I Spent All Day in Front of a Computer...

...to come home and spend more time in front of a computer, as tired as I am. Because life has been a little too interesting to allow events of the past several days to pass without commentary.

Hockey:

The Penguins are now 3-0 in Playoff Round 1 and looking towards wrapping up the best of seven series in Ottawa on Wednesday night. The highlight of the series was Game 1, when 41 year old Gary Roberts challenged two Senators to a fight, had to be forcibly removed from the ice by two linesmen and amassed 16 minutes in penalties with 12 seconds left to play.



The Cult of Gary Roberts is strong in Pittsburgh.

Well known Rangers pest Sean Avery inspires a new interpretation on rules about screening the opposing goalie, nicked named “The Avery Rule”. Points to Avery for creativity.



Locally:
Rumor has it that the explosion that destroyed two houses in the North Side was not caused by natural gas. It is a slow spring in Western Pennsylvania.

H/t and personal to Jay: While I fully acknowledge that a gunshot in the head is the most effective way to dispatch meteorite zombies, it does not have the same panache as beating them on the head with a pool cue in rhythm to Queen's Don't Stop Me Now.

U.S District Attorney Mary Beth Buchanan will retry Dr. Cyril Wecht. Wecht's first trial ended in a hung jury. Why is the District Attorney wasting her time with this?

Personally:
I had a girl date on Saturday. I met a new friend for dinner and to see a band play 70's and 80's AM radio covers.

While the evening started out innocuously enough I'm not sure whether I'll hang out with her again. During the course of the evening she announced that she was a pothead, alternately grilled and lectured me on my childlessness and pressured me about my conservative drinking habits.

FYI - Most disgusting email subject in my Spam folder to date: “Used g-strings for sale”. Uh, no thanks.

Sunday Cat Blogging

Also known as An Engineer's Guide to Cats



via Metafilter

Dear Don Brennan,

When you find yourself in a hole, you stop digging.

Stop digging.

Harm's Way

As promised, some of the mural seen on Saturday while walking through Oakland.






And a little bit of fun:

Saturday

J and I went for a walk yesterday. Although still chilly, the air was too fresh, the sun too sunny, to remain inside with a clear conscience.

But first we decided to go for a little drive. To a friend's house to drop off our first payment for playoff tickets and a Jordan Staal bobble head doll. Then to a used car dealership, to take a look at a 1999 Porsche Boxster that caught J's eye earlier in the week.

We walked into a nearly empty showroom, the majority of the staff gathered around a desk talking. The salesman who rose to greet us was an older man, nicely dressed in a well pressed polo shirt and crisp pants. On first impression, he appeared to be the standard equivalent of the modern day used car salesmen.

Upon further interaction, we learned that this man was the sales equivalent of the anti-Christ, coming on smooth and sophisticated while simultaneously attempting to sow discord. His technique consisted of the full press hard sell with a combination of insults, flattery and transparent attempts to play J and I off against each other.

I did the only thing that I could under this assault. I played the dim, whiny and much beloved wife.

I snuggled up to J and carefully fixed the collar on his coat and the scarf around his neck. When the salesman asked me what it would take for me to “let” J have the car, I said he would have to teach me how to drive it, then complained that he had not taught me how to drive his Miata. Sensing an opening, the salesman asked if J intended to teach me to drive. J said “no”.

While J talked engines and spark plugs I went over the car, opening every possible door, sitting in the passenger's seat, running my hands across the body and frame and peering into the two trunks. My inspection of the car (which was in excellent shape) made the sales guy uncomfortable to the point that he started closing trunk lids and doors and moving both of us away from the vehicle, into his office for further discussion.

In the office, the salesman returned to J's refusal to teach me to drive. He said HE could teach me in fifteen minutes, he had a guaranteed system. J tried to contain his laughter as I enthusiastically thanked him for his offer. As the conversation turned to finances, we learned that we could not get an estimated payment unless we agreed to buy the car.

After much coaching, J was able to convince the salesman to write down some rough numbers. As we were leaving, I was asked if I thought J would purchase. Still in character, I smiled sweetly and told the man that since J had “let” me buy the car I wanted, I certainly was not going to stop him from purchasing the Boxster, but that the decision was ultimately his. We shook hands and left the showroom.

Off to Oakland we went, for a walk around the urban neighborhood, with several stops to take photographs of some of the new murals. Pictures coming soon.

Mercyhurst Does Me Proud*

My Alma mater, Mercyhurst, made the Post Gazette today for doing something radical.

At the request of the Student Government, college officials invited all three Presidential candidates to speak to the student population and surrounding community. Hilary Clinton is the first candidate to accept the invitation and will speak on campus this evening.

What makes this invitation “radical” is that two of the three Presidential candidates (Clinton and Obama) are pro-choice. Inviting them to speak on the grounds of a Catholic institution in the Diocese of Erie runs counter to diocese's “pro-life**” policy

Bishop Trautman announced that he would not be attending Mercyhurst's graduation ceremonies in protest. In what can only be described as a veiled threat, the Bishop stated “I am open with to meeting with [college President] Dr. Gamble in the future to ascertain how the Catholic identity of Mercyhurst can be better clarified”.

Translation: I will be meeting with Dr. Gamble and giving him a definitive smack down for daring to subvert the authority of the Church. If he steps out of line again, his tenure as college President will be short and swift.

Dear Bishop Trautman – the day your representatives stop referring to Gannon University as “THE Catholic college of the Diocese of Erie” and actually pay more than lip service in support of any Catholic grade, middle or high school outside the county of Erie is the day that I will consider giving you the benefit of the doubt. You are one of the key reasons I no longer set foot in a Catholic church, except under duress***.

Dr. Gamble, to his credit, refused to rescind the invitation, maintaining that it was extended to all candidates in accordance with a long standing policy of not supporting or opposing any political candidate, and in protection of the college's non-profit status.

I'm pretty certain how this little standoff will play out, and it will not be in the favor of academic freedom or intelligent discourse, to the detriment of the students. Mercyhurst will be forced to put into a place a policy that effectively prevents any candidate from speaking on campus. To protect their non-profit status.

Email link here if you feel like throwing a little bit of love Dr. Gamble's way. Be sure to choose the Thomas Gamble whose department is President.

*All apologies for the deliberate bad grammar.
**Only as far as abortion and contraception go. If you are pro-war, pro-death penalty, pro-corporate welfare, (enter your pro that really is an anti here), you get a pass from the diocese.
***Duress, in this case, means I will attend mass when not attending would only create more trouble.

I Am Lazy

A. What I planned on doing over my three day weekend:
Get blood drawn for a final round of blood tests.
Clean out closet.
Make pile of clothes for tailoring
Make pile of clothes for charity.
Iron.
Clear out my study, dust shelves and wash floor.
Clean bathroom.
Clean out spare room.
Bag clothes and other items (that have been sitting in spare room for weeks) for charity.
Laundry.

B. What I accomplished over my three day weekend.
Got blood drawn from a final round of blood tests.
Laundry.

C. What I did instead of the majority of list A:
Spent most of Friday after blood draw sleeping (the nurse took 5 vials of blood).
Took J to Seviche for dinner on Friday night.
Watched Ocean's 11 on Friday night.
Attempted to locate and purchase a enameled dutch oven on Saturday afternoon.
Watched Ocean's 12 on Saturday night.
Breakfast at Eat N' Park in Sunday morning.
Attended Penguins game. Took many photographs of all time favorite player, Martin Straka, during warm ups. Yelled at fans who refused to sit down while puck was in play.

FYI: I don't know why the photographs are blurry. I think I need to get the lens checked.



Some scoreboard text messages from the last two games:

"Chuck Norris wears Malkin pj pants".
"Gary Roberts counted to infinity twice".
"Captain America wears Gary Roberts Underoos".
"the forecast finally says fleury!!"

Small Swift Birds

I've had a lot to write about in the past several weeks. I've had a lot to write about and very little to say. Emotionally I am tired, numb and discovering that there is a limit to the amount of distressing information I can process at one time before I shut down.

I lost a friend to suicide two weeks ago. A second, untimely death in a period of three weeks. I lost my friend and I am having a difficult time mourning his loss. I'm having a difficult time thinking anything good about him, and I know that there was a great deal of good. He loved me like a younger sister and watched over me during the brief time I spent working in South Carolina ten years ago. He loved his adolescent son. He was incredibly literate and had a quick, sharp wit. He was self educated. He embraced J as his own and enthusiastically blessed our relationship.

He was also terribly flawed. At his worst, he was verbally abusive, emotionally intrusive and pushy. He had very little respect for other people's physical and emotional boundaries. He was stubborn, impulsive and self destructive. These flaws cost him his marriage and created a rift between himself and his son.

He tried to seek redemption and make amends. To his ex-wife, to his child, to his friends. It was not enough. The trauma of unemployment, of near homelessness, of debt, of estrangement from his son, of a million other things he never talked about, it wore him down and wore him out.

There has been no explanation for how he died, no invitation to his memorial service. On some level his siblings blame his friends for his death. Because we should have know he was clinically depressed. We should have known he stopped taking his medication in September and ceased meetings with his therapist. His family knew the signs, why didn't we?

We did not. So my friend left, like a small swift bird. One day we looked, and could not find him anywhere.

A Good Easter to be A Penguins Fan

As St. Francis Central Hospital finally comes down:



As Evgeni Malkin tops 100 points in the season.

And the Penguins move into first place in the Atlantic Division by beating the New Jersey Devils 7-1.
Happy Easter.

In Honor of Mister Rogers

Mr. McFeely has requested that we wear our favorite sweater on March 20.

Unfortunately, my favorite sweater is not fit for public consumption. So my second favorite will have to do.

Happy St. Patrick's Day

Thousands are Sailing



Body of an American

An aside: I want this song played at my funeral.

In Pittsburgh, Even the Buildings are Stubborn

After repeated failures to take down St. Francis Central Hospital via controlled collapse, contractors have thrown up their hands and will be imploding the building the morning of March 22.

Filing under "Penguins" as the demolition of the building will enable construction on the new arena to move ahead.

For Bill

Rest in Peace.



-- Ocelot

End of the Saga

I am hoping that this is the last post on the state of my health. I can't seem to find a way of framing what is happening to me in a manner that takes in the broader issues of class and income. It seems petty to whine about the time, the expense, the stupid lectures when there are so many people in the United States without access to decent health insurance and/or reliable doctors.

Except I could not turn off the interior monologue, which became louder when the forms to appeal company X's refusal to approve a chest CT scan arrived in the mail. Seeing the phrase “suspected malignancy” in print is demoralizing. Waiting for information on procedures is demoralizing.

The arguments with Insurance Company X over which procedures are medically necessary, the trips for consults, MRI's and CT scans, the lecture from my mother over refusing contrast, all of this is making me weary. In between I've also had annual visits to the dentist and the optometrist and a consult with a periodontist. I have spent more time in medical offices in the past six weeks then I have in the last ten years.

It is not over quite yet, but it is close. My scans are normal. My blood work is normal. My x-rays are normal. I have orders for physical therapy on my left shoulder, to strengthen the tendon. I have an estimate for two gum grafts, to fix the recession on two of my teeth. And I have a GP who thinks that I have been through enough – and that I am normal.

Right Wing Clash of the Titans

Forward:
My sense of humor and writing abilities are off tonight. I want to write a post about the significance of the fight brewing between McCain and Donohue, but I just don't have it in me right now. I'm worn out from worry and the various battles I have had to fight in the past few weeks.

Meet Pastor John Hagee. Pastor Hagee, an evangelical and pastor of a Texas “mega-church” recently endorsed John McCain as his Presidential candidate of choice. Pastor Hagee's pastimes include suggesting that natural disasters are the demonstrable wrath of God (ala Hurricane Katrina) and that Harry Potter will turn adolescents towards the occult.

And Hagee is an anti-Catholic in a vocal, the-Catholic-church-is-the-anti-Christ-and-caused-the-holocaust, way.

Equally vocal in protesting McCain's acceptance of Hagee's endorsement is professional victim, whiner* and head of the Catholic League, Bill Donohue. Bill Donohue enjoys spending his time seeking out anti-Catholic bigotry, leaving no straw un-grasped. Recent victories included a protest against the display of a chocolate crucifix titled "My Sweet Lord", a boycott of all forms of The Golden Compass and complaining about Kathy Griffin's 2007 Emmy acceptance speech.

A politician caught out for playing both sides of the field? Time to get out the popcorn toppings. Butter, salt, cinnamon or hot pepper?

*Writing a series of novels using the organizational structure of the Catholic church as a model is not anti-Catholicism. It is whining. Contrast this with having half your relatives disown you because of your religious tradition or a co-worker offer to marry you “so you'll be saved”.

A Little Bit of Spam Zen

Caught by the Google spam filter earlier this week:

The header:
“hockey games by 2009. The Penguins will sign a temporaryPakistan's capital to express their solidarity asknown as, "Kiwi 1960", suggests that the man's first”.

The footer:
“In the wake of Jacques Chirac's announcement that hehelp.New York based Human Rights Watch has issued a statementNHL: Penguins to remain in Pittsburgh”.

Who knew that Jacques Chirac and Human Rights Watch were instrumental in keeping the Penguins in Pittsburgh? It certainly explains all those mysterious midnight meetings held in New Jersey between Ed Rendell and the NHL.

Query: is there something wrong with me giggling every time I receive a pitch for a male enhancement product? And for scratching my head over the eHarmony ads?

Early St. Patrick's Greetings

Just because I was in a Kirsty Maccoll/Pogues/Cole Porter mood today:

Rage

This is not about me. This is not my story. This story belongs to J and J's family. My only role is to stand on the periphery and be silent. Listen, but not speak. Keep whatever little wisdom and counsel I think I can impart to myself.

There was a tragedy this past week. A member of J's family died, by his own hand. He was mentally ill for almost 30 years. So deeply ill that he refused to believe it, refused to acknowledge it. So deep in denial that all attempts to get him help were rebuffed. So bad that in the end, at the end, his own children did not feel safe.

His illness was a secret from almost everyone until almost the end. Until first his children, then his wife, decided they had enough. Thinking that he had nothing left he killed himself.

Now J's family questions everything. They say that he was a stranger, that they never knew him. They wavier between thankfulness that he did not hurt anyone else and rage at the cruelty of his act.

And they cry. Even the men, they cry.

Another Reason for Healthcare Reform

My GP has admission privileges to multiple hospitals in the Pittsburgh area.
She retired from one of those hospitals recently. She still retains privileges at several other hospitals and is still practicing.
The hospital [thoughtfully] notified all insurance providers in the area that she had retired.
The insurance companies, in turn, removed from the preferred/approved provider lists.
Because she is no longer on the lists (even though she is still practicing), my insurance will not authorize the CT scans she ordered.

Her office assures me that they are working diligently to have the situation rectified.

Gods forbid this happen to someone with serious medical issues.

Health - the Sequel

Today I had my shoulder examined by an orthopedic surgeon at UPMC Sports Medicine. According to the scheduler I spoke with last week, my doctor is an authority on shoulders, that is almost all he does and he is very good at it. According to several of his biographies, this particular doctor is also an assistant professor at the University of Pittsburgh Medical School and one of the Penguins' team physicians. According to one of our friends, who works as a sales representative for a company that produces joint replacement parts (seriously), he is highly respected and has his interns do a lot of the work.

I liked him. He was very clinical and extremely professional, almost to the point of coldness. Yet he managed to come across as a nice man, possibly due to the fact that he had to tie the back of my gown closed.* Which he did, in a very professional, business-like manner and surprisingly gentle manner.

He had an intern with him, also a man, whose primary function seem to be to observe and neatly print out the doctor's scripts.** I found the interaction between the two highly entertaining, as I sensed that the intern was restraining a large part of his personality in deference to the authority in the room.

The diagnosis was a torn rotator cuff, severity to be determined upon the completion of the MRI. Fraying will mean physical therapy, a hole or significant tearing will surgery. I was instructed to call and leave a message with his secretary after I had the MRI, as he suspected that the damage was minor and would only require physical therapy, which meant I would not have to see him again.

The MRI is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon.

And insurance continues to be a headache. As my first round of blood tests was (tragically) normal, my GP has decided to send me for a set of CT scans, just to be thorough. My attempt to schedule the scans was thwarted when I was informed that my insurance required pre-authorization. No magic number, no appointment.

*Moment Number One: I was instructed before the exam to tie the gown halter style around my neck, so my shoulders would remain bare. Somewhere between the telling and my brain's translation, the idea that I also needed to tie the back of the gown was lost.
**Moment Number Two: The script for my MRI was made out to my GP. I politely pointed out to the intern that my GP would probably disagree with the need to have an MRI and perhaps he could correct the name. Which he, highly embarrassed, did immediately.

Soup with Nuts

The New York Times is running a blog on migraines this month, with several well known authors (and a famous musician) each taking a turn discussing the different ways they learned to cope with migraines and other headache disorders. The comments have been fascinating and aggravating.

In an anti-harmonic convergence, I woke up last night with my first full blown migraine in almost a year. The intense pain coupled with extreme nausea made it difficult for me to get up. Since the only available remedy at the intense pain/nausea stage is to sleep the rest of the headache off, I went back to sleep, first on the downstairs couch, then back to the bed. In between the transfer J bought me a glass of warm water and some ibuprofen as a barrier against more pain.

The headache made us late in our search of local entertainment today. We started with two stops in the Strip District. Our first stop was at The Enrico Biscotti Café for a late breakfast of pizza topped with blue cheese and cranberries, biscotti and goat cheese canolli. The smells in the cafe were amazing and I wished (not for the first time today) I had grabbed my camera to take some photographs of the reclaimed warehouse interior.

Next was a stop at Pennsylvania Macaroni Company for some cheese. Penn Mac and Trader Joe's are the two places in which J and I have to establish a set spending amount beforehand, less we go into debt buying out the cheese counter. The best part about Penn Mac (and Trader's Joe) is that all the people in the store are happy because they are purchasing good food.

On our way back we passed a table full green Pittsburgh wear, in anticipation of St. Patrick's Day. My favorite was a kelly green t-shirt with the logo “It's good to be a Penguins fan”.

Next up was a stop at O'Bannon's Oriental Carpets, to show J the “School of Fish” carpet that inspired me to give him a small fish rug for Christmas. We had a good time looking at the other carpets in the store, all of them insanely expensive, handwoven woolen wonders.

Our final stop was a walk down Carson Street as participants in the Fourth Annual South Side Mid-Winter Soup Contest. Armed with a spoon and an appetite, for five dollars and the donation of a canned good, we were able to sample the soups from twenty of the South Side's restaurants and vote for our favorite. The most unusual combination came from the 17th Street Café, a Bacon bleu cheese and apple soup that was surprisingly good. We thought we were hard core toting our own spoons until we saw a woman carrying her own spoon and mug.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Yes, I know its late. Kisses from Oscar Wilde for all of you.

Dear Media,

Especially Maureen Dowd...

Enough commentary on the Clinton's marriage. Enough "conversation" about what Senator Clinton should or should not have done to deal with her husband's multiple extramarital affairs. Enough snark about how a vote for HRC will only put her husband back in the White House. Enough discussion over her inability to "control" him. And God forbid that even one of you admit that maybe, just maybe, Senator Clinton accomplished something using her own considerable talents.

Marriage is difficult enough to negotiate on the private stage in which J and myself conduct our relationship. I can't imagine what it must be like to try maintain a relationship on such a public stage, for so many years.

So you who decries the divorce rate, you who complains that we live in a society that does not value marriage or family, you who cannot conceive of the myriad of ways in which a marriage can thrive, it is time for you to shut, the fuck, up.

Really.

Enough.

Stumbling Across Odds and Ends

I've got nothing right now. The most exciting things currently happening in Pittsburgh are a winter storm warning and the sudden, surprise deterioration of the Birmingham Bridge.

Oh yes, and the demolition of St. Francis Central Hospital (future home of the Penguins) is not going well. At all. As in the company is having a bit of trouble bringing the building down without the use of explosives. All that Pittsburgh steel is turning out to be a challenge to the demolition experts

There have been small pleasures. Last night's subplot of the Simpson's included the voices of graphic novelists Art Spiegelman (Maus), Daniel Clowes (Ghost World) and Alan Moore (Lost Girls). The highlight was a cartoon promotion poster of Lost Girls hanging behind the novelists.

I think next year I want to spend my vacation in a tree house. Or how about a night in the Icehotel?

Flickr

When I started this blog I was using Picasa (now owned by Google). Then I switched to a Macintosh and was no longer able to access my account from a Macintosh. So I switched to Flickr.

I don't use it very often, now that Picasa has been integrated into the rest of Google's applications. I still have an account at Flickr, which I use primarily when I need access to digital images for work. The most popular photograph is also one of the worst I have ever taken - a candid shot of Sidney Crosby on the ice after the last home game of his rookie season.

As has been well publicized in the past several weeks, Microsoft is planning a hostile take over of Yahoo and all of it's holdings, including Flickr. Reluctantly, I have decided to take down the majority of the photographs in the upcoming weeks, including the Sidney Crosby photo.

Some would see this as a premature reaction to Microsoft's bid and that Yahoo will prevail. I'm not so sure. While the Federal Government has expended an enormous amount of time and resources in anti-trust lawsuits against Microsoft, there is absolutely no reason for me to believe that they are anything other than pro-business - the larger the business the better. Recent court decisions (Supreme and otherwise) do little to reassure me that the little people; whether that be a woman suing under EEOC or a small business, can prevail.

I Thought I Would Let you Know...

That I am beginning to despise Maureen Dowd as much as I despise Ann Coulter.

And Stanley Fish rocks.

That is all.

Support Ron Paul!

I present this gem from a recent letter to the editor in the Pittsburgh Post Gazette:

“[Ron Paul] has five more delegates than rambunctious Rudy”.

Which would make 6 total delegates for Ron Paul to Rudy Giuliani's 1, and 6 total delegates against Giuliani's 2 at the time of Giuliani's withdrawal from the Republican primary.

Hee.

Apparently, I'm a Crazed Former Television Sidekick

According to this quiz:

Which Character on The Simpsons Are You?

Created by BuddyTV

Musings

One : Hockey on Versus sucks. West scored on East within the first 30 seconds of the game's start because Rick DiPietro, who graciously agreed to allow Versus to wire him with a microphone, was distracted by questions and forgot that he was supposed to be tending goal.

Two: Am I the only person who thinks the Whopper Freakout commercials reveal more about how violently self-entitled some of the “victims” are as opposed to the popularity of the sandwich?

Three: The Pittsburgh Penguins will be opening the 2008/2009 season against the Ottawa Senators in Stockholm, Sweden. J and I are still debating on whether to go to Munich for Oktoberfest, which conveniently ends on October 5th, one of the two days the Penguins are playing in Stockholm. I'm trying to convince J that a couple of days in Munich and a Penguins/Ottawa game would be an excellent vacation.

Four: What is it about male nude sculptures, that every single blessed last one of them in the Carnegie Museum of Art has a fig leaf covering their genitals? There were two exceptions, but both pieces had lost their penis at some point. I asked J, as representative of men everywhere, if seeing a full set (so to speak) would make him feel inferior.

J rolled his eyes.

I Don't Know Why...

... I love this story, but I do.

In England, a farmer built a mock-Tudor castle, complete with turrets and a cannon. And concealed the structure with hay bales for four years to get around a zoning law which restricted the land to agricultural use.

It is the little details, such as the couple keeping their son from attending school on the day he was supposed to draw a picture of his house, for fear that he would draw a building made of hay, that capture my imagination.

How did this couple, with their young children, manage to keep a secret for so many years? How did they receive mail or packages? How did they keep friends or family members from dropping by? What address did they use to do such things are file their taxes? The logistics are astonishing.

I can't help but admire the couple for trying to do an end run around the zoning laws to build such a complicated and large structure. I mourn a little bit that they will have to tear it down.

Change of Pace

Vosges Mo Bacon Bar. Chocolate with pieces of Applewood smoked bacon.

A most interesting taste experience. My tongue loved it. The rest of me could not quite accept the combination of chocolate and bacon at the same time. Half of the candy bar is sitting in the cupboard, waiting for another trial.

Crap

Heath Ledger has died, at the ripe old age of 28.

For some reason, this one hurts.

Health - Part I

I've had some time over the past several days to meditate on what it would be like to be genuinely poor, sick and missing even one of the resources I have available in order to obtain medical treatment. I have not experienced an epiphany during my mediations, just a re-realization of how difficult the health care system can be to navigate.

My first appointment was scheduled for 1:45 PM on a weekday afternoon. I have at least two follow-up appointments, also on weekday afternoons during working hours. In total I will be missing around 8 hours of work over a two week period, just to see my doctor.

I am not a salaried employee. I work for an hourly wage and taking time out of my required 40 hours is an inconvenience. However, I have options. I can take half a sick day or work longer on other days to make up the time. I can also elect to work fewer hours as my wage is high enough to offset the missing time in my paycheck. I will still be able to meet my bills.

My doctor works out of a clinic in a lower income neighborhood located outside the Pittsburgh city limits. She came highly recommended and makes seeing a physician a pleasant experience. She spends the first twenty minutes of every exam just talking. She is also half an hour away, no matter which form of transportation I elect to take, whether it is a bus, my car or a cab.

If I take the bus, I have to spend time studying the schedules, hope it shows up on time, hope that I don't arrive too early, hope that I don't wait too long, hope that I calculated correctly to miss the minimum amount of work. If I drive, I have to add in the cost of paying to park. If I take a cab, I have to calculate the cost of the trip. With any of these options I lose – either time or money. But it is my choice to make.

In addition to the prescriptions and the previously anticipated shoulder x-ray, my doctor order a chest x-ray, a blood draw and a TB test. More time spent, trying to get to a lab to get the blood work done, trying to find a location with decent hours to get the x-rays completed. Calculating how late I can arrive at work, how early can I leave, when can I make up those hours?

Filling prescriptions. First I am told that my doctor would have to call and authorize my allergy/asthma drug as “medically necessary”. Twenty-four hours later, via a phone call by the pharmacist, I am told that the doctor will have to file paperwork stating I have a formal diagnosis of allergies/asthma before the company will pay for the medication. Which will take at least two weeks, probably longer. If I want to start it right away I am going to need to ask my doctor for samples. Which means going across town again. For a medication that was unrestricted the last time I had the prescription filled.

What if I worked at a lower pay rate? What if my boss was not as sympathetic or flexible? What if the only option I had was the bus? What if I did not have a choice of doctor? Or labs? Or hospitals? Or pharmacy? What if I did not have enough money to pay for all those office visits? What would I do then?

Dreadful Things to Come

My shoulder, the left one, the one that I did not abuse by hanging 25 pounds of textbooks off of all the way through high school and college, appears to be falling apart. It hurts when I sleep on it. It hurts to wrap a towel around me. It hurts when I swim. It hurts when I gesture.

I have an appointment with my GP on Thursday for a checkup. Partially to beg for drug renewals – Imitrex, Serevent and whatever prescription allergy medication my insurance will allow me to purchase which will not make me sleepy. Partially to have my skin checked, as I am a fair creature who burns easily and sport one scar from the removal of a melanoma on my arm. And partially to receive confirmation that my left shoulder will have to submit to the rigors of an x-ray, an MRI and a surgeon's knife in the near future.

I know I should have seen someone when it started acting up over a year ago. Over a year ago being the the fall of 2006. But I put it off. Because I knew that there would be x-rays and MRI's and a surgeon. And surgeons mean needles, needles to draw blood, needles to inject medication, needles placed temporarily under my skin into a vein to pump drugs and saline through my body.

I hate needles. Really hate needles. Hate enough that I refuse to give blood. Enough that, at the age of 16, I threw a tantrum when I was forced to return to the hospital so the tech could draw more blood to test for what turned out to be strep pneumonia. Enough that I waited a year longer than any sane person to see a doctor about my aching shoulder.

It does not help that I have come close to passing out multiple times. Or that the last time I had blood drawn my arm turned black and blue from my wrist to my elbow. Or that J has the same phobia but has managed to conquer it enough to give blood. I take comfort in the fact that he is a universal donor, so if I'm desperate he will provide.

You might think it was because I spent a fair amount of time in hospitals when I was a child. I had typical childhood ailments – removal of my tonsils, polyps removed from my adenoids (twice), tubes placed in my ears (three times). Except that I remember each of those trips and as far back as my memory can recall, I was all ready asleep when they inserted the I.V.

This time I will be awake and not sedated. Not a good combination.

Tell Me Again...

How good the people of Afghanistan have it now?

Because banning male tailors from measuring woman and calling for the return of public executions does not sound all that progressive.

Neither is naming a man acting police chief, but withholding the rank, authority, ammunition and money necessary to do the job properly.

As a contrast, this article and video on the return of big wedding celebrations, banned under the reign of the Taliban.

A List of Things that are Going to Make my Head Explode

Any more comments bashing the current crop of Democratic presidential candidates on the following qualities:

1. Gender
2. Race
3. Looks
4. Lack of or Excessive Display of Emotions
5. Age
6. Type of Laugh

I think I may need to take a break from following the primaries. I'm interested because I sincerely believe that there is an abundance of goodness this time around, but the last week has made me long for the days I could, in good conscience, put my fingers in my ears and bury my head in the sand.

The NHL Winter Classic

I had a well organized, interesting post planned on our recent adventures in Toronto and Buffalo. Then I came down with the flu, courtesy of our one of our fellow travelers.

A Summary

• The Hockey Hall of Fame – in which fans are permitted to kiss the Stanley Cup if they so desire and Bob Johnson's ring resides in the vault with the pieces of the old cup. Coolest statue was a giant bronze of this classic Ken Dryden pose.

• Dinner at Fran's Bistro – Funky, comforting home cooking. Excellent 5 cheese macaroni and cheese, adult shakes spiked with your liquor of choice and chili made with carrots.

• World's Biggest Bookstore – Huge. Located inside a fire engine red building on Edward Street. I walked out much poorer from the visit with every intention of returning again, with several hundred Canadian dollars in my pockets. Has everything plus some things I did not know I wanted and carries British publishers.
  
• The Steam Whistle Brewery & The Distillery – The brewery reminded me of Rolling Rock. The distillery was defunct, but the old buildings were amazing.

• The Border Crossing – In which our party demonstrates that the easiest way to distract a U.S. Custom's Agent is to mention that you are attending a major sporting event in the area, thus provoking the guard to ask “Really? How did you get tickets?” instead of the routine litany of questions.
• Wings at the Anchor Bar – A Buffalo institution and the home of the hot wing. The mild wing sauce was excellent.
• The Game – Seventy-one thousand plus screaming fans. Thirty degrees and snowing. It seemed as if sixty thousand of them were cheering for the Sabres. My first experience in hostile territory. The Capitals do not count as the Verizon Center is Mellon Arena southeast.

• The Win – In which Sidney, “...is a girl's name” Crosby manages to close the mouths and empty the stadium of sixty thousand Sabres fans by scoring the winning goal in a shootout.
• Lake Effect Snow – Seven hours from Buffalo to Pittsburgh. Six hours spent on unplowed, unsalted roads.
• The Flu – Inevitable.

A Quick Rundown of Christmas Highlights

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.

Merry Christmas

I prefer the Wendy & Lisa version, but it is difficult to pass up Sarah Brightman and Placido Domingo.

THE Wendy & Lisa (from Toys).



Sarah Brightman and Placido Domingo.

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.

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...

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:

1. I did not have $248.00 to waste on a cashmere scarf and
2. Even if I had $248.00 to burn it would not be on a cashmere scarf and
3. 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 that pleasant beginning my thoughts roamed towards the upcoming Christmas Eve festivities and the in-laws. I wondered if my BIL would instruct me to “control [my] husband” this year. I wondered which of J's cousins would whine about the lack of pattering small feet in our house. I wondered how long the pre-meal blessings would last. I wondered how many times I would have to explain to J's sister that No, we would not be available on New Year's Eve and No, my brother is not being re-deployed to Iraq, he will be in Georgia for the next twelve months. I wondered whether I could exercise the patience to hold my tongue at her platitudes about supporting the troops. I wondered if I could hold my tongue when they nagged about our lack of attendance at church.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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:

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.

OK, I Lied

I do have some Cape Cod photos.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

The Front

The Back

These Photographs are Amazing

And make me miss France. Badly.

Menton Daily Photo.

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.