And about politics- I got nuthin. Didn't watch anything but the Colbert Report and Jon Stewart- and those were delayed by a day. Just couldn't care either way. Just couldn't muster up the anger, enthusiasm and basic interest. It all just seems the same. I think that the venom that I held during the last election broke me. I didn't like feeling so angry and unhappy. I hated feeling that helpless. And I hated the outcome even more, and couldn't understand how it happened. So something just kind of broke. Can't care.

But that's not to say that I won't vote. I have voted in every election since 1984. Because it meant something tangible to me- I couldn't wait for the chance. I remember in first grade choosing a presidential candidate- sadly it was Nixon. But I got better. I remember my parents debating the Ford/Carter race. I was on the Carter side. I won't divulge which parent chose whom, but those in the know can pretty much call it- it was predictable.

And now I am just saddened by a lot of it. I think that most of the people who want to run the country are pretty much losers. They are trying so bloody hard to take charge, and they really lack the essential humanity to pull it off properly. Yes, I include almost all of the wannabes here. Almost all. There is just such a sense of white-knuckled desperation involved. Like their lives are forfeit if they lose. No, you just lose. And the world forgets about you. And you get to be a footnote. Ah, remember Adlai? No? Wiki it and get back to me later with that. I'll expect a full accounting. So maybe that really is what they fear. Being inconsequential and forgotten. It'll happen anyway. It always does.

So I actually went to the gym last night. Hated every fucking minute of it. And kept track of every fucking minute of it. But I did sleep well. That seems to be the regrettable conclusion that I must draw. Exercise = decent sleeping. Crap. I hate that. But there you have it.

Yesterday was off the charts stressometer at work. Not me, but those around me. Not happy boys. But they got better as the day wore interminably on. And me, well, I just maintained. And tried very hard not to let their foul moods rub off on me. So much.

Otherwise nothing else I can legitimately discuss here- some other stuff happened, but it is off the record- I will be able to discuss later, perhaps. Unless something more interesting comes up. We'll see.

And now I must go intervene- the kitties are starting to act up- Mika is jumping on top of Buddy with the intent of apparently buggering the poor little guy. And since they're both neutered males, I suspect it has some kind of dominance action going on. Somehow I suspect Buddy won't take kindly to being the bottom.

So for all the feelings of being in control, it's nights like last night that remind me that it's all pretty much a facade. Not sleeping again. Which shouldn't surprise me in the least. Not really. Just part of my everyday life, certainly. Assuredly. Completely.

But that's ok. It will come. Sleep, I mean. The dreams are there anyway. They happen whether I have full-on sleepage or not. They creep around the edges and tinge everything with an odd shade of sepia. Usually they are narrative. Not last night. But they were still there. Unreeling. It reminded me of those olde time film editing rooms. Piles of rejected film. Watched once and then dumped in a box. Treasures to filmophiles. But rejected nevertheless. Oh, to find the batch of Ambersons edits. And those for Queen Kelly. Strike that. Queen Kelly was garbage overall. And Gloria Swanson was a really strange looking lady. Lady is being generous, no? But what the hell- she is dead. And wouldn't make a particularly good zombie.

The boys at work are obsessed with zombies. I think it has something to do with video games. But don't know the specific reference, and don't care enough to ask. They discuss how to kill zombies. For hours. And hours. No, these aren't the guys I work immediately with- but another group. And it's fine, really. It gets them through the day. And they help get me through the day. I am an observer. And that works well for me. It's like watching some kind of strange geekoid tv show. And the time flies. Until I try to sleep at night. Then it staggers like a drunk. Bed spins and all.

You know a vacation from everything ought to be a good excuse to come up with great content. But not really, in my case. Just an excuse to let my mind just go...

Last week was brutal. We had about 50 people in town from across the country, and there was training. Luckily I didn't have to set that up. But I did have events to plan, events to attend, training to attend, something to do every night of the blasted week, and my annual review (which went quite well- got a raise and stock award, thank you). I took Friday off. So it was a 4 day weekend. Because I NEEDED it. It was that or start killing people. I did still manage to go to work for an hour- because of a time-sensitive thingy that needed to be done.

But Kman got a precious, precious track day on Friday. And I got to sleep in. Finally I feel like I can cope again. It was getting dicey. Not in a good way. Like in a "wow. She is coming unraveled" kind of way.

Other than that, not much going on. I did get rolling on the writing project again. Finally had the mental space to actually think about telling a story. And was out of reaction only, please mode. So this week will be sort of quiet, I suspect. But then I am travelling next week, for a big company shindig. Not looking forward to it at all. Not in the least. Seriously. Don't want to travel right now. Especially with 1,000 of my nearest and dearest friends. I really mean it. Just want to stay home and not be challenged for a while.

No such luck. But that's why I get the big bucks. Right. Would that that were true. The big bucks and all that.

Oh- tip of the week- if you get the chance to watch Stalag 17, do so. Great Billy Wilder bait and switch of a movie. Loved it. That William Holden. Gotta love the man. Even if he is good and dead. Because he would make a kick ass zombie.

Derelict in my duties hereabouts. I have a week of offsites and offsite functions that I am working. Because it is my life right now. The scary catered affair last night went off without a huge hitch- the weather didn't exactly comply, but it also wasn't a surprise, and everything worked out anyway.

I am hoping to take Friday off. Then I can catch up. And just breathe. Because all of the planning that I did for weeks and months is finished for now. Until the next offsite. In 2 weeks.....sigh....

Oh, it gets better. Seems we were televised during the game. And didn't know about it until Kman went to work and caught shit.

It was during the raising of the 12th man flag. BOOOORRRINNNG. Start the fucking game, already! So Kman is clapping in primo golf style, and I am looking at the field, seemingly confused. I love that- Apathetic and Addled! Ha Ha, I say!

The best things of the night:

the guy in a seat in front of us with my name in heart tattooed to his arm. He is my super-secret love now. Only, not really- he was kind of skanky.

The dance routine to Bittersweet Symphony that the chippie dancers kept performing. Despite the fact that the actual lyrics are about despair and sadness and death. Fitting? Probably. But this crowd doesn't seem to me to be heavy on the irony. So I'm sure I was one of very few who were all amused about it. Kind of like watching those Carnival cruise commercials where they are blasting Iggy Pop in the background. Lust for Life, indeed. Along with lust for a dime bag, baby.

Overall the day was good. And plenty of my co-workers were impressed by my sport-ticket buying acumen. Little do they realize that I am Addled. (cue up the opening chords to Iron Man- I think it would fit pretty well.)

Don't have much time to be all chatty and such. The boss is back from vacation today, and I suspect that it'll be a bit busy. Nothing like hitting a bee's nest with a stick.

We went to a Seahawks game Saturday night. It was pre-season. The tickets were absurdly good. It was fun. Doubt I'll do it again, though. Because I just don't care that much. Wanted the experience.

Not much else to report of note- gotta go get ready for chaos and mayhem. Because that's the way we roll around here.

All right- so last night's post- I am feeling remorseful. And if I had my druthers and felt like it, I would just delete it. But I'll let it stand. I am just all anxietish and all that. It happens. With some regularity- I'll blame the lunar eclipse. Mainly because I don't have a concrete excuse.

On another note- I do not have a 6'7" arm span. And I don't swim for shit. There is your Olympic moment for the day. Bye then.

So main complaint of the day- I think I took a joke too far. It happens. And it was in writing. So if it comes back to bite me in the ass, I have no one but myself to blame. I can only hope that all will just roll back over to normal, and the injured parties won't ever find out.

It was social. And it was very funny.

Oh, and I saw Bill Gates driving while I was on the way to work today. Should've known it would be a very strange day.

Once again there is an impasse. I just can't get the words out. I suspect it's because I talk so bloody much during the day. There are just no opportunities for quiet. Not really. Not in my head. Not really.

But that's to be expected, as Mama says. It's because I am a gemini. And was a busy child. Always hiding in the clothes racks at Hennesy's. Scared the crap out of her numerous times. But she never stopped taking me shopping. Would run off in the grocery store and explore. But she never stopped taking me along.

But all those words, just pouring out. I wonder if there is really an endless supply of them, or if someday I will just run out. It scares me sometimes. Like the elevator dream I had last night. We were trapped above the roofline of the building, hanging by a thread, with the door open and the elevator cab floating there, shifting from the left to the right. The others were trying to keep me relatively calm, because I was very unhappy there. Floating without a way down.

Weekend of death and destruction in the world- probably nothing unique with that, only the world was watching.

I hated the Cold War. It pissed me off. And now we are starting up again. Russia is really frightening. And all those years ago, when I was studying the language (don't even ask- I remember all of two gibberish phrases, but my accent is impeccable), I defended them as misunderstood by the West.

In retrospect I feel like a bit of a tosser. Should have been a bit less idealistic and a bit more cynical about it all. They appear to be bullies of the first order. And it pisses me off that we as a country are so severely overextended that we can't help our allies properly. But then, that is no doubt the whole sequence of events that caused that little conflict called WWI. And then led to WWII. Seems like it might be a blessing to have to lie low and let them get swamped by the bullies.

But it gravels. And I don't like watching. And I don't trust the stories I hear on the news. And I don't trust the perspective being fed to me. It's enough to send me back to bed for the day. Just to avoid all of this. But that wouldn't work. I would just lay there and worry about something.

So today is supposed to be some kind of lucky day. 8/8/08. All right. I'll bite. Why, exactly? What calendar are you using? Do you realize how many times the calendar has actually changed? If so, doesn't that figure in somewhere?

Too much maths for me.

Kman went to the new Batman movie last night. I stayed home and finished a book. Didn't want to see it yet- theatrical releases are just too intense sometimes for my delicate constitution- and funny that, I told someone yesterday that I am not a buttercup. But I am when it comes to the more intense movie offerings. I cannot sit still. It is an evil feeling. The Matrix about undone me. Totally undone Kman- but for a different reason entirely. See not to disclose secrets n all- but he has a thing about needles. Many do.

But those kinds of movies. I just don't enjoy them in a theater. Will likely love it on the tv- HD stylee. But not something I can reasonably sit through. And getting to sleep afterwards- not happening, my friend.

And so now back to it. You know. The thing I do all day long. Something careery. I dunno.

Remember this one?

The tax man's taken all my dough,
And left me in my stately home,
Lazing on a sunny afternoon.
And I can't sail my yacht,
He's taken everything I've got,
All I've got's this sunny afternoon.

Save me, save me, save me from this squeeze.
I got a big fat mama trying to break me.
And I love to live so pleasantly,
Live this life of luxury,
Lazing on a sunny afternoon.
In the summertime
In the summertime
In the summertime

My girlfriend's run off with my car,
And gone back to her ma and pa,
Telling tales of drunkenness and cruelty.
Now I'm sitting here,
Sipping at my ice cold beer,
Lazing on a sunny afternoon.

Help me, help me, help me sail away,
Well give me two good reasons why I oughta stay.
'Cause I love to live so pleasantly,
Live this life of luxury,
Lazing on a sunny afternoon.
In the summertime
In the summertime
In the summertime

Ah, save me, save me, save me from this squeeze.
I got a big fat mama trying to break me.
And I love to live so pleasantly,
Live this life of luxury,
Lazing on a sunny afternoon.
In the summertime
In the summertime
In the summertime

And how about this one?

And the sky was made of amethyst

And all the stars were just like little fish

You should learn when to go

You should learn how to say no

Might last a day, yeah

Mine is forever

Might last a day, yeah

Mine is forever

Well they get what they want, and they never want it again

Well they get what they want, and they never want it again

Go on, take everything, take everything, I want you to

Go on, take everything, take everything, I want you to

And the sky was all violet

I want to give the violent more violets

And I'm the one with no soul

One above and one below

Might last a day, yeah

Mine is forever

Might last a day, yeah

Mine is forever

When they get what they want, and they never want it again

And they get what they want, and they never want it again

Go on, take everything, take everything, I want you to

Go on, take everything, take everything, I dare you to

I told you from the start just how this would end

When I get what I want, then I never want it again

Go on take everything, take everything, I want you to

Go on take everything, take everything....

Ok, despite best intentions (and you know how effective those are), I haven't uploaded photos yet.

Mitigating factors: Kman bought a new motorcycle yesterday. It is nice. The guy delivered it to the house last night- there was drama- the title is going to be a bit delayed as there is financing involved on the seller's end, and there were many feverish calls and much internet searching the other night to resolve how to handle this. Sadly, this kind of thing has become very common- people living with way too fucking much debt to make a secure go of it- and having to liquidate things that they owe money on, at times for a loss. But the bike sure is pretty.

Mitigating factor redux: spent the day in training yesterday, and was bloody tired. It was one of those active participation kinds of things- one in which I appeared to be the only person in my group with significant motor skills. The rest apparently were "thinkers". I got the majority of the actual grunt work done. Which either means that I am good, or merely an idiot who falls for that trick. You guess.

Then: spent the evening trying to finish the rather downbeat but enthralling book about the Holocaust The Lost, by Daniel Mendelsohn. It isn't happy. But then I doubt that any book covering the attempted extermination of a large group of people could be considered happy. There are things that I have been reading that have made me think a lot. Stuff that I never knew and never considered. I like reading these kinds of books on occasion (if I did it all the time, I would no doubt off myself) mainly because it is a damned good reminder that I don't know as much as I thought I knew, and need to continue to learn more. Lots more.

That's about it. Oh, and I've started going to the gym again post-vacation. There you have it. The round-up of what the hell is going on here.

This week won't suck. Officially or otherwise. Not that I am some kind of psychic and can determine this from the bird offal steaming in a bowl. No, because everyone in my world who matters (or who I report to, to be succinct) is on vacation. Ah. Wilderness.

I will be on the clock, doing things that I shoved aside for saner times and venues. But it will be a more relaxed vibe, indeed.

And I might get a chance to download the photos from our trip. And then I can share. Otherwise it's just everyday crap. Nothing spectacular, spectacular.

Ok, I am back. Slacking like crazy, but back. Not feeling up to a bunch of catch up yet- work is bad enough- had over 400 actual work-related emails to slog through on Thursday and Friday. Alpha disasters and Beta disasters. It took time.

Now am cleaning house, watching crap recorded on the DVR while we were gone, contemplating writing more on the book, and other such nonsense.

But it is good to be home.

The orchids are blooming like crazy, the whole downstairs smells of Cattleya. If you haven't ever experienced that smell, get thee to a botanical garden or orchid greenhouse posthaste. You can NOT die without smelling a Cattleya in bloom. Amazing. Like angels. Or unicorns. hey.

The trip- I will have pictures soon. Kman took the camera on an overnight adventure with a bunch of guys owning old BMW cars. He sounds happy. Either it's a driving adventure, or they went to all the strip clubs and picked up hookers. I'll know soon. I kind of figure the pictures he took will be a giveaway.

Cool things- saw the Blue Angels (SeaFair week is here- whoohoo) from my office lounge overlooking Lake Washington. Very nice. Plants are happy- see above. Timmy the cat has fully controlled diabetes as of yesterday's blood test results- no more filthy lucre spent on that crap for a while, only meds. Sister got married to best.Kevin.ever. Saw lots of really fun stuff on the trip, spent quality time with family and friends, and got home before any real forest fires caused respiratory distress.

Other cool things- the sun is shining, had coffee with a good friend yesterday, and have some time today allocated to doing absofuckinglutely nothing. Huzzah.

Over and out!

Am on vacation until the 30th. Don't know if I will get a chance to say anything- but will be back then fur sure!

Adios!

We're getting ready for our vacation. It's the semi-annual pilgrimage across the state of MT. If you need to look at a map, ok- just please return. So we start in Spokane for an auspicious event (you know who you are!), bestow good wishes and presents and then drive crazy far to Billings. It will be hot. It will be very, very hot.

Then we will visit some friends in Bozeman, and on to Helena. Then we will make our way to parts north. And finally wrap it all up in a tidy bow and come home.

I will be offline from work. It will be painful, I just know it. The casual habit I have of checking my email when I am bored on my phone will end when we cross the border into Idaho. (no, you da ho) I refuse to log in while I am away. They will have to endure without me. The only thing I fear, besides fear itself, is the sheer volume of crap that will collect in my email box. It will be amazing I guarantee.

And there you have it. I will likely be online in more personal ways. That will ease the pain of being away from technology a bit.

Want some paranoia with that coffee? Well, if not, look away. Because it is percolating quite nicely around here.

So with the news that the Bush administration is not only aiding the mortgage industry after years of that group of individuals acting like cowboys on the high plains circa 1870, I am wondering who benefits the most.

Also there is news that Bush has lifted restrictions on off-shore drilling, despite estimates that it will take years for that oil to reach the market, if they find it quickly. I am wondering who benefits the most.

I have always approached this group of people with a sense of dread and caution (and thus have finally outed myself as a raving liberal, no?). Mainly because I believe that they use Machiavelli as textbook material- not Bush, he probably couldn't pronounce the name properly, but no doubt has a cliff notes version hidden away somewhere. Every move that they make appears calculated to me. I honestly have a strong suspicion that the current oil crisis is manufactured to provide an immense assist to the oil interests that helped get Bush elected. Something about that whole chummy relationship with his father and the Saudi royal family and all that. There is just too much back room snorgeling for my taste.

And it shouldn't surprise anyone, I suppose. Just that this was supposed to be the party that took big government out of our everyday affairs. But here it is. Big government is going to help with our banking, our gas and oil hunting, and will be able to listen to our phone conversations without much ado. I hope they enjoy mine. Very, very pleb. Nothing interesting at all. Pity the poor sot who has to monitor my life. Really do pity him/her.

Saw Eddie Izzard last night. Bloody brilliant. And disconcertingly similar to our friend Cory. Scary the mannerisms and movements. So very alike...

The dominatrix who writes a column in one of the local weeklies sat in the row in front of me. Yes, I recognized her. Because she advertises with an actual picture and all. The row in front of her was filled with the largest people I have ever seen. Packed. Seat to seat largeness. I have never seen such an assortment of very big people in one place in Seattle. Ever. I don't know why Izzard would draw that crowd. I expected more gay men and drag queens. But it was mostly large people. And older people.

But brilliant.

Then came home, popped another migraine pill to kill the persistent headache and didn't sleep all night. Until around what-the-fuck-am. So there you have it. But Izzard rocked it. Like he owned it. And I guess he likely did.

(no, wasn't in drag last night. But still fabulous)

Computer is broken. We are taking extreme measures to salvage the docs on the hard drive. But in the interim, there is no playing, so I will be kind of quiet for a while. Not to think that I have nothing to say- I do. It is just going to be more difficult....sigh...

Oh- one piece of news that brought great delight to my day yesterday (besides the fabulous haircut that I got from a young woman from (of all places) Ennis, MT)- the batshit nasty boss who made my life hell before this job (remember her?) got demoted. HAH! We'll call it karma. And the ugly little person who was my workout partner who ditched me to work for that nasty boss- she has a new boss. HAH! We'll call that irony. They can both rot in hell. No, not holding a grudge so much.

So that is about all. For now. Thank you, come again.

In another insomniac slump. But only until I fall asleep. The the dreams have me. And I wake. Again and again. The only thing keeping the dreams at bay is the cat on my leg. He grounds me. He is warm and reminds me that if a cat is here, the dream isn't real. And as long as I can make that logic work, I can sleep again. But then I wake up tired, and it was all wasted effort.

We saw a blue man at the store. Not blue like the Vegas performers. That would be cheesy. This was a blue man. Like the idiots who ingest too much colloidal silver. It's stupid, really. If you turn blue, you were a dumbass. He was creepy. I didn't make eye contact. I have a feeling he is probably used to this reaction by now. If not, well, bummer dude. You drank too much colloidal silver.

So Ms. Crankypants has her comeuppance coming. Seems she was a dumbass and screwed up something at work, and didn't come clean about it immediately. Seems it slipped her mind (might've been hope at work- hope that no one would notice), and she didn't think to be brave and tell anyone. Seems that they did notice. As per usual. So now she gets to be a grown up about it and fill them in on what happened. And it wasn't her fault. But the not telling anyone anything does conjure up shades of self-loathing.

And all on the same day that she got accolades for a major fire drill last week....sigh....that'll teach her.

Since there are a proliferation of rules books on the shelves, I figure I can add to the fray. Just because I have a few opinions, which should be quite a revelation to all.

1. Never, never, never name your food. Do you hear me 4-Hers???? It is an extremely bad idea. Those animals are not pets. Don't do it. You will regret it. The whole thing will end in tears.

2. If you decide to drive in the state of WA, please remember that the left lane is for passing only. Even if you are going the speed limit. Get your crappy ass over to the right. And keep your smug to yourself. It incites rage, and will also end in tears.

3. Wear sunblock. I have had melanoma. It scared the crap out of me. I have a 4" long scar on my left shoulder. It will remain with me forever. It is where the tiny little mole became a problem. I look at all of my moles now with a combination of fear and respect. I do not wish this upon anyone. Wear sunblock.

4. If you are on a diet, chain restaurants are a bad idea. For the most part they will not post the caloric values of their food. They are not your friend. They don't mind if you get fat. They certainly don't mind if you order more. TGIFridays, I am talking to you. Ditto Chilis and Applebees. Plus, their food is crappy and full of additives. There is likely a local place that would make a good alternative. Use your imagination.

5. Don't leave food on your deck for your pets or the squirrels. It attracts raccoons. They have thumbs. They are really rather evil. We have one who we now call Nooner who shuffles across our deck around noon daily looking for peanuts. Because someone in the house thought that the squirrels needed them. And always wanted a pet squirrel. I think that someone in the house secretly wishes he was Veruka Salt. From the last Wonka movie. Only without the Mary Jane's.

6. Pirates no doubt smelled bad. And had bad oral hygiene, resulting in lowered lifetime expectancy. And I suspect that they were all a bunch of barely functioning alcoholics, who probably had more than their fare share of blackouts and drunken sex with very unsavory characters. And no, I doubt seriously that they looked anything like Orlando Bloom or Johnny Depp. Get over it. You do not want to be a pirate. Ever try crapping over the side of a boat? Bet you have to have really good balance.

7. Beer should have a flavor. If it doesn't it is not worth ingesting. Even on a hot day. Drink water, the caloric intake will make your metabolism happier.

8. Nasty tattoos of hearts, flowers, the Tasmanian devil, unicorns and other sundry things should never happen on your chest. You will regret it. Go to your local VFW and take a good look at the ink on those guys. Then think about what you are planning on doing. And visualize 30 or so years from now. Just do it. If it still seems like a good idea, well, you are an idiot. Stop reading and go away. I wash my hands of you.

9. People in the money industry are typically greedy and love money. Don't be surprised if this causes financial shenanigans and scandals. Common sense says it is typical.

10. Keep your kitchen and your bathroom spotless. If any of these smell, you are a pig, and probably make yourself sick from food/fecal contamination on a regular basis. Those "smell reducing" sprays would be unnecessary if you just got off of your lazy ass and took out the garbage.

And that is all for tonight. Couldn't sleep so decided that it would be a great idea to spew venom onto the web for all and sundry. Why the hell not? If a chucklehead like Rush can do it on the airwaves, at least I know that the functionally literate will have access to my overwrought opinions. Heh.

So after all is said and done, he can still amaze me. There is something completely generous in his character that finds its way to the top at times like that. And leaves me breathless with both wonder and gratitude.

Where the hell did you come from?

How the hell did I find you?

Man. I guess I had better make it right no matter what. I can't waste this opportunity. No way, no how. Mainly because I know damned good and well that there will never be another like this one. Never.

Silly boy, now you are on my list for good.

Get used to it, sunshine.

It's been an appallingly quiet week- just busy doing stupid things at work that require lots of coordination, concentration, and leave me exhausted. So I come home and fall asleep on the couch, watching Stephen Colbert. And then Kman comes in from doing things in the man cave downstairs (there have been car and motorcycle projects in the offing all week) and tells me to go to bed. It is silly. And it is my life lately.

Not much in my head other than getting through it all, putting the boss on a plane, and having time to catch up on things that got shoved into other corners of my head in the last couple of weeks. I did, however, read an amazing short story by a friend. It gave me the resolution and one hell of a good angle for my book. That part had been floundering a bit. So this was what it needed. And I am happy. Just need the energy and discipline to sit and write it.

I have also been going to the gym. Which is probably part of the falling asleep on the couch story. Am up to 20 minutes on the stair machine, followed by 10 on the treadmill. I hate it. Like I hate poison. The band. Just because. But it is helping firm up parts that are best firmed.

Today is a check up for Timmy the cat. We think that we have dialed in the insulin pretty well. He seems perkier than he has been for a very long time, and I keep finding him on our bed- which for a while he couldn't reach. So either he has an assistant putting them there, or he is actually able to jump. I opt to believe the latter.

Nothing else. Just winding down the day and getting giddy about having days off.

I've already deleted one post for today, and am deleting several others in my head. Nothing to say yet, will either come back later, or will just enjoy the sun.

I have lovely friends. Last night I had my final birthday surprise- tickets and very good (albeit tall) seats to the Seattle taping of this week's "Wait, Wait, ...Don't tell me."

The Paramount theater was filled to capacity with NPR geeks- the most elderly and benign group I've ever seen at that venue.

And it was fun. Amazing and fun. I haven't laughed that hard in ages, and eagerly await the broadcast on Saturday to see what they did with the raw material.

I gotta say, I expect that they will cut the 15 minute riff on "Clippy" the evil MS Office Assistant (who has been dispatched in Vista, for those of you who haven't either heard the news or adopted the new software platform- i.e. most of you). Hasta la vista Clippy, you little fucker.

Anyway, gotta run. Bit of a work day ahead, I fear.

Postscript- I realized today that between the lot of us, we four were the ruffians at the Paramount, and could have probably kicked anyone in the place's ass. But being NPR geeks ourselves, wouldn't think of it. Until later.

More on epiphanies.

The big one this weekend is that I have a finite time left. Right. We've discussed that before, I know. But this was a slightly different take on it. Basically I made a decision that really made me feel better about a lot of things.

I have decided that the list of things that I want to learn someday, or read someday, or do someday is going to get whittled down significantly to a more reasonable proportion. For example, I have always wanted to learn the bass. I have one. I have amps. I have not, however, taught myself. I will commit to either getting a teacher or letting this one go. Within a year. And I can live with that. Ditto riding the motorcycle. Either I start learning this weekend- mainly my evaluation of whether or not I even like it- or it goes away. I am tired of unrealistic expectations of what I can still cram into my life.

I am going through the book shelves and purging. If I haven't read it in over 5 years and it is on my to-read list, it goes. Ain't gonna happen. Plenty of other, more interesting or pertinent books are getting in the way. And so it goes.

I will even commit to going through my closet again. And cleaning out clothing that I haven't worn in over a year (with the exception of some sentimental favorites that will probably get stuffed in my coffin with me some day- it will be a very full coffin apparently). Enough already. Time to let a bunch of this go.

Time to have a conversation with the landlord, too. I want to get permission to get my kiln wired in the basement. It would be good to bring that and my wheel out from storage in MT. I would like to do something productive with them for a change. I have my doubts as to whether or not he will allow this- he is pretty careful and almost fearful of things like that. We signed an agreement not to turn the water heater up past 120 degrees. It is in the lease. I think he means it. Funny guy. But we like him a lot, as he leaves us alone and doesn't raise the rent. Oh, and he pays to maintain the place when we alert him to problems. What the hell could be better? Owning our own? Not yet. Wouldn't waste the money buying in this particular market. It doesn't feel right yet.

Anyway, that was a big step for me. The deciding to let things go step. There was more, but it was much more along the lines of interpersonal and very private kinds of letting go. And that is that. It's all good.

Oh, and the sun is still shining.

One of those weekends spent pondering imponderables again. I do that once in a while- just to take stock, I think. If there aren't a fresh and sufficient supply, then it's time to shop for more.

Not much writing getting done- know where I'm going in the immediate future with the project, just haven't applied myself. Am having the sleep issues again, and have no inclination to dig into anything but going to bed when I get home in the evening. Kind of sucks. I blame our cat, Buddy. Because his nickname is Beelzebuddy. And it fits.

Not ready to really dive deeply into the aforementioned imponderables, suffice it to say, the ground shifted under me, and it was good. Like a fresh stream bubbling up from someplace deep inside. Not lava this time. Which is also good. And there was a significant assist provided by the everpresent and amazing Kman. Who now sports big skuff marks on his kneepads on his leathers. Very impressive. We love him.

Perfect pleasantness all weekend. We like that. Yes we do.

Now for a return to the regularly scheduled idiocy that is my work life. Not that the people are stupid. Not at all. It's just the frustrations of being part of a large bureaucracy. Decisions that ought to be fluid and fast are painfully slow. Progress is measured in increments. And pending things take days to sort out, because everyone and their pet dog needs to chime in. Personally, there isn't much that I care that deeply about. Not at work. At home, maybe. But we don't do things by committee like that hereabouts. It's pretty concise.

And yes, I understand the economic necessity of the hesitation (read checks and balances) at work. I really do get it. But it boils down to an awful lot of planning to implement about the same thing as yesterday.

So Lx is going to this place, eh? And I remembered compulsively watching SCTV back in the day, eh? And I bought this album. And listened to it compulsively, eh? I'm sure my poor long-suffering father who had an office next to my bedroom thought long and hard about stealing it and using it for target practice. There are definitely times when I owe the man, big.

But hey, if you are heading north, don't forget your back bacon and a beer. Take off, eh!

So today is one of my days. I claim them. Every year, I get one. And it reminds me of those add a pearl necklaces my mother used to sell in her jewelry store. One pearl for every year. And since pearl is my birth stone it is an apt comparison. Another piece of lore picked up at the jewelry store. Along with the 5 c's of diamond buying. Seriously, take me along if you need to pick one out. I have one hell of an eye for the good ones.

Also one of the reasons Kman won't buy me jewelry. I have plenty. And he knows it. And he knows that he probably can't afford my tastes if I let loose in that arena. But those kinds of things don't play a role in my life for the most part. Just don't go with Converse slip ons and jeans.

So it's my day, Kman is off on his own adventure, but did leave me with provisions including coffee in a thermos and a really lovely houseplant that I wanted. Because dead flowers don't do it for me- I want the real thing that I can re-bloom. Over and over, like my day returning.

And yes, I take great pride in probably being the first person this year to wish Salman Rushdie a happy mutual birthday. That was a gift.

So is the kitty health- Timmy the diabetic one is getting better. It is lovely to behold. We are pleased. Another gift.

Kman is having a dream adventure. Another gift.

I actually have a job that allowed me to get a new shoulder for free, and pays for me to lose weight (hasn't written the code to do that without effort, but probably working on it in a lab somewhere), both gifts.

Am writing the project that has been bothering me in fits and starts for about 10 years. It's happening, and that's a gift.

I have people who love me, and it's reciprocal. Biggest gifts of all.

So overall, it's really a good life. And that string of days offers me a great time-out to reflect on all of this. So I will get back to Bed Princess day, and go watch the crappy Biographies that I Tivoed for this occasion. Because I gotta slum a little if I'm going to have a truly decadent day!

Again with the busy week crap- just too tired at the moment to really care, though. No time to write. No time to think. And overall just reacting.

But tomorrow holds promise. A general pause in the frenzy. I am taking the day off. Officially. And it has been a beacon (not bacon) of hope for weeks. I will be taking a bed princess day. Officially. And Kman will take my car and enjoy his second track day. We got the pictures back from his first one, and it was magnificent. I am too lazy currently to scan and post. But will consider the idea tomorrow. And if I feel like it, I will try.

So let's all send happy "stay on the motorcycle, stay on the road, keep the tach in the black, sunshine" vibes to Kman tomorrow. I don't want to take a taxi to the hospital.

And now, back to the regularly scheduled nuttiness that is my alleged career.

Been thinking about him this morning. Not an unusual thing, just more intensive than normal.

Here's the trap. I start thinking about his death, and thinking that it was probably a release. But then I start thinking about what utter horseshit that is. Because it wasn't a release, as much as an end. And all hope of change, chance and possibility was just finished. And that is no release for anyone but those of us who were weary.

And I don't think that any of us really felt that way. We just have to justify it in our heads to carry on anyway. To make it ok in a little sense of the word. To make it something that we can live with. It's too hard otherwise. Because it was a waste. And stupid. And ridiculous.

Watching the NASA show on Discovery was too much. They showed the Challenger. That was the day we buried him. We saw the news in the living room, playing over and over. And I just thought, well, everyone is having a shit day then. It mirrored. It reflected just fine. But deeper was a whole different story.

And today, I was thinking about him. And wondering what he would've done with his life if things had been even incrementally different. Would he have succeeded? Would he have beat the demons? I don't know. I kind of doubt it. But that is just resignation talking. Knowing that the opportunity was never really all that bright. Knowing that it was all an abject failure of sorts. And knowing that I played a role there, whether I justify it via age and deny my ownership of bits and pieces or not.

And not to worry, no brutal internal self-abuse going on. Just reflection. The time for the blunt objects upside the head is over. Years and years and years over. Just what remains is the hope that next time if there is a next time, I will have courage. I will have honesty. I will have perseverance and be able to make a difference. Give me a bone there, at least.

Yesterday I had an adventure. I felt like crap- am having allergies, seems like there are these things in the air that like to plug my sinuses and make me unhappy. So after sleeping off the Benedryl, it was time to do something productive.

Kman had gone to a beer fest with our friends. I was not up to the crowds, so just played it solo. Went to a couple of flower/plant places. I can see some of my male friends whimpering as their eyes start to glaze over. Just consider yourselves lucky that I didn't parade my new cactus (with pretty pink needles), the miniature african violets and the orchid in front of you. Kman is a lucky man. But I know him well enough that he doesn't feign interest in my plant thing anymore. Just like I really don't listen to him extolling the virtues of one motorcycle over the other. Blah, blah, blah...I love him anyway, and he reciprocates.

Reminds me of the Gene Simmons bio that I mindlessly watched the other night. The man is a pig. Let's establish that right the fuck now. An absolute pig. Can NOT stand him. If he spit on me whilst in costume like he did the interviewer, I would have to be physically restrained from ripping his face apart. It would just be. So what is my point? Ah, yes. He has been in this relationship with Shannon Tweed (who has aged amazingly gracefully, and who I like a lot), for something like 20 years and won't marry her. That is not the part I find remarkable. What I thought was actually one redeeming quality for the man is that she said (and I paraphrase because I was not taking notes), "he may go out and play, but he always comes home to me." And she doesn't waste a lot of time worrying about other women. That is remarkable that he has done something right enough that she feels secure in their relationship like that. Cudos on that point to him. Otherwise, he is a pig.

Now that is kind of how I would sum up my relationship with Kman- not that he is a pig, but that we feel that kind of security, and it makes me thrive. I hope that it does the same for him, and since I haven't heard any complaints am assuming so. We do check in from time to time on that subject, and all is copacetic.

And I think that the kitties will forget Father's Day again. It happens. They are kind of dumb.

Some call him Tim...

I didn't know him. Never had that opportunity, and given that I don't fly in those circles, never would.
But I watched. And I enjoyed. And I have to think that it wasn't from a purely entertainment valuation that I appreciated the man.
Because I believe that he followed the news from the passionate standpoint of watching history as it was made. Within context and all. Thus making his analysis relevant.
I hated seeing all of their stoic, tired faces on the news last night. I didn't want them to weep and wail, but I didn't want them to remain so apparently indifferent, either. But that is their profession, and that is the elegy that they can offer. It is their job.
I hated to think of the person who, with shaking fingers and teary eyes, had to write the copy that went out to the world first. Who had to program the headline that he had died onto the website. Who had to put aside the feelings and just state the facts.
Sometimes it must really suck to do that for a living.

Been silent all week. I know. It was busy. Busy good and busy bad. Work and life.

So, upshot- things are just fine.

Yesterday, the big event that made it more than fine- I attended a Salman Rushdie reading. It was at Elliot Bay Books in downtown Seattle- which made it logistically not so fun, but there wasn't much traffic at lunch so it wasn't as painful as it could've been. I got there very early, as I suspected that there might be plenty. And there were. I got an amazing seat within the sea of white hairs (appears that the retiree demo was fully represented), and waited.

Now for the upshot. I have attended lots of readings. Gobs and gobs of them. And discussed a few here. But this one was special. It was one of the literary gods speaking. And it was really obvious. Not that he was pretentious. Not at all. But it was a level that I am not normally sitting 5 feet away from. And not in the basement of a book store. And not on creaky wooden chairs. Usually I am exposed to people like that in large venues or in my living room on the tv (where HD is unkind). He read with a voice that I hope I continue to hear in my head when I read the book. He then answered questions with more grace and finesse than I thought possible. Several of the people present were obviously star-struck (yes, I kept my mouth firmly shut, as would've made an ass of myself, fur sure), and not horribly eloquent. He was kind to them, and answered what was most likely their question. And he was funny. And interesting. If you ever want a few pithy and amusing anecdotes about having a fatwah on your ass, ask him. He will tell you.

Then we had the signing. I was third in line, because I can cut through a crowd like a warm knife through butter. It is one of my super hero talents. The girl in line behind me commented that she followed me to the line because I walked with such authority. Ah, smoke and mirrors are my friends!

I wished the man a happy birthday next week (I am creepy like that, but we do share a birthday), and got my book signed and went back to work.

All good. The sun was shining when I left the bookstore. The first time in days. It was appropriate as I crossed the water and headed towards job. Rolled down the window, cranked the stereo and felt all nice.

And there you have it. The highlight. No need to discuss the lowlight- that was Monday, and it has been resolved. Might post about it later, but don't want to dilute my happy item.

Yesterday I attended a design forum at work. It was part of "training", if you will. I used the term loosely to describe what I was doing whilst on the company dime. But it was. It was interesting as hell. I saw the light and I saw the darkness.

For those of you in the know, design plays a large role in my life. Not directly- that was art, and it has effectively been abandoned- more for sanity's sake than anything else. I can go into that saga and the decisions related to it later. But this was design. And whether or not it exists in my world. Not really in my immediate world- those are a whole different cadre of people.

What I saw was one group of designers with an actual philosophy and call to action. I want Kman to be part of this. Funny- I had contacted the lead of this group several months ago to get a meeting with Kman on the calendar- but the position had been filled. Now I am more intent on being Lady Macbeth and getting the man in to see the other man. I suspect that there will be a colossal bang, as the minds meet and they get their design philosophy groove on. And that would make me rejoice. That was the light. The dark was another presentation that I suffered through. It was the worst that design has to offer. Sheer style over substance. It was all about creating objects just because they look nice. Not because they can change the world for the better, or they can change the paradigm, or they can do something amazing. All about the pretty factor. Design as fashion, so to speak. Which always pisses me off. What a fucking waste of energy and effort. Just like dealing with those shallow souls who really think that it's important to focus on handbags. They are nice. I am a girl. I get it. But seriously, would you want that to be the definition of your life's work? A fucking handbag? Seriously???

Ah, this is the first time, I have just realized, that I have exposed the design snob in me. Enjoy, all of you. And argue with me if you want. But it's just such a deeply held feeling. Art is one thing, and that is where I lump fashion. Design is something else, entirely. In the absence of true religion in my life, I think that my philosophy of design/art/history kind of stands in. I don't know what that makes me, besides borderline batshit, no doubt.

But it was a good day. Light and darkness combined. Oh, and I took notes. Copious notes.

My other writing project...
While this one knows no ends or really any beginning, the other one is shaping up nicely, thank you.

Last night I read Kman the first thing that I have shared. And he was impressed (or faked it well). He said that it was good for being so rough, and he wanted to know more. That made me happy. And now I have to figure out where it goes next.

This might not make sense- but the other project is just freeforming itself all over the place. It's scary as shit, because I start writing with intent, and it goes somewhere else entirely. And I know enough about this process to stay out of the way. If it winds up being a silly mess, so be it. At least it will be done. And I will have it out of my system.

But so far, the portents are good. I want to know where it is going, and that is always a good sign, no?

So that's what I've been doing. That and watching the fucking rain. For the record, it is a very wet year. But still.....

guess that there wasn't really a plan. I just expected to wake up and the world to be a different place. I didn't take into consideration that I would be different too. That would be necessary, no?

It's not what I was after, and it wasn't what I envisioned. Not that it's bad, or anything, but not what I had in mind at all. But then again, we have already established that I didn't have much in mind, besides a broad overview, or a gross generalization.

I suppose now is where I make peace with the whole thing, and decide that it was all for the best. But really, that doesn't take into account regrets. It doesn't account in the least for bruised feelings and disappointments. It doesn't take into account the scars both physical and metaphorical that I have acquired along the way. Oh, and the grey hairs that I so adeptly hide most of the time, unless I get lazy.

I don't want to be peaceful about it. I really don't feel like the platitudes hold up. Again with the platitudes. And what is "it's all for the best" if not one of the most pervasive ones? Who the hell knows if it was and is all for the best? Have you never read the story of Job? If not, I would recommend it. Never say a man or woman is happy until they are dead and buried. There is always room for Eris. She can show up and ruin any party. It's her favorite blood sport.

What I didn't do last night:

Kman went to a birthday party at a roller rink/bowling alley. I used to skate my ass off as a kid. But have never been much of a bowler. I didn't go. I stayed home and did other stuff. Main reason- I didn't want to fall down and split my shoulder in half again. And bowling- not quite ready for that action yet, if ever. I seriously suck at it. Seriously.

So I stayed home and organized the music on my Zune. Yes, I did. So saith geek girl. And I wrote. A ton. It is coming out in the most interesting ways- not what I predicted at all. And I like it like that.

And I stayed up way too late waiting for Kman to call and let me know if he needed a driver. But he forgot. And he didn't. So when he came home after the bar closed, I was up. And sleepy. But not too crabby, mainly because he had gone out all roller-disco Stu, including a sweet Joe Namath vintage disco shirt (sunset seascape), mustard yellow pants, vintage white Adidas shoes (actually retro, spanking new thanks to a friend who designs the things- gotta brag), and a vintage brown suede jacket. True stylee. And what is cool is that the shirt glows all shiny and cool under black light. I would expect no less from Joe. Seems he was the coolest 70's era throwback in the place. We rule. (though next time I might send him in my vintage Playboy pinups disco shirt- it totally trumps Joe. There are naked ladies on it.)

Now I need more coffee. And lunch. Adios.

People appear to really like to be defined by type. For example, what Sex in the City character are you? (for the record, none of the above- I would probably gleefully push any one of them down a steep flight of stairs)

I am not immune, but tend towards the more arcane examples of typecasting.

For example, what kind of Jim Carey movie do you enjoy? Personally, I am a Cable Guy kind of chick. Something about that man examining his dark side is really funny, and creepy, and all that. Just like I loved Death to Smoochie and One Hour Photo, but totally piss on Patch Adams and the other Robin Williams movies of that ilk. And we'll make it asparagus piss at that. Because that kind of treacly nonsense deserves no less.

We quote Cable Guy at least once a day. At least. "Dude, I got a lot of tables." Exactly.

So do you have a black heart like me? And my man? Because if so, climb aboard the bitter train. Enjoy the comedians when they go horribly wrong. And hope, yes pray, for the day that Eddie Murphy gives up on Disney and goes all serial killer in a movie. It would be brilliance personified. Unleash that inner demon, Eddie! Let it go. You know you want it. You know that the dark side would feel soooooo very good. Like that red leather getup you wore on the cover of your album, back in the day. Spanky.

I would pay lots of money, also, to see Steve Martin be all villainous again. The Spanish Prisoner was so worthwhile because of him. Not that I always enjoy Mamet- sometimes it is just too difficult. Oleanna was unbearable.

So, rock on evil ones. And I am going to play in the sun. And dream of the funny boys embracing their dark sides truly and fully.

Nothing gripping or compelling. Just not sleeping for shit again. It's the periodic insomnia thing. And it's delicious. Or not really, as I am out of Ambien, and not likely to ask the Dr. for it when I go in for my next arm evaluation (all better, thank you.). Just not needed normally. And it was such a struggle to argue with my general Dr. about the Ambien. When she learned where I work, she outright refused. Just refused. Said that I needed to learn to deal with it. And that she has seen that place turn sane people all crazy. It's all about life choices or something...blah...blah...blah.

But I can joke fine. I have followed her advice, to the letter. I still can't fucking sleep for shit. And it is kind of annoying. Feeling a tad frayed around the edges. Better not deal with too many horses' asses today, it might make me snappy. And not in a good, "hey, nice comeback" kind of way. More of an "I've got a call into HR about you" kind of way. Not good at all.

Ah. Best get to it then.

Kman decided to buy a pressure washer prior to the weekend. We have a clean driveway. It took all weekend. We could no doubt eat off of it. But I would be a little concerned about the groundclear chemicals I dumped on the weeds leeching onto the cement/aggregate. That would make us sick.

So I think we'll not eat on the driveway after all. Silly idea, really.

There really isn't much else going on- had to hit work early yesterday to prep for a meeting. Had one go catastrophically wrong last week, and was all jumpy. But all is well, and no one brought up the disaster. They appear to have forgotten. It probably helped that I didn't sit there and cringe, but was all brave and up in it. Something about keeping eye contact and not showing that a significant part of me was dying inside right at that moment- I suspect it was my pancreas. But I could be wrong, it might have been my spleen. Probably my spleen, upon reflection- I think you can function pretty well without a spleen, and I doubt you can without your pancreas. But my anatomy is a little sketchy- probably got them mixed up. It wouldn't surprise me a bit.

Ok, gotta go. Time for more of the work vibe. It happens, people. Until Kman wins the lotto. And I don't believe he plays often enough. He keeps after me to buy a ticket, but I won't- no luck there, folks. None whatsoever. He's the meal ticket in the lotto pool, I just know it.

NOW who's the ignoramus?

Well, that would indeed be me.

I heard that it is a military kind of holiday. On the NPR. So that mystery is solved.
I guess I would prefer to carry my dead around with me inside...forever.

Now for another mystery.

What are people around here going to do on July 1st when it becomes illegal to speak on the hand-held cell phone whilst driving? It might make for some heads exploding. I am just guessing here.

Pardon my ignorance...

Is Memorial Day just for veterans and war dead? Just wondering, because I remember it being the annual day when we visited the family at the cemetery. We would take annuals out and plant these little planters, and I would inevitably get bored and run around reading headstones. It was generally nice out, and didn't take an entire afternoon or anything. Usually we went for a car drive afterwards. I wish that those car rides made more of an impact- all I really remember is sun in the car, lots of trees and dirt roads. I couldn't take you to those places today. I couldn't tell you if there was anything unique. Just dirt roads and trees. Sometimes water. Not vast stretches of water, just creeks mostly.

It just never seemed like a big deal overall. I am seeing all kinds of articles in the papers about veterans. And it made me wonder. I suppose I really should know the answer to my question- but was never that into American history- it was the European stuff that I fixated on. And I thought that we had the whole war/dead/fallen heroes thing covered on Veteran's day. But I have no problem with giving them more than one day, god knows they deserve it.

I just wonder if anyone in the family still goes to the cemetery and plants annuals in those little planters anymore. I live a bit too far away to jump in the car and check.

From MSNBC.

Am I the only one who totally cringes when I see this image? (and doesn't it look like Betsy Brainiac misspelled Hillary initially???)

Sweet Jebus. No wonder the woman is doomed. Fucking chuckleheads.

And they gave us the right to vote, why exactly???

Time for more wine.

Heroclitus= misspelled Heraclitus

WTF, people!

If you haven't noticed, I have gotten all high tech- it appears to have rubbed off or something. And there was assistance- thanks Alex!

So I am looking at the reports of who is trawling through my site, and there is the strangest thing. The majority of people who traipse through without having me bookmarked either are searching for me specifically (Goggle search term- couchkitten), thank you. Or they have run a Google search on...hold on....wait....wait...Heroclitus. Yup. I mentioned the dead Greek guy many moons ago- after a discussion with Kman in the car. And it comes up as the #1 entry for Heroclitus on Google. That fucking weirds me out big time.

So all of these searches come back with me in them. Man. I feel the need for more coffee. Stat. Because the net is a very strange place, and my position in it is a little odd.

Heroclitus...

And I am betting that because I am mentioning it so much right now, this post will enter the pantheon of hits for Heroclitus. Take that, Google!

Now I gotta get back to work- am working "remotely" today. So no, I'm not dressed yet, and yes, I am eating candy. Before noon even. And yes, the tv is on. But it's the news, so I'm not totally fucking off. Just background noise.

Last night I proved once and for all (as if that was necessary) that Kman is a saint. Lovely, lovely man.

I dragged him to Third Place Books across the water and north (in rush hour traffic, no less) to a book signing by Jen Lancaster. I did placate him a bit with a Dick's burger and fries, but it was not what he originally wanted to do after work.

But Jen is one of my heroes. I don't often succumb to chick lit, but make an exception in her case. Because she is mean and funny. And in real life, appears to be just the same. Not that it would be easy to have her in a daily dose, but her blog and her books make me happy. Mainly because I read the first one Bitter is the New Black when I was unemployed and very, very low. It fit nicely into the firmament of what was going on. That book actually went on permanent loan when I gave it to a contractor at work who never came back one day. But that is good, because I suspect she needed the book too.

The reading was fun, Kman even laughed a few times, and I was near the front of the line, so we were able to leave early. I overheard a woman talking about me- she was happy that I was speedy with my hellos, and didn't take a ton of time getting my book signed. Had a quick chat with Jen, and then left. That was all. My entire being didn't rest upon meeting her, like I suspect some did. There were some pretty happy ladies present, and a smattering of very nice men.

And now I owe Kman an evening at the brew pub of his choice. Because, like I said before, he is a saint, and I really want to keep him happy. Oh, just for the record- he was going to clean the garage last night. I kept him from cleaning his mancave. Sigh....

Stepping away from the mundane on the outside, to face the mundane on the inside.

Just a quick commentary on things I wish I had done.

I wish that when I was younger and sillier, I had made more of an effort to take road trips.
I didn't have money for gas, but it would've been nice.

I wish that when I was younger and dumber, I had made more friends who led me astray.
Looking back, it all seems pretty tidy, overall.

I wish that when I was younger and prettier, I had been less concerned with the boys.
That was the biggest mistake of all, they weren't worth the effort.

It wasn't exactly a profitable venture overall, but then I am not Warren Buffet, and have never conducted myself like that. But I do think that there was a significant amount of risk aversion that really did temper my experiences and provided a self-imposed lack of adventure.

And that's all the mundane I can handle for now.

There are a set of songs that I listen to sometimes,
and try to hear echoes of what he would have heard.
I try to imagine what the lyrics evoked
I try to imagine if he was comforted by them.
I am guessing that overall he was just stoned at the time,
and the songs sounded really good, man.
But I have hope that he was a little deeper than that.
I do know that he took things very much to heart.
That his life was determined and dictated by hurt.
That he was defined by low expectations, and little oversight.
That in the end, it was easier to slip away in the night than
to visit the pain and fix things.
Because fixing meant changing, and finding the strength wasn't
a choice he saw as viable.
But then again, that is no doubt me talking and interpreting.
Because he did slip away, and can't answer my questions
and accusations.
I get to carry them around.
And listen to the songs that I think might have had some meaning to him.

Welcome to the mundane.

Today was all about the yard.
And probably too boring to tell.
Suffice it to say that some order came of chaos.
Some weeds died.
Some flowers were planted.
The sun was shining.

Not to brag, but...

had a free lunch with a friend, then a free spa afternoon, including pedicure, and went to a boutique beer tasting.

Life is looking very, very good right now. Mazel tov.

Today we have sun. And record temperatures.

I will kill weeds.
I will plant container gardens.
I will get charged up on vitamin D.
I will wear sunblock.
I will wear short pants.
I will open the windows and let the air in.
I will wash the car.

It's all open to possibility.

For the record, the Kman had the time of his life yesterday. Didn't do anything rash or silly, and came out of it with more enthusiasm than ever...sigh...

He didn't wad up the motorcycle, but saw a few of those. He was just so happy. I can't deny him anything when it makes him that happy.

And today, he is a little sore. Not that he's in bad shape- he shames me with his fitness level. But it was an unusual way of using those muscles. I don't think he minds. He does have a couple of very oddly placed bruises...

So there you have it. Next up, he'll be running with the other lunatics on the Isle of Mann. Crikey. And I will be drinking myself into oblivion to cope...

Major anxiety producing issue of the day (and tomorrow):

Kman is going to participate in a motorcycle track day. Not a race, mind you, but a track day. Which means that he is taking my car with trailer attached, and driving to the track and then riding his motorcycle with a bunch of other guys (I would presume), and hopefully not wadding it up.

He purchased full leathers some time ago, and has also gotten body armor, and has a very expensive and light helmet. He rides daily to work, which should probably be more of a concern, given the general stupidity of most of the drivers we encounter around here. But this just makes me...nervous.

I just need to get the fuck over it. Today.

Additional lurkers out there....
you know who you are.
I heard about a couple of you.
It is nice to know that I am on the radar.
But it is kind of hard, in that I don't know how my words resonate.
I don't know how my words get interpreted.
Is it serious?
Is it literal?
Are my opinions, sometimes transitory in nature going to bite me in the ass
in my personal life?
Even my husband ignores this place.
He hears my voice enough, he said.
Only comes here when I make him, just to show off a clever piece of wording.
And then he goes away.
Just not that interested.
Sometimes I wish it was universal.
I am growing more and more fond of being under the radar.
Never want to be the main event.
Too much pressure.
Too much worry.
Too much resultant diplomacy required.
The message about the newly acquired lurkers- be careful.
Don't embarrass your family.
Don't embarrass your friends.
No pressure, really.
But not exactly what most would consider freedom of expression.
Gotta really think about this one.
Don't know if I'm all that interested in the constrictions provided.
Don't know if it's worth it to me.
Too many narrow lines to tread, and I have always been clumsy.
No doubt I have already crossed plenty of those, without knowing.
Without being told.
My ears should burn.
My nose should itch.
There are ghosts walking on my grave.
Or was it geese?

I had lunch yesterday with an old friend from work. I don't currently work in the same group with him, but haven't lost touch, because he is wonderful.

We were dishing about mutual acquaintances. One has cancer. One is a really vile human being. It is all interesting. Overall it makes me ponder a bit.

Where I work, competitive people congregate and freely screw eachother over on a daily basis. It is one big game for them. And the consequences are pretty dire for some. It takes me aback when I hear about new examples. Mainly because I can't really fathom being dim enough to behave like that. Not only is it careless to be an ass and forget that people have long memories, and love to wreak revenge when given an opportunity, but it's also just such bad manners. And I know that the manners argument makes me sound kind of priggish. But it really is true. This is it. This is our only opportunity to play this game, and if you're a dick about it, you lose. That's it. You fucking lose. Because not only did you not make a positive difference in the world, you added to the bad shit that's out there. You fucking lose, chief.

Whereas if you weren't a dick about it, and stumbled on occasion, there is redemption. But it's those people who see it as merely a game, and don't understand how deep it really goes- those are the ones who make me...sad. They are stupid. And one of them has cancer, and the other is a really vile human being (whose vileness is readily on display, and getting a bit of attention). And those are the ones who won't be missed by many when they go. They lose.

Go see "Iron Man". It is good. Now I have a serious thing for Robert Downey, Jr. Which kind of sucks, since it pulls attention away from Jack White and Michael Schumacher. What's a girl to do?

Roundup of the weekend: Saw above movie. Had sun yesterday, so weeded some- until shoulder revolted, and had to stop and watch a movie on tv. Watched "Duel in the Sun." Hated "Duel in the Sun." Fast forwarded through large parts of "Duel in the Sun" to make it stop. Think that Jennifer Jones was horribly miscast in "Duel in the Sun." But still think that Gregory Peck was really, really beautiful.
Back to weekend roundup: Spoke with many family members. Things are good. Settling down, really- the people in the family (actually person) who was all winky/crazy has seen the error of his ways, and gotten a nice fresh breath of sanity. All is well. Drama averted for now.
Kman got his car back together, and appears to have rebuilt the engine to the point where the aged oil leaks are historic, rather than current. Now he will prepare for track day for his motorcycle. Not sure how I feel about this...
Bought books at the bookstore- written by people I know via MySpace. Because they are my friends, dammit, and I owe them allegiance as such...right?
Actually cooked. Which was a nice return to being a normal person.
Drank too much coffee. Ate things with MSG in them at a party and got a nasty headache and hangover from it on Sunday morning. Thus the too much coffee.
Did the rest of the typical and normal weekend stuff- with the addition of wrote about 20 pages of the project that has started to consume my life around the edges. And I gotta say I kind of like it. So far. We'll see....

Kman was singing to himself this morning- not an uncommon occurrence, and a nice one at that. He reminded me of my favorite Neil Diamond song. "Cracklin Rosie." It's not the most dramatic of the Neil oeuvre, nor is it the most singable. But it is my Christmas song.

When I was probably 3 (could have been 4), we were at my grandparent's house. We were celebrating Christmas, and had a fire going in the fireplace. The presents had been opened, and everyone was happy. My father picked me up, and was dancing with me. That was the song that was playing. I hear it now, and remember the warmth, and the love and the security. It is by far one of the happiest moments of my life, and one that I have trotted out on occasion when needed to get through something worse. Funny, I don't invoke the song often. Don't even own it, actually. It's like if I did, it would lose some of its potent firepower. Kind of like if I think about that time too much it might go away. Funny how that works. Because in actuality, it will go away some day. For sure.

("for sure" is part of an elaborate F1 based drinking game in our house now- though we watch the races too early to actually make it a drinking game- currently it's in production, and theory mode- to be unleashed at a later date.)

Been quiet again, I know. It's just a phase in the moon. Or maybe something I ate. Still with the whole not anything to share period- just don't think of myself as all that interesting, and not up for ranting about anything. I read enough of those at work on the message boards- mostly about cars and racing. And it is a bit self-serving to complain- I did put myself on the boards, intentionally. And sometimes enjoy it. But there you have it.

Yesterday was my final PT for my shoulder. It is done. I have most of my mobility back, and what I don't have yet, I will get soon, or never- not all is necessary for fully functioning. I probably won't be spending much time doing sideplank position in Yoga, so there you have it, again. And yes, it bloody well did hurt. But it's like that. If it hurts, I did more of it. Because I thought it necessary. And it appeared to work. I am done a month early. Ha.

Kman had a road trip last weekend. He went on a drive with a passel of other BMW enthusiasts. He didn't take his old girl- she is currently disassembled in the garage- appears she has a slight oil leak. For a couple of decades. And my honey is nothing but a man for Sisyphean efforts. Stick a finger in that dike, son, it might slow the flow a bit.

And my current writing project is slowly taking over my life. I should be happy, but am a bit perplexed. There are characters in it who suddenly appeared, and one came back from the dead (where I put her in the last draft- seems she didn't want to die, after all.) Since when do they have a bloody choice? Appears when I write fiction, they get free range like the chickens. They say, "fuck you, we do what we want." And I oblige by recording it all. Fine. Be that way, then. And it it sucks, it won't be my fault.

And now I go to work. It's like that.

All right then. Because it has been difficult to drum up enthusiasm lately for my usual rantn and ravin, I might have to resort to just confessin.

I've been working on a project. I was supposed to remain in phase 2 of my new me development process (if you remember, phase 1 was the job). Phase 2 is very close, actually. Less than 20 pounds to go, and the pounds that remain are configured very differently. So that's all good, and I had always intended to remain free of the "weight loss blog" kind of thing. So that's that.

Phase 3 has started prematurely. But I think that's how things work. No clean boundaries, really. The project is writing in nature, and I am knee deep in research. What is is about? Sssshhhhhhh.....that might not get told quite yet. But it isn't autobiographical so much as just...different. I've been re-reading a bunch of books, though. Things that got me thinking back in the day. And I do mean back in the day. I found a book that spurred my interest in the subject I studied in grad school. I found a book that scared me so badly that I took it back to the library unfinished. But had to check it out again to find out what happened- and then read it again and again. But only during the day. There's really something incredible happening as I dive into these stories again- it's bringing back my internal voice- the one I used to use all the time to play and tell stories to myself when I was bored. And that's not a bad thing, I suspect.

No, the voices aren't telling me to DO things, or anything like that. Not to worry, Holmes. I am fine. Just getting in touch with some elements that have been neglected for far, far too long. And not entirely sure what is going to come out. But the long-postponed project that I was working on a couple of years ago is still in there, and a couple of elements that I couldn't figure out have resolved themselves very nicely in the past week.

And that is what I am doing in my head lately. That and singing along to the music in my car. Because that stops me from hating other drivers. No way I can be screaming at them if I am singing along to the fabulous and dreamy Jack White. So there. Don't be hating.

Ah, the joy of discovering that some days all I encounter is the incessant OPINIONIZING of one collection of experts after another. All fucking day. Not my people- they are fine. It's others at the company. Who CANNOT and WILL NOT leave a sentence untouched. Because it is IMPORTANT to have the best and most highly intellectual opinion about it. Regardless of what it is. And regardless of how high they rank on the jackassery scale when they express that opinion. It just does.not.stop.

Ah, it fucking kills me. And I am constantly amazed. But then I grow jaded. And thankful that I don't have to deal with these horse's asses daily. Only via email. Which is sufficient, thank you.

And it also explains why I would surmise the majority of these particular fellows never, ever get laid. I wonder how many men at my company own Realdolls?

Ah, the Monday morning post. Sort of a summation of the weekend, what I remember, at least, and avoidance of going to work.

Well, not today. Nothing of true note happened this weekend- mainly some snow (yes. Snow.), visits with friends, calls with family, some shopping, some driving around, and cleaning of the house.

So the problem with this forum is that it is always by necessity at this point a soliloquy. And I've never been all that into the speechifying...well, maybe a bit. But sometimes I just get tired of listening to my own voice. I prefer to have conversations. I prefer to not dive so deeply into my own head. Just because I really don't think there's much in there that anyone else would find interesting.

But I will admit that the idea that others might not find my every word fascinating came with age. Once upon a time, there was a princess. She thought that she was unique. She knew that she was special. She also figured that since she was unique and special, that everyone knew it, and would be interested in everything she said. And so it was. On and on. No one ever told her that she was a pedantic bore. No one really wanted to face her wrath. Because the wrath was very evident right under the surface. So they put up with her, until they didn't.

The end.

But it did end, and there is a happy ending, after all. Because she grew up, got her head out of her ass, and realized that other people have limits of what they find interesting. And a lot of the garbage that passes for mental activity is merely that- potato chips and soda of the mind.

So. And onward. We saw a documentary on BBC America last night about Realdolls. And the men who love them. Oh my. God. It was an hour of very disturbing things. And I can only imagine that all of the men in question live in homes with a certain...funk about them...

And that is my gift to you on Monday morning. Realdoll documentary. Heh.

"Marie Antoinette" was on last night. I have to say I hate that movie. Costumes, check. Sets, check. Emptiness, check. And it's not just the sappy moviemaking. I have always hated the story. Hated it like I hate the story of the Russian Revolution. And it is personal. No, I am not claiming to be the reincarnated Anastasia. Nothing of the sort.

I have always sympathized with both sides, and fully understand why neither family could be allowed to live. They HAD to be wiped off the globe by the revolutionaries not only to legitimize the movement and finalize the victory, but also to ensure that there were no happy returns. It still boggles my mind that they didn't do the same to Napoleon. Seems a tad...naive.

But the human destruction causes me grief. I hate that Marie and family were slaughtered because they were stupid. And rich. And the basic end-game genetically. Now how much of this was their own personal fault is one thing. But being thrust into roles for which they were neither prepared nor suited wasn't necessarily their fault. And that's the crowning bloody tragedy of it all. Ditto the silly Romanovs. The whole culture that they perpetuated and relished of being so detached from humanity as a whole, and the excesses just make it more of a sad display.

I honestly don't know which side I would've fallen on. Probably the revolution's. As no doubt, I would've been a peasant, and heartily pissed at the expense and quality of footwear. And food. And seeing those saps living la vida would've brought out the pike skewering rage in me right quicklike, y'all.

But I still hate the stories and hate the movie, and can definitely be happy that I don't HAVE to either teach the topics or read about them. Not without a large bucket of wine to drown my sorrows at the stupid fucking human condition.

While I have a kitty making biscuits on my lap, I can breathe for a minute. I'm not going anywhere.
Not for a bit.

Lately those moments aren't as common as I would like. Not the kitty part, just the silence. Internally and externally. Feels like nothing but running around endlessly. Point a to point b. Over and under and through again.

Endless repetition and then some more. Again! And the thing that is funny about it is that the repetition doesn't just become ritual. Nothing that profound. Just busywork. Not infused with splendor or meaning. Just busy. Not even with the necessity of a squirrel gathering nuts. Just busy.

And there you have it. The cat has left, and I must commence with the busy.

Context:
They were very young. Probably too young to handle fully the experiences and responsibilities that they seized so willingly. But they had their reasons. History played a role. As did emotion. And escape.

Narrative:
Not your typical fairy tale. In fact, not a fairy tale at all. No real villains, just well-meaning, but at times ineffectual people. A couple of fools. And in the end fine people who made some questionable and at times bad choices.

Summation:
Yes, indeed, time heals all wounds- if you let it. And there might be scars. These aren't removed by silicone bandages (have you seen these?). They are forever. But they become less important.

Reality:
Taking the time to transition from bitterness to sadness to something beyond all of these choices can cause a ruckus internally. But it isn't the hardest part. And it isn't something that is easily shared. Not with the causes, and not with the effects. It's an internal game, really.

Conclusion:
Watching the cat eat a spider is more interesting on a good day than pondering the imponderables of the past, and more fulfilling ultimately.

If it's not raining it's bloody foggy outside. Once upon a time, I thought it would be wonderful to live in England. Well, most of my childhood, actually. Always wanted it. Ever since I ran across a children's biography of Queen Elizabeth I. Then I read everything I could find about England. And being English. But Montana is a long way from England. Like that's not obvious. And my family is a far cry from English. We speak the language, and that's about it. Most of the rest of it is as foreign as the Galapagos. We have wonderful teeth (for the most part). We drink our beer cold (if we drink beer). We don't particularly cotton to cricket- it bores us. As does soccer. We prefer American Football. We don't drive British cars- the electronics are too sketchy. And there's no one in town to service them. And growing up, I don't remember having tea in the house. That particular fact really bothered me. Because tea seemed important. A cornerstone really. And we were so very unBritish. And I wanted it to be different. I wanted tea.

I remember my mother went out of her way to buy me tea. It was the Lipton kind. And I overbrewed it. It was the nastiest stuff I had consumed, with the exception of the vodka I sipped one time (wanted to see what the fuss was about- still can't drink it- appears aversion therapy works sometimes). So I thought tea was nasty, and the English were a tad odd.

But this weather thing. Nothing romantic about it, really. Just moist. And too cold for things to grow properly yet. I used to love foggy days, mainly because I can count on one hand how often they occurred. But now I have lost count, and the romantic aspects of it are vanishing quickly. Because all it really means is that the drive to work will be slower, and the windows at work will be all pearly, and dark.

But it's not all bad. I didn't grow up English, but I did grow up with a fondness for Mary Poppins. And for Ian Fleming. And for Arthur Conan Doyle. And for Virginia Woolf. There are others on the list, I am just getting bored.

Cheerio.

General update now:

Nothing to rant about. But I did make an excellent discovery yesterday. I have been verging on road ragey for weeks. Mainly because I commute amongst idiots and arseholes. Trust me. They are. So, I hate who I become when I am driving. It perplexes me, as I can't figure out where that aggression is coming from. So yesterday. Instead of NPR, because it is begweek, and I already gave for the year, I opted for CDs. And it was good. I sang along like a goofus. And it was good. No rage. Perhaps I have found a solution. Or unbeknownst to me, I had the right chemical mix of coffee in the blood for once.

Shoulder progress is steady, unpleasant at times, and overall encouraging. Still never gonna see complete mobility, but it'll not hurt. And the PT is now officially kicking my ass twice a week. And I love her for it. But not in an S & M way, just know that she's doing her job well. And it's not in a $2Million dollar flat in Chelsea.

Job is fine. Not much to report there. Just the usual fire drills, hijinks, and petty annoyances that take up time during the day. I still maintain that a hefty number of people who work at my company are stark raving lunatics, but there you have it. At this point, I can probably count myself in their ranks- see above, about the driving...

It is, of course, as I write, raining again. Not much to say about that either, suffice it to say it is dreadfully depressing. There was a garden growing in our street gutter. A layer of mud had sprouted 6" of grass and weeds. It was frightening, and confirmed what those tv shows about the end of humanity have to say. Once we are gone, the blackberries, ivy and weeds take over. There is a camaro down the street that I need to take a pic of and post here- it has been on blocks for years. It is covered with green mold. God knows what the interior looks and smells like. But the exterior is something to behold.

Nothing else to report at this point. Just wanted to give the update for those of you who might be interested. Now on to work.

Changing gears

I was going to write about the wonders of our new Dyson vacuum cleaner. Amazing. Simply awesome. We lived in absolute filth, people, and were totally unaware.

But I got sidetracked by my response to another person's blog. And need to vent. Go figure.

In F1, currently, there is a bit of a scandal. Seems the FIA (governing body of the racing series) President, Max Mosley (yes, son of Sir Oswald Mosley and Diana Mitford- Wiki them, bloody fascinating but scary-ass family) was caught in a sting operation cavorting with 5 hookers in a rough trade afternoon. What is nice about this is that he is 67, and apparently in very FINE health. What is not so nice about this is that the News of the World in Britain has labeled the ladies Nazi re creators for pay. Now I (in the spirit of intellectual inquiry) watched bits of the film. And I didn't see Nazi symbolism anywhere. Just some high end call girls dressed in domi outfits, and some prison garb. (Oh, you bad, bad boy Max!). And some bottom spanking.

According to the news, the video goes on for five hours. Impressive. But for such a seemingly spendy venture, if indeed Max's fetish goes towards Naziism, it was a waste of his money. Because that was just not there. Not there.

So. My point. The F1 community and the press are reacting in the most deer in headlights alarmist fashion. They are pillorying the man. In public. Despite the fact that he hasn't been accused of a crime. And the Nazi thing hasn't been proven. And the video was taped illegally (and I suspect as part of a blackmail scheme-there are at least 5 different cameras involved). He has been set up. Obviously. No question. And still. The press (ie. Murdoch's establishment in England) is hammering him. And he is suing the pants off of them. And rather than take a moment, be calm about it, and insist that the allegations be fully proven, most of the teams have chosen to condemn the man.

What really chaps my ass, besides the unfairness of being condemned without a trial, is that I feel sorry for Max. I don't like Max. Never have. And I feel that I must defend the man. Ick. Feh.

I just overwhelmingly hate that people attribute the press with some kind of magical power of truth. That if it is written down, it is automatically true. That pisses me off beyond extreme. And I want to start calling out instances of the media being manipulated. And in this instance the media clamoring for one man's blood is more than I can bear.

Looks like someone's got a case of the...

Sometimes I just don't know what the hell people expect. It astounds me. Like when they act surprised when I do something clever. Or astounded when I create a new process that works well with some heretofore muddled situation.

What the hell do they think I have done with my life?

What the hell do they think I did before getting this job?

I just don't get it. And it's hard not to let their underestimation slip into my pores. And keep a cheerful and happy face on it. No place to go but up, right?

But the patronizing extent of it all... "thank you (redacted) for being so proactive on this!" Fuck you, you tool- it's only my JOB. Fucking ass. And I've been "proactive" about this for about, oh, I dunno, a year now. At least the ones who bother me the most aren't the ones I work that closely with. Like the bossman. He is cool as hell.

But then, I probably need to step off a bit. All this hostility is no doubt personal and hormonal in nature, and needs a better outlet. Like a nap, a funny movie from the 30's, some quality time with Kman, and a raise. I'll start holding my breath for all of the above right about ...... now.

In the meantime, whilst I turn blue, I will go get ready for work. But a nap would be nice. I wonder if I can convince Kman to call in sick with me today.....

Life as a fairy tale

I was addicted to fairy tales as a kid. My aunt and uncle bought me a wonderful set of Grimm's and Anderson's fairy tales when I was too young to read them. I still have them. The challenge of finding out what was between their covers was one of the reasons I learned to read. Ditto the copy of "The Little Prince" that my other uncle gave me when I was 4. Age appropriate? Probably not. But a challenge, you betcha.

So, my life as a fairy tale. It is, you know. Whether I like it or not, the way I structure my own story in my head always follows that pattern. And it keeps me going. Something fresh about the never ending saga. Not like one of the epic poems- nothing that convoluted. More of a small thing, really.

There is always a heroine. That would be me. And there is always a villain. That would be someone else, most of the time. Some times that is also me. And there is the prince. You know him from previous appearances hereabouts. And there is the plot. Pretty unvarying. Adversity/the challenge. The quest. The conquest. The iron core of determination. The triumph. Moving on to the next challenge. The pattern repeats.

I was fascinated by Jung, and his archetypes- especially when applied to fairy tales and tarot cards. Mainly I enjoy seeing that some of what I experience is universal. Only the details are individual. But what I also enjoy is the pattern. The repetition is comforting. It is how I function. By casting myself in a play or a structure like that I can step outside for a moment and see the plot for what it is- temporary, and part of a larger whole. Each step appears random, but the underlying pattern emerges with a little emotional distance. It's like when Kman and I play rock, paper, scissors. He always knows that I will start with scissors, followed by rock. Because I used to always start with rock, and he pointed it out to me, so I switched to scissors. And that pattern means I don't usually win unless he lets me. Because creature of habit.

I don't know if anyone else feels like they are part of some kind of personal play in process. But I kind of imagine it's pretty common. Like those who pattern themselves after Nancy Drew. Or who fell deeply in love with horse books, and have always wanted to be National Velvet. And for the boys, I dunno- never been one. But it's probably more of a recognition of aspirations in a sports figure or something like that.

And do I like being in a fairy tale? Hard to say. Some days, not really. I would rather be more concrete and pragmatic. But on days when the snow soddenly drapes the plum tree across the street in a blanket of white, and the city grows silent, and the night is bright white from the reflected light in the snow, and all grows still, it is just fine. Just fine, indeed.

And now a memory. When I was 5 my uncle (the "Little Prince" one) stayed with us for a while. It was winter. Our kitchen window faced the mountains to the north. Including the Sleeping Giant- the one I wanted so badly to see rise and become real- and was very disappointed to find was only rock and dirt. My uncle woke me in the middle of the night once. He took me to the kitchen window and pointed north. "Look and watch." There were lights dancing in the sky. Colored sheets of light. Reflecting off of the snow in our yard. We stood there watching for a while, and then he put me back to bed. I haven't seen the Northern Lights since, even though it's not an uncommon occurrence. I just haven't looked. Because that magic moment only strikes once. And it's like seeing Disney Land as an adult- it robs the magic from the early time in an incremental way. And I'm not willing to lose that.