either) frantically waves a copy of his (my ex's) final term paper under the fire alarm-cum-automatic sprinkler system, to keep the remaining smoke in the room from setting it off and ruining everyone's life.
Yes.
So, How did this priceless moment happen???, you ask. Well, there was a box of kleenex sitting on the window sill. All these future engineers for the Army put their close-shaved heads together-- those who'd witnessed the flaming pizza box run, and therefore ...KNEW... --and the only thing they could come up with was that a breeze from the open window must have loosened an individual kleenex from the box, which then wafted over the lit candle, where it caught fire, and continued-- on fire-- to waft the additional two or three feet until it landed squarely on the open-but-empty grease-saturated pizza box, and resulted in some very tall, very blue, flames.
But, of course, this story isn't actually about real events, you see. So... children... don't try this at home. And, whatever you do, don't leave kleenex on your open windowsill if you plan to light an illicit candle in your bedroom. Trust me on this.
And, if you read the other blog from today (highly recommended) before reading this one... you now understand why I was so surprised that my kleenex wasn't great tinder for lighting my own personal illicit fire. No. It wasn't. That would have been too easy. And the filming crew must be amused. For, after all, the show must go on! (...at least until we're all filthy rich from it's popularity, and then we can just make some extra spending money off the reruns for a few years. ...Anybody wanna start paying me? Any time now. It worked for Arlo, and nobody believed anything HE told us about his personal history, either. But I'm telling you-- NOBODY COULD MAKE SHIGT LIKE THIS UP!)
Mysckeallahnieausse
Okay. It's time. If I don't blog soon, I might forget how. And, as we all know, the only two serious topics in this life are blogs, and folksongs. ...well... and humongous giant clams... Seriously. They were a threat to America at one time. But for the life of me-- I have no idea what to write about. If you make a suggestion before I post this, I might just take you up on it.
think think think
Well... maybe I'll tell you about the driftwood I meant to write about a while back, but ended up talking about how sweet and loving and good I am instead. That sounds promising. There's more to say about it now, anyway. As of 7:45pm, that is. When the fire on my back patio finally went out. Some serious, some ridiculous, some suspicious. About what I usually write. Okay. I'll DO it! (Too late for YOU! You'll just have to make a suggestion some other time, possibly sailing around for hours until you find a harbor. Inconceivable, you say? I do not think him is what you think him is. And I am NO left handed! It's true. Ask Arlo Guthrie.)
Driftwood. I've never partaken of a fire on the beach. Even though I lived on the beach for seven years (well, two blocks back, where the mortgage was cheaper). Even though my high school senior skip day was spent (by everyone but me and a few other loos-- err... individuals) on the beach with driftwood fires and a couple of unexplained kegs. Even though my dad has always kept on hand a ridiculous amount of perfectly-sized firewood. Just in case. Even though I eventually married an Eagle Scout (famous last words: "Don't worry! I'm an Eagle Scout." As if that somehow means you know how to take on an angry 700 lb black bear and her two cubs-- who are standing between us and our only water supply... in the middle of Bear Island... in Alaska... in dirty underwear and a pair of Army Boots... with a rusty pop can full of change in one hand to use as a rattle. But that is a story for another time.) who really REALLY thought having sex on the beach, by firelight, in the middle of winter--or any other time we happened to be on the beach-- with no blanket under us, and the tide coming in... would be "romantic." (It didn't happen. The word that came to my mind was "riiiiight.") Even though I have often walked by the charred remains of driftwood fires along the beach, smelled the last bit of smoke drifting up from it... and known it was a magical scent. I have never actually experienced a driftwood fire. Until today.
You see, way back when I drove over the mountains and through the snow to the beach... I brought about six inches of sand (intentionally, no less) and a whole bunch of baby bits of driftwood home with me. I spent two weeks drying that wood in front of a heating vent in my living room. (My cat thought I was crazy. She thinks that a lot. That's why she's not allowed to leave the house anymore. She might tell someone about what goes on in here.) I carefully put the sand into the metal container I'd found so nothing would overheat, melt, or burn down. I bought baby charcoal to help the driftwood catch fire. And then I spent 45 minutes in 29* weather getting smoked out as I hunched beside my little tiny pile of three pieces of driftwood and some kleenex (I don't get a newspaper)... as they all turned into a sad pile of smoking coals, and never bothered to flame at all, (except for the kleenex, which obviously has more chemicals in it than I'd realized, at least one of which is a fire retardant... though there was that one time with the kleenex and the flaming pizza box...) even though I hyperventilated because I blew on them there sad smoking coals for 15 of those 45 minutes-- straight.
sigh
The original plan was to have a driftwood fire on my back patio during my Open House. THAT would have been somewhat romantic and all together cool. This was the dry run. But, no. So I went to the store. One of those stores that actually does have a little of everything. Want diapers? They have that. Want depends? They have that, too. Want foot powder? Okay, but it's an off-brand. Want ice cream? Yup. 3 flavors. Found the "outdoors" section. (Right there next to the big "Get Your Fishing License Here-- So you don't get arrested for telling me about the one that got away!" sign.) There in the middle of the "outdoors" section, they had magical non-smoking wood chips that are guaranteed --in two different languages-- to start your fire. That's a quote, by the way. I laughed all the way to the cash register. I never did find a list of ingredients on the package, but I honestly don't want to know, anyway. Because then I might feel guilty for using them. The good news is they actually did light my fire. My fire is LIT!
I actually got to watch (very closely, with a bucket of water at my feet, because this was my patio, after all, and no where near the beach, even though it was technically taking place on six inches of honest-to-god beach sand... and... you know... something might happen...) as three other miniature pieces of driftwood from my collection burst into FLAME and became a real HONEST TO GOSH DRIFTWOOD FIRE for a whole 30 minutes!!! It was definitely a highlight in my life.
So... if you ever wanna light MY fire... wear eau-de-driftwood-smoke behind your knees. Ahem-- ears. I meant ears.
Okay, and for those of you who haven't started laughing yet... The title of this blob is pronounced "miscellaneous." I tried to spell giant with a J. I accidentally put a silent B on the end of "clambs." And I refrained from saying, "Dagm you, Salazar!!" at least twice. Yes. It's a quote from the "Charlie's Angels" movie with Lucy Liu in it. Your Welcome.
think think think
Well... maybe I'll tell you about the driftwood I meant to write about a while back, but ended up talking about how sweet and loving and good I am instead. That sounds promising. There's more to say about it now, anyway. As of 7:45pm, that is. When the fire on my back patio finally went out. Some serious, some ridiculous, some suspicious. About what I usually write. Okay. I'll DO it! (Too late for YOU! You'll just have to make a suggestion some other time, possibly sailing around for hours until you find a harbor. Inconceivable, you say? I do not think him is what you think him is. And I am NO left handed! It's true. Ask Arlo Guthrie.)
Driftwood. I've never partaken of a fire on the beach. Even though I lived on the beach for seven years (well, two blocks back, where the mortgage was cheaper). Even though my high school senior skip day was spent (by everyone but me and a few other loos-- err... individuals) on the beach with driftwood fires and a couple of unexplained kegs. Even though my dad has always kept on hand a ridiculous amount of perfectly-sized firewood. Just in case. Even though I eventually married an Eagle Scout (famous last words: "Don't worry! I'm an Eagle Scout." As if that somehow means you know how to take on an angry 700 lb black bear and her two cubs-- who are standing between us and our only water supply... in the middle of Bear Island... in Alaska... in dirty underwear and a pair of Army Boots... with a rusty pop can full of change in one hand to use as a rattle. But that is a story for another time.) who really REALLY thought having sex on the beach, by firelight, in the middle of winter--or any other time we happened to be on the beach-- with no blanket under us, and the tide coming in... would be "romantic." (It didn't happen. The word that came to my mind was "riiiiight.") Even though I have often walked by the charred remains of driftwood fires along the beach, smelled the last bit of smoke drifting up from it... and known it was a magical scent. I have never actually experienced a driftwood fire. Until today.
You see, way back when I drove over the mountains and through the snow to the beach... I brought about six inches of sand (intentionally, no less) and a whole bunch of baby bits of driftwood home with me. I spent two weeks drying that wood in front of a heating vent in my living room. (My cat thought I was crazy. She thinks that a lot. That's why she's not allowed to leave the house anymore. She might tell someone about what goes on in here.) I carefully put the sand into the metal container I'd found so nothing would overheat, melt, or burn down. I bought baby charcoal to help the driftwood catch fire. And then I spent 45 minutes in 29* weather getting smoked out as I hunched beside my little tiny pile of three pieces of driftwood and some kleenex (I don't get a newspaper)... as they all turned into a sad pile of smoking coals, and never bothered to flame at all, (except for the kleenex, which obviously has more chemicals in it than I'd realized, at least one of which is a fire retardant... though there was that one time with the kleenex and the flaming pizza box...) even though I hyperventilated because I blew on them there sad smoking coals for 15 of those 45 minutes-- straight.
sigh
The original plan was to have a driftwood fire on my back patio during my Open House. THAT would have been somewhat romantic and all together cool. This was the dry run. But, no. So I went to the store. One of those stores that actually does have a little of everything. Want diapers? They have that. Want depends? They have that, too. Want foot powder? Okay, but it's an off-brand. Want ice cream? Yup. 3 flavors. Found the "outdoors" section. (Right there next to the big "Get Your Fishing License Here-- So you don't get arrested for telling me about the one that got away!" sign.) There in the middle of the "outdoors" section, they had magical non-smoking wood chips that are guaranteed --in two different languages-- to start your fire. That's a quote, by the way. I laughed all the way to the cash register. I never did find a list of ingredients on the package, but I honestly don't want to know, anyway. Because then I might feel guilty for using them. The good news is they actually did light my fire. My fire is LIT!
I actually got to watch (very closely, with a bucket of water at my feet, because this was my patio, after all, and no where near the beach, even though it was technically taking place on six inches of honest-to-god beach sand... and... you know... something might happen...) as three other miniature pieces of driftwood from my collection burst into FLAME and became a real HONEST TO GOSH DRIFTWOOD FIRE for a whole 30 minutes!!! It was definitely a highlight in my life.
So... if you ever wanna light MY fire... wear eau-de-driftwood-smoke behind your knees. Ahem-- ears. I meant ears.
Okay, and for those of you who haven't started laughing yet... The title of this blob is pronounced "miscellaneous." I tried to spell giant with a J. I accidentally put a silent B on the end of "clambs." And I refrained from saying, "Dagm you, Salazar!!" at least twice. Yes. It's a quote from the "Charlie's Angels" movie with Lucy Liu in it. Your Welcome.
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