Funny

Pride and Prejudice, the concise Facebook edition.

Fun New Blog Find

Cake Wrecks

Oh, yes!

So far it has lightened my mood considerably but thus nothing can top the delight of the world’s worst Dalek cakes. I'm still wiping away tears of laughter.

Not Necessarily What I Had In Mind

But, you know, certainly worth considering...

Paperless paper.

A big, crazy day

Regardless of who wins tomorrow, our world will be a different place. We will either have the first African American President, or the first woman Vice President.

That's huge. I hope you went out and voted, if you were eligible.

There is this sense of anticipation everywhere: on the streets, in the grocery store, throughout the 'Net.

And there should be, because this is well and truly a history-making election. Voter turn-out is extremely high, and that makes me proud. Casting your vote means that you care enough about our country to want a change, regardless of who you vote for. Thanks.

In order to stave off additional anxiety I have retired to my bed where I am watching McMillian and Wife while trying to appear nonchalant.

Can't wait for tomorrow.

Beatles Video Game

The wrongness of this cannot be quantified.

That is all.

Sarah Palin Drinking Game

A Google search for "Sarah Palin Drinking Game" yields "about" 4,590 results.

In case you don't have your own at the ready, here is mine, slightly modified from here--

Take 1 drink when Sarah Palin says...
- "like" or "you know"
- "blessed" or "privileged"
- "Thanks but no thanks!"
- "reformer", "maverick", or "shake things up"

Take 2 drinks when Sarah Palin...
- stalls for more time ("um, let me think")
- mentions moose, or any other folksy thing about Alaska ("I grew up huntin' and fishin'!")
- gives a shout out to her First Dude of Alaska
- emphasizes states' rights when she has no clue about a national issue

Finish your drink when Sarah Palin...
- relates any of her political experience to her beauty pageant experience
- starts a statement with, "If I'm President..."
- mentions her son with Down's Syndrome, Trig, or her pregnant daughter

Line those glasses up, y'all! The slaughter is about to begin!

Great Glass Pumpkins

Every fall the MIT glassblowing department (Oh yes, they have one. It's very small and hugely popular.) has their primary fund-raising event, the Great Glass Pumpkin sale. People line up as early as 6:00 in the morning for entry to the 10:00 event, where around 1,000 pumpkins created by the department's faculty and students are ripe for the picking (yeah, sorry!). The gourds sell for anywhere from $20-200, depending on their size and complexity

Here's some of this year’s crop:

This one makes me think of Gayle...

No pumpkins made it into our home this year...maybe next time.

How Stressed Out About Job Hunting Am I?

On Monday I meet with a temp agency that specializes in the financial industry. They are almost speechless with joy that I’ve done PCF before.

Please, someone, hire me tomorrow...

Did He Have to Mention the FDIC?

Now, in addition to getting a job and paying off two homes, I'm worried about the pitiful amount of money I have left in the bank.

George Bush and his permissive banking regs got us this far into disaster, now I worry about everything I have. If he felt the need to mention it, then I feel like I have reason to worry. Because really? In a lot of ways, the sky is falling.

Confusion

Today was a strange day. Kept getting my present (Massachusetts) confused with my past (California). Found myself frustrated with the grocery store because it wasn't organized as my old stomping grounds were, so I couldn't find anything. Went to a sale at Macys and wondered why the clothes were so awful, when the selection was always so wonderful in Concord and in the City. Where I don't live anymore.

Husband is in the Fatherland for Photokina, which I tend to call Photophobia. I'd like to have gone, but someone must look after the horde. I can go next year; or, the year after next. Something like that (it's only on every other year).

Read a book (have I mentioned how much I love her covers?), watched the new Wire in the Blood and then, improbably, What's Up, Doc? (I miss Madeline Khan). I wandered around the neighborhood, hoping that soon it would feel as familiar to me as what I left behind.

Hope this feeling stops soon, restlessness does not suit me.

Bette is Back!

The Bette Davis stamp has arrived at last! It features the divine Ms. B in her role as the incomparable Margo Channing from All About Eve, a personal favorite. Please note that Bette appears on her stamp sans cigarette, as she does in every other reproduction of this photo. Because heaven forbid that reality intrude with the postal service! The picture looks odd, and if you look closely you can see the indentation where the ciggie was photoshopped out.

Here’s a thought; maybe they could have found a photo where she wasn’t smoking. A challenge, I’ll grant you…

Because Sometimes, I'm Just About the Stupid Quizzes

Your Personality is Very Rare (INFP)

Your personality type is dreamy, romantic, elegant, and expressive. Only about 5% of all people have your personality, including 6% of all women and 4% of all men You are Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling, and Perceiving.

So basically, I'm rare. Not like a a steak, or a cool mammal, but more along the lines of "natural selection killed the rest of y'all off" rare. And the "elegant" bit? No idea.

In Which I am Katharine Hepburn

Your Score: Katharine Hepburn

You scored 14% grit, 28% wit, 61% flair, and 9% class!

You are the fabulously quirky and independent woman of character. You go your own way, follow your own drummer, take your own lead. You stand head and shoulders next to your partner, but you are perfectly willing and able to stand alone. Others might be more classically beautiful or conventionally woman-like, but you possess a more fundamental common sense and off-kilter charm, making interesting men fall at your feet. You can pick them up or leave them there as you see fit. You share the screen with the likes of Spencer Tracy and Cary Grant, thinking men who like strong women.

Find out what kind of classic leading man you'd make by taking the
Classic Leading Man Test.

Which was, for the longest time, a life goal for me. Although honestly, most of the time I'd rather be Rosalind Russelll. Now there's a dame!

The Golden Age of the Rubber Shoe

There will come a time when the majority will look back on this time in our history and wonder what people were thinking.

Some of us don't have to wait; we ask the question with every expression of horror on our faces when we encounter them. Can anyone explain the appeal---on any level ---of brightly colored synthetic footwear?

The Founder of the Madness: Crocs

I just. Don't. Get. It. And frankly, I'm not sure I want to. How are they comfortable? And for people who make their children wear them, how do they possibly encourage proper arch development?

What's Wrong With Me?

I remember reading an intreview with someone once where they said they knew they were depressed when they were doing something that was technically quite dangerous and they were bored. I wonder, then, what it means when I say that I find this funny. Hysterically funny. As in, I was laughing so hard tears were involved funny.

What is wrong with me?

Okay now, don't everyone jump up at once. Please raise your hands and I'll call on you in due course. I was thinking about this last night and it may be that I am finally being saturated by the Darkness. There are just so many bad things happening all over, the whole Virginia Tech thing, David Halberstam dying (which just messed me up in ways I can't even communicate) , the abortion debacle...it's too much. Maybe it's because I'm alone now and don't have anyone to bounce things off of, but my attention span has all but vanished and I am even more introverted. I could bounce back against the Darkness before, but it just seems to be getting darker now. And it's harder to see the good stuff.

So maybe that's why this bizarre structural disaster, which will inconvenience travellers for months (but not me, let that be noted) but also had no loss of life struck me as amusing. It could have been a so much worse, but really it's just annoying. There's also the whole, "I'm melting" factor, which brings to mind the Wizard of Oz. And, of course, my favorite doorstop.

Feeling Down

Sometimes I miss having friends. In particular a close, gay male friend who enjoys many of the things I do and appreciates them. Example: tonight I watched Being Julia again, primarily for the last scene of the play where Mdme. Benning's title character really comes into her own. As much as I enjoy it, I'd like it all the more if I had someone to share it with, someone who loved it as I did.

Basically, I miss Eric. More and more lately. I think that's because his birthday is on the 17th and I tend to think about him alot this time of year. He'd have been 37 this year.

I wish I wasn't so anxious around people, wish I was more at ease. But I don't know how to be anymore. As much as I like my own little world, sometimes I'd like to branch out and have someone to play with.

Happy 6-6-06

I know, I know....Numer of the Beast, Season of the Witch, the Rapture, Ann Coulter, whatever. Everybody run and hide.

I realize that it's important to feature all fides of an issue, but does she have to be so deliberately hateful all of the time? Even I can't be that caustic.

Cheerleader Nation

Okay, so I fell asleep with the TV on, and when I woke up TiVo had changed the channel and I found myself face to face with Cheerleader Nation. And now I can't stop watching.

Both of my sisters were cheerleaders, but it was nothing like this. I guess I'd call their brand "ordinary" cheerleading; they didn't have to have the tumbling skills the girls on television do. Then again, they weren't competing nationally.

It just seems so strange how invested the girls are in it, and how over involved their mothers seem to be in their lives. Then again, perhaps that's normal; I made a practiced study of not being interested in anything while in high school myself, and my mother made a practiced study of avoiding me as much as she could. I understand that cheerleading is a sport, and I can see that when I look at the girls in this series; still, I don't understand why they aren't more interested in the world around them and doing well in school. Or participating in a more readily-recognized sport like swimming or tennis of gymnastics (which they're kind of already doing). Then again, I could be generalizing, but they seem very frivolous and spoiled to me.

I will admit that I always wanted to be able to move like them, to be confident and somewhat graceful and have some sense of rhythm, but it wasn't in the cards. I have white trash genes, which are not suited to anything useful.

Coffeepotting

Natalie, the woman I share an office with, has a husband who has cancer and a Leonberger named Elwood. The husband she’s had for nearly 30 years; the dog is fairly new.

Elwood is both still a puppy (he’s just over a year old) and a rescue dog; he’s trying to figure out how to live with people who are kind and good and would never, ever hurt him. After all he’s been through, it’s hard to trust.

Mike, Natalie’s husband, is somewhat older than Elwood and has Kaiser Permanente Health Insurance; he’s trying to figure how to be seriously ill while dealing with a system whose stated goal is to provide health care, but seems designed with more anxious anticipation and hoops to jump though than Cirque de Soleil. After all he’s been through, it’s hard to trust.

One night Natalie’s son, Jeremy, was getting a cup of coffee in the kitchen when Elwood growled at him. This was Elwood’s way to test his boundaries and to try and establish control. The proper reaction is to show no fear, not back down, and let Elwood know that you are in charge. Not in a harsh way, but in a firm, gentle way. In this case, Jeremy let Elwood know that he was in charge of the coffee pot. Because if dogs don’t know what their boundaries are, they will act in all kinds of inappropriate ways.

Today Mike met with a new doctor, and Natalie went with him. Initially the doctor simply ignored her; he did this to try and test his boundaries and establish control. Armed with notebooks and medical information the physician had not bothered to review, Natalie showed no fear, did not back down, and let him know that while she may not be completely in charge, she was a partner and not a doormat. Not in a harsh way, but in a firm way that brooked no debate. Natalie knew everything about her husband’s medical history since the day they’d met when she was 17; it was all stored in her brain and recorded in those notebooks. She remembered every drug Mike had ever taken (as well as how they interacted with any drugs he was currently on or ever had taken), the dates of any and all tests he’d ever had, and what treatments and diagnostic methods had already been tried. And she made sure the doctor knew, too. In this way, Natalie let the doctor know that while he had many patients, Mike was the only one she had and ever intended to. Because if Kaiser doesn’t realize that they can’t push you around, they will act in all kinds of inappropriate ways.

The offical term for his type of behavior is coffeepotting, and it is done soley out of love

a tornado in kansas

Trite as this may sound, there was a tornado in Kansas today. Actually, many. But this one was in my old college town, Lawerence. Okay, not a real tornado, but "tornadic winds". Which, I'm sorry, is the same freakin' thing.

I actually like Lawrence; I don't blame the city for what happened there. Sometimes, when we're looking at new cities to move to, I think about mentioning it. But I don't. I think because I worry that I'd have flashbacks, but maybe becuase I don't want to return to a place where I failed.

Whole lotta dying going on

In the last 48 hours, the world has lost these people:

Octavia Butler (Sara provides a link to a great interview where Butler discusses intolerance).

Darren McGavin - Oh Kolchak, my Kolchak! I've never seen A Christmas Story, perhaps because it seems that everyone else has. It took me forever to read The Alienist for pretty much the same reason. His portrayal of Bill Brown, father of Candice Bergen's Murphy, was amazing, too. And when combined with Colleen Dewhurst? Do not get me started!

Dennis Weaver - Loved Sam McCloud (mostly, although the show had its ups and downs), loved the politics of the man who portrayed him.

These people helped shape who I am to varying degrees. They made me feel like I wasn't alone. Sadly, mainly, it was the television characters who spoke to me the most; they were fish out of water, seemingly stuck on the outside looking in. I know people are expecting me to name Don Knotts as well, but frankly I didn't like the man as a performer. He was the outsider as Court Jester, as if that was the only way he could be accepted. It just seemed...wrong, and I could never have any respect for any of the characters I saw him play. Too much physical comedy, I guess.

I still miss David Janssen, too. Pitiful, huh? But he was my Fugitive, the man who nobody believed and had to keep running and hiding until finally, everyone saw the truth and knew he'd been right all along. And my Harry O, an ex-cop trying to make ends meet by taking PI cases he has to pursue by bus because his car never works.

Misfits, just like me. I'll miss them.

seatbelt bag

Yes, really.

I know what you're going to say, but I've actually seen one and I love them. I am not normally into the whole consumer thing, but I may end up actually purchasing one.

Oh, and the licence plate purses? Also interesting, albeit a tad heavy.

There's a woman who comes in for her Los Angeles Times every Sunday that has one. Her son gave it to her in part so she could defend herself in case she was mugged.

Today, it's all about me

So today there were not one, but two, articles in newspapers that quoted me. Neither one was particulary accurate, and one was really poorly written (if I do say so myself). One was in the Omaha paper, an article about people who left the city and people who stayed. The other was in the local paper, about a dog that was hit by a car that was taken in by our animal rescue organization.

So I guess I'm a media star...woooooooo...

Country Boys

David Sutherland, who created one of my favorite Frontline series ever, is back with what looks like another fascinating story. This one looks at two young men growing up in Appalachia.

I'm TiVo'd and ready to go!

P.S. - Am I the only one who wondered whatever happened to the Buschkoetters? Uncle Google has let me know that daughter Audrey attends (or attended, or works for) Hastings College in Nebraska, and was a Horatio Alger scholar.

New Year, same old (*&%(*&)

Bush Contends Spying Program Vital, Legal.

Seriously, how much longer are people going to buy this shit?

2006 approaches

A new year is dawning, which is supposed to be a big deal. Resolutions and all that, a chance to begin anew. This year, as in many others, I'm just not feeling it.

We can't find Maggie, one of our wild cats. I have this awful feeling that she's dead, or that she got out, but can't prove it because we can't find her. Poor Miss Mag! I keep asking Buttercup, her former paramour, to assist us in locating her, but he seems unwilling to cooperate. He's currently nestling with Sabine in a basket by the window, which speaks volumes.

I wish I could feel all enthused and optimistic about the forthcoming 365 days, but it just isn't in my contrary nature. Y'all have a good one, though, and may whatever resolutions you have concocted come true. Or don't. Whichever you prefer.

P.S. - In our house, we'll be ringing in the New by watching an old episode of Dr. Who. Yes, we are nerds. Long may we waive!!

I survived

I know it's been a while, but we were away for Christmas and now I've come down with a horrible cold/headache/flu combo thingie. This means lots of time curled up in bed, trying to forget.

For some reason, we tossed away perfectly good frequent flyer miles to go and see my family in the Midwest. I don't think we'll be making that mistake again anytime soon. I feel stupid for ever suggesting it.

It was a very awkward and uncomfortable time, at least for me, but I guess I should just be happy that it's over now. It's strange how time and distance can mold your thoughts at times; I actually thought it might be okay, and was basically bitch slapped in the face.

Again, I'm glad it's over. Now I can go back to being me again, that most imperfect being in the known Universe.

Maybe I'm Amazed

Our niece Naomi won a recent Newsround competition and got to interview PAUL MCCARTNEY! She's a long-time fan of his music and his politics (well, reasonably long; she's only 10). She interviewed Sir Paul last week prior to a signing for his new Children’s Book at the Waterstone's in London. Yesterday they posted both the interview and a short piece Naomi wrote about the process on the Newsround site.

A photo of Ms. B with Himself...

The interview and article are available here; to see the interview, click on Launch Newsround Player (the link is right next to the story), then click on the Press Pack link. Naomi's interview is called I Met Sir Paul McCartney, which she did. And we’re all quite jealous.

While Naomi allows that she is "quite pleased" about how things went, we're all very proud of her and the poise and professionalism she displayed. Who knows? Maybe we have another journalist in the family!

Stocking Stuffers, Vol. 6

MSNBC shows us some holiday gifts that can also benefit others. I'm always up for something from Sleepyheads, and it's nice to know that I can do something for others as I do something for myself (even if I find the new Fresh 'N Funky 'jammas deeply unattractive.

Earthquake or Make-Up, take your pick

Around the office today there seems to be two primary topics of conversation: the 3.4 earthquake that happened not too far from here, or the fact that I wore make-up today. And curled my hair.

Apparently the make-up huge, and I had no idea it would be. Our Christmas party is today, so I thought I'd tart myself up a bit.

I am the first to admit that I’m a painfully plain sort of person; I was raised with two very pretty, thin sisters and was constantly compared to them. Growing up I thought it was silly to waste time teasing my hair and coating on make-up, so normally I didn’t. Nobody noticed me much, anyway, and I was also constantly made aware of the fact that “it didn’t really help” (although I had “such a pretty face”).

The reaction makes me wonder if normally just look really awful without make-up; I really don’t see much of a difference when I wear it, and frankly would rather sleep in than take an extra ½ hour out of my life to primp. The attention was nice, but also unsettling. I just don’t see the difference, or why it should make one. Most of the comments were from women, too, which I thought was odd. I guess they just notice those things more.

Stocking Stuffers, Vol. 5

Special thanks to those who published and contine to update the Gift Guide for Library Lovers. The stuff's a little cute for me, but I know some people who'd love the gifts found within these links.

Got Vegetarians?

Okay, so we're headed back to my hometown for the holidays. We haven't been back in a number of years, and thought it would be fun to watch the youngster's kvelling over their gifts.

Sometimes my brain becomes confused and can't discern between the fantasy family I wish I had and the one I really ended up with, which might explain why we booked the tickets. The holiday always render me particularly vulnerable. Today it was made clear to me just what I would be venturing into, as we got to have THREE different conversations about the odd eating habits my husband and I have that threaten to shatter their peaceful Midwestern Christmas.

Apparently my sister was planning on having ham for Christmas dinner; since I don't like ham, everything must be changed because of me. Mind you, I did not ask for any special dispensation, as I was perfectly willing to say nothing about the poor dead pig and just eat side dishes, but suddenly the entire holiday meal is in an uproar.

My husband's sin is much worse; he's a vegetarian. It seems that nobody on either side of my family knows any vegetarians, and the whole idea completely baffles them. Approaching any potential meal with him that is not prepared by and outside source takes on a side-show quality that makes him seem more like a rare type of mammal than someone who doesn't eat meat. My mother and I had a half-hour long e-mail conversation about it, and I know the whole situation is stressing everyone out.

I should have known better, but now the entire holiday will be about how to feed my husband and how they can't have ham. I think I want to stay home.

P.S. - For those unfamiliar with the more common types of vegetarians, I have located this resource for you. The husband is the least involved type; he just does not eat meat. It's actually pretty easy to wrap your head around if you try.

Stocking Stuffers, Vol. 4

Upon further review, I find that pretty much everything in the Wrapables online catalog might make for fun gift-giving. Their stuff ranges from the truly eclectic to the practical and funky. Works for me!

Submitted for your enjoyment:

Human Key Holders and hangers (although the hangers are a tad "nuclear family" for my taste)

Lip-o-suction Toothpaste Squeezer

Various and sundry candles

Holiday Oddity, Vol. 1

Inexplicably inspired by some kind of bizarre holiday malaise, I purchased this on Saturday. It has taken up residence in my office, where it is frequently commented upon and compelled to sing and gyrate. That is what it does.

It's purchase may, or may not, have something to do with a vague resemblance to the Sorting Hat, but I can't be sure. I really don't know what happened.

Stocking Stuffers, Vol. 3

An ideal gift for the more cerebral on your list can most likely be found at The Unemployed Philosophers Guild.

This place is wonderful, rife with all manner of gewgaws for those with an eclectic bent. From the Little Thinkers finger puppet/magnets to the vast array of tchotchkes for devotees of Freud and Shakespeare, every page is a revelation.

Already the proud owner of the Light-up Starry Night Pillow, I hope that soon my couch will also be graced (as it were) by the
Wind Up Last Supper Pillow. It plays Hey Jude.

NICE DAY with the husband

So today we went into the city to ogle various and sundry items at the KPFA Craft Fair. Stocked up on some light switch covers from Raw Art and some jams from The Humble Gourmet (try the White Zinfandel...yummy!). Then out to lunch followed by a brief amble around Ghirardelli Square before picking up the unadopted at Pet Food Express.

In order to remain thematically appropriate, I must encourage those of you in the Bay Area to venture out to the Craft Fair tomorrow if you can to search for holiday gifts. There are some incredible things on sale there, and it's a lot less…I don't know, gentrified, than many of the other craft fairs around anymore.

Stocking Stuffers, Vol. 2

Archie McPhee, the Xandau of kitsch, has an entire page of Devil Duck merchandise available for the discerning shopper.

If we had a nice, big, comfy bathtub, like the one we used to have in San Francisco, I'd have a fleet of 'em.

Odd Stocking Stuffers, Vol. 1

Piranha dental floss dispenser.

I prefer the blue one, or perhaps the green.

Generally, the husband and I share everything...

but I'm not sure if he's ready for this one.

Dalek Porn. I suppose it was inevitable.

Happy/Unhappy Turkey/Natalive American Holocaust Day

So for those gathering around a giant turkey or tofurkey or whatever, have a wonderful time. For those boycotting the glib celebratory ellision of Native American holocaust, try and have some fun, too.

We're going to the latest Harry Potter, then home to dine.

Feeling the Mazda

My mechanic can always make me smile. I know that's a completely insane thing to say, but it's true.

John is a genuinely good guy who always gives sound advice. If he tells you that your card needs something, it does. If you don't need it, he'll tell you that and let you make up your own mind. In all the years he's taken care of my cars, I don't feel like I have ever been given bad advice by him or anyone in his garage.

But most of all, I love him because he gently mocks me.

Yes, you heard me.

If you know me at all, then you more than likely are aware that I often assign human emotions to mechanical things. My computers at work and home have them, as does the office copier and many of the appliances in my kitchen. And so do my cars. They have, in the past, succumbed to numerous faux emotions, including "sad", "surprised", and "scared".

John loves this; he thinks it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. I also do eerily accurate imitations of the noises the car makes when it isn't feeling well; sometimes he makes me repeat the noises for the mechanic who will be working on the car that day. His mechanics think I'm a whack job, but a generally harmless one. And he has a really dry sense of humor, so his reactions are always slyly understated.

Example:

Yesterday, my right front tire ate a bolt and needed to be replaced. Changing the tire made me all frustrated (gotta love tire changing), than the shop wasn't open and I had to drive to work on that *(&T(*))&T little donut tire thing. I'm now late for a conference call, which pushes back all of my appointments for the day. This does not sit well with my boss or colleagues, and I am officially The Bitch Who Inconvenienced Everyone Because She Can't Change A Tire As Fast As A Pit Crew.

So I call John...

Me: John, hey! It's Katherine Meusey. The Mazda's been injured.

John: Injured?

Me: It was mauled by a bolt.

John: Ummmm...mauled? Okay, where? Like, the tires …

Me: The right front tire. It's this big, Frankenstein-like bolt; I have no idea where it came from...

pause

John: How's the car feeling about all this?

I smile before replying.

"Really...violated, I guess."

And for some reason, that question totally brightened day.

okay yes, I feel sorry for Texas

but honestly, did anyone really think the gay rights amendment would pass? I mean, the weather may be nice in my own little world, but it ain't that nice.

Today, for the first time in a long time, I feel really good about living in California. Why? Because I woke up to headlines like "Governor Schwarzenegger's political power is now severely compromised" because all the state propositions (including preventing unions from contributing to political causes and parental notification of abortion) failed.

Yes, all of them. Yay! I would have been more comfortable seeing a broader margin for the abortion notification thing, but I'll take what I can get.

Besides LA and SF, in my experience is that California is a relatively conservative state. To have this occur is rare and beautiful.

Vote?

I hope you did, no matter how you voted. Well, that isn't strictly true, but the act of casting your vote is important. So I hope you did.

In other spooky news, it seems that 2005 is not only the year that I found common ground with Ann Coulter, but also apparently the year I find myself agreeing with the Vatican with regard to their views on the validity of a certain scientific theory.

I am pretty much completely confused now...

Fester’s Prejudice

I suppose we all have them, but I really thought Fester, our dog, was unaffected by any type of human bias. He loves every human being he meets, and they love him. It never occurred to me that Fester could actually dislike anyone, but I was wrong.

Seems that he has some issues with Zelda Rubinstein, the woman perhaps best known for playing Tangina Barrons the somewhat creepy psychic lady in the first two Poltergeist films.

Last night we were sprawled on the bed, watching Poltergeist* on TMC, and I happened to fall asleep. Some time later I heard this low growling noise and found Fes pretty much eye to eye with the television, staring transfixed at her. When Zelda began her whole “Welcome, children. Welcome, welcome…” thing, and Fes began to bark. Not an “all the other dogs are doing it” bark, but a genuine, disturbed, “Mother, I’ll protect you” kind of bark. He was even shaking a little. Poor muffin!

To salvage his mental state, I turned off the television and sent him to watch various Treehouse of Horror episodes with the husband, who says he does not blame Fester a bit for being freaked out. Zelda, it seems, is just scary that way. And it was Halloween, after all.

* They also showed The Haunting, which is always appreciated.

Did I Ever Show You Peeps Go to the Library

If not, here you go.

I don't like Peeps as a food item (if you can them that), but I find their adventures quite diverting.

Last 24 hours = emotional hell. Mainly animal-related, a bit about people tossed in as well. Every time I turned around, there was some kind of high-level emotional crisis waiting. We're fine, all the stuff happened around us and not to us or any of our pets, but I think I can safely say that we're both completely drained.

It can only go up from here.

Midwest Tragedy

I've had a number of people asking me if I'd had a chance to read this article yet. The answer is yes, I have. And I know it takes place in Nebraska, where I grew up, and Kansas, where I briefly attended college.

What I can't answer is which part of this terribly tragic story saddened me more. There's the fact that Kansas allows marriage at the age of 12, then there's the poor little girl can't see more of a future for herself than being married and a mother at 14. She has no interest in college, and thinks that being a nurse requires nothing more than a high school diploma.

The parents, as they always seem to be in these situations, either were not or chose not to be in touch enough with their children to know what was going on right under their noses. And then there is the emotionally immature, learning disabled "husband", who didn't have the judgment to see how imprudent this type of relationship was and remove himself from it. Someone had to be the adult, but sadly it appears that nobody was interested in filling the role.

The prison question is a hard one for me. When I worked with pregnant and parenting teenagers, many of their children were fathered by men who were in their 20's while the girls were still in their teens. In one case, the girl was 14 and the man was 22. The sad, twisted thing about it was that often Social Services would (often the custodial "parent") would refuse to press charges against the men because the only source of emotional support the poor girls had were the families of their abusers. I don't know one of these men who treated these girls well; often they seemed to collect lonely, unloved teenagers and had at least two children whose mothers did not have their driver's license. These men should have been arrested, but they walked; the one thing I can say about this child/man is that at least he's still there. And he does seem to be trying to do right by his family, although I have a feeling that the grandparents are carrying more of the burden than was disclosed.

Eventually, I think these kids will tire of playing house and divorce. Hopefully all of the children involved (and I'm including the parents in this, because they are children, too) will escape relatively undamaged.

Thou shalt not…how does it go again?

Okay, I always said that Pat Robertson was a whack job. And now the whole world knows I'm right! I love global validation.

On his 700 Club show yesterday Robertson, founder of the Christian Coalition and one-time-presidential candidate, pretty much encouraged the U.S. to assassinate Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez. Love it!

His reason: Chavez is purportedly trying to make Venezuela "the launching pad for communist infiltration and Muslim extremism". I'm still looking for supporting documentation on that.

Sometimes I'll admit that I just want to bitch slap some of the world leaders, but you just don't go around cheerfully advocating murder on national television. Especially if you have connections as close to the White House as ol' Pat does. And if your power within your little Republican world seems a bit tenuous, it is not the time to begin advocating murder.

The best part, though, was watching the White House try and run interference. They send out Rumsfeld, who makes powerful statements such as, " "Certainly it's against the law. Our department doesn't do that type of thing,". Girl, please! Do NOT get me started on covert operations, not as long as Denial still isn't a river in Egypt.

This San Jose Mercury News article has some other great Robertson pearls of wisdom to share. These just illustrate my belief that overall fundamentalists in general are just frightened, ignorant people.

I hope that this turns the tide a little away from the fundamentalist streak surging through the country right now, but somehow I doubt it. However, it just may cost Pat some invitations to lead prayer breakfasts at the White House.

Today I cried

The point of my last entry, and it did have one, was that sometimes I want to cry but can't. Because crying makes one feel better. There are things that make me cry, like Rent, that I look forward to experiencing. And yes, I do feel all the more the freak because I don't have normal emotions.

Today we went to the funeral of a woman we knew casually, the mother of one of the women we work with at FOA. She was 96, had all of her faculties, and didn't suffer. You can't really want a lot more than that.

I don't do well at funerals as a general rule. The grief of the family and loved ones impacts me deeply, and I inevitably begin to cry. Often it's for the dead, like today. It makes me sad that someone who was so loved and needed had to die. But sometimes it's for other people I've lost, like Eric, or people I will lose, like my family.

I am not close to my family at all, and that makes me very sad. My husband tells me that I'm nothing like my family, which in his mind explains everything. But that still does not stop my wanting to be accepted by them. Because my family has never "gotten" me, they don't really value me, and that makes me feel like a total fraud when people do like me. I keep thinking that eventually they'll see what my family sees, the difference, the alien, and turn away. This keeps me on my toes, and most people at arm's length.

I am very lucky because I have a husband who adores me and seems blind to my obvious freakishness :). Even though we don't get to have children, meaning I'll never really have the family I want, he is everything to me. When we're at a funeral, I think about losing him and I just break down. Or I think about when I'll lose my own parents who, despite raising me since I was three months old, don't really know me at all. And it's hard to be okay with that.

Seasons of Love

Am I the only one who sometimes anxiously anticipates the opportunity to cry? Maybe it has to do with the Prozac; I take so much that sometimes even when I feel sad, I can’t get sad enough to really get it out and get over it quickly. Does this make any sense? I get this overall feeling of undefined sadness; I want to just cry and “cleanse” it, but I can’t. Strange, but true. Welcome to me.

For the last few months I’ve been quietly obsessed by the forthcoming film version of Rent. I love Rent, and have been hooked since the first time I saw it. There’s something about it that resonates with me, that sense of being outside and looking for love and acceptance and somehow feeling unworthy. It’s so powerful on stage, and I wasn’t sure if they could pull off a screen version. Then again, I didn’t think Lord of the Rings trilogy would translate well to film, and look at how wrong I was.

I’ve been watching the cast’s progress on the Rent web site for a while now, and I think they might have done it. The fact that many of the original cast members star in it helps enormously, (including the amazing Idina Menzel, who I could watch for hours) and I find that from what I’ve seen of Tracie Thoms, I like her better than the original Joanne. They seem to all have a great chemistry, and the smallness of the cast makes it more like a stage musical than an actual film.

I have been watching the trailer for a while now, at least once a day. This is largely due to the fact that it is wrapped up in one of my favorite Rent tunes, Seasons of Love. Which is now available on iTunes. YAY! Now I can burn it onto a CD and drive around with my obsession like the freak that I am.

Currently, there are only 130,548.38 minutes until Rent appears onscreen. And baby, I’m counting every one.

Another reason to love ebay

The best part is that he's called Steve,

Thank you, TiVo

Dear TiVo,

Thanks so much for deciding that the Travel Channel's special on
Outrageous Lawn Ornaments might be something I'd enjoy. Indeed it was.

I relish the absurd, and appreciate the opportunity to view the fiberglass creations of Mel Schettl and other like-minded individuals. More information on the proud history of the pink lawn flamingo is also always invaluable.

Please keep this type of selection in mind the next time you have to choose between something along the same lines and, say, a Cantonese Soap Opera.

Yours,

kath

Weekend Update

This shooting bothers me not only because it occurred at all, but because it’s just such an American thing to do. And then to find out that the poor man had nothing to do with anything…it just made me sad. Basically I don’t want the UK Police to become more like their American counterparts, and it seems like this may be a step in the wrong direction.

Attended Books by the Bay in the miserable, withering heat. We didn’t even sell that much! But I did get to see people I don’t see enough of, like Calvin and Paula. So that was good. And at the end of it all was Indian food, which always makes me smile.

In family-related news, brother-in-law David has successfully defended his dissertation and will formally be PhD’d in October. We hope to be able to join him for the celebration. We will, however, be missing the Folk Festival this year, which is disappointing. It would no doubt have been much more fun than the standard Cambridge graduation ceremony.

Tres lazy this weekend. Too hot to do much, temps over 100 degrees. And there was humidity, which is not something I signed up for. I’ve had humidity, thanks, that’s why I moved to California! The husband and I read a lot cuddled up by the window air conditioner, while Fes and the cats lounged on the bed.

It was Twenty Years Ago Today…

So apparently tonight marks the beginning of my 20-year high school reunion. It is a weekend-long extravaganza featuring golf (which I don’t do), a tour of the school (which one can experience at any time), and culminating in a picnic on Sunday at the elementary school across the street from my mother’s house (which, again, is readily available to me whenever I’m in town). I know this only because my mother reminded me earlier today in an e-mail; otherwise, the whole thing would have passed me by. I told Mom to keep the doors bolted, but I don’t think she really got it.

Like most people, high school is something I regard with overall ambivalence. It was emotionally a very painful time for me for a number of reasons, which may explain why I remember so very little about it now. Most of the things had nothing to do with high school, but since education was my primary activity growing up, it loomed pretty large. I was the typical depressed (seriously, as it turned out) kid who felt misunderstood and wished to be elsewhere. The nice thing was that once I was elsewhere, things were markedly better. This may have had a lot to do with also leaving my family behind when I left Omaha, but one can’t be completely sure.

A few months ago I did begin to get Spam from someone at my high school, inviting me to the reunion. I tried to think of how they could possibly had my personal information, but then I remembered that my stepmother had posted all of our family’s information on the alumni web site some time ago without our permission. High school was obviously very important to her, and still is; she attended the same high school I did, and so did her children. She still talks about current football games and homecoming as though they were still happening for her, which I find quite sad. I remember one year when she e-mailed us, all excited because she and my father were going to support the school by buying bricks in our names. These bricks were apparently a fund-raising scheme wherein our names would be forever engraved on a brick and joined with the main school building. Despite my pleas against it, including a list of charities I felt more worthy, it is my understanding that I have a brick at the high school bearing my name. It’s things like this that make me think perhaps I should have taken my husband’s name when I married…

For those of you who think the reunion idea is “cute” and/or “fun”, please try explaining it to someone to whom this custom is alien. My husband is from the U.K., and no matter how many ways I’ve tried to explain it to him, the concept of such a thing just eludes him. And frankly, I’ve given up trying to explain why anyone would go to Nebraska in the middle of July to attend an event chock full of people I largely don’t remember because I really don’t know myself. I guess that’s because for him high school was about studying to get into a good Uni, with no homecoming dances or pep rallies in sight. Which is not necessarily a bad thing.

Surprisingly, I do encounter a lot of people from my high school in daily life (which, considering I live about 2,000 miles away from where I was raised, is pretty odd). Most of them relate to work in some way, many of them employed by the company I used to work for in Omaha before I moved out here. Since my last name is so unusual I’m usually asked if I’m related to so and so, which is how it begins. And I either remember them or don’t, except for the times that I remember them but act as though I don’t because it’s obviously so important to them that they be remembered. Which is mean, but sometimes that’s just me.

Two in particular I see frequently at the bookstore. One I remember and one I don’t. The one I know was one of those seemingly perfect people you idolized in school, beautiful and aloof and incredibly talented. She belongs to a writer’s group that has been meeting at the store for years, longer than even I’ve been there. At first she looked familiar, but thought it would be odd to just ask her if she was who I thought she was (because I hate that when people do it to me). But once she paid for something with a check, and a quick look at her name assured me that I was right.

One day as the group was gathering, one of the member’s dogs broke away and came over to play with me (we have dog treats and all of the dogs who visit the store love us). It wasn’t her dog but she began calling him, and as the dog ran around all excited with cookies and attention he became confused and couldn’t find her. So I came over and tried to help him, joking asking him where she was and calling her by name. As the dog raced up to her she asked how I knew her name, as though a lowly retail employee had no right to address her personally. I explained that I attended high school with her (she was a senior when I was a sophomore), and you could see the blood drain from her face. I guess even the popular and adored have issues with the past, because she quickly hurried away and I didn’t see her again until the end of the night. At that time she approached me slowly and asked if I remembered a particular English teacher at the school, one she’d particularly enjoyed. She’d returned to Omaha some years later and went to the school to visit him, but he wasn’t there. Had I had him as a teacher, and did I know where he was? I told her sadly that he had died some years ago, and she looked stricken again. We talked about what a great teacher he was, how exacting, how he prepared us for academic life better than anyone we’d ever known. “Lay your foundations well”, we quoted him simultaneously, then giggled. She asked my name, apologetic that she didn’t know it, and I provided it to her while making it clear that I didn’t expect her to know me, and that I only remembered her because her first name was so unusual. I still see her, but we never talk about Omaha or school or anything else. She is a bit more cordial to me now.

The other woman I can’t place at all, but she seems to know me. At least, she knows my name. She likes to come in and be all chummy, asking about if I’ve been back to Omaha and talking about how much she hated high school, I guess assuming that I felt the same way (which I did, but not in such a way that I need to dwell on it). She won’t be attending the reunion, either, despite having been “tracked down” by the e-mail Spammers. From what I can gather she was a cheerleader, which meant I most likely didn’t know her well, but she knew things about me (classes I took, for example), so I knew she must have been there. It seems natural for her to assume that I remember her, and since she seems so wrapped up in the past I feel sad for her and oblige. But I don’t know her name; it’s never even been important enough for me know that I’d look at her credit card or review the name on her check as she pays. At this point I think it would be rude to ask. I’m always cordial to her, but the only conversation she seems to think to have with me is how much she hated high school. Surely that can’t be all she’s about, can it? I try and talk to her about books or local issues, but she keeps steering me back to Omaha. I’m baffled that she wants to talk to someone who reminds her of such an obviously painful time, but I gather from the way she goes on that it makes her feel better, like she has someone to relate to even though she knows nothing else about me (and has expressed no desire to). I keep thinking that maybe she needs a journal to write down her obviously unresolved issues, but have not yet been evil enough to suggest it. Yet.

So I won’t be attending my high school reunion in the unforgiving heat and humidity of the Midwest. If someone from that long ago wants to get in touch with me, they can just drop me an e-mail. And if they don’t, that’s okay, too.

Actually, you know what? Yes. Yes, this could work for me.

Via the New York Daily News, where we find Kurt Vonnegut advocating for Judge Judy to join the Supreme Court. Erm, I mean, become the Supreme Court.

Which wouldn't be as much fun, because the best part is listening to her argue with people. And I want to see her argue with Clarence Thomas.

Posessions

So tomorrow is the last day that Zia Houseworks will be open. Apparently the owner, Colin, is quite ill, and rather than selling the business he's decided to liquidate.

I really like Colin, and I loved visiting his store and playing with his dog, Bill. It was my favorite place to "wish shop", as I could never see myself spending the kind of money they asked for the amazing furniture that they had. Nice and quirky stuff including one of my favorite furniture artists, David Marsh. But today and tomorrow, everything is on sale. And everything must go. I thought I'd run by the sale today to see what the prices were like and say goodbye to the pretty, shiny objects of my dreams. My intention was not to purchase, merely to observe. Sometimes I am soooo naïve, even about myself!

The place was a madhouse and the prices were quite good, considering that the furniture is hand made. And I bought something. Yes, yes I did. A David Marsh buffet. I'd actually looked at it a couple of times before, but today it was nearly 50% off. I did try to avoid purchasing it, and actually walked past it nine times before I bought. I watched two couples measure it, another play with the drawers, and one particularly vapid woman try to bargain down the price (despite the numerous obvious bits of signage that clearly stated Everything priced as marked". Another one was put out that she'd have to arrange her own delivery. But you know what? None of it mattered because the buffet and I were meant for each other.

This is my first piece of hand made furniture, after years of lusting after it. AND David Marsh was there, so I got to thank him personally for his beautiful work and my amazing piece. I don't usually get this het up about material possessions, but for some dorky reason I'm really excited that this particular thing is mine.

The husband and I have rented a UHaul van to pick it up tomorrow morning. And it will fit perfectly in the dining room.

meanwhile, business as usual in the U.S.

Dead Steelers Fan Laid Out On Recliner, Watching Sports.

Get ready, y'all. There's a picture.

London

I'm sad about what happened in London...there isn't much more to say than that. I love London, my husband went to University there and he loves it as well. The best theatre I've ever seen, I've seen there. And the best Indian food I've eaten has been there as well.

Oddly enough, last night I dreamt about touring about London in a double decker bus. When I go I always use the Underground because it's quicker, and we've talked in the past about how next time (we've been talking about visiting this Fall) we'll be all touristy and take the bus. Maybe now not so much.

And it was all going so well

Our block had their second annual July 4th Block Party today. Basically the street was closed off and loud music was played, and everyone had their own party with their own friends and family. We walked around with the hound a bit, letting him make new friends and chatting amiably. The afternoon went well, lots of kids riding their bikes and parents BBQing. Then, at about 5:00, the friends of one of my neighbor's son's came over and it started getting loud and a bit drunk. It was louder then, but not necessarily less fun.

Someone from the next street over called the police, and once they left everyone decided that they could feel free to ignite the illegal fireworks cache they'd stored in a friendly garage. I know they're illegal but damn, it was soooooo much fun to watch! I love fireworks; wish we could have had some at my wedding. It had been so long since I'd been up close to fireworks that I was absolutely captivated. The husband had never seen anything like this up close, either, so it was a nice exhibit of "old school" neighborhood 4th of July celebrations. We watched for a bit, chatted some more, then took Fes inside.

Moments later, our street erupted into an episode of Cops.

Since cars were still blocking the street entrance long after the permit had expired, someone called the police yet again. Fortunately, there was still more than the necessary evidence that there had been fireworking, as well. It was during that time that two people began fighting, and there was some disagreement as to whether police intervention was needed.

Apparently there was at least one arrest, lots of shouting, and even some random trailer trash that'd lost her shoes and seemed straight out of Central Casting.

It was scary to be outside then, and to be standing safely on our sidewalk on our normally impossibly quiet street watching the bizarre scene unfold. When people get drunk and out of hand like that, you just don't know how much stupider they'll get.

It's quiet outside again now; some people are still sitting outside, but the music and fireworks are gone.

I was really disappointed with how the evening ended, and am still surprised with how quickly things can turn.

There are some fireworks going off in the street now, so I guess it's not over. Time to close the shades and get ready to watch the Comet smashing.

Sometimes there are miracles

Idaho Girl Found.

Yes!

This is going to get ugly

Justice Sandra Day O'Connor announces retirement.

I honestly thought someone was going to die on the bench before it came to this.

David Byrne Moment

Sometimes I hate who I've become. Well, not really, just a bit. Okay, sometimes a lot.

Because I have to care about things that really don't mean anything to me, and I hate that. The whole pretending thing, it irks me. I never wanted to be one of those people, even though I was constantly told that everyone in the world has to be one in order to succeed. I never wanted to accept it, but I find it's true. At least, for me.

I wanted more than what I have, and for much of my life I was told I couldn't have it. I convinced myself that it wasn't true, and in some ways it isn't (my husband is proof of that). But just today I looked around and I realized overall that it was true. And I asked myself, how did I get here? And I came over all sad.

Lord, what whinging! My blood sugar must be low. Whilst I hunt for a Tootsie Roll or something, here is some delightful irony for you...Michael Gorman’s last line in his [brief] inaugural address: My completed remarks will be on my blog in the morning. Child, please!

If you need clarification on this irony, please see my entry for February 25th.

HotHotHot

So tonight I was supposed to introduce an author at the store. About an hour before the event, she calls and says she has a friend who wants to do the introduction instead, and would that be okay? I say sure, whatever you want.

None of us, however, were aware that the friend in question was Peter Coyote. Damn! And me without my lipstick.

To say that Peter Coyote is hot is an understatement. Hot, smart, well read, and politically committed. Now that is the whole package. Every female employee over the age of 30 was running around primping and looking to borrow jewelry from the consignment cabinet.

He's local and shops at the store often, but this was really the first time I had an actual excuse to talk to him. He's just as well spoken as I'd heard, and it was fascinating talking to him about his time living in communes.

Oh, and the author was good, too.

Good Things happened yesterday

Public t.v. and radio get a bit of a reprieve (at least for now).

AND

Mom jailed in pit bulls' fatal mauling of son.

Sadly, they let out on her own recognizance today, but with any luck she'll get hard time for what she so thoughtlessly allowed to occur.

I hate her. I know that's strange, but I can honestly say that I hate her more than I've hated anyone in a very long time. If I saw her on the street, I honestly think I would slap her. And since I don't normally feel that way, I'm perplexed by it.

Just the sort of diversion I needed today

Giant Popsicle Melts, Floods New York Park.

I just hope the Snapple lady is okay.

But I can't fund it all on my own!

House panel cuts funding for public television.

I love Public Television, watch it often and send money when I can. It's such a valuable resource, and I'd hate to see it vanish or lose its overall quality. So if you have some spare $$, and you watch public TV, absolutely send them a little something to keep the good stuff coming.

In other sad news (this is really more saddish than actually sad), the last journalists have left Fleet Street.

Sometimes change rubs me the wrong way.

Okay, but I need pictures!

Anti-aircraft tower turned into luxury apartment.

YAY II!

House Votes to Limit Patriot Act Rules. For now, libraries and bookstores are safe. And so is the privacy of the public's reading habits.

First one who can explain this to me, lemme know

Man With Chain Saw Allowed to Enter U.S.

Meanwhile, my Mom was almost banned from the plane for wanting to carry her Epi-pen on the flight from Omaha to California for our wedding years ago. Apparently it wasn't the appropriate type of weaponry.

Familia Shout-Outs

First of all, a big Happy Birthday to my niece, Meredith. She a one year old today! From what I understand she spent a quiet evening in the company of her parents, big brother Max, and faithful dog Ruby. A good time was had by all in St. Louis.

My brother-in-law John is also in the news in his home state of Colorado. John and his partner are taking their new business venture on the road to Florida, in the hopes of meeting potential vendors. Good luck to him! The husband likes the Cargo Jacket, even if we'd just keep dog treats in it.

I Know, I Know

Haven't written in a while and that's bad. The whole point of this thing is to keep others informed on the minutiae of my life, and here I am disappointing them.

Rough week. Felt crappy and somewhat fluish, ended up missed work at the bookstore because of it. Had a map crisis with the book, but it's all sorted out now and on to the presses. Now all I have to do is submit my bill and I'm done with Eccentric California for the time being.

Today was okay overall. Mellow really, which is good. We went to a dog show at the Fairgrounds and spent time with a lot of the FBNC people we know and their dogs. My god, the dogs! SO cute, especially these two new Member's puppies. One was fawn and one was this really nice dark fawn, he was adorable. We didn't take Fes because he was being too squirrelly, but he's going to watch them show tomorrow. I totally want another one, but we'll see.

We also went to Home Depot (as so many people do of a Saturday evening) and took Fes along. He was much admired of course, and fairly well-behaved.

Soon we'll be watching Dr. Who (I know it's a bit late in the evening, but we had issues with the download), then I think some reading before bed.

Hope you had a decent kinda day, too.

Random Bits

Since I seem to have no time to post when I actually think of something to say, there might be more of this type of "Combo" posts.

• The one good thing to come out of the aforementioned Oklahoma books segregation is discovering the LibraryLaw Blog. I've been looking for something like it for some time, and now I've found it. Yay!


• Bit of crisis at our house today. Seems that the MPAA has decided to actively pursue the destruction of the numerous BitTorrent sites that allow people to post and download U.S. shows. Since we live in the U.S., this would not normally be an issue; except that suddenly many of the sites we downloaded UK Television from also had U.S. ones as well, and many seem to have vanished overnight. This jeopardized our Dr. Who viewing, albeit only briefly. Due to fond childhood memories on the part of my spouse, Dr. Who must be viewed on Saturday night at 7:00 p.m. Fortunately, one of the sites we use has no American programs on it and seems to be conducting business as usual, so we were able to get tonight's episode downloaded and onto DVD with about 36 seconds to spare. It was in wide-screen, which was okay, but the video quality wasn't as good as our old site.

I really think what they're doing is silly. For *&^*^& sake, they just want to download the shows because they aren't shown in the UK yet! Be flattered! Use this as leverage to get better syndication prices. Don't take this away. Sure, come down hard on the people who post films currently being shown in theatres, but leave plain old television alone.

On another note, I got us really good seats to Wicked in September. I am also hoping for a good Le Miz seat for myself (can't ever see it enough) and maybe some White Christmas ones around the holidays as well.

The Staircase

I am trying to be good. Really. The proofing and indexing of Eccentric California is complete, and I will shortly begin proofing the maps. And I have a quiz due. And my head hurts sooooooo much, very likely some kind of allergy thing. So I have a lot to, but the Sundance Channel is trying to stop me.

See, they're showing The Staircase, and in my current state I can't help but be enraptured by it. This eight-part documentary about the Michael Peterson murder trial by the French director Jean Xavier de Lestrade is completely engrossing, largely because of its minutiae and his unprecedented level of access. You want to see what really goes on behind the scenes in a high-profile murder trial? Start watching this and you won't be able to stop.

The Kathernator

Without the benefit of even one Kennedy connection or action film to my credit, I have managed to reduce the California Deficit by a few billion dollars in the next decade. How, you ask?

By taking the California Budget Challenge at Next-Ten.org a fascinating new online "game" created to help Californians better understand what balancing the budget entails.

I read about it yesterday in the Chronicle and tried it out last night. Basically it gives you options about how you can balance or make changes to the budget, and what surplus or deficit you might create while doing it. It also shows you some of the repercussions of the choices you make.

It was interesting to do, and I learned a lot about how the it all comes together. Although I agree with some of those interviewed for the Chronicle article that there are often too few options. It would be great if the program allowed more innovation.

You know what? I still managed to be a nice, social service funding, education based budget that was about 4 billion better than where Schwarzenegger plans to be in 2015. Go, me!

Raped by Statute

Now that Ayelet Waldman seems to have had her meds adjusted, her Salon column is getting much more lucid. This week, she focuses on a case where an 18-year-old boy who had consensual oral sex with a 15-year-old and was sent to prison for 17 years, and what this says about how the sexuality of teenagers is perceived.

Total Geek-Out

I have tried to walk the straight and narrow. To keep my television viewing to a minimum, and not backslide into geekiness (except for Battlestar Galactica, which is so amazingly smart and good and dark that it almost completely erases the bitter memory that was the original series). But I have failed. And I'm actually okay with it. So I want the world to know...

I LOVE the new Dr Who. Seriously. Love it. It's edgy and witty and completely original, while still managing to be just enough B-movie. Christopher Eccleston is incredible, easily the best Doctor I've ever seen (and sadly, I've seen a few). Too bad he's leaving the show soon, and I don't know if it will be the same with David Tennant. But we'll see.

The husband downloads it as a BitTorrent from one of the many sites that support UK television, most notably KNova.com. I really like UKNova, despite the fact that they don't allow users to post anything that is available on DVD. In the UK. This means that my search for Sea of Souls continues, but at least if there's another series I can get it there.

Book of the Night: Red Water, by Judith Freeman.

Back, with a cold

I got back about 4:00 Sunday, but have been busy sleeping and thinking about stuff instead of posting. That and wishing for the pain to go away.

It appears that I have altitude issues. Reno was predictably quite dry, and now that I'm back closer to sea level I seem to have developed these excruciating sinus headaches as my body attempts to adjust. My current favorite hobbies are curling up in bed with the warm air humidifier on high OR sitting at my desk at work, head on the table, waiting for someone to help me end it all. Drugs do not seem to be helping, which is unfortunate.

Ouch.

No Book of the Night this evening, as my head hurts too much to actually fathom text.

In Reno

So today was the first day of the conference, and I am pretty much ready to go home.

I am not a writer, not like these people are. These people have talent, dedication, and futures. I'm a total fake, which is what I suspected. Everyone in my group (there are nine of us) is either in the same writing group, getting an MFA, or is extensively published. Then there's me. I guess I'm the cautionary tale, the one to make the others feel better. The teacher is incredible (she is Karen Joy Fowler, after all!), but it's pretty obvious that I am the worst one and the most out of place. Anyone who's surprised by this please raise your hand.

I kind of knew this was a mistake, but I was so excited about getting to work with someone whose stories I admire so much that I let that cloud my judgment. But this way it's better, because now I know that this isn't for me. Breaks my heart, but better that than pretending to be something I'm not.

Things I either remembered or discovered today

Since I've been such a gloomy creature the last few entries (I've been really down lately for some reason), I thought I'd share some fun things that I played with or discovered today. You may already be aware of some of them, but I don't care; this is about me.

• Getting In Touch With Your Inner Elmer: If you click on the Preferences link at the main page of Google, you can select the Interface Language you want to utilize. In addition to Greek, Farsi, and Catalan, you can also set it to Elmer Fudd. Which I have. It brings a whole new aspect to my Google Seawches. You can also pick Bork, Bork, Bork, which puts one in mind of the Swedish Chef. Klingon is also available.
• See Your House From Space: Also courtesy of Google. Google Maps now allows you to get a satellite view of any area, to zoom in and out, and to easily move East/West/North/South of your original location. Look for the option in the upper-right-hand corner of the screen. This is the result of Google purchasing Keyhole, a program that allowed you to look at satellite photos of anywhere in the U.S.

  The one thing I don't like about this interface is that the target location, i.e., your home, is noted by a mark over the space, so you can't actually see it. But still, you know it's there. And the Property Managers for the lot next door really need to get that grass mowed...

• Hope for the Return of Bovinity: Today I noticed that Ben and Jerry's has a new flavor, Fossil Fuel. It has the usual mixture of sweet chocolaty goodness, but with a bonus: it's also laced with tiny chocolate pterodactyls or tyrannosauri. I think this is the first time they have used tiny characters since the untimely retirement of Bovinity Divinity, which featured tiny dark and white chocolate cows (I am not counting Phish Food, because it's still in production). For some reason this is giving us hope that the Bovinity will soon return to us, but I'm not sure why. Our pint had lots of tyrannosauri, but no pterodactyls. Sigh!

Doesn't take much to brighten my day, does it?

Alan Dundes

Last week was a big week for death. In addition to Terri Schiavo, Johnnie Cochran, and The Pope, Alan Dundes also passed away. Who? Alan Dundes, folklorist extraordinaire. He Wednesday died while teaching a graduate seminar in Berkeley. Apparently he collapsed during a in mid rant against Marxist theory; that seems appropriate.

Prof. Dundes was an amazing man, one who essentially established folklore as a full-fledged academic discipline. He was funny, compassionate, and when you visited him he always made you feel welcome. When I moved to California and applied to Berkeley, it was because I wanted to study folklore with him. We met, and we talked, and while he liked my scholarship, he felt that my current lack of fluency in a second language would hinder hinder my pursuit of that particular degree. First rate mind with second-rate language skills. He was sure I could "pick one up", but as usual I was behind everyone else before I even started. So no MA in Folklore for me.

Still, he told me that he appreciated my mind and liked my ideas. That was important to me; I don't hear it much. Later, when I told him that I was going to become a librarian instead, he told me what a good idea he thought it was. "We'll find the lore, and you can preserve it." Works for me.

The New York Times published a wonderful obituary on Saturday that, I think, captures his spirit well.

I'll miss him a lot; they don't make 'em like him anymore.

Jesus rose or Fester was born: take your pick

I like it when holidays have dual opportunities for celebration. A little something for everyone, as it were. Today, for example, the religious (or Christian holiday-only religious posers) can celebrate Easter, while those of us who aren't so inclined may instead raise a glass to our dog's third birthday. Yes, Fes is three today, which makes him 21 in human years. Old enough for beer, old enough to vote. Where does the time go?

Later, naturally, there will be a celebration, with a cake and a bit of singing. Yes, we are freaks like that; we don’t have kids, okay? It's nice that Fester will be able to think that all of the well-dressed people (some in fabulous hats) are partying just for him. Happy birthday, Snuffle Pup!

Book of the Night: Mortal Memory (read Saturday) and Places in the Dark (began Friday, finished Saturday), both by Thomas H. Cook.

I read these for work, because he's a friend of the store. They did nothing for me.

INS Interview

Today we drove up to Sacramento for the big INS interview. This is the one where we basically have to prove, by a preponderance of documents, that we are an actual married couple and not just some random freaks that got hitched to get somebody a Green Card.

Things went fine. Initially the interviewer was very cold, disappointed that we didn't bring Richard's tax returns and surprised that our attorney hadn't accompanied us (most of the people there had attorneys, actually). But within a few questions it was easy enough to see that we were what we'd been, pretty much from the moment we met: two people who adore and complete one another.

Once his FBI clearance is complete, his Green Card will be issued. Yay!

Just paint a giant L on my head

Today, for the first time in my life, I wore two entirely different shoes. Had I not happened to look down at my feet while talking about how comfortable Birkenstocks were, I may never have noticed.

While they were the same color and even from the same shoe family, they were pretty obviously not a pair. One was an Arizona, one was a Boston.

I pretty much hid at my desk all day, answering inter-office calls by the few people who knew about my dysfunction and wanted me to come to their offices so they could laugh at me when I said no.

The husband tried to make me feel better by telling me that he'd once worn fuzzy slippers on an outing around Colwyn Bay. But he was nine years old; it just isn't the same thing.

Got Unruly Children?

Don't wait for them to run off and join the circus, be proactive and sign them up!

A conversation with my mother today led me to the link above. It seems that her neighbor's teenage daughter, who has always been an extremely shy child, was being heavily bullied at school and as a result had "fallen in with a bad crowd" (per her father). Their solution? For father and daughter to relocate to Minneapolis, where the girl could enroll in high school and attend Circus School about 16-20 hours per week. Dr. Mom, a Psychiatrist and the family breadwinner, remains behind in Omaha, continuing to support the family and visiting occasionally.

I think that a school like that will teach her self-discipline, build her self-esteem and give her a sense of power; it sounds like a great thing for someone who feels powerless. But is this the only place where she can get that? Seems strange to me.

In Search of Pink Naugahyde

We went to the White Elephant Sale today, in search of random things like area rugs, a bike (him), and a rocking chair (me). I found one, but three minutes too late; some other guy had already snagged it. This was due entirely to my inability to see white furniture; because I loathe white furniture; I seem unable to process it when I encounter it out in the world. If I did not have this disability, I would have seen that the exquisite rocking chair (not Mission style, but almost as good) swathed in heavy white paint could have easily been stripped and become the perfect rocker. Sigh! I know I'll find one at some point, I'd just rather it be sooner than later.

As for books, of which there were thousands, I did really well and only bought five. Considering that they were 1/2 off the marked price (about $.50 - $3.00 per book), this is a huge thing for me. I really need to weed through the books we have again and take the non-essentials up to Powells, where we could sell them and purchase still more books. We're talking about venturing North for the Memorial Day, but I don't know if I can do the drive.

As much as I wanted to enjoy the sale, I knew that I would not find what I ultimately wanted, so the whole thing was a bit tainted. No matter how long I look I don't think I will ever again recapture the sheer kitchiness that was my pink naugahyde loveseat.

Back when I lived in Portland, shortly before creatures emerged from the sea, I had a pink naugahyde loveseat. Charlotte and I found it in a thrift store off Burnside, and it was one of the most hideous things I had ever seen. An affront to proper furniture really, and I knew then that I must have it. Did I mention that it was a faded, bubble-gum pink? That pretty much sealed the deal, despite the fact that I hate pink furniture nearly as much as I hate white.

I think it was made in the sixties, although aside from the slightly faded look it was in great shape. Design-wise it looked like this except that it could be split in two so that you could separate them if needed. I put a phone table between them, and it was the most comfortable place in the world to take calls. This was before e-mail or the proliferation of cell phones, when communication took place mainly through telephones that restricted your movement by virtue of being very heavy and having cords that reminded one of childbirth. You could sit back and have a nice cup of tea and a long chat in the loveseat, which I often did. Eric and I used to spend hours on the phone, chatting about men and trying to understand them, helping each other through life. He envied the loveseat, although he had some wonderfully eclectic bits of furniture himself. It was nice to be envied for something by him, even pale pink pieces of naugehyde. He had so much compared to me.

When I moved from Portland to Madison I made sure the loveseat accompanied me. I left books behind to ensure that there was space for the loveseat, which should make it pretty clear how I felt about it. While searching for an apartment I left it in the care of my mother in her basement, eliciting her promise that the loveseat could remain there until I could come and get it. Thirty days later, when I returned, the loveseat was gone. My mother had found it an affront to numerous things apparently, and donated it to the Salvation Army. Or St. Vincent de Paul; maybe to the Junior League, she really couldn't remember. She did, however, know that it was not proper furniture for an adult, which is something she hoped I would one day be. The loveseat mocked her somehow, and once this barrier was removed I would surely be able to find a husband, an "adult" job, and settle down. Instead, I spent three days searching every thrift store, charity boutique and antique store in hopes of finding my treasure to no avail. The loveseat was gone.

I miss my loveseat. As silly as it is to attach importance to possessions, it meant a lot to me. The loveseat reminded me of a time when I was happy, perhaps for the first time in my life. A time when my friends and I were never closer and things were never more possible. There was all the time in the world, and Eric was alive. So every place I go, every thrift store or sale I pass, I look for the loveseat. Sometimes I even start calling places randomly, sure that a description would be enough to determine if the loveseat was there. But it never is. I guess in some strange way I think it's looking for me, too, and that one day we'll find one another.

Just not today.

Book of the Night: The Female Malady: Women, Madness and English Culture 1830-1980, by Elaine Showalter. And it only cost $.50.

More Proof That Bored Engineers Are Dangerous

Look. It's a giant nintendo mural made of post-it notes. Don't say I never gave you anything.

Book of the Night: It's My Party Too: The Battle for the Heart of the GOP and the Future of America, by Christine Todd Whitman.

Death Spectrum

Sandra Dee and Hunter S. Thompson. The only reason I would possibly mention them in the same sentence is if they died on the same day. Which they did.

Don't really know what else to say. Hunter, I'll miss your irreverence. There had to be another way.

Book of the Night: The Way the Crow Flies, by Ann Marie Macdonald.

If this were somehow true, I would not be shocked

just oddly comforted that some feelings I have about her are valid. I've always thought she looked a bit Báthory around the eyes. I understand that she's an abstinence-only kinda gal, too, which would certainly give her access to virgins.

Scary Muffins

Words you may have heard spoken before, but not for the same reason.

Trust me.

NOTE: Perhaps not to be viewed when drunk or dropping anything. Like acid.

Book of the Night:: Burnt Bread and Chutney: Growing Up Between Cultures - A Memoir of an Indian Jewish Childhood, by Carmit Delman

Compare and Contrast

This woman spent the last 71 days sailing around the world. Alone.

I, on the other hand, have just tamed all of the paperwork on my desk by encasing it in file folders.