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 H̦ecker 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 Рin 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 H̦ecker 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 Рin 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.
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