Money for Nothing

Hey, guess what? I found this post in my list of unpublished drafts, originally penned (keyboarded) last August, but sadly, still quite valid. I apologize for two things: One, that I haven't kept up with my blog since last fall, and two, that this post is not a sunshiny poetic ode to something pretty--oh, and that it contains a fair amount of profanity. Ok, THREE; three things...

This won't be pretty, but I have something of a fair amount of import to say. I'm really fed up with the groaning masses who bitch about how much everything sucks (a lot of things certainly do, I'm not faulting them on that count) as far as the current state of social services, health care, road conditions, education, and a neverending list of other things we really need--and then shoot down every single damn piece of legislature for raising taxes whenever there's a vote. And then, of course, they continue to bitch about the state of social services, health care, road conditions, education, and the neverending list of... WTF?! What's the matter with people? Are that many of us really so incredibly dense that we don't understand that all these really neat benefits of living in a governed society have to be paid for by something? Like taxes? Fucking DUH, people!!! I'm really much too pissed off about this to use eloquent adjectives and formal language (or eschew profanity); please forgive me.

California's debt passed the 26 BILLION mark in the middle of July (and continues to rise). State employees are now being forced to take furlough days 3 to 4 days per month. Meaning they don't work and they don't get paid. The University of California is actually considering closing campuses for a year, or at least not admitting ANY freshman classes for the next school year. Fifty million young children will lose their health insurance this year as the funding for state-funded health care evaporates. Fifty million. Assistance for disabled people is going to be slashed drastically. And Californians are evidently ok with all of these horrible things because they refuse to pay more taxes to help us get a foothold out of this mess. If it will help us keep these vital programs running, I'll pay more. Gladly. I can barely pay my own bills, but god DAMN how else are we going to fix this?

I do realize that repairing the economy is a vastly complex matter--too much so to be dealt with by simply paying more taxes and hoping everything will magically fall into place, but %#@$! it's a step in the right direction! Things cost money. This is simply the world we live in. If we want to keep our roads safe, our children educated and healthy, and our disabled cared for, we need to shell out some bucks. All of us. Even if you don't have a child of your own, even if you don't ever want to go to college, even if you're not related to anyone disabled. It's called being a contributing member of society--this pervasive "I've got mine, screw you!" mentality is eroding everything good about living in this country.

One little coda: I do not always approve of what my government does with the money I provide through the taxes I pay, but enough other good things can be done with that money that I still consider it a reasonably good investment. I simply cannot understand for the life of me how millions of people can so vociferously denounce the condition of EVERYTHING the government provides us, and then get equally up in arms about not wanting to pay for it. Living in a country with such a huge population, you simply cannot have something for nothing (despite what the guys in Dire Straits say....)

Don't look now, there's something really kinky in your silverware drawer...

The other morning I when I was doing laundry, I found a plastic bag at the bottom of my closet containing a roll of duct tape, a turkey baster, and some rags. I was momentarily freaked out by the discovery--what kind of twisted perversity was this? Then I recognized the smell of motor oil and brake fluid emanating from the rags and realized that this was a legitimate, unperverted assortment of items that had been used when my friend helped me work on my car a few months ago. Whew. That was a bit of a scare, though: not only can I not imagine (I'm trying very hard not to, believe me) what kind of lewdness you can inflict upon another person with a turkey baster, I couldn't imagine why whoever was inflicting such lewdness upon another person with a turkey baster would leave it in my closet afterward. Creeped-out shivering commenced.

Yes, that's a chick working on a car during WW II, before the menfolk came home and she had to go back to vacuuming and making cupcakes.

I will now ruin the comedic value of this anecdote by telling you what automotive application the turkey baster actually served: refilling the cells of my battery with water. And the duct tape helped me discover that there was indeed a big tear in my air intake hose that was causing my car to lose so much power: I covered what looked like a tear in the hose with the tape and then started my car again to see if the problem was resolved. It was. I could have left it all taped up like that and saved myself quite a lot of money (dealership-only part: $93) but I knew it would wear out again at some point and I wanted to save myself the hassle. Not to mention that we were already covered in grime from working on my car all day, so it seemed like an opportune moment to change it.

I have to say that I derive a large amount of satisfaction from playing with mechanical things and getting dirty. Quite simply, I'm happiest when I'm working with my hands--one of the reasons I enjoy archaeology so much. Besides, there's something really childishly glee-inducing about covering yourself in black gunk in the process. While this is extremely belated, I do need to send out a big public thank you to Ciro for all his help that day. I couldn't have done it without him. He did all the hardest chores, like changing the spark plugs and adding water to the battery (things filled with acid scare me). I'm sure he did much more than that, but I can't remember everything we did that day. I can, however, claim responsibility for taking off the old intake hose and putting on the new one all by myself. Mostly. This may sound like a simple procedure (it should have been!), but that air hose was one convoluted and cantankerous piece of black rubber. I believe at one point both Ciro and I were wrestling with it simultaneously and practically crawling on top of the engine block trying to maneuver it into place.

Gee, isn't blogging fun, kids? Segueing from an aberrant use of kitchen utensils to home car repair in 100 words or fewer is quite an accomplishment, if I say so myself. Thank you, life, for providing such a rich and neverending stream of absurdities to fuel my literary aspirations, small as they are.

For those of you who don't quite get how the blue bottle at the top of the page ties in with today's story-- it doesn't. I couldn't find anything (at least nothing decent) to illustrate this post the way I wanted to, so I thought I would treat you to this gorgeous drawing by my dear friend Wendy. She drew that with colored pencils. Colored pencils!! Yes, she's extremely talented, and you can look at more of her stuff here. There is also a lot of really good stuff is on her blog, especially since you can see the works as they progress through all their stages. Check it out!

Never do a Google image search for the word "Hot" (what was I thinking?)

Most of the people where I live are overjoyed that summer has finally arrived in all of its sweltering glory. As you can tell by my choice of adjectives, I'm not as happy about it. I prefer a cool breeze and some nice clouds. Besides, now I can't go to the beach because it's one long traffic jam for miles and miles before you get there. Not to mention that my enjoyment of the grand outdoors is greatly diminished by the presence of teeming hordes of human beings in various stages of undress. This really isn't my main gripe, however; I haven't been going to the beach as much as I used to during the past few years anyway--I think I'm just miffed because now the option is out should I decide I do want to go--what really drives me to swear that I'm moving to the Pacific Northwest once and for all is the heat.

I simply do not like being hot. Dry heat, humid heat--it all makes me equally cranky. Heat makes me feel foggy-headed and listless and sullen. I get irritable. Cold I can deal with; you can nearly always put more layers on or find a fireplace or someone to cuddle with or drink vodka or something. But when it's hot there are only so many clothes you can take off without getting arrested, and then if it's still hot there's nothing left you can do to alleviate the misery. I do not have air conditioning, and while my ceiling fans do provide a bit of relief, they only keep me cool if I'm absolutely still. The moment I expend the tiniest amount of energy or lift one toe off the floor I get all sweaty. I took a shower this afternoon but I already feel sticky and nasty all over again. If I weren't such a tree-hugging hippie-type I would take five cold showers a day, but we've been experiencing a prolonged drought down here. To be truthful, my conscience wouldn't allow me to waste that much water no matter what the rainfall levels were like.

It was so hot today that if I spoke on the phone to someone longer than about a minute the crease of my elbow started to sweat profusely. My elbow!! It was so hot that I put in my contacts because I just couldn't stand to have my glasses weighing on my face anymore. It was so hot that the cat was sleeping in the bathtub. It was so hot that I've been pretty much naked all day (except when I went outside; I'm no exhibitionist). It's still so hot this late in the evening that I'm contemplating my second visit of the day to the new popsicle shop in my neighborhood.


Two positive things I've managed to acknowledge about the heat: my clothes dried astoundingly quickly when hung up to dry, and those popsicles are utterly delicious, cool you down nicely, and are good for you, too. I think I'll try the cucumber chili one next time...

Dressing, Watermelon, Chaos*

Having noticed that my last post is only two days shy of being one month old, I'm freshly determined to write more than once per week. Maybe even twice. Definitely more than once a month! And if I don't have anything to say, I will find somebody who does.

I've been reading again, which makes me extremely happy. It dawned on me about six weeks ago that I hadn't had a good book in my life for over two months, maybe even three; I have no sense of time. That's unheard of in my world. Not that I have no sense of time--that's well documented--the not reading thing. What's more, I realized that this caused me an unexpected amount of grief. It is absolutely no exaggeration to say it approached a physical longing; I felt a real, tangible hunger to read in almost the exact same way you feel hungry for good food. It hurt.

I fixed it immediately by buying another Haruki Murakami novel with the gift card I had gotten for my birthday. It was so good that I had re-read the entire thing at least twice by the time I got to the last page. It was bleak and beautiful and rich and absurd and otherworldly. The kind of book that fills you with joy even if the subject is stark and melancholy. The kind of book that makes you feel orphaned and inconsolable when it ends. It's called Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, and it's full of solemn mystical beasts, mafia-type thugs, evil-minded subterranean creatures, librarians, information thieves, and four main characters whose names you never learn.

Try some:

Every last thing about this elevator was worlds apart from the cheap die-cut job in my apartment building, scarcely one notch up the evolutionary scale from a well bucket. You'd never believe the two pieces of machinery had the same name and the same purpose. The two were pushing the outer limits conceivable as elevators. ...

... I stood in that hermetically sealed vault for what seemed an eternity. The doors showed no sign of ever opening. Stationary in unending silence, a still life: Man in Elevator.

this is the main character singing a Russian folksong he learned as a child:

I didn't know any more of the lyrics, so I made some up: Everyone's gathered around the fire--the pechka--when a knock comes at the door and Father goes to inquire, and there's a reindeer standing on wounded feet, saying, "I'm hungry, give me something to eat"; so they feed it canned peaches. In the end, everyone's sitting around the stove, singing along.

and one more setting:

After three days of snow appears a sudden sky of clarity. Rays of sun spill a blinding glare upon the frozen white Town. I hear snow falling from branches everywhere. I stay indoors and draw the curtains against the light, but I cannot escape. The ice-encrusted Town refracts like a huge, many-faceted jewel, sending knives of light to stab my eyes.

There is so much more, and of course I can't possibly convey the soul and beauty of the book in a few short excerpts. But it is difficult to choose even this much to share --there is so little I can quote without giving away integral elements of the story. What I can do for you is suggest that you hie yourself to a library or bookstore and read some Murakami yourself. The Elephant Vanishes is a good place to start--a collection of short stories to test the waters and see if they please you.

*The title of chapter 11
••all photos © David J. Nightingale 2003-09••

I just really like this

I don't think anyone lives in it. If you want to know more, go here.

The Biggest Bun

I'm talking rabbits, here, folks. But I can't honestly say that I wasn't pleased with that awkward and cryptic title...

It's nice to know that when life is taking a steam roller to my soul I can still manage to amuse myself with just a few well-chosen words. Usually with a funny animal amongst them. Did you know that ducks are the funniest animals in the world? (click on Fun Facts at the bottom right) Research has shown it, friends, and science doesn't lie. However, I think rabbits may be a good runner up. Especially the one I saw yesterday. S and I were driving home, and as we passed Trolley Barn Park, we saw two, yes two! animals that made us ridiculously happy. The first was the biggest damn bunny I have ever seen. The man carrying it had to use two arms and the poor creature was kind of draped over his forearm like a big floppy... floppy... something that flops a lot. Big, floppity brown ears splaying out to the side every which way. White, fluffy tummy exposed to the world. Little fluffity tail-poof puncuating it all. S promptly named him Bun-zilla. BUNZILLA! That just made it all the more glee-inducing.

And then, within just a few seconds of the mega-bun sighting, a tiny 1960s convertible sporstcar zoomed by with a gigantic dog hanging his head out the passenger side. Wearing goggles.* I kid you not! That dog was retro-cool, peoples.
*Or doggles, as they're properly called. Think I'm kidding? Click the damn link! GO on, I dare you. Doggles!

Midnight Blather and Flammulation

Or, How Much Better the World Would Be if Everyone Read the Dictionary Regularly. At least, it would be more fun...

Okay, so it's not quite midnight yet, but I'm sure I've got the blathering part down solid. Transitions are tough. I love that I have a new job, and I love the new job itself, but I'm not used to the schedule yet. I'm also still in a little bit of limbo as far as my duties go—during most of the week I'm the media department go-to, but for the next several Saturdays I'm back to being 100% Tour Guide Chick. I can handle switching back and forth; in truth, I like variety and change. It's exciting. But the sad fact is that I really function better with routine.
Blah blah blah blah blah...

How dreadfully boring. Not only am I seriously blathering, but it's not even in the slightest bit an interesting kind of blather.


And now for something completely different!

So let me tell you about the new word I discovered yesterday in the midst of a wildly successful game of Scrabble:

feculent

Lovely little word! The root derives from feces...have you figured it out yet? It means filthy, nasty, or just plain covered in poop. Wonderful! Please do not pretend that you do not find poop funny. Of course you do, or you would not be human.

And I just now discovered another positively perky and precise little word: flammulated. FLAMMULATED!! Get flammulated, will you? Actually, you could if you were blushing—it means "of a reddish color; ruddy." Like flame, you see? The funny thing is that this word is used mostly just to describe one particular tiny owl native to North and Central America. The flammulated owl: Otus flammeolus.

By the way, flammulation really is a word, too. Use it in conversation tomorrow! Amaze your friends! It means a small flamelike marking. I needed a word to describe that, didn't you? How I love English. So many words; so many words to describe one small detail of one small thing that only 0.4% of the population even knows about. It truly is an extravagant and ridiculous language. And absolutely wonderful.

Running right along with that train of thought, did you know that deer poop is so special it gets its own name? Yep. Fewmets. Deer poop and deer poop only. Other types of poo need not apply. And there's actually a word fecundify. It just gets better and better, doesn't it? I'm going to make you look that last one up yourself if you don't know it. I can't do all the work around here—I need to get to bed!

footnotes:
1. All definitions were taken from the OED shorter edition
2. Above Scrabble catfight brought to you by a French advertisement for a Scrabble tournament
3. If you google scrabble images you will get some interesting results...

Juice Paradox

So there I was, enjoying a tasty box of apple juice from our neato vending machine at work that only vends healthy or at least not-so-unhealthy snacks—things like kombucha, miniscule stir-fry entrées, Clif bars, nuts, and organic cookies and chips. This machine has been a lifesaver on multiple occasions when I either forgot my lunch or just didn't bring enough to eat. I absolutely love that we have so many tasty and healthy things to choose from. I've never seen a vending machine like this anywhere else, and that's a real shame; I'm sure that a surprising number of people would choose to snack on something other than a candy bar if they had the option to do so.

But I digress. I have an issue with this apple juice. The front graphic proclaimed proudly:

"100% Juice!"

But then along the bottom it said "100% APPLE JUICE, from concentrate with other added ingredients." Huh? Wait a minute—which is it: all juice, or concentrate with added STUFF in it? It can't be both without violating the laws of physics, so come on, fess up to the facts! If they had a 1-800 number I would call them up like my friend Adrian used to do and grill them about the contradiction. I suppose if I really wanted to bother them, I could look up the company online (Back to Nature, for those of you who may feel compelled to take up the cause) and get their number that way.

But I've got other things to do.

It's Nice to Know Who You Are

Today I finally learned how to say my new job title correctly. I am the Media Department Assistant at Stone. OOOooooooooo. I'm not sure yet how I feel about having the kind of job that obligates me to launch into a detailed explanation when asked what I do--stating only the title causes folks to tilt their heads sideways and give me that "Baroo?" kind of look. Saying I was an archaeologist was really fun, because it's like telling someone you're a microbiologist or a zookeeper--they may not have a clear idea of what you actually do at work every day, but it sounds really cool. Being a tour guide at Stone isn't quite as high on the rock star barometer, but at least people generally know what it means without further exposition.

That said, I rather like being a Media Department Assistant. I've never had a three-word job title before (puffing up chest and swelling with pride). And it can be a lot of fun, even though it may sound a bit stuffy. Nothing stuffy about it. And it is most definitely not anything remotely secretarial, despite the "assistant" bit.
I very very rarely have to use the phone (thank god for that!!). And I get to satisfy my compulsive editing habits and get paid for it. So far, each day has presented a new series of tasks completely different from those of the day before, which keeps tedium well at bay. I'm often required to go visit folks in other departments to glean information from them--usually I do this with a pad of paper and pen in hand to take notes while they talk to me. I'm practicing tilting my head to the side and raising one eyebrow slightly so I look more intelligent and thoughtful during these little impromptu interviews. I want to start wearing a snappy business suit and 1940s platform pumps and a fedora with a press pass stuck in the hatband. And talk like Katharine Hepburn in Bringing up Baby. I can dream can't I?

I also write snippets of prose for our website and calendars to describe upcoming events; today I wrote an email announcement for one of our listservs with 852 subscribers. I feel famous in a wholly unrecognized and anonymous sort of way. And I have to admit it makes me proud when I walk through the lobby of the restaurant and pass by a huge 7-foot high poster with a bunch of stuff I wrote on it. Sure, it's full of cheesy catch phrases, it's nothing profound in the slightest, and it's unsigned and nobody knows I wrote it, but it makes me gleefully and quietly happy anyway. Isn't that all that matters? That I like what I do? One of the more important elements of my job is keeping the chain of communication open between everybody involved in the multitude of events at Stone, like special dinners, movies in the summer, and our super awesome Beer U classes. Not as glamorous as writing paragraphs full of adjectives and exclamation points for our various publicly accessible media, but pretty dang essential.

And then occasionally I have to watch movies (long, belabored sigh). I know, it's rough. Actually, the other day it was kind of rough. I spent a few hours watching various bits of School of Rock over and over and over trying to sift through it all and find four suitable snippets to use as previews during future movie nights. It's much more tedious than you would think. I probably watched certain segments of that film more than 25 times. In a row. I never ever ever want to see that movie ever again. It's ruined for me. Although Jack Black singing the "Step Off" song and prancing around the classroom making ridiculous faces still makes me smile against my will.

Sticker Shock

My medical insurance company just raised my monthly premium to $640.00. For myself only, and still having to pay $35.00 every time I see a doctor or get a non-generic prescription filled. I simply can't afford it; more specifically, I can't afford to pay both the new premium and my rent in the same month. I will probably be much more articulate (and outraged) about the subject later, but for now, not without irony, I am pretty sick. All I can say at the moment is that I am hugely relieved that the patent for Cipro has finally expired and I was able to get the generic for six bucks at Target tonight. Now if only I could afford to stay home from work and recuperate...

It's 1 a.m., Do You Know Where Your Mind Is?

I sure don't. I seem to be suffering from one of those prolonged bouts of puttering/cleaning/finding anything at all I can possibly do that will keep me from going to bed. Why am I so afraid of the bed tonight? It's a mystery. But I can tell you with absolute certainty that the number of trivial things I can find to occupy myself in the middle of the night is infinite.

For example, I just spent an absurd amount of time analyzing the demographics of a tub of Trader Joe's Organic Animal Crackers left over from my birthday party last Saturday. Okay, so I didn't do a full census on percentages of different animal types within the population, but I do know that there are thirteen different animals represented in the collection. I say represented because out of those thirteen, only three are positively identifiable as a specific creature that inhabits our planet. There is a camel, recognizable by its hump and longish neck, a horse, made horselike by its suggestion of mane and a long nose, and a cow with a little stub by the back leg/s that must be meant to look like an udder. Of the more vague varieties, one of the blobby-shaped cookies looks sort of like a bear, and another makes me think of a goat although I can't exactly figure out why, and yet another is surely meant to be an elephant but is totally frightening to behold and would make any real elephant stomp its big feet in terror and dismay.

I'm a bit dismayed by the species bias represented in this collection of animals. Every single one is a large land mammal--I know that you are asking how I can be sure of this when I just stated how amorphous most of the shapes are. Well, they've all got four legs and just, well, they just LOOK like big land mammals, all right? There are definitely no wings, flippers, or fins in the bunch. No cute little rodent ears or tails. No centipedes. No bats. And I'm absolutely positive that no one even considered putting a South African clawed toad in there. If you want to dispute my assertions, by all means go get yourself your own tub of animal crackers to pore through. Just make sure it's at least 12:40 a.m. before you start.

Heretic Blues

I've started many exciting literary journeys of late, but not a one has made it to the "published" sphere of this blog space. I want to remedy this; my fans are counting on me! (Oh, the joys of tongue-in-cheek phrasing) So without further ado or snide, self-deprecating remarks, here's a post for you--freshly raised from the dead; reanimated if you will; saved from the purgatory of the draft folder:

It's tough being a heathen in a country that celebrates a lot of Christian holidays. Sometimes it really gets in the way of my daily routine. Like today, for example: Jesus screwed up my laundry. Boy, did he ever!

I have only recently begun enjoying the luxury of having days off. Because I was working so much previously, my household duties have been shirked and bypassed and overlooked and just generally not done. I am just now beginning to catch up. As you might imagine, working seven days a week and not having access to a washing machine outside of a laundromat, my laundry has gotten a little out of hand. Today, however, I woke up happy, knowing that I could finally tackle the mountain of accumulated textiles in my basket. I had big plans. I was going to put three and a half loads in one of those giant machines at the laundromat, which would have been done washing in only 23 minutes. Then I was planning on bringing it all home to dry, which would allow me the time to finish my state taxes and do my nebulizer medication before I went in to work. The post-brewery schedule: a nice run and some really vigorous housecleaning. Such grandiose plans. But alas, it was not to be. Jesus had other ideas.

It's Easter!












Because the whole country has to screech to a halt in homage to a cool dude who died 2,000 years ago, and whose magical resurrection from said expiration is celebrated by 3/4 of our nation's citizens, the laundromat is closed and I am screwed. I ended up getting to wash only one small load of the whole towering mess, and that was accomplished late at night by sneaking into the laundry room of a friend's apartment complex. I don't like doing stealth laundry. It makes me feel morally compromised. And being sneaky and morally compromised on Easter seems even more wrong and depraved than it would on any other day. All this stress and guilt and philosophical hand-wringing--all over a pile of laundry.

Dang, Jesus, give me a break!

Ah well, I can still rest peacefully tonight because he loves me anyway, according to all the bumperstickers...he's a nice guy and all.

An Offering

Since I'm still having a fairly prolonged bout of writer's block, I'm rewriting an older unpublished post. Remember back in February when I was so pleased about finally writing a poem after a several-year hiatus? (I actually wrote two, but that's hardly the point) Well, here it is at last--I've decided to share it after all. I’ve tweaked it a bit since its first inception, and I’m sure I’ll continue to edit, but please enjoy my first foray back into the short verse world of words. Hmmmm, that last phrase sounded nice, too...

I know I said this before, but I think it's really worth emphasizing--it's hard for me to publicize my writing. Sure, I write on this public blog all the time, but poetry is another matter. It's so much more intensely personal, and I can't explain precisely why. After all, this poem isn't about me in any way. But I suppose it is about me in the way that poetry reflects the deepest and most personal core of my soul; the things that make me who I am. It's like peeling open my ribcage and showing you what's inside--a bit uncomfortable.

With that said, the other poem I posted back in February seemed to cure me of my stage fright--nothing untoward happened as a result; the world continued to zoom around the sun the same old way it has for millennia; no lambs laid down with lions, and nobody wrote me any hate mail. I think I'm okay. So, enough preamble (it's way longer than the poem!), here it is:

Summer

August days are neverending--
the unyeilding phalanx of noon
marches its way across the entire day,
claiming everything in its path.
endless afternoons paint blinding yellows
across landscapes
bleaching houses to bone.
Only when the sun has recalled its army
can we lift our chests to draw full breaths.
Flattened cities rise again
as Autumn's children filter lightly
through the streets,
preceded by the thousand bells
of their bronze and silver laughter.

2-11-09

Apologies to my friend Summer, who is neither phalanx-like nor oppressive. She’s quite the opposite--probably named after the positive qualities that most people associate with the season: carefree days, warm rays of sunshine and lilting waves, a lightness of being.

I think I like this poem, but I'm not sure yet. What matters most to me is that it felt really good to write it. I'm satisfied with that.

Stymied

I just wanted an excuse to write the word "stymie." Really, it's a great word. Plus, I've been trying unsuccessfully to write a decent blog post for two days. So far I've gone through about five titles and managed to write "Dogs are cool. And I'm going to write about them later." That's all. I even stole the above photo from someone else's blog (I couldn't find her name, but it was taken in a rainforest somewhere in British Columbia. I promise not to publish it or pretend it's mine)

Rough times for my intellect, apparently. I've been very busy lately taking great care of my physical health, but it appears that I haven't mastered the art of improving my mental self simultaneously with the bodily self. I just can't write! I have, however, been yoga-ing diligently, I've been to the gym several times, and until I came up here to Seattle, I was eating ridiculously healthy meals (the last two days I've slipped into a routine of hash browns, cups of melted dark chocolate, and Belgian open-faced sandwiches smothered in Gruyere cheese). Even now, up here in the grand Northwest on my mini-vacation, I just finished a grueling 6-mile ride on the stationary bike with an epilogue of several yoga poses and stretches. And right this second I am dutifully puffing away on my nebulizer medication.

So, I got the health part down. Why can't I write anything interesting? I'm in a beautiful city full of brick buildings, racing clouds, happy dogs, coffee shops and huge trees. I should be inspired as hell.

Perhaps I'm not drinking enough good beer. I've only had one since I got up here. Hmmmmm....I do believe that I just identified the root of the problem...

Happy Car, Happy Kathryn

What a goddamn great day I'm having!! And what a change from my last post, eh? It turns out that the antibiotic I was taking for my sinus infection was a major part of my crabbiness of the past week or so. I was not only spectacularly irritable, but I was also experiencing bouts of moderate anxiety, and feeling horribly exhausted to boot. I decided to read the info sheet that came with the medicine (I'd taken it before which is why I didn't do this sooner) and discovered that not only are these all known side effects, but they are listed in the serious side effects category. I stopped taking it that night. My mood is so much improved now it's kinda shocking. I hadn't realized how awful I felt until I stopped taking it--the contrast is truly astounding. I was alternately amusing/annoying people at work on Monday because I was so spazzy-happy and hyper. I'm free!

Today I'm also verging on euphoric, but for non drug-related reasons: I had an awesome workout this morning, I took care of some maintenance on my car, I've gotten a fair amount of chores done already, had a super delicious healthy lunch, and got some quality play time with my adorable cat.

After my morning workout, I took my car in to get an oil change that was desperately needed. The last time I did this was cough9thousandcough cough miles ago. Yipes! So now my car sounds a lot better and I can stop stressing about getting it in to be changed. Plus, the guy who owns the shop I went to was super super friendly and honestly more interested in keeping me as what he called a "customer for life" than making a little more money. I have known for a few months that my tires are getting badly worn, and he noticed it too. The great part is that I had told him that I'm in a tough place financially, so he offered to change my tires for $160--that's $90 less than their usual price. He also assured me that I could drive safely on the ones I have now for another two months or so, which made me feel a lot better. I had been worrying about my tires blowing up on the road, compounded by the fact that I didn't have enough money to do anything about it. I ended up having a good 10-minute chat with him and left feeling really happy: happy that my car is taken car of and happy that there are still small business owners out there who care more about the quality of human interaction and doing honest work than the fleeting joy of a badly earned dollar.

While I was waiting for my car, I decided to take a walk around the neighborhood--it's fairly close to where I live, but far enough away that I haven't walked through this part in a long while. I had a great time. I saw lots of beautiful old houses. I petted a friendly white roly-poly cat. I rescued a bee. I played a game with myself to find the oldest section of sidewalk in that area (1914!). I watched the clouds changing shape as they rushed across the sky. I annoyed a grumpy old lady. I saw a dilapidated grey house that looked like it was being eaten alive by a huge mound of morning glory vines. My favorite part was when I found a wild happy yard that had no lawn but was totally overgrown with clover, sourgrass, and various crazy wildflowers. It was green and voluptuous and gorgeous and I just couldn't resist stepping gently to the center of the yard to pick some sourgrass flowers to munch on (you don't want to eat the ones next to the sidewalk unless you like your flowers glazed with a fine essence of dog pee).

To top off all the fun, I made some of the best homemade burritos I've had in a while. They were so amazingly tasty that I'm going to write down the recipe for you:

I sauteed one half a large organic carrot (diced) in olive oil till it was just past crunchy. Then I added one can of organic black beans, a can of organic diced tomatoes, half a can of corn, some oregano, a little cumin, a little salt, about a tablespoon of salsa, and a splash of liquid aminos. I let this simmer for a while, and then added about 16 quartered kalamata olives.

Holy crap it was good! And so easy! Seriously, you won't believe how yummy it is. SO yummy that you won't even need cheese (I haven't had cheese in my house for over two months in an effort to be healthier and more vegan-like). Ahhhhhhh...happy full tummy, happy exercised and tired muscles, happy car filled with clean oil, happy satiated kitty stretched out in the sunny windowsill. Happy.

I am Crabby

I apologize in advance for what you are about to read; normally I pride myself in NOT having the kind of blog where I rant endlessly about my pet peeves and write about what I had for breakfast. I strive to keep it positive and avoid making a laundry list of tedious daily details. While I know a few other people (at least four now!) find this blog enjoyable, I do it mostly for me: it provides a means to flex my synapses a bit, and I usually end up entertaining the heck out of myself in the process.

However, I have been beset by grumpiness and negative emotions all day. Allow me to elaborate on two things that really cranked up the annoyance factor while I was out running errands. The first thing I noticed is that people are really, really lazy. Even to the point where it negatively impacts their own comfort levels. Isn’t that a paradox? I went to Target earlier to pick up some prescriptions and parked at the far end of the lot--the very end--because there were trees there and I wanted to park in the shade. It’s a warm day out. But 98% of all the other cars in the lot were parked right up next to the building’s entrance. Some folks were even circling around to get the closest spot possible rather than leave their cars a little further down and walk. I find this hard to believe--most people evidently would rather come back to a baking hot car that’s been sitting in the sun than walk an extra 1/8 mile and park in the shade. Baffling.

The other thing that’s been bouncing around in my head like a ferret on coke is this: a lot of new music these days bites. I feel a bit like an old codger shaking my fist at the sky and yelling, “Kids these days!” But honestly, so much of what’s popular on the radio today all sounds the same (one exception being the Fleet Foxes, of whom I am recently much enamored). Today, I was thinking in particular that Franz Ferdinand, Louie the 14th, and Kings of Leon all sound like the same repetitive whiny band. They shall henceforth be referred to collectively as “Kings of Ferdinand the 14th.” End of discussion.

To ameliorate all the vitriol I’ve been spewing, here’s a visual treat. The one thing that brightened my day was the girl I saw crossing the street on my way home. She was wearing a funky blue plaid top and had vivid orange and yellow shaggy hair made even brighter in the sunlight, and it just made me smile. Kids these days.

Robots Made Me Break the Law

Last week I got a traffic ticket for the first time in 17 years–and that one was for going the wrong way down a poorly marked, deserted, very dark one-way alley, hardly a premeditated felonious offense. This time, I was speeding. I was going very fast. Normally I don’t do this (much); I prefer to set my cruise control at 65 or 70, both to curb any unintended bursts of speed and to keep my MPGs high and therefore costs and pollution low. However, that day I forgot all about cruise control, moderation, and saving the planet. I was insanely happy. I was flying high on a post-inspiration glow and feeling giddy and invincible...plus I was going downhill. Add to that the fact that I was blasting “Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots” on my radio and gleefully shouting along, and you have a pretty solid recipe for speed violations. The cop who stopped me asked me what my speedometer said and I had to admit that I honestly didn’t know. I was much too busy singing about karate chicks kicking evil mechanical ass to notice a trivial thing like how fast I was going...

I was extremely contrite, in actuality. To be more precise, I was horror-stricken–both by the fact that I had been zooming along so cluelessly and gotten pulled over, and also because my financial situation is in a state of flux and I’m pretty sure that the fine for going 80-plus mph in a 65 zone isn’t small change these days. In fact, I started crying my eyes out while he was at his car running my license and noting that I have a spotless record. Once he deduced that I was not a cracked-out moral reprobate in a stolen vehicle (initially, he had actually asked me if it was my car), Mr. Policeman was kinder to me than I had expected. He told me that I may be able to mitigate my fine by going to see a particular judge-type person in the county building and asking him very nicely to lower my fine since I’m a good citizen. As soon as I figure out who he meant exactly, I’m goin'!

So, kids, the moral to be gleaned from my harrowing brush with the law is this: Don’t sing songs about robots while you drive.

Notes: 1) According to the University of Birmingham Computer Science page: The word "robot" was first used in the 1921 play R.U.R. (Rossum's Universal Robots) by the Czech writer Karel Capek (pronounced "chop'ek"). "Robot" comes from the Czech word robota, meaning "forced labor."
2) The photo is from the movie Devil Girl from Mars (1954). Nice cape! I think she looks more like a Space Dominatrix than a devil girl, if you ask me...

Zen Pizza

I know you've heard me say it before: I love my neighborhood. I love that I can walk to so many colorful, friendly, locally owned businesses. I love the fare at the gourmet pizza shop right around the corner from me--it's so un-freakin-believably yummy it can't be described. But most of all, at this particular moment, I love what is printed on the pizza box that contained my dinner tonight. The illustration is a standard scene with two portly mustached Italian stereotypes, happily rolling out dough and tending the oven. Nothing unexpected there. But the words at the bottom are special:

"Enjoy your delicious moments!"

Now that's just poetry.
Think about it...whoever designed this box may have merely been talking about the pizza, but if you wanted to (and I do), you could certainly take those words and run with them. Turn them into a savory metaphor for living mindfully and joyfully. Ain't life wonderful? Just when I thought I was getting too tired and emotionally worn down, I find spiritual guidance on a pizza box.

MMMmmmmmmmmm....

A Literary Breakthrough

photo ©2006 eric hart

I was standing in the bathroom this morning getting ready for work, reminiscing about how prolific my writing was when I was younger, and lamenting the loss of my muse. I've been a bit stressed lately wondering how in the hell I'm going to live up to my goal to write two poems per month. I know two is not very many, but I've never been the kind of person who can force myself to write. I can't just pick a subject and go. Every time in the past that I sat myself down saying, "I'm going to write a poem!" it just fell flat. What came of my efforts was universally trite and awful. I can try to encourage something to develop by reading more and by editing some of my old work, but typically it's the poetry that finds me, not the other way around.

When I was much younger, my muse was not only active, she was a downright pest who made me have to carry pads of paper wherever I went in case she suddenly grabbed hold of me. This morning, no sooner had I finished lamenting her loss all these years when she popped back into my life and bit me so hard I had to drop everything I was doing and run to the computer before the words disappeared from my mind. I finished the first draft of the poem, the first original one I’ve written in over four years, in about twelve minutes. I swear it was like sex. Afterwards, I was grinning and breathless and so full of joy I just can’t properly describe it. I wrote a poem! I was so happy I was quite literally jumping up and down hugging my hands to my chest. It's no masterpiece, but it's something, and that's a lot more than what I've turned out these past many years...

I know you probably would like to see it, but it's still too new and too personal, and I'd be uncomf0rtable sharing it here. As a consolation, I will post something I wrote ten years ago--one of the three or so solidly decent poems I've ever penned (or keyboarded, rather). Even so, this is a milestone occasion: I have never before publicly posted any of my writing. Ever. I am usually highly selective about who reads my poetry, so this is a big scary step for me. I hope it's at least a little entertaining for you.

Spring

On the playground, jackets flung
from small bodies lay on the ground
like the remains of
dissolved children.
Lured away by the sun’s Hamelin,
the heated slopes on the other side of the world,
they scrabbled through rock and soil
disturbing the blind traffic of worms.
I could still hear their
singing, muffled by layers of earth
as they burrowed like hungry tubers
seeking a warmer place.
Left behind--their snakeskin
and feathers in shrapnel heaps,
casualties of the season’s advance.

1-27-99

Scream Real Loud!

Hey Kids! It's that time again! I haven't posted a word of the day in ages. Have you ever woken up in the morning and inexplicably had a song stuck in your head that you hadn't heard for months or longer? I do that sometimes with words. For instance, the other day, I woke up with the word "plangent" running through my brain incessantly. I hadn't read it recently, and I certainly hadn't heard it in conversation with anyone--when was the last time you used that in a sentence? So, in the interest of broadening your semantic horizons, I offer you plangent as your word of the day (screaming is optional).

The OED defines plangent thusly:
Especially of the sound of waves, the sea, etc.: reverberating, mournfully resonant.

I think I must have used it in a poem years ago and since forgotten its meaning (I could only remember that it had something to do with sound), so this is a learning exercise for me as well. As I get older I have noticed that my vocabulary is dwindling rather than expanding. Last year I was reading through some old research papers from my undergrad work and noticed at least three words I had used that I no longer have any inkling of what they mean. I wish I could afford to go back to school and flex my brain a bit more. I miss being smart.

Recycling Madness, Fat, and Yoga

Sylvie has her own version of yoga.

I am so spastically happy right now it's just unbelievable. I love the rain. I absolutely adore rainy cloudy windy wet weather--I feel so invigorated! I've also accomplished a lot of things today that are good for me. You may remember reading that one of my New Year's resolutions was to go to yoga once per week. Well, I just got home from my third class in one week! I feel so good I can't put it into words properly. I feel like hugging the whole country. I feel like kissing strangers. I feel like the whole world is going to be all right after all.

There is one small glitch, however. I've discovered that fat and yoga don't mix gracefully. Granted, my tummy fat isn't that big, but that one little roll really gets in the way when I'm trying to contort myself into one of the really twisty poses. It actually hurts. Yes, you heard me: yoga makes my fat hurt. It's a little hard to describe, but I've never had this problem before. It feels as if I could just reach down somehow and slide that little pansa out of the way I could more fully sink into the pose. Ah well, the other resolutions should take care of this problem soon. And I've already noticed in just three classes that my stretchiness is really coming back. I'm overjoyed! Nothing feels as good as being able to rest your torso on the ground as you stretch out your legs...just relaxing into the floor....aaahhh.

And to top off the maniacal glee-fest, I spent a good portion of the day divesting my garage of the numerous electronic junky things that I've accumulated over the years and didn't quite know how to get rid of. I'm dead-set against just chucking everything in the garbage and sending it off to the overflowing landfill. Aside from space issues, it's a particularly bad idea when you consider the fact that electronic appliances tend to be full of toxins that you really don't want leached into the ground. So, my friend Jen found a guy that will take used and broken electronics to recycle, including CDs, floppy disks, and cords. Even better is the Freecycle group on Yahoo. It's a group that allows you to post messages about stuff you need to get rid of but don't want to throw away. Then someone else emails you and says, "Wow, boy did I need one of those! Thanks! I'll pick it up tomorrow." I got rid of four garage parasites in under 30 minutes using it. It's truly a beautiful thing. I even found someone who wants a bunch of freezer gel packs that I don't need. Freecycle rocks my world!!

A Historic Job

Some of you know how extraordinarily busy I’ve been the past few months--I was working seven days a week at two different jobs. One of those is, of course, my tour guide gig at Stone, and the other was a temporary project downtown. I haven’t had a downtown job in years, and I reveled in the vibrant craziness that inhabits the heart of our sprawling city. I enjoyed taking the bus downtown, and I loved the diverse thrumming street life that I witnessed every day. I will really miss those parts of the job. I will miss buying tea from the little coffee cart owned by Ryan, the friendliest human on earth. I will miss looking up at the scrolls and brickwork of the early 20th Century architecture. I will miss watching the pigeons nesting in the now-defunct Spreckels sign on the side of the building next to our office window. I may even miss the disturbing ventriloquist lady who parked her wheelchair on the corner every day hoping to garner change with her scary puppet-child...

The job was part II of the archaeology project I was working on last July--the first phase was the excavation of a significant site next the Mexican border, and in the office we had the monumental task before us of sorting and cataloguing our way through hundreds of boxes of artifacts; particularly a lot of shell. What I did nearly every day was sit at a large table cleaning the dirt off thousands of pieces of marine shell and sorting them according to species. This was a daunting task due to the sheer volume of shell, but also because many of the pieces were smaller than my pinkie fingernail--and I have small hands!

The company I was working for has made a temporary lab space out of an office in the Spreckels building on Broadway. For those of you who have not been lucky enough to view this fine edifice that graces our downtown landscape, here’s a very brief history of the building: it was built in 1912 to commemorate the opening of the Panama Canal, as well as the Panama-California Exposition that took place in San Diego in 1915. It houses a grandiose theater and four floors of office spaces. My favorite historical tidbit is that the theater contains exactly 1,915 seats in honor of above-mentioned year. The building is a lavish cacophony of marble, gilded moldings, Deco light fixtures, numerous marble staircases, intricate tilework, and ornate iron banisters.

I absolutely loved working there. Every day I got to walk into the sprawling marble and tile lobby with its over-the-top baroque moldings I just had to smile and sigh in awe. As far as I can tell, almost 100 % of the interior is still original. The office doors still have their original doorknobs and mail slots and those neat glass transom windows above the top lintel. Even the bathrooms are havens of bright and airy marble and tile. The office windows are huge double hung wooden windows with no screens, and they take up almost the entire wall, beginning only a foot off the floor and nearly touching the ceiling. Truthfully, I’m amazed that in this age of litigation madness and catering to stupidity, these windows haven't been bolted shut to prevent people from falling out. I’m so very glad that they haven’t been; during much-needed breaks to rest my eyes, I loved going to the window and leaning as far out as I safely could and watching the activity six floors below.

There is one secret wing of this building that spooks me, however. Check out the disturbing resemblance between this remodeled hallway on the 6th floor of the Spreckels building and one of the creepy hallways from the hotel in The Shining. The first one is the Spreckels; the pic with Danny in it is from the movie. Different carpeting, but dang!! Makes you shiver, doesn’t it? It looks a million times more spooky in person, too. I have gotten in the habit of averting my eyes every time I have to use the womens’ room--which is located at the other end of that very hallway, of course.

What Do You Mean It's Almost February?!

(photo taken in Vermont last October. If you click on it you can see little bitty water droplets hiding amongst the fluff. Click on all the links for that matter! Do it! I spend a lot of time messing with the html codes, so you better click on all the links and pictures, dammit!)

What???!!!! Wasn't it just, um, New Year's Eve? Wasn't it just Christmas? Wasn't it just Halloween, for that matter? Gaaaahhh!! Well, before I launch into a full-blown rant about the insidious sped-up march of time as one ages, I've got some good news for you.

This is going to be a very good year. Yes, I know I've said that a few times before and was proven wrong, but that was when Bush was president. Honestly, I have a very good feeling about the months to come. In addition to the glowing promise represented by our country's new national leader, I have had some recent personal mini-triumphs. Very mini, but it's a good beginning. Instead of continuing to float aimlessly down life's fast-moving stream, I've broken out a couple of paddles and started pushing off in my own direction. I have goals! It's amazing what a renewed thirst for life I've developed simply by making some concrete goals for myself.

And I owe it all to my employers at the brewery. Amazing, huh? If you folks didn't already know that beer is gong to save the world, consider this your first piece of evidence. Stone brought back the New Beer's Resolution this year. What this means is that all employees are not only encouraged to keep their new Year's Resolution, but given a monitored system to help accomplish them. Augmented, of course, by the possibility of winning a whole heap of cash if you keep your goals better than anyone else.

To qualify for the program, we have to make significant resolutions pertaining to a specific triad: physical health, intellectual health, and community building.

I'm posting mine here so I can get a little boost from my friends. I need your support! So here's what I need from all three of my devoted readers: if you see me or talk to me on the phone, ask me how my resolutions are going. Ask me if I've been to yoga class lately, or if I ate a healthy dinner tonight...speak to me sternly if you sense some resistance or slipping on my end. Don't be afraid to use expletives.

To help you be more specific in with your encouragement, and to help my own self by having it here staring me in the face, this is the full list of what I resolve to do:

Physical:

• Get my body fat down from its currently inflated icky 26% to 21- or 22% (can I do that in three months?)
• Go to yoga at least once per week
• Do my nebulized medication at least 5 times per week
• Eat a healthy home cooked meal at least twice per week. Lots of veggies!

Intellectual:

• Write at least two blog posts per week
• Write at least two poems per month (this is a lot harder than it looks, people. GOOD poems.)
• Attend each and every gamelan practice every Friday and participate in the concert in April

Community:

• Only buy produce from the local farmer's market, and only organic if possible
• Buy only used clothing, or if it's new, it must be organic/recycled or fairly made/traded
• Walk, ride my bike, or take the bus for short errands
• Get political again. As in become active on a committee or in an organization

I'm serious folks. It's a lot, but I can do it. As of today, I've already gotten off to a good start. I've nebulized two days in a row, I've just written blog post #1 for this week, and I had a very tasty dinner tonight of pasta with 100% organic homemade sauce (even the spices!) made with spinach and tempeh. For dessert I had frozen organic blueberries and soy milk. I feel good! Tomorrow I have a yoga date with two friends. Oh, and I bought some new sneakers last week made with recycled tire rubber and organic cotton and water-based glue and they came in a 100% recycled cardboard box. BOO YA!!

So there you have it! New improved Kathryn on the horizon. Wish me luck! And good luck to all of you in this shiny, happy new year!!