The presents have been unwrapped and our downstairs is a wasteland of bags, opened gifts and unread Christmas letters scattered from living room to dining room and spilling into our tiny kitchen. There is laundry to be completed, dishes to be put away and Wigford has taken up temporary residence under the Christmas tree, sending the blanket covering the metal stand in all directions.
Number of lies I had to tell: One.
That I was working between Christmas and the New Year, in an attempt to ward off the badgering about our non-involvement in the non-stop circus of family related holiday activities. My attempt was completely unsuccessful. Not because his family disbelieved the lie, they just refused to accept the idea that J and myself prefer to use our vacation time for traveling.
Number of fights: None.
The one potential argument was over Phillip Pullman and the His Dark Materials books, which was averted by repeating the following sentences until J's brother gave up.
Sentence 1: I disagree with you, but I'm (not going to/don't want to) argue about it.
Sentence 2: If you deliberately read for statements that are (anti-Catholic and or religion), that is exactly what you will find.
Sentence 3: As the church has always had its share of mysterious rituals from the view of an outsider, creating fictional organizations based on real-life structures within the church does not equate to anti-Catholicism.
Best Gift: Lost Girls by Alan Moore and Melinda Gebbe.
Purchased by J. I have all ready stored the volumes in a safe place as horrifying J's relatives, while tantalizing, is not worth the subsequent fallout.
Oddest Gift: Tickets to The Vagina Monologues.
Purchased by my father. He ended up with two sets and gave one set to my mother, one set to myself. Since we have two extra tickets, we are trying to convince my SIL and future SIL to go with us. An odd gift because I would never, in a million years, imagine my father buying tickets to this play.
Worst Gift: A black and gold “cat themed” sweater.
Purchased by my mother. While I like cats in general, adore my little tribe of three and suggested that the Crazy Cat Lady action figure would be an excellent stocking stuffer, I am not so far deranged as to think wearing a sweater embroidered with cats and sporting buttons in the shape of cat heads is an ideal fashion choice. J did not find my suggestion that I could save the sweater for Steelers games very amusing.
Best Gift I Gave: A small, handwoven Turkish rug with a fish in the center. Given to J since our house is too small for a fish tank.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Monday, December 24, 2007
Merry Christmas
Saturday, December 22, 2007
I Can't Believe I'm Compelled to Defend...
A member of the Spears' family, but here it goes.
Susan Estrich, could you please refrain from calling Jamie Lynn Spears, or any other girl or woman who finds herself pregnant in less than ideal circumstances, a slut? Using phrases such as "successful slutdom" in your column is calling her a slut.
And while making a profit off of her pregnancy by selling the photographs of the newborn is reprehensible, it is not without precedence for celebrities to make such arrangements to document milestone events and making such an arrangement is not additional evidence that Spears is a tramp.
You know what happens when you put most sixteen year olds of any gender on a pedestal and hold them up as an example for younger kids to follow? They fall off.
Susan Estrich, could you please refrain from calling Jamie Lynn Spears, or any other girl or woman who finds herself pregnant in less than ideal circumstances, a slut? Using phrases such as "successful slutdom" in your column is calling her a slut.
And while making a profit off of her pregnancy by selling the photographs of the newborn is reprehensible, it is not without precedence for celebrities to make such arrangements to document milestone events and making such an arrangement is not additional evidence that Spears is a tramp.
You know what happens when you put most sixteen year olds of any gender on a pedestal and hold them up as an example for younger kids to follow? They fall off.
If the Glove Fits
First, an administrative note:
Dear J,
If you are reading this entry, please do the following: Disable your wireless card OR unplug the CAT 5 cable from the router AND turn off one of your computers (work or personal is up to you). Alternately you could allow more IP's on our little home network, thus allowing you to have as many computers turned on and plugged and as you want and me to be online at the same time without using up all the IP addresses.
Love, Me.
A few weeks ago the Post Gazette ran an article about Jennifer Gooch, a MFA student who designed a website to reunite gloves with their lost mates. As part of a larger project, Gooch has placed collection boxes in some of the local business and intends to turn the gloves into an exhibit.
Today the Post Gazette ran a letter from an individual who, to use the vernacular of blogs and messages boards all over the universe, could only be “concern trolling” and apparently lacks a sense of whimsy. The writer finds the project “gross”, a potential “serious health hazard” because the “streets are full of germs” and “you don't know where the glove was found and who handled it”. She wants to know why Gooch does not use her creativity “for something more productive”.
A few months ago I was in the upstairs changing rooms at Filene's Basement, trying on some summer dresses. At the time the rooms were frequently left unmonitored when the store was quiet. So it was not a surprise to hear a couple take the room next to my own and begin having not-quite-quiet-enough sex. They were discovered and asked to leave the room. Which they did, placing the clothes they grabbed as a cover neatly on the rack before leaving the room.
Just something to consider...
Dear J,
If you are reading this entry, please do the following: Disable your wireless card OR unplug the CAT 5 cable from the router AND turn off one of your computers (work or personal is up to you). Alternately you could allow more IP's on our little home network, thus allowing you to have as many computers turned on and plugged and as you want and me to be online at the same time without using up all the IP addresses.
Love, Me.
A few weeks ago the Post Gazette ran an article about Jennifer Gooch, a MFA student who designed a website to reunite gloves with their lost mates. As part of a larger project, Gooch has placed collection boxes in some of the local business and intends to turn the gloves into an exhibit.
Today the Post Gazette ran a letter from an individual who, to use the vernacular of blogs and messages boards all over the universe, could only be “concern trolling” and apparently lacks a sense of whimsy. The writer finds the project “gross”, a potential “serious health hazard” because the “streets are full of germs” and “you don't know where the glove was found and who handled it”. She wants to know why Gooch does not use her creativity “for something more productive”.
A few months ago I was in the upstairs changing rooms at Filene's Basement, trying on some summer dresses. At the time the rooms were frequently left unmonitored when the store was quiet. So it was not a surprise to hear a couple take the room next to my own and begin having not-quite-quiet-enough sex. They were discovered and asked to leave the room. Which they did, placing the clothes they grabbed as a cover neatly on the rack before leaving the room.
Just something to consider...
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Tis the Season - A Rant
It is is less than week before Christmas and I find myself restless, irritable and cranky and feeling all that is not merry. The annual Christmas funk hit at 11:20 Monday morning, while double checking prices for some of the items on J's wish list and realizing that:
From there my mind cast forward to Christmas day, the long drive to my parents, the false cheer of my mother as she tries to pretend my brother's re-deployment is not a big deal. I wondered if she would try to convince my brother to move his wedding date back even later in the spring of 2009, just in case his tour is extended. I wondered how late dinner would be served and whether my father, younger brother and SIL would be able to make it.
Cheery thoughts in mind, I wandered through some of the downtown stores Monday afternoon, trying to find less expensive substitutes for the items on J's list. During my ramble I decided to stop and purchase some funky socks, as my collection of trouser socks is shrinking due to most of them developing holes.
An FYI for anyone out there looking for funky trouser socks. There are no funky trouser socks to be found in Pittsburgh. I know, because I went looking for them on Tuesday evening also. Plenty of blue, brown and beige, but no bright colors or fun patterns. Even the fishnet socks were boring in shades of black and beige.
I see repeated playings of A Very Special David Sedaris Christmas, especially “Seasons Greetings to Our Friends and Family!” between now and December 26th.
- I did not have $248.00 to waste on a cashmere scarf and
- Even if I had $248.00 to burn it would not be on a cashmere scarf and
- Even if I was the type of person to waste $240.00 on a cashmere scarf, it is not as if we are going to be home long enough to open, much less enjoy the gifts we purchased for each other until late Tuesday evening.
From there my mind cast forward to Christmas day, the long drive to my parents, the false cheer of my mother as she tries to pretend my brother's re-deployment is not a big deal. I wondered if she would try to convince my brother to move his wedding date back even later in the spring of 2009, just in case his tour is extended. I wondered how late dinner would be served and whether my father, younger brother and SIL would be able to make it.
Cheery thoughts in mind, I wandered through some of the downtown stores Monday afternoon, trying to find less expensive substitutes for the items on J's list. During my ramble I decided to stop and purchase some funky socks, as my collection of trouser socks is shrinking due to most of them developing holes.
An FYI for anyone out there looking for funky trouser socks. There are no funky trouser socks to be found in Pittsburgh. I know, because I went looking for them on Tuesday evening also. Plenty of blue, brown and beige, but no bright colors or fun patterns. Even the fishnet socks were boring in shades of black and beige.
I see repeated playings of A Very Special David Sedaris Christmas, especially “Seasons Greetings to Our Friends and Family!” between now and December 26th.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Random(ness) Again
Topic I: Shopping
J and I wisely elected to put last weekend aside to purchase the requisite gifts for our respective families. We started slowly on Saturday morning with breakfast at Pamela's in Squirrel Hill. Pamela's is one of the few diners in Pittsburgh in which one can order scrambled eggs with cheese directly from the menu instead of making a special request. The eggs are served with your choice of toast and the most glorious home fries known to mankind. The last time I had cheesy eggs this good was 1995.
After cheesy eggs, we took a detour into Little's so I could come out a few dollars poorer with a pair of scarlet “Encore Chill Stitch” Merrell shoes to keep my toes warm this winter.
Next was a stop at Orr's Jewelers, home of the marketing campaign “Orr's Jewelers Rocks!” with photographs of such Pittsburgh celebrities as Georges Laraque and Hines Ward. We stumbled into their annual “Trunk Show” and were fawned over (to some degree) by representatives from some of the different jewelers. I tried on a $32,000 bracelet and J got a chance to sport a $23,000 Breguet watch.
After admiring jewelery and timepieces that only a lottery would be able to provide us with, we headed out to purchase gifts for the rest of the family. By mid-afternoon Sunday the last of the gifts had been purchased. By Tuesday evening they had been wrapped and bagged for the trips to our respective families.
Topic II: Stockings
The Pittsburgh Penguins are raising money for charity by auctioning off a set of Christmas stockings created by the players wives/girlfriends/mothers/mother figures. Each stocking is stuffed with items that reflect the player's interests.
Curious, I pulled up the photographs of the stockings. The interests reflected are not surprising, lots of golf balls, DVD's and iTunes gift cards. Several decided to pack the stocking full of autographed Penguins memorabilia. Others wrapped all the items to give the winner a nice surprise.
One of the most intriguing items comes from Sergei Gonchar's stocking. Gonchar's wife elected to pack his (and Malkin's) socks full of autographed items, including an autographed childhood photograph of Gonchar, dressed to play a game.
I want that stocking. I don't care about the hat, the jersey or the hockey card. I want that photograph.
Topic III: The Mitchell Report
The Post-Gazette has downplayed the citation of multiple former Pirates as users of steroids, stating that most of the players were not using during their tenures with the team. I did not read the report in detail but I did skim through, curious to see which players would be named in the document. As one Craigslist poster remarked, it was a bit of a relief to discover that the team was naturally bad. It would have stung to discover that the owners could not even put together a decent, chemically enhanced team.
J and I wisely elected to put last weekend aside to purchase the requisite gifts for our respective families. We started slowly on Saturday morning with breakfast at Pamela's in Squirrel Hill. Pamela's is one of the few diners in Pittsburgh in which one can order scrambled eggs with cheese directly from the menu instead of making a special request. The eggs are served with your choice of toast and the most glorious home fries known to mankind. The last time I had cheesy eggs this good was 1995.
After cheesy eggs, we took a detour into Little's so I could come out a few dollars poorer with a pair of scarlet “Encore Chill Stitch” Merrell shoes to keep my toes warm this winter.
Next was a stop at Orr's Jewelers, home of the marketing campaign “Orr's Jewelers Rocks!” with photographs of such Pittsburgh celebrities as Georges Laraque and Hines Ward. We stumbled into their annual “Trunk Show” and were fawned over (to some degree) by representatives from some of the different jewelers. I tried on a $32,000 bracelet and J got a chance to sport a $23,000 Breguet watch.
After admiring jewelery and timepieces that only a lottery would be able to provide us with, we headed out to purchase gifts for the rest of the family. By mid-afternoon Sunday the last of the gifts had been purchased. By Tuesday evening they had been wrapped and bagged for the trips to our respective families.
Topic II: Stockings
The Pittsburgh Penguins are raising money for charity by auctioning off a set of Christmas stockings created by the players wives/girlfriends/mothers/mother figures. Each stocking is stuffed with items that reflect the player's interests.
Curious, I pulled up the photographs of the stockings. The interests reflected are not surprising, lots of golf balls, DVD's and iTunes gift cards. Several decided to pack the stocking full of autographed Penguins memorabilia. Others wrapped all the items to give the winner a nice surprise.
One of the most intriguing items comes from Sergei Gonchar's stocking. Gonchar's wife elected to pack his (and Malkin's) socks full of autographed items, including an autographed childhood photograph of Gonchar, dressed to play a game.
I want that stocking. I don't care about the hat, the jersey or the hockey card. I want that photograph.
Topic III: The Mitchell Report
The Post-Gazette has downplayed the citation of multiple former Pirates as users of steroids, stating that most of the players were not using during their tenures with the team. I did not read the report in detail but I did skim through, curious to see which players would be named in the document. As one Craigslist poster remarked, it was a bit of a relief to discover that the team was naturally bad. It would have stung to discover that the owners could not even put together a decent, chemically enhanced team.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
My Lunch with the In-Laws
This past Saturday I got myself semi-dolled up (jeans and a nice sweater) and drove to a distant Pittsburgh suburb to have lunch with the MIL, SIL's and various members of the MIL's extended family. It is called the “Cousin's Lunch” and it is a women-only gathering held four times a year.
I don't go very often, as I feel like a visitor in a foreign country, one that can never quite get the customs right and lapses into silence and pointing less she inadvertently offend her kind hosts. My latest journey was no exception, as the primary topics of discussion were priests, mass schedules and church youth groups, with a brief foray in the hazard of hosting an outdoor birthday party for a teenager.
Late Sunday afternoon, J commented on how it had not felt like much of a weekend, as he spent all day Saturday hanging drywall with a friend. He reluctantly retracted that statement when I pointed out to him that he probably had a better time hanging drywall then I did at lunch.
I don't go very often, as I feel like a visitor in a foreign country, one that can never quite get the customs right and lapses into silence and pointing less she inadvertently offend her kind hosts. My latest journey was no exception, as the primary topics of discussion were priests, mass schedules and church youth groups, with a brief foray in the hazard of hosting an outdoor birthday party for a teenager.
Late Sunday afternoon, J commented on how it had not felt like much of a weekend, as he spent all day Saturday hanging drywall with a friend. He reluctantly retracted that statement when I pointed out to him that he probably had a better time hanging drywall then I did at lunch.
From Zero To Asshole in 2.3 Seconds
My friend T messaged me this afternoon while I was in a staff meeting. T is currently living and working in Europe and I am living vicariously through her as she emails and messages me updates on her adventures. She has been there for almost 18 months and I anticipate seeing her late next spring.
T was upset and after telling me what had happened to her today it was all I could do to stop myself from taking the next flight out and indulging in a serious ass-kicking upon the instigator of her distress, her husband.
I do not have many friends. I am very reserved around people I do not know and have a tendency to come across as distant and standoffish, which does not endear me to many people. However, I am very protective of my family and those friends who are able get past my initial reserve.
T is married and has been the primary source of income for almost three years. She is very loyal and supportive of her husband, who dropped out of his graduate program when he realized how unhappy he was there and has floundered ever since in every attempt to find his way. She tries very hard to make him happy, giving up a good job in country #1, where he was miserable, to move to country #2, where employment is difficult to obtain if you are not a EU citizen.
And he has repaid her devotion by accusing her of being a freeloader, of lacking ambition, of not working as hard as he does. And he said this on the first day of her new job.
W.T.F?
There is more, but that essentially is the heart of the conversation right there. And I am worried. Because there is more. She is thousands of miles away from her family and friends. If something should happen, and I am very afraid based on this most recent exchange something might happen, it will be difficult to get to her to help her out.
So I am in a bit of a dither right now. There are actions I feel she should take to protect herself, but how do I suggest them without being offensive or unsupportive? The best I could do for right now was suggest she see a therapist with or without the husband and promise to have some crazy in-law stories the next time we talked.
T was upset and after telling me what had happened to her today it was all I could do to stop myself from taking the next flight out and indulging in a serious ass-kicking upon the instigator of her distress, her husband.
I do not have many friends. I am very reserved around people I do not know and have a tendency to come across as distant and standoffish, which does not endear me to many people. However, I am very protective of my family and those friends who are able get past my initial reserve.
T is married and has been the primary source of income for almost three years. She is very loyal and supportive of her husband, who dropped out of his graduate program when he realized how unhappy he was there and has floundered ever since in every attempt to find his way. She tries very hard to make him happy, giving up a good job in country #1, where he was miserable, to move to country #2, where employment is difficult to obtain if you are not a EU citizen.
And he has repaid her devotion by accusing her of being a freeloader, of lacking ambition, of not working as hard as he does. And he said this on the first day of her new job.
W.T.F?
There is more, but that essentially is the heart of the conversation right there. And I am worried. Because there is more. She is thousands of miles away from her family and friends. If something should happen, and I am very afraid based on this most recent exchange something might happen, it will be difficult to get to her to help her out.
So I am in a bit of a dither right now. There are actions I feel she should take to protect herself, but how do I suggest them without being offensive or unsupportive? The best I could do for right now was suggest she see a therapist with or without the husband and promise to have some crazy in-law stories the next time we talked.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Purple Room
Things I wondered about over the course of today:
Why did the woman in the long black coat and even longer pink plaid scarf refuse to move towards the back of the bus? Or even move her body out of the way enough so that some of the riders jammed three deep ACROSS at the front of the bus could get back to stand where there was more space? And why did she choose to take up that same amount of space near the front door as people were trying to get OFF the bus?
Why did two of my co-workers decide to shut down all three servers I was using for testing without asking me first if I was finished? For the record, no I was not.
Why did the two woman sitting behind me on the bus on the way home have such a fascination with Britney Spears and the rumor that she is pregnant again? I'm not sure what I found more offensive – that they were so interested in the life of someone they would not recognize if they walked into her or that they were so ******* judgmental about it.
Why is my current favorite song Thomas Dolby's I Love You Goodbye?
Random questions aside, it was announced today that my office would be closed from December 24 through January 1. The other labs will be closed as well, giving all employees seven days in which to enjoy the holiday season.
Some, including my manager, are annoyed as the scheduling of the company holiday was not done according to policy, which requires a week's notification in advance for each day off. Although the policy applies primarily to employees who request vacation time, there is an unwritten expectation that employees are extended the same courtesy. While the holiday is welcome news, several employees scheduled vacation for later in the month of January and others do not have enough time accrued to cover four of the seven days (the remaining three are previously scheduled holidays). Employees who do not have enough time can either take the holiday unpaid or go into the hole and stop accruing vacation time until the debt is paid off.
I have the time available, although it makes planning my trips in late May and late September trickier then originally anticipated. But I can not complain, as this break means I have taken close to five weeks of vacation in the calendar year.
My only concern now is keeping this information away from J's family so they don't schedule my time.
As for the purple room, J painted our living room walls deep purple.
When I hooked the camera up to download the photographs of the living room wall, I discovered this:
Why did the woman in the long black coat and even longer pink plaid scarf refuse to move towards the back of the bus? Or even move her body out of the way enough so that some of the riders jammed three deep ACROSS at the front of the bus could get back to stand where there was more space? And why did she choose to take up that same amount of space near the front door as people were trying to get OFF the bus?
Why did two of my co-workers decide to shut down all three servers I was using for testing without asking me first if I was finished? For the record, no I was not.
Why did the two woman sitting behind me on the bus on the way home have such a fascination with Britney Spears and the rumor that she is pregnant again? I'm not sure what I found more offensive – that they were so interested in the life of someone they would not recognize if they walked into her or that they were so ******* judgmental about it.
Why is my current favorite song Thomas Dolby's I Love You Goodbye?
Random questions aside, it was announced today that my office would be closed from December 24 through January 1. The other labs will be closed as well, giving all employees seven days in which to enjoy the holiday season.
Some, including my manager, are annoyed as the scheduling of the company holiday was not done according to policy, which requires a week's notification in advance for each day off. Although the policy applies primarily to employees who request vacation time, there is an unwritten expectation that employees are extended the same courtesy. While the holiday is welcome news, several employees scheduled vacation for later in the month of January and others do not have enough time accrued to cover four of the seven days (the remaining three are previously scheduled holidays). Employees who do not have enough time can either take the holiday unpaid or go into the hole and stop accruing vacation time until the debt is paid off.
I have the time available, although it makes planning my trips in late May and late September trickier then originally anticipated. But I can not complain, as this break means I have taken close to five weeks of vacation in the calendar year.
My only concern now is keeping this information away from J's family so they don't schedule my time.
As for the purple room, J painted our living room walls deep purple.
When I hooked the camera up to download the photographs of the living room wall, I discovered this:
Sunday, December 02, 2007
A Whole Lot of Stuff Crammed into a Single Post
I've been very lazy the last week. The cold air, grey skies and intermittent, icy rain has not been highly motivating.
There has been a lot to write about. Letters in the Post Gazette. The verbal spanking (via email, so really it was in writing) I received from a friend because I did not know the difference between bread and pastry in Finland. Our purple living room. The behavior of a group of fans at the Raul Malo concert last Thursday evening.
Comedic letter of the week goes Friday's writer of the missive “Al-Qaida wishes”, in which the Democratic Party (or “Democrats” as he phrases) is depicted as maintaining parallel philosophies to Al-Qaida. To quote “It's getting harder and harder to draw distinctions between the philosophies of al-Qaida and the Democrats.”
Where to begin? How about suggesting that the members of Al-Qaida will not be posting letters to Santa since they are Muslim? That writing a reassuring lines like “... don't be frightened or disheartened, Democrats won't get their wish” is extremely dissonant when juxtapositioned with phrases such as “keep our collective foot on their throats”.
Wow. Way to win me over to your side, by repeatedly invoking images of violence. By the way, if Al-Qaida is being driven out of Iraq, why my brother been called up for a second tour of duty? Why is the Iraqi government proposing a permanent United States military presence? And why can't I stop laughing at you?
In contrast was Saturday's article about a Carnegie Mellon MFA student who created an unusual art project – she set up a website to reunite found gloves with their forlorn mates. Such a silly, lovely idea.
“Raul who?” was the response of approximately 90% of my friends when I mentioned that I was going to see Raul Malo perform at the Byham Theater on Thursday night. Pittsburgh is a strictly rock-n-roll/old heavy metal band type of town, so I was not surprised that most were not interested in seeing him play.
Unfortunately, that Pittsburgh's overall musical tastes lean toward “play Freebird man...” makes it difficult to find someone other than J willing to listen to a pudgy, balding, 42 year old latin/country/jazz singer with a voice like Roy Orbison and moves like Elvis. And J refused to go because he said he was not comfortable watching his wife blatantly lust after another man for two hours.
J reminded me that the wife of one of his former coworkers was also a big Malo fan and, like I, had been thwarted in her attempts to see him play on previous visits (at least once a year) to the city. B and I arranged to meet for a nice dinner beforehand and I happily ordered the best seats available for the show.
B had to cancel but found another friend to take the ticket. R and I met in the lobby of the Byham at 7:30, both excited to see the show. We had a “glass” of terrible Pinot Noir and found our seats at the back of the theater.
Malo opened with Marshmallow World, a fluffy wintertime song that got the audience in the mood almost immediately. Part of that audience included a gaggle of fifty-something women who were out for a good time. A REALLY good time.They screamed, they whistled, they yelled out comments. They danced at their seats and laughed hysterically. As the night wore on, they became more rambunctious, to the point that I expected to see various articles of clothing start flying towards the stage. The only thing that flew was a red santa hat, which the drummer wore as it matched his red suit.
The women kept their bras and panties on but were successful in distracting Malo enough that he forgot the lyrics and had to stop singing so he could find out what was written on the sign one member of the group was holding up. All five women got up from their seats and headed towards the stage. One carried the sign. The second carried a bottle of Patron Silver tequila and asked if Malo and his band would do a shot with the women. Malo and the band obliged. Far from satisfied with his conciliatory gesture, the screamed for him to do more shots of Patron for the rest of the show.
As for what would provoke that kind of response in a bunch of fifty-something women? A voice like Roy Orbison, moves like Elvis, a great stage presence and the sexiest cover of the song Sway I have ever heard.
There has been a lot to write about. Letters in the Post Gazette. The verbal spanking (via email, so really it was in writing) I received from a friend because I did not know the difference between bread and pastry in Finland. Our purple living room. The behavior of a group of fans at the Raul Malo concert last Thursday evening.
Comedic letter of the week goes Friday's writer of the missive “Al-Qaida wishes”, in which the Democratic Party (or “Democrats” as he phrases) is depicted as maintaining parallel philosophies to Al-Qaida. To quote “It's getting harder and harder to draw distinctions between the philosophies of al-Qaida and the Democrats.”
Where to begin? How about suggesting that the members of Al-Qaida will not be posting letters to Santa since they are Muslim? That writing a reassuring lines like “... don't be frightened or disheartened, Democrats won't get their wish” is extremely dissonant when juxtapositioned with phrases such as “keep our collective foot on their throats”.
Wow. Way to win me over to your side, by repeatedly invoking images of violence. By the way, if Al-Qaida is being driven out of Iraq, why my brother been called up for a second tour of duty? Why is the Iraqi government proposing a permanent United States military presence? And why can't I stop laughing at you?
In contrast was Saturday's article about a Carnegie Mellon MFA student who created an unusual art project – she set up a website to reunite found gloves with their forlorn mates. Such a silly, lovely idea.
“Raul who?” was the response of approximately 90% of my friends when I mentioned that I was going to see Raul Malo perform at the Byham Theater on Thursday night. Pittsburgh is a strictly rock-n-roll/old heavy metal band type of town, so I was not surprised that most were not interested in seeing him play.
Unfortunately, that Pittsburgh's overall musical tastes lean toward “play Freebird man...” makes it difficult to find someone other than J willing to listen to a pudgy, balding, 42 year old latin/country/jazz singer with a voice like Roy Orbison and moves like Elvis. And J refused to go because he said he was not comfortable watching his wife blatantly lust after another man for two hours.
J reminded me that the wife of one of his former coworkers was also a big Malo fan and, like I, had been thwarted in her attempts to see him play on previous visits (at least once a year) to the city. B and I arranged to meet for a nice dinner beforehand and I happily ordered the best seats available for the show.
B had to cancel but found another friend to take the ticket. R and I met in the lobby of the Byham at 7:30, both excited to see the show. We had a “glass” of terrible Pinot Noir and found our seats at the back of the theater.
Malo opened with Marshmallow World, a fluffy wintertime song that got the audience in the mood almost immediately. Part of that audience included a gaggle of fifty-something women who were out for a good time. A REALLY good time.They screamed, they whistled, they yelled out comments. They danced at their seats and laughed hysterically. As the night wore on, they became more rambunctious, to the point that I expected to see various articles of clothing start flying towards the stage. The only thing that flew was a red santa hat, which the drummer wore as it matched his red suit.
The women kept their bras and panties on but were successful in distracting Malo enough that he forgot the lyrics and had to stop singing so he could find out what was written on the sign one member of the group was holding up. All five women got up from their seats and headed towards the stage. One carried the sign. The second carried a bottle of Patron Silver tequila and asked if Malo and his band would do a shot with the women. Malo and the band obliged. Far from satisfied with his conciliatory gesture, the screamed for him to do more shots of Patron for the rest of the show.
As for what would provoke that kind of response in a bunch of fifty-something women? A voice like Roy Orbison, moves like Elvis, a great stage presence and the sexiest cover of the song Sway I have ever heard.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Vacation's End
This is a disjointed post. I'm sleepy and sore, the result of swimming 600 meters using only my legs and 200 meters using only my arms.
The Cape was cold, sunny and spectacular, a perfect place to spend the Thanksgiving holiday. No photographs this year, as I was too busy having fun and allowing my mind to remain empty for five straight days.
Thanksgiving was spent reading Philip Pullman and watching J prepare dinner. We went non-traditional this year with garlic mashed potatoes, roasted carrots and quail stuffed with sausage. An uncooked quail looks like a dancing bird from Peter Gabriel's Sledgehammer video. In a moment of goofiness, J picked one up and made it dance before stuffing and cooking it.
Friday was more of the same, sleeping, reading and cooking. Friends joined us over the weekend, clam chowder on Friday, wild caught salmon on Saturday. Bike ride, reading and Scrabble. My friend convinced me to join Facebook so we could play Scrabble against each other on-line. He is currently beating me by one point.
Sad, that I am lured into social networking by the call of the Scrabble board, no?
Sunday a long drive home, insane traffic in the Poconos, uncooperative spark plugs, a late arrival with all four tires intact.
Speaking of tires, how about a set of Hello Kitty bicycle tires for Christmas this year?
The Cape was cold, sunny and spectacular, a perfect place to spend the Thanksgiving holiday. No photographs this year, as I was too busy having fun and allowing my mind to remain empty for five straight days.
Thanksgiving was spent reading Philip Pullman and watching J prepare dinner. We went non-traditional this year with garlic mashed potatoes, roasted carrots and quail stuffed with sausage. An uncooked quail looks like a dancing bird from Peter Gabriel's Sledgehammer video. In a moment of goofiness, J picked one up and made it dance before stuffing and cooking it.
Friday was more of the same, sleeping, reading and cooking. Friends joined us over the weekend, clam chowder on Friday, wild caught salmon on Saturday. Bike ride, reading and Scrabble. My friend convinced me to join Facebook so we could play Scrabble against each other on-line. He is currently beating me by one point.
Sad, that I am lured into social networking by the call of the Scrabble board, no?
Sunday a long drive home, insane traffic in the Poconos, uncooperative spark plugs, a late arrival with all four tires intact.
Speaking of tires, how about a set of Hello Kitty bicycle tires for Christmas this year?
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Cape Cod 2007 - Day 1
My foot hurts. The rental house is heated via a single, large metal grate in the living room floor, installed right outside the master bedroom door. I made the mistake of walking over it in bare feet as hot air was blowing through and was rewarded with a lovely set of burn marks on the bottom of my left foot. Another random, stupid accident to add to my list.
As last year, we packed up the car and left late Tuesday afternoon. It was a longer drive then last year, as we stopped for an hour to eat (at Sheetz), it was very foggy in places and J decided to take I-79 to I-80 instead of the toll roads suggested by Google maps, causing an unplanned, hour long detour. It is very important to read driving directions in context.
The strangest sight? Crossing the Tappan Zee bridge and seeing New York without lights, as the city was shrouded in a dense, black fog.
The strangest moment? Stopping for gas at a Shell super station. The kitchen was unfinished, counters were only partially installed, there was no hot water for tea (or for washing my hands) and the beverage dispensers were a series of pipes sticking out of the wall. According to the attendants on duty, the owners elected to open the station early, without bothering to verify that the credit card readers were hooked up to the diesel pumps or that all the inventory was properly scanned. J's Pop Tarts had to be cashed out manually and added to a handwritten list of items-that-need-put-into-computer.
Once again we elected to miss the sunrise in favor of catching a few hours of sleep before getting cleaned up and finding a grocery store. We ended up at Trader Joe's and had to resist the temptation to buy out the entire store. This was accomplished by repeating the mantra “Pittsburgh has a Trader Joe's now” over and over again. As I paid for our groceries I took a moment to idly wonder how I always manage to spend 67 dollars and change every time I visit a store, no matter what state I happen to be in.
It is quiet here, blissfully silent. The dark falls quickly. Aside from the badly located vent, the house is a cozy little place and heats very well. The Cape is almost, but not quite, deserted. We are staying in South Yarmouth off of Route 28, a road built up with more than its fair share of old and abandoned tourist hotels and closed-for-the-season summer eating shacks.
As last year, we packed up the car and left late Tuesday afternoon. It was a longer drive then last year, as we stopped for an hour to eat (at Sheetz), it was very foggy in places and J decided to take I-79 to I-80 instead of the toll roads suggested by Google maps, causing an unplanned, hour long detour. It is very important to read driving directions in context.
The strangest sight? Crossing the Tappan Zee bridge and seeing New York without lights, as the city was shrouded in a dense, black fog.
The strangest moment? Stopping for gas at a Shell super station. The kitchen was unfinished, counters were only partially installed, there was no hot water for tea (or for washing my hands) and the beverage dispensers were a series of pipes sticking out of the wall. According to the attendants on duty, the owners elected to open the station early, without bothering to verify that the credit card readers were hooked up to the diesel pumps or that all the inventory was properly scanned. J's Pop Tarts had to be cashed out manually and added to a handwritten list of items-that-need-put-into-computer.
Once again we elected to miss the sunrise in favor of catching a few hours of sleep before getting cleaned up and finding a grocery store. We ended up at Trader Joe's and had to resist the temptation to buy out the entire store. This was accomplished by repeating the mantra “Pittsburgh has a Trader Joe's now” over and over again. As I paid for our groceries I took a moment to idly wonder how I always manage to spend 67 dollars and change every time I visit a store, no matter what state I happen to be in.
It is quiet here, blissfully silent. The dark falls quickly. Aside from the badly located vent, the house is a cozy little place and heats very well. The Cape is almost, but not quite, deserted. We are staying in South Yarmouth off of Route 28, a road built up with more than its fair share of old and abandoned tourist hotels and closed-for-the-season summer eating shacks.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Road Trip
Writing Update: The Bad News: I'm not going to make 50,000 words. I've barely broken 10,000 words. Unless I get snowed in over Thanksgiving, it is not going to happen.
Writing Update: The Good News: I'm going to keep going anyway after the end of the month. Even if nothing comes of it, I'm pleased with what I have created so far and want to keep going.
J and I attended the Penguins/Rangers game on Saturday night. It was a frustrating experience. One period of near brilliant play followed by two periods in which they allowed the Rangers to run the rink, five minutes in which they morphed back into an amazing team followed by an abrupt overtime ending, as the Rangers scored, winning 4-3.
Fans are becoming anxious about Marc-Andre Fleury and are beginning to pile on criticism that he is not the franchise player the Penguins think he is. He is in a significant slump and having some trouble breaking out of it. Watching him play last night it was obvious that his heart (and head) was not in the game. But neither was the heads and hearts of the other 22 members of the team. It is patently unfair to demand that single player pay for the sins of an entire team. The relationship between a goalie and his defense is symbiotic. A breakdown on the part of one will lead to a breakdown on the part the other.
Goalies take longer to develop then players in other positions. Fleury is 23 years old and this is only his second FULL season in the NHL. He has publicly acknowledged that some of his trouble is a direct result of not developing some of the fundamentals of his position (such as controlling rebounds) earlier, and relying too much on talent and instinct. He has also publicly stated that he is committed to breaking some of his bad habits. And when he is on his game, his playing has improved. He is calmer, more in control and less likely to allow easy goals. He also spend more time out of the net.
But he is not on his game right now. His confidence is lacking, he drops into position too early, his movements are slow and he double checks himself too often. The bad news is that in the short term it is going to get worse as he starts applying some of the fundamentals and questions his instincts. The good news is that if he can get through this bad period he is going to be fucking brilliant to watch.
Tuesday night we will be packing up to spend Thanksgiving on Cape Cod in a little rental property. Rumor has it that the house is wired for the inter-tubes, but I shall be making a best effort to stay off line, work on my book, go for bike rides in the freezing weather and read Philip's Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy in anticipation of antagonizing J's extended family at Christmas Eve dinner.
In conclusion, I offer up the most interesting moment in Saturday night's game.
Writing Update: The Good News: I'm going to keep going anyway after the end of the month. Even if nothing comes of it, I'm pleased with what I have created so far and want to keep going.
J and I attended the Penguins/Rangers game on Saturday night. It was a frustrating experience. One period of near brilliant play followed by two periods in which they allowed the Rangers to run the rink, five minutes in which they morphed back into an amazing team followed by an abrupt overtime ending, as the Rangers scored, winning 4-3.
Fans are becoming anxious about Marc-Andre Fleury and are beginning to pile on criticism that he is not the franchise player the Penguins think he is. He is in a significant slump and having some trouble breaking out of it. Watching him play last night it was obvious that his heart (and head) was not in the game. But neither was the heads and hearts of the other 22 members of the team. It is patently unfair to demand that single player pay for the sins of an entire team. The relationship between a goalie and his defense is symbiotic. A breakdown on the part of one will lead to a breakdown on the part the other.
Goalies take longer to develop then players in other positions. Fleury is 23 years old and this is only his second FULL season in the NHL. He has publicly acknowledged that some of his trouble is a direct result of not developing some of the fundamentals of his position (such as controlling rebounds) earlier, and relying too much on talent and instinct. He has also publicly stated that he is committed to breaking some of his bad habits. And when he is on his game, his playing has improved. He is calmer, more in control and less likely to allow easy goals. He also spend more time out of the net.
But he is not on his game right now. His confidence is lacking, he drops into position too early, his movements are slow and he double checks himself too often. The bad news is that in the short term it is going to get worse as he starts applying some of the fundamentals and questions his instincts. The good news is that if he can get through this bad period he is going to be fucking brilliant to watch.
Tuesday night we will be packing up to spend Thanksgiving on Cape Cod in a little rental property. Rumor has it that the house is wired for the inter-tubes, but I shall be making a best effort to stay off line, work on my book, go for bike rides in the freezing weather and read Philip's Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy in anticipation of antagonizing J's extended family at Christmas Eve dinner.
In conclusion, I offer up the most interesting moment in Saturday night's game.
Monday, November 12, 2007
A Very Vague Post
Don't you just love when people tell a story and leave out what seems to be, to you, significant details? I do. And I have one of those stories to tell.
J took his Miata (a standard shift that I can not drive) to hockey on Friday night as I needed the Volvo. On the drive out to a location I must not name, he noticed that one of the wheels was rattling badly. He left the car in the parking lot and caught a ride home.
On Saturday morning, before we left for Columbus, he drove back to the rink to meet AAA to have the car towed back to the garage. As it turned out, a tow was unnecessary as the mechanic put the bolts on backwards when replacing the wheel. The AAA mechanic put the bolts on properly and J left the car in the lot. Our plan was to stop on our way back from Columbus to pick it up.
For weather related reasons, we did not pick up the car on Sunday evening. This afternoon we caught what we thought was the correct bus to the lot where the car was parked. Except that it was not quite the correct bus. It was the correct bus number, but it took a different route. We found ourselves at the end of the line several miles from our intended destination with a long walk ahead. As the weather was decent today, it would not have been too much of a hardship, but we were still looking at least three miles.
The bus driver, who has to rename nameless, took mercy on our stupid souls and drove us back to a point where we could reach the car with only a short walk. This is significant as it was the end of the driver's shift and he would have been in a great deal of trouble if the Port Authority learned of his detour.
So I can not name the location, bus route or the name of the driver. I can't write to the Port Authority and compliment them on having such a great employee. But I can say, once again, that Pittsburgh has some truly great bus drivers and they deserve every penny they earn for putting up with such stupidity.
J took his Miata (a standard shift that I can not drive) to hockey on Friday night as I needed the Volvo. On the drive out to a location I must not name, he noticed that one of the wheels was rattling badly. He left the car in the parking lot and caught a ride home.
On Saturday morning, before we left for Columbus, he drove back to the rink to meet AAA to have the car towed back to the garage. As it turned out, a tow was unnecessary as the mechanic put the bolts on backwards when replacing the wheel. The AAA mechanic put the bolts on properly and J left the car in the lot. Our plan was to stop on our way back from Columbus to pick it up.
For weather related reasons, we did not pick up the car on Sunday evening. This afternoon we caught what we thought was the correct bus to the lot where the car was parked. Except that it was not quite the correct bus. It was the correct bus number, but it took a different route. We found ourselves at the end of the line several miles from our intended destination with a long walk ahead. As the weather was decent today, it would not have been too much of a hardship, but we were still looking at least three miles.
The bus driver, who has to rename nameless, took mercy on our stupid souls and drove us back to a point where we could reach the car with only a short walk. This is significant as it was the end of the driver's shift and he would have been in a great deal of trouble if the Port Authority learned of his detour.
So I can not name the location, bus route or the name of the driver. I can't write to the Port Authority and compliment them on having such a great employee. But I can say, once again, that Pittsburgh has some truly great bus drivers and they deserve every penny they earn for putting up with such stupidity.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Writer's Block...
... and procrastination as I figure out where to take my characters next.
J and I went to Columbus, OH on Saturday to have dinner with a friend and some of his people. The drive down was pleasant except for the involuntary detour we ended up taking on the way to the motel because of an error in Google Maps. Even that turned out well, as we were able to stop and do a little bit of shopping while waiting to check into our room at 3:00 PM.
Dinner was at Buca di Beppo, a most excellent place to share a meal with a group of nine. It was one of those rare encounters when strangers became friendly quickly as we compared notes on wine and passed the appetizers, salads, main course and desserts around the table for everyone to share. The food was good and the hostess took us on a walk through the kitchen so we could see what the staff was cooking.
This afternoon our friend took us to Katzinger's Deli for lunch and down the street to one of the most amazing independent bookstores I have ever set foot in. Thirty-two rooms of new books, all genres represented. I wanted to purchase the His Dark Materials trilogy (more on why coming up), but a new hardcover set was $60.00. I also checked out a Half Priced Books to see if I could purchase a used set, but it was not to be found.
While in Columbus, my friend gave me the coolest Penguins hat E.V.E.R.
J and I went to Columbus, OH on Saturday to have dinner with a friend and some of his people. The drive down was pleasant except for the involuntary detour we ended up taking on the way to the motel because of an error in Google Maps. Even that turned out well, as we were able to stop and do a little bit of shopping while waiting to check into our room at 3:00 PM.
Dinner was at Buca di Beppo, a most excellent place to share a meal with a group of nine. It was one of those rare encounters when strangers became friendly quickly as we compared notes on wine and passed the appetizers, salads, main course and desserts around the table for everyone to share. The food was good and the hostess took us on a walk through the kitchen so we could see what the staff was cooking.
This afternoon our friend took us to Katzinger's Deli for lunch and down the street to one of the most amazing independent bookstores I have ever set foot in. Thirty-two rooms of new books, all genres represented. I wanted to purchase the His Dark Materials trilogy (more on why coming up), but a new hardcover set was $60.00. I also checked out a Half Priced Books to see if I could purchase a used set, but it was not to be found.
While in Columbus, my friend gave me the coolest Penguins hat E.V.E.R.
The Front
The Back
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Monday, November 05, 2007
Updates
National Novel Writing Month
The Bad News: It is only five days into the month and I am all ready seriously behind on my word count.
The Good News: I am having a total blast writing this and have consciously decided NOT to worry about the word count. It has been almost ten years since I had this much fun writing something longer than a blog entry. The last time I felt this kind of creative joy was graduate school. I know why I gave it up for so long – I was terribly burned out when I finished my M.A and needed a break. But I wish I had not taken such a long break.
Attack of the Email Fascists
I honestly can not stand most of my coworkers right now.
As I have alluded previously, I spent the last four weeks working insane (for me) hours. Three of the four weeks were spent in training and actually doing all the PM duties. The fourth and final week was spent catching up on all the testing that was not completed because I was, um, managing the project.
It was, hands down, four of the most hellish weeks I have ever spent in any organization's employ. Which is saying something as I have quit jobs, with nothing else lined up, for working conditions that were downright intolerable. The coke fiend of an assistant manager comes to mind.
It was not the plethora of meetings, with no advance notice, I discovered I had to attend in the absent Project Manager's stead. Or the lectures on why I needed to be up to speed on hours/defect rate for the project (I had no idea). Or the questions about planning out the resources for the week, which were supposed to be handled by someone else so I could squeeze in some testing. Or the statement “I expected you to have more testing completed before my return.” Or even the realization that I had all of the responsibility and none of the authority necessary to compel other testers to do their job, leading to a mind numbing, pain inducing thirty minute conversation with one tester on why it was necessary to run an additional set of tests to confirm a defect.
It was the email. The constant reminders to select “Reply All” and carbon copy an entire lab on an issue that should be an A/B conversation. It was the hundreds of project emails I had to wade through every day. It was the smug sucking up on the part of one coworker every time it came up that email had been used improperly.
Today, after remembering to notify and copy the correct parties on my planned tasks before leaving on Friday, I received a snide note from my manger about making sure I kept everyone informed on a response from what I thought was an A/B conversation. This came on the heels of a painful fall on the way to the bus stop this morning, one that resulted in torn jeans, a bloody and bruised knee and no time to return home and change. It was unwarranted and misdirected, as the manager was taking out his anger towards several project managers on me. Because they did not keep him “in the loop”.
Thanksgiving cannot come fast enough.
The Bad News: It is only five days into the month and I am all ready seriously behind on my word count.
The Good News: I am having a total blast writing this and have consciously decided NOT to worry about the word count. It has been almost ten years since I had this much fun writing something longer than a blog entry. The last time I felt this kind of creative joy was graduate school. I know why I gave it up for so long – I was terribly burned out when I finished my M.A and needed a break. But I wish I had not taken such a long break.
Attack of the Email Fascists
I honestly can not stand most of my coworkers right now.
As I have alluded previously, I spent the last four weeks working insane (for me) hours. Three of the four weeks were spent in training and actually doing all the PM duties. The fourth and final week was spent catching up on all the testing that was not completed because I was, um, managing the project.
It was, hands down, four of the most hellish weeks I have ever spent in any organization's employ. Which is saying something as I have quit jobs, with nothing else lined up, for working conditions that were downright intolerable. The coke fiend of an assistant manager comes to mind.
It was not the plethora of meetings, with no advance notice, I discovered I had to attend in the absent Project Manager's stead. Or the lectures on why I needed to be up to speed on hours/defect rate for the project (I had no idea). Or the questions about planning out the resources for the week, which were supposed to be handled by someone else so I could squeeze in some testing. Or the statement “I expected you to have more testing completed before my return.” Or even the realization that I had all of the responsibility and none of the authority necessary to compel other testers to do their job, leading to a mind numbing, pain inducing thirty minute conversation with one tester on why it was necessary to run an additional set of tests to confirm a defect.
It was the email. The constant reminders to select “Reply All” and carbon copy an entire lab on an issue that should be an A/B conversation. It was the hundreds of project emails I had to wade through every day. It was the smug sucking up on the part of one coworker every time it came up that email had been used improperly.
Today, after remembering to notify and copy the correct parties on my planned tasks before leaving on Friday, I received a snide note from my manger about making sure I kept everyone informed on a response from what I thought was an A/B conversation. This came on the heels of a painful fall on the way to the bus stop this morning, one that resulted in torn jeans, a bloody and bruised knee and no time to return home and change. It was unwarranted and misdirected, as the manager was taking out his anger towards several project managers on me. Because they did not keep him “in the loop”.
Thanksgiving cannot come fast enough.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
My Goal for November...
Is to write a novel. Fifty thousand words. One thousand seven hundred words a day for the next 30 days.
This will be interesting.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Notes
Lesson Learned: Never wear my Penn State sweatshirt in Pittsburgh on a Saturday in the fall. People have trouble understanding why a person would wear the name of a big ten team emblazoned across a piece of clothing simply because it was the warmest item of clothing close at hand when dressing in the morning.
This is what I have done in the past couple of weeks:
Last Weekend
National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, Washington D.C.
The National Shrine sits on the Campus of Catholic University. The lower part of the shrine has some truly amazing mosaics, pictorial representations of Mary from all over the world.
The upper part of the shrine, containing the church proper, is a different story. The area behind the alter is dominated by one of the kitchiest mosaic representations of Christ I have ever seen in my life. This is Jesus Christ sitting in the lotus position (or, as my BIL the priest calls it, the “Power” position) with flames shooting out of his head (in the shape of a cross) and a rainbow curving behind him.
Penguins at Capitals, Verizon Center, Washington D.C.
Great seats, great game and I witnessed Jordan Staal's first NHL fight. In which he was a most reluctant participant.
This Weekend
Saturday evening was spent trying home brew beer and watching the rain fall while wistfully dreaming of the bonfire, mountain pies and s'mores we would not be cooking that night. J unwittingly put his foot in his mouth when he remarked to the female half of a couple we know “Sometimes you just have to pick a fight,” unaware of the reason behind the couple's extremely late arrival – a fight.
Today was spent exploring the Eliza Furnace and Pittsburgh heritage trails.
This is what I have done in the past couple of weeks:
Last Weekend
National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, Washington D.C.
The National Shrine sits on the Campus of Catholic University. The lower part of the shrine has some truly amazing mosaics, pictorial representations of Mary from all over the world.
The upper part of the shrine, containing the church proper, is a different story. The area behind the alter is dominated by one of the kitchiest mosaic representations of Christ I have ever seen in my life. This is Jesus Christ sitting in the lotus position (or, as my BIL the priest calls it, the “Power” position) with flames shooting out of his head (in the shape of a cross) and a rainbow curving behind him.
Penguins at Capitals, Verizon Center, Washington D.C.
Great seats, great game and I witnessed Jordan Staal's first NHL fight. In which he was a most reluctant participant.
This Weekend
Saturday evening was spent trying home brew beer and watching the rain fall while wistfully dreaming of the bonfire, mountain pies and s'mores we would not be cooking that night. J unwittingly put his foot in his mouth when he remarked to the female half of a couple we know “Sometimes you just have to pick a fight,” unaware of the reason behind the couple's extremely late arrival – a fight.
Today was spent exploring the Eliza Furnace and Pittsburgh heritage trails.
Friday, October 26, 2007
FYI
Still Here
And exhausted from working massive overtime four weeks in a row. I have a cat clinging to my left arm (actually he is now sitting next to me with an injured look on his face because I pushed him off) and I am struggling to stay awake.
I have gone places and taken photographs, but I have not made the time to download the new pictures. Most of my free minutes have gone to sleeping.
Updates soon. For now, have some photographs from a ruin of my childhood. The owners have been slowly tearing the structure down in the past two years. Soon there were only be an empty field where there was once crumbling brick buildings.
I have gone places and taken photographs, but I have not made the time to download the new pictures. Most of my free minutes have gone to sleeping.
Updates soon. For now, have some photographs from a ruin of my childhood. The owners have been slowly tearing the structure down in the past two years. Soon there were only be an empty field where there was once crumbling brick buildings.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Into the Frying Pan Again
My mother called at 2:00 PM this afternoon. I was sitting in the car, excited to be out in the fall sunshine and ready to ride the Eliza Furnace Trail. J was taking the bikes off the back of the car.
My twin brother has been re-activated and must report for duty on January 5, 2008. He is being shipped off to Fort Benning, GA to serve another year of support in whatever-the-hell-we-are-calling our current adventure in Iraq. My brother, who all ready served 13 months in Kuwait, who was due to be released from the reserves in 2008 after serving 15 years.
I was told that my brother's second activation will be served state-side, but I don't believe it. And I am, not to put too fine of a point on it, PISSED. So angry that I kicked the car multiple times, precipitating an exchange of angry words between J and myself for almost damaging the car. A ten mile bike ride, homemade clam chowder and two cherry vodka's with Coke has not calmed me down.
I'm pissed because my brother was supposed to be married in December 2008. I'm pissed because his last deployment turned my mother into a utterly joyless basket case, unable to take pleasure in even the smallest thing in life. I'm pissed because my brother, who does not believe in this war, does believe in honoring his commitments and WILL join his unit on January 5 while legions of white, middle class conservative republican supporters in their twenties sit behind desks and spout about Bush's nobility instead of getting their lazy privileged assess to the recruitment office and actually serving.
So instead of writing about a beautiful fall day, the interesting graffiti, the dream trip I never knew I wanted and that Butler Street in Lawrenceville (Pittsburgh) made it into the New York Times I have only these words left:
So once again, Suck it, Bush.
My twin brother has been re-activated and must report for duty on January 5, 2008. He is being shipped off to Fort Benning, GA to serve another year of support in whatever-the-hell-we-are-calling our current adventure in Iraq. My brother, who all ready served 13 months in Kuwait, who was due to be released from the reserves in 2008 after serving 15 years.
I was told that my brother's second activation will be served state-side, but I don't believe it. And I am, not to put too fine of a point on it, PISSED. So angry that I kicked the car multiple times, precipitating an exchange of angry words between J and myself for almost damaging the car. A ten mile bike ride, homemade clam chowder and two cherry vodka's with Coke has not calmed me down.
I'm pissed because my brother was supposed to be married in December 2008. I'm pissed because his last deployment turned my mother into a utterly joyless basket case, unable to take pleasure in even the smallest thing in life. I'm pissed because my brother, who does not believe in this war, does believe in honoring his commitments and WILL join his unit on January 5 while legions of white, middle class conservative republican supporters in their twenties sit behind desks and spout about Bush's nobility instead of getting their lazy privileged assess to the recruitment office and actually serving.
So instead of writing about a beautiful fall day, the interesting graffiti, the dream trip I never knew I wanted and that Butler Street in Lawrenceville (Pittsburgh) made it into the New York Times I have only these words left:
So once again, Suck it, Bush.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Monday, October 08, 2007
Busy
First:
One of the blogs I read regularly opened a thread about bumper stickers. A few I never heard of until tonight:
Republicans for Voldemort.
Some days it's not even worth chewing through the restraints....
Bush/Cheney 1984
Second:
Writing will be sporadic the next couple of weeks. I'm too tired to be funny or coherent right now. I'm filling in for a vacationing project manager. Last Friday evening I came home so tired that if someone had pulled a gun I probably would have begged him/her/it to put me out of my misery.*
Third:
I don't know what it is like in the rest of the world, but it is October 8 and a sweltering 78 degrees outside. J and I have resisted turning the air conditioner back on because it is supposed to get cooler any day now. Except that any day does not seem to be coming anytime soon. And the feline inhabitants are as miserable as the humans right now. *
Fourth:
The Penguins won their home opener!
*Staying up until almost 1:00 AM to read Dexter in the Dark probably did not help much. And gave me seriously funky dreams.
One of the blogs I read regularly opened a thread about bumper stickers. A few I never heard of until tonight:
Republicans for Voldemort.
Some days it's not even worth chewing through the restraints....
Bush/Cheney 1984
Second:
Writing will be sporadic the next couple of weeks. I'm too tired to be funny or coherent right now. I'm filling in for a vacationing project manager. Last Friday evening I came home so tired that if someone had pulled a gun I probably would have begged him/her/it to put me out of my misery.*
Third:
I don't know what it is like in the rest of the world, but it is October 8 and a sweltering 78 degrees outside. J and I have resisted turning the air conditioner back on because it is supposed to get cooler any day now. Except that any day does not seem to be coming anytime soon. And the feline inhabitants are as miserable as the humans right now. *
Fourth:
The Penguins won their home opener!
*Staying up until almost 1:00 AM to read Dexter in the Dark probably did not help much. And gave me seriously funky dreams.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Animal Meme
Tagged by the Fabulous Foilwoman...
1. An interesting animal I had.
None of the animals I have owned, either as a child or an adult, have been terribly interesting to anyone else but myself except for Axel, two-legged kitty extraordinaire. And technically, he is J's cat, not mine.
2. An interesting animal I ate.
Ostrich, on a pizza.
3. An interesting thing I did with or to an animal.
What a creepy question.
I used to take my cat Squeak for rides in my car. He loved to ride in the car.
4. An interesting animal in a Museum.
Dinosaurs. Because some people think they are a hoax.
5. An interesting animal in its natural habitat
Polar bears, although I've only seen them in National Geographic.
1. An interesting animal I had.
None of the animals I have owned, either as a child or an adult, have been terribly interesting to anyone else but myself except for Axel, two-legged kitty extraordinaire. And technically, he is J's cat, not mine.
2. An interesting animal I ate.
Ostrich, on a pizza.
3. An interesting thing I did with or to an animal.
What a creepy question.
I used to take my cat Squeak for rides in my car. He loved to ride in the car.
4. An interesting animal in a Museum.
Dinosaurs. Because some people think they are a hoax.
5. An interesting animal in its natural habitat
Polar bears, although I've only seen them in National Geographic.
Monday, October 01, 2007
Tonight on the 46D
Dear Steelers Groupie,
It is really sweet that you are such a devoted fan of the Steelers' organization. And good for you for somehow managing to get yourself an “in” with the team.
However, I posit the suggestion that pimping out one of your girlfriends to Casey Hampton via a cell phone conversation on the 46D at 7:30 PM is probably a bad idea. As is disclosing numerous and easily verifiable facts about his personal life.
And what kind of friend are you anyway, hooking up a girlfriend with a man in a committed relationship? Don't you want better for her? What is wrong with Charlie Batch?
It is really sweet that you are such a devoted fan of the Steelers' organization. And good for you for somehow managing to get yourself an “in” with the team.
However, I posit the suggestion that pimping out one of your girlfriends to Casey Hampton via a cell phone conversation on the 46D at 7:30 PM is probably a bad idea. As is disclosing numerous and easily verifiable facts about his personal life.
And what kind of friend are you anyway, hooking up a girlfriend with a man in a committed relationship? Don't you want better for her? What is wrong with Charlie Batch?
Saturday, September 29, 2007
I am Completely Addicted
To the AMC series Mad Men. It is my new guilty pleasure. I can't help myself. I watched all the free episodes from On Demand. I actually caught myself thinking "Finally, a DECENT lineup of television on Thursday night" when it came on last night.
It is spectacularly sexist. All the men are philanderers. The woman are either sexual "predators", cusp-of-feminist-consciousness housewives or nascent versions of ball busting bitches. There are two closet homosexuals, some beat poets and vintage campaign commercials from John Kennedy and Richard Nixon thrown in for good measure.
In my defense, I am enduring my annual, early fall week of catch-a-virus and end-up-with-bronchitis. Which means I am restricted to the house, watching bad television and surfing the series of tubes when I am not at work. I can feel the fat cells expanding and my brain cells gasping for breath.
I'm also spending far more money then I should on 1. Books: Sin in the Second City, 2. iTunes: Michael Bublé, Annie Lennox, Feist* and Hem**, 3. Candy: Sarris turtles, chocolate covered pretzels and peanut butter melt-aways. My neighbor's daughter is raising money to go to New York City next spring. She has to raise $1,000. The average Sarris order is around $50.00. I think she'll make it after all.
Time to go. Showtime made the first season of Dexter available On Demand, gratis until October 4. Time to catch up on the series.
*Apparently Feist owns a flat in Paris, but never gets to spend time there. I would be more than happy to keep her flat company anytime.
**See. Too much television. I am purchasing music I hear on commercials.
It is spectacularly sexist. All the men are philanderers. The woman are either sexual "predators", cusp-of-feminist-consciousness housewives or nascent versions of ball busting bitches. There are two closet homosexuals, some beat poets and vintage campaign commercials from John Kennedy and Richard Nixon thrown in for good measure.
In my defense, I am enduring my annual, early fall week of catch-a-virus and end-up-with-bronchitis. Which means I am restricted to the house, watching bad television and surfing the series of tubes when I am not at work. I can feel the fat cells expanding and my brain cells gasping for breath.
I'm also spending far more money then I should on 1. Books: Sin in the Second City, 2. iTunes: Michael Bublé, Annie Lennox, Feist* and Hem**, 3. Candy: Sarris turtles, chocolate covered pretzels and peanut butter melt-aways. My neighbor's daughter is raising money to go to New York City next spring. She has to raise $1,000. The average Sarris order is around $50.00. I think she'll make it after all.
Time to go. Showtime made the first season of Dexter available On Demand, gratis until October 4. Time to catch up on the series.
*Apparently Feist owns a flat in Paris, but never gets to spend time there. I would be more than happy to keep her flat company anytime.
**See. Too much television. I am purchasing music I hear on commercials.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
People I Would Like to Drop Kick into Next Year
Candidate number one is my co-worker, for passing one whatever evil virus she caught from a niece onto myself and others in the office. The strange coincidence is over half the staff in my company's west coast headquarters is also sick from the same evil virus.
Candidate number two is the unknown personality who damaged the bike lock I will be forced to return to Target tomorrow morning. The lock, a cable combo key lock, was designed so the buyer could reset the combination. However, it appears it can only be reset once and someone did so while it was in the packaging in the store. And set it to 0-0-0-0. Which makes the thing absolutely pointless to use, I might as well leave the bike unattended on the street. And cable locks are very easy to cut, so I will have to purchase something different anyway.
I think I shall go with candidate number three. I'm not feeling well enough to come up with an original and creative name for her[self], so for the sake of clarity I shall call her “Three”. Some context is necessary...
After a marathon dash through Target to purchase the bike lock and stock up on essentials (kitty litter, cat food, paper towels, etc) I stopped in Marshall's to purchase some new gym clothes, as working out in ill-fitting, uncomfortable and/or falling apart togs is not adding any motivation to my gym routine. The checkout counters were full of customers and sparse of cashiers, so I resigned myself to a longish wait to check out.
Lo, a new register opens and I am asked to step over and pay for my new attire. Just as I reach the counter and put my clothes down, Three, who had been standing there watching my progress, announces that she is waiting to return something and she was there first.
Having successfully lost my place in two lines, I shrug, pick the clothes up off the counter and step aside. And wait. And wait some more for Three to approach the register. In the time it took Three to walk five feet I could have paid and been out the door.
Three finally makes it to the register and puts down a jacket. She begins to explain why she was returning the item (“I thought I could get it altered but my tailor said absolutely not...”). The cashier asks her for a receipt. Three does not know where the receipt is, somewhere in her wallet, please wait while she digs around her purse (which I could easily pack a week's worth of clothing into) for her wallet, then dig through hundreds of pieces of paper for the receipt. “I can't find it” she says and continues digging. More time passes. The cashier, in an attempt to marginally speed up the transaction, says that she can give Three store credit. “That's fine, I shop here all the time” Three responds and continues sorting pieces of paper. People who were behind me in the first line have checked out and are leaving the story.
At long last another register is opened right in front of me and I am able to check out.
Candidate number two is the unknown personality who damaged the bike lock I will be forced to return to Target tomorrow morning. The lock, a cable combo key lock, was designed so the buyer could reset the combination. However, it appears it can only be reset once and someone did so while it was in the packaging in the store. And set it to 0-0-0-0. Which makes the thing absolutely pointless to use, I might as well leave the bike unattended on the street. And cable locks are very easy to cut, so I will have to purchase something different anyway.
I think I shall go with candidate number three. I'm not feeling well enough to come up with an original and creative name for her[self], so for the sake of clarity I shall call her “Three”. Some context is necessary...
After a marathon dash through Target to purchase the bike lock and stock up on essentials (kitty litter, cat food, paper towels, etc) I stopped in Marshall's to purchase some new gym clothes, as working out in ill-fitting, uncomfortable and/or falling apart togs is not adding any motivation to my gym routine. The checkout counters were full of customers and sparse of cashiers, so I resigned myself to a longish wait to check out.
Lo, a new register opens and I am asked to step over and pay for my new attire. Just as I reach the counter and put my clothes down, Three, who had been standing there watching my progress, announces that she is waiting to return something and she was there first.
Having successfully lost my place in two lines, I shrug, pick the clothes up off the counter and step aside. And wait. And wait some more for Three to approach the register. In the time it took Three to walk five feet I could have paid and been out the door.
Three finally makes it to the register and puts down a jacket. She begins to explain why she was returning the item (“I thought I could get it altered but my tailor said absolutely not...”). The cashier asks her for a receipt. Three does not know where the receipt is, somewhere in her wallet, please wait while she digs around her purse (which I could easily pack a week's worth of clothing into) for her wallet, then dig through hundreds of pieces of paper for the receipt. “I can't find it” she says and continues digging. More time passes. The cashier, in an attempt to marginally speed up the transaction, says that she can give Three store credit. “That's fine, I shop here all the time” Three responds and continues sorting pieces of paper. People who were behind me in the first line have checked out and are leaving the story.
At long last another register is opened right in front of me and I am able to check out.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Extraordinarily Banal...
is my first impression of the lives of S.S. officers depicted in the photographs from the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. I stumbled across it via an article in the New York Times Arts section this morning and waited impatiently for the day to end, so I could go home and pull up the on-line exhibit on my laptop.
When I was young, the first thing I did whenever I visited my grandparents was pull one of the three volumes of The People's Almanac from my grandfather's bookshelves. I would spend hours reading these books from cover to cover and learned about everything from the Everleigh sisters (1) to how famous people died. I loved the books so much that my grandfather went out, purchased Volume 2 and sent it home with my mother with instructions to give it to me.
But the entry that left the deepest impression was on Josef Mengele from the first volume. Wallace and Wallechinsky's detailed descriptions of his experiments on prisoners left me alternately enthralled and fearful that he would have experimented on my twin brother and myself. This was during the time that I was also reading Judy Blume's Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself (2) and the Diary of Anne Frank. Strange now to think how, at age eight, these somewhat disparate pieces of literature converged to give me a lifelong interest in the Holocaust.
I don't remember seeing a photograph of Mengele with that entry. Perhaps there was one. In my memory, reading about his experiments, I conceived of something monstrous. The Mengele of my imagination looked like a hairless, slightly older Colonel Dietrich (3) in a lab coat, forever fixed in his laboratory.
The Mengele of the Höecker album looks ordinary, like someone I would talk to while in line at the coffee shop. Photos of him on retreat and hanging around the camp, sometimes with arms crossed, sometimes smiling. The context of prisoners has been removed from all the frames, leading the viewer to believe that this is just another ordinary military base. The captions, the narration, the history is a necessary juxtaposition to jar the viewer into remember where they all are – in a death camp.
Notes:
(1) Read Karen Abbott's Sin in the Second City: Madams, Ministers, Playboys and the Battle for America's Soul for more information on the sisters and the time period in which they ran their brothel. I have not read it (yet) but the reviews have been good.
(2) I confess that I really enjoy pulling up reader reviews for controversial books and/or authors, sorting them by “Lowest Rating First” and reading why people hate the book.
(3) One of the villains (a Nazi, naturally) in Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark.
When I was young, the first thing I did whenever I visited my grandparents was pull one of the three volumes of The People's Almanac from my grandfather's bookshelves. I would spend hours reading these books from cover to cover and learned about everything from the Everleigh sisters (1) to how famous people died. I loved the books so much that my grandfather went out, purchased Volume 2 and sent it home with my mother with instructions to give it to me.
But the entry that left the deepest impression was on Josef Mengele from the first volume. Wallace and Wallechinsky's detailed descriptions of his experiments on prisoners left me alternately enthralled and fearful that he would have experimented on my twin brother and myself. This was during the time that I was also reading Judy Blume's Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself (2) and the Diary of Anne Frank. Strange now to think how, at age eight, these somewhat disparate pieces of literature converged to give me a lifelong interest in the Holocaust.
I don't remember seeing a photograph of Mengele with that entry. Perhaps there was one. In my memory, reading about his experiments, I conceived of something monstrous. The Mengele of my imagination looked like a hairless, slightly older Colonel Dietrich (3) in a lab coat, forever fixed in his laboratory.
The Mengele of the Höecker album looks ordinary, like someone I would talk to while in line at the coffee shop. Photos of him on retreat and hanging around the camp, sometimes with arms crossed, sometimes smiling. The context of prisoners has been removed from all the frames, leading the viewer to believe that this is just another ordinary military base. The captions, the narration, the history is a necessary juxtaposition to jar the viewer into remember where they all are – in a death camp.
Notes:
(1) Read Karen Abbott's Sin in the Second City: Madams, Ministers, Playboys and the Battle for America's Soul for more information on the sisters and the time period in which they ran their brothel. I have not read it (yet) but the reviews have been good.
(2) I confess that I really enjoy pulling up reader reviews for controversial books and/or authors, sorting them by “Lowest Rating First” and reading why people hate the book.
(3) One of the villains (a Nazi, naturally) in Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Today
Was a perfect day, more than adequate to make up for the wreckage that was Saturday, September 15, 2007.
For today we went to Kennywood and I rode all the roller coasters including the tall, scary Phantom's Revenge (a first). I sat in the front car of the Jack Rabbit (another first) and screamed my head off at being hung upside down (never again, it was terrifying) on the Areo 360.
Only in Pittsburgh can you walk around an amusement park on a Sunday afternoon and listen to the Steeler game over the PA system.
As for Saturday...
I tried to do a good deed yesterday. The good deed was successful, but I ended up feeling terrible about it. That I had only myself to blame for feeling badly made me feel even worse.
J and I made separate plans on Saturday. J and his father were going to watch J's nephew race his BMX bike. I was going to take my bike on the Eliza Furnace Trail (aka Jail Trail for its proximity to the Allegheny County Jail) and take some photographs of the graffiti and a Sprout Fund mural.
When J's father arrived I was in the middle of throwing ingredients for chicken noodle soup into the crock pot and I asked J's father to come by after the races to have dinner. When J's father asked me what I was cooking, I responded honestly, that I was making soup. J's father, in classic fashion, announced that he did not want that for dinner and would not eat with us unless I made chili instead. Because J's mom never made chili any more.
I should have told J's father to go buy a pizza then. But I did not. We have not had the best relationship (ever) and it has deteriorated even further in the past year as we started setting hard limits on what behavior we will accept. In turn he has become more irritable and difficult to deal with, partially because he is not being given the control he had before. I want very much for J to continue to have a good relationship with his father. So, as a gesture of goodwill, I said I would make him chili for dinner.
My plans went totally to hell after that. An hour and fifteen minutes round trip to the grocery store, due to traffic, construction and being force to shop amidst total chaos at noon on a Saturday. Another hour down for prep work, cutting up the peppers, onions and garlic, carefully browning the beef and pork, making the seasoning mix and rinsing the beans. Still I thought, since J and his father were not due back until between 5 and 6 PM, I would have time to go for a bike ride. Cook for an hour, shut off the stove and leave instructions to cook a second hour, stir periodically and serve.
Except that J called at 3:15 to tell me that they were all ready on their way back to the house. No chance for me to turn off the stove and escape after all. Even though J offered to help, I said no as I did not want to give the impression I was being rude.
Facilitating their relationship, I kept telling myself. Even after J's father made comments about how there was not enough beans in the chili and that the bread we used was different. To his credit, he did enjoy it and went home with two containers of it to use on hot dogs.
And I went to bed discouraged.
For today we went to Kennywood and I rode all the roller coasters including the tall, scary Phantom's Revenge (a first). I sat in the front car of the Jack Rabbit (another first) and screamed my head off at being hung upside down (never again, it was terrifying) on the Areo 360.
Only in Pittsburgh can you walk around an amusement park on a Sunday afternoon and listen to the Steeler game over the PA system.
As for Saturday...
I tried to do a good deed yesterday. The good deed was successful, but I ended up feeling terrible about it. That I had only myself to blame for feeling badly made me feel even worse.
J and I made separate plans on Saturday. J and his father were going to watch J's nephew race his BMX bike. I was going to take my bike on the Eliza Furnace Trail (aka Jail Trail for its proximity to the Allegheny County Jail) and take some photographs of the graffiti and a Sprout Fund mural.
When J's father arrived I was in the middle of throwing ingredients for chicken noodle soup into the crock pot and I asked J's father to come by after the races to have dinner. When J's father asked me what I was cooking, I responded honestly, that I was making soup. J's father, in classic fashion, announced that he did not want that for dinner and would not eat with us unless I made chili instead. Because J's mom never made chili any more.
I should have told J's father to go buy a pizza then. But I did not. We have not had the best relationship (ever) and it has deteriorated even further in the past year as we started setting hard limits on what behavior we will accept. In turn he has become more irritable and difficult to deal with, partially because he is not being given the control he had before. I want very much for J to continue to have a good relationship with his father. So, as a gesture of goodwill, I said I would make him chili for dinner.
My plans went totally to hell after that. An hour and fifteen minutes round trip to the grocery store, due to traffic, construction and being force to shop amidst total chaos at noon on a Saturday. Another hour down for prep work, cutting up the peppers, onions and garlic, carefully browning the beef and pork, making the seasoning mix and rinsing the beans. Still I thought, since J and his father were not due back until between 5 and 6 PM, I would have time to go for a bike ride. Cook for an hour, shut off the stove and leave instructions to cook a second hour, stir periodically and serve.
Except that J called at 3:15 to tell me that they were all ready on their way back to the house. No chance for me to turn off the stove and escape after all. Even though J offered to help, I said no as I did not want to give the impression I was being rude.
Facilitating their relationship, I kept telling myself. Even after J's father made comments about how there was not enough beans in the chili and that the bread we used was different. To his credit, he did enjoy it and went home with two containers of it to use on hot dogs.
And I went to bed discouraged.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Question
How upset are readers going to be over this Doonesbury? (In case the date has changed, it is the Sunday, September 16, 2007 strip).
Place your bets.
Place your bets.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Blog Quote of the Year
"pictures that are loathsome it a Dolores Umbridge kind of way"
Foilwoman, from the September 12 entry You Don't Need to be a Weatherman...
And a less than loathsome photograph:
There is too much green and the focus is wrong, but I like it anyway.
Foilwoman, from the September 12 entry You Don't Need to be a Weatherman...
And a less than loathsome photograph:
There is too much green and the focus is wrong, but I like it anyway.
More Letters to the Editor Fun
The Pittsburgh Post Gazette ran an article on September 9 about an undocumented worker by the pseudonym of Juan Carlos Serrano. Serrano landed in the United states via Guatemala at the age of 17 seeking what most undocumented workers seek – a job that pays enough to help pull himself and his family out of poverty. He purchased a new name and social security number and landed in Pittsburgh with a job that paid enough money for him be able to send funds home to build a home for his family and himself. In April of 2005 he lost his arm in an accident (he was hit by a Port Authority train) and was taken to Mercy Hospital for treatment.
There have been only two letters to the editor responding directly to the article and both were stunningly unsympathetic. One writer complained that the Post-Gazette was being dishonest by referring to Serrano as “Mr. Serrano” instead “this illegal alien” (did he come from a different planet?), and was horrified that the patients of Mercy hospital were “subsidizing treatment for someone who is not intelligent enough to know that walking in front of a train is hazardous to your health” (thus implying that stupid people did not deserve medical treatment). He closed with a variation of the classic “liberals are stupid” canard.
The second writer wanted to know why neither the Mercy Hospital nor the Post Gazette reported Serrano to the INS.
So, for the edification of both writers, I am going to say this very slowly:
Mercy
Hospital
is a
Catholic
Institution.
I am a seriously lapsed Catholic and will most likely not voluntarily set foot in a Catholic church again in my lifetime (barring the weddings, funerals and baptisms of friends/family). I have some serious and significant issues with the way the hierarchy treats the laity. But the Catholic hospitals (reproductive issues aside) have long lead other medical institutions in treating the poor, the infirm, the illegal immigrants of the United States. It is part of the fucking mission of Mercy Hospital to treat undocumented/illegal workers such as Serrano, along with anyone else carried through the emergency room doors.
Be advised that I am not painting institutions such as Mercy Hospital as shining examples of health care. The trend towards Catholic hospitals taking over their secular counterparts and cutting reproductive services (refusing to administer EC to female rape victims A. at all or B. who are ovulating, refusing to perform vasectomies or tie a woman's tubes, etc) is distressing as it imposes a very specific and restrictive set of beliefs on patients who may not share those beliefs. Such as myself.
So it is unsurprising that Mercy Hospital would treat a stupid, illegal “alien” and elect not to turn him over to the INS. Because that would run counter to the mission of the hospital and the church.
There have been only two letters to the editor responding directly to the article and both were stunningly unsympathetic. One writer complained that the Post-Gazette was being dishonest by referring to Serrano as “Mr. Serrano” instead “this illegal alien” (did he come from a different planet?), and was horrified that the patients of Mercy hospital were “subsidizing treatment for someone who is not intelligent enough to know that walking in front of a train is hazardous to your health” (thus implying that stupid people did not deserve medical treatment). He closed with a variation of the classic “liberals are stupid” canard.
The second writer wanted to know why neither the Mercy Hospital nor the Post Gazette reported Serrano to the INS.
So, for the edification of both writers, I am going to say this very slowly:
Mercy
Hospital
is a
Catholic
Institution.
I am a seriously lapsed Catholic and will most likely not voluntarily set foot in a Catholic church again in my lifetime (barring the weddings, funerals and baptisms of friends/family). I have some serious and significant issues with the way the hierarchy treats the laity. But the Catholic hospitals (reproductive issues aside) have long lead other medical institutions in treating the poor, the infirm, the illegal immigrants of the United States. It is part of the fucking mission of Mercy Hospital to treat undocumented/illegal workers such as Serrano, along with anyone else carried through the emergency room doors.
Be advised that I am not painting institutions such as Mercy Hospital as shining examples of health care. The trend towards Catholic hospitals taking over their secular counterparts and cutting reproductive services (refusing to administer EC to female rape victims A. at all or B. who are ovulating, refusing to perform vasectomies or tie a woman's tubes, etc) is distressing as it imposes a very specific and restrictive set of beliefs on patients who may not share those beliefs. Such as myself.
So it is unsurprising that Mercy Hospital would treat a stupid, illegal “alien” and elect not to turn him over to the INS. Because that would run counter to the mission of the hospital and the church.
Little Red Bicycle
My day began shortly before 6:00 AM when the alarm woke me from a dream of dancing monkeys, music and songs about dancing monkeys. Sung by Jack Johnson. I must have been thinking about Curious George before I went to sleep. It was a perfect bookend to Tuesday night, in which I took a hot bath and essentially passed out in my bed. Several days of stress and little sleep will do that to a girl.
It could have been a bad day, trapped in meetings at 10:00 AM, 12:30 PM and 2:00 PM, with a testing deadline looming over my head. I also received a heads-up email from my manager of a general come-to- discussion over our work habits. My manager wanted to let me know in advance that there were not any issues with my work. Its a good thing to know.
Somehow it was not a bad day. Maybe because J is up and moving around, his incisions well on the way to healed. Maybe it was because it was sunny and cooler today and I was able to put the window next to my desk up to catch some of the fresh-”ish” air. Maybe because I was able to leave work early enough to go home, put my new red bicycle in the car and go for a ride. My only complaint about the ride is that the path I chose is not long enough. I am going to try the Jail Trail tomorrow afternoon, if the weather gods continue to be kind.
It could have been a bad day, trapped in meetings at 10:00 AM, 12:30 PM and 2:00 PM, with a testing deadline looming over my head. I also received a heads-up email from my manager of a general come-to-
Somehow it was not a bad day. Maybe because J is up and moving around, his incisions well on the way to healed. Maybe it was because it was sunny and cooler today and I was able to put the window next to my desk up to catch some of the fresh-”ish” air. Maybe because I was able to leave work early enough to go home, put my new red bicycle in the car and go for a ride. My only complaint about the ride is that the path I chose is not long enough. I am going to try the Jail Trail tomorrow afternoon, if the weather gods continue to be kind.
Saturday, September 08, 2007
A Long Day's Journey into Another Long Day
Thursday began with a phone call from UPMC's surgical center verifying that J would be on time for his appointment. UPMC also insisted that J come in for crutch training and subtly implied that the procedure would be postponed until he had the training.
For those wondering how UPMC made three-quarters of a billion dollars in profit last year – this is how. By blackmailing patients into lessons on how to use crutches and sending them home with a glorified ice pack (more on that in a moment).
We left the house early to give us enough time to locate the surgical center and make crutch training. With an hour to spare and the South Hills Village mall mere minutes from UPMC, we stopped at Barnes & Noble to browse through the books. I discovered and recorded new titles from some favorite authors and looked over some of the Portugal guidebooks for a trip next August.
The one thing I did not do was stop and get something to eat. Convinced that I would be able to slip out when J was in crutch training or surgery I made the fatal mistake of passing up the only opportunity I would have all day to get something resembling a meal.
We returned to the center, checked in and headed to the physical therapy unit so J could learn how to use his crutches. In order to save some money I dug up the pair my brother used in high school. After spending almost twenty years in attics the rubber tips were cracked and the padding smelled inexplicably of peanut butter. But they were functional and the correct size. After twenty minutes J had his crutch technique mastered and was ready to be cut open.
And I waited for an opening to slip away and get something to eat. First for the nurses to finish prepping J and take him into surgery, Then for the the surgery to be complete. Then for him to wake up in the recovery room. The opportunity never came. By the time I realized that no meal was forthcoming it was too late to buy a sandwich from the snack bar, as it was closing. My first meal of the day was at 1:30 in the afternoon and consisted of water, a bag or pretzels and a candy bar.
The rest of the day was spent exhausted and half starved. I drove J home and got him settled into bed. I hooked up the glorified ice pack, consisting of a cooler filled with ice water, a filter and a small motor that circulates the iced water through a pad wrapped around his knee. The cooler must be emptied and refilled before the ice melts, every four to six hours. After the third refill and second trip to get ice I realized that several giant bags of frozen vegetables would be less expensive (the contraption cost upwards 150 dollars) and a lot easier, as a thawed bag could be replaced with a frozen one on a rotating basis.
After getting J settled I ran errands. First to the state store for a bottle of rum and bottle of Irish creme. Next was Radio Shack to purchase a power strip so J could plug in his computer and the glorified ice pack without unplugging the clock and the lamp on the nightstand. Finally the grocery store to fill his prescriptions and buy some groceries, including the first of many bags of ice.
I returned home to clean out the cat boxes, fold the laundry, wash the dishes and mop the kitchen floor. I finally got a chance to eat around six, grocery store sushi. The rest of the evening was spent ferrying food, beverages, towels and ice water up and down the stairs and making multiple runs to the gas station for ice. I finally collapsed around one AM, only to wake at four to turn off the cooler before the ice melted away.
Today was more of the same, with a break this afternoon to buy some new towels and t-shirts at the Waterfront. I am dying to try out my new bike, but the heat has been unbearable. It is supposed to break tomorrow, but I will not get an opportunity as J's parents are coming to check on him in the early afternoon and probably will not leave until dark. And Sunday is out since we agreed to watch the first Steeler game of the season at a friend's home.
For those wondering how UPMC made three-quarters of a billion dollars in profit last year – this is how. By blackmailing patients into lessons on how to use crutches and sending them home with a glorified ice pack (more on that in a moment).
We left the house early to give us enough time to locate the surgical center and make crutch training. With an hour to spare and the South Hills Village mall mere minutes from UPMC, we stopped at Barnes & Noble to browse through the books. I discovered and recorded new titles from some favorite authors and looked over some of the Portugal guidebooks for a trip next August.
The one thing I did not do was stop and get something to eat. Convinced that I would be able to slip out when J was in crutch training or surgery I made the fatal mistake of passing up the only opportunity I would have all day to get something resembling a meal.
We returned to the center, checked in and headed to the physical therapy unit so J could learn how to use his crutches. In order to save some money I dug up the pair my brother used in high school. After spending almost twenty years in attics the rubber tips were cracked and the padding smelled inexplicably of peanut butter. But they were functional and the correct size. After twenty minutes J had his crutch technique mastered and was ready to be cut open.
And I waited for an opening to slip away and get something to eat. First for the nurses to finish prepping J and take him into surgery, Then for the the surgery to be complete. Then for him to wake up in the recovery room. The opportunity never came. By the time I realized that no meal was forthcoming it was too late to buy a sandwich from the snack bar, as it was closing. My first meal of the day was at 1:30 in the afternoon and consisted of water, a bag or pretzels and a candy bar.
The rest of the day was spent exhausted and half starved. I drove J home and got him settled into bed. I hooked up the glorified ice pack, consisting of a cooler filled with ice water, a filter and a small motor that circulates the iced water through a pad wrapped around his knee. The cooler must be emptied and refilled before the ice melts, every four to six hours. After the third refill and second trip to get ice I realized that several giant bags of frozen vegetables would be less expensive (the contraption cost upwards 150 dollars) and a lot easier, as a thawed bag could be replaced with a frozen one on a rotating basis.
After getting J settled I ran errands. First to the state store for a bottle of rum and bottle of Irish creme. Next was Radio Shack to purchase a power strip so J could plug in his computer and the glorified ice pack without unplugging the clock and the lamp on the nightstand. Finally the grocery store to fill his prescriptions and buy some groceries, including the first of many bags of ice.
I returned home to clean out the cat boxes, fold the laundry, wash the dishes and mop the kitchen floor. I finally got a chance to eat around six, grocery store sushi. The rest of the evening was spent ferrying food, beverages, towels and ice water up and down the stairs and making multiple runs to the gas station for ice. I finally collapsed around one AM, only to wake at four to turn off the cooler before the ice melted away.
Today was more of the same, with a break this afternoon to buy some new towels and t-shirts at the Waterfront. I am dying to try out my new bike, but the heat has been unbearable. It is supposed to break tomorrow, but I will not get an opportunity as J's parents are coming to check on him in the early afternoon and probably will not leave until dark. And Sunday is out since we agreed to watch the first Steeler game of the season at a friend's home.
Friday, September 07, 2007
Madeleine L'Engle (1918-2007)
One of my all time favorite writers, Madeleine L'Engle, died on Thursday, September 7, 2007.
From A Circle of Quiet:
Then there's a third way: to live as though you believe that the power behind the universe is a power of love, a love so great that all of us really do matter to him. He loves us so much that every single one of our lives has meaning; he really does know about the fall of the sparrow, and the hairs on our head are really counted. That's the only way I can live.
Edited at 10:43 PM to add some links.
Metafilter
New York Times Obituary
From A Circle of Quiet:
Then there's a third way: to live as though you believe that the power behind the universe is a power of love, a love so great that all of us really do matter to him. He loves us so much that every single one of our lives has meaning; he really does know about the fall of the sparrow, and the hairs on our head are really counted. That's the only way I can live.
Edited at 10:43 PM to add some links.
Metafilter
New York Times Obituary
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
A Little from Column A, A Little from Column B, C and D...
J's surgery is in two days and I am grasping at the humor straws to stay calm as his parents continue in their assault to come to Pittsburgh and make a nuisance of themselves on Thursday.
J's parents fall into the category of world's worst hospital visitors. I submit as evidence the incident in which J's older brother shattered his elbow while snowboarding. When J and I arrived at the hospital it was very late and we were told his brother was sleeping after several hours of surgery and a massive dose of painkillers. When we informed his parents that we would come back the next day at an earlier time, they insisted we go in and wake him up.
After some discussion, it was decided that J would respectfully decline his parents offer to be there during his surgery and ask them to come the day after. I was upfront in my objections - they are not very well behaved in hospitals, the surgical center is an outpatient only clinic and not very large and it would create additional stress for me to run interference with the hospital staff while preventing his parents from taking over entirely.
I offered to go to work and let his parents take him instead, which J refused, saying “I want you there with me”. He called and gave them a detailed verbal description of what would happen and followed it up with a detailed email restating the same things he said verbally.
His parents have now come up with a different strategy, calling and offering to help me, which is really J's parent-speak for trying to find a polite way around our prior request to come the day after. I am very aware that they want to be at the surgical center to make themselves feel better, as they have an inherent mistrust of hospitals and become very stressed whenever a family member must be admitted for any reason. But those are precisely the times when they need to put their trust in the spouse of their child, which they are loathe to do.
This all leads me back to frantically trying to find humor in the most awful of things.
Exhibit A: was a brief news report on the discovery of a body split in half and left in multiple garbage bags. The report, in full:
A passer-by made a gruesome discovery in Point Breeze this morning -- a body split into two and left inside plastic bags at Fifth Avenue and Simonton Street.
Police believe the bags had been there for a few days.
Right now, even the gender of the victim is unknown.
The edge of hysteria in the last sentence had me gasping for air for several minutes.
Exhibit B: comes from my parents, on a two week vacation in Branson, MO. They are very excited to have scored tickets to the comedic stylings of Yakov Smirnof. At 9:30 in the morning.
My parents have officially jumped the shark and are no longer cool. Period. And I am a very bad child for making fun of them, but Yakov Smirnof at 9:30 in the morning is too precious to pass up.
Exhibit C: There is no exhibit C. I purchased a bicycle this afternoon, a red Cannondale Comfort Féminine to take on the rails to trails around Pittsburgh, since the rentals were far too heavy for me to continue using.
J's parents fall into the category of world's worst hospital visitors. I submit as evidence the incident in which J's older brother shattered his elbow while snowboarding. When J and I arrived at the hospital it was very late and we were told his brother was sleeping after several hours of surgery and a massive dose of painkillers. When we informed his parents that we would come back the next day at an earlier time, they insisted we go in and wake him up.
After some discussion, it was decided that J would respectfully decline his parents offer to be there during his surgery and ask them to come the day after. I was upfront in my objections - they are not very well behaved in hospitals, the surgical center is an outpatient only clinic and not very large and it would create additional stress for me to run interference with the hospital staff while preventing his parents from taking over entirely.
I offered to go to work and let his parents take him instead, which J refused, saying “I want you there with me”. He called and gave them a detailed verbal description of what would happen and followed it up with a detailed email restating the same things he said verbally.
His parents have now come up with a different strategy, calling and offering to help me, which is really J's parent-speak for trying to find a polite way around our prior request to come the day after. I am very aware that they want to be at the surgical center to make themselves feel better, as they have an inherent mistrust of hospitals and become very stressed whenever a family member must be admitted for any reason. But those are precisely the times when they need to put their trust in the spouse of their child, which they are loathe to do.
This all leads me back to frantically trying to find humor in the most awful of things.
Exhibit A: was a brief news report on the discovery of a body split in half and left in multiple garbage bags. The report, in full:
A passer-by made a gruesome discovery in Point Breeze this morning -- a body split into two and left inside plastic bags at Fifth Avenue and Simonton Street.
Police believe the bags had been there for a few days.
Right now, even the gender of the victim is unknown.
The edge of hysteria in the last sentence had me gasping for air for several minutes.
Exhibit B: comes from my parents, on a two week vacation in Branson, MO. They are very excited to have scored tickets to the comedic stylings of Yakov Smirnof. At 9:30 in the morning.
My parents have officially jumped the shark and are no longer cool. Period. And I am a very bad child for making fun of them, but Yakov Smirnof at 9:30 in the morning is too precious to pass up.
Exhibit C: There is no exhibit C. I purchased a bicycle this afternoon, a red Cannondale Comfort Féminine to take on the rails to trails around Pittsburgh, since the rentals were far too heavy for me to continue using.
Monday, August 27, 2007
What are You Doing New Year's Day?
I will be in Buffalo, New York watching the Penguins/Sabres game.
At Ralph Wilson Stadium.
Outside.
In Buffalo.
On New Year's Day.
Which means instead of our annual New Year's Eve dinner, a group of us will be piling into a car to drive to Buffalo. One of our friends already booked two rooms at a nearby hotel.
At Ralph Wilson Stadium.
Outside.
In Buffalo.
On New Year's Day.
Which means instead of our annual New Year's Eve dinner, a group of us will be piling into a car to drive to Buffalo. One of our friends already booked two rooms at a nearby hotel.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Little League
With summer winding down, J and I headed to Williamsport, PA to visit my brother and sister-in-law and watch the International and USA finals of the Little League World Series.
I honestly can not remember the last time I had that much fun at a baseball game. Since tickets to the stands are difficult to obtain, we staked out a shady spot above the field and watched four teams of twelve year old boys play in 93 degree heat with amazing poise and discipline. At one point it felt as if I had entered a time warp, listening to to the crack of ball upon bat while watching young children slide down the hill on cardboard and adults try to create a breeze with old-fashioned paper fans.
We were also initiated into some of the LLWS traditions, such as the tradition of very grown men* buying and swapping dozens of Little League baseball pins from all over the world. Such men carry their bounty in cloth books.
*In his fifties, at least. He had statistics on all the teams and was predicting where some of the players would go to play college ball. Did I mention that these players were twelve year old boys?
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
On the Lighter Side
J has been having trouble with his knee for the past several weeks and saw the doctor yesterday to get the results of his MRI. The news was not very good, a compound tear of the meniscus requiring surgery to cut out the damaged cartilage. I sigh and wave the hopes of a fall weekend get-away goodbye.
The surgery is being performed through UPMC Sports Medicine and the center is sending J a packet of information. Along with an order for a blood draw and standard release forms is contact information for crutch training.
Hee.
The surgery is being performed through UPMC Sports Medicine and the center is sending J a packet of information. Along with an order for a blood draw and standard release forms is contact information for crutch training.
Hee.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Still have nothing...
There is a lot happening. Just not to me, personally.
So have another photograph.
So have another photograph.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
I've...
got nothing right now. Really. There is not a whole lot going on in my corner of the universe since I purged myself of ill will towards my fellow co-workers.
So have a photograph...
Did you know that there are people who give tango lessons on the Quai Saint Bernard?
So have a photograph...
Did you know that there are people who give tango lessons on the Quai Saint Bernard?
Monday, August 06, 2007
Someone Stop Me...
... from wrapping my weak, crooked little fingers around a co-worker's neck and marshaling supernatural strength to throttle my victim into submission.
I am not the most patient person in the universe, but over the years I have managed to develop a touch of self control whilst earning the paycheck that keeps the three felines in kibble and the two humans of the household in fun money. Since my return from vacation, the absolute insanity and sheer incompetence of some of my co-workers has sent me into a silent, sulking fury.
Where to begin? With the aforementioned co-worker who failed to lock up prototypes over the weekend? This same employee, who can not be bothered to spend 10 minutes looking up whether the lab possesses a piece of software and wastes half a day downloading it? Who, when asked to remove the battery from a laptop to verify the model, also unplugs the power supply, thus losing several hours of work? That lunch occasionally includes a stop in one of the nearby bars?
Or should I move onto the two co-workers who are having a close friendship and have somehow managed to convince themselves that no one notices how friendly they are to each other. No, no one notices when they arrive and leave at the same time, every day. No one notices when I ask worker A if vacation includes visiting relatives in a distance place and worker B (whose vacation overlaps worker A's time off) mentions that a few days was spent in that same place. No one notices that worker B has repeatedly slipped and and said “we” in reference to various extracurricular and life activities. Some days, after watching them, I have to slip off to the restroom and make sure that invisible gremlins did not tattoo S.T.U.P.I.D on my forehead.
So far the 1000+ meters I have been swimming after work has done very little to reduce my impatience with the very small numbers of humanity I have to interact with every day. And drowning my sorrows in tequila is not the most constructive use of my time.
Some days I think I have been transported into Peyton Place.
I am not the most patient person in the universe, but over the years I have managed to develop a touch of self control whilst earning the paycheck that keeps the three felines in kibble and the two humans of the household in fun money. Since my return from vacation, the absolute insanity and sheer incompetence of some of my co-workers has sent me into a silent, sulking fury.
Where to begin? With the aforementioned co-worker who failed to lock up prototypes over the weekend? This same employee, who can not be bothered to spend 10 minutes looking up whether the lab possesses a piece of software and wastes half a day downloading it? Who, when asked to remove the battery from a laptop to verify the model, also unplugs the power supply, thus losing several hours of work? That lunch occasionally includes a stop in one of the nearby bars?
Or should I move onto the two co-workers who are having a close friendship and have somehow managed to convince themselves that no one notices how friendly they are to each other. No, no one notices when they arrive and leave at the same time, every day. No one notices when I ask worker A if vacation includes visiting relatives in a distance place and worker B (whose vacation overlaps worker A's time off) mentions that a few days was spent in that same place. No one notices that worker B has repeatedly slipped and and said “we” in reference to various extracurricular and life activities. Some days, after watching them, I have to slip off to the restroom and make sure that invisible gremlins did not tattoo S.T.U.P.I.D on my forehead.
So far the 1000+ meters I have been swimming after work has done very little to reduce my impatience with the very small numbers of humanity I have to interact with every day. And drowning my sorrows in tequila is not the most constructive use of my time.
Some days I think I have been transported into Peyton Place.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Paris When It Drizzles - Part III
The Soul of a City
I am a true believer in public art, of paintings and funky installations. A city that does not encourage art is a city without a soul. In the city of Pittsburgh, public art is found in installations on empty* city lots, the Sprout Fund murals and in the inspiration of local residents. They are beautiful displays that attempt to capture the essence of a neighborhood and reflect the soul the city.
To see this kind of art in Paris, one must look up and past the grand buildings, magnificent fountains and venerated statues. One must wander the side streets of seedy and shady neighborhoods, peer into fountains and look down at the sidewalk once in a while. The payoff is discovering that this staid city has an incredible sense of whimsy. You only have to take a moment to look for it.
*Select "Magnolias for Pittsburgh" from the drop down menu.
Bastille - Bird Graffiti
Bastille - Cat
Bastille - Face
Bastille - Fish
Bastille - Runner
Bastille - Village Mural
Latin Quarter - Dancers
Latin Quarter - Zebras
Les Halles - Man & Zebra
Les Halles - Giraffe
Les Halles - Funky Mural
Saint Germain des Pres - Mural
Marais - Mosaic Cow
Gare de Lyon (Bastille) - Boats
I am a true believer in public art, of paintings and funky installations. A city that does not encourage art is a city without a soul. In the city of Pittsburgh, public art is found in installations on empty* city lots, the Sprout Fund murals and in the inspiration of local residents. They are beautiful displays that attempt to capture the essence of a neighborhood and reflect the soul the city.
To see this kind of art in Paris, one must look up and past the grand buildings, magnificent fountains and venerated statues. One must wander the side streets of seedy and shady neighborhoods, peer into fountains and look down at the sidewalk once in a while. The payoff is discovering that this staid city has an incredible sense of whimsy. You only have to take a moment to look for it.
*Select "Magnolias for Pittsburgh" from the drop down menu.
Bastille - Bird Graffiti
Bastille - Cat
Bastille - Face
Bastille - Fish
Bastille - Runner
Bastille - Village Mural
Latin Quarter - Dancers
Latin Quarter - Zebras
Les Halles - Man & Zebra
Les Halles - Giraffe
Les Halles - Funky Mural
Saint Germain des Pres - Mural
Marais - Mosaic Cow
Gare de Lyon (Bastille) - Boats
Monday, July 30, 2007
Paris When It Drizzles - Part II
One of the advantages to the apartment I rented was it's close proximity to Père Lachaise Cemetery. Since I missed the cemetery on my first two visits to the city, I thought it only appropriate to take a walk through the grounds on this visit.
On the way I spotted the most interesting totems.
In Père Lachaise I stopped to say hello to a favorite author.
I skipped the museums to explore some of the remaining covered arcades, with their glass roofs, tiled floors and old wooden storefronts. I was stunned to discover one between Saint Germain des Prés, so much so that I forgot to take photographs.
On the way I spotted the most interesting totems.
In Père Lachaise I stopped to say hello to a favorite author.
I skipped the museums to explore some of the remaining covered arcades, with their glass roofs, tiled floors and old wooden storefronts. I was stunned to discover one between Saint Germain des Prés, so much so that I forgot to take photographs.
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